“Powerful, sexy…seductive” – RT BOOKreviews

“A sexy riveting tale of lost and found love, combined with mystery, fantasy, and suspense that kept me reading until the end! Ancient Whispers was everything it promised and more!  –Terry Spear, author of Seduced by the Wolf

“A sexy and enchanting story, full of magic, mystery, and intrigue. Ancient Whispers pulls you in and doesn’t let go until the very end. Powerful imagery and true-to-life rituals make this book sing!”  – Deborah Blake, author of Everyday Witch A to Z

“ANCIENT WHISPERS intrigued me from the beginning, with its mystical mix of a centuries-old hero looking for his lost love and a band of alchemists and sorcerers with an agenda of their own.” – Dorchester Editor Leah Hultenschmidt.

“You’ll love her story – fast paced, filled with passion… if you like a story with mystery and thrills, you won’t be disappointed. Her hero and heroine along with a deliciously evil antagonist will leave you craving her soon to be completed sequel.”– Dixie Kane Memorial Writing Contest Winner John Roundtree

“Bourque has brought an infinitely romantic and creative premise to life. Skillfully blending fantasy and reality, she’s created a very powerful female character who steals the show. Ancient Whispers is an … enjoyable tale of the past and the present, of sorceresses and of a love destined to last an eternity.” – Annette Elton, RT Book Reviews

“Most of you know I LOVE Sherrilyn Kenyon and her fabulous Dark-Hunter series. Well, The Priory of Callan series is going to be set right there next to SK’s books on my fav’s shelf. That’s how much I enjoyed this book.” A Book-Lover Review

This is an enjoyable romantic fantasy starring a strong female lead, a desperate male praying for a second chance at love, and a powerful support cast to include Providence and to a lesser degree Grand Pre.  Readers will relish this enjoyable tale as love is tested by reincarnation and a malevolent mage. –Harriet Klausner

A Tale of Arcadie

by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

from the 1893 Cambridge Edition
(Originally published in 1847)

THIS is the forest primeval. The murmuring pines and the hemlocks,

Bearded with moss, and in garments green, indistinct in the twilight,

Stand like Druids of eld, with voices sad and prophetic,

Stand like harpers hoar, with beards that rest on their bosoms.

Loud from its rocky caverns, the deep-voiced neighboring ocean

Speaks, and in accents disconsolate answers the wail of the forest.

This is the forest primeval; but where are the hearts that beneath it

Leaped like the roe, when he hears in the woodland the voice of the huntsman?

Where is the thatch-roofed village, the home of Acadian farmers —

Men whose lives glided on like rivers that water the woodlands,

Darkened by shadows of earth, but reflecting an image of heaven?

Waste are those pleasant farms, and the farmers forever departed!

Scattered like dust and leaves, when the mighty blasts of October

Seize them, and whirl them aloft, and sprinkle them far o’er the ocean.

Naught but tradition remains of the beautiful village of Grand-Pré.

Ye who believe in affection that hopes, and endures, and is patient,

Ye who believe in the beauty and strength of woman’s devotion,

List to the mournful tradition still sung by the pines of the forest;

List to a Tale of Love in Acadie, home of the happy.

 KEEP READING…

THE DEPORTATION, AS IF YOU WERE THERE:

The Acadians were deported from their land in present day Canadian Maritime provinces to other British colonies, Britain, and France, between 1755 and 1763.

See http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Expulsion_of_the_Acadians for more  historical details.

The prologue of ANCIENT WHISPERS retell the story of fictious Gabriel Lajeunesse who later become the immortal sorcerer Gabriel Callan. Read it below:

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Wives were torn from their husbands, and mothers, too late, saw their children
Left on the land, extending their arms, with wildest entreaties.
So unto separate ships were Basil and Gabriel carried,
While in despair on the shore Evangéline stood with her father.”

—Henry Wadsworth Longfellow, 1847 

LE GRAND DERANGEMENT

 Grand-Pré, Acadie (October 1755)

Gabriel LaJeunesse sat stunned, staring at the shore. He could smell the fear around him, the dread, the sorrow.

His mother sobbed nearby, clutching a bundle packed with family belongings. Françoise-Marie, his sister, gripped the plain wooden cross hanging from her neck while in a low voice she prayed.

Gabriel’s shirt was no longer white after days spent in captivity. Thick with smoke, the maritime air stung his eyes, shortened his breath.

Echoes carried from the beach, soldiers barking orders in clean crisp English, children screaming in French for their mothers. Woman wept and called the children’s names in panicked voices. The elders sang gently, as if resigned to their doom.

The small boat, carrying Gabriel and the villagers sharing his fate, headed for a tall ship moored offshore. His father and older brothers, Baptiste and Pierre-Octave, lay silent beside him. All strong and solid Acadians, they had survived many harsh winters.

And the Red Coats had not yet crushed their spirits, not by burning their homes and fields, not by forcing them on ships sailing to faraway lands.

Frantic, Gabriel searched the crowds waiting on the beach. Today would have been a special day, the most important day of his life. Today he would have married Evangéline Bellefontaine, his childhood sweetheart.

The day should have been filled with love, laughter and fulfilled promises; the church packed; a large feast from this year’s harvest. The ancêtres would have told stories, the violoneux played gigues and reels, making old and young dance well into the night.

Warmth exuded within Gabriel at the thought of how he would have laid with her, his sweet and gentle Evangéline. In the dark of the night, tasting her skin for the first time, he would have shared the warmth she hid under her thick homespun skirts. He would have known her passion, finally.

There she was. Gabriel’s heart suddenly overflowed with hope. He pointed toward shore, where villagers carried trunks and bags of their cherished possessions packed in haste. Then he turned to the blond soldier standing above him.

“I see her. Let me go.” Gabriel struggled with his broken English. “C’est ma fiancée. She was left on the shore.”

It was she, delicate in her light-colored sturdy dress, her white cap and apron. Her dark curly hair had been undone during the confusion and tumbled down to the middle of her back. She stood beside her father, Benoit Bellefontaine, the richest farmer of Grand Pré.

Monsieur Bellefontaine’s farm burned now, along with the rest of the village, along with the modest house Gabriel had built for their new life.

Ignoring the sorrow of his loss, Gabriel shouted and waved at Evangéline as she looked around, likely searching for him. He was too far. So many people swarmed around her. She could neither hear nor see him.

Gabriel repeated his plea to the soldier, forcefully this time. “Please let me go. I’ll swim back to shore.”

But the Red Coat paid him no heed.

The villagers on the boat quieted and watched Gabriel, their silence broken by a few muffled sobs. The waves splashed against the small boat. The women’s caps flapped in the autumn wind. A seagull cried in the distance.

Gabriel got up. Strong from years spent in his father’s forge, he towered over the soldier.

“Gabriel,” his mother said through her tears.

As the soldier drew a hand to the hilt of his sword, Gabriel showed him the shore again.

“I just want to get back to my fiancée. I’ll get on the next boat.”

The Englishman shot him a dead stare, spat at Gabriel’s feet, then turned his back to the Acadian.

Gabriel could no longer contain his rage.

The last days of his humiliations as a prisoner of the English rushed fast at him. His family had been at the mercy of soldiers that didn’t even speak their language. They had burned and destroyed everything that meant the life of the villagers, tearing them from their land.

He lunged at the soldier and knocked him hard on the back.

The man staggered, Gabriel clenching his enemy by the throat before he could draw his blade.

His mother shrieked, begging him to stop. “Ils vont le pendre. They will hang him.”

The Acadian farmers yelled at Gabriel, telling him to let go of the soldier.

“Maudits Anglais.” He shook the blond soldier with violence, his hands squeezing the man’s throat. “You have no right to take our land, ship us all away. Lock us up in the church for days, burn our village. You took my life, my future.”

The villagers gasped.

“Mon Dieu, priez pour nous.” Françoise-Marie prayed harder, crossing herself over and over again.

Gabriel’s father attempted to restrain him with all his strength, his hands digging painfully in Gabriel’s arm. Baptiste and Pierre-Octave pulled at their younger brother from behind. The boat rocked in the crashing waves.

“Mon fils, stop.” His father’s voice was calm. “Don’t get yourself killed.”

Gabriel’s arm had become numb from his father’s powerful grip. His brothers knocked the wind out of his lungs as they clutched at him. Yet, he kept his grip tight, his hands still crushing the man’s throat.

The soldier could barely breathe.

Another Red Coat suddenly reached them and slammed Gabriel’s head with the butt of his musket.  Sharp pain radiated through his skull, his thoughts becoming a blur of fury.

 The soldier pounded hard, hitting his head and neck while his father tried to protect him without much success. Repeated musket blows hammered him. Hands gripped his dirty shirt. A knee found internal organs and banged, again and again.

Gabriel was blind with pain.

 At his father urging, he finally let go. He sank to the flat bottom of the boat, his brothers supporting him.

“How sad.” The Red Coat returned the musket to his side. “These French people, no dignity.” He wiped sweat from his forehead, readjusted his coat and moved to the bow.

The blond soldier caught his breath, coughing a few times, then crouched down to Gabriel. He took the Acadian’s head into his hands, their faces almost touching. Gabriel winced, a dark curl obscuring his vision.

“Remain seated, Frenchman.”

Hatred overriding all emotions, Gabriel silently narrowed his eyes at him.

“I shall let it pass this time.” The soldier spoke in hoarse voice. “But be careful. I may not be so kind next time. I was at Beauséjour last summer. They hung quite a few traitors. Many were much younger than you.” He stood up. “Take care of your mother.”

Gabriel’s mother rushed to him, then gently patted his hair away from his forehead while Baptiste and Pierre-Octave still restrained him. They knew their little brother well; his fiery temper needed more than threats and a beating to be controlled.

Gabriel struggled to shake them away. He wanted to retaliate, beat the man to death or just take the chance to swim to shore. Then he controlled himself, not wanting to put his family at risk. He remembered Evangéline’s words as she’d joined him in the church where the English had kept the villagers prisoners. Courage, mon amour. Our true love will keep us from harm. She had been so brave, so patient, so trusting in their future despite their unjust fate, convinced they could start a new life in the colonies of Louisiana.

Gabriel’s gaze returned to the shore, his might leaving him as the boat glided at a steady pace, rowed by English soldiers, each stroke taking the villagers farther from their home.

Evangéline was talking to her father, who hunched over an old travel trunk. Pere Félicien, the village priest, comforted them.

With intense sorrow, Gabriel saw Monsieur Bellefontaine collapse in the sand. Evangéline rushed down to him. He saw the panic of the villagers surrounding them. Then, as their shapes became smaller, he saw nothing. Just smoke rising from what had been the village of Grand Pré on the rugged coast of Acadie.

And he lay there, his brain entirely numb. What had happened to them all?

His brothers relaxed their grip. His mother was calm now, singing a song from the old country. A song she would sing when they were children, about a French sailor who drowned while fetching the lost ring of a beautiful maiden.

Confused, Gabriel looked at his hands, at the calluses earned from a lifetime of hard work. How could he be sailing without her? Evangéline was everything to him. He needed her to breathe, needed her serenity to control his bold nature. She was his entire life.

He sat paralyzed with grief, lulled by the slow rocking of the boat now approaching the tall ships.

“Gabriel LaJeunesse,” someone said to him.

Puzzled, he turned towards the voice calling his name and looked into the stormy grey eyes of an old man sitting in front of him, his long silver hair tied back, matched by a shimmering grey beard. Strange symbols were faintly drawn at his temple, Micmac body paints perhaps. In homespun breeches and a white shirt, he was dressed like any other Acadian.

The old man took Gabriel’s hand, and everything went black.

He panicked. The Atlantic coast was gone.

 Lying in a barren land, he became surrounded by a thick mist and grayish standing stones covered with moss, unable to recognize the strange scents rising from the damp soil. Where was he?

Tearing his hand away from the old man’s grip, he was back on the boat again.

 Le Diable, Gabriel thought. The devil was among them. Horror filled his weaken spirit.

“Do not fear me.” The old man smiled softly. “Ton destin Gabriel, I am your destiny.” He pronounced French with an odd accent.

Gabriel recoiled. They said the dark beast seduced his prey before taking their soul.

“She will come back to you, Gabriel.” The old man’s spoke in a melodious tone.  “I promise you,” he added. “You will see Evangéline again.” 

- A stone healing-intuition pendant from The Pyramid Collection! (value $30)

- A collection of 3 CDs from Marie-Claude’s favorite Canadian artist Adam Stronge (Amazing hooks, unique voice and great lyrics) (value $30)

- An exclusive designer silk scarf from Red Chair Studio – RI local artist Christine Herron (value $30)

- Your own set of Marie-Claude’s favorite tarot deck: The Mystic Dreamer Tarot. (value $20)

- All in a gorgious tote by Seattle designer Emile Sloan (value $48)

TO ENTER:

Pick your favorite Ancient Whispers quotes from the following:

“Make love to me, sorcerer. Show me your powers.” Lily Bellefontaine

“I can’t stop it. I can’t hide who I am from you.” Gabriel “Voyager” Callan

“Lily already chose her fate. She is one of us now.” Morag Callan, High Priestess of the Callanish Coven

“Why do we always do the dirty work.” Phoebus “Falconer” Callan

“See Voyager, the alchemist must separate the true soul from the body.” Iain “The Alchemyst” Callan

“You’ll need a bit more brain if you want to lead this thing, Falconer.” Loic “Monk” Callan

“I’m dying, Lily, help me. I can’t breathe. It’s so dark. I’m scared.” Keira Black

“So you have come for her, at last.” Angele Bellefontaine

So which one is your favorite?

Tell us in the comment and a winner will picked randomly on June 30th.

 

“I can control people, to a certain extent,” Gabriel explained.

“But never me?” Even as she asked, she knew he’d been telling the truth on the beach.

“No, never. Not yet anyway, but I could.”

“How?”

“Well…” He flashed her a devilish grin. “I could show you how I love you in a very special way.”

“What do you mean?” she said.

He laughed. “If I use my powers when I make love to you, it will be a whole different experience.”

“Show me.” She stared at him with intensity.

“Aren’t you a little afraid? I’m very powerful.” A twinkle shone in his eyes as he linked her fingers through his. “I’m a sorcerer. I’ll make you entirely mine.” He still radiated the unnatural power she’d felt on the beach.

“Show me.” She was very curious now and, she had to admit, a little fearful. But the hint of fear crawling through her bones suddenly made her body tingle with lust. She was flirting with danger and she knew it, finding that speck of darkness in Gabriel strangely enticing.

Keeping his fingers twined with hers, she got up and led him to his bedroom.

He followed without protest and sat on the bed as she stood facing him. He looked at her eagerly, waiting.

Her raw emotions from earlier on the beach needed powerful release and she felt compelled to show him her love. As if possessed by an uncontrollable force, she wanted to be naked for him, wanted to let herself feel vulnerable in front of him.

Where did this wild feeling come from? A sorcerer…he was a sorcerer, immortal. What would he do to her, what would his love feel like with magic?

With her gaze fixed on his handsome face, she worked on the buttons of her shirt one at a time. She unzipped her jeans, then wiggled out of them while he sat on the bed, hands together, desire written all over his face.

She stood in front of him, clad only in a lacy black bra and matching thong. She loved the power she held over him, loved seeing the admiration in his eyes. Stripping in front of him made her feel extremely feminine and wild.

She brought her hand to her back, unfastened her bra and let it fall. Her nipples hardened from the cool air and from the intense emotions running though her.

After sliding her fingers under the black lace at her hips, she pushed the thong down to her feet. She stepped out of it and stood motionless, letting his gaze trail over her entire naked body. She was all ready for him, for his magical power.

Conscious of her nakedness and his fully clothed body, she knelt down to his level and cupped his head in her hands.

“Make love to me, sorcerer. Show me your powers.” Her voice purred in a whisper as her body heated with anticipation.

He grasped her wrist gently. “As you wish, my lady, as you wish.” He sounded unusually solemn.

Still sitting at the edge of the bed, he pushed her up to her feet and brought her between his legs. He pressed his lips to her belly as he pulled her closer. She felt his rough jeans around her naked thighs, the warmth of his bare arms encircling her waist and his soft T-shirt at her navel.

His hand cupped her naked buttocks. “You’re so beautiful. Your skin so perfect.” A passionate fever burned in his eyes.

“Don’t you have to say some weird words like hocus pocus or something like that?”

Gabriel laughed. “No, it just comes to me as I go along.” He got up to face her, then guided her to the bed. He eased her down on her back so she could lie on the immaculate white sheets.

Then he stood, all lean muscle and raw power, looking at her, full of desire.

She felt his physical power but also something more, something about his will, as if he wanted her to submit to it. She was not scared but awed and a little docile about what may happen. This was Gabriel, whom she loved and trusted.

She didn’t move, and waited for him as he knelt at the bed, holding one of her feet by the ankle. He brushed the top of it with a kiss.

“Reizh leski,” he whispered, his breath warming her sensitive skin. He then blew softly on her leg.

A tingling started where he’d kissed her. It spread along her leg, an incredible sensation flowing upward—first through her thigh, her hip, then to her belly. It ended at her tightened nipples in a hot explosion.

She moaned with pleasure. How did he do that?

Kneeling at the edge of the bed, he grasped her other ankle, and she felt pinned by the strength of his grip.

“Now you’re all mine, baby.” He flashed her that charming smile again, then laughed. His laugh was playful, but she sensed a hint of something inhuman in it. There was no turning back now. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

How different she’d looked that day when the Priory had come to claim him back, years after Evangéline’s death. That faithful day sometime in the mid-nineteen century. They had come for him, in the harsh icy land of Labrador.

Morag had been imposing, oblivious to the cold in a sweeping long black velvet dress, her fiery hair down her back. She’d mounted a huge ebony horse and had lain apart from the Priory Sorcerers.

And the sorcerers. Gabriel shook his head.

They’d all come for him. All thirteen of them, twelve men, and one woman. The men tall and broad, most wearing their long black oilcloth coat, their faces hidden under large black hats. Tara had been superb in her knee-high boots, a thick braid sweeping down to her backside. They hadn’t seemed real as they’d held him under their deadly stares, a broad air of danger about them.

One had finally dismounted, Iain. And he’d walked straight to Gabriel. “It’s time,” he’d said.

Gabriel had barely recognized him. No longer in Acadian garbs, Iain had worn his battered brown-leather armor, daggers tied across his chest, their hilts carved in evil-looking designs.

Ian’s silver hair had been loose, partly contained in many small braids brushing his shoulders. Steel crowned his head, a thick band embossed with strange symbols. A rich fur coat had covered him down to his boots. Red Fox, Gabriel had noticed.

How awed he’d been of them all. How much he’d wanted the power they’d represented. He’d had nothing to live for. He couldn’t persist in trying to escape them anymore. And he’d seen that accepting their brotherhood would be his only chance to find Evangéline again.

Now filled with angst, Gabriel returned his gaze to Morag. He couldn’t be fooled, though. She was anything but fragile. All her Priory stood for was control and selfishness.