Bits 'n Bobs Author Blog
For a sizzling blend of Medieval romance and passion, read Camulus, by Bambi Lynn.
Camulus Vass wants a simple life, absent the power and responsibility that can consume a man. But being laird of a clan as large as the Munro does not offer such luxury. Always under the domineering heel of his uncle, Cam has allowed himself to become a pawn. But the arrival of a mysterious newcomer awakens a beast within him that will not be tamed.
Màili has been given the task of rooting out the spawn of an ancient god. It’s the only way to take her revenge against the man who betrayed her. But getting what she wants means taking the life of the man she loves. Will her hunger for a mortal man wreak further havoc on her already bleak future?
Cam pulled the linen from his shaggy, ebony mane and locked his rich brown eyes, glistening with excitement, on hers. He stepped out of the tub, dropping the linen to the floor. "Come to me, woman." Cam wrapped his arm around her waist and pulled her against him. He claimed her mouth with his, prying her lips open and invading her with the sweetest tasting tongue she had ever known.
Màili lost herself in that kiss. The power of it sent jolts of pleasure to every pore in her body. She tingled all over, her senses melding until she could no longer remember anything other than the man before her. She kissed him back with all the self–pity of a woman who had been betrayed by love and yearned to get even a piece of herself back.
The power of her desire for Cam surprised her. Màili was certainly no stranger to the ways of men and women. She had learned a lot over the centuries. This was the first time she had found anyone she thought could teach her anything. A nagging possibility tickled the edge of her thoughts, but she pushed it aside.
Màili dragged her mouth from his, nibbling along his jaw and across the pulse at his throat. With her hands on his chest, she urged him back toward the bed all the while trailing her lips, her tongue down his body. He tasted like nectar and all Màili could think of was more, more, more.
This week on Thursday Threads I have Meggan Connors and her Highland romance,
Heat Rating: Sensual
Genre: Historical Romance
When Kenneth Mackay, long-banished rogue and thief, returns to the Mackay holding at the request of his brother, he has no idea what he might find. He certainly doesn’t expect to be confronted with his twin’s imminent death, or with the plan his brother has concocted.
Ten years before, Malcolm made a tragic mistake, and, to preserve the family name—and his own skin—he allowed Kenneth to take the fall. Now that he is dying without an heir, Malcolm plans to atone for his mistake: by giving Kenneth his life back. All Kenneth has to do is assume his brother’s identity. But complicating matters is the unexpected return of Lady Isobel Mackay, the daughter of an English marquess and the wife Malcolm didn’t want.
Isobel barely knows the husband who abandoned her even before their marriage, and she’d long since given up hope on having a real marriage with him. Yet when she returns to the Mackay holding far earlier than expected, she finds her husband a changed man. Despite the hurt between them, Isobel’s heart responds to this man who cares for his entire clan as if there were family. Who, for the first time, cares about her as if she is, too.
Falling in love with her husband had never been part of Isobel’s plan. But when their future is suddenly in peril, Isobel must find a way to save him—from himself and from the deception threatening to tear them apart.
She ignored Grant’s angry protests behind her and ran for her husband’s bedchamber. Slamming open the door, she stumbled inside.
Malcolm lay in the great bed. Alone.
Alone. She tried not to speculate about what meant.
His breathing was shallow, as if he’d been running. As the door bounced back and closed, his sky-bright eyes shot up and met hers.
No, not sky-bright. Darker, the color of the forget-me-nots that bloomed in the gardens in spring. The color of the night sky as it lightened with the first rays of dawn.
“Milord.” She gasped for breath.
Malcolm had never looked at her like he did now. This time, when he studied her, it was as if he didn’t dislike what he saw.
Being honest with herself, Malcolm had never disliked her. After all, the term dislike implied a depth of feeling he almost certainly lacked.
Grant was suddenly at her back. “Sir, I apologize. She’s faster than you’d think.” He laid a hand on her shoulder, as if to steer her from the room.
She shook him off.
“Indeed.” Malcolm smiled, and a charming dent in his cheek appeared.
How had she not noticed that before?
“We will leave at once.” Grant took her by the arm.
She wrenched out of his grasp. “I’m not going anywhere. Not until I have my audience.” She glanced around the room and saw no sign of Malcolm’s mistress.
“Lady Mackay,” Grant began.
Malcolm held up his hand. “‘Tis fine, Grant. I can always make time for my lady wife.”
Isobel barked a hollow laugh, alleviating the ache, just a little.
“Are you certain?” Grant’s eyes shifted from Isobel to Malcolm and back again. A wrinkle formed between his brows, and the muscle in his cheek worked as he ground his teeth together.
He’d only ever done that when he was agitated or anxious.
But there was no reason for that, as Malcolm had never truly cared enough to keep secrets from her in an attempt to spare her feelings. Nor had he ever forced others to do the same.
Malcolm’s eyes met Grant’s, and something passed between the two men. Her husband gave Grant a clipped nod. “If you’ll excuse us, Grant.”
Grant released his breath slowly. His eyes narrowed first at Malcolm, then at Isobel. Scowling, he bowed his head. “Mackay,” he said stiffly. He turned to Isobel. “Lady Mackay.”
Isobel watched him go then waited until the door had closed behind him. “So, where is she?”
Malcolm arched a dark brow. “Where is who?”
“You know. Her.”
He lifted a single shoulder, as if she didn’t have a right to know. “I doona ken.”
The silence that fell between them was deafening, damning.
Finally he said, “Your arrival was unexpected.”
She breathed a mirthless laugh. “I have no doubt.” She expected him to look ashamed, but his expression didn’t hold even the slightest hint of remorse. She swallowed against the betrayal rising in the back of her throat and tried again. “Why are you abed?”
“I’ve been ailing. Naught to fash yourself over.”
She approached his great bed tentatively. “Ailing how? Has your cough worsened?”
He glanced down at his coverlet and then brought his gaze back to her face. “For a time, aye. I believe I’m on the mend now.”
Isobel pressed her hand to his forehead, then his cheek. His skin felt cool beneath her palm, if a little damp.
His breath hitched, then he cleared his throat. “Satisfied? As you can see, I am on the mend.”
“Perhaps,” she whispered. She ran her hand around to the back of his neck, then descended to his back.
He wore a thin linen shirt, unsuitable for the cool nights of the Highlands in late fall. She placed her hands between his shoulder blades. He was thinner than she remembered, but there was no mistaking Malcolm’s unique strength.
“Breathe,” she said, and then reminded herself to do the same.
“I hardly think—”
“If you want me to leave you be, you will appease my curiosity. Breathe.”
Malcolm tilted his head up and studied her.
She fought the desire to look at him for as long as she could before meeting his gaze. Her heart skipped a beat as she saw something in his eyes she hadn’t seen before.
“Breathe, milord.” Heat spread up her neck to her face, and, to keep her free hand from shaking, she clenched a fist. The warmth of his body seeped through his nightshirt, scalding her hand not with fever but with something else.
The corners of his lips tilted upward before he smoothed his features. He paused for a moment too long, then held her gaze as he took an extended, deliberate breath.
She shoved the raging emotions aside and forced herself to view him as a person who needed her help.
She felt no hint of the cough that had been nagging him before she’d left.
Swallowing hard, she slid her hand between the linen and his skin, against his chest.
His heart rate kicked up.
“Breathe.” She struggled to force the word out.
I feel nothing. Nothing. He needs my help.
She closed her eyes and listened to his breathing, feeling the rise and fall of his chest beneath her hands, the steady beating of his heart. His skin scorched hers.
Her mouth dried, her tongue thick and heavy. She removed her hand. “You seem to have mended nicely.” Even to her own ears, her voice sounded strangled.
His gaze searched her face. “Aye.”
Isobel cradled her hand against her chest and stepped back from the bed, nearly tripping over her own feet. “I will leave you now, sir.”
Malcolm gave her a clipped nod. “Very well, my lady wife.”
“I—I will be in my chambers should you require me.”
He didn’t laugh, as he normally would have. “Then I shall find you there if I do. Or I will send for you.”
She backed up a few paces, bumped into a trunk, and immediately turned her attention to her skirt, trying to smooth wrinkles undoubtedly permanent from long days of travel. It was better than looking at Malcolm.
“By your leave.” Her eyes locked on the floor as she dipped into a hasty curtsy and fled.
The moment the door closed behind her, she put her back against the cold, stone wall, cradling the hand that had touched him as if she had injured it.
She’d touched his skin, felt the heat of his body, and the responding heat of hers.
He hadn’t forced her hands away. He hadn’t mocked her.
Instead, for the first time since their marriage, he’d called her wife.
Today I have CD Hersh on my blog with a unique look at some research they did for Son of the Moonless Night, due to be released tomorrow, May 27.
Some of what they uncovered was eye-opening to me! Read on!
Thanks so much for allowing us to share our research and book with your followers.
One of the fun things about writing a book is the kind of research you get to do. For our book, Son of the Moonless Night, we delved into the world of poison, because our hero, Owen Jordan Riley, is a forensic scientist with a toxicology specialty. Ever since Owen read the story of Snow White and the poison apple, poisons have fascinated him. In one scene of the book, he nearly destroys the heroine’s appetite when he launches into a dissertation on poisonous foods and plants. Here are a few poisonous foods we didn’t know about. P.S. we left out the ones Owen used to spoil the heroine’s appetite. You’ll need to read the book to find those out.
Amanita Mushrooms - These extremely toxic mushrooms have symptoms that develop six to forty-eight hours after ingesting them. By that time it’s too late to seek medical attention. Symptoms include sudden onset of extreme stomach pains, vomiting, thirst, and bloody diarrhea. Finally, you will lapse into a coma and die.
Ackee - Jamaica’s national fruit will give you Jamaica Vomiting Sickness. If you eat it before fully ripe it can cause coma or death. Don’t eat the seeds they are always toxic.
Elderberry - If the little old ladies in the play, Arsenic and Old Lace, had added roots and other parts of the tree to their elderberry wine, they might not have needed to put in the arsenic. While the berries can be eaten, the roots and other parts of the tree are highly poisonous.
Almonds - are full of cyanide. Before consumption almonds should be processed to remove the poison. Don’t worry. It’s illegal in the U.S. to sell raw almonds. So your bag of raw almonds have been heat treated to remove the cyanide.
Cherries - are in the same family as almonds. But only the cherry seed, which produces hydrogen cyanide when chewed, is poisonous. So don’t bite the cherry pip. You’ll not only break a tooth, you’ll poison yourself.
Potatoes - The stems and leaves are poisonous and so is the potato itself, if it is eaten green. Death normally comes after a period of weakness and confusion, followed by a coma.
Lima Beans - contain a high level of cyanide if you eat them raw. Be sure to cook them thoroughly, uncovered to allow the poison to escape as a gas. Don’t drink the water they are cooked in either.
So what is your favorite food that is hazardous to your health?
Title – Son of the Moonless Night, The Turning Stone Chronicles, book three
Author – C.D. Hersh
Genre – Urban Fantasy, Paranormal Suspense Romance
Heat Level - Sensual
Release Date: May 27th, 2015
Thrust back into the world of paranormal huntress, Deputy Coroner Katrina Romanovski must unravel a string of murders she believes are vampire attacks. When she discovers the shape shifter she’s in love with is the murderer, she must reconcile her feelings for him, examine her life of violence against paranormals, and justify deceiving him in order to bring him to justice.
Owen Todd Jordan Riley has a secret. He’s a shape shifter who has been hunting and killing his own kind. To him the only good shifter is a dead shifter. Revenge for the death of a friend motivates him, and nothing stands in his way . . . except Katrina Romanovski, the woman he is falling in love with.
Deputy coroner Katrina Romanovski has a secret, too. She hunts and kills paranormal beings like Owen. At least she did. When she rescues Owen from an attack by a werebear she is thrust back into the world she thought she’d left. Determined to find out what Owen knows about the bear, she begins a relationship meant to collect information. What she gets is something quite different-love with a man she suspects of murder. Can she reconcile his deception and murderous revenge spree and find a way to redeem him? Or will she condemn him for the same things she has done and walk away from love?
A head of lettuce and a grapefruit escaped from the paper grocery sack as Katrina leaned sideways on tippy toes to get the topmost lock. The vegetables rolled across the small concrete patio at the bottom of the stairway well and stopped against a leg of the wrought iron café table. Whispering an expletive, she pushed the door open and placed her purse and grocery sack on the entryway table just inside the door. Then she swiveled to get the runaway vegetables.
A very pleasant and interesting sight greeted her. A pair of dark trousers caressed a toned posterior of the man bending over to retrieve her vegetables. She fought to rein in the path her mind started down. Been too long, Katrina, she said to herself as the vision straightened and turned around.
“Oh!” he exclaimed. “I thought you had gone inside.”
The way he held the vegetables out in front of him made her wonder what his hands would feel like if he held her breasts in that manner.
“Hello? Are you awake?”
“Ah, ah,” Katrina sputtered as she focused on his face to get her mind out of the gutter.
“Okay. Awake, but not here yet.” The corner of his lips started to rise.
“You,” she breathed when she recognized him. “Where’s my grandmother’s afghan and my Cleveland Brown’s hoodie?”
“Nice to see you, too, and thank you, I’m feeling fine.”
She crossed her arms tightly over her chest. “If you hadn’t run off I’d have known you were okay.”
The smile inched up the side of his cheek, lighting his electric blue eyes. “You worried about me. How sweet.”
“Sweet, my patootie. I just . . . You could have bled . . . Oh, crap. Where’s my stuff?”
He took another step closer to her. The deep blue ring around his amazing eyes seemed to darken.
She leaned back from him.
Without taking his eyes off her, he nodded to a brightly colored gift bag on the ground beside the door. “I got blood on the afghan so I had it cleaned. It wasn’t badly stained. The blood came out. The hoodie’s a different story. I couldn’t salvage it, so I bought a replacement.” Balancing the vegetables in one hand he lifted the gift bag to her. “Forgiven? Please?”
* * *
Amazon buy links:
The Promised One (The Turning Stone Chronicles Book 1):
Blood Brothers (The Turning Stone Chronicles Book 2):
Son of the Moonless Night (The Turning Stone Chronicles Book 3):
Putting words and stories on paper is second nature to co-authors C.D. Hersh. They’ve written separately since they were teenagers and discovered their unique, collaborative abilities in the mid-90s. As high school sweethearts and husband and wife, Catherine and Donald believe in true love and happily ever after.
Together they have co-authored a number of dramas, six which have been produced in Ohio, where they live. Their interactive Christmas production had five seasonal runs in their hometown and has been sold in Virginia, California, and Ohio. Their most recent collaborative writing efforts have been focused on romance. The first two books of their paranormal romance series entitled The Turning Stone Chronicles are available on Amazon. The third book in the series Son of the Moonless Night will be released May 27th by Soul Mate Publishing.
Where you can find CD:
Soul Mate Publishing: http://smpauthors.wordpress.com/
Amazon Author Page: http://www.amazon.com/C.-D.-Hersh/e/B00DV5L7ZI
Ashley York joins me for this week's Medieval Monday post with book 2 in her Norman Conquest series,
The Gentle Knight.
BLURB: A medieval soldier returns home to find his lover died in childbirth just as his own mother had. Believing he is cursed, Peter of Normandy turns from love. When he must give escort to an Irish princess more noble than many knights, he struggles with his decision to live a solitary life. Can he take the chance that his love won't be a death sentence and possibly make them stronger?
Padraig MacNaughton's death bed decree rips his daughter, Brighit, from the shelter of her protective clan in Ireland. Forced to take vows at a Priory in England, she finds herself in the hands of lecherous mercenaries with their own agendas. Dare she trust the Norman knight to see her safely to her new life as a nun? Even when she finds in him the fulfillment of all she's ever wanted?
Or will honor and duty eclipse their one chance for happiness?
EXCERPT:. She had dreamed of him! All at once it came to her. He had taken her into his strong arms and held her tight against that hard body. Every muscle pressing into her. Then the touch of his warm lips sliding along her cheek to meet her mouth with a hungry kiss. Brighit had actually felt his lips on hers and that same heat swirled through her now.
She sighed. Yes. It was a very nice dream.
The shock of cold air accompanied with the sound of the curtain being dragged back had her eyes flying open. There in front of her was the man from the lake... the one in her very real dream. In the flash of a second, his eyes changed from wide with shock to a look she’d swear spoke of pleasure.
“And what is this?” He tipped his chin toward her, a knowing smile gracing his pleasing face.
Brighit covered herself. One arm across her breasts and one hand over her private parts. She felt like Eve posing in the Garden of Eden.
The sudden silence stole her breath away. She refused to confirm it but knew all eyes were on her.
“Do you mind?” Ivan’s voice cut through the awkward moment as he stood next to the carriage. He yanked the curtain from the fine-looking man’s hand, dropping it back in place. Brighit was again cocooned in darkness.
“Yours?” The man’s voice was low, resonating through her core. It was as appealing as his body.
She took a steadying breath, trying to calm her nerves enough to cover herself. She couldn’t have done a better job of calling attention to herself if she’d tried.
Just how many men were out there? How many men had seen her without so much as a stitch of clothing? She yanked the chemise down but it refused to cooperate. The sopping material bunched at her hips. She grabbed at her gown, her hands shaking with the rage coursing inside her.
That now familiar sound of fist-against-flesh cut through the silence.
An unfamiliar laugh. His laugh. A slight tremor responded through her insides.
“Mort,” the handsome man called to someone.
The indistinct image of a shorter man with a gaping mouth came to mind. “Yes, my lord?”
“I believe this man was about to take a terrible misstep with his fist. Does it seem to you these men have a certain…lack of knowledge?” he asked.
Ivan’s angry face came to mind. She shivered. The handsome man did not know who he was dealing with.
“I would say that it does.” The shorter man was closer now.
“Mayhap some learning is required?”
“Do you believe it’s possible, my lord? Are they trainable?”
“They have a naked woman in a carriage while they fight out here over who will get her.”
She gasped, a soundless intake of air. Like a standard being dropped, the men talked at once. Tears threatened and a few leaked down her cheek. She wiped them away. She was only trying to clean herself not be fought over. Who was he to say such cruel things about her?
The morning had started out so promising. They’d had a nice time breaking their fast with very little interaction at all. Cole’s offer of extra water had come as a surprise but not one she wanted to miss.
Sudden silence. Brighit held her breath.
“And what would your name be?”
“I am called Ivan.”
“And this…young lady?”
This was just getting worse and worse. His words fairly dripped derision.
“Brighit.” She answered for herself albeit through a clenched jaw from within the carriage.
“Ireland? You’ve taken her from Ireland?”
Brighit was surprised at his ability to name where she’d come from. She wished she were still there... any place but here. This was infuriating. She could not go out there now. They may have imagined her naked and their occasional lustful glances assured her that they did. But to have them actually see her was beyond embarrassment. Embarrassment only increased by the fact that at least two of them weren’t even known to her.
“That I have.” Ivan’s smug voice drifted to her.
“Please clothe yourself forthwith.”
He must be facing her now for he sounded very close. A warmth tingled up her spine. No! His voice may be low and quiet but there was nothing intimate about this situation. She struggled with the ties up the front of her dress.
“It’s what I’ve been trying to do.” Her irritation came through in her tone of voice. Good!
“And I wonder why you have not been successful thus far.” He had the nerve to sound irritated? “Just do it... and be quick about it.”
Arrogance oozed from the man!
“Yes, my lord.” She clipped her words, struggling with her wimple, and hoped her sarcasm carried through the curtain.
“I am hurrying!” Her thick hair refused to cooperate but she was not about to go out there with so much as a single strand visible.
The man cleared his throat. Brighit would like to take a knife to it. He may be pleasant to look at but his manners lacked even the slightest courtesy.
Buy links: Apple Kobo Amazon Barnes and Noble
With me on the blog today is Sherrie Hansen, author of the Wildflowers of Scotland series. She is sharing her latest book, a romantic suspence, Shy Violet.
Buy Link – Amazon: http://amzn.com/B00XLUEE9E
When a poor choice and some wild fluctuations in the space time continuum leave school teacher Violet Johansen stranded in the car park of Eilean Donan Castle in Scotland, Violet wonders if she’ll ever find her way back to her comfort zone. She has two choices – to trust a piper who looks exactly like someone she dated a decade ago, or a band of nefarious pirates.
Pirates. Pipers. People and mistakes from the past that threaten to haunt you forever... A castle that’s been ravaged and rebuilt... Will Violet and Nathan’s fragile new friendship survive the storm and see love reborn?
Shy Violet Excerpt:
“I’ve a passenger who needs transporting,” the red- headed girl said to the pirate at the stern of the sailboat. “She needs to go far, far away and stay there until everyone is gone.”
The girl didn’t appear nervous, but Violet was. The man didn’t look like a tour guide. He looked like a real pirate. His hair hung in long, matted dreadlocks around skin stained dark from too much sweat and sun.
“Will ye do it? We have precious little time.”
“For the price of the rest of the day’s tours.” The pirate used his fingers to scratch his skin under the greasy headscarf tied around his forehead. “Lost revenues, I cannae afford. Much as I’d like to help the lass.”
“I have no money.” Violet blinked away tears for the first time. She’d been so close.
The man must have sensed her desperation. “Climb on board. We’ll take ye for a spin in the loch and find a way to work things oot.”
A stream of tourists spewed out of the mouth of Eileen Donan castle and began to cross the moat. She took the hand that was offered, leapt aboard, then ducked and crawled to the deepest part of the boat. Her legs were crossed under her, her head bowed.
“Ahoy, mateys.” There was a clatter as the anchor was raised and ropes cinched and drawn, then a creaking noise as the boat left the dock. The waves hit with a jolt, swell after swell, a roller coaster ride of fear and regret and wonderment and terror.
“What’s yer name, fair lassie?”
She dared not look up for fear Alexander would see her. She let out a deep breath. He was more likely checking the bathrooms, consulting the authorities, or asking around to see if anyone had seen her. Would the red-haired girl be able to resist his charms? He was a knight with a thick pocketbook. He had ways of getting what he wanted and wasn’t afraid to use them, especially on young women who giggled at his good looks and swooned when he wooed them.
She’d been such a fool. “Violet. My name is Violet. Violet Johansen.”
A wave splashed over the gunnels and doused her. She clutched her glasses to make sure they hadn’t been knocked loose, and tried not to cower – it was just water. Water couldn’t hurt her. But it was bad enough, being scared silly and at the mercy of a bunch of marauding pirates who were complete strangers. She did not want to be cold and soaked besides.
The pirates swayed with the rhythm of the waves that were rolling the boat from side to side and talked among themselves, a half indistinguishable mishmash of conversation and sailing lingo in Irish brogues and the lyrical cadence of Scots.
The sea calmed, and she resisted the urge to sneak a peek at the water, the heather-covered hills and the blue-hued mountains she’d glimpsed from the castle.
“So, you’re not really pirates, right?” She didn’t dare lift her head for fear Alexander was eyeing them from the dock or using the binoculars he always traveled with to scope her whereabouts.
“Depends on how ye define pirate.”
She still couldn’t see their faces, but the voice that spoke was deep and husky.
A second voice spoke, softer and gentler. “So if I be a pirate, does that mean ye be the cooking wench from me fantasies, come to feed us delectable morsels and pleasure us on our long voyage, far from land?”
“Um. No. Sorry to disappoint you.”
The other pirates laughed, a few in silly, nervous-sounding dulcets, the rest in deep, frighteningly raunchy hoots.
“There be a group of prospective passengers waiting in line at the dock,” another voice said. That made three. She’d barely looked at the motley group when she’d jumped on the boat, but thought she remembered five or six total crew members.
“What’s this gent look like – the one ye’re hiding from? If he has a defining characteristic I could pinpoint with my eyepiece, perhaps we can determine if it be safe to swing back and pick up some paying passengers.”
Okay. She got the point. She’d always hated being a nuisance. She swallowed her pride. What choice did she have? “He’s wearing a black sports jacket with an ascot around his neck. Red, I think. He was wearing sunglasses and carrying a satchel over his shoulder for his camera, Kindle, and binoculars.”
“Ye were dating a man who carries a purse?”
She pushed her glasses higher onto her nose. “It’s not a purse. More like a backpack only smaller – and designed for men.” Why was she defending him? The man was a blimey bastard. Let them think what they would.
“I’m afraid I’ve lost all respect for ye noo. Ye know what they say aboot women who love men with purses,” said the pirate with the deep, husky voice.
“Got him in my sights,” the gentler-voiced pirate said. “We nae can turn back noo. He’s got his binoculars trained right on us.”
Her fear meter soared off the chart and she jerked involuntarily. She felt like her lungs were being crushed.
“Stay down, lass. He can see twice what I can at this distance. Take a look, Hoodie.”
“Do ye think if we returned her, all nice like, he’d give us his binoculars as a reward?” a gruff voice asked.
Great. Untrustworthy pirates. Just her luck. She mustered her courage and tried to sound intimidating. “Knowing Alexander, he’d have you charged with kidnapping and hauled before Scotland Yard.”
“It weren’t us who kidnapped ye. It were ye who commandeered our ship and made us do yer bidding.” This one had a thick brogue.
“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to drag anyone else into this mess. As for the money you’re missing out on, I’ll make it up to you somehow.”
“Oh, we’ll find a way to extract it from ye awright – sooner or later.”
A new voice. Was it the chill in the wind, or did this one sound more menacing than the others?
* * *
Twenty-three years ago, Sherrie rescued a dilapidated Victorian house in northern Iowa from the bulldozer's grips and turned it into a bed and breakfast and tea house, the Blue Belle Inn. Sherrie has also lived in Colorado Springs, CO, Augsburg, Germany, Wheaton, IL, and Bar Harbor, Maine. She grew up on a farm in southern Minnesota. After 12 years of writing romance novels, Sherrie met and married her real-life hero, Mark Decker, a pastor. They now live in 2 different houses, 85 miles apart, and Sherrie writes on the run whenever she has a spare minute. Sherrie enjoys playing the piano, photography, traveling, and going on weekly adventures with her nieces and nephew. “Shy Violet” is Sherrie’s eighth book to be published by Second Wind Publishing, a mid-sized, independent press out of Kernersville, NC.
www.BlueBelleInn.com or www.BlueBelleBooks.com
Books Titles: Wildflowers of Scotland novels - Thistle Down (a prequel novella), Wild Rose, Blue Belle, Shy Violet. Night and Day, Love Notes, and the Maple Valley Trilogy – Stormy Weather, Water Lily, and Merry Go Round.
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