A Sneak Peek at Reluctant Betrayer!

Hi Miriam and all Celtic Rose blog fans. I'm thrilled to report that Reluctant Betrayer, Book V of the Claddagh Series, is now available! I hope this story of love, betrayal and treachery will touch your heart and soothe your soul.

Blurb: 

Sweet deception and hidden passion…

Trasnavan…a west-of-Ireland village bursting with charm, intrigue and treachery.

Aidan Collins grew up in the shadow of his heroic older brother. The steady one, the responsible one, he burns with anger against the landlord and vows to change the desperate straits of the village folk.

Raised in a family of rebels, Maura Riordan is horrified when she learns the man she loves has committed the ultimate act of treason.

But Aidan has his own reasons for taking the position of landlord’s agent. Will those reasons destroy him? Will Maura’s deception tear them apart?

Can their love survive the lies they’ve both told?

Excerpt:

Pity stirred Maura’s heart. “She was my bosom friend, Neil, even before she was yer intended.” She touched a tentative finger to his iron-hard jaw. “I loved her too.”

“Then how can ye even think o’ a man like Aidan Collins? Sure, he’s serving the enemy!”

“Can f-feelings just w-wither and die because you w-will them?” Her voice rang with defiance.

He caught her wrists in his hands, his fingers biting into her flesh. “Ye’ll no’ see him again, Maura.”

“I love him, Neil. And—and I know he loves m-me.”

His eyes widened, his mouth became a snarl. “And how are ye knowing that?”

“Because we’ve an understanding between us!” The words burst from her, and she clapped her hands to her mouth. Oh, why had she told him now, like this?

“Without me knowin’ about it?”

“‘Twas nothing s-sordid, Neil.” She stared appealingly up at him, her heart shrinking in her chest as she saw his unyielding anger. “‘Twas a few walks in the woods when we were going the same way, a stroll by the strand...”

“Ye’ll no’ be seeing him again.” He caught her shoulders, shook her roughly. “He’s one o’ them now. And if he were to learn of...”

“Of what?” Caught by the sudden tension in her brother’s voice, Maura stared at him, horror chilling the blood in her veins. “Neil, wh-what are you k-keeping from me?”

“Nothing. Ne’er ye mind. Just remember, ye’re no’ to see Aidan Collins again.”

“No, ‘tis not nothing.” A terrible conviction swept over her, weakening her knees and scalding her throat. She knew. “Dear God, Neil, no! You’re not—oh, Mary Mother of God, tell me you’re not involved in—in—you’re not m-mixing with a secret s-society, are you?”

“Don’t ask me that, Maura, fer ye know I can’t be tellin’ ye. I’ll no’ be putting ye in danger, love.”

“Dear sweet God!”

He shook her again, until her rich auburn hair tumbled from its pins and bounced around her shoulders. “I’ll no’ be tellin’ ye again, Maura Brigid Eileen Riordan. Ye’re no’ to see Aidan Collins again. D’ye understand me now?”

“And if I d-disobey you?”

Neil stilled, his blue eyes, the exact same shade as her own, boring into her. Angry. Passionate.

Deadly.

“If you see him again, Maura, then I’ll have to kill him.”

Amazon         Barnes & Noble         Smashwords

I'm having a contest on my website! You can win an autographed print copy of In Sunshine or in Shadow, Book 1 of the Claddagh Series, or an autographed flat of the gorgeous cover Highland Press created for Reluctant Betrayer!

******************************************************************

I believe I was destined to be interested in history. One of my distant ancestors, Thomas Aubert, reportedly sailed up the St. Lawrence River to discover Canada some 26 years before Jacques Cartier’s 1534 voyage. Another relative was a 17thCentury “King’s Girl,” one of a group of young unmarried girls sent to New France (now the province of Quebec) as brides for the habitants (settlers) there.



My passion for reading made me long to write books like the ones I enjoyed, and I tried penning sequels to my favorite Nancy Drew mysteries. Later, fancying myself a female version of Andrew Lloyd Weber, I drafted a musical set in Paris during WWII.



A former journalist and lifelong Celtophile, I enjoyed a previous career as a reporter/editor for a small chain of community newspapers before returning to my first love, romantic fiction. My stories usually include an Irish setting, hero or heroine, and sometimes all three.



I’m the author of The Claddagh Series, historical romances set in Ireland and beyond, and The Wild Geese Series, in which five Irish heroes return from the American Civil War to find love and adventure.



I’m a member of the Romance Writers of America, Hearts Through History Romance Writers, and Celtic Hearts Romance Writers. A lifelong resident of Montreal, Canada, I still live there with my own Celtic hero and our two teenaged children.




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Where the Shamrocks Grow by Cathy Mansell

WHERE THE SHAMROCKS GROW
Cathy Mansell
ISBN: 9781311081100
ASIN: B00N7ZRGIE
Length: Novel
Genre: Romantic Suspense
Digital Price: $4.99

Buy here: Tirgearr Publishing

Set in 1917 against the backdrop of the Irish civil war, young Jo Kingsley is transported from her turbulent childhood of domestic servitude, to the sophisticated life of the upper classes at the beautiful Chateau Colbert. Here she meets Jean-Pierre, the grandson of her employer, Madame Colbert, and visits Paris where she discovers the desires of men. But Jo’s destiny takes her to America where she experiences more than her dreams of becoming a music teacher.

During prohibition, in the mysterious haunts of Greenwich Village, she falls deeply in love with Mike Pasiński, a free-spirit; and a son of Polish emigrants. However, loneliness, loss and hardship follow during the Wall Street crash.

Will the beautiful Jo let go of her demons and learn to love again?

• • •

Dublin City 1917

Jo Kingsley awoke from a troubled sleep. Her eyes flickered open, and her gaze rested on the thick velvet curtains, partly drawn across the bedroom window. The street lamp shone through, casting shadows on the ceiling. She glanced at the holy pictures on the wall that had always been a source of comfort to her. But tonight the Virgin Mary did not appear to be smiling down on thirteen-year-old Jo. A distant scream reverberated around the room. She felt a stab of fear and reached across the bed to her grandmother.

‘Grandma. Grandma, please wake up.’ With trembling fingers, she traced the outline of her grandmother’s face. It was cold. Startled and distressed, she drew back in the clear knowledge that the wailing sound was none other than the Banshee.

Jo scrambled from the bed, hurried down the stairs, grabbed her black woollen coat from the hallstand, and ran barefoot from the house. Her long fair hair flew out behind her as she raced down the street to her mother’s cottage. The Dublin streets were dark and dimly lit, and the frosty pavement made her feet tingle as she hammered on the door. Her stepfather, Tom, wheezing and gasping for breath, finally opened it. She stepped inside.

‘Ma! Ma! Come quickly, something’s happened to Grandma.’

Kate, a thin woman in her early forties, appeared in the doorway of the bedroom, rubbing the sleep from her eyes. ‘What in the name of God brings you out at this time of the night, girl?’

‘I think me grandma’s dead,’ Jo cried. ‘I… I heard the Banshee.’

Kate sprang into action. ‘You look after things here, Jo-Jo. Sleep on the couch for now.’ In minutes, her mother was dressed and rushing up the street.

Five-year-old Liam cried out in his sleep, and Tom handed her a cover before going back into the bedroom and closing the door behind him. Jo held the thin well-worn blanket close to her shivering body. She didn’t want to be here. A dull ache gripped her. How could her grandma be dead? She’d been all right when they’d bid each other good night. Powerless to stem the tears that trickled down her cold face, she sat in the darkness. What would happen to her now? She bit her nails, digging into the tops of her fingers until they hurt.

The room smelt damp and Jo had no recollection of ever living here. Now, whenever she had cause to visit her mother, it was a sharp reminder of how lucky she was to have been brought up by her grandmother. She curled up on the couch but couldn’t sleep.

She heard coughing, and a shaft of light appeared in the doorway. Tom shuffled into the room clearing his throat, carrying the twins. Jo swung her feet from the couch onto the cold floor. ‘Is there anything I can do?’

He shook his head, too breathless to speak, and placed the whimpering babies down next to her. He lit the lamp on the table and turned up the wick. The light threw shadows across the room, the wallpaper peeling from the walls. Jo looked down at the children’s thin frames and spindly legs, and covered them with her blanket. Innocent eyes looked up at her, the same blue as hers, except theirs were hollow and lacked lustre. She shivered and wrapped her arms around herself to keep warm. The reality of her mother’s life hit her and brought a lump to her throat. She felt sorry for the children, who, in spite of the cold, had fallen asleep.

Feeling wretched and helpless, she made a fire from the turf piled up in the corner by the hearth, hoping it would take the chill from the room. She glanced across to where Tom was lying with his head down on the table, his bald patch visible and a blanket pulled across his thin shoulders. There was no sound apart from his laboured breathing as he dozed, and the sparks from the fire as the turf ignited. She filled the black kettle and hung it on one of the hooks over the fire.

The cupboard was bare apart from a packet of oats, and she wondered if her mother was drinking again! She made the porridge. It was tasteless, watery with little substance, unlike her grandmother’s creamy porridge. Her poor grandma! She had looked after her for as far back as Jo could remember.

Tom stirred and looked across at the sleeping babies, yawned and stretched his long thin arms. The kettle hissed and spouted water, almost extinguishing the fire. Jo got up and made a fresh pot of tea. She poured Tom a mugful and placed it on the table next to him. He was coughing again, beating his chest with his clenched fist. His consumption seemed worse and she pitied him. ‘Tis always worse at night,’ he told her.

‘The porridge is a bit thin, but it’s the best I could do.’

‘Aye! It’s grand.’

When at last daylight seeped through the thin curtains, her mother hadn’t returned.

The room depressed her and she wanted to go home to her grandma’s.

‘I’m going back now, will you be all right?’

‘Aye. Thanks,’ he managed between a fit of coughing, calling out to her when she reached the door. ‘Sorry… for your trouble, Jo.’

• • •

Cathy Mansell writes romantic fiction. Her recently written family sagas are set in her home country of Ireland. One of these sagas closely explores her affinities with Dublin and Leicester. Her children's stories are frequently broadcast on local radio and she also writes newspaper and magazine articles. Cathy has lived in Leicester for fifty years. She belongs to Leicester Writers' Club and edited an Arts Council-funded anthology of work by Lutterworth Writers, of which she is president.

Find Cathy Online

Website - http://www.cathymansell.com
Facebook - http://www.facebook.com/cathy.mansell4
Twitter - https://twitter.com/cathymansell3
LlinkedIn - http://www.linkedin.com/profile/view?id=164084748
Blog - http://blog.cathymansell.com
Grassroots - http://www.transculturalwriting.com/Grassroutes/content/Cathy_Mansell.htm
AuthorsDen - http://www.authorsden.com/cathymansell
Tirgearr Publshing - http://www.tirgearrpublishing.com/authors/Mansell_Cathy

Return To Ballycashel...

Hi Miriam, and a special greeting to all lovers of Celtic romance! It's so lovely to be back at the Celtic Rose. And I'm so thrilled to announce the publication of Everlasting, Book IV of the Claddagh Series!

Everlasting is Shannon Flynn's story, and it's set once again in that tiny, wind-swept west-of-Ireland village of Ballycashel that was the setting for the first two books of the Claddagh Series. Ballycashel, and all of its residents, are very dear to my heart, and when Shannon Flynn visited my dreams one night, whispering her story to me, I could hardly refuse to write it.

Everlasting is a story of revenge and redemption, of fathers and daughters and the love that draws them together...and tears them apart.

Blurb:

Where does justice end and retribution begin?

She was driven by anger

When her fiancé died trying to feed his family, Shannon Flynn vowed to punish those responsible…even if it alienated her from her family, even if it put her—and them—in danger.

He returned to exact revenge

Eight years after he was forced to flee his beloved Ireland, Liam Collins returns to Ballycashel to find his family devastated and the person he holds responsible for his exile dead.

Can these two wounded spirits come together to battle a common enemy? Or will anger and pride destroy them both?

Excerpt:

Ballycashel, Ireland, Off Galway Bay

January, 1874

“I see them! Sweet Mary be praised, they’re safe!”

Shannon Flynn gripped her mother’s hand so tight she felt the bones crack. On Ma’s other side, her sister Peggy let out a harsh sob. Little Fiona stood a few feet away, white-faced, hands pressed to her mouth in silent horror.

Icy needles of rain slashed Shannon’s face, and though they stood well away from the waves, she could still feel the sting of the sea, taste its sharp, briny tang. She blinked hard against the cloying mist. Was that really the Noreen, Da’s currach? That tiny craft bobbing over those vicious waves, helpless as a cork?

She flinched as the little fishing boat disappeared from view.

“They’ll be fine.” Nora Flynn’s voice rang out, stern and bracing even as she kept her gaze riveted on the storm-tossed sea. “Sure, yer da knows these waters better than anyone. He’s been through many a storm worse than this. He’ll be fine.” Her voice teetered on the edge of despair as wind and rain scored them with merciless claws.

He’s never had Mike with him.

The boat reappeared, teetered at the crest of a towering wave and tumbled sideways. Nora cried out once, pressed her fist to her mouth. The anguished sound echoed in Shannon’s heart. Before she could react, Nora drew a deep breath and set her shoulders. “Come ye, now. They’ll be needin’ us.” She threw a sharp gaze to her two younger daughters. “Peg, look after Fiona. Shannon, come with me.”

Hand in hand, they raced into the sea.

Shannon’s breath gushed from her lungs in painful gasps as icy water clawed up her legs and tangled in her long skirts. Had the sea ever been so vicious and cold? The waves so high? Oh, where was Da? Was he safe?

Was Mike safe?

She clung to her mother’s firm, strong hand as she slipped and almost fell on the sea-drenched shingle and sand. Thick strands of seaweed twined about her legs. Ma pulled her to a stop, her hoarse cry snatched away by the shrieking wind. Could Da and Mike triumph over the furious sea?

Sweet Mary protect them. Keep them safe. Bring them home.

Two heads, one dark and the other fair, burst from the waves, went under, surfaced again. Oh, God, was it possible? Could they really be farther out? The sea clawed greedily at them, pulling them under, down and down. Away from her. The wind tore her hair from beneath her red headscarf, and she lost sight of them for a moment. She swiped the flying strands away, staring harder through a stinging mixture of rain and fog and tears.

Dear sweet Lord, where are they?

“I see them! There’s Da!” Fiona appeared beside them, fighting to stay on her feet as a wave broke over her shoulders. She pointed a trembling finger. “Look, there’s Da!”

“Fiona, get back!” Shannon fought to make herself heard over the crashing waves and the devil’s howl of the wind.

“But I see him, Shannon! I see Da!”

Mike can’t swim! Even as icy realization swept over her, Shannon knew her father would fight to the death to save him.

To the death…

She squeezed her eyes shut, fighting back the tears.

“They’ll be all right.” Peggy clasped her hand, swaying against the fierce current. “Please God, they’ll both be all right.”

Please God…

“Tom, look out!” Her mother’s scream reached above the greedy fingers of sea foam just as a mighty wave knocked Da under once again.

Please God… Please God…keep him safe. Keep them both safe.

Moments, hours, days later, Shannon stood frozen under the leaden skies. Da stumbled into the shallows and fell into Ma’s waiting arms.

Da stared into Ma’s eyes, touched her cheek. “Noreen. Ah, Noreen. The currach’s torn to pieces, so it is, but sure, we’re all right now.”

“Ye are, thank God.”

“Da?” Her own eyes wide and dry and burning with salt, Shannon searched her father’s beloved face, saw his anguish.

Fissures shot through her heart.

“Mike?” Shannon scanned the beach in desperation. The gray sea roared and frothed wildly. The broken currach lay on the strand like an exhausted shark. Rain and tears blurred her vision. “Da? Where is he? Where’s Mike?”

Her father’s dark eyes filled with sorrow. “He’s gone, love.” Tom Flynn blinked away tears. “The sea took him.”

“Gone? No!” Her heart ceased to beat. Something was strangling her. Ice held her feet frozen to the beach even as she swayed drunkenly.

“I’m sorry, a storín, so sorry, my dearest. I did everything I could.” Dimly, she saw her father release her mother, move toward her. “But I couldn’t save him for ye.”

He reached for her, his big hands open, his face etched with grief. She flung up her hands, shook her head. Denying. Denying. No. No!

Nonononono!

Then she spun away, ran from her father to mourn alone the loss of the man she loved more than life itself.

I hope everyone enjoys reading Everlasting as much as I enjoyed writing it!

You can buy Everlasting at Barnes & Noble

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Come away with me…

I’m Cynthia Owens, back once again to invite you to visit a tiny island jewel on the Atlantic Ocean, complete with tidal pools, caves, a beautiful lighthouse and a rocky coast upon which many a Maritime sailor has run aground…including Cathal Donnelly.

Turtle Island is the setting for my new historical-romance-with-a-paranormal-twist, Keeper of the Light.

If you’ve read Deceptive Hearts, the first book of the Wild Geese Series, you’ll recognize Cathal as one of Shane MacDermott’s best friends. A story teller and a singer of songs, a dreamer and a bit of a rebel, Cathal washes up on the stormy shores of Turtle Island with no memory of who he is or why he’s there.

He’s rescued by Laura Bainbridge, a spirited Maritime beauty with dreams of a wider world beyond the island home she’s always known. But will dreams of Prince Charming take her away from Turtle Island? Or will an encounter with Helena Bodewell, the island ghost, point her in a different direction.

Here’s an excerpt from Keeper of the Light, when Laura first meets the Lady of Turtle Island:

A high, thin cry sliced through her reverie. Her skin prickling, Laura peered into the thick fog.

Nothing. Had she imagined the sound? Was it merely the wail of the wind, the cry of a seabird?

The sound came again, lost, grief-stricken. A woman’s keening wail.

She squinted harder, straining to make out a form, a shape, anything in the thick shroud of fog and dark.

“Is someone there?”

The heartrending cry came again, shivering along Laura’s spine and raking fingers of pain across her heart. “Please… where are you?”

There! High on the cliff at the far end of the beach. A small white-gowned figure, long blonde hair blowing around her. Laura gasped, coughing violently as the wind scored her lungs.

It couldn’t be!

“Helena?” The howling wind snatched the whispered word and carried it away.

The woman turned slowly, and Laura’s breath caught in her throat. Had the woman in white heard?

She was beautiful. Laura had known she would be. Fragile and ethereal, the small woman’s sea-colored eyes blazed, her ruby lips curved into a smile of heartbreaking loveliness as she gazed steadily at Laura for a timeless moment.

Then the wisp of a vision vanished.

Laura squeezed her eyes shut. “It can’t be.”

Was it possible? Had she really just seen the legendary Lady of Turtle Island? Had Helena’s gaze really met hers?

Would the island ghost’s prophesy come true?

Come visit me!

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MY RELUCTANT HIGHLANDER is out!

It has been a long time coming, but I am proud to announce the release of my third book in the Highland Games Through Time series. 

MY RELUCTANT HIGHLANDER returns five years later to the fictional New England Highland Games and follows Skye Gunn, sister to the Gunn laird, and Jake Jamison, a present day blacksmith. Though this is the final book in the series, I plan to write several novellas using secondary characters, like a TV show spin-off. This is also my first attempt to use my Art Degree to make my own book cover. I hope you like it. The book is a full-length novel, which will be available in print in the near future. 

Book Blurb

Skye has spent the last five years trying to forget the blacksmith who followed her back to 16^th century Scotland, to help fight evil. Sending Jake Jamison home against his will was a disastrous mistake. She risked everything attempting to defeat Andreas Borthwick. Jake might have defeated the evil sorcerer, preventing her husband’s death. When she prevents the sorcerer from grabbing her nephew, he takes her instead. To escape, she defies time to find Jake. 

The last person Jake wants to see is the young woman from ancient Scotland; the same woman who has haunted his dreams since she blackmailed him into traveling back in time. Before he could save Skye Gunn’s people, she had sent him home. Until he met Skye, his life had been normal. Quiet, and uncomplicated. No one knows he is a firebreather, except her. His ancestry is a mystery. When Skye falls into his bed—beaten, bloody and beautiful—Jake must choose to trust her, or turn his back on the only woman he’s loved across time.

Skye encourages Jake to use his ability to help her kill the sorcerer. Stealing his heart was not part of the plan. Jake must share his secret, Skye must give her heart fully, and both must dare to love in the time they have.

AMAZON     KOBO   SMASHWORDS

 

NOOK     AllRomancEBooks

 

 

ITunes (coming soon)

 

Don't forget to check the other books in the series:

My Honorable Highlander & My Banished Highlander

Author Renee Vincent

I am so happy have for you today, Author Renee Vincent. Her new book, THE TEMPERATE WARRIOR is finally here!

The Temperate Warrior
Book 1 of the Warrior Sagas
By Renee Vincent



Turquoise Morning Press
December 2012
ISBN: 9781622370924

Genre: Historical, paranormal romance, Viking Buy Links: Kindle | Nook | All Romance Ebooks | Smashwords | Turquoise Morning Press | Book Strand



He was her champion. She was his weakness.
Together, they loved with wild abandon.


Blurb:
Gustaf Ræliksen lives by the blade of his sword. After avenging his father’s murder and reuniting with his family, he wants nothing more than to settle down and have sons of his own. Only one woman will do—a fiery redhead he saved from the spoils of war. No longer forced to warm the beds of the men who've taken everything from her, Æsa has nothing to offer the noble warrior but her heart. When someone with a deep score to settle seeks revenge upon her, Gustaf's world is torn asunder. He has but one vow—saving the woman he loves from the ignorant fool who dared to best the temperate warrior.



“Dying a thousand deaths in my head to protect you is better than losing you one time in the flesh. I would never recover if I let anything happened to you.”

His voice was devoid of emotion, monotone as he laid open his heart for her. Most would think he was just being aloof, uncaring as he rattled off sentimental words in an impersonal way. But Æsa knew better. He was not only bearing his soul to her, but doing so the only way he knew how; by occupying his mind and body with a simple task so his heart couldn’t entertain the idea of failure.

 Moved by his words, she stood and made haste to join him on the hide. Dropping to her knees, she laid her hands atop his wrists, impeding his progress with the knife.

His eyes met hers and they stared at one another. Long, heartfelt seconds ticked by as she absorbed the magnitude of his pain. She plucked the tools from his hands and set them at his feet. “I am so sorry for bringing this burden upon you.” Gustaf opened his mouth for rebuttal, but she pressed her finger to his lips, feeding his words back to him. “Yesterday, you were without burden, at peace knowing you had fulfilled your duty as a loyal son. Ready to start your life anew…remember?”

He closed his eyes as if forcing himself to hear her and wait his turn.

“And now, I have thwarted your future happiness with a dark past that follows me everywhere I go. You can deny all you want what I used to be and pretend that I am a woman of worth if it makes it easier for you to accept my shame. But I know what I used to be and I will not let you add me to the list of things you will punish yourself for should you fail. I am not worth it. I am not worth any man’s grief. Or death,” she added.

Slowly, Gustaf opened his eyes and stared at her. His lips drew a straight line across his face. He removed her finger from his mouth and held her wrist in a tight grasp. “May I speak?”

 Æsa nodded, steeling herself for the tongue-lashing she knew would follow. He took his time replying, which was worse than having him berate her on the spot. The look in his eyes foretold of his disappointment, and his quiet reserve prefaced the exceptional temperance this man was capable of.

 “I shall do my best to make myself clear,” he began, his eyes never leaving hers. “We all have a past and oftentimes we have an unfortunate moment in our existence we would rather erase from our memories. But it matters not what we have failed to do, but what we succeed in doing from those failed moments onward. In my past, I have failed to protect my family, as I am the only one left, save for my nephews on Inis Mór. While their deaths, brought about by various regrettable circumstances, were not a direct cause of my own negligence, the burden is still the same. Like you, I face that demon every day of my life.

“That being said, our demons do not become us. They are not the bones and flesh of our bodies, nor the substance of our hearts. They are recollections of what used to be and what is no longer. Your demon—or your previous life as a whore, as you like to beat upon my brow—is not who you are inside. Your worth is diminished only by the demon you place across your shoulders like a royal cloak. Divest yourself of that, my dearest Æsa, and you will understand the depths of my love and the extent to which I will go to protect you. Gladly protect you,” he reiterated. “Until then, you will just have to take my word for it.”





Author Bio:

I am an author with a passionate interest in Irish and Norse history. I live in the rolling hills of Kentucky with my husband and two children on a beautiful secluded farm of horses and hay fields.

I am a sucker for a good cup of coffee (lots of cream and sugar...and whipped cream if I can get my hands on it), great conversation, and a lilting Irish accent. I love to read and I can't resist watching great epic historical movies.

From an early age, I've always had scenes playing out in my head. Whether it was a story with a moral or a tale with a twist, those ideas have never let me sleep until I wrote them out. And considering I have an eclectic ensemble of stories swarming in my brain at any given time, I write under a couple pen names to accommodate the various genre categories. Renee Vincent (Historical & Contemporary Adult Romance) From the daunting, charismatic Vikings, to the charming, brazen Alpha male heroes of modern day, you'll be whisked away to a world filled with fast-paced adventure, unforgettable romance, and undying love. Visit my website at http://www.reneevincent.com/

Gracie Lee Rose (Lighthearted, Fancy-free Women's Fiction) For those who love to read fun, wholesome, and endearing romantic stories that your mother, sister, friends, and daughters can enjoy. Visit my website at http://www.gracieleerose.com/  



Author Links:
Website: http://www.reneevincent.com/
Blog: http://pasttheprint.blogspot.com/
Facebook: http://www.facebook.com/reneevincentauthor
Twitter: http://www.twitter.com/ReneeVincent
Goodreads: http://www.goodreads.com/author/show/3005290.Renee_VincentRomance
Blog: http://www.deepintheheartromance.com/

Author Renee Vincent

COMING FEBRUARY 15, 2012 - "THE KING'S DAUGHTER"

With a fantastic new trailer: 

NEW RELEASE - THE COMET

Some of you may recognize this beautiful cover by Annie Marshall for my newly-released historical romance, The Comet.  The book came out on 1/20/11 but I've been waiting for it to be available on Kindle to make it official on the blog. 

This book was a labor of love.  It has been twelve years in my mind and a full year in intensive research.  The "Celtic" part of the book comes in the last half, set in Wales in 1067 as the Welsh reeled from the death of their strong king and the invasion of England by Normans.  They knew full well that they could be next unless their men and mountains protected them.  I'm sure no Welshman lay easy in his bed during those days, including apparently some of my very remote ancestors whose surnames I have borrowed for the book!  I was fortunate, too, in having been raised in an area where Welsh place names are common, so perhaps my tongue was less badly twisted than some as I created names.  What few Welsh genes may be somewhere in my DNA are buried under an avalanche of Irish and Cornish, but all of it is Celtic.  I was reminded of that many times while growing up!  I wonder what it is that makes us of that descent STILL so die-hard about it?

Anyway, here is an outline of the book, which I hope you might try if you enjoy historicals.  I do, and this was a joy to write!

An ambitious young Norman knight, Neel, is seriously wounded at the Battle of Hastings and nursed back to health by a Saxon girl, Rowena.  For her, it is only a matter of Christian charityy and she is shocked to receive his proposal of marriage in return.  It is an offer she can’t refuse, but her land is invaded, her birthright stolen.  How can she love the enemy—her husband?

For Neel, Normandy is only a bad memory.  His future lies in Rowena’s land and her bed, but he is not welcome in either.

From pastoral Sussex to the furthest reaches of Wales, he will seek to make her his own

.

EXCERPT: 

Fumbling at the gaudy tie, she drew out a necklace of stones like the eyes of a cat.  Carefully drilled and strung on a fine wire, they slid through her fingers smoothly.

“They are called topaz,” Neel explained.  Stunned, Rowena had neither moved nor spoken.  “They are the color of your eyes.  I have given Bryna a gown for you, too.  And a head covering.”  He smiled at her.  “I think you will like ours better.  All I ask is that you wear them for Christ’s Mass.” 

She remained obdurately silent, but she could not…dared not…refuse.  No doubt the gown was Norman.  He called her “little Saxon,” yet did not wish her to appear to be one.  And perhaps, if Ralf had spoken truly, he was correct and she wasn’t one at all.

“Here,” Neel said as if her acceptance was a given.  “Sit beside me and I will put it on you.”

Still mute, she perched rigidly on the edge of the mattress she had shared with him in perfect comfort when he was unconscious.  This time he was awake and aware and so was she-- jolted by every nuance as he touched her for the first time.

He was efficient, raising her wild hair with a hand holding its weight, parting it and dropping it forward over both shoulders so that he could fix the clasp of the necklace.  She felt the cold, rich stones against her collarbones and heard the tiny snick of the clasp as he put his claim on her.

He lifted her hair back carefully, not catching it in the necklace.  But he did not take his hands from her shoulders after he had done it.

She fell back upon manners, drilled into her by Bryna.  “I have nothing for you,” she said faintly.

“Then give me a kiss.”

There it was--the trap she had sensed.  She could wrest her body from beneath his hands and bolt for the door and he couldn’t stop her, but that was only postponing the inevitable.  Slowly, she turned her head to the side, not moving towards him but not moving away.

“Come,” he said softly, inching closer.  How was he doing that…hurt as he was? 

“Be careful,” she said, ambiguously.

“It’s just a kiss.”

It would be capitulation…unspoken acknowledgement of his ownership.  But just as the needs of the body had drawn her to offered food, other needs tempted her, too.  Trapped not by his hands but by her own indecision, she made no move to resist as he turned her within their circle, now at her waist.  It was an awkward position, though, leaving her in imminent danger of falling off the side of the bed.

“Better hold on,” he said, the devil incarnate.  She did, twining her hands in his fine tunic as he spread his palm against her back to support her.  The other hand cupped the back of her head.  Infinitely gentle, he lowered his face to hers, teasing at her lips.

“Very sweet,” he murmured.  It was nothing like she had thought a kiss would be.  She had imagined Ralf plunging his tongue into her as Leofric had done…pictured him groping her breast, hurting her, gross and fetid.

It was not like that at all.  Neel’s tongue traced the outline of hers lips, slow and enticing, not a bit revolting.  When his lips nudged hers gently she opened her mouth, sighing.  He kissed her slowly and deeply, a silken invasion that set her heart pounding.  Her hold on him increased, involuntarily, and she felt his response in the strength of his hand on her back, fingers splayed, supporting her.  Guiding her.  He drew her against his chest until she could feel her breasts taut and aching against his warm flesh and started to resist.  Immediately, his grip slackened and he lifted his face from hers.

“I’m only playing, little Saxon,” he whispered.

VIDEO:  www.youtube.com/watch?v=CSKkQL4jv4c

BUY LINK:  www.thedarkcastlelords.com/TheComet.htm

                        KINDLE:  http://www.amazon.com/the-comet-book/dp/B004MMEG8O?tag=t0e7-20

                     Also available at Fictionwise and AllRomanceEBooks

Release Date:  1/20/11

CONTEST:  If you’d like to enter a drawing for a free PDF copy or Kindle download of The Comet, leave your name, mailing address and the name of the stones from which Rowena’s necklace is made!  I will draw a name at random five days from today.  Easy cheesy!

Miriam

CHICKS OF CHARACTERIZATION; THEY LOVE ALL THINGS SCOTTISH

Hey, never say I won't give credit to another beautiful blog! I am blogging all this week at www.chicksofcharacterization.blogspot.com about my forthcoming historical romance, The Comet.

   Don't hesitate to stop over to see Andrea and Corrina's Write Life.  It's wonderful.