'One Christmas Knight' Perfect Holiday Reading - OUT TODAY

ONE CHRISTMAS KNIGHT, an anthology of medieval novellas, is now out at Amazon. There are seven wonderful historical romances here, by various authors, all set around Yule and Christmas.

Here's a blurb for each of  the stories, plus the blurb and an excerpt from mine.

DEBORAH MACGILLIVRAY—THE SELKIE’S DAUGHTER

Sir Rhys de Valyer, on his way to Scotland to join his liege, Julian Challon, becomes lost in a blinding snowstorm. But this is only the start of his troubles. In a brutal ambush, he and his men are attacked and left for dead. Rhys only escapes the horrible fate due to his trusted steed, who manages to drag him away from the battle. Fearing death’s approach, he never expects a beautiful snow angel to come to his rescue.
After being cast out by her family for being the bastard child of a Selkie, Annys Bràigheach has made her life in the sanctuary of Rowenwood Forest, far away from the world. In spite of her acceptance of the solitary life, her heart still yearns for more. To her surprise, after making a Yuletide wish, she discovers a handsome knight, clinging desperately to his horse, half-frozen with two arrows piercing his body. Her healing skills may save him, but can she reach his heart?
Magic can happen at Yuletide if only you can believe….

KEENA KINCAID—AN UNEXPECTED GIFT

When Meryk the Outlaw finds a badly beaten woman beside the road, he almost rides on. With a price on his head and a winter storm raging, even a short delay could cost him everything. But when he discovers she’s ready to give birth, he takes the risk and vows to protect her.
Ada of Bew doesn’t want the outlaw’s help—much less his protection—but she has no choice. Unable to run any farther and ready to give birth, she must place her faith in this stranger…or die at the hands of the men who want to kill her unborn son.
In the struggle against the cold and would-be kings, Meryk and Ada discover love is the most unexpected gift of all, but will they survive long enough to claim it?

LIVIA J. WASHBURN--KEEPSAKE

Sir Hugh Tarrant returns home from war with a limp from an enemy's sword and a hole in his heart from the death of his beloved. Lady Margaret Dillon is filled with anger at the man she believes deserted her sister. On a stormy Christmas Eve night filled with danger, fate throws them together and makes unexpected allies of them. Will passion ignite as a result...or will they survive to find out?

ANGELA RAINES—LOST KNIGHT

Annalisa has lost everything to her uncle. Taking sanctuary in a convent for safety, she yearns to go back and reclaim her rightful place. When she discovers a seriously wounded man, she realizes that he might be the one who can help her.
Jack wakes up in a convent, wounded and fearing for his own sanity. The last thing he remembers is a firefight in the Middle East, and the pain of being shot. Waking up centuries in the past is not what he expects—but Jack has his own code of honor, and when Annalisa asks for his help, there’s no way he can turn her down.
With the help of Mother Albrade, a nun who has powerful visions and knowledge of the future, Jack and Annalisa begin a journey of discovery and bravery that just might change both their lives—or end them.

C. MARIE BOWEN—HAWTHORN AND MISTLETOE

Cursed by a bitter enchantress in ancient times to wander the earth as an immortal, Jurian Locke is bound by both love and magic to answer his beloved's need in times of danger.
Into each new life, his soulmate is born, unaware she is tied to him by magic, unknowing that a threat to her life will send forth a summons to a man she doesn't know.
Drawn together in dangerous times—his eternal love is her single chance at life. His curse, the only time he can be with the woman who possesses his heart.
Her call reaches him, this time, in 1328 at a Yuletide tournament for King Edward III.

TANYA HANSON—CANTICLE

To save her family’s fortunes, Lady Alisoun must wed an elderly earl the day after Christmas. But in the chapel on Christmas Eve, her heart collides with that of an elegant, mysterious stranger. Is he…one of King John’s spies?
Raised in a monastery, Lord Kitt has no experience with love, but finds his heart lost to a lovely lady. Yet he cannot succumb, for the day after Christmas, he must marry a woman he has never met.

LINDSAY TOWNSEND—SIR BALDWIN AND THE CHRISTMAS GHOSTS

Ambitious and arrogant, the young knight Sir Baldwin returns to his family’s lands and estate at Brigthorpe to face disaster. The pestilence has struck, destroying his parents and all his family save for a young half-brother, Martin, whom Baldwin does not wish to acknowledge because Martin is the bastard child of a serf. Baldwin needs to learn kindness and how to be a lord–and quickly.
Into this hopeless situation comes Sofia, a young woman who can see glimpses of spirits, of the restless dead. These revenants are very restless around Sir Baldwin.
Somehow, Baldwin and Sofia must work together, to make a true Christmas for the survivors of Brigthorpe and the Christmas ghosts. Can they do so in time—or will the gulf of class and custom make any love between them impossible?


For sale here at Amazon here 

And at my author Amazon page here

For sale at Amazon UK here


Excerpt from Sir Baldwin and the Christmas Ghosts.

One Christmas Knight

Sir Baldwin and the Christmas Ghosts

Lindsay Townsend

December, North of England, 1369

                                                                                                                    

“I can help you with your ghosts, sir.”

For an instant, no longer than a single beat of his heart, Sir Baldwin of Brigthorpe was too startled to answer. That a stranger had entered the manor and he had not heard any approach was disconcerting, that the said stranger could sense the spirits that accosted him every night was disturbing. Not that he let such unworthy, serf-like feelings show on his face. He was a knight—courage and power were his.

“Sir? Do you wish for my help?”

He would have ignored his own peasants if any had dared to keep questioning him, especially one certain grizzling boy, but courtesy to strangers had been ground into him. Reluctantly, he fashioned some reply. “I do not think anyone can aid me. There are too many ghosts.”

I should not have admitted that. Mother of Almighty God, I must be wearier than I thought.

Scowling, Sir Baldwin swept the last of the rotted floor strewing into the fire-pit in the great hall and watched the stinking mess smoke and slowly burn. His back and shoulders ached worse than after a sword practise but he forced himself to straighten and relax. He had not been physically attacked yet and doubted he would be. There are few left alive to try. The ghosts were another matter. There are so many...

Reminded of his losses afresh, the grief sharp as broken glass within him, Baldwin looked at the dais. A swift glance reassured him that the brat was still asleep on the platform, snuggled down in his own long winter cloak. Last year I would never have given a cotter bastard any of my clothes, even though we are akin. Frowning anew, he flicked the broom from hand to hand and raised his head. “How did you come here?”


Lindsay Townsend

Regency comedy GOOSED! OR A FOWL CHRISTMAS is Here!

Goosed! or A Fowl Christmas, the first in my Regency The Feather Fables series, is now available on Amazon, Barnes and Noble, Smashwords, Kobo and Apple.

BLURB:

The Feather Fables--where birds twitter and chirp and bring romance.

Ah, Christmas, what a glorious season. Decorations, friends, good will to all, a time of magic and miracles.

But not for Miss Julia Shaw. She is new to the area, her farm desperately needs upkeep, and the pittance she earns from her artwork doesn’t pay the bills. And then her pet goose escapes. Making matters worse, when she first meets the devastatingly attractive Lord Tyndall, the abominable man insults her as he returns her goose. No peace and good will for her this Christmas.

Exhausted from a year of business travel, Robert, Baron Tyndall, returns to London only to fall prey to his mother’s matchmaking attempts. Escaping to his country estate, he finds solace with the birds in his aviary. Except that a plague of a goose that belongs to his new neighbor, Miss Shaw, has somehow entered his aviary and wreaked havoc. That disagreeable lady had better keep her misbegotten bird to herself. Too bad she is so lovely. What a horrendous Christmas this season has become.

But even in the blackest depths, a spark of light can glimmer. For at this wondrous time of Christmas, miracles and magic can and do happen.

A sweet, traditional Regency romance with fantasy elements. 61,000 words.

EXCERPT:
What was that infernal din? Catching up her shawl, Julia dashed down the stairs and then out through the front door. Winding her shawl around her, she rounded the house and almost slammed into an unfamiliar gig.

The vehicle blocked her view of the goose pen, from which the honking emanated. But no one was there—her pet goose had run off. She ran around the conveyance and stopped dead.

Her pet had returned! Flapping, honking and biting, the flying goose—He could fly? She had never before seen him do so—attacked a large, stylishly dressed gentleman.

The man, his arms high to protect his head, flailed at the goose. His back was to her, his upended hat lay in the dirt and white feathers covered his black greatcoat. He swore. Loudly.

Julia’s ears burned. “Do not hurt my goose, sir!”

The man batted at the goose again and turned toward her.

Julia gasped. He was the man on the road a few days ago. His dark eyes blazed, his brown hair was mussed, and his sharp cheekbones had flushed from the effort of warding off the goose.

Her pulse raced. He had looked handsome at a distance. Up close, he was magnificent. Tingles raced over her skin.

“This spawn of Satan is your property, madam?” He jerked his head back from the goose’s open bill as the bird dove in for a bite.

“He is, sir, and you will not harm him!” She jumped between the man and the goose.

The goose, breathing heavily, plopped to the ground. Eyes afire, he angled his head around her. He hissed at the man.

“Gracious, what is the matter?” She stroked the goose’s head.

The bird went limp, as if he had been pumped full of air and all the gas suddenly escaped.

She tipped her head back to glare up at the man. Good gracious, he was tall. “He has never acted this way before. What have you done to him?”

The man’s jaw dropped. “I? This feathered blackguard has tried to bite me ever since I saw him. And just now he attacked me.” He scowled at the goose. “If he is your property, you are welcome to him.”

Available at

Amazon

Amazon UK

Also available at the other Amazon stores

Barnes and Noble

Nook UK

Smashwords (note, all formats are available on Smashwords)

Apple iBooks

Kobo

Merry Christmas and Happy New Year!

Thank you all,

Linda
Linda Banche

Welcome to My world of Historical Hilarity!
http://www.lindabanche.com

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

A Conversation with Mistletoe

Greetings all, I am Mistletoe. You know me--the green plant with white berries you most often see at Christmas time. My association with Christmas arises because I am an evergreen and will remain green even in the dead of winter, but you can see me all year if you know where to look. Mainly on apple and oak trees.

Most often, people hang me or one of my relatives from chandeliers or above doorways so gentlemen can kiss their sweethearts. Ah, Christmas love. I thoroughly enjoy my role as Christmas matchmaker.

I enjoy it so much, that I am the hero of Linda Banche’s Regency romance, Mistletoe Everywhere. What, you say? How can a plant be a romance hero? Isn’t Sir Charles Gordon the hero? Well, he thinks he is, but my name is in the title, not his. And I have the pivotal role in the story.

In any event, how can the didactic Charles be the hero? He never again wants to see the lovely Penelope because she jilted him. Or so he says. Meanwhile, according to Penelope, Charles withdrew his marriage proposal after she had accepted. While I have no intention of taking sides, something havy cavy is going on.

Although I am best known as a Christmas fertility symbol, I have another persona as the plant of peace. In medieval times, enemies who met under the mistletoe had to lay down their weapons and call a truce for twenty-four hours. This ceasing of hostilities afforded them a chance to talk out their differences rather than resorting to violence.

Can either of my identities help Charles and Penelope? I flatter myself that I am just the plant to do it. As luck, or perhaps, design would have it, I am on the scene as both fertility symbol and plant of peace in Mistletoe Everywhere.

Let me see if I can reunite these erstwhile lovers.

Thank you all,
Mistletoe

As told to Linda Banche
Welcome to My World of Historical Hilarity!
http://www.lindabanche.com
Mistletoe Everywhere Buy Link: http://www.thewildrosepress.com/mistletoe-everywhere-p-4295.html

MISTLETOE EVERYWHERE Release Day!

Mistletoe Everywhere, my Regency Christmas comedy, is here!

BLURB:
A man who sees mistletoe everywhere is mad--or in love.

Charles sees mistletoe. Not surprising, since he's spending Christmas at Mistletoe Manor. But why does no one else see it? And why does it always appear above Penelope, the despised lady who jilted him after their last meeting?

Penelope wants nothing to do with the faithless Charles, the man who cried off after she accepted his marriage proposal. But he still stirs her heart--and he stares at her all the time. Or rather, he stares at the empty ceiling over her head…What does he see?

According to folklore, mistletoe is the plant of peace. Can Penelope and Charles, so full of hurt and anger, heed the mistletoe's message and make peace?

EXCERPT:

After Charles had heaped his plate with more food than he wanted, he took one of the empty chairs at the table bottom, as far from Penelope as possible.

His tensed muscles eased as he joked with his friends. Smythe made a comment and Charles turned to answer. He caught sight of Penelope…and a monstrous bunch of mistletoe above her.

"Gordon? What is it?" Smythe swiveled in the direction Charles was staring. He looked up and down, and from one side to the other. "I say, with your mouth hanging open like that, you must see something spectacular, but damned if I know what it is."

With an audible click, Charles clamped his jaw shut. "I thought I saw…" He forced his gaze back to his companion. "Nothing. I imagined I saw mistletoe."

Smythe's eyebrows rose. "Mistletoe?"

"Yes. The house is named 'Mistletoe Manor', so the place is filled with mistletoe decorations. Pictures, wall hangings, ceiling trim, whatnot."

"Indeed." Smythe's eyebrows rose higher. "That 'mistletoe' you saw is over that Miss Lawrence. Lovely little filly." His lips curved into a knowing grin. "My jaw dropped the first time I saw her, too."

Charles stiffened. "I was not looking at Miss Lawrence. I believed I saw mistletoe over her."

"'Mistletoe'." Symthe's grin widened. "Of course."

And I hope you will get what you want for Christmas, too!

BUY LINK: http://www.thewildrosepress.com/mistletoe-everywhere-p-4295.html

CONTEST: Leave your name and email in the Guest Book on my website, http://www.lindabanche.com, for a chance to win a PDF copy of Mistletoe Everywhere. Contest runs through December 15. Note, all of you who entered my Pumpkinnapper contest are already entered to win a second copy of Mistletoe Everywhere.

Thank you all,
Linda
Linda Banche
Welcome to My World of Historical Hilarity!
http://www.lindabanche.com

A Week in Dubai

It was chaos! All over Europe, people were rummaging through their drawers, frantically searching for their long johns, their thermal vests, their wooly knickers, their caps and gloves. The big chill had dug in its icy talons, dumping unusual amounts of snow on unsuspecting innocents, catching thousands of ill-equipped motorists off-guard. Hundreds of unfortunate Eurostar train passengers had spent the previous night stranded in the Channel tunnel, and airports everywhere had come to a tumultuous standstill.

As for us, at seven o’clock in the morning on December 20th, 2009, we were zipping up our suitcases, getting ready to fly to Dubai.

Apparently, it was the dawn of the coldest day on Swiss meteorological record. In La Brévine, a village up in the Jura mountains nicknamed the Siberia of Switzerland because of its extreme temperatures, the mercury dropped to minus 34° degrees Celsius. Of course, if you’re reading this in deepest Alaska, minus 34° degrees Celsius probably sounds like pool party weather, but for us Swissies it’s definitely a take-refuge-under-the-duvet-and-watch-TV sort of day. Not that it was that cold in the genteel lakeside village where we live; when the Prescott family tripped down the garden path in single file and bundled into the car it was probably a balmy minus 12°, which still feels a bit nippy when you’re not wearing a winter jacket. Since it wasn’t snowing in Geneva, we figured the airport would be buzzing with holiday-bound activity. We were far too excited to be going on our first ever beach holiday at Christmas to think about delays or cancellations due to bad weather elsewhere.

However, when we walked into the surprisingly quiet departure hall, one glance at the flight schedule board prompted a mutual moan of dismay: our KLM flight to Amsterdam was already delayed by one hour, and the frenzy of cancellations and mounting delays zipping all over the board didn’t bode well. Worse, there were rumors of a large snow-cloud blowing in from the north-east, set to dump vast quantities of plane-paralyzing white stuff on Geneva airport’s runways within the next couple of hours. We might not be going anywhere.

As it happened, we were luckier than most. Our plane finally took off three and a half hours late, which should have caused us to miss our connecting flight in Amsterdam, but since the weather in Holland was channeling the North Pole, our Dubai flight left with over five and a half hours delay. So, after a day of lounging around reading magazines, followed by a smooth six hour flight spent snoozing and watching movies (ooh, I really enjoyed “The Time Traveller’s Wife”!) we landed in Dubai’s mega-massive, ultra-contemporary airport at four o’clock in the morning local time.

Passing through immigration was an experience in itself. If you’ve ever fantasized about gorgeous young sheikhs, you’ll get a pleasant eyeful while showing your passport there! Maybe I was so tired I was hallucinating, but that night the Dubai immigration officers were all movie-star gorgeous, immaculately decked out in traditional long white attire, their black hair, dark eyes and chiseled features off-set by white headdresses secured by black cord. As for their female colleagues, they were beautiful, too! The young lady at the desk closest to us looked fabulous in her black silk outfit, her huge eyes and full mouth impeccably made-up, her gorgeous face framed by a matching veil edged with sparkly silver thread. Seriously, nobody should look that good at four-thirty in the morning. Well, certainly not immigration officers!

Haggard, sweaty, our clothes terminally creased, we dragged our luggage through the terminal where we were immediately ushered into the biggest car in the world and chauffeured through Dubai’s scintillating, techno-cool, sky-scraping scenery, catching our first glimpse of the brand new “Burj Khalifa”, the tallest building in the world, culminating at a 828 metres (apparently it’s nice and cool up there in the summer!). Twenty minutes later, we pulled up in front of the Royal Mirage Arabian Court, a beautiful seafront hotel built on reclaimed land on the eastern side of the famous “Palm”, the first of Dubai’s man-made islands. By the time we’d checked in and settled the kids in their room it was five-thirty in the morning. Mr. Prescott and I were more than ready for bed.

We were also more than ready for the bright, warm sunshine pouring into our room when we finally opened our eyes the following afternoon. We got up and managed to drag our comatose teenagers out of bed, then went to have something to eat at “Eau Zone”, the hotel’s trendy beach and pool restaurant. Later, we wandered down the long stretch of white sandy beach, our linen trousers rolled up, our flip flops dangling from our fingers in true Condé Nast Traveler style. We paddled and pottered and took deep breaths of sea air, admiring the incredible lineup of skyscrapers close-by. Still tired from our long trip, we plonked ourselves on sunbeds and snoozed for a while, and when the sun dipped a little too low for comfort we just wandered back to our room, flopped onto the bed and discussed what we’d like to do during the week.

Of course, relaxation (and getting a bit of a tan) was a top priority for all of us, and we spent plenty of time lounging by the pool, or on the beach. To Mr. Prescott’s surprise, my daughter and I even swam in the sea, quite an achievement considering neither Olivia nor I are famous for acts of bikini bravery in chilly waters. But we’d never spent Christmas in a warm country before, and there’s just something special about swimming in the sea, so we hauled in our tummies, braced ourselves, grimaced and went for it. Besides, it wasn’t really that cold at 22°, but in all honesty, at 28° the swimming pool was far more inviting!
One of the highlights of our week in Dubai was an expedition into the desert in a 4x4

I’d never done anything like this before, and wasn’t sure whether I’d enjoy it; hurtling up and down sand dunes seemed more like a macho sort of thing, but as it turned out I thought it was brilliant! Nabil, our driver, was keen to show off his rally driving skills, and once reassured we weren’t going to be sick in his car (apparently it’s happened quite a few times), took us for a fast, thrilling ride. The desert is magnificent, awe-inspiring, and mind-bogglingly vast. We saw a couple of antelopes, and I tried to take photos, but we were bouncing and skidding and giddy with excitement, so they didn’t turn out as well as I’d hoped. We stopped at a vista point at sunset, and our giddiness subsided, replaced by a profound sense of calm. Dinner was provided at a nearby “Bedouin camp”, complete with camel rides (too many people), sand painting displays (what was on offer was kind of kitsch, but the technique was amazing), lots of rather greasy food, henna tattoos (potent stuff; two weeks later I still have mine!) and a belly dancer. We enjoyed the festivities, then skid-slip-jump-zoomed out of the desert at 120 kilometres an hour. Yeeha!

But the best was yet to come. On the afternoon of Christmas Eve, we took a taxi to Atlantis, a spectacular new hotel on the far end of the “Palm”. Atlantis has 1,500 rooms, including underwater suites where you can lie in bed and watch the fish swim by! Personally, I found Atlantis’ architecture rather cheesy in a “My Little Pony” meets “The Little Mermaid” sort of way. Nor was I impressed by the sickly-sweet smell if fast food permeating the air at the entrance to the huge waterpark and aquarium. But once we checked in at the ticket office, snapped on our plastic bracelets and hopped into the little golf-cart type vehicle that whisked us off to Dolphin Bay, I forgot all about such insignificant trivia. Of course I did; I was going to swim with dolphins!

Interacting with the dolphins was a magical experience none of us will ever forget. Our dolphin was a female called Lexie, who was initially a little distracted by her sexy dolphin boyfriend busy catering to another group of wonderstruck tourists a couple of splashes away. Nevertheless, she soon settled down to entertain us. Guided by precise hand signals from two dolphin trainers, Lexie danced with us, kissed us, hugged us, spun us around, and as a grand finale, pulled us one after the other across the lagoon at top speed! She showed a series of impressively high jumps, and even “spoke” (incidentally, when dolphins “speak”, the noise comes out of their blowhole, not their mouth). What do dolphins feel like? Smooth and slick and tough. Kind of like…moisturized bananas!

Christmas morning was spent lounging by the pool. We then enjoyed a nice light lunch at the beach and pool restaurant before heading off to the Dubai Mall, which, with 1500 shops, is supposedly the biggest in the world. Of course, my daughter and I didn’t share the same shopping program as my husband and son, so we immediately split up. While they went in search of sportswear and skateboard equipment, Olivia dragged me off on a quest for Top Shop. We got terribly lost in this overwhelming temple of consumerism, but my shopaholic daughter discovered plenty other shops to pillage on the way. We had a good giggle in Jimmy Choo, entertaining a fantasy of surprising the Prescott boys a couple of hours later decked out in designer bling from head to toe. Sadly, common sense got the better of me and the bling fantasy was soon abandoned. Olivia consoled herself in Top Shop, and I briefly considered doing some credit card damage in Gérard Darel (there was a dusky pink suede fringed handbag that definitely had my name on it), but I took a deep breath and kept walking. My husband was speechless to discover that the only thing I had bought was Jo Malone’s new fragrance, “Vanilla and Anise”. It smells wonderful, but, frustratingly, doesn’t seem to linger.

On Boxing Day, we headed back to Atlantis for adventures in the waterpark. Unfortunately, it was a little cloudy, and a chilly wind made running around in a wet bikini somewhat unpleasant. Nevertheless, Olivia and I enjoyed our leisurely ride down the Lazy River in giant rubber rings, screaming in all the right places as we splashed down the rapids, but no way were we going to follow the boys and launch ourselves off the “Ziggurat”, allegedly the highest and steepest waterslide in the world. After one last super fast rollercoaster ride in a rubber ring through a pitch black tunnel, Olivia and I called it a day and headed back to our hotel for lunch at a sheltered table at the beach restaurant, leaving the Prescott boys to pursue further aquatic adventures on their own.

Just over twenty-four hours later, following a lovely long day at the pool, we boarded our flight back to Amsterdam. To my surprise, I managed to sleep almost all the way, waking up just half an hour before landing. Our connecting flight to Geneva left on time, and by nine o’clock on December 28th we were home again, having had a wonderful holiday, and looking forward to spending the rest of the holidays with friends and family.

This trip was extra significant to my husband and me because, in a way, it marks the end of our wonderful family cocoon. Our daughter, Olivia, graduates in June 2010, and in the autumn she will be leaving home to start University. Although we know she’ll often be coming home for the holidays, our baby will officially have left the nest. Our son, Greg, will follow suit in a couple of years, and the Prescott household will never be the same again. It’s not that I’m particularly worried about these milestones, I’m just increasingly aware of them and determined to make the most out of these last few years of family togetherness.

Time is precious; use it to make beautiful memories with those you love. We made some great ones in Dubai.

I wish you a Happy New Year!

Lots of love,

Francesca

My award winning romantic comedy, “Mucho Caliente!,” is available in print from: Amazon.com and Barnes and Noble.com
It is available as an e-book from:
BookStrand, Mobipocket and All Romance Ebooks
It is also available in Kindle from Amazon.com
"MUCHO CALIENTE! - Wish upon a Latino Superstar"
An effervescent romantic comedy
LASR: Best Long Book of the Year 2008 : "Laugh out loud hilarious!"
NOR: Top Pick : "A seriously fun book with more twists and turns than expected"
CRR: “Hard to put down”

www.francescaprescott.com

A Contract for Christmas - MISTLETOE EVERYWHERE

The Wild Rose Press has contracted my Regency Christmas novella, Mistletoe Everywhere, my third contract. I've been bouncing around for a while now, and I've finally written the blurb and picked out an excerpt.

BLURB:
A man who sees mistletoe everywhere is mad--or in love.

Charles sees mistletoe. Not surprising, since he's spending Christmas at Mistletoe Manor. But, the mistletoe always hangs over Penelope, the despised lady who jilted him after their last meeting. And no one except him sees the mistletoe.

Penelope wants nothing to do with the faithless Charles, the man who cried off after she had accepted his marriage proposal. But he stares at her all the time. Or rather, he stares at the empty ceiling over her head. What does he see?

According to folklore, mistletoe is the plant of peace. Penelope and Charles, so full of hurt and anger, must decide if they will heed the mistletoe's message and make peace.

EXCERPT:

After Charles had heaped his plate with more food than he wanted, he took one of the empty places at the table bottom, as far from Penelope as possible.

His tensed muscles eased as he joked with his friends. Smythe made a comment and Charles turned to answer. He caught sight of Penelope…and a monstrous sprig of mistletoe over her head.

"Gordon? What is it?" Smythe swiveled in the direction Charles was staring. He looked up and down, and from one side to the other. "I say, with your mouth hanging open like that, you must see something spectacular, but I'm damned if I know what it is."

Charles clamped his jaw shut. "I thought I saw…" He forced his gaze back to his companion. "Nothing. I imagined I saw mistletoe."

Smythe's eyebrows rose. "Mistletoe?"

"Yes. The house is named 'Mistletoe Manor', so the place is filled with mistletoe decorations. Pictures, wall hangings, ceiling trim, and whatnot."

"Indeed." Smythe's eyebrows rose higher. "That 'mistletoe' you saw is over Miss Lawrence. Lovely little filly." His lips curved into a knowing grin. "My jaw dropped the first time I saw her, too."

Charles stiffened. "I was not looking at Miss Lawrence. I believed I saw mistletoe over her."

"Mistletoe." Symthe's grin widened. "Of course."

Merry Christmas all,

Linda
Linda Banche
Regency romance--most with humor, some with fantasy, and occasionally a paranormal
Lady of the Stars--4 stars from Romantic Times, 2010 EPIC EBook Competition finalist, Regency time travel available from The Wild Rose Press
Pumpkinnapper--Regency Halloween comedy available from The Wild Rose Press
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‘Twas the Day After Christmas…

‘Twas the day after Christmas
and all through the house
all the kiddies were playing
without ‘ere a grouse.

When I was a kid, I loved the day after Christmas nearly as much as I loved Christmas. It was time to settle in and enjoy all the new things we were lucky enough to have received from Santa and our relatives. We didn’t have to dress up and go out in the cold. There was no school and no schedule. The excitement was still there but less intense. It wasn’t “everyday” but wasn’t “the day” we’d looked forward to. It was a rare time when we didn’t argue with each other – there were four of us so that was rare.

As much I wished all the excitement wouldn’t be over and Christmas Day could just go on and on, the next day reminded me it wasn’t over. And it wouldn’t be. It only faded into a mellow upbeat thankfulness that would linger for quite some time after.

We were thankful, indeed, for every gift, and especially for parents who cared enough to scrimp through the fall in order to provide such a bounty for Christmas. And we didn’t just get “the in thing” – that wasn’t something our family ever focused on. It was always “just the right thing” for each of us, something that touched our hearts.

That’s always the best gift: touching someone’s heart.

Authors are often asked why they write. What makes us do this seemingly crazy thing? If we add up all the hours against the paycheck for each book, it makes no sense at all to work so hard at our craft, at making each book the best we can when we know darn well it may not even sell one copy.

I suppose putting a book out is like Christmas. It’s exciting to create characters and their worlds and put it all together and perfect it until we get to that huge moment of RELEASE DATE! It is an adrenaline rush. It’s much like scrambling to many different stores and pulling in many different elements to create just the right gift. And then we take all that work and give it away and hope it touches the receiver who will be honestly grateful to have it.

Sometimes they aren’t. Sometimes our gift fizzles in a reader’s hand because it wasn’t quite what she expected or wanted. It’s like giving a present and watching a fake thankfulness as the paper is opened, or a shrug and a toss aside. It happens. Do we stop giving gifts, then?

Of course not. We try harder the next time. Or we change course and give it to someone we think might be a more grateful receiver.

The day after Christmas, whether our gifts were well-received or only partly well-received, we begin the slow return to reality. It’s not over. The gift is out there. We can sit back and glow in the moment of it being out and over for the time being as work goes by the wayside, or we may continue to celebrate through the New Year with promo that both keeps us fired up and wears us down. But reality does return.

No matter how the season turned out or how much we want to sit tight and hold on to that accomplishment’s glow, the next year does come, and with it comes a return to the everyday. It’s not over, though. The glow of the day’s memories remain as kindling that helps us push through the hardest days of the year/project we sometimes struggle through and sometimes skate through. Because we know The End does come, and because we know The End is not an actual end, we find each go ‘round easier than the last.

I’d like to say a huge thank you to all of the beautiful receivers out there who so gratefully accept our gifts of story. You provide the kindling that helps us continue through the next project so we can again offer a gift from our hearts that will, with every hope, touch yours.

And we heard them exclaim as we set down our pens,
Have a happy, creative 2010!




LK Hunsaker
http://www.lkhunsaker.com
http://lkhunsaker.blogspot.com
--

Christmas Eve with the Prescott family

an excerpt from Courage of the Heart:

The Christmas Eve service was traditionally a candle-lit service. Members of the choir and vestry carried candles and other religious adornments to the front of the church in a processional. As a very young child she remembered sitting on her mother's lap in the Episcopal Church her family went to and pointing to all the lit candles and holiday ornaments. She was spellbound by the candles' twinkling and once or twice even disrupted the good Reverend's sermon with her commentary to her mom.

Davie had asked Adam, on the way into church, about his religious upbringing. It was something they had just never discussed before. He told her that he had been born Catholic but his first, and only, communion had been the last time he remembered being in church except for friends' weddings and funerals. His mother had made sure he attended religious classes until he was able to receive the holy sacraments. On the day of his communion, while all the other kids were having big family parties thrown in their honor, his mother took him out for an ice cream cone before depositing him back home and going off to her barmaid job. His father had gone on another drinking binge and had never even made the church service that day.

Adam had never had occasion to go to any church services after that, his mother was always working or sleeping with a new beau and his father was always drunk. It was just a few years later when his mother left town with a new lover. When his father heard from strangers that his wife had left town, he came home and beat Adam accusing him of keeping secrets. Adam hadn't known anything about his mother's desertion, he just knew that he was the only one left to suffer from his father's wrath. All the good church people of his town turned their backs on him when he needed them. Going to church would have reminded him of his mother’s abandonment so he never bothered.

Davie admitted ruefully that she didn't attend as often as her parents would have liked. Her family always included the church in every holiday. Davie could see that this was all new to Adam. She wondered how he was going to feel when she told him that not all her cousins had made it home yet and would be appearing tomorrow at her father's house. The holiday tables, definitely in the plural, would be stretched from room to room and would still be overcrowded.

She chanced a look at Elizabeth sitting beside Albert and marveled about how easily she had assimilated into the Prescott community. Her father had been one of nine children and except for an older brother who hadn’t come back from Korea, they all lived in the area. Many of her cousins had also settled nearby to raise their own families. A few, like her, lived several hours away. On major holidays almost everyone who had claim to Prescott blood descended on Cape May County. Everybody who ever lived in their small town was either related to or a good friend with somebody in the Prescott family.

Reverend Williams was ascending the pulpit to begin his sermon. The choir was singing from Handel's Messiah, she could hear her Aunt Rose's voice. She had always wondered why Aunt Rose with the beautiful voice hadn't become a professional singer. Davie noticed that Adam had been following along with all the prayers and hymns. She hoped that this Christmas was going to be memorable for both of them.

"Don't be afraid! I am here with good news for you, which will bring great joy to all the people." The reverend spoke of the greatest gift, the love and the child; he said the story of Christmas was about the poor and the outcast. He warned the congregation not to hide behind "gruff exteriors or a mask of self-sufficiency" for that would only multiply feelings of loneliness and of being outcasts.

Adam squeezed Davie's hand as the homily continued.

"Christmas is a story about all of us receiving that which we most want and need: love; deep, strong, unconditional love." Reverend William wished everyone a wonderful Christmas filled with family, love and faith.

After the service was over, Adam and Davie were separated in the throng of activity. She caught occasional glimpses of Adam as he was introduced to other members of her family by relatives that had just met him an hour earlier. Davie was captured in embrace after embrace of relatives who exclaimed how long she'd been gone even though she'd seen most of them at Thanksgiving. Her aunts and uncles pulled her to the side to ask questions about Adam. Her female cousins took turns swooning over his good looks. Davie heard her dad and Elizabeth asked if there was going to be a double wedding in February.

They finally managed to reach each other and Davie grabbed Adam's hand so they wouldn't be separated again.

"I am sorry about that." Davie apologized.

"Don't worry, they are all kind of nice. It's hard to imagine what it must have been like to grow up with so much family around." He leaned close to her ear and whispered. "How many of these people are actually related to you?"

Davie took her time looking around before she turned back to Adam with a grin. "The Reverend isn't."

For a moment Adam didn't know whether she was mocking him or not. Then she laughed.

"Alright, there are a lot of people here who are related to me." She shrugged. "It's a big family."

"Well, now I know where you got your people skills." He put his arm around her shoulder and noticed that one older woman, maybe one of Davie's aunts, gave a look of approval. "Uh, do they wear name-tags tomorrow by any chance?" He had no idea how he was going to keep who-was-who straight.

"The easiest way to sort it all out tomorrow is figure if they are in the house, they're family. The oldest folks are grandparents, doesn't matter who's, middle aged are aunts and uncles, you know my dad and Liz. The people our age and teens are cousins, except for Robbie and Allan of course. The little ones are children of the cousins." She laughed. "It's really very easy."

Courage of the Heart

ISBN-13: 978-1935407188
in e-book formats

Sometimes love is the only cure for the very deepest of emotional wounds. The story of the two lovers takes a series of unexpected and fast paced turns where lives, sanity and love are put in jeopardy. Their commitment to one another results in a spirit that binds them together and helps them to overcome physical and emotional dangers.
#####

CANDY CANE CHRISTMAS MAGIC

Have you ever made candy cane reindeer? The first time I ever got to do this fun project was when my daughter, Jessica, was young.

Having her Girl Scout troop dumped in my lap the night before our first meeting was an experience in itself. I’d volunteered to be a co-leader. The lady who was the leader suddenly decided she couldn’t commit, so it fell to me. I knew nothing about Girl Scouts. Thankfully, another very “Girl Scout savvy” mom stepped into help.

Scrambling for Christmas projects for the girls, this was one of the first ones we came up with. Back “in the day,” we had to purchase all the needed items separately. Now, they come in a kit—candy canes, red “Rudolph” puff-ball noses, google eyes, and green pipe cleaners.

Although this is a simple project, it is tons of fun, and the finished reindeer can be hung over the tree branches for decoration, given as party favors, or distributed as “tray favors” at local nursing homes.

Many years have passed since I put together my first candy cane reindeer. Many changes have taken place in my life over the last fifteen years.

This December, I found myself once again scrambling for an idea—this time for low-budget presents for my sister’s aides and nurses at the nursing home where she has been since October. Annette is my “way older” sister—twelve years older than I. She suffered a major stroke—her third—last January while she was in New York visiting her younger daughter for Christmas. The very next month, in February, her older daughter died of breast cancer at age 39. Annette was not able to see her or say good-bye as she would have liked to, since the stroke drastically affected her speech.

These past months have been a series of ups and downs, and her being in New York with no way to get back to Oklahoma. Flying was impossible with her medical conditions, so we raised money to bring her home via non-emergency medical transport. Now with Christmas coming, we needed gifts—cheap gifts!

Oddly enough, those candy cane reindeer flew into my brain and wouldn’t leave me alone. Annette only has the use of one hand, but she remains fiercely independent, as much as possible. I remembered those Girl Scout days, and how the younger siblings of some of the girls wanted to “help” make the reindeer; the patience of the older girls as they guided little hands in gluing on the eyes and noses, twisting the pipe cleaner around the curved part of the candy cane to form the antlers.

But that was truly no “gift”—better than nothing, but not quite the ticket. Still, I bought one of the kits, and some “curly ribbon” and tiny ornaments to tie under the reindeers’ neck to embellish them a bit. Then, I saw the answer to my dilemma in the Bath and Body Works ad! Small, purse-size hand sanitizers in the most wonderful scents imaginable for $1 each! I ordered 20 of them in a variety of scents. Taping the candy cane reindeer to the small bottle of hand sanitizer would allow the reindeer to “stand.” The tape could be easily removed, and the reindeer could serve as a tree ornament once it got to its new “gift home.”

Annette was thrilled! We spent two hours this past Sunday making the reindeer together. Once again, I found myself dabbing on the glue, holding the reindeer for other hands to put on the nose. Then she held it while I put on the eyes, as they were hard for her to manage. I tied the ornament and bow under the “neck” and twisted the pipe cleaner antlers on top. We bent the antlers into all kinds of crazy shapes and laughed like we were kids. Then I taped on the “legs”—the hand sanitizer—and the reindeer went to their “stall” to await being given away.

I couldn’t help but remember when I was little, how Annette was the one who had helped me do those kinds of crafts. Now, everything is turned around, and I can enjoy this time together in a way that is far different than when I was a child. I find myself in service to her, in a kind of odd role reversal.

You wouldn’t think that candy cane reindeer could look much different from one another, but somehow, they do. When I look at them all lined up in their cardboard box stable, I think of the fun we had making them, and the laughter we shared over simple things—a nose that wouldn’t stay on, crooked eyes, bent antlers. I knew she had enjoyed it as much or more than I had by the look on her face, the way she kept straightening them up, re-bending the antlers on this one or that. I watched her for a few seconds, and she turned to me with a smile—one of true happiness. I hadn’t seen that for a long time.

“I love you.” She took my hand and held it for a moment. “I love you,” she repeated; which means what she is saying, but was also her way of saying “thank you.”

“I love you, too.” Silently, I thank her in my heart for still fighting, for still trying. For being my hero.