I love this story.
And I lie yet again. I love every story.
Let's see, here is the order for why it's so great to write and publish.
First, there is the idea and the wonder whether you can pull it off. It works in your head. Will it translate on paper?
Next is the title. You've played around with a couple of options. You've tinkered. You've asked your friends. And then it hits you.
But you have to have a cover to go with that title. Yes, a Scot. Of course, a castle. When you get your perfect cover, you hope the story is worthy of the cover. It's that good!
Your story is dragging. Oh, what to do? Barrel through it? Or stop and work on something else for a bit? Then you get over the hump and it is so wonderful to write THE END.
Then off to your editor while you set up your pre-order at Amazon and B&N and everywhere else people might buy. And then at Goodreads, hoping you'll see your fans and some new readers click the I WANNA READ button.
And when my editor gives a thumbs up. A WOW! But you can't breathe easy yet.
The book still has to sell. Yes, RELEASE DAY! Ta Da! On January 20th!
Here it is The Trouble With Scots, Book Three in the Body of Knowledge series. Check out the Body of Knowledge page to see all about the other books in the series.
Here's a blurb:
Normally
his visions were through his eyes. This one as if he looked on outside himself at
the events unfolding.
Eadan
fought to keep the vision alive. For once he did not want the vision to end.
One thing
stood out besides the beautiful, laughing woman. He was wearing his clan blue-and-black
kilt and a white linen shirt covered by his black jacket and waistcoat with
silver buttons and buckles. His sporran was about his waist. The clothes were
distinctive because they were the clothes he wore now, including the new broach
he had just purchased in London.
When the
carriage came to a stop, Eadan glanced out the window. A flash of lightning
pierced the sky but it was a storm without rain—the kind one expects to produce
a deluge but expends itself in the drama of threatening thunder and perilous
streaks of blue-white light.
The inn
yard was busy. Several carriages filled the space as the inn filled for the night,
all worried about the hazard of road travel when the ground beneath the wheels
would be unsteady. The noise was deafening and would have been crippling if his
headache had remained.
But a
certain excitement stirred in his heart and in his loins, for it couldn’t be denied
the visionary miss had held his interest for far too long and without relief.
He could almost believe she was a ghost, a figment of his imagination, except his
visions were specific. He had watched her mature into a woman—a disturbing, uncomfortable
result at times.
He strolled
through the courtyard, entered the inn and made arrangements for a room.
Glancing about, he was supremely disappointed to see there wasn't a single
woman in the main hall, only several boisterous men well into their cups.
His valet,
a proper stiff who made sure Eadan was turned out appropriately when he was on
English soil, also made sure his luggage was carried in. Eadan requested a room
at the back of the inn where, he hoped, the cacophony would be minimized.
“Would you
like me to arrange supper in a private room, my lord?”
“Have the
food sent up, Mr. Terry. I believe I will turn in after.”
“An early
start in the morning?”
“Ten
should be soon enough.”
“Headache,
sir?”
“Remnants.
Nothing a good meal and good sleep won’t cure. If ye could arrange for a bath
also.”
“As you
wish.” Mr. Terry gathered Eadan’s belongings and headed to the assigned room.
Eadan
worked a coin from his pocket and tapped it on the wooden counter.
“My lord.”
The chubby woman working at the inn rubbed her hands on a dirty apron, glancing
only at the coin she was about to earn.
“Is there
a woman here, about so high?” He held his hand to his shoulder. “Auburn hair.”
“Her name,
my lord?”
He cleared
his throat. “I dinna ken. She smiles—”
Eadan
realized how ridiculous he sounded. The only thing more ridiculous would have
been to tell the mistress of the establishment he had only seen the
auburn-haired woman in a vision. “Never ye mind.” He tapped the coin one last
time before placing it on the counter.
Eurydice. Where are you, Eurydice?
The
trouble was no one else seemed to know where she was either. Or who. Was he
going to have to go to Hell to find her?
He
strolled to the main dining hall and glanced about the dimly lit room. A few of
the inhabitants stared back, examining him over their pewter mugs of ale. Their
shuttered looks reminded him he was more at home in Scotland. Then again,
perhaps he ought not wear his kilt while on English soil. Even if it wasn't
illegal.
Another
burst of thunder sounded and another party of travelers stumbled into the inn.
The
throaty laughter of women caused Eadan to turn toward the commotion.
His chest
constricted painfully, nearly stopping his breath.
She used
both hands to throw back the hood of her swirling cape and laughed again. “My
goodness, we've only just made it in time.”
Her smile
was brighter than a thousand suns and her dark eyes sparkled with mischief. He
knew from a hundred visions her eyes were green.
Eadan
stared, the realization heady and warming. His heart thumped with a steady beat
and he heaved a sigh as if he’d been relieved of a great weight. And then he
understood why he had never met the striking beauty. She was a Colonist. An American.
“Good
evening, your ladyship,” the innkeeper’s wife said.
“Three
rooms, my good madam,” she said.
“Of
course. Right away, mum. Oh, and mum, there was a gentleman looking for you
earlier.”
“For me?
Goodness, I can’t imagine why.”
Her
laughter filled the lighted foyer and she tossed a glance in his direction. Her
smiled faded at the sight of him. The edge of her brows creased inward and her
eyes closed slightly, taking his measure.
Visions of
her had been consistent—always the laughing, sensual creature who came to him
willingly.
There was
a palpable tension between them now. Aye,
she knew.
