Author Guest Post - Joyce Humphrey Cares
About the Author:
Joyce Humphrey
Cares lives in Central Florida with her three dogs. A voracious reader since
childhood, she finally decided to take a stab at writing. She combines her love
of history and the places she has traveled when she weaves her stories.
When she is not
writing, Joyce builds and decorates dollhouses, plays golf, and plans her next
trip to a place where she can return home and write a romantic suspense or a
time travel novel.
Book title: BEYOND THE MIST
Genre: time travel/romantic suspense/ historical
Excerpt:
Alexandra Perrot twisted her ring as she stood up. She
heard the rustling sound of satin material come from the doorway of the dining
room. When she turned, a woman in a high-necked gown stood there staring at
her. Alexandra closed her eyes tightly. As soon as she opened them, the woman
was gone.
“Is something wrong?” Jean Paul Morneau asked. “All of
a sudden you paled.”
“Oh no. It’s nothing,”she said. “Just jet lag. I
didn’t sleep most of the night on the plane. I enjoyed our lunch—our very long
lunch. It’s five o’clock—almost midnight for me. Perhaps I’ll see you at
breakfast.”
“I hope so,” Jean Paul said as he stretched his legs
and pushed his chair away from the
table. “Until tomorrow, I look forward to see you for the Bastille Day
celebration.” He grasped her hand and laid it against his cheek. “There are
parades, special events and special foods to celebrate the day the French
Revolution began.”
“Au’voir.” She felt her breath catch in her throat.
She could feel his eyes swoop from her head to her toes as she walked away.
Jean Paul motioned to the waiter. “A cognac please.”
He watched the sun begin to slide behind the mountain. The purple of
encroaching night soften the hedges and woods.
He picked up his glass and took a sip. I never dreamt when I heard an American
tourist with a French name would be visiting the chateau, she would be sexy and
beautiful with long, auburn hair and beautiful green eyes, and I enjoyed every
minute of lunch.
As soon as Alexandra’s head hit the pillow, she fell
asleep.
She woke up with a start. Her eyes popped open.
“Don’t be afraid,” the voice uttered.
Alexandra lay still for a moment.
“What? Who is it?” She sat straight up in bed. She
struggled to focus her eyes and saw a woman stepping out of her mirror.
The light from the moon spilled into her room. It was
bright enough for her to see a jewel encrusted and nobly dressed eighteen
century woman standing at the foot of her bed.
“You must come with me,” she pleaded. Her hands
stretched toward Alexandra. “I’m Claudette.”
“Wait.” Alexandra took a deep breath then exhaled.
“Wait I’m coming with you.” She dressed quickly.
“Hurry.” Claudette said. She pulled Alexandra toward
the mirror. It seemed to open like a sliding door. “Follow me,” she yelled.
Alexandra felt the cold stone walls as she moved
through a tunnel filled with mist.
Within minutes, she was able to examine the property
around her. The mist cleared. A carriage and four horses waited. She stood on a
gravel path. It didn’t look it had when she arrived. There were no beautiful
gardens or paved roads. She had a feeling of dread as she followed Claudette
into the carriage.
Alexandra heard the coachman crack his whip and the
horses’ harnesses snap has the carriage jolted forward. She felt the coach
bounce and lurch as they left the chateau grounds.
She gave Claudette a sidelong glance. “What do you
want from me? Where are we going? Alexandra shouted over the noise of the
horses and the carriage.
“We’re going to Paris. I need your help to free my
brother-in-law from the Bastille. Alexandra, you have to help me get him out of
prison before he gets killed.”
The Bastille? It isn’t there anymore. It
hasn’t been there for over two hundred years. “The Bastille in Paris?”
Alexandra asked.
“That’s what I said,” Claudette screemed.
“What year is it? What’s the date?”
“Why are you asking me what year it is?” Claudette
looked out of the corner of her eyes. She drew her brows together.
“Just answer my question.” Alexandra leaned forward.
Her nose almost touched Claudette’s nose. A chill ran along her spine.
“It’s Tuesday, July 14, 1789.” Claudette inched her
body back on the seat and huddled in the corner. “Shut your curtains. We don’t
want anyone to recognize us at the gates of Paris. We’re just going to break
through the guards.”
Alexandra pulled the curtains closed—held them tightly
together—and prayed. Author Contact Links:
Website: http://www.joycecares.com/
Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/joyce.h.cares
Email: joycecares01@gmail.com
Buy Links:
Sweet Cravings Publishing
Amazon
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