Author: romancebookworm

Blurb:

He is Lachlan MacRath, laird and pirate. And he intends to be her lover…

Lady Francine Walsingham could not believe this fierce Highland warrior is to be her escort into Scotland. It is whispered that Lachlan MacRath has magical powers…how else do you explain why her countrymen call him the Sorcerer of the Seas? But trust him she must, for a treacherous plot is about to reveal all her secrets…and Francine has no choice but to act as his lover to keep her enemies at bay.

When Lachlan first sees Francine, the English beauty stirs his blood like no woman has ever before. As luck would have it, they must now play the besotted couple so he can protect her ….and Lachlan is determined to use all his seductive prowess to properly woo her into his bed.

Excerpt:

PROLOGUE

May 1496

The Cheviot Hills

The Border between England and Scotland

Stretched flat on the blood-soaked ground, Lachlan MacRath gazed up at the cloudless morning sky and listened to the exhausted moans of the wounded.

The dead and the dying lay scattered across the lush spring grass. Overhead the faint rays of dawn broke above the hilltops, as the buttercups and bluebells dipped and swayed in the soft breeze. The gruesome corpses were sprawled amidst the wildflowers, their vacant eyes staring upward to the heavens, the stumps of their severed arms and legs still oozing blood and gore. Dented helmets, broken swords, axes, and pikes gave mute testimony to the ferocity of the combatants. Here and there, a loyal destrier, trained to war, grazed calmly alongside its fallen master.

Following close upon daylight, the scavengers would come creeping, ready to strip the bodies of anything worth a shilling: armor, dirks, boots, belts. If they were Scotsmen, he’d be in luck. If not, he’d soon be dead. There wasn’t a blessed thing he could do but wait. He was pinned beneath his dead horse, and all efforts to free himself during the night had proven fruitless.

In the fierce, running battle of the evening before, the warriors on horseback had left behind all who’d fallen. Galloping across the open, rolling countryside, Scots and English had fought savagely, till it was too dark to tell friend from foe. There was no way of knowing the outcome of the battle, for victory had been determined miles away.

Hell, it was Lachlan’s own damn fault. He’d come on the foray into England with King James for a lark. After delivering four new canons to the castle at Roxburgh, along with the Flemish master gunners to fire them, he’d decided not to return to his ship immediately as planned. The uneventful crossing on the Sea Hawk from the Low Countries to Edinburgh, followed by the tedious journey to the fortress, with the big guns pulled by teams of oxen, had left him eager for a bit of adventure.

When he’d learned that the king was leading a small force into Northumberland to retrieve cattle raided by Sassenach outlaws, the temptation to join them had been too great to resist. There was nothing like a hand-to-hand skirmish with his ancient foe to get a man’s blood pumping through his veins.

But Lord Dacre, Warden of the Marches, had surprised the Scots with a much larger, well-armed force of his own, and what should have been a carefree rout turned into deadly combat.

A plea for help interrupted Lachlan’s brooding thoughts. Not far away, a wounded English soldier, who’d cried out in pain during the night, raised himself up on one elbow.

“Lychester! Over here, sir! It’s Will Jeffries!”

Lachlan watched from beneath slit lids as another Sassenach came into view. Attired in the splendid armor of the nobility, the newcomer rode a large, caparisoned black horse. He’d clearly come looking for someone, for he held the reins of a smaller chestnut, its saddle empty and waiting.

“Here I am, Marquess,” the young man named Jeffries called weakly. He lifted one hand in a trembling wave as the marquess of Lychester drew near to his countryman. Dismounting, he approached the wounded soldier.

“Thank God,” Jeffries said with a hoarse groan. “I’ve taken a sword blade in my thigh. The cut’s been oozing steadily. I was afraid I wouldn’t make it through the night.”

Lychester didn’t say a word. He came to stand behind the injured man, knelt down on one knee, and raised his fallen comrade to a seated position. Grabbing a hank of his yellow hair, the marquess jerked the fair head back and deftly slashed the exposed throat from ear to ear. Then he calmly wiped his blade on the youth’s doublet, lifted him up in his arms, and threw the body face down over the chestnut’s back.

The English nobleman glanced around, checking, no doubt, to see if there’d been a witness to the cold-blooded execution. Lachlan held his breath and remained motionless, his lids lowered over his eyes. Apparently satisfied, the marquess mounted, grabbed the reins of the second horse and rode away.

Lachlan slowly exhaled.

Sonofabitch.

He knew the English were a bloodthirsty race. But he hadn’t thought that included the murder of a helpless patriot on a deserted battlefield.

What kind of bastard did such a traitorous thing?

Guest Post:

MY FASCINATION WITH HISTORICAL ROMANCE

 Sometimes I think I was born to write historical romance. It’s the combination of my two passions, passions I have felt since I was a child. History and romance.

Reading was my first love. For Christmas, my parents always gave each of us a book—along with other presents, of course. I remember reading Anne of Green Gables and Little Women over and over till the pages were worn and tattered.

During the long summer days of my childhood, my cousins and I would walk to the little public library in our town. There I discovered The Wizard of Oz and The Bobbsy Twins, along with shelves of children’s books. I can no longer recall their titles, but the sheer pleasure of reading, I’ll never forget.

After that, came the movies. I clearly remember seeing Ben Hur, the Ten Commandments, She Wore a Yellow Ribbon, and The Vikings with Kirk Douglas, Tony Curtis, and Janet Leigh. How I loved those historical dramas!

I remember the first time I discovered Georgette Heyer in the library. I stayed up all night and read April Lady straight through from cover to cover. And The Scarlet Pimpernel had all the swashbuckling excitement I loved.

When I grew older, I read War and Peace.  What a fantastic novel, with several heartbreaking love stories woven throughout the historical narrative of Napoleon’s invasion of Russia and the burning of Moscow. If you doubt that Leo Tolstoy understood the power and passion of love, just consider Anna Karenina. What pathos. What romance. What joy to read!

When I began to write in earnest, I knew, without a doubt, I would write historical romances. Since I loved the Regencies of Georgette Heyer, I started Sunshine and Shadow, set in Georgian England. It was my third novel published.

Stories of the American West were also very popular at the time, and I decided to write about a heroine who crosses the country on a topographical expedition. I read books about the early trappers, the first expeditions across the great plains, the first explorers to find a way over the Sierras. From this research came Cherish the Dream, my first published novel.

When I first begin a story, I choose the time and setting I’d like to write about. After I decide that, I immerse myself in research. I read history books, biographies, autobiographies, and primary sources. To tell the truth, I overdo it. But from this extensive reading, the plot begins to take shape. Something that happened in history will spark my imagination. What if…  And off I go.

Unlike some authors, I don’t stay in the same time and place for long. I’ve written about the Cheyenne several times. In Warrior Dreams, a lady doctor goes to Lame Deer Reservation in Montana with Mennonite missionaries after the Battle of the Little Big Horn. In Dream Catcher, a proxy bride from the mountains of Kentucky lands among the Cheyenne when she runs away from her abusive bridegroom, shortly after the Civil War.

My stories have been set in Regency England and the Scottish Highlands in the 1880’s. One heroine even traveled to Istanbul.

 At the present time, I’m immersed in Scotland and England during the reigns of James IV and Henry VII. The inspiration for the Highland Lairds Trilogy came from the true story of three Scottish brothers who were privateers. They were given letters of marque and reprisal by their king, with orders to stop the pirates preying on Scottish merchantmen.

 In the first book, THE MAC LEAN GROOM, Rory MacLean, known as the King’s Avenger, captures the grandfather of Joanna Macdonald and brings him back to Edinburgh for trial and hanging. As a reward, King James gives Joanna to Rory for his wife, along with her castle.

In the second book, LACHLAN’S BRIDE, the second brother is sent to England by James IV to escort the king’s bride, Princess Margaret Tudor, to Scotland for the royal wedding. This historic journey is the background for the love story. Henry VII assigns Lachlan to guard Lady Francine, an English countess rumored to be the king’s mistress, on their way to Edinburgh.

At present, I’m working on the third book of the trilogy, with the tentative title of KEIR’S STORY. Keir will be sent to the Hebrides by James IV to put down a rebellion by the Lord of the Isles.

 I’m looking forward with excitement to the release of LACHLAN’S BRIDE, an Avon Impulse, on April 30th.

Thank you for inviting me to share my thoughts with your readers.

Author Info:

Author Links:

http://www.kathleenharringtonbooks.com/

Twitter: https://twitter.com/kathleensbooks

http://www.facebook.com/kathleenharringtonbooks

Buy Links:

http://www.avonromance.com/book/kathleen-harrington-lachlans-bride

Blurb:

Livi Callaway has fled back to London after a reality TV disaster in New Zealand. Safely anonymous in the big city, she’s determined to stay under the radar from now on. But her attempts to build a new life are complicated by unexpected visitors from her old one, and new dangers and temptations lie in wait.
Late one night, she meets a mysteriously sexy American on the Underground – and the events that follow take her from Pooh Bear to the golden lights of Paris, via a trail of rock stars dead and alive. A family in disarray, a determined Swede, a crazed Australian and a childhood friend (who might yet be more than that) have her all over the place as she tries to discover the American’s secret – while keeping her own.
With help – and occasional hindrance – from her friends, what she eventually finds is something unexpected . . . sometimes, running away can lead you to exactly what you didn’t know you needed.

Excerpt:

After the third time, an American voice said, “You’re like an onion tonight.”

She turned and replied, without thinking, “That’s not the kind of vegetable I’d choose to be.”

The instant the words left her lips she knew it was all wrong. A mere second too late, it was blindingly obvious that he had said not onion, but yo–yo. How could she possibly have imagined that anyone would randomly liken her to an onion? Now, as she looked up at tanned skin, dark eyes, glossy hair, and teeth that could only be from across the Atlantic, her heart beat out of sync. She took in distressed jeans, vintage polo shirt, and a battered leather satchel hanging from his shoulder.

Suddenly she was unsteady on her feet, not just because the train was lurching unevenly. Looking at his face, perplexed and amused, she willed the floor to open up and drop her on the tracks. She would rather be electrocuted on the line than be a late–night crazy person on the Underground under his perfectly proportioned scrutiny. But there was nowhere to escape until the next stop, so she stood, cheeks flaming, praying he would take pity on her and pretend he hadn’t heard anything.

Instead, he said thoughtfully, “No, if you were a vegetable it would be something much more delicious. Sweet corn…cherry tomato, maybe.”

Was he flirting? She chanced another glance. A rugged sweep of stubble and a scar on his jaw roughened his looks, only making him more compelling. Well, of course, she thought, anyone who looks like that must flirt for a living. But suddenly she was uncomfortably aware of the harsh lights, and how tired she must look. She ran her hand through her hair, though she knew it wouldn’t make any difference. “That’s a nice thing to say,” was all she could think of to reply.

“My mom always said, you know, if you can’t say anything nice…she was English, she liked good manners. Plus, it’s important to say nice things to nice girls, don’t you think?” And he gave her a wink.

She couldn’t help laughing, he was so shameless. “How come you can get away with being so cheeky just because you do it in that accent?”

“You tell me,” he replied. “I don’t think you spring from round here either.”

Just then the train began to slow again, and there was a surge as people started to squeeze along to the doors. The American put his arms out and made a protective space around her, shaking his head. “Oh, no. You can stay here this time. I’m not letting you go until I solve this mystery.”

Up close he smelled warm and woody and clean, and she had to stop herself leaning in, eyes closed, and breathing deeply. At this distance he could probably hear her heart pounding. His full mouth turned up at the corners, a permanently tempting curve. Her hips threatened to arc towards him in a very inappropriate way. She wouldn’t have been surprised at the crackle of blue sparks. If she actually made contact with any part of him, she felt, there was a real chance she would just burst into flames.

Then the doors closed and the train started moving, and he grabbed the overhead strap to steady himself. “Maybe that was my stop,” she said, heady from their closeness. “Then what would I have done?”

“Come for a drink with me?”

She was enjoying this now, feeling a glow, forgetting her embarrassment, and her sore feet and backache from standing in the salon all day. “At this time of night, unless you want to go clubbing, I don’t know where you’d find somewhere to just have a drink. This isn’t LA or New York.”

“I’m not from LA or New York, I’m from Idaho.” He looked at her closely. “And maybe I didn’t mean somewhere.”

“Ah,” she said, and suddenly felt a little flat. That’s right, she knew this story. Off she would go to his place, with him and his charm and banter. They’d have a night that seemed unbelievable. And the next day it would be unbelievable, unbelievably awkward, as she pulled on yesterday’s clothes and tried to find her way to an unfamiliar tube station, with unbrushed hair and uncleaned teeth. The walk of shame. She had no interest in taking it. There was a time, when she’d first arrived, maybe…but not any more.

Her change of mood must have shown. He said, “I’m sorry, maybe that’s not something you should say to a nice girl from…?”

Looking at his expectant, handsome face, she gave herself an internal shake. Lighten up now, she said to herself, he’s just a guy on a train, even if he does look like he stepped out of a catalogue. Just enjoy that someone, maybe, fancies you a little. And she pushed her shoulders back and put her smile back on.

“Actually, I was born here, but I’ve been living a long way away. Further away than you.”

His face lit up. “Australia!”

“No, sorry to disappoint you.” Why was Australia always the first guess? Anyone would think there was no populated land beyond Sydney. Next stop Antarctica.
“Well then…damn, this is my stop.” They lurched together as the train made a last jolt, and his satchel banged against her hip. All at once she was aware of the crush of other travelers again, as they began their relentless move towards the door. The American was carried along in front of two large ladies, but called over their shoulders, “We could try to find somewhere.”

She hesitated for a moment, not wanting him to be gone. Then, just as the two of them realized his bag buckle had caught on hers, the large ladies swept him out and the doors closed. They looked at each other through the glass, his expression going through a progression from confusion to surprise to a sort of panic. And she was left holding his bag as the train pulled away.

Review:

What a fun read!  I was not expecting Livi and I was so glad that I discovered her!  This is a fast pace and fun read that kept me on the edge of my seat.  It was all over the place without being sloppy or boring!  Cam is delicious and I LOVE a sexy and intelligent man.  Cass is the type of friend that we all want in our lives. 

A great story from a fabulous author that I can’t wait to read more from!

Author Bio:

Serena Clarke has had her fair share of adventures and disasters, living in thirty-nine houses, in seven cities, in four countries. She’s now settled in New Zealand, and all those ups and downs provide great inspiration for writing. Luckily, she has a tall, dark, and handsome husband to help look after their two boys while she dreams up stories. Turns out that happily-ever-afters happen in real life too.

Author Links:

Website:  http://www.serenaclarke.com/

Twitter: @Serena_Clarke

Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/#!/SerenaClarkeAuthor?fref=ts

Crimson Romance:   http://www.crimsonromance.com/crimson-romance-ebooks/crimson-romance-books-by-author/serena-clarke/

Buy Links:

Available at:  Amazon | B&N | iTunes

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