"C. K. Crigger has written a most memorable character in the person of Boothenay Irons. Boothenay, an unusual woman with an unusual name, is a lady gunsmith who specializes in restoring antique firearms and has a special power that transports her into the history of the gun she is working on. She takes an assignment from a British Queen during which she encounters high adventure, intrigue and romance. Crigger's storyline is fetching and her attention to the details of 1811 English culture is historically compelling."—Duane Howard, Amazon Reader

"Crigger has hit on a theme that intrigued me: when the gunsmith, a girl, touches an antique gun she is transported back in time and becomes the person who handled the gun. Crigger's imagination has no bounds as I went with Boothany back to Georgian England and barely couldn't stop reading until she was safely back in her gunshop. Crigger's style is almost tongue-in-cheek. The action moves quickly and I had to keep alert to keep up with the between-the-lines action of the two main characters. A good read."—Pat Pfeiffer, Amazon Reader

"...An exciting time travel thriller that hooks the audience once Caleb meets Boothenay. Boothenay, the glue of the novel, is a terrific person whose inner modern day feminism is brought to her host bodies. The bewildered Caleb is her ideal counterpart. However, what makes the tale once the heroine arrives in 1811, are the little irritating inconveniences of no microwave, horrendous bathroom facilities, and an olfactory nightmare that will leave readers desiring more stories starring this intrepid Gunsmith."—Harriet Klausner, The Best Reviews

"...An outstanding novel that I could not put down. It kept me enthralled from the first page to the last. An amazing tale of old England, with lots of humor thrown in with the two protagonists, along with the dangers of their journey. I would recommend this author to anyone, and I can hardly wait to read Shadow Soldier."—Mariah, The Romance Studio

I spun helplessly in a maelstrom of power and of pain, around and around, tossed like flotsam caught in a whirlpool. Power was the bottleneck that trapped me betwixt and between, far beyond any hope of taking control. Control? Hardly! I barely had cohesive thought, let alone a plan of action.

Time passed. I don't know how much time. I fought madly, mindlessly, to break free of the despair drowning my soul. I know the struggle seemed to last an eternity. It may have been no more than an instant.

As strange as it sounds, the glue that held me together was the pain. Somehow, I stemmed a fracture that threatened to split me into a million parts and cast me adrift, lost in the slipstream of time. Only the pain prevented that from happening. And where I was, so was Caleb. Somehow I kept a grip on him, one that kept trying to slide away, growing increasingly feeble.

I heard voices. Once I heard O'Malley, his tough Irish brogue thick with grief, cursing and vowing revenge.

Jonathan Harriman spoke during this passage. He sounded stricken, surprised at the turn of events. "Don't worry," he said to me-to Belle-as if he thought to give comfort. "I'll take care of you. It'll be all right."

Be all right. Sure.

And overpowering all of the other voices, Annabelle Winthrop's washed back and forth in my mind. First she sounded loud, then quiet. Quiet, and back to loud.

"I told you," she said. "I told you to watch over him. I told you to be ready. You let this happen, Boothenay Irons. It's all happening again! Why were you not prepared? You are such a fool!"

Her angry, accusatory words stabbed at me. My mission was kaput. I'd failed the test that gave meaning to my power. She was right. I was a fool.

Caleb and I had found in each other a soulmate that night as we made love. For an instant, I seemed to see us again. Joy, in a dance as old as mankind.

Only I knew now that it hadn't just been between Caleb and me. Of course it had not. There had been another couple present, body and soul. Perhaps their presence had intensified our feeling-and perhaps our love had intensified Ethan and Belle's as well.

Which made what was happening now all the more agonizing.

Ethan Delaney was slipping away, and when he went, so would Caleb. I knew it. Belle knew it. I would lose them both.

Unless I could find my way home. That's the trouble with riding time's slipstream. You require a solid entity for an anchor so you don't get lost.

Belle spoke again, softly, as if she'd gone farther away, yet every word was distinct. "You must go before it's too late," she said.

I knew she was right, if I could only find the way.

"I'll show you the way!" This time her speech resounded in my head like a scream. "Take hold of him and go. Now. Save him. Save yourself."

I whimpered. I know I did, but her anger sparked a response in me. I tightened my grip on Caleb's life force, holding him close to my heart.

"I don't know how to get home," I said, trying to talk rationally. I must try to keep my direction or we didn't stand a chance. "I thought the blood…"

Belle sounded scornful. "You need blood? Here's blood!"

Her fingers, my fingers gouged at the cut the militiaman's bayonet had slashed across my left hand. I shrieked with the intensity of the pain.