Native American Historical Romance Novel Through The Fire~

THROUGH THE FIRE

2009 Publisher’s Weekly BHB Reader’s Choice Best Books

The French and Indian War, a Shawnee warrior, an English lady, blood vengeance, deadly pursuit, primal, powerful, passionate…

At the height of the French and Indian War, a young English widow ventures into the colonial frontier in search of a fresh start. She never expects to find it in the arms of the half-Shawnee, half-French warrior who makes her his prisoner in the raging battle to possess a continent––or to be aided by a mysterious white wolf and a holy man.




Excerpt:
For a moment, he simply looked at her. What lay behind those penetrating eyes?

Shoka held out the cup. “Drink this.”

Did he mean to help her? Rebecca had heard hideous stories of warriors’ brutality, but also occasionally of their mercy. She tried to sit, moaning at the effect this movement had on her aching body. She sank back down.

He slid a corded arm beneath her shoulders and gently raised her head. Encouraged by his unexpected aid, she sipped, grimacing at the bitterness. The vile taste permeated her mouth. Weren’t deadly herbs acrid?

Dear Lord. Had he tricked her into downing a fatal brew? She eyed him accusingly. “’Tis poison.”

He arched one black brow. “No. It’s good medicine. Will make your pain less.”

Unconvinced, she clamped her mouth together.

“I will drink. See?” he said, and took a swallow.

 She parted her lips just wide enough to argue. “It may take more than a mouthful to kill.”
He regarded her through narrowing eyes. “You dare much.”

Though she knew he felt her tremble, she met his piercing gaze. If he were testing her, she wouldn’t waver.

His sharp expression softened. “Yet you have courage.”~



“Through the Fire is full of interesting characters, beautifully described scenery, and vivid action sequences. It is a must read for any fan of historical romance.” ~Poinsettia, Long and Short Reviews

Hear the primal howl of a wolf, the liquid spill of a mountain stream. Welcome to the colonial frontier where the men fire muskets and wield tomahawks and the women are wildcats when threatened.

The year is 1758, the height of the French and Indian War. Passions run deep in the raging battle to possess a continent, its wealth and furs.  Both the French and English count powerful Indian tribes as their allies.  The Iroquois League, Shawnee, and others bring age-old rivalries to the conflict—above all the ardent desire to hold onto what is theirs.  Who will live, and who will fall?



 
Reviewer: Sheila, Two Lips

Ms. Trissel has captured the time period wonderfully. As Rebecca and Kate travel in the wilderness, though beautiful, many dangers lurk for the unsuspecting sisters. Away from the gentility they grew up around, the people they meet as they travel to their uncle in the wilderness are rougher and more focused on survival regardless of which side they belong. I love historical novels because they take me to times and places that I cannot visit and Through the Fire is no different.

As I read I am transported back to the mid-1700’s on the American frontier as Britain and France maneuver to control the American continent. I can see how each side feels they are right and the other side the aggressor. I watch how the natives take sides based on promises made but not kept. I felt I was there through Ms. Trissel’s descriptions and settings.

…This is an excellent story where there is so much happening with Rebecca in the center of it all. I’m glad I read it and look forward to reading more of Beth Trissel.

*Available in print and digital download from The Wild Rose Press, Amazon, Barnes & Noble and other booksellers.

Wicomechee from Native American Historical Romance Novel Red Bird’s Song

Warrior, Sailor, Soldier, Spy~ As a tribute to the men who star so outstandingly in my stories of ‘Romance charged with danger from Ages Past,’ I’ve put together a glimpse into each one.

Shades of Wicomechee, the Shawnee warrior/hero from Red Bird’s Song:

“Wicomechee was undeniably attractive. She’d never expected that in a warrior. His eyes reminded her of dark pools where the deep-woods fern grow. His nose, neither too large nor too small, complimented his smooth brow, high cheekbones and strong chin. Nor could she fault his gleaming hair, or muscular chest partly revealed beneath the cream-colored hunting shirt open at the neck.
But his intimacy in the night left her bewildered, as did her disquieting response.”~

****

“Wicomechee’s chest pounded beneath his shirt from his race down the ridge. Charity’s anguished shrieks had sent cold dread knifing through his heart, unlike anything he’d ever imagined. She must be in dire peril to call out to him. Her name for him swelled in his ears.”~
 
~“You are paca, beautiful.” Closing his arms around her, he drew her gently against him. He combed his fingers through her hair. “Like fire, your hair, and your eyes…never have I seen such a color. You are the sun, the trees, come to life.”~

****

“How do you guess my thoughts? You’ve done this before.”

“A warrior must see in the face what lies in the heart. This is why we are careful to guard our thoughts.”

“Why don’t you want others to know?”

A hawk shrilled overhead as he answered. “Much danger lies in this.”

“I don’t know how to hide mine.”
 
“No. Like clouds making shadows over the earth, your face changes to show what you think.”

“It’s just as well I haven’t any secrets, then.”

His eyes looked deeply into hers. “None?”

“Perhaps I’ve a few.” Suddenly self-conscious, she squirmed under his forceful gaze.~

****

“I am the man in your dream, but you will not say.” Without waiting for her stammered reply, he continued. “You grow cold. I will take you from here.”

“Wait. Before you do, where is my home?”

He pointed to the east. “There.”

She searched the rippling ocean of ridges for a final glimpse of the lush green valley called Shenandoah, Daughter of the Stars.

“Will I ever see the valley again?”

A sweep of his arm encompassed the western sky. Lavender and rose streaked the golden rim of the ruggedly beautiful Alleghenies. “Your home lies that way, beyond the mountains. You belong to Shawnee now.”~

****

Wicomechee sought shelter in the fast descending darkness. These ridges would be cold tonight and Charity was especially vulnerable to the chill. A wolf loosed a long thin howl above the wind crying through the trees.

She jostled against him. “Mechee—a wolf.”

“Brother Wolf will not harm you.”

“How can you call that beast your brother?”

“He is clever. Shawnee respect him.”
Wicomechee guided her through the dusky light to the cluster of evergreens. A rocky mound on the windward side of the trees offered additional cover.

He paused before the dim outline of the thickly branched evergreen. “Go under.”

She crawled beneath the sweeping boughs and hunched on the layer of needles. He slid in beside her. The force of the wind instantly lessened and he kept her in the innermost recess of their hideaway.
He laid his musket down and slipped the shot pouch and powder horn from his shoulder, barely discerning their shapes in the gloom. His tomahawk joined the others at arm’s length. The knife remained at his waist. Like trusted friends, he kept his weapons close.~

****

He untied her cloak and pressed his lips over the curve of her neck…like swans’ down. “You feel some fondness for me? Before, you said I am only your enemy.”

“You are. I’m just—having difficulty remembering.”~

****

In one lithe movement, Wicomechee was out of the water. With three short strides he stood over her, his black hair streaming. “You attacked Chaka first?”

She stared up at him, shivering in her wet clothes. “He provoked me,” she faltered. “ I only tried to knock him down.”

Disbelief mixed with the potent censure in Wicomechee’s eyes. “Is this a fight you thought to win?”~

****

With a howl of deepest anguish and blackest rage, Wicomechee flung down his musket and grabbed his tomahawk Before the big Long Knife could reload, he sprang at him.~

****

“Can a heart be taken, like a horse? Even horses remember their masters. A man cannot force a woman’s heart as he can her body…her heart is mine. She seeks my love in return. Not yours. When she wakes with fear, she holds to me, not to you. Her tears wet my shirt, not yours. When she is glad I hear her laughter. For me she sings.”