Sneak peek: Storms Over Babylon

Get ready for the storm – it’s coming June 14th!

Ashley knows Alexander is going to die, unless she can somehow trick the Time Senders. In Babylon, everything is coming to a head. 


Storms Over Babylon
Accent Press / Simon & Schuster
14 June 2018
Preorder Now

Get ready for the storm – it’s coming June 14th!

Blurb : From the scorching plains of Persia to the opulent city of Babylon, Ashley and Alexander continue their sensuous and passionate journey through history. Alexander the Great is now king of Persia and Greece – but his reign will be short. Time-travelling Ashley knows when her husband will die. She’s determined to cheat Fate and save Alexander and her children, even if it brings the gates of time crashing down. Following Alexander on a tour of his new kingdom, she plans her moves and bides her time. She must, however, convince Alexander to abandon his crown and his kingdom.

Excerpt : In the month of May, the weather took a turn for the worse. Thunderstorms boomed over the city and there were swarms of hungry mosquitoes at night. Alexander had to oversee religious celebrations, some lasting until very late, and one evening he came back with a slight chill. I didn’t think much of it. Usse gave him some hot tea, and we lay down in bed. Plexis was already asleep, lying in his own bed next to ours. The mosquito netting moved slightly in the breeze. It was much cooler than it had been all week; the rain had cleared the air. During the night, Alexander developed a high fever. The next morning he could hardly move, his muscles cramped and he was drenched in sweat. It was malaria.
‘How do you feel now?’ I asked him for the hundredth time that day, after Usse gave him his medicine.
Alexander opened one eye and stared at me. It was his blue eye, I noticed. ‘I would feel better if my head stopped hurting,’ he admitted. ‘The fever is making me thirsty. Do you have any water nearby?’
‘Of course.’
I poured water from the pitcher into his golden cup and held it for him as he drank. The muscles in his throat worked as the water went down. Then he lay back on the bed with a sigh. ‘Do I die of malaria then?’ he asked. He tried to grin, but his mouth trembled suddenly. I leaned down and kissed him on his lips. They were hot and dry despite the cool drink.
‘Are you afraid?’
‘I thought I wouldn’t be.’ He took a shaky breath and let it out slowly. ‘But that was when I thought the only thing that counted was my kingdom.’
‘And now?’ I asked him.
‘I’ve had time to think. When you saved Plexis that’s when things began to change for me. I realized something I hadn’t known before. I want to stay with you. I love you, Ashley of the Sacred Sandals. I have told you that twice before. I should have said it more. Now, with this fever making my bones ache, I will tell you a third time. I want to see the babe you carry. I want to grow old surrounded by my loved ones. I no longer want to die. Does that answer your question? Yes, I am afraid.’
‘Don’t be afraid. I love you too, Alex.’
‘So why do you cry?’ He reached a hand to my cheek and brushed tears away.
‘Because I never dared hope that you would let go of your dream.’ My tears fell faster now. Teardrops sparkled on his hands like diamonds.
‘It took me long enough to understand that my dream was an empty one without you and Plexis by my side, and that my future was an illusion. Ashley, don’t cry. Please. I feel as if I’ve woken up from a long nightmare. All the battles and bloodshed, all the good men who died following me, they will lie on my conscious for ever. Only you will be able to ease my mind. You have seen the future, so you can tell me that it was not all futile.’
‘Of course not, Alexander. Nothing you did was futile.’
‘It feels that way now,’ he said. His eyes were very bright. I frowned at him. He was starting to sound distinctly un-Alexander-like. I put my hand on his forehead and jerked it back with a muffled cry. He was burning up.

author _photoAbout the Author: Jennifer Macaire is an American living in Paris. She likes to read, eat chocolate, and plays a mean game of golf. She grew up in upstate New York, Samoa, and the Virgin Islands. She graduated from St Peter and Paul High School in St Thomas and moved to NYC where she modelled for five years for Elite. She went to France and met her husband at the polo club. All that is true. But she mostly likes to make up stories.

Jennifer’s blog and website:

To buy links:;jsessionid=45552155952FC026F7A8E875A2656A0E.prodny_store01-atgap06?ean=9781682996393&st=AFF&2sid=Simon%20&%20Schuster_7567305_NA&sourceId=AFFSimon%20&%20Schuster

Macaire_Storms Over Babylon




Love at first sight and romance novels

What is more romantic than a romance novel? What is more predictable? Woman meets man, it’s love at first sight, they overcome obstacles to be together, and there is a Happy Ever After. That’s the “Love at First Sight” romance novel. It happens in real life too* – all the time.  A glance, a touch, and somehow, someway, the chemistry is there. It’s love at first sight.

Then there is the “No, No, No, Yes”, romance book, where hero and heroine hate each other on sight (but they manage to overcome that – usually by getting alone and naked together…)

There is the man falls for woman and stalks pursues her relentlessly in Fifty Shades style. There is the woman wants a man and goes overboard to get him… The Phallus from Dallas springs to mind, with Ciarra Sim’s unforgettable character, Hannah, who tracks down her cocky cowboy and won’t give up until she’s his filly.

There is the novel where the hero and heroine are kept apart by circumstances beyond their control – but they always get together in the end.

Love is complex. It’s lightning fast, it grows slowly, it’s incandescent, it’s smoldering coals, it’s fragile, it’s incredibly strong. But it’s not a formula. You can write a formula romance, but love is anything but predictable. So – when you read about a heroine falling instantly in love with a hero, or when you read about the couple who can’t stop bickering until they realize they are actually in love… you just have to sigh and smile, and hopefully give a nice review on Amazon**.

*I met my husband at the polo club, and I knew right away he was “the one”. I told my sister I’d marry him, when we’d barely spoken to each other. We met in 1979. We married, and are still together! Love at first sight!

**This whole article came about because someone accused my heroine of not being “reticent” enough towards my hero and shot my book down in flames.  In other words, the heroine was infatuated at first sight with the hero and didn’t resist. So, if you want a book where the couple hates each other on sight, won’t speak to each other, or think the other character is an ass, jerk, etc., there is a wonderful book called “Pride and Prejudice” that I hold up as a shining example of how a romance book should be written when the two main characters are not smitten with each other. If, on the other hand, you enjoy a sizzling love story, but the two characters have to learn to trust each other, and have to overcome obstacles beyond their control to be together, you may like my Alexander series. It’s up to you. But now, you’ve been warned. 

We are having a baby girl!


Stargazing insomniac

I walk my dog at midnight, sometimes at one or two in the morning. The streets are empty. The sky glitters with stars. Sometimes the moon lights my way. We don’t go far. Down the road, across town sometimes. Down to the tree-lined avenue, then back up again. Sometimes I’ll go around the block – and sometimes we’ll walk along the cemetary. Mostly, we go past the music school, down the street to the corner, then across the railroad bridge and back. It’s nice, on a warm, moonlit night, to go to the little park down the hill. Sometimes I see my friend, Corine, who is as insomniac as I am, and we chat. Mostly I’m alone, and Auguste pulls me here and there, sometimes I let him decide.

I have always been insomniac, staying up to read, to think, to listen to music. When I do go to bed, I fall asleep easily, so it doesn’t bother me. I just don’t like to go to bed early. I prefer the evening. Mornings are too full of bustle and noise – especially where I live, near the train station. People rushing back and forth, cars, busses, bikes… the café down the street is full, and tables and chairs line the sidewalk. People sit and sip coffee, smoke, look at their watches, and dash for the train. The bakery is crowded, the smell of fresh baked bread floats on the breeze. In the mornings, people drop their children off at the nursery; I see fathers pushing strollers with their briefcases propped on the backs. Women power-walk their kids to school, “One, two, one two! Come on, hurry up!” There are skateboards and trotters, bikes and joggers. When my husband isn’t around to walk the dog in the morning, I’m bleary-eyed, staring at the crowd, wondering where everyone is going. (MostlyParis – there are a lot of commuters here). I like to buy fresh bread for my morning coffee – but oh, the noise!

So evening comes, and after spending the day at the office with phone calls and making appointments, and non-stop talking, smiling, talking, explaining, more smiling, and more talking…I’m worn out. Acting happy all the time exhausts me – even though I think I’m mostly happy all the time. It’s the perky happy office voice that wipes me out. So I come home, and when everyone is finally in bed and asleep – there is silence. Blessed silence. My husband is a TV addict and can’t live without background noise. I wait until everyone is sleeping, then I take the dog for a walk, and we stargaze.

That’s what I really love to do. Look up at the night sky, and stargaze. Then we go home, I slide into bed and put cold feet on my husband’s warm legs (he’s always warm and cuddly), and I think about the stars, and how I’d love to have a spaceship to discover new worlds, or just to see the sights of the galaxy close up.

Image result for night sky

Lilac Time

It’s April, and we had a sunny hot week, so the lilac bloomed. My favorite flower! I walk the dog each night to the corner, where there is a lilac grove. In the evening, the scent perfumes the balmy air.
Anne Marie, who has a hedge of lilac, gave me a bouquet of white and purple lilac, and the whole apartment smells fresh and clean. (Even if it isn’t – believe me, I haven’t had time to clean in weeks…)

Image result for lilac

I saw my first pink lilac in Germany. I took the night train from Paris and arrived early in the morning. I was headed to a book conference. I started to look at the area map, to see where I was, but right away the scent of lilac tickled my nose, and I saw a small, absolutely beautiful lilac tree with shell-pink blooms. I didn’t know it existed in that color.
I was standing there, eyes closed, drinking in the scent, when someone tapped me on the shoulder and asked (in English) if I were lost. (The pink tree was just in front of the train station, half hidden behind the map of the area.) I looked at her, and I must have been half loopy from my trip from Paris and drunk on the strong smell of lilac), and I said to her, “Do you speak German?” 
She raised her eyebrows and said, “Of course, this is Germany, and I’m German.”
I was flustered, and pointed to the lilac bush. “Can you tell me how to say ‘lilac’ in German?” 
Her eyebrows went even further up. “That’s ‘lila’ (sounds like lee-la), is that all you want to know?” 
I shook my head, “No, I am lost. Can you point me to the hotel?”
It turned out she was a writer too, and on her way to a book conference. Her name was Marte Cormann, she became a good friend. We would take walks every day, when the conference broke for lunch, and she’d teach me “German Words I’d Never Use”. Now, whenever lilacs bloom, I’m taken back to that sunny weekend in Germany, strolling around Weisbaden, and I remember my German words, that include goose, swan, asperagus, badger, and lilac, of course.





Jennifer Macaire

Copyright © 2002  All Rights Reserved

There are geckos crawling up the sides of the tent. The moon is so bright that I can see their silhouettes as they trot across the canvas. The only problem is, I can’t tell if they’re inside or outside the tent.

Beside me in the dark I can hear my sister’s soft breathing, and the harsher breathing of my mother and her boyfriend as they try not to make the cot squeak. It makes no difference to me. What bothers me is the thought that maybe a gecko will leap on a spider and they will both fall onto my face during the night. The thought keeps me awake while the soft moans from across the tent fade and snores take their place. My eyes trace the geckos’ paths across the tent, while the moon slides through the tropical night and waves crash softly onto the beach.

The next morning we snorkel around the reef. I’m tired, and let the waves carry my body where they will. Up and down I bob, my hands dangling beneath me, my hair floating all around, my eyes half closed and the sound of my own breathing in the snorkel-tube lulling me to sleep.

“You’re the only person I know who can sleep in the water,” my sister tells me. I crawl just far enough to reach my towel and then I sleep again. Parrotfish, yellow tangs and angelfish swim through my dreams, while my back burns to a crisp.

That evening we eat at a cafeteria. We were going to have a barbecue but we didn’t buy meat, my mother’s boyfriend is too stoned to light a fire, and besides; the bright neon lights and white linoleum tables lure us into the cafeteria like moths. I take a tray. There is wilted salad with anemic tomatoes, half grapefruits with faded maraschino cherries, and tuna sandwiches. I take a sandwich and a can or orange soda. “Get your elbows off the table,” my mother hisses. “Stop slurping.”

Her boyfriend says, “Leave her alone,” and gives me a wink. Lately he’s been winking at me a lot. I turn away. He has bright, gecko eyes.

We spend three nights camping on Saint John. Each night I stay awake, listening, watching. There are rules to living in a tent. A blanket becomes a wall. In the morning, take your toothbrush to the showers and hold the toilet door for your sister so you don’t pay an extra dime. When you fall asleep on the beach, make sure you’re in the shade. No one tells me the rules; I learn them by myself. When the sun sets, we take the ferry back to Saint Thomas. My mother’s boyfriend lights a joint and when she isn’t looking, offers it to me. I refuse. As the boat cleaves the waves, I wonder what rules guide other people’s lives, and how they learn them. Then I close my eyes, and think about geckos.


Ashley’s Easter in Alexandria

Ashley's Easter

Festivals took up a lot of time. There were rituals for every holiday, each god had to be honored, and some months were so full of festivities it’s a wonder the people got any work done. Maybe the secret to progress was ditching the deities, I thought one day, as I helped Chirpa clean the house. I was tired of always getting stuck with helping with ancient festivals. Fine, I was stuck in the past around 300 BC, but that shouldn’t mean I had to impersonate a goddess every time there was a solstice or something. Once, I’d blessed the fields — and couldn’t walk for a week. I wanted my kids to be civilized, not pagan. I’d have to install some of my more modern traditions in the family. The problem with being born in 2377 was that time travel had been invented, but children’s stories and religion had been banned. I would have to invent my own traditions to share with my children.

We’d been back in Alexandria for a few weeks now and the spring solstice was just around the corner. We were making sure not a speck of dust remained, so that the house would be ready for the goddess’s return. And who was coming back? Persephone, of course, my namesake – leaping from the cold arms of her husband, Hades, into the welcoming arms of her mother, Demeter. And since apparently Persephone wouldn’t come if the house wasn’t clean (I have had guests like that) we scrubbed.

I was getting sick of scrubbing. Axiom had gone to fetch the fresh herbs we needed to make the posies and bouquets, and I’d talked the boys into fetching eggs from our neighbor. In the back of my mind, I was planning a surprise. A real Easter egg hunt in ancient Alexandria – complete with dyed eggs, candies, and stories of the Easter bunny.  I had been keeping the onion skins, beets, purple and red cabbage, turmeric and carrot tops for dyes. Chirpa, who had dyed eggs in Persia as part of the fertility festival, was my reluctant helper. Instead of cleaning, she argued, we were making more of a mess. At this rate, spring would never come.

When Paul and Chiron returned with the eggs, I sent them off on another errand with Brazza. Then Chirpa and I started boiling the ingredients and soaking the eggs. It was messy, slow work, and I was afraid Brazza would return with the boys before we finished. Chirpa was cross because the house wasn’t cleaned, and Alexander, who came to see what “That awful smell was”, fled the house and went to oversee construction of the Great Library.

I put all the different colored dyes in separate bowl, and put the hard-boiled eggs in to soak overnight. Chirpa grumbled about wasting dishes, and it occurred to me we had none left for dinner. But since I’d wanted to get a new set of dishes anyway,  I left Chirpa to clean up the mess (her glare would have frozen the real Hades) and went to the market. Free at last! There was the newscaster, standing on his marble soapbox, the sale on parrots by the fountain, and the usual heckling and haggling going on at every stand. I located the pottery and dithered over a set with dolphins or a set with a chap in a chariot. The dolphins won, and I gave our address for delivery that evening. There were no street names at this time, although I’d suggested to Alexander he might want to start that trend. Instead it was, “The hill over there, yes, that one. The big house on the top with the black front door – with the lion scratched on it.” (Chiron’s work. He got a scolding for scratching up a perfectly nice paint job).

That evening, after we’d hidden the eggs in the garden, I told the boys the story of the Easter bunny, which I didn’t remember so well. My parents had never read stories to me, but I thought it had something about a watering can, a mean farmer, a goddess called Mary, her son Jesus, and their pet rabbit, Peter. I was embroidering a little – getting to the part where the mean farmer was about to kill the rabbit – when Alexander, who always liked to listen to my stories, interrupted.

“Does the rabbit get cooked with tarragon?” he asked. “Because I’m getting hungry, and that sounds good.”

“Of course not!” I was cross. “The rabbit escapes, and becomes immortal, and brings the Easter eggs to good little boys and girls. He hides them in the garden.”

Our scribe, Pan, (short for Panteleimon) had been listening, and had written the story down. Before I realized it, he headed towards the Great Library to file it. I was worried, then remembered the library would burn in a few centuries. Maybe a fragment of the story would remain, but it shouldn’t change the timeline any.  At least, I hoped.

The boys hunted for their eggs. Alexander found most of them. A few were found weeks and even months later. Chirpa liked the new dishes, (I gave them to her as a gift, for cleaning the house), and when I showed Chiron how to scratch drawings in the eggs, he promised not to scratch anymore lions on our front door. All in all, a good Easter, I thought!

Happy Easter from Ashley!  319 BC, Alexandria near Egypt. 

The Road to Alexander

An interview with Alexander the Great

(Guest Post on author Karen King’s blog)

This week we’re going back to Ancient Greece for an interview with Alexander the Great by Ashley Riverain, from Jennifer Macaire’s The Road to Alexander (Book 1 in the Time for Alexander series).

First, let’s find out a bit more about the book.


512Bbgw3nqLAfter winning a prestigious award, Ashley is chosen to travel through time and interview a historical figure. Choosing her childhood hero Alexander the Great, she is sent back in time for less than a day. He mistakes her for Persephone, goddess of the dead, and kidnaps her, stranding her in his own time. What follows, after she awakes under the pomegranate tree, is a hilarious, mind-bending tale of a modern woman immersed in the ancient throes of sex, love, quite a bit of vino, war, death and ever so much more.

intrigued? Let’s move onto Ashley’s interview with Alexander

Notes from Tempus University – time travel program. Background: Ashley Riverain won a prestigious award, and was sent back in time to interview Alexander the Great. All that made it back were part of her notes, inscribed on a memory stick disguised as an amulet. What follows is the transcription.

Ashley Riverain (hereby known as AR): Testing, one, two, three, test…holy shit. Sorry. Erase. Repeat. Erase. (Tapping sound). I have arrived in 333 BC. It is early morning, nearly sunrise, and the air is incredibly clear. I can see smoke rising, so I will head in that direction. I believe Alexander’s encampment is just over the rise. (Sound of footsteps on grass. Thud.) Ouch! Shit. Stupid sandals. Who made these things? (Sound of footsteps and then a gasp) I’ve just topped the rise. The encampment is amazing. Huge. Well organized. It is set up not far from a river. I see stables with paddocks and horses. On a plain, the soldier’s tents are all set up in neat rows. There are blacksmith tents, cooks’ tents with hundreds of clay pots for baking bread, there is a hedge of spears outside another tent. Must be the weapon repair shop. There is a large tent set up by itself, it must be Alexander’s tent. Since there are guards outside it, I’m assuming he’s inside.

(Sounds of footsteps, another thud) I hate these sandals!

Note by student: AR has prompted her tradiscope (cortex implant that enables speaking any language) so the rest of this interview is conducted in ancient Greek, Persian, and a barbarian dialect believing to be from Bactria. Alexander was testing her in different languages, but because of the tradiscope’s abilities, Ashley was able to reply in every language. We believe this may be part of the reason why Alexander kidnapped her. We skip the part where she speaks to the guards to let her pass. She claims to be an oneirocrite, and says she has an important dream to relate to Alexander. The guards announce her, and she enters the tent.

AR: I have come from far away to speak with you, O Mighty King.

Alexander: You can call me Alexander. I dislike titles. Where exactly are you from? I’ve never heard an accent such as yours, and I have traveled widely.

AR: Um…far away. Over the mountains. You wouldn’t know the place.

Alexander: Try me. I like a challenge.

AR: I’d rather talk about you.

Alexander: Not until I’ve heard all about you. You say you’re a oneirocrite – someone who interprets dreams, is that right? So, Where are you from, and what have you dreamt? Here, have a bunch of grapes.

AR: I dreamt you told me why you were conquering the world.

Alexander: Don’t take that bunch – that’s the poisoned bunch I keep in case an enemy comes to call. I’m not interested in conquering the world, I am interested in Greece and Macedonia. I’m heading towards Babylon, where Darius will sue for peace. Did you see my soldiers? Everyone is in awe of me, now that I beat Darius. (Sound of chuckle). You still haven’t told me where you are from.

AR: Uh. I don’t suppose you’ve ever heard of America?

Alexander: Why no! I have not! You do come from a place I’ve never heard of. How amazing. (Sound of someone getting up and pacing. Sound of tent flap moving) The sun has fully risen. Soon I must make my rounds.

AR: Did you just wake up?

Alexander: No. I wake up before dawn. I already have been to see the cooks and the horses, and my generals. You’ll have to come see my horse, he is quite amazing. So, what dream did you have of me again? Something about me conquering the world? I have no wish to do so. You must be a poor oneirocrite – that’s why they chose you to see me – no one else wanted to walk so far, right? Don’t look so downcast. I don’t mind. I don’t believe in that stuff anyhow. Or not much. Birds!*

(*Here Alexander switches from Greek to Persian)

AR: Birds?

Alexander: I think birds are portents of omens. The other day, a hawk dropped a mouse at my feet. What do you think that means?

AR: I have no idea. Um, look, I hate to insist, but I have some questions for you, if you don’t mind. First-

Alexander: What color is your hair? Why did you shave it all off?

AR: What? Oh, it’s blond. I shaved it because someone told me it was the latest fashion.

Alexander: Someone doesn’t like you very much. It was the fashion a decade ago. Nowadays, all the women wear their hair long.

AR: (Sounds angry) It was the same person who gave me the sandals. (Whispers into the recorder) When I get back, the fashion consultant will have some explaining to do.

Alexander: That’s too bad, because you are a striking woman. Almost as tall as I am. And straight, white teeth.

AR: Please, could we get back to the subject of my questions?

Alexander: A woman with a one-track mind. You remind me of my mother. (Switches to a barbarian dialect).

AR: Your mother?

Alexander: She used to tell me to stop sucking my thumb, so I did it for years. Just to annoy her.

AR: That explains your teeth. You have a slight overbite.

Alexander: I’d like you to explain your gift for languages. No one but my translators speak so many. Are you a spy?

AR: (sounds frightened) No, no, of course not! I just had a few questions for you, about your plans for the future…

Alexander: I told you. I’m going to Babylon, I’ll probably marry one of Darius’s daughters for politics, then I’ll go back to Greece and rule from there. Darius will have to go to Ecbatana, where his mother lives. She’ll keep him out of trouble. I may let my mother rule Bablylon. She’ll like that. And it will keep her out of trouble. She keeps trying to poison people.

AR: Er…that is so, um, completely different from my, er, dream. Are you sure that’s what you plan to do?

Alexander: I already told you. You’re a terrible oneirocrite. But you’d make a good translator.

(Note – the amulet recorder was damaged in the tractor beam from some sort of scuffle. Therefor, no more of Ashley’s interview survived. The Time Senders believe Alexander kidnapped her to become one of his translators. No one can explain the discrepancies between Alexander the Great’s plans for the future as told to Ashley Riverain and what he subsequently did (i.e., go into the heart of Persia and then all the way to India. Why? We may never know. The second time traveler sent back to interview Alexander disappeared as well – his amulet/recorder was not recovered, and Alexander the Great has been classified as a particularly dangerous subject. Idem for his mother.)

Excerpt from “The Road to Alexander”.

‘Oh! There you are!’ cried Alexander, standing up and holding out his arms. ‘I was worried. Did you find your new shoes? Yes, I see you did. The village priest has come to thank you for your sandals. In exchange, he has agreed to forsake all virgin sacrifices. Isn’t that wonderful? Your mother will be thrilled.’

‘I’m sure she will be,’ I said with the utmost truthfulness. Then I went into the tent and collapsed.

Alexander came in to join me about an hour later. He stretched out on the bed next to me and tickled my back until I finally turned to face him.

‘Is it so very difficult?’ he asked me, his face a study in sorrow.


‘Living with mortals. I’m sorry if you’re unhappy. I wasn’t thinking when I snatched you from Hades’ grasp. I thought you wouldn’t want to go back. I admit to being selfish, I wanted to keep you by my side, but I didn’t think of the consequences. Will they be terrible? Will your mother put a curse on me? Is it too late for you to go back?’

I thought about what to say. Alexander folded his arms beneath his chin and waited patiently. Today, his eyes had the candid stare of a lion.

‘I can never go back,’ I said, ‘at least not in your lifetime.’

‘You’re bound to me for my lifetime,’ said Alexander. He said it as if he were pronouncing vows, and I shivered.

‘I did want to go back. But some of it was my fault because part of me wanted to stay here with you, and I was lost because I couldn’t make myself clear.’ I was silent again, watching him. His stare never wavered. ‘My mother will not put a curse on you,’ I said. ‘You will never have to worry about that.’

‘But what about Hades?’ he asked. ‘I’ve cheated him out of a bride.’

‘We won’t have to worry about him either.’

Want to read more? You can buy the book here:


Publisher’s Weekly

Publisher’s weekly review of “The Road to Alexander”

Macaire’s imaginative opening entry in the Time for Alexander series transports time-traveling journalist Ashley Riveraine back 3,000 years to 333 BCE via a frozen magnetic beam to interview the legendary king and military general Alexander the Great. Ashley loses her ability to return home when Alexander pulls her out of the beam believing she is the goddess Persephone. Alexander is unaware that Ashley is from the future, and she must not do or say anything to change history or she will be erased. She soon becomes Alexander’s lover (steamy scenes ensue) and a resourceful operator in a society in which people rely on omens, oracles, and gods in everyday life. Alexander’s relationships—with his treacherous mother, Olympias, his three wives, and his troops—are reasonably well-developed. The book’s most engrossing sequence sees Alexander matching wits with the Persian king, Bessus, while pursuing him in a grueling ride that sees many men and horses die. A loose ending will entice readers to find out what lies ahead in the series. (Booklife)




The Road to Alexander

Hi Naomie – thank you for having me as a guest on your blog! Let me introduce myself, I’m an American living in France. I write for Evernight press, Medallion Press, and I have three books out, The Road to AlexanderLegends of Persia, and Son of the Moon, from Accent Press.

The Road to Alexander is a love story as old as time itself – a love that spans centuries. Ashley, the time traveling heroine, is stuck in the past with Alexander the Great, and the one thing she misses most – is chocolate! If she could, she’d make brownies and give them to Alexander’s army (how many eggs would she need to make brownies for 40,000 men?) It boggles the mind. At any rate, here is a basic recipe that makes enough luscious brownies for 8:

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4 oz dark unsweetened chocolate, 2 sticks sweet butter, melted. Melt chocolate in the microwave or over a double broiler and add melted butter. Stir well. In another bowl, mix 4 eggs and 2 cups granulated sugar together until creamy. Note: I used 1 cup granulated sugar and 1 cup light brown sugar. Add 1 teaspoon vanilla. Blend chocolate/butter mix with sugar/egg mix and add 1/2 cup of flour. You can also add a cup of crushed walnuts or pecans if you like. Butter and flour a rectangular baking dish. Pour in batter and bake in a preheated 350°F  (220°C) for 25 minutes or until middle is set. Do not overcook! Let cool and cut into small squares.

The Road to Alexander: Ashley is a one of the elite, a time-travel journalist who has fought to prove herself in a world where everyone believes her road in life was paved by her parents’ money and her title. After winning a prestigious award she is chosen to travel through time and interview a historical figure. Choosing her childhood hero Alexander the Great, she is sent back in time for less than a day to find and interview a man whose legend has survived to the present day. He mistakes her for Persephone, goddess of the dead, and kidnaps her, stranding her in his own time.  What follows, after she awakes under a pomegranate tree, is a hilarious, mind-bending tale of a modern woman immersed in the ancient throes of sex, love, quite a bit of vino, war, death, and ever so much more!

You can order the first book in the Time for Alexander series to be published by Accent Press! It’s fun, it’s adventure, it’s romance, it’s a modern woman stuck in 300BC without her cell phone or decent shampoo – but with the greatest hero who ever lived, Alexander.

UK, USA, France…available on all Amazon sites!

We are having a baby girl!
The Road to Alexander, “First of the Time for Alexander series. Time-traveling reporter Ashley is trapped in the past of Alexander the Great, when Alexander thinks he is rescuing her from the god Hades. […] Entertaining, fast-paced, and knowledgeable.” ~Spinoff Reviews


We walked through the doorway to find Darius sitting pensively on his throne.

He was taller than I’d expected. Most of the people I’d met were of medium height. Darius, when he stood up to greet us, towered over me. He was nude, except for a golden chain around his neck. Nudity was so common that I’d ceased to be aware of it. The soldiers went around unclothed, and in the villages children were nude. Persian men wore very brief loincloths. Women wore robes or belted a cloth around their waists, although slave women were often naked. Alexander chose the Greek mode, which meant he wore a pleated tunic or slung a short cape over his shoulders. Today he wore his tunic.

Darius’s hair was long, black, and wavy, brushed back from his high forehead. He was clean-shaven; the beard he wore on ceremonial occasions was in his hand. It was made of finely knotted black silk. He looked at his beard and then placed it gently on the seat of the throne.

“It’s yours now,” were his first words to Alexander.

“You can keep it.” Alexander’s voice was neutral. It almost sounded like pity, and I looked at him sharply. So did Darius. For a second his eyes flashed, and I saw a glimpse of the king he’d been.

“Thank you.” His voice was careful too. They talked about the battle, verbally dancing around each other like fencers. Neither gave the other any advantage, but there was an undercurrent of sadness in Alexander that I could not fathom. Darius was puzzled as well, because after an awkward silence, he motioned toward the table where a tray of fruit sat. “Would you like some figs? They’re fresh. I imagine you’ve been living off dried ones during the march.”

Alexander said, “No thank you.”

Darius nodded. “Ah well. How’s Statiera?” It was almost an afterthought.

“She’s well. She’s ruling Babylon.”

He looked surprised. “Oh? And your mother?”

“I sent her back to her own people. It was either that, or kill her.”

Darius froze. I held my breath. He turned his head very slowly and looked at me for the first time. He had long-lashed, honey-brown eyes. Vanity prompted him to line them with kohl, making them appear even larger and more brilliant. His face was dark and his eyes were lighter than his skin, like a lion’s eyes. And like a lion he blinked and looked away from my gaze. “So you knew,” he said.

“Why did you think I came after you?” Alexander’s voice rose, a note of anger in it.

“Oh, I suppose I’d guessed.” Darius shrugged and took a plump fig. He squeezed it appraisingly and then put it back in the bowl. “You want the babe.”

“Where is he?”

“Is it true she’s a goddess?” He wouldn’t look me in the face and I found that disturbing.

“It is.” I was startled by Alexander’s answer, but even more startled at Darius’s next question.

“Tell me when and how I shall die, Goddess.” He was staring out the window, bracing his hands against the sill. His body was all flowing lines and muscle. I couldn’t help admiring his physique.

I looked at Alexander who nodded once.

I drew a deep breath. “You’ll be killed by someone you trust before the summer ends.”

A shudder ran through his body. When he spoke his voice was broken. “The child is in the hands of a Bactrian satrap. I gave him to a caravan going east. He’ll be in Bactria in the spring. The babe is marked by the goddess. He’ll come to no harm.”

I put my hand on Alexander’s arm to steady myself. “Why?” I whispered.

“Because of the oracle,” said Darius. He sighed and then looked at me at last. “When Olympias came to the city she had the babe brought to the temple of Marduk. She was going to sacrifice him. An oracle told her that the babe would be her downfall. In a way, I suppose it was true. However, my astrologer said that if the babe died I would lose everything that was dear to me. I love my daughter Statiera more than all the gold in this city. And I love her more than my own life. How long do you think she would have lived if you had found out that your child had been sacrificed on the altar of Babylon’s god? Now she is the Queen of Babylon. The babe is safe, but the prophecy said one more thing, Iskander, about you.”

“What did it say about me?” asked Alexander.

“It said to ask her.” He pointed at me. “The oracle said, ‘All Iskander’s questions can be answered by the child’s mother.’ It claimed she knows all.” Then he turned to the window again. “Ask if you dare, Iskander. I did.” His voice was almost inaudible.

I would have run out of the room, but Alexander caught my wrist. He bowed to Darius, and made me bow too, although Darius had his back to us and was staring out the window. Alexander knocked on the door, and Lysimachus let us out.

“He can see anyone he chooses,” said Alexander.

“Anyone?” Lysimachus looked surprised.

“Anyone. He’ll be trusting no one now.” He looked at me with flinty eyes as he said this, and I quailed.

When I got outside the palace, I gulped the air. The atmosphere had been suffocating. Darius was doomed.

I had hated Persepolis from the moment I’d entered it. Perhaps it was the emptiness of the city. No one had ever lived there. There were no women, no children, only Darius and the soldiers. Or maybe it was the pall of smoke that hung low in the sky. Thousands of men were clearing the bodies from the battlefield. The dead soldiers were being cremated, and the smell was ghastly. Darius had lost nearly half his army. The rest of Darius’s men had either been absorbed into Alexander’s army, or if they wouldn’t swear allegiance, sent to the mines as slaves.

Alexander brooded as we walked. Several times he made as if to speak, but each time he fell silent. At first, I wondered if he were thinking about the men he’d lost, and their families’ grief when the news arrived. Then I saw him looking at me out of the corners of his eyes, and I realized he was thinking about what Darius had said.

I reached out and touched his arm lightly, meaning to comfort him, but he flinched.

“All right, that does it!” I stopped in the middle of the path and folded my arms across my chest. “We have to talk about this. It will do no good for you to go on sulking.”

He spun around and faced me, his eyes blazing. “Sulking? Sulking, am I?”

“Yes.” I glared back at him, but I couldn’t stay angry long. My eyes softened. “Oh Alex, I’m sorry. I never should have said anything to Darius. It was a mistake, I admit. I regret it and I wish you had never made me do it.”

“Made you do it? I made you do it?” His anger was terrible to behold. “I told you not to!”

“You nodded!” I was furious. “You nodded your head like this!”

“That means ‘no’!” He sputtered. “Everyone knows that!”

“I forgot,” I said miserably. “I’m sorry. Where I come from that means ‘yes’.”

“Where do you come from?”

I shook my head. “That means no, where I come from. And I can’t tell you.”

We stared at each other. Alexander’s face was paler than usual, his forehead damp. “The gods are playing with us,” he said slowly.

“Perhaps it’s true.” I couldn’t face him anymore and I turned my head.

“Oh, no, you don’t.” He took my chin and made me look into his eyes. “How do you know he will die by the hand of someone he trusts?”

I shivered. I would have to tell him, and by doing so change the course of history. A sharp pain was starting in my toes and I wondered if it was the erasure that was beginning. In a moment I would disappear. Probably writhing in horrible pain. I glanced down, expecting to see my feet disappearing but no, it was just Alexander, standing on my foot. “You’re on my foot,” I said, pointing.

He cursed and stepped backwards. “I need to know. Are you really an oracle?”

I shook my head. “No, I’m not. I’ve never even seen an oracle, and I don’t know what they do, or how they act. When I was in the palace, all I could think of was my baby, and that Darius had kidnapped him. I was angry. I said something I regret. If it turns out to be true, we’ll talk about it then. Right now I’m just glad to be out of there and away from him.”

“He was a great man,” said Alexander.

“But you’re a greater one.” I touched his face and then pulled him towards me and kissed him. “And you’re the best kisser in the world. Who taught you?”

He opened his mouth to speak then snapped it shut. “My mother was right. All women are sorceresses.”

My mouth twitched. “For once, she was probably right.” I linked my arm through his, and he didn’t pull away. He was not convinced and was still angry, I could tell. He hadn’t forgiven me, and I knew it was only a matter of time before I’d have some serious explaining to do. Bleakly, I wondered what I could invent.

~ You can visit the Facebook page for the series here