The Celtic Tree of Life

The Celtic Tree of Life

    By Miriam Newman and Erin O'Quinn                                            

Erin O’Quinn: Some months back, when I was writing the final chapters of my historical WARRIOR, RIDE HARD, I wrote a passage that hit me today like “déja vu all over again.” I had the immigrants to Derry choose a huge old oak tree as the spot to build their church. Gristle, the head of the expedition who had guided the people to that spot, removed a portion of the rugged bark and inscribed a slash mark to note “day one” of the settlement. It was here that the people built a large clay-and-wattle roundhouse that served as the Church of Derry.

Imagine my surprise when I read the following passage this morning from the internet source THE SACRED CELTIC TREE OF LIFE:

When a tribe cleared the land for a settlement in Ireland, they always left a great tree in the middle, known as the crann bethadh (krawn ba-huh), or Tree of Life, as the spiritual focus and source of well-being. They held assemblies and inaugurated their chieftains beneath it so that they could absorb power from above and below. . . .

 Even though I had no knowledge of the tradition, I naturally selected that old oak to be the spiritual center of a settlement whose very name Daire comes from the Irish Gaelic word for  “oak.” My friend Miriam would tell me that the spirit that moved me to select that oak is the same spirit that drove people from time immemorial to place their spiritual center at or in a tree.

That same internet article on the tree of life goes on to say: From its roots drinking the waters of the Earth to its leaves reaching to the gods, such a tree was considered magical.  The largest such tree in the middle of any settlement was invariably left standing and venerated. So respected was its power that the greatest ignominy warriors could inflict on a defeated village was to cut down their sacred tree, removing the life force from an entire group of people.

Miriam Newman: The druids of the lands we call “celtic” held trees in just such a place of sanctity. But the concept is an ancient one, and it transcends both countries and religious beliefs. I think that those of you who have some knowledge of the Jewish kabbalah will see a resemblance between the two images below:

Art by Katelyn Mariah

Both are modern images.  The one above is a representation of how the druids connected numerals written in the ancient ogham style with different trees. The one on the right is a sketch by artist Katelyn Mariah from her blog “Medicine Woman Art,”  a rendition of the kabblalistic tree of life. Both emblems are heavy with mystic connotations, but the message is clear nonetheless. The spiritual center is a tree, whose symbolism we understand on an almost subconscious level.

Many people have remarked on the fact that the well-known “celtic knot’ is a kind of tree of life itself, with roots and branches interwoven into an inextricable knot that echoes the endless cycle of life.

The imaginative tapestry below is a marvelous reflection of this immortal cycle, as the celtic knot becomes the root of the tree itself:

Note the similarity between the celtic knot tapestry above and this beautiful rendition of how the tree canopy echoes its roots:

It’s not much of a stretch to see how artists have seen the human form integrated with that of the tree of life:

I think the whole elemental concept of trees–their roots sunk into the Earth, drinking its knowledge–was so sacred to the druids that we feel that power even in our times.  I believe the tree of life was simply that–the symbol of this life or any other. It was all the same to the druids. Nothing was ever lost, only changed, just as the water of the earth became the leaves that sheltered it. A very simple concept, really, yet so profound it represented an entire civilization.

The Druid Stone in Austria

BOOK COVER SHARE: PEACE ON NEW EARTH

Just wanted to share this book cover with my friends on The Celtic Rose. Peace on New Earth will be my first self published book and will be released at the end of November, in time for Christmas. Unlike my other books you're probably accustomed to seeing by now (ahem), this one is futuristic. Set against the background of the Earth holiday representing peace and good will, my question was whether love between members of two diametrically opposed cultures on a distant planet could reconcile the differences between their people. These are influential characters, of course--a tribal leader and a trained medical technician from Old Earth whose skills could seal the fate of his followers.

This book will no doubt make an appearance on my other blog, The Blue Rose, when it's released. It is a ninety-nine cent novella just right for a quick but thought-provoking read. I hope everyone enjoys our pending Labor Day holiday and the autumn to come.

THE DAWN OF IRELAND Trilogy

THE DAWN OF IRELAND

The title I chose for my universe was not really a poetic choice, but one based on actual historic events. In ca. 432, a youngish priest was named Bishop and sent to heathen Hibernia by the Pontiff in Rome. Probably in his 40s, the man named Patricius soon became known as Patrick--in Irish Gaelic, Pádraig--and history literally began in a beautiful, isolated place named Ireland.

My imagination conjured up an 18-year-old woman named Caylith Vilton, who had run from the destruction of her villa in Britannia after it was torched by freebooter Picts. She had the foresight to find an Irish shipbuilder named Michael who was able to build a fleet of small, skin-clad boats called currachs. In those flimsy little boats, 300 immigrants arrived in what is today the harbor of Belfast and made their way to Armagh where Bishop Patrick had set up a growing monastery.

The three books that comprise THE DAWN OF IRELAND tell the story of Caylith and her eventual lover Liam, the sensuous clansman, son of the High King Leary MacNeill. Other characters enliven the series--conniving druds, cattle barons, a high king, and a brooding, mysterious man who follows her throughout all the novels.

What could an author possibly find in those rough-and-tumble days of cattle rustlers, wildass clansmen and Saxon mercenaries? How can a passionate young couple find love and fulfillment in the badlands of Old World Ireland?

STORM MAKER

Liam O'Neill meets beautiful, willful, naive Caylith--and a storm begins! In Storm Maker, the young couple fights their natural passionate nature trying to stay reasonably “pure” in the wake of a promise to Father Patrick, to stay chaste for the marriage bed. But as they try to start a life together, waiting for Patrick to join them in marriage, an implacable enemy plots their undoing.

G-rated excerpt:

Liam was so close to me now that, even in the dark, I saw the moonlight reflected back in his laughing eyes, and I saw the insolent smile playing around his mouth. He leaned into me, and I suddenly remembered all over again the sweet honey of his tongue and moving lips. I knew even before he started that I would answer his insistence, for we had been apart too long. 

I knew not when Michael left, but I was past caring. I knew only that Liam’s mouth had been created to join with my own, to probe and discover until we were breathless with the intensity of it. 

“A chuisle,” he murmured at last. A-koosh-la. It was as though a song had just been written for my ears alone.

And then I left him as I had the night he sang me his love song, running into the night, not looking back.

The ship was rolling and pitching. I could see the galley of rowers in the moonlight, straining against the wind and the relentless waves. I was trying to find a small harbor, a niche where I could curl up and sleep, but suddenly I lost my balance and fell—hard—on the slick deck.

Then Liam’s arms were around me, lifting me up and to the safety of the curving planks of the ship’s side. He set me gently against the smooth timbers and knelt next to me, his eyes asking a thousand questions. 

Even if we could speak each other’s language, what would I tell him? That I had missed him, but in a place so deep I did not discover it until a few minutes ago? That the very sight of him excited me so intensely that I could not control my fierce desire? That I ached for him, but for another man at the same time?

THE WAKENING FIRE

The Wakening Fire finds Liam and Caylith just beginning to discover the secrets of passion they have not yet revealed to each other. As those fires burn, other blazes threaten not just their lives but the future of Ireland itself. An old enemy resurfaces, and his own secrets will mean a major upheaval in the lives of all the characters. And Bishop Patrick has decided to light giant ritual fires in direct defiance of the high king himself, as he attempts to win men's hearts to the promise of the gospels.

G-rated excerpt:

He lay there looking up at the thatched ceiling for a while, silent and thoughtful. “I…told ye once, Cat. I never hold ye back. I love your freedom. But…not know such a small butterfly…hurt me so much.” 

The candlelight reflected back the tears that stood in his eyes. “Oh, oh, my darling husband. A chuisle mo chroí, a Liam, I am so sorry.” I rested my head on his chest. My shoulders began to heave with the sobs I tried to keep lodged in my stomach.

He reached out and embraced me, blanket and all, and drew me back down onto our bed. “Hush, hush,” he said, caressing my hair. “Ye did nothing wrong, Cat. Ye be guilty of loving too much. Even your enemies. Ah, Cat, I understand ye.”

I kissed his dear face, licking the saltiness from around his eyes and in his short, soft beard. I could feel his readiness even through the blanket. “Liam, make love to me. But slow. Silent. Even, oh, even in the dark tonight. All right?”

“Tá go maith,” he said, and I barely heard him. He rose up a bit and seized the candle on the table and blew it out. I felt his body in the sudden darkness, a heat I felt more intensely now, with no flame to light his presence. 

It was almost as though we were back on the road somewhere leaving the Lough Neagh, in the shadow of a shadow of a moonless night, under a nameless tree. He was lying on his side, facing me. Then his tongue was in my ear, soft and slow, a timid animal, and he drew my fingers into his mouth and suckled them in the same way, unhurried and gentle.

CAPTIVE HEART

Finally, in Captive Heart, Caylith must face the history of her mother's past captivity by slave dealers, all the while being shackled by the unseemly love of her husband's own kinsman. Caylith and Liam are joined by friends trying to save a group of captive women, traveling to the desolate, lightning-racked north shores of what is now Donegal and to the rugged, remote Tory Island. Finally she confronts first the man who had enslaved the women, and then the man who has tried to bind her to his fevered heart.

G-rated excerpt:

Brigid and I rode home at a slow canter. I thought about today’s practice, how I had won not a match the whole day. The best I could do, as with Magpie, was to settle for a draw. I thought she knew that I was deliberately slowing the pace, and she rode quietly beside me, waiting for me to speak.

“Bree, I have made a huge mistake.” She was silent, but she looked at me with her wide, clear eyes, inviting me to continue. “A man’s heart reached out to me, but I was not free. Instead of slaying the monster, I allowed it in. This happened not once but twice. Two different men. Same mistake.”

“How did you let it in, Cay?”

“I found a beautiful woman for each of those men, thinking that would set me free. And set them free, too.”

“Yes, I see how that was a mistake, a chara. Those beautiful women were but a reflection of you. You still gave yourself to them.”

I thought about her words, and tears began to flow down my face. “I see it now,” I said, barely above a whisper. “Now they are bound not to one heart but two. And I am bound to three.”

She stopped her little white mare, who began to browse the roadside.... “Ah, Cay. The human heart is too complex to rein in, to teach tricks, to bind and set free at will.”

“What can I do, Bree? How can I undo all this hurt?

“As I said, it is not a matter of untying a knot, of letting the butterfly flutter free from your hand. It is something to be done slowly and carefully, so the hearts do not break. How you do that is what will define you as a real person. As an adult woman and as a wife.”

Adult. Wife. At last, after nineteen years of the imaginary fairy-princess life, I was being forced to see the vicious thorns under the soft-petalled rose. I thought I was teaching that lesson to others back when I was a willful sixteen-year-old playing warrior games. Now, somehow, I had to go back and undo the hurt I had caused. And if I did not do it right away, I stood to lose the one man in the world I loved beyond all others, the one whom I must never lose.

Lightning over the Fanad Peninsula, northern Ireland,
as experienced by the characters in CAPTIVE HEART

OQ Erin O’Quinn’s Gaelic blog:   http://bit.ly/Jgz6tU
Erin O’Quinn’s Manlove blog:  http://romancemanlove.wordpress.com/
Storm Maker:  http://amzn.to/O218y7
The Wakening Fire : http://amzn.to/N1Gc6C
Captive Heart:  http://amzn.to/Qm8b1X
Fire & Silk:  http://amzn.to/P6jZtn
Warrior, Ride Hard:  http://www.bookstrand.com/warrior-ride-hard

LIEBSTER AWARD

To the right at the top of this blog you will see the Liebster Award. Presented to me by Sunni of the Surviving Life blog, it's an award to acknowledge up-and-coming quality blogs with less than 200 followers and is much appreciated! After a brief struggle with my muse, Persephone, I was finally able to post this image to the blog and will "wear" it proudly.

Along with this award comes the request to respond to some questions and therein lies the answer to the mystery of why Persephone was miffed. She does not like me to write about myself, only about the characters she gives me! Well, sorry, Seph. Just this once I'm hiding your light under a bushel and letting a little glimmer of mine peek out. You can play tomorrow, OK? It's raining. Go back to bed.

1. What is your greatest achievement so far and why?

This is a bit of a sad one, yet it's important. Several years ago my husband was diagnosed with a form of leukemia we were told was treatable, but not curable. He was told to put his affairs in order. This had hit a seemingly healthy man in the prime of life and to say we were both stunned is the understatement of all time. Nevertheless, we did put affairs in order and in the course of dealing with this catastrophe, Dave and I made a pact. He would give it literally the fight of his life. And when he lost that fight, I would be there with him--at home, in our own bed, with friends. There would be no hospital death, surrounded by kind strangers. No, if we couldn't beat death--and we couldn't--we would make it come on our terms. And we did. So in a sense you could say the greatest achievement of my life came through death. I was my husband's home-care nurse for four and a half years and when the final battle was lost we met it with what I would like to think was consummate grace.

2. How do you spend your free time?

Reading, hiking with my dogs or in travel, usually to Ireland.

3. What is your favorite season and why?

Fall. I love everything about it--the crisp air, the red and gold leaves contrasting with a sky which somehow seems more blue than ever. The crunch of leaves under foot, the smoky smell of them lingering in the air. The last warmth of summer slowly but surely relinquishing itself to winter...looking forward to the mantle of snow covering what will be the flowers of spring. The preparation for rest before beginning anew the endless cycle of life.

4. If you could live anywhere besides where you do now, places today or times back in history, where would it be and why?

There are so many times in history I love to write about, yet I don't think I would actually want to live in them. If now, today, I could live in a little cottage in Ireland where I could write, burn peat, drink vast quantities of tea and walk among the beauty of Connemara or the Dingle Peninsula, I think I might well be the happiest woman on earth.

5. To date, what has been your worst disappointment in life?

Not experiencing a peaceful old age with my husband, looking back on our achievements and memories.

6. How did you get interested in writing?

I think I was simply born that way. As soon as I could print--not even write cursive--I started trying to write "books" on the lined paper my mother kept to make up her shopping lists. She was inordinately pleased. My becoming a writer would have meant more to her than anything else I could ever have done. I hope she knows it finally happened.

7. What advice would you give a new writer?

Persist, persist, never give up. Listen to the inner voice. Nothing you ever hear from the outside will be as important as that one. Do not lose touch with it. It will be your lifeline in difficult times.

8. If you could start all over in life, would you change anything?

I don't think so. I believe this is the life I was meant to live.

9. What is the most exciting thing you’ve ever done?

Picking myself up off the ground, metaphorically speaking, after my husband's death and setting out for Ireland, where I didn't know a soul. But it felt like everyone I met was a friend.

10. Are you scared of anything, or do you conquer all your fears and do it anyway?

I'm always afraid of not having enough money, of losing the house I have worked two and three jobs at a time to keep. It's a realistic fear, but I get up every morning and face it anyway.

11. What are the best five words that would describe you?

Iconoclastic, tenacious, honest, loyal, creative.

A BIRTHDAY PRESENT FROM MY EDITOR

My gracious editor, Jean Watkins at DCL Publications, gave me a very special gift on August 2 when she released my book The Eagle's Woman. Set in 856 A.D., it is Book I of The Eagle, a series about the Vikings in Ireland.

Son of an impoverished, dying Norse chieftain, Ari raids for booty and slaves so he can feed his people. Pagan himself, still he spares priests though he sells them. He’s a heathen, a murderer, and it is a sin for any Christian woman to love him. Yet when he abducts Maeve from her peaceful Irish fishing village, he may have found the one woman who can.

EXCERPT:

“What?” Ari asked, reaching with his free hand to take her chin in it. His thumb caressed her bottom lip and she thought she was not out of danger with him, no matter how disheveled her appearance. This man wanted her, no doubt of it. Not enough to commit violence on her, apparently, but she thought gentleness held its own dangers. If she was not careful, it could weaken her will. He was not unattractive—with fair skin, strong angular features and striking eyes—though just then he looked like a drowned rat as all of them did. It did not obscure the strength of his body or the keen intelligence in those eyes. She turned her head to the side, dislodging his thumb.

“I have not seen tears from you before,” he said thoughtfully, “though many of the others are crying. What has finally broken you?”

“I am not broken,” she spat, “only mourning two good people who raised me. But I am sure you know nothing of such feelings.”

He sat back on his heels. “Do I not? Two good people raised me as well. One lies crippled in his sickbed and the other waits for me to bring coin to buy things a sick man needs.”

Maeve was silent, surprised and momentarily chastened. She had never seriously supposed he had motives other than greed.

“Do you think raiding is worthy of a fighting man?” he persisted. “I would rather face an army than hungry children.”

She stifled an impulse toward sympathy. “Ours are dead or captive. You seem to have no trouble facing that.”

Abruptly, he set both feet beneath himself and got up, undaunted by the motion of the ship which made such things impossible for Maeve. She had not noticed a wineskin hanging from the rigging, but she saw him reach for it then. “I cannot help your children.” He took a fulsome swig. “Just mine.” Wiping the neck with his wet tunic, he held the wineskin out to her.

It was decent wine, probably from their monastery, tasting of strength and summer. She needed strength to remember that summer would come again, so she drank.

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

BUY LINK: http://thedarkcastlelords.net/?p=822

It's Miriam's birthday!

Please join me in wishing Miriam a wonderful and happy birthday!

HAPPY BIRTHDAY MIRIAM!

RELEASE DATE FOR THE EAGLE'S WOMAN

"The Eagle's Woman," Part I of my Viking romance "The Eagle," will release August 2, 2012. Here are a blurb and excerpt for you along with the yummy cover featuring Sam Bond!

Son of an impoverished, dying Norse chieftain, Ari raids for booty and slaves so he can feed his people. Pagan himself, still he spares priests though he sells them. He’s a heathen, a murderer, and it is a sin for any Christian woman to love him. Yet when he abducts Maeve from her peaceful Irish fishing village, he may have found the one woman who can.

EXCERPT:

“What?” Ari asked, reaching with his free hand to take her chin in it. His thumb caressed her bottom lip and she thought she was not out of danger with him, no matter how disheveled her appearance. This man wanted her, no doubt of it. Not enough to commit violence on her, apparently, but she thought gentleness held its own dangers. If she was not careful, it could weaken her will. He was not unattractive—with fair skin, strong angular features and striking eyes—though just then he looked like a drowned rat as all of them did. It did not obscure the strength of his body or the keen intelligence in those eyes. She turned her head to the side, dislodging his thumb.

“I have not seen tears from you before,” he said thoughtfully, “though many of the others are crying. What has finally broken you?”

“I am not broken,” she spat, “only mourning two good people who raised me. But I am sure you know nothing of such feelings.”

He sat back on his heels. “Do I not? Two good people raised me as well. One lies crippled in his sickbed and the other waits for me to bring coin to buy things a sick man needs.”

Maeve was silent, surprised and momentarily chastened. She had never seriously supposed he had motives other than greed.

“Do you think raiding is worthy of a fighting man?” he persisted. “I would rather face an army than hungry children.”

She stifled an impulse toward sympathy. “Ours are dead or captive. You seem to have no trouble facing that.”

Abruptly, he set both feet beneath himself and got up, undaunted by the motion of the ship which made such things impossible for Maeve. She had not noticed a wineskin hanging from the rigging, but she saw him reach for it then.

“I cannot help your children.” He took a fulsome swig. “Just mine.” Wiping the neck with his wet tunic, he held the wineskin out to her.

It was decent wine, probably from their monastery, tasting of strength and summer. She needed strength to remember that summer would come again, so she drank.

What is a baldric?

Have you ever hear of a baldric or a backadder?

Also spelled bawdrick, bauldrick, or baldrick, this is a belt worn diagonally over the shoulder to hip to hold a weapon, most commonly a sword, or in some case a bugle or a drum.

Baldrics have been around since ancient times and were mostly used in military dress. The baldrick provided the wearer easier access to the weapon and the ability to carry the weapon comfortably. Now in modern day, this belt is mainly used as ceremonial.

Sometimes a baldric would be ornately decorated.

DEIRDRE - An Ancient Tale Out of Ireland

Id like to share the book cover for my upcoming release, Deirdre. This novella, historical myth set in ancient Ireland, retells the timeless story of Deirdre of the Sorrows. Born with beauty enough to drive men mad, Deirdre posses one equally important gift--that of a true heart. Look for her story, coming this summer.

FOR LOVE OF GWYNNETH

 FOR LOVE OF GWYNNETH

Thank you for inviting me to post here, Miriam!

My new release, FOR LOVE OF GWYNNETH, is a Medieval romance with fantasy~paranormal elements.

Blurb: For Love of Gwynneth:

It is 1135, and everything Gwynneth and Richard thought they wanted is put to the crucible.

Gwynneth's innocent desire to spy on her secret love, brother to the man her father says she will wed,  spirals out of control when Richard captures her.

All Richard wanted was a quick tryst with a Wood Nymph. He never imagined he would be forced into a marriage. Richard is not pleased. Everything goes wrong, starting with his plans to avenge the deaths of his father and uncle, not to mention that his brother had planned to wed Gwynneth. A powerful baron from the north claims he has a signed betrothal contract between his son and Lady Gwynneth, which the baron intends to enforce. Then there is the matter of his new father-in-law and his unceasing efforts to end Richard’s life. The only good to come from the marriage, Richard finally realizes, is Gwynneth. Then she’s taken from him.

Richard's journey begins to reclaim his wife. For love of Gwynneth.

Excerpt:

 

* * * *

Gwynneth heard them coming and stopped to listen, at first cocking her head and frowning, then smiling at the unmistakable sound of disgruntlement in Richard’s voice.

"Gwynneth," Richard repeated for what seemed to him the ten hundredth time, he walking on foot as Alden and Geoffrey trailed behind with the horses. "I'm sorry for what I said. I’ll not put you away. Please come out and let me take you home. Gwynneth, I'm sorry..." He said it over and over, repeating what Alden had said he should say, but feeling very foolish.

It was after Alden explained why Gwynneth had reacted as she had about being put to convent that Richard reluctantly agreed to speak aloud to the wood.

As Alden told the story, she’d been sent to convent as a child, but promptly ran away. It had taken over ten days for her to make her way home, during which time everyone was convinced she’d never be seen again, either having been devoured by the wild beasts of the forest, or taken and sold. She’d been given a beating upon her arrival home, but stubbornly insisted she’d do it again if forced to return to the confining convent. Gwynneth was assured she’d be returned the next day. When all awakened the next morning, she was gone.

“That’s when you found her,” Alden said.

“I found her?” Richard queried.

Alden nodded. “She'd been hiding in a tree, but fell and broke her arm. You found her and brought her home to Mother at Aven.”

He screwed up his face in thought. “That scrawny thing was Gwynneth?”

“Yea. She recalls quite clearly how you rescued her. How you teased she must be the clumsiest wood nymph in the wood.”

Wood nymph? Richard frowned.

“Was she ever sent back to convent?” Geoffrey asked.

Alden shook his head.

“Why’d she run from convent?” Richard asked.

“She fears being confined. When she said she’d die if you put her away, she spoke true.”

Richard had grunted and agreed to Alden’s way. But was greatly relieved his men weren't there to hear him speaking, nay, pleading aloud to the trees. He jumped when he felt a small hand settle on his arm, and uttered an oath. He turned to face her. "You," he began darkly.

"You won't put me away?" she asked softly.

Seeing her fair countenance marred by one eye swollen shut, Richard softly growled. He’d killed the baseborn dog too quickly. Should have made him suffer more, suffer mightily, should have made him plead for a swift death. Next time, he promised himself.

Now he had Gwynneth to contend with, to ease her fears and strange notions. At the sight of her face open and trusting, his angry words fled, although irritation remained. "Nay, Gwynneth."

She stared, waiting expectantly.

He rolled his eyes at her loud silence. "Know this, I shall never put you away. This I vow," he declared loudly.

“Or leave me at another holding?”

He muttered at such doubt. “Nay, you won’t be left behind.”

She nodded. “You don’t want me.” Her tone of voice remained neutral.

He growled, anxious to return, although he knew she was waiting for some assurance concerning her future. “I don’t like being forced to do things. And I don’t like your father! Miserable bastard,” he muttered as he looked away.

“I can understand that,” she said softly. “I never set out to deceive you.”

“I know.” He reached for her arm. “Come.”

She pulled away from his hand. “I feared what my father would do if he knew I had met with you. He never would have understood it was by chance we met. Well, the first time. I didn't mean to deceive you.”

“I understand,” he gritted. “We return now.”

She stepped back. “You said you’d never forget what I did.”

“God’s death, woman!”

Alden and Geoffrey moved a little closer.

She stared up at him, waiting.

“What? Jesu, I said I wouldn’t put you away! What? What more do you want?”

“You only marry me because my father—”

“You and I marry, Gwynneth,” he broke in impatiently. “‘Tis not what we want, but we cannot always have what we want, can we?”

She shook her head and frowned.

He growled softly, seeing her apprehension. "'Twas you put us in this mess! What'd you think would happen when that—when your father learned what had happened? Hmmm?"

She pulled herself up straighter, and looked him square in the eye. "'Twas you that brought me to Erlestoke. I told you take me home!"

He snorted. "But you didn't say why, did you? Didn’t say aught about why it would be in my best interest to take you home, now did you? Hmmm?”

“Nay.” She looked down at the ground. "The words never came out. I know it sounds a paltry excuse, but my throat seized whene’er I tried voicing my name or identity."

He wasn’t pleased at the sight of her woeful expression, and his frown increased at the remembrance of her words spoken earlier.

“I don’t kill my wives,” he said darkly. “They die on me. ‘Tis naught I do, just their bad luck.”

She pulled her mantle a little tighter, and again faced him. “I never believed you capable of murdering a wife for gain.”

His eyes narrowed. Gain? Where’d she hear that? “Then why shout it as you ran from me?”

“I didn’t,” she retorted indignantly. With a brief look at the wood, she turned her eyes back to Richard. “If, as you say, ‘twas naught you did, just their bad luck, then if I become your wife, then mayhap my luck will change. I don’t want to die; all your wives die.”

He shook his head at her stubbornness. “You won’t die, Gwynneth. You’re young, strong, healthy; you won’t die.” His thoughts went back again to Renard’s words.

“She comes from good stock, FitzHugh. Her mother, the best of women, a great lady, bore me one jewel of a daughter and five healthy sons; all still alive and well,” he’d gloated. “Gwynneth is small, but she favors her mother, the Lady Cinnia. She’ll beget you a dynasty, FitzHugh...if you can keep her.”

Her face clouded at his impatient tone of voice. “How can you be sure?”

Because your bastard father will decorate the trees with my entrails should aught happen to you. “I won’t let you die.” She looked unconvinced by his declaration.  “Your father will be angry with you if you don’t come back with me—" slyly he ached a brow—"if you don't marry me.”

She looked again toward the wood. “You come after me only because you fear my father’s wrath; but so did I.” 

“Though true, ‘tis neither here nor there; we wed.” He knew there must be kinder words to say they had no choice in the matter, but he wasn’t of a mind to search for them now. “Know you how long it would take you to walk to Penclyst?”

She shrugged in reply and looked down at the ground.

“Have food with you?” he asked roughly.

She shook her head.

His frown deepened. "Aren't you hungry? Maudie said you refused food all day."

"I had no appetite."

His hands went to his hips. He could put a stop to this by grabbing her and forcing her to return, but realized it would be a temporary solution, for he’d no doubt she’d try this again. “‘Tis dangerous to sleep alone in the wood. Wolves, boars, bears—”

“I would sleep in a tree.”

“Fall and break your arm again?”

She looked up quickly.

He saw her worried expression disappear, the near smile. He spoke in a gentler tone. “I want you to come back with me.”

With a sad sigh, she looked back down at the ground.

He gritted his teeth and forced himself to patience. “I don’t want to have to force you to come back with me. Should I have to force you, I shall have to beat you, you know.” There. That’s a threat she understands.

She snapped her head up and her gaze searched his face.           

Now that she recognized he wasn’t a man to be taken lightly, he silently congratulated himself. “When we return you may do whatever you like to the hall so it suits you. It does stink.”

Gwynneth was amazed to hear such words come from him, and felt a surge of pleasure he’d allow her such freedom. “I may?”

"Yea. Should be pleasant for our wedding."

She searched his face carefully, but saw no part of his smile touch his eyes.

“I have spoken to Sheila,” he informed her. “She’s the one who… You’ll have no cause for complaint from her,” he assured her, his tone of voice hinting at dire, unpleasant consequences should Sheila ever cause Gwynneth to voice a complaint.

Her eye opened wide. Was that what she’d seen?

He took her meat knife and dagger from his belt, and held them before her. When she reached for them, he pulled back. "I trust you," he cautioned.

She smiled. Foolish man! Did he think she would ever use her dagger on him?

He glowered at her. “I warn you, should you ever brandish this before me, I shall have to beat you.”

“Never,” she promised softly.

“And no more tears. I hate tears. Should I see tears, I shall beat you. You understand?”

“Yea,” she replied softly. “Is there aught else I needs do to avoid a beating?” She bit her lip closed at his look of shock.

He cleared his throat. “Yea.” He cleared his throat once again. “Yea. As my wife, I’ll not tolerate mindless chatter from you, nor angry silences, nor witless complaints.” He glared at her, as if daring her to whimper up a complaint, grunting when she remained silent.

"Now Gwynneth, you cannot be running off every time I raise my voice to you.”

Raise his voice? He’d threatened to put me away! She arched her brows and opened her mouth to protest.

“Gwynneth,” he continued quickly, “I say things when I am angry. Things I don’t mean to say. It…” He stopped and shrugged. 

It wasn’t an apology, but she was sure it was as close to one as she’d ever get from him. It satisfied her. She nodded, and then rested her hand on his arm.

He acknowledged her silent acquiescence with a grunt. “No running away again," he warned darkly. “Know I would quickly find you, and then have to beat you. ‘Tis best you understand I'm not a man who abides women running away from him."

She nodded meekly, and looked down as she bit her bottom lip to keep it closed. Although she dearly wanted to inquire how many women in his life had felt the need to run away from him, she didn't think that now was the time to task him with such a question.

He might threaten to beat her. It took all her willpower to keep from laughing aloud.

Alden stood silent at a distance.

Geoffrey’s eyes  looked from Alden to Richard and back again. He knew protecting his lord was now going to be immensely more difficult, and all because of Lady Gwynneth.

* * * *

I hope you enjoyed the blurb and excerpt. If you want to know more about the wild-blooded world I write about, please visit my website, listed below. 

This book is to be the first in a series. Next comes THE WAY OF THINGS, next is DELLA, and then, THE LADY ANNE.

 

My website: http://gerribowen.wordpress.com

Facebook:     https://www.facebook.com/pages/Gerri-Bowen-Author/101843383759

Twitter:          https://twitter.com/#!/GerriBowen

Amazon author page: http://www.amazon.com/Gerri-Bowen/e/B002BLL6ZE/ref=sr_ntt_srch_lnk_1?qid=1340469903&sr=1-1

Links to buy:  

http://www.amazon.com/For-Love-of-Gwynneth-ebook/dp/B008EFANKK/ref=sr_1_1?s=digital-text&ie=UTF8&qid=1340638445&sr=1-1&keywords=For+Love+of+Gwynneth

http://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/for-love-of-gwynneth-gerri-bowen/1111808843?ean=2940014628945

THE EAGLE - PART ONE - The Eagle's Woman

I have to admit it added something to my morning to wake up to my new book cover. This story of the Vikings in Ireland, The Eagle's Woman, should be out this summer. It's part one of a multi-part series, The Eagle, tracing the sometimes exalted, sometimes tortured path of Ari Bjornssen, nicknamed by his men The Eagle. Picking up a likely-looking slave girl in Ireland is only the beginning of his troubles. From Ireland to Norway to the trade capital of the ancient Viking world, Hedeby, he will find his life inextricably linked with Maeve's. A sequel, The Eagle's Lady, is in progress. I can't wait to see the cover for that one!

BLOOPERS - ENJOY!

Romance Reviews Long and Short Reviews: Highland Legacy by B. J. Scott

Romance Reviews Long and Short Reviews: Highland Legacy by B. J. Scott: Highland Legacy by B. J. Scott Publisher: Soul Mate Publishing Genre: Historical Length: Short Story (132 pages) Heat Level: Spicy R...

MARKETING FOR ROMANCE WRITERS - SUMMER CAMP!

Is this you?

"Do I have a marketing plan? Are you kidding? I'm buried with writing, editing, fighting with a website, trying to balance a job, family, and all the other demands of life. If I think about taking on more, I start to stress out. But I'll listen to suggestions. I need all the help I can get."

Are you a writer who fights constantly to find better ways not only to write, but also to promote?

MFRW is open to all authors, agents, editors, promo services, publishers, cover designers, artists, and virtual assistants.

Need help? Like to offer solutions?

Join us

We focus on marketing and publicity efforts of ALL authors in ALL genres. We discuss ways to advance our writing and careers, brainstorm ventures and ideas, get feedback, and find others for mutual promotion. If you seek advice on how to market and promote you're welcome here.

-       Our group rules are simple. Keep it business-only.

-       NO promos, excerpts, contests, newsletters, vote for me, read my blog, tweets, website, friend me, flaming, or jokes.

-       Questions, promo ideas, requests for help/advice/opinions are welcome.

Privacy Policy: We don't share your email with anyone. Period.

In additional efforts and in the spirit of doing what Marketing for Romance Writers does best, we are excited to offer our upcoming

Summer Camp 2012

On July 14^th and 15^th there will be lots of invaluable information. Pitches, Panels, Workshops and much more.

Here’s a taste of what you will see:

-       Finding Your Audience                                  

-       Niche Marketing

-       Where to Find Readers

-       QR Codes

-       BookWorm Bags - Promos for Conferences

-       Marketing to Specific Genres

-       Blogging 101

-       Preparing for Interviews

-       Helping Your Publisher to Promo Books      

-       Deep POV

-       Triberr

And much more…

So…we hope to see you there and we invite you to sign up and join in the fun.

http://groups.yahoo.com/group/MarketingForRomanceWriters/ 

Volunteer at Scottish Highland Games

The 1st Book of the Highland Games Through Time series is out!

My years as a volunteer at the New Hampshire Highland Games, held each fall in Lincoln, NH, has given me plenty of ideas for a book. Hashing out a plot, fleshing out my characters, and delving into many forms of research all came together in MY HONORABLE HIGHLANDER.

Over the last couple of years, I have been doubly blessed. My husband and I—long-time volunteers—were able to meet up with our sons, who gave up their brisk fall weekend to help the thousands of visitors find their way.

You see, we work under the Information Tent handing out programs, helping people find their way, and selling raffle tickets to fund scholarships for those wishing to follow their hearts in becoming proficient in the dance, bagpipes, harps, and more.

Our week starts with a 1400 mile road trip from North Carolina to the White Mountains of New Hampshire. We dump our belongings in our condo then head to the Loon Mountain Ski Area to make sure our tent, tables, and chairs are set up. We post our signs, say hello to people we haven’t seen all year, and welcome our family members.

Last year was a year for the unusual. Hurricane Irene blew through only a few weeks before the games. This meant we had to drive through New York City, as the roads in upstate New York, Vermont and New Hampshire had sustained major damage. Even the bridge at the entrance to Loon Mountain partially collapsed!

The governor installed a Bailey bridge in record time for pedestrian traffic. Vendors and volunteers (us) had to drive over a back road in order to get our supplies to the site. During the busiest part of the busy Saturday morning, thick black smoke from a nearby condo fire caused rescue vehicles to traverse the festivities.

Nancy at the collapsed Loon MTN bridge

I am sure other things occurred, but these stood out. All in all, the weekend was wonderful, our trip home was uneventful, and our hours volunteering means that the 2012 New Hampshire Highland Games will welcome many more visitors eager to relive the lives of their Scottish ancestors.  


More about MY HONORABLE HIGHLANDER
Bumbling present day herbalist, Haven MacKay, gets more than she bargains for when her love spell goes awry, is cast back in time, and meets her true love -- Laird Kirkwall Gunn.

Kirk's plans go slightly off course when he falls in love with a woman wandering through the Scottish Highlands. After all, he has pledged to marry another, from an enemy clan, in order to end a century-old feud.

Title: MY HONORABLE HIGHLANDER
Author: Nancy Lee Badger
Genre: Scottish Time Travel Romance
Length: 92,000 Novel

Amazon

NOOK

AllRomance EBooks

ISBN 9781476417400

For more information at the New Hamshire Highland Games click HERE.

AUTHOR BIO...Nancy Lee Badger

After growing up in Huntington, New York, and raising two handsome sons in New Hampshire, Nancy moved to North Carolina where she writes full-time. Due to a Scottish heritage, she and her family continue to volunteer at the New Hampshire Highland Games each fall. Nancy is a member of RWA, Heart of Carolina Romance Writers, FF&P Romance Writers, and the Celtic Heart Romance Writers. Nancy also writes romantic suspense as Nancy Lennea and is a proud Army Mom.

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Twitter  @NLBadger