I am extremely excited to welcome Kat Caldwell and her new release, Stepping Across the Desert, to the blog this week. Kat runs the community that I write about often, hosts the sprints that get my butt in the chair so that I actually finish my books, and offers me excellent advice on plot, character and dialog. She can do all that because she is a generous colleague, an exquisite and knowledgeable writer and a kind friend.
Today, you can a chance to learn about Kat’s novel, Stepping Across the Desert. Step back into history with me.
About Stepping Across the Desert
Christophe is an abolitionist, but first a businessman. Taking a woman on the journey across the desert from Algeria through Morocco is dangerous, but he can’t stand the idea of leaving her behind. It isn’t until they arrive in Melilla and Rowena disappears again that Christophe realizes how much the journey changed him.
Back in England, Rowena is safe again with her family, but something is missing in her life. Another chance encounter with the man she can’t get out of her dreams pushes her to the limits of what she believes she is worth. Can she possibly marry a nobleman after what happened in her past? Or will the rumors swirling around society drive her to run away for the benefit of those she loves?
Background on Stepping Across the Desert
My historical fiction Stepping Across the Desert started by learning about Cervantes being taken by Barbary pirates as well as the fact that Europeans could sell their children for some money (and to be rid of a mouth to fill). Which led to me thinking about a story that might include a woman taken by pirates, which led to Rowena being sold by her maid in Northern Africa.
It was a long and twisted road to get to Rowena making her way back to England and learning that her past didn’t define her if she didn’t let it. Even after I had her developed, between babies and moving across the world, the book took me another two years to write and then another to edit and publish. Phew!
The funny thing is, Rowena’s story is set in 1832, long after the Barbary pirates were gone. But I purposely choose that date for a specific reason. What was that reason? 1832 was the year England abolished slavery in her colonies (although the law set slavery to expire in seven years, so really slavery ended in 1839 in her colonies. Worse still, the children were set free in 1832 so the parents, still enslaved, usually had to pay for childcare.)
Even though the idea of the book came from the Barbary pirates, I thought the story would mean more setting it against the backdrop of abolition in England. These are the little things we think about as authors when writing a book.
Unfortunately, this is an era that not many books are set in, unlike the Victorian era or the Tudor era. It’s the Edwardian ere. Definitely not as sexy sounding. But still, as I write the next book to be set in Spain, I’m enjoying the research I have to do about this era.
If you love history, especially books set in times that aren’t written about as much, I’m sure you’ll love Stepping Across the Desert!
An Excerpt from Stepping Across the Desert
Rowena pulled the hood of her cloak closer to find some warmth. The wind had picked up as the afternoon settled in, bringing a cool mist with it. She dreamed of a hot bath as she forced her feet to march along. A long, hot bath before the ball would be just the thing to settle her nerves, since her walk hadn’t.
Coming around the corner of the garden path, she stopped in her tracks. Two men covered in stood on the covered terrace, the smoke trails of their pipes following the way of the setting sun. One looked to be the Earl of Glenville, who was a kind man and one she feared nothing from, but the other had his back to her. He was tall with broad, strong shoulders and had a low voice that carried well with the wind. His entire physique reminded her of Sutton, but if she was honest with herself, Rowena would admit that there was not a day during which something did not remind her of him. Some mornings she awoke desperate to see him.
The London season was approaching, something she had looked forward to before realizing that she and Sutton might run into each other at a ball or social event. Society in London seemed quite large from the outside, but it was not large enough for them to never pass near each other. While it was possible that Mr. Sutton did not frequent society, the idea offered little comfort. Worse still was the idea that if their paths were to cross, he probably wouldn’t recognize her. Everything, from her name to her face, had changed. Even her skin and her figure were different. Her hair was clean, always up, and her hips no longer jutted out but curved smoothly under her many skirts of silk or gauze. The person in the mirror seemed entirely foreign to her some days.
Cold tension coiled around her. Irrationally, she didn’t wish to pass by the two strange gentlemen. She turned on her heels towards the stables. The smell of hay and horses would comfort her while she waited for the men to enter the house.
“Relax,” Rowena murmured to herself. “There is nothing strange about men on the terrace. This is England. A woman can pass by men on her way to a dinner party without being molested.”
The cold wind took the role of disciplinarian, whipping hard across her face as though to make her believe her own words. Many times since coming home she had needed to chide herself, soothe away the strange breathless desire to run. Sometimes it was from tea with Grace’s friends, other times dinner with her father’s associates. Sometimes it was simply entering a room where Bernadette was. The instinct to run and hide, to never come back, she could usually tame while in the house. It was in unfamiliar environments that it caused her to go mute and impeded her from hearing what was being spoken around her. Many times she would lie in bed at night, unable to remember the dinner party she had just attended.
This time neither her lecture nor the wind’s cold whipping could convince her to turn around, however. Instead, Rowena continued into the warm stables. At least Fatia had known what she wanted: to get home to freedom, to see her father, to eat enough and to wear silk slippers again. While becoming Rowena had satisfied all the things Fatia had longed for, the change required Rowena to question what she now wanted. Unfortunately, there seemed no reasonable desire within her other than to see Sutton again. It was as though seeing him would stabilize her somehow, remind her of who she was, and tell her who she might become.
A whistling sound pulled her from her thoughts as she entered the stables. It could have been the wind, but when a piercing scream followed, Rowena froze. She knew exactly what it was. For a moment, fear threatened to send her to the floor. It wasn’t until a tiny voice cried for help that her fear broke.
This was England, her mind seemed to scream. England. Not Algeria.
A man grunted with effort. Something fell to the floor with a dull thud, a whimper following. Rowena flew down the length of the stables as the whip drew back again, just beyond the last stall. Without thinking further, she threw herself around the corner, twirling her cloak to envelop the small heap on the floor.
A long, sharp pain sliced across her back, but the only thing Rowena concerned herself with was the trembling under her chest. Brown hair smelling of dust and hay tickled her throat. The boy, not much older than ten, shook without ceasing, his thin arms clutching at her. The whip came down twice more before she heard curses spill over her. The third strike cut through her dress and corset, but Rowena kept her mind on the trembling soul under her woolen cloak and hood.
“What the devil!” screamed a man before an iron grip pulled her away from the boy by her shoulder. Rowena whirled around, sending the man stumbling backward, nearly falling over.
“You are sacked, sir.”
The stable master at Chershire was bulky, greasy, and smelled of cheap liquor. There were days of growth on his cheeks, and his hands were shaking in rage. Rowena could not help her lips curling at the sight of him.
“Damnation, woman! Get out! ‘Tis none of your blasted business!” the man roared, suddenly finding his bearings.
“I pray you stop using such language, sir. And it is you who must leave. You are dismissed.”
Rowena stood firm, not moving an inch as the stout man stepped in closer to her, his jowls shaking. He made to grab the boy from behind her, but Rowena moved quicker than he, pressing the boy against her side. She brought her head closer to the man’s and narrowed her eyes.
“You do not want to add molesting a baron’s daughter to your grievances, sir.”
The man’s eyes widened. His already red face turned purple. His mouth opened and closed, but no sound dared to come out. Another stable hand came in through the back door and stopped in his tracks at the sight before him.
“Go to the house and fetch Baron Brayemore and Lord Arlington. Now!” Rowena demanded, not moving her gaze from the head stableman.
“It doesn’t matter what you tell ‘im. I’ve been in the duke’s service for over twenty years. This boy,” he said, sneering at the trembling body against Rowena’s hip, “needs to learn ‘is place and his job. I can’t ‘ave ‘im dropping saddles that cost more than ‘is life on the floor. This is the best way for ‘im to learn to never do it again.”
Rowena’s rage boiled higher, but she kept her peace as the stable master continued to bellow. There would be time enough to say what she wished. Right now, she was more concerned about wrapping the boy in her arms to stop his trembling.
“Rowena! What is going on?” her father’s voice finally boomed from the front of the stables. Behind him came Lord Arlington, looking rather grim.
“Mr. Dermont! What is this about?” the duke demanded.
Mr. Dermont pointed to Rowena with a fat, shaking finger, his voice no longer filled with as much confidence.
“She came flying in ‘ere, throwing ‘erself onto the floor, and I couldn’t stop the whip in time, your grace.”
The pain searing through her back suddenly became more pronounced as Mr. Dermont reminded her about the wound.
“You whipped my daughter?” The baron’s voice was low, barely audible.
Mr. Dermont stammered, throwing spittle about as he searched for an explanation, but Rowena wasn’t about to let him speak.
“I came into the stables after hearing this boy being hit by a whip. His offense seems to have been dropping a saddle on the floor. If it is that one that remains there, I would dare to say it is too great a burden for this small boy to lift above his head. Perhaps if Mr. Dermont would feed his hands better or give them jobs more adept to their age and weight, fewer offenses would be committed. I also must comment that perhaps Mr. Dermont would have more patience with his charges if he didn’t indulge in the bottle before finishing his work.”
Mr. Dermont again turned a mottled purple, but Rowena pressed on.
“I have discharged Mr. Dermont.”
“Rowena—”
But she did not give her father time to make his statement. “I realize that he is your man, your grace. Please forgive me for overstepping my bounds. You have the last word, but I will not be leaving this boy behind in this man’s care. He will not see Mr. Dermont again, even if he must become my charge,” she said, feeling her hands shake under Lord Arlington’s narrowed gaze. “You, take this boy to the kitchen and tell Mrs. O’Riley to give him some warm milk. Then send him to the nursery to be washed and spend the night. I will be there in a moment to tend to his wounds.”
“Your grace,” began the baron. “Please, forgive my daughter. She has overstepped your authority—”
“Brayemore! You do not mean to defend him?” demanded Lord Arlington. “Look at your daughter! Her dress is ruined. And she’s bleeding!”
At that moment Bernadette flew into the stables and shrieked in horror. Unconscious of the agony she would cause, she placed her hand on Rowena’s back.
Sharp, burning pain burst in a shock through her body. Bile rose in her throat, and memories of the first time she had been whipped threatened to overtake her senses. With a deep breath, Rowena pushed those memories away and moved to lean against her father, out of reach from her stepmother’s hand.
“I’m the man your father hired to train his racers when ‘e was alive, your grace,” Mr. Dermont was saying, pleading with Lord Arlington.
“Go and sleep off your drunkenness,” the duke commanded. “My secretary will see to you tomorrow. This is your last night here.”
Mr. Dermont’s curses echoed through the stable. Bernadette gasped in horror, but the man only seemed proud of bruising her ears.
“I suggest you do as you were told, Mr. Dermont,” Lord Arlington warned. “Go and sleep off your drinking. Come, Miss Brayemore, you must get that cleaned and bandaged.”
James took hold of her hand, careful not to touch her back, but the fabric of her dress pulled painfully against the drying blood, opening the wound again. Trying to force herself not to faint, Rowena bent towards the ground as they came up to the terrace.
“May I be of service, Brayemore?”
“Thank you, but my daughter will be fine once she can lie down a bit.”
“She is hurt. Shall I call for the doctor?”
Rowena shook her head, still looking at the floor.
“I am qu-quite fine,” she stuttered, nausea flowing over her in waves.
“Nonsense. Falcon, run and see that the doctor is summoned and that a bath is prepared for the lady in her rooms. I will carry her there.”
The demands were called out quickly and with authority. Her father explained that she did not wish to be carried, but the man paid no heed. Even as she feebly protested, the stranger gathered her gently into his arms, somehow managing not to pull on the wound.
“You will be all right,” he murmured.
Cradled against his chest, Rowena dared to relax and breathed in a strangely familiar musky smell. The last time she had been whipped, the man had left her to crawl back by herself to where Selma waited for her with the salve they had used to heal the wounds.
“Almost there now. Are you in pain?” the man asked.
Suddenly, the voice seemed to burst through her memory, stopping her heart.
It was Sutton.
She jerked her head up, only to find her vision filled with stars at the pain. She gasped for breath, but it was too late. For the first time in her life, she fainted like a swooning debutante… directly in the arms of the man she had dreamed of seeing again.
What Kat’s Readers are Saying…
A Touching Romance Across 2 Continents
A romance that mixes the exotic world of Africa and the social class system of London. Well written and filled with memorable scenes as the path of love faces several obstacles. Not my usual reading fare, but thoroughly enjoyable and I imagine a must for those who like their romance novels.
– Iain Kelly
Worth the money.
Love this book.
Can’t wait to finally see how the story unfolds. Kat does a great job of building these main characters for the reader to decide whether you’re rooting for them or not.
I’ve really enjoyed this story & couldn’t wait to add more of Kat’s books to my cart.
– Amazon Purchase
Most engaging story
I LOVED Stepping Across the Desert. I am thrilled when a story has me sneaking reading time in the morning, mid-day, late, eager to see the next development. The romance and chemistry between Rowena and Christophe is delightfully palpable but each of the characters has depth. They dynamics of the gender expectations is classic but definitely gets bent by Rowena. Caldwell gives insight into the Barbary Pirates and the human trafficking of the early 1800s. However, she goes beyond telling about the practice to exploring the personal and cultural perspectives along with the responses across classes of people and different countries. I absolutely recommend Stepping Across the Desert.
– Nancy Elaine
Romance Spans the Empire!
Late Regency Era Romance where white slavery, ballroom intrigue and duplicitous, backstabbing relations manipulate our heroine and attempt to undercut her happiness.
After saving a local chief’s drowning son, the “second son” of English peerage is introduced to a young slave with an amazing, and seemingly well-trained voice, Fatia. He is gifted the frail girl by his host’s jealous wife and they chase across the desert together, avoiding an attempted rape and bringing his mercantile purchases to the port city. Over the course of their travels, they fall in love although their passions remain unrequited, and through sheer coincidence, she finds a way back home to England and rejoins her family as Rowena, her given name. Due to an untimely death of his elder brother, upon returning to London Christophe is made Marquess and so the two star-crossed lovers begin to navigate the deep and overly gossipy social waters of the pinnacle of English social society.
The author writes wonderfully descriptive passages and seems most at home in the Regency Era ballroom and sitting room sequences. The romance sections are steamy without being prurient and her style is lyrical. Fans of regency period romance will find this a refreshing twist on the usual tropes, although some characters are a bit flat in characterization and motivation, especially the stepfamily and the “evil for evil’s sake” cousin, John.
Fans of Bridgerton and the Austin novels will enjoy this a fast and fun read.
– Jay Veloso Batista
Meet the Kind, Generous and Exquisite Author, Kat Caldwell
Kat Caldwell is a novelist and short story writer, and a certified book coach. She writes both historical and contemporary fiction, sometimes dabbling in magical realism when life needs an extra sparkle. She juggles a busy home life, a dog, managing a writing community, hosting retreats and writing. You can find her books and more about her at katcaldwell.com