GIVEAWAY: Dawn of Spies & Day of Ice by Andrew Lane!

Hello everyone!

Today on my blog I have a wonderful giveaway for some amazing books! ADAPTIVE BOOKS is giving me a print copy of both books in the series for a giveaway! These books are an exciting YA re-imagining of the characters from the original Robinson Crusoe. 

The author, Andrew Lane has written some thirty-odd books, ranging from fiction to non-fiction and from science fiction novels based on popular TV series to adult crime novels. He has also written nearly 30  short stories which have been published in various magazines and anthologies. His best known work to date is the highly successful Young Sherlock Holmes series of YA novels, of which eight have currently been published.

To enter the giveaway check below for the form!

TITLE: Dawn of Spies: A Crusoe Adventure

AUTHOR: Andrew Lane

US RELEASE DATE: January 24, 2017 (Paperback at Barnes & Noble)

AGE RANGE: 12 - 17 Years

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Purchase: Amazon / B&N

An exciting YA re-imagining of the characters from the original Robinson Crusoe.
 Rescued from a deserted Caribbean island, 17-year-old Robinson Crusoe and his female friend, Friday, find themselves in late 1600s London, a bustling city that proves as treacherous for them to navigate as the remote island they just left behind.
 Thanks to their honed survival skills, Crusoe and Friday are recruited by a young writer named Daniel Defoe to work as agents for Segment W, a covert spy group that reports directly to the Crown. 
Crusoe, Friday, and Defoe must rescue the Countess of Lichfield from a kidnapping plot. They discover that a mystical and mysterious organization known as the Circle of Thirteen is plotting to destroy Segment W and change the course of history through a royal kidnapping.
 With an illustrious cast of historical characters including King Charles II and Sir Isaac Newton, Dawn of Spies is the first installment of a series that thrusts a young Robinson Crusoe into a new world of espionage, intrigue, and peril.

TITLE: Day of Ice: A Crusoe Adventure

AUTHOR: Andrew Lane

US RELEASE DATE: February 21, 2017 (Hardcover at Barnes & Noble)

AGE RANGE: 12 - 17 Years

 Add on Goodreads

 Purchase: Amazon / B&N

Months after their rescue by the government agency Segment W, Robinson Crusoe and his friend Friday have proven their skills as secret agents. They’re now climbing the ranks of this exclusive group of spies who reports directly to the Crown. Suddenly, in the dead of winter, Friday is shocked to see her father, who once tried to kill her, walking the streets of London. She tries to elicit the help of Segment W, but they are preoccupied with the continued investigation into an organization that staged a kidnapping of the king’s daughter. What will she do? As Friday’s past comes back to haunt her, she, Crusoe, and Daniel Defoe must uncover the mystical Circle of XIII’s sinister plans to recruit new members into the society using dangerous and magical means. How does her father fit into all of this? Will they be able to escape unscathed?

Day of Ice is the second installment of a series that thrusts a young Robinson Crusoe into a new world of espionage, intrigue, and peril.

Open to US only.

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Blog Tour: Blood Red Snow White by Marcus Sedgwick | Guest Post & Giveaway!

Blood Red Snow White
by Marcus Sedgwick
Publisher: Roaring Brook Press
Release Date: October 25th 2016
Genre: Young Adult, Historical Fiction, Russia, Fairy Tales

It is 1917, and the world is tearing itself to pieces in a dreadful war, but far to the east of the trenches, another battle is breaking out - the Russian Revolution has just begun... 

Blood Red, Snow White captures the mood of this huge moment in history through the adventure of one man who was in the middle of it all; Arthur Ransome, a young British journalist who had first run away to Russia to collect fairy tales. 

Told as three linked novellas, part one captures the days of revolution but retells the story as Russian Fairy Tale, with typical humour and unashamed brutality. Part two is a spy story, set over the course of one evening, as Ransome faces up to his biggest challenge, and part three is a love story, full of tragedy and hope, as every good Russian love story should be.

Character development: The importance of writing a great main character, talk about what makes for an interesting and likeable one. Also, discuss one of your favorite characters from your novel and the process of developing him/her.

It’s timely to be asked this question as I have just returned from teaching at a creative writing retreat, at one point of which, I wrote a list of ‘GOLDEN RULES OF WRITING’ on the board.

The list included various things, many of which you will see repeated again and again in creative writing books, or on the Net, such as:

• Show, don’t tell

• Write what you know

• Repetition is bad

• We have to care

• Write every day

And then I proceeded to argue that actually only one of these are golden rules, and the rest are all either more or less true, and at the very least debatable. By now you’ve probably worked out the one that I believe is the only fundamental rule of writing, namely: we have to care.

It sounds a touch abrupt, this ‘Why do we care?’ but it’s what I encourage all aspiring writers to give a lot of thought to as they work on their books. It’s what my first agent asked me, when I was working on developing my writing, and it’s what I still ask myself now, when working on a book. The point is this; a book is the product of a writer’s imagination – it is, to be blunt, all made up - so why should anyone else (namely a reader) care about the strange, fictional products of anyone else’s mind?

The answer, when this process succeeds, is the underlying magic trick of all Story – that we are able to empathize not just with other people, we are able to empathize with other people who don’t actually exist. 

(If you’re interested in this subject, there are lots of books around at the moment that discuss the role of ‘mirror neurons’ in the brain – a relatively recent discovery – which are quite extraordinary. Here’s an example: – you see someone pick up a pen. When you do, mirror neurons fire in your own brain – put simply, you rehearse the same action in your own brain. It gets interesting for those of us interested in writing, however, when we learn that mirror neurons fire even if we merely read about someone picking up a pen. From here, there’s a lot of discussion about the role of story in the brain, why it evolved and why we find it so powerful, how story is our attempt to understand the world and particularly human social interaction. And the stunning conclusion to all this recent research is that it’s now been proven that reading fiction makes you more empathetic, kind, tolerant and better looking too. (I might be lying about one of those).

But there’s a big ‘however’ in all this: the success of this process (the empathy of a reader for a character) is not a given, and therefore it’s worth pointing out that a writer can never assume the reader will automatically like or engage with their protagonists etc. and therefore that one has to earn this.

So how does a writer make a reader care about a new character they’ve introduced? Well, it’s worth spending some time thinking about why we like any new real person that we meet. Why do we like people? (or maybe not like them per se, but find them interesting, or fascinating, or the topic of much discussion) Such people may be some or all of these things: funny, kind, in need of our sympathy, have interesting things to say, have things in common with us, have things that are outside our experience but which are fascinating, etc. etc. etc. What I’m describing are the various ways real people engage us, and a fictional person must do the same.

It’s time to end, but in conclusion, in writing Blood Red, Snow White, the situation was a slightly different one. Being a true story, my character was a real person, which much written about him, one whose diaries and letters and autobiography I read again and again, and he was a very likeable man, even if he did some very silly things from time to time, some very risky and hasty things. That’s how real people behave, with complexity, and even if they are sometimes frustrating, we still love our loved ones. My challenge in this book therefore, was not to create a ‘real’ character, but to translate him, bring him to life, as well as possible for the reader of my book.

Follow the Blood Red Snow White Blog Tour and don't miss anything! Click on the banner to see the tour schedule.

Marcus Sedgwick was born in Kent, England. Marcus is a British author and illustrator as well as a musician. He is the author of several books, including Witch Hill and The Book of Dead Days, both of which were nominated for the Edgar Allan Poe Award. The most recent of these nominations rekindled a fascination with Poe that has borne fruit here in (in The Restless Dead, 2007) the form of "The Heart of Another" - inspired by Poe's "The Tell-Tale Heart." Of his story, Sedgwick says, "This was one of those stories that I thought might be a novel originally but actually was much better suited to the tight form of the short story. I had the initial idea some years ago but was just waiting for the right ingredient to come along. Poe's story, as well as his own fascination with technique, provided that final piece of the puzzle."

He used to play for two bands namely playing the drums for Garrett and as the guitarist in an ABBA tribute group. He has published novels such as Floodland (winner of the Branford Boase Award in 2001) and The Dark Horse (shortlisted for The Guardian Children's Book Award 2002).

 

Prize: Win a set of Marcus Sedgwick's books: BLOOD RED SNOW WHITE, THE GHOSTS OF HEAVEN and MIDWINTERBLOOD (US Only)

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Book Spotlight: A CURIOUS BEGINNING by Deanna Raybourn + Giveaway!

Hello and welcome to the book spotlight and giveaway for A CURIOUS BEGINNING by Deanna Raybourn! 

To celebrate the new paperback reprint cover Berkley publishing has asked me to share the new cover and all about the book. There is also giveaway below for a copy of the book! Enjoy!

A CURIOUS BEGINNING

by Deanna Raybourn

Series: Veronica Speedwell #1

Number of pages: 368 Published July 12th 2016 by Berkley

(Trade Paperback Reprint)

ISBN: 978-0-451-47602-9

On-sale: July 12, 2016

List Price: $15.00

In her thrilling new series, Deanna Raybourn, the New York Times bestselling author of the Lady Julia Grey mysteries, returns once more to Victorian England...and introduces intrepid adventuress Veronica Speedwell. 

London, 1887. After burying her spinster aunt, orphaned Veronica Speedwell is free to resume her world travels in pursuit of scientific inquiry—and the occasional romantic dalliance. As familiar with hunting butterflies as with fending off admirers, Veronica intends to embark upon the journey of a lifetime.

But fate has other plans when Veronica thwarts her own attempted abduction with the help of an enigmatic German baron, who offers her sanctuary in the care of his friend Stoker, a reclusive and bad-tempered natural historian. But before the baron can reveal what he knows of the plot against her, he is found murdered—leaving Veronica and Stoker on the run from an elusive assailant as wary partners in search of the villainous truth.

Purchase at Amazon / B&N / TBD / Indiebound

Chapter One

June 1887

I stared down into the open grave and wished that I could summon a tear. Violent weeping would have been in exceedingly poor taste, but Miss Nell Harbottle had been my guardian for the whole of my life, and a tear or two would have been a nice gesture of respect. The vicar murmured the appropriate prayers, his voice pleasantly mellow, his tongue catching softly on each s. It was the first time I had noticed the lisp, and I only hoped Aunt Nell would not mind. She had been quite exacting about some things, and elocution was one of them. I slipped my dry handkerchief into my pocket with a sigh. Aunt Nell’s death had been neither sudden nor unexpected, and the warmth of our affection had been tepid at best. That her death removed my last attachment to childhood did not unduly alarm me as I stood in the quiet churchyard of Little Byfield. In fact, I was aware of a somewhat disconcerting feeling of euphoria rising within me.

As if to match my mood, the breeze rose a little, and on it fluttered a pair of pale wings edged and spotted with black. “Pieris brassicae,” I murmured to myself. A Large Garden White butterfly, common as grass, but pretty nonetheless. She darted off in search of an early cabbage or perhaps a tasty nasturtium, free as the wind itself. I knew precisely how she felt. Aunt Nell had been the final knotted obligation tying me to England, and I was unfettered once and for all, able to make my way in the world as I chose.

The vicar concluded his prayers and gestured to me. I stepped forward, gathering a clump of earth into my gloved palm. It was good earth, rich and dark and crumbling.

“Rather a waste,” I murmured. “It would make for an excellent garden.” But of course it was a garden, I realized as my gaze swept over the gravestones arranged in neatly serried rows—a garden of the dead, the inhabitants planted to slumber peacefully until they were called to rise by the trumpet of the Lord. Or so the vicar promised them. It seemed a singularly messy undertaking to me. To begin with, wouldn’t the newly risen be frightfully loamy? Shaking off the fanciful thought, I stepped forward and dropped the earth. It struck the lid of the coffin with a hollow thud of finality, and I brushed off my gloves.

There was a touch at my elbow. “My dear Miss Speedwell,” the vicar said, drawing me gently away. “Mrs. Clutterthorpe and I would be very pleased if you would come to the vicarage and take some refreshment.” He smiled kindly. “I know you did not wish for any formal gathering, but perhaps a cup of tea to warm you? The wind is brisk today.”

I had small wish to take tea with the vicar and his dull wife, but accepting was easier than thinking of a reason to refuse.

The vicar led me through the lych-gate and onto the path that led to the great, shambling rectory. He was burbling on like a talkative brook, no doubt reciting from a lesson he had been taught in seminary—“Comforting Thoughts for the Newly Bereaved,” perhaps. I gave him a polite half smile to indicate I was listening and carried on with my thoughts. Whatever they might have been, they were diverted instantly by the curious sensation that we were being watched. I turned to look behind and saw a figure at the lych-gate, tall and beautifully erect, with the sort of posture a gentleman acquires through either generations of aristocratic breeding or enthusiastic beatings at excellent schools. There was something foreign about his mustaches, for they were exuberant, long and sharply waxed into elegant loops, and even at a distance I could detect the slender slashes of old scars upon his left cheek. A German, then, I decided. Or perhaps Austrian. Such scars were unique to the Teutons and their bloodthirsty habit of marking each other with saber tips for sport. But what business did a Continental aristocrat have that required him to lurk near the graveyard of so nondescript a village as Little Byfield?

I turned to put the question to the vicar, but as I did, I saw a flicker of movement and realized our visitor had slipped away. I thought no more about him, and in a very short time I was seated in the stuffy drawing room of the vicarage, holding a cup of tea and a plate of sandwiches. With the effort of packing up the cottage, I had not always remembered to eat in the hours following Aunt Nell’s death. I diligently applied myself to two plates of sandwiches and one of cake, for the vicarage employed an excellent cook.

The vicaress raised her brows slightly at my prodigious appetite. “I am glad you feel quite up to taking some nourishment, Miss Speedwell.”

I did not reply. My mouth was full of Victoria sponge, but even if it had not been, there seemed no polite response. The vicar and his wife exchanged glances, significant ones, and the vicar cleared his throat.

“My dear Miss Speedwell, Mrs. Clutterthorpe and I naturally take a very keen interest in the welfare of everyone in the village. And while you and your aunt are relative newcomers among us, we are, of course, most eager to offer you whatever assistance we can at this difficult time.”

I took a sip of the tea, pleased to find it scalding hot and properly strong. I abhorred weakness of any kind but most particularly in my tea. But the vicar’s pointed reference to “newcomers” had nettled me. True, Aunt Nell had moved to the little cottage in Little Byfield upon Aunt Lucy’s death only some three years past, but English villages were terminally insular. No matter how many socks she knitted for the poor or how many shillings she collected to repair the church roof, Aunt Nell would always be a “newcomer,” even if she had lived among them for half a century. I felt a flicker of mischief stirring and decided with Aunt Nell gone there was no need to suppress it. “She was not my aunt.”

The vicar blinked. “I beg your pardon.”

“Miss Nell Harbottle was not my aunt. It was a title she claimed for the sake of convenience, but we were not kin. Miss Harbottle and her sister, Miss Lucy Harbottle, took me in and reared me. I was a foundling, orphaned and illegitimate, to be precise.”

The vicaress sat forward in her chair. “My dear, you speak very frankly of such things.”

“Should I not?” I asked as politely as I could manage.

“There is no shame in being orphaned, nor in that my parents were unmarried—at least no shame that ought to attach to me. It was an accident of birth and nothing more.”

To read the rest of the excerpt, click here...

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Deanna Raybourn is the author of the award-winning, New York Times bestselling Lady Julia Grey mysteries and several standalone novels. She lives in Virginia with her family.

Yay, time for the giveaway! 

The wonderful people at Berkley Publishing Group are giving me a print copy of the book to give away on my blog! Open to US residents only.

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Review: The Crown's Game by Evelyn Skye

Title: The Crown's Game (The Crown's Game #1)
Author: Evelyn Skye
Kindle, 399 pages
Published: March 17th 2010
Publisher: Balzer + Bray
Genre: YA - Fantasy - Historical Fiction - Romance
Source: via Edelweiss

Vika Andreyeva can summon the snow and turn ash into gold. Nikolai Karimov can see through walls and conjure bridges out of thin air. They are enchanters—the only two in Russia—and with the Ottoman Empire and the Kazakhs threatening, the Tsar needs a powerful enchanter by his side.

And so he initiates the Crown’s Game, an ancient duel of magical skill—the greatest test an enchanter will ever know. The victor becomes the Imperial Enchanter and the Tsar’s most respected adviser. The defeated is sentenced to death.

Raised on tiny Ovchinin Island her whole life, Vika is eager for the chance to show off her talent in the grand capital of Saint Petersburg. But can she kill another enchanter—even when his magic calls to her like nothing else ever has?

For Nikolai, an orphan, the Crown’s Game is the chance of a lifetime. But his deadly opponent is a force to be reckoned with—beautiful, whip smart, imaginative—and he can’t stop thinking about her.

And when Pasha, Nikolai’s best friend and heir to the throne, also starts to fall for the mysterious enchantress, Nikolai must defeat the girl they both love... or be killed himself.

As long-buried secrets emerge, threatening the future of the empire, it becomes dangerously clear... the Crown’s Game is not one to lose.

Purchase at: Amazon | B&N | TBD | Kobo 

I had a hard time deciding what rating to give this book because while I didn’t really enjoy it, I didn’t really hate it either. However, upon thinking about it, I realized that I have no desire to read the next book, so I decided to just give this book 2 stars. I know a lot of people loved this book, and I really wanted to love this book because of the amazing concept, but it turns out that I am yet again the black sheep.

What I Liked:
1. The premise of this book is very interesting: Set in Russia, the two enchanters born of that time (1800’s) were to enter in the Crown’s Game to duel each other until one dies and the other becomes the Grand Enchanter of Russia. I mean, it has magic and it’s set in Russia! I really was interested in that plot, and I felt like it would be a really unique book.

2. The vivid descriptions: In the game, the enchanters were tasked to please Pasha for his birthday celebration, so the enchanters created a lot of beautiful things such as fountains, magical boxes that would create masquerade gowns, islands, etc. The author did a really great job of describing these, and I felt like I was able to see those things clearly.

3. The writing: Not that it was anything special, but I felt like the writing was good. I had no problems with the pacing and choice of words. And as mentioned above, the author is really good in descriptions without being too overbearing with words.

What I Didn’t Like:
1. Multiple POVs: I don’t usually have problems with multiple POVs, especially when the book is in the third person perspective, but I was just annoyed in the execution of it in this book. At first I thought there was already this set amount of narrators, but throughout the book, new ones just keep popping out. I would prefer it if from the start, I knew which people would get to narrate the novel, because I was just confused at times why there were new ones popping out, even neat the end of the book.

2. Love Square?: I don’t really like love triangles, but this novel has a love square! It was infuriating because I was really looking forward to the magic element of the novel, but at some point the focus became the romance. And can I just say how predictable it is that Vika and Nikolai would fall in love with each other? I think I would have preferred it if it became Vika + Pasha and Nikolai + Renata, just for the sake of being different for once.

3. Bland: I don’t know, this book just wasn’t interesting enough for me. I was really looking forward to reading this book the longest times, but it fell short of my expectations. In my opinion, it lacks the excitement that I wanted it to have, so I didn’t really mind if I was interrupted or anything.

2 stars. Ah, it's okay. 

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Blog Tour: Blackhearts by Nicole Castroman | Book Teasers/Excerpt + Giveaway!

Welcome to the Blackhearts by Nicole Castroman blog tour! 

Today I will be sharing all about this amazing new book, which includes an excerpt of chapter 1 and some book image teasers. Hope you all enjoy!

Blackhearts
by Nicole Castroman
Publisher: Simon Pulse
Release Date: February 9th 2016

Genre: Young Adult, Historical Fiction, Retellings, Romance, Pirates, Fantasy, Adventure

Blackbeard the pirate was known for striking fear in the hearts of the bravest of sailors. But once he was just a young man who dreamed of leaving his rigid life behind to chase adventure in faraway lands. Nothing could stop him—until he met the one girl who would change everything.

Edward "Teach" Drummond, son of one of Bristol's richest merchants, has just returned from a year-long journey on the high seas to find his life in shambles. Betrothed to a girl he doesn’t love and sick of the high society he was born into, Teach dreams only of returning to the vast ocean he’d begun to call home. There's just one problem: convincing his father to let him leave and never come back.

Following her parents' deaths, Anne Barrett is left penniless and soon to be homeless. Though she’s barely worked a day in her life, Anne is forced to take a job as a maid in the home of Master Drummond. Lonely days stretch into weeks, and Anne longs for escape. How will she ever realize her dream of sailing to Curaçao—where her mother was born—when she's stuck in England? 

From the moment Teach and Anne meet, they set the world ablaze. Drawn to each other, they’re trapped by society and their own circumstances. Faced with an impossible choice, they must decide to chase their dreams and go, or follow their hearts and stay.

CHAPTER 1

Anne

Bristol, England 1697

After Anne’s father died, her mother often said that sorrow was the only sun that rose for them. Her mother had since followed him into the darkness of death, leaving Anne to face the dawn alone.

That morning was no different, the thick clouds overhead were determined once again to release their pent-up frustration on her. In the crowded marketplace and its stalls, the air smelled of sweet water on damp stone and wood, accompanied by the tang of blood.

Other maids and cooks from the large homes in the city bartered and bought, their weary voices calling for pheasant, venison, and veal. Anne stood in line with her pail of fruits and vegetables, hoping she wasn’t too late to get the better cuts of meat. At last she stepped up to the butcher, the many coins in her pocket reminding her of her errand’s importance.

The butcher winked, his brown eyes almost black. “Good to see you, Anne. What’ll it be today?”

“Master Drummond wants venison tonight,” she said, inspecting the haunches and shoulders hanging from the stall’s center beam. The butcher’s eyes followed her with the same consideration. With his fair hair, some might have called him handsome, but she only saw his yellowed teeth and smelled his rank breath. If Master Drummond hadn’t insisted she buy from this particular butcher, she would have found a different one long ago. He was at least twice her sixteen years, and though his apron was clean, the look on his face was not.

“Aye, his son is coming home, isn’t he?” he said, leaning forward across the table. “Been gone a year at sea.”

Anne took a step back, pulling her shawl more firmly around her, and finally met his gaze. “Yes, which means there’s no time to waste. I must return to the house as quickly as possible. I’ll take that one,” she said, pointing to a fleshy red hindquarter.

The name Drummond was always on someone’s lips, for Richard Drummond was one of the wealthiest merchants in the city. In four weeks’ time one of the largest ships ever built, the Deliverance, would set sail from Bristol. It was Master Drummond’s showpiece.

“Oi, you can’t have that one. This one’ll have to do,” the butcher said, poking a knife into a thin portion of meat in front of him. It was old, the flesh tough and hard, the fat contracted.

Anne’s face flushed with anger, and she wished for the hundredth time that she could purchase elsewhere. “And why would I want that piece?” she asked sharply. “Do you know what the master would do if I served that for dinner tonight?”

The butcher grinned. “I know what I’d do,” he said.

Gritting her teeth, she gave him what she hoped was a haughty look. “What else do you have?”

Unexpectedly, he grabbed her arm, pulling her close so that her pail hit the table, spilling the produce onto the cobblestones beneath their feet.

“Don’t act so high and mighty with me. I’ve already told you. I’ll give you the best cuts, but this time it’ll cost you a little extra,” he sneered. “I’ve been a patient man. If you want to please your master, you’re going to have to please me first.”

Like a dragonfly caught under glass, her heart fluttered. She’d become accustomed to his lewd suggestions, but the grip of his grimy fingers on her arm filled her with a new sense of panic.

“You can please yourself,” she hissed, wrenching her arm out of his grasp. With shaking hands she quickly picked up the fruits and vegetables, not bothering to wipe the dirt from their skins. The butcher laughed, an ugly sound that made her stomach churn. She glared at him, turned on her heel, and barreled through the crowd in an attempt to put as much distance between herself and his stall as possible.

The devil hang him. If Master Drummond wants venison for his son’s return, he should come down here and buy it himself. If the butcher tries to touch me again, I’ll stick him like the pig he is.

Only after she was several rows away did Anne stop and lean against a brick wall to catch her breath, aware of the suspicious glances thrown her way.

Despite the fact that it was a major seaport, most of the inhabitants of Bristol were still unused to Anne’s appearance. She was the illegitimate daughter of a prosperous English merchant and a West Indies slave, and people didn’t know how to react to the mix of her mother’s coppery skin and her father’s blue eyes. It was obvious Anne didn’t fully belong to either race, and others often viewed her with either distaste or distrust.

Wearily she straightened, her fingers reaching for her mother’s small, gold watch hidden in her pocket, a habit whenever she was upset or distressed. She needed to find something else to cook for dinner, and quickly. With rows and rows of stalls, it would not be too difficult to find a new butcher, but she doubted she’d be able to find the same quality.

The church bell chimed the top of the hour, which meant Anne needed to head back to the manor, but there was no decent venison to be found. Desperate, Anne settled instead upon a clean stall near the edge of the market and bought two pheasants from a small, elderly woman with a hunched back and frail shoulders.

The woman took the coins Anne handed her and slipped them into her pocket, watching Anne intently the entire time. Anne ignored it, used to the scrutiny by now, after years of prying glances. “Do you ever have venison?” Anne asked, the poultry safely tucked beneath her arm.

The old woman nodded. “Aye, but we sold out first thing this morning.”

Just my luck.

“I’ll be back in the future,” Anne assured her, before heading into the busy horde. From now on she would buy from the old woman’s stall. Anne was the only one that Master Drummond sent to the market. There was no need for him to discover where Anne acquired his meals—she did not understand why he took such an active interest in his purchases anyway.

Part of her hair escaped her thick braid and cap, and she impatiently stuffed the stubborn black strands underneath, thinking of all the work that had yet to be done. A party of six would be eating dinner that afternoon, and she needed to get the pheasants home as quickly as possible.

Her feet turned in the direction of the harbor. Shrimp was a favorite treat of Master Drummond’s, and she had enough money left over. Although it wouldn’t be a lot, it might be enough to dampen his ire. If she could not secure the shrimp, she feared he might send her back to the workhouse, where she’d have to labor alongside the rest of the city’s penniless inhabitants in exchange for handouts. The thought sent a shiver running down her back.

As Anne approached the docks, the sound of seagulls intensified and the bells on distant boats could be heard more clearly. Her father had sometimes brought her here very early in the morning or late at night, when not many people were about. He’d said that the presence of the sea gave the very skies a special quality, one that could not be duplicated.

There was freedom here. It flowed through the air and lifted the sails of the vessels as they left. How often in the last five months had she been tempted to stow away, sail off, and leave this life behind? Her mother had filled her head with stories of the West Indies, and her father had always promised to take her to her mother’s island one day.

The familiar sights and sounds of the waterfront drew Anne in. It was hard to take a breath without inhaling the scent of salt and fish, and no one could speak without having to raise their voice over the cries of the gulls. Anne managed a smile, her first one all week.

The fishmonger she usually bought from saw her coming and straightened, returning her smile. “Good morning, Anne. You’re a bit late this morning, aren’t you?”

She nodded regretfully. “Yes, indeed. I don’t have much time, but I need some shrimp,” she said, referring to the small barrel behind him, full of the plump, gray crustaceans. “Two pounds should do.”

He flinched. “I’m truly sorry, but those have been purchased.”

Fear sharpened Anne’s voice. “What? The whole barrel?”

“Aye. Someone came in and bought the lot.”

“But I must have two pounds. Surely you can spare some,” she said.

“They’re not mine to spare. Though, you can ask him yourself, if you like,” the fishmonger said, pointing at someone over Anne’s shoulder.

She turned in time to see a large figure approaching. He was at least a head taller than she, with a broad chest, and muscular legs clearly visible in the brown breeches he wore. A cutlass hung from his waist, beneath his short jacket. He was tanned, and the hair on his head and the beard on his face were as black as the thatched roofs surrounding the dock.

She took an involuntary step backward as he stopped beside her. He gave her a cursory glance, his green eyes bright, before turning his attention to the fishmonger. His voice was smooth and low when he spoke. “Instead of taking them myself, I’d like you to deliver—”

Desperation drove Anne to interrupt him. “Please, sir. Might I have a word with you?”

Once again those green eyes turned in her direction. This time he afforded her a more complete perusal, and she swallowed the distaste in her mouth. He was no gentleman. His appearance suggested a simple sailor, someone who could not possibly afford the entire barrel.

“Yes?” he asked.

“It’s about the shrimp. I was wondering if I could take two pounds from the top and pay you for them.”

A woman came from behind and called to the fishmonger. He turned to help her, leaving the shabby sailor and Anne to their conversation.

When he had first approached, she’d thought him much older, for he was taller than most men. On closer inspection, she realized he couldn’t have been more than nineteen. His expression warmed as he considered her. He was interested, clearly, but Anne wasn’t sure if it was her proposal or her appearance.

“There is more than one stall that sells shrimp,” he said.

She was not to be deterred. She’d already lost one battle this morning and could not afford to lose another. The last cook who hadn’t provided the master’s favorite meal for a special occasion had been fired and kicked out onto the streets.

As much as Anne disliked living in the Drummond household, it was preferable to the gutter. And if she went to another household, there was no guarantee she could secure enough funds to begin a new life. “Yes, but this man has the most honest scales and the freshest fish. Since I am unable to buy from him, I have no choice but to ask you. Surely you would not miss two pounds,” she pressed.

The corners of his mouth lifted, and his green eyes twinkled. “Ah, but I would. Have you considered oysters as a substitute?”

Anne pursed her lips. Master Drummond hated oysters. “No, it must be shrimp. Please, I have a very important meal—”

It was his turn to interrupt. “I, too, have an important meal, for which I need the entire barrel.”

No doubt trying to impress some girl and her family. “I have enough coin. How much would it take?” she asked briskly.

He paused for a moment, still considering her. She shifted uncomfortably beneath his gaze but refused to back down. The crowd surrounding them thinned, evidence that time was wasting. Her eyes begged him to comply.

“Perhaps I’ve been too hasty. We could discuss the price,” he said, reaching boldly for her arm.

An image of the butcher flashed before her eyes, but this time there was no table to separate her from her attacker. Jerking free of his hold, Anne brought the pail forward, hitting the sailor soundly between the legs. He dropped to his knees, the breath escaping his lungs with a pained “Ooof,” his eyes no longer twinkling.

“Keep your hands to yourself, you filthy sea rat! Even if you were to offer me the full barrel, I wouldn’t go anywhere with the likes of you!”

For the second time that morning, Anne rushed away from an unwelcome advance, cursing softly beneath her breath. She felt the sailor’s eyes following her, burning a hole into the back of her head, but she didn’t turn around. He was in no condition to give chase, at least not now.

Hurrying from the docks, she reached once again for her mother’s pocket watch. A shiver ran down her spine and she sent up a silent prayer, asking that Master Drummond’s heart would be softened and that she wouldn’t find herself on the receiving end of his fury.

Anne also prayed that her path would not cross again with that of the sailor’s, for if it did, she knew with certainty that she would not leave the encounter unscathed.

Nicole was lucky enough to come with her very own best friend...she has a twin sister who can read her mind and finish her sentences for her. 

At the age of 13, she went to Europe for the first time and it changed her life. She loves learning about different people, languages and cultures and speaks fluent German. She knows enough Spanish to get herself into trouble and can still read the Cyrillic alphabet from when she studied Russian.

She received her B.A. from Brigham Young University and has lived in Germany, Austria and two different places called Georgia. One is located on the Black Sea. The other is the state of Georgia where she now lives with her handsome husband and two beautiful children who continue to amaze her.

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