{"id":2232,"date":"2009-08-18T11:57:43","date_gmt":"2009-08-18T16:57:43","guid":{"rendered":"http:\/\/www.daysongreflections.com\/?p=2232"},"modified":"2009-08-18T11:59:11","modified_gmt":"2009-08-18T16:59:11","slug":"the-blue-enchantress-by-m-l-tyndall","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/www.daysongreflections.com\/?p=2232","title":{"rendered":"The Blue Enchantress by M. L. Tyndall"},"content":{"rendered":"

<\/a>\"\"<\/a>It is time for a FIRST Wild Card Tour<\/a><\/strong><\/span> <\/strong> book review! If you wish to join the FIRST blog alliance, just click the button. We are a group of reviewers who tour Christian books. A Wild Card post includes a brief bio of the author and a full chapter from each book toured. The reason it is called a FIRST Wild Card Tour is that you never know if the book will be fiction, non~fiction, for young, or for old…or for somewhere in between! Enjoy your free peek into the book!<\/strong><\/span><\/p>\n

You never know when I might play a wild card on you!<\/em><\/span><\/p>\n

Today’s Wild Card author is: <\/strong><\/div>\n
M. L. Tyndall<\/a><\/span><\/strong><\/div>\n

and the book:<\/span> <\/span><\/strong><\/p>\n

The Blue Enchantress<\/a><\/span><\/strong><\/p>\n

Barbour Books (August 1, 2009)<\/p>\n

ABOUT THE AUTHOR:<\/span> <\/span><\/strong><\/div>\n

\"\"<\/a>
\nM.L. Tyndall, a Christy Award Finalist, and best-selling author of the Legacy of the King\u2019s Pirates series is known for her adventurous historical romances filled with deep spiritual themes. She holds a degree in Math and worked as a software engineer for fifteen years before testing the waters as a writer. MaryLu currently writes full time and makes her home on the California coast with her husband, six kids, and four cats.<\/p>\n

Visit the author’s website<\/a> and blog<\/a>.
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Product Details:<\/p>\n

List Price: $10.97
\nPaperback: 320 pages
\nPublisher: Barbour Books (August 1, 2009)
\nLanguage: English
\nISBN-10: 1602601577
\nISBN-13: 978-1602601574<\/p>\n

AND NOW…THE FIRST CHAPTER:<\/span> <\/strong>
\n<\/span><\/p>\n

\"\"<\/a><\/p>\n

The Blue Enchantress by M.L. Tyndall
\nChapter 1<\/p>\n

St. Kitts, September 1718<\/p>\n

\u201cGentlemen, what will ye offer for this rare treasure of a lady?\u201d The words crashed over Hope Westcott like bilge water. \u201cWhy, she\u2019ll make any of ye a fine wife, a cook, a housemaid\u201d\u2014the man gave a lascivious chuckle\u2014\u201cwhate\u2019er ye desire.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cHow \u2019bout someone to warm me bed at night,\u201d one man bellowed, and a cacophony of chortles gurgled through the air.<\/p>\n

Hope slammed her eyes shut against the mob of men who pressed on three sides of the tall wooden platform, shoving one another to get a better peek at her. Something crawled over her foot, and she pried her eyes open, keeping her face lowered. A black spider skittered away. Red scrapes and bruises marred her bare feet. When had she lost her satin shoes\u2014the gold braided ones she\u2019d worn to impress Lord Falkland? She couldn\u2019t recall.<\/p>\n

\u201cWhat d\u2019ye say? How much for this fine young lady?\u201d The man grabbed a fistful of her hair and yanked her head back. Pain, like a dozen claws, pierced her skull. \u201cShe\u2019s a handsome one, to be sure. And these golden locks.\u201d He attempted to slide his fingers through her matted strands, but before becoming hopelessly entangled in them, he jerked his hand free, wrenching out a clump of her hair. Hope winced. \u201cHave ye seen the likes of them?\u201d<\/p>\n

Ribald whistles and groans of agreement spewed over her.<\/p>\n

\u201cTwo shillings,\u201d one man yelled.<\/p>\n

Hope dared to glance across the throng amassing before the auction block. A wild sea of lustful eyes sprayed over her. A band of men dressed in garments stained with dirt and sweat bunched toward the front, yelling out bids. Behind them, other men in velvet waistcoats leaned their heads together, no doubt to discuss the value of this recent offering, while studying her as if she were a breeding mare. Slaves knelt in the dirt along the outskirts of the mob, waiting for their masters. Beyond them, a row of wooden buildings stretched in either direction. Brazen women emerged from a tavern and draped themselves over the railings, watching Hope\u2019s predicament with interest. On the street, ladies in modish gowns averted their eyes as they tugged the men on their arms from the sordid scene.<\/p>\n

Hope lowered her head. This can\u2019t be happening. I\u2019m dreaming. I am still on the ship. Just a nightmare. Only a nightmare. Humiliation swept over her with an ever-rising dread as the reality of her situation blasted its way through her mind.<\/p>\n

She swallowed hard and tried to drown out the grunts and salacious insults tossed her way by the bartering rabble. Perhaps if she couldn\u2019t hear them, if she couldn\u2019t see them, they would disappear and she would wake up back home, safe in Charles Towne, safe in her bedchamber, safe with her sisters, just like she was before she\u2019d put her trust in a man who betrayed her.<\/p>\n

\u201cEgad, man. Two shillings, is it? For this beauty?\u201d The auctioneer spit off to the side. The yellowish glob landed on Hope\u2019s skirt. Her heart felt as though it had liquefied into an equally offensive blob and oozed down beside it.<\/p>\n

How did I get here? In her terror, she could not remember. She raised her gaze to the auctioneer. Cold eyes, hard like marbles, met hers, and a sinister grin twisted his lips. He adjusted his tricorn to further shade his chubby face from the burning sun.<\/p>\n

\u201cShe looks too feeble for any real work,\u201d another man yelled.<\/p>\n

The sounds of the crowd dimmed. The men\u2019s fists forged into the air as if pushing through mud. Garbled laughter drained from their yellow-toothed mouths like molasses. Hope\u2019s heart beat slower, and she wished for death.<\/p>\n

The gentle lap of waves caressed her ears, their peaceful cadence drawing her away. Tearing her gaze from the nightmarish spectacle, she glanced over her shoulder, past the muscled henchmen who\u2019d escorted her here. Two docks jutted out into a small bay brimming with sparkling turquoise water where several ships rocked back and forth as if shaking their heads at her in pity. Salt and papaya and sun combined in a pleasant aroma that lured her mind away from her present horror.<\/p>\n

Her eyes locked upon the glimmering red and gold figurine of Ares at the bow of Lord Falkland\u2019s ship. She blinked back the burning behind her eyes. When she\u2019d boarded it nigh a week past\u2014or was it two weeks\u2014all her hopes and dreams had boarded with her. Somewhere along the way, they had been cast into the depths of the sea. She only wished she had joined them. Although the ship gleamed majestically in the bay, all she had seen of it for weeks had been the four walls of a small cabin below deck.<\/p>\n

The roar of the crowd wrenched her mind back to the present and turned her face forward.<\/p>\n

\u201cFive shillings.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201c\u2019Tis robbery, and ye know it,\u201d the auctioneer barked. \u201cWhere are any of ye clods goin\u2019 t\u2019 find a real lady like this?\u201d<\/p>\n

A stream of perspiration raced down Hope\u2019s back as if seeking escape. But there was no escape. She was about to be sold as a slave, a harlot to one of these cruel and prurient taskmasters. A fate worse than death. A fate her sister had fought hard to keep her from. A fate Hope had brought upon herself. Numbness crept over her even as her eyes filled with tears. Oh God. This can\u2019t be happening.<\/p>\n

She gazed upward at the blue sky dusted with thick clouds, hoping for some deliverance, some sign that God had not abandoned her.<\/p>\n

The men continued to haggle, their voices booming louder and louder, grating over her like the howls of demons.<\/p>\n

Her head felt like it had detached from her body and was floating up to join the clouds. Palm trees danced in the light breeze coming off the bay. Their tall trunks and fronds formed an oscillating blur of green and brown. The buildings, the mob, and the whole heinous scene joined the growing mass and began twirling around Hope. Her legs turned to jelly, and she toppled to the platform.<\/p>\n

\u201cGet up!\u201d A sharp crack stung her cheek. Two hands like rough rope clamped over her arms and dragged her to her feet. Pain lanced through her right foot where a splinter had found a home. Holding a hand to her stinging face, Hope sobbed.<\/p>\n

The henchman released her with a grunt of disgust.<\/p>\n

\u201cI told ye she won\u2019t last a week,\u201d one burly man shouted.<\/p>\n

\u201cShe ain\u2019t good for nothing but to look at.\u201d<\/p>\n

Planting a strained grin upon his lips, the auctioneer swatted her rear end. \u201cAye, but she\u2019s much more stout than she appears, gentlemen.\u201d<\/p>\n

Horrified and no longer caring about the repercussions, Hope slapped the man\u2019s face. He raised his fist, and she cowered. The crowd roared its mirth.<\/p>\n

\u201cOne pound, then,\u201d a tall man sporting a white wig called out. \u201cI could use me a pretty wench.\u201d Withdrawing a handkerchief, he dabbed at the perspiration on his forehead.<\/p>\n

Wench. Slave. Hope shook her head, trying to force herself to accept what her mind kept trying to deny. A sudden surge of courage, based on naught but her instinct to survive, stiffened her spine. She thrust out her chin and faced the auctioneer. \u201cI beg your pardon, sir. There\u2019s been a mistake. I am no slave.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cIndeed?\u201d He cocked one brow and gave her a patronizing smirk.<\/p>\n

Hope searched the horde for a sympathetic face\u2014just one. \u201cMy name is Miss Hope Westcott,\u201d she shouted. \u201cMy father is Admiral Henry Westcott. I live in Charles Towne with my two sisters.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cAnd I\u2019m King George,\u201d a farmer howled, slapping his knee.<\/p>\n

\u201cMy father will pay handsomely for my safe return.\u201d Hope scanned the leering faces. Not one. Not one look of sympathy or belief or kindness. Fear crawled up her throat. She stomped her foot, sending a shard of pain up her leg. \u201cYou must believe me,\u201d she sobbed. \u201cI don\u2019t belong here.\u201d<\/p>\n

Ignoring the laughter, Hope spotted a purple plume fluttering in the breeze atop a gold-trimmed hat in the distance. \u201cArthur!\u201d She darted for the stairs but two hands grabbed her from behind and held her in place. \u201cDon\u2019t leave me! Lord Falkland!\u201d She struggled in her captor\u2019s grasp. His grip tightened, sending a throbbing ache across her back.<\/p>\n

Swerving about, Lord Falkland tapped his cane into the dirt and tipped the brim of his hat up, but the distance between them forbade Hope a vision of his expression.<\/p>\n

\u201cTell them who I am, Arthur. Please save me!\u201d<\/p>\n

He leaned toward the woman beside him and said something, then coughed into his hand. What is he doing? The man who once professed an undying love for Hope, the man who promised to marry her, to love her forever, the man who bore the responsibility for her being here in the first place. How could he stand there and do nothing while she met such a hideous fate?<\/p>\n

The elegant lady beside him turned her nose up at Hope, then, threading her arm through Lord Falkland\u2019s, she wheeled him around and pulled him down the road.<\/p>\n

Hope watched him leave, and with each step of his cordovan boots, her heart and her very soul sank deeper into the wood of the auction block beneath her feet.<\/p>\n

Nothing made any sense. Had the world gone completely mad?<\/p>\n

\u201cTwo pounds,\u201d a corpulent man in the back roared.<\/p>\n

A memory flashed through Hope\u2019s mind as she gazed across the band of men. A vision of African slaves, women and children, being auctioned off in Charles Towne. How many times had she passed by, ignoring them, uncaring, unconcerned by the proceedings?<\/p>\n

Was this God\u2019s way of repaying her for her selfishness, her lack of charity?<\/p>\n

\u201cFive pounds.\u201d<\/p>\n

Disappointed curses rumbled among the men at the front, who had obviously reached their limit of coin.<\/p>\n

The auctioneer\u2019s mouth spread wide, greed dripping from its corners. \u201cFive pounds, gentlemen. Do I hear six for this lovely lady?\u201d<\/p>\n

A blast of hot air rolled over Hope, stealing her breath. Human sweat, fish, and horse manure filled her nose and saturated her skin. The unforgiving sun beat a hot hammer atop her head until she felt she would ignite into a burning torch at any moment. Indeed, she prayed she would. Better to be reduced to a pile of ashes than endure what the future held for her.<\/p>\n

\u201cSix pounds,\u201d a short man with a round belly and stiff brown wig yelled from the back of the mob in a tone that indicated he knew what he was doing and had no intention of losing his prize. Decked in the a fine damask waistcoat, silk breeches, and a gold-chained pocket watch, which he kept snapping open and shut, he exuded wealth and power from his pores.<\/p>\n

Hope\u2019s stomach twisted into a vicious knot, and she clutched her throat to keep from heaving whatever shred of moisture remained in her empty stomach.<\/p>\n

The auctioneer gaped at her, obviously shocked she could command such a price. Rumblings overtook the crowd as the short man pushed his way through to claim his prize. The closer he came, the faster Hope\u2019s chest heaved and the lighter her head became. Blood pounded in her ears, drowning out the groans of the mob. No, God. No.<\/p>\n

\u201cDo I hear seven?\u201d the auctioneer bellowed. \u201cShe\u2019s young and will breed you some fine sons.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cJust what I\u2019ll be needing.\u201d The man halted at the platform, glanced over the crowd for any possible competitors, then took the stairs to Hope\u2019s right. He halted beside her too close for propriety\u2019s sake and assailed her with the stench of lard and tobacco. A long purple scar crossed his bloated, red face as his eyes grazed over her like a stallion on a breeding mare. Hope shuddered and gasped for a breath of air. Her palms broke out in a sweat, and she rubbed them on her already moist gown.<\/p>\n

The auctioneer threw a hand to his hip and gazed over the crowd.<\/p>\n

The man squeezed her arms, and Hope snapped from his grasp and took a step back, abhorred at his audacity. He chuckled. \u201cNot much muscle on her, but she\u2019s got pluck.\u201d<\/p>\n

He belched, placed his watch back into the fob pocket of his breeches, and removed a leather pouch from his belt. \u201cSix pounds it is.\u201d<\/p>\n

The silver tip of a sword hung at his side. If Hope were quick about it, perhaps she could grab it and, with some luck, fight her way out of here. She clenched her teeth. Who was she trying to fool? Where was her pirate sister when she needed her? Surely Faith would know exactly what to do. Yet what did it matter? Hope would rather die trying to escape than become this loathsome man\u2019s slave.<\/p>\n

As the man counted out the coins into the auctioneer\u2019s greedy hands, Hope reached for the sword.<\/p><\/div>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"

It is time for a FIRST Wild Card Tour book review! If you wish to join the FIRST blog alliance, just click the button. We are a group of reviewers who tour Christian books. A Wild Card post includes a brief bio of the author and a full chapter from each book toured. The reason […]<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":1,"featured_media":0,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"_et_pb_use_builder":"","_et_pb_old_content":"","_et_gb_content_width":"","footnotes":""},"categories":[37,8,34,41],"tags":[194,193,51,49,50],"class_list":["post-2232","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","hentry","category-adventure","category-books","category-historical","category-romance","tag-adventure","tag-books","tag-historical-fiction","tag-pirates","tag-tyndall"],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.daysongreflections.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/2232","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.daysongreflections.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.daysongreflections.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.daysongreflections.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/users\/1"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.daysongreflections.com\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fcomments&post=2232"}],"version-history":[{"count":11,"href":"https:\/\/www.daysongreflections.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/2232\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":2254,"href":"https:\/\/www.daysongreflections.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/2232\/revisions\/2254"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.daysongreflections.com\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fmedia&parent=2232"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.daysongreflections.com\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fcategories&post=2232"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.daysongreflections.com\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Ftags&post=2232"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}