This week, we're pleased to welcome author Veronica Scott once again, whose latest novel, DANCER OF THE NILE, is set in ancient Egypt. Join us on Sunday, when the author will offer a free copy of Dancer of the Nile to a lucky blog visitor. Here's the blurb:
Egypt, 1500 BCE
Nima’s beauty and skill
as a dancer leads an infatuated enemy to kidnap her after destroying an
Egyptian border town. However, she’s not the only hostage in the enemy camp:
Kamin, an Egyptian soldier on a secret mission for Pharaoh, has been taken as
well. Working together to escape, the two of them embark on a desperate quest
across the desert to carry word of the enemy’s invasion plans to Pharaoh’s
people.
As they flee for their
lives, these two strangers thrown together by misfortune have to trust in each
other to survive. Nima suspects Kamin is more than the simple soldier he
seems, but she finds it hard to resist the effect he has on her heart.
Kamin has a duty to his Pharaoh to see his mission completed, but this clever
and courageous dancer is claiming more of his loyalty and love by the moment.
Kamin starts to worry, if it comes to a choice between saving Egypt or saving
Nima’s life…what will he do?
Aided by the Egyptian
god Horus and the Snake Goddess Renenutet, beset by the enemy’s black magic,
can Nima and Kamin evade the enemy and reach the safety of the Nile in time to
foil the planned attack?
Can there ever be a
happy future together for the humble dancer and the brave Egyptian soldier who
is so much more than he seems?
**An Excerpt from Dancer of the Nile**
You can find author Veronica Scott at:
Chapter One
The chariot jounced over
deep, hard ruts, and Nima had to grip the railing tight with her bound hands to
avoid falling. As the ride smoothed out again, she tossed her head to keep
stray tendrils of hair out of her eyes and squinted, glancing behind at her
fellow Egyptian prisoner. About an hour ago, a small unit had joined the bigger
column that held Nima, dragging this man with them. The Hyksos had stripped him
of his uniform and weapons, leaving him clad only in his loincloth and sandals
as they forced him to march behind the chariot.
He was in a much worse
state than she, beaten, staggering, arms bound cruelly tight behind his back. A
black eye, cuts and spectacular bruises marred his tall, muscular frame, but he
held his head high, cursing their captors as they prodded him to walk faster.
Taking
note of the strength the Egyptian soldier showed as he strode along, she
counted his old injuries and scars. How
had they managed to capture such a seasoned warrior?
Nima flexed her hands, trying to ease the
irritation from the ropes restraining her wrists. Angry red welts burned and
itched where the hemp had chafed over the five long days of her captivity.
The
column halted, the soldiers and horses resting and sharing water. Her portion
was brought to her in a small mug as she sat on the edge of the chariot. The
soldier who handed her the water took his chance to fondle her breast for a
moment through the thin, dusty, blue fabric of her dress before striding away
with a laugh.
“Son
of a jackal,” she cursed as he cast another leering glance over his shoulder.
Nima lifted the cup to her lips awkwardly then stopped, gazing over the edge of
the unglazed mug to where the other prisoner knelt in the sand, head down,
shoulders slumped. They don’t offer him
water?
How far can I push my status as
Amarkash’s personal prisoner? Inwardly quaking, Nima stood and took a few
tentative steps in the direction of her fellow countryman. Most of the enemy
soldiers were ignoring her in their own efforts to relax or drink water. The
few who were facing in her direction didn’t seem to care what she did, and the
captain was at the end of the column, conferring with the younger officer
stationed there. Hurrying the last few paces to the prisoner, Nima tried not to
spill any precious water.
“Here,”
she whispered, holding the mug out to him. “Drink quickly.”
When
he raised his head, she recoiled from the intensity in his eyes, an unusual
hazel with glints of green. However
defeated he may appear, this man isn’t giving up. Unsmiling, the warrior
glanced at her bound wrists then at her face, saying nothing.
Why doesn’t he trust me? Can’t he see I’m a
prisoner here, too? Nima placed the mug against his swollen, split lips and
tipped it up. Swallowing in greedy gulps, he kept his eyes on her face.
She
took the mug before he had drained all the water and drank the last few drops
herself. A change in his expression gave her a split second of warning before
Captain Amarkash grabbed her by the shoulder, yanking the cup from her hand and
hurling it away. “You do nothing without my permission, you understand? Stay
away from the other prisoner.”
Nima
nodded. Amarkash had made it clear he
was the only barrier standing between her and the soldiers, so the need to keep
him placated outweighed sympathy for her countryman. “I understand. I thought
he should have water—“
“This
is not your concern. If I wish him to have water, I’ll order it.” Amarkash’s command of Egyptian was amazingly good,
his accent nearly flawless. He glared at
her for another long minute, hand half raised as if to strike her again, but
then he turned to snap the reins, and gave the column the order to proceed.
Clutching
the chariot rail tightly, she risked one more glance over her shoulder. The
prisoner was on his feet, marching along, fresh cuts on his face bleeding
sluggishly where he’d been struck after trying to help her.
His presence complicates everything. Nima
narrowed her eyes, glaring at the soldier.
