Sunday, July 8, 2012

Guest Post by Sherry Gloag

This post is brought to you by Sherry Gloag! 

Multi-published author, Sherry Gloag is a transplanted Scot now living in the beautiful coastal countryside of Norfolk, England.  She considers the surrounding countryside as extension of her own garden, to which she escapes when she needs "thinking time" and solitude to work out the plots for her next novel.  While out walking she enjoys talking to her characters, as long as there are no other walkers close by.
Apart from writing, Sherry enjoys gardening, walking, reading and cheerfully admits her books tend to take over most of the shelf and floor space in her workroom-cum-office.  She also finds crystal craft work therapeutic.

For Prince Liam, families meant bad news, unwanted commitments, and the loss of his personal freedom.  Love spawned white picket fences, slippers at the hearth with a wife and kids making demands, so why did those images disappear when he met Melanie Babcot?
Melanie Babcot fought hard to escape the horrors of her youth and vowed to remain single and free, so when paid to protect Prince Liam from insurgents why did her personal pledge fly out the window?

Liam Fitzwilliam Gasquet stared in amazement at the blooming patch of red milliseconds before the pain exploded in his arm. Some trigger-happy idiot had fired in his direction. Indignation didn’t have time to take root before another bullet kicked the dust at his feet.
Not ‘trigger-happy’.
The rebels had found the fourth and youngest son of Jean-Phillipe Gasquet, ruler of the tiny kingdom adjacent to the Swiss border. When had they discovered his whereabouts?
With a reluctant sigh, he faced the truth of it. They hadn’t ‘found’ him at all. They’d followed him.

“And now, my sweet wife, it is time for me to go.”
Emotions churned in his chest. Love, betrayal, grief for the loss of a lifestyle he’d  come to love.
“And where do you think you are going?”
The sharpness of her voice sliced through his mourning.
“It is better for you not to know.”
“And why is that?” The full weight of an Arctic freeze laced her voice.
“It’s better I go alone.” How could he reveal the reasons?
Her gaze, as cold as a glacier, challenged him to continue, and when he didn’t she thumped his chest with her fist.
“Nothing to say?” she jibed. “Well, you listen to me.”
Before he guessed her intention, she shoved him away.
“You’re right. You have to leave today, but you’re not going

The ping of metal--on--metal shot him out of his musings and he glanced across in time to see his wife propelling herself in his direction. Taken unaware, he fell back with her full weight pinning him down. A prolonged rattle, followed by a spattering of bullets, ended his struggles to sit up.
“Saints alive, Mel, what the heck’s going on?”
She didn’t move, didn’t answer.
Wriggling from beneath her, Liam fought the urge to stand and pull her into his arms. The trash truck increased speed and, Liam swore, found every pothole in the road.
“Mel?” Gently he lifted her head and discovered a ribbon of blood trickling from a gash in her forehead. Fear turned to acid, burning his throat. A bullet wound? Or had she hit her head when tackling him?

“Liam, why do you suppose your every move has been tracked by palace security since you left three years ago?”
Frustration laced the security chief’s voice. “Why do you suppose your father tried to keep you close to home?”
“I suggest you tell me.”
“We knew you were the target.”
Liam heard the hard edge in his companion’s voice. “You have proof of this?”
“Get real. You’ve spent three years rebelling against your father and your position. If you’d wanted to, you could have gone back to working with your horses, but you were too intent on defying your father to follow your heart’s desire, to listen to
anything anyone else said. So, no, we didn’t think you needed to know.”
Paxman leaned his hand out the window, stuck a flashing blue light on the car roof, floored the pedal, and sailed past a convoy of vehicles.

His Chosen Bride
        Prince Henri Gasquet is happy to let his father, the king, choose his bride for him until he meets Monica Latimer.
Monica Latimer is not prepared to risk letting any man close enough to learn about her Gift. A gift that normally has men running for the hills when they find out about it.


She lost track of time until the flames caught her attention once more. They flickered from orange to gold, to silver, to white.
A flurry of snowflakes masked the flames and for a second Monica watched the most beautiful, pristine snow-scene she’d ever seen. Her lips curved in longing. How she’d love to get a toboggan and slide down that slope. She knew where it was, and had done just that many times in her childhood, first with her parents and then, in clandestine manner, with her brother. Sneaking an old tin tray from the back of her mother’s walk-in pantry, she’d then grabbed Billy’s hand and they’d rushed out the back gate, heading for the lakeside track that led up into the hills.
Darkness, dense and thick with grief dropped over the scene. Startled and disconcerted by the strength of emotion emanating from the vision Monica shifted to her knees, ready to stand, when a voice, a deep male voice, sharp with fear called out her name.
She knew she’d never heard the voice before, and yet—it was as familiar to her as the image she saw in her mirror each morning.
“Help me, Monica.”
Desperate for more clues, she searched the darkness within the flames until it sputtered and faded. With a curse she jumped up and ran for the phone. With her outstretched hand hovering over it she halted and let her hand drop to her side once more. What could she say? What would the police or rescue team think of her if she called them and told them she’d seen a vision of a man in distress?
They’d laugh in her face and classify her as a lunatic. Well, maybe not. It wouldn’t be the first time she’d contacted them with positive information but something—an instinctive gut reaction told her what she’d seen this time hadn’t happened yet.