Waterfall Glen (35 page)

Honneure squeezed her eyes tightly shut. It was ironic, she thought. So ironic. All of her adult life she had lived for and served her queen. Again and again she had sacrificed her own wants and needs for her sovereign’s. She had believed it to be her duty and had been bound by honor to fulfill it. Honor bound. All her life, honor bound. And now?

Honneure shook her head, a humorless smile on the curve of her mouth.

Once again she risked all for her queen. Once again she was about to take the chance that she would never again see her beloved Philippe. This time, however, it was not from a sense of duty, but out of love. It was a lesson she should have learned long ago. If she had she might, even now, be in the arms of …

No. She mustn’t think that way. There was no going back, only forward. The choices she had made in the past had led her to this moment in the present. She had to take what she had learned and keep moving. For as long, at least, as she was able.

Another swift glance up the street assured Honneure she was virtually alone. Leaning on her cane, she started on her journey. She only prayed she would arrive in time.

The closer she came to the square, the more crowded the streets became. A few people glanced at her curiously. But perhaps it was only because of her limp. Or, because
of the dark cloak and hood she held close at her throat on such a warm, fall day. She recognized no one, and no one recognized her. No one had the slightest clue that she was a fugitive from the revolution. No one could possibly guess that she, too, had been slated to be fodder for the hungry blade of the guillotine.

Nausea churned again in Honneure’s stomach. She could almost feel the blood drain from her face. But she did not hesitate. With one leg in rhythm with her sturdy cane, she hobbled onward.

Urgency quickened her lopsided gait, however, when she heard a cry from just ahead.

“She comes! The Widow Capet comes! “ “The Austrian whore!” came another shout. “The whore meets Lady Guillotine!”

Urgency turned to rising panic. Honneure stumbled as someone jostled her shoulder. “Sorry,” she mumbled under her breath, although it was not her fault. “Sorry.”

An overweight man with grizzled hair scowled at her. “Watch where yer goin’,” he growled. Several others around him turned in her direction, all with thunderous frowns riding their brows.

Honneure lowered her gaze and tried to push her way through the mob in the opposite direction. She was going to have to be very, very careful. The mood of the crowd was murderous, indeed.

“There!” a woman’s voice screamed. “There she is!” Honneure felt her bladder weaken. But the woman was
not talking about her. Taking a deep breath, she dared to glance up from the littered ground.

All heads were turned to the left. Fathers hoisted little children up on their shoulders so they could see better. Women stood on tiptoes.

Honneure could see nothing. She was only able to hear the creak and groan of the tumbril’s wooden wheels as it rolled through the crowded, cobbled square. Emboldened by her growing horror, Honneure elbowed her way through the massed and stinking bodies.

Irritated grunts and rude curses filled her ears. She ignored them. She had but one thought, one purpose. She had to get there in time. Her friend must know she did not die alone.

There was so much pushing and shoving by all that hardly anyone paid any attention to Honneure. Ducking, squeezing sideways, and pushing by turn, she managed to make her way to the front of the crowd. Only a few heads bobbed in front of her. She was able, at last, to see her Queen. Tears immediately rushed to Honneure’s eyes.

She sat facing backwards, hands tied behind her back. Her posture was rigid, chin held high. The cart rumbled to a halt.

The former Queen had to be helped from the tumbrel. Honneure noticed her pretty plum shoes as she slowly climbed the ladder to the scaffold. Her white pique dress and bonnet were immaculate.

How like her. How very like her. A sob caught in
Honneure’s throat.

Though she remained erect, Antoinette began to tremble at last. The executioner seized her roughly and forced her to her knees. He tied her to the plank. The guillotine towered above her, blade glimmering in the sun.

“You’re not alone,” Honneure whispered. “Antoinette, dearest friend, you’re not alone,” she said a little louder. Heads turned in her direction, but she paid them no heed. Pressing closer still to the scaffold, she slipped the hood from her head.

For one brief moment, Antoinette raised her eyes.

“My Queen!” The tortured cry rasped from Honneure’s throat. She stretched out her hand, cane clattering to the ground.

The blade fell.

Pandemonium erupted. A thunderous roar, as if from a single, giant throat, burst from the crowd. General cheering followed. A few screams punctuated the tumult as the mob surged forward, crushing a few of its own under its terrible weight. Honneure feared she would be carried along with them, but the few who surrounded her were not moving. They had noticed her when she cried out. Now they stared at her.

Though choking on her tears, Honneure quickly pulled her hood up. It was too late.

“It’s the woman, from Tuileries! “ a pock-marked crone cried out. “It’s her, the one who escaped! “

“Who? Who is it? Someone asked. A small crowd
within the crowd had formed.

Honneure tried to back away, but a hand grasped her skirt. “The bastard whore!” the scarred woman exclaimed. Honneure screamed as another pair of hands tore at her, ripping her bodice.

“No!”

“Get her! Don’t let her get away! “

Searing pain shot through Honneure’s head as someone pulled her hair. She saw a great handful of it come away.

“Leave me alone!”

Hands dragged at her, pulling her down. She was losing footing. A fist connected with her nose and blood splashed.

“No!”

Honneure screamed in denial.

But she could not save herself.

She was going to die …

ISBN# 097436391X
Gold Imprint
US $6.99 / CDN $9.99
Historical Fiction
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Louisa Rodriguez was out on the desert gathering fuel when the scalp hunters came, massacred her family and all the people of her village, shot her in the head and left her for dead. Regaining consciousness, she buried the people she had loved, and when she was done she stripped off her bloody clothes and walked naked into the mountains. Where she was reborn.

When horse wrangler Ring Crossman came across the half-wild woman in the western wilderness, she would not tell him her name. So he gave her one. Blaze, for the lightning like streak of white in her long, black hair where a bullet had creased her skull. He gave her his heart, too, although he knew there was no room in her life for anything but revenge.

Vengeance consumed Bane as well. His life was devoted to finding the man who raped his Apache mother and fathered him. Then The Bringer of Thunder, as he was called by his people, crossed trails with the only human being whose thirst for a man’s blood was as great as his own. And when they discovered they stalked the same prey, the destructive power of the storm they unleashed consumed all around them. Including themselves.

ISBN#1932815643
Silver Imprint / Historical Fiction
US $9.99 / CDN $13.95
December 2006
www.helenrosburg.com

 

It is 1988, and Yellowstone Park is on fire.

 

Among the thousands of summer warriors battling to save
America’s crown jewel, is single mother Clare Chance.
Having just watched her best friend, a fellow Texas firefighter, die in a roof collapse, she has fled to Montana to try and put the memory behind her. She’s not the only one fighting personal demons as well as the fiery dragon threatening to consume the park.

 

There’s Chris Deering, a Vietnam veteran helicopter pilot, seeking his next adrenaline high and a good time that doesn’t include his wife, and Ranger Steve Haywood, a man scarred by the loss of his wife and baby in a plane crash. They rally ‘round Clare when tragedy strikes yet again, and she loses a young soldier to a firestorm.

 

Three flawed, wounded people; one horrific blaze. Its tentacles are encircling the park, coming ever closer, threatening to cut them off. The landmark Old Faithful Inn and Park Headquarters at Mammoth are under siege, and now there’s a helicopter down, missing, somewhere in the path of the conflagration. And Clare’s daughter is on it …

ISBN#1932815295
Gold Imprint
Available Now
US $6.99 / CDN $9.99
www.readlindajacobs.com

 

 

The year is 1896. In the vast network of the Niger Delta waterways, where palm oil and blood flow from the hinterlands, the ancient Kingdom of Benin is under siege. Legendary trader and leopard hunter Brendan Donivan battles to protect his adopted homeland’s sacred civilization from the colonial expansion of the British, while balancing his commerce with the whiteman’s world. Life is not exactly easy. And it’s about to get worse.

Enter Elle Bowie, New York anthropologist. She says she’s come to study clitoridectomy. She claims the crazy Texan traveling with her, the one whose jungle attire consists wholly of a Stetson, boots, and a gun, is her husband. But Brendan suspects there’s a lot more to the lovely lady’s story than she’s letting on.

Brendan, of course, is right. Elle has a lot more on her private agenda than the sexual surgical practices of the Benin women. And she’s about to get herself into a bigger adventure than she’d planned on.

Because Mateus, descendant of Portuguese soldiers, who’s supposed to be her guide, is a traitorous gnome. The majestic and brutal General Ologboshere, in command of thousands of warriors, has taken an unhealthy shine to her. A passel of bumbling British consular appointees are screwing things up for everybody. There’s a war in the wings … you get the picture. But the worst, the absolute worst, is that super-feminist Elle is falling in love. With a guy who wears a skirt, no less.

And although he dwells in Benin, land of ritualistic human sacrifice and juju religion, a land about to run red with blood … although the lives and loves of many hang in the balance in The Hinterlands … Brendan’s grinning.

ISBN#1932815112
Silver Imprint
US $9.99/CDN $13.95
Historical Fiction
www.karenmercury.com