                                                                                                    SynopsisHenley Reynolds is a romantic adventure novelist living in downtown Chicago.  Fabricating other worlds and characters alarmingly real, no part of her was counterfeit.  Writing behind the safety of a pen or screen permitted her to fall in love with the imagined; discovering these realms enabled her to break free  from the monotony of the impossible.  No reason for caution and so crossing lines unknown to exist; something unidentified deep within wouldn’t let her belong in reality though perhaps nothing more than refusing to accept what was, or what she envisioned was not.  It appeared legendary romantasy would be where she was destined to dwell, so leaving Chicago's cold winter journeying to a place yet to be in her books; the Bermuda Triangle.  One day into her attempt to unearth adventure and hopefully  love of her own finds her knocked off the stern into Caribbean waters through no fault of her own.  Waking in the ship’s elaborate cabin thrusts her in the middle of a plot rivaling anything she had ever written, for it quickly becomes apparent her rescuers are privateering pirates in 1812.  
Abruptly in the center of a quest for Pierre Laffite’s stash of silver, begins her and the privateers as well as Laffite on a search for salvaged treasure from a Spanish treasure galleon based on Henley’s knowledge of where it sank.  Not regretting her effort to save Captain West’s ship and privateering position by claiming to be his wife, or needing to see it through for the coveted marriage document; West’s suspicion she is a spy for Spain cuts deep albeit understandable when she is unable to explain why she possesses knowledge no woman in this century should.  When Pierre reappears asking  her where his silver is, then joins forces and sails with Sonora it lands her in dilemma where the cost
is revealed for not keeping reality and fantasy separate.  From dancing with pirates and being aboard when the privateers take their next ship, meeting with Napoleon sympathizers and searching for salvaged bounty with Pierre and Jean Laffite in the limestone caves of Nassau; Henley discovers herself caught up and lost in more than just time for more than one heart is at stake.  Unknowing the outcome nor able to write the ending to this epic tale unearths adventure and risk, where falling in love will cost her more than the loyalty to any of the characters she creates.  Guileless belief in dreams and innocent attachment to the imagined reveals thin and intoxicating boundary lines; the cruel illusion she realizes never existed in the first place… 

The author Amy Marcoski

Discovering and falling in love with the freedom of writing at 12, she hasn’t stopped; believing ‘there’s nothing quite as adventurous as a blank page.’  Her prowess with words creates characters so real they leap off the page, entangling her readers where they fall in love with the imagined; legendary romantasy where anything is possible and can happen, certainly does when she puts pen to paper.  Her first series consists of 5 books, including a prequel; another saga is a western and consists of 3 books.  The Timeless Pyrate plot develops through the first right into the sequel introducing us to unforgettable characters and their adventures, coaxing us to fall in love and leave the boundaries of time or reality in our wake.  

Port Royal

Hoping to appear casual taking a healthy pull, all the while musing how impossible this was; every instinct said the barman was speaking with Lafitte and said owner would be next to her shortly.  Heart pounded for her words to West were true, she was the only one who could get the information they looked for.  Swallowing hard, focusing the mug refusing to be anxious stifling a chuckle; there was nothing amusing about this and every reason to be.
Tightly gripping the drink, aware of the man coming to stand beside while simultaneously the barkeep paused laying a few coins.  Henley knew both were looking at her, sensing the weight of their gaze; the man beside rest both forearms the bar.  The movement drew her eyes, focusing on arms and hands of the man who had to be Laffite.  Muscled forearms with shirtsleeves rolled; they were hands of a man obviously used to hard work and he wore silver rings on two fingers of each.  “You look like you’ll need another shortly,” sudden low provocative voice surprising at its nearness.  

Turning further caught her off guard; having no idea what Pierre would look like, the handsome unshaven face with slightly curved mouth and arresting green eyes left her without response.  Startled, not expecting the impressive man for no photos of the older Laffite survived the decades.  This man had to be in his late thirties possibly early forties; history was vague exactly when and where he'd been born.  If her memory was correct Pauillac, France around 1770 was accepted though another source claimed 1773 and Bordeaux of the same country;  based on who she faced neither year was right.  
Holding her gaze for lingering pause before averting to the barkeep; released from the visual captivity, inhaling discreet breath.  “Get th’ lady another, she’s almost empty,” Lafitte told him.  Tilting the mug expecting the need to refuse, taken aback to see barely a quarter of the liquid minutes ago.  Perhaps she was more nervous than thought.  

Excerpt...

“I have to go,  your quarters are too far," quietly.  Not concealing his hearty laugh, observing her face quickly reassuring.  “Not laughing at you, th’ way y’ said it,”  head shake confining his amusement to subdued chuckle.  Motioning her closer; leaning towards the handsome pirating privateer with the captivating silver gaze.  Awaiting some whispered secret; “Look across th’ floor, notice the wall an’ hallway?”  Turning where he pointed, Henley nodded.  

“It’s th’ second door on th’ left,” quirking curved expression when she whirled back only inches from his face.  “Oh!” exasperated pushing back chair, standing.  Collecting herself; quick overall glance at the table she gestured.  “I’ll be back.  Somebody be so kind as to have my mug refilled,” starting to make way.  Overhearing chuckles and the laugh she knew was Jace, the flash of teeth reflecting her mood; crossing the dance floor,  nearly bumping into a couple moving in time with the piano and violin she hadn’t noticed.  Second door on the left; pleasantly surprised one door said ‘senorita’ noting the other ‘hombre.’  Apparently 1812 wasn’t as primitive as she thought.

When she exited the hallway minutes later, hand grabbed forearm in cruel grip.  Eyes widened and narrowed the same motion, facing the tall dark Spanish stranger with lewd grin.  “Care for a dance?” slurring his words.  Frowning, her first thought; it’s only about four, really?  But then she was pulling as he attempted dragging her towards the floor crossed moments ago.  Resistance turned him, face shrank from mirth to anger so quickly she was genuinely scared; abruptly strong arm slipped about waist tugging her forward to the side.  Same instant sensing mouth part flesh of ear; “Dance with me Henley,”  
persuading murmur, eliciting shiver.  Tugged and swung in one movement, feet stepping quickly to keep up; drawn to his infectious askew expression, heart dropped wagering that silver gaze just flashed at her. 

Vaguely noting the fast-paced violin and three other couples on the floor; in the next breath swinging and catching her flush, inclining.  “Looked like y’ needed rescuing again love."  Gripping his forearms tightly unknowing what her feet were doing; following the lead of this man looking at her in a way she didn’t remember being looked at before.  “Hombre,” came angry voice behind her.  “The lady and me were going to dance,” slurred words.  Eyes fixed on West’s as they narrowed and rose behind her.  Ethan’s hand fell to lower back, locking arm about her.
“Ella esta` conmigo,” smoothly as his face took on that threatening appearance she already had glimpses of.  Looking disgusted the man shook head, mumbling something incoherent but sauntered off towards the long bar.  Henley’s eyes widened at the fluent Spanish rolling off his tongue.   Refocusing on her, expression softened, easy smile.  “What did you say?” softly.  Inclining near she repeated the question, certain this was reality for her heart never pounded this way.  West tossed head in laugh spinning and catching her, dipping head.  “She’s with me,” infamous look she was growing familiar with appearing.  

                                                                                                                                                                                                         Excerpt Viejo... 

“I need another, anyone else?” Henley only had a couple drinks over the several hour span since Flynn brought her first early afternoon; now she wanted to relax,  not ponder these life changing events.    West eyed her,  casually gesturing at Beau who was closest to watch her.   Sebastian's gaze followed her part-way down to an opening at the long counter where she leaned against it.

Not nervous resting the bar, after everything she had been through in the last couple weeks it didn’t seem anything could startle her.  The barkeep; a big man stood before her; offering  grin inclining bar top without word,  raising brow.  He saw this woman with Sonora’s crew and had every intention of treating her right.  After ordering she listened to the guitar behind her, when the man coming directly beside brushing shoulders enough to be noticeable took her aback.  A glance increased her heartbeat; muscled forearms with shirtsleeves rolled rest bar counter.  That was not what held her gaze, it was the silver rings on two fingers of each hand.  Abruptly breath caught her throat and it was hard to swallow.  All at once the mug was set before her.  “You’re fine,” the barkeep told her with friendly look and wave.  Nodding thanks, Henley didn’t move.  Eyes now locked the arms, hands beside.  Gripping the refilled mug, about to turn when familiar husky undertone stopped her.   “Where’s my silver che`ri?” 