Author Geralyn Beauchamp

A Little Bit About Shona Whittard ...

2012-02-09T15:09:00.000-08:00

Evan walked them to the door and kissed them both good-bye. Shona felt oddly detached at his brief peck on the cheek and wondered why she was feeling that way around him lately. She didn’t feel that way around her Mother. In fact, she was feeling increasingly more comfortable around her, whereas her father ... it was as if he was becoming more distant, or distanced, from her. The relationship had not changed. What could be making her feel this way?
Maggie interrupted Shona’s thoughts as they pulled out of the driveway. “Julia will be by this evening. She said she has something to tell us.”
“Did she say what it was?” Shona asked as they drove down from the west hills of the city into downtown.
“No, but I have a strong feeling it has something to do with that European university she’s been in contact with lately.”
“The one in France?”
Maggie threw a smile at her. “That’s the one. Excited?”
Shona stared out her window and watched the expensive old homes pass by. “I do not really know,” she replied quietly.
“Well, no use jumping to any conclusions until we hear what Julia has found out about them. Let’s not worry about it now.” Maggie looked at Shona. “Are you sure you feel all right?”
“I am sure.” Shona’s voice was weak as she fought for some semblance of control, the waves of emptiness hitting her harder by the minute. They had come so fast she could think of nothing to defend herself with. She didn’t want to break down in front of her mother, and certainly didn’t want her mother finding out what was wrong. If that happened, any hope of getting out of her parent’s house and claiming her own freedom would be gone. She concentrated on Julia and the news she held. If Shona could get accepted to this new university, her dream of going abroad, not to mention just getting out of the house, could at last be realized.
Shona Elsey Whittard loved her parents, loved her home, her few friends and her music. She had a lot; everything she could possibly ask for, some would say. Except for the freedom to run her own life and make her own decisions. She had so many people telling her how envious they were of her singing talent. But if all her competitors and fellow musicians only knew that Julia and her mother ran the show, made the recital and concert schedules, handled everything from the time she got up until the time she went to bed, they might not be so envious. Or would they? She supposed she didn't know or care anymore.
What Shona did know was that she was tired of her life. Other girls her age, including Kitty, were all in their second year of college while she was still under her mother's and Julia's educational thumbs. Other girls went to parties. Shona was stuck at home watching Masterpiece Theater or studying some sort of cultural etiquette that Julia insisted she learn. Other girls dated. Shona, not really interested in the opposite sex at the moment anyway, was still jealous of the freedom of choice normal girls had. More than once Kitty had made the comment, "Geez Shona, are your parents planning on sending you to a convent or what?"
Or what indeed, she mused feeling as if she was to be sent somewhere. She could speak four languages for crying out loud and was working on a fifth. She spoke proper English. Something others teased her about. And she was well tutored by Julia as to what was acceptable for a young lady to do or say in not only the twentieth century, but the fifteenth through nineteenth centuries as well. On the other hand, she could also fence and land a man smack on his back in the wink of an eye. "Martial arts and fencing are excellent workouts." Julia would exclaim along with, "A girl can't be too careful now a days! It's best to know how to defend one's self."
Careful? If she counted, Shona could come up with at least a dozen ways she'd been taught how to kill a man and hardly leave a mark! A lot of good all that training had done her though …
Shona shuddered and pushed the incident she was about to think of aside as her mother pulled up in front of their first stop. She looked longingly at all the normal people inside her mother's favorite little cafe eating and chatting away. She continued to watch them as she got out of the car, choked back the cold emptiness she'd learn to battle over the last few months, and told herself she'd just have to accept the facts. It was, after all, the logical thing to do.
There were no if ands or buts. She wasn't some astounding musical sensation to be envied. She was a freak.

I'm such a tease ... but the writing has begun. Here we go ....

2011-11-30T23:27:00.000-08:00

Dallan carefully climbed out of the bed he and Shona shared, sleep still clinging to him like the blankets he’d just left. He stood still a moment to will the sleep away before slowly walking to the tall, heavily curtained archway leading to the balcony beyond. It was one place he had yet to go since their return to their quarters in the palace following the trial of Julia Dawson. Something he didn’t wish to think about right now. To do that, he knew he needed a distraction.
He paused and took in the rich detail sewn into the fabric of what separated him from looking out over the famed city of Mishna. A city he had dreamed of often enough all the years he spent in Genis Lee, only if because he was not allowed to go there. But now was different. Now he had his freedom. He cast a quick peek at Shona’s sleeping form before turning back to what blocked him from seeing his future.
The curtains were made up of several wide panels all the color of autumn leaves and embroidered with elaborate alien designs he could not recognize. He wondered if he would be taught anything about Muiraran history and culture, quite positive Shona would be. She after all was Muiraran. But would those lessons be extended to him as well? Saints, who knew what would happen to them next? It was difficult to go by what anyone said at this point, especially after what Jaireth Shamaelon had pulled on the trip to the city.
The city …
He should get on with it. Dallan took a deep breath. “Here we go.” He whispered to himself as he took the last few steps to the closed curtains. The fabric was heavy looking, enough to make it difficult to see where to part them. Dallan found however, they were actually lighter than they looked. He took a deep breath, gripped a curtain in each hand and, closing his eyes, pulled them apart and stepped through.
He took two steps, three … before at last opening his eyes.
“Great Mother of God,” he breathed. But only barely as the sight before him literally took his breath away.
The city of Mishna was beautiful, incredible. Beyond anything he could ever have imagined. Alien to be sure and frighteningly so. The buildings seemed to be made up of tall, and very wide spires reaching to the sky, all gleaming white against the sun, some looking almost as if they were made of glass. The larger spires had smaller spires that branched off, giving them the appearance of tree like structures. And intermixed among the shine and smoothness of the buildings was an abundance of incredibly alien looking trees, and from what Dallan could see from his vantage point, gardens too.
Obviously to enjoy these sights, many spires hosted a good number of balconies (some incredible in size) each adorned with Multi-colored flags, many with garlands of bright colored flowers hanging from them. The same beautifully curtained entrance which led to the rooms beyond his own balcony adorned the others as well, giving the entire array the appearance of jewels. The sight reminded him of a dagger he’d seen long ago; it’s pearl like hilt encrusted with precious stones. But this … this was something else entirely.

The Time Master Chronicles

2011-11-08T14:39:00.000-08:00

To the Readers and Students of these Chronicles,
Salutations,

Time Masters Book One; The Call was written quite some time ago during the latter half of your race’s twentieth century and shortly after the events themselves took place. At least from the perspective of those involved within said events. To the Muirarans (Pronounced Muir –are-ans.) events leading up to those recorded go back further still, occurring within the previous centuries and then tied to the current year of 3698.
The Time Master Chronicles on the other hand, have taken the recorded events and added the missing pieces so to speak. The Muirarans feel this to be only fair, as Time Masters Book One; The Call was recorded mainly by the Humans involved, one Human in particular, who lumped the events into one huge book and whose accuracy in recording what happened was somewhat skewed. At least according to the Muirarans who feel the Human scribe wished to tone down some of the events to make the documents more appealing to a general audience, namely Human children who, over recent years, have been taught about the Muirarans through the use of these records. Let it be noted that what was recorded did add significantly to the histories of both the Human and Muiraran races, but the latter feel they need further clarification. Further study of these chronicled events have educated many, and managed to relieve some of the tensions growing between the two races of late. Especially those of the lower working classes of your species, who question the very existence of the Muirarans. Before going further it would behoove you, the Human reader studying these events, to be told some history dated prior to the chronicled events themselves. Or in essence, your future.

For those making a study of these chronicled events and who are from time periods prior to what has been called, ‘The World’s End’ which took place in 2313, the Muirarans apologize. Their intent by making these chronicles available to you via utilizing what technologies you have within the centuries prior to 2313 is to educate, not cripple the reader by fear of your world’s impending doom. It is what it is and it serves what it serves. All you can do in the mean time is live your lives as best you can and pray your descendants do not make the same mistakes to the degree you yourselves will. Lucky for you, the Muirarans and their Time Masters have been most generous in helping your race out in that area. But you will learn more of that later. What you need to know now before delving into the recorded events is the following:

After World’s End, Man barely scraped by for centuries until finally, two hundred years before the rebellion of 3349, (which resulted in heavy casualties for the human race, civil war always was a nasty business) he finally started to show promise. Man began to rebuild his civilization and technology that was lost to him when the old world died. Let it be interjected here that you will not find out how your world nearly, as your kind from your twentieth and twenty first centuries phrase it … “bit the big one.” That information is held within the latter chronicles. It is best to start at the beginning in order to understand fully the impact of actions taken by not only your race as pertains to war, but the Muirarans as well.
After the rebellion and subsequent civil war of 3349 Man had to start over yet again, and the Earth once more began the slow process of healing. This time however, new, never before seen things began to grow and species of animal discovered. Some in the form of edible plants and fauna, others in the form of strange mammals, and lastly beings on a much higher intellectual plane began to make their presence known. None of your kind has ever been able to determine where the Muirarans livestock, agriculture, and they themselves came from. For that matter, those at your famous Anontist Center, that ‘Den of Death’ as the Muirarans call it, tried everything to find the answers to a sudden rash of questions. Where did the Elvin like race originate? How did they come to possess such great knowledge and power? Are their origins extraterrestrial? Could they be the Fairie of old? Whatever the Muirarans place of origin, most of you didn’t care. It didn’t matter. (Except to those at the Anontist Center whose sole purpose was to do whatever it took to find out whom and what the highly reclusive Muirarans were. They’ve never done a very good job.) What did matter at the time was they were able to help your kind rebuild some of what was lost.
Though not as technological as man used to be before nearly annihilating himself, the Muirarans were still able to advance man at a much faster pace than if left to his own devices. The Muirarans lived simply and used their own methods to heal their sick or fight any battles that needed to be fought in order to defend themselves from harm. Man, seeing this simplicity, longed for a chance to make it right again for themselves. Let it be known to you, the reader, that your kind decided to forgo rebuilding the world on a technological basis and instead adopted new laws and new ways of doing things. Certain advancements that could be recovered and revitalized were. Mostly in the areas of medicine and some forms of communication. Ideas and philosophies deemed useful were also revived. This put the two races on a more even playing field, as far as your race was concerned. But over time Man noticed the reclusive Muirarans possessed a few things Man did not. Abilities Man could only dream of. Abilities and attributes bred into certain strains of the Muiraran race. Certain Muiraran family’s bloodlines contained more powerful abilities, much more rare abilities, that others did not and these you will soon learn about as you read these chronicles. Man, however, had no such power.
A little more than sixty years ago (3635 to be exact) Man sought to create his own “special abilities” without the use of technology, returning to and resurrecting practices found thousands of years in man’s prior history. Witchcraft, vampirism, reanimation and sorcery to name a few. This went on for at least a decade but he to no avail as the dark arts practiced by man often tended to go sour on him. For a time the Anontist Center was thought to have become the hub of such practices despite all the failed attempts man made. This caused a bit of a rift with Man’s relationship with the Muirarans who told Man in no uncertain terms he’d best “get his act together” as you say. What Man was doing just wasn’t in the Divine order of things as far as they were concerned. And of course, when people began disappearing and Man had to enlist the Muirarans help to find them, (unfortunately all were dead, obvious victims of these detestable practices) this caused even more tension. Needless to say after that, anyone caught dabbling in said practices were severely punished. So even though many tried and failed at these dark arts, they soon gave up on the notion completely once the new laws were enforced.
All but a few.
It is believed that this “few” are behind Man’s current dilemma but no one is really sure. All anyone is sure of is civil war is once again brewing, near boiling in fact. People are once again disappearing, and man is scrambling to try to find a solution to the problem. Some blame the Muirarans, those that actually believe they really do exist. While others lay blame on the Anontist Center, which ironically was created for the sole purpose of proving the Muirarans do exist. While even more blame what ever village or province is right next door to them, this group simply out looking for a good fight, not caring who started what, they just want something to pulverize first and ask questions later. Boredom and bad living conditions will do that to a human.
And for those actually in charge of coming up with a plan of action and putting a stop to the death toll, they weren’t above asking the Muirarans for help. Again. After all, wouldn’t it be easier to use a Time Master to fix the problem before it even really got started? But unfortunately, it wasn’t that easy. No one really had much of a clue of what was going on. This could take time, and time wasn’t something they had if they wanted to put a stop to it all fast. The rebellion of 3349 escalated so rapidly that before anyone knew it Man had practically once again obliterated the planet. No one wanted to go through that again. But any trails and clues as to who was behind things fifty to sixty years ago had gone cold. No one had an answer, a clue, even a starting point. Man faced an unseen enemy that was meticulously picking him off sector by sector, village by village. Man was killing man and no one knew why. And the Muirarans were none too happy about it. A nasty business no matter how one looked at it. And this, dear reader, is where you will begin …

Ahhh Back to Work!!!!!

2011-04-07T19:27:00.000-07:00

From Time Masters Book Two; The Prophecy

June 27,1702 ... blast! 3698
Today I plan on killing the blasted good for nothing
for bringing so many new villagers in! One more reason
to hate the auld rattle bag!
DKM

TWO

Dallan softly shut the door of his cottage, stared at the aged wood a moment and pondered if he should fashion a lock for it. There had been no need all the years he’d spent in Genis Lee during his trainings with Kwaku. No one would have dared entered, well, except for the heathen himself. But with all the new people occupying the village, and Shona now so often within the tiny haven, he thought it might be for the best to keep her better secured. The lingering affects of what happened to her back in her own time with Philip Brennan were still too fresh in his mind to be pushed aside. He would take no chances with her and that was that.
He turned to her as she sat on their bed and smiled shyly at him. He smiled back, but his mouth and eyes held no shyness towards her. Indeed, they were full of something much bolder and he let his eyes wander over her as she sat looking at him, waiting.
Dallan stepped away from the door and went and stood in front of her, his hands held open. She took them, and he pulled her up to stand before him, her small form barely reaching his shoulders. He pulled her hands up and she stood on tip toe as he bent to kiss her, the tiny signals they gave each other to do so quickly well learned by both.
The kiss was gentle, long, and within moments, consuming. Dallan had learned in the last few days that it was at times easier to simply lift her into his arms to take possession of her, and so he did, and then sat with her on the bed, the kiss still unbroken.
He finally lifted his lips from hers and stared long and hard into her eyes as the twitch in his jaw began its dance.
Shona reached up and touched his jaw to still the movement. “What troubles you?”
Dallan sighed. “I dinna really ken. The people I suppose. I dinna like the fact they’re here, nor that there are so many.”
“There were people here with you before, were there not?”
“Aye, Flower, but mayhaps only half of what there is now. I dinna like so many strangers about and I especially dinna like being able to feel all o’ them.”
Shona wrapped her arms around his neck and rested her head on his shoulder. “Neither do I, it is such a strange sensation. Will it always be like this now?”
“I dinna ken, Flower, I’ll ha’ to ask the heathen about it. There are too many questions now not to start asking some.” He rested his cheek against her head a moment and simply held her, his body naturally rocked slightly back and forth as he did so. Closing his eyes, he reveled in the simple feel of her, so soft against him, so lovely, so very much his. Dallan smiled with the thought. Yes, she was his. Completely and undeniably his. And he would have all of her. Dallan lifted his cheek from her, let his head fall back, his eyes briefly glimpsing the ceiling before he closed them again, and ever so softly, began to sing.
The song was gentle, loving, and in Gaelic. He couldn’t help himself, and did not yet understand what propelled him into the action. He only knew that next to making love to her with his body, this was beginning to be the next best thing. It had almost happened several times over the last few days, yet he could not bring himself to give into it. Thinking it rather foolish, but after their afternoon at the stream today, and seeing how Shona reacted to his words and voice, he decided to see what would happen if he gave into the urge to sing to her.
She arched in his arms and moaned. But it was not full of breathless passion. No, it was beyond that, it was different and Dallan stopped singing to look at her.
“Please,” she began, “do not stop.”
“Have I that fine a voice then? I wilna ha’ to take any lessons for ye?”
She slapped at his shoulder playfully before she grabbed him by a lock of his hair and pulled his face down to hers and let her eyes capture him. “Sing to me.”
And he did. Softly, gently, his gaze locked upon hers as song again poured from him in a breathless wave of sensation that touched not only Shona, filling every fiber, but filling him as well. The phenomenon was almost unnerving, too new as yet to understand, yet too fantastic not to partake of. His voice was deep velvet, and he noticed he enjoyed the sound of it almost as much as his wife did, yet for her it was so much more than sound, it was food. Life. Survival. Like air and water, he sensed she would not be able to survive without it. No, not that she now had a taste and knew what it felt like. She would want more, and he would need to give it, the action of doing so feeding him in some way. Strengthening not only her, but him as well. He understood none of it and in the back of his mind told himself to ask Zara what it might be. Better to leave the heathen out of this one, if he hadn’t guessed it already. Or perhaps he should, as he thought earlier that afternoon, keep it to himself awhile. There was no need to let anyone else know, and no rules saying he had to anyway. If Kwaku did know, he hoped the heathen would respect him enough to keep his mouth shut about it for a time. A warmth began to spread through his chest, pushing any thoughts of Kwaku aside.
Dallan threw his head back and moaned into the music which flowed now so naturally from him, Shona’s voice now joined with his, filling him, feeding him…

***

“What are you doing, Dallan?” A somewhat sleepy voice asked him.
The soft lilting sound made him smile. He put down his quill and turned to his wife still a bed across the room. “Writing, Flower,” he began as he looked back to his private journal, one of many, and closed the book on the brief entry he’d just penned. He put the quill in its resting place, covered the inkwell and gave his attention back to her. “Tis something I got into the habit of doing many years ago. To write early in the morning…” He paused, glanced out the window above the small table that served as his desk and rubbed his jaw. His next words were mumbled. “Before the heathen got the chance to knock the sense out o’ me for the day …” he continued to rub his jaw and noticed the roughness of it beneath his fingers. He would need to shave, for Shona’s sake.
He turned back to her as she sat up in bed and looked at him. What a grand sight she was, Dallan thought to himself. The peace of sleep was still around her eyes and the sun shining in through the window above the bed cast a halo about her head, shoulders, and hair. The rays highlighted the unruly auburn mass of long curls which was often untamable when she first woke up and today was no exception. There seemed to be no end to it and she would often braid it during the day in a vain attempt at keeping it under control. But at night he insisted she wear her hair down for him. All for him.
Shaving then, was the least he could do for her.
Clad only in his Sark, he stood and crossed the small cottage in a few quick strides and sat upon the bed, his weight causing a loud creak. Shona raised a single eyebrow at him. He shrugged and smiled. “’Tis old, Flower. I’ll ha’to build us a new one soon. I ken we’ll be needing the room.”
“Room?” she began, “What ever for? This serves well enough, does it not?”
Dallan laughed. “Aye, if ye dinna mind sleeping in a bed barely big enough for the two o’ us. Not to mention living in a one room cottage the rest o’ yer time here wi’ me. I ken well enough ye’ll be wanting something a wee bigger, will ye no?”
Shona merely looked at him, sleep still quite evident in her features. She wasn’t a fast riser like himself, and he knew it would be fun to tease her a little, before her wits were about her. She rubbed her face against the short sleeve of the thin cotton knee-length garment she wore and blinked a few times to get the sleep from her eyes. She called what she sometimes wore to bed, a tee-shirt. Some of which had odd drawings on them, such as the one she wore now. The large gawky yellow bird she affectionately called, “Tweety” stared at him with its overly large blue eyes, making him glad the thing was merely a drawing, and nothing more. “What do you mean, the rest of my time here?” She asked.
He laughed again. “I plan on building ye a house, Flower. Or would ye rather stay in this?” He waved a hand to take in their meager surroundings. Surroundings which had served him well enough in the ten years he was held prisoner in the village. But he was a prisoner no longer, and didn’t particularly want Shona living in what could well be considered his old prison cell. Not if he could help it. She deserved better. Much better.
“A house? You mean one with rooms and everything?” She asked as if bewildered he would even suggest such a thing.
He laughed again then reached over and tweaked her nose. “With rooms and everything, Flower.”
She raised both brows at him now. She was waking up. “And would that happen to include running water and electricity?”
Dallan cocked his head slightly. He hadn’t thought of those things. He was quite used to living without them, and although they were nice to have during his brief experience with them a few weeks ago while rescuing Shona from Philip Brennan in her own time, they were not things he absolutely had to have. Shona, on the other hand, had lived with them all of her life. How was he going to provide for her such things here?
Dallan scooted towards his wife and took her in his arms. “If it is at all within my power to get them for ye, Flower, I shall.” He kissed her then, knowing it would serve to wake her fully. He knew she had to be hungry, and in more ways than one.
He too was hungry. Also in more ways than one. The question every morning, however, was what would she be hungry for? Her music, food from the cook house, or him? He always hoped it to be the latter first, but that wasn’t always the case.
She wiggled out of his hold long enough to stretch her arms above her head and yawn. She then looked him right in the eye.
Ahhhh, he thought to himself. He may well be the first item on the day’s menu. Too bad he hadn’t had time to shave.
As if reading his thoughts, Shona reached up and traced his jaw with a finger. “You need to shave.”
He took her hand from his face and kissed the tip of her finger. “Aye” he whispered.
She swallowed hard, her voice also dropped to a whisper. “Would you like me to get the pitcher and wash bowl for you?”
He kissed her finger again, then nipped at another finger tip, his own voice like a silken blanket wrapping itself around her. “Only if ye wish it, M’eudain.” He took her hand and placed it upon his cheek. “Only if ye wish it …” He lowered his face to hers, and kissed her then, his hunger now building. But again, not to make love to her. It was the other thing. What ever it was. The same as the day before.
“I ought to get the pitcher for you then …” she stammered as he went back to teasing her fingers with his tongue.
“Aye, as ye say,” he mumbled into her hand.
Shona reluctantly pulled her hand from his grasp and tried to escape him. Rather than allow her to do so, Dallan laughed at her efforts and pulled her more tightly into his arms. “What are you doing?” she said as she vainly squirmed to free herself. “Let me go.”
He laughed again. “And where d’ye think yer going, Flower?”
She stopped suddenly and squared her shoulders as best she could, engulfed as she was between two huge arms, and glared at him, one eyebrow raised in defiance. “To get the pitcher and washbowl for you.” Her voice had gone rather flat. Too flat as far as Dallan was concerned.
“I didna think ye’d want me to stop what I was doing.” He cooed, his voice dropped in pitch again. Just to see what she would do.
“I have decided I do not want to go about my day with a set of red cheeks.” She stated rather matter of fact.
Dallan’s brow furrowed. She was speaking with very little emotion. She had not been this way since before their joining nearly two weeks ago. Was this normal? Or was something wrong with her?
To test, Dallan suddenly pushed her back down upon the bed and tickled her.
Shona shrieked with surprise and without warning, dealt him a solid blow to the jaw to rival one of Kwaku’s. Dallan rolled off her and onto the floor with a thud.
“OH!” She jumped from the bed and instead of helping him up, scurried to the other side of the cottage. She stood warily, as if not knowing what to do next as Dallan got up and stared at her, dumbfounded.
He rubbed his jaw gingerly and looked her up and down in disbelief. “Ye dealt me a might fine blow, lass. What brought that to mind?”
Her eyes widened. She was unsure of what to do and was probably as surprised at her reaction as he was. “I am so sorry, Dallan! I do not know what happened. It was rather automatic.”
Dallan noticed that she trembled slightly. Her so called automatic reaction had truly frightened her. He cursed to himself in Gaelic as he realized what probably caused her to react the way she did. “’Tis all right, lass. No harm done.” He stepped in her direction and caught the slight tensing of her body as she took in the movement. He took another step and stopped. “There now, M’eudain” he spoke gently. “I tell ye, ‘tis all right. No harm done. Now hand me the water pitcher before I ha’ to tickle ye again.” He told her with a smile and a wink.
She let go a breath, as her shoulders fell slightly forward. She was even more tense than he’d first noticed. He continued to smile at her gently, not moving, and waited for her to hand him the pitcher.
Phillip Brennan, he silently seethed, had perhaps done more damage to her than anyone knew.
Shona placed a hand on the pitcher and again eyed him with a slight hint of caution. “You will shave now?”
He smiled at her and cocked his head. “Aye.”
She raised a single eyebrow in accusation as she took the water pitcher from the table. “And you will not tickle me again?”
He chuckled slightly. “Och, aye, Flower. I wilna tickle ye again.”
The water pitcher now in hand, she eyed him suspiciously. “You promise?”
He laughed gently, so as not to startle her and simply answered, “I promise.”
She stood straight in triumph. “Good.” She then promptly stuck her hand in the pitcher and threw a generous handful of water at him.
Dallan jumped aside but wasn’t quick enough. “Och! What d’ye think yer doing?”
Shona giggled and dipped her hand in the pitcher a second time. She then looked at him, her brow furrowed in warning.
“Now lass,” Dallan began as he eyed the dreaded pitcher. “What say we call a truce and ye hand me the water so as I can see to yer comfort.” He ran the back of his hand across his jaw and winked at her.
She giggled, and showered him a second time.
Dallan calmly stood as several droplets of water slowly trickled down his face. He smiled just before he lunged. She twisted and spun away from him, jumping up onto the end of the bed with agility he, or she for that matter, even knew she possessed. She bounded to the center of the mattress, the pitcher held poised to fling the remaining water at him, and laughed musically.
Dallan side stepped to stand in front of the cottage door, never taking his eyes off her. “Nice move, lass,” he commented as he thought best how to extract the pitcher from her without getting too wet. He faked another lunge and suddenly ducked to one side, knowing her automatic reaction would be to let the water fly. And she did.
Just as the door to the cottage opened.

AUTHOR BREAK IN!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

OK, OK, here's the rest of it just because Cathi asked!

Let us continue with the story!

RESUME STORY!

THREE

Shona gasped as the water arced then began its rather forceful decent straight for the doorway, and the man standing in it. It hit him square in the face. Or at least the lower half as the other half was covered by the cowl of his long dark cloak.
Dallan grabbed the nearest weapon, his dirk, and spun toward the door and the unexpected guest standing in it. Only now there was more than one man in the doorway. Now there were at least three, and more coming as they began to make their way into his little house.
“Who are you?” Dallan demanded as he immediately placed himself between the intruders and the bed upon which Shona still stood, water pitcher in hand, clad only in the white and far too short cotton tee-shir,t Dallan reminded himself, looking quite shocked. For a brief moment he wondered what the stranger thought of “Tweety” staring back at him then quickly pushed the thought aside.
A small, rather weak, “Oh dear,” escaped Shona as Dallan took his stand.
“I’ll ask ye again,” he began, his voice laced with obvious warning. “Who are you and what are ye about?”
The man standing at the forefront of what Dallan now noticed to be a rather large assembly behind him, wiped droplets of water from his face from beneath his cowl. “I have come to seek audience with someone,” the man stated with an odd accent.
“Then I shall speak with you outside, sir.” Dallan said sternly as he studied first the watered down intruder, then the two men standing just behind him. They were tall. Quite tall. Tall enough to match his own height. Their leader slightly shorter. And wetter, Dallan now surmised with satisfaction. His gaze narrowed at them. How dare they enter his domain unannounced! He side stepped to the end of the bed, reached for his kilt which he’d slung over a chair the night before, and deftly wrapped it about him self. Dallan eyed the intruders with contempt. “I’ve asked ye to step outside, sir. I suggest you comply.”
The leader raised his face slightly, his cowl yet hiding his features, but not the water which still dripped from them. “Did I say it was you with whom I wish to speak?”
Dallan stared hard at the assemblage, then at its leader. He then sensed a small movement from Shona behind him, still standing on the bed …. half clothed in her cotton tee-shirt. He reached behind himself, grabbed a folded blanket he knew sat at the foot of the bed and without taking his eyes from the strangers in front of him, tossed it at her. Dallan felt a slight rush of air behind him as she shook it out and flung it about her shoulders, covering herself. Shona taken care of, he took a threatening step toward the men in the doorway. “Outside.” He commanded.
The leader of the men chuckled lightly. “So quick to think it’s all about you.”
Dallan was about to take another step but stopped up short. The stranger had raised his head, more of his features evident, enough so that his eyes shone from beneath the cowl like two brilliant blue diamonds. Diamonds aimed right at Shona. Dallan looked from the man, then to his wife.
She was staring hard at the stranger now, her face in incredulous mask. But only for a moment, as all its color slowly drained away. She sucked in a quick breath and collapsed to her knees upon the bed, the blanket still wrapped tightly about her shoulders. “Who are you?” escaped her, barely a whisper.
The stranger took a step toward her, ignoring Dallan completely, his eyes intensely fixed upon her, as he slowly removed his cowl.
“Oh …. My …. God ….” still a whisper, still barely audibly. But everyone in the cottage heard it escape Shona’s lips.
The resemblance was unmistakable. Jaireth Shamaelon, Shona’s Muiraran father, took another step toward the bed. “Daughter,” was whispered just as softly.
The word sliced through the air like lightening, and Shona, now fully fluxed, began to weep, the blanket now clutched about her so tightly Dallan thought she might tear it. He looked between the two and was immediately caught up in the charged emotions which passed between father and daughter in the form of light and sparkle. It was an odd phenomenon and Dallan wondered if he was seeing things. But he knew he wasn’t and braced himself just in case he needed to come between the two for any reason, Shona’s weeping louder now.
Jaireth reached the bed and held a hand out to his daughter, palm up, in an obvious invitation.
Her tears engulfed her vision and Dallan knew she was probably having trouble seeing the man which now stood before her, gently, proudly, and Dallan noticed, sadly. A man full of regrets and sorrows. Years worth which had engraved them selves into the lines about his eyes.
Shona, the blanket held about her by one hand, covered her mouth with the other in a vain attempt at bringing her now racking sobs to a halt. But it didn’t work. Dallan wanted to hold her but strongly sensed the action would disrupt the scene taking place. He forced himself to stay where he was and continued to watch as his wife fought to bring herself under control while her true father stood before her. His hand still extended in invitation and now obvious longing as a single tear escaped and slowly rolled down one cheek.
All but one of the other Muirarans removed their cowls from about their faces and now stood as braced as Dallan, also not wanting to disrupt the father patiently awaiting his daughter’s answer to his invitation. They stood proudly, regally, used to being looked upon as royalty. And, Dallan reminded himself, that was exactly what they were if they were from the Muiraran royal houses that John had mentioned. None the less, he tightened his grip on the dirk in his hand and waited with the others as Shona began to gulp for air now, her sobs somewhat lessened.
She looked to Dallan and he responded immediately, though he still did not move. “Shhhh, lass,” he whispered, his voice laced with as much reassurance as he could muster. “‘Tis all right. He wilna harm ye. And I’m right here.” He then nodded to the man still standing in front of her and the bed.
Shona wiped her face with a corner of the blanket and took a few more gulps of air. She then stared blankly at the man before her and studied him, unable to speak. If Shona had been born a man, and was now grown, she would look as the man who stood before her. The resemblance between father and daughter was hard to miss. Though his eyes were a brilliant blue, they held the same look as hers. A fierceness and innocence all intermingled within the deep flecks of color. His hair was a dark brown, not the auburn red of his daughters, but their skin tone, lips, and the slight curve and rise of the cheek bones were definitely the same. There was a beauty about them that Dallan could not describe and it wasn’t a physical beauty so much as a presence. Like the kind of beauty Zara Awahnee had. A beauty that shone forth from deep within. As if the heart was on display. And though as beautiful as this man’s heart obviously was, surrounding it, no encompassing it, was such a fierceness that for a brief second Dallan felt compelled to step between father and daughter. For this was a man, Dallan thought, capable of killing if need be to protect the ones he loved. Or in this case, a people he ruled. Just as a Scottish Laird would do for his clan. As his very own grandfather had done. Only too late ….
“Why are you here?” Shona whispered through the last of her tears.
Jaireth smiled at her, his eyes brightening to a blue so brilliant they all but glowed. “Is it not time I was here? Would you bid me farewell so soon, my child? I admit we were planning on giving you more time. But I could not wait, you see. Nor could your mother. And even if able to do so, circumstances would still have forced us to come.”
Oddly accented, his voice was like silk yet hard as stone. It seemed to cut through the air and held an authority in it. One used to giving commands. Shona shook. “My mother?” was more mouthed than spoken. She tightened the blanket about her once more as a chill raced up her spine. “My … mother?”
Something in the air brushed past them and seemed to travel beyond the cottage walls. Within seconds the party standing in the doorway and beyond, parted to let a lone figure pass between them and into the room.
Much smaller than the rest, and just as heavily cloaked, the figure walked toward the bed to stand beside Jaireth. Shona shook with renewed emotion and began to weep again as the woman slowly removed the cowl to reveal a face with eyes already full of tears. Eyes just as brilliantly blue as her husbands.
“Shona …” the woman croaked in the same odd accent as her father. Her knees gave way beneath her. Jaireth grabbed her to his side to keep her from falling and she clung to his arms for support, never once taking her eyes from her daughters.
She was small, as small as Shona at least, her hair a cascade of soft white. Like a silver angel clothed in black, she leaned against her husband and gasped once before more tears escaped her. “Shona!” she cried and ignoring the hold her husband had on her, flung herself onto the bed with her long lost daughter.
Shona in turn flung herself in Dallan’s direction leaving the woman at the center of the bed where she’d landed, arms still outstretched in invitation. Arms that were still quite empty.
The Muiraran who had yet to remove his cowl emitted what sounded like a disgusted snort. Jaireth glared at him briefly before motioning to his wife to get off the bed and stand next to him. With a sob she complied and sought comfort in her husband’s arms. No one said a word as a heavy silence suddenly blanketed the room, the only sounds that of Shona and her Muiraran mother’s soft weeping. Jaireth looked to Dallan first, who now had a protective arm around Shona, then to Shona herself who was clinging to Dallan from her awkward position at the end of the bed, eyes still full of tears, speech beyond her at this point.
Jaireth took a calming breath through the nose, glanced at his still-hooded-companion and then again faced the young couple. He tightened the hold he had on his wife, almost as if the action said he was about to have a face off with the pair.
Dallan stiffened.
What sounded like a high pitched hiccup broke the building tension between the two men. All eyes suddenly turned toward the source of the sound. Jaireth’s hooded companion stood fanning himself as fast as he could with one hand. Almost as if he was trying to keep himself from fainting.
Dallan raised a curious brow but said nothing.
Jaireth on the other hand rolled his eyes. “Melvale!” he barked. “Remove yourself.”
Another high pitched hiccup, this one louder than the first, erupted and was quickly followed by another, and yet another.
“Now!” Jaireth added curtly.
“Welllll … HICUP.” Came Melvale’s high pitched retort before he quickly covered his mouth with both hands to squelch any further eruptions, his features still well hidden by the dark cowl of his cloak. He spun on his heel gracefully and quickly exited the cottage. Several Muirarans tried to hide smiles as he made his way past them.
Jaireth also looked as if he was trying not to smile. He took another deep breath, popped his neck, and locked eyes with Dallan. “You will bring her to the city immediately.”
Dallan stiffened further. “And for what reasons, sir, should I? She belongs here with me.”
“She belongs with her own kind.”
Dallan’s eyes narrowed as he sucked a quick breath through his nose. “I ken who ye are and I understand yer wanting to see her. But ye canna just spring yerselves on the lass like this. She’s not ha’ enough time to adjust to the village yet alone deal with ….” He paused as he took in the assemblage which seemed to spill out of the cottage and into the yard. A rather large assemblage, he reminded himself. “Deal with all of you.”
“The required seven days for adjustment have been met.” Jaireth simply stated.
Dallan responded with a Scottish snort. “Och, aye! But we’ve no been alone nor had much privacy. And especially not now!”
Jaireth was about to comment when a slight rustle of activity caught his attention. His escort had again parted to let someone pass. John Eaton entered the cottage looking none too happy with an equally unhappy Lany in tow. They two Lord Councilors bowed before Jaireth giving him the respect due, but still looked like they’d both just eaten sour grapes. Even Dallan raised a brow at their puckered expressions.
John attempted to speak first. “Your Highnessssssssssssssssss ….” He sputtered then began to cough.
Jaireth’s jaw tightened as his lips pursed together. Again he looked as if he was trying his best not to start laughing. He straightened his shoulders and gave them his full attention. “I take it you two gentlemen have sampled the wine I brought?” He looked from one contorted face to the other, an immensely satisfied look on his own.
John shook himself as if chilled. “Lovely as always.”
“I’m so glad you’ve found it to your liking.” Jaireth said with a smirk.
“And obviously you’ve found our tasting it to yours.” Lany retorted with his own smirk.
Jaireth, to Dallan’s amazement, actually grinned in satisfaction at the Lord Councilor Lany. His grin slowly faded however as the assemblage blocking the doorway again parted, some of the Muirarans looking as if they might bolt. And no wonder.
“Good day to you, Magnificent One!” Kwaku bellowed as he pushed his way into the cottage. “Tell me, how do you fare?”
Jaireth’s grin quickly left his face to leave a decisive scowl in its place. Maybe Shona’s father had at least one redeeming quality. He obviously disliked Kwaku. Dallan smiled at the thought.
Jaireth again straightened himself. “Kawahnee, how nice of you to join us. Tell me, did you get a chance to sample the wine I brought for my new son-in-law?”
Kwaku gave him a wide, knowing grin. One Dallan had seen many times while training with the big Azurti warrior. Kwaku would grin that way right before landing Dallan in the dirt.
“No Magnificent One. I did not have de chance. Besides, it is de Boyeee you brought it for. Not de odars. Why do you not let him taste of it?”
“He need not taste of it now. He has other matters to attend to at the moment.” Jaireth calmly answered.
“Such as?” Kwaku asked.
“Such as transporting my daughter to Mishna.”
Kwaku scratched his head. “Hmmmm ….” Was all he offered.
“So if you will excuse us, Time Master Kwaku,” Jaireth began in a voice devoid of patience, “We should all be on our way back to the city.”
Kwaku waved a dismissive hand in the air. “Go den if you must, Magnificent One. But I do not dink de Boyeee has any plans to go wid you.”
Dallan looked from Kwaku to Jaireth. What was the heathen doing other than stating the obvious?
“And de Boyeee does what he wants to do. Not to mention what he dinks is best for his mate. So you see he will not be accompanying you back to de city today.”
Now it was Dallan who tried to hide a smile. At least the heathen was on his side.
“There are things not yet known to you Kawahnee. Besides, the boy has no choice in the matter. I am ruler.”
“De Boyeee does not know dis. Nor will he recognize you as such.” He glanced at Dallan and gave him a wicked grin. “Yet.”
Dallan immediately returned a scowl.
Jaireth obviously had had enough. “Guards!”
Three rather large and heavily cloaked Muirarans forced their way into the cottage. Kwaku held out an arm and wagged one long dark finger at them. They stopped up short and looked to Jaireth whose skin color was quickly turning an interesting shade of red. He stepped forward and looked up into Kwaku’s grinning face. “How dare you challenge my authority.”
“I do not challenge Magnificent One. I merely make a point.”
“What point?” Jaireth spat.
Kwaku’s grin got even wider. “Did you dink to ask your child what she wanted to do?”
Jaireth all but growled at Kwaku and his question then pushed out. “She has no idea what is best for her right now and cannot make that decision for herself.”
Kwaku began to laugh.
“Guards!” Jaireth barked.
The three guards shoved past Kwaku toward the bed, one of them pulling a small pair of manacles from beneath his cloak. Dallan immediately shoved Shona up against the wall behind him.
“Enough!”
All heads turned to the small form of Shannell Shamaelon who now stood between the three guards and the bed. She had pulled a dagger out from beneath her own cloak and held it somewhat loosely in her hand. “No one touches my child.”
Silent until now, John and Lany did their best to keep quiet. Lany failing by coughing into one hand. An obvious attempt to hold himself together. Apparently the two were enjoying the chance to see Jaireth get somewhat backed into a corner. It was a well known fact among both races that one did not come between an angry mother and the child she was protecting. Not even if he was the father. And right now, Shannell Shamaelon was angry.
“Leave us. All of you.” She commanded.
“Shannell …” Jaireth began in warning.
“Especially you!”
Jaireth narrowed his eyes and took a threatening step towards her. She quickly met him and put her hand on his heart, her face suddenly awash with compassion. “Men are not fit for such things as must now be done.” She told him gently.
Jaireth took the hand against his heart and held it a moment. “I was only thinking of what is best for her.”
“As am I beloved,” she whispered to him but Dallan caught the words well enough. “And sometimes a mother is needed to carry out what is best for a child. Especially in this case.”
Jaireth gave her hand a squeeze and took a deep breath to calm himself. “You are wise as always. Do what you think is best.” He released her hand and motioned to his escort. “Let us leave them then.” He then turned with the rest to leave. “Bring the boy, Kawahnee.” He said as he brushed his way past the big Azurti warrior.
“Of course, Magnificent One.” Kwaku said with a half bow. He then motioned to Dallan.
Dallan merely scowled accordingly.
“Tell me Boyeee. What harm can a mo-dar do to her long lost child whom she loves? Will we be not but feet away? Leave your weapons and let us go.”
Dallan had to admit one thing. He trusted Kwaku with Shona’s safety. The heathen had proven himself at least in that area. Well, sort of. Hesitantly Dallan peeled Shona from his side, set his dirk upon the bed just in case she needed it, and made to leave the cottage. John and Lany having already exited with the others. “We’ll be right outside the window, lass. Dinna be afraid.” He glanced quickly at Shannell who stood patiently. “She wilna harm ye.” He took one of Shona’s hands in his own and gave it a gentle pat before glancing once more to Shannell. With an approving nod to the woman he left the cottage. Shona was now alone with her Muiraran Mother, Shannell Shamaelon. Also known as the Queen of Muirara.

For all you Kitty Morgan lovers out there ...She's back!

2011-04-07T19:00:00.000-07:00

Back in the latter half of the twentieth century …

“Lordy, Kitty, can’t you just snap out of it?” Tomika Ashby chastised for at least the ninth time that day. “There is nothing we can do about Shona not being here anymore and you and I are just …” She choked back a sob. “Are just going to have to learn to deal with it!”
Kitty stared straight ahead at the television in her room. She and Tomy sat on her bed amidst various half eaten and empty containers of junk food. She pressed the mute button of the remote to better hear Tomy, her own tears falling again. Without looking she grabbed a nearby box of tissues off her night stand and shoved them at her friend. Her only friend, now that Shona was gone.
Tomy took another tissue, as did she. They both blew their noses in unison, then threw the tissues onto the already growing pile on the floor in front of them.
Kitty finally turned to Tomy and asked, “More ice cream?”
“Are you kidding me, girl? We’ve done near eaten a whole gallon already! I’ve gained eight pounds hanging around you these last three weeks!” Tomy grabbed another tissue and blew her nose again. “Hand me that package of Oreos!”
Kitty complied but not before grabbing a handful for herself. “Shona said she would be back again in a week after she came and got some of her stuff, but she hasn’t shown up yet!”
“Well someone certainly showed up and took the rest of her things back to … well … when ever they are.”
“I wish we could go see her.” Kitty mumbled between bites of Oreo.
“Now how are we supposed to do that?”
Kitty stopped chewing and sniffed against renewed tears. “That’s just it. There’s nothing we can do!” She burst into sobs again. “And we can’t even talk about it with anybody except her parents!” Tomy threw the box of tissue at her and took another cookie.
Sinclair, Kitty’s cat approached his mistress and rubbed himself against her legs. She absently reached down and petted him. “At least I still have you, Sinclair.” She said then hefted him up onto her lap.
“That has got to be the biggest, fattest cat I have ever seen!” Tomy exclaimed.
“Sinclair is not fat. He’s just big boned.” Kitty retorted as she hugged the animal until he let out a grunt.
Tomy rolled her eyes. “Yeah, sure he is.”
Sinclair looked right at her. Tomy met his stare head on. “And what is up with the looks he gives? Lordy, you’d think he could understand every word we say!”
Kitty buried her face in Sinclair’s thick yellow fur and mumbled, “He’s a smart cat! Aren’t you Sinclair?”
Sinclair let out a howl in response, jumped from Kitty’s lap, and ran out the bedroom door.
“He’s smart enough to leave!” Tomy laughed.
“He loves me, probably more than any of my other cats. Don’t you be mean to him!”
“I’m not being mean. I just think he’s funny looking that’s all. Lordy, he’s as big as a dog and he’s fat and boney all at the same time. Face it Kitty, he’s about as different a cat as you can get!”
There was a natural pause after Tomy spoke and both girls let out a sigh as an oppressive silence suddenly filled the room.
Kitty fidgeted on the bed then took another cookie. “Something doesn’t feel right, Tomy.”
“What do you mean, something doesn’t feel right? Lordy girl, after eating all this junk food how can anything feel right!”
“That’s not what I mean. I think something is wrong where Shona and Dallan are.”
Tomy could only look at her. “Did you have another one of those weird dreams again about Shona dying? You know they give you the willies. Stop thinking something is wrong and start thinking positive. What is up with all the doom and gloom anyway? You should be happy for Shona!”
Kitty stared straight ahead again. “I know I should be. But I’m telling you, something just doesn’t feel right. Maybe I’m dreaming things because things are wrong with them.”
Tomy scooted over and put her arm around her friend. “Tell you what, tomorrow is Sunday. Why don’t we call Maggie and Evan and see if they want to go have dinner with us? Then you can ask them about things. Who knows, maybe they know what’s going on or have even seen Shona since we talked to them last.”
“But that was only a week ago we saw them.”
“I know, but a lot could happen in a week.”
Kitty certainly knew that. In one week her best friend Shona had met the man of her dreams, gotten married, and then been whisked away to a far off land in another time. “If only it would happen to me …” she whispered to herself, and then took another bite of cookie.



Sinclair, after letting himself out of the Morgan’s house, trotted down the street to the pre-assigned meeting place. He’d had to sneak out before, and tonight was no different. But tonight he carried news. Good news that would more than likely result in some sort of reward from the Muirarans. And a reward from them would be most welcome indeed. He was growing pretty tired of human cat food.
He entered the neighborhood park and closely scanned the area. Feeling it safe enough to risk changing, he trotted behind a tree and let himself relax a moment before concentrating. He grunted as his body shuddered and jolted in response, his back rounding, belly expanding, hidden legs unfolding as his cramped muscles allowed him to complete the metamorphosis.
Foot steps.
Sinclair froze, the change almost complete. It must be Simon Kells. He hoped it was Simon Kells! It certainly wouldn’t bode well to be caught in his current nearly transformed state.
“Your tail is still showing small one.” The whisper was deep, edgy, and full of mirth.
Simon Kells had arrived.
Sinclair gave one last grunt, his rump rounding out completely, his so-called cat’s tail sucked back into the recesses of his body until he needed it again. He looked up at Simon Kells, the former Time Master, and stretched his legs. All eight of them. His rounded spine popped with the effort.
Simon Kells bent to the small Sarian now fully transformed before him. The furred creature resembled something between a spider and a cat. Its yellow fur smoother fully transformed, its eyes bigger and more luminous. Where there were whiskers, there were now furred antenna. What was the longer body of a cat was now the rounded hunched back of an orb weaver. The Sarian sat on his bottom, his back pairs of legs looking as if he sat on cat’s haunches, his front pairs bracing him. He yawned, his razor sharp teeth flashing, before he snapped his mouth shut. All at once a beautiful yet hideous creature, the little Sarian focused his full attention on his friend, Simon Kells, the Muiraran War Lord and former Time Master.
“How fares your charge, small one?” Simon Kells asked.
Sinclair blinked at him a few times as much a form of communication as speaking, and said. “She grievesseessss.”
Simon Kells cringed slightly. The smaller the Sarian, the squeakier the voice.
Simon Kells voice on the other hand, was rich, deep and edgy. The sound was enough to strike fear into any race. “But you bring her comfort, eh my little friend?”
“Yessseeessss.”
“What other news then?”
Sinclair stood, and scrambled up a nearby tree in order to put himself at eye level with the large Muiraran. His transformed feet now more claw than paw. Simon Kells stood in response. He was as tall as the Time Master Kwaku Awahnee and just as fierce looking if not more so. His head was bald but for a thick lock of hair protruding from the back and wrapped in a band of gold. His eyes were strangely dark, almost black, one could barely see the pupils and though the white skin of his face was now tanned from summer’s sun, they were still in stark contrast. His broad body was heavily muscled and hard. He had not bothered to disguise himself in human garb, but still wore the tunic, leather trappings and scabbard of his position. That of War Lord to the Muiraran race, which was the perfect position for him of course. Simon Kells inner heart after all, fed off of strategic warfare and tactics. He was the last Muiraran anyone of any known race ever wanted to pick a fight with.
Sinclair clung to the bark of the tree and got into the face of Simon Kells. “She dreamsssessss.” He rubbed his antennae together then abruptly sneezed.
Simon Kells wiped the result from his face and glared at the now shivering Sarian. “So sorrysseessss”
The War Lord smiled despite the mess. “Caught cold again, have you? Maybe this will make you feel better.” He reached into a pouch at his belt and produced a hunk of raw meat.
Sinclair began to shake with such excitement he nearly fell from the tree. “Meatsseessss!” His voice had gone up in pitch and Simon Kells cringed at the sound.
“Yes and I brought you more. But I need to hear your full report to take back to Kwaku.” He tossed the meat at the creature which easily caught it and sucked it inside his mouth. He chewed and sucked at it with relish.
“Ahhhhhsseesss, so good of you to bring me such a treatsseessss.”
“Yes, now about your reportsseessss?” Simon Kells urged sarcastically.
Sinclair swallowed the last of the meat and slurped. His antennae rubbed together furiously for a second before he spoke. “She dreams of her highnesseessss. She senses dangersseessss. The bond she shares with her highness is strongsseessss.”
Simon Kells rubbed his jaw with one hand in thought. “Interesting. I’ve not heard of such a bonding between one of the royal houses and a human female before.”
“Her heartsseesss, it is open to Muiraranssessss. Does her highness seek her friendsseessss?”
“I have not spoken to or observed her highness as yet to see. I’ve been watching over the young ones. It is with them we thought she would bond.”
“The new Time Master’s young brothersseessss? He would make a fun playmate for her highnesseessss.”
“Yes, Kwaku will begin training her highness with the young ones. They are all good boys and will make good classmates for her highness. And each boy will make a fine warrior one day.”
“The Time Master Kwaku trains them to killsseessss?”
Simon Kells looked taken aback. “Certainly not! They are as yet too young to take a life in war. It is her highness he will train.”
Sinclair deftly crawled down from the tree. “Ahhhhhsseessss. I see nowsseessss.”
“I will take this information back to Kwaku. He and Zara will know what to do with it. Now I must go. My wife is waiting.”
“Ahhhhhssessss, the Lady Garan is nearsseessss?”
“Of course. How do you think I got here?”
“Forgivesseessss me. I forget you served as Time Mastersseessss. But now you help Kwaku with such trivial thingsseessss. Whysseessss?”
“Because I feel I owe it to him and to my people.” Simon Kells face suddenly took on such a deep look of regret, Sinclair shuddered in response.
“Whysseesssss?”
“For making the mistake of choosing one such as Phillip Brennan for my successor to follow me as Time Master.” And with that, Simon Kells tossed the rest of the meat he’d brought to his little friend and turned to go join his Muiraran wife Garen. He had news Kwaku would want.
The great bond of friendship between the human Kitty Morgan and her highness might just be what they needed to succeed. Otherwise lives might well be lost. There was a great unrest among the Elders of the Royal Muiraran houses. Trouble was brewing and Kwaku knew it. If the prophecy of old were true, then Shona Shamaelon’s life may well be in danger. Not to mention that of the new Time Master Dallan. A strong bond such as the human Kitty Morgan had with the Shamaelon princess was a good thing. Humans became very perceptive when bonded with a Muiraran. Kitty Morgan could well be a very effective early warning system. Little did Kitty Morgan know, but she would probably be seeing her friend much sooner than she thought possible.
Simon Kells smiled as he joined his wife at the other side of the park. He kissed her soundly, whispered into her ear, and held her close for a moment before her entire body shuddered and she began to sing.



At the same time in the city of Mishna, Holding Cell # 639

Julia Dawson sat upon the bed of her cell and stared at the intricately designed metal bars which kept her locked inside. They were really quite beautiful, she thought as she studied the fine lines of the leaves which were sprinkled along the length of the prison bars themselves. The bars closely resembled tree limbs, the branches of which were intertwined with each other to form the door itself. She’d learned early on however that the prison bars were not only beautiful, but potentially deadly. The tips of the leaves had been coated with a shimmering red colored mixture that was probably some sort of poison. She’d made the mistake of touching a leaf while exploring any sort of possible weakness of the door. She’d woken up on the floor perhaps hours later. Much more touching of the pretty things and she doubted she’d had woken up at all.
Bored with her study of the bars she lay upon the bed and let out a slow, long, shaky breath. They would be coming for her soon to take her away. Today was her trial. Today may well also be her execution. But the Lord Councilors John Eaton and Lany Mosgofian had promised her leniency if she told the Muirarans all she knew about Phillip. And they had already been in to question her several times since her arrival several weeks ago. But not the Muirarans. No, the men who questioned her were human as far as she could tell. Judging from what she had learned from Phillip himself about the race, their camouflage instinct would only work if they were surrounded by humans, making them appear as one of them. In a city full of Muirarans, she doubted the men who had come to question her would have fluxed to human features just because they were in a prison cell with her. Not with a city full of Muirarans all around them. No, they were definitely human. Their obvious nervousness at simply being there was proof enough. The sweat on their brows, the way they paced the cell while questioning her, the furtive looks at the cell door. All indicators the men had probably never been among so many of the alien race before. She on the other hand was absolutely enthralled to be so close to them. She’d spent years seeking them out in her own time, and now here she was in a city with probably thousands of them. But as yet, she’d not seen a one. All her handling had been performed by humans. From the time she’d been passed off by the Time Master Kwaku Awahnee to the prison guards who locked her up until now. Not a sign of the Muirarans themselves. Only the alien surroundings she found herself in were any indicator of the race themselves. The light of her cell was just, well, there. It did not change or waver during the day and at night it slowly faded to darkness. But her cell and the hallway beyond it did not fall into pitch blackness as one might think considering the absence of any windows. No, it was a dark, subdued lighting to bring sleep and nothing more. The food too was strange, though some of it had been familiar as well. A delicious hot cereal of mixed grains of some kind in the morning followed by a soup served with a slice of odd, hard bread at lunch. Dinner consisted of meat, (probably beef she surmised the first night), with vegetables for dinner. Not a bad diet at all considering she was in prison. She briefly pondered what she might get for a last meal, if things came to that, before she quickly squelched the thought from her mind. She would survive this just as she’d survived everything else up until now. Including her betrayal by Phillip Brennan.
“They are ready for you.”
Julia jumped at the voice on the other side of the bars. She sat bolt upright and stared at the men standing there waiting. Guards. The same ones who had been bringing her meals and caring for her since her arrival. They dressed in brown robes which reminded her more of monks than any sort of prison guards. But she knew that beneath the robes they wore were weapons and perhaps other lethal devices. She’d seen them pull them out occasionally when the other men had come to question her.
One of the guards unlocked the door and pulled it open. “Come with us.”
Julia swallowed hard. She would get through this. Yes she would. She would survive. They would not kill her. She’d saved the Highlander after all and helped to thwart Phillip’s plan to take possession of Shona. Surely they would listen. Surely they would see she deserved to live.
Julia gathered her courage and stood. She walked slowly toward the door and met the eyes of the guards sent to escort her to her trial. A trial that, judging from the line of questioning by her human inquisitors, might well be a trial of the ages.
Her hands manacled behind her back, one guard gripped her by the arm while the other closed the door to her cell with a loud click. As they ushered her from her prison she suddenly wished she were locked back inside. A worse prison awaited her she realized. And she couldn’t afford to be locked up inside this one. She knew as well as anyone there was no escaping the prison of fear.

Introducing ....

2011-04-07T18:00:00.000-07:00

Ahhhh, here he is everyone. Melvale.

From Time Masters Book Two, The Prophecy, chapter seven.

"Shona, Shona wake up."

The voice was familiar, but Shona couldn't quite place it. She opened her eyes to a familiar face as well, but found she still could not attach it to a name.

"Are ye all right, lassie? Can I gets ye a cup o' something … er … ah … well, does ye needs anything?"

Shona wondered at the obvious hesitancy of the question as she sat up and looked around. Angus MacNab and Lany Mosgofian were hovering over her like a couple of mother hens. They were in a medium sized room all of white. Just four walls and the odd white cot she found herself on. It was the only piece of furniture to be found. No wonder Angus was hesitant in his offer. Where would he get a cup of anything?

"What happened to me?" She asked.

Lany let go a heavy sigh. "You were brought here after passing through the … ah … gates … I guess we could call them, and Jaireth brought you here to wait for Dallan with us."

"Dallan!" She immediately tried to rise.

Angus gently pushed her down. "Nay, lass. Best ye waits until ye get some o' yer strength back." He reached into a small knap sack he had draped over one shoulder. It was adorned in the same odd markings that had covered the blankets which covered the Muiraran's mounts. What ever they were. At this point Shona had no idea.

"Here," he began as he pulled out an apple and gave it to her. "Eats up. I have a feeling ye'll be needing yer strength." He pulled his lower lip between his teeth a few times. Shona recognized the action. The man was nervous.

Lany caught the concern in her eyes. "Don't worry. Dallan will be along shortly. Eat what you can."

Shona stared at the shiny red apple in her hand, a flash of Snow White and the poisoned apple handed to her by a dangerous foe engulfed her briefly. A subtle reminder they were still quite possibly in danger. "Thank you." Was all she said before she took a much needed bite.

"When Jaireth brought you through the, ah …" Lany waved a hand in the air, trying for the right word. "Oh living stars, we'll just stick with calling them gates, you passed out."

Shona chewed a little faster, and swallowed. "What gates?"

Angus shifted his feet about a bit. "Tis the entrances into the city here. I've been through several times, but never through the ones used today."

Shona stopped chewing, swallowed, and stared at Angus. "What is wrong with the gates?"

"D'ye remember anything, lass? D'ye remember passing through the wall o' rock?"

Shona almost choked. "Wall of rock?"

"Aye." Angus confirmed as he and Lany now peered at her intently as they waited for her answer.

She thought hard a moment as she tried to remember what had happened. She and Jaireth and been speeding along across a flat plain, she did remember seeing some sort of high wall of rock ahead. Like the wall of a plateau one might see in the desert. But the wall was not the red rock of Arizona like she'd seen in books at the library. No, this was grey and sharp looking, with streaks of black in it. Rather bleak and foreboding against the bright sunshine and dusty flatness of the plains over which they rode. But then the thing flying above them had screamed that horrible scream, and she in her terror had screamed right along with it.

"Oh dear." She said.

Lany peered at her more intently.

She merely looked at him, and then to Angus whose eyes were as round as saucers. "I remember heading straight for a wall of rock. Jaireth, he … covered me with his body, just before we …" she looked at the two men, puzzled. "Just before we hit it?"

"Aye." Angus again confirmed as he pulled a cloth handkerchief from his coat pocket and swiped it across his brow.

Shona shook her head as if to clear it. "We rode through a wall of rock?"

Lany shrugged. "As far as we can figure. We're not any more sure of it than you are. We were hoping you could tell us something else other than what we already know."

Shona again thought back. "I remember it becoming suddenly very cold, then nothing. I woke up here." She looked around again. "Where are we?"

"Some sort of waiting room or holding area." Lany answered.

Angus snorted. "Try a holding cell, laddie. I've been left in one o' these before. Have ye not noticed there are no doors?"

"Angus, how can I not notice?" Lany chastised.

The apple forgotten, Shona stood and looked around the room. It was perfectly square and a bright white color. What was interesting was the fact there were no visible lights in the room, yet what light there was was of an unusual soft brilliance. And the men were right. There were no doors, windows, or even a seam in the walls, ceiling, or floor. Sterile was the word she would use to describe their surroundings. Sterile and with no escape. So how did they get there? She threw the silent question at Lany who saw it coming in her raised brows.

"We don't know how we got here either. The two of us woke up not long before you did."

"I see." She walked to the nearest wall and touched it. It seemed to quiver slightly in response.

Angus backed up a step. "Best not touch anything, lass. We dinna ken what might happen!"

A slight humming noise permeated the room, as if it soaked through the walls and into the space around them. All three suddenly realized the room had changed with the noise. Shona gasped. The room had gotten bigger.

Lany looked around nervously. "That was certainly interesting." He swallowed hard. "Shona, do us a favor and don't touch the wall again."

She shrugged in helplessness, her heart suddenly aching with hunger. Her knees weak, she slumped to the floor.

"Lassie!" Angus rushed to her as did Lany.

"Your quick attendance to my daughter is most appreciated, gentlemen."

Shona, Lany and Angus all stared at the sudden appearance of Jaireth Shamaelon and the several guards who followed him into the room. An open corridor of white was behind them. But where had it come from?

Shona struggled to her feet with the help of Lany and Angus. "Where is Dallan?" She demanded.

Jaireth offered her a face full of compassion. "Did you honestly think I would let any harm come to him, daughter?"

Shona was taken aback at the question. What had she thought he would do? Especially after the stunt he'd pulled on the journey here. Where ever here was. "I do not know at this point. Where is he?"

Jaireth simply looked at her, and then moved to the side.

Dallan's still form was held up by a Muiraran guard on either side of him. They had obviously dragged the Scot down the corridor and into the room.

"Ewwww, it's not going to be pretty when he wakes up." Lany mumbled under his breath.

Shona pushed past her father to get to Dallan. Jaireth's lips formed into a tight line at the action, but he said nothing.

She knelt next to her husband as the guards gently lowered him face first onto the floor. One of them smiled at her before he turned the big Scot onto his back. "He'll be all right, your highness. Do not worry."

Shona looked at him, ignoring how he'd addressed her, and nodded her thanks.

The two guards stood and joined Jaireth along with the others whom had entered. Belatedly Shona sensed another person and turned to stare at the tall, cloaked Muiraran Melvale, who stood behind her in the corridor's entrance. She didn't quite know how she knew it was him. She just did. He must have taken in her expression as he bowed slightly before her. He then casually stepped over Dallan's unconscious form and entered the room.

"Melvale," Jaireth began. "You know what to do for my daughter and our guests. See to their needs will you?"

Melvale merely bowed slightly to the Muiraran Ruler then turned to his charges. Lany and Angus both stared blankly back.

Jaireth smirked slightly before he and the guards left them. Shona started as the room again quivered and hummed as before. The corridor suddenly disappeared and only the wall remained. She quickly looked to Lany and Angus, who looked just as shocked as she did. All three of them slowly turned their attention back to Melvale, who merely stood and said nothing.

Dallan groaned.

Shona repositioned herself and cradled his head in her arms. "Dallan?"

His eyes slowly opened. He blinked a few times before consciousness and recognition dawned. He reached up to Shona and cupped her face with a large hand. "Weel, Flower, this is different, is it no?"

She held the hand closer to her face and smiled. To touch him was bliss. To hear his voice, heaven. She now knew he was all right. "I do not think you fainted as I did. But then, we are not sure of a lot of things right now." She tried to smile at him. "Such as how we got here."

"Och, aye." Dallan said as he pushed him self up to a sitting position, gave Lany and Angus a curt nod, then leapt to his feet pulling Shona up with him. He staggered somewhat and grabbed Shona for balance until he could right himself. He was shaken. Very much so. It had been one wild ride to get here. And in more ways than one. Ways he wasn't ready to share with anyone just yet, lest they think he'd become addled in the brain. But where was here?

She supported him as best she could. "I felt the same way when I woke up too."

He straightened. "Saints," he began as he took in their surroundings. "What's happened and where are we?" Dallan shifted his gaze to the hooded Muiraran who stood nearby. "Well?" Dallan cocked his head slightly before a quirky smile formed on his lips. "Melvale?" What other Muiraran could it be? The arrogant stance was a dead give away.

The ever cloaked Melvale shifted his position and began to move along the wall behind him. The rest of them shifted naturally with him. Soon the four were lined up in front of him, all of them realizing what they'd just done. Angus, Lany, Shona, and Dallan all stood and waited as their tall host now stood as if he were looking down his nose at them. Bloody hard to tell though, Dallan thought, what with the hood he wore to cover his face.

He briefly wondered if dear Melvale didn't have some hideous deformity he was forced to hide and moved a little closer to Shona. Just in case. He didn't want her frightened.

Melvale took note of the slight action. "Hmmmm." came out in a rather sing-songy way. Beginning on a higher note and dropping in pitch slightly. Dallan narrowed his gaze and waited. He tensed as Melvale suddenly put his hands on either side of the hood he wore. All four sets of eyes widened, knowing what was coming.

Angus groaned and nodded knowingly to himself. "Here we go." He mumbled flatly.

Lany glanced slightly in his direction but didn't move at the odd statement as Melvale just as suddenly threw back the hooded cowl he wore.

Shona actually gasped. "Oh!"

Dallan and Lany on the other hand stood in silence, their mouths dropped completely open. Angus just groaned aloud again and rolled his eyes in annoyance.

Melvale stood in all his splendid glory. And splendid it was too. Even Dallan had to admit that. The creature standing before them was magnificent. He'd even go so far as to describe Melvale as beautiful. His face seemed as if it had been chiseled to perfection, his mouth as equally well formed as it pulled up slightly into a satisfied smile. The Muiraran man's eyes were of a steel grey, hard and intelligent. Very intelligent, Dallan noticed, and framed by inquisitive dark brows that were in sharp contrast to his hair. Beautiful hair of thick white silver tresses which cascaded down his back and over his shoulders. Dallan had to admit it. The man was breath taking. He quickly moved closer to Shona and put an arm around her small frame, pulled her close, then glared accordingly at the god-like looking specimen standing before them.

Melvale turned his body ever so slightly, raised one hand to shoulder level, his thumb and middle finger tips touching, pinkie finger out. Dallan wondered if it were some sort of Muiraran greeting. But then when Melvale didn't move further, he realized it was just a natural posture for the man. A slight tremor of familiarity and revulsion raced up Dallan's spine. He'd been around Melvale's kind before in France in his own time. But that couldn't be. Could it? Melvale couldn't possibly be a ….

"Welllllll" escaped Melvale in the same sing-songy manner as before though much louder this time.

Melvale, thought Dallan, most certainly could be.

"You all look as if you were expecting something else, hmmmm?"

Saints! He was! A dandy, a fop! Dallan had run into enough of them in France to know one when he saw one. He had to control himself to keep his mouth from curving up into a smile.

Melvale sauntered over to Angus. "Wellllllll Angus! How long has it been?" His words came out overly punctuated and still all over the octave scale as he poked at the aged Scotsman.

Angus could only groan in response.

Melvale tapped Angus on the forehead. "I know someone who's just dying to see you! AH HA!" His last two words burst from him rather than emerge a light laugh. His whole body moved with the sounds.

Dallan's tell tale twitch began its dance, but not in annoyance or irritation. Rather, it was with the effort it took to hold him self together and not fall into complete hysterics at the man's mannerism.

Melvale moved to Lany next. "And you Lord Councilor." He exclaimed as he poked Lany playfully in the chest. "First time to be allowed into the main city? Hmmmm? HA! Ohhhhhhhhhhh but what fun you'll have and the sights you'll see! I bet the missus will be sooooo jealous when she finds out." Melvale suddenly straightened as he turned from him, his face and voice flat as he made to move down the line. "If you're ever allowed to leave that is."

Lany stiffened at the statement.

Melvale froze. He took one step backwards. Two, and put himself directly in front of Lany again. He stared hard at the new Lord Councilor, his eyes narrowed to two, dark grey slits. "Hmmmmm …."

Dallan watched as Lany began to sweat. One droplet slowly trickled its way down his temple as Melvale continued to examine him.

Lany cleared his throat. "You have no right to keep us here as prisoners."

Melvale's eyes popped wide open at the statement. "HA!" he exclaimed then shoved at Lany in a playful gesture. "Oh stab me! Prisoners? Prisoners you say?" his voice bounced around from one octave to another, causing Lany to grimace almost as if in pain. Dallan thought he might be in the same uncomfortable position he was. That of trying not to laugh at the foppish mannerisms of the pretty dote.

But suddenly Lany wasn't laughing, if he'd had been that is, silently or otherwise, as Melvale's entire expression changed to one of near malice. He leaned into Lany's face and got nose to nose with him. "Hmmmm." Melvale's head tilted slowly from one side to the other as if he was reading the Lord Councilor, examining his very core. And perhaps, Dallan thought. He was.

Melvale leaned to Lany's ear, and though the words he spoke were whispered, Dallan heard them all the same. "Secrets, eh?" Melvale then moved away from Lany, a smug look on his overly handsome face, and approached Shona.

Shona leaned into Dallan and he tightened his hold on her to bring her even closer to his side. Melvale totally ignored the action and instead looked Shona right in the eye, his manner now that of servant as he bowed before her. "Your highness." He stood erect again and looked at her with what Dallan thought was compassion. "I am at your disposal. Anything you want, anything you need, anything, OH!"

Shona jumped.

Melvale's mouth formed a perfect "O" as he slapped both his hands to the sides of his face. He then pointed an accusing finger at her. "What is that awful thing you're wearing, your highness? Why it's utterly loathsome!" he made a great show of his disdain for the drawing of 'Tweety' which adorned her tee shirt as he threw his head to one side and brought the back of his hand to his brow in an obvious show of dramatics. At least Dallan hoped it was just dramatics. The man couldn't possibly be that far over the edge of … well, foppishness?

Shona looked blankly at him a moment, both brows raised, then began to blink a few times. She tried to push back a laugh as her body tensed against Dallan. But after a brief second, she looked from first Dallan, then to Lany in silent question. Finally, as if she could stand it no longer, she simply blurted out. "Gay?"

There was dead silence for the briefest of moments before Lany lost it. Dallan hadn't heard such high pitched cackles since the day of the "Kitty incident" which had nearly destroyed Angus's weapons shop. Angus himself was shaking in silent laughter, as if not quite able to let his own suppressed cackles fly.

Melvale stood completely erect, once again his voice flat. "I say your highness, are you referring to the twentieth century term which would dictate my choice of a mate to be one of my own gender?"

Shona, knowing her foot was in her mouth, could only shrug and nod before speaking. "I am so sorry. I just did not realize that there might be such things here. I…"

"Think nothing of it, your highness." He quickly interjected. "No offense taken." He moved down the line and stood in front of Dallan. He then made a show of looking the new Time Master up and down like he was a piece of candy to be rolled about on the tongue and savored. Slowly.

Dallan's free hand balled into a fist.

Lany and Angus immediately put some distance between the Scot and themselves. If he was going to take a swing at Melvale, they didn't want to deter him in any way.

"Ohhhhh come now, you big brute. Stop looking at me like that. Do you really think that if I was in such a state I'd even consider you?" He turned to Shona. "Not when there is such beauty to be had. Ohhhhhh just look at you, your highness. You've grown into a true treasure!" He clapped both hands in front of him. "And I can't WAIT to dress you!"

Dallan scowled. "That's it!" He let his balled fist fly.

Melvale ducked gracefully and dodged the blow. "There's no need for violence, Time Master!"

Dallan seethed. "Stay away from my wife ye bloody … ye …" Saints! What does one call a thing like him?

"Oh STAB me! You mean to say you can't come up with a proper insult on the fly?" Melvale broke into complete hysterics, his laughter bounced around a musical scale like a symphony trying to sound bad.

Dallan lunged.

Melvale quickly stepped aside to spin out of Dallan's grasp. Lany and Angus grabbed Shona and jumped onto the cot with her to get her out of the way.

"Oh stop you big smelly brute! DO calm yourself!" Melvale screamed as he ran around the perimeter of the room, Dallan in hot pursuit.

Lany, Angus, and Shona stood atop the cot in amazement as the mighty Time Master of Muirara chased the screaming Melvale in circles around the room. "Stop! Desist!" the Muiraran screamed after the fourth lap before he finally stopped and turned. Dallan plowed right into him and almost toppled them both over, but Melvale stood firm. "Really, if you insist upon taking your pent up anger issues out on someone, why not take them out on Kwaku? After all, you've got plenty to settle with him but no real argument of any substance here with me. All I merely intended was to gown and bejewel your wife properly as is befit her station. Not to do to her what you were obviously thinking, you BIG OAF!" Melvale poured out.

Dallan stood still as he took in the words of Melvale's quick yet calmly voiced entreaties, and could only stare back. Saints, was this fop of a braggart for real?

Melvale stood his ground and looked down his nose at Dallan. "Apologize."

Dallan shook himself. "What?!" Ye want me to give you a bloody apology?"

"Of course I do, you big smelly brute!" Melvale huffed.

"For what, I might ask?"

"Insulting me," Melvale began as he held up one finger. "Attacking me!" he held up a second finger. "Insinuating I would do dire, not to mention nasty things, to her highness!" Three fingers. "And …"

"Shut up!" Dallan hissed. "And, and … get us out o' here!" he added as an almost after thought.

Melvale turned to Shona. "I dare say, your highness, but is he always in such a bad mood?" He asked as he shoved his way past Dallan to stand before the cot where Lany, Angus, and Shona were still perched.

Shona stood speechless on the cot, her growing hunger drowning out the hilarity of the situation. She wondered if there were other Muirarans like Melvale to be found. She shook her head and sent a pleading look to Dallan.

"Out o' the way!" Dallan pushed Melvale aside and took Shona into his arms.

"Welllllll! You don't have to be so brutish about everything, Time Master!" Was Melvale's retort.

Dallan shot Melvale a warning glare before turning his attention to Shona. "She needs to feed." He stated more to himself than anyone else.

Lany now looked to Melvale. "You'd best see to our needs then as Jaireth told you."

. Melvale huffed as he turned to the wall opposite the one he, Jaireth and the others had entered. "You humans are so impatient. Always rushing here, running there." He shot them all an annoyed look. "Well don't just stand there you ninny twits! Bring her highness along and follow me!"

And with that, Melvale walked through the wall in front of him, and disappeared.

2010-11-03T13:28:00.000-07:00

EGADS! There's a bear in the woods. No really, there IS! He's a bit late this year. He usually passes through during the month of August, at times lingering for a bit some years all the way until the end of September. But this year he's LATE! Not sure why, as I'm not prone to keep an eye on a bear's yearly planner, but the least he could do was phone first! The nerve of some wildlife ...

The local raccoons also seem to be a bit off schedule and have decided to embark on their nightly excursions onto my back porch several months early. They usually show up in the dead of winter looking for something, ANYTHING edible. They hit the jackpot last night and supped on my cat's dinner. The audacity! My cat thought it was rather rude of them as well. I chased them off the back porch with a fire place poker. Not the best tool to use. A water laden mop usually works best ...

Ahhh the country life. I'm home today from my day job. Got my schedule changed so now I have more time to write. It's NaNoWriMo month! And though I'm not officially contributing to the word count, I am taking the month of November to write a book. No, not a Time Master book ... That takes a bit more than a single month. No, I'm crossing over to the other side for a bit while looking for a new home for TM, and in the interum, I'm writing something for Harlequin.

Now stop that gasping! It's not all THAT bad! So it's not exactly science fiction or fantasy. It's still fun and it's still exciting! No I'm not going to be writing for a suspense line as some of you have already asked. I'm writing a book for Harlequin Romance. A line that meets my needs as a writer. Those of you who have read Time Masters know how I love emotional roller coasters! And of course, Happily Ever Afters. And I like a challenge. And fitting a bit of suspense (I can't help it you know) lots of emotional tension and a satisfying ending all into a tight little fifty thousand word package is a challenge! Let's face it, Time Masters was 219K words! I'm long winded! So I thought a wee challenge would be just the ticket. Besides, those girls are having fun!!!!! And so I decided to join the party.

Well I must be off to go do another chapter. See you all at the end of the month!

2010-03-14T18:48:00.000-07:00

OK so who'd a thought my posting what I was making for my dinner tonight on face book would cause such a stir! But here it is! Cranberry Pot Roast!

3lb. beef chuck roast
2 Tbls. olive oil
2 Tbls. flour
2 cups fresh cranberries, but sometimes I just use a can if I can't find any fresh.
1 cup water
salt and pepper
1 orange

Coat the roast with flour, salt and pepper and sear in the olive oil until brown on all sides. Cook the berries if you have fresh in the one cup of boiling water just until skins pop. Add the berries and cooking water to the meat along with the orange (cut it into about eight pieces). Simmer on low in a covered dutch oven, about three hours adding water as needed.

I sometimes cut the meat up into large pieces and add a little wine. All depends. You can play with it. Nice recipe and not really very fattening at all. I added Brussel Sprouts to it the last hour. YUM! I do love good old fashioned cooking! Thus my penchant for collecting really old cookbooks I guess!

Enjoy all!

Geralyn

2009-12-14T16:51:00.000-08:00

The Value of Etiquette vs. Sneering at Etiquette

By Mrs. Elsey Whittard

It is the practice with certain people to sneer at the word "etiquette," and to claim that it merely means a foolish pandering to frivolous customs which in themselves have no meaning or use. This is a misapprehension which a little thoughtful consideration will remove.
Certain rules for the government of social, business and political life have been current for generations, and have been handed down with almost unvarying exactitude, in all civilized lands. Such customs or laws, are grounded in good taste, a sense of the fitness of things, kindly feelings, and a natural desire to smooth away the asperities and roughness which would prevail among so many persons of varying tastes and ideas, without a certain set of rules to help to this end.

A Polite Person Admired.

Who is not attracted toward a polite, well-bred person? Who does not carry with them, perhaps through life, the remembrance of some real gentleman or lady with whom they came in contact, at perhaps, an early period of their life? The pleasant memory such a person has left, and the agreeable impression, may unconsciously have had some influence upon their own life, and served as a model for their own behavior when launched into the society which they wish to adorn.
To understand and cultivate the tenets laid down by good society, is not to assume airs, or does not prevent the recognition of the "rough diamond" that sometimes shines out from among those whose early advantages have not been many. Rather it adds a higher polish to that gem, and gives it a higher luster. Who are the gems in your life? Think about it ...

Certain Rules.

Rules of etiquette have their allotted place among the forces of life, and must be acknowledged as moral agents in refining and making more agreeable our daily intercourse with each other. They are agents for good. They teach us to be more lenient with the various elements which compose society. Life is a sort of a partnership in which each human being has an interest; and the laws of etiquette, well enforced, oblige us to make concessions to the many tastes, prejudices and habits of those we meet in the social circle , at public entertainments, in business relations, or when traveling. If the value of good breeding is in danger of being depreciated, it is only necessary to compare the impression which a gentle, pleasant demeanor leaves upon you, with the gruff abrupt or indifferent carriage of those who affect to despise good manners. If two applicants for a position are equally capable, it is safe to assert that in every case, the agreeable and courteous seeker will obtain it in preference to the other, who is his equal in all respects, save that he is deficient in that suave dignity that charms all.
We are all susceptible to the charm of good manners. Indeed, society could not be maintained save for the usages of etiquette. But true etiquette must spring from a sincere desire to make everyone around us feel at ease; a determination to exercise a thoughtful regard for the feelings of others. It is this patient forbearance with the eccentricities of all, which stamps the true lady or gentleman. It is a duty which each one owes to himself, to acquire certain rules for guidance, which shall make him a welcome guest in any circle.

What Etiquette Is.

Etiquette is not a servile yielding up of one's individuality, or cold formality. It is rather the beautiful frame which is placed around a valuable picture to prevent its being marred or defaced. Etiquette throws a protection around the well-bred, keeping the coarse and disagreeable at a distance, and punishing those who violate her dictates, with banishment from the social circle.

I will discuss manners in my next writing. Until then, study and learn my students, study and learn.

Mrs. Elsey Whittard, December 14, 1891

Setting a Frugal Table, A Ladies Guide for Young and Inexperienced Housewives.

2009-08-04T20:53:00.000-07:00

August 4, 1888

Dear Readers,

If we take the average income of the prosperous American household of the medium range of intelligence and culture, we shall find it to be from $1500.00 to $2000.00 a year. Young professional men and young merchants and financial men who have married and see families growing up about them do not usually exceed these amounts in the years when they are laying the foundations of future fortunes. When the ordinary expenses of living are considered, the table should not consume more than one third of the entire amount. Suppose this to be $1500.00. An average rent would be $25.00 per month; while in some cities it would be more, in many localities it would be considerably less, especially in young and spreading communities and their suburbs, and upon the line of Metropolitan railways; in perfectly respectable city neighborhoods a floor or a part of a small house can be rented for/from $25.00 to $30.00 a month. Fuel for a cooking-stove and two other fires, and lights, would cost about $8.00 per month, providing coke were used in cities, and the cinders of coal utilized, and if some of the lighting were done by kerosene. Upon this point it may be well to say here that actual tests have shown possible the entire lighting of a four-story city house with kerosene at an average cost of $3.00 per month. Then would come household wear and tear and medical attendance, that would probably be covered by $100.00 a year, the fact being remembered that the doctor's visits can be largely affected by the mother's own care of her family, and chiefly by keeping them properly nourished. Church dues, literature, and amusements would require at least $60.00 a year. And this estimate would leave $300.00 for clothing.

Now that you have these figures dear ones, I shall show you in my next bit of advice how to break down our first bill of fare which is suitable for any season when fresh vegetables are available.

Cream of beets,
Fried cauliflower
Breast of lamb with stuffed potatoes
Stewed beets with brown sauce
Marianne puddings with cream sauce
Apples, nuts, black coffee

Respectfully Yours
Mrs. Elsey Whittard

Snowed in with A Passion Most Pure

2008-12-29T20:51:00.001-08:00

If you’ve been following the latest news, most of you know of the horrific winter storm that hit the Northwest this last week. I myself was snowed out of my house for the entire week. (Don't worry, I was rescued and had a nice warm safe place to stay.) My family and I missed Christmas together. My daughter was unable to fly home for the holiday from college due to all the flight cancellations. It was not the merry Christmas many had hoped for. However, God has a way of turning things around and making good come out of chaos. And as the winter storm raged outside many a home, there were a lot of folks who rediscovered what it was like to have a good neighbor, how to appreciate loved ones more, and that family is the most important thing. Not what gifts are under the Christmas tree.

Myself, being a writer, I wondered what it would be like to be snowed in with various characters from some of the books I’ve read over the last few months. My own book’s characters included. And after much thought, I decided that if I had to be snowed in with the characters from any of the books I’ve read, including my own, I’d have to say that the characters from Julie Lessman’s book, A Passion Most Pure won. Not that being snowed in with Dallan MacDonald doesn’t have its appeal. But let’s face it, those of you who have read my books know that one can only take so much of Kitty Morgan, and I just couldn’t imagine being snowed in with the whole Time Master bunch, which would definitely include Kitty. So the O’Connor family from Julie’s book won out.

Set against the backdrop of world war one in 1916, A Passion Most Pure spills off the pages and into one’s heart and mind like butter. It had a way of gripping me like no book had in many years. And let me tell you, it takes a lot to hold me especially when I’m working on my own stuff. Emotionally compelling and just as satisfying, the story revolves around Faith O’Conner and her younger sister Charity who both have their cap set for the same man. One the girls parents would rather they both leave alone. Collin McGuire isn’t exactly the type of chap to write home about in their book, let alone bring through the front door. But that’s exactly what happens.

Faith’s ever growing affection for Collin is kept hidden in her heart for many years and to suddenly find her sister Charity wrapped in his arms one day shatters her world. To see Collin then court Charity nearly rips it apart. Why can she not just let it go? What is it about him that so draws her? And why does he have to be in love with her sister? But wait! Collin seems to be asking himself some of the same questions. But he’s asking them about Faith! Ohhhh now we have a pickle!

The thing I loved about this book is the strong family core of the O’Connors. They love and laugh together, cry together, fight together. They are the stuff of the heart. The grist and guts that holds a family together. They are steadfast in their love for each other and that, along with an understanding of God’s forgiveness pulls them through an extremely difficult time. I’ve never started a rating system when I review a book, but if I did, and scored on a scale of 1 (being don’t waste your time) and 5 (being keep it on the shelf and never lend it out!) I’d have to give Julie’s book a five! The copy I read was loaned to me and under penalty of death too I might add. I need to remember to get it back to its rightful owner. One of these days …..

2008-09-22T13:52:00.000-07:00

Question: How many Peanut M & M's does one eat while writing action scenes? Hmmmm, read it and answer yourself! I'm not telling!

From Time Masters Book Two; The Prophecy

This is a scene from Chapter five. Just thought I'd share. TM fans will be able to figure out who is who easily. The rest of you, well, good luck!

"Shona!" Dallan turned as best he could and grabbed at her falling form. She'd nearly slid half way off the back of the horse before he finally got a good hold of her. He pulled her back onto the horse, positioning her in front of him sideways, and cradled her there. "Shona?" he prompted as he shook the still form in his arms.
"What has happened?" Shannell rode up beside him as she asked.
"I dinna ken. I think she fainted."
Shannell guided her horse along side Dallan's and placed her hand on Shona's forehead. She closed her eyes a moment in concentration before looking at him. "You are right. Bring her along. She will be fine in a moment." And with that she left his side and rejoined her husband as most of the party formed itself into a single line. About a half a dozen of the dark cloaked Muirarans rode out in pairs ahead of everyone else. Jaireth and Shannell rode behind them followed by more of the Muiraran guards. Even more horses joined the entourage, these carrying what looked to be women. Though hooded, their white cloaks revealed their slighter forms. Next rode Dallan and a still unconscious Shona as the two Muirarans who had prepared their horse flanked them on either side. More guards followed them, after which the wagons full of villagers ambled along. Bringing up the rear Dallan noticed, were Kwaku and Zara, both astride a black horse. Both he also noted, with a quarterstaff in hand. He frowned at the sight and grasped Shona more tightly to him. He looked down just as her eyes began to flutter back to consciousness.
Dallan bent to her. "Dinna be afraid, Flower. I'm right here." He whispered as they reached the edge of the trees where a narrow trail cut its way through the thick forest which surrounded the village. Dallan swallowed hard. For ten long years he had never been beyond the village's perimeter, not that he hadn't ever tried. He tried countless times while being held prisoner there. But each time, he'd never gotten more than twenty or thirty yards beyond the line of trees that formed the wall around his prison home. He remembered how a sudden dizziness would overtake him, and how he would run, run like there was no tomorrow. Yet the dizziness and subsequent blackness would always win out, and he would wake up each time afterward in his cottage on his bed. Shortly after which Kwaku would come and lecture him on patience or some other such thing he didn't want to hear about at the time.
"Dallan?'
Thankfully Shona's voice pulled him out of his unwanted musings. He looked to her and smiled. "Are ye all right, M'eudain?"
She smiled at the Scottish endearment he so often used. "Yes, I think so. I believe I fainted."
"Aye, that ye did. But why?"
Tears began to form in her eyes. "I do not know." Was all she could offer.
He held her a bit closer as she was clearly frightened. But whether it was because she had fainted, or because of the reasons leading up to it he didn't know. He wondered briefly about asking her, but then thought better of it. Best instead to keep his eyes on the trail in front of them.
The pace picked up as the entourage made its way deeper into the forest. All seemed very peaceful and quiet. Too quiet, but he attributed it to the fact the horses probably wore no shoes. The slight swishing of the horses adorned blankets coupled with soft sounds their hooves made on the forest floor was rather comforting. Dallan let go a long sigh and relaxed enough to enjoy the ride. Shona had sat up and, arms draped around his shoulders, also watched the trees and foliage pass by. Some of the plants he recognized. But many of them he did not. They were quite strange and grew even stranger the deeper into the woods they went. The trees were becoming thicker, and the gradual change from cedars and firs increased to trees that were taller. The most prominent were wider trunked and more heavily barked. But what were they? Their leaves were large and shaped like spades, the green rich and deep. Some appeared to have what looked to be the last remnants of blossoms on them. Their pink faded now. Rather like that of cherry trees.
"Dallan, where are we?"
"I dinna really ken. We're travelling through the forest that bordered the village. It's the path that leads to the Muiraran city. But I dinna ken how far it goes."
"The trees are strange."
The hairs on the back of Dallan's neck suddenly rose. But not at Shona's comment. A dark shadow suddenly passed over them but it was so distorted by the overhead tree branches own shadows he couldn't make it out. He quickly looked up, but saw nothing. Maybe the woods were making him see things. It was not like a few shadows would make him cower as a frightened child, but the forest around them definitely began to take on a presence. He would have to keep a sharp eye out.
An hour later the path widened and the pace picked up. The horses naturally went into a slow canter, as if used to changing gaits at this point in the journey. The white clad women riding ahead of him remained in single file however and did not take advantage of the extra room to ride side by side. And no wonder. Suddenly out of nowhere other riders began to emerge from the trees, all going along at the same pace as the rest of them. The newcomers were obviously Muiraran with their tall forms astride the same odd horses their own party rode. The horses themselves were no different than any other good piece of horseflesh Dallan had encountered through the years, but these were definitely different. These were Muiraran horses. And though the bodies and heads were mostly covered, they were easily defined by the eyes. Eyes that could be of any color. And that meant they were alien. Just as the Muirarans were. The thought made Dallan's gut twist slightly.
The newcomers aligned themselves next to the white clad women who one by one removed their hoods once joined with a man. Some of the pairs would look at each other and simply nod in greeting, while others smiled, touched one another in some manner to acknowledge the other and continued the pace. One couple kissed briefly, clasped each others hands a moment, then shifted their full attention back to the path. The last two women of the group however, Dallan noticed, remained by themselves. There was no Muiraran man to ride along side of them as yet.
"They are not joined." Shona said simply as she caught his questioning look, "That is why they ride alone."
"Who are they?" Dallan asked as they cantered along and watched the couples ride side by side silently ahead of them.
Shona wrapped her arms more tightly about him. "They are my sisters."
"Sisters?"
"Yes. All that ride before us."
"Saints, woman! Ye've a large family!"
Shona rested her head against him as they rode. "I do not as yet consider them my family." She said flatly.
Dallan wondered at the odd statement and was about to comment when another black shadow suddenly darkened the sky above them. A very large shadow. He again looked to the sky, only to see that here, the branches of trees with their large green leaves were now so thick they began to form a canopy above them. He was seeing things. But if that were so, then why did he have the unmistakable feeling that they were being watched? No, that wasn't quite right. Hunted would be a better term. Yes, hunted. He quickly scanned the trees and strange fauna which surrounded them. It was becoming so thick he could barely see but a few yards into the tangled mass. Not only that, but the trail began to narrow somewhat again. Dark thick woods, a large party tightly bunched together. A perfect place for an ambush he thought.
Perhaps he wasn't the only one who came to that conclusion as one of the Muiraran guards from the front of the line quickly rode to Jaireth and Shannell and spoke with them briefly before making his way to the back of the line and Kwaku.
Dallan felt the entire party tense, as if one body, as they continued to ride forward, the pace not slowed in the slightest. He turned in the saddle as best he could to see what was happening behind them just as Kwaku was quickly making his way up the line with the guard sent to fetch him. The big Azurti warrior's face harbored a look Dallan had never seen before until today. One of grave concern.
Kwaku galloped past, his face set, and pulled his horse up along side Jaireth's. They spoke briefly and in a language Dallan could not understand. Muiraran? It must be. Surely the race would have their own language.
His horse suddenly lunged, as if trying to bolt and Dallan fought to control the animal as Shona clung to his neck in her attempt to stay put. The beast let loose a loud cry that sent a shiver up his spine. It was not the normal sound a horse would make. It was more a shriek. The kind a large cat might produce. The other horses in turn began to pick up speed as he continued to try to slow his own down. But to no avail, soon the entire party was speeding along at a good gallop. Dallan, his eyes intent on the trail before him, again saw the same large shadow pass along the ground, but this time there were two of them, and this time the rush of wind that followed in the shadow's wake was unmistakable. Saints! What was that bloody thing?
"Hang on!" he told Shona. She said nothing, and tightened her hold around his neck even more. He in turn anchored her in place with one arm, while he tried to control the horse with the other. Though quite comfortable in the saddle, he'd not sat a horse in many years, and his balance wasn't what he thought it might be. The fact the Muiraran horse's gait had suddenly changed didn't help. And it wasn't the increased speed. No. It was instead like riding a big cat, rather than a horse, its shoulders moving with a sinewy-muscled grace, rather than a hoofed animal's clip-clop gait. The change had taken place as soon as they had gone into a gallop and Dallan sensed his horse, not to mention the others, were capable of going at an even faster pace and at a much different gait. It was then he finally noticed the ankle and hoof coverings the horses all wore. He'd seen similar adornments on war horses in France. They protected the hoof and often sported spikes which were used to bring down an enemy. He also suddenly realized why such a large party could travel so quietly. It was not that the horses were not wearing shoes. But that the horses probably did not even possesses hooves to begin with! The Muirarans had disguised their mounts well.
"What's happening?" Shona pushed out as she also noticed the change of the animals gait.
"Hang on. Dinna let go of me unless I tell ye to, understand?"
"Yes!" she pushed out as she clung to him.
Kwaku continued to ride along side Jaireth. He suddenly let out a booming laugh as another ominous shadow again passed over them. Shona started in his arms. "Dallan! What was that?"
Before he could comment Kwaku had turned his horse and was galloping to the back of the line again. He still laughed as he went, casting Dallan an all too familiar sadistic wide grin as he sped past. "Just hang onto me, Flower." He ordered and said nothing more. Something was up. And the bloody heathen knew it.
CRACK!
Shona screamed at the sudden sound as a large tree came crashing down across the trail directly in front of Jaireth and Shannell to block their path. Several of the guard's horses at the front of the line reared, while Dallan caught a glimpse of more than several of Shona's sisters mounts leap into the trees and bound away, their Muiraran husbands close behind them.
"Ochmen, deid na la!" Jaireth shouted in the same language he'd used when speaking with Kwaku. Though Dallan did not understand the strange tongue, he more than understood how his new heart interpreted it. Take cover!
It was then all chaos broke loose.
CRACK!
Another tree came crashing across the trail behind them and then another. The women villagers in the wagons screamed as black figures fell from the trees around them. Multitudes of them cascaded down like a waterfall in front of Dallan's mount, temporarily blocking his view of Jaireth and Shannell as the Muiraran ruler continued to shout orders Dallan could not understand. But he didn't need to. Protecting Shona was his first priority.
The barrage of darkly clad figures made straight for him. Covered from head to toe in strange black clothing, they were everywhere, and though not quite as tall as the Muirarans, they moved much the same. For the briefest of seconds he wondered who they were just as they surrounded his horse and pushed themselves in upon them. Like a mass of insects they clambered upon one another to get to him. But it wasn't him Dallan suddenly realized they reached for. It was Shona.
She screamed as several of them grabbed her legs in an attempt to pull her from his grasp. Dallan instinctively reached behind himself. No dirk. No weapons. In the rush to leave he'd not gone back to his cottage to retrieve any. Kwaku had him leave his dirk on the bed before they'd ventured to the arena to wait for Shannell to be done with Shona. He cursed and punched the nearest assailant in his black clad face. The figure flew across the mass encircling them, only to be replaced by another as they crushed in upon his horse.
He cursed as Shona was inched out of his tight grasp as they pulled at her from below. He wondered why the horse did not rear in protest at the onslaught. Instead it pranced about, eyes wild yet allowed itself to be surrounded by the attackers. Dallan let out a frustrated yell as some of the assailants leaped upon the back of the animal, grabbed him from behind, and began to loosen Shona's arms from about his neck.
"Dallan!"
His arms swung at anything then, just so long as he hit the nearest ones yanking and tugging at his wife. She screamed again as she was pulled from his grasp and quickly carried away. He too was pulled from the horse and set upon by more bodies than he could count. Their crushing weight made it difficult to breath. But none of them were attacking to harm him. No, they were simply trying to hold him down while they made off with his wife! He cried out in frustration and pushed at the jumbled mass of bodies now piled on top of him. The noises of the battle were muffled as he fought to free himself. The wagons full of screaming villagers quickly clambered by judging from the shaking ground. Shouts could still be heard but were soon distant. The only sound to cut its way to him was Kwaku's booming laugh. And for once, he welcomed it.
The massive pile on top of him lightened as it was picked and poked at by the big Azurti warrior's quarterstaff as he quickly disassembled the crushing mass. From what Dallan could hear, as he bloody well couldn't see anything buried as he was, the attackers were running from Kwaku. Good!
"Boyeee!" Dallan heard Kwaku call as if annoyed. "Get out of der and fetch your wife!"
As suddenly as he'd been buried beneath them, the black clad bodies scrambled off and began to run into the trees. Dallan sprang to his feet and scanned his surroundings. The wagons were gone. The guards also were gone. There was still some commotion up ahead of him but he wasn't quite sure what it was. Suddenly a horse and rider leaped over the downed tree. Its form unnaturally graceful as it came to land almost silently beside him.
Jaireth Shamaelon looked down at him from his mount, a shocked Shona imprisoned tightly in his arms before him. His horse reared, raised its head, and screamed. The high pitched noise made Shona try to cover her ears as did Dallan. The bone chilling trail up the spine the awful sound left in its wake was nerve shattering. The horse looked right at Dallan then, its bright green eyes narrowed to slits beneath the head covering it wore, and bared its teeth.
The horse had fangs.
A low, rumbling growl then escaped it as it repositioned itself and turned back to face the fallen tree. Jaireth made a show of tightening his hold of Shona and sneered down at Dallan. "All too easy." Was all he said before the horse, correction, beast gracefully jumped over the tree and bounded away.
Dallan let out a howl of frustration and began to curse up a storm in Gaelic. If he'd had something to throw he certainly would. Angrily he stomped toward the tree then thought better of it. He'd never be able to keep up with that thing Jaireth was riding on foot. He quickly spun to his own strange mount. Which was, naturally, nowhere to be seen.
He cursed again then followed the sounds of chaos still around him to find Kwaku now under a pile of bodies. But the big Azurti warrior wasn't fighting as Dallan knew he could. Instead, the heathen got back to his feet with the attackers still clambering all over him, and laughed as he began to throw them off.
"Bloody heathen!" Was all Dallan could push out as he made his way over to help, dodging the occasional body or two as they flew past his head to land in a heap behind him.
"I see you fare well, Boyeee! But where is your wife?"
Another body flew past. Dallan ducked just in time. "Wife? Saints man! Where d'ye think she is! You tell me!"
Kwaku, the last of the assailants tossed, took a gasp of breath and pointed.
"I ken well enough Jaireth took her in that direction. But why? What's going on?" He yelled at Kwaku just as one of the attackers leapt onto his back. He pulled the man off and punched him in the gut. The black form hunched over in pain, his breath gone as he began to struggle for air. "And who are these people?" Dallan demanded, taking advantage of the natural break in the battle.
Kwaku began to chuckle. But his chuckle soon turned into a full belly laugh as the remaining black clad attackers began to get up and regroup them selves. "Get yourself to de city, Boyeee! Do not dally wid dis enemy along de way. Dey are mine to contend wid!" And at that, the attackers came at them. Well, not the two of them specifically. Only Kwaku as they piled on top of him just as before, his laughter now muffled by their many bodies. Several even ran past Dallan, ignoring him completely in their haste to get to the growing pile.
Dallan could only stare at the whole scene blankly for a moment before turning and heading back in the direction he'd come. He jumped onto the fallen tree that lay across the path and scrambled over it. His mind now fixed upon the pursuit of Shona and her captor. Correction, her father. A man, who as far as Dallan was concerned, now held his wife and friends prisoner.

Copyright Geralyn Beauchamp 2008

And the nominees are ...

2008-07-14T13:57:00.001-07:00

Well first off Time Masters Book One; The Call was a finalist in the Indie Excellence Book Awards. This is a big deal and certainly made my publisher happy. In fact my publisher had quite of few of their authors do well in various contests this year. You get that wonderful email that says you've won! But it's even more interesting when people start congratulating you on things that you have no idea you were involved in! I received several congratulatory emails from people telling me about my "nomination". Nomination? Nomination for what? Why am I always the last to know these things! I need to get out more! Lo and behold however, I was featured author for the month of June for the same site sponsering the Pluto Awards. Check it out at: http://www.yellow30scifi.com/index.html

The Pluto awards will announce their winner in September. Time Masters is one of the nominees. And here is a complete list:

FLASHPOINT by Frank Creed

THE LION VRIE by Christopher Hopper

BLUE by Melanie Budiarto

IN EXILE by Joanne Hall

SHEPHERD'S QUEST by Brian S. Pratt

WIND FOLLOWER by Carole McDonnell

TAU 4 by V. J. Waks

HUNTER OF THE HORDE by Brian S. Pratt

VIRTUAL EVIL by Jana G. Oliver

TIME MASTERS: THE CALL by Geralyn Beauchamp

QUEST'S END by Brian S. Pratt

MASON'S LINK by Bill Andrews

For more information go to: http://www.yellow30scifi.com/2008PlutoNominees.html

OH THOSE CLIFF HANGER ENDINGS!

2008-07-14T13:56:00.000-07:00

My personal favorite truth be known! And since I not only love them, but am also quite adept at writing them, I was asked to be a guest blogger to explain just how I do it! Check it out at: http://www.fictionmatters.blogspot.com/

Enjoy!

The Winners of the National Time Master Give Away Are:

2008-05-12T21:37:00.000-07:00

1. Dona W. of Temecula, CA
2. Landon K. of Modesto, CA
3. Pamela M. of Mason, TN
4. Cheri J. of Pensacola, FL
5. Mimi B. of Annandale, MN
6. Donald James P. of Puyallup, WA
7. Kathy C. of Portland, OR
8. Teyha V. of Gladstone, OR
9. Linda F. of Trumbull, CT
10. Nicolette L. of Selden, NY
11. Cindi H. of Edwardsville, IL
12. Cathi H. of Amelia, OH
13. Rowena W. of Jenks, OK
14. Kay C. of Frisco, TX
15. Kathy B. of Fort Morgan, CO
16. Debra U. of Colorado
17. Bill B. of Philadelphia, PA
18. Sue R. of Auburn, WA
19. Kristy C. of Oklahoma City, OK
20. Emily H. of Elkton, KY
Congratulations to you all! I'll be signing and sending out your copy of Time Masters in the next week or so! I hope you all enjoy reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it!

National Time Master Book Give Away!

2008-03-25T19:57:00.000-07:00

Woo Hoo! A Book Give Away! Yes, a book give away. Twenty Books to be exact. Autographed even. This of course means a drawing! Which of course means you have to enter. Which at this point means I have to give you some pertinent information on the matter! Ok fine!

So toddle on over to my website if you will at www.geralynbeauchamp.com and sign up for the Time Master newsletter. Winners will be announced in the May/June newsletter. Please send your name, snail mail address, contact email along with the answer to the secret question to TMGiveaway@yahoo.com to enter the drawing. Entries will be taken through April 25, 2008. No we do not give your email out. It’s to let you know if you won! And of course to find out if you want to be announced as a winner in the May/June newsletter under your real name, secret identity, or borrow your uncle Charlie’s identity. At any rate, we would like to let folks know the lucky twenty! OH WHAT’S THE SECRET QUESTION? I’m glad you asked. For those of you who like a bit of a hunt, here’s a little question to answer when you enter.

What is the name of Dallan MacDonald’s little brother?

You can find the answer at:

http://www.amazon.com/Time-Masters-Book-One-Call/dp/1583851984/ref=ed_oe_p

Hint: It’s in the prologue posted on the amazon page!

Kitty Morgan Has Escaped!

2008-03-16T14:11:00.000-07:00

Kitty Morgan, my ditzy, boy crazy character from Time Masters Book One; The Call, has escaped the pages and is running all over the internet trying to find her dumb cat! She's raving about some book the Christian Fiction Review Blog is touring in April that apparently has a bat and a wolf in it and I think Kitty has them at the top of her suspect list! Along with a few dragons, orcs and individuals of questionable character. She's trying to recruit other characters to help her in her quest of finding her cat, Sinclair. So far she's managed to talk about the wolf and the bat on Shoutlife, Myspace, The Time Mistress's blog, and I'm sure if I turn my back she'll have it posted on the Time Master Blog too! That ding dong will have that bat and wolf all talked up within days darn her! But I hear Kitty is actually WORRIED about the bat and the wolf, which she thinks are in some sort of danger. Quite the puzzle! She also thinks the bat and the wolf are not just a bat and a wolf! Who is responsible for them? What is her name .... ahhhh .... DENT! That's it! Sue Dent! Ah ha! And her bat and wolf are characters in a book called .... just a minute ... I can remember it .... ahhhhh NEVER CEESE! Yes, that's it! Never Ceese. Whew, for a second there I thought my memory was failing me.

Ok, so if anyone sees Kitty, tell her I need her back amongst the pages by chapter fourteen of Time Masters Book Two; The Prophecy or I'm going to tan her hide! And tell her to leave the bat and the wolf alone!!!!! If they are in danger then that's their problem! Good gravies! What next?

Something Ate My Cat!

2008-03-16T14:08:00.000-07:00

Something Has Eaten My Cat!

Yes, I’m sure of it! I haven’t seen Sinclair for nearly two weeks now and I’m sure something had him for lunch! Gaaaawwwwsh but I’m upset about it! And everybody be really quiet too! You see, my name is Kitty Morgan and I managed to sneak out of the pages of Time Masters to find Sinclair! Well, that is if there is anything left to find ... but I’m an optimist you see! All I need is a little help to find out what happened. At least if I knew what happened then I could go back to where I came from and no one will be the wiser! But I only have until chapter fourteen of Time Masters Book Two the Prophecy to solve this! If I come up missing I’ll be in BIG trouble! Gawsh but I better move fast!

What makes me think something ate my cat? What makes me think?! Good golly! For one there are characters from other books perfectly capable of eating my poor Sinclair! I think some of them come from books by authors belonging to the Christian Fiction Review Blog! They are going to be touring a book next month that I bet could be trouble! It has a wolf and a bat that wanders around not only this place but I hear they get into other places as well! At least I think it’s just a wolf and a bat. Could be something more, I’m not sure but I’m not leaving them off the suspect list! And what about the dragons?! There are a few of those mind you and they definitely could have made Sinclair into a tasty snack! Ohhhh what am I to do? I need help! Aren’t there any other characters from the CFRB’s other books who can help me find my poor Sinclair? I need the police! Are there any policemen in there? Detectives? Sleuths? Someone told me there was actually a dragon private eye in Shoutlife and the CFRB, and he may even be in myspace too! Not that he’ll do me much good. For all I know HE is the culprit of this horrid crime! Could any characters from that CFRB group help me? I think I know a few of the members and they all are quite agreeable. I don’t think they’d eat me ...that I know of that is ....

Maybe I can ask the new neighbors, some chap by the name of Duke Vahn. He and his wife are vacationing near me for a few weeks. Her name is Kee and she seems nice. I bet she would answer my questions and tell me if she saw anything! Ohhhhhh if only I could get in touch with Dallan and Shona from Time Masters. But I can’t travel through time, and they left me at the end of Book One; The Call for the far future. A dragon might be able to travel that far. I wonder if that dragon private eye is a good dragon, or a bad dragon? Ohhhhh gaswh! I’m stuck! Who can tell me what to do next? HELP!

Get Ready For Six Weeks Of Gut Punch Writing!

2008-02-18T15:01:00.000-08:00

Ohhhhh not you! YOU don't have to step into the ring! I'm the one down in the locker room putting my trunks on. And who might my opponent be? Glad you asked! Why, it's Dallan MacDonald of course, the hero of the Time Master's Book Series. And why am I climbing into the ring with him? Because it's time for Time Master's Book Two; The Prophecy, to be fully tackled. Ok, this means a check list! I love check lists, don't you?
1. Chocolate, lots of it.
2. Finish up any loose ends, interview questions I need to answer, interviews I need to send out.
3. Finish any editing of manuscripts I have in my possession.
4. Clean the whole house really, really well, as by the time I emerge from the office six weeks down the road, it might be looking worse for wear.
5. Get more chocolate. Do you find one kind of chocolate works better while writing than others?
6. Set aside an hour a day six days a week to exercise. Keeps the brain sharp you know. Well, not to mention it works off all that chocolate.
7. Blog in a fog but still blog. Gee, blog rhymes with frog. Maybe if I blog it will produce a frog, which in turn you plant a smackaroo on those little froggy lips and .... ohhhhhh but I digress!
8. Let people know you are settling in to write and that if they disturb you they will lose a limb.
9. Pay the bills! Set the alarm to pay the bills again. Repeat as needed!
10. Let people know that if they do not hear from me after the six weeks are up that they really ought to come looking. Errrr, just in case ....
11. Buy even more chocolate. Did you know Costco has a seven pound cake called Death By Chocolate?
12. Put paper in the printer dingle berry! And don't forget to hit SAVE often!
There I think that about does it. So what preparations do you make before you begin a major writing project?

EEEKKKSS!!! I'M SNOWED IN!

2008-01-27T12:44:00.000-08:00

AHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!!!! (Insert actual screams of panic here). And how does one around these here parts know when they are snowed in? By a trial run up the hill! Which I did. And quite unsuccessfully!
I live in a canyon with a mile long drive way, with a quarter mile being a good hill. Unfortunately when one is already down in the canyon, that first quarter mile to get OUT of the canyon is a doozy! And I did try it this morning as my daughter is in town at her friends house. Ahhhhh winter formal was last night for them and in a teenage moment my daughter Hannah decided at the last minute to go home with her friend Hailee and spend the night. With no spare clothes. I'm picturing my daughter in her red evening dress formal out building a snowman this morning ... ohhhhhhh dearie me! I'm sure her friend has some spare clothes for her! This same friend got snowed in with us last year for three days. I guess it's my daughter's turn to be snowed in at her friends house now!
When one is snowed in there are different things that run through one's mind. The first and foremost is to build a fire. Which I haven't done yet. I'm blogging instead! Aren't you glad you aren't stuck with me out somewhere in the wilderness? You'd be toast for sure! Or at least you wouldn't be very toasty warm! Not if I still had computer access! And then of course things like "The last can of beans" flashes through your mind. Except I haven't got any cans of beans. And then you remember this is the 21st century, and I have a freezer full of food. BUT! Is there any CHOCOLATE? In this case? NO!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! (Insert pain-racked screams of despair here). Oh but I do have a piece of non-fiction I need to get done. And I suppose Dallan and Shona, the lead characters from Time Masters wouldn't mind a run today. So all in all, snow, and a fire, (once I build one) and writing are on the agenda, sans chocolate, but I'll live. :)
Have a good Sunday everyone!

The Time Master's Blog Tour Has Begun!

2008-01-06T12:43:00.000-08:00

Time Masters Blog Tour Starts Today!
A blogging we will go ... a blogging we will go ... high ho the merrieoooooooooo, a blogging we will go ... Hmmmmm some how I don't think that's an actual song, but it works for me! The Time Master's blog tour hosted by the Christian Fiction Review Blog will begin Sunday January sixth and run through Saturday, January twelfth. Who knows who will be stopping by to comment amongst the bloggers! The teens? The poet? Yes, I'm working with a poet for book two. In fact, he's the top contemporary poet in the nation right now, one Poet Bartoluciano! And a very popular fellow on myspace! http://www.myspace.com/bartleemusic

Let's see, who else might show up? How about the PUBLISHER! He's mentioned he'll take a
peek during the week. I keep telling you how personable they are at Cold Tree Press! Let's see, who else ... hmmmm ... my sister? Ohhh you just never know during a blog tour! I tried to show up to Kevin Lucia's guest blogging to heckle him but was late in getting there! Heckled him anyway with a comment ... er ... sort of. At this point I don't remember what I said, but I'm sure I heckled him! Of course, now it's his turn to heckle me! I'll keep you posted as to how it's all going! I know that some folks from Myspace and Shoutlife are blogging! This will be fun! Check it out! http://cfrblog.blogspot.com/

Ohhhhhhh and there's even a trailer! Ya gotta have one of those fun things!
http://video.google.com/videoplay?docid=2854844558371716366

Other folks who have posted so far are:

Sojourner's Journey http://www.landofmysojourn.net/journeyarchive-blog.html

A Frank Review http://afrankreview.blogspot.com/

Coffee Time Romance : http://www.coffeetimeromance.com/BookReviews/Timemastersbookone.html ,

Cathi's Chatter: http://cathischatter.blogspot.com/2007/12/time-masters-book-one-call-by-geralyn.html ,

A Peek at My Bookshelf by Deena: http://deenasbooks.blogspot.com/2007/11/time-masters-book-one-call-by-geralyn.html ,

Queen of Convolution by Caprice: http://cfvici.blogspot.com/2008/01/time-masters-book-one-call-by-geralyn.html ,

Bibliophile's Retreat by Melissa: http://forstrose.blogspot.com/2007/11/time-masters-book-one-call-by-geralyn.html

Grace Bridges http://www.gracebridges.blogspot.com/

Stephen Rice http://ansric.blogspot.com/2008/01/time-masters-1-call.html

Christian Mystery Writers http://cmwforum.blogspot.com/

To Purchase your own copy of Time Masters:
Order direct from Cold Tree: http://coldtreepress.com/catalog/book/197 ,

Order through Barnes and Noble in Paperback: http://search.barnesandnoble.com/booksearch/isbnInquiry.asp?z=y&EAN=9781583851982&itm=1 and Hardcover: http://search.barnesandnoble.com/booksearch/isbninquiry.asp?ean=9781583851913&z=y , or

And of course on Amazon on
Paperback: http://www.amazon.com/exec/obidos/ASIN/1583851984 and Hardcover: http://www.amazon.com/exec/obidos/ASIN/1583851917 .

Time Masters is also in Barnes & Noble's stores. If your Barnes and Nobles doesn't have it in stock, you can ask them to order it for you- hint give them the ISBN and they'll pull it right up. Any bookstore can special order for you again the ISBN is the key to finding the book.

Shields and Broadswords and Dirks OH MY!

2007-12-30T22:10:00.000-08:00

... Dallan peered intently around the edge of the aisle, then looked atLany and brought a finger to his lips before returning his attention to thesounds coming from around the corner."Little Bo Peep?" The voice was mocking, dangerous. "Where is yoursheep? Send it out to play with us."Lany's eyes narrowed at the words, and he took a cautious step forwardto stand next to Dallan, who shot an arm out to keep him from getting tooclose to the end of the aisle. Lany looked at the arm blocking him, then atits owner, whose eyes were narrowed to two bright green slits, his jaw tight,nostrils flared. Lany knew he no longer searched. Dallan was on the hunt,stalking someone, and it wasn't the Maiden."Oh look, a little lost sheep with tender white meat, all for us to devour.Can't wait to eat this young little sheep, too bad we've only an hour."Dallan reached his right hand behind him, down the back of his loosesweatshirt, and silently pulled a dirk out from underneath. Lany grimaced.So that's why Dallan had worn his hair unbound today, he thought tohimself. To hide the weapon better. It also explained why he'd wanted torip the elastic off the sweatshirt last night.Dallan's eyes narrowed even further. Lany tapped the Scot on theshoulder and he abruptly turned his head around, eyes intense, brow furrowedin warning.Lany mouthed the word 'No', indicating the dirk with a nod of his head.Dallan remained expressionless and turned his attention back around thecorner. Now he heard nothing. Only silence. He began to move.Lany grabbed him. "Dallan, wait," he whispered urgently. "This isn'tScotland. You can't just kill someone and be on your way.""Quiet, man," Dallan's voice was low. "She's running again."Lany's face fell; because of Dallan's latest antics, he'd almost forgottenabout the Maiden.They both froze and listened intently to the light footsteps fleeing downthe next aisle. This section of the library was like a huge maze, the shelvesand aisles all connecting in a pattern. The problem was, neither Dallan norLany knew it well enough to know where they were, not to mention theMaiden and the unexpected company which lurked nearby.The footsteps stopped just as another set, heavier, could be heard inanother aisle, and yet another. They, whoever they were, had split up toeither try to box the Maiden in or simply flush her out into the open.Dallan took a step forward and Lany again grabbed him and got hisface right in the Scot's ear, albeit on tiptoe. "No killing! If you do we'll allbe in a lot of trouble!"Dallan turned to face him, narrowed his eyes, flared his nostrils, thenspun away and began to move stealthily into a passage connecting severaldifferent aisles. Lany rolled his own eyes and started after him.The Weapons Master crept down a side aisle, stopped abruptly, andmotioned Lany to do the same. He listened intently, eyes searching theshadows of the next aisle, and then looked to Lany, a wicked smile on hisface as he twirled the dirk in his hand.Lany glared back and folded his arms across is chest.Dallan merely winked at the Assistant Councilor as he made his wayback down the aisle, only to stop midway, listen, and then turn to the wallof books at his left. He listened again a moment before he brought a handto the shelf at his own eye level. He paused, as if calculating something,then moved his hand to the shelf below and began to remove books.Lany watched nervously as Dallan, one by one, silently set books onthe floor. Finished, he reached into the hole he'd created and started pullingbooks from the shelf in the next aisle over. Comprehension dawning, Lanytiptoed to the opposite end of the aisle to carefully peek around the corner.Sure enough, leaned against the wall of books, directly parallel with Dallan,was what must be one of the thug's buddies. The young man had a longponytail that swished every time he moved his head to scan the aisle. Heprobably waited for the Maiden to come running by.Lany turned and glanced back into his own aisle. Dallan looked athim, flipped his dirk in the air once, caught it and smiled broadly. Lanygulped as quietly as he could and waved his hands frantically. "No blood,no wounding, no killing!" He mouthed then paused, mouth half open tospeak as he contemplated his next words.Dallan's eyes narrowed in impatience.Lany got an inspiration. "However," he mouthed, eyebrows archingmischievously, "you can humiliate them."Dallan smiled and reached through the hole in the books. Lany gulpedand carefully peered around the corner. Thug Number Two's head wasturned away from him at the moment. Lany had enough of a vantagepoint to see Dallan's hand reaching through the books, straight for theguy's neck. Lany switched his position and looked back to Dallan, whohad his left arm in the hole, the dirk in his right hand poised and ready foruse. The Weapons Master's eyes were intent on his prey.Lany nearly gasped as Thug Number Two looked right at him, justbefore a large hand grabbed his ponytail and pulled him into the shelf unitso hard he slumped to the floor the second the hand released him.Almost afraid to look, Lany leaned back far enough to see Dallan, dirkstill poised in his right hand and what looked like a long piece of hair inhis left. The Scot smiled lightly, and quickly strode past Lany, tossing thesevered pony tail at him as he did.Lany caught the hair, looked at it, glanced at the unconscious formin the next aisle and sighed audibly. He then threw the thing over hisshoulder and trotted after Dallan. "Well, that takes care of humiliatingthat one." He still hadn't caught up when Dallan rounded the next corner,probably one connecting them with another aisle. "Wonder what he doesfor an encore."
Copyright 2007 Geralyn Beauchamp
It's one thing to see the weapons you're writing about in books, perhaps even as part of a Highland games participant dressed in full Highland rigout. But to then actually get to see and handle the weapon itself is quite another matter.
The other day I went into a Scottish store here in Portland to see if I could get my hands on a MacDonald plaid to utilize for book signings and events. The ladies of the shop were quite happy to help me out and made sure I had the correct plaid for Dallan's time period. (Seeing the illustration of Dallan didn't hurt the fun they were having in doing so either!). Whilst busy with Tartan catalogues and fabric samples, I noticed something within the glass counter beneath the folded pieces of tartan. A Scottish Dirk. The hilt alone was scary. Easily grasped by a man, not so easily as held by a woman. The shop keeper took it out for me and showed me the craftsmanship of the hilt and sheath. Though not an antique, it was still superbly crafted. I, of course, asked her to unsheath it. She pulled the blade from its cover and the steel flashed more brightly than I imagined it would. It was one of the most wicked blades I had ever seen. To then think of the scene I just shared with you, and picture Dallan reaching back and pulling something like that out from under a sweatshirt, well ... no wonder Lany freaked!
When I wrote the scene so very long ago, (I wrote Time Masters back in 1994) I was more concerned with measurments than anything else. Dallan, at 6'6", had to have a long enough and broad enough build to pull the stunt off, and after seeing the blade, I knew I had calculated correctly. But again, to see such a wicked and extrememly deadly looking thing was something else all together. My hats off to the Scots for so handling such a weapon. And to think in the next scene Dallan is picking at his finger nails with it!

Christmas Tree Calamities! Have YOU ever had one?

2007-12-16T17:50:00.000-08:00

OK, so I'm waiting for my little sister, Marijo, to come out to my house so we can commence with the infamous yearly Christmas Tree Decorating adventure. Though growing up it was much more adventuresome as she and I would ride our horses up into the woods, pick out a tree, then hike up later with our big brother to retreive it. Joe always enjoyed the trek, both up, as he would throw stuff at us the entire time, and back down, as he would make US carry the tree with him STILL throwing things at us all the way back down. Ah the priviledge of being the one with the talent for wielding the ax! Suffice to say, it's been at least eight years since a tree has met it's untimely demise from our property, they being far too tall now to deal with. So gaks, and gasp! I've been paying for one ever since.
Of course, when you're a single gal, getting a tree can be just as challenging even though you are paying to chop one down. I'm not a skilled tree chopper and can't lift a nine foot tree by myself so I usually bribe ... oh I mean coerce ... er .. ah... ask kindly of some unsuspecting gent (usually my brother in law or best friend's husband, to wield the ol ax, carry the body, hoist it onto the top of the jeep where it is quickly lashed for transport, take it off the jeep at the house, and of course, get said tree into the house, and into its stand. The price of tree transport has gone up over the years. I used to get away with a batch of chocolate chip cookies as payment. Now it's full taco dinners for said help and their family! But it's fun!
To make the task ever more adventurous, one has to get all the decorations down from the attic. We prepare ourselves by putting on our gloves, hats, anything that can be used for armor against the eight legged masses, and our cans of raid. (Hey, it's a log cabin!) Years ago the only thing one had to worry about are what we call around these parts as simply 'wood spiders' which, can get pretty hefty in their own right. So much so that you can actually hear them walking on the wood next to you. Ewwwwwwwww ... unfortuneatly the wood spider population has diminished over the years when the "girls" moved in. When they moved in we're not sure, or perhaps they were always there but too few to make a decent showing. At any rate, Black Widows seem to have a taste for wood spiders, who in turn had a hankering for Hobo spiders, which are as nasty as the "girls". So you can see why we wait til we are armed to the teeth, then ascend!
After getting all the decorations down one has to sift carefully, to make sure no tag alongs made it down as well. I remember the year a nice big wood spider decided to take up residence in the baby Jesus's cradle of our nativity scene. He wasn't happy about being evicted but too bad! We threw him outside rather than "stone him". After making sure there aren't any decorations that are going to crawl off the tree by themselves, we can commence with the deocorating. After which we turn on the tree lights and oooo and ahhhh at our stunning achievement. Occasionally, however, after turning away from our task, knowing we've gotten through yet another year relatively unscathed, there has been the resounding CRASH!!!!!!
One has to weigh what is worse. Your tree falling over, visions of your mother's antique ornaments shattering on the floor flashing across your mind with your immediate demise soon following, or having to go up into the atic again for the spare ornaments. I learned the last time it happened, that it was a lot less frightening to go to the store to get more ornaments. But not near as adventuresome! So this year, should the tree take a dive, I've decided to make my lil sis go back up into the attic for the spares!!!!!!! OH! I think I hear her truck now!!!!!!!!!! Shhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh ...... :)
So what sort of Christmas Tree calamity has befallen you?
Geralyn

Am I The Only One ...

2007-12-09T15:34:00.000-08:00

... who suffers from the malady of not being able to read fiction once they really get to writing it? I've heard of this, suffer from it, and have known some other authors who are also plagued with it. Interesting, I must say. I have a small window of time (like about a week) to read like a maniac and get in what I can before I dig into Time Masters Book Two and plan to finish Sue Dent's Never Ceese and if I can squeeze in a good old fashioned sappy Christmas book I will. Hmmm, Vampires, Werewolves, and Santa. Well, that will make for an interesting mix, won't it? I'd better watch what I eat before I go to bed, eh? I'll be dreaming of a vampiric Santa Claus whose sleigh is pulled by eight really big werewolves!
Any suggestions for a good Christmas book?

Geralyn

Thank you Carole McDonnell and Wind Follower!

2007-12-05T17:50:00.000-08:00

Ok, so how many of you panic at this time of year because you have those folks on your Christmas list that are just SOOOO hard to shop for? I know I have them, and two inparticular! And no, it's not that they have everything, or that they are extra fussy about the gift they recieve or are just so hard to please a new Jaguar wouldn't even suffice. No, I'm talking about the kind of folks who are so special to you, you want to give them something as unique and as special as they are.Every year, it's the same dilema, and I can never come up with something I think is special enough for them. These folks are like having another set of parents. I even call them mom and dad! They are Fitz and Jahna Houston, and they live in LA, work in the entertainment industry, aka "The Business" and are writers themselves. Many of you have probably seen Fitz on one show or another, and Jahna has been crowned I don't know how many times for different pageants she's been in. Fitz even won the sexiest husband in America one year and they were featured on the Montel show. So yes they are in the public eye a lot, and very, very, busy people. So this year I finally got clever, and decided to try to find something for them to have for those quiet moments, something they can share and come away from with a feeling of satisfaction. Something they can sink their teeth into that does't involve calories! But WHAT?!?!??

Enter the blog tour for Carole McDonnell's book Wind Follower. I didn't have time to read it before the tour, but did start to read the posts and Carole's own website and blog. All I can say is WOW! I logged into Amazon and bought it yesterday so I'd be able to get it mailed down to LA well before Christmas. It's perfect! It will tease the senses, feed the soul, taunt the intellect and most importantly, leave them feeling satisfied with an excellent read! WHEW! So thank you Carole McDonnell for penning a smart, tight, well written story that pretty much has it all! Now you'll have to write another one to bail me out again next year! Wind Follower is definitely a book to not only read for yourself, (which I definitely plan on doing) but to share with others!Get crackin Carole on that next book!

On sale at Amazon Books
As well as Juno Books
You won't want to miss her blog either at Carole McDonnell's Blog

'Twas a Cold and Snowy Night

2007-11-30T20:07:00.000-08:00

Ok, so the snow isn't really sticking, but it IS cold. Very cold! And when it's this cold writing sort of gets addled a bit. You find yourself wanting to write about cheery fires and baking cookies and that sort of thing. And even then it's hard as your fingers, cold as they are, have trouble with the key board like mine are doing now! Brrrr!

I live in a summer log cabin. Tomorrow is December 1st! What does that tell you? Now you understand why it's so cold! But I wouldn't trade it as it's in a beautiful setting and is very private. And yes, I am in front of the fireplace! Typing aways as best I can. One of the reasons I got myself a laptop! Unfortunatley the fire is not doing much for my icy hands! Oh rats! Well, it beats the office at any rate!

Time Masters Book One: The Call, takes place in the summer. Dallan, being a Scot, is impervious to cold and I have yet to throw him into a sitution with Shona and a bit of cold weather. Shona, on the other hand, isn't so impervious and therefore Dallan will just have to figure out what to do about that! But I ramble! I'm going to go put more wood on the fire and find a good book to curl up with! Now there's a nice combination! Happy evening to all!

Geralyn

Birthing Characters

2007-11-13T21:51:00.000-08:00

Dallan MacDonald

Dallan was an interesting character to create and he took quite awhile to boot. Taking my time and wanting him to be as real as possible, there was a lot of research involved. But in the end, after numerous Highland games, speaking with Scots of different clans and about a year of getting into this characters head, the thing all writers strive for during character creation happened. Life.

When a character comes to life it can be a sudden thing, or it can take a while. Dallan, while giving him a trial run, lasted about a couple of pages before springing into action and taking charge. It was quite an interesting phenomenon to say the least. Probably because I myself had never spent so much time in the creative process with one character, and because I'd never had one do that before. Just take over. So once I got used to it, I was able to just let him "do his thing". Some of the other characters from Time Masters also hit the pages running and there was no problem once they got going. Kwaku Awahnee is one, but we will discuss him in another post. Suffice to say, Dallan is the glue which holds Time Masters together so well. Readers identify with him readily and he's not the perfect hero which makes him all the more real to us. With his piercing green eyes and drill bit stare he so often throws at Kwaku, not to mention the rest of the TM characters, he becomes interesting. And of course, the things Dallan says to Kwaku are also interesting. "Ye good for nothing bloody heathen!" will more than likely find it's way onto a tee shirt one day if a reader hasn't done it already. And of course, "Saints!" as our boy does his best not to swear, though it slips out in his native Gaelic now and again. And Dallan shares with many of us something in life we try to avoid at all costs, even to the point of sabotaging ourselves in order to prevent confronting it. Rejection. And though his runs deep, he is able to overcome. With a bit of help of course.

After reading Time Masters, Book One: The Call, (we have all started calling it TM1 for short) folks are so swept up with him they say they can barely touch the ground once the story has ended. I guess I'd better get to writing TM2! I wouldn't want anyone to land with a resounding thud as Dallan does a few times in TM1!

Faith Awakened

2007-11-08T22:56:00.000-08:00

Faith Awakened. A book, a message, and a darn good piece of writing! Take the science of cryogenics, throw in a healthy smattering of virtual reality, cast an Irish slave living in what her world refers to as simply “The Trouble,” integrate a young girl with all the perks of life, yet suffers through gaps of memory loss but whose heart seeks the heart of God and voila! Ingredients! Bet you thought I was going to say a story, didn’t you? Not quite. Here is where it gets good.

You have two women living in two worlds, both with different lives and troubles, and basically don’t have much in common, their taste for life and its wonders differing at times like night and day. How can two people so far apart wind up so intertwined? Ok, now we’re getting some story. These women are not only connected, they are connected at such a level that not only was I surprised to find out how, but the characters were just as surprised as me! And folks, that takes talent to pull off! Short, clipped, well rounded and woven together tighter than Levi Strauss ever thought of, Grace Bridges has created a wonderful, thought provoking tale that takes the reader into situations with the characters that keep the story moving right along. And the message of trust, and where should we put it is ever pulling at you. The writing is well thought out and clean. The pace excellent and the storyline grips the readers and pulls them along with just the right amount of tension. Difficult enough to do with a 350 – 400 page novel. Grace Bridges does it in a little less than 200 pages. That takes talent, my friends. A lot of it.

I’m looking forward to more from this bright, young and extremely talented new author, Grace Bridges. A name that won’t remain new for long. I certainly plan on wearing it out! And after you read Faith Awakened, you certainly won’t be able to keep quiet either! Geralyn