Author Spotlight Paradise on the Horizon by Mary M. Forbes

Available from Amazon

Blurb:

Natasha Marnicov is forced to flee Russia and her only option is through the large migration of Doukhobors going into Canada’s wilderness. She is captured by Lucas Cameron when she tries to escape this strange religious sect.. Instead of returning her to the Doukhobors, Lucas agrees to bring her along with him further into the wilderness. He was a soldier -wrongfully accused of misconduct – and is going to try farming until his name is cleared. He knows nothing about farming just as he knows Natasha does. Natasha soon realizes she is nothing to Luke for he loves another in the East.

Excerpt:

A log splintering on the grate jerked Natasha Marnicov back to the present. Numb with shame, she sank further back into the corner of her massive four-poster bed. Her eyes dropped to the tousled, blood-streaked sheets. Her throat was raw with her unanswered screams for help.

Natasha tried to focus her rolling eyes. Eventually they stopped to rest on the elaborate gilt candelabra. Wax dripped down the tapers, as silent and slows as the tears strolling down her cheeks. With a loud, ominous crack her wooden door opened.

“No. No more, Stefan,” grabbing her feather duvet, Natasha bunched the thick material into her fists, rising to her knees.

She would kill him rather than let him hurt her again.

She could see nothing at the dark doorway. She could only feel the anguished pain of her bruised limbs.

“I’m too late. Oh my God Tashya,” a few long strides brought the man to her side.

Slowly Natasha became aware it was her father, Prince Alexander Marnicov, holding her shoulders, not Stefan. Her terrorized shrieks turned into small whimpers of shame.

“Papa, Stefan hurt me.”

“I know, baby.” Sitting on the bed, Alexander gathered her into his massive arms and rocked her as though she was indeed a baby.

Loud, obnoxious voices sounded in the Grand Hall below her bedroom, shattering the momentary peace. Natasha winced, sinking into her father’s strong chest.

“They’re here.” Alexander’s voice sounded anxious. His eyes were dark and compelling as he stared down at her. “Natasha, you must listen to me. The Palace Guards are here. I must leave. Do you understand?”

Numbly, Natasha nodded her head. Stefan Sorsky’s lies were the cause of this whole mess.Not happy with the trumped up treason charges against her beloved, loyal father, Stefan had then abused her. A small scream erupted. She couldn’t think of the horrors Stefan had subjected her to.

“Tashya, listen.” Alexander shook her shoulders gently until her screams tapered off.

“Oh Alexei,” Like an angel, Katya, Natasha’s beautiful, petite mother moved from the shadows of the doorway. “If Stefan will marry her, I don’t see the problem.”

“For God’s sake Katya, we’ve been through this already.” Alexander turned to glare at his dainty wife. “Stefan will not keep her alive. Once he getsmy lands and money, he’ll kill her. He doesn’t want Tashya.”

“He wants to hurt me.” Natasha whimpered in bewilderment. Marry Stefan? She couldn’t imagine marrying Stefan. He was a monster.

“Yes, he only wants to hurt you.” Alexander’s voice dropped, “and that’s why you must go with Boris. You must get out of the country immediately.”

“I want to go with you, please Papa?”

“It’s too dangerous.” Alexander disagreed. “Listen to me baby. We must hurry.”

“Stefan is my nephew. He would never hurt his aunt.” Katya interrupted, her voice rising hysterically. “I’m not going with Boris. He’s going with those Spirit Wrestlers. Why the Czar was just saying how much trouble those people are causing.”

“They are causing trouble? They won’t even fight.” Alexander snarled. “And what use would Stefan have for you? All you’re good for is spendingmoney, Cheri. Will you stop being so selfish? Tashya is only fifteen. She needs you.”

“But the Doukhobor’s are peasants.”

“Enough.” Alexander stood and nodded towards the huge man standing in the doorway. “Take them Boris and guard Tashya with your life.”

“With my life, your grace,” Boris agreed gruffly.

“Papa, don’t leave me.” Natasha’s eyes rounded in terror as she watched her father move swiftly towards her balcony doors.

“I must. The guards are coming up here. I’ll meet you in Canada.” Alexander moved through the French doors into the darkness. “And never forget you are a Princess, my baby.”

 

About Mary M. Forbes:

Born and bred on  western stories by Zane Grey and Louis L’Amour, I grew up in the middle of nowhere Saskatchewan.  Although modern life intervened, I soon realized the similarities between my life and North American western past. From riding horses, playing cowboys and Indians with real Indians combined with the scenery of vast, open prairies and endless horizons I was living my dream. - See more at: http://heartfeltpromos.com/?page_id=2477#sthash.oIfL9hBE.dpuf

 Born and bred on  western stories by Zane Grey and Louis L’Amour, I grew up in the middle of nowhere Saskatchewan.  Although modern life intervened, I soon realized the similarities between my life and North American western past. From riding horses, playing cowboys and Indians with real Indians combined with the scenery of vast, open prairies and endless horizons I was living my dream.

I have never forgotten my past or my love of anything country regardless of where I roam.  I’ve been busy researching my own family Ancestry and am in the process of releasing  ”Life Changing Days” - a story of memories – growing up on the farm in the middle of nowhere, Saskatchewan.  I now realize the most important things in life and living are family and friends.  With them I am the richest person in the world.

Warm up your winter: 'The Snow Bride'

She is Beauty, but is he the Beast?

Elfrida, spirited, caring and beautiful, is also alone. She is the witch of the woods and no man dares to ask for her hand in marriage until a beast comes stalking brides and steals away her sister. Desperate, the lovely Elfrida offers herself as a sacrifice, as bridal bait, and she is seized by a man with fearful scars. Is he the beast?

In the depths of a frozen midwinter, in the heart of the woodland, Sir Magnus, battle-hardened knight of the Crusades, searches ceaselessly for three missing brides, pitting his wits and weapons against a nameless stalker of the snowy forest. Disfigured and hideously scarred, Magnus has finished with love, he thinks, until he rescues a fourth 'bride', the beautiful, red-haired Elfrida, whose innocent touch ignites in him a fierce passion that satisfies his deepest yearnings and darkest desires.

Coming Dec 27th from Bookstrand Publishing 2011
15% discount until January 3! Pre-order here.

Read Chapter One

Here is another excerpt to tempt you:

Magnus was worried. The fire he had made should have brought his people. It was an old signal, well-known between them. His men should have reached the village by now—that had been the arrangement. They were bringing traps and provisions in covered wagons, and hunting dogs and horses. He had been impatient to start his pursuit of the Forest Grendel and so rode ahead, returning with the messenger until that final stretch when the man turned off to his home. He had ridden on alone, finding the wayside shrine.

But from then, all had gone awry. Instead of the monster, he had found an ailing witch, and the snowstorm had lost him more tracks and time.

Magnus shook his head, turning indulgent eyes to the small, still figure on the rough pallet. At least the little witch had slept through the night and day, snug and safe, and he had been able to make her a litter from woven branches. He would give his fire signal a little longer and then return Elfrida to her village. There he might find someone who could translate between them.

Perhaps she did have power, for even as he looked at her, she sat up, the hood of her cloak falling away, and stared at him in return. She said something, then repeated it, and he drew in a great gulp of cold air in sheer astonishment, then laughed.

“I know what you said!” He wanted to kiss her, spots and all.

He burst into a clumsy canter, dragging his peg leg a little and almost tumbling onto her bed. She caught him by the shoulders and tried to steady him but collapsed under his weight.

They finished in an untidy heap on the pallet, with Elfrida hissing by his ear, “Why have you done such a foolish thing as to burn all our fuel?”

He rolled off her, knocked snow off his front and beard, and said in return, “How did you know I would know the old speech, the old English?”

“I dream true, and I dreamed this.” She was blushing, though not, he realized quickly, from shyness.

“Why burn so wildly?” she burst out, clearly furious. “You have wasted it! All that good wood gone to ash!”

“My men know my sign and will come now the storm has gone.” He had not expected thanks or soft words, but he was not about to be scolded by this red-haired nag.

“That is your plan, Sir Magnus? To burn half the forest to alert your troops?”

“A wiser plan than yours, madam, setting yourself as bait. Or had your village left you hanging there, perhaps to nag the beast to death?”

Her face turned as scarlet as the fire. “So says any witless fool! ’Tis too easy a charge men make against women, any woman who thinks and acts for herself. And no man orders me!”

Magnus swallowed the snort of laughter filling up his throat. He doubted she saw any amusement in their finally being able to speak to each other only to quarrel. Had she been a man or a lad, he would have knocked her into the snow, then offered a drink of mead, but such rough fellowship was beyond him here.

“And how would you have fought off any knave, or worse, that found you?” he asked patiently. “You did not succeed with me.”

“There are better ways to vanquish a male than brute force. I knew what I was about!”

“Truly? You were biding your time? And the pox makes you alluring?”

“Says master gargoyle! My spots will pass!”

“Or did you plan to scatter a few herbs, perhaps?”

He thought he heard her clash her teeth together. “I did not plan my sickness, and I do not share my secrets! Had you not snatched me away, had you not interfered, I would know where the monster lives. I would have found my sister! I would be with her!” Her voice hitched, and a look of pain and dread crossed her face. “We would be together. Whatever happens, I would be with her.”

“This was Christina?”

“Is Christina, not was, never was! I know she lives!”

Magnus merely nodded, his temper cooling rapidly as he marked how her color had changed and her body shook. A desperate trap to recover a much-loved sister excused everything, to his way of thinking.

She called you a gargoyle! This piqued his vanity and pride.

But she does not think you the monster, Magnus reminded himself in a dazzled, shocked wonder, embracing that knowledge like a lover.

Lindsay Townsend
http://www.lindsaytownsend.net

RT nomination for 'A Knight's Captive'

I'm delighted to say that A Knight's Captive was chosen among the select band of nominees for the Best Historical Novel category in the Romantic Times 2009 Reviewers' Choice Awards this month. I'm tickled pink to have been shortlisted, and congratulations to Tessa Dare, who won.

The list of all the nominees and winners is here.

Lindsay

DABWAHA 2010

Having been away for a while, I only discovered this morning that Blue Gold was chosen to participate in DABWAHA 2010, run by Dear Author and Smart Bitches, Trashy Books.

Whatever happens, I'm delighted to be nominated in some very strong company. If you want to take part in the voting, here's the link.

Just got the cover for 'A Knight's Enchantment'

I've just this morning received the cover for my next Zebra medieval, A Knight's Enchantment, and I like it already!
Here it is, and the blurb is here.

Other bits of news: another romantic suspense shortie, Holiday in Bologna, comes out from Bookstrand as an ebook early next year and A Secret Treasure is getting the talking book treatment from AudioLark in the spring.

Lindsay

The Paranormal in my fiction

Paranormal elements creep into almost all of my fiction. Why? Because eerie, hair standing up on the back of the neck moments do happen in life, Also because I place my characters into strange situations and unusual settings, where their senses are heightened to an almost supernatural state.
In real life, people can experience extraordinary things. A woman I know of was passing a man on a staircase and a thought entered her mind: this is the man you are going to marry. She dismissed the idea as absurd - but it happened and they are still married. In life, people under stress can do extraordinary, almost superhuman things. The woman after a car crash lifting an engine block to free her trapped child beneath. We can all experience feelings of disquiet, of something being 'off'. We can all have dreams which can stalk us.
This is very much the stuff of fiction. Romance especially lends itself to the paranormal and supernatural. When we are in love we feel to be in a transfigured state: all senses and emotions are heightened. In addition, I write romantic suspense, where my characters are in danger and those warning senses we have are on high alert. I also write romance set in the past, at times in the far distant past, where beliefs in spirits, strange creatures, omens and gods were part of everyday life.
In modern life we tend to separate religion and state. In the past belief in supernatural forces, particularly malign supernatural forces, was far stronger. How else could people in the ancient world make sense of what happened to them and around them? When the causes of illness were not understood it would seem logical that an outside influence - an angry god or an evil spirit - had targeted that person or that animal.
Belief is a powerful force. If a character believes he or she can do something out of the ordinary, then sometimes they can. In my historical fiction I use the beliefs of my characters to allow them to tap into something larger than themselves. This 'something' can be a thing of delight or of terror. It is the wonder of the story-teller, used in tales before humans devised writing. And when we did begin to write, ghost stories, paranormal stories 'spooky' stories, were among the earliest tales we committed to clay, papyrus or parchment.
Here are a few paranormal moments from my novels. The first is based on an ancient Roman ghost story of a haunted house, which I adapted to use in 'Flavia's Secret'. In this excerpt, the paranormal is used to show wonder and delight in a special, secret place; a place where Flavia finds the strength to tell Marcus her own deadly secret.

EXCERPT:

Walking quickly, to show that she did not regret her decision to share this place with him, Flavia returned along the twisting beaten-earth path between the rampant rosemary and lavender bushes. One more twist of the path and they reached the heart of the garden and its startling secret—a private outdoor pool, its shimmering waters steaming in the sun.
‘By Mithras, what a place.’ Looking around, Marcus halted beside her, dropping onto his knees to test the waters of the deep, lead-lined pool. ‘It’s hot!’ he exclaimed, shaking moisture from his hand.
Flavia pointed to a large lead pipe leading away from the pool in the direction of the deserted house before it was lost in the luxuriant undergrowth.
‘We think the owner fixed a conduit somewhere off the spring waters of the Aesculapius spring and directed some of the thermal water here,’ she explained. ‘The pool drains somewhere, too, but we do not know where.’
Marcus sat back on his heels. ‘We?’
‘Those of us who come here, when we can.’
‘Your own private bathing place.’ Marcus jumped to his feet again and walked around the marbled perimeter of the pool. ‘I am surprised nobody has tried to make money with it.’
‘We are careful who we tell,’ Flavia said, squashing disappointment at Marcus’ mercenary approach, but he was staring across the sun-gilded water at the leaf-strewn timber portico leading to the deserted house.
‘I am not surprised at that,’ he said quietly. ‘It is beautiful.’
He watched a small breeze tumble a bronze oak leaf along a small marble walkway leading from the semi-derelict portico to the edge of the pool. ‘Mysterious, quite eerie, but also...comforting. As if you are in an entirely different world.’ He turned about, pointing to the sparkling spiders’ webs on the lavender bushes, rimed with heavy dew. ‘Somewhere forgotten by the rest of the city. A place where magical things become possible.’
‘You understand,’ Flavia whispered, breathing out in relief.
He smiled. ‘It is more than likely that the old owner saw an easy chance to grab some free hot water, but what he has made here, what time has made...I am not surprised he was thought to be a sorcerer.’
Marcus held out both hands to her. ‘Thank you for sharing this, and be assured—your secret with be safe in my keeping.’
Flavia walked to the edge of the secret pool and joined him in studying the waters.

In 'Bronze Lighting,' set in Bronze Age Europe, many characters believe in and practice magic. Here Fearn and Sarmatia, hero and heroine, are taking part in a sky ritual, a dangerous rite that they believe may unmask a murderer.

EXCERPT:

By this time it was early evening. A pall of dark clouds had gathered over the Sacred Hill. The sun hung over the eastern hills like a bloodstained shield. Fearn looked up at the sky.
'The God will come here when I summon him and we must be ready. Each of you strip off your gold, your silver and bronze. The Sky God does not like the gleam of metal on others.'
He lifted the bronze diadem from his head and laid it on the grass. 'Pile your ornaments here together. Give it to the earth for safekeeping. Quickly!'
At his command, Atterians broke their circle and came to heap their metal broaches, swords, arrows, arm-rings and finger-rings upon the King's diadem. Sarmatia watched Laerimmer take off his golden throat disc and glanced down at her own bronze ring, reluctant to remove it. Looking up, she saw Fearn walking towards her.
'Must I take off my ring?' she asked in Kretan as he reached her. Fearn answered in the same tongue.
'I fear so, Sarmatia.' He looked at her. Men were still gathered about the growing heap of metal. He and Sarmatia had a moment together.
'What is this ritual?'
'Nothing you need fear, Sarmatia. The Sky God knows our hearts. He does not touch those who are innocent. Twice now as King I've been asked to do this rite. The God may take some of our metal as sacrifice and payment, but that's a small thing for the truth.'
Sarmatia took off her bronze ring and gave it to Fearn. 'You must put this with the rest, Fearn. I can't.’ Then, although she already sensed the answer, she asked, 'Is the Sky God the same whose shrine is the Great Stone Circle?'
'It's the same God. And this is the rite the southern kingdoms have forgotten.' He turned and left her.

There are gods in my novels, too. In 'Blue Gold' the gods of ancient Egypt watch mankind from the sun-boat that crosses the sky each day and they sometimes interfere more directly.

EXCERPT:

“What happens now?” asked Astarte-with-the-moon-in-her-hair.
The eastern goddess of love was paying another visit to the sun boat of Ra. She thought the climate good for her complexion.
The blue god Amun, casting an admiring glance at the silver-haired goddess’s shapely long legs, mumbled something about a race. He ran his hands through a thick fleece of cloud, parting it with his fingers. “Look below us. There is my Pharaoh, a true Egyptian.”
“Ah yes. Sekenenre. The king who toils like an ant. He certainly looks to be making haste.”
Astarte leaned forward, the corners of her eyes crinkling at the sight of Sekenenre and his retinue of priests running their chariots again and again at the same high dune instead of doing the sensible thing of going round it. At her high vantage point, the fifteen chariots moving with such fanatical haste from the small water course where they had hidden their ship looked bizarre, like weevils.
No one on the sun boat reproved or remarked on the goddess’s comments. Those long, shapely legs were even better when she bent over the gunwale. From the middle of the boat came a muffled exclamation as the soul of the long dead Pharaoh Unas dropped the sun god’s fan.
“Fool of a mortal,” said old Ra sharply, squirming on his throne, crossing hands over thighs.
Astarte looked round over one shoulder and smiled, but she reserved her warmest look for Amun. “He is a long way from Thebes, your Sek-en-enre. Did you send a dream to instruct him? Does this true Egyptian know where he is going?”
“Pay no attention to anything Amun says. Sekenenre’s dash into the desert is due entirely to me.” Set materialized at her elbow. He directed Astarte to look over the other side of the boat. “Here’s my man.”
Aweserre’s chariot scuttled jauntily along below them.

In ‘Blue Gold’ when these two pharaohs meet, it is a clash of arms, force and beliefs and it leads to the unleashing of more paranormal forces.

Happy Halloween!

Lindsay

'Silk and Steel': a new ancient world romance out today

My erotic historical romance SILK AND STEEL is released today by Siren-Bookstrand. SILK AND STEEL makes my third novel set in the exotic, sensual world of ancient Rome, along with my erotic historical romance, ESCAPE TO LOVE and my sensual historical romance, FLAVIA'S SECRET, also published by Siren-Bookstrand.

To see all three of these exciting novels, please visit my SirenBookstrand author page:
http://www.bookstrand.com/authors/lindsaytownsend/



Best wishes, Lindsay
http://lindsaysbookchat.blogspot.com

Recent review roundup - and an interview

Allowing myself a brief toot or two on my own trumpet:

A couple of encouraging reviews came in recently for A Knight's Captive - one from Single Titles (who also did an interview with me) and one from Manic Readers.

I've also just had a B for Blue Gold from Dear Author, so that's another toot.

That's it for now.

Lindsay

4.5 Red Roses for 'Bronze Lightning'

I'm thrilled with this 4.5 Red Roses review for my historical romance, BRONZE LIGHTNING! Here's what Linda Sole says: (Thank you, Linda!)

"Bronze Lightning by Lindsay Townsend
Siren-BookStrand
March 2009
ISBN: 1-60601-273-8
Pages: 356
Krete, c 1562 BC
Isle of Stones – Kingdom of the Atterians, 1561 BC

Sarmatia is the Bull Rider in the sacred rites. It is her place to help the children go through the rite so that they may become adults. She has always been content with her life but that is about to change with a chance meeting, a meeting that will end up transforming her view of life.

Fearn has always been a healer. It is his ability to heal that has made his name know far and wide. He has come to Krete to heal the king. Traveling to Krete has given Fearn the chance to meet Sarmatia, which has changed his life.

Fearn has found the one woman that he wants to spend his life with. Before he can do that he needs to make sure his people have a healer when he is gone. He goes home with the promise to Sarmatia that he will return for her and that they will be together. Once home he finds opposition to his leaving his family and the people. As he is about to leave having trained a new healer the unthinkable happens and the king dies. Now being part of the royal family Fearn must be tested along with others to see who will be the new king. Wanting no part of ruling the people Fearn nonetheless takes the test to show his good will. The one thing Fearn never saw coming was inheriting the crown. Now the only chance he has at happiness is if Sarmatia is willing to come to him on a several months long journey and giving up the life she has always known.

How strong is Sarmatia? She is about to find out just what she is capable of. She is about to start on a journey that will test her in its own way. One that if she is not careful she just might not survive. Sarmatia is going to find out just how much she loves Fearn as she is tested time and again.

Thinking that once she is reunited with Fearn that all will be well. Now they are going to be able to start their lives together she finds that she is very much mistaken. Some one is trying to hurt them and if they don’t find out who is behind the attacks they just might not be able to have a life together after all. Someone wants what they have and will stop at nothing until they get what they want. There are several people with a motive but which one is conniving enough to get away with the stealthy attacks without being seen. They will have to survive long enough to find the person or persons so that they will finally have the happiness they have tried so hard to enjoy.

This is a remarkable book in that it takes you back in time. It is well written so that you get a glimpse of the world at that time and it gives you a wonderful mystery as to who is behind the attacks and keeps you guessing as to what will happen next. The many twists and turns keep you engrossed as you try to figure out who is behind all the mishaps that keep happening.

I give this one 4-1/2 Red Roses."

Buy details here:

http://lindsaysbookchat.blogspot.com/2009/01/bronze-lightning.html

Best wishes, Lindsay
Lindsay Townsend

'A Knight's Captive' out today

I'm so excited - my latest Kensington Zebra historical romance, A Knight's Captive, is out today! All the details, including an excerpt, are on my blog here, and there's a four-star review from Romantic Times.

Best wishes, Lindsay

'Bronze Lightning' out now

Hello - I'm Lindsay Townsend and I'm delighted to be blogging at Moonlight Romance Authors. I write medievals ('A Knight's Captive' is due out from Kensington in April), but I also write books set in the ancient Mediterranean. Here's the blurb and an excerpt from my new ancient world historical romance, Bronze Lightning, set in ancient Krete, Egypt and England. This novel is available from Bookstrand and out now.

The cover and buy details can be seen here.

Ancient Krete, 1562 B.C.

Sarmatia is a trainer for the Bull Rite, the dangerous, glamorous ceremony of bull-leaping that gave a young Kretan entry into adulthood. Fearn is healer from the distant northern Isle of Stones summoned for his skills to the sick-bed of Minos, the Kretan king. They meet on the dusty flagstones of the palace courtyard and both save a life.
A year passes. They are betrothed, but Fearn has returned home and is chosen king of his small northern country. As king, master of storms, he cannot return to Krete. Fearn writes to Sarmatia releasing her from her vows - but is this what they really want?
Sarmatia leaves Krete to search for Fearn. Many months and life-and-death adventures later, she is reunited with him. She and Fearn are still deeply in love but there is an unknown enemy working against them, one who will stop at nothing, even murder.

Excerpt:

Krete, c.1562 BC. Summer.

Sarmatia spun away and was gone, somersaulting over her hands and landing with a soft clash of gold ankle bells. Their meeting of eyes had lasted no more than a breath, yet it kept returning to haunt her as the music shrilled to a climax and the piebald bull was let into the court. Even as the flute players left and the Bull Rite began, her gaze was drawn to the back of the courtyard.
Three of the seven had completed their Passage and two were gone: the fourth initiate should have been ready. As the bull came to a jolting stop at one end of the court, pawed restively and licked the painted flags, Sarmatia motioned to a creamy-skinned, gray-eyed girl. The youngster backed up a step. The bull raised its head, its horn scraping against a pillar. The girl blanched and looked wildly about, ready to run. In three strides Sarmatia made up the space between them and gripped her arm. Unseen by the families, she pressed the flat of her dagger into the initiate's side. Cruel to be kind, she threatened.
'This or the bull if you show your back, Pero!' she whispered, turning the blade for the girl to feel its edge. 'The only way out is through the horns.' Whatever Sarmatia's private disgust and unease, custom and the crowd demanded it. They would not forgive Pero if she failed.
'I can't!' Pero was shaking and near tears. A low murmur ran around the watching crowd like a wind through barley: the mob and the bull would not wait much longer. Pierced by pity, Sarmatia squeezed the girl's thin shoulder. 'Do you want to be a child all your life?' she asked gently.
'Sarmatia, I can't! Those horns, they're like knives, and the bull— Oh, Mother!' Pero's voice cracked. 'It's looking for me!' The bull had trotted out of the shadows at the back of the courtyard.
Sarmatia stepped in front of Pero, shielding the girl. 'Look, it's nothing.' She ran forward, clapping her hands.
The bull halted and its head slewed round towards them, a brown forelock covering one eye. 'To me!' she shouted.
The beast dropped its great horns. She heard the people applaud. With an explosion of dust the bull charged. She felt its hot, closed mind surrounding her. For an instant skill deserted her. She remembered she was too old for the Bull Rite. A blaze of gold spilled from the bull's horns, instinct returned and with it sureness. She caught the horns and let herself rise. Time and the horizon fell back, she could see the blue vault of heaven, the red-mouthed 'O' of the crowd, a flash of red-gold hair as Fearn turned his head, following her descent. Her feet touched the bony rump of the bull, she tucked in her arms and somersaulted off, running forward as she landed.
Behind her the beast gave a sulky grunt, swept this way and that with its horns and lashed its tail. Pero worked her way into its sight, swaying her hips to keep quick and supple. The piebald ambled off in the opposite direction then suddenly spun about and bore down on the girl in another burst of speed. Sarmatia moved to cover Pero's tumble and signalled to the remaining initiates to do the same. She heard the girl seize the bull's horns, with a great smack on each palm, and saw her tossed, arching like a dolphin in mid-air and rising clear of the deadly gilded horns. The time of peril would be when the girl landed. If Pero caught an ankle or winded herself, Sarmatia knew she would have to be in quickly to distract the beast.
There was a shower of dark hair and Pero touched earth to a roar from her family. Sarmatia grabbed her arm and pulled her clear, but was not fast enough: already the bull had skidded round. Too late, Sarmatia realized what the beast had seen. A child had kicked a hole in the fencing and was running out into the turbid afternoon light. No time to draw the bull off— all she could hope for was to reach the boy first.
Sprinting, her insides turning to water, Sarmatia rushed for the child. As her hands closed round his tiny—so tiny!—body and her cheek grazed the stones she thought, with terrible clarity: I promised they would be safe. I've failed.
For a second, a dark breathing shadow hung over her. Then came pain, the slow tearing punch of the horn.
* * * *
She came awake suddenly, crying out. Firm hands kept her flat against the stones.
'Peace, Kretan,' said the man crouched beside her, pressing a cloth onto the spurting wound in her side. 'There's nothing to fear.' In the sun his hair framed his broad-featured face like a nimbus, yet there was darkness behind him. The bull was still free in the courtyard.
Sarmatia wet her lips with her tongue. 'The child?'
Fearn jerked his head to one side. 'Ramose has taken his son. He's safe.' The initiates were also gone, the crowd hanging back, uncertain what to do.
They were alone in the court, except for the bull. Fearn pressed on her side again then withdrew the cloth. A dark spiral of blood pooled under Sarmatia's ribs; blood no longer pumped from the wound. She scarcely felt it as he bound the gash with a bandage made from his tunic. 'You must leave, Sir, the bull—'
She broke off, eyes widening, and Fearn whipped round. Ready to gore, the bull was lowering its huge head, its face so close that its breath stirred the bristles of Fearn's beard. Fearn threw up an arm to fend off the horns and drove a fist into the face of the beast. 'Get back!' He hit the creature a second time. 'Learn your lesson!'
The bull snorted and the healer shifted, covering Sarmatia completely with his body. He stamped the stones and shouted at the beast. ‘Go on! Go on!’
As Fearn's boot hammered the flags, there came the rumble of a distant storm, like the muffled roar of a lion. The beast started back and with a bellow turned tail and ran.


Best wishes, Lindsay

[Image of bull-leaping fresco from Wikimedia Commons.]