The Blue Enchantress
by M.L. Tyndall
Barbour Books (August 1, 2009)
My Rating: ♥♥♥♥♥ (5 out of 5)
The Blue Enchantress is the second book by MaryLu Tyndall in the Charles Towne Belles series. I was somewhat disappointed with the first book in the series, The Red Siren, so I wasn’t sure what I would think of The Blue Enchantress – but get a load of that cover! And the title! I couldn’t help but grab this book.
And I’m glad I did because I really enjoyed it! Don’t faint, but it’s even a keeper! I know, I know, picky Miss Lindsey wants to keep this book away from prying eyes so that she can read it again in the future… who knew? ;-)
What made this book a keeper?
- The pirates. Okay, well that’s a given. ;-)
- Hope’s character. Actually they all were pretty awesome…
- The non-stop action and myriad of tense moments that made this a total page-turner.
- All that AND an underlying message that really made me think about people and God.
Who can resist a pirate story? I’ve always been fascinated with tales of pirates on the high seas – but it’s not just the fact that they’re pirates that catches my interest. I’m a little in awe of those people who freely chose to go to sea for months at a time. I love to hear about what troubles they came across, how they solved them, etc. And imagine being a woman on a ship in the Victorian age. It couldn’t have been easy. It wasn’t even proper for a woman to be on a ship with all those men…
Which leads me to…
Hope is an incurable flirt. The kind of person I would have nothing in common with, probably wouldn’t want to get to know. She encourages the attention of every man around her without thinking of consequences… she can’t not have a male’s attention. She appears to have no reason for this behavior. She just drives all those around her a little crazy. People either love her (usually men) or hate her (their wives/girlfriends).
But Hope surprised me. There was a reason for that behavior… and I won’t give it away here, but knowing the reason encouraged me. It even made me feel guilty for all the times I’ve been unmercifully judgmental of the people around me – we don’t always know what drives a person and it can be easy to roll your eyes and just assume that they’re hopeless or just plain stupid. Ms. Tyndall reminded me that people and their hearts are important, and God gives His love to us all equally. We are saved by grace through faith. And I shouldn’t assume that I know a persons thoughts and motives… even if they do make the same mistake over and over again.
Sorry for getting off on a tangent there. *sheepish* I just wanted to share that and show you that this book is worthwhile. It made a difference in my life.
Non-Stop Action on the High Seas:
Pirates, duels, battles on the sea, being stranded on a desert island, sickness, and more – this book had me on the edge of my seat! It was quite the adventure.
The Underlying Thought-Provoking Questions:
Mainly surrounding Hope. She craves attention, and it’s obvious she’s trying to fill some kind of void. We all can do that in our lives. We want love, or we want money, or we want ________. I think we all want love. And I think it’s safe to say that although we love our husbands or family, it’s never really enough. There’s something more that we need than this temporary, fragile life can give us… and if we don’t know about God’s perfect love for us then we try to satisfy ourselves with something else in life. But it can never make us completely happy.
Thank you, Marylu Tyndall! The Blue Enchantress was a thrill, I loved it! And I especially loved that the characters were so well-written. Hope’s relationships with those around her were realistically complicated and made me really care about her. Who knew I could care so much about a character with such flaws! There must be hope for me after all. :-)
I can’t wait until the third installment in this series! Ready for the title?
*excited shiver of anticipation*
I even found the cover art! ——–>
Watch the Book Trailer for The Blue Enchantress:
St. Kitts, September 1718
“Gentlemen, what will ye offer for this rare treasure of a lady?” The words crashed over Hope Westcott like bilge water. “Why, she’ll make any of ye a fine wife, a cook, a housemaid”—the man gave a lascivious chuckle—“whate’er ye desire.”
“How ’bout someone to warm me bed at night,” one man bellowed, and a cacophony of chortles gurgled through the air.
Hope slammed her eyes shut against the mob of men who pressed on three sides of the tall wooden platform, shoving one another to get a better peek at her. Something crawled over her foot, and she pried her eyes open, keeping her face lowered. A black spider skittered away. Red scrapes and bruises marred her bare feet. When had she lost her satin shoes—the gold braided ones she’d worn to impress Lord Falkland? She couldn’t recall.
“What d’ye say? How much for this fine young lady?” The man grabbed a fistful of her hair and yanked her head back. Pain, like a dozen claws, pierced her skull. “She’s a handsome one, to be sure. And these golden locks.” He attempted to slide his fingers through her matted strands, but before becoming hopelessly entangled in them, he jerked his hand free, wrenching out a clump of her hair. Hope winced. “Have ye seen the likes of them?”
Ribald whistles and groans of agreement spewed over her.
“Two shillings,” one man yelled.
Hope dared to glance across the throng amassing before the auction block. A wild sea of lustful eyes sprayed over her. A band of men dressed in garments stained with dirt and sweat bunched toward the front, yelling out bids. Behind them, other men in velvet waistcoats leaned their heads together, no doubt to discuss the value of this recent offering, while studying her as if she were a breeding mare. Slaves knelt in the dirt along the outskirts of the mob, waiting for their masters. Beyond them, a row of wooden buildings stretched in either direction. Brazen women emerged from a tavern and draped themselves over the railings, watching Hope’s predicament with interest. On the street, ladies in modish gowns averted their eyes as they tugged the men on their arms from the sordid scene.
Hope lowered her head. This can’t be happening. I’m dreaming. I am still on the ship. Just a nightmare. Only a nightmare. Humiliation swept over her with an ever-rising dread as the reality of her situation blasted its way through her mind.
She swallowed hard and tried to drown out the grunts and salacious insults tossed her way by the bartering rabble. Perhaps if she couldn’t hear them, if she couldn’t see them, they would disappear and she would wake up back home, safe in Charles Towne, safe in her bedchamber, safe with her sisters, just like she was before she’d put her trust in a man who betrayed her.
“Egad, man. Two shillings, is it? For this beauty?” The auctioneer spit off to the side. The yellowish glob landed on Hope’s skirt. Her heart felt as though it had liquefied into an equally offensive blob and oozed down beside it.
How did I get here? In her terror, she could not remember. She raised her gaze to the auctioneer. Cold eyes, hard like marbles, met hers, and a sinister grin twisted his lips. He adjusted his tricorn to further shade his chubby face from the burning sun.
“She looks too feeble for any real work,” another man yelled.
The sounds of the crowd dimmed. The men’s fists forged into the air as if pushing through mud. Garbled laughter drained from their yellow-toothed mouths like molasses. Hope’s heart beat slower, and she wished for death.
The gentle lap of waves caressed her ears, their peaceful cadence drawing her away. Tearing her gaze from the nightmarish spectacle, she glanced over her shoulder, past the muscled henchmen who’d escorted her here. Two docks jutted out into a small bay brimming with sparkling turquoise water where several ships rocked back and forth as if shaking their heads at her in pity. Salt and papaya and sun combined in a pleasant aroma that lured her mind away from her present horror.
Her eyes locked upon the glimmering red and gold figurine of Ares at the bow of Lord Falkland’s ship. She blinked back the burning behind her eyes. When she’d boarded it nigh a week past—or was it two weeks—all her hopes and dreams had boarded with her. Somewhere along the way, they had been cast into the depths of the sea. She only wished she had joined them. Although the ship gleamed majestically in the bay, all she had seen of it for weeks had been the four walls of a small cabin below deck.
The roar of the crowd wrenched her mind back to the present and turned her face forward.
“’Tis robbery, and ye know it,” the auctioneer barked. “Where are any of ye clods goin’ t’ find a real lady like this?”
A stream of perspiration raced down Hope’s back as if seeking escape. But there was no escape. She was about to be sold as a slave, a harlot to one of these cruel and prurient taskmasters. A fate worse than death. A fate her sister had fought hard to keep her from. A fate Hope had brought upon herself. Numbness crept over her even as her eyes filled with tears. Oh God. This can’t be happening.
She gazed upward at the blue sky dusted with thick clouds, hoping for some deliverance, some sign that God had not abandoned her.
The men continued to haggle, their voices booming louder and louder, grating over her like the howls of demons.
Her head felt like it had detached from her body and was floating up to join the clouds. Palm trees danced in the light breeze coming off the bay. Their tall trunks and fronds formed an oscillating blur of green and brown. The buildings, the mob, and the whole heinous scene joined the growing mass and began twirling around Hope. Her legs turned to jelly, and she toppled to the platform.
“Get up!” A sharp crack stung her cheek. Two hands like rough rope clamped over her arms and dragged her to her feet. Pain lanced through her right foot where a splinter had found a home. Holding a hand to her stinging face, Hope sobbed.
The henchman released her with a grunt of disgust.
“I told ye she won’t last a week,” one burly man shouted.
“She ain’t good for nothing but to look at.”
Planting a strained grin upon his lips, the auctioneer swatted her rear end. “Aye, but she’s much more stout than she appears, gentlemen.”
Horrified and no longer caring about the repercussions, Hope slapped the man’s face. He raised his fist, and she cowered. The crowd roared its mirth.
“One pound, then,” a tall man sporting a white wig called out. “I could use me a pretty wench.” Withdrawing a handkerchief, he dabbed at the perspiration on his forehead.
Wench. Slave. Hope shook her head, trying to force herself to accept what her mind kept trying to deny. A sudden surge of courage, based on naught but her instinct to survive, stiffened her spine. She thrust out her chin and faced the auctioneer. “I beg your pardon, sir. There’s been a mistake. I am no slave.”
“Indeed?” He cocked one brow and gave her a patronizing smirk.
Hope searched the horde for a sympathetic face—just one. “My name is Miss Hope Westcott,” she shouted. “My father is Admiral Henry Westcott. I live in Charles Towne with my two sisters.”
“And I’m King George,” a farmer howled, slapping his knee.
“My father will pay handsomely for my safe return.” Hope scanned the leering faces. Not one. Not one look of sympathy or belief or kindness. Fear crawled up her throat. She stomped her foot, sending a shard of pain up her leg. “You must believe me,” she sobbed. “I don’t belong here.”
Ignoring the laughter, Hope spotted a purple plume fluttering in the breeze atop a gold-trimmed hat in the distance. “Arthur!” She darted for the stairs but two hands grabbed her from behind and held her in place. “Don’t leave me! Lord Falkland!” She struggled in her captor’s grasp. His grip tightened, sending a throbbing ache across her back.
Swerving about, Lord Falkland tapped his cane into the dirt and tipped the brim of his hat up, but the distance between them forbade Hope a vision of his expression.
“Tell them who I am, Arthur. Please save me!”
He leaned toward the woman beside him and said something, then coughed into his hand. What is he doing? The man who once professed an undying love for Hope, the man who promised to marry her, to love her forever, the man who bore the responsibility for her being here in the first place. How could he stand there and do nothing while she met such a hideous fate?
The elegant lady beside him turned her nose up at Hope, then, threading her arm through Lord Falkland’s, she wheeled him around and pulled him down the road.
Hope watched him leave, and with each step of his cordovan boots, her heart and her very soul sank deeper into the wood of the auction block beneath her feet.
Nothing made any sense. Had the world gone completely mad?
“Two pounds,” a corpulent man in the back roared.
A memory flashed through Hope’s mind as she gazed across the band of men. A vision of African slaves, women and children, being auctioned off in Charles Towne. How many times had she passed by, ignoring them, uncaring, unconcerned by the proceedings?
Was this God’s way of repaying her for her selfishness, her lack of charity?
Disappointed curses rumbled among the men at the front, who had obviously reached their limit of coin.
The auctioneer’s mouth spread wide, greed dripping from its corners. “Five pounds, gentlemen. Do I hear six for this lovely lady?”
A blast of hot air rolled over Hope, stealing her breath. Human sweat, fish, and horse manure filled her nose and saturated her skin. The unforgiving sun beat a hot hammer atop her head until she felt she would ignite into a burning torch at any moment. Indeed, she prayed she would. Better to be reduced to a pile of ashes than endure what the future held for her.
“Six pounds,” a short man with a round belly and stiff brown wig yelled from the back of the mob in a tone that indicated he knew what he was doing and had no intention of losing his prize. Decked in the a fine damask waistcoat, silk breeches, and a gold-chained pocket watch, which he kept snapping open and shut, he exuded wealth and power from his pores.
Hope’s stomach twisted into a vicious knot, and she clutched her throat to keep from heaving whatever shred of moisture remained in her empty stomach.
The auctioneer gaped at her, obviously shocked she could command such a price. Rumblings overtook the crowd as the short man pushed his way through to claim his prize. The closer he came, the faster Hope’s chest heaved and the lighter her head became. Blood pounded in her ears, drowning out the groans of the mob. No, God. No.
“Do I hear seven?” the auctioneer bellowed. “She’s young and will breed you some fine sons.”
“Just what I’ll be needing.” The man halted at the platform, glanced over the crowd for any possible competitors, then took the stairs to Hope’s right. He halted beside her too close for propriety’s sake and assailed her with the stench of lard and tobacco. A long purple scar crossed his bloated, red face as his eyes grazed over her like a stallion on a breeding mare. Hope shuddered and gasped for a breath of air. Her palms broke out in a sweat, and she rubbed them on her already moist gown.
The auctioneer threw a hand to his hip and gazed over the crowd.
The man squeezed her arms, and Hope snapped from his grasp and took a step back, abhorred at his audacity. He chuckled. “Not much muscle on her, but she’s got pluck.”
He belched, placed his watch back into the fob pocket of his breeches, and removed a leather pouch from his belt. “Six pounds it is.”
The silver tip of a sword hung at his side. If Hope were quick about it, perhaps she could grab it and, with some luck, fight her way out of here. She clenched her teeth. Who was she trying to fool? Where was her pirate sister when she needed her? Surely Faith would know exactly what to do. Yet what did it matter? Hope would rather die trying to escape than become this loathsome man’s slave.
As the man counted out the coins into the auctioneer’s greedy hands, Hope reached for the sword.
M.L. Tyndall, a Christy Award Finalist, and best-selling author of the Legacy of the King’s Pirates series is known for her adventurous historical romances filled with deep spiritual themes. She holds a degree in Math and worked as a software engineer for fifteen years before testing the waters as a writer. MaryLu currently writes full time and makes her home on the California coast with her husband, six kids, and four cats.
Full Product Details:
List Price: $10.97
Paperback: 320 pages
Publisher: Barbour Books (August 1, 2009)
Disclosure/Disclaimer: Although I was sent this book for review, it does not affect the honesty of this post. This review is my own opinion and in my own words.
Thank you sooo much for sharing this post! :-)