A.R. Von's Blog, page 52

The Vikings are back in Week 4/Chapter 4 of Silver and Spice by Maria MacAuley!

Hello friends/followers! Welcome to week 4/chapter 4 of  Maria MacAuley's Silver & Spice. Now we present to you another portion of a very exciting, romantic and all-around great story.  We will be posting a chapter for you to enjoy each week until the story's end. We are looking forward to comments, feelings, thoughts, etc. of what you think for each portion posted. So please be sure to leave a comment in the comments section :)

Now I present to you... Silver and Spice!

View Prologue and chapter 1 HERE, chapter 2 HERE & chapter 3 HERE



Thanks for the painting are given to E Patterson

Dun na Shee was a flurry of activity as preparations were underway to set sail to Dubh Linn. Tempers frayed over who should make the journey, with each man stating his case to the others. Both Brian and Conall wanted to make the journey, but with Brian's moods swinging from heated temper to icy calm, in each scenario providing MacRonan with a slow painful death, it was finally agreed that Conall would travel with Fergus and Diarmuid. Conall hid his relief at his son's reluctant agreement to stay. With the horror unleashed the previous day, and the loss of one child, Conall did not want to lose another. In addition, it had not gone unnoticed by Conall that Brian wanted to find his sisters, not sister. Perhaps the union he had planned would not be blessed with strong sons and daughters; if there was no romantic love between the pair it did not bode well for a strong marriage and a large family.
One of the smaller vessels was prepared, a currach.  Its size meant  that it could travel close to the coastline  and sailing within the calmer waters would make for a much faster journey for the three men, rather than riding overland with horses. There would be minimal supplies needed for such a short journey and Conall prayed that someone in Dubh Linn may have heard of Kristr Halsrason  or Sean MacRonan.
Roisin was woken with a start, the shouting from outside the little tent jolting her back to reality. Ciara was already sitting up, hugging her knees, rocking in time with the swaying boat. Roisin rubbed her eyes, sat up and out of habit, tucked the stray wisps of hair behind Ciara's ears. It was not going to make Ciara any tidier, her long hair matted from the tossing and turning of the previous day. She gave Roisin a small smile, and she returned the simple gesture with a hug, grateful that they still had each other for now.
The flap of the tent opened, and Erik stooped in, his tall frame swamping any space. 'Good morn, ladies, I hope you enjoyed your slumber.' Roisin rolled her eyes, and tutted loudly. She found his speech pattern preposterous, but assumed it was the language barrier.  Perhaps in his own land they talked like that, overly verbose like in the Greek and Roman dramas.  Erik smiled at Ciara, eyes crinkling in genuine affection. Roisin studied the two; Ciara merely gave a shy half-smile,  but it was obvious she didn't fear Erik. Realisation of what she witnessed left her stunned. If love really could strike, Eros was more mischievous than the fairy folk of time before St Patrick. Brian had never looked at Ciara like that, the talk of a union of land overriding everything else. To see Ciara smile at Erik, this genuine but small smile, her with a small touch of envy.  As far as she was concerned, to fall in love was an emotion that she probably now would never know.
Rosin crawled past Erik through the entrance of the tent, squinting in the harsh daylight, the sun reflecting and bouncing off the rolling waves. The sail was up and the boat was moving swiftly through the water. She stared up in awe at the huge piece of fabric billowing over her head.  As a skilled weaver she was impressed by the size of the red and white striped cloth and how efficiently it harnessed the wind.  These Vikings can capture anything, even the very air around them, she thought.  Further on down the ship only half of the dozen or so men on board were actively involved in work, but the others were busy with their own activities. One man was sharpening blades on a small whetstone, another pair were playing a game that looked similar to fidchell, or draughts, and three more were fast asleep in fur-lined sleeping sacks.  The man she recognised as Knottr, was at the very back of the ship, his eyes fixed on the horizon, steering the boat. Like the other men, he barely gave Roisin a glance, merely making eye contact and returning to their duties.  
OooOOOooo
Kristr closely watched his hostage as she crouched out of the tent and straightened herself to her full height, taking a few tentative steps onto the deck.  On tip-toes she would not even reach his shoulder. MacRonan really had negotiated a fine trinket for his arm in taking Roisin of Dun na Shee as a bride.  He shook his head in dismay when he realised that he would sail around the country too, if all the women in Donegal and Inishowen were like that.  A cold clear voice cut through his thoughts.
'We need to wash and relieve ourselves,' Her tone made it sound more of an order than a request. Her rudeness was appalling, but he would not forego his payment by losing his temper,  throwing her overboard or mistreating her.
'You do not give the orders here, Roisin,' Kristr looked over at her. Touching the thin leather strip that hung from his belt,  'Do I have to punish you to remind you of your place here?' He grabbed her wrist as she went to strike him in outrage. 'Oh, no, sweet Roisin, it will not be like that.' He jerked his thumb to the small space beyond the tent. You will find a bucket there in which to perform your ablutions.  Failing that, you can lift your kirtle and hang over the edge like the rest of the crew.’ He smirked when she paled at the thought.  ‘And as for washing, you will have to wait until we get to the Jarlshof . Keeping his hold on her wrist he held her close.  Watching as her cheeks reddened in embarrassment , he gently pressed his nose into her hair, inhaling her sweet scent, but masking it with a loud sniff. 'You smell like Irish mud and seaweed, and much as I hate MacRonan, I don't want to lose any value on my silver by failing to maintain your comeliness to a tolerable level.'
Her deep green eyes bored deep into his soul.  'With smooth words like that, I am hardly surprised that you have to capture women to have them near you,’ she retorted. 'Perhaps you should spend some of silver on lining that tongue of yours?''And perhaps you should spend more time considering your fate and less on my bed sport.' He chastised himself for his bawdy words. An innocent maid barely out of girlhood should not yet know what pleasures could be had with the act of coupling. He jerked her hand and pointed back to the pot.
'I... I, we, can't go there.' There is no privacy!' He turned his back.'I have no desire to watch, and neither do my men. You could be naked as the day you were born and they would not look at you in curiousity, never mind ravish you, any more than they would try to ravish a sow rooting in the earth. You belong to me, until such times as MacRonan pays my silver.' He was furious at the exchange.  No wonder he was not fit to be around women as a mate. Did he just compare her to a female pig? Kristr's eloquence and negotiation skills in were well known in Jorvik, Hedeby and Miklagaard, the exotic city in Byzantium, but battling wits and barbs with this woman was making him look and feel a fool.
He left her to consider her options.  He did not care to watch her relieve herself. The water barrel was at the helm, by the tiller.  The smirks from Knottr was evidence enough that they had heard the exchange; a light punch to his shoulder only made Knottr laugh out loud.  For a man of few words, his actions expressed his emotions tenfold.Kristr scooped a little water into his hand, and tossing the contents over his taciturn friend, ‘I am glad I have provided such a source of mirth to you, this day.’ 
He then dipped a wooden bowl into the clear water, and returned to the sullen Roisin.  'Now you may wash your face and hands.'  She accepted his offering with a modicum of grace.  This woman was not making his life, or hers, easy.   He idly wondered what her mother was like, to issue such a strong-willed woman from her loins.

Kristr watched as Erik stepped out of the tent, holding out one hand to Ciara, helping her negotiate the deck surface undulating with the waves, and shielding her eyes from the watery low sun with the other. For a fleeting moment Kristr envied his brother his capability for compassion, listening in to their conversation, 'I am sorry that there is not much privacy here, Ciara, but if you can forgive the conditions, I promise that you will be well cared for at our father's steading.' He left Ciara alone, and went to a battered chest beside the tiller, where the food was kept. Food!  He scolded himself inwardly that he had not thought of providing a meal, and this woman was so stubborn, she would not have asked.  He was so distracted that he did not think to inquire.
oooOOOooo
Roisin licked her lips as she saw Erik come back with some honeyed berries, flat bread and dried fish. She sat down, grateful for the food, that he handed her. Having sustenance in her stomach made her feel so much better.  With a little sustenance, her confidence returned, an she finally took a long assessment of the monster who had ripped them from their lives on Dun na Shee.  It was strange;  in the cold clear light of day he did not seem quite so menacing.  He was tall, not overly broad, but through the finely woven linen tunic he wore, the toned muscles were evident.  His hair, so confusingly Irish in colour,  just tickled the base of his neck, and was so thick it looked to be in a battle of wills with the thong that held it in place.  Unlike a number of men on the boat, his face was not scarred from battle, save for a small slice on his cheek; it looked so old, it may have been from one of his first battles as a boy. His voice was much more relaxed when he talked and chatted with the men on board, and it was obvious to all that he led the expedition. She still did not understand the accent, but when he was not growling or ordering her about, the sounds were less grating on her ears.   She blushed and when she realised he was aware of her ongoing assessment.
‘Curious, Roisin?’ She shrugged, dismissing his question.  ‘Where is Jarlshof?'
On the Shetland Isles. I have a very good friend there and any family member of the Halsrason Jarl is welcome when they pass on their travels.’
'You are a Jarl?'  That made sense, he was the leader on the ship.
'Nei, our father is Jarl. Erik will be the next Jarl.'
‘And you are the second son?’
'Aren't you a nosy little sow today? For the first time Kristr's eyes showed mirth in her direction.
'If I'm to be your prisoner, perhaps you'll treat me as the chieftain's daughter I am.  Perhaps if we can be civil with one another my time as your captive will pass much faster for me.'
'I should feed you more often if it improves your disposition so much.' He walked his fingers along her arm, from her shoulder. 'You could do with a few more meals.' His fingers paused on her wrist, the red marks fading. 'And not prisoner,' he corrected, 'goods to be traded.' He silently cursed himself, when she winced at his words. So how long had she known MacRonan, of the fat belly and the greasy hair?  Had she taken him for a lover?  Kristr could not bear to think of his rank breath as he had brushed his lips against her cheek, his sweaty palms as he took her hand to kiss it, his slobbering mustache spreading his disease ridden spittle over her unblemished skin.

'Do you love him?'
'Who? My father? Of course.' Roisin hoped that he didn't mean MacRonan; there was no love in a match made without her consent, and now she was cursed to spend a year under another man’s control.  And all this in the hope that the men folk of Dun na Shee could gather enough silver to make this man happy. If MacRonan displayed such treachery to another merchant, she knew that he'd not see her worth anything that would cost him his coin, or his miserable selfish life.
'How much?'Kristr looked at her 'How much what?'
How much to return me to my father?
'Your father? Not your beloved?'  There may be some hope for this woman after all; the first man in her life was still her father. He gave a low involuntary chuckle and was met with a dark green stare.
 ‘Twelve markur of silver.’ Obviously recognising  her confusion at the unfamiliar measurement, he continued, ‘Six pounds weight.’  Using his dagger, he dragged a pattern lightly onto the boards of the deck. 'It is equal to two ingots of this size. I will accept one from your father, for each of you. I believe Erik will pay Ciara's ransom, if necessary. He seems smitten with her, and he does have a year's grace, does he not?' Roisin ignored him, and tried not to think of the horrendously expensive price he had placed on her head, or what it would mean for her if Conall could not pay.  It would take four summers for her father to gather that amount of silver; the Viking raid of the previous years  had left them with little coin in their coffers.  MacRonan must have cheated him out of a great value if that was the amount of silver he wanted in return.
 'What did he steal from you?'
'Cardamom, Cinnamon and Saffron, amongst other things.’
'What are they?''Spices, from the Euphrates, in the city of Mikegaard. They are used in medicines and cooking and they are most expensive and precious.'  He cupped her shoulders, circling the muscles, mirth twinkling from his expression.   'Like you.' Roisin rolled her eyes in disgust at his humour. 'They come in tiny packages and have to be stored carefully. Like you. Or, they lose their potency. Most unlike you.’   He stopped suddenly, eyes darkening again, ‘And don't roll your eyes like that or I shall toss you over my knee and remind you who is in charge on this craft.’ 
She hoped he was jesting, but flushed with embarrassment. Fergus always complained that Conall had been overly indolent  as a disciplinarian.  She might enjoy wriggling on his lap.  Roisin could not understand why she wanted to be close to him, to feel his presence around her. Was the sea air addling her mind? Had she partaken in mead? She tried to focus.  Men should not make her feel like this, especially  sour-tongued giants from the icy north. 
She tried to change the subject. 'I have heard of Miklagaard, but I have never seen any of the wonders that are said to come from there. It must be so far far away.'
'Ja. The journey there and back takes six moons, but it is a very profitable voyage.' Suddenly, Kristr longed to see her there, draped in flowing silks, showing her the different foods sweet, spicy, and warming. He wanted to expose her mind and senses to the variety of life, languages and peoples that were outside her Donegal kingdom. He looked over the simple measurements of silver he had scored into the timbers. Taking an interest in this woman was not part of his plan.
'How long before we reach Jarlshof?'
'With a fair wind today and tonight, we will be there tomorrow morning. We are moving fast along the coast of Albion. You will have had two full days and nights with me. Your year with me will slip by, a sunset at a time.' He sounded almost wistful.
Kristr was conflicted between stopping at Shetland or continuing home. He was tired, and the verbal sparring with his tiny captive had left his cock twitching. Alfhilde would be there, warm and welcoming and compliant to his needs. He may have teased Roisin about vigorous loveplay, but with Alfhilde it left him satisfied. Since his mother's death as a small boy he hated the tender touch of most women.  For him, a woman’s body could be appreciated and caressed, when necessary,  to please a partner, but any touch that was remotely sensuous returned to him was met with rejection.  Coupling was a way to relieve stress, to clear his mind.   Alfhilde understood this reluctance within him, and did not force the issue. He hated himself at times. Most men loved the caress of a woman and he had heard enough salty ballads and tavern talk to make it clear he needed something different. Roisin was no tall broad shouldered Norsewoman; she would never meet his needs.
oooOOOooo
The Isle of Shetland was in sight, and the collection of buildings that comprised Jarlshof. To Roisin they looked so different to Dun na Shee. Rather than a timber ring fort, protected by huge turf ramparts, these buildings were long rectangles, made of a dry stone foundation, and the sod on the roof made them almost disappear into the landscape.  There were at least a score of buildings, of different sizes; Jarlshof was clearly a profitable land.
The boat docked at the short pier; the men jumped out of the ship to pull it higher onto the bank. Kristr picked Roisin up, and handed her down into Knottr's waiting arms, followed by Ciara. A small group, mostly of young men, approached to greet the travelers.  They were led by a statuesque blonde haired woman who walked slowly down the path, a horn of ale in each hand. To Roisin, her age appeared to be nearly two score, but she did not wear the kerchief of a married woman upon her head.Erik, Kristr.' She handed the men the brimming horns. ‘Welcome to my homestead.’ Her voice faded into a whisper. Roisin's eyes narrowed as she watched the woman approach Kristr, her voice husky with intent. Why did she feel jealous towards this handsome woman nearly twice her own age?

She scowled as she watched the Valkryie take Kristr's hands in hers, and continue talking to him as she and Ciara were invisible.  'Come, you will feast with my little fosterlings and I tonight.'
'Alfhilde, we are not alone. We have two women on board.' Alfhilde looked in the direction of Roisin and Ciara, who were standing to the side, under the close scrutiny of Knottr.
'Since when have the Halsrason men started trading in thralls again? The black haired one is so tiny, but the other is passable.' She gave a empty chuckle. 'You have taken a thrall for your bed too Erik? Have you finally coupled with every married woman on the coast?' Erik glared in disgust. 'I jest, Erik, there are new brides wed every day.’ Alfhilde waved dismissively, ’I'll have your thralls washed and appropriately dressed too. There is room for them near the dairy.'
'Nei. They are not thralls. Hostages. MacRonan has cheated me and this was his betrothed.  She is mine until her men folk pay for her.’
A hollow laugh met his statement, 'So, in effect, you have taken a thrall. MacRonan will not pay. She can't be healthy if her father was giving her to that foul beast.'   Alfhilde was no fool; she had met the likes of MacRonan before, and his sire, before that.  ‘Hold your temper, Kristr.‘  Alfhilde assumed his foul humour was rising over the denial of coin. He had become a handsome determined man, and she had trained him well.'Ethel, Ruth, come here,' she summoned two thralls and pointed to Roisin and Ciara, 'Wash these little halflings and find them some clothing, although how you'll find anything small enough I don't know.' She offered Kristr her arm. 'Let us leave, we have so much to discuss since you were last here.'
Erik turned to Ciara and gave her hand a squeeze. He whispered in her ear, 'Later, my sweet.' She smiled, again.  It warmed Roisin’s heart to see Catherine smile, even if she herself felt it was misplaced.
Ruth and Ethel signaled to the women to follow them. They did not speak the same language, muttering in Saxon or Norse.  Entering one of the smaller huts, Roisin's eyes adjusted slowly to the light inside.  She looked in horror at the metal collars that were fastened about the womens’ necks.  Her skin turned cold; it was what she had heard about the Vikings in Dubh Linn and their treatment of slaves.  Touching her own neck, she tried not to tremble at what her future might hold. Kristr had promised four seasons, she hoped he would be true to his word, even if MacRonan was not.
The long single room was sunken, a long hearth in the middle of the room. There were lit bowls of fish oil, flames casting ominous shadows with their glow.
Ruth started to comb Roisin's hair, complaining loudly and incomprehensibly at the tatted mess. She motioned to her to remove her grubby kirtle. Reluctantly Roisin did so, but tugged it back on as she saw four men come in with large basins of water. Standing by the fire, the woman, pulled her clothing from her, sighed, and pointed to an empty basin. 'Standa hedra'. Ruth started vigorously scrubbing her, pouring the lukewarm water over her tingling skin. Ciara stood shivering in her shift until Ruth had finished with Roisin. Ethel rubbed her down with a linen cloth,  and although cold she was glad to be clean, whilst the process was repeated for Ciara.
Of course the clothes they were given were much too long. Sighing again and muttering, Ethel cut a length off the bottom, and used the strip of fabric to make a makeshift girdle. The brown woven fabric was not particularly coarse on her skin, but was not as soft as the woolen kirtle she had been wearing. She went to grab her own simple garments, but was stopped by Ethel, who threw them into the grey washing water, and left the hut. She returned with a trencher of food for Roisin and Ciara to share. 'Eta.' That wasn't too far from their own word of "ith".
Before the servants took their leave, locking the door behind them, Ciara queried of  Ruth, 'Erik?'
'Swet haus.' Roisin heard the door bolt, and they were alone now, the strange smelling fish-oil lamp casting ominous shadows of Viking trolls who lurked in the corners of the room.
In the sweat lodge, Erik threw more water on the hot stones, breathing in the warm air and studying the little beads of sweat forming between the hair on his arms. 'What do you see in that woman, Kristr?'
Kristr had fostered with Alfhilde from his twelfth summer. She only fostered boys, not yet young men, as was still evident by the group that had met them off the boat. The youths that came under her care were well treated and educated, but under Alfhilde's strict hand a chosen few were selected for additional training. Kristr had spent many nights in Alfhilde’s chamber learning how to please a woman.   As the boy  grew into a man, he became the master of their relationship, and Alfhilde reveled in the focused  rich, determined merchant she had created.
'She fostered me when I was grieving. Whilst you were learning to be a Jarl’s son, Alfhilde taught me how to make my way in the world.'  Erik shrugged. Most second sons were fostered, but not all turned out like his brother. He scraped the sweat and grime off his skin and plunged into the cool barrel of water. He did not trust Alfhilde, and his brother, so normally calculating and controlled did not seem himself around her.
'I for one will be glad to be finish this voyage.' He pulled on a clean tunic and leggings and left Kristr to his thoughts in the warm damp air.
Roisin was startled by the sound of the bolt scraping back, and jumped when Erik stepped into the chamber. 'Well ladies, I hope you sleep well tonight. I shall see you in the morn'. He dropped a kiss on Ciara's forehead. 'I told you I would see you later, my sweet. Only a few more days before I can show you my home.' Ciara nodded, and gave a shy smile again. Roisin began to wonder if Ciara was seeing Erik's home as hers too.  She felt a touch envious that Kristr had not come to check on them.  So much for ensuring the safety of his precious goods, she mused.
oooOOOooo
Alfhilde prepared her chamber for Kristr's arrival. She had washed, dressed in nothing but scented oils,  and wearing nothing save for an exquisite gold torc about her neck,.  It had been a gift from Kristr, following his first successful trading mission along the Volga.  She arranged herself on the bed furs, no childbirth having marred her breasts or belly.
The door opened. Alfhilde's lips curled a smile in anticipation. 'Kristr,' she purred.  ‘Come, I am willing for you, take me for your own.'  She always enjoyed her trysts with her former fosterling.  He knew what touch she liked; she had taught him well.
'Alfhilde, forgive me. I cannot.'  He made to leave the room, the rebellious strands of  auburn hair dancing the candlelight.
She sat up in fury. 'Cannot or will not?'
'Both.'
Realisation dawned on Alfhilde.  ‘It is that thrall!  I saw how you looked at her!  That little small girl-woman will never satisfy a fine Norse man like you.  I saw how you looked at that lowly bed-slave!  What we have is more than sex. I made you!  I taught you' She rose from the bed, swinging her long legs out onto the ground, and rising to face Kristr.  'Is it because she is Irish? Does she remind you of your mother? Do you wish bedsport with your poor dead mother? '
Kristr turned and over Alfhilde, his eyes blazing, and face twisted in fury. 'This time you have gone too far. We shall be off Jarlshof by morning.' He pulled the golden jewelry from her neck and bent it in  half before casting it to the floor.  'We are no longer acquaintances, and never speak of my mother again.'Alfhilde may have been a bed partner, but by mentioning his mother, she had broken the boundaries. 








Bio
Maria MacAuley is from Derry, Ireland and has a degree in Celtic Languages. She is married to the love of her life, and they live in relative peace with two cats.

She has a secret wish that her husband will investigate his Nordic family tree further and whisk her off on a longboat to Hammerfest to view the Northern Lights.

If Maria were to choose her favourite tense, it should be the subjunctive, and is always keen to discuss same over a pint of Guinness.
email: banbha@hotmail.com




~*"No portion of this story may be copied or shared without the direct permission of the author."*~

The Vikings are back in Week 4/Chapter 4 of Silver and spice by Maria MacAuley!

Hello friends/followers! Welcome to week 4/chapter 4 of  Maria MacAuley's Silver & Spice. Now we present to you another portion of a very exciting, romantic and all-around great story.  We will be posting a chapter for you to enjoy each week until the story's end. We are looking forward to comments, feelings, thoughts, etc. of what you think for each portion posted. So please be sure to leave a comment in the comments section :)

Now I present to you... Silver and Spice!

View Prologue and chapter 1 HERE, chapter 2 HERE & chapter 3 HERE


Thanks for the painting are given to E Patterson

Dun na Shee was a flurry of activity as preparations were underway to set sail to Dubh Linn. Tempers frayed over who should make the journey, with each man stating his case to the others. Both Brian and Conall wanted to make the journey, but with Brian's moods swinging from heated temper to icy calm, in each scenario providing MacRonan with a slow painful death, it was finally agreed that Conall would travel with Fergus and Diarmuid. Conall hid his relief at his son's reluctant agreement to stay. With the horror unleashed the previous day, and the loss of one child, Conall did not want to lose another. In addition, it had not gone unnoticed by Conall that Brian wanted to find his sisters, not sister. Perhaps the union he had planned would not be blessed with strong sons and daughters; if there was no romantic love between the pair it did not bode well for a strong marriage and a large family.
One of the smaller vessels was prepared, a currach.  Its size meant  that it could travel close to the coastline  and sailing within the calmer waters would make for a much faster journey for the three men, rather than riding overland with horses. There would be minimal supplies needed for such a short journey and Conall prayed that someone in Dubh Linn may have heard of Kristr Halsrason  or Sean MacRonan.
Roisin was woken with a start, the shouting from outside the little tent jolting her back to reality. Ciara was already sitting up, hugging her knees, rocking in time with the swaying boat. Roisin rubbed her eyes, sat up and out of habit, tucked the stray wisps of hair behind Ciara's ears. It was not going to make Ciara any tidier, her long hair matted from the tossing and turning of the previous day. She gave Roisin a small smile, and she returned the simple gesture with a hug, grateful that they still had each other for now.
The flap of the tent opened, and Erik stooped in, his tall frame swamping any space. 'Good morn, ladies, I hope you enjoyed your slumber.' Roisin rolled her eyes, and tutted loudly. She found his speech pattern preposterous, but assumed it was the language barrier.  Perhaps in his own land they talked like that, overly verbose like in the Greek and Roman dramas.  Erik smiled at Ciara, eyes crinkling in genuine affection. Roisin studied the two; Ciara merely gave a shy half-smile,  but it was obvious she didn't fear Erik. Realisation of what she witnessed left her stunned. If love really could strike, Eros was more mischievous than the fairy folk of time before St Patrick. Brian had never looked at Ciara like that, the talk of a union of land overriding everything else. To see Ciara smile at Erik, this genuine but small smile, her with a small touch of envy.  As far as she was concerned, to fall in love was an emotion that she probably now would never know.
Rosin crawled past Erik through the entrance of the tent, squinting in the harsh daylight, the sun reflecting and bouncing off the rolling waves. The sail was up and the boat was moving swiftly through the water. She stared up in awe at the huge piece of fabric billowing over her head.  As a skilled weaver she was impressed by the size of the red and white striped cloth and how efficiently it harnessed the wind.  These Vikings can capture anything, even the very air around them, she thought.  Further on down the ship only half of the dozen or so men on board were actively involved in work, but the others were busy with their own activities. One man was sharpening blades on a small whetstone, another pair were playing a game that looked similar to fidchell, or draughts, and three more were fast asleep in fur-lined sleeping sacks.  The man she recognised as Knottr, was at the very back of the ship, his eyes fixed on the horizon, steering the boat. Like the other men, he barely gave Roisin a glance, merely making eye contact and returning to their duties.  
OooOOOooo
Kristr closely watched his hostage as she crouched out of the tent and straightened herself to her full height, taking a few tentative steps onto the deck.  On tip-toes she would not even reach his shoulder. MacRonan really had negotiated a fine trinket for his arm in taking Roisin of Dun na Shee as a bride.  He shook his head in dismay when he realised that he would sail around the country too, if all the women in Donegal and Inishowen were like that.  A cold clear voice cut through his thoughts.
'We need to wash and relieve ourselves,' Her tone made it sound more of an order than a request. Her rudeness was appalling, but he would not forego his payment by losing his temper,  throwing her overboard or mistreating her.
'You do not give the orders here, Roisin,' Kristr looked over at her. Touching the thin leather strip that hung from his belt,  'Do I have to punish you to remind you of your place here?' He grabbed her wrist as she went to strike him in outrage. 'Oh, no, sweet Roisin, it will not be like that.' He jerked his thumb to the small space beyond the tent. You will find a bucket there in which to perform your ablutions.  Failing that, you can lift your kirtle and hang over the edge like the rest of the crew.’ He smirked when she paled at the thought.  ‘And as for washing, you will have to wait until we get to the Jarlshof . Keeping his hold on her wrist he held her close.  Watching as her cheeks reddened in embarrassment , he gently pressed his nose into her hair, inhaling her sweet scent, but masking it with a loud sniff. 'You smell like Irish mud and seaweed, and much as I hate MacRonan, I don't want to lose any value on my silver by failing to maintain your comeliness to a tolerable level.'
Her deep green eyes bored deep into his soul.  'With smooth words like that, I am hardly surprised that you have to capture women to have them near you,’ she retorted. 'Perhaps you should spend some of silver on lining that tongue of yours?''And perhaps you should spend more time considering your fate and less on my bed sport.' He chastised himself for his bawdy words. An innocent maid barely out of girlhood should not yet know what pleasures could be had with the act of coupling. He jerked her hand and pointed back to the pot.
'I... I, we, can't go there.' There is no privacy!' He turned his back.'I have no desire to watch, and neither do my men. You could be naked as the day you were born and they would not look at you in curiousity, never mind ravish you, any more than they would try to ravish a sow rooting in the earth. You belong to me, until such times as MacRonan pays my silver.' He was furious at the exchange.  No wonder he was not fit to be around women as a mate. Did he just compare her to a female pig? Kristr's eloquence and negotiation skills in were well known in Jorvik, Hedeby and Miklagaard, the exotic city in Byzantium, but battling wits and barbs with this woman was making him look and feel a fool.
He left her to consider her options.  He did not care to watch her relieve herself. The water barrel was at the helm, by the tiller.  The smirks from Knottr was evidence enough that they had heard the exchange; a light punch to his shoulder only made Knottr laugh out loud.  For a man of few words, his actions expressed his emotions tenfold.Kristr scooped a little water into his hand, and tossing the contents over his taciturn friend, ‘I am glad I have provided such a source of mirth to you, this day.’ 
He then dipped a wooden bowl into the clear water, and returned to the sullen Roisin.  'Now you may wash your face and hands.'  She accepted his offering with a modicum of grace.  This woman was not making his life, or hers, easy.   He idly wondered what her mother was like, to issue such a strong-willed woman from her loins.

Kristr watched as Erik stepped out of the tent, holding out one hand to Ciara, helping her negotiate the deck surface undulating with the waves, and shielding her eyes from the watery low sun with the other. For a fleeting moment Kristr envied his brother his capability for compassion, listening in to their conversation, 'I am sorry that there is not much privacy here, Ciara, but if you can forgive the conditions, I promise that you will be well cared for at our father's steading.' He left Ciara alone, and went to a battered chest beside the tiller, where the food was kept. Food!  He scolded himself inwardly that he had not thought of providing a meal, and this woman was so stubborn, she would not have asked.  He was so distracted that he did not think to inquire.
oooOOOooo
Roisin licked her lips as she saw Erik come back with some honeyed berries, flat bread and dried fish. She sat down, grateful for the food, that he handed her. Having sustenance in her stomach made her feel so much better.  With a little sustenance, her confidence returned, an she finally took a long assessment of the monster who had ripped them from their lives on Dun na Shee.  It was strange;  in the cold clear light of day he did not seem quite so menacing.  He was tall, not overly broad, but through the finely woven linen tunic he wore, the toned muscles were evident.  His hair, so confusingly Irish in colour,  just tickled the base of his neck, and was so thick it looked to be in a battle of wills with the thong that held it in place.  Unlike a number of men on the boat, his face was not scarred from battle, save for a small slice on his cheek; it looked so old, it may have been from one of his first battles as a boy. His voice was much more relaxed when he talked and chatted with the men on board, and it was obvious to all that he led the expedition. She still did not understand the accent, but when he was not growling or ordering her about, the sounds were less grating on her ears.   She blushed and when she realised he was aware of her ongoing assessment.
‘Curious, Roisin?’ She shrugged, dismissing his question.  ‘Where is Jarlshof?'
On the Shetland Isles. I have a very good friend there and any family member of the Halsrason Jarl is welcome when they pass on their travels.’
'You are a Jarl?'  That made sense, he was the leader on the ship.
'Nei, our father is Jarl. Erik will be the next Jarl.'
‘And you are the second son?’
'Aren't you a nosy little sow today? For the first time Kristr's eyes showed mirth in her direction.
'If I'm to be your prisoner, perhaps you'll treat me as the chieftain's daughter I am.  Perhaps if we can be civil with one another my time as your captive will pass much faster for me.'
'I should feed you more often if it improves your disposition so much.' He walked his fingers along her arm, from her shoulder. 'You could do with a few more meals.' His fingers paused on her wrist, the red marks fading. 'And not prisoner,' he corrected, 'goods to be traded.' He silently cursed himself, when she winced at his words. So how long had she known MacRonan, of the fat belly and the greasy hair?  Had she taken him for a lover?  Kristr could not bear to think of his rank breath as he had brushed his lips against her cheek, his sweaty palms as he took her hand to kiss it, his slobbering mustache spreading his disease ridden spittle over her unblemished skin.

'Do you love him?'
'Who? My father? Of course.' Roisin hoped that he didn't mean MacRonan; there was no love in a match made without her consent, and now she was cursed to spend a year under another man’s control.  And all this in the hope that the men folk of Dun na Shee could gather enough silver to make this man happy. If MacRonan displayed such treachery to another merchant, she knew that he'd not see her worth anything that would cost him his coin, or his miserable selfish life.
'How much?'Kristr looked at her 'How much what?'
How much to return me to my father?
'Your father? Not your beloved?'  There may be some hope for this woman after all; the first man in her life was still her father. He gave a low involuntary chuckle and was met with a dark green stare.
 ‘Twelve markur of silver.’ Obviously recognising  her confusion at the unfamiliar measurement, he continued, ‘Six pounds weight.’  Using his dagger, he dragged a pattern lightly onto the boards of the deck. 'It is equal to two ingots of this size. I will accept one from your father, for each of you. I believe Erik will pay Ciara's ransom, if necessary. He seems smitten with her, and he does have a year's grace, does he not?' Roisin ignored him, and tried not to think of the horrendously expensive price he had placed on her head, or what it would mean for her if Conall could not pay.  It would take four summers for her father to gather that amount of silver; the Viking raid of the previous years  had left them with little coin in their coffers.  MacRonan must have cheated him out of a great value if that was the amount of silver he wanted in return.
 'What did he steal from you?'
'Cardamom, Cinnamon and Saffron, amongst other things.’
'What are they?''Spices, from the Euphrates, in the city of Mikegaard. They are used in medicines and cooking and they are most expensive and precious.'  He cupped her shoulders, circling the muscles, mirth twinkling from his expression.   'Like you.' Roisin rolled her eyes in disgust at his humour. 'They come in tiny packages and have to be stored carefully. Like you. Or, they lose their potency. Most unlike you.’   He stopped suddenly, eyes darkening again, ‘And don't roll your eyes like that or I shall toss you over my knee and remind you who is in charge on this craft.’ 
She hoped he was jesting, but flushed with embarrassment. Fergus always complained that Conall had been overly indolent  as a disciplinarian.  She might enjoy wriggling on his lap.  Roisin could not understand why she wanted to be close to him, to feel his presence around her. Was the sea air addling her mind? Had she partaken in mead? She tried to focus.  Men should not make her feel like this, especially  sour-tongued giants from the icy north. 
She tried to change the subject. 'I have heard of Miklagaard, but I have never seen any of the wonders that are said to come from there. It must be so far far away.'
'Ja. The journey there and back takes six moons, but it is a very profitable voyage.' Suddenly, Kristr longed to see her there, draped in flowing silks, showing her the different foods sweet, spicy, and warming. He wanted to expose her mind and senses to the variety of life, languages and peoples that were outside her Donegal kingdom. He looked over the simple measurements of silver he had scored into the timbers. Taking an interest in this woman was not part of his plan.
'How long before we reach Jarlshof?'
'With a fair wind today and tonight, we will be there tomorrow morning. We are moving fast along the coast of Albion. You will have had two full days and nights with me. Your year with me will slip by, a sunset at a time.' He sounded almost wistful.
Kristr was conflicted between stopping at Shetland or continuing home. He was tired, and the verbal sparring with his tiny captive had left his cock twitching. Alfhilde would be there, warm and welcoming and compliant to his needs. He may have teased Roisin about vigorous loveplay, but with Alfhilde it left him satisfied. Since his mother's death as a small boy he hated the tender touch of most women.  For him, a woman’s body could be appreciated and caressed, when necessary,  to please a partner, but any touch that was remotely sensuous returned to him was met with rejection.  Coupling was a way to relieve stress, to clear his mind.   Alfhilde understood this reluctance within him, and did not force the issue. He hated himself at times. Most men loved the caress of a woman and he had heard enough salty ballads and tavern talk to make it clear he needed something different. Roisin was no tall broad shouldered Norsewoman; she would never meet his needs.
oooOOOooo
The Isle of Shetland was in sight, and the collection of buildings that comprised Jarlshof. To Roisin they looked so different to Dun na Shee. Rather than a timber ring fort, protected by huge turf ramparts, these buildings were long rectangles, made of a dry stone foundation, and the sod on the roof made them almost disappear into the landscape.  There were at least a score of buildings, of different sizes; Jarlshof was clearly a profitable land.
The boat docked at the short pier; the men jumped out of the ship to pull it higher onto the bank. Kristr picked Roisin up, and handed her down into Knottr's waiting arms, followed by Ciara. A small group, mostly of young men, approached to greet the travelers.  They were led by a statuesque blonde haired woman who walked slowly down the path, a horn of ale in each hand. To Roisin, her age appeared to be nearly two score, but she did not wear the kerchief of a married woman upon her head.Erik, Kristr.' She handed the men the brimming horns. ‘Welcome to my homestead.’ Her voice faded into a whisper. Roisin's eyes narrowed as she watched the woman approach Kristr, her voice husky with intent. Why did she feel jealous towards this handsome woman nearly twice her own age?

She scowled as she watched the Valkryie take Kristr's hands in hers, and continue talking to him as she and Ciara were invisible.  'Come, you will feast with my little fosterlings and I tonight.'
'Alfhilde, we are not alone. We have two women on board.' Alfhilde looked in the direction of Roisin and Ciara, who were standing to the side, under the close scrutiny of Knottr.
'Since when have the Halsrason men started trading in thralls again? The black haired one is so tiny, but the other is passable.' She gave a empty chuckle. 'You have taken a thrall for your bed too Erik? Have you finally coupled with every married woman on the coast?' Erik glared in disgust. 'I jest, Erik, there are new brides wed every day.’ Alfhilde waved dismissively, ’I'll have your thralls washed and appropriately dressed too. There is room for them near the dairy.'
'Nei. They are not thralls. Hostages. MacRonan has cheated me and this was his betrothed.  She is mine until her men folk pay for her.’
A hollow laugh met his statement, 'So, in effect, you have taken a thrall. MacRonan will not pay. She can't be healthy if her father was giving her to that foul beast.'   Alfhilde was no fool; she had met the likes of MacRonan before, and his sire, before that.  ‘Hold your temper, Kristr.‘  Alfhilde assumed his foul humour was rising over the denial of coin. He had become a handsome determined man, and she had trained him well.'Ethel, Ruth, come here,' she summoned two thralls and pointed to Roisin and Ciara, 'Wash these little halflings and find them some clothing, although how you'll find anything small enough I don't know.' She offered Kristr her arm. 'Let us leave, we have so much to discuss since you were last here.'
Erik turned to Ciara and gave her hand a squeeze. He whispered in her ear, 'Later, my sweet.' She smiled, again.  It warmed Roisin’s heart to see Catherine smile, even if she herself felt it was misplaced.
Ruth and Ethel signaled to the women to follow them. They did not speak the same language, muttering in Saxon or Norse.  Entering one of the smaller huts, Roisin's eyes adjusted slowly to the light inside.  She looked in horror at the metal collars that were fastened about the womens’ necks.  Her skin turned cold; it was what she had heard about the Vikings in Dubh Linn and their treatment of slaves.  Touching her own neck, she tried not to tremble at what her future might hold. Kristr had promised four seasons, she hoped he would be true to his word, even if MacRonan was not.
The long single room was sunken, a long hearth in the middle of the room. There were lit bowls of fish oil, flames casting ominous shadows with their glow.
Ruth started to comb Roisin's hair, complaining loudly and incomprehensibly at the tatted mess. She motioned to her to remove her grubby kirtle. Reluctantly Roisin did so, but tugged it back on as she saw four men come in with large basins of water. Standing by the fire, the woman, pulled her clothing from her, sighed, and pointed to an empty basin. 'Standa hedra'. Ruth started vigorously scrubbing her, pouring the lukewarm water over her tingling skin. Ciara stood shivering in her shift until Ruth had finished with Roisin. Ethel rubbed her down with a linen cloth,  and although cold she was glad to be clean, whilst the process was repeated for Ciara.
Of course the clothes they were given were much too long. Sighing again and muttering, Ethel cut a length off the bottom, and used the strip of fabric to make a makeshift girdle. The brown woven fabric was not particularly coarse on her skin, but was not as soft as the woolen kirtle she had been wearing. She went to grab her own simple garments, but was stopped by Ethel, who threw them into the grey washing water, and left the hut. She returned with a trencher of food for Roisin and Ciara to share. 'Eta.' That wasn't too far from their own word of "ith".
Before the servants took their leave, locking the door behind them, Ciara queried of  Ruth, 'Erik?'
'Swet haus.' Roisin heard the door bolt, and they were alone now, the strange smelling fish-oil lamp casting ominous shadows of Viking trolls who lurked in the corners of the room.
In the sweat lodge, Erik threw more water on the hot stones, breathing in the warm air and studying the little beads of sweat forming between the hair on his arms. 'What do you see in that woman, Kristr?'
Kristr had fostered with Alfhilde from his twelfth summer. She only fostered boys, not yet young men, as was still evident by the group that had met them off the boat. The youths that came under her care were well treated and educated, but under Alfhilde's strict hand a chosen few were selected for additional training. Kristr had spent many nights in Alfhilde’s chamber learning how to please a woman.   As the boy  grew into a man, he became the master of their relationship, and Alfhilde reveled in the focused  rich, determined merchant she had created.
'She fostered me when I was grieving. Whilst you were learning to be a Jarl’s son, Alfhilde taught me how to make my way in the world.'  Erik shrugged. Most second sons were fostered, but not all turned out like his brother. He scraped the sweat and grime off his skin and plunged into the cool barrel of water. He did not trust Alfhilde, and his brother, so normally calculating and controlled did not seem himself around her.
'I for one will be glad to be finish this voyage.' He pulled on a clean tunic and leggings and left Kristr to his thoughts in the warm damp air.
Roisin was startled by the sound of the bolt scraping back, and jumped when Erik stepped into the chamber. 'Well ladies, I hope you sleep well tonight. I shall see you in the morn'. He dropped a kiss on Ciara's forehead. 'I told you I would see you later, my sweet. Only a few more days before I can show you my home.' Ciara nodded, and gave a shy smile again. Roisin began to wonder if Ciara was seeing Erik's home as hers too.  She felt a touch envious that Kristr had not come to check on them.  So much for ensuring the safety of his precious goods, she mused.
oooOOOooo
Alfhilde prepared her chamber for Kristr's arrival. She had washed, dressed in nothing but scented oils,  and wearing nothing save for an exquisite gold torc about her neck,.  It had been a gift from Kristr, following his first successful trading mission along the Volga.  She arranged herself on the bed furs, no childbirth having marred her breasts or belly.
The door opened. Alfhilde's lips curled a smile in anticipation. 'Kristr,' she purred.  ‘Come, I am willing for you, take me for your own.'  She always enjoyed her trysts with her former fosterling.  He knew what touch she liked; she had taught him well.
'Alfhilde, forgive me. I cannot.'  He made to leave the room, the rebellious strands of  auburn hair dancing the candlelight.
She sat up in fury. 'Cannot or will not?'
'Both.'
Realisation dawned on Alfhilde.  ‘It is that thrall!  I saw how you looked at her!  That little small girl-woman will never satisfy a fine Norse man like you.  I saw how you looked at that lowly bed-slave!  What we have is more than sex. I made you!  I taught you' She rose from the bed, swinging her long legs out onto the ground, and rising to face Kristr.  'Is it because she is Irish? Does she remind you of your mother? Do you wish bedsport with your poor dead mother? '
Kristr turned and over Alfhilde, his eyes blazing, and face twisted in fury. 'This time you have gone too far. We shall be off Jarlshof by morning.' He pulled the golden jewelry from her neck and bent it in  half before casting it to the floor.  'We are no longer acquaintances, and never speak of my mother again.'Alfhilde may have been a bed partner, but by mentioning his mother, she had broken the boundaries. 







Bio
Maria MacAuley is from Derry, Ireland and has a degree in Celtic Languages. She is married to the love of her life, and they live in relative peace with two cats.

She has a secret wish that her husband will investigate his Nordic family tree further and whisk her off on a longboat to Hammerfest to view the Northern Lights.

If Maria were to choose her favourite tense, it should be the subjunctive, and is always keen to discuss same over a pint of Guinness.
email: banbha@hotmail.com




~*"No portion of this story may be copied or shared without the direct permission of the author."*~

Review Life by design (Design #2) by Elizabeth A. James

"Life by Design" Author: Elizabeth A. JamesGenre: Contemporary RomancePages: 152Source: Author in exchange for an honest review.Published: March 14, 2013Author's Website
Buy Links: Amazon
Goodreads Blurb: Jane Carter’s life had never been easy. Leaving her parents behind only to be abandoned pregnant by the one man she thought she could depend on, she had a sense that things just weren’t going to be easy for her or her precious daughter Jolene. She’s so skeptical about life, she thinks she’s dreaming when she catches the eye of handsome, successful architect Jay Anderson. Will Jay be willing to accept her and her child or will she be forced to return to a past that just won’t go away. Falling in love is easy. Life is hard. Has life finally designed the happy ending she’s always dreamed of?
My Review:Not the direction I thought Elizabeth was going to go, but just as great, no make that even better of a read as the first in the series. Very touching, fun, exciting and romantic. A definite must read for all fans of the genre!
Justin and Callie take the biggest step of their lives in Life by Design & what an amazing and beautiful step it is! I ADORE these two together and continue to love their chemistry and soul deep love for one another.
Jane is still working with/for Carrie and Jay as she was at in Love by Design. She’s also Carrie’s very best friend and now becoming even closer to Jay (LOVE him!) Can two people that work together as closely as they do have any other type of relationship other than a business friendship? You’re going to have to read it to find out ;)

I love the fact that I was taken by surprise with this story. I do so love surprises. Especially from such amazing and loveable characters such as Callie Jane, Justin and Jay. I cannot wait to see where Elizabeth goes next! 
Overall Rating



Sex Rating of 2 Dragon Flames 

Cover Reveal & Giveaway Blind Attraction by Eden Summers

Coming on May 28th, the first book in the Reckless Beat rock star series.




Book Blurb
He can seduce with a single glance.

Peering down at a sea of fans, rock star, Mitchell Davies can’t deny the innocent beauty of a woman in the front row. He’ll stop at nothing to get to know her. When a public altercation leaves her weak and defenseless, he takes the opportunity to be her savior.

She’s been sheltered from the world.

Alana Shelton wants to spread her wings and experience life away from her restrictive upbringing. But she isn’t prepared for a gorgeous stranger to sweep her off her feet while at her most vulnerable.

Attraction will bring them together, but their pasts will try to tear them apart.
He wants to teach her how to trust, but she’ll show him how to love. In a glamorous world of rock-and-roll, only time will tell if they’re up for the challenge.
LinksBlind Attraction page on GoodreadsEden Summers WebsiteEden Summers Facebook PageTwitter

I am giving away three ADVANCED EBOOK COPIES of Blind Attraction. First prize will also receive this gorgeous beaded purse charm valued at $10 and made by SwagmasterDesigns.

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Caliente Blog Hop

Hello everyone & welcome to A.R. Von DreamZ of Dragons! Pull up a chair, relax, look around and get ready for some Caliente lovin'!There are two giveaways listed right here. So be sure to enter both for your chance to win some AWESOME prizes!
Good luck!





Here's a small teaser excerpt from my next Erotic Paranormal Romance serial/short WUNDER (0.5 DreamZ) just for you hoppers! 

Enjoy ;)

Why? Why the torture? Each and every single night since I became a woman I awaken sweating, panting, hot and bothered from the pure sexual torture. Many times with my hand rubbing my most intimate place.  A dream, so many dreams. Each one is different, but all contain the same faceless dark haired stranger. The only thing I know for sure is he is tall, has raven black hair, the same color as mine, but shorter and the most beautiful eyes I've ever seen, eyes that seem to be able to see into my soul. My hearts deepest desires and he always grants them to me without pause.

            “UGH!”



Currently Available:
Wunder (#1 Approach)(Cover links direct to Amazon)
Blurb:

Wunder isn’t your average girl, in fact, she isn’t even an average human. In a world ravaged by Zombies, she was born amidst the chaos. Where can a girl like her find the man of her delicious dreams? She has an idea and it leads her to the hottest new club in town, where she finds what’s been missing in her life.

Pete has his own secrets to tell, and when they come together, another story unfolds while the sparks fly.






Coming soon:
Wunder (0.5 DreamZ)(Cover links direct to Goodreads page)  Blurb:

A World of Turmoil and Yearning

Wunder may have a normal life now…well, as normal as a freak of nature could have. Half zombie while her job is to hunt bloodthirsty creatures to protect the innocent. It’s the dreams that haunt her and they aren’t nightmares. Wunder dreams of a man, a man made just for her. Is he real, can he be the one she‘s yearned for?

Pete’s world is a lonely one as he wrestles with the reality of being part zombie. His hatred for the creatures that killed his parents drives him to patrol the streets and wipe them all out. His life would be stark, but for the dreams he’s been having; of a woman, so sensuous, so sexy. These alluring visions have become erotic and consuming. He feels as if he made her up to keep from going crazy. Is this life of hunting the walking dead, all there is? Or is she out there, waiting…just for him?




Coming soon:Wunder (#2 Reunion) (Cover links direct to Goodreads page) Blurb:
Wunder’s life has been far from perfect, being part Zombie in a world devastated by the plague of the walking dead. Still, she knew there was something special awaiting her, someone out there who could change everything and she did find him. Pete is everything she dreamed of and more, as she discovers passion and fulfillment for the first time in her life.

Now her life turns into a journey of discoveries. Secrets from the past come full circle and her world is changed forever. In the coming chaos, can she keep her new found happiness and the man of her dreams?







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Happy Cinco de Mayo from D X Luc! Get The Wager FREE today ONLY!

"The Wager" Author: D.X. LucPages: 228Published: May 4, 2012Author's WebsiteBuy HERE
Goodreads BlurbWhen love and war make a little wager, what could possibly go wrong?

I am Hephaestus. God of inventions, blacksmiths, and volcanoes. Sounds like I'm awesome right? Well, I'm not. In fact, I'm the loser of Olympus and a new bachelor to boot. Living the single life had been great until a decade past and if my divorce from the Goddess of Love wasn't bad enough, I was still being rejected by the other women of my home.

Because of an incessant need to make me a pawn in his game, my brother, Ares convinces Eros to make a little bet. A wager that puts my lack of love life to the test. Sent to Earth, I'm skeptical, when suddenly I lose myself in the sensual scent and beauty of the full bodied Vanessa. She is my everything, my perfection.

Sadly, from a single caress upon her silky flesh, I send our lives into a downward spiral of hell. The Touch of the Gods curse. To save her, I must believe that I am not the nobody I was raised to think. And to save me, she will have to decide if I'm worth giving up everything for.


HOT EROTIC EXCERPT:

Without a word, she took her hands, her delicate fingers opening her folds, displaying the one place I was truly welcomed and digging my fingertips into her fleshy pelvis, I plunged back into her heat. No longer gentle, my hips swiveled, my other hand taking hold of her, stopping her own hips from arching up. I wanted to control how deep, how fast, and how much she would get. Despite not being able to fit all of my length inside her, I became familiar to how much she could take and pushed past that limit, until only half an inch of my skin was left without the cocoon of her sweet tender flesh. It was a small sacrifice, one that was lost as my power pulsed through my veins, the climax I’d held back, roaring to life, as the magma of a volcano before eruption.
Both our bodies were coated from our exertions and stretching my abilities, I pushed into every exposed orifice she had, metaphysical fingers, probing and teasing. I heard her deep gasp, seconds before she shrieked out expletives with a “sweet Jesus and Mary”, as her body convulsed, and her head thrashed from side to side on her pillow. A desperate delight filled Vanessa’s pleading screams and helpless moans with an ecstasy that she may have believed brought her to a little bit of erotic orientated death.




Did you get you FREE copy yet? Don't wait too long. It's only FREE today (May 5, 2013) and that's that! So get it NOW

Spotlight and Giveaway with Mitzi Szereto

THRONES OF DESIRE: EROTIC TALES OF SWORDS, MIST AND FIRE An anthology edited by Mitzi Szereto



About the book:  Thrones of Desire is a place where lust and legend abound, and adventure, passion and danger entwine. Think mystical lands and creatures, kings and queens, knights and renegades, heroes and villains, warlords, maidens and princesses. Think battles and danger, honor and dishonor, good and evil. Most of all, think hearts filled with passion and secret desire. This is a place where romantic chivalry is alive and well, but so too is romantic wickedness. This is a place where the good do not always win, and the bad are often more captivating and desirable than their altruistic counterparts. In these lush and timeless landscapes, the battle for flesh can be as important as the battle for power. Intrigue, sorcery, revenge, lawlessness, dark secrets and mysterious elixirs; entanglements with supernatural beings — everything is possible in these magical mythical landscapes. Inspired by the hit TV series Game of Thrones, these imaginative steamy tales transport the reader to fantastical realms. Featuring a special foreword from legendary fantasy author Piers Anthony.
Book website: http://mitziszereto.com/thronesofdesire/


Buy links: 
Amazon USA: http://www.amazon.com/Thrones-Desire-Erotic-Tales-Swords/dp/157344815X/ref=sr_1_7?ie=UTF8&qid=1338002017&sr=8-7
Amazon UK: http://www.amazon.co.uk/Thrones-Desire-Erotic-Tales-Swords/dp/157344815X/ref=sr_1_1?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1338002282&sr=1-1
Amazon Canada: http://www.amazon.ca/Thrones-Desire-Erotic-Tales-Swords/dp/157344815X/ref=sr_1_2?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1338002319&sr=1-2
Fishpond Australia: http://www.fishpond.com.au/Books/Thrones-of-Desire-Mitzi-Szereto-Edited-by-Piers-Anthony-Foreword-by/9781573448154
Fishpond New Zealand: http://www.fishpond.co.nz/Books/Thrones-of-Desire-Mitzi-Szereto-Edited-by-Piers-Anthony-Foreword-by/9781573448154



Excerpt:
From "Hot as a Dragon's Blood" by Eric Del Carlo
“Caffax.”
Her voice carried tranquilly. He looked up and found her in the doorway, backlit by the candlelight. She had shed her scarlet robes and stood nude. Her body was robust. Was she really so different from the supply clerk with whom he had so foolishly dallied earlier today? Her breasts were smallish but as firmly molded as the rest of her. Yet there between those taut thighs was only the moist dark of her curls. It was an absence, or so it seemed to Caffax.
“I want you to take my salt dragon,” he said. “I do, but…”
She came to him. “You are a brave man, Caffax.”
“Maybe not brave enough.” He blinked up at her. “Is there some other way?”
She bent and softly stroked his cheek. “In Mavvan it is taught that a dragonmaster must give of himself completely in order to bond with his dragon. It is the same when that bond is transferred. You must give of yourself. To me.”
Her mouth moved toward his.
Caffax closed his eyes. And felt the touch of her lips. They were moist and velvety, and they moved against his without insistence. She tasted of the liquor they had both been drinking. He let his mouth answer back, giving in to instinctive responses, not thinking of this person as a woman, a female, merely as a friend, someone who had been kind to him.
Her hands were in motion once more, tugging the shirt’s sleeve from his wrist so that his torso was bared. He thought she would reach for his crotch again, and tensed; but she instead set about caressing his upper arms, his chest, even as they continued to kiss. Her fingers found his nipples and grazed them, which sent a shiver through him.
When those fingers caught his aroused buds and applied a mounting pressure, Caffax groaned against her mouth. At that same moment her tongue invaded him. Again he allowed himself to respond spontaneously. His body’s deep instincts took over. After all, he was a human, and humans had been designed to reproduce. Some part of him, despite his own private proclivities, had to answer that primary urge.
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From "Of High Renown" by Janine Ashbless
She remembered how she had misused him.
It was an unending struggle to keep him alive. The venom in his blood seemed to have destroyed his body’s sense of equilibrium and threw him between burning fever and frigid tremors every few hours. Emlhi cleaned and bandaged the deep puncture wounds in his shoulder, but after that she simply tried to keep his temperature on an even keel—stopping the fever boiling his brains at one moment, piling blankets over him to maintain some vestiges of warmth the next. She fed and watered him, cut fresh bracken every morning for his mattress and, when she was not watching over him, tried to keep up the work of her smallholding. She snatched her own sleep during his chills, dozing in her father’s old room.
Between fire and ice, the knight would have passages where he seemed to be lucid but completely exhausted. Then as the fever flared up afresh he’d begin to talk and sometimes try to rise from his bed. He stared at the ceiling and spoke to people who weren’t there. He raved about battles and campaigns and the horrors he’d witnessed until Emlhi wanted to stop her ears for sorrow. Sometimes his hallucinations grew worse and in terror or fury he would lash out at her. If he hadn’t been so weakened by his illness, he might have been really dangerous.
It went on for days, and there were times she couldn’t understand why he did not die. She might have called in an older female relative to share the labor of care, but she guarded her sole right to Gareth possessively. Exhausted, she took strength from his stubbornness.
And she took more than strength.
The first time it wasn’t her doing. She was sitting on the edge of the bed, tending him as he burned. She’d been wiping his face and chest with a damp cloth, dipping it in fresh water every few minutes and waving it about to cool it. He was twisting in discomfort, tossing in a delirious dream, his hands scrabbling convulsively across his belly. When she touched his cheek with the cloth he would turn his face toward it, like a baby seeking the teat. She ran it down the midline of his torso and he grabbed her hand, knotting his fingers around hers. Gently she freed the cloth with her other hand and continued to bathe him. He kept his grip on her. His head was thrown back, his larynx working. Then he pushed her hand into his crotch.
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From "Eyekeeper" by Aurelia T. Evans
Lydia stood in the middle of the cell. The floor under her bare feet was nothing but dirt and hay and dust mixed with disintegrated rat droppings. She had long since removed the cloth belt from between her legs where it held her skirt up away from her feet like pants. It was easier to creep around when skirts could not snag on corners, but she was not creeping now. She had been caught, betrayed by a man who should know better, sentenced to burn by the king whose coffers she pilfered, and shut away in the castle dungeon to await her execution at dawn.The sky through the window slit revealed stars. She could not yet smell the morning fog, and she still smelled ale and sweat on the breeze, which told her evening was still upon the city.
There was a moldy pallet in the corner, next to a bucket. Lydia used neither, simply stood. Her clothing was ordinary and her face was smudged with dust. But something was different; something was wrong. It was a feeling in the gut, like looking into a forest and knowing there was a creature staring back, something silent and unseen. She smiled, the curve of her lips almost imperceptible.
The woman whom the king called Witchthief waited.
After the bell tower chimed ten, the warden entered. He could not look her in the eye, but his strong, narrow jaw was set, his fists inadvertently tight. He bore marks of distress and distraction—there were deep circles under his eyes and his stubble smudged his cheek like charcoal.
“Good evening, Hann,” she said.
He bowed slightly. The gesture was automatic and somewhat mocking. “Lydia.”
“You have had a good evening, have you not?” Lydia asked.
“Very lucrative.”
He shut the door behind him. His keys clinked in the lock. “Where is the rest?”
“You ‘rescued’ the bag when Micah alerted the king I was digging through his treasure room.” Lydia stepped forward. Her left ankle dragged behind a bit, laden as it was with an iron shackle that attached her to the wall. “You failed to inform me that Micah kept a Scrying Glass in there.”
“I have been told that an artifact was also removed,” Hann interrupted. The timbre of his voice was official now. Cloaked in his profession, he found the fortitude to meet her eyes.
“Is that what Micah told you?” Lydia’s expression remained placid and slightly bemused.
“The king ordered me to search you for any additional items stolen.”
“I am sure it will be such a chore.” Her smile became perceptible.
“Damn it, Lydia, where is the Oculum?” Hann shouted, grabbing her by her arms. When he shook her, he made her chains rattle. She just laughed, the low, husky sound vibrating over his flesh.
“Search me.” She peered up at him through her dark eyelashes.
“Words cannot describe how glad I am you will burn on the morrow,” Hann said. He pulled at the ties of her bodice, spreading it open before him with nothing but her light chemise underneath. As her skirts moved and brushed against her legs, the clink of metal on metal was more apparent. She could no longer cover it with the sound of her shackle. When Hann heard it, he raised an eyebrow.
“Really, Lydia. What did you think you were going to do with the treasure? Bribe the ferryman to take you the other direction?” Hann asked. Slowly, he slid the bodice down and loosened the final ties so that the material of her dress slid down her legs. There was a heavy clink as the full pocket-lined skirts fell to the stone floor.
Lydia said nothing, nor did her smile falter. She could see sweat forming above his lip as his gaze traveled from the ridge of her collarbone down to the shapes of her breasts under the thin chemise. Her remaining clothing was silent as he moved his hands over the full arms, down the back, against the skirts, now pressing against her firm thighs.
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From "The Widow's Man" by Nyla Nox
Our queen was in a lighthearted mood that night.
She joked and laughed as she asked for my help in taking off her elaborate dress. She had sent her maids home early, “so we would have more time.”
The dress had many layers of white and cream, decorated with stylishly exaggerated flowers that looked a little menacing to me but that I was told were the envy of all the ladies at court. Our queen was thinking of taking the designer under her wing.
Perhaps, she said, there would be a need for a larger dress, particularly in a certain area…
I could not help getting confused with the hooks and eyelets when I heard that. For a moment I started to put them back together again by mistake, until my queen turned around and playfully slapped my hand.
“What are you doing?” she said. “Is this how you are going to serve me?”
My turn to laugh now, lightheartedly. “Maybe I was caught up in a dream,” I said.
I was indeed. At this very moment the assassins were watching the shift change of the royal guard from the vantage points I had revealed to them.
The queen put her arms lovingly around my shoulders.
“Is it your dream, too?” she said.
Experienced as she was with the daily deceits of the royal court, she couldn’t hide her sudden joy. I suppose she always felt, deep down, that something was missing in me, in spite of my imaginative attention to the details of our frequent celebrations in her bedchambers. I never had any trouble showing my admiration and respect, in every way. You taught me superb control, my Lady Widow. And I know I never said anything that could give her the slightest clue to my real passion. I never talked about it to anyone. Not even to you.
No sounds from outside. Your assassins were true experts. Or else they had been discovered and our plans destroyed. I had no way of knowing.
The queen gripped my buttocks with her strong, workmanlike hands. She is no ethereal beauty like you, my Lady Widow, her body bears witness to her descent from a long line of provincial farm wives. She pulled me in as deep as she could. Had she chosen this night of all nights to make me come inside her?
In all the time I served in her bedchamber, she never replaced me with another lover, although of course, as our queen, she always had a few men on the side, a well-designed cross section of our population who kept her in touch with current thought and fashions as well as current lovemaking. She had no reason to assume that I would be anything but delighted to share even more of her life and contribute to the history of our illustrious city. What man would not love to father the queen’s child?
Well, perhaps the man who, while embracing her, reassuring her with soothing words and making love to her with her precious gown still half hooked up, flowers all crumpled and sticking out in awkward places, exposing only her magnificent breasts and, if pushed up far enough, her smooth strong thighs, feeling the softness of the silk against his belly and the softness of her inner body tightly around him, knows that he has already betrayed her to her enemy and expects the assassins to enter the bedchambers any moment now using the key that he himself supplied.
In spite of all that, I obeyed.
Bio:  MITZI SZERETO  is an author of multi-genre fiction and non-fiction, blogger for  ERRANT RAMBLINGS: MITZI SZERETO’S WEBLOG , and creator/presenter of  MITZI TV , which covers "quirky" London. Her books include the upcoming release WILDE PASSIONS OF DORIAN GRAY; NORMAL FOR NORFOLK (THE THELONIOUS T. BEAR CHRONICLES); PRIDE AND PREJUDICE: HIDDEN LUSTS; RED VELVET AND ABSINTHE: PARANORMAL EROTIC ROMANCE; IN SLEEPING BEAUTY'S BED: EROTIC FAIRY TALES; GETTING EVEN: REVENGE STORIES; DYING FOR IT: TALES OF SEX & DEATH; WICKED: SEXY TALES OF LEGENDARY LOVERS; SILK SHEETS: COLLECTED STORIES OF MITZI SZERETO; THE NEW BLACK LACE BOOK OF WOMEN'S SEXUAL FANTASIES; EROTIC FAIRY TALES: A ROMP THROUGH THE CLASSICS; the EROTIC TRAVEL TALES anthology series; and THE WORLD’S BEST SEX WRITING 2005. She also has a number of titles published exclusively for download on the Amazon Kindle and Nook e-readers. Her work has been translated into several languages. Mitzi has pioneered erotic writing workshops in the UK and mainland Europe, teaching them from the Cheltenham Festival of Literature to the Greek islands. She's also lectured in creative writing at several British universities. She’s been featured in publications ranging from the Sunday Telegraph, Guardian, Independent, Times, Observer, Toronto Star, The London Paper, Company Magazine, Dare Magazine, Family Circle, Writing Magazine, Scarlet Magazine, and Forum, to Bravo UK Television, Telecinco TV 5 (Madrid), Talk Radio Europe, Newstalk Ireland, FM4 ORF (Vienna), and BBC Radio. Her anthology Erotic Travel Tales 2 is the first anthology of erotica to feature a Fellow of the Royal Society of Literature.

Author website: http://mitziszereto.com









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Interview & Giveaway with Grinelda Markowitz

A.R.: Hello Grinelda and thank you for visiting my blog! Let’s start off with some fun stuff:
Grinelda:I’m an independent fiction author, an indie. My genre of preference is erotic sci-fi, but I like to say I write erotica across multiple genres. I also have mainstream stories in work under some of my other pen names. One can never have too many pen names. Hee, hee. For me, erotica weaves the sexual elements into the story, rather than making sex the focus. You’ll find well erotica by other authors at both extremes of that perspective. Even though I take my writing seriously, I like to throw in a dash of humor as well.
I love to read. My love for sticking my nose in a book used to keep me in all kinds of trouble as a kid. I’d sneak off with a book and neglect my chores. Though reading and a love for words and word use were instilled in me at a young age, I received many a browbeating for missing work I needed to get done. The same thing happens around here with writing. When I’m over anxious to get in the kitchen and get work done, I know I’m avoiding writing. When the words are flowing like hot lava, I sometimes forget to eat.
A.R.: What's your favorite love story? (movie or book)
Grinelda:I don’t really read love stories. Romance isn’t anywhere near the top of the list of things I enjoy reading or watching, but I enjoyed the romance between the two main characters inThe Far Pavilions by M. M. Kaye. I read it as a teenager after having seen the mini series. It was well done on tv and the costuming excellent. The book captured my imagination and pulled me into the world of the characters as a participant rather than a spectator.
A.R.: If you could be invisible for a day, what would you do?
Grinelda:I’d get the scoop on as many drug lords and other criminals whose activities undermine society then turn the info over to the appropriate law enforcement agency. As for politicians whose regard for the wellbeing of the American people is no greater than that of society’s criminal element, they’d come first.
A.R.: Are you spring, summer, fall, or winter? Please share why.
Grinelda:I’m very Spring. I embrace each new opportunity, each new encounter with anticipation for rebirth, renewal, and change. But, because I’m multi-faceted as an individual, I am also Fall. I try to know when to say goodbye to those things which have run their course in my life requiring me to let go.
A.R.: What's the one thing, you can't live without?
Grinelda:Coffee. ‘Nuff said. :D
A.R.: What is your favorite quote?
Grinelda:It is said that science fiction and fantasy are two different things. Science fiction is the improbable made possible, and fantasy is the impossible made probable. Rod Serling ~ _The Twilight Zone_ (1962)
A.R.: What is the first thing you notice about the opposite sex?
Grinelda:Whether or not they’re controlling and condescending. I won’t stand for a relationship in which I’m subjected to either. Whether they allow me to be me and do for myself without unsolicited assistance.
A.R.: Pen or pencil?
Grinelda:Pen, B2P to be exact. I like the way it moves across the page.
A.R.: What's your next project?
Grinelda:I have several books in work. I’m actually working on a mainstream book now under one of my pen names. One, Book II of The Kalaydan Chronicles, is unfolding in a patchwork quilt fashion. Two, my ghostly lover stories, A Ghostly Tale, Or Two, seem to drop in from time to time with a snippet or the next several paragraphs then I don't hear from it for a while. Then, Johnny B. Goode (JBG) seems to show up when I need a pick-me-up and drop in with a chapter. It's my it's my favorite work-in-progress (WIP). BION, I wrote the first book in The Kalaydan Chronicles from chapter one to the end in that order. I added a few things here and there and maybe a chapter or two later out of sequence, but otherwise it was from begin to end with that one.
A.R.: Thank you so much for being here Grinelda. Now let's give everyone a little taste of The Moon-Kissed Chi...



BLURB:
In the city of Kalaydan, Arrinay and Bezhyanya, the senior members of the ruling family, are faced with the early maturation of their daughter, Gayadnae. She must start the training. It’s Kalaydan law. Their daughter has other ideas. After concocting a plan to avoid responsibility and almost succeeding in carrying it out, Gayadnae’s life takes an unexpected turn.

Grayt, the ever-present serving woman to Arrinay, fills many roles and has her fingers in a number of pies. There’s definitely more to her than is apparent on the surface. Along with coordinating activities in the Main House, keeping the young mistress in line, and talking to horses, Grayt has a more secret agenda with a graver responsibilities.

A hint of trouble on the horizon and other darker activities weave their way through the backdrop of this delightful tale which takes place in the city of Kalaydan.

EXCERPT:
In a residential section of Kalaydan CityMaeb leaned against the window frame and sipped her drink. She looked down into the candle-lit streets of Kalaydan City and watched the progression of a chandler guildsman down the cobblestones until he turned out of sight. A plump dog moved back and forth across the street then stopped to scratch on a door. The door opened and it disappeared through a brightly lit doorway. She turned from the window when she heard Trendo’s booted steps coming down the hall. She heard the sound of his satchel drop to the floor. He strode into the room moments later.
“Hi, Maeb.” He caught her up in a tight embrace after he closed the space between them.
“Hi, Trendo,” she replied. “How was your day?”
“It was busy. I worked with three boys today to master the stopcock. Two of them are Terza’s youngest twins and the other is their cousin on Terza’s side. Seems their fathers have given up trying to teach them to stopcock.”
“I bet that was a rough session. Terza’s husband taught their other boys and many of their family members as well. The Warriors’ Guild may have a few reluctant volunteers in about four suncycles. Did you succeed?” She slipped her hand into his trews and squeezed his firm buttocks.
“Let’s say I made headway. I’ll go back tomorrow. How was your day?” He opened his trews and allowed them to fall to the floor. He stepped out of them then drew her more closely into his embrace.
“It was about the same as yours. I was called to the Main House to meet with the Mistress.” As his hands rubbed her breasts through her bloozat, she nuzzled his cheek with her lips.
“Oh? Isn’t it too early for their daughter to start the training?” His lips grazed hers.
“Well, I would have thought as much, but she’s precocious.” She looked him in the eyes as her hands followed his hips around and gripped his stanchion.
“So was her mother, but she didn’t start early.” He released one breast and returned her gaze. He covered one of her hands with his and guided it along his koq; pressing one of her thumbs into its head.
“Gayadnae has been leeching for at least six suncycles, possibly longer. She didn’t know until now she’s been doing it.” He groaned deep in his throat as her thumb slipped around the wet dome of his cod-baby.
“I’d wager she’ll keep you busy.” His head dropped lower and his lips caressed her neck while his hands wandered under her bloozat.
“What’s more, she pulls from warriors and they don’t even notice. I was matron for her today while she was with her mother at the guild for a meeting.” She released him and removed her bloozat.
“I can see why they’d send for you. Will you be returning to your station as House Matron?” He rubbed a palm roughly over each nipple.
“I think so. Our rooms are still empty. We could move back in if you’d like.”
She sighed deeply and guided him over to a lounge. She pulled him down on top of her and let her legs fall, one each, over either side. Her lips sought his again. He complied. He leaned on one arm and used the hand of the other to caress and play with her nipples. Her twin mounds were firm and full. She sighed when he bent over and allowed his tongue to play over her skin, exhaling when he pulled first one nipple into his mouth between his moist lips then the other. His tongue made lazy circles over her nipple’s surface.
She pulled her kirtle up to her hips and raised them to meet his pleasure pole. He slid into her tunnel eagerly and without hesitation. She pulled his shirt up and over his head, letting it fall to the ground beside the lounge. She played with the soft white down which furred his chest. Resting on one arm, he slid in and out of her slowly and deliberately. She directed the chi around them into the dense cloud of his virility.
Their pace was deliberate yet urgent, slow and steady. Continuing to slip in and out of her well-lubed sheath, his head dropped down and his mouth took in a breast, as much as would fit. The nails of her one hand raked his back and the fingers of the other gripped one of his twin buns.
“Maudi, give me all of your man milk!”
He said nothing, his mouth still full of nipple and breast. She worked the other nipple with her thumb.   Her tunnel gripped his rod with all her strength. As his energy rose she infused it with the chi energy she allowed through the stopcock. She siphoned his virility with her mind and swirled them both around and through them. The tempest mounted and raged as they worked their bodies together in earnest. Once the storm broke, they grunted and groaned and he collapsed on top of her. She lay there breathing heavily and he lay his head on her chest. Many flickers of a candle passed before either of them spoke.
“I think it would be a good idea for us to move back into the Main House,” he said. His fingers wandered aimlessly over her skin.
“I think so too. So, did you use your talents on the boys today?” She wrapped her legs around his and rocked slowly from side to side.
“Yup! I drained almost every ounce of virility they had and enjoyed the looks on their faces as their cod-babies shriveled up on their nuggets. They listened to me after that.” He covered her mouth with his in a demanding kiss.
“What did they do when you gathered the chi and raised their virility?” She said breaking away from his lips.
“I think they were more shocked by the decline of their koqs than they were impressed by my being able to direct chi energy.” He untangled her legs from his and moved further down on the couch. He sought her grotto with his tongue and lapped their mingled juices as a puppy does a bowl of warmed milk.
“No doubt. You codlings are all the same when it comes to your virility.” She giggled and wriggled out from under him. She jumped up from the lounge and taking him by the hand skipped down the hall, pulling him behind her.


GiveawayGrinelda will give away a free copy of The Kalaydan Chronicles: Book I ~ The Moon-kissed Chi by drawing. Please comment below with your email address if you want to enter the drawing.


LinksWord Press: http://grineldamarkowitz.wordpress.comSmashwords: http://www.smashwords.com/profile/view/grineldamarkowitzAmazon: http://amazon.com/author/grineldamarkowitzCreate Space: https://www.createspace.com/3987786Twitter: http://twitter.com/pearlydropletsEMail: grinelda.markowitz@gmail.com

Shandra Miller Book Tour ~LETHAL OBSESSION~

Blurb:
Angela Martin is chief detective for the Moose Creek, N.C., police department, when a possible murder call comes in. At the scene she finds the body of a woman, hanging from hands bound overhead, eyes blindfolded, mouth gagged. Red whip marks crisscross the woman’s buttocks, the back of her legs. She recognizes the scene, knows exactly what happened to the woman before she died, because Det. Angela Martin was bound and blindfolded, gagged and whipped exactly as this woman had been. By a man she met on line.
A killer.
A master whose power over her is so strong she’s willing to risk everything – her career, even her life – to be with him again.
LETHAL OBSESSION is a novel of desire and domination, suspicion and fear, and the mysterious way those emotions mingle into an inescapable pull, one that might cost Angela her life. 


Excerpt:“Are you ready?”His voice was still soft, emotionless. “Yes,” she whispered. Angela looked around the hotel room. It was a basic, cheap room – particle board dresser, large TV on top, a small desk next to it. In the space behind the door was an area designated as the closet. Her clothes hung there. She had locked her gun and ID inside the car, hidden away. On the nightstand sat her work phone – the one that would signal their time together must end if it buzzed. She glanced back to the mirror over the dresser. Staring back was a person she recognized – physically, that is. It also might just have well been a stranger. She wore a red chemise. The front plunged so low that her breasts nearly spilled out. It was so short barely any of her legs were covered. Underneath she wore nothing.“Door unlocked?”“Yes.”“Kneel.”Angela went to her knees. “Blindfold yourself.”Angela placed the phone on the floor, next to her, covered her eyes with the scarf, tied it securely behind her head. She felt for the phone, put it back to her ear.“Done.”“Excuse me?”“Sorry, done, Mr. Tanner.”“Now the handcuffs.”“Mr. Tanner, I cannot…will not be able to pick up the phone to let you know I’ve done that.”“Just do it. I’ll be there when I decide you’ve had enough time.”Angela put the phone down, felt for the handcuffs – she had purchased separate ones for use with Mr. Tanner, not wanting to risk even the slightest chance using department-issued ones could lead back to what she was doing. She snapped the cuffs around her left wrist, put her hands behind her back, paused for a few seconds, and then snapped the other cuff around her right wrist.Oh god.That was the only thought that formed, mingling with fear and a burning, almost primal sense of anticipation. Angela wondered what she would look like to Tanner. She was kneeling, but not up on her knees. Instead, her legs were folded under her, her butt resting on her heels. She wasn’t sure if that’s how he meant for her to be, or if she should rise up on her knees, as she did in church as a little girl. She waited, tiny trembles shaking her body every so often. How long? It seemed as if she had been there seven, eight, maybe even ten minutes, but Angela knew the time was probably much less. Waiting, in the dark, helpless, with a probable killer coming to have his way with her, time seemed to stretch and slow down.I shouldn’t be here.The thought stabbed through the haze of desire and mystery and fear, like the sudden emergence of a traffic light in a thick fog. I need to get out.Just as her body was about to respond to the thought, to rise up from her kneeling position, she felt lips press against her left thigh; fingers play lightly along her right one.Oh my god.She had heard nothing – Tanner, apparently, excelled at stealth as well as he did at understanding how to control her body, her feelings and emotions.“Please?” Please what? Please go on? Please take me? Please release me?“Mr. Tann—”Fingers pressed against her lips. Not hard, but firmly, enough to silence her.As quickly as they had pressed against her mouth they were gone, then she felt them again…both of his hands, on her thighs, playing up and down her legs, massaging, caressing, his lips like feather touches across her chest, kissing, tongue licking, playing along her mostly exposed breasts…





About Shandra Miller
Shandra is a mid-western gal who left home at 16 and never looked back. Eventually she made her way to Florida, worked for three years as a carnie and another three with a circus -- yes, a real, live, honest-to-god circus. Traveled all through the South and Mid-Atlantic, town to town, on the road eight months at a time.Now she’s a small-town office girl, filing papers, making coffee, and dreaming of being free. She doesn’t own a cell phone or a TV, she takes long walks at night, lies in the grass in the day time and watches the clouds go by, and she writes erotica and mystery. Blazing hot erotica, and mystery tales dripping with lust, sex and suspense.LETHAL OBSESSION is her debut novel. Her short stories PRIVATE DINING and ROOM SERVICE, both part of the TIDES INN EROTIC TALES series; and JENNIFER LOST and JENNIFER BOUND (part of the Ville D'Esclavage TALES) are all available on Amazon.com.
You can follow Shandra at shandramillerwriter.blogspot.comand at https://www.facebook.com/shandra.miller.52  You can connect with her on Twitter at @shandramillerwr

~The Vikings are back in Week 3/chapter 3 of Silver and Spice by Maria MacAuley!~

Hello friends/followers! Welcome to week 3/chapter 3 of  Maria MacAuley's Silver & Spice. Now we present to you another portion of a very exciting, romantic and all-around great story.  We will be posting a chapter for you to enjoy each week until the story's end. We are looking forward to comments, feelings, thoughts, etc. of what you think for each portion posted. So please be sure to leave a comment in the comments section :)
Now I present to you... Silver and Spice!
View Prologue and first chapter HERE & chapter 2 HERE






Chapter 3The heat of a man’s breath against her cheek startled her awake. 'Hush. Let your companion sleep.' A finger pressed softly against her lips, leaving a faint taste of sea salt.  She stilled in fear as her hands were taken in a light grip, and the knife sliced through the leather thong, her wrists still within his grasp. Dropping his dagger Kristr gently rubbed the raised flesh with his thumb, circling the narrow purpling welts, encouraging the circulation to return. 'I would not have bound you so tightly if I had known you were so defenceless, with not even an eating knife in your possession.''Mayhap you would not have bound me at all!' Roisin hissed in outrage. She was angry, at Kristr for stealing her, at MacRonan for using her, at her father for over-protecting her.  Conall, in wanting to protect his daughter from the harsh aspects of life, had effectively sealed her fate in becoming nothing more than a helpless maiden. An ability to work a loom or sew a kirtle were qualities in a good wife, but were not much of a defence against an attacker. She stared straight up at the dun-brown leather ceiling above her head, the material snapping and rippling lightly against the wind. She wanted to ignore Kristr as he continued his gentle massage of her hands and wrists, relief at being free but dread at the truth that she was anything but.'I had assumed that any man who lets his precious goods out of view would have had the foresight to ensure his goods had adequate protection.' He arched his brow, his voice taunting, 'especially given the marriage transaction that was due to take place between the goods, namely you, and MacRonan before the new moon'.'I am not goods, nor chattel, nor property.' her voice trembling but rising, making Ciara stir. She wished with all her heart she believed her words. His cold assessment of her woman’s lot in life may have been but a few short sentences, but the content chilled her heart. Finally finding some courage, with the only weapon she had at her disposal, her tongue, she hissed, 'But you, you …  brute of a Viking, are a kidnapper, a marauder, a berserker, a beast and no man of noble deed. Stop torturing me with your false gestures of care.'With a low growl, he released her hands.  Roisin’s arms, numb from being in the same position so long, fell limply to her sides.  ‘Think whatever you want, little Roisin, but you...  you are now my property, my war prize, my hostage until one of the menfolk in your life decide that you are worth the silver.’  His voice was uncompromising in its tone, before curiously softening to a whisper, ‘I would certainly pay what you are worth.’  Turning away from him onto her side she snorted in disgust at his words, and, with a an exasperated sigh, he left her to her thoughts.

ooooOOOoooo

Earlier that same morning, Conall of Dun na Shee had made his daily visit to Breda, his wife. Sitting down, he lifted her prayer beads in his hand, worrying each tiny leather nub as he spoke. 'Breda, Roisin will marry soon.' He paused. 'You know that. Forgive me my absentmindedness, my love. MacRonan may seem a little ostenatious for our precious child, but I believe he will be kind and keep her from harm.' Tracing the shape of the tiny silver crucifix with his forefinger, he continued talking to Breda. 'She has your beauty, and generous nature, but she doesn't accept she is becoming a woman to be loved and protected. She deserves to be cherished and respected.' He went back to idly rubbing the little beads on the worn Rosary. 'I will see you on the morrow. MacRonan is expected soon.' The lack of response did not perturb Conall. In fact if there had been a reply he would have been astounded. Bending over, he plucked a stray weed from the side of the grave, stood up, crossed himself and walked slowly back to the rath.With the Christmas past, Breda had been dead for fourteen winters. She was taken from him when she was only three-and-twenty years; much too young to leave this world. Conall had been in love since he first laid eyes on her.  He had impudently shouted words of encouragement to the young Breda as her father, Seamus of Cillnasaggart bested her in mock battle. The stocky barrel of a man had taught his slip of a daughter to use a bow and arrow, and was currently educating her in the use of a sword. She was no ordinary chieftain’s daughter, and Conall was besotted.He was but seventeen summers old himself, an untried youth and even in this first flush of love he knew the affections he displayed for Breda would be his last. That he was to be a chieftain himself was not enough for Seamus.  It had taken five years for Conall to prove himself on cattle raids in the nearby provinces and trading missions to far-off shores before Seamus would take his intentions seriously. After they wed, he continued to love and nurture Breda's independent spirit, her skill with her bow and her willingness to help others.  When she birthed Roisin, Conall imagined teaching his infant daughter all that her mother knew. She would be taught accuracy with a bow, dexterity with a dagger, to be kind and firm and willing to help those in need.  She would grow up to be the wife of a chieftain, educated, travelled, wise.   Conall, having both a wife and daughter to indulge and love, was a contented man. When he eyed the gentle sway of Breda’s sweet bottom, her fluid grace as she walked through the rath, he hoped that the noise of many more children would fill the hall of Dun na Shee.
Conall’s plans for his little black-haired daughter ended the night Breda went to tend to one of the women in labour.  The labouring mother was a member of the shepherd’s family, who lived outside the ramparts of the rath.  The mother and babe had survived the night, thanks to Breda’s skill,  but she herself was found the next morning, bruises surrounding her throat and her pallor as grey as the sky above. Keening in rage and grief, Conall vowed that his three year old daughter would never be left alone to fend for herself.  He prided himself on the gentle daughter that Roisin had become; the influence of the stoic Ciara keeping her natural independent nature in check.  Every time he looked at Roisin, he saw Breda at that age, with her liveliness and mischievousness barely concealed. He wished he could let his daughter live like his wife had done, but his worries had become too great as the years progressed.  Now he had made a match for her in a wealthy older man who promised faithfully to keep her safe.  When the midday meal had come and gone, Conall still had no sign of Roisin or Ciara. They had promised they would not go further than one hundred paces of the ramparts. 'Fergus! Diarmuid!' Conall bellowed for his two most trusted warriors. The men came running, their chieftain's voice echoing around the walls of the hall. 'My daughters have not come back from their walk this morning. We must go and find them.'  He was furious that he had let his guard down, listening to Roisin and her pleadings that she needed to discuss 'womanly things about married life’ with Ciara. Silly girls! When he found them he'd have them scrubbing floors, repairing tunics and cleaning the hearths until their respective new husbands came and took the troublemakers off his hands. He stopped and tried to breathe, his anger fleeting now, worry taking its place.
Choosing horseback, the three men followed the footprints, two lines of crushed blades of grass, to the stream. The trail continued to the woods, with no evidence of a return journey. Conall paled, any fury completely displaced by the horrors he expected to see. Dismounting, he handed his reins to Fergus and strode into the woods, sword drawn.  

oooOOOooo

Fergus looked at the receding form of his chieftain, and then to the uneasy expression on Diarmuid’s face.  On hearing an inhuman howling piercing the silence, they tore into the trees to find their chieftain hunched over a cloak, a parchment and a Viking blade.  Despite his earlier animalistic cry, Conall was now silent.  For a warrior who had seen death and destruction on loud battlefields, the deathly silence of his chieftain, enduring this loss, was unnerving.Seeing the menacing evidence left behind, Fergus knew there had to be more to report, signalling to Diarmuid, both men had the presence of mind to act, the silence unbroken. Conall as a chieftain was a kind, wise man, a thinker who was not afraid to make decisions. Conall as a distraught father acted just as they would have done, should they have suffered the loss of a child.   Fergus squinted through the shadow of the woods, the trail of what looked like three people on foot. ‘Diarmuid, if you ride back with our chieftain, I shall follow the trail.’  The three trails of footprints concerned Fergus, especially as one set looked as if they were dragging their feet.  If he was correct, at least one girl was being carried, and the other was resistant.  He shuddered to think what had become of them; Roisin may have been betrothed outside of the clan, but her bloodline still flowed from Dun na Shee.Galloping blindly back to the rath with Conall, the church bells were rung to raise the alarm but Diarmuid knew it was too late. No ship had been sighted, no strangers seen. Knowing his chieftain would not survive the journey without killing himself, the horse or both, Diarmuid volunteered to ride and inform both Brian of Dun na Shee, and the true-father of Ciara.
Reading and re-reading the terse scratched sentences Conall shook his head, his eyes blurring with red mist.MacRonan took from me.I took from him.Six pounds of silver within four seasons.He cursed himself for his short-sightedness, for trusting MacRonan, for believing him to be honourable to his word, and a suitable match for his daughter. He could not be trusted to protect her, and he had not even sailed into the lough yet to claim her as his wife. As far as Conall was concerned, when MacRonan arrived, the match would be annulled, if he did not drive a sword through his black heart first. He would sooner see his daughter live out her days as a spinster at the hearth of the rath, than be a pawn in this man's treachery, his careless selfish actions impacting on Roisin’s life. Conall bellowed in outrage, remembering that he had invited the beast to Dun na Shee early, so that Roisin and he could become better acquainted, and ease his precious daughter’s fears.  His judgement failed; hers had not.

oooOOOooo

When Brian arrived back with Diarmuid, the hall of Dun na Shee was in complete disarray. Chairs were overturned, linens ripped asunder, broken trenchers lay on the floor. The destruction in Conall's rage was obvious, but now he sat slumped on a bench, silent.  Slowly approaching the only father he had ever known, Brian removed his mantle and gently tugged the stabbed parchment from his father’s grasp. He fingered the slice through the words, reading the short text. The language was Irish, but the hand-script did not flow in gentle curves like their own alphabet.  Handing it to Diarmuid, who read it with an equally grim expression, 'MacRonan will pay for this travesty against our family.' Brian did not know whose life he valued more. He loved both girls as sisters, but just as Ciara had expressed to Roisin, he had no romantic feelings to her a wife. They had never discussed it themselves, the unspoken agreement between them that this was a union of land, not of hearts, duty to the soil greater than duty to themselves.Examining the Norse runes on the dagger, for once wishing he could read the jagged angular letters, Brian stabbed the dagger into the table, its hilt reverberating with the force of the blow. 'When do you expect to see MacRonan, father?''Within the next morning, perhaps the following day.' Conall swallowed. The Vikings would be well on their way to the dark pagan north by that time, their fast ships gliding along the west coast of Albion, heading north. Or, depending on the tides passing Rathlin Island, they may simply make the shorter journey to the settlement of Dubh Linn.  Brian suspected it would be the former; if the Viking traders had indeed been double-crossed by MacRonan, they, and their treasures, would be sailing far from his greasy grasp. Conall continued, ‘I had arranged with him to arrive some days before the marriage so that he could get to know his bride.' He put his head in his hands, the words choking in his throat as he said them.Brian realised that with his father in this state, he would have to act as chieftain to the clan.  His decisions would be accepted and actioned; these lands and people would be his responsibility some day.  Calling the warriors together, along with every able bodied man who could wield a bow or sword, Brian laid out his plans for retribution. The discussion went on until near dawn. Fergus had reported the foot tracks through the wood, and the trail of two horses that led to the far side of the loch. No wonder they had not been seen; it was not expected that any boat would sail in that channel, the water considered too shallow, but not for Norse flat-hulled ships.Brian stood up and gave his decision to the assembled men. His message, like the ransom note left in the woods, was plain and simple.  MacRonan would not set foot on Dun na Shee land.By daybreak, Brian, with the help of Fergus and Diarmuid, had organised a camp by the lough.  MacRonan’s ship would be expected to dock there. Although exhausted physically and mentally, there he would confront MacRonan and challenge him to single combat. With Roisin and Ciara’s disappearance, there had been enough loss of life on their land. No blood may have been shed, but without proof that his sisters lived, Brian would avenge their abduction.  Brian would fight MacRonan one-on-one. He was not going to leave the camp until he had the deceitful traitor in his sights and MacRonan’s blood on his hands.Brian did not see MacRonan as much of a challenge in a fair contest. The one introduction they had had was not impressive. MacRonan’s wide girth spoke of good living and no battle training. At the time he wondered what his father had been thinking, listening to MacRonan's hollow words of honour and protection. But, Conall, in his single-mindedness to ensure Roisin’s safety, had ignored the more subtle flaws in MacRonan’s bearing.   Unless MacRonan planned to protect Roisin by keeping her a prisoner in his home, his fat unfit body would not provide any security or defence against thieves or pirates. However, today was not the day to upcast his old doubts to his father; the fine strong chieftain of yesterday was nothing but a hollow shell today.

oooOOOooo

Sitting in the darkness of the hall, the hearth unlit at his request, Conall appeared to age a score of years overnight.  The women of the rath clucked quietly in disapproval and worry.  In Ulster, an unlit hearth, dying embers left unattended, was considered a negative omen, a portent of death.  The fire had never been extinguished for a single night in the past three generations on the rath.  Brian’s heart felt as cold, rough and dead as the blackened ashes, spread below the unfilled iron cooking pot.  All he could see in his mind were three women in his life, the three he had lost, the three he had failed. Breda, his one true love, Roisin, his true-daughter and Ciara, his foster daughter whom he loved as though she were his own flesh.There was not a long wait. MacRonan's ship had been spotted sailing into the lough, his colours flying from the mast as if he were a king returning from battle. The camp at the side of the lough proved to be no welcoming committee, cheering the victor home with the spoils of war. As the ship docked at the small wooden deck Brian drew his sword. 'Halt, MacRonan.' He looked up at his once future brother-by-marriage, bedecked in jewels and medallions fit for a queen. His appearance was that of a jongleur, changing his from man to woman to man, for the merriment of the audience. He wanted to vomit. 'Your betrothed has been taken hostage, along with my foster sister.'  Pausing, he took a deep breath to steady his rage. 'The ransom is six pounds of silver, and unless you wish to lose your life this morn, you will tell me what has happened, and how you intend to make right this wrong.'Brian stared up at MacRonan, unfazed by the man’s wealth. 'I am an honest merchant! That Viking Kristr Halsrason is intent on destroying me. He wants nothing but my silver and gold, and will use any means to get it. Even ransom.' Brian’s eyes narrowed when MacHyde halted mid-speech, balking at his own words. It was evident from his grey sweaty face that MacHyde realised he had said too much. Brian shouted as loud as he could manage, his normally smooth olive skin now purple and mottled with rage, ‘I did not state they were captured by Viking, you brigand! What makes you say that it was this man who has taken my sister? Why would you throw a name around so freely if you did not have a quarrel with him?’ Giving the clan battle cry, he yelled at his enemy, 'disembark now so that I can run you through, you snivelling excuse of a man! I'll cut off your ballsack and throw it to the sea, along with your tainted silver, and your worthless corpulent body can follow both to a watery grave!'
MacRonan gave a signal to his men to turn.  He had no intention of letting the younger, fitter man best him in combat.  Ideally he would and to send in his man, Lorcan on his behalf.  Lorcan fought all his battles, but today’s circumstances would result in himself and all his crew losing their lives at the hands of the two-score assembly of Dun na Shee men. He could not, however, resist a final insult.  'I think I shall take my leave this day. Perhaps Halsrason and his Viking brothers will return your womenfolk with a Norse bastard in their wombs. If so, my offer for your ruined sister still stands. Or Ciara, your own betrothed.’ He shrugged. ‘It matters not to me.'
With this final insult Brian's temper exploded. He ran to climb the side of the ship hacking viciously at the timbers, as the oarsmen started to row furiously. His actions caused little damage. 'Unleash the arrows!' he yelled, but it was too late. The ship was retreating down the lough at such a speed, the weapons would not cause any harm to either ship or crew. 'We must follow! I want him dead!'Grabbing him by the shoulders Fergus, his cold even tone freezing Brian to the spot, 'It will be done. Not today. Not on the morrow. Even if your sisters do not survive this ordeal, their deaths will be avenged. As my future chieftain, you have my oath.'






Bio
Maria MacAuley is from Derry, Ireland and has a degree in Celtic Languages. She is married to the love of her life, and they live in relative peace with two cats.

She has a secret wish that her husband will investigate his Nordic family tree further and whisk her off on a longboat to Hammerfest to view the Northern Lights.

If Maria were to choose her favourite tense, it should be the subjunctive, and is always keen to discuss same over a pint of Guinness.
email: banbha@hotmail.com
Thank you to unknownswilly (http://unknownswilly.orgfree.com) for the kind use of a number of her photographs.


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