by permission) of the page to read
THE LEGEND of
THE GUARDIANS OF CRIDHE
The Guardians have announced their upcoming events.
Do they ever have great things in store for us!
Since the conception of these 7 wonderful authors, banding together,
I have had the pleasure of joining them on The Guardians Of Cridhe page
and follow each day, the things they share.
Please go over and join this wonderful group of lady authors and become a part of this historical endeavor.
(The beautiful banner now on The Guardians of Cridhe page)
ANNOUNCEMENT # 1
BUNDLE COVER REVEALED
Highland Revenge - by Ceci Giltenan
TAGLINE: "Does he hate her clan enough to visit his vengeance on her?
Or will he listen to her secret and his own heart's yearning?"
Ceci Giltenan - Highland Revenge is set in the northern Highlands in 1311 and 1340.
HIGHLAND REVENGE BLURB
**** EXCERPT ****
The Taming of Mairi MacKenzie - by Sue-Ellen Welfonder
TAGLINE "A forbidden love so powerful, it could destroy them both."
Sue-Ellen Welfonder - The Taming of Mairi Mackenzie, is set in Autumn 1351 in the Western Highlands.
THE TAMING OF MAIRI MACKENZIE BLURB
**** EXCERPT ****
Stealing Moirra's Heart - by Suzan Tisdale
Suzan Tisdale - Stealing Moirra's Heart is set in the late 1300's.
STEALING MOIRRA'S HEART BLURB
**** EXCERPT ****
Moirra Dundotter needed a man.
As much as she hated to admit it, ’twas true.
But not just any man. She needed one with a strong back and, preferably, a malleable mind.
With a dispirited heart, she made her way through the winding streets of the small town of Glenkirby. Paying no attention to the beautiful, bright summer morn, her mind was elsewhere engaged, focused on finding a man who would suit her needs. The longer she thought on it, the more frustrated she became for her options were few.
At nearly thirty years of age and widowed three times now, she was not considered a fine catch by the men of her clan or the little town she was now making her way through. The men who knew her thought her far too stubborn for her own good — not one to bend easily to a man’s will — and far too blunt, no matter how pretty they might consider her to be for a woman of her advanced age.
The fact that her first two husbands had died and the last one had been missing for months now did nothing to help her current situation. Moirra had a reputation for losing husbands.
’Twasn’t that she needed the comfort or love of a man. She’d had that once, with her first husband. Passion and lust with the second. Her last husband she tried very hard to forget.
Nay, she simply needed a man who could help her tend to her fields and animals. A husband would also keep the arrogant farmer to her north from offering another proposal. A husband who might also keep Sheriff Wilgart from asking more uncomfortable questions as they pertained to her aforementioned missing husband.
If she could not find a husband here in Glenkirby, she’d have to travel some three days to the next town. The pickings here were slim at best. Any unmarried man was either too young or far too old. Or worse yet, put off by her reputation and unwilling to enter into marriage with her. Even Malcomb McFarland wouldn’t have her and he was widowed with five children at home in desperate need of a mother.
Entering the town square, Moirra was ready to give up hope, return home and pack her things, when a commotion ahead caught her attention. Making her way through a small crowd of people, she was finally able to see clearly what was — or more specifically who — was making the commotion.
’Twas an odd scene before her. A large, well muscled man, was locked in the pillory. That in and of itself was not so odd. What was odd was the fact that he was dressed in fine clothing and was currently swearing at the auld woman who had just tossed a rotten cabbage at his head. From the look on the auld woman’s face, she neither spoke nor understood the French words that flew from his mouth.
But Moirra understood every word. Her mother, God rest her soul, had been French. “Vieille sorciere ride. Vous estes en cooler parce que vows avez perdu botre ta jeunesse.” Wrinkled auld hag. You’re angry because ye lost yer youth.
Moirra studied him closely for a time. Even locked in the pillory as he was, there was an educated air about him. Although he was quite dirty at the moment, what with bits of rotted cabbage dangling from his dark hair and his muddy trews and boots, it didn’t appear to Moirra that that was his normal state of dress. With her curiosity piqued, she drew closer.
A young boy, mayhap no aulder than ten summers, began taunting the man. “Dunnae where ye be from, ye big lout, but here, we do no’ steal!” The boy threw something unrecognizable at the man’s head before running away.
“Les puce son trop bon pour ton cul.” Fleas are too good for your arse.
The man hid his anger behind a big smile that showed straight white teeth. ’Twas all Moirra could do not to giggle. Though his French was impeccable, something in his countenance — if one could have such a thing whilst locked in a pillory — told her French was his second language. She’d always been quite good at sizing up a person’s character. Well, almost always. She’d been quite wrong about husband number three and did her best to push the thought of him from her mind.
Moirra might not know who this man was, but she sensed he was no thief. She took a step closer. Exceedingly handsome, even if he was dirty and covered with bits of rotten food. ’Twas his smile that pulled her in even closer. His full lips, when drawn back as they were, revealed beautiful, straight white teeth.
His large hands were balled into fists, and she could just make out the faint line where a ring had once been worn, on the small finger of his right hand. A signet ring mayhap? ’Twas possible when she took all the bits and pieces as a whole.
’Twas quite possible that he was a man of means, or had been at one time. Mayhap he had fallen on hard times, for she couldn’t think of another reason why a man who appeared to be educated and affluent — again, when taken as a whole — would be locked in a pillory in the center of Glenkirby. The scenario made perfectly good sense to Moirra. Wanting to know if she was correct in her assumptions, she drew even closer.
Another small boy, friend no doubt of the first, decided that he, too, wanted to taunt and torment the man. “Thief, thief, thief!” he teased. “And no’ a verra good one, neither!”
The man growled at the child and lunged forward. The pillory shook and rattled as he fought to be free of it. The little boy looked ready to wet himself, his eyes growing as wide as wagon wheels. He stepped back and stumbled, landing on his rear end with a thud. The man growled and lunged a second time. The boy scrambled to his feet and ran away.
A loud, nearly melodious laugh filled the air. ’Twasn’t the laugh of a tetched man, but rather one who was quite enjoying himself. Odd, but not the least bit off-putting or terrifying in her way of thinking. Moirra bit the inside of her cheek to keep from laughing out loud as she enjoyed the scene playing out before her.
’Twas then that an idea began to form in her mind. A former man of means, down on his luck, ending up in Glenkirby of all places, now locked in a pillory for stealing, cursing at auld women and terrifying little boys, and he seemed to be taking great enjoyment from it. If she were correct, the man was harmless.
If her instincts were off, as she had been not long ago, well, things could end up going ghastly wrong again. Still, the man in the pillory was as good as any other choice she might have at the moment. What she needed was a chance to look into his eyes and see. Moirra was a firm believer that one could gain a sense of a person’s character just by looking into their eyes.
She searched the immediate vicinity for the bailie and found him leaning back in a chair, his eyes closed. Good.
While the man continued to laugh and watch the small children fleeing, Moirra quietly made her way to the pillory. She leaned in and whispered, in perfect French, “Somethin’ tells me ye be no thief.”
The man turned abruptly, his bright green eyes flashed with a hint of confusion before he masked it with air of nonchalance. Those bright eyes sparkled in the sun, and something in their twinkle warned her that she would have to tread very carefully with this man. He was dangerous. Och, not the 'he’ll slice your throat whilst ye sleep kind of dangerous'. Nay, he was the kind of dangerous that made women do foolish and stupid things.
He gave her a quick glance up and down, flashed that brilliant white smile and laughed. They were close enough that she could feel his warm breath on her cheek. “I am many things, lass. All around bastard, ne’er-do-well, and rakehell. But I be no thief.”
The smoothness of his deep voice felt like a gentle caress against her skin and left a warm feeling deep in her belly. Dark hair cut short framed a most magnificent face. A perfect nose sat atop full lips. Lips that reminded her just how long it had been since she’d last joined with a man. Those lips held a promise, a dangerous promise of things she should not be thinking about. Moirra was a woman full-grown for heaven’s sake, not some innocent lass. Still, the images that flittered about her mind were enough to make her skin burn red. She swallowed hard and did her best to pretend those pleasurable and wicked thoughts had never entered her mind.
“What is yer name?” she asked, in the Scots language.
Instead of answering, he took another up-and-down glance, his eyes taking their time to make their way from her head to her toes. He let them linger far longer on her bosom than might be considered proper. It made her heart pound against her breastbone.
Returning to the French, she asked him again for his name and again, he did not answer. The man might be stubborn, but he’d met his match in Moirra Dundotter. “Fine, I shall call ye John. Pillory John.”
Lady Tisdale's inteview with the hero of Stealing Moirra's Heart:
Spirit Stones - by Kate Robbins
Kate Robbins - Spirit Stones is set during the early 17th century on the Isle of Skye
SPIRIT STONES BLURB
A Tear for Memory - by Kathryn Lynn Davis
TAGLINE: "How can a seer paint 'Truth' when she’s lived a life of lies?
A TEAR FOR MEMORY BLURB
**** EXCERPT ****
Tossing her thick braid over her shoulder, Caelia Rose started across the moor to the private citadel where the sunlight blessed the water in patterns through the new spring leaves. She had not gone far when she noticed Robert Hamilton walking toward her.
Caelia paused, feeling ill—or not exactly ill, but jittery, or not exactly jittery, but distinctly odd. The one thing she did not feel was afraid. “Good morrow,” she said formally when they stood near enough to speak.
“And to ye,” he replied just as formally. He toyed with his tricorn hat for a moment, then burst out with, “I beg yer pardon for my behavior yesterday. Twas unconscionably rude, and ye’d been most polite and informative. I hope ye’ll forgive me.”
It was important to him; she could see that in the way he clutched his hat in his fingers. “Perhaps,” she said lightly, “if I understood why.”
He sighed, released the pressure from his hat and shook his head. “I just…I was curious and I went too far.”
Observing him, head tilted, she decided she could believe him. Almost. “Curious about what?” She wanted to sound skeptical, but only managed perplexed. Pulling her plaid closer, she waited.
Robert was frustrated again, though he knew she had every right to question him. Or turn him away completely. But he couldn’t let that happen. “About the odd name of yer house for one. Fairies’ Haven? Tis a bit unrealistic, don’t ye think?”
“Aye, but there’s a legend about a fairy cave hidden beneath the big hill the house is built on.” Somehow, to her astonishment, he had turned and they’d begun walking together. He offered her his arm, and, as if it were the most natural thing in the world (and not the first time it had happened to her), she took it, laying her palm on his fine wool frockcoat. She noticed his arm was firm and steady.
“Och, I see. A fairy cave, is it?” He found it difficult to sound the proper note of curiosity and skepticism, though he’d never believed in fairies and such like. “And where, exactly might this hidden cave be?” She smelled slightly of oranges, and the fragrance attracted him. Which was absurd. He’d known many beauties who would not turn him away. This girl-child, though 19-years-old, was a Highland country lass, naïve and ignorant of the ways of the world. Somehow that made him ache, and he did not like the feeling. In any case, he had been the one to make a fool of himself at their last meeting, not she.
“Tis just the trouble. No one’s been able to find it as far back as memory. The real name of the house is The Hill of the Hounds, from an incident in the 14th century, but the people will call it Fairies’ Haven, no matter what we do. And anyway…” She trailed off, eyes full of sadness.
“What, Caelia Rose? Tell me.” He really wanted to know, which surprised him. He frowned.
She took a deep breath and turned to catch him in her golden-brown eyes. “And anyway, the fairies have been gone for a long time.”
Stopping short, he stared at her fixedly. “Surely ye’re no’ serious? Fairies don’t exist.”
She didn’t flinch or look away or blush, but met his stare with gentle pity. “Tis what I thought ye’d say. But they do. And someday they’ll come back. I know that, Robert Hamilton.”
She removed her hand from his arm to find she missed its warmth.
“Even if they did, are ye no’ afraid of them? They’re supposed to be wily tricksters who only want to pull ye down into their world beneath the moss.”
“Some of them, mayhap. But no’ all,” she replied too quickly, her desire to believe naked in her eyes.
He swallowed once, twice, caught in that golden-brown gaze. Covering her hand briefly with his, he shivered at the heat that raced across his palm. She must have felt it too, because her eyes widened in shock. She simply could not hide what she was feeling. He could not remember a time when he had been that young and carefree.
I looked forward to interviewing my hero, and I got more (I think) than I expected
A Jewel in the Vaults - by Lily Baldwin
TAGLINE: "Beneath the ruse is a woman aching to break free."
Lily Baldwin - A Jewel in the Vaults is set in Edinburgh in 1802.
A JEWEL IN THE VAULTS BLURB
**** EXCERPT ****
Lord Grayson's Bride - by Tarah Scott
TAGLINE: 'She can't allow his love for her to destroy him...'
RANDOM INTERESTING FACTS:
ANNOUNCEMENT #2
BUNDLE COVER REVEALED
Coming November 17th - The Scrolls of Cridhe - Volume 1, Highland Winds
Pre-order will be available November 1
Highland Revenge - by Ceci Giltenan
TAGLINE: "Does he hate her clan enough to visit his vengeance on her?
Or will he listen to her secret and his own heart's yearning?"
Ceci Giltenan - Highland Revenge is set in the northern Highlands in 1311 and 1340.
HIGHLAND REVENGE BLURB
Does he hate her clan enough to visit his vengeance on her? Or will he listen to her secret and his own heart’s yearning?
Hatred lives and breathes between medieval clans who often don’t remember why feuds began in the shadowed past.
But Eoin MacKay remembers.He will never forget how he was treated by Bhaltair MacNicol—the acting head of Clan MacNicol. He was lucky to escape alive, and vows to have revenge.Years later, as laird of Clan MacKay, he gets his chance when he captures Lady Fiona MacNicol. His desire for revenge is strong but he is beguiled by his captive. Can he forget his stubborn hatred long enough to listen to the secret she has kept for so long? And once he knows the truth, can he show her she is not alone and forsaken? In the end, is he strong enough to fight the combined hostilities and age-old grudges that demand he give her up?
But Eoin MacKay remembers.He will never forget how he was treated by Bhaltair MacNicol—the acting head of Clan MacNicol. He was lucky to escape alive, and vows to have revenge.Years later, as laird of Clan MacKay, he gets his chance when he captures Lady Fiona MacNicol. His desire for revenge is strong but he is beguiled by his captive. Can he forget his stubborn hatred long enough to listen to the secret she has kept for so long? And once he knows the truth, can he show her she is not alone and forsaken? In the end, is he strong enough to fight the combined hostilities and age-old grudges that demand he give her up?
**** EXCERPT ****
He hadn’t gone terribly far when he caught a glimpse of white halfway up a massive oak. She was well hidden. Her plaid was dark green; he wouldn’t have noticed her among the leaves if he hadn’t been specifically looking for her. He strode closer to the tree, stopping once so he could look up through the branches. There, perched in the crotch of two thick limbs was a woman so perfectly beautiful she might have been part faery. He was left momentarily speechless. Her skin was fair, with a faint pink blush to her cheek. He couldn’t see the color of her eyes, but they were ringed with sooty lashes. Something told him that, regardless of their hue, they would sparkle. Her rosy lips were full and soft—lips that were made to be kissed. The late afternoon breeze ruffled the mass of black curls around her shoulders. Her léine was torn, but otherwise she appeared none the worse for wear. She is not a fairy, she is a MacNicol, he reminded himself.
She looked down at him silently with her head cocked to one side, as if she was trying to solve some puzzle. She didn’t seem remotely frightened. That would have to change if he was to exact his revenge. “Have ye had a lovely day perched in yer tree, watching us search for ye?”
“I suspect my day was better than yers.”
Her impertinent answer irritated him. “Well ye’ve had yer bit of fun, but it’s over. Climb down.”
She ignored him. “Who are ye?”
“Yer captor, and I ordered ye to climb down. Do it now.”
“Nay, I asked ye a perfectly reasonable question, and ye aren’t my captor if ye can’t reach me. Until I know who ye are, I think I’d just as soon stay free, even if I am up a tree.”
“Free? Nay lass, ye’re as good as locked in my dungeon, and I promise ye will regret yer impertinence.”
He called to one of his men. “Donald, it fair breaks my heart, but the MacNicol lass doesn’t wish to join our company.”
“An arrow would bring her down quick enough.”
“Aye it would, but ye heard her guardsman. This is Fiona MacNicol, Bhaltair’s niece. I wouldn’t want to harm a hair on her wee head.”
Donald snorted. “Ye have no love for the MacNicols, and neither do I. Have ye forgotten? One of my older brothers rode with ye that night.”
“Ye’re right, Donald. I have no love for the MacNicols, but the ransom this one will fetch will hurt Bhaltair’s greedy, black heart nearly as much as a steel blade thrust into it. Mark my words, we’ll have our revenge. We are leaving. Climb up, drag her down and bind her. She managed to evade us once and I won’t have it happen again. We have already wasted too much time on her.” He didn’t spare her another glance but called over his shoulder, “By the way, lass, I am Laird Eoin MacKay, and ye’re most assuredly my prisoner.”
The Taming of Mairi MacKenzie - by Sue-Ellen Welfonder
TAGLINE "A forbidden love so powerful, it could destroy them both."
Sue-Ellen Welfonder - The Taming of Mairi Mackenzie, is set in Autumn 1351 in the Western Highlands.
THE TAMING OF MAIRI MACKENZIE BLURB
A forbidden love so powerful it could destroy them both.
Mairi MacKenzie can bring the dead back to life. But her fame as this special healer is a curse too much to bear, and she takes refuge in the ancient broch of Dunwynde, the Glen of Winds, her secret, well-guarded home. Many are her reasons for hiding from the world, allowing folk to believe she’s a banshee. Clan MacKenzie protects her as one of their dearest treasures. Only Mairi knows how unworthy she is of her clan’s devotion.
Sir Gare MacTaggert only desires redemption. Once counted amongst Scotland’s greatest warriors, he hasn’t lifted a sword in years because of a battlefield tragedy that broke his soul. All that is left to him is his clan and his home, and now he stands to lose them as well. Scotland’s crown wants his corner of the realm strengthened and so a King’s writ has ordered him to forge an alliance – through marriage.
Yet his honor won’t allow him to wed any woman, dead as he is inside. He seeks the aid of the Glen of Winds banshee, but before she can restore his will to live, they must face a greater challenge: the forbidden love that could destroy them.
**** EXCERPT ****
A wee glimpse at the hero and heroine’s first meeting.)
“I must ask you to leave.” There, she’d said what she must.
Go before my heart yearns for you as fiercely as my woman’s body already does.
Dear heavens, he smelled of sandalwood, clean wool, leather, cold air and man, and the heady blend was fuzzing her wits, making her vulnerable. Worse, he had a way of looking at her that made her feel as if he’d actually touched her, and in intimate, sensual ways!
Mairi’s pulse quickened, a tingling, long-forgotten warmth pooling low by her thighs.
No virgin, she’d once loved well and had never denied herself passion. She recognized the danger of this man, with his alluring scent and potent virility. His tall, well-muscled body, surely hard as iron. His strong, beautiful hands that reminded her of the pleasures a skilled lover’s questing fingers could give a woman.
Joys she hadn’t known in so long.
“See here, I can do nothing for you,” she started again, sure she was glowering. “Nor can you sleep here.” She indicated the rock-sided glen, the boulder-strewn ground. “Even if I wished you to stay, there isn’t enough bracken to make the thinnest pallet.”
His gaze locked with hers, and something in his expression told her she was losing. “My dog and I can sleep on the ground.” He spoke as if everything was settled. “We have done so most nights of our journey. I need no more than my plaid, and Troll is well-furred enough to no’ feel the rocks beneath him.”
“Very well.” Mairi nodded, sure resistance was futile. “But you’ll leave on the morrow.”
“If you say you cannae help me, aye.”
“I’m telling you that now.”
“It is said you have brought back the breath of life to the coldest of the damned.” His words pierced her heart, making her soul ache. “Your fame is on every bard’s tongue, the wonders you have wrought, the miracles-”
“The tales are untrue.” Mairi tucked her hair behind an ear, kept her chin raised. “No one can bring the dead back to life.”
“Yet you have done so.”
“Aye, but-”
He stepped closer and gripped her arm, his touch sending ripples of awareness through her. “I wouldn’t be here if my request wasn’t dire, my lady. All I ask is that you restore-”
“I regret you’ve lost someone.” She did, especially that she couldn’t do what he wanted.
She knew the pain of heartache.
So before she could think better of it, she lifted her hand to his face and touched his cheek, slid her fingers along his beard. “I do wish I could help you, but all I can offer is my sympathy.”
“You misunderstand.” He caught her hand, lacing their fingers, squeezing tight. Determination burned in his eyes. “The dead I want you to revive is a man who hasn’t truly died. He stands before you.”
INTERVIEWGo before my heart yearns for you as fiercely as my woman’s body already does.
Dear heavens, he smelled of sandalwood, clean wool, leather, cold air and man, and the heady blend was fuzzing her wits, making her vulnerable. Worse, he had a way of looking at her that made her feel as if he’d actually touched her, and in intimate, sensual ways!
Mairi’s pulse quickened, a tingling, long-forgotten warmth pooling low by her thighs.
No virgin, she’d once loved well and had never denied herself passion. She recognized the danger of this man, with his alluring scent and potent virility. His tall, well-muscled body, surely hard as iron. His strong, beautiful hands that reminded her of the pleasures a skilled lover’s questing fingers could give a woman.
Joys she hadn’t known in so long.
“See here, I can do nothing for you,” she started again, sure she was glowering. “Nor can you sleep here.” She indicated the rock-sided glen, the boulder-strewn ground. “Even if I wished you to stay, there isn’t enough bracken to make the thinnest pallet.”
His gaze locked with hers, and something in his expression told her she was losing. “My dog and I can sleep on the ground.” He spoke as if everything was settled. “We have done so most nights of our journey. I need no more than my plaid, and Troll is well-furred enough to no’ feel the rocks beneath him.”
“Very well.” Mairi nodded, sure resistance was futile. “But you’ll leave on the morrow.”
“If you say you cannae help me, aye.”
“I’m telling you that now.”
“It is said you have brought back the breath of life to the coldest of the damned.” His words pierced her heart, making her soul ache. “Your fame is on every bard’s tongue, the wonders you have wrought, the miracles-”
“The tales are untrue.” Mairi tucked her hair behind an ear, kept her chin raised. “No one can bring the dead back to life.”
“Yet you have done so.”
“Aye, but-”
He stepped closer and gripped her arm, his touch sending ripples of awareness through her. “I wouldn’t be here if my request wasn’t dire, my lady. All I ask is that you restore-”
“I regret you’ve lost someone.” She did, especially that she couldn’t do what he wanted.
She knew the pain of heartache.
So before she could think better of it, she lifted her hand to his face and touched his cheek, slid her fingers along his beard. “I do wish I could help you, but all I can offer is my sympathy.”
“You misunderstand.” He caught her hand, lacing their fingers, squeezing tight. Determination burned in his eyes. “The dead I want you to revive is a man who hasn’t truly died. He stands before you.”
SEW/AM: When Gare was here last week he mentioned that the other Highland Winds heroes visited Blackrock. Did their ladies come, too?
Mairi: They did, aye. (she smiles, her eyes lighting) I quite liked them and wished we lived closer. We made the most of the time we had.
SEW/AM: What did you do?
Mairi: We enjoyed a fine feast. The kitchens at Blackrock lay a scrumptious table. But it was the next evening I loved best.
SEW/AM: How so?
Mairi: We went up into the hills for a moonlit picnic – just us ladies! Well, that isn’t quite true. Our heroes sent along guards. Times are peaceful at Blackrock, but they didn’t want to risk ruining the bundle’s success by having us spirited away before the Nov. 17th release.
SEW/AM: They were surely as concerned about you and the other heroines. I wouldn’t want to see their fury if something happened to any of you.
Mairi: (Leaning forward, conspiratorial) They’d be more upset if they knew we aren’t jealous of your readers falling in love with them. We’re aware that your friends would have to cross great time and distance to even wink at our men. We don’t mind sharing them from afar.
SEW/AM: Readers will meet them soon – and you!
Mairi: We’re ready. You and the other lady scribes have done us proud.
SEW/AM: (blushes) I’m so glad you think so. Of course, having such wonderful heroes and heroines made our job a breeze. We loved spending time with you. If you’re happy now, after the stories, then all that remains is pleasing our readers.
Mairi: (setting down the coffee she’s sampling for the first time ever) Dear lady, do you doubt it? What red-blooded female can resist a strapping, plaid-draped Highland hero with a deep, buttery-rich burr? Our bundle offers seven!
SEW/AM: So true. (I take a sip of my own coffee) I’m sure readers will also love you ladies. By the way, did you know you’re my first independently published heroine? All the others have been traditionally-published, going through many hands before they saw print, or an e-reader. (even my Allie Mackay heroines) You alone sprang straight from my heart onto the page.
Mairi: (She looks embarrassed) Then I shall hope readers like me. Especially as I have, shall we say, walked across the heather more than a time or two before my story opens. I’m an earthy sort, unafraid to embrace life’s pleasures. Speaking of which… (She trails off, glances at the door.)
SEW/AM: You want to get back to Gare. It’s okay. We all understand, and-
Mairi: (She stands, embraces me) Before I left, I caught a glimpse of him trying to befriend Sprig, a fine ginger cat I’ve adopted at Blackrock. Gare isn’t a cat person – yet! So I want to see how they’re getting on. Troll, Gare’s dog, already adores Sprig, so the battle is half won.
SEW/AM: Then I won’t keep you. Just give Troll and Sprig some loving from me, please. (I refrain from asking her to kiss Gare for me) Actually, I needn’t have bothered for she’s already gone.
But she left me smiling. Something tells me she’ll find Gare winning over Sprig quite nicely. After all, I sure fell hard for him. I hope you will, too.
Stealing Moirra's Heart - by Suzan Tisdale
TAGLINE :"She didn't believe he was a thief when she rescued him
... until he stole her heart."
Suzan Tisdale - Stealing Moirra's Heart is set in the late 1300's.
STEALING MOIRRA'S HEART BLURB
Moirra Dundottar needs a man. Much as she hates to admit it, it's true. With a reputation for losing husbands, her prospects are slim, her outlook bleak. Until the morning she sees a strange man on the town square--a man who's accused of being a thief and is locked in the pillory.
"Something tells me ye be no thief."
The strange man gives her a quick glance up and down, flashes a brilliant white smile and laughs. "I am many things, lass. All around bastard, ne'er-do-well, and rakehell. But I be no thief."
She didn’t believe he was a thief when she rescued him … until he stole her heart.
**** EXCERPT ****
Moirra Dundotter needed a man.
As much as she hated to admit it, ’twas true.
But not just any man. She needed one with a strong back and, preferably, a malleable mind.
With a dispirited heart, she made her way through the winding streets of the small town of Glenkirby. Paying no attention to the beautiful, bright summer morn, her mind was elsewhere engaged, focused on finding a man who would suit her needs. The longer she thought on it, the more frustrated she became for her options were few.
At nearly thirty years of age and widowed three times now, she was not considered a fine catch by the men of her clan or the little town she was now making her way through. The men who knew her thought her far too stubborn for her own good — not one to bend easily to a man’s will — and far too blunt, no matter how pretty they might consider her to be for a woman of her advanced age.
The fact that her first two husbands had died and the last one had been missing for months now did nothing to help her current situation. Moirra had a reputation for losing husbands.
’Twasn’t that she needed the comfort or love of a man. She’d had that once, with her first husband. Passion and lust with the second. Her last husband she tried very hard to forget.
Nay, she simply needed a man who could help her tend to her fields and animals. A husband would also keep the arrogant farmer to her north from offering another proposal. A husband who might also keep Sheriff Wilgart from asking more uncomfortable questions as they pertained to her aforementioned missing husband.
If she could not find a husband here in Glenkirby, she’d have to travel some three days to the next town. The pickings here were slim at best. Any unmarried man was either too young or far too old. Or worse yet, put off by her reputation and unwilling to enter into marriage with her. Even Malcomb McFarland wouldn’t have her and he was widowed with five children at home in desperate need of a mother.
Entering the town square, Moirra was ready to give up hope, return home and pack her things, when a commotion ahead caught her attention. Making her way through a small crowd of people, she was finally able to see clearly what was — or more specifically who — was making the commotion.
’Twas an odd scene before her. A large, well muscled man, was locked in the pillory. That in and of itself was not so odd. What was odd was the fact that he was dressed in fine clothing and was currently swearing at the auld woman who had just tossed a rotten cabbage at his head. From the look on the auld woman’s face, she neither spoke nor understood the French words that flew from his mouth.
But Moirra understood every word. Her mother, God rest her soul, had been French. “Vieille sorciere ride. Vous estes en cooler parce que vows avez perdu botre ta jeunesse.” Wrinkled auld hag. You’re angry because ye lost yer youth.
Moirra studied him closely for a time. Even locked in the pillory as he was, there was an educated air about him. Although he was quite dirty at the moment, what with bits of rotted cabbage dangling from his dark hair and his muddy trews and boots, it didn’t appear to Moirra that that was his normal state of dress. With her curiosity piqued, she drew closer.
A young boy, mayhap no aulder than ten summers, began taunting the man. “Dunnae where ye be from, ye big lout, but here, we do no’ steal!” The boy threw something unrecognizable at the man’s head before running away.
“Les puce son trop bon pour ton cul.” Fleas are too good for your arse.
The man hid his anger behind a big smile that showed straight white teeth. ’Twas all Moirra could do not to giggle. Though his French was impeccable, something in his countenance — if one could have such a thing whilst locked in a pillory — told her French was his second language. She’d always been quite good at sizing up a person’s character. Well, almost always. She’d been quite wrong about husband number three and did her best to push the thought of him from her mind.
Moirra might not know who this man was, but she sensed he was no thief. She took a step closer. Exceedingly handsome, even if he was dirty and covered with bits of rotten food. ’Twas his smile that pulled her in even closer. His full lips, when drawn back as they were, revealed beautiful, straight white teeth.
His large hands were balled into fists, and she could just make out the faint line where a ring had once been worn, on the small finger of his right hand. A signet ring mayhap? ’Twas possible when she took all the bits and pieces as a whole.
’Twas quite possible that he was a man of means, or had been at one time. Mayhap he had fallen on hard times, for she couldn’t think of another reason why a man who appeared to be educated and affluent — again, when taken as a whole — would be locked in a pillory in the center of Glenkirby. The scenario made perfectly good sense to Moirra. Wanting to know if she was correct in her assumptions, she drew even closer.
Another small boy, friend no doubt of the first, decided that he, too, wanted to taunt and torment the man. “Thief, thief, thief!” he teased. “And no’ a verra good one, neither!”
The man growled at the child and lunged forward. The pillory shook and rattled as he fought to be free of it. The little boy looked ready to wet himself, his eyes growing as wide as wagon wheels. He stepped back and stumbled, landing on his rear end with a thud. The man growled and lunged a second time. The boy scrambled to his feet and ran away.
A loud, nearly melodious laugh filled the air. ’Twasn’t the laugh of a tetched man, but rather one who was quite enjoying himself. Odd, but not the least bit off-putting or terrifying in her way of thinking. Moirra bit the inside of her cheek to keep from laughing out loud as she enjoyed the scene playing out before her.
’Twas then that an idea began to form in her mind. A former man of means, down on his luck, ending up in Glenkirby of all places, now locked in a pillory for stealing, cursing at auld women and terrifying little boys, and he seemed to be taking great enjoyment from it. If she were correct, the man was harmless.
If her instincts were off, as she had been not long ago, well, things could end up going ghastly wrong again. Still, the man in the pillory was as good as any other choice she might have at the moment. What she needed was a chance to look into his eyes and see. Moirra was a firm believer that one could gain a sense of a person’s character just by looking into their eyes.
She searched the immediate vicinity for the bailie and found him leaning back in a chair, his eyes closed. Good.
While the man continued to laugh and watch the small children fleeing, Moirra quietly made her way to the pillory. She leaned in and whispered, in perfect French, “Somethin’ tells me ye be no thief.”
The man turned abruptly, his bright green eyes flashed with a hint of confusion before he masked it with air of nonchalance. Those bright eyes sparkled in the sun, and something in their twinkle warned her that she would have to tread very carefully with this man. He was dangerous. Och, not the 'he’ll slice your throat whilst ye sleep kind of dangerous'. Nay, he was the kind of dangerous that made women do foolish and stupid things.
He gave her a quick glance up and down, flashed that brilliant white smile and laughed. They were close enough that she could feel his warm breath on her cheek. “I am many things, lass. All around bastard, ne’er-do-well, and rakehell. But I be no thief.”
The smoothness of his deep voice felt like a gentle caress against her skin and left a warm feeling deep in her belly. Dark hair cut short framed a most magnificent face. A perfect nose sat atop full lips. Lips that reminded her just how long it had been since she’d last joined with a man. Those lips held a promise, a dangerous promise of things she should not be thinking about. Moirra was a woman full-grown for heaven’s sake, not some innocent lass. Still, the images that flittered about her mind were enough to make her skin burn red. She swallowed hard and did her best to pretend those pleasurable and wicked thoughts had never entered her mind.
“What is yer name?” she asked, in the Scots language.
Instead of answering, he took another up-and-down glance, his eyes taking their time to make their way from her head to her toes. He let them linger far longer on her bosom than might be considered proper. It made her heart pound against her breastbone.
Returning to the French, she asked him again for his name and again, he did not answer. The man might be stubborn, but he’d met his match in Moirra Dundotter. “Fine, I shall call ye John. Pillory John.”
Lady Tisdale's inteview with the hero of Stealing Moirra's Heart:
Suzan Tisdale: What is your name?
"Pillory John": Funny story, that. My wife, Moirra, calls me Pillory John.
"Pillory John": Funny story, that. My wife, Moirra, calls me Pillory John.
ST: Why?
PJ: Because when we first met, I was in a wee bit of trouble, locked in a pillory in the center of Glenkirby.
PJ: Because when we first met, I was in a wee bit of trouble, locked in a pillory in the center of Glenkirby.
ST: Why were you locked in a pillory?
PJ: Unjustly and wrongly accused of stealing.
PJ: Unjustly and wrongly accused of stealing.
ST: I see. And how did you get out of the pillory?
PJ: ‘Twas either sell me soul to the devil (disguised as a beautiful woman with hair the color of spun gold, a body a man could get lost in for days, and a smile that tickled me to my toes) or offer to kiss the bailee. The bailee was no’ nearly as handsome as the devil was beautiful.
PJ: ‘Twas either sell me soul to the devil (disguised as a beautiful woman with hair the color of spun gold, a body a man could get lost in for days, and a smile that tickled me to my toes) or offer to kiss the bailee. The bailee was no’ nearly as handsome as the devil was beautiful.
ST: So, in order to gain freedom, you had to marry Moirra?
PJ: We negotiated down to a handfastin’.
PJ: We negotiated down to a handfastin’.
ST: And how is that working out for you?
PJ: (He smiles so devilishly that is makes MY toes tickle) It ended up being the smartest thing I’ve ever done as well as the most pleasurable experience of my life to date.
PJ: (He smiles so devilishly that is makes MY toes tickle) It ended up being the smartest thing I’ve ever done as well as the most pleasurable experience of my life to date.
ST: (I am momentarily stunned into silence because his smile is so…so…I now understand why Moirra thinks he’s dangerous.) Will you tell us your real name?
PJ: In time, lassie, in time.
PJ: In time, lassie, in time.
TAGLINE: "Sheona MacLeod has a gift. Malcolm MacDonald seeks change.
Together, they can change destiny--if they dare."
Kate Robbins - Spirit Stones is set during the early 17th century on the Isle of Skye
SPIRIT STONES BLURB
Sheona MacLeod has a gift.
Connected to the spirit world, Sheona engages with souls long departed. Caught in the middle of the most vicious battle she has ever witnessed, she is captured by her bitter enemy. Armed with only her gift, can she escape his clutches and return to the safety of her clan?
Malcolm MacDonald seeks change.
Exhausted from the centuries old feud between his clan, the MacDonalds, and the MacLeods, Malcolm sees no future for any of them. His enemy’s intoxicating daughter stirs a need for peace within him that drives him to risk everything—except her.
Together, they can change destiny—if they dare.
At the climax of one of the bloodiest feuds in clan history, Malcolm and Sheona forge a powerful bond strong enough to break the shackles of prejudice and hatred.
**** EXCERPT ****
TAGLINE: "How can a seer paint 'Truth' when she’s lived a life of lies?
Kathryn Lynn Davis - A Tear For Memory is set in the mid-18th century in the
Western Scottish Highlands.
How can a seer paint ‘Truth’ when she’s lived a life of lies? Will she allow a man who has twice deceived her to open her heart to the truth?
In the Highlands of Glen Affric, years after The Forty-Five—the Jacobite rising led by Bonnie Prince Charlie—Celia Rose lives happily in Faeries’ Haven, where the lies that protect her from the past keep the magic and the faeries away. She finds her only magic when she paints, and “sees” things she cannot possibly know: she has been blessed with the Sight.
When a stranger comes on a mysterious errand, he threatens those who want to keep her safe at home. Little by little, he shows her new colors, new worlds and, most compelling—new passions. But he also brings danger, for he, too, lives a lie and is not what he seems. Still, danger comes in many forms, and the truth he offers leaves Celia with a difficult choice: to believe in those who loved and raised her; or trust this man, and learn the dark secret that could both destroy her innocence and forge in her a woman’s heart.
**** EXCERPT ****
Tossing her thick braid over her shoulder, Caelia Rose started across the moor to the private citadel where the sunlight blessed the water in patterns through the new spring leaves. She had not gone far when she noticed Robert Hamilton walking toward her.
Caelia paused, feeling ill—or not exactly ill, but jittery, or not exactly jittery, but distinctly odd. The one thing she did not feel was afraid. “Good morrow,” she said formally when they stood near enough to speak.
“And to ye,” he replied just as formally. He toyed with his tricorn hat for a moment, then burst out with, “I beg yer pardon for my behavior yesterday. Twas unconscionably rude, and ye’d been most polite and informative. I hope ye’ll forgive me.”
It was important to him; she could see that in the way he clutched his hat in his fingers. “Perhaps,” she said lightly, “if I understood why.”
He sighed, released the pressure from his hat and shook his head. “I just…I was curious and I went too far.”
Observing him, head tilted, she decided she could believe him. Almost. “Curious about what?” She wanted to sound skeptical, but only managed perplexed. Pulling her plaid closer, she waited.
Robert was frustrated again, though he knew she had every right to question him. Or turn him away completely. But he couldn’t let that happen. “About the odd name of yer house for one. Fairies’ Haven? Tis a bit unrealistic, don’t ye think?”
“Aye, but there’s a legend about a fairy cave hidden beneath the big hill the house is built on.” Somehow, to her astonishment, he had turned and they’d begun walking together. He offered her his arm, and, as if it were the most natural thing in the world (and not the first time it had happened to her), she took it, laying her palm on his fine wool frockcoat. She noticed his arm was firm and steady.
“Och, I see. A fairy cave, is it?” He found it difficult to sound the proper note of curiosity and skepticism, though he’d never believed in fairies and such like. “And where, exactly might this hidden cave be?” She smelled slightly of oranges, and the fragrance attracted him. Which was absurd. He’d known many beauties who would not turn him away. This girl-child, though 19-years-old, was a Highland country lass, naïve and ignorant of the ways of the world. Somehow that made him ache, and he did not like the feeling. In any case, he had been the one to make a fool of himself at their last meeting, not she.
“Tis just the trouble. No one’s been able to find it as far back as memory. The real name of the house is The Hill of the Hounds, from an incident in the 14th century, but the people will call it Fairies’ Haven, no matter what we do. And anyway…” She trailed off, eyes full of sadness.
“What, Caelia Rose? Tell me.” He really wanted to know, which surprised him. He frowned.
She took a deep breath and turned to catch him in her golden-brown eyes. “And anyway, the fairies have been gone for a long time.”
Stopping short, he stared at her fixedly. “Surely ye’re no’ serious? Fairies don’t exist.”
She didn’t flinch or look away or blush, but met his stare with gentle pity. “Tis what I thought ye’d say. But they do. And someday they’ll come back. I know that, Robert Hamilton.”
She removed her hand from his arm to find she missed its warmth.
“Even if they did, are ye no’ afraid of them? They’re supposed to be wily tricksters who only want to pull ye down into their world beneath the moss.”
“Some of them, mayhap. But no’ all,” she replied too quickly, her desire to believe naked in her eyes.
He swallowed once, twice, caught in that golden-brown gaze. Covering her hand briefly with his, he shivered at the heat that raced across his palm. She must have felt it too, because her eyes widened in shock. She simply could not hide what she was feeling. He could not remember a time when he had been that young and carefree.
I looked forward to interviewing my hero, and I got more (I think) than I expected
Ladies, meet Robert Hamilton, Glen Affric, Scottish Highlands, 1765.
KLD: So, Mr. Hamilton, would you say you are a warrior?
RH: Weel…I don’t go about wavin’ a claymore, if that’s what ye mean. But I’ve been fightin’ one long battle all my life—in my own way.
KLD: Would you care to clarify?
RH: Aye, weel, I’m from the northern Highlands, near Inverness, where my deep allegiance to bonnie Scotland was born.
KLD (blinking repeatedly): That doesn’t answer my question. What’s so interesting outside the window? Are you actually humming? All right, I’ll ask a different question. What are you doing here in Glen Affric?
RH: I’m on a verra important mission that involves a young woman. A verra talented and pretty young woman, but no’ the kind that attracts me, ye ken?
KLD: No? Yet I notice your cheeks are slightly redder than a moment ago. Humming again? Then let’s move on. Tell me more about this mission of yours.
RH: Weel, she has long, light brown hair, golden-brown eyes that aye hold a man in their depths if he’s no’ verra careful….
KLD: That’s not what I meant.
RH: Weel, I prefer outhinkin’ the enemy, usin’ my wits to win the day.
KLD: What? Mr. Hamilton, are you purposely trying to obscure your answers?
RH: Ye asked me to clarify. I was only oblingin’.
KLD: Humming again. I think Mr. Hamilton has used his wits to outdo this interviewer. I wonder if he’ll manage the same with Miss Caelia Rose?
A Jewel in the Vaults - by Lily Baldwin
TAGLINE: "Beneath the ruse is a woman aching to break free."
Lily Baldwin - A Jewel in the Vaults is set in Edinburgh in 1802.
A JEWEL IN THE VAULTS BLURB
She has never met a man like him before. Then again, he has never met a lad like her.
In 1802, Edinburgh’s poverty-ridden Old Town is rife with danger, but it is the only home Robbie MacKenzie has ever known. To safeguard herself against the worst villains of the street, Robbie conceals her femininity behind her shorn hair, dirt-smeared face, and tattered breeches. To all the world she is a lad, but beneath the ruse is a woman aching to break free.
Leaving his beloved Highlands behind in pursuit of his prodigal brother, Conall MacKay journeys to Edinburgh. There, he solicits the aid of a young street lad named Robbie. But Conall soon realizes that there is more to both Robbie and Edinburgh’s Old Town than meets the eye.
In a world where wickedness governs and darkness reigns, a savage struggle for dignity, survival, and love begins.
**** EXCERPT ****
What is it ye wish of me?” she said as she held his gaze.“Ye dunnae speak like someone born in Cowgate,” he said as those crisp blue eyes scrutinized the length of her from head to toe. The setting sun slanted though the window, alighting upon his face, making the blue of his eyes glow like the jewels adorning the dresses in the shops that lined Prince’s Street. He smiled at her now, and it took her breath away. Even white teeth gleamed at her. She had to look away. Gazing upon his bright, clean face was like staring at the sun for too long. She pretended to adjust the frayed ends of her breeches over her knees as she stammered out an answer to his comment.
“I’ve lived my whole miserable life in Cowgate.”
“Nay, lad. Dunnae lie to me. I may, indeed, be from the Highlands, but I am not as daft as ye might like to believe,” he replied as he moved closer to Robbie and took a seat on the bed across from her.
Robbie met his gaze once more, expecting to see anger or at least frustration, but instead the blue eyes looked at her with curiosity and, if she were not mistaken, kindness. Kindness was in low supply in Cowgate. Robbie was not quick to believe what she saw, but she did give the strange man sitting before her an honest answer. “My mother was French. She was not a reputable woman, but she was fine and educated. She taught me to read as well.”
The large man nodded his approval and then slouched back on the bed, resting his weight on his elbows. “Me name is Conall Mackay. As you’ve guessed, I’m from the north, although ye may find yourself surprised by just how far north I’m from. Cape Wrath is me home, and me croft sits on the tip of that. ‘Tis as north as one can travel without a boat. I watch the green earth slope into the sea and the rest of Scotland lies behind me.” He closed his eyes, and pleasure softened the masculine ridges of his face. His words made her think of her mother who had often told stories of the French countryside. Just as Robbie had not been able to picture the thick French forests or shimmering lakes, she also could not imagine what Conall saw in his mind’s eye, but she recognized the peace it brought him. How she longed for peace. She waited for him to continue, wishing to hear more of the sea and sloping earth, but instead he remained quiet, his eyes never leaving hers. She gripped the seat to keep from squirming beneath his steady gaze.
“Do ye sleep on the streets or in a lodgin’ house?”
“Nay,” she snapped as her eyes narrowed. “I have my own room in the tenements. ‘Tis not fine like this, but ‘tis mine alone.”
“Ye have no other family then?” he asked.
She shook her head, “Nay, I have no one.” She sat up straighter as she spoke, trying to make herself look bigger and braver than she really was. Normally, she would have lied and made up a pack of bloodthirsty brothers who would certainly miss the runt of the litter were she to go missing, but this strange man brought only truth to her lips. She blamed his fine eyes. How could she lie to eyes as clean and honest as a cloudless sky?
She looked down at her hands black with dirt and clenched them in frustration. How she wished they were white and fair like the lasses’ hands on Queen’s Street. The woman that she was, hidden by soot and breeches, longed to burst free from the confines of her bindings, to leave the ruse behind, and the man before her with his strange allure fueled that desire. Despite her outer display of indifference, Conall Mackay made her heart race.
She looked down at her hands black with dirt and clenched them in frustration. How she wished they were white and fair like the lasses’ hands on Queen’s Street. The woman that she was, hidden by soot and breeches, longed to burst free from the confines of her bindings, to leave the ruse behind, and the man before her with his strange allure fueled that desire. Despite her outer display of indifference, Conall Mackay made her heart race.
I am here today with Conall MacKay, the hero of A Jewel in the Vaults
Conall…ah…Conall…are you uncomfortable? You seem to be fidgeting in your chair.
Conall: ‘Tis all the people looking on. I’m not too fond of crowds.
Lily: Don't worry--we don't bite.
Conall: I will try to relax. I'm just not meself in a city. I much prefer the countryside.
Lily: (Suddenly it feels like Christmas and Santa has brought me what I’ve always wanted—a gorgeous Highlander). Ahem…so Conall, what are you doing down here in Edinburgh?
Conall: I had no choice. Trust me when I say, I would never have left Cape Wrath were it not for me brother, Davis.
Lily: You have a brother? (Oh my, could there be two gorgeous Highlanders?) Is he like you?
Conall: Nay, he is nothin’ like me (too bad for Davis because I could lose myself Conall’s blue eyes forever). Davis is good at heart, but he has a habit of findin’ trouble. I’ve come to Edinburgh to hopefully find him first.
Lily: I see. Do you care to elaborate? (He smiles at me, and it is all I can do to keep this interview professional).
Conall: If ye wish. Ye see, Davis left home some months ago. He said he was goin’ to join with a Scottish regiment, but let’s just say he had a change of heart. He was last seen in Cowgate.
Lily: Oh no, that is a really grim neighborhood.
Conall: Aye, the worst of Edinburgh’s slums, but what can I do? He is me brother. So that is where I have to go. If I have to knock on every tavern and lodgin’ house in Cowgate to find him, I will.
Lily: (My gaze travels over his linen shirt and wool jacket and then down to his kilt and knee-length wool socks.) It might be a little tough for a Highlander to ask questions in Cowgate. The people there tend to be pretty suspicious of strangers.
Conall: Aye, and that is the truth. All around the city people gawk at me when I pass them on the streets. I feel like a stranger in me own country. (I can’t help but think the staring might also have to do with Conall’s great height, his breadth of shoulder, and those fine, blue eyes). That’s why I asked Robbie for aid.
Lily: Who is Robbie?
Conall: He is a street lad I met. I spied him robbin’ this pompous sob on Prince’s Street. One bloody nose later and he has agreed to help me search for Davis.
Lily: Who gave who the bloody nose?
Conall: (Conall laughs and I feel my knees go weak) Robbie bloodied me. He is a scrapper to be sure. He is small but tough as leather. I feel bad for him to be honest. The slums are no place for a child to grow up. With Robbie in mind, I’m afraid I really must go. We are supposed to begin our search today, but I thank ye for invitin’ me. ‘Tis a fine group ye have here. It has been a pleasure.
Lily: (I sigh, thinking the pleasure has been all mine.) Good luck, Conall. I hope you find your brother. Thanks for being here….Hi everyone, you can all come back. I’m sorry If I appear distracted—I believe I will be thinking of Conall MacKay and his beautiful eyes for weeks to come.
Conall…ah…Conall…are you uncomfortable? You seem to be fidgeting in your chair.
Conall: ‘Tis all the people looking on. I’m not too fond of crowds.
Lily: Don't worry--we don't bite.
Conall: I will try to relax. I'm just not meself in a city. I much prefer the countryside.
Lily: (Suddenly it feels like Christmas and Santa has brought me what I’ve always wanted—a gorgeous Highlander). Ahem…so Conall, what are you doing down here in Edinburgh?
Conall: I had no choice. Trust me when I say, I would never have left Cape Wrath were it not for me brother, Davis.
Lily: You have a brother? (Oh my, could there be two gorgeous Highlanders?) Is he like you?
Conall: Nay, he is nothin’ like me (too bad for Davis because I could lose myself Conall’s blue eyes forever). Davis is good at heart, but he has a habit of findin’ trouble. I’ve come to Edinburgh to hopefully find him first.
Lily: I see. Do you care to elaborate? (He smiles at me, and it is all I can do to keep this interview professional).
Conall: If ye wish. Ye see, Davis left home some months ago. He said he was goin’ to join with a Scottish regiment, but let’s just say he had a change of heart. He was last seen in Cowgate.
Lily: Oh no, that is a really grim neighborhood.
Conall: Aye, the worst of Edinburgh’s slums, but what can I do? He is me brother. So that is where I have to go. If I have to knock on every tavern and lodgin’ house in Cowgate to find him, I will.
Lily: (My gaze travels over his linen shirt and wool jacket and then down to his kilt and knee-length wool socks.) It might be a little tough for a Highlander to ask questions in Cowgate. The people there tend to be pretty suspicious of strangers.
Conall: Aye, and that is the truth. All around the city people gawk at me when I pass them on the streets. I feel like a stranger in me own country. (I can’t help but think the staring might also have to do with Conall’s great height, his breadth of shoulder, and those fine, blue eyes). That’s why I asked Robbie for aid.
Lily: Who is Robbie?
Conall: He is a street lad I met. I spied him robbin’ this pompous sob on Prince’s Street. One bloody nose later and he has agreed to help me search for Davis.
Lily: Who gave who the bloody nose?
Conall: (Conall laughs and I feel my knees go weak) Robbie bloodied me. He is a scrapper to be sure. He is small but tough as leather. I feel bad for him to be honest. The slums are no place for a child to grow up. With Robbie in mind, I’m afraid I really must go. We are supposed to begin our search today, but I thank ye for invitin’ me. ‘Tis a fine group ye have here. It has been a pleasure.
Lily: (I sigh, thinking the pleasure has been all mine.) Good luck, Conall. I hope you find your brother. Thanks for being here….Hi everyone, you can all come back. I’m sorry If I appear distracted—I believe I will be thinking of Conall MacKay and his beautiful eyes for weeks to come.
Lord Grayson's Bride - by Tarah Scott
TAGLINE: 'She can't allow his love for her to destroy him...'
Tarah Scott - Lord Grayson's Bride takes place in 1820 Inverness, Scotland. They were a very civilized l lot, these early nineteenth century Scots. Or were they?
LORD GRAYSON'S BRIDE BLURB
She can’t allow his love for her to destroy him...
When Nicholas Spencer, Earl of Grayson, returns to claim the woman he loves, Lady Josephine Knightly isn’t willing to forgive him for abandoning her six years ago. But neither can she resist the man he’s become.
Two days after Josephine signs the marriage contract she discovers a nasty secret that will destroy her family. The only way to protect them—to protect the only man she’s ever loved—is to disappear...or die.
Nicholas won’t make the same mistake twice and let Josephine Knightly go. She loves him. He felt it in their one kiss before he left, and in the single kiss she allowed since his return. But she’s doing everything in her power to sabotage the marriage even before it’s begun. Nicholas doesn’t care. If Hell is where he must live to have her, then she must stand by his side in the fire.
.
**** EXCERPT ****
When Nicholas Spencer, Earl of Grayson, returns to claim the woman he loves, Lady Josephine Knightly isn’t willing to forgive him for abandoning her six years ago. But neither can she resist the man he’s become.
Two days after Josephine signs the marriage contract she discovers a nasty secret that will destroy her family. The only way to protect them—to protect the only man she’s ever loved—is to disappear...or die.
Nicholas won’t make the same mistake twice and let Josephine Knightly go. She loves him. He felt it in their one kiss before he left, and in the single kiss she allowed since his return. But she’s doing everything in her power to sabotage the marriage even before it’s begun. Nicholas doesn’t care. If Hell is where he must live to have her, then she must stand by his side in the fire.
.
**** EXCERPT ****
Josephine took a step backwards before catching herself. Facing Nicholas alone was far more frightening than being caught half naked with his rival. He seized her free wrist, his fingers like manacles, and she gave a startled cry. He stared for a long moment, the dark rage now mingled with a sadness she too often saw in his brown eyes these days. Pain twisted her heart, but she kept her gaze emotionless.
He released her. “Do you hate me so much, Jo?”
His question shocked her—then she realized this reaction was exactly what she’d wanted. She still clutched her bodice in an effort at modesty and started to turn aside to slip her arms back into the sleeves, then stopped. What better way to remind him of her infidelity than to remain half naked?
Josephine gave a careless laugh. “A man can take as many lovers as he likes, and we women are to accept it, but when a woman wants the same privilege, you men take it personally. Once we are married, what’s to stop you from taking a mistress?”
“Shouldn’t I commit the crime before you make me pay for it?” he said.
“I saw you dance with Rebecca Evans the other night at Lady Graham’s soiree. For all I know, you’re already guilty.”
The hurt in his eyes deepened. “You know better than that.”
She lifted her chin. “Do I?”
“Would you really sabotage our marriage before it’s even begun?”
She gave a careless laugh. “Lord, you are dramatic.”
“This isn’t a childish jibe like dancing too many times with another man,” he said. “Or flirting shamelessly in front of me. You let Beaumond touch you.”
Josephine repressed a shudder of revulsion. Allowing the marquess to touch her had taken all her powers of determination. She hadn’t even been able to conjure the desire for Nicholas that plagued her in order to arouse herself when Lord Beaumond opened his trousers. But Lord Beaumond it had to be, for Nick would never forgive her for fraternizing with the man who seduced his sister.
“Let the past go, Nicholas. Your sister recovered from her affair with Beaumond. She married well and has two children she dotes on.”
“You didn’t console her in those terrible months after he tossed her aside as if she were an old rag,” he said more to himself than her, and she knew he was remembering eight years ago, when Deanna had fallen prey to Lord Beaumond’s charm at the age of eighteen. The affair carried on for two months before Nicholas discovered a letter from his sister that gave away their liaison. “We feared for her life,” he said in a bitter voice.
But Josephine remembered all too well. When Beaumond appeared at the house party yesterday, Josephine knew God—in His perverse amusement—had answered her prayers. She had accepted guilt as her ever-constant companion, and bowed even now to the reminder that allowing Lord Beaumond to seduce her was a sin not only against God, but her family and the only man she had ever loved.
Josephine waved her hand dismissively. “Young lovers are dramatic. God knows, we were.” The words were out of her mouth before she realized it, and she hurriedly added, “But never mind that. Forget the duel. Lord Beaumond is right, if you got lucky enough to kill him, you would hang.”
Nicholas’ gaze bore into her. “Would you shed a single tear if I was hanged?”
“Of course,” she snapped. “I have known you since I was a girl. I care about you.”
“But you don’t want to marry me.”
Josephine turned, afraid he would see in her eyes how very much she did want to marry him. She sauntered to a table where bronze figurines of a poet and his muse sat on a marble table. “Why should I want to marry anyone?” Jo traced a finger along the poet’s toga-clad body. “Marriage means I go from being owned by my father to being owned by my husband.” Her fingers tightened around the fabric she still pressed against her breasts. Being owned by Nicholas would be heavenly. Something inside her shattered and she found herself forcing back tears.
“Your father never treated you like chattel,” he said. She heard the clink of glass and realized he had gone to the sideboard and was pouring a drink. “He adores you and your sister.”
“You call being bartered off to a rich earl adoring?” she retorted.
A moment of deadly silence drew out between them. “A rich earl who loves you,” he finally said. “Me.”
Josephine’s heart constricted. He did love her...and she loved him. But love was the very thing that could destroy them.
“Papa accepted your offer because it came from the great Earl of Grayson,” she said. “Along with more money than anyone else was willing to offer, of course.”
“Did it occur to you that I made sure he couldn’t refuse my offer?”
She swung to face where he leaned a hip against the sideboard. “Oh, indeed, it did. When I refused your offer, you bought me. I am not at all surprised that you defend my father. You two are much alike.”
Yes,” he said, his voice hard. “We both know how to get what we want. I am not sorry, Jo. I won’t live life without you.”
“And you had the resources to buy me.”
“Don’t you think your father accepted my offer because he knows I love you?” Nicholas said. “That I will care for you…protect you?”
“From myself, you mean,” she retorted.
“Don’t act as if it hasn’t been necessary. Today is a perfect example.”
In a flash, she closed the distance between them. He slammed the glass down onto the sideboard and straightened as she went up on tiptoes in an attempt to get nose-to-nose with him.
She was still forced to tilt her head up, but narrowed her eyes, and said, “I had the situation with Lord Beaumond perfectly well in hand.”
A muscle in his jaw jumped. “So I saw.”
“I lived without you for six years, Nick—and quite well, if you must know. Yet you act as if I cannot take care of myself, or worse, as if no other man has ever loved me.”
“No doubt you left a string of broken hearts from Inverness to Edinburgh. But none of those poor devils knew you. God knows, if they did, they would have put as much distance as possible between themselves and you.”
“How dare you?” she breathed. “I suppose you know me, but still manage to love me?”
“Aye,” he replied. “I love you more than life itself.”
He released her. “Do you hate me so much, Jo?”
His question shocked her—then she realized this reaction was exactly what she’d wanted. She still clutched her bodice in an effort at modesty and started to turn aside to slip her arms back into the sleeves, then stopped. What better way to remind him of her infidelity than to remain half naked?
Josephine gave a careless laugh. “A man can take as many lovers as he likes, and we women are to accept it, but when a woman wants the same privilege, you men take it personally. Once we are married, what’s to stop you from taking a mistress?”
“Shouldn’t I commit the crime before you make me pay for it?” he said.
“I saw you dance with Rebecca Evans the other night at Lady Graham’s soiree. For all I know, you’re already guilty.”
The hurt in his eyes deepened. “You know better than that.”
She lifted her chin. “Do I?”
“Would you really sabotage our marriage before it’s even begun?”
She gave a careless laugh. “Lord, you are dramatic.”
“This isn’t a childish jibe like dancing too many times with another man,” he said. “Or flirting shamelessly in front of me. You let Beaumond touch you.”
Josephine repressed a shudder of revulsion. Allowing the marquess to touch her had taken all her powers of determination. She hadn’t even been able to conjure the desire for Nicholas that plagued her in order to arouse herself when Lord Beaumond opened his trousers. But Lord Beaumond it had to be, for Nick would never forgive her for fraternizing with the man who seduced his sister.
“Let the past go, Nicholas. Your sister recovered from her affair with Beaumond. She married well and has two children she dotes on.”
“You didn’t console her in those terrible months after he tossed her aside as if she were an old rag,” he said more to himself than her, and she knew he was remembering eight years ago, when Deanna had fallen prey to Lord Beaumond’s charm at the age of eighteen. The affair carried on for two months before Nicholas discovered a letter from his sister that gave away their liaison. “We feared for her life,” he said in a bitter voice.
But Josephine remembered all too well. When Beaumond appeared at the house party yesterday, Josephine knew God—in His perverse amusement—had answered her prayers. She had accepted guilt as her ever-constant companion, and bowed even now to the reminder that allowing Lord Beaumond to seduce her was a sin not only against God, but her family and the only man she had ever loved.
Josephine waved her hand dismissively. “Young lovers are dramatic. God knows, we were.” The words were out of her mouth before she realized it, and she hurriedly added, “But never mind that. Forget the duel. Lord Beaumond is right, if you got lucky enough to kill him, you would hang.”
Nicholas’ gaze bore into her. “Would you shed a single tear if I was hanged?”
“Of course,” she snapped. “I have known you since I was a girl. I care about you.”
“But you don’t want to marry me.”
Josephine turned, afraid he would see in her eyes how very much she did want to marry him. She sauntered to a table where bronze figurines of a poet and his muse sat on a marble table. “Why should I want to marry anyone?” Jo traced a finger along the poet’s toga-clad body. “Marriage means I go from being owned by my father to being owned by my husband.” Her fingers tightened around the fabric she still pressed against her breasts. Being owned by Nicholas would be heavenly. Something inside her shattered and she found herself forcing back tears.
“Your father never treated you like chattel,” he said. She heard the clink of glass and realized he had gone to the sideboard and was pouring a drink. “He adores you and your sister.”
“You call being bartered off to a rich earl adoring?” she retorted.
A moment of deadly silence drew out between them. “A rich earl who loves you,” he finally said. “Me.”
Josephine’s heart constricted. He did love her...and she loved him. But love was the very thing that could destroy them.
“Papa accepted your offer because it came from the great Earl of Grayson,” she said. “Along with more money than anyone else was willing to offer, of course.”
“Did it occur to you that I made sure he couldn’t refuse my offer?”
She swung to face where he leaned a hip against the sideboard. “Oh, indeed, it did. When I refused your offer, you bought me. I am not at all surprised that you defend my father. You two are much alike.”
Yes,” he said, his voice hard. “We both know how to get what we want. I am not sorry, Jo. I won’t live life without you.”
“And you had the resources to buy me.”
“Don’t you think your father accepted my offer because he knows I love you?” Nicholas said. “That I will care for you…protect you?”
“From myself, you mean,” she retorted.
“Don’t act as if it hasn’t been necessary. Today is a perfect example.”
In a flash, she closed the distance between them. He slammed the glass down onto the sideboard and straightened as she went up on tiptoes in an attempt to get nose-to-nose with him.
She was still forced to tilt her head up, but narrowed her eyes, and said, “I had the situation with Lord Beaumond perfectly well in hand.”
A muscle in his jaw jumped. “So I saw.”
“I lived without you for six years, Nick—and quite well, if you must know. Yet you act as if I cannot take care of myself, or worse, as if no other man has ever loved me.”
“No doubt you left a string of broken hearts from Inverness to Edinburgh. But none of those poor devils knew you. God knows, if they did, they would have put as much distance as possible between themselves and you.”
“How dare you?” she breathed. “I suppose you know me, but still manage to love me?”
“Aye,” he replied. “I love you more than life itself.”
RANDOM INTERESTING FACTS:
Sue-Ellen Welfonder has more to say about her book:
My story takes place in the heart of the Western Highlands. The year is 1351, in autumn, when the hills are kissed by reds and golds, and cold mist curls across the land. The cover’s backdrop is Eilean Donan Castle near Skye ~ and I took the picture! Although I set an entire series at this iconic castle, calling it Eilean Creag in the books, this is the first time I’ve had the castle on a cover. So I am thrilled to bits.
Ceci Giltenan - Her daughter is on the cover.
My story takes place in the heart of the Western Highlands. The year is 1351, in autumn, when the hills are kissed by reds and golds, and cold mist curls across the land. The cover’s backdrop is Eilean Donan Castle near Skye ~ and I took the picture! Although I set an entire series at this iconic castle, calling it Eilean Creag in the books, this is the first time I’ve had the castle on a cover. So I am thrilled to bits.
Ceci Giltenan - Her daughter is on the cover.
Debbie Robbins said on interviewing her hero:
I admit, I was a little intimidated interviewing my hero. He's a man of few words, but strong integrity. Still, I managed to pin him down between training his men and trying to catch the attention of one Sheona MacLeod.
ANNOUNCEMENT #2
Schedule of events:
September 20 - 26 we will share one tagline a day
September 27 - October 3 we will share the individual covers
October 4 - 10 we will be sharing the back blurbs
October 11 - 17 we will be sharing excerpts
October 18- 24 we will be sharing brief hero interviews
October 25 - 31 we will be sharing brief heroine interviews
September 27 - October 3 we will share the individual covers
October 4 - 10 we will be sharing the back blurbs
October 11 - 17 we will be sharing excerpts
October 18- 24 we will be sharing brief hero interviews
October 25 - 31 we will be sharing brief heroine interviews
Do not forget to enter the rafflecopter! The guardians are giving away a $25 Amazon gift card, bundles of books and copies of the Scrolls of Cridhe on release!The winner will be announced on November 1. Coincidentally, the Scrolls of Cridhe will be available for pre-order on that day! Rafflecopter Link
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The Legend
Long, long ago, in the time before time, seven sisters were called from the far reaches
of the realm. Each brought unique talents, but had one common gift; the ability to
weave ageless tales of love and courage. An evil witch coveted their gifts and locked
them in a tower, silencing their voices upon threat of death. But the Highlands are
enchanted, and magic will not countenance seven pure hearts such as theirs to be lost.
With no one else to hear them, they sang their stories to each other. Fate blew a braw
Highland wind to their prison, and the sweet, high timbre of the sisters’ voices
enthralled it. The wind gathered close their silver words as it raced past each day, and
carried their love and goodness throughout the world...then across the ages.
Today, their words live on in the Guardians of Cridhe, seven sisters who have sworn
to preserve those pure and musical hearts so long as they live. It is said these seven
descend from those ancient female bards. Only their words can bear witness to that
truth...
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The Scrolls of Cridhe - Volume 1, Highland Winds is a collection of seven new Scottish
historical romance novellas by seven of your favorite authors:
Suzan Tisdale, Sue-Ellen Welfonder, Kathryn Lynn Davis, Lily Baldwin,
Ceci Giltenan, Kate Robbins and Tarah Scott
Coming November 17th - The Scrolls of Cridhe - Volume 1, Highland Winds
I can't wait!!! You are such wonderful gifted ladies..And I hope I get the pleasure of devouring, this set...
ReplyDeleteLong live the Legend!!!
ReplyDelete