Wednesday, May 30, 2012
Guest: N. Gemini Sasson
Wow, I used to have one of those. Several, in fact. But that was before they called them ‘Bucket Lists’. Even way back before the early Oprah days, when she talked about ‘visualizing’ your dreams and cutting out magazine pictures to glue on a piece of posterboard. I scribbled my dreams down on index cards and stuffed them in an envelope, sealed it, and dated it for several years later. Those envelopes were crammed with hopes of travel, a farm house in the country, and a happy family. But sometime in the past ten years, I stopped looking ahead and moored myself in the day to day. What happened between then and now? Life happened: two very active kids, a husband who deserved a certain amount of attention, multiple dogs, a herd of sheep, two homes rehabbed – all while I was secretly building a career and juggling part time jobs. It seemed the older I got, the more my bucket lists became strictly to-do lists. Practical, not fun. Duty. Obligation. Responsibility. Finish this, accomplish that, etc., etc.
So what’s on my Bucket List now? Fun and memorable stuff:
5) Go see the Summer Olympics – To watch Track and Field. Although actually being in the Olympics would be THE most amazing thing ever.
2) Sleep under the stars in the Scottish Highlands – Evidently I have a thing for tree-less, wind-scoured locations, but I have this inexplicable attraction to Scotland. I love bagpipe music. I think it’s genetic.
Thanks so much for stopping by!
England, 1326. Edward II has been dethroned. Queen Isabella and her lover, Sir Roger Mortimer, are at the pinnacle of their power.
Fated to rule, Isabella’s son becomes King Edward III at the callow age of fourteen. Young Edward, however, must bide his time as the loyal son until he can break the shackles of his minority and dissolve the regency council which dictates his every action.
When the former king is found mysteriously dead in his cell, the truth becomes obscured and Isabella can no longer trust her own memory . . . or confide in those closest to her. Meanwhile, she struggles to keep her beloved Mortimer at her side and gain yet another crown—France’s—for the son who no longer trusts her.
Amidst a maelstrom of shifting loyalties, accusations of murder propel England to the brink of civil war.
In the sequel to Isabeau, secrecy and treason, conspiracy and revenge once again overtake England. The future rests in the hands of a mother and son whose bonds have reached a breaking point.
Isabella – Westminster, February, 1327
The reminder that I was still married to Edward of Caernarvon stung like an open cut, fresh and deep down to the vein. Except for the sharp whistling of my indrawn breath, the room was silent. Bishop Orleton must have sensed the tension between Mortimer and me, for he excused himself, closing the door firmly behind him.
I turned away to face the row of windows, the world beyond dark with night. In moments, Mortimer’s arms encircled my waist from behind, tugging me gently against him. I kept my body stiff, tempering my resolve against his nearness, but already my knees were weakening beneath me.
“Isabeau ... sweet heaven of mine.” Light fingers traced over my hips, wandering slowly up toward my ribs. His breath stirred on my neck, a fiery breeze of longing. “Let me hold you tonight, hour upon hour, until the dawn.”
I shook my head, even as I felt myself wanting to yield, to abandon all. “I’m afraid, Roger.”
He turned me around, his lips brushing against the crown of my hair, over my ear, the slope of my shoulder. Not until my breathing slowed and I half-closed my eyes, waiting for more, did he lift his head to speak. A smirk, hinting of something sinister, flashed across his mouth. Or perhaps I merely imagined it? His thumb stroked tenderly at my cheek, soothing away my worries. “Afraid of what—that he’ll go free? You needn’t worry, my love. I’ll make sure he never has the chance.”
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