text:
A 13-year-old boy was charged with attempted murder after shooting a female in the back because a gang he was involved with thought she had snitched to police.
Police say the boy, who was not identified because he is a juvenile, was one of two people arrested. Eber Umanzor, 19, was also taken into custody in connection with the crime.
Investigators said the suspects are thought to be associated with a gang known as the "Little r" gang. Police said the gang members thought the female — whose identity or age were not released — was telling police about the gang's activities, and the two conspired to shoot her in retaliation.
Officials said the shooting occurred early Wednesday in Wheaton, after Mr. Umanzor stopped a white SUV he was driving in front of the victim and three other females.
Police said Mr. Umanzor walked toward the victim while the boy hid behind some shrubbery and sneaked up on her. When she turned to flee, the boy shot her in the back. She fell and he approached her and shot her several more times before taking her cellphone and getting away in the SUV driven by Mr. Umanzor, police said.
The victim was taken to a hospital, where she was treated and released. Police arrested the suspects on Wednesday.
The boy faces charges related to attempted murder, armed robbery, conspiracy and handgun offenses. He was being held at a youth detention center in Rockville.
Mr. Umanzor was being held without bond on charges of attempted first-degree murder, armed robbery and three counts of conspiracy relating to first-degree murder, armed robbery and retaliation in regard to a witness.


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'Localism' is an ambitious project telling the story of art in Middlesbrough from its beginnings in 1829 to now. It takes a radical approach to exhibition making, inviting the public to help write the narrative with workshops that grow the show, adding to it as we go, thus creating an encyclopaedic family tree of creativity on Teesside.
mima gallery and shop opening times:
Tuesday, Wednesday, Friday & Saturday 10.00am – 4.30pm
Thursday 10.00am – 7.00pm
Sun 12.00 – 4.00pm
Closed Monday
mima reception is open during gallery opening times: 01642 931 232
Using our Collection is an exhibition that experiments with new ways to put our collection to use through the lens of our new vision as a useful museum. It is…
'Arte Útil' roughly translates as 'useful art'. This type of practice focuses on the applied dimension of art, stressing the beneficial outcomes of projects for their users. The archive of Arte Útil…
We have one of the finest publicly-owned jewellery collections in the country, to rival those of the Victoria and Albert museum and the National Galleries of Scotland. The gallery features provocative and fascinating…
For the first time mima's entire collection is freely available online. Objects previously only seen within the gallery are now here for you to enjoy from anywhere in the world....

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Parlor MusicRich and heady, this mix is propelled along with a lively string serenade and catchy piano runs.https://www.smartsound.com/strata/images/STRATOH_200.jpgSingle7100161-ST$ 39.957100161-EX$ 69.957100161-W$ 149.95Genre: Elegant, Processional, Orchestral Keywords: Exciting, Inspirational, Delicate, Dramatic, Fierce, Heartwarming, Inspiring, Light, Majestic, Pastoral, Patriotic, Refined, Hopeful, Poignant, Military Instrument: Chamber Group, Orchestra, Studio Orchestra, Clarinet, Piano, Instrumental Production Types: Documentary, Indie Film, Wedding, Biography, Tribute/Memorial, Background
Parlor Music from the album Orchestral Hues
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Rebuilding A Nation from the album Orchestral Hues
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Pleasant ValleyA peaceful stroll through the countryside comes to mind in this leisurely-paced work. Great for pleasant and pastoral sceneshttps://www.smartsound.com/strata/images/strataED_200.jpgSingle56906-ST$ 39.9556906-EX$ 69.9556906-W$ 149.95
Pleasant Valley from the album Emotional Depth
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Knowing You from the album Richard Band Vol 6 - Family
MarigoldSensitive and airy, this track makes a perfect companion to images of family and home. Features a soothing duet of flute and piano. Best at lengths up to 1 minute.https://www.smartsound.com/filmscore/images/fcp_b06_200.jpgSingle5607-ST$ 39.955607-EX$ 69.955607-W$ 149.95
Marigold from the album Richard Band Vol 6 - Family
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Inner PowerElectric piano, synth effects, profound strings, a driving cello, sweet bells, percussionall crescendo into an immense orchestral piece racing across the screen as a soaring, grandiose and theatrical composition.https://www.smartsound.com/strata/images/STRATTHR_200.jpgSingle7100116-ST$ 39.957100116-EX$ 69.957100116-W$ 149.95Instrument: Studio Orchestra, Celeste, Percussion, Piano, Strings, Synthesizer, Trumpet, Instrumental Genre: Processional, Orchestral, Corporate/Technology Keywords: Driving, Exciting, Competitive, Confident, Dignified, Expansive, Incessant, Majestic, Motivating, Panoramic, Powerful, Triumphant, Poignant Production Types: Sports, Commercials, Corporate, Documentary, Nature, Video Games, Epic, Corporate Communications, Background
Inner Power from the album Thrive
Challenging PuzzleTrombone, honeyed strings and a rolling snare propel this hearty and confident track to a comical ending.https://www.smartsound.com/artist/images/ASFB04_200.jpgSingle7100193-ST$ 39.957100193-EX$ 69.957100193-W$ 149.95Instrument: Orchestra, Studio Orchestra, Bass (Acoustic), Brass, Chimes, Clarinet, Clarinet (Bass), Flute, Harp, Oboe, Percussion, Piano, Strings, Instrumental Genre: Orchestral Keywords: Driving, Energetic, Exciting, Happy, Tongue-in-cheek, Positive, Cool, Uplifting, Comical, Competitive, Delicate, Effervescent, Expansive, Fierce, Fresh, Funny, Gentle, Goofy, Incessant, Inspiring, Majestic, Motivating, Powerful, Striving, Tense, Thrilling, Triumphant, Wacky, Whimsical, Quirky, Fun, Hopeful, Fantasy, Investigative, Magical, Military Production Types: Kids, Animation, Video Games, Comedy
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Francisco's Cha Cha from the album Orchestral Comedy
Undercover OperationPick up the pace with this lively, quirky tune loaded with unusual instruments which dance rhythmically around a captivating bass line.https://www.smartsound.com/artist/images/ASFB04_200.jpgSingle7100190-ST$ 39.957100190-EX$ 69.957100190-W$ 149.95Instrument: Orchestra, Studio Orchestra, Bass (Electric), Brass Section, Clarinet, Flute, Percussion, Piano, Strings, Violin, Xylophone, Instrumental Genre: Orchestral Keywords: Driving, Energetic, Exciting, Happy, Secret Agent, Positive, Comical, Competitive, Crazy, Effervescent, Exuberant, Fresh, Goofy, Motivating, Refreshing, Hopeful, Spy, Upbeat Production Types: Kids, Animation, Cinematic, Film Trailer, Video Games, Comedy, Action-Drama, Background
Undercover Operation from the album Orchestral Comedy
Mantra In BlueDramatic, foreboding strings and cymbal-rolls open this ethereal, romantic and sensual track as it builds to a warm, carefree shuffle.https://www.smartsound.com/artist/images/ASMR02_200.jpgSingle7100149-ST$ 39.957100149-EX$ 69.957100149-W$ 149.95Instrument: Orchestra, Studio Orchestra, Flute, Harp, Percussion, Piano, Strings, Instrumental Genre: Orchestral, Indie Artist Keywords: Mysterious, Atmospheric, Brooding, Desolate, Dissonant, Dramatic, Ethereal, Haunting, Hypnotic, Incessant, Mystical, Sad, Scary, Serious, Sinister, Somber, Suspenseful, Tense, Uncertain, Ambient, Emotional, Dark, Tormented Production Types: TV/ Film Drama, Cinematic, Documentary, Indie Film, Film Trailer, Action-Drama, Biography, Background
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A woman has been attacked during a burglary in Dublin in which the suspect received a number of cuts and scratches.
Commuters are being advised that there are major delays to and from Heuston Station this evening.
A teenage boy has gone missing from his home in Limerick.
The European Court of Justice is to rule later in a case against Facebook over personal data held by the social media site.
The congregation at the funeral of murdered Dublin criminal Garry Hutch has been told "to break the cycle of violence - by not seeking revenge".
A large Garda presence is expected this morning at the funeral of one Dublin's biggest gangland figures.
TD's have signed off on plans for Ireland to take part in an EU battlegroup.
The European Court of Justice has cast doubt on an agreement giving US companies access to the online information of millions of EU citizens.


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Pmags End to End
Thanks. I have already checked out those resources. PMags is especially helpful and is where I got information for my resupply points. I check trailforums sporadically. I will start paying close...
No, I hadn't seen that before. I'll probably have to purchase that shortly. Thanks!
Colorado Trail Thru-Hike Summer 2014 - Input needed!
Hello, I am planning a full solo thru-hike of the Colorado Trail in 2014. My schedule for work (I am a band director) allows for me to take the trip from June 29th to about July 31st. I plan on 1...
Don't own the MLD inner, sorry for confusion!
I actually saw your post before you edited it. The BearPaw Pyranet 1 modded for Hexamid Solo may be exactly what I'm looking for! I don't have the inner yet, but I do have the normal and bu...
Hexamid Solo Tarp and MLD Solomid Inner?
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Beak it is!
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Does my Hexamid solo need a beak?
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Doubt (2008)
Critic Consensus: Doubt succeeds on the strength of its top-notch cast, who successfully guide the film through the occasional narrative lull.
Doubt Videos & Photos
Movie Info
When the principal (Meryl Streep) of a Bronx Catholic High School accuses a popular priest (Philip Seymour Hoffman) of pedophilia, a young nun caught in between the feuding pair becomes hopelessly swept up in the ensuing controversy. 1964, St. Nicholas, the Bronx: The winds of change are sweeping through this tight-knit religious community, and charismatic priest Father Flynn (Philip Seymour Hoffman) is doing his best to adapt by revisiting the school's notoriously strict disciplinary practices. Unfortunately Father Flynn's progressive ideas stand in stark contrast to the longstanding beliefs of Sister Aloysius Beauvier (Meryl Streep), the iron-willed principal, who believes that an oppressive environment of punishment and fear is the only way to keep the student body in line. Suddenly into this tempestuous environment appears young Donald Miller, St. Nicholas' first black student. When hopeful innocent Sister James (Amy Adams) reluctantly reveals to Sister Beauvier that Father Flynn and Donald have been spending an unusual amount of time together in the church rectory, the unrelentingly righteous headmistress begins a merciless crusade to reveal the beloved clergyman as a lecherous child molester and have him permanently expunged from the school. Yet despite her moral certainty that Father Flynn has committed such an unspeakable transgression, Sister Beauvier has not a shred of actual evidence to back up her audacious claim. Now, as Sister Beauvier and Father Flynn enter into an epic battle of wills, the shock waves set into motion by their explosive confrontation threaten to destroy one man's reputation and tear apart the entire surrounding community. John Patrick Shanley adapted his own play for the screen under the guidance of producer Scott Rudin (The Queen, Notes on a Scandal). ~ Jason Buchanan, Rovi … More
|PG-13 (for thematic material)
|Directed By:
|John Patrick Shanley
|Written By:
|John Patrick Shanley
|In Theaters:
|Dec 12, 2008 Wide
|On DVD:
|Apr 7, 2009
|Box Office:
as Sister Aloysius Beau...
as Father Brendan Flynn
as Sister James
as Jimmy Hurley
as Mrs. Miller
as Donald Miller
as Sister Veronica
as Sister Raymond
as Mrs. Carson
as Christine Hurley
as Warren Hurley
as William London
as zither player
as William London
as Kevin
as organist
as Ralph
as Tommy Conroy
as Raymond
as Noreen Horan
as Sarah
as Alice
as Mrs. Kean
as Sister Teresa
as Monsignor Benedict
as Father Sherman
as Mrs. Shields
as Mrs. Deakins
as Parishioner
as Mr. McGuinn
as Mr. McGuinn
News & Interviews for Doubt
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Critic Reviews for Doubt
All Critics (207) | Top Critics (47) | Fresh (162) | Rotten (45) | DVD (11)
I'm pretty happy with the conclusion that I've put together in my head. But, as with any certainty, I've got my doubts.
In a brisk 104 minutes, we meet four compelling people, establish a living breathing school environment, tackle legitimate moral dilemmas and wrestle with topics we'll spend longer than 104 minutes discussing.
Streep bursts onto the scene in a shower of meteors and takes control of director John Patrick Shanley's scenario.
You don't mess with two Capital-A actors when they decide to play the game of Who Can Yell The Loudest.
As a movie, very little actually happens. It's a lot of discussion about what might have happened or may occur in future, and then the emotional change that signals the curtain to drop and for the class to put down their pencils. The performances are st
Audience Reviews for Doubt
" I Have Doubts, Such Strong Doubts!"
What a powerful ending, i loved the way it ended, i love that the Nun was questioning everything she believed in. Just fantastic!
A fantastic cast, which then led to fantastic ending which deserved each of them a Golden Globe.
Its a powerful movie about a catholic priest and a black boy that get a bit to 'close', throughout the movie you never hear the words 'Molestered' or 'pedeophile' but from the way the story is being told and from Meryl Streeps character your lead to believe that, that is whats going, however this may not be the case hence the title 'Doubt', you aren't given a proper answer to the accusations which in all honestly could be false.
Throughout the movie your given clues which i guess your ment to pick up on and deduce and come to your own decision, a couple of clues your given is that the priest played by seymore-hoffman has long nails which is very much emphasized throughout the movie which could suggest that the priest is gay which of course in his job and at that era that would be unexceptable!
The second clue is that when Streep is speaking to the young black boys mother she's saying that the boy gets beaten by his father for it, and would be beaten and picked on in school usually. It doesnt say specifics into what she is talking about but again you are left thinking that shes knows about the supposedly 'abuse'; this movie is fantastic and is written very well and is mesmerizing!
I'll leave it to your own mind as to what you think! Enjoy! :)
Super Reviewer
Super Reviewer
Man, what a movie! It is the early 1960s, and Sister Aloysius is the classic stern disciplinarian type of nun. She starts waging a campaign against the progressive parish priest Father Flynn after she suspects he has done something illicit with a kid. Sister James is the naive and kind nun caught in the middle, and unsure of who to believe. Despite not much happening, and, due to being an adaptation of a play, the whole film takes place in and around a single location, this is one gripping, riveting, and powerful work. Written and directed by the author of the source material, Doubt is a thought-provoking and unnerving tale of uncertainty, and beliefs. The subject matter is controversial, but completely relevant and important. This is a film that needs to be seen, regardless of one's beliefs, because it is a challenging work that really forces the viewer to engage with the material. As a bonus, the cast, and their performances are absolutely brilliant. I really don't think I need to say much else about the acting. I mean, come on: Streep, Davis, Hoffman, and Adams all got Oscar nominations in a film that is essentially all dialogue. Because this film is is an adaptation of a play, it does have the feel of a play, and isn't too "cinematic", but there are some touches here and there. It all looks excellent though, thanks to the superb work of Roger Deakins. This film is challenging, and will divide audiences, but that's the whole point. The fact that this film is also entertaining as well as heavy is proof that it is worth seeing.
Super Reviewer
Doubt Quotes
|Sister Aloysius Beauvier:
|His resignation is his confession.
|Sister Aloysius Beauvier:
|What happened in the rectory?
|Father Brendan Flynn:
|Sister Aloysius Beauvier:
|Father Brendan Flynn:
|Nothing happened, I had a talk with the boy.
|Sister Aloysius Beauvier:
|What about?
|Father Brendan Flynn:
|Private matter.
|Sister Aloysius Beauvier:
|He's twelve years old, what could be private?
|Sister Aloysius Beauvier:
|In ancient Sparta, important matters were decided by who shouted loudest. Fortunately, we are not in ancient Sparta.
|Father Brendan Flynn:
|Where's your compassion?
|Sister Aloysius Beauvier:
|Nowhere you can get at it.
Discussion Forum
Discuss Doubt on our Movie forum!


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Malerkotla calm after Kasab hanging; was guilty so had to be punished, say residents
- Ajmal Kasab's lawyers welcome execution; question the strict secrecy
- Ajmal Kasab hanging ends the unfinished chapter of 26/11: US victim
- Govt is using Kasab's hanging as detergent to wash stains: Ramdev
- Ajmal Kasab's lawyers welcome execution; question the strict secrecy
- Ajmal Kasab hanging ends the unfinished chapter of 26/11: US victim
- Govt is using Kasab's hanging as detergent to wash stains: Ramdev
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Though special police nakas were set up in the Muslim-dominated Malerkotla following the execution of Ajmal Kasab the lone surviving Pakistani terrorist in the 26/11 Mumbai attacks the residents welcomed the decision. According to them, Kasab was guilty and hence this was the only punishment meant for him.
"After the attacks, I had gone to Mumbai to condole the deaths of innocent people. At that time, all had said that Muslims will never provide a place for Kasab in the graveyard after his death and it is good that he had been buried in the Pune jail itself," said Mufti Faizal Ur-Rehman, a member of the All India Muslim Personal Law Board said. "He was guilty and has been punished for his deeds and it is a lesson for others as well," he added.
Mohammad Tariq, an employee in HDFC, Malerkotla branch, said: " We found out about the execution in the afternoon but the masses have not reacted at all. I went to the Masjid to offer namaz and even went to the market. Everyone hailed this step."
"Though police took extra security measures, but we too are part of this country and we are totally support the step," he added. Khalid Parwej, another businessman, said: "It took the government four years to hang the man who had killed many. It should have happened much earlier."
SSP (Sangrur) H S Bhullar said that extra force was deployed not only in Malerkotla but in entire Sangrur. "No untoward incident happened, but we had to take extra precautionary measures," he added.
Hanging won't affect Sarabjit case: lawyer
Amritsar, Jalandhar: Awais Sheikh, the lawyer of Sarabjit Singh, who is on a death row in Pakistan after being convicted of serial blasts , said Kasab's hanging was not going to impact his client's case. "The two are entirely different cases. In Kasab's case, you have videos of him committing the crime. Also, in a Pakistani court, it has been submitted that he got training from Pakistan and went to India to carry out terror strikes. Sarabjit's case is of mistaken identity and he has already spent more than two decades in jail," Sheikh added.
... contd.


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Posted 3/4/2014 at 10:47 AM by PATRICIA
Sending the same ornament to different places? If you order more than one of an item and want them shipped to different addresses, please order them individually. We will ask you for the individual shipping addresses later in the ordering process.
Apollo Rocket Christmas Ornament
Personalized Christmas Ornament
Many people dream of becoming an astronaut in the space program and flying manned rockets for NASA when they grow up. Since 1969 people have been hoping to be on a commercial flight for moon landings. This personalized rocket ornament is the ideal gift for your little boy who dreams of working for NASA and someday being on a mission in space. The American flag is permanently on the rocket as well as the letters USA. This personalized Apollo Rocket ornament is the ideal gift for the space nut on your Christmas list or aeronautical engineering school graduate!
Material: Glass
Ornaments shown on our site are personalized, as examples only, so you can see where we put the words/names you give us. Some ornaments allow you to select hair or uniform color. If there is no color choice, it is not available on that particular ornament. We will do everything possible to catch any mistakes in spelling, etc., but are not responsible if we do as you request, and it is then not correct. The ornament you see above is the way it will look when you get it, except for the personalizing instructions you give us and any optional attributes you select.
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text:
Many Years Ago , in the seventies, Israel moved the border about 3km west, giving Jordan more territory. The Israel Army did this under the supervision of the Jordian Army. In the South there was a 25 year agreement to allow some Israeli settlements to continue to farm . This is an Agreement and NOT ANNEXATION....
Islamic State militants blow up ancient Arch of Triumph in Palmyra (Reuters)
from the article: Israel effectively annexes Palestinian land near Jordan Valley


text:
Lord of Darkness (Maiden Lane Series #5)by Elizabeth Hoyt
View All Available Formats & Editions
"Elizabeth Hoyt has outdone herself." Jennifer Ashley, New York Times bestselling author
He lives in the shadows. As the mysterious masked avenger known as the Ghost of St. Giles, Godric St. John's only goal is to protect the innocent of London. Until the night he confronts a fearless young lady pointing a pistol/b>/b>… See more details below
"Elizabeth Hoyt has outdone herself." Jennifer Ashley, New York Times bestselling author
He lives in the shadows. As the mysterious masked avenger known as the Ghost of St. Giles, Godric St. John's only goal is to protect the innocent of London. Until the night he confronts a fearless young lady pointing a pistol at his head-and realizes she is his wife . . .
Lady Margaret Reading has vowed to kill the Ghost of St. Giles-the man who murdered her one true love. Returning to London, and to the man she hasn't seen since their wedding day, Margaret does not recognize the man behind the mask. Fierce, commanding, and dangerous, the notorious Ghost of St. Giles is everything she feared he would be-and so much more . . .
When passion flares, these two intimate strangers can't keep from revealing more of themselves than they had ever planned. But when Margaret learns the truth-that the Ghost is her husband-the game is up and the players must surrender . . . to the temptation that could destroy them both.
Editorial Reviews
Hoyt's writing is imbued with great depth of emotion ...Heartbreaking ... an edgy tension-filled plot."Publishers Weekly"
I adore the Maiden Lane series, and this fifth book is a very welcome addition to the series . . . [It's] sexy and sweet all at the same time . . . This can be read as a standalone, but I adore each book in this series and encourage you to start from the beginning."USA Today's Happy Ever After Blog"
Lord of Darkness is classic Elizabeth Hoyt, meaning it's unique, engaging, and leaves readers on the edge of their seats, waiting for the next book . . . an incredible addition to the fantastic Maiden Lane series. I Joyfully Recommend Godric and Megs's tale, for it's an amazing, well-crafted story with an intriguing plot and a lovely, touching romance that I want to enjoy again and again and again . . . simply enchanting!"JoyfullyReviewed.com"
Beautifully written . . . a truly fine piece of storytelling and a novel that deserves to be read and enjoyed."TheBookBinge.com
Product Details
- 9781455508303
- Publisher:
- Grand Central Publishing
- Publication date:
- 02/26/2013
- Series:
- Maiden Lane Series, #5
- Pages:
- 384
- Sales rank:
- 549,540
- Product dimensions:
- 4.40(w) x 6.62(h) x 1.06(d)
Read an Excerpt
Lord of Darkness
By Elizabeth Hoyt
Grand Central PublishingCopyright © 2013 Elizabeth Hoyt
All right reserved.
Chapter One
Have you ever heard tell of the Hellequin?…
—From The Legend of the Hellequin
The night Godric St. John saw his wife for the first time since their marriage two years previously, she was aiming a pistol at his head. Lady Margaret stood beside her carriage in the filthy St. Giles street, her glossy, dark curls tumbling from the velvet hood of her cloak. Her shoulders were square, both hands firmly grasped the pistol, and a murderous gleam shone in her pretty eyes. For a split second, Godric caught his breath in admiration.
In the next moment, Lady Margaret pulled the trigger.
The report was deafening but fortunately not fatal, as his wife was apparently an execrable shot. This did not reassure Godric as much as it should have, because Lady Margaret immediately turned and pulled a second pistol from her carriage.
Even the worst shots could get lucky on occasion.
But Godric hadn't the time to meditate on the odds of his wife actually murdering him tonight. He was too busy saving her ungrateful hide from the half-dozen footpads who had stopped her carriage here, in the most dangerous part of London.
Godric ducked the enormous fist coming at his head and kicked the footpad in the stomach. The man grunted but didn't go down, probably because he was as big as a draft horse. Instead, the robber began a counterclockwise circle of Godric as his compatriots—four of them, and every one quite as well fed—closed in on him.
Godric narrowed his eyes and raised his swords, a long one in his right hand, a short one in his left for defense and close fighting, and—
God's balls—Lady Margaret fired her second pistol at him.
The gunshot shattered the night, echoing off the decrepit buildings lining the narrow street. Godric felt a tug on his short cape as the lead ball went through the wool.
Lady Margaret swore with a startling breadth of vocabulary.
The footpad nearest Godric grinned, revealing teeth the color of week-old piss. "Don't like 'e much, now, do she?"
Not precisely true. Lady Margaret was trying to kill the Ghost of St. Giles. Unfortunately, she had no way of knowing that the Ghost of St. Giles happened to be her husband. The black leather mask on Godric's face hid his identity quite effectively.
For a moment, all of St. Giles seemed to hold its breath. The sixth robber still stood, both of his pistols aimed at Lady Margaret's coachman and two footmen. A female spoke in low, urgent tones from inside the carriage, no doubt trying to lure Lady Margaret back to safety. The lady herself glared from her stance beside the carriage, apparently oblivious to the fact that she might be murdered—or worse—if Godric failed to save her from the robbers. High overhead, the wan moon looked down dispassionately on the crumbling brick buildings, the broken cobblestones underfoot, and a single chandler's shop sign creaking wearily in the wind.
Godric leaped at the still-grinning footpad.
Lady Margaret might be a foolish chit for being here, and the footpad might be merely following the instincts of any feral predator who runs down the careless prey that ventures into his path, but it mattered not. Godric was the Ghost of St. Giles, protector of the weak, a predator to be feared himself, lord of St. Giles and the night, and, damn it, Lady Margaret's husband.
So Godric stabbed fast and low, impaling the footpad before his grin had time to disappear. The man grunted and began to fall as Godric elbowed another footpad advancing behind him. The man's nose shattered with a crunching sound.
Godric pulled his sword free in a splatter of scarlet and whirled, slashing at a third man. His sword opened a swath of blood diagonally across the man's cheek, and the footpad stumbled back, screaming, his hands to his face.
The remaining two attackers hesitated, which in a street fight was nearly always fatal.
Godric charged them, the sword in his right hand whistling as it swept toward one of the footpads. His strike missed, but he stabbed the short sword in his left hand deep into the thigh of the fifth footpad. The man shrieked. Both robbers backed away and then turned to flee.
Godric straightened, his chest heaving as he caught his breath and looked around. The only robber still standing was the one with the pistols.
The coachman—a thickset man of middling years with a tough, reddened face—narrowed his eyes at the robber and pulled a pistol out from under his seat.
The last footpad turned and fled without a sound.
"Shoot him," Lady Margaret snapped. Her voice trembled, but Godric had the feeling it was from rage rather than fear.
"M'lady?" The coachman looked at his mistress, confused, since the footpads were now out of sight.
But Godric knew quite well that she wasn't ordering the murder of a footpad, and suddenly something inside of him—something he'd thought dead for years—woke.
His nostrils flared as he stepped over the body of the man he'd killed for her. "No need to thank me."
He spoke in a whisper to disguise his voice, but she seemed to have no trouble hearing him.
The bloodthirsty wench actually clenched her teeth, hissing, "I wasn't about to."
"No?" He cocked his head, his smile grim. "Not even a kiss for good luck?"
Her eyes dropped to his mouth, left uncovered by the half-mask, and her upper lip curled in disgust. "I'd rather embrace an adder."
Oh, that's lovely. His smile widened. "Frightened of me, sweeting?"
He watched, fascinated, as she opened her mouth, no doubt to scorch his hide with her retort, but she was interrupted before she could speak.
"Thank you!" cried a feminine voice from inside the carriage.
Lady Margaret scowled and turned. Apparently she was close enough to see the speaker in the dark even if he couldn't. "Don't thank him! He's a murderer."
"He hasn't murdered us," the woman in the carriage pointed out. "Besides, it's too late. I've thanked him for both of us, so climb in the carriage and let's leave this awful place before he changes his mind."
The set of Lady Margaret's jaw reminded Godric of a little girl denied a sweet.
"She's right, you know," he whispered to her. "Believe it or not, toffs have been known to be accosted by footpads in this very spot."
"Megs!" hissed the female in the carriage.
Lady Margaret's glare could've scorched wood. "I shall find you again, and when I do, I intend to kill you."
She was completely in earnest, her stubborn little chin set.
He took off his large floppy hat and swept her a mocking bow. "I look forward to dying in your arms, sweeting."
Her eyes narrowed on his wicked double entendre, but her companion was muttering urgently now. Lady Margaret gave him one last look of disdain before ducking inside her carriage.
The coachman shouted to the horses, and the vehicle rumbled away.
And Godric St. John realized two things: his lady wife was apparently over her mourning—and he'd better make it back to his town house before her carriage arrived. He paused for a second, glancing at the body of the man he'd killed. Black blood wound in a sluggish trail to the channel in the middle of the lane. The man's eyes stared glassily at the indifferent heavens. Godric searched within himself, looking for some emotion… and found what he always did.
He whirled and darted down a narrow alley. Only now that he was moving did he notice that his right shoulder ached. He'd either damaged something in the brawl or one of the footpads had succeeded in landing a blow. No matter. Saint House was on the river, not terribly far in the usual way, but he'd get there faster by rooftop.
He was already swinging himself up onto the top of a shed when he heard it: shrill, girlish screams, coming from around the bend in the alley up ahead.
Damn it. He hadn't the time for this. Godric dropped back down to the alley and drew both his swords.
Another terrified cry.
He darted around the corner.
There were two of them, which accounted for all the noise. One was not more than five. She stood, shaking, in the middle of the reeking alley, screaming with all of her might. She could do little else because the second child had already been caught. That one was a bit older and fought with the desperate ferocity of a cornered rat, but to no avail.
The man who held the older child was three times her size and cuffed her easily on the side of the head.
The older girl crumpled to the ground while the smaller one ran to her still form.
The man bent toward the children.
"Oi!" Godric growled.
The man looked up. "What th—"
Godric laid him flat with a right haymaker to the side of the head.
He placed his sword at the man's bared throat and leaned down to whisper, "Doesn't feel very good when you're on the receiving end, does it?"
The oaf scowled, his hand rubbing the side of his head. "Now see 'ere. I 'as a right to do as I please wif me own girls."
"We're not your girls!"
Godric saw out of the corner of his eye that the elder chit had sat up.
" 'E's not our da!"
Blood trickled from the corner of her mouth, making him snarl.
"Get on to your home," he urged in a low voice to the girls. "I'll deal with this ruffian."
"We don't 'ave a 'ome," the smaller child whimpered.
She'd barely got the words out when the elder nudged her and hissed, "Shut it!"
Godric was tired and the news that the children were homeless distracted him. That was what he told himself anyway when the rogue on the ground swept his legs out from under him.
Godric hit the cobblestones rolling. He surged to his feet, but the man was already rounding the corner at the far end of the alley.
He sighed, wincing as he straightened. He'd landed on his injured shoulder and it was not thanking him for the treat.
He glanced at the girls. "Best come with me, then."
The smaller child obediently began to rise, but the elder pulled her back down. "Don't be daft, Moll. 'E's as like to be a lassie snatcher as the other one."
Godric raised his eyebrows at the words lassie snatcher. He hadn't heard that name for a while. He shook his head. He hadn't time to dig into these matters now. Lady Margaret would reach his home soon, and if he wasn't there, awkward questions might arise.
"Come," he said, holding out his hand to the girls. "I'm not a lassie snatcher, and I know a nice, warm place where you can spend the night." And many nights hereafter.
He thought his tone gentle enough, but the elder girl's face wrinkled mutinously. "We're not going wif you."
Godric smiled pleasantly—before swooping down and scooping one child over his shoulder and the other under his arm. "Oh, yes, you are."
It wasn't that simple, of course. The elder cursed quite shockingly for a female child of such tender years, while the younger burst into tears, and they both fought like wildcats.
Five minutes later he was within sight of the Home for Unfortunate Infants and Foundling Children when he nearly dropped them both.
"Ow!" He swallowed stronger language and took a firmer grip on the elder child, who had come perilously close to unmanning him.
Grimly, Godric stalked to the back door of the St. Giles orphanage and kicked at it until a light appeared in the kitchen window.
The door swung open to reveal a tall man in rumpled shirtsleeves and breeches.
Winter Makepeace, the manager of the home, arched an eyebrow at the sight of the Ghost of St. Giles, holding two struggling, weeping girls on his doorstep.
Godric hadn't time for explanations.
"Here." He unceremoniously dumped the children on the kitchen tiles and glanced at the bemused manager. "I'd advise a firm hold—they're slipperier than greased eels."
With that, he swung shut the home's door, turned, and sprinted toward his town house.
LADY MARGARET ST. John started shaking the moment her carriage left St. Giles. The Ghost had been so large, so frighteningly deadly in his movements. When he'd advanced on her, his bloody swords gripped in his big, leather-clad hands and his eyes glinting behind his grotesque mask, it had been all she could do to hold herself still.
Megs inhaled, trying to quiet the quicksilver racing through her veins. She'd spent two years hating the man, but she'd never expected, when she finally met him, to feel so… so…
So alive.
She glanced down at the heavy pistols in her lap and then across the carriage to her dear friend and sister-in-law, Sarah St. John. "I'm sorry. That was…"
"An idiotic idea?" Sarah arched one light brown eyebrow. Her straight-as-a-pin hair varied from mouse-brown to the lightest shade of gold and was tucked back into a sedate and very orderly knot at the back of her head.
In contrast, Megs's own dark, curly hair had mostly escaped from its pins hours ago and was now waving about her face like a tentacled sea monster.
Megs frowned. "Well, I don't know if idiotic is quite—"
"Addled?" Sarah supplied crisply. "Boneheaded? Daft? Foolish? Ill-advised?"
"While all of those adjectives are in part appropriate," Megs interjected primly before Sarah could continue her list—her friend's vocabulary was quite extensive—"I think ill-advised might be the most applicable. I am so sorry for putting your life in danger."
"And yours."
Megs blinked. "What?"
Sarah leaned a little forward so that her face came into the carriage lantern's light. Sarah usually had the sweet countenance of a gently reared maiden lady—which at five and twenty she was—belied only by a certain mocking humor lurking at the back of her soft brown eyes, but right now she might've been an Amazon warrior.
"Your life, Megs," Sarah replied. "You risked not only my life and the lives of the servants, but your life as well. What could possibly be important enough to venture into St. Giles at this time of night?"
Megs looked away from her dearest friend. Sarah had come to live with her at the St. John estate in Cheshire nearly a year after Megs's marriage to Godric, so Sarah didn't know the real reason for their hasty nuptials.
Megs shook her head, gazing out the carriage window. "I'm sorry. I just wanted to see…"
When she didn't finish the sentence, Sarah moved restlessly. "See what?"
Where Roger was murdered. Even the thought sent a shard of dull pain through her heart. She'd directed Tom the coachman to drive into St. Giles, hoping to find some lingering trace of Roger. There hadn't been, of course. He'd been long dead. Long lost to her. But she'd had a second reason to look around St. Giles: to learn more about Roger's murderer, the Ghost of St. Giles. And in that, at least, she'd succeeded. The Ghost had appeared. She hadn't been adequately prepared tonight, but next time she would be.
Next time she wouldn't let him get away.
Next time she'd blast a bullet through the Ghost of St. Giles's black heart.
"Megs?" Her friend's gentle murmur interrupted her bloody thoughts.
Megs shook her head and smiled brightly—perhaps too brightly—at her dear friend. "Never mind."
"Goodness, are we here already?" Megs's change of subject was not subtle, but the carriage was slowing as if they'd finally arrived at their destination.
She leaned forward, peering out the window. The street was dark.
Megs frowned. "Maybe not."
Sarah crossed her arms. "What do you see?"
"We're on a narrow, winding lane and there's a tall, dark house up ahead. It looks very… um…"
Megs glanced at her companion. "Yes?"
Sarah nodded once. "That's Saint House, then. It's as old as dust, didn't you know? Didn't you see Saint House when you married my brother?"
"No." Megs pretended to be engrossed in the dim view out the window. "The wedding breakfast was at my brother's house and I left London a sennight after." And in between she'd been bedridden at her mother's house. Megs pushed the sad memory from her mind. "How old is Saint House?"
"Medieval and, as I remember, quite drafty in winter."
"And not in the most fashionable part of London, either," Sarah continued cheerfully. "Right on the riverbank. But that's what you get when your family came over with the Conqueror: venerable old buildings without a lick of modern style or convenience."
"I'm sure it's quite famous," Megs said, trying to be loyal. She was a St. John now after all.
"Oh, yes," Sarah said, her tone dry. "Saint House has been mentioned in more than one history. No doubt that'll comfort you when your toes turn to blocks of ice in the middle of the night."
"If it's so awful, then why did you accompany me to London?" Megs asked.
"To see the sights and shop, of course." Sarah sounded quite cheerful despite her gloomy description of Saint House. "It's been forever since I was last in London."
The carriage jerked to a halt at that moment, and Sarah began gathering her needlework basket and shawls. Oliver, the younger of the two footmen Megs had brought with them, opened the door to the carriage. He wore a white wig as part of his livery, but it didn't disguise his red eyebrows.
"Never thought we'd make it alive," Oliver muttered as he set the steps. "Was a close one with them footpads, if'n you don't mind me saying so, m'lady."
"You and Johnny were very brave," Megs said as she stepped down. She glanced up at her coachman. "And you, too, Tom."
The coachman grunted and hunched his broad shoulders. "Ye an' Miss St. John best be gettin' inside, m'lady, where 'tis safe."
"I will." Megs turned to the house and only then noticed the second carriage, already drawn up outside.
Sarah stepped down beside her. "It looks like your great-aunt Elvina arrived before us."
"Yes, it does," Megs said slowly. "But why is her carriage still outside?"
The door to the second carriage popped open as if in answer.
"Margaret!" Great-Aunt Elvina's worried face was topped by a cloud of soft gray curls intertwined with pink ribbons. Her voice was overly loud, booming off the stone buildings. Great-Aunt Elvina was rather deaf. "Margaret, the wretched butler won't let us in. We've been sitting in the courtyard for ages, and Her Grace has become quite restless."
A muffled yelp from inside the carriage emphasized the statement.
Megs turned to her husband's house. No light betrayed human habitation, but obviously someone was at home if a butler had earlier answered Great-Aunt Elvina's summons. She marched up to the door and lifted the great iron ring that served as knocker, letting it fall with a sharp bang.
Then she stepped back and looked up. The building was a hodgepodge of historical styles. The first two floors were of ancient red brick—perhaps the original building. But then some later owner had added another three stories in a paler, beige brick. Chimneys and gables sprouted here and there over the roofline, romping without any seeming pattern. On either side, low, dark wings framed the end of the street, making a de facto courtyard.
"You did write to tell Godric you were coming," Sarah murmured.
Megs bit her lip. "Ah…"
A light appearing at a narrow window immediately to the right saved her from having to admit that she hadn't notified her husband of their trip. The door opened with an ominous creaking.
A lone servant stood in the doorway, stoop-shouldered, his head topped by a flaking white wig, a single candlestick in one hand.
The man drew a slow, rattling breath. "Mr. St. John is not rec—"
"Oh, thank you," Megs said as she walked straight at the butler.
For a moment she feared the man wouldn't move. His rheumy eyes widened and then he shifted just enough so that she could glide by.
She pivoted once inside and began removing her gloves. "I am Lady Margaret St. John, Mr. St. John's wife."
The butler's shaggy eyebrows snapped down. "Wife—"
"Yes." She bestowed a smile on him and for a moment he merely goggled. "And you are…?"
He straightened and she realized his posture had made him look older than he really was. The man couldn't be past his midthirties. "Moulder, m'lady. The butler."
"Splendid!" Megs handed him her gloves as she glanced about the hallway. Not impressive. There appeared to be a veritable village of spiders living in the beamed ceiling. She spotted a candelabra on a table nearby and, taking the candle from Moulder, began lighting it. "Now, Moulder, I have my dear great-aunt waiting in the carriage outside—you may call her Miss Howard—as well as Miss St. John here, Mr. St. John's eldest little sister… if that makes any sense at all."
Sarah grinned cheerfully as she deposited her own gloves in the bemused butler's hands. "I haven't been to London in several years. You must be new."
Moulder's mouth opened. "I—"
"We also have our three lady's maids," Megs continued, handing the candle back to the butler as he snapped his mouth shut, "four footmen between ours and my great-aunt's, and the two coachmen. Great-Aunt Elvina would insist on her own carriage, although I have to admit I'm not sure how we'd have all fit in only one carriage anyway."
"It would never have worked," Sarah said. "And your aunt snores."
Megs shrugged. "True." She turned back to the butler. "Naturally we brought Higgins the gardener and Charlie the bootblack boy because he is such a dear and because he's Higgins's nephew and rather attached to him. Oh, and Her Grace, who is in a delicate condition and appears to take only chicken livers well minced and simmered in white wine these days. Now, have you got all that?"
Moulder goggled. "Ah…"
"Wonderful." Megs shot him another smile. "Where is my husband?"
Alarm seemed to break through the butler's confusion. "Mr. St. John is in the library, m'lady, but he's—"
"No, no!" Megs patted the air reassuringly. "No need to show me. I'm sure Sarah and I can find the library all by ourselves. Best you deal with my aunt's needs and see to the servants' supper—and Her Grace's. It was such a very long journey, you know."
She picked up the lit candelabra and marched up the stairs.
Sarah trotted up beside her, chuckling under her breath. "Luckily you've started in the right direction, at least. The library, if I remember correctly, is on the first floor, second door on the left."
"Oh, good," Megs muttered. Having once screwed her courage to this point, it would be fatal to back down now. "I'm sure you're looking forward to seeing your brother again just as much as I."
"Naturally," Sarah murmured. "But I won't be so gauche as to ruin your reunion with Godric."
Megs stopped on the first-floor landing. "What?"
"Tomorrow morning is soon enough to see my brother." Sarah smiled gently from three steps below. "I'll go help with Great-Aunt Elvina."
"Oh, but—"
Megs's feeble protest was made to the empty air. Sarah had already scampered lightly down the stairs.
Right. Library. Second door on the left.
Megs took a deep breath and turned to face the gloomy hallway. It'd been two years since she'd last seen her husband, but she remembered him—from the little she'd seen of him before their marriage—as a nice enough gentleman. Certainly not ogrelike, anyway. His brown eyes had been quite kind at their wedding ceremony. Megs squinted doubtfully as she marched down the corridor. Or were his eyes blue? Well, whatever color they'd been, his eyes had been kind.
Surely that much couldn't have changed in two years?
Megs grasped the doorknob to the library and quickly opened it before any last-minute second thoughts could dissuade her.
After all that, the library was something of an anticlimax.
Dim and cramped like the corridor, the room's only light came from the embers of a dying fire and a single candle by an old, overstuffed armchair. She tiptoed closer. The occupant of the ancient armchair looked…
Equally ancient.
He wore a burgundy banyan frayed pink at the hem and elbows. His stockinged feet, lodged in disreputable slippers, were crossed on a tufted footstool so close to the fireplace that the fabric nearest the hearth bore traces of earlier singeing. His head lolled against his shoulder, casually covered by a soft, dark green turban with a rather rakish gilt tassel hanging over his left eye. Half-moon spectacles were perched perilously on his forehead, and if it weren't for the deep snores issuing from between his lips, she might've thought Godric St. John had died.
Of old age.
Megs blinked and straightened. Surely her husband couldn't be that old. She had a vague notion that he was a bit older than her brother Griffin, who had arranged their marriage and who was himself three and thirty, but try as she might, she couldn't remember her husband's actual age being mentioned.
It had been the darkest hour of her existence, and, perhaps thankfully, much of it was obscured in her mind.
Megs peered anxiously down at the sleeping man. He was slack-jawed and snoring, but his eyelashes lay thick and black against his cheeks. She stared for a moment, oddly caught by the sight.
Her lips firmed. Many men married late in life and were still able to perform. The Duke of Frye had managed just last year and he was well past seventy. Surely Godric, then, could do the deed.
Thus cheered, Megs cleared her throat. Gently, of course, for he was the main reason she'd come all the way to London, and it wouldn't do to startle her husband into an apoplectic fit before he'd done his duty.
Which was, of course, to make her pregnant.
GODRIC ST. JOHN turned his snore into a snort as he pretended to wake. He opened his eyes to find his wife staring at him with a frown between her delicate brows. At their wedding, she'd been drawn and vague, her eyes never quite meeting his, even when she'd pledged herself to him until death do they part. Only hours after the ceremony, she'd taken ill at their wedding breakfast and been whisked away to the comfort of her mother and sister. A letter the next day had informed him that she'd miscarried the child that had made the hasty wedding necessary.
Grim irony.
Now she examined him with a bold, bright curiosity that made him want to check that his banyan was still tightly wrapped.
"What?" Godric started as if surprised by her presence.
She swiftly pasted on a broad, guileless smile that might as well have shouted, I'm up to something! "Oh, hello."
Hello? After two years' absence? Hello?
"Ah… Margaret, is it?" Godric repressed a wince. Not that he was doing much better.
"Yes!" She beamed at him as if he were a senile old man who'd had a sudden spark of reason. "I've come to visit you."
"Have you?" He sat a little straighter in the chair. "How… unexpected."
His tone might've been a trifle dry.
She darted a nervous glance at him and turned to aimlessly wander the room. "Yes, and I've brought Sarah, your sister." She inhaled and peered at a tiny medieval etching propped on the mantel. Impossible that she could make out the subject matter in the room's dimness. "Well, of course you know she's your sister. She's thrilled for the opportunity to shop, and see the sights, and go to the theater and perhaps an opera or even a pleasure garden, and… and…"
She'd picked up an ancient leather-bound book of Van Oosten's commentary on Catullus and now she waved it vaguely. "And…"
"Shop some more, perhaps?" Godric raised his brows. "I may not have seen Sarah for an age, but I do remember her fondness for shopping."
"Quite." She looked somewhat subdued as she thumbed the crumbling pages of the book.
"And you?"
"Why have you come to London?" he inquired.
Van Oosten exploded in her hands.
"Oh!" She dropped to her knees and frantically began gathering the fragile pages. "Oh, I'm so sorry!"
Godric repressed a sigh as he watched her. Half the pages were disintegrating as fast as she picked them up. That particular tome had cost him five guineas at Warwick and Sons and was, as far as he knew, the last of its kind. "No matter. The book was in need of rebinding anyway."
"Was it?" She looked dubiously at the pages in her hands before gently laying the mess in his lap. "Well, that's a relief, isn't it?"
Her face was tilted up toward his, her brown eyes large and somehow pleading, and she'd forgotten to take her hands away again. They lay, quite circumspectly, on top of the remains of the book in his lap, but something about her position, kneeling beside him, made him catch his breath. A strange, ethereal feeling squeezed his chest, even as a thoroughly rude and earthly one warmed his loins. Good Lord. That was inconvenient.
He cleared his throat. "Margaret?"
She blinked slowly, almost seductively. Idiot. She must be sleepy. That was why her eyelids looked so heavy and languid. Was it even possible to blink seductively?
"How long do you plan to stay in London?"
"Oh…" She lowered her head as she fumbled with the demolished book. Presumably she meant to gather the papers together, but all she succeeded in doing was crumbling them further. "Oh, well, there's so much to do here, isn't there? And… and I have several dear, dear friends to call on—"
She jumped to her feet, still holding Van Oosten's battered back cover. "It simply wouldn't do to snub anyone." She aimed a brilliant smile somewhere over his right shoulder.
She yawned widely. "Do forgive me. I'm afraid the trip has quite fatigued me. Oh, Daniels"—she turned in what looked like relief as a petite lady's maid appeared at the doorway—"is my room readied?"
The maid curtsied even as her gaze darted about the library curiously. "Yes, my lady. As ready as ever it can be tonight anyway. You'll never credit the cobwebs we—"
"Yes, well, I'm sure it's fine." Lady Margaret whirled and nodded at him. "Good night, er… husband. I'll see you on the morrow, shall I?"
And she darted from the room, the back cover of poor Van Oosten still held captive.
The maid closed the door behind her.
Godric eyed the solid oak of his library door. The room without her spinning, brilliant presence seemed all of a sudden hollow and tomblike. Strange. He'd always thought his library a comfortable place before.
Godric shook his head irritably. What is she about? Why has she come to London?
Theirs had been a marriage of convenience—at least on her part. She'd needed a name for the babe in her belly. It'd been a marriage of blackmail via her ass of a brother, Griffin, on his part, for Godric had not fathered the child. Indeed, he'd never spoken to Lady Margaret before the day of their wedding. Afterward, when she'd retired to his neglected country estate, he'd resumed his life—such as it was—in London.
For a year there'd been no communication at all, save for the odd secondhand bit of information from his stepmother or one of his half sisters. Then, suddenly, a letter out of the blue, from Lady Margaret herself, asking if he would mind if she cut down the overgrown grapevine in the garden. What overgrown grapevine? He hadn't seen Laurelwood Manor, the house on his Cheshire estate, since the early years of his marriage to his beloved Clara. He'd written back and told her politely but tersely that she could do as she wished with the grapevine and anything else she had the mind to in the garden.
That should've been the end to it, but his stranger bride had continued to write him once or twice a month for the last year. Long, chatty letters about the garden; the eldest of his half sisters, Sarah, who had come to live with Margaret; the travails of repairing and redecorating the rather decrepit house; and the petty arguments and gossip from the nearby village. He hadn't known quite how to respond to such a flurry of information, so in general he simply hadn't. But as the months had gone by, he'd become oddly taken with her missives. Finding one of her letters beside his morning coffee gave him a feeling of lightness. He'd even been impatient when her letter was a day or two late.
Well. He had been living alone and lonely for years now.
But the small delight of a letter was a far cry from the lady herself invading his domain.
"Never seen the like, I haven't," Moulder muttered as he entered the library, shutting the door behind him. "Might as well've been a traveling fair, the bunch o' them."
"What are you talking about?" Godric asked as he stood and doffed the banyan.
Underneath he still wore the Ghost's motley. It'd been a near thing. Both carriages had been drawn up outside his house when he'd slunk in the back. Godric had heard Moulder trying to hold off the occupants even as he'd run up the hidden back stairs that led from his study to the library. Saint House was so old it had a myriad of secret passages and hidey-holes—a boon to his Ghostly activities. He'd reached the library, pulled off his boots, thrown his swords, cape, and mask behind one of the bookshelves, and had just tugged the soft turban onto his head and wound the banyan about his waist when he'd heard the doorknob turn.
It'd been close—too damn close.
"M'lady and all she brought with her." Moulder waved both hands as if to encompass a multitude.
Godric arched an eyebrow. "Ladies do usually travel with maids and such."
" 'Tisn't just such," Moulder muttered as he helped Godric from the Ghost's tunic. In addition to his other vague duties, Moulder served as valet when needed. "There's a gardener and bootblack boy and a snorty sort o' dog that belongs to Lady Margaret's great-aunt, and she's here too."
Godric squinted, trying to work through that sentence. "The dog or the aunt?"
"Both." Moulder shook out the Ghost's tunic, eyeing it for tears and stains. A sly expression crossed his face just before he glanced up innocently at Godric. " 'Tis a pity, though."
"What?" Godric asked as he stripped the Ghost's leggings off and donned his nightshirt.
"Won't be able to go out gallivanting at all hours o' the night now, will you?" Moulder said as he folded the tunic and leggings. He shook his head sorrowfully. "Right shame, but there 'tis. Your days as the Ghost are over, I'm feared, now that your missus has arrived to live with you."
"I suppose you'd be right"—he took off the silly turban and ran a hand over his tightly cropped hair—"if Lady Margaret were actually going to live with me permanently."
Moulder looked doubtful. "She sure brought enough people and luggage to take up residence."
"No matter. I don't intend to give up being the Ghost of St. Giles. Which means"—Godric strode to the door—"my wife and all her accouterments will be gone by next week at the outside."
And when she was gone, Godric promised himself, he could go back to his business of saving the poor of St. Giles and forget that Lady Margaret had ever disrupted his lonely life.
Chapter Two
Now mind me well: the Hellequin is the Devil's right-hand man. He roams the world, mounted on a great black horse, in search of the wicked dead and those who die unshriven. And when the Hellequin finds them, he drags their souls to hell. His companions are tiny imps, naked, scarlet, and ugly. Their names are Despair, Grief, and Loss. The Hellequin himself is as black as night and his heart—what is left of it—is nothing but a lump of hard coal….
—From The Legend of the Hellequin
Godric woke the next morning to the sounds of feminine voices in the room next to his. He lay in bed, blinking for a moment, thinking how foreign it was to hear activity from that direction.
He slept in the ancient master's bedroom, of course, and the mistress of the house had the connecting room. But Clara had occupied the rooms for only the first year or two of their marriage. After that, the disease that had eventually eaten away at her body had begun to grow. The doctors had recommended complete quiet, so Clara had been moved to the old nursery a floor above. There she had suffered for nine long years before she'd died.
Godric shook his head and climbed from his bed, his bare feet hitting the cold floor. Such maudlin thoughts wouldn't bring Clara back. If they could, she would've sprung alive, dancing and free from her terrible pain, thousands of times in the years since her death.
He dressed swiftly, in a simple brown suit and gray wig, and left his room while the female voices were still chattering indistinctly next door. The realization that Lady Margaret had slept so close to him sent a frisson along his nerves. It wasn't that he ran from such signs of life, but it was only natural to be unused to the presence of others—female others—in his gloomy old house.
Godric descended the stairs to the lower level. Normally he broke his fast at a coffeehouse, both to hear the latest news and because the meals at his own home were somewhat erratic. Today, however, he squared his shoulders and ventured into the little-used dining room at the back of the house.
Only to find it occupied.
For a disconcerting second, he hadn't recognized her, this self-possessed lady, dressed in a sedate dove-gray costume. How many years had it been since he'd last seen her?
She turned at her name, and her calm face lit with a smile of welcome. His chest warmed and it caught him off guard. They'd never been close—he was a full dozen years older than she—and he'd not even known that he'd missed her.
Apparently he had.
She rose, moving around the long, battered table where she'd been seated alone. She hugged him, swift and hard, her touch a shock to his frame. He'd been in solitude so very long.
She moved back before he could remember to respond and eyed him with disconcertingly perceptive brown eyes. "How are you?"
"Fine." He shrugged and turned away. After nearly three years, he was used to the concerned looks, the gentle inquiries, especially from women. Sadly, though, he hadn't become any more comfortable with them. "Have you already eaten?"
"As of yet, I haven't seen anything to eat," she observed drily. "Your man, Moulder, promised me breakfast and then disappeared. That was nearly half an hour ago."
"Ah." He wished he could feign surprise, but the fact was he wasn't even sure there was anything edible in the house. "Er… perhaps we should decamp to an inn or—"
Moulder burst through the door, carrying a heavy tray. "Here we are, then."
He thumped the tray down in the center of the table and stepped back in pride.
Godric examined the tray. A teapot stood in the center with one cup. Beside it were a half-dozen or so burned pieces of toast, a pot of butter, and five eggs on a plate. Hopefully they'd been boiled.
Godric arched an eyebrow at his manservant. "Cook is… er… indisposed, I perceive."
Moulder snorted. "Cook is gone. And so is that nice wheel o' cheese, the silver saltcellar, and half the plate. Didn't seem too happy when he heard last night that we had so many guests."
"Just as well, I'm afraid, considering the unfortunate way he handled a joint."
"He was overfamiliar with your wine stock, too, if you don't mind me saying so, sir," Moulder said. "I'll go see if we have any more teacups, shall I?"
"Thank you, Moulder." Godric waited until the butler left the room before turning to his sister. "I apologize for the paucity of my table."
He held out a chair for her.
"Please don't worry," Sarah said as she sat. "We did descend on you without any notice."
She reached for the teapot.
"Mmm," Godric murmured as he lowered himself to a chair across from her. "I wondered about that."
"I was under the impression that Megs had written to you." His sister lifted an eyebrow at him.
He merely shook his head as he took a piece of toast.
"I wonder why she didn't tell you of our arrival?" she asked softly as she buttered her own toast. "We'd planned the trip for weeks. Do you think she was fearful that you'd turn her away?"
He nearly choked on his toast. "I wouldn't do that. Whatever gave you the notion?"
She shrugged elegant shoulders. "You've been separated since your marriage. You hardly write her or me. Or, for that matter, Mama, Charlotte, or Jane."
Godric's lips firmed. He was on cordial terms with his stepmother and younger half sisters, but they'd never been especially close. "Ours wasn't a love match."
"Obviously." Sarah took a cautious nibble of her toast. "Mama worries for you, you know. As do I."
He poured her tea without answering. What could he say? Oh, I'm all right. Lost the love of my life, don't you know, but the pain's quite bearable, considering. To pretend that he was whole, that rising every day wasn't a chore, became exhausting. Why did they ask, anyway? Couldn't they see that he was so broken nothing would fix him?
"Godric?" Her voice was gentle.
He made the corners of his mouth twitch upward as he pushed the cup of tea across the table to her. "How are my stepmother and sisters?"
She pursed her lips as if she wanted to prod him more, but in the end she took a sip of tea instead. "Mama is well. She's in the midst of preparations for Jane's coming-out. They plan to stay with Mama's bosom-bow, Lady Hartford, for the season in the fall."
"Ah." Godric felt a twinge of relief that his stepmother didn't want to stay at Saint House. Guilt followed immediately thereafter: he should've been aware that his youngest half sister was old enough to make her debut into society. Gads! He remembered Jane as a freckle-faced schoolgirl running about with a hoop and stick. "And how is Charlotte?"
Sarah cast her eyes heavenward. "Fascinating all the young men of Upper Hornsfield."
"Are there many eligible young men in Upper Hornsfield?"
"Not as many as in Lower Hornsfield, of course, but between the new curate and the local squire's sons, she has a fair coterie of young men. I'm not sure she even knows that wherever she goes, she's followed by longing male eyes."
The thought of little Charlotte—whom he'd last seen arguing with Jane rather heatedly over a piece of fig tart—becoming a rural femme fatale made Godric smile.
The door to the dining room opened at that moment and he looked up.
Straight into the eyes of his wife, poised in the doorway like Boudicca about to storm some poor, unsuspecting Roman general's camp.
MEGS HALTED ON the threshold to the dining room, taking a deep breath. Godric looked different somehow than the man she remembered from just last night. Perhaps it was simply the daylight. Or it might be the fact that he was properly dressed in a well-cut but somewhat worn acorn-brown suit.
Or maybe it was the tiny smile still lingering on his face. It smoothed the lines of care and grief on his forehead and about his gray eyes, and drew attention to a mouth that was wide and full, bracketed by two deep indents. For a moment her gaze lingered on that mouth, wondering what it might feel like on her own….
"Good morning." He rose politely.
She blinked, hastily looking up. She'd decided last night—quite logically!—to wait until the morning to begin her planned seduction. Who would expect to jump straight into bed with one's stranger-husband after a two-year absence, after all? But now it was morning, so…
Right. Seducing the husband.
Her silence had caused his smile to fade entirely, and his eyes were narrowed as he waited for her response. He looked altogether formidable.
Megs squared her shoulders. "Good morning!"
Her smile might've been a trifle too wide as she strove to cover her lapse.
Sarah, who'd turned at her entrance, arched an eyebrow.
Godric rounded the table and pulled out a chair for her next to Sarah. "I hope you slept well?"
The room had been damp, dusty, and smelled of mildew. "Yes, very well."
He glanced at her dubiously.
She walked toward him—and then around the table to the chair next to his vacant one.
"I'd like to sit here, if you don't mind," she said throatily, lowering her eyelashes in what she hoped was a seductive manner. "Close to you."
He cocked his head to the side, his expression inscrutable. "Do you have a cold?"
Sarah choked on her tea.
Drat! It'd been so long since she'd done anything like flirting. Megs shot an irritated glance at her sister-in-law, repressing the urge to stick out her tongue.
"As you wish." Godric was suddenly beside her, and she nearly started at his rasping voice in her ear. Good Lord, the man could move quietly.
"Thank you." She sank into the chair, aware of his presence behind her, looming large and intimidating, and then he returned to his own seat.
Megs bit her lip, glancing at him from the corner of her eye. Should she rub against his leg under the table? But his profile was so very… grave. It seemed a bit like goosing the Archbishop of Canterbury.
And then she caught sight of breakfast and her dismal seduction attempt abruptly fled her mind.
Megs squinted at the plate in the middle of the table. It held a few burned fragments of toast and some hard-boiled eggs. She scanned the room but saw no other signs of nourishment.
"Would you care for some toast?" Sarah murmured across from her.
"Oh, thank you." Megs widened her eyes in question at her.
"It appears the cook did a runner, as Oliver would say." Sarah shrugged infinitesimally as she pushed the plate over. "I believe that Moulder is searching for another teacup for the tea right now, but in the meantime, do feel free to have a sip of mine."
"Er…" Megs was saved from having to reply by the dining room door being flung open.
"My dears!" Great-Aunt Elvina swept into the room. "You'll not credit the ghastly room I slept in last night. Her Grace was quite overcome by the dust and spent the night wheezing horribly."
Godric had risen at Great-Aunt Elvina's entrance and now he cleared his throat. "Her Grace?"
A small but very rotund fawn pug waddled into the room, glanced perfunctorily at Great-Aunt Elvina, and plopped down onto the rug, rolling immediately to her side. She lay there, panting pathetically, her distended belly rising and falling.
Her Grace's flair for the dramatic was almost as well honed as her mistress's.
"This is Her Grace," Megs hurried to explain to her husband, adding perhaps unnecessarily, "She's in an interesting way."
"Indeed," Godric murmured. "Is the… er… Her Grace quite well? She looks rather worried."
"Pugs always look worried," Great-Aunt Elvina pronounced loudly. Her ability to hear came and went with disconcerting irregularity. "She could do with a dish of warm milk with perhaps a spoonful of sherry in it."
Godric blinked. "Ah… I do apologize, but I don't believe we have any milk on the premises. As for the sherry…"
"None o' that neither," Moulder said with dour satisfaction as he entered the room behind Great-Aunt Elvina. In his arms he carried an array of mismatched teacups.
"Quite," Godric murmured. "Perhaps if I'd been informed in advance of your arrival…"
"Oh, no need to apologize," Megs said quickly.
He turned and narrowed his eyes at her. This close she could see the small lines fanning from the corners of his eyes in an altogether alluring way, which made no sense because why would crow's-feet be alluring?
Megs shook herself mentally and continued. "After all, your house hasn't had a feminine hand managing it in quite some time. I expect once we employ a new cook and some scullery maids—"
"And a housekeeper and upstairs maids," Sarah put in.
"Not to mention some footmen," Great-Aunt Elvina muttered. "Big, strong ones."
"Well, we did bring Oliver and Johnny and your two footmen," Megs pointed out.
"They can't be expected to do all the heavy lifting required to clean this place," Great-Aunt Elvina said with a frown. "Have you seen the upper floors?"
"Er…" Megs hadn't in fact explored the upper floors, but if the condition of the rooms they'd slept in last night were any indication… "Best we hire at least half a dozen strapping lads."
"I doubt I'll need a veritable army to run Saint House," her husband said in a dry tone, "especially after you all leave, which will, I'm sure, be soon."
"What?" barked Great-Aunt Elvina, cupping her hand behind her ear.
Megs held up a finger to interrupt because a thought had occurred to her. She addressed Moulder. "Surely you have some help running the house?"
"There was a couple o' strong lads and some maids, but they left awhile back, one by one, like, and we just never hired others." Moulder cast his eyes up as if to address the spiders lurking in the cobwebs dangling from the ceiling. "Did have a girl name o' Tilly, m'lady, but she got in the family way 'bout a month back—not my fault."
All eyes swung toward Godric.
He raised his brows in what looked like mild exasperation. "Nor mine."
Thank goodness. Megs returned her gaze to Moulder, very aware of her husband glowering at her shoulder.
The butler shrugged. "Tilly up and left not long after. Think she was chasin' the butcher's apprentice. Maybe he was the father. Or it might've been the tinker what used to come 'round the kitchen door."
For a moment there was silence as they all contemplated the mystery of Tilly's baby's paternity.
Then Godric cleared his throat. "How long, exactly, were you planning on staying in London, Margaret?"
Megs smiled brilliantly, even though she'd never really liked her full name—especially when it was drawled in a gravelly voice that seemed somehow ominous—for she really didn't want to answer the question. "Oh, I don't like to make plans. It's so much more fun to simply let matters take their own course, don't you think?"
"Actually I don't—"
Good Lord, the man was persistent! She turned hastily to Moulder. "Then you've been managing the house all by yourself?"
Moulder's great shaggy brows knit, causing a myriad of wrinkles to form in his forehead and around his hangdog eyes. He was the very picture of martyrdom. "I have, m'lady. You have no idea the work—the terrible job 'tis!—to keep up a house such as this. Why, me health is much the worse for it."
Godric muttered something, the only words of which Megs caught were "laying it on thick."
She ignored her husband. "I really must thank you, Moulder, for taking care of Mr. St. John so loyally, despite the toil involved."
Moulder blushed. "Aw, it weren't nothin', m'lady."
Godric snorted loudly.
Megs hastily said, "Yes, well, I'm sure now that I'm in residence, we'll have the house in order in no time."
"And exactly how long will it take to—" Godric began.
Excerpted from Lord of Darkness by Elizabeth Hoyt Copyright © 2013 by Elizabeth Hoyt. Excerpted by permission.
All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.
Excerpts are provided by Dial-A-Book Inc. solely for the personal use of visitors to this web site.
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Apples Bed & Breakfast Inn in Big Bear Lake California is a Bed and Breakfast one mile from the lake, golf course, and two major ski resorts. Apples is a beautiful 14,000 sq. ft. country Victorian home, and was designed and built by the resident owners in 1993.
Two meeting rooms are available for our business, scrapbook, and craft groups.
Choose from nineteen guest rooms, each with a private bath, (four with jacuzzi tubs for two), king-sized bed, fireplace, television, VCR and wing-back recliners. Every room is individually decorated, featuring floral wallpaper, beautiful beds, luxurious carpeting, and lace window treatments.
The Apples Bed and Breakfast Cookbook is now available to purchase online through our website, click the BLUE BUTTON at left "VISIT WEBSITE" The development of our cookbook was a family effort for ten years, each taste tested recipe will provide you and your family our special "Slice of Hospitality, Enjoy !
BedandBreakfast.com gift cards are the perfect gift for anyone who needs a relaxing getaway.
Score Breakdown based on56 Reviews
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on March 01, 2015
Apples Bed & Breakfast is a great place in Big Bear to go and relax. The staff is wonderful, the rooms are clean, and the service is spectacular. You get early morning coffee, full course breakfast, snacks and movies all day, afternoon treats and evening desert. GREAT Bed & Breakfast!!! I highly recommend this place.
on January 13, 2015
We got recommended to Apples from a friend who formally lived in the area and they had rooms for us last minute so we arrived around 7pm after a long day of snow play with the kids and checked in and met the very nice owner and got some home made desserts before bed.. The breakfast was awesome and I was full past lunch time after chasing the kids all morning at bear mountain but it starts at 9am and the mountain opens at 8am so by the time you get to the hill your stuck with the crowds. We had a excellent night sleep and will be going back soon.
on October 26, 2014
The room was clean and cute. The staff were friendly and the breakfast was great.
on September 19, 2014
This was not our first stay and it will not be out last.... enjoyed our short get away.
on August 31, 2014
Breakfast outstanding.
on July 24, 2014
Dear Jim & Barbara,
My husband and I were nothing short of amazed after our one-night stay with you at Apples Inn!
From check-in when Mr. Jim handed us delicious home baked cookies to our beautiful room (Mcintosh) to the super delishious breakfast you made and served to us in your huge, yet comfy, dining room to our check out time we were most happy, comfortable and content!
Please believe us ... We will be back to visit you very soon!!
We will also tell all of our friends an family what a lovely place Apples Inn is to stay and get away from the hustle and bustle of the very busy little town of Big Bear.
Thank you for making us fell right at home!
Mike & Stephanie Boudreaux
on July 06, 2014
This was our first experience at a b & b and we enjoyed the location, room accommodations,dining & service. Would recommend to family & friends.
on June 09, 2014
We stayed in May 2014. The rooms are small but cute, and the beds are very comfortable. There is a bit of traffic noise but not too bad. The inn is really cute and nicely decorated, and very comfortable for sitting. They leave out soda, water, coffee, tea, etc all the time. There is also cheese and cider in the afternoon, and dessert all night. And of course breakfast in the morning. All of the food, everything, is totally delicious. And the hosts are very pleasant people. I would definitely recommend Apples if you're staying in Big Bear.
on January 08, 2014
Fifth visit to Apples. Always enjoy this place. Decorated beautifully and the food is the best food of any B&B I have been to.
on December 30, 2013
From the moment we arrived we were showered with attention. No detail is overlooked at this wonderful B & B. We've stayed in lots of different B & Bs all over the world and Apples has the best food by far!! The rooms were so very comfortable! The only place we've ever slept on a more comfortable bed is at home. The bathrooms are a little dark, but they're clean and did not in any way detract from the experience. We were very, very satisfied and will definitely be back!!
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National Forest,
Ontario, CA (ONT-Ontario Intl.) 60 miles
From Los Angelos: I-10 East to Junction 210,North to Highland then 330 to Mountain Resorts. Follow signs to Big Bear Lake. 330 turns into Hwy. 18 at Running Springs, in 45 minutes you will reach the dam at the lake. Turn right and go over the dam following Hwy. 18 into Big Bear Lake. Turn left on Pine Knot, right on Big Bear Blvd, right on Moonridge.
From Palm Springs: I-10 to Redlands. North on Alabama to Lugonia, turn right. Follow through Mentone to Highway 38 to Big Bear. Hwy 38 turns left onto Big Bear Blvd. Follow into Big Bear Lake, left on Moonridge.
From Las Vegas: I-15 to Highway 247 in Barstow , South to Hwy 18 in Lucerne. drive up the mountain to Big Bear. Left on Stanfield Cutoff, right on Big Bear Blvd, , left on Moonridge.
Concert venue,
Gourmet/Fine Dining,
Historical interests,
Live Music,
Movie Theater,
National/State parks,
Nature area,
Performing Theater,
Picnic area,
Religious Services,
Ski area,
Bed and Breakfast
Board games, CD player, Computer, Conference Rooms, Copier, Fax Machine, Library, Piano, Telephone, Videos, Wet bar, Wired internet ,
Hair Dryer in room, Two Conference Rooms on site
Alarm clock, Ceiling fans, Coffee/Tea facilities, DVD Player, Desk, Fireplace, Hairdryer, Hot tub/whirlpool tub, Internet Service, Radio, Satellite/Cable TV, TV, VCR, Wi-Fi
Bicycle rental, Bird watching, Boating, Canoeing, Cross-country ski trails, Downhill Skiing, Fishing, Golfing, Hiking trails, Horseback riding, Kayaking, Mountain Bike trails, Sailing, Shopping, Sight-seeing, Ski rentals, Snow shoe rental, Snow shoe trails, Swimming, Tennis courts, Water sports
Jim and Barbara McLean
country gormet
Low fat , Vegetarian
$198 per night
Innkeepers: Jim and Barbara McLean
Guests: 2
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The Best Price Guarantee covers any Bed and Breakfast booked online through BedandBreafkast.com. The Bed and Breakfast must be booked using the Book It button on BedandBreakfast.com in order to qualify.
Just call 1-512-322-2710 within 24 hours of booking and give our customer support representative the details on the lower price you found.
The BedandBreakfast.com Best Price Guarantee ensures that when you book and pay for your reservation online through the BedandBreafkast.com website, you are booking your room at the lowest available price. If you find a lower price for the same room on the same dates at the same B&B, and contact us within 24 hour of making your booking, we will refund the difference in price to you. This guarantee does not apply to bookings made over holidays and/or for special events. All requests are subject to verification by BedandBreakfast.com. BedandBreafkast.com will not accept screenshots or other purported evidence of a lower price that cannot be independently confirmed by BedandBreakfast.com personnel. Nor will BedandBreakfast.com verify any requests that it believes, in its sole discretion, is the result of a printing or other error or is made fraudulently or in bad faith.


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Couture down to the fingertips! An original collection, signed Yves Saint Laurent. Make a show of style and colour right down to the fingertips. The hand becomes the most luxurious fashion accessory.
Item description
Echoing its 'Belle de Jour' patent leather accessories line, Yves Saint Laurent creates colour duos for a high-fashion, impactful. Like a fabric and its lining, 'Croisière' indigo, orange and turquoise partner fuchsia, violet and gold, the emblematic colours of Yves Saint Laurent. From the classic Y-Conique to Haute Couture violet, four 'twin set' nail polish duos with an ultra-satin finish for an irresistibly chic colour statement. Mix and match and say it with colour right to the fingertips, as and how you please. Its original, high-precision form makes application simple. The sloping brush adapts perfectly to the desired effect, applying varnish to the entire nail then colouring the tip with absolute precision.
£12.25 per 10ml
UK Home Delivery Free (UK orders over £30) or £3.49
Delivered within 5 working days
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Sunday to Friday - order by 9pm - £3.99
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Subject to exceptions, Debenhams is happy to exchange or refund your purchase within 28 days of delivery. Please check here for more details on our returns policy and exceptions.


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Roasted Red Pepper Mayonnaise
Sauces & Condiments | |
Roasted Red Pepper Mayonnaise
¼ cup reduced-fat mayonnaise
1/8 teaspoon cayenne pepper
1 tablespoon chopped roasted red pepper
Pour mayonnaise into a small bowl. Add cayenne. Finely chop roasted pepper and stir into mayonnaise. Serve at once or refrigerate, covered, until ready to serve.
Roasted Red Pepper Mayonnaise
Approximate Values Per Teaspoon: 17 calories (100% from fat), 1.7g fat (0g saturated), 2 mg cholesterol, 0g protein, trace g carbohydrates, 0g dietary fiber, 41 mg sodium
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Kudos and Plaudits to you! I have tried many of your recipes with success but I must say your Scrumptious Crock Pot Beef Stew was OUTSTANDING!!! I've made it many times since it appeared in the paper and each time it's a big hit and I love it even more (great leftover too).
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So, thanks again for sharing your recipe. I know I'll be making this for eons to come!
- Loie Angelsten of Holden, MA
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Views of the Top: Rising IT Leaders Discuss the CIO Position in Higher Education
This ECAR case study complements the 2008 ECAR study by Philip J. Goldstein, Leading the IT Workforce in Higher Education. Views of the Top: Rising IT Leaders Discuss the CIO Position in Higher Education looks at the role of higher education's CIOs from the perspective of 13 rising IT leaders. As part of its broad research of IT leadership in higher education, the EDUCAUSE Center for Analysis and Research organized two focus groups of mid-career IT executives to discuss the role of the CIO in higher education, to gain insights into the factors that drive individuals to aspire to the CIO role, and to evaluate how well higher education prepares its future leaders. This case study reports the results of those important discussions.
Citation for this work: Goldstein, Philip J., and Judith A. Pirani. "Views of the Top: Rising IT Leaders Discuss the CIO Position in Higher Education†(Case Study 5). Boulder, CO: EDUCAUSE Center for Analysis and Research, 2008, available from http://www.educause.edu/ecar.


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Banned Sugar Skull Kitten Handbag
(approx. $33.14 or €30.02)
- In Stock
- Usually Ships in 1-2 Days
- UK & Worldwide Delivery
- Product Type: Handbag
- 100% Cotton Faux Leather Straps
- Product Code: 66502
If it's time to add a new accessory to your arm then look no further than this gorgeous handbag from Banned. Featuring a huge sugar skull kitty design wearing a pink bow alongside heart and flower detailing, this bag will brighten up any outfit!