Keep ’em coming, folks. Need help? Just email me, and I’ll set you up! And in the meantime, here’s something to make you smile. (Or laugh out loud, like I did.)
#ExcerptWeek
#ExcerptWeek – JASPER – Book Two of The Tudor Trilogy by Tony Riches @tonyriches
Following the best-selling historical fiction novel OWEN – Book One of The Tudor Trilogy, this is the story, based on actual events, of Owen’s son Jasper Tudor, who changes the history of England forever.
England 1461: The young King Edward of York takes the country by force from King Henry VI of Lancaster. Sir Jasper Tudor, Earl of Pembroke, flees the massacre of his Welsh army at the Battle of Mortimer’s Cross and plans a rebellion to return his half-brother King Henry to the throne.
When King Henry is imprisoned by Edward in the Tower of London and murdered, Jasper escapes to Brittany with his young nephew, Henry Tudor. After the sudden death of King Edward and the mysterious disappearance of his sons, a new king, Edward’s brother Richard III takes the English Throne. With nothing but his wits and charm, Jasper sees his chance to make young Henry Tudor king with a daring and reckless invasion of England.
Set in the often brutal world of fifteenth century England, Wales, Scotland, France, Burgundy and Brittany, during the Wars of the Roses, this fast-paced story is one of courage and adventure, love and belief in the destiny of the Tudors.
~~~
Chapter One
February 1461
He held his breath and shivered as he strained to listen. Sound travelled well in the frosty woodland. The rustle of a blackbird foraging for worms in fallen leaves and the sudden, wooden creak of an old branch, bending in the cold air. He heard the noise again, the heavy scrape of hooves on the stony track, coming his way, hunting him. Too tired to run, he would not be taken prisoner by the men of Edward of York.
Jasper remembered his father’s warning. Their proud Welsh army marched over a hundred miles from Pembroke, stopping only at night and starting again each day at dawn, when his outrider returned with grave news. They had sighted York’s army camped near Mortimer’s Cross, on the old Roman road near the crossing of the River Lugg, directly in their path.
‘We should avoid them, head north under cover of darkness,’ his father suggested, his voice kept low so the men wouldn’t overhear. He had looked his age from their long, cold march across Wales. Too old to fight, his father insisted on riding with them. ‘I owe my life to King Henry,’ he argued, ‘and I owe it to your mother to support him now.’
Jasper recalled his terse reply. ‘It’s too late.’ He saw the pleading in his father’s eyes and softened his tone. ‘They know we are here, Father. I will try to negotiate terms if we are given the chance, but we must be ready to fight.’ In truth he doubted York would be in any mood for talking, since his own father, Richard, Duke of York, was beheaded by over-zealous Lancastrians the previous December.
Then came the news that Sir Richard Neville, Earl of Warwick, and York’s right-hand man, had captured King Henry, Jasper’s half-brother. He had thought York’s soldiers were no match for the men of Wales and the battle-hardened mercenaries who rode with them, but he could not have been more wrong. Their enemy outnumbered them more than two to one and proved to be experienced and well-prepared fighting men.
The salvo of arrows descended without warning in a black cloud of death. One struck deep into the neck of Jasper’s horse, which reared with a demented whinny of pain, throwing him from his saddle. He barely managed to scramble to his feet and draw his sword before York’s men-at-arms charged, hacking with axes, maces and swords, slashing and killing without mercy. Continue reading
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#ExcerptWeek Living in the Shadows by Judith Barrow
Chapter 56: Victoria
Sun 12th October
Victoria watched Melody being systematically ostracised by the rest of the group. No one spoke to her. They whispered about her and, when she approached or came close to any of them, they turned their backs on her. But, wherever she went, one of them followed her.
Victoria didn’t understand why they wouldn’t let her just leave.
‘She’s not allowed to go until the Master says she can,’ Amber explained. ‘He talks to her at night.’
‘At night?’
‘All night. He’s trying to make her understand how she won’t fit in on the outside anymore.’
He’s brainwashing her, Victoria thought, horrified. He’s trying to break her spirit. It made her stomach twist inside her.
Despite all her efforts to avoid any of the groups, all of them had tried to involve Victoria in the exclusion.
‘You can’t sit on the side-lines, Summer, it’s too dangerous,’ Amber said, while they were sitting around the table at suppertime.
‘What do you mean?’
‘She means we are a family, Summer.’ Chrystal stood behind them. We all rely on each other; for our food, our clothing and,’ she spread out her arms and looked around the dining room, ‘our shelter.’
‘It doesn’t seem fair, Chrystal. When you take our meditation sessions, you preach good vibes.’ Victoria deliberately said the word; she thought back to the last time the woman had gathered them together; yeah, ‘preach’ was definitely the right way to put it.
Still she made her face impassive when she saw Chrystal bristle.
Victoria looked across at Melody. Sitting on her own at a table that she’d been led to the day after her outburst, she was upright, arms folded. The meagre amount of food on the plate in front of her was ignored.
‘She is backsliding into temptation. There is nothing we can do for her now, Summer. It is up to the Master.’ Chrystal put her hand on Victoria’s shoulder. She felt the clench of her stomach muscles, tried to shut out the drone of Chrystal’s voice. ‘If she goes she will leave without his blessing. She is rebellious, disobedient. A castaway.’ Now she was leading Victoria towards the door and it was as though there was nothing for it but to go. ‘We have been watching your struggle over the past few days. We see your compassion for Melody. But it is misplaced.’ She leaned towards Victoria, her voice soft. ‘You need to decide where you loyalties are. With her, or with us, with our Master. He needs to know, Summer.’
Victoria glanced over to the top table where Seth sat alone. He was watching her.
Amazon. co.uk:
Living in the Shadows
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Living in the Shadows
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Living in the Shadows
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Living in the Shadows
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#ExcerptWeek & Blurb – THE PRINCE’S SON by Deborah Jay
Those of you who follow my blog have already seen this blurb, but for those who haven’t, this is the back cover copy for my soon-to-be released sequel to THE PRINCE’S MAN (epic fantasy).
THE PRINCE’S SON
Nessa Haddo has been raised to pursue what every young noblewoman needs: a suitable husband. Unfortunately for her, as a younger twin, her prospects are limited. Things start to look up when she lays eyes on the handsome foreign envoy sent to escort her sister to an arranged marriage, but her romantic fantasies quickly entangle her in events beyond her darkest nightmares.
Compared to his last mission, ex-spy Rustam Chalice’s new assignment sounds simple: wrangle an unwieldy bridal caravan across a mountain range populated by bandits, trolls, werecats and worse, try to cajole a traumatized princess out of her self-imposed isolation, and arrive on time for the politically sensitive wedding. What could possibly go wrong?
Meanwhile, Lady Risada—the woman who haunts Rustam’s dreams—is struggling to adjust to a normal life. All her carefully honed assassin’s instincts scream warnings of foul play, yet she can find nothing obviously amiss.
And deep in the halls of a mountain clan, an old enemy plucks his victim’s strings with expert malice.
Excerpt
Something moved beyond the picket line.
Nessa froze. Her heart stopped beating, and then thudded so loudly she was certain whoever was there must hear it. Surely it had to be one of their party slipping away to relieve themselves? It could not be either Rustam or Sala unless they had circled around beyond the horses, and why would they?
She stumbled an involuntary step back, gave a little cry as metal dug into her back, then realised she was pressed up against one of the ribs of the wagon.
The shadowy figure stopped, appeared to be sniffing the air.
That made up her mind. No human scented like that. She did not know what it was, but it wasn’t one of them. Continue reading
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#ExcerptWeek To Kill A Labrador by Kassandra Lamb
Thank you, Marcia, for letting me join you all here on The Write Stuff. I can’t believe I haven’t stumbled on this wonderful blog before now.
Hi, Everyone. *waving from Florida* My name is Kassandra Lamb and I’m the author of a successful mystery series, the Kate Huntington mysteries. And now I’m launching a new series of cozy mysteries.
I’m so excited to share a little bit of the first book, about a young woman (whose first name is also Marcia) who trains service dogs for veterans with PTSD. Wait, I’ll let her introduce herself:
I’m a normal person. Granted I have a somewhat abnormal vocation. I train service animals for PTSD sufferers–mostly combat veterans.
But other than that, I’m just a small-town, thirty-something divorcee.
My name is Marcia Banks–pronounced Mar-see-a, not Marsha. Okay, okay, so I don’t have a totally normal name.
I live in central Florida, on the outskirts of the Ocala National Forest, in a little town called Mayfair, population 258 (and a half. Agnes Baker’s pregnant. Again.)
Mayfair sprang up in the 1960s, in response to the transitory success of the Mayfair Alligator Farm (rumor has it that old Mr. Mayfair poached the gators from the Forest). Billboards plastered along the newly minted I-75 corridor drew in vacationing families to witness the wonders of gator wrestling and to buy fake alligator skin handbags and belts. Sadly, the farm went under in the mid-seventies, when Walt Disney plopped his amusement park down next to another sleepy Florida hamlet–Orlando.
Mayfair was virtually a ghost town when I moved here two years ago, shortly after the demise of my brief but disastrous marriage to a concert violinist in the Baltimore Symphony.
It’s a great place to train service animals because everybody knows everybody. It didn’t take long for the residents to learn the rules. The main one being to never, ever pet the dogs I’m training unless I say it’s okay.
The exception is my Black Lab-Rottie mix, Buddy, if he’s the only dog I’m walking at the time.
He was my first trainee, and how he came back into my possession was the beginning of my not-so-normal avocation–unwilling amateur sleuth.
One sunny day last winter, I received the most shocking phone call of my life. It even beat out the anonymous one three years ago informing me that my husband was having an affair with a cello player.
The caller said she was with the Collinsville Sheriff’s Department and wanted to know if I had trained a service dog named Buddy.
My mind scrambled for a reason why someone from a sheriff’s department would be asking me that. Had Buddy bit someone?
“Where exactly is Collinsville?” I asked, stalling for time.
“Off 33, near Polk City.”
“In Florida?” More stalling.
“Yes, ma’am, not far from Lakeland.” Her tone said she was losing patience with me. “Are you the Marcia Banks who trained Buddy?” She mispronounced my first name, of course.
I couldn’t figure out how to get around admitting it, since I had signed off on his training certificate. “Uh, yes.”
“Could ya come get the dog as soon as possible?”
“Why? What’s happened to his owner?” Jimmy Garrett was an Iraqi veteran who’d had a close encounter with an IED. As a result, he’d come home with a prosthesis where his right leg used to be and some pretty disabling nightmares, among other PTSD symptoms.
“He’s been arrested, ma’am.”
“What about his wife?”
A long pause. “That’s why he’s been arrested. He’s bein’ held on suspicion of murder.”
“Of his wife?” My voice rose, ending on a squeak.
“Yes, ma’am.”
The book is available for pre-order now and will be released on April 10, 2016 (Psst! It’s just $1.99 during the pre-order period; it goes up to $3.99 once it’s released.)
AMAZON US AMAZON UK AMAZON CA AMAZON AUS APPLE KOBO
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#ExcerptWeek The Bloodling Series by Aimee Easterling
One of my favorite books to write was my Bloodling Serial, told from the point of view of a bloodling — a rare shifter born in wolf rather than human form. After growing up four-legged, Wolfie finds it hard to fit into two-legger society…and his antics always surprised me even as I typed them out.
Here’s a brief excerpt from near the beginning of Wolfie’s story:
***
If pee falls in the forest, and no one’s there…should I care?
Chase and I clearly fell on opposing sides of this philosophical conundrum, as evidenced by how quickly my milk brother shifted into human form and donned a scowl upon smelling the intruder’s scent mark.
I, on the other hand, was more interested in teasing out exactly who had come to call rather than in getting offended at the trespass. Lone male werewolf, halfway to adulthood and skulking around the edges of our territory, reported my sensitive lupine nose. And, for a moment, I considered going out of my way to track the outpack shifter down, feeding him a meal if nothing else before letting him continue on his way.
Or maybe I should give the kid a clue that most alphas wouldn’t be as long-suffering as I am when they catch a strange male sniffing after their girls? Because that’s what the outpack shifter had been looking for—unmated females. I could smell the lust and yearning in his urine deposit.
Okay, sure, so every teenage boy has his mind in the gutter. But most at least possessed an iota of self-preservation that would prevent them from marking across an alpha’s own peed-upon cairns. The trespasser might as well have included his phone number and “Call me for a good time” while he was at it—I’d definitely recognize the kid next time I saw him in person.
My father or brother would have been seeing red right about this time, but I instead found the situation increasingly hilarious as I followed the stranger’s minuscule stream of urine from mark to mark. Some over-zealous wolf pup thinking he could challenge my boundaries? I could tell from his scent that the invader was barely old enough to shift, probably a gangling fifteen year old whose human face was covered with acne and who still stumbled over his own lupine feet. The kid would be lucky if he didn’t drizzle urine all over himself while trying to figure out how to lift a leg and direct the stream.
I huffed out a canine laugh at the mental image, but my companion Chase just scowled. “You can’t really let him get away with that,” my milk brother chastened me quietly, laying one hand upon my lupine ears and shaking me none too gently. Chase wasn’t an alpha, which meant that he didn’t actually care about whose dick was the longest, but he still spent an inordinate amount of time looking out for my dignity. Good thing too since someone had to do it…and that person certainly wasn’t going to be me.
On the other hand, while I preferred patrolling our boundaries in lupine form, this conversation was getting too complicated for ear flicks and whines. So I lunged upwards, hands forming out of paws and snout receding in the time it took to turn back legs into…well, just legs.
“Let him get away with what?” I asked my best friend, still grinning at the cheeky bastard who had passed by here only a few hours earlier. “Get away with urinating on a few stones in the woods? I think I’ll survive the threat to my manhood.”
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Superpowers suck much? Null City on #ExcerptWeek by @barbtaub
As part of Excerpt Week, here are some brief excerpts from my Null City series
Superpowers suck. If you just want to live a normal life, Null City is only a Metro ride away. After one day there, imps become baristas, and hellhounds become poodles. Demons settle down, become parents, join the PTA, and worry about their taxes.
Hope flares each morning in the tiny flash of a second before Lette touches that first thing. And destroys it.
Her online journal spans a decade, beginning with the day a thirteen-year-old inherits an extreme form of the family “gift.” Every day whatever she touches converts into something new: bunnies, bubbles, bombs, and everything in between.
Lette’s search for a cure leads her to Stefan, whose fairy-tale looks hide a monstrous legacy, and to Rag, an arrogant, crabby ex-angel with boundary issues. The three face an army led by a monster who feeds on children’s fear. But it’s their own inner demons they must defeat first.
EXCERPT: DON’T TOUCH by Barb Taub
Click here for preview, reviews, and purchase links from Amazon
- Text from S_Krampus: (5:02PM, Oct 20, 2012): dEr R., My nAm iz Stefan & I’ve Bin snt by yor Aunt Roulette 2 rescue U.
- Text from Lette: I don’t need rescuing. Go away.
•●•
Use Your Words : LiveJournal, October 27, 2012 by LetteS [—Lette’s Birth Date Calculator: 22 years, 9.3 months]
Over the past week, the texts from Stefan, the guy with the rescue complex, have gotten more frequent and less grammatical. Except for the occasional “Go away!”, I’ve been trying to ignore him.
My touch was more random than ever this past week, turning things into needles, polka dots, chicken pot pie, okra, CDs of German art lieder songs, or velvet paintings of the queens of England. Actually, I have to admit, the pot pies were pretty good. And the polka dots and queen pictures perked up my bedroom. Even the needles didn’t take up that much space. But the okra and art lieder were just wrong.
The texts from Stefan have tapered off at last, and today it’s time for another Saturday visit from Mom and Dad. Wait, there’s a text.
R U there? cn I come ^ 2 c u?
What—I’m the only one on the planet who knows how to type whole words? I have to go throw down the ladder for Mom.
•●•
- Text from Lette (2:13PM, Oct 27, 2012): OMG Mom. A man just tried to climb into my cabin. I pushed him back off the porch, and he fell to the ground.
- Text from Mom Is he blond?
- Text from Lette: Yes
- Text from Mom: That’s not a man.
- Text from Mom: Well, actually, it is, but it’s the one your great-aunt Roulette sent. I texted him your address. You should probably let him in.
- Text from Lette: Um…he might be dead.
- Text from Mom: LETTE!
- Text from Lette: Nope. He’s groaning. I guess I’ll have to go down there and help him. But Mom—what were you thinking? It could kill him if I touch him.
- Text from Mom: Well, I’m guessing he knows that now. Let me know how he’s doing.
•●•
- Text from Mom (3:19PM, Oct 27, 2012): Is he dead?
- Text from Lette: Not yet. He has a cut and a lump on his head. I put frozen peas on it.
- Text from Mom: What’s your touch today?
- Text from Lette: Frogs. I only made a little one though, and I think George ate it.
- Text from Mom: Be careful. Turning him into a frog would just be too big a cliché.
- Text from Lette: Bye Mom.
EXCERPT: Payback is a Witch is a novella from Tales From Null City by Barb Taub
Click here for preview, reviews, and buy link from Amazon.
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#ExcerptWeek – A Time for Silence by Thorne Moore #TuesdayBookBlog
A Time For Silence: Sarah Peterson has discovered the Welsh cottage where her grandparents Gwen and John Owen once lived. She fantasies about how idyllic their life must have been. In reality, back in 1933, when her grandparents married…
~~~
‘The trap is waiting,’ says John. His hand is firm on Gwen’s elbow. No time for dawdling.
‘Wait,’ she pleads.
He relinquishes her reluctantly as she hurries across to receive one last kiss from her father.
‘You be good now, girl.’ Henry Lewis laughs. As if there could be the need to say that to his Gwen! He is pushing her away, reassuring her that all is well, that she is doing right in leaving him. Not for the world would he stand between his beloved daughter and the sanctified joy of marriage. A marriage that will free her from their cramped and sorry life in Penbryn.
She kisses his hand. She must not linger. Her husband is waiting.
The monstrous Mrs. George is guarding the gate. ‘Well, John. Mrs. Owen. You know where we are if you need anything. Mind you take care of him, girl.’
‘Indeed yes,’ the Reverend Harries booms. ‘We must keep our finest baritone in full working order.’
Gwen smiles her compliance.
Outside in the road, the pony and trap are waiting. Someone has threaded poppies and blue ribbons into the harness. It is an unexpectedly frivolous touch and no one owns up to it, a gesture not altogether appropriate for this very quiet affair. There is no cake and tea. It would not be seemly, with her father being so infirm, John having so many responsibilities and money being so tight. It is more fitting that they just drive away, newlyweds, to Cwmderwen.
John helps her into the trap, strong hands lifting her slight frame. Children in their Sunday best run around, being called to order by disapproving parents. The little girl who had found courage to smile at Gwen comes forward boldly, thrusting a handful of daisies up at her.
Gwen extends her hand to accept the miniscule gift. ‘It’s very pretty. Thank you.’
But John’s hand reaches across to hers, pulling it back. The child looks into his face, her new-found courage drained, lip quivering. John’s grip tightens on Gwen’s arm, reminding her that all her care lies now with him. Obediently, she sinks back into her seat, heart pattering, eyes forward. The child runs back to her mother.
Panic. Sudden and overwhelming panic. It surges through Gwen. This is all too soon, everything has swept along too fast, she is not ready for this. Continue reading
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Just doesn’t pay to be dead… #ExcerptWeek ~ ONE WAY FARE by @barbtaub
As part of Excerpt Week, here is a little taste of my first book, One Way Fare.
EXCERPT: ONE WAY FARE by Barb Taub & Hannah Taub
Some days it just didn’t pay to be dead.
“It’s not fair,” Gaby panted as Leila pulled ahead on the hillside. All those hours as the victim of Bill-the-Hun on her BodiesByBill exercise tapes and she was eating Leila’s dust? Of course the hole in her side wasn’t helping things. And—was blood squishing into those over-priced new running shoes Leila had insisted they buy?
Behind them, she could hear the disciplined beat of pursuit. Well, sure they can concentrate on chasing us; they don’t have to worry about how to get blood out of $240 sneakers.
“Do something,” begged Leila.
“I’m an accountant,” gasped Gaby. What does she want me to do? I could give the IRS an anonymous tip, but satisfying as it might be to contemplate those guys having to cough up receipts for our murder during the audit, I don’t think it’s going to get us out of this.
Leila was several yards ahead of her by now, the trees giving way to the sheer drop of the cliff ahead, with the roar from the falls just beyond.
“I’ve got you Leila.” The voice echoed from beyond the cliff face. “Trust me.”
“Thomas!” Without breaking stride Leila ran straight for the cliff edge and leaped.
Come on. Who trusts someone enough to leap into space?
“Gaby-mine.” Luic’s smoky velvet voice called out as the first shots kicked up the dirt beside her. Without thought, Gaby dove for the cliff edge. She almost enjoyed the moments of free-fall before his arms surrounded her.
“Hell agrees with you,” he grunted. “I think you’ve gained weight.” He went into a swooping glide before his wings pumped, pulling them upward.
“If you do that again,” Gaby warned, “I’m going to be lighter after I throw up. And, come on, Luic. Wings? That’s just so wrong.”
“I got them when I was commissioned.” He spread them for another showy glide. “What do you think?”
“I think the puking sounds better and better.”
His chest shook with laughter under her cheek. “You’re taking this a lot better than I expected. I’m surprised you jumped to me.”
“Two reasons,” she muttered into his neck. “First of all, I’ve been dreaming of falling for the past five years. And usually I die in those dreams. Again.”
“And second,” Gaby pointed out, “if you can’t trust the angel you killed, you might as well give up.”
NOTE: FOR LIMITED TIME Available for FREE from Barnes & Noble and from Kobo. For FREE Kindle version, contact Barb Taub. ONE WAY FARE is the prequel to ROUND TRIP FARE, available for preorder from most online booksellers. (see here for excerpt!)
BLURB: ONE WAY FARE by Barb Taub and Hannah Taub
Superpowers suck. If you just want to live a normal life, Null City is only a Metro ride away. After one day there, imps become baristas, and hellhounds become poodles. Demons settle down, become parents, join the PTA, and worry about their taxes. Null City is the only sanctuary for Gaby Parker and Leila Rice, two young women confronting cataclysmic forces waging an unseen war between Heaven and Hell. Gaby and her younger brother and sister are already targets in the war that cost their parents’ lives. Should they forsake the powers that complete their souls and flee to Null City? Meanwhile, Leila has inherited a French chateau, a mysterious legacy, and a prophecy that she will end the world. Gaby and Leila become catalysts for the founding and survival of Null City. It just would have been nice if someone told them the angels were all on the other side.
For more info, see Barb Taub: Writing & Coffee. Especially Coffee.
Click on image to check out Barb’s blog and all of her books.
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#ExcerptWeek – The Shell: An African Adventure by Tony Riches
The Shell – An African Adventure, by Tony Riches
Mombasa beach: The dream holiday of a lifetime turns into a nightmare for a young couple. Brutally attacked and kidnapped, she has to battle for survival in one of the remotest and most dangerous areas of north east Kenya. He has to find and rescue her – before it is too late. Palm trees line an idyllic beach of white coral sand. An Arabian dhow sails on the clear blue waters of the Indian Ocean. Two lovers are ruthlessly torn apart, perhaps forever. Lucy is bound and helpless, taken far from the safety of the world she knows. Unconscious and bleeding, nothing has prepared Steve for what he needs to do.
# # #
Chapter One
The storm that ravaged the coast had completely passed. A stranded boat and a few damaged palm trees were the only sign it had ever happened. They had come to the beach to see the boat, lying wrecked on its side, several hundred yards from where it had been moored.
A hermit crab dragged the heavy conical shell it had borrowed across the white sand, leaving a meandering trail to mark its progress. Steve picked it up to show to Lucy.
She looked at it and smiled. ‘It needs a bigger shell, there’s no room for its claws.’
The little crab waved a pinkish orange claw in the air defensively. Lucy handed it carefully back to Steve and he placed it back on the sand. They watched as it continued stubbornly on its path.
The sea looked so calm and inviting it was difficult to believe that it was the same ocean they had watched smashing onto the beach last night. Lucy kicked off her sandals and stepped into the water. It was warm and crystal clear, gently lapping round her toes.
‘This is how I always imagined Mombasa.’
‘I wasn’t sure what to expect. I had meant to read up more about it on the Internet but never got round to it.’
‘I checked the hotel website but they didn’t say anything about tropical storms.’
Lucy slipped her hand into his as they walked and pulled him close to her. She felt happier now they had decided to start a family.
‘We must ring Dad to let him know we’re O.K.’
Steve nodded. ‘He does worry about you.’
She looked out across the deep blue of the Indian Ocean to the white breakers on the distant reef, absent mindedly brushing her blonde hair out of her eyes. Nothing seemed to worry Steve. He was a risk taker. Even when they broke down on a dusty, potholed road in the middle of the African bush and their driver started making frantic calls for assistance on an ancient mobile phone. He made her feel safe.
That was a big part of what had attracted her to him, as well as his rugged good looks and their shared sense of humour. He was the first man other than her father who really cared about her. She liked his dark hair, cut shorter for the holiday and the way his stubble shadow meant he always looked like he needed a shave.
They walked on in silence on the warm white sand. Lucy felt she should defend her father.
‘Dad paid for everything before I had my first teaching job. I took it for granted at the time. And he’s accepted you!’
‘I had to marry you first!’
Lucy kissed him. ‘No regrets?’
‘No regrets.’
‘You like him really?’
Steve pretended to consider. ‘He would make a really good grandfather.’
Steve’s words hung in the humid air for a moment, they still hadn’t really talked about what starting a family would mean.
Lucy smiled. ‘I think he will.’
They reached the boat. A tangle of ropes lay next to it and there were a few bottles and bits of broken fishing equipment strewn around. Steve could see that the wooden hull had taken quite a hammering. Parts of the planking were broken and some had come loose.
Lucy stood looking at it. ‘This is someone’s life. I doubt they would have any insurance?’
Steve shook his head. ‘I wouldn’t think so. People here seem quite resourceful. I bet we’ll see it back on the water before we leave.’
They walked around the boat and could see the beach north of the hotel. Lucy recognised the leaning palm tree, bent over towards the sand, where Steve had taken her photo on their first night in Mombasa. It was only three days ago but seemed much longer. The rocky headland, jutting out into the sand, was as far as they had walked that night but she could make out the beach continuing on the other side.
Lucy walked towards it and spun round on the sand to call to Steve. ‘Want to explore? It looks like it’s going to be another nice day.’
Steve followed her and climbed up on the rocks. ‘It’s a great beach. No seaweed.’
Lucy smiled. ‘The man we saw with the rake when we were kayaking must have been here before us.’
He reached out to pull her up and she climbed next to him. The pristine white beach went on for as far as she could see, in a long slow curve until it disappeared into the early morning haze. A line of tall palm trees fringed the sand. It was completely deserted.
Steve helped her down the other side. He picked up Lucy’s abandoned sandals and looked back towards the hotel. He was surprised at how far they had already walked. The boat was out of sight and the rocky headland hid the hotel from view.
Lucy pointed to a dark spot the horizon. ‘It’s a dhow. I had a dream about one of those the other night. It was in a storm though, not like today.’
They stood and watched its steady progress, the sail bent over.
Lucy pointed to the dhow. ‘‘There must be more wind at sea. There’s hardly any breeze here today.’
‘I think it’s coming closer.’
Lucy pulled her camera from her pocket. ‘Good. I was hoping to get some pictures of one before we left.’ She held up the camera but the dhow was still too far off.
‘Let’s keep on walking to where it’s headed’
Steve took her hand again and they carried on along the beach, Lucy glancing out to the ocean to see if the dhow was any closer.
She bent and picked up a shell from the sand and showed it to Steve. It was a type of scallop shell, bleached even whiter than the sand, the inside perfectly smooth. He handed it back to her and she slipped it into the pocket of her shorts. It was her special souvenir of a wonderful morning in Mombasa.
Steve checked his watch, a habit he was finding hard to break, after so many years in a job when time was money and he was responsible for deadlines being met. Lucy tried to persuade him to leave it at the hotel but he liked the feel of it on his wrist.
He was about to suggest they should turn back when Lucy pointed. ‘It’s coming in.’
Steve could see the dhow had changed its slow but steady course and was going to pull up on the beach a little way ahead of them. It looked a bigger boat than they had seen before, built for long voyages on the open ocean. As it came closer he could see the dark silhouettes of two men, one at the helm and the other bracing the huge triangular sail.
‘Do you think they will mind me taking their picture?’ Lucy remembered the safari guide had warned them about the Maasai not liking tourists taking photos, although they’d seemed happy enough when Steve gave them a five hundred shilling note though.
‘We can ask if they come close enough.’
Lucy looked at the dhow using the viewing screen on her camera. ‘That scene hasn’t changed for centuries!’ It was still too far out to sea but she used the zoom.
They watched the dhow come closer to the beach. It was a sturdily built boat with a long bowsprit and a single curved mast that towered into the clear blue sky. The coffee coloured lateen sail was an impressive piece of engineering, perfectly evolved for the conditions and easily handled in a stiff breeze. The man at the helm had brought the boat round so that it was skimming effortlessly through the water, as fast as any modern sailing racer.
Lucy was standing at the water’s edge taking pictures while Steve carried her sandals and watched it approach. Everything happened very quickly. The dhow beached and both men leapt out. Steve realised they were in real danger. One of the men was carrying a rifle. He rushed at Steve and smashed him hard in the head with the butt. He heard Lucy scream his name as he passed out. Continue reading
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