December 2007 Newsletter
Hello, friends!
It’s the beginning of December and Mother Nature can’t seem to make up her mind what weather to give us. In the past three days, we’ve had very sunny, cloudy, windy, cold, rainy, sleet – and any combination of the above you’d care to mention! However, our next-door neighbor is celebrating his darling daughter’s first birthday, she’s dancing around in a blue tutu, and all is definitely right in the world.
“Caught by the Tides” in BEYOND THE DARK
BEYOND THE DARK will be released on Tuesday, December 4th! After all of these years gobbling down Regency romances and thrilling to tales of daring-do during the Napoleonic Wars, I’ve finally written my very first such story. Emma Sinclair is a very respectable naval widow who’s stunned when a man is washed up on the beach below her house during a horrific gale. Rescuing him thrusts her into a world of mages, gryphons, and treason, where her love and courage may be all that can save England from Napoleon.
Since I adore both Georgette Heyer and C.S. Forester, I’ve tried to make “Caught by the Tides” as historically accurate as possible, except for the mages and gryphons, of course. To my delight, they slipped in surprisingly easily and I hope you enjoy Emma and Owen as much as I do.
Once again, I’m offering the First Week Club to everyone who buys BEYOND THE DARK during the first week it’s on sale. I’ve posted the details on my website.
Here’s an excerpt to whet your appetite:
Owen stirred, his brain as uncoordinated as his limbs.
He ached damnably in every muscle with a sheer concentrated fury that would barely let him draw breath. His head pounded as if every Bavarian troll was trying to drill a spike through his temple. And his shoulder. . . Good Lord, it burned like all of Hades’ nine circles.
Where was he? Instinct commanded him not to betray his wakefulness.
Cloth was very, very soft under his cheek. And his back, and his hips, and his legs. Everywhere, in fact. Whatever lay underneath cradled his body easily, unlike his shipboard hammock.
The universe was steady, with no storm throwing everything and everyone about, nor sending bursts of mage-fire and cannon fire to shatter solid wood. No screams of dying men in seas tinted with crimson – and his vows of revenge. No, here there was only peace.
He snatched at his slippery thoughts, since experience offered no guide. It must be a very fine bed, with smooth sheets caressing his skin and a feather bed for warmth. Someone had washed him up, so he didn’t reek of saltwater and blood. They’d clothed him in a fine cambric nightshirt, which felt like a garment his father’s wife would have crowed over. The only item he recognized was his gold signet’s hard edges.
He shifted his vision, trying to use his mage’s sight. His head immediately threatened to explode with pain, a million more trolls quickly slamming their hammers and picks into his skull and making his stomach roil in agony. He stopped searching and tried to relax, determined not to heave whatever small amounts of food lay in his stomach.
So all he knew of his surroundings’ magickal qualities was what they chose to tell him. The room was uncommonly comfortable, with a strong protective glow underlying everything. It didn’t seem to have been shaped and formed by a mage, though, at least not that he could tell. And, irritatingly, when he studied its powers for too long, he’d start to grow sleepy. It only deepened the puzzle.
Why was he here, in a natural fortress with strong healing powers? Why had they tended his wounds, bathed him, and clothed him?
No French prison would treat him this well. If he was in Britain, the mages’ castles offered luxuries only for high-ranking mages, not those who’d chosen to walk alone.
He shifted, trying to find a position that didn’t send a fiery mass of swords jabbing into his shoulder. He said a healing spell under his breath, wishing he had the strength to completely cure himself. For a moment, his ribs stopped aching.
A woman mumbled something.
Owen froze immediately. Was she friend or foe?
A slender hand, with long, tapering fingers, alighted gently on his bare hand. His shoulder’s agony melted into a heavy ache, while the blazing knot in his skull became a steady pounding.
A chalice, someone who could store magick within themselves for later use in powering a spell? But there was no sign she’d worked her own spell to effect his cure, only provided the magick to aid his own.
Had the French put one here to try to make him talk? But surely even those cunning bastards wouldn’t have a chalice, especially one so very deep, to spare for games of trickery.
He fought to lift his eyelids.
The room beyond was almost completely dark. A cheerful little fire burned, showing a gracious room with elegant furniture, pale walls, and crisply painted trim. Portraits were scattered around the walls like friends, while a rich Persian carpet gave life to the floor. Colorful draperies rippled across the windows.
A gryphon drowsed by the hearth, its head tucked under one wing. It was, as ever, as insubstantial as smoke, befitting the elemental spirit which guarded a mage who hadn’t even learned the basics of how to link with other mages.
Now he turned his head very cautiously to see the woman beside him.
The raven-haired beauty slept in an armchair beside his bed, an intricate Paisley shawl covering her shoulders and much of her simple white dress. Velvety lashes curved over her cheeks and soft curls tumbled down her neck from under her lace-trimmed cap. A stray beam of firelight touched the bed curtains beside her, highlighting her features – the high forehead, the straight little nose, the graceful swan’s neck, the very stubborn chin. . .
She stirred, and her elegant fingers clasped his wrist more closely, half-slipping under his sleeve. Energy flowed into him, golden and sweet as a summer day.
His legs stretched, able to move without stiffness for the first time.
Dammit, she definitely was a chalice!
He growled softly, disliking his need for her. He’d come this far in life without any attachments; surely he could heal without help.
Tsk, tsk.
Owen swung his head back and glared at the gryphon.
It clacked its beak at him again, Tsk tsk. Its immense golden eyes were visibly amused above its crossed paws. How much time do you have to waste, foolish boy? Can you send for help yet?
No. He glared, too angry to add that the simple healing spell had left him so weak he couldn’t even sit up.
The message shifted in his skull, its protective spell briefly glinting gold and green – and reminding him of the people who’d died to give it to him. He had the only copy of this spell, the one which would stop Bonaparte from finding the key to Britain’s harbors. Britain, the only country with the resources and the will to fight Bonaparte to the death.
He closed his mouth, unwilling to admit he’d been about to argue with a gryphon. Reluctantly, fighting the habits of a lifetime every inch of the way, he curled his fingers around the woman’s – strengthening their contact.
There was a soft rush of wings before the gryphon stood beside them on his bed, now barely the size of his fist but no less deadly than before. It sniffed delicately at her hand, rubbed its head against her wrist, and stepped neatly back into Owen’s signet.
Owen angrily threw his head back against the pillows. If a gryphon enjoyed her company, then he could trust her to the death. At least with his life.
Bond of Fire
I do hope you’ve been enjoying all the BOND OF FIRE excerpts I’ve sent you! If you’ve got any questions about them (yes, I know I jumped around a bit in the book), please email me through my website. If several of you ask the same question, I’ll seriously consider sending out a special newsletter to answer it.
BOND OF DARKNESS, the third and final volume of the Texas vampires, will be published next fall. It’s Ethan and Steve’s story, whom you first met in THE HUNTER’S PREY. She’s a Texas Ranger, who believes in courts of law for justice – not the more predatory rules which hold in vampiro society. I’m finishing up their book now and I’ll post an excerpt after the first of the year.
Appearances
In honor of all these books, I’m doing a lot of appearances in cyberspace – plus, I’ll be traveling to Hendersonville, North Carolina in January for a booksigning. Hallelujah, I finally have a good reason to visit the Blue Ridge Mountains in the winter! I’ve seen them in every other season but this will be my first trip in January.
Tuesday, December 4th: Blogging at Romance: B(u)y the Book with all of BEYOND THE DARK’s authors
Tuesday, December 11th: Blogging at History Hoydens about “Caught by the Tides” history versus fiction
Thursday, December 13th: Chatting at Writerspace with my fellow Berkley-Jove authors; I’ll be especially interested in talking about “Caught by the Tides”
Thursday, December 20th: Blogging at Brava Authors
Thursday, January 10th: Chatting at Writerspace with my fellow Berkley-Jove authors: I’ll be especially interested in talking about BOND OF FIRE
Saturday, January 19th from 1-3 P.M.: Booksigning at Waldenbooks, 1800 Four Seasons Blvd., Hendersonville, NC 28792, (828) 692-4957
May your life be gladdened by the appearance of your nearest and dearest at the Yuletide or whatever holidays you celebrate!
All the best to you and yours, now and in the New Year –
Diane Whiteside
www.DianeWhiteside.com
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