Tag Archives: romance

An Interview with Mary Morgan, Author of QUEST OF A WARRIOR

16 Wednesday Aug 2017

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A warm welcome to Mary Morgan!  Congrats on your new release, Quest of a Warrior!  It’s getting rave reviews, and I wish you great success with it.  Now, let’s get this interview started!

At what age did you write your first story? Around the age of ten. Prior to that, I was writing short poems about my pets.

Which genre was the first to hook you? Historical Fiction.

What was your first published book? Dragon Knight’s Sword

What’s your favorite part of the writing process? Brainstorming? Research? Outlining? Writing? Editing? Research and outlining the story. I’m obsessed with finding historical details—no matter how small—to fit into my stories.

Those historical details are so important! I also love doing research and outlines for my books. What are you working on now? Currently, I have two projects. In pre-galley edits with a Dragon Knights novella, scheduled for release near the holidays. It’s centered around Fiona’s brother, Desmond O’Quinlan. Fiona is the heroine from Dragon Knight’s Axe, and you were introduced to all of her brothers in that story. In addition, I’m writing the second Fenian Warrior, Rory MacGregor’s story called Oath of a Warrior.

Of all the settings you’ve used (or created!) for your books, which is your favorite? Why? Without a doubt, Urquhart Castle in Scotland! I’ve dreamt of this place for decades and was fortunate to explore the ruins this summer. I’ve always been drawn to the beauty and mystery of Urquhart and of course, Loch Ness. That day will remain etched within my soul.

I know the feeling, that tug on your soul which is undeniable. I also visited Urquhart, back when I studied in Aberdeen. The ruins and loch are the stuff of dreams! Speaking of which, have you ever dreamed about a character you created? No. Yet, Angus MacKay (hero and oldest brother from Dragon Knight’s Shield) did approach me at Urquhart. It was a surreal moment—one where I was all alone in this small stone enclosure, glancing outward at the loch through an arched window. He told me, “Ye have told our tale well.”

Very cool! If you could have a conversation with anyone—dead or alive—who would it be? The great Irish King, Brian Boru (941-1014) of Ireland. Brian led the Irish to the peak of their Golden Age—from poetry, arts, saints, and scholars. A remarkable man.

I’ve long admired Brian Boru, too! If you could travel to any time and place, when and where would that be? Kensington Palace. June 20, 1837, the morning Victoria was told she had become queen. A pivotal point in British history. She was young and sheltered. Yet, Victoria proved them all wrong with her strength and determination.

That would be amazing to witness! If you could step inside any book or series and live there for a week, which would you choose? My own—the Dragon Knights of Urquhart!

If a fairy godmother appeared and offered you one thing—anything at all—what would you request? To heal all those in great pain.

I share that desire.  Now, it’s time to learn some of your favorites!

Sound: Babies laughter
Eye color: Green
Foreign language (whether or not you speak it!): Gaelic
Song: The Celts by Enya
Book: I have many favorites, so I can’t limit it to one, lol! “The Lion of Ireland” by Morgan Llywelyn. “The Mists of Avalon” by Marion Zimmer Bradley. “Outlander” by Diana Gabaldon.  (Ooh! The Mists of Avalon! I have that book in English and Swedish.)
Movie: Braveheart
TV show: The Highlander (Adrian Paul). It’s an old series, but remains my favorite.
Cuisine: Italian
Cookie: Shortbread
US location: Pacific Northwest (Love!)
Foreign location: Scotland and Ireland (Double love!)

And finally, list your preference from the following choices:

Tea or coffee? Both!
Cake or pie? Pie
Halloween or Christmas? Christmas
Nancy Drew or Sherlock Holmes? Nancy Drew
Jane Austen or the Brontë sisters? Jane Austen
A mortal, vampire, ghost, or fae for a lover? Vampire
English gent, Scottish highlander, European count, or all-American guy? Scottish Highlander

A little about Quest of a Warrior

“You met them in the Order of the Dragon Knights. Now, journey to the realm of the Fae and witness their legends!”

Fenian Warrior, Conn MacRoich has traveled the earth for thousands of years, guarding the realm between mortal and Fae. His deeds are legendary. Yet, one mistake will force him on a journey to fix a broken time-line. However, on Conn’s quest, he must face a human female who will eventually bring this ancient warrior to his knees.

When Ivy O’Callaghan inherits her uncle’s estate, she never imagines there will be more secrets to unravel, including the one she hides from the world. With the help of a mysterious stranger, she learns to trust and step out of the shadows. However, nothing prepares Ivy when she learns Conn’s true identity.

As the loom of fate weaves a thread around the lovers from two different worlds, will the sacrifices they make lead them to love? Or will their secrets destroy and separate them forever?

A peek between the pages

“Intoxication can unleash the beast within a Fae.” ~ Chronicles of the Fae

Conn fought the bolt of desire spearing a path throughout his body. Her touch spoke volumes—an invitation to taste. Never had he longed to kiss a human like this wee lass. His heart beat loudly, and he found himself unable to move. She was a Goddess of the moonlight. It danced off her face and hair, and he trembled before her. Ivy’s fingers traced down his cheek and across his lips. He was helpless to contain the growl that escaped from his mouth.

The rush of passion overtook him, and Conn slammed the door on his mind. Grasping Ivy around the waist, he hoisted her up on top of the bridge. Her lips parted on a sigh, and he lowered his mouth to feast on something he dared not take. The first brush of her soft lips against his own ignited a hunger he could no longer contain. Taking her moan deep into him, Conn glorified in the sensation of her mouth—one filled with a honeyed sweetness.

The Fae warrior became just a man for the first time. Something primal burst within him. Emotions he had never felt left him dizzy, spiraling to a physical plane. He craved them all. His lips seared a course down her neck, to her throat, and then recaptured the velvet warmth of her mouth.

Where to purchase Quest of a Warrior

AMAZON: https://www.amazon.com/Quest-Warrior-Legends-Fenian-Warriors-ebook/dp/B072HPBMDM/
Barnes&Noble: http://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/quest-of-a-warrior-mary-morgan/1126404360/
Kobo: https://www.kobo.com/us/en/ebook/quest-of-a-warrior

More about Mary

Award-winning Scottish paranormal romance author, Mary Morgan, resides in Northern California, with her own knight in shining armor. However, during her travels to Scotland, England, and Ireland, she left a part of her soul in one of these countries and vows to return.

Mary’s passion for books started at an early age along with an overactive imagination. She spent far too much time daydreaming and was told quite often to remove her head from the clouds. It wasn’t until the closure of Borders Books where Mary worked that she found her true calling–writing romance. Now, the worlds she created in her mind are coming to life within her stories.

Where to find Mary

WEBSITE: http://www.marymorganauthor.com
BLOG: http://www.marymorganauthor.com/blog
TWITTER: http://twitter.com/m_morganauthor
FACEBOOK AUTHOR PAGE: https://www.facebook.com/MaryMorganAuthor/
FACEBOOK: http://www.facebook.com/mary.morgan.564
GOODREADS: http://www.goodreads.com/author/show/8271002.Mary_Morgan
AMAZON AUTHOR PAGE: http://www.amazon.com/Mary-Morgan/e/B00KPE3NWI/
PINTEREST: http://www.pinterest.com/marymorgan50/
INSTAGRAM: https://www.instagram.com/marymorgan2/
BOOKBUB: https://www.bookbub.com/authors/mary-morgan

Thanks so much for joining me today, Mary.  All the best with your new release!

The Cauldron Stirred – Giveaway!

31 Monday Jul 2017

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I’m doing a giveaway of my new release, The Cauldron Stirred, on Goodreads.  Enter now through August 15, and you could win one of two signed copies.  If you love Ireland, fantasy, the paranormal, romance, mystery, or all of the above, you might want to check it out.

Good luck to all who enter!  🙂

A little about The Cauldron Stirred:

Ashling Donoghue never dreamed moving to Ireland would rock her perception of reality and plunge her into a mystery that brings legend to life.

At seventeen, she’s never had a boyfriend, but she feels an immediate connection to Aengus Breasal, the son of the wealthy Irishman who’s invited her family to stay at his Killarney estate.  For the first time in her life, a guy she likes seems attracted to her.

But Aengus is secretive, with good reason.  He and his family are the Tuatha Dé Danann, ageless, mythical guardians adept at shifting between this reality and the magical dimension known as the Otherworld.  Evil forces from that world threaten the Breasals, the Donoghues, and all of Ireland.  Ashling must open her heart, face her fears, and embrace a destiny greater than she could ever have imagined.

Ice, ice, baby!

15 Wednesday Feb 2017

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rykevik-rooftops-1230557-640x480In the summer of 1993, after living in Sweden for six months, I flew back to the States.  My flight had a three-hour layover in Iceland’s Keflavík International Airport, just outside of Reykjavík.  I remained in the airport for the duration, but I couldn’t shake the curious murmur of destiny that tickled my ears.

This place is important.  Not Keflavík or Reykjavík, but farther out.  One day, you must return.

Six years later in Virginia, after I moved in with my husband (then fiancé) Dan, I had a vivid dream.  I drifted with the wind over fjord and field to what seemed a farewell scene.  A woman with long, dark blonde hair stood beside a horse and rider.  The man astride the horse had shoulder-length red hair and a full beard, and I sensed he held a position of importance.

I floated toward the woman’s back and suddenly became her.  The mergence held long enough for me to exchange good-byes with the man.  Then I shifted back out of her and hovered in the air, regaining my modern identity.

Without warning, as though whacked over the head with Thor’s hammer, I became infused with knowledge.  It was the 10th century, and we’d spoken Old Norse.  There’d been a meeting of chieftains, and the red-haired man was setting out on a long journey.  I (as the woman) had used precognitive skills to verify his safety and success.  I knew he cared for me and hoped we’d be reunited soon.  Less clear was our exact location.  I received a strong impression of Iceland, but murmurs beyond it hinted at the Isle of Man, the Hebrides, and a land of promise far to the west.

Then it dawned on me:  the character on horseback was Dan.  The one looked nothing like the other, but their essence was the same.  It didn’t feel like a dream; it resonated as a moment in history, from Dan’s past and mine.

One week later, we snuggled on the couch and watched the film Smilla’s Sense of Snow, part of which takes place in Greenland.

As the movie ended, I sighed.  “I have to go to there someday.”

“Yeah.”  His voice was wistful.  “That’d be cool.  You know where else we should go?  Iceland.  Do you want to?”

Did I?!  By week’s end, we’d booked a five-day excursion departing in mid-February.  His willingness to make the trip in the dead of winter confirmed what I’d come to believe as truth:  I had met my match.

Here was a fellow fan of wind and snow.  Here, too, was the bearded man I’d known and loved in a distant but distinct dreamtime.

26488_1376520863710_7367662_nWe spent a couple of days in Reykjavík and its environs.  Two of the more impressive sights were the Strokkur geyser and the majestic, half-frozen Gullfoss (Golden Falls).  Honorable mention goes to a “Viking restaurant” in Hafnafjöđur.  During our meal, traditionally clad men serenaded us with old Icelandic tunes whose meter and mode conjured visions of longships on the prowl.  The food was delicious…until we tried an Icelandic delicacy called hákarl.  That’s putrefied shark to you and me!  Thanks to a chaser of brennivín, an Icelandic schnapps, we stomached it and lived to tell the tale.

Next, we flew up to the “capital of the north,” Akureyri.  For three days, we braved the elements to cover as much ground as possible.  The snow was deep, and the wind was fierce, which translated to lonely stretches of road where our rental car was the only vehicle around.

There seemed a definite shortage of fellow tourists, but we did come across a group of Icelandic horses.  They squinted and blinked at the icy blasts, and they acknowledged us with quizzical expressions.

 

I could almost hear their thoughts.  Are you two crazy?  Even we would rather be indoors!

 

Still, we carried on, from the old whaling town of Húsavík to the towering lava formations called Dimmuborgir (“Dark Castles”) of Lake Mývatn.  One afternoon as we drove along yet another windswept, deserted road, the clouds parted, allowing a shaft of light to illuminate a giant shape in the distance.

It was a volcanic hill, but it had the aura and majesty of a mountain.  Its relatively flat top was rounded at the edges, which softened its otherwise looming presence high above the snow-covered plateau.  We nicknamed it “Valhalla” because (1) it attracted the only ray of light for miles around, and (2) its brilliance seemed blinding to eyes now accustomed to leaden skies.

Those skies remained our constant companion as we explored numerous craters and other volcanic creations around Mývatn, but whenever “Valhalla” came into view, it shone like a beacon.  We had to laugh.  It seemed preposterous that the sun should ignore every feature of the landscape but one.

That night, in our Akureyri hotel room, a strange sound woke me.  I rolled over in bed and stared at Dan.

He was talking in his sleep, but not in English.  It was a Scandinavian tongue, similar to Icelandic, and I almost understood it.  I felt right on the verge, like when a word or thought is on the tip of your tongue.  Given a slight, indefinable shift, I would’ve comprehended it.

All at once, I knew.  He was speaking Old Norse.

I didn’t wake him, and after a couple of minutes, he stopped.  But his easy pronunciation, fluency, and the authority of his speech echoed in my mind.

I thought of my mom.  Twice before, she heard me speak another language in my sleep:  Irish in Ireland and years later, Welsh in Wales.  For the record, I’ve never learned those languages, just as Dan has never learned a Scandinavian one.

iceland-glacier-lakes-5-1511771-639x960That was 17 years ago this month.  The experience lent the trip a touch of magic.  But all travel has the potential to be magical.  Distant places and different cultures expand our horizons and wake us up in profound ways.  I can’t help thinking of a quote from the movie Dune.  “The sleeper must awaken.”

In The Novels of Ravenwood series, the heroes of Books 1 and 3 are knights who’ve recently returned from the Holy Land.  They experienced the horrors of battle, but also learned to appreciate aspects of the cultural mix they encountered.  I’m still writing the third book, Shadow of the Swan.  But you can check out the first book, Flight of the Raven, to learn how the hero’s time overseas influenced him.  Happy reading!

Extra! Extra! Read all about it!

31 Tuesday Jan 2017

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Hi, everyone!  Here’s the scoop on Soul of the Wolf, the second of The Novels of Ravenwood:

A Norman loyalist, Lady Jocelyn bristles when ordered to marry Wulfstan, a Saxon sorcerer. She nurses a painful secret and would rather bathe in a cesspit than be pawed by such a man…until her lifelong dream of motherhood rears its head.

A man of magic and mystery, Wulfstan has no time for wedded bliss. He fears that consummating their marriage will bind their souls and wrench his focus from the ancient riddle his dying mother begged him to solve. He’s a lone wolf, salving old wounds with endless work. But Jocelyn stirs him as no woman ever has.

Their attraction is undeniable. Their fates are intertwined. Together, they must face their demons and bring light to a troubled land.

I just got the release date:  April 12, 2017.  It’ll be here before you know it!

If you haven’t read Flight of the Raven, the first in the series, now would be a good time to check it out.  It’s available on Amazon, Barnes and Noble, and other online retailers, and of course, from The Wild Rose Press.perf5.000x8.000.indd

 

“I will!” And I would again in a heartbeat.

21 Saturday Jan 2017

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In the summer of 1999, I made up my mind to move to Williamsburg, Virginia and work for the Colonial Williamsburg Foundation.  I flew into Newport News and gave myself one week to secure a job and a place to live.  With dispatch, I achieved both goals, which left me with spare time at the end of said week.  I ambled around CW’s historic area, wholly unaware I had a date with destiny.

I schlepped along DOG (Duke of Gloucester) Street.  Thanks to the heat and humidity, I thought I was going to pass out.  Then I spied a divine stretch of shade beneath the entrance to the 18th-century courthouse and made a beeline for it.

A young man in colonial garb with wavy, brown hair and blue-gray eyes guarded the door.  I must’ve looked pathetic, because he grinned as I approached.

“Can I share your shade?” I begged.

“Of course,” he said.

We remarked on the hellish heat, shook hands, and introduced ourselves as Dan and Judy.  We settled into an easy conversation, and I learned he was a native of New Jersey and had recently moved to Williamsburg with the express purpose of working for CW, just as I had.

For some reason, I told him I’d studied at the University of Aberdeen in Scotland.  His eyes lit up, and he explained that his ancestors had held lands around Aberdeen.  In fact, Marischal College at the University of Aberdeen was founded by an Earl Marischal of Scotland.

We had a number of things in common.  With minimal adjustments to circumstance, we might’ve met before in England or Massachusetts.  We could’ve talked for hours, but he had to get back to work.

“Good luck with your new job,” he said, shaking my hand once more.  “Maybe I’ll see you around.”

A week later, after I’d well and truly moved to Williamsburg, I was back in the historic area.  This time, I explored the Magazine.

All of a sudden, the memory of Dan’s blue-gray eyes invaded my thoughts.  Where are you, Dan? I asked in silence.

Without knowing why, I marched down the stairs and out of the Magazine.  Then I crossed DOG Street and the Courthouse green in a straight line that led right to the Randolph House.

There stood Dan in 18th-century costume, guarding the gate against the long line of tourists.  Somehow I’d answered my own question and known where to go.  Or perhaps, a part of Dan had “heard” my question and responded on a level of which neither of us was consciously aware.

I started toward him.  “Hi.  You probably don’t remember me, but I’m Judy.  I met you a week ago.”

“Of course I remember you,” he said.

That was a shocker.  But I didn’t have time to react because another costumed interpreter approached us.

Dan glanced at the newcomer.  “Perfect timing.”

Perfect was right.  It was time for Dan’s break, and the other interpreter was his replacement.

We strolled down Nicholson Street toward the Cabinetmaker.  Casual observers might’ve mistaken us for longtime friends.  As for me, I had a gut feeling we were meant to meet.  It felt right to walk beside him.  I knew on some level, I’d chosen to do so.

His break was short, so we parted at Botetourt Street.  But not before he asked me to dinner.

That evening, he took me to a Mexican restaurant where we indulged in freshly baked tortilla chips, a tasty array of enchiladas, and a candid conversation that ran the gamut from our respective childhoods to our impressions of Williamsburg.  It was a long exchange…so long that we were the last customers out the door.

Even so, we were reluctant to part company.  Dan suggested we go to his apartment to watch a movie.  I’m surprised I wasn’t nervous.  Why?  Two reasons.  One:  he invited me to his apartment on our first date.  Two:  we watched Silence of the Lambs.  How’s that for a first-date flick?!

When the ominous soundtrack swelled above the rolling credits, it was the perfect complement to my thoughts, but not about Dan.  The one and only nuisance to my nerves that night was my new job, which would begin in roughly eight hours.  I turned to Dan and confessed my worries.

He covered my hand with his.  “You’ll do fine.”

Serenity, surrender, and a strong sense of déjà vu rushed through me.  It seemed we’d sat beside each other in just that way hundreds of times before.

This man will support me, I thought.  He’ll protect me with his life.

58072_1665016995933_6614003_n  From then on, we spent all of our free time together.  Two months later, I moved in with him.

Two months more, and we were home from work with nasty colds.  Our trash cans overflowed with discarded tissues.  We’d consumed at least a gallon of chicken soup and sneezed on each other more times than we could count.  It was quite possibly the most unromantic day in history.  But then…

Dan sat splayed across the couch as I shuffled toward him in my bathrobe and slippers.  I made a ludicrous joke, and he was gracious enough to laugh.  I knelt on the couch to hug him, and his arms closed around me.

Laughter still touched his voice as he asked, “Will you marry me?”

I thought he was joking.  “Sure,” I said with a dismissive gesture.  “Someday.”

“You mean you will?”

I pulled back to read his expression.  “You’re serious?”

He was indeed.  Our engagement had begun.

We had a choice about whom we would marry.  Most of us in modern times take that for granted.  In my first two medieval romances, the heroines—Emma, Lady Ravenwood and Jocelyn, Lady Nihtscua—must grin and bear arranged marriages, however much they object.  Luckily, their benevolent creator (yours truly!) believes in happy endings…maybe because I’m content in the relationship I was fortunate enough to choose 17 Januarys ago.

                                                     ~ ~ ~

Soul of the Wolf, the second of The Novels of Ravenwood, will be available soon.  The first book, Flight of the Raven, is available now.  Click here!

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When Art Imitates Life

12 Thursday Jan 2017

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stairway-on-the-beach-2-1178704-1920x1440            When I was nine, my paternal grandmother died of cancer.  She and I were close, so I dreaded the open-casket funeral.  As it turned out, the experience was quite different from what I expected.  I studied her made-up face with more curiosity than sorrow.

             That’s not Grandma in the coffin, I thought.  It’s just a shell.

The air was heavy with whispers, sobs, and the scent of flowers, but I sensed my grandmother hovering at the back of the room, watching us all.  When my grandfather broke down in front of the casket, she rushed to his side, faster than those of flesh and blood could.  This awareness of her continued presence made the whole event seem like a bizarre play.  Unsure of my role in it, I said nothing of my impressions.

The next time I saw my grandmother was months later in a dream.  She looked much the same as she had in life, though bliss appeared to have smoothed the minimal lines on her face.  We sat together in a well-appointed bungalow, into which drifted the sound of waves crashing on a shore.  We played cards and marble solitaire, and while we didn’t speak, our hearts communicated volumes.  Love and peace enveloped me, but I knew our time together was brief.

Suddenly, she smiled at me, and I heard her thoughts.  Come.  I want to show you something.

We stepped outside where the sky glowed with the rosy hue of twilight.  I followed her along a path of stones to a beach that seemed to stretch into infinity.  Then I noticed the ocean and did a double take.

The water was golden and full of light.  The waves crested, but instead of curving over, they extended–as though over a box–before colliding with the sand.  My mind registered the image of a square, then a cube, and finally something like a hypercube (or tesseract) rotating on a single axis.

Abruptly, I awoke.  I leapt out of bed, snatched a pen from my desk, and wrote in my dream journal:  Grandma in a cottage at the beach.  Square waves.  Fourth dimension.  In a daze, I climbed back into bed, burrowed under the covers, and fell asleep.

At nine years of age, I had no formal knowledge of geometry or physics.  When I observed what I’d written the next day, the idea of a fourth dimension was foreign.  But in the moment I emerged from the dream, it made perfect sense.

The fourth dimension holds meaning for mathematicians and metaphysicians alike.  In geometry, a tesseract (made, in principle, by combining two cubes) is the four-dimensional analog of the cube, just as the cube is the three-dimensional analog of the square.  In spiritual studies, the fourth dimension is linked to a higher frequency or vibration of energy, interpreted as the astral plane (the realm we enter during astral travel and at physical death).  Apparently, we become conscious of it when beings from higher dimensions intersect with our three-dimensional reality.

Maybe my grandmother paid me a visit.  Maybe I traveled via the astral plane to visit her.  All I know is our first reunion was as beautiful and as deep as the shining waters she revealed.

This experience and others like it inevitably find their way into my writing.  In The Novels of Ravenwood series, some of the characters are aware of other dimensions.  They receive information through visions or dreams, sometimes from a loved one who’s crossed over.  It’s historical romance with a dash of magical realism.  Medievals with a hint of the mystical.  I hope you enjoy Flight of the Raven and Soul of the Wolf (soon to be released).  I’m currently writing the third in the series, Shadow of the Swan.

Flight of the Raven is available now on Amazon.  Click here!

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Worldwide Release of Flight of the Raven

30 Friday Sep 2016

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FlightoftheRaven_w10928_750Today is the official release of Flight of the Raven, the first of The Novels of Ravenwood series.  I’m excited to continue working on the series with the publisher, The Wild Rose Press, and should have news about the second book soon.  Until then, happy reading!  Click here for purchase options.

The Magic of Fiction

28 Wednesday Sep 2016

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This morning, I overheard my twelve-year-old twin sons concocting a story.  One took charge of the writing; the other, the illustrations.  The longer I listened, the younger I felt.  Memories from my own childhood came rushing back.  The hours I spent dreaming up stories.  The passion that flowed through me as I put pen to paper.  The joy of conjuring just the right words to paint a picture, a character, an entire world.  That passion and joy guided me toward my present life as an author.  They took center stage as I penned my historical romance, Flight of the Raven, the first of The Novels of Ravenwood.

Fiction is fun!  It’s magical and fills me with childlike wonder.  Inspiration strikes, and my mind comes alive with faces, names, settings, and scenarios.  Characters become as real as family and friends.  Dialogue flows, and suddenly, I’m taking dictation.  The story unfolds, and one page wends toward three hundred.

Before I know it, I’ve created a whole world.  Readers I’ve never met will enter and inhabit it.  Their imaginations will add to it, shaping my world into something unique to each reader.  That’s the miracle of fiction.  As writers and readers, we co-create experiences that not only enhance everyday life but lift us out of it into a realm where anything is possible.

The greatest gift for an author is knowing her work makes others happy.  Needless to say, I’m a fan of happily ever after.  And I’m a fan of anyone who embraces the magic of the written word.  A big thanks to my children for reminding me of it this morning.

I hope you enjoy Flight of the Raven.  Happy reading!

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Buy now at The Wild Rose Press, Amazon, Barnes and Noble, and other online retailers