Authors: Helen A Rosburg
Lady Blue
TABLE OF CONTENTS
DEDICATION
I must confess I wrote this book for myself. It was the most fun I’ve had in ages.
Published 2009 by Medallion Press, Inc.
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is a registered trademark of Medallion Press, Inc.
If you purchased this book without a cover, you should be aware that this book is stolen property. It was reported as “unsold and destroyed” to the publisher, and neither the author nor the publisher has received any payment from this “stripped book.”
Copyright © 2009 by Helen A Rosburg
Cover design by Adam Mock
Cover models: Ali DeGray
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without written permission of the publisher, except where permitted by law.
Names, characters, places, and incidents are the products of the author’s imagination or are used fictionally. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
Typeset in Adobe Jenson Pro
Printed in the United States of America
ISBN: 978-1-60-542063-9
10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1
First Edition
Previous accolades for
Call of the Trumpet
“Meticulously researched. A fascinating historical.”
—Heather Graham
“Ms. Rosburg has done an incredible job of expanding this amazing plot into a riveting book which you will be thrilled to read. The characters literally jump from the page and pull you (bring a Kleenex) into this astonishing story!”
—Brenda Talley, The Romance Studio
“Call Of The Trumpet
will sweep you away to a world of camels, beautiful horses, desert dunes, and of course, love.”
—Cat Cody, Romance Junkies
“Desert legends, slave auctions and life in the desert are only part of Rosburg’s latest historical. Death, love and politics also play a part in the lives of the hero and heroine in this compelling tale of trust and romance. Throw in a wolf attack and marriage as a second wife and you’ll be rapidly flipping pages.”
—Faith V. Smith, RT Book Reviews
“Call Of The Trumpet
is a sweeping historical romance researched with great attention to detail. Helen Rosburg brings the world of 1839 Bedouin life alive in her novel
Call Of The Trumpet.
It is a sweeping historical romance filled with many realistic tidbits and interesting relationships that may, at first, seem foreign to the reader. Rosburg should be applauded for her ability to bring the reality of life for Islamic families to life in her novel by showing the real world and culture create an intense dilemma in the books. As Cecile is pulled between the culture she has adopted and her western ideas of love and marriage. Most heart wrenching is the decisions that Cecile faces and the bitter agony in her journey to find love.
Call Of The Trumpet
is not your conventional historical romance, but Helen Rosburg goes to great length to pull the reader into the world and culture of this strange society.”
—Tracy, Historical Romance Writers
Previous accolades for
Blaze of Lightning, Roar of Thunder
“Helen A Rosburg delves deeply into the subtleties of the mountains and desert and into the deepest recesses of the human heart.
Blaze Of Lightning, Roar Of Thunder
is a compelling novel of loss and renewal, of revenge and redemption; a credible, inspiring tale of lasting love and its power to endure, to flourish, to heal wounds deemed not healable. A one-sit read.”
—Vicki Hinze,
www.vickihinze.com
“… Blaze is full of strength and beauty, and her ability to grow after such horrific trauma is captivating.”
—Publishers Weekly
“Ms. Rosburg is a gifted storyteller, creating a compelling tale, sucking the reader into the pages to become part of the story. As each page turns, the reader experiences the West as it was in the days of hostile banditos and bounty hunters.”
—Lauren Calder,
Affaire de Coeur
“Rosburg captures your attention with a riveting prologue and doesn’t let go until the gut-wrenching climax. She delivers strong, motivated characters, attention to detail, a well-drawn backdrop, and a story as old as the West. This is truly a memorable read.”
—Kathe Robin,
Romantic Times BOOKreviews
L
ife, as Harmony had known it, was over.
With a heavy sigh, she stared into the small square of mirror hung over the scarred dresser top. Had she really become so pale in so short a time? The ocean voyage had lasted scarcely a week.
Before that, however, there had been the weeks spent at her mother’s bedside, and the sleepless nights, grieving in advance of the inevitable. Then the funeral, and the long, dark days of mourning. No, it had not been a short time at all. It was simply far longer than she remembered. So long, in fact, she could not recall the last time she had sat astride her favorite mount and loped across the meadow grass in the shadow of the majestic mountains. It was no wonder the honey tone had vanished from her skin. Even her flame-colored tresses seemed to have dimmed. She had not seen the sun in a long, long time. Harmony wondered if she would see it ever again.
A painful ball of grief replaced the area her heart and lungs had once occupied and then burst, sending shards of agony throughout her entire body. Perhaps the pain she felt was so much greater because she mourned more than the loss of her beloved parents. Gone, too, were sunlit days under impossibly blue skies, the wind in her face, the smell of horse and fertile earth in her nostrils, the feeling of freedom as she galloped across the plains of tall, dry grass.
A single tear slipped down Harmony’s cheek, and she quickly swiped it away, afraid that if the dam broke she would never be able to stop crying. The life she had left behind was gone, perhaps forever. She must learn to live with the knowledge, no matter how painful. Her life was in England now.
“Miss, are you in there? Hello?”
Startled, Harmony whirled toward the door. The cloudy dream of her former life evaporated as if it had never been.
“Yes? What is it?”
The maid offered a brief curtsy. “Your sister, miss. She asked me to fetch your bag and tell you the coach is waiting.”
“Thank you. I’ll be along in a moment.” Harmony watched the girl leave with the single bag she had taken up with her for the night then glanced around to make sure she had left nothing behind. It was easy to see, in the sparsely furnished room, nothing personal remained. All that was left was her lingering disappointment in Agatha’s welcome.
Harmony had enjoyed her building excitement as the ship on which she had voyaged made its slow, stately way up the Thames to the London docksides. For a time the sun had come out from behind the cloud cover of homesickness. The bustling river traffic had distracted her and the scenes along the riverbanks quickly piqued her interest. Like it or not, this was her new home. She should get to know it. When the teeming streets of the fabled city came into view, Harmony found her fingers curled tightly around the deck railing. Her heart pounded and she began searching the crowded wharves for a glimpse of her sister.
Never in her life had she seen so many people. She studied their apparel curiously then glanced at the skirt of her sapphire blue suit and exhaled a quiet sigh of relief. She was appropriately, even smartly clad, based on her measure of the most well-dressed ladies and gentlemen in the throng.
Harmony briefly pressed her knuckles to her eyes to suppress the sudden hot sting of tears. The suit, along with several other lovely gowns and accessories, had been purchased on one of her infrequent trips to New York with her mother and father before her father, a successful and wealthy cattle rancher, had passed away.
The memories were precious and bittersweet.
And they were a part of her past. Her future was in England, with her sister, Agatha. Harmony forced her hands away from her face back to the rail and let her gaze once again scan the crowd. Her heart seemed to skip a beat and she drew in a sharp breath. Was that Agatha?
The years had not been kind. The woman in the black dress and hat looked old beyond what Harmony knew her age to be. And then there was no more time for thought as Harmony was bustled aside to make room for the crew laying the gangway. Upon learning all passengers’ luggage would be assembled on the dock, she gathered her skirts and stepped carefully onto the shore planking.
