by Carolan Ivey
Troy grinned. Time to go. One last task, though—he sidled up to Stephen Powell and cuffed him playfully on the side of the head. His best friend jerked in surprise and glanced around in vain for the perpetrator. Troy let himself laugh out loud. No one heard him, not even Taylor.
Then Troy set his jaw and turned away. He had a lot of ground to cover.
Author’s Note
I had never known, until the summer of 1992, what a powerful place is an American Civil War battlefield.
En route to a new vacation spot that summer, we stopped at Appomattox battlefield, a beautifully preserved island of peace just off a busy Virginia highway. An encampment had just been held there a few days before, and the earth was covered with fresh wagon and horse tracks. Patches of grass were still matted down where the tents had been pitched, as if the Army of Northern Virginia and Army of the Potomac had just disappeared around the bend.
We got back in the car and continued on our way to the Outer Banks, the images of the battlefield, the village, and the North Carolina regimental monument safely preserved on video tape. If I had thought the battlefield was filled with ghosts, the Outer Banks had an equal share. I went home with a map of Outer Banks shipwrecks, books about lighthouses…and dreams.
The Battle of Roanoke Island was a real battle that took place in February, 1862. It was Union General Ambrose Burnside’s pet project, one of his last significant contributions to the war. Confederate General Henry Wise, fearing just such an attack by the Federals, had just returned from Richmond, empty-handed of desperately needed reinforcements.
The convoy of Union boats, having embarked from Annapolis, was indeed caught in a storm off the North Carolina coast, and a ship carrying a load of artillery and horses did go down in the gale. Burnside, refusing to transfer to a larger, safer ship, stood on the pitching deck of his little steamer so his troops could see him and gain courage. The fleet entered Pamlico Sound at Oregon Inlet, and in truth found the water too shallow for any of the ships to pass without grounding on the sandbar. After a long, laborious process of using larger boats to dredge a channel, Burnside maneuvered most of his fleet through, and went on to capture Roanoke Island, a highly strategic naval outpost.
Another battle took place shortly thereafter, a battle derisively called the “Chicamacomico Races,” wherein a band of Confederates, pursued by Union forces, raced north from Cape Hatteras, and disabled several lighthouses on the Outer Banks.
And anyone who is from North Carolina has heard the legend of the Maco Light, where it is said the ghost of a decapitated train conductor roams the Maco train trestle, holding his lamp high, searching for his lost head.
All these stories, true and told-as-true, blended to form the story of Beaudry’s Ghost.
About the Author
To learn more about Carolan Ivey, please visit:
Web site: www.carolanivey.com
Blog: http://carolanivey.blogspot.com/
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Look for these titles by Carolan Ivey
Now Available:
Abhainn’s Kiss
Wildish Things
Love & Lore Anthology: Wildish Things (Print)
Coming Soon:
In The Gloaming Anthology: Abhainn’s Kiss (Print)
One man. One woman. One Harley. And one dangerously horny goddess. Ireland may never recover.
Wildish Things
© 2007 Carolan Ivey
A year after a horrendous accident, wildlife artist Beith Molloy journeys to Ireland to get her career back on track. And maybe recover her missing spirit of adventure. A twist of fate lands her with sexy, bad-boy tour guide Kellan O’Neill, who whisks her away on his Harley to the wild and mysterious Burren.
Like the Burren, Kel is not what he seems on the surface. His impulsive plan to kidnap Beith—all in fun, of course—and entice her into a casual summer fling starts to go awry when her wounded spirit touches his heart. Things go even more sideways once they set foot on the Burren.
What awaits them there is the Cailleach, an ancient, nearly forgotten goddess who’s bored, lonely, and more than a little horny. When Beith and Kel begin their dance of seduction, the Cailleach sees her chance to use their desire to release her pent-up lust. There’s just one problem.
Legend has it that once the Hag’s lust is aroused, men die.
Enjoy the following excerpt for Wildish Things:
Keeping hold of her, he walked her back inside the dolmen, took her hands and placed them on the stone wall.
His better sense warned him she was going to think him completely insane.
After almost a full minute, she spread her fingers out on the stone slab.
“Do you feel that?” she whispered. “What is that?”
He felt it. The low, insistent vibration, the pulsing, like the flow of electricity along a wire.
He felt her breath quicken and realized he had a hard-on pressed against the small of her back. He cursed silently, but nothing on this green earth was going to make him move away from her. She turned suddenly in his arms, backing up against the stone. Her eyes were huge, her pupils dilated, her breathing fast. His gaze fell to her mouth, and he wanted to cover it with his, scar be damned.
For a weird second a strange weakness swamped him. He wanted to lie on the ground and beg the Hag—something. What? Release him. To let him leave this place with all his parts intact. Especially his heart, which thumped like it wanted to leap out of his chest.
Beith’s hair came loose and blew about her face. Her expression was one of a woman who wanted him. All of him.
She blinked once and licked her lips. Her brown eyes turned deep gold.
Somewhere in the distance, he thought he heard an old woman laugh.
As if an unseen hand shoved him from behind, he leaned forward and took her mouth.
Her first thought was that Patrick had chosen her tour guide well.
Her second was that she was standing in broad daylight, pressed against a millennia-old stone dolmen that might at any moment tumble to the ground, trying to put her tongue down a near-perfect stranger’s throat.
She felt cold stone under her hands where they were pressed flat at her sides. She commanded them to move so she could push Kel away, delicious as he tasted in her mouth. She didn’t know what had driven her to allow herself to stand in his arms like this. She’d heard Ireland was full of magic, but she’d attributed it to the fanciful tourist brochures. In any case, this had to stop.
Her hands didn’t move.
She whimpered into his mouth and struggled to raise her hands, but they stayed stuck fast to the stone as if glued.
Her heart began to pound, but strangely, not in panic. She tore her mouth away from his and turned her head to one side, gasping for air.
“Kel.”
His mouth roamed down the side of her neck. His labored breathing filled her ears.
Even as she arched her neck to give him better access, she yanked and tugged at her hands, but they refused to move. He misread the writhing of her body and unzipped her jacket.
Before she could gasp her next breath, his hands dove under the two thin layers of shirts she wore and sought her breasts.
Oh God.
“Kel!”
Cool air beaded her nipples, and she found herself arching her back into his touch. His fingers tugged at the hard peaks, and he swallowed her raw cry as he took her mouth again.
It had been so long. But this was different. Although she couldn’t move, it was she who controlled the ravenous power spiraling up from her feet through her spine, to explode with sensation along every nerve ending. She found that wherever she centered her spinning thoughts, the energy followed and created pools of almost unbearable pleasure.
Push him away? Hell no.
Why couldn’t she move her hands? She wanted those hands on Kel, in his hair, to pull his mouth down to her aching breasts. Why were her feet planted just as s
olidly on the rocky ground below? She wanted to wrap her legs around him and pull him inside. Yet she could do nothing but stand there, compelled by some unseen force to do nothing but feel.
Something wild pounded in her head, exultation razor-edged with sheer panic. The same kind of panic she’d felt when she’d woken up in the hospital, weighed down by casts, IVs and miles of wire, a tube down her throat. Only this time she had no desire to break free.
His hands left her breasts to slide down her torso, and just the knowledge of where his hands were heading was enough. The energy that surged up from the ground, centered in her groin.
She tipped her head back and screamed as she came, but his mouth followed hers and swallowed the sound.
A glass of wine sends them back in time. But only one of them remembers who they are.
The Enchanted Inn
© 2007 Pam Champagne
It’s bad enough that a wrong turn in a snowstorm forces Gina to take shelter at an out-of-the-way inn. Her ex-fiancé Luke is stranded there, too. The man she left when she caught him in bed with another woman.
A glass of wine at dinner, and Gina wakes up in a bed with Luke by her side. It’s the same inn, but it’s the year 1778 and Luke insists his name is John. And he says she’s an indentured servant, Rachel.
Gina has to quickly learn primitive tasks like dip candles and cook without a microwave. While John is delighted that his normally reserved lover has become a wildcat in bed, her outspoken opinions could put them all in danger.
For Gina, it’s like a second chance with Luke. But when an innocent mistake turns their newly discovered love upside down, Gina realizes how big a mistake she made when she left Luke.
Gina never gives up hope of going back to her own time, and she’s determined to take John with her—whether he wants to go or not.
Enjoy the following excerpt for The Enchanted Inn:
She took the plunge. “My name is Gina Locke and you’re Luke Harding. Ruth McPherson sent us here on Christmas Eve, 2006. Don’t you remember? We were sitting in the living room, drinking her homemade elderberry wine.”
John studied her face for a long moment then threw back his head and roared with laughter. “Do continue. I did not know you were a weaver of tales.”
Gina choked back tears of frustration and rose to her knees to grasp his shoulders. “This is not a story. It’s the truth.” She fought the urge to shake him.
“Come here.” John tugged her close. “That knock on the head must have been a bad one.”
Gina sighed. “You don’t believe me?”
“Shall I tell you what I believe? You hit your head and had a dream. When you woke, you clung to the dream as reality.” He kissed her forehead. “We must be patient. Your memory will return.”
If only yours would. Gina huddled closer, lapping up his caresses and murmured phrases of concern. Still, his concern didn’t calm her fears of remaining in the past. If John remembered who he was—that he’d been her lover in another time—she’d be willing to accept her situation. One thing was certain. There was no way John was going to listen tonight. So she sighed and said, “Perhaps I’m dreaming right now. How old am I?”
“Four and twenty as of last month. Now be silent and kiss me.”
She turned her head away to escape his lips, now feathering her cheek.
“What is wrong?” Gina heard genuine puzzlement in his voice.
“I don’t feel like having sex with someone who doesn’t trust me…who thinks I’m…I’m daft.” God, it seemed so strange to use that word.
“Try to understand,” he coaxed. “I’ve been with you at this inn for three years. One morning I wake to find a different person inside the body of the woman I love. We must become reacquainted.”
Gina couldn’t argue that his reasoning wasn’t sound. For tonight, she’d put her problems in the closet. Looping her arms around his neck, she captured his lips. For an instant, he grew rigid at her aggression before his mouth opened to her questing tongue. Within seconds, their raspy breathing sounded loud in the otherwise silent room. Gina tugged and yanked on John’s clothes, never losing lip contact.
He tore his mouth away. “Wait. I will do it.”
Gina bit back a smile at the haste with which John stripped off his clothes. She pressed against him as he slipped in bed and gasped at the thrill of pleasure that shot through her. His body sliding against hers started a tingling in her breasts that worked its way down to her toes.
She kneaded the knots in his back until he relaxed. Luke always had loved that. There wasn’t an ounce of softness on his body. Feeling his cock against her stomach, she reached between his legs and ran her hand over its smooth sheath. “Hmmm…like silk.”
Hands on her shoulders, he pushed her away. “Rachel! What are you doing?”
“Don’t you like it?” she whispered, trailing kisses across his chin to his mouth. She swallowed his next words. Her tongue slipped between his teeth.
John groaned and tightened his hands on her arms before sliding them around her back. His erection grew in her hands. Yet, it seemed he didn’t know the first thing about pleasing a woman and had no clue what a woman could do to please him. Gina wouldn’t have been satisfied with the sex life John and Rachel must have had. Probably a quick slam-bam process. God, she was confused. Right now, all she wanted was a release from her worries.
Since she was stuck in this godforsaken century with no home and no money, she sure as hell was going to enjoy herself with a man who, if by some horrible twist of fate turned out not to be Luke, was his double.
A sob tore at her throat. Please, Luke, remember me.
John pushed her to mattress and thrust his knee between her legs. “I will have you now, Rachel.”
She giggled. How formal and how rude. “I don’t think so. We’re not through playing.”
He drew back. The last candle flickered and died. She couldn’t see, yet sensed his gaze on her face. “Play? Whatever do you mean?”
Gina drew his hands to her breasts. His sudden intake of air sounded like he’d been sucker punched. She held his trembling fingers and brushed them over her hardened nipples. He didn’t need any more tutoring.
“That feels so good, John. Don’t stop.”
He played with her breasts, making her wetter. She ran her hands up his chest and tweaked his nipples. His cock twitched. Snaking her hands down his belly, she grasped it and gently pumped its length, eliciting a drawn-out groan.
If only she could take him in her mouth. Poor John. He would more than likely run back to the stables as if the devil were after him. She wanted to laugh, remembering he’d called her a lusty wench. Obviously, he didn’t know the meaning of the word.
Then a thought struck her as fast as a bolt of lightning. Could the real Rachel be back in the present in Gina’s body getting it on with Luke? No, that couldn’t happen. This was Luke in bed with her. She had to believe that or she’d crumble.
She jumped as a jolt of pleasure-filled pain shot through her. John had grown bold and captured a nipple between his lips. He sucked. For such a big man, everything he did was gentle. Tonight she didn’t want gentle. She wanted to forget and lose herself in the moment.
John wiped beaded sweat from his forehead. Who was this pliant woman stroking him as if it were an everyday occurrence? What had happened to the woman he had come to love? Rachel had never been this passionate. Would never have handled his manhood with such boldness. His concerns vanished as lust overtook him.
He ran his lips across one nipple. Her moans of pleasure excited him, brought him to his limit of stimulation. Grasping her hips, he pulled her under his body and settled between her spread thighs. He took a deep breath and resisted the temptation to plunge himself to the hilt. Rachel did not care for frantic coupling. Tentative as always, he ground his teeth in frustration and slowly pushed into her moist warmth…and almost died with joy. Rachel was moister than she’d ever been. Proof that she wanted him with equal fervor. He
pushed again, gaining another two inches. He hesitated and rested his forehead on hers, willing his body to remain under his control. She would be angry if he was too rough.
Suddenly, the woman beneath him raised her legs and wrapped them high around his waist. The new position opened her wider and drove him over the edge. All rational thought fled. He thrust hard with no thought of her discomfort until he was fully embedded. He breathed like a hard-ridden horse. “I’m sorry,” he gasped. “Did I hurt you?”
Expecting to hear cries of protest, her words shocked him. “Don’t stop. Please.”
He was nearing the brink of explosion and strove to please the lady. He captured her cries with his mouth, his manhood swelling when clenched by her feminine muscles. He rocked his body a few more times and emptied his seed deep in her womb. She continued to squirm underneath him.
“Rachel?” he asked in a hoarse voice. “What are you do—”
Her lips sought his in a wrenching kiss. Stunned, he held on tightly as she spasmed around his shrinking manhood. He could not believe that he grew hard again. Unable to control the need to couple for the second time, he pushed to his knees. Her legs slipped off his back. He grasped under her knees and pulled her tight against his groin, working her hips back and forth. With the second explosion, he collapsed. “Rachel, by all that’s sacred, you are going to kill me.”
“Don’t,” she protested when he started to roll away. “Stay inside me.”
Totally confused at this turn of events, John stayed put. He was shrinking and knew he’d soon slip out of her moist center. His heart thumped wildly. “Are you all right?”
“Hmmm…” she murmured. “That was good.”
This woman may look like his love, but she was not his Rachel. He was no doctor, but he did not think a simple bump on the head would turn a proper lady into a wanton woman. He frowned, unsure of his feelings. Rachel was the woman he wanted to marry. A wife to bear his children. God-fearing women did not behave like this. No matter how much he loved their coupling this night, did he want to marry a woman such as this?
