Helen A. Rosburg - Lady Blue

Ms. Rosburg has done an incredible job of expanding this amazing plot into a riveting book which you will be thrilled to read. The characters literally jump from the page and pull you (bring a Kleenex) into this astonishing story!

Brenda Talley, The Romance Studio

Call Of The Trumpet will sweep you away to a world of camels, beautiful horses, desert dunes, and of course, love.Cat Cody, Romance Junkies

Desert legends, slave auctions and life in the desert are only

s latest historical. Death, love and politics also play a part in the lives of the hero and heroine in this compelling tale of trust and romance. Throw in a wolf

ll be rapidly

Faith V. Smith, RT Book Reviews

Call Of The Trumpet is a sweeping historical romance researched with great attention to detail. Helen Rosburg brings the world of 1839 Bedouin life alive in her novel Call Of The Trumpet . It is a sweeping historical romance filled with many realistic tidbits and interesting relationships that may, at first, seem foreign to the reader. Rosburg should be applauded for her ability to bring the reality of life for Islamic families to life in her novel by showing the real world and culture create an intense dilemma in the books. As Cecile is pulled between the culture she has adopted and her western ideas of love and marriage. Most heart wrenching is the decisions that Cecile faces and the bitter agony in her journey to find love. Call Of The Trumpet is not your conventional historical romance, but Helen Rosburg goes to great length to pull the reader into the world and culture of this strange society.

Tracy, Historical Romance Writers

Helen A Rosburg

ife, as Harmony had known it, was over.

With a heavy sigh, she stared into the small square of mirror hung over the scarred dresser top. Had she really become so pale in so short a time? The ocean voyage had lasted scarcely a week.

Before that, however, there had been the weeks spent at her mothers bedside, and the sleepless nights, grieving in advance of the inevitable. Then the funeral, and the long, dark days of mourning. No, it had not been a short time at all. It was simply far longer than she remembered. So long, in fact, she could not recall the last time she had sat astride her favorite mount and loped across the meadow grass in the shadow of the majestic mountains. It was no wonder the honey tone had vanished from her skin. Even her flame-colored tresses seemed to have dimmed. She had not seen the sun in a long, long time. Harmony wondered if she would see it ever again.

A painful ball of grief replaced the area her heart and lungs had once occupied and then burst, sending shards of agony throughout her entire body. Perhaps the pain she felt was so much greater because she mourned more than the loss of her beloved parents. Gone, too, were sunlit days under impossibly blue skies, the wind in her face, the smell of horse and fertile earth in her nostrils, the feeling of freedom as she galloped across the plains of tall, dry grass.

A single tear slipped down Harmonys cheek, and she quickly swiped it away, afraid that if the dam broke she would never be able to stop crying. The life she had left behind was gone, perhaps forever. She must learn to live with the knowledge, no matter how painful. Her life was in England now.

Miss, are you in there? Hello?

Startled, Harmony whirled toward the door. The cloudy dream of her former life evaporated as if it had never been.

Yes? What is it?

The maid offered a brief curtsy. Your sister, miss. She asked me to fetch your bag and tell you the coach is waiting.

Thank you. Ill be along in a moment. Harmony watched the girl leave with the single bag she had taken up with her for the night then glanced around to make sure she had left nothing behind. It was easy to see, in the sparsely furnished room, nothing personal remained. All that was left was her lingering disappointment in Agathas welcome.