About the AuthorMichelle Willingham graduated summa cum laude from the University of Notre Dame with a degree in English. Currently, she lives in southeastern Virginia with her husband and children and is working on more historical romance novels. When she's not writing, Michelle enjoys baking, playing piano, and avoiding exercise at all costs. Visit her website at: www.michellewillingham.com. Excerpt. © Reprinted by permission. All rights reserved.Ireland—AD 1102'He's going to die, isn't he?' Iseult MacFergus stared down at the bruised body of the slave. Lash marks creased the man's back, raw and unhealed. His skin was pale with hard ridges of bone protruding, as though he had not eaten well in several moons. Her mind rebelled at the thought of the torment he must have suffered.Davin Ó Falvey handed her a basin of cool water. 'I don't know. Likely I wasted a good deal of silver.'Iseult sponged at the blood, lowering her eyes. 'We don't need a slave for our household, Davin. You shouldn't have purchased him.' It was becoming less common among the tribes to own slaves. Her own family had never been able to afford them, and it made her uncomfortable, remembering her lower status.'Someone else would have, if I hadn't.' He came up behind her and placed his hands on her shoulders. 'He was suffering, a stór. At the slave auction, they beat him until he could no longer stand.'She covered Davin's hands with her own. Her betrothed was never one to let a man endure pain, not when he could intervene. It was one of the reasons he was her dearest friend and the man she had agreed to marry.A hollow feeling settled in her stomach. Davin deserved a better woman than herself. She had done what she could to salvage her torn reputation, but the gossip had not died down, not in three years. She didn't know why he'd offered for her, but her family had seized the opportunity for the alliance. It wasn't every day that a blacksmith's daughter could marry a chieftain's son.'Let the healer tend him,' Davin urged, his voice turning heated. She recognised the intent in his words, along with the hidden invitation. 'Walk with me, Iseult. I haven't seen you in a sennight, and I've missed you.'She stiffened, but forced a smile. Go with him, her head urged. Though Davin had never once held her to blame for her sins, she felt unworthy of his love.After summoning the healer, Davin took her hand and led her outside. The moon cast its shadow across his face. With fair hair and piercing blue eyes, Davin was the most handsome man she'd ever seen. He drew her hand to his bearded cheek. Apprehension sliced through her, for she knew he was about to kiss her. She accepted his embrace, wishing she could feel the same ardour that he felt for her.Give it time, she urged. But even when she poured herself into the kiss, it was as if she stood outside her body, an observer instead of a participant.He held her closely, whispering against her ear. 'I know you don't wish to become lovers before Bealtaine. But I'd be a fool if I didn't try to convince you.'She pulled back, her gaze cast downwards. 'I can't.'Her face brightened with shame, even now. The thought of lying with a man, any man, only brought back grievous memories.Tension knotted across Davin's face, but he did not press further. 'I would never ask you to do anything you don't want.'And that was why she felt even guiltier. She didn't want to lie with him, but what kind of woman did that make her? She'd surrendered to a moment of passion years ago, and paid the price. But now that a man loved her and wanted to marry her, she couldn't seem to let go of the bad memories.Davin dropped a hand across her shoulders, kissing her temple. 'I'll wait until you're ready.'He walked her back to her dwelling within the ringfort, his hand holding hers. When they reached the hut, Iseult paused beside the wooden door frame, as though it were a shield.'What will you do with the slave?''I don't know yet. Possibly he can help with the crops or tend the horses. I'll speak to him once he's awake.'I will see you in the morning,' Davin said, regret edging his tone. He kissed her lips again. 'See what you can do to keep our slave alive.'Iseult nodded, ducking inside the house. For a moment she stood at the entrance, gathering her thoughts. Why couldn't she feel the blaze of ardour that women spoke of? Davin's kisses and affection evoked nothing but emptiness.What was wrong with her? He, of all men, deserved to be loved. He treated her like a cherished treasure, offering her anything she wanted. It made her feel unworthy of him.Her heart heavy, she walked inside to join the others. Muirne and her family were busy setting out food for the evening meal. Though the Ó Falveys were not her kin, they'd willingly opened their doors to her, granting her hospitality. Because of them, she had a place to stay while growing accustomed to her new tribe.And, bless them, it kept her from having to live with Davin's mother. The chieftain's wife didn't like her at all and made no secret of it.'Who was the man Davin brought with him?' Muirne asked. A stout, raven-haired woman who had borne seven children, she fussed over Iseult as though she were one of her own. Without waiting for a reply, she continued, 'You haven't eaten this night. Come and sit with us.' She gestured towards the low table where her other foster-children sat, teasing one another as they devoured their food.'He was a slave,' Iseult answered. 'Half-dead from what I understand.''Well, that's not much of a purchase.' Muirne rolled her eyes and handed Iseult a plate of salted mackerel and roasted carrots. 'But that's Davin for you.' She smiled as if speaking of a saint.'Mother, may I have more fish?' one of the boys asked.And me!' the other chimed in. Glendon and Bartley charmed her, though the sight of them deepened the ache of loss in Iseult's heart. Her own son Aidan would have been two years of age now.Iseult picked at her food, her appetite suddenly gone.'Why haven't you wed Davin already?' Muirne asked, adding a slice of bread on to her plate. 'I don't understand why you'd want to wait until Bealtaine.''Davin asked me to wait. He wants a special blessing upon our marriage.' When Muirne was about to add even more food, Iseult covered her plate with a hand. 'I've had enough, thank you.''I'll eat it,' Glendon offered. Iseult slid the fish on to his plate, and the boy devoured it. Muirne muttered words beneath her breath about Iseult being too thin.She tried to ignore the criticism. 'I think I'll take the rest of this with me and see if the slave is hungry.''You shouldn't be associating with the likes of him,' Muirne warned. 'He's a fudir, and people will talk.'Iseult faltered. They would, yes. The wise thing to do was to remain here and not to think about the slave. Likely the man would die, a stranger to all of them.'You're right.' When Muirne's back was turned, she tucked a slice of bread into a fold of her cloak. 'But I'm going to go for a walk. I won't be long.'Her friend fastened a knowing gaze upon her. 'Don't do anything you'll regret, Iseult.'She tried to muster a nonchalant smile, but it wouldn't come. 'I will be back soon.'Outside, the moonlight illuminated a ring of twelve thatched stone cottages. The hide of a red deer was stretched across a wooden frame on one side, while outdoor cooking fires had died down to coals. The familiar scent of peat smoke lingered in the air, and the early spring wind bit through her overdress and léine. She raised her brat to cover her shoulders, seeking warmth from the shawl. Though she had only lived among the tribe since last winter, she was starting to consider the ringfort her home.At last she stopped in front of the sick hut. Why had she come here? The healer Deena would already have fed the slave and tended him. Her presence would be nothing more than an interference. She almost turned away when the door opened.'Oh,' Deena breathed, touching a hand to her heart. The healer had cared for members of Davin's tribe for almost a generation, but her hair still held its black lustre.Fine lines edged her smiling mouth. 'You startled me, Iseult. I was just going to fetch some water.''How is the slave?' she asked.Deena shook her head. 'Not well, I fear. He won't eat or drink anything. Stubborn, that one is. If he wants to die, that's his concern, but I'd rather it not be in my sick hut.''Shall I speak with him?''If it pleases you. Not that 'twill do any good.' Deena expelled a sigh of disgust. 'Go on, then.'Iseult stepped across the threshold into the darkened room. The hearth glowed with coals, and she smelled the intense aroma of wintergreen and camomile. The slave lay upon a pallet, his eyes closed. Unkempt black hair fell across his neck, his cheeks rough and unshaven. He looked like a demon who'd crawled from the underworld, a dark god like Crom Dubh.But as a slave, he might have travelled across Éireann. He might have seen her son Aidan or have news. She tried to shut down the wave of hope building inside.Don't be foolish, her mind warned. With a countryside so vast, the chances of him knowing anything about a small boy were remote.'Will you eat something?' she asked, kneeling beside the pallet.He didn't open his eyes, didn't move. Iseult reached out to touch his shoulder.His hand shot out, crushing her wrist. Dark brown eyes flashed a warning at her, and she cried out with pain.'Get out,' he said. The razor edge of his voice shocked her. He had none of the penitent demeanour of a slave.Mary, Mother of God, what sort of man had Davin bought? Iseult scrambled to her feet, wrenching her hand away from his grip. 'Who are you?''Kieran Ó Brannon. And I want to be left alone.' He rolled over, and Iseult shuddered at the sight of his raw back. The voice of reason demanded that she leave. Now, before he lashed out at her again.'I am Iseult MacFergus,' she said calmly. 'And I've brought you food.''I don't want it.'Steeling her voice, she added, 'If you don't eat, you'll die.''I'd rather die than live like this.'Instead of grief, she sensed a seething rage within him. It terrified her, not knowing what he would do or say. Like a wild animal, he was ready to strike out at anyone offering compassion.Iseult dropped the food on the ground beside him, not caring if the dirt mingled with the bread. 'If you're going to die, do it quickly. Or if you decide t... Views: 61
No more than a dark pencil line on a blank page. A horizon line, maybe. But also a slot for blackness to pour through...A terrible construction site accident takes Edgar Freemantle's right arm and scrambles his memory and his mind, leaving him with little but rage as he begins the ordeal of rehabilitation. A marriage that produced two lovely daughters suddenly ends, and Edgar begins to wish he hadn't survived the injuries that could have killed him. He wants out. His psychologist, Dr. Kamen, suggests a "geographic cure," a new life distant from the Twin Cities and the building business Edgar grew from scratch. And Kamen suggests something else. "Edgar, does anything make you happy?" *"I used to sketch." **"Take it up again. You need hedges... hedges against the night."*Edgar leaves Minnesota for a rented house on Duma Key, a stunningly beautiful, eerily undeveloped splinter of the Florida coast. The sun setting into the Gulf of Mexico and the tidal rattling of shells on the beach call out to him, and Edgar draws. A visit from Ilse, the daughter he dotes on, starts his movement out of solitude. He meets a kindred spirit in Wireman, a man reluctant to reveal his own wounds, and then Elizabeth Eastlake, a sick old woman whose roots are tangled deep in Duma Key. Now Edgar paints, sometimes feverishly, his exploding talent both a wonder and a weapon. Many of his paintings have a power that cannot be controlled. When Elizabeth's past unfolds and the ghosts of her childhood begin to appear, the damage of which they are capable is truly devastating. The tenacity of love, the perils of creativity, the mysteries of memory and the nature of the supernatural -- Stephen King gives us a novel as fascinating as it is gripping and terrifying.Amazon.com ReviewAmazon Significant Seven, January 2008: It would be impossible to convey the wonder and the horror of Stephen King's latest novel in just a few words. Suffice it to say that Duma Key, the story of Edgar Freemantle and his recovery from the terrible nightmare-inducing accident that stole his arm and ended his marriage, is Stephen King's most brilliant novel to date (outside of the Dark Tower novels, in which case each is arguably his best work). Duma Key is as rich and rewarding as Rita Hayworth and the Shawshank Redemption (yes, that Shawshank Redemption), and as truly scary as anything King has written (and that's saying a lot). Readers who have "always wanted to try Stephen King" but never known where to start should try a few pages of Duma Key--the frankness with which Edgar reveals his desperate, sputtering rages and thoughts of suicide is King at the top of his game. And that's just the first thirty pages... --Daphne DurhamDuma Key: Where It All BeganA Note from Chuck Verrill, the Longtime Editor of Stephen KingIn the spring of 2006 Stephen King told me he was working on a Florida story that was beginning to grow on him. "I'm thinking of calling it Duma Key," he offered. I liked the sound of that--the title was like a drumbeat of dread. "You know how Lisey's Story is a story about marriage?" he said. "Sure," I answered. The novel hadn't yet been published, but I knew its story well: Lisey and Scott Landon--what a marriage that was. Then he dropped the other shoe: "I think Duma Key might be my story of divorce."Pretty soon I received a slim package from a familiar address in Maine. Inside was a short story titled "Memory"--a story of divorce, all right, but set in Minnesota. By the end of the summer, when Tin House published "Memory," Stephen had completed a draft of Duma Key, and it became clear to me how "Memory" and its narrator, Edgar Freemantle, had moved from Minnesota to Florida, and how a story of divorce had turned into something more complex, more strange, and much more terrifying.If you read the following two texts side by side--"Memory" as it was published by Tin House and the opening chapter of Duma Key in final form--you'll see a writer at work, and how stories can both contract and expand. Whether Duma Key is an expansion of "Memory" or "Memory" a contraction of Duma Key, I can't really say. Can you?--Chuck Verrill"Memory"Memories are contrary things; if you quit chasing them and turn your back, they often return on their own. That's what Kamen says. I tell him I never chased the memory of my accident. Some things, I say, are better forgotten. Maybe, but that doesn’t matter, either. That's what Kamen says.My name is Edgar Freemantle. I used to be a big deal in building and construction. This was in Minnesota, in my other life. I was a genuine American-boy success in that life, worked my way up like a motherf---er, and for me, everything worked out. When Minneapolis–St. Paul boomed, The Freemantle Company boomed. When things tightened up, I never tried to force things. But I played my hunches, and most of them played out well. By the time I was fifty, Pam and I were worth about forty million dollars. And what we had together still worked. I looked at other women from time to time but never strayed. At the end of our particular Golden Age, one of our girls was at Brown and the other was teaching in a foreign exchange program. Just before things went wrong, my wife and I were planning to go and visit her.I had an accident at a job site. That's what happened. I was in my pickup truck. The right side of my skull was crushed. My ribs were broken. My right hip was shattered. And although I retained sixty percent of the sight in my right eye (more, on a good day), I lost almost all of my right arm.I was supposed to lose my life, but I didn’t. Then I was supposed to become one of the Vegetable Simpsons, a Coma Homer, but that didn't happen, either. I was one confused American when I came around, but the worst of that passed. By the time it did, my wife had passed, too. She's remarried to a fellow who owns bowling alleys. My older daughter likes him. My younger daughter thinks he’s a yank-off. My wife says she’ll come around.Maybe sí, maybe no. That's what Kamen says.When I say I was confused, I mean that at first I didn’t know who people were, or what had happened, or why I was in such awful pain. I can't remember the quality and pitch of that pain now. I know it was excruciating, but it's all pretty academic. Like a picture of a mountain in National Geographic magazine. It wasn’t academic at the time. At the time it was more like climbing a mountain.Continue Reading "Memory"Duma KeyHow to Draw a PictureStart with a blank surface. It doesn't have to be paper or canvas, but I feel it should be white. We call it white because we need a word, but its true name is nothing. Black is the absence of light, but white is the absence of memory, the color of can't remember.How do we remember to remember? That's a question I've asked myself often since my time on Duma Key, often in the small hours of the morning, looking up into the absence of light, remembering absent friends. Sometimes in those little hours I think about the horizon. You have to establish the horizon. You have to mark the white. A simple enough act, you might say, but any act that re-makes the world is heroic. Or so I’ve come to believe.Imagine a little girl, hardly more than a baby. She fell from a carriage almost ninety years ago, struck her head on a stone, and forgot everything. Not just her name; everything! And then one day she recalled just enough to pick up a pencil and make that first hesitant mark across the white. A horizon-line, sure. But also a slot for blackness to pour through.Still, imagine that small hand lifting the pencil... hesitating... and then marking the white. Imagine the courage of that first effort to re-establish the world by picturing it. I will always love that little girl, in spite of all she has cost me. I must. I have no choice. Pictures are magic, as you know.My Other LifeMy name is Edgar Freemantle. I used to be a big deal in the building and contracting business. This was in Minnesota, in my other life. I learned that my-other-life thing from Wireman. I want to tell you about Wireman, but first let's get through the Minnesota part.Gotta say it: I was a genuine American-boy success there. Worked my way up in the company where I started, and when I couldn’t work my way any higher there, I went out and started my own. The boss of the company I left laughed at me, said I'd be broke in a year. I think that's what most bosses say when some hot young pocket-rocket goes off on his own.For me, everything worked out. When Minneapolis–St. Paul boomed, The Freemantle Company boomed. When things tightened up, I never tried to play big. But I did play my hunches, and most played out well. By the time I was fifty, Pam and I were worth forty million dollars. And we were still tight. We had two girls, and at the end of our particular Golden Age, Ilse was at Brown and Melinda was teaching in France, as part of a foreign exchange program. At the time things went wrong, my wife and I were planning to go and visit her.Continue Reading Duma KeyFrom Publishers WeeklyIn bestseller King's well-crafted tale of possession and redemption, Edgar Freemantle, a successful Minnesota contractor, barely survives after the Dodge Ram he's driving collides with a 12-story crane on a job site. While Freemantle suffers the loss of an arm and a fractured skull, among other serious injuries, he makes impressive gains in rehabilitation. Personality changes that include uncontrollable rages, however, hasten the end of his 20-year-plus marriage. On his psychiatrist's advice, Freemantle decides to start anew on a remote island in the Florida Keys. To his astonishment, he becomes consumed with making art—first pencil sketches, then paintings—that soon earns him a devoted following. Freemantle's artwork has the power both to destroy life and to cure ailments, but soon the Lovecraftian menace that haunts Duma Key begins to assert itself and torment those dear to him. The transition from the initial psychological suspense to the supernatural may disappoint some, but even those few who haven't read King (Lisey's Story) should appreciate his ability to create fully realized characters and conjure horrors that are purely manmade. (Jan. 22) Copyright © Reed Business Information, a division of Reed Elsevier Inc. All rights reserved. Views: 61
In spite of the barristers' rule that any suitably qualified member of
the Bar who is free to take an offered case must do so, QC Trish
Maguire can't quite understand how her head of chambers, Anthony
Shelley, can accept a case defending the corrupt Clean World Waste
Management company. So, when the brilliant and cynical Anthony is nearly
killed in an accident, Trish is faced with a painful dilemma: Does she
take over the company's defense, or threaten her hard-won career by
refusing to appear in court against Angie Fortwell, the impoverished
widow of a hard-working farmer? As Trish delves deeper into the case,
she grows more and more troubled by a nagging thought: Was the explosion
that killed Angie's husband really an accident, or the result of
sabotage? With all this going on at work, the last thing Trish
needs is the possibility of explosions at home. Yet she can't simply
walk away from Jay, the clever but damaged fourteen-year-old boy who has
attached himself to her family...especially when his mother is found
beaten and close to death. Views: 61
An English teen questions all she knows about aging when she encounters a set of journals that date from the present back to the reign of King Louis XIV in this blend of contemporary and historical fiction from the author of the acclaimed Gideon trilogy.Stella Park (Spark for short) has found summer work cataloging historical archives in John Stone’s remote and beautiful house in Suffolk, England. She wasn’t quite sure what to expect, and her uncertainty about living at Stowney House only increases upon arriving: what kind of people live in the twenty-first century without using electricity, telephones, or even a washing machine? Additionally, the notebooks she’s organizing span centuries—they begin in the court of Louis XIV in Versailles—but are written in the same hand. Something strange is going on for sure, and Spark’s questions are piling up. Who exactly is John Stone? What connection does he have to these notebooks? And more... Views: 61
Leona Hewitt, a successful Washington banker, finds her life on the line when she takes on a new client. A poweful company is set to lose millions if she doesn't approve a transaction...and they've hired a killer to make sure she doesn't present a problem. Views: 61
Almost five years after his critically acclaimed novel The Million Dollar Divorce, Essence bestselling author RM Johnson returns with the sequel that fans have been waiting for...and in The Million Dollar Deception, Nate Kenny, Lewis Waters, and Monica Kenny still have not buried the hatchet. When readers last closed the book on Nate Kenny, his scheming had backfired, and he not only lost a great fortune in a messy divorce but his wife ended up with the very man he paid off to seduce her into infidelity. Now, four years later, it's time for payback. Meanwhile, Monica Kenny has a decision to make -- stay with and marry Lewis Waters, the younger man she knows may not be right for her? Or leave him, venture out on her own, and face the possibility of falling for another man who may leave her as her ex-husband did, because she cannot bear children? Lewis Waters recognizes that he's in a much better position than he ever was, now that he's with Monica. She takes... Views: 61
Review"Stacy can write like no one else can! I don't get to read for pleasure often but Stacy Dittrich's books are so quick and so good it's pure reading pleasure." --Robin Sax, best-selling author and former felony prosecutor "You want a great book to snuggle in with during this cold winter? Get MURDER MOUNTAIN.... If you're a true crime buff like me this book is for you!" --Diane Dimond, Journalist and Entertainment Tonight reporter Product DescriptionWhen a young woman disappears from home without her personal effects, Detective CeeCee Gallagher is determined to find her - only to discover that she was not the first to vanish. CeeCee and FBI agent Michael Hagerman follow the trail of chilling clues deep into the West Virginia woods, and a dark world of drugs, torture, and cannibalism. With her family in grave danger, CeeCee will have to risk everything if she's to bring justice to ... Murder Mountain. The haunting prequel to Stacy Dittrich's provocative CeeCee Gallagher novels - a series based on actual police files and told by one of America's leading female crime experts. Views: 61
When a witch is born, a doppelganger is created. For the witch to master her powers, the twin must be killed. Until now... Created by the merging of witch and doppelganger, Mirei is a unique being. Her extraordinary magic makes her the most poweful witch alive -- and a notorious social outcast. While Satomi, the leader of the witches' ruling Primes, hails Mirei as a miracle, rival Primes proclaim that Mirei is an evil abomination...and that those who champion her must be destroyed. Now the different witch factions engage in a bloody war with magic, treachery, and murder. But both sides may be fighting for nothing. For the power that the rebel Primes fear, the magic that Mirei alone possesses, is killing her. Views: 61
Cheeky and heartwarming in equal measure, the continuing adventures of Lucy van Loon will have you falling off your seat with laughter! When Lucy accidentally scratches Dad's brand new car, one small mistake turns into an enormous fib involving Lucy's best friend, Harriet, Lucy's worst enemy, Jacinta, a telepathic camel and a guinea pig with an escape plan. Is it time for Lucy the Lie Detector to tell the truth, the whole truth and nothing but the truth? Just like in Lucy the Good, you'll be snorting with laughter as you read about the irrepressible, the outrageous, the one and only . . . Lucy van Loon! Views: 61
Deborah Ellis has been widely praised for her gripping books portraying the plight of children in war-torn countries. Now she turns her attention closer to home, to the children whose parents are soldiers fighting in Afghanistan and Iraq. In frank and revealing interviews, they talk about how this experience has marked and shaped their lives.The children, who range in age from 7 to 17, come from all over North America. They were interviewed on military bases, in the streets, in their homes and over the phone. The strength of Off to War is that the children are left to speak for themselves, with little editorial interference beyond a brief introduction. Includes a glossary, a list of organizations and websites and suggestions for further reading. Views: 61
Germany 1937: Fear and betrayal stalk the streets. People disappear. Persecution of the Jews has become a national pastime.When Ruth Friedman's husband is arrested by the SS, she is left to fend for herself and her four children. She alone stands as their shield against the Nazis. But where can she go? Where will her family be safe?Ruth must overcome the indifference, hatred and cruelty that surrounds her as she and her family race to escape the advancing Nazi army's final solution... Views: 61
A heartening and uplifting read about lost love, true friendship, and blossoming romance. Perfect for fans of Cressida McLaughlin, Cathy Bramley, and Debbie Johnson.Carrie Dashwood fled Dorset ten years ago when her best friend Megan stole her love, local heart-throb Tom. Now she's back to help run her aunt Ruby's flower stall in idyllic Shipley. Trying to persuade herself that her feelings for Tom are in the past, Carrie plans to avoid him and Megan completely. But it's not to be, because Ruby's Blooms are arranging the flowers for Megan and Tom's wedding. Soon Carrie's crawling under the stall to hide and accidentally inventing an imaginary boyfriend... But with the stall's finances in jeopardy and Ruby needing her niece more than ever, Carrie has to keep her emotions in check.With bouquets to arrange, family secrets to uncover, and Tom unavoidably a part of her life again, can Carrie keep her cool, save the stall, and find her very own happy ever after?Read what people are... Views: 61
