Excerpt Monday 9

It’s Excerpt Monday again! Once a month, a bunch of authors get together and post excerpts from published books, contracted work or works in progress, and link to each other. You don’t have to be published to participate–just a writer with an excerpt you’d like to share. For more info on how to participate, head over to the Excerpt Monday site! or click on the banner above.

Today we have an excerpt from my work in progress Rule of Magic.

“Marcán?”

“You shouldn’t be here, Luisea.”

Luisea flinched from him. “I’m sorry for this. My father, he’s not like this. He’s not himself. He’s a gentle, kind man–”

“I’d hate to see how I’d fare if he really hated me then,” he said dryly. He bent down and plucked up two more stones, tossed them with the others, the chains at his wrists rattling.

“Marcán, please-–”

“Go away. I have work to do.” He picked up the mattock, and, turning his back on her, gave a swing and bit the pick point hard into the chalky stony excuse for soil. Until Ailill was willing to listen to common sense he was shit out of luck. He swung the mattock again with extra anger. He was trapped here, at the mercy of that mad healer father of hers, while heaven only knew what was happening at home. He had to get home. He swung again. The blade struck sparks against a rock, and jarred through his bones to his teeth.

“Marcán.”

“What!” he shouted and rounded on her. He threw the mattock aside. It clanged against the stony ground.

“Would you just stop and listen to me! I’m trying to help you.”

He caught her wrist and yanked her against him. With a quick twist her wrists were caught up in his chains and right hand and his left hand laced into her hair, gripping the back of her head. “Then get these chains off me and get me off this island,” he said, low and deadly.

Monday Cheer – Plot Bunnies Strike Again

It’s November, so that means it’s time for National Novel Writing Month.
30 days. 50,000 words. Lots of coffee.

I’ve been working hard, caught between editing Missing Magic, finishing Deeper Than Bone and Nano. And of course, since it’s Nano time, the darned plot bunnies have either been breeding fast, wanting to have their way with all the stories, or hiding and laughing.

Sigh. The writing life.

Excerpt Monday 8

It’s Excerpt Monday again! Once a month, a bunch of authors get together and post excerpts from published books, contracted work or works in progress, and link to each other. You don’t have to be published to participate–just a writer with an excerpt you’d like to share. For more info on how to participate, head over to the Excerpt Monday site! or click on the banner above.

Today we have another excerpt from my fantasy romance novel The Exile. My hero’s scene is an experiment in progress for me writing first person. Nearly killed in an assassination attempt, my hero has had a long, hard recovery. He’s had his hands full reclaiming his life and hanging onto his throne against accusations of madness. Today, after he slipped the watch of his bodyguards, he meets my heroine, who had some secrets of her own.

Was fighting with league council worth it? They’d proven the league was unready for change. A likely waste of breath.

And how much damage had I just managed myself with my surly, headache-driven disappearance from the council chambers? I was to be mending my image, not demolishing it and proving the gossipers truthful. If they ever found out I had lost everything I was in the assassination attempt . . .

Naiaom. My skin crawled. If I didn’t fight, Naiaom would win. If I did fight, Naiaom might still win.

Thoroughly depressed now, I drained my tankard, and let my eyes drift in search of the woman. A much more pleasant occupation for my weary mind.

She was watching me. No one had joined her at her table deep in the back of the room and she hadn’t the air of someone waiting. Tall and graceful and confident carriage that read clearly: ‘mind your own business.’ Near my own height. Bronze-gold hair ruthlessly sleeked back, twisted and pinned. No Shaharalí with that bright hair. Clothes, in a cut and cloth of quality. Not the sort of woman to frequent this dark, seedy tavern, even if they did brew a fine ale.

She cocked her head and gave me a frank, steady look with bright intelligent eyes. She pushed away the empty seat at her table, and lifted a questioning eyebrow.

Monday Cheer – Busy Plotting

Busy is the operative word. Two weeks of school are done. The students and I are settling into the routine. Saturday was NJRW’s third special event with a great workshop by Mary Buckham. I’m taking some online workshops over at FF&P during the 60 Days to Pro event. Taking classes in September was probably not a bright idea, but I couldn’t pass on them. Free is a good thing. Squeeze in a little writing, editing and laundry and whatever time is left, well, that’s for sleep. Sleep is also a good thing.

Excerpt Monday 7

It’s Excerpt Monday again! Once a month, a bunch of authors get together and post excerpts from published books, contracted work or works in progress, and link to each other. You don’t have to be published to participate–just a writer with an excerpt you’d like to share. For more info on how to participate, head over to the Excerpt Monday site! or click on the banner above.

Today we have another excerpt from my Missing Magic, a scene for one of the antagonists in the novel, Snaithan Unagands. His mission is clear: kill Finn macc Líamór. But nothing is ever straightforward and others have their own agendas in the war.

Damned Court games.

Snaithan kept his smile fixed, aware more than ever he’d no one to watch his back in this place. As he followed Governor Regucan and Commander Hrucon, he took the moment’s interruption to glance around the busy Snow Mount hall. A handsome old hall, all waxed wood and dressed stone, with soaring crossed-beam rafters and bright tapestries. Fires crackled pleasantly in the three hearths and the lamplight gave the whole space a warm mellow glow. Easy to forget it was occupied enemy territory.

An interesting mix of folk cluttered Governor Regucan’s supper table: smug Fomorai officers, Leannai nobles with their anxiety hidden behind a thin veil of politic smiles, and cocky Leannai renegades, all tended by harried Leannai and Formorai slaves.

At the head of the table, a tall, slim Leannai woman with downcast eyes sat waiting alone in a heavy, carved and upholstered chair beside the empty matching chair that must be Regucan’s. She wore fur trimmed velvet and jewels, and her gleaming brown hair was done up in a neat crown of plaits dressed with scattered pearls.

Was this Regucan’s captive mistress, Queen Daíríne?