Thursday, April 9, 2009
TORTURED available now for pre-order
I am excited to announce that TORTURED, my dark ages medieval is now available for Pre-order at Barnes & Noble.com and Amazon.com. There is a discount now if you preorder!! Further fun-- and if you check my news page at www.amandamcintyre.net , you'll see my new "Quarterly "Love to Read" Contest featuring a gift card from BN.com this time around!
Yay! Kristi is a techy wiz! Pictures are back at the manor!!
Let me know what you think!
featuring Sierra, Dryston
Pub. Date: August 01, 2009
True to its name, this book is a complex story with all the intrigue, passion, romance, and angst, not to mention a rough and tumble journey to that coveted HEA.
I hardly ever take the direct route;) So, finally, posted here first at the LIT manor,--an exclusive preview excerpt from Tortured.
Sierra’s eyes were riveted to the Roman’s face, his sturdy jaw clenched as he endured without a sound, the pain to his body. With an exasperated sigh, Balrogan tossed the torch into the pit.
“I will have to think of something else, milord. He is stubborn this one.”
Lord Aeglech stared at the prisoner a moment, before he raised his hand. “Take him down,” he barked, “and bring him to me.”
The Saxon king breezed by her with his guards close behind. He glanced back before ascending the narrow stairs.
“I will have need of you, wealh. You know what to do.”
“Aye, milord.” She lowered her gaze to the floor. Sierra’s body trembled at the thought of seducing this man. She feared his power over her emotions she thought long ago dead. Carefully, she reached up and swung the cage.
“Be watchful of that one, mouse, he may spit poison.” The executioner chuckled as he prepared his next device. “We’ll see first if this will persuade him to speak." He raised a handcrafted piece that can slowly sever a man’s fingers one at a time.
The Roman’s expression remained unchanged as he stared at Sierra from his bat-like position. His face was not that of a farmer, or peasant, not as she was used to seeing. He had a warriors face, proud, rugged, stoic. His eyes, though shadowed from the torture, shone with silent strength. Her gaze drifted to the tight line of his mouth, pursed with determination. A mouth she ventured could command an army as well as command a woman in bed. For no reason that she could think of, she spoke aloud. “Lord Aeglech would not want to be kept waiting.” She imagined she saw a glint of challenge behind the prisoner's turbulent eyes. He was different, strong, unafraid, her vision of a true warrior. Most men, when faced with Balrogan’s forms of persuasion were eager to offer information and, so too, beg for mercy in the process. In three days, this Roman had been through numerous forms of torture without once having wavered. There was nothing innocent about him, only a powerful resilience seething beneath a warrior’s body. A power she was dangerously drawn to.
Balrogan offered a muffled sound under his breath. “Perhaps you are right. He should be intact for whatever the king has in mind for him.”
Since the Roman’s arrival, Lord Aeglech had received confirmation that the Roman-Briton, General Ambrosis and his army were traveling from Rome into the provinces just north of the Saxon stronghold. Given Aeglech’s paranoia, combined with the seeds she had managed to plant thus far in his mind, it was clear that he was preparing himself for a confrontation. Still, Sierra believed that the Saxon king was bored with the pillaging and conquest of common folk. She believed that he longed for an opponent worthy of a good fight. Perhaps that was why he had not yet ordered the death of the Roman prisoner.
A creak of the cage jarred Sierra from her thoughts. The Roman’s gaze met hers and a shiver skittered up her spine. The image of him with the woman appeared in her mind and she I instinctively took a step back. This time she did not imagine seeing the corner of his mouth curve into a wicked smirk. Sierra swallowed a pang of pure desire as she sensed that he was able to look deep inside her, as if reading her thoughts.
“I am on my way to the buttery,” she said to Balrogan, unable to break from the prisoners captivating stare.
“See if the blacksmith is finished with my blades, Mouse,” Balrogan ordered without looking up. Years of having her around to do his bidding made the request easy.
She glanced at the guard who maintained his post at the dungeon entrance. “Aye, milord.” Tearing her eyes from the Roman, she hurried out, taking the steps with care as she held up the hem of her gown. The image of the woman's face as the Roman pleasured her taunted Sierra. Her sighs burned in Sierra’s memory, the sight of her back arched, knees spread, her fingers digging into the Roman's dark hair.
Never had she experienced what she sensed in that Celtic woman’s soul and it both frightened and intrigued her. And ever since she tasted its imagery, her hunger for the same elation grew. The woman in Sierra’s mind wore a look of joy on her face that she do not understand. More disturbing, perhaps, was that it made her realize that her life had become as cold and inhuman as Lord Aeglech.
At the top of the stair, she heard an anguished male cry rise from the room below. Apparently, Balrogan had changed his mind about letting the Roman keep all of his fingers.