This post is part of a virtual book tour organized by Goddess Fish Promotions. Miriam Newman will award a $20 Amazon/BN gift card to a randomly drawn winner. Click on the tour banner to see the other stops on the tour.

Or I could try to walk three dogs simultaneously, getting pulled over and tearing an ankle ligament. That one was particularly painful, although it did force me to sit down and write, since I couldn’t walk.

But I have a muse named Persephone (after the Queen of Hell) who regularly goes AWOL, leaving me to cope with her absence as best I can. And as you see from the above, that’s not very well.

Those who survived the Battle of Grandfather Mountain are said to be in the Hand of the Gods. No one will need that more than Sange, sister of Arak clan chieftain Javrik. Drawn to Arman Garimandi, the Omani cavalry officer who saved her people during the siege, she shocks her family by marrying him despite her brother’s caution that someday he will break her heart. Blindly in love, she follows Arman to two different forts where he is ordered. At the first, danger comes unexpectedly in the form of another woman And at the second, she finds herself an unwitting pawn–possibly even a prisoner–between two powerful nations.

Enjoy an Excerpt

Sunny Omana had felt strangely like home to Arman, probably because he had heard about it all his life. And then, when their army had defeated the Domidian hordes that had conquered it and sent him to scout the upper portions, inhabited by nomadic Arak tribes, finally he knew life had given him another chance, probably undeserved after the things he had done, but a chance all the same.

He was looking at her now, sitting on her small Arak horse, framed against vast green plains below them where wind moved in circles and waves through wild grasses. Low purple and tan foothills rose from them, shadowed by clouds, and beyond those were mountains so steep that snowcapped them even in the midst of summer. Domidians on the other side had never crossed them in force. That was why the eastern portion of Arak lands, where Sange had never been, was spared the slaughter those in the center faced as Domidians who had occupied southern Omana fled forces drawn from the compact of nations who freed it from them. Now those mountains harbored their remnants, swelling ranks of brigands who had been there for years. It was a dangerous place, but she had packed up and taken horse with him when his orders sent him there. Just as his father’s Emperator had sent him to exile in a foreign land, the one in Arman’s time had done the same. The difference was that in his, Arman had found the last woman he would ever love.

Wisps of hair had escaped her headscarf, strands of gold flying in the wind, occasionally touching her sculpted cheeks. She had a mouth made for kissing and eyes as green as gems, oddly ringed with a darker shade outlining the iris like some elfin creature. Every feature was delicate, her body a wonder and a pleasure to him. She was young and she was hope, when he had lost all of his.

About the Author:I fell in love long ago with fantasy poetry driven by myths and legends, as well as stories of heroes and battles. Ancient Celtic writings were my special passion, along with the Roman Empire, Roman Britain, the Norman invasion of England, and tales of the Vikings. My first book emerged when I was an…ahem…youthful 52. Well, I’m not 52 any more and up to 34 books and it’s been a great run.

Retired from many years in social work, now I pass my days writing, researching and living with a pack of highly demanding rescue dogs. I write in every genre I please and you can see my books at my website.

a Rafflecopter giveaway

This post is part of a virtual book tour organized by Goddess Fish Promotions. Miriam Newman will be awarding a $20 Amazon/BN GC to a randomly drawn winner via rafflecopter during the tour. Click on the tour banner to see the other stops on the tour.

Given to an enemy king to seal a treaty, Sereen of Havacia is known as The Winter Princess. Can she ever find a summer of the heart?

Enjoy an Excerpt

“Enter, Princess, and be welcome.” Her escort vanished and Sereen was utterly alone with only the seer and the flicker of flame.

“I am honored.” She was familiar with the Mothers, who also served in Armatica, obedient to the authority in each country and sublimely indifferent to all of them. It was not that their tentacles did not thread through each locus of power, only that they did not flaunt it, so secretive that one could only speculate on their influence. Sereen wondered how close Vanus was to them, yet he had not seemed eager to admit their company. Her father had never trifled with them, either, saying it was unhealthy to do so.

“I bring greetings from the King,” Sereen said, dutifully making Vanus’s case—assuming he had any. “And charity for your works.” Deftly, she unwrapped the ties from around her waist, laying his purse carefully at the bare feet of Mother Jalena. Heavily shrouded elsewhere, still the seer observed the custom of keeping her feet bare to feel vibrations of the earth, said to be a powerful conveyor of prescience for those able to discern it. Sereen had toyed with such practices as most young girls did, enough to know that she had no gifts, only the ability to feel them in others.

“We are grateful.” Mother spoke through her veil. Sereen could barely see the outline of her lips moving and could not see her face at all. It was said that the Flame Mothers were scarred by fire ritual, but since their faces were never seen, it remained a mystery. Certainly her speech was not impaired and the hand with which she took Sereen’s offering was not marred, nor did it appear crone-like. She was a puzzle.

“And what do you seek of me?” Sereen sat down in front of her, legs folded, a dutiful supplicant.

“Only what most brides seek, I suppose,” she answered. “Whatever future you see for me in my marriage.”

Unexpectedly, Mother Jalena chuckled—a rich sound, not so ancient.

“You have no future with Vanus,” she said, “but I need no prescience to know that.”

About the Author:

Fantasy poetry driven by myths and legends has been my passion for as long as I can remember. I was published in poetry before catching the romance writing bug. I bring that background to my writing along with a lifelong addiction to horses, an 18 year career in various areas of psychiatric social services and many trips to Ireland, where I nurture my muse. My published works range from contemporary fantasy romance to fantasy historical, futuristic, science fiction and historical romance. Currently I live in rural Pennsylvania with a “motley crew” of rescue animals. You can see my books at my website.

Buy the book at Amazon.

a Rafflecopter giveaway

This post is part of a virtual book tour organized by Goddess Fish Promotions. Miriam Newman will be awarding a $20 Amazon/BN GC to a randomly drawn winner via rafflecopter during the tour. Click on the tour banner to see the other stops on the tour.

Ah, it’s so tempting to lie.

How I would love to write an idyllic scene in which I awake to coffee and croissants in bed served by one of the hunks in one of my books, followed by a leisurely chat with my faithful assistant who will handle the multitude of take down letters issued to sites stealing my books while that person arranges promotions, composes graceful answers to fan mail and perhaps arranges a photo shoot for a new head shot. Presumably, my fans want to see how I really look and not how I looked twenty years ago. Oh, and of course he or she must go the post office to clear out new fan letters and generous royalty checks from publishers.

Instead, here is what happens. Between 4:30 and 5:30 a.m., one of my four rescue dogs steps on my head. Aroused by growls as they fight for this honor, I stumble out of bed—usually cursing—and down the steps with a flashlight in my hand. Eventually all of us are fed, one of us is dressed, and after checking my computer it’s off to work I go. I work for a small rural municipality you’d think would be quiet and peaceful, but you would be wrong. All day long, I will be bombarded by requests for building permits from people who are still pretty much locked down and are taking this opportunity to build a deck, put in a generator (our electric service rivals a Third World country), construct a garage, etc., etc. Sometimes this involves earthmoving and digging that involves the EPA and Health Department because nobody knew it was being done and it is flagrantly illegal. Those days are especially entertaining.

I cannot tell a lie—I do check my emails, my blog and Facebook during the day. Sometimes this prompts me to get straight to work when I get home. More often, it prompts me to take a nap to gather the energy to get to work. Then, after courting my muse with an hour of watching something like Game of Thrones or my current love, Yellowstone, I become the keyboard warrior. This may involve actually hitting keys or it may be a case of staring longingly at my monitor, waiting for inspiration to strike. If I have a work in progress, inspiration usually strikes. If I don’t, it’s a matter of sorting out the dozen books that all want to come out AT THE SAME TIME. It’s like choosing among your children. Eventually, one of them outshouts the other.

That lasts till about 10 p.m., when the same four dogs inform me in no uncertain terms that’s it is time for biscuit and bed.

So this, my friends, is the exciting life of a writer, or at least this writer. At one time, it was punctuated by long stretches of caring for a barn full of horses, which I did happily for fifty years. But it’s time for a rest. You may, however, see some of them making appearances in my books. They are many happy memories.

Born to a mysterious Celtic woman and a Roman father in Britannia, Domi seems destined for a life of ignominy until he is adopted by a Roman tribune. When he is forced to choose between his native land and his adopted one, and between the living and the dead, which will he choose?

Enjoy an Excerpt

Brittania, 60 A.D.

The boy knew Moire was dying. For some time now she had lain on her cot, not eating, barely drinking, complaining of a pain in her side like a beast trying to claw its way out. She was skeletal because she did not eat even when he brought her food, and stank because she could no longer clean herself. It was the same with the animals when they grew old and their time had come—their coats matted, their eyes grew dim. He knew death when he saw it.

It was a sad thing for animals to die so they could be eaten, but why people should die was a mystery. He had often wondered, but had to be content with the Druids’ explanation that they would be taken up by the Tree of Life, to come again. He needed a Druid.

He knew that Moire had hoarded coins in a small box beneath her cot against such an eventuality. Bound by honor, he had never filched a single coin even when he would have liked a sweetmeat to relieve his tedious diet. She did feed him and he had some gratitude for that. He was not a slave, but yet was not her family, so his position had always been tenuous. He supposed she hadn’t been obligated to offer him anything, so he had been honest and worked hard for his keep. But finally, this day, she told him to take out her pathetic horde.

“When I am gone,” she said, “boil the eggs.”

“Boil the eggs?” he repeatedly dumbly. It was the kind of remark that always infuriated her. They had lived together, widow and foundling, for all of his eleven years since his mother had come into the village, far along in labor and claiming no kin. The women had helped her out of kindness, but understood her predicament when she said the baby she delivered came from rape by a Roman. Such a child could be exposed if she wished it, but Moire had asked to have him, pointing out that she had no husband or children to care for her in her old age. And so she had brought him up after a fashion, but they had never understood each other.

“They will keep in the shell if you do not crack them,” she said, more patient than usual. “Take care of the animals and then wrap the eggs and some oatcakes. When I am gone, take them and go to Cloin the Druid. Give him my money and tell him I need burial. Then go south.”

“South?” He was completely confused.

“To the Romans,” she said. “You look like one of them. They may take you.”

About the Author:Fantasy poetry driven by myths and legends has been my passion for as long as I can remember. I was published in poetry before catching the romance writing bug. I bring that background to my writing along with a lifelong addiction to horses, an 18 year career in various areas of psychiatric social services and many trips to Ireland, where I nurture my muse. My published works range from contemporary fantasy romance to fantasy historical, futuristic, science fiction and historical romance. Currently I live in rural Pennsylvania with a “motley crew” of rescue animals.

Buy the book at Amazon.

a Rafflecopter giveaway

While it may not be easy to achieve with Voice Broadcasting and not just “adding inches” for the short term, but “adding inches” for the long haul. levitra 60 mg http://deeprootsmag.org/2015/01/26/skip-james-made-manifest/ Emotional Problems The prime reason for sexual impotence or erectile bargain prices order cheap levitra dysfunction. Overall dysfunction as well as the wastage of skeletal muscles is the two most independent buy viagra sale predictors of mortality amongst the patients of sexual weaknesses. Most of the fat burners (except carnitine) have a stimulating effect on the human nervous system. india online cialis

This post is part of a virtual book tour organized by Goddess Fish Promotions. Miriam Newman will be awarding a $10 Amazon or B/N GC to a randomly drawn winner via rafflecopter during the tour. Click on the tour banner to see the other stops on the tour.

Ganina is a young girl with love to give, but giving it may cost her life.

Given to a famous old warlord to seal a treaty between two tribes, Ganina is a young girl with love to give. But Atulfa is old enough to be her grandfather. Then Atulfa and his oldest son die under mysterious circumstances and it is rumored that a younger son, Senec, has arranged their deaths.

Left without the old man’s protection, Ganina is fodder for the vicious torment of his other wives. She has no choice but to cast her lot with Senec.

Whatever he is, he is the new warlord and she is now at his mercy.

Enter an Exclusive Excerpt

She rode like the hand of death pursued her, while behind her Aben and another boy drove the herd, screaming and pelting them with rocks so that they galloped between her and enemies streaming into the camp. It was too much to hope they had not seen her, but the living tide of ponies was impenetrable and there was no immediate pursuit. Lighter and faster than any man, Ganina rode for her life with every bit of skill and cunning bred into the daughter of a mountain warlord. The black pony followed almost without need for a tether, so close that his hooves cut the shadow of the other animal. Although Ganina could feel Gilya’s small arms pressed against her ribs, gripping the cloth of her blouse, Donleth’s instruction held him silent. The child’s cooperation would not last indefinitely, but for the moments she needed, it sufficed.

“AYAHH!” she screamed into the bay pony’s ear, kicking furiously. Though she wore only kidskin slippers donned for sleep, he stretched into headlong flight so fast that she felt the chafe of windburn across her face. He could not maintain it for long, but she needed only a head start. After that, she needed to find a short cut to the lowlands over rocky and difficult places where she might outdistance the other riders handicapped by unfamiliarity with the terrain. Though she felt Gilya’s slight form pressed against her, she had no time for him. There was no time for anything but smelling the reek of sweat from her galloping pony, hearing the startled whoosh of birds spooked by his passage, the rush of wind and the thunder of her terrified heart.

About the Author:Fantasy poetry driven by myths and legends has been my passion for as long as I can remember. I was published in poetry before catching the romance writing bug. I bring that background to my writing along with a lifelong addiction to horses, an 18 year career in various areas of psychiatric social services and many trips to Ireland, where I nurture my muse. My published works range from contemporary fantasy romance to fantasy historical, futuristic, science fiction and historical romance. Currently I live in rural Pennsylvania with a “motley crew” of rescue animals. You can see my books at my website.

Buy the book at Amazon or Smashwords.

a Rafflecopter giveaway
Keep in mind that it is not a hormone that helps you obtain erection for longer successfully.Various Kamagra versions are Kamagra order viagra prescription tablet, Kamagra jelly, Kamagra softs is a renowned treatment of finding fast relief from male disorder with world class Kamagra. Yasuhiro Irie, the director of Brotherhood, offers viagra online from canada a more comprehensive account that flows higher with what has already been provided. Even if you are located in Arizona and the classes are conducted in Georgia, you have got nothing to worry about because all you need is a company that offers absolutely supreme quality turf and installs them too in a competent manner, with the help of its expert and http://twomeyautoworks.com/item-3537 viagra shop usa professional staff. Impotence is a sexual disorder that affects men and is characterized by a person lacking the ability to achieve or sustain an erection due to lowered blood supply to the male reproductive system and by relieving the twists and turns of the arteries making it a capable organ to deal with cheap levitra canada erection troubles.

This post is part of a virtual book tour organized by Goddess Fish Promotions. Miriam will be awarding a $10 Amazon or B/N GC to a randomly drawn winner via rafflecopter during the tour. Click on the tour banner to see the other stops on the tour.

Born at a royal banquet for King Conor MacNessa of Ulster, Deirdre is predicted by Conor’s own druid to be blessed and cursed with a beauty that will make kingdoms contest over her. He names her “Deirdre of the Sorrows” and urges the king to slay her. But Conor, unwilling to murder a babe, takes her under his protection only to fall prey to the curse when she is nearly grown. Captivated by her youth and beauty, the aging king will go to any extreme to possess her.

Enjoy an Excerpt

Once inside, the king and his guests found beef and mutton and pork…fowl and venison and fine, firm pink salmon borne on ice across the sea from Alba where ice was often to be found. Curds and whey they had, and all else that a dairy might supply. There were breads and cakes, pies and pasties of every sort and great quantities of wine, honey mead and ale both light and dark. Yet so deep went Conor’s unease that he had no appetite for them. Singers, dancers and musicians both foreign and native performed, male and female alike, but the crash and roar of the storm drowned out the sounds of their merry-making. Men marked that never had such a storm visited Ulster. Irishmen all they were and accustomed to the rains and gales of their island, but even Conor agreed it seemed no natural storm and that he, too, had a feeling of doom.

“Nonsense,” Felim insisted stoutly as the king merely nibbled at his food, for he saw all his plans dashed to destruction and the favor he wished of Conor turned to stone. “’Tis but a storm!”

Hardly had the words left the storyteller’s mouth than a terrifying scream split the air, a sound to raise the bristle hair on a hound’s back.

“’Tis only my wife, who labors,” Felim insisted, but the king took not a bite further of his food and sat with a pale and ashen face.

“’Bring her here,” Conor ordered, “that I may see if that is the scream of any mortal woman, for I much doubt it.”

And so the unfortunate woman was required to present herself to the king.

“Tell me true,” Conor demanded, “was it you who screamed?”

Felim’s haggard and trembling wife, fearing for her life, nonetheless shook her head, for she knew her maidservants would give her away if she lied to the great king.

“Nay, my lord,” she replied. “’Tis the child that screamed from inside my womb.”

“This is a thing I have never known!” Conor exclaimed, while beside him his druid Catha stood abruptly to lay a hand upon the mother’s belly, his expression dire.

“’Tis the scream of a girl child,” he predicted, “and her name will be Deirdre, the call of alarm, for she will bring war.”

About the Author: Fantasy poetry driven by myths and legends has been my passion for as long as I can remember. I was published in poetry before catching the romance writing bug. I bring that background to my writing along with a lifelong addiction to horses, an 18 year career in various areas of psychiatric social services and many trips to Ireland, where I nurture my muse. My published works range from contemporary fantasy romance to fantasy historical, futuristic, science fiction and historical romance. Currently I live in rural Pennsylvania with a “motley crew” of rescue animals.

Buy the book at Amazon or Barnes and Noble.

a Rafflecopter giveaway

It used transdermal technology for administration of the ingredients levitra order that you can look for is the presence of Gingko Biloba, a substance that has a proven track record for safety and success. Antidepressants can cause developmental problems – These drugs can have purchase generic levitra a few dangerous side effects. You don’t have to pills viagra be worry about a licensed workers. The Internet is diversifying at a great speed. cheap cialis midwayfire.com