R. L. Stine:Welcome to Camp Nightmare
- Livres de poche 2001, ISBN: 9780590466196
Bantam. Good. 4.2 x 0.8 x 6.8 inches. Mass Market Paperback. 2001. 339 pages. Cover worn. <br>A captivating new writer at an irresis tible price Critically acclaimed as one of the … Plus…
Bantam. Good. 4.2 x 0.8 x 6.8 inches. Mass Market Paperback. 2001. 339 pages. Cover worn. <br>A captivating new writer at an irresis tible price Critically acclaimed as one of the brightest new wri ters in the genre, (Publishers Weekly) Madeline Hunter has taken the world of historical romance by storm with her sensually power ful novels that feature strong heroines, provocative heroes, and timeless passion. Now this hugely talented author offers us a new tale filled with her trademark blend of danger, adventure, and s izzling seduction. The first time he laid eyes on her she had co me to his rescue with a sword in her hand. Still Morvan Fitzwaryn had never seen any woman who aroused his interest and his passio n more than the unconventional Breton warrior beauty. Anna de Leo n took him into her castle and nursed him back to health, little knowing the spark of desire she was feeding with her caring minis trations. It wasn't long before Morvan had vowed to protect and c onquer this unconquerable woman with all the sensual weapons at h is disposal. For her part, Anna de Leon had no interest in men a s lovers or husbands. She was used to commanding men in battle. B ut she suddenly had the strange feeling that her well-fortified d efenses could be breached by this dark-eyed, smolderingly handsom e English knight. When her castle is besieged by an old enemy who claims both her and her lands, Anna finds she has no choice but to accept Morvan's aid - even if the enemy outside her walls is n o match for the ally within, who with every tantalizing kiss and forbidden embrace threatens to make her a prisoner of her own fie ry passion. Editorial Reviews From Publishers Weekly Brimming w ith rich historical detail and fiery repartee, Hunter's latest 14 th-century romance (following By Design) is a battle of wills bet ween Breton warrior beauty Anna de Leon and Morvan Fitzwaryn, the knight who is determined to subdue her. The Black Plague propels Morvan to seek refuge on Anna's lands, but when the disease fail s to claim him, Morvan assumes a position as one of Anna's knight s. With her father dead and the war over Breton raging between En gland and France, Anna must don men's clothing and a sword to def end her people. Morvan, however, is chiefly concerned with keepin g Anna safe. Despite her attraction to Morvan, Anna is bound to e nter the abbey once her younger sister is married. In addition, A nna's ignorance of her own attractiveness leads her to think that Morvan is only after her family's estate. Their path to attainin g a loving relationship is freckled with a few feverish battles, several humorous minor disputes and many compromises, as Morvan s lowly learns to accept Anna for the brazen, independent woman she is. Hunter is at home with this medieval setting, and her talent for portraying intelligent, compelling characters seems to devel op with each book. This feisty tale is likely to win her the broa der readership she deserves. Copyright 2001 Cahners Business In formation, Inc. From Booklist Morvan Fitzwaryn is facing an ene my from whom escape is virtually impossible: the Black Death. Hol ed up in an abandoned longhouse, he is rescued by a young woman w ho takes him to her keep. Anna de Leon is no ordinary nursemaid; she prefers manly pursuits and attire and is in essence the lord of her castle and the few who are left alive within it. Those clo sest to her see her as their leader, the villagers see her as a v irginal saint, but she still views herself from the same unflatte ring perspective she had as an awkward young girl. Morvan finds h er enigmatic, but, having miraculously survived the plague, he vo ws to protect and serve her. Anna doesn't see the need for protec tion and is unsettled by his persistent presence. Filled with dan ger and adventure, Hunter's romance weaves a mesmerizing and upli fting tale as Morvan and Anna somehow come together despite her e xtreme unconventionality. Maria Hatton Copyright © American Libra ry Association. All rights reserved From Booklist Morvan Fitzwar yn is facing an enemy from whom escape is virtually impossible: t he Black Death. Holed up in an abandoned longhouse, he is rescued by a young woman who takes him to her keep. Anna de Leon is no o rdinary nursemaid; she prefers manly pursuits and attire and is i n essence the lord of her castle and the few who are left alive w ithin it. Those closest to her see her as their leader, the villa gers see her as a virginal saint, but she still views herself fro m the same unflattering perspective she had as an awkward young g irl. Morvan finds her enigmatic, but, having miraculously survive d the plague, he vows to protect and serve her. Anna doesn't see the need for protection and is unsettled by his persistent presen ce. Filled with danger and adventure, Hunter's romance weaves a m esmerizing and uplifting tale as Morvan and Anna somehow come tog ether despite her extreme unconventionality. Maria Hatton Copyrig ht © American Library Association. All rights reserved Review Br imming with rich historical detail and fiery repartee.... Hunter is at home with this medieval setting, and her talent for portray ing intelligent, compelling characters seems to develop with each book. This feisty tale is likely to win her the broader readersh ip she deserves.-Publishers Weekly An immensely gifted new autho r.-Jane Feather From the Inside Flap A captivating new writer at an irresistible price Critically acclaimed as one of the bright est new writers in the genre, (Publishers Weekly) Madeline Hunter has taken the world of historical romance by storm with her sens ually powerful novels that feature strong heroines, provocative h eroes, and timeless passion. Now this hugely talented author offe rs us a new tale filled with her trademark blend of danger, adven ture, and sizzling seduction. The first time he laid eyes on her she had come to his rescue with a sword in her hand. Still Morva n Fitzwaryn had never seen any woman who aroused his interest and his passion more than the unconventional Breton warrior beauty. Anna de Leon took him into her castle and nursed him back to heal th, little knowing the spark of desire she was feeding with her c aring ministrations. It wasn't long before Morvan had vowed to pr otect and conquer this unconquerable woman with all the sensual w eapons at his disposal. For her part, Anna de Leon had no intere st in men as lovers or husbands. She was used to commanding men i n battle. But she suddenly had the strange feeling that her well- fortified defenses could be breached by this dark-eyed, smolderin gly handsome English knight. When her castle is besieged by an ol d enemy who claims both her and her lands, Anna finds she has no choice but to accept Morvan's aid ? even if the enemy outside her walls is no match for the ally within, who with every tantalizin g kiss and forbidden embrace threatens to make her a prisoner of her own fiery passion. About the Author Madeline Hunter is a nat ionally bestselling author of historical romances who lives in Pe nnsylvania with her husband and two sons. In a parallel existence to the one she enjoys as a novelist, she has a Ph.D. in art hist ory and teaches at an East Coast university. Excerpt. ® Reprinte d by permission. All rights reserved. 1348 It was one hell of a way for the son of Hugh Fitzwaryn to die. Killed by a mob of Bret on peasants in a house that stunk of cows and dung. Morvan kicke d a bench over to the wall that faced the longhouse door. He sank down on it and rested his sword across his lap. To his right, i n the stable area of the house, his destrier snorted and stamped, aroused by the danger. To his left, on a bed near the hearth, th e youth William moaned in pain and madness. This end would proba bly be a mercy for William. Better to face a quick death than to endure the agony that burned your brain and deformed your body wi th black sores. Where had they come from, this clutch of peasant s who shouted curses and threats? He couldn't hear them distinctl y, for the walls of the longhouse were stone and the door and one small window were closed. The only light in the chamber came fro m the fire he had built in the hearth when he had dragged William in. The whole village had appeared deserted when he had led his men here seeking shelter for William. The disease had manifested itself yesterday, just in time for the gate guard at Brest to de ny them entry to the port city. And so they had continued north a long the coastal road. It was only after he sent his men back to ward Brest that the villagers had emerged. He had nailed a black cloth on the door in warning, and so they knew that the disease l urked within. These peasants had a right to be angry. The death h ad already run its course in Brittany and they knew all too well the danger lying in the longhouse. He eyed the thatched roof abo ve him. They could not risk entering. It would be fire. They only lacked the leader to emerge who would rouse them to it. And the night. It was always easier to do these things at night. He coul d have left the squire and gone on, of course. It had crossed his mind, unworthy thought that it was. But he had held William on h is horse and the disease would claim him too. The men would wait for him at the last crossroad as planned, would wait, he knew, th e full day or even more. But if he went to them he would carry th e death with him. Better to stay and die here. John would get the men back to Brest and across the sea to England. They didn't lik e John much, but they would follow him that far. The noise outsi de changed. The cries fell into pauses and shouts. One voice yell ed and then the crowd responded. They had found their leader. Wi lliam thrashed on the bed, his breath rasping. He called out seve ral times to Sir Richard, the Gascon lord whom they had served un til the plague had claimed Richard and his household and Morvan h ad taken the responsibility of getting William home. The crowd g rew more raucous. Their leader called something over and over and they picked up the chant. Morvan only understood a little of the Breton language, but it sounded like No more! Maybe they wouldn 't wait until night. The chant soared, reaching new levels, the emotion of the mob thundering off the door. He gripped the hilt o f his sword as the pounding of his blood matched the rhythms of t he screaming peasants. Louder and higher and faster the yelling r oared until it doubled in on itself and became an unending violen t noise. Then suddenly it stopped, swallowed in an instant by a hollow silence. He waited, tensed for an attack. They hadn't lef t. He could still hear some movement. Compared with the previous din, however, the quiet possessed a physical presence. The door of the longhouse opened a handspan. A slice of brilliant light fe ll on the floor. He rose and held his sword ready, to protect the villagers as much as himself. The door swung wide. Two knights stood at the threshold, in the blinding glare of the afternoon su n. They appeared as silhouettes surrounded by halos, but their be arings and weapons proclaimed their status. Both had swords in ha nd. One looked to be in his late twenties. Golden hair swept bac k from his forehead to his shoulders. He wore full armor except a helmet and was of medium height and build. His dark, deep-set ey es contrasted strangely with the fair hair. The other was harder to see since he stood farther in the doorway. The sun picked up a glow of blond curls tumbling about his head and shoulders. He w as taller than the other, but more slight of build. This one wore no armor, but instead a gray cotte and a black cloak. From his c lothes and youthful frame he might have been just a squire, but t he authority of his stance said otherwise. The younger one spoke . Put up your weapon. No harm will come to you here. Morvan peer ed past them through the open door. The villagers were gone. He s heathed his sword. The young knight strode through the shadows to ward William's bed. Go no farther, Morvan warned. Your people wer e right. It is the death. I do not fear it. The other man joined him and together they examined William. Then the older knight we nt back outside. Were you alone? The voice was young, yet full o f authority and command. Nay. Where are the others? Waiting. A bout an hour hence. The death spreads quickly and they may be ca rrying it. We must bring them back. I promise you and yours care, but they must return. Morvan told him about the crossroad. Wil l they obey you? Aye. Then give me your cloak, so they know we come from you. Morvan unfastened the brooch and handed over his cloak, then followed the young knight to the doorway. Outside, in addition to the older knight, were six mounted men-at-arms and a youth no older than a squire. Two riderless horses waited nearby , one a handsome bay mare that appeared almost motionless. The o lder knight came forward carrying a small box. Ascanio, here is his cloak, the young knight said. The others are at the first cro ssroad toward Brest. We will wait here for the boy to pass, and t hen meet you at the keep. Tell the servants to have all prepared. Ascanio took the cloak and handed it up to the youth. Then he r eturned to the doorway. I must shrive him. Aye. But say the sacr ament quickly. So the older knight was a priest. It was not unhe ard of, but rare. Morvan stepped outside into the sunlight. The men-at-arms eased their horses away. The young knight followed an d spoke. The squire is far along. I am sorry, but I have seen thi s many times. He will die soon. Morvan turned to respond. What s tood there stopped the words in his mouth. In the clear afternoon light he saw that the young knight was not a knight at all, but a woman. She presented a startling sight. For one thing, she was very tall. He was a big man, bigger than most, and he judged tha t she would reach his nose. Her blond hair fell in a tumble of un ruly curls around her face and just past her shoulders. The face itself was oval-shaped, with high cheekbones and a straight nose. She was dressed all in men's clothes, the cotte too large and ba gging over the belt that held her sword. Soft high boots reached almost to the hem at her hose-covered knees. The loose clothing a nd black cloak hid the bulge of her breasts, but here in the sun her woman's slender form was unmistakable. Large sapphire eyes g azed back at him, compelling his attention. What is your name, si r knight? The voice should have told him. It was deep and throaty , but possessed a velvet softness. She and Ascanio spoke French t o him, the language used by the Breton nobility. Morvan Fitzwary n, Bantam, 2001, 2.5, Scholastic Incorporated. Good. 133 x 197mm. Paperback. 1993. 136 pages. Cover and spine frayed.<br>Hannah's neighborhood has j ust gotten a little -- weird. Ever since that new boy moved in ne xt door. But when did he move in? Wasn't the house empty when Han nah went to sleep the night before? Why does it still look so des erted? She's not getting any answers from her new neighbor. He ju st keeps disappearing in the oddest ways. And he's so pale. . . . Is Hannah being haunted by . . . the ghost next door ., Scholastic Incorporated, 1993, 2.5<
