Call of the Trumpet (45 page)

Don’t miss the next exciting novel by Helen A. Rosburg

A SONG OF THE SEA

Prologue

“O
OOOO, YOUR HANDS ARE COLD
. G
ET THEM OFF
… off!” Sarah giggled and pushed at the groping fingers under her blouse.

“Come on, Sarah.” Bobby plunged his face into her neck and tried to fasten his lips on the tender flesh he found there. When she pushed him away again, he put his mouth to her ear. “Why’d y’come out with me tonight if not for a bit o’ fun?”

Still giggling, Sarah twisted away and ran a few steps down the beach. When he grabbed her from behind, pushed her long, brown hair aside and began nibbling the back of her neck, she got such delicious shivers she let him continue. She closed her eyes and momentarily surrendered to the sound of the waves pounding on the shore and the feel of Bobby’s insistent lips, at the moment capturing her left ear lobe and sending even stronger sensations through her body. Did her knees actually feel weak?

Yes, they did. They definitely did. And the answer to Bobby’s question was yes. Yes, she had agreed to sneak out and meet him on this lonely patch of coast for “a bit o’ fun,” as he put it. She really did like him, and she loved the way he made her feel. Forcing herself to relax, Sarah leaned back into Bobby’s embrace.

His ardor was immediately evident. There was that funny feeling again, deep, deep in her abdomen. She did not protest when he gently began to turn her in his arms.

“Aaaahhhh!” Sarah clapped a hand over her mouth to stifle her frightened cry. She felt Bobby stiffen.

“Holy God,” Bobby muttered. “What’s that?”

Sarah could only shake her head as she watched the ghostly figure walk slowly down the cliffside path to the beach. It appeared to be a woman; the night wind billowed the voluminous white garment she wore and made a tangled riot of long, dark hair … streaked with white, she could now see.

“I thought you said we’d be alone here,” Bobby hissed in her ear.

Sarah nodded. The figure was certainly human, not a wraith. “I … I thought we would be,” she whispered. “There’s only old Mrs. Mahoney who lives in a cottage nearby. But she’s … she’s …”

“She’s what?” Bobby prompted, growing impatient as passion cooled.

“She’s old and sick,” Sarah replied quickly, turning over the village gossip in her head. “All her grandchildren have come to visit this summer. Everyone says it’s to say goodbye.”

“Well, she doesn’t look terminally old and sick right at this moment in time.”

Sarah had to agree. Momentarily forgetting her interrupted tryst with her erstwhile boyfriend, she watched the woman she presumed to be Mary Mahoney walk to the seashore with strong, determined strides.

“In fact,” Bobby growled, “she looks pretty damned healthy to me.”

“Sssshhhh.” Sarah felt Bobby pull away. “What’s she doing?”

Bobby was about to turn away in disgust, but the scene did indeed seem suddenly very strange. Feeling the hairs prickle on the back of his neck, he watched the old woman pause at the edge of the water and raise her arms as if in supplication. Barely realizing what he was doing, he crouched and moved forward, nearer to the lone figure with the dying wavelets lapping at her ankles.

“Bobby—”

This time it was he who did the shushing. The hair on his forearms stood as erect as the ones on the back of his neck.

She was speaking. He could just make out her quavery, papery voice. She was speaking to someone as if they were out in the water. He glanced over the waves, molten silver under the moonlight.

Nothing. Nothing he could see, at least. He returned his attention to the old woman.

“Soon … soon, my love …”

Icicles raced up Bobby’s spine, momentarily paralyzing him. Sarah must have heard it, too, because she clutched his arm in a death grip. Who in the hell was she talking to?

As if in response to his silent question, there was a rushing sound. The rhythmic hiss and roar of the waves abruptly changed to a strange, syncopated pattern, then came faster and faster, as if a film had been fast forwarded. And they gathered, almost like muscles bunching Bobby thought wildly. It couldn’t be happening!

But it was. And the sea rose up as if a mountain below was thrusting upward, trying to reach and touch the sky.

“Yessssss, my love …”

It was a miracle his bladder hadn’t let go in that moment. Sarah was no longer attached to his arm. He reached behind him, but felt nothing. Then he heard her footsteps pounding across the sand. He turned and fled in her wake.

T
HE SEA RECEDED
. T
HE WAVES CALMED AND THE EBB
and flow of the tide returned to normal. Mary felt the weight of her years press down on her again. She turned and walked back to the cliffside path, footsteps dragging. She hugged her arms across her narrow, shrunken breast.

It was cool, especially for a night nearing midsummer. What had she been thinking, coming out in only her nightdress?

Memory tugged at the corners of Mary’s mouth, turning it upward. There was no thinking; there was only feeling, just as there had been that first time, so very, very long ago. There was only the magic, and the wonder of it. She planted a foot on the winding, narrow path to the clifftop.

It would probably take her the rest of the night to make it back up to her cottage.

This time a soft laugh accompanied the smile. What had she been thinking?

This is the last time I will make this journey.
That’s what she had been thinking.

It was time. It was almost time.

Ellie’s Mysterious sister died and left her everything: money, a fabulous horse farm, and a husband. But not just any husband … Ellie and the Elven King.

Helen A. Rosburg

Bound by fate. Bound by love. Bound by honor …

Honneure Mansart, orphaned child of a lowly servant, never dreamed that she would one day find herself at the glittering palace of Versailles as a servant to the young and lovely Marie Antoinette, future Queen of France. Nor could she have imagined the love of her life would turn out to be her beloved foster brother Phillipe, who also served the young princess. Their lives were golden.

But the young princess, Antoinette, has a mortal enemy in Madame du Barry, the aging king’s mistress. And Honneure has a rival for Phillipe, a servant in du Barry’s entourage. Together the women scheme to destroy both Antoinette and Honneure. Then Louis the XV dies, and his grandson inherits the throne. Marie Antoinette becomes the Queen of France.

Honneure and Phillipe, their lives inextricably entwined with those of the king and queen, find a second chance together. Yet as France’s political climate overheats, sadness and tragedy stalk both couples once again … tragedy, and a terrible secret that might lead Honneure to the guillotine in the footsteps of her queen.

“In my opinion, BY HONOR BOUND is a must-read for any romance fiction fan, and assuredly deserves the distinction of a Perfect 10. It’s just that good!” —
Romance Reviews Today