Title: Knight Blindness
(Knights in Time book 3)
Author: Chris Karlsen
Genre: Paranormal Romance
Blitz Host: Lady
Amber's Tours
BACK COVER BLURB FOR
KNIGHT BLINDNESS
Ready for battle, Medieval English knight, Stephen Palmer,
charges into the French enemy’s cavalry line. Heeding a warning given months
before, he hesitates as he comes face-to-face with the knight in the warning.
Struck down in the year 1356, he finds himself landing in the year 2013.
Grievously wounded, he’s taken to a nearby hospital. Confused by the new world
surrounding him, he attempts to convince the staff he’s from another time, only
to find they think him mad.
Rescued by friends, who, to his surprise, have also come
through time, he must find a way to function in this odd modern England. He is
quickly enchanted by the kind Esme Crippen, the young woman hired to tutor him.
She too is enchanted by him. Tempted to deepen the relationship, she hesitates
thinking him adorable, but mad. He must discover the means for getting her to
believe the truth, all the while, unknown to him, he didn’t come forward in
time alone. The enemy knight has also traveled to 2013.
French noble, Roger Marchand, doesn’t question why the
English knight who charged him hesitated. That fraction of a pause gave him the
advantage needed and he brought his sword down upon the Englishman’s helmet
hard, unhorsing the knight. He moved to finish the Englishman off when the
world changed in a rush of sensations as he is ripped through time.
Seeking a reason for the terrible event, he enters a nearby
chapel. There, thinking God has chosen him for a quest to turn French defeat
that day in 1356 to victory, he sets out to find the English knight. The man he
is convinced holds the key to time. If he returns to the day of the battle, he
can warn his king of mistakes that snatched victory from them.
I was born and raised in Chicago. My father was a history professor
and my mother was, and is, a voracious reader. I grew up with a love of history
and books.
My parents also love traveling, a passion they passed onto
me. I wanted to see the places I read about, see the land and monuments from
the time periods that fascinated me. I’ve had the good fortune to travel
extensively throughout Europe, the Near East, and North
Africa.
I am a retired police detective. I spent twenty-five years
in law enforcement with two different agencies. My desire to write came in my
early teens. After I retired, I decided to pursue that dream. I write two
different series. My paranormal romance series is called, Knights in Time. My
romantic thriller series is, Dangerous Waters.
I currently live in the Pacific
Northwest with my husband, four rescue dogs and a rescue
horse.
Available On Amazon:
Author links: http://www.chriskarlsen.com/
https://twitter.com/ChrisKarlsen1
Stephen woke from the dreamless
sleep groggy. Since the Frenchmen took him from the field, he’d lost all sense
of time. Bits and pieces of events faded
in and out of memory. He recalled at one point he’d tried to fight and they’d
stuck him with a small spiked weapon. It hadn’t hurt, no more than a prick from
a lady’s sewing needle. Then, he was floating and had the sense of angels
lifting him.
Not angels but his captors.
The delicious scent brought him
awake. He might’ve slept hours or days, he didn’t know. All he knew was the
food smelled like fine fare and his stomach felt stuck to his backbone, he was
so hungry. Those last weeks before the battle the army had run short of
provisions. The knights had foraged for food along with their horses. The night
before the battle he’d dined on overripe berries and dandelion soup. Soup
indeed. Nothing but a handful of
dandelion greens thrown into a kettle of boiling water.
“Is the food for me?” he’d asked,
stomach rumbling.
A new man, one whose voice he’d
never heard answered, “Yes.”
He attempted to rise but tethers
kept him prone. His wrists and ankles were tied to the bed with padded cuffs
instead of chains. A small but curious kindness.
“How am I to eat it tethered as I
am? Smell alone will not get it to my stomach.”
“I’ll release you, but first you
must promise not to fight or to touch your eye wrap.”
“Yes, yes, I promise.” He’d agree
to most anything for a full belly.
Stephen sat up as soon as he was
free.
The man put the tray of food on his
lap and set cloth wrapped utensils into his palm.
“What is this?” Stephen poked the
tined edge of a four-pronged eating tool to his fingertip.
“What is it? It’s a fork. You
know—for sticking your food with and bringing pieces to your mouth.”
Seems silly. Why bother with
cutting then sticking your food with the fork before bringing it to your mouth,
an eating dagger is faster, more sensible? Stab and eat.
The aroma of meat and bread filled
his nose and he put the fork aside. His head low to the tray, he shoveled the
vegetables into his mouth with the spoon. A juicy, plump chicken breast nestled
next to the vegetables. He tore the meat from the bone with his fingers,
licking the buttery drippings from the tips as he devoured it. He last ate
chicken in July and then it wasn’t a fat hen but a wiry, tough rooster. When
the spoon no longer scooped vegetables, he used his bread to wipe up any
remaining morsels on the plate. The captors brought two more plates and he
finished those before he was finally full.
Stephen sensed someone enter the
room as the man left with the last tray.
“Who is there?”
“I’m here to give you a sponge
bath, if you like,” a female, young by the sound of her said.
“You wish to bathe me?”
The pass of his hand over his hair
told him somebody had washed it. No dried blood was caked anywhere. He sniffed
his forearms. They smelled of soap and had also been cleaned. He had no need of
a bath. The woman offered something other than a wash.
He smiled with knowledge. It had
been a long time since he’d enjoyed the services of a bawd. Tempting as the
harlot’s offer was, he suspected enemy devilry and declined.
“Would you like to listen to
music?” she asked.
The bawd traveled with minstrels.
He wasn’t in the mood for her other services, but he’d welcome a cheerful tune.
“I would.”
“What station do you wish,” she
asked.
“I don’t understand.”
“I’ll turn it to a classical one.”
A tune different from any he ever
heard came from across the room. “I’ll come back tomorrow,” the bawd said. Her
light footfalls told him she left.
Classical station? Lovelier than any minstrel’s music, he
dozed off still baffled by weird words and goings on of his captors. They’d
woken him an unknown amount of time later and said it was the day and hour for
his eye surgery. A man told him to make a fist. He said perfect when he found a
vein and then stuck a needle into the crook of Stephen’s elbow. That was the
last he remembered.
“Monsieur, monsieur,” a female
voice said, patting his hand. “Wake up.”
Stephen yawned and propped himself
up on an elbow. “Ugh.” His mouth tasted like sour milk and his tongue felt like
it was wrapped in a mitten. “I’d like some water.”
“Here.” The woman slid a flexible
spout between his lips. “Suck.”
He didn’t know what the spout was
made of, nor did he care. The water tasted sweet to his parched mouth and he
sucked the cup dry. “More.” When he’d sucked another cup dry, he asked. “What
day is this?”
“September 22,” the woman said,
taking the empty cup.
Three days had passed since the
battle. Why had they let him live? There could be no good reason for it.
“This is Dr. Berger. Do you
remember me speaking to you two days ago about your eye surgery?”
“Yes.”
“Dr. Monette is here too. We want
to talk to you about the day they found you. The more we know about you, the
more we can help.”
“Who is the woman?” She didn’t
sound like the first woman, the one who smelled like a garden. This one carried
no scent of any flower. Nor did she sound young as the bawd. What was this
one’s purpose? The first, he suspected, had created the potion that put him to
sleep. He knew a bawd’s.
“She is Nurse Cloutier.”
Probably Witch Cloutier. “Ask what
you will.”
“What is your name?”
“Stephen Palmer.”
“What’s the last thing you remember
before receiving your injury?”
“I am a knight in service to the
Baron Guiscard. He rode to the aid of his friend. I saw your men surround the
baron. They were trying to pull him from his mount. I was about to ride to his
aid when one of your knights, his heraldic symbol was of a panther on a field
of orange, challenged me.” Stephen thought again how Guy’s warning had made him
falter. “I...I hesitated and your man struck with his sword.”
“Monsieur Palmer, your eye injury
is serious. If this answer is an attempt at humor, then it is a poor time to
engage in such a jest.”
“You asked what I remembered. I
told you. I’m not in the habit of making jests with my enemies.”
“Monsieur Palmer, we are not your
enemy. We are not at war.” A long moment passed and then Berger asked, “What
year do you believe it to be?”
“The year of our Lord, 1356.”
“Mon Dieu,” Cloutier said in the
background.
“From what the paramedics told us
you said when they arrived, and your answer today, I am convinced that you do
believe this is 1356. Monsieur Palmer,” Berger covered Stephen’s hand with his
own. “The year is 2013.”
Good morning,
ReplyDeleteI want to thank Jazzy reviews for showcasing Knight Blindness today. I look forward to the opportunity to talk with Jazmen's followers.
I'd like to let everyone know that Knight Blindness is a free download today for Kindle: http://www.amazon.com/Knight-Blindness-Knights-Time-ebook/dp/B00E2QS488/ref=sr_1_1?s=digital-text&ie=UTF8&qid=1375539463&sr=1-1&keywords=knight+blindness
Chris Karlsen