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Tag: Historical Romance Novel

Thursday Threads presents Viola Russell. YAR PIRATES!!!!

Welcome Pirates! YAR!

BuccaneerBeauty

Genre: Historical Romance

Heat Level: Sensual

BUY LINK:  http://www.amzn.com/B010MOFENQ/

 

BUCCANEER BEAUTY is the story of Grace, Graínne, O’Malley, the beautiful daughter of a powerful Irish chieftain and a conventional mother. At the age of eleven, Graínne cuts her hair and sneaks aboard her father’s galley ship, determined to follow a life at sea and to seek the company of a handsome Scottish gallowglass, Bruce Donnel. Graínne proves herself a budding warrior when Spanish marauders invade her father’s vessel, but her parents have other plans for her. Though she proves an able sailor, Graínne is forced to marry Donal O’Flaherty, another powerful chieftain. Though enamored of Bruce Donnel, she nonetheless obeys her parents and proves an able helpmate to her violent and rash husband, continuing her own adventures at sea while raising children and supervising her husband’s home. Her heart, however, still belongs to a handsome Scot who she can never have.

 

Upon Donal’s death by ambush, Graínne continues her adventures along the Irish coast and Europe, secretly battling England’s growing power in her country. Alternately sleeping with the devil or manipulating the British authorities to her own ends, Graínne is determined to save her family and people from the tyranny imposed upon them by England. To make her family stronger, she weds Richard Bourke, one of the most powerful men in the region, but she can never forget Bruce Donnel and the passion he incited within her soul. Richard proves Graínne’s most stalwart supporter and she his, their minds and bodies uniting in an almost mystical union. Together, they faced the English with no fear—with only audacity and boundless courage. Still, the shadow of a youthful gallowglass intrudes on Graínne’s peace.

 

Excerpt:

“I wish you could come with me to Bunowen.” Grainne heard Bruce’s footsteps when he stepped on the hay spread along the barn. She looked up from grooming her chestnut horse.

“Now what would I be doing there?” Bruce ambled toward her and began stroking the mare’s nose. The horse stomped on the ground with her right front hoof and let out a fierce snort. The Scot took a step back.

“She thinks you mean to dishonor me.” Grainne grinned at him as she combed the horse’s mane. “My da gave her to me after that first voyage. Before that, I’d only had a pony. He said I could handle Anu after that.”

Bruce had regained his courage. He searched within the folds of his cloak and offered the horse a carrot. Anu gazed at him with what looked like suspicion, sniffing the tempting vegetable. “She’s a wild one.”

Grainne laughed and threw her arms around the animal’s long neck. “She’s a smart one, you’re meaning.” She stared at the now fully-grown man before her. His fair hair fell lightly onto his shoulders, and he wore the tartan trews typical of his people. She glanced at the way his muscular legs bulged within the tight material of his tartan trews. He’d spent most of his life yielding an axe, and Grainne didn’t want to admit to herself how lonely the months were when he returned to his native land with the rest of his men. “How old are you now, Bruce Donnel?”

Bruce watched as Anu took a generous bite from the carrot, then he lifted it to his own lips, grinning. “Older than you, Lady Grainne.” He studied her for a few minutes. “Twenty.”

“So no Highland Lass has won your heart, has she?” Grainne swept the coarse mane from the comb and tossed it aside. She wiped her hands on her trews and pushed a stray strand of hair from her face.

“No, my heart’s been stolen by an Irish goddess, but I can’t have her.” He turned to the pawing horse and shared the rest of his carrot.

Grainne’s heart hammered inside her breast. She took a deep breath and forced levity into her voice. “Who is she, pray tell?”

Bruce was suddenly so close to her that she could feel his hot breath feathering the slight hairs on her neck. “Don’t play with me, Grainne. It hurts too much.”

Grainne swallowed hard as her very being lurched with desire and aching need. Every sinew in her body wanted to wrap him within the all-consuming fire of her passion. She forced a laugh into her voice. “What hurts? By what I hear aboard ship you waste no time pining for the chieftain’s daughter. You’re quite the man about port. Many a Spanish and French lass can attest to that.”

“They mean nothing.” His fingertips lightly touched a strand of her hair, but he jerked away as if an electric jolt raced through his body. He added bitterly, “But you’re the daughter of one of the most powerful men in Connaught, and you’re soon to be the wife of another. I’m a poor mercenary.”

“Not so poor by what I’ve heard.” Grainne struggled to control her own rapid breathing. The heat of his body infiltrated her very pores. “Rumor has it you’ve farmland in the Highlands.”

Bruce’s face was very close to hers as he moved closer to her, his breath fanning against her lips as they lightly touched hers.  Grainne involuntarily touched his cheek, her fingertips on fire and her own breathing sounding loud in her ears. “You’ve heard right. It would be a great place to raise sheep, if I had the right woman.”

“Aye. It would be in a place with the right woman.”

Grainne looked away, but she still felt his heat. He cupped her chin under with his thumb and forefinger, forcing her to look at him. His brown eyes bore into her soul. Grainne’s whole body grew hot, and she gently slapped away his hand. Turning from him, she replied softly over her shoulder, “I have to finish with Anu.”

“Would you leave with me, my wild rose?” Suddenly, Bruce’s powerful arms encircled her waist. He ran his lips along her neck as his hands shifted to her breasts.

Grainne turned to him, almost against her as though she couldn’t help her conscious will. In his arms, she wasn’t possessed of a mind at all, only an aching body that longed for sexual release. During her long journeys at sea, Grainne had acquired many unsavory sailors’ habits. She loved to game and swore in such a way that made her mother cross herself before flailing her only daughter, but Grainne had never given of herself to man. She’d purposefully withheld her sexual favors from the men inhabiting her father’s ships. Grainne was a chieftain’s daughter. She wouldn’t disgrace him or herself.

 

Viola Russell

By Viola Russell

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STELLA’s THURSDAY THREADS PRESENT CD HERSCH!!!

SONOFTHEMOONLESSNIGHT

TITLE: The Turning Stone Chronicles: “Son of the Moonless Night
GENRE: Urban fantasy, Paranormal, Romance
HEAT LEVEL: Sensual

Currently available in eBook on Amazon at: http://amzn.com/B00XK3E172

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?

Excerpt from Son of the Moonless Night:

A crash in the alley stopped Katrina Romanovski mid-stride. Like the October mist swirling in off the lake, her gypsy blood stirred sending her intuition into high gear. Something unnatural was happening.

Go see what’s wrong. She heard her father’s voice as clearly as if he stood next to her.

On the heels of his words came her mother’s pragmatic warning in clipped British tones. You know what curiosity killed. Katrina pushed the ever-present warning aside. Mom never approved of Dad’s supernatural hunts and even less of his drawing her into them.

Pulling the oversized cross she always wore out from under her shirt, Kat looked around for a weapon. Please, not a vampire. I hate vampires! A piece of wood sticking out of the trashcan at the front of the alley caught her eye.

Grabbing it, she broke the end off into a sharp point. The mist-filled air filtered the light from the single bulb over one of the alley doorways. The wind swirled the loose trash around making a quiet approach difficult. Sidestepping the paper, with the stake in one hand and holding the gun she took from her purse in the other hand, she crept into the alley.

A roar echoed against the buildings, the sound nearly sending her running. That roar wasn’t a vampire. It sounded more like an animal. Kat inched closer. In the yellow pool of light from the back door of the building, a black bear, over seven feet tall, reared on its back legs and swung its paw at the man standing at the edge of the light. He crashed to the ground, shirt torn open from the slashing claws. Blood covered the fabric, and he clasped his left hand over his shoulder to stem the flow. The bear bent toward him, teeth bared in a smile. A wicked smile.

Kat aimed her gun, but before she could pull the trigger, a shot rang out. The flash of gunpowder lit the face of the injured man. The blast reverberated against the buildings. With an enraged bellow, the bear staggered backward against the wall. Shaking his head, the animal dropped to all four paws. Weaving like a drunk, he lumbered toward his attacker. The man took aim again, shooting the animal between the eyes. Animal and human collapsed on the dirty, littered pavement.

As she started to move forward, Kat’s gypsy senses crawled over her skin like angry red ants. As she slipped back into the shadows, the bear shed fur. Changing size. Then, finally, turning into a man.

Shape shifters. Her stake wasn’t any good against them, and her bullets weren’t silver. This one appeared dead anyway. Had the wounded man seen the shift? Tossing the stake aside, she paused by the shifter and quickly moved to the wounded man. Out cold. Still human.

When she touched him, his eyelids fluttered open. “Did I get it?”

“What?”

“The bear.”

CD Hersch

 

Where you can find CD:

Soul Mate Publishing: http://smpauthors.wordpress.com/

Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/cdhershauthor

Amazon Author Page: http://www.amazon.com/C.-D.-Hersh/e/B00DV5L7ZI

Twitter: https://twitter.com/AuthorCDHersh

Goodreads: http://www.goodreads.com/CDHersh

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‘How To Marry Your Wife’

Tell me. What do you think? COMING NOVEMBER 18th!

What foul devilry is this? They told her he was dead. After six long years without a word, her knight falls onto his knees and sings poetry. Then he denies their son? Heed this well. She’s no longer an innocent who’ll giggle and tarry on his every word. The sharp edge of her tongue and knife is the only welcome he’ll get. She’ll not marry him. Besides, the pain would be too much to bear should he leave her again.

Shocked beyond measure that he has a son, a Templar agrees he must wed. He insists his new family travel with him to his lands in the north. It’s a long road from London to Hadrian’s Wall and evil deeds weave into a plot laced with castles, kidnappings, and pigeons. Will the journey split them asunder forever? Perhaps only in heaven will he find a way into her hardened heart.

Check out the prologue.

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‘How To Marry Your Wife’ – Blurb and Cover

Tell me. What do you think? COMING NOVEMBER 18th!

What foul devilry is this? They told her that he was dead. After six long years without a word, her knight falls onto his knees and sings poetry. Then he denies their son? Heed this well. She’s no longer an innocent who’ll giggle and tarry on his every word. The sharp edge of her tongue and knife is the only welcome he’ll get. She’ll not marry him. Besides, the pain would be too much to bear should he ever leave again.

Her attitude is beyond understanding. What voice did he have? The king commanded and he obeyed. Regardless of her hatred, the Templar knight weds. This time she will travel with him and he will win back her favor. It’s a long road from London to Hadrian’s Wall. Evil deeds weave a plot laced with castles, kidnappings, and missives. Will the treacherous journey split them asunder forever? Mayhap only in heaven will he rekindle the passion they once shared.

The prologue is right here. Click and get ready!
 

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Writing a Novel

k10ALAS!

Sometimes writing wrings my soul dry. More than an actor I must become my characters. I share their desires. I feel their pain. I cry. I want to help but like a good and gracious god, I know they must go through these chapters in order to be happy and productive, post-novel. It’s hard to explain but in my mind’s eye, these people are real. I’m just documenting a segment of their lives.

As heroine, I have survived much trauma. As I fall in love I begin to remember why I don’t want a man to touch me. I am torn and tormented. I shed tears as the memories of my attack begin so seep into my consciousness.

As the hero, I am living a lie. I either get the heroine to fall in love with me or die. The more attracted I become to her, the more I detest myself. I can find no way out. Until I am knighted, my life is little more than that of a slave. Even then, I will be underneath my grandfather’s powerful rule. If he wants her pregnant with my child, so be it.

Oh dear hearts. Worry not. We are but on the fifth chapter. It seems bleak now, but we will prevail.

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Free Sneak Peak at ‘How To Marry Your Wife’

bathhouse

Year of our Lord 1276

England, near London Towne

Prologue

Behind them, massive columns stood tall as their only chaperones in the ancient Roman bathhouse. Peepers croaked, night birds lamented, and water gurgled as it cascaded down from each of the three tiers. Sir Thomas led her deeper into the shadows made by blue moonlight. Tiny waves of light reflected off the pools and onto his beautiful Norman features.

The dark centers of his eyes widened as he brushed his lips over hers. “You shouldn’t be here.”

“You don’t want me?” Merry’s lower lip quivered. Thick black hair caressed the tender places between her fingers when she reached her hands to the back of his head. Warmth spread from where their lower halves met and she kissed him with all her being.

Her Templar knight groaned. “I’ve promised your liege that I’ll not lay with you until we’re wed. If we continue down this road, my honor will be questioned.”

Letting go of his silky wet locks, she reached into her purse and waved six colorful ribbons of yarn in front of his nose. “But I brought these.”

He leaned over to where he’d placed his sword, belt, and boots and came up with similar lengths of wool. “As did I.”

Her cheeks ached with the wide grin she sent his way. “Anon. Let’s do it.”

Rough palms cupped her face as the man she adored bore a hole into her soul with his gaze. “Lass. ‘Tis serious. We’ll be hand-fasted. Are you sure you want this?”

She covered his hands with her own and fell into the depths of those magnificent eyes. The drum in her chest beat faster and her lips parted. “I’m six and ten seasons. I know my own mind.”

A soft moan escaped his perfect lips and his kiss went deeper than any of the others they’d shared all summer. One of his hands slid to the back of her head and the other glided down her back and clamped her bottom globe. He pulled her tight to his hard want and her mind filled with lustful thoughts.

Warm breath met her ear. “We’ll have a proper wedding when I return from London Towne in a fortnight. Ready?”

She nodded and held forth her hand with the yarns.

Never releasing her from his fierce gaze, he clasped his sword arm to hers, tied them together with the yarn, and bound them forever. “I take thee as my wife.”

With eyes watering, her hand shook as she brushed a dark lock from his grey eye. “I take thee, as my husband, for all eternity.”

He flicked his cloak open and lay her down. Then there was only him; his scent, his tongue, and his hands pulling her so close that she mayhap died and went to heaven. He went to his knees with a small growl in his chest and removed his colors. Slivers of moonbeams danced across his glorious body. Strength bumps above his navel led down to small curls of black hair. The ‘V’ pointed a staff so large, surely it would never fit. Holy mother of God. Her mouth lost its liquid and she swallowed hard.

“Don’t worry, love, all will be well.” He leaned over and devoured her in gentle kisses. Their tongues danced and her heart soared. One knee lifted, he straddled her, and found the hem of her tunic. He muttered an apology as it tore when it caught coming over her head. Then his mouth dropped open, his hard pintle danced upon her navel, and he sucked in his breath.  “Bloody love of Christ. You’re perfect.”

She arched up so that the aching wet spot between her legs could rub against his length. His soft kisses started at her mouth, lowered to her breast, and he suckled.

“Please…” The lips between her legs swelled. She moaned at the sweetness of his hands kneading her breasts and his tongue licking the tips of her ever-hardening nipples.

He spread her legs wide with the outside of his knees and rasped, “We play with fire.”

A calloused fingertip rubbed the pebble between her legs, she closed her eyes, and prayed for release. Never had she experienced such need, such wanting. It was as if the gates of heaven were open and she but a foot away.

His wet tongue laved the perfect spot and she gasped. Heated breath from his hiss met her folds and she swelled. A gentle nibble and…oh dear God in heaven… She burst apart, bright lights flashed behind her lids, and her body shook in perfect release.

He slid up her naked body and kissed her fiercely upon the lips tasting of her. “Clamp your thighs around my rod.”

She did as told, and he rubbed it against her sensitive nub again and again but did not enter her. He thrust once more, she clamped him tight, and he shouted into her mouth. His release sent her over the cliff again and she went to holy bliss as sticky fluid lubricated her inner thighs.

“Mine.” He fell onto his side, panting.

She sighed and turned towards him. When their breathing calmed, she said, “I wish you didn’t have to go.”

“But I do and you should be off to your pallet. Soon we’ll lay together every night, then I shall breach you as a proper husband does his wife.” He reached across her body for her skin of wine lying on the mosaic tiles and drank deep.

A tiny squeak escaped her lips. “Wait, no. Thomas. Don’t!”

He looked at her askance and his eyes darkened with a fierce scowl. “What was in that draught?”

She shivered. “Just a foolish love potion from old Agatha. I wasn’t really going to use it.”

He moaned and his eyes rolled to the top of his head. “’Tis no love potion, ‘tis juice of the poppies. Quickly, get dressed and leave. You’ve no idea its affect upon me.”

“I won’t. This is all my fault.” Oh what have I done?

“Merry. Do as I say. Go.” His body convulsed.

Sobbing she held him, not daring to leave and not daring to tell a soul. He hardened again, and this time there was no stopping, no restraint, just his pure love inside her. He was fierce and hard and beautiful all at the same time. When his breathing became calm, and his moaning stopped, she dressed and ran back to her chambers, no longer a virgin. Already the cock crowed and pale orange of the rising sun lit the grassy knolls in the distance.

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An Interview with Ann and Marcus

I go back in time, to the year 1276 to have a short speak with Ann and Marcus. They insist we chat while soaking in their ancient Roman bathhouse and I have to agree, it’s heavenly.
bathhouse

It’s odd to get naked with my characters, but I am sitting so that I am mostly concealed under the water. I wish Marcus would do so as well, but every so often he pushes up with hands to the edge, and gracefully exits. I can’t help but stare at his magnificent warrior’s physique.

When he eases back in with the grace of a cat, I start my questions with Ann. “I hear you are with child?”

She beams and rubs her swollen belly. “Indeed I am. Do you know if it’s a boy or girl?”

I do, but won’t spoil the surprise. “No, no. We will find out together in book two.”

“Book two? You mean for us to have another adventure? I believe I would rather not” Her mouth purses and turns down into a pout.

Marcus glares at me. “I thought we were safe in happily-ever-after.”

I swallow hard. “Well, yes and no. That’s why I’m here. Sir Thomas is going to need your help, Marcus. Ann, I’m afraid you will be stuck minding hearth and home.”

Her eyes dart to Marcus, no doubt waiting for him to agree but he seems mollified for a moment. “That hardly seems just.”

I clear my throat. “I know, but you’ll be pregnant with your third child… and it doesn’t seem right to have you off on an adventure to Scotland. Besides, who’ll mind your villagers?”

She settles back into the water with a happy face and reaches for a clay pot. “Three children? Very well. As long as you agree that my husband will not meet with ill fortune.”

I nod and turn such that I face the tub wall, not wanting to show my body to my characters. After all, I am author-god. I should look a hell of a lot more… god-like. “There will be some perilous moments but not so much for him as for Thomas.”

Grabbing soap salts, she begins to scrub my back with a linen cloth. “Sir Thomas? I thought you sent him to parts unknown. To trade for the king.”

The lavender scent is heavenly. “I did, but I had to bring him home. You know the lovely maid he’s been eyeing all summer? I’m afraid she is with child.”

Marcus growls and glances at his sword lying beside the pool. “I shall gut him from chin to-. Bring him back this instant. First there must be a wedding.”

I turn, put my palms up in the air in supplication, then quickly duck back down. “Well that’s just the point of the story. It’s going to be five years before I can get him back.”
“Absolutely unacceptable. By God, I won’t have any knight of mine making a chit pregnant.”

“Be reasonable. I cannot. He’s south of Rome by now, and makes his way to the east where neither pigeon, nor messenger can catch him.”

“Oh my. Well, we’ll just have to make the best of it.” Ann hops out of the water, dons her tunic, and rushes out the door in bare feet.

Marcus follows at a slower pace, sparing one glance back at me. “There better be another happily-ever-after, or heads will roll”
I lean back into the heated baths and sigh. That went quite well.

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Where do Writer’s Get Ideas for Their Novels?

Where do Writer’s Get Ideas for Their Novels?

I just finished my final change before my second book goes to my publisher and I’m already considering the plot for the next.
I would guess every author’s brain is different, but this is how mine works.

First, and foremost, my books start with “What-If”. Let me try to explain this odd phenomenon. It’s a thread that’s constantly running in the background of my consciousness; it never sleeps, it never turns off, and it never “blocks.” It’s a funny little troll that has always spoken at will in my mind’s eye.

It goes like this:

Example. What if one day I walk by the creepy house on the hill next door, a cardboard box is dropped onto their driveway during a UPS delivery, and hundreds of bottles of prescription drugs roll down to my feet?

Example. What if I’m sitting at my cube, writing software, and I’m called to the front office to receive delivery of a computer. I turn it on for the first time and a video plays that says to hide it and tell no one or die.

Example. What if I’m a scientist studying the effect of comforting sounds on the human psyche and place a microphone over a gurgling stream deep in the woods, and that night, overhear two guys burying a body? When I check it out with the cops the next day, there’s nothing there and I lose my credibility. I continue to listen in and hear much more than I should…

Example. What if I’m a Renaissance-thinking lady, leading a Medieval village into prosperity, and suddenly am forced to marry a hard-headed Templar knight?

Example. What if I have a five year old son, and his father, who I think is dead, shows up on my doorstep near London Towne? What if the year is 1278 and I’m forced to marry him and he lives miles away at the border with Scotland?

Look into your pocket or purse. Find an object. Make up your own What If.

Try it out. I’ll give you a start.

What if last night, at the bar, you picked up the wrong cell phone? It rings and you hear a recorded message not intended for you.

What if…a key…

What if…a receipt…

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Midwest Book Review

MidwestBookReviewHow To Train Your Knight
Stella Marie Alden
Soul Mate Publishing, Macedon, NY 14502
ASIN: B00WRNKOOU $2.99 Free with Kindle Unlimited
www.stellamariealden.com http://www.amazon.com/dp/B00WRNKOOU

D. Donovan, Senior Reviewer, Midwest Book Review

Most medieval novels don’t offer up a steamy romance theme; but then, How To Train Your Knight isn’t your usual historical novel, but offers a gripping love story set in 1276 that opens with the bang of a screaming woman accosting Sir Marcus Blackwell, a holy crusader forced into a marriage with a foul-tempered widow.

Lies, ladies, she-witches, murder and love are vividly portrayed as characters are well-developed and dialogue and description nicely done to capture the sounds, scents, feel and lingo of Medieval times (without resorting to confusing vernacular, which makes for an exceptionally smooth read).

Where other romances would fall into modern description, How To Train Your Knight stays true to its times, tailoring its graphic sexual encounters with a sense of the decorum and trappings of Medieval times. From the period clothing of the era which is removed with a different touch (“…finally he undid the leather ties holding the three sheaves, and her knives clunked to the floor.”) to a woman’s acceptance of the pleasure involved in making babies (which doesn’t translate to the usual confession to a priest if a husband is involved), Stella Marie Alden excels at presenting powerful protagonists who both express their sexuality and discover riches of the heart in the process.

Because romance is the key, binding factor in How To Train Your Knight, audiences should be genre readers looking for a healthy dose of history to spice the steamy interludes. These factors contribute to a powerful story line that is as much about sexual awakening and love as it is about the process of becoming a powerful partner and surviving the medieval world.

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Sneak Peak “How to Train Your Knight”

Marcus was up and comfortably saddled before dawn the next day. When his wife appeared from out of the bathhouse, the sun had not yet appeared, but a soft yellow light had spread across the sky.

“Not a word from you.” He eyed Charles with suspicion. The stable lad responded with a wide-eyed nod, just as she ran across the green and into the church.

“I’ll be right back. Keep Midnight in readiness.” He dismounted and gave his disappointed horse a pat on the rump. Entering the stone abbey by the back door, he was surprised to land in the monk’s quarters. The sparse room held a table, a clay lamp, two pallets, a hearth, and some furs. James, kneeling quietly in prayer, stood slowly, frowned, and regarded him with a furrowed brow.

“I’m sorry to disturb you, but I’d like to join the mass unseen.” Marcus held palms open and up.

“What’re you up to, Blackwell? I’m not sure we’re on the same side. Lady Ann has been like a daughter to me and the manner of your wedding pleased me not.”

“Truly?” He raised his eyebrows. “I’ve yet to even enter relations with her. I’m the one who should be affronted. She’s the one who’s dressed as a lad, running about like a wild hellcat. I’m merely watching out for her safety. How does the church allow it?”

James regarded him for a moment more and gave a quick nod. He led him down a narrow stone hallway to a pew set up behind the altar and out of view of the congregation. “Blessings upon you, my son. And good luck.”

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