About Me
Posted by
Rashmi, a Mommy Reviewer on 8/15/2007
Welcome to my blog! Enjoy the book reviews, giveaways, guest posts etc you'll find here. Contact me for reviews of books (print copies only)/book-related products. I'm also open to blog tours, virtual promotions and sponsored giveaways.
Please know I'll read the books when I have time and my reviews will always reflect my honest opinion. If I really don't like a book, I'm not going to review it. (believe me, you don't want the negative publicity either!)
My email - abookblogger [AT] gmail [DOT] com
You can also use the Contact Form to get in touch with me.
Forgive me. I'm afraid that I posted another comment withe the name Holly, rather thoughtlessly, obviously, but the sentiments were for you and your son.
Gary
Her father was dead; her mother was losing her mind; one brother died of fever, another tried to kill her. She was forced into an unwanted engagement, but when she finally married a handsome man she could love, neither of their families came to the wedding. Her new husband wasn’t satisfied with the girl children she bore him, one of whom died. The man sulked, was unfaithful and fathered two children by other women. And her country continued in a brutal war that had lasted 40 generations.
A lesser woman may have quailed, but Isabella of Castile steeled herself to her woman’s work. She united her nation, drove the invaders from the soil of Spain, and became the greatest leader her country has ever seen.
Her story is told by a master of biographical fiction, and is available again after four decades out of print. The Schoonover Collection: Queen’s Cross, available at bookstores and online.
FCPub.com
Excerpt:
To her Fingertips
He concluded she must have spies. How else could Isabella, a blueblood to her fingertips, so deftly place those fingers on the pulse of the people and read it so unerringly? The notion of his wife having spies disturbed his thoroughly masculine sense of personal privacy,
“Isabella,” he said uneasily, “how could you be sure that the ordinary men and women, who love a bloody show, wouldn’t riot when they found out you’d blunted the horns of their precious bulls?”
“I wasn’t sure. I just hoped. I didn’t think they would.”
He eyed her narrowly, unconvinced.
“I’m afraid I’m a very ordinary woman myself, Ferdinand. Maybe I know how they feel.”
He did not find her ordinary. The big Andalusian moon through the tufted palms of the alcazar gardens, where they strolled in the evening, lent a magic to the soft silk gowns she wore in the summer heat; and she, he told her often, lent her magic to the moon, her fragrance to the flowers.
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I'm George Scott, the great-nephew of the author.
See more at Book Blogs.
Thanks! -TNGEO
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