Maeve Greyson's Blog, page 21

Ha! THAT title got your attention. I know. It sure got mine when the wonderfully talented Rebecca J. Clark sent me this post. I know you're going to enjoy it just as much as I did. So, without further ado, I leave you in Rebecca's entertaining care. 
Enjoy!Maeve 



Help! There’s a naked woman on my stool!by Rebecca J. Clark
For a while in college, I was an art major. Watercolor was my forte.
One of the requirements in the Fine Art curriculum was to paint live models. Naked. Er, the models were naked, not the students. Thank God. Anyway, as the day approached to have our first live model, many of us were kind of nervous and giggly about it. I mean, most of us were 18 years old and fresh out of high school.
The big day arrived, and I headed for my stool. We all had our assigned tables, and each of them had a metal stool. I circled the room, stopped in front of mine and--  There was a naked woman sitting on it.
Now, go on a TMI mental trip with me for a moment and visualize why I wouldn’t be excited about a naked woman sitting on my metal school. In a room with no air conditioning. Yeah. Eewww.“Oh, is this your stool?” asks the naked woman politely? She climbs off it and heads to her spot in the middle of the circle of drawing tables. I make eye contact with the student next to me, we both make the “eewww” face, and I discreetly swapped my stool for the one next to me. When that student arrived and took his spot on the stool, I couldn’t help giggling.
The next most embarrassing naked model story came when we had a male model posing for class. Personally, the only naked man I’d ever seen was in Playgirl. I wasn’t really looking forward to it—I was very shy. My lack of enthusiasm grew when I saw our model for the first time. Remember those Geico Neanderthal commercials? Yeah. Our model was a shorter, hairier version of that. Not so attractive. Now, usually, the professor instructed us to pick any area of the body and focus on it, so I’d usually do a shoulder, or curve of the hip, or some other innocuous body part. Today, she wanted us to paint the entire model. And the model was facing my direction. That’s okay. I’m a professional. I can do this.
I started sketching him out on my paper with loose strokes of my brush. When I got to “that” body part, I happened to glance up at his face. He was staring right at me. And he winked. Eewww!!!
The story gets even better. A few days later, some friends and I went to a restaurant to watch the Seahawks game on big screen TV (this was a long time ago—nobody had TVs in their dorm roooms). Guess who our waiter was? Yes! Mr. Naked Neanderthal. And guess who asked me out? Yes.
Eeww!!!
I didn’t live that down for a long time with my friends.
In my new book, DELIVER THE MOON, the heroine is an artist. Or, she used to be. She hadn’t picked up a pastel for years before the hero reminded her of her passion. I don’t know that she ever took a live model drawing class, but if she had, I’m sure she would have been just as embarrassed about it the first time as I was.
You can learn more about DELIVER THE MOON and Rebecca’s other books on her website (http://rebeccajclark.com).
Available at The Wild Rose Press: http://www.thewildrosepress.com/index.php?main_page=product_info&cPath=191&products_id=4897Amazon: http://www.amazon.com/Deliver-Moon-Rebecca-J-Clark/dp/1612171478/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&qid=1338608103&sr=8-1https://www.facebook.com/#!/rebeccajclark.author 

Due to a major change in our household, this post is dedicated to my husband. What upheaval –er –major change, you ask? Grab your favorite beverage and pull up a chair. I’ll give you a wee bit of back story before we get to the meat of today’s subject.
Hubby and I have been married thirty-three years. One thing I can honestly say about this particular chunk of my life is there’s never been a dull moment. Twenty-three of those thirty-three years, hubby worked twelve hour shifts that cycled back and forth between day shift and nights. His schedule only allowed two weekends off a month. The other breaks always fell during the week –while I was away at MY full time day job. Are you picking up on the trend here? Yep. You got it. Hubby and I didn’t occupy the house at the same time very much. But due to the vast differences in our personalities and idiosyncrasies, it worked. In fact, it worked DAMN WELL.
Last month, hubby retired from that job and took another position in an adjacent plant. Now his schedule is straight days. Home every night. Every freakin’ weekend off. Just. Like. Mine. *sigh*
Don’t get me wrong! I love my husband but I’m here to attest there is such a thing as too much togetherness.  ESPECIALLY if one of you happens to be a writer. An unable to manage her time well writer who becomes surlier than a sore-tailed bear when she doesn’t get any writing accomplished.
So, as I said, this post is dedicated to my husband. It’s a compilation of his warnings to those who might be toying with the idea of taking a writer as a mate.
     Learn how to cook. If you can’t cook, you better know the hours of operation to any nearby restaurants because if your writer is connected to that laptop, it’s the only way you’re gonna eat.     Put the trash can in an enclosed area so all the stuff can be strategically stacked as high as it’ll need to go or you’re gonna have to take it out once a day instead of once a week.     When your writer’s eyes get all squinchy at you over the top of their laptop screen, back out of the room. Slowly. Without taking your eyes off your writer in case they make any sudden moves.     When the dog is sitting at the front door, yipping to go outside and water the trees and your writer says, “What’s that dog want now?” That is code for: will you PLEASE get your ass up out of that recliner and walk him? Now?     Learn to follow along behind the writer wherever they go, picking up after them, and keeping track of where they’ve left glasses, keys, notes, ink pens, yadda yadda yadda. When they’re in the middle of a story, they can’t even remember their own names.     Your house won’t get or remain spotless unless you hire somebody or do it yourself.      IF your writer emerges from their world long enough to clean pig sty house under the impending doom of company coming, prepare for laser eyes mentioned in Warning Number 3.      Be thankful laser eyes are not fully armed and equipped with death ray option. Although, as writers evolve, this could be a distinct hazard in the future.I’m sure hubby has more warnings but the above are the only ones he felt comfortable sharing. I tried to pry a few more out of him and got this reply, “I haven’t lived this long by being stupid.” 
Hmm…good advice?

I've decided to start something new here at my little cyber visiting post. I've dubbed it, "Sunday Sneak Peek" because I'm entirely too wordy for "Six Sentence Sunday". This week's sneak peek is from The Highlander's Fury. I hope you enjoy it!As he turned the page of his book, the priest squinted at the pages and ran his trembling finger along the words.  “Then let the betrothal be recorded.  The wedding shall be held a year and a day from today, unless…” He cleared his throat and glanced about the room. “Unless an…uh…ev-event oc-occurs that brings about the marriage sooner.”
“If he’s anything at all like his brothers, she’ll be his wife before tomorrow’s dawn!”  A rumbling voice echoed across the hall, as Angus MacKay shouted from the back of the room.
The crowd cheered at this announcement.  They clapped their hands and stomped their feet upon the wooden benches.  “Aye, Faolan!  Consummate your vows this eve!  Dinna wait for the wedding feast!”
With a groan, Faolan ignored the rowdy crowd and bent to brush his lips across Ciara’s in the required sealing kiss.  With a start, he stiffened when she slid her soft hand up the back of his neck.  He shuddered as she laced her fingers through his hair and pulled his head down to hers.  His wind fled his lungs as she opened her mouth beneath his.  She sent him the most intimate of messages with her warm, moist tongue.  Her other hand rested on his chest as she slid her body closer.  
Instinct over-rode his stubborn mind and Faolan deepened the kiss.  He pulled her close; hardened into her curves as she pressed in subtle invitation against him.  Her delicious scent, a warm mixture of ginger and vanilla intoxicated his senses.  His mind filled with visions of what she’d look like sprawled against the pillows of his bed.  He reeled with the taste of her, lost himself in her arms; he almost forgot he stood before his clan.
“Oh Aye!  There’ll be no Wedding Feast in a year and a day for this union.  We’ll more than likely be a celebrating the christening of a bairn!  Here’s to the birth of the first of many sons!” 
Buy Links:
http://www.amazon.com/Maeve-Greyson/e/B004PE9T9U/ref=sr_ntt_srch_lnk_1?qid=1337519859&sr=8-1
http://www.thewildrosepress.com/index.php?main_page=advanced_search_result&search_in_description=1&keyword=The+Highlander%27s+Fury&x=0&y=0 

Seize the Opportunity: Opportunity Knocks at Marketing For Romance Writers Summer Camp. Open the door to: SEEK, TEACH, LEARN, SHARE, SUCCEED...and discover MFRW'S MOTTO of Achievement.
I am so pleased to be guest blogging today for Maeve Greyson for a number of reasons. First, because today is my birthday and I’m happy to be celebrating it with all of you. Second, because Maeve has created a magical Web site and I love the kind of stories she writes. Third, I’m excited about the upcoming “Opportunity  Knocks at MFRW’s Summer Camp,” sponsored by Marketing For Romance Writers (MFRW).


I joined MFRW in late March, on the advice of one of my Petit Fours and Hot Tamales blogging sisters, and I have already benefited from the experience. 


Immediately, you have a family of new friends who welcome you into the fold, supply helpful marketing advice, answer even the silliest questions, and are eager to help you launch your future. 


There are a number of opportunities to take advantage of and I’m still learning about them. There’s a great newsletter, two blogs, an online forum to interact with other members, and courses that teach you about new marketing techniques such as Triberr. I’ve already been invited to join two tribes! 


My new release was featured in ISelfPub.com because of someone I met through the group. I’m arranging to have lunch with another member who happens to live near me. The members are very generous with their knowledge and their time. I know I have just scratched the surface of what is available, but I definitely made the right decision to join the group and I’m looking forward to learning more at the Summer Camp July 14 and 15. I hope you’ll seize the opportunity and join me there.
Marilyn Baron writes humorous, supernatural short stories (A Choir of Angels, Follow an Angel and The Stand-In Bridegroom) at http://www.twbpress.com/achoirofangels.htmland humorous Women’s Fiction. Click on the link below her cover to learn more about her life and her latest release, The Edger .  The Edger

I have a confession today --not a bad confession, but a confession none-the-less. C'mere and listen close.

I think COWBOYS can be just as sexy as Highlanders. As I told my very special guest today, I was lucky enough to spend three years in San Angelo, Texas. So while a man in a kilt is my first love, I also appreciate a fine lookin' man in a snug pair of jeans with a Stetson pulled low over his eyes.

Imagine my pleasure when the Yellow Rose Line of The Wild Rose Press sent out a call for their Honky Tonk Hearts series? Whoo Hoo! As Yellow Rose's motto says, "Got your heart set on a cowboy?"

Without further ado, allow me to introduce the Senior Editor of the Yellow Rose Line, Stacy Holmes. Not only is Stacy going to give us the scoop on what editors look for, but she's also going to treat us with a peek at two of the gorgeous covers for two of the books in the Honky Tonk Series and a chance to win some goodies!

Welcome to my little corner of cyberspace, Stacy!

Stacy:   Thank you so much, Maeve for having me today.  And to thank you and your readers, I will be randomly drawing a name from all the commenters today to win a special Honky Tonk Hearts envelope filled with a special coupon, bookmarks, magnets and other fun stuff from the authors of the series.

Maeve:   That's awesome, Stacy and thanks so much for taking the time to share your "side" of the publishing game. Why don't we start by sharing what led you to become an editor for The Wild Rose Press?


Stacy:   I admit, it was one of those moments that change the direction of your life/career because it was something I never thought about doing until the opportunity arose. 


I started almost from day one as an author with The Wild Rose Press.  Before their first year was through, the garden had grown so much that Rhonda Penders contacted me with respect to an editing position for the Yellow Rose line.  I was honored at the respect she gave my work and soon found that editing came very natural to me.  Whether helping a newer author learn more about her story and herself, or working together with an established author on a great story, it is truly amazing being a small part of helping someone else attain their dreams, all the while doing something I love to do.


Maeve:  Sounds like it was "meant to be" to me! As an editor, what is most likely to catch your eye first in a “promising” submission? Opening hook? Plot? Character’s personalities? Or all of the above?


Stacy:   Yes, that opening paragraph can say…or not say…a lot.  It really is true about first impressions so you want a story to grab you right in.  After that, for me, it is the characters.  Are they believable, natural, relatable?  I find many newer writers often focus too much on what should happen (to move the plot in the way they want) rather than what would happen (as in a natural flow of events, one to the next).  This usually leads to details not matching up or characters losing their characterization so to speak, and a quick way to pull me out of a story.  At the same time, when all there, and I am three or four pages in without even realizing it, that tells me I’m reading a promising submission.


Maeve: *happy sigh* Ah yes...the joy of losing yourself in a story. The Yellow Rose Line specializes in giving us heart-stealing cowboys. Do you enjoy any other genres or are you strictly a Stetson gal?


Stacy:   I admit, I’ve always been drawn to the Stetson, a cowboy’s strength in physical appearance as well as their strength in protecting the land and the ones they love.  But I enjoy reading all genres from paranormal to historical, suspense to romantic comedy.  Actually, the more I laugh with a story, the more I enjoy it no matter what the genre.


Maeve: I agree. A story that makes you laugh is often good for anything that ails you. And now for our last question:  what is the best piece of advice you have for authors seeking publication?


Stacy:   Keep at it.  Keep learning.  Every critique gives you something to work on, and every rejection teaches you something.  Use that for your next project and the next.  Yes, there are some people who can write a story and sell it quick—but to be honest, they are the exception, not the rule.  But every story you write, everything you learn along the way makes the next one better.   One thing we try not to do at The Wild Rose Press is send out quicky form rejections.  Though I don’t like sending any rejection, I do like the fact that even when we need to reject a manuscript, we are helping that author learn more about the craft whether by giving examples of areas needing to be worked on or direction for resources so they can study up.  Keep at it.  Keep learning.


Right now we have a brand new series debuting in the Yellow Rose line:


Honky Tonk Hearts


Lonely hearts seem to gravitate to the Lonesome Steer Honky Tonk. A few miles outside Amarillo off historical Route 66, the large wood-paneled structure boast a large neon star with a single flashing steer riding away from it.  Owner and bartender, Gus Rankin, has seen his share of the wandering souls cross his bar and dance floor over the years—he’d even like to think he helped a few find true love along the way.


These stories all have at least one main scene at the Lonesome Steer Honky Tonk, but then range out from close by to all over the country…and all have amazing cowboy heroes.


The first two stories, Honky Tonk Man and Nothing But Trouble debuted last month and we have an official launch party for the series coming up on May 9th on the main Wild Rose Press loop.  I am so excited because over the course of the night all the authors will be there, we have a great Honky Tonk Hearts prize package to give away and other random draws throughout the night.  Should be lots of fun!  You can find all the details here: 
http://thewildrosepress.blogspot.ca/2012/04/launch-party.html   We would love for you all to join us! Honky Tonk Man        Nothing But Trouble
Don't forget to leave a comment for a chance to win the goodies Stacy mentioned. What do you think? Could a cowboy steal your heart? ;-)

The lovely month of May brings two more events to celebrate my newest releases, ETERNITY'S MARK and THE HIGHLANDER'S FURY . If you find yourself in my area, I'd love to meet you!
Saturday, May 5th, 2012 - 1pm to 3pm:


Marshall County Public Library - Benton, KentuckyLocal Author Meet & Greet
 Guest Speaker Molly Harper
Don't miss this opportunity to meet our local authors.
Refreshments & Door Prizes!
Saturday, May 19th, 2012 - Noon to 4pm:


Books-a-Million - Paducah, KentuckyCome chat with me & don't forget to enter for a chance to wina Reader's Appreciation Basket.I look forward to seeing you!

Once upon a time there was a writer who was so worried and tensed about her first official book launching party that she became known as Anxious Author. Now Anxious Author’s family didn’t understand her anxiety. They’d pat Anxious Author on her rapidly graying head and croon, “Don’t worry. Everything is going to be just fine.”
Anxious Author would shake her head and babble, “What if no one shows up? What if no one wants to see my books? What will we do if this is a waste of time?”
Anxious Author’s husband and daughters grew very tired of this worrisome fretting but they were patient with their poor neurotic author and just kept reassuring her right up until the first guest walked through the door. Even Anxious Author’s granddaughter and two son-in-law’s (one soon will be) took up the chant, “Don’t worry. It’s gonna be great.”
And it was. And this Anxious Author’s eyes still fill with tears of joy when she remembers how much love and support filled the room that night.
And the moral of Anxious Author’s story? As long as you’re surrounded by the loving support of friends and family, EVERYTHING WILL BE ALL RIGHT.  Enjoy these pictures of all the fun we had. J

I'm happy to be a part of the Love In Bloom Extravaganza over at Guilty Pleasures Book Reviews. Pop in for a chance to win lots of great prizes (we're talking ereaders, folks!) --including an ecopy of The Highlander's Fury. You don't want to miss this great opportunity. Below is the link to my particular post:http://www.guiltypleasuresbookreviews.com/2012/04/love-in-bloom-maeve-greyson-highlanders.html I'd love to see you there!Maeve

Happy April 1st everyone - no foolin'! ;-) Just a quick post to announce the three lucky winners of Eternity's Mark Dragon Jewelry Giveaway. The winner of this lovely cuff bracelet was BIRDOWL2003!!The winner of this lovely dragon agate disc necklace was KELLY MANN!!And the final winner & new owner of the dragon spoon necklace is DIANE POLLOCK!!Congratulations to all the winners. I'll be contacting you for your mailing addy's to get your winnings to you. Thanks so much to everyone for participating and keep watching for more contests in the future!All my best to you!Maeve

"Damn, the woman is out of control," Faolan muttered as he stomped through the arch. The servants had scrubbed the great hall of the MacKay keep within an inch of its life. Under the command of Mistress Sorcha, no corner or crevice was safe from scrutiny.As overseer of the care and upkeep of the castle, Mistress Sorcha ruled with a firm and unrelenting hand. Heaven help the servant foolish enough to ignore any instruction given. If unlucky or daft enough to be caught slacking, they'd best be giving their soul to their maker, for Mistress Sorcha would surely have their arse.Faolan groaned, giving a look at the floors, wondering if it was safe to step any farther. God's beard. 'Twas a sorry day when a man feared walking in his own keep. The lads had swept the great stones free of the soiled rushes and scoured them with lye and boiling water. Wrinkling his nose, Faolan cringed; the bite of the lye nearly burnt his eyes from the sockets. His keep would never smell the same. What the hell was the woman thinking? The slabs shone in the glow of the burning torches as though the stones had just been set."This is such a waste of time and manpower," Faolan grumbled as he stomped his way toward the kitchens. He shook his head as he watched a serving lad scurry by with two buckets of steaming water to the other side of the room.The servants scalded and rubbed down the tables and benches until not a drop of grease stained the boards. They had cleaned and greased the irons upon the hearths; the tools and huge swinging arms holding the black pots glistened in the flickering light. The hearths had been shoveled clear of excess ash and debris. Fresh split wood stood stacked at the ready. The maids had drawn down the tartans and banners from the rafters and beaten the dust from them before they'd been re-hung.The surrounding hills had supplied overflowing baskets of heather. The fragrance wafted throughout the keep. Faolan rubbed the back of his hand across his nose. His stomach clenched at the scent of the sweet perfume; he preferred the acrid sting of the antiseptic lye. The scent of the heather reminded him of his parents' funeral. The fragrance brought back the darkness of that day and the stabbing loneliness still echoing through their empty chambers.Ivy, the symbol of eternal fidelity, wound its way into every nook and crevice. Braided boughs of the emerald leaves formed into an archway at the head of the hall. Fidelity. Faolan snorted. What a mockery. There would be no question of faithfulness in this union.Casks of wine and barrels of ale lined the farthest wall and stood in neat piles beside the stairs. More stood at the ready, stored in racks in rooms offset from the hallway. The banquet required the meat of three wild boars; a successful hunt produced the necessary pigs. They now turned on spits above open fire pits behind the kitchens. Faolan spared an approving nod at the red-faced lads stationed at the fire pits. Sweat poured in rivulets down their faces as they kept the massive sides of meat sizzling and turning over the glowing coals. Breads, cheeses, and fruits of the season piled high upon serving boards along the tables. Not a spot was empty on any of the sideboards in the kitchen. All stood ready for the start of the celebration. Faolan hoped his clan was happy. This damn betrothal was finally set. All this food. Faolan clenched his teeth. His clan could've survived on it for half the winter.Faolan paused just outside the kitchen doorway and peered around the corner. He'd learned long ago if he wanted to know what was truly going on in his keep, all he had to do was listen at the doorway of his own kitchens.Mistress Sorcha made one more round through the kitchens, her ample girth swishing her black skirts upon the floor. She hefted a long-handled ladle from its hook upon the mantel and slid the heavy lid from the pot. Her eyes narrowed as she tested a bubbling broth hissing above the fire. "Bring me the dried rosemary hanging from the farthest shelf and fetch me the crock of salt."A spindly kitchen maid hopped from the bench where she'd sat scrubbing the skins from a pile of carrots. She returned with the herbs and the crock of salt, holding them aloft until Mistress Sorcha had taken what she needed.With a satisfied nod, Sorcha smiled her approval to the maid and replaced the ladle upon the hook. "Everything must be perfect. The clan has long waited for the day The MacKay would take a wife.""The clan has long waited for additional money to be added to the coffers," Faolan mumbled under his breath. At least this would silence his advisors; it was either marry or murder the bastards. Faolan's stomach growled as he shifted positions; Sorcha's stew smelled delicious.As she returned the crock of salt to its designated shelf, the kitchen maid scurried back to the bench and the enormous heap of carrots. "Have ye seen Laird MacKay's betrothed, Mistress Sorcha? Is she a fine woman worthy of our chieftain's good name?"Faolan leaned closer, biting back a bitter laugh to be sure he heard what Sorcha replied.At the girl's question, Sorcha's smile faded. "Lyla, I have heard the chatter of the chambermaids and I will have none of it repeated. I havena seen the lady, myself. But I am certain she will be a perfect match for our fine laird."Faolan's heart warmed as he overheard her words. The one bright spot in this sorry mess was Sorcha's loyalty to her laird.With a curt nod toward a basket of vegetables sitting beside the doorway, Sorcha ended the direction of Lyla's conversation. "Now make haste, Lyla. The feast will be upon us soon and ye have yet to chop all the vegetables for the other stewpot. Once ye have finished with the carrots, be sure to brush the dirt from the mushrooms that ye spread upon the shelf in the larder yesterday eve. I will be needing them for the gravies for the meat. They must have something to sop with their bread."As she re-tied her apron around her ample hips, Sorcha headed out of the kitchens toward the great hall. As she barreled through archway, she nearly bumped into Faolan as he slipped away from the door. "Such a fierce look! Ma laird, what appears to be amiss? What have we forgotten for your celebration?" Sorcha rushed to his side, knotting her apron between her hands as her gaze darted about the room.Raising his hands as though to ward off her words, Faolan looked about the room at all the preparations and swallowed a groan of disgust. "Ye have done well, Sorcha. Be at peace. As usual, all is perfection."Sorcha tightened her lips into a worried line and patted her graying hair back from her weathered face. "Forgive me, sir. But for a man who's about to meet his betrothed, ye seem sorely troubled."Faolan scrubbed the stubble of his beard as he sank to the bench and dropped his head between his hands. "Sorcha, ye have been like a mother to me ever since my own mother jumped to her death. Even before then, ye relentlessly spoiled me when e'er I wandered into the kitchens. However, in this matter, ye canna help me, nor can I seek your counsel. I have agreed to this match for the good of the clan and that is all that best be said."Sorcha knotted her hands in her apron, fixing him with a worried scowl. "Blessings to ye, ma laird. Trust me all will be well. I shall leave ye in peace. I shall be in the kitchens if ye need me. All ye need do is call."Faolan raised his head. He glanced about the room and took in the betrothal decorations with a snort of disgust. This was such a mockery. His clan sought to celebrate the securing of lands, cattle, and possible future holdings. They didna give a damn if he took a wife.Faolan had never met Dierdra Sinclair, but he'd received reports from his informants about her simple mind and her childlike ways. Her father had been trying to wed her off for years, but her affliction had made a desirable union difficult to obtain. An avaricious man, Gordon Sinclair not only wanted rid of his vacant-eyed child, but as chieftain of the Sinclair clan, he wanted to profit from the match by obtaining an alignment with a stronger clan. In his mind, the fact that his daughter might have the mind of a child had nothing to do with her ability to breed.When Faolan had learned of Gordon Sinclair's offer and the innocence of his only child, Faolan had agreed to the match for two very simple reasons. If he took Dierdra to wife, it would silence the incessant droning of his advisors for him to marry. It would also protect the childlike Dierdra from the dangers of a less scrupulous man, one who might not give a second thought to raping a helpless innocent.The match with the reportedly sweet, daydreaming Dierdra would perfectly suit Faolan's needs. He'd sworn he'd never open his heart to the pain he'd see his parents suffer. Because of the passion they felt for each other, their lives had met a tragic end: his father murdered while protecting his mother and then his mother had taken her own life. Faolan had sworn he'd never bring a child into the world just to abandon it when his own life ended. Love and children brought nothing but pain and suffering. Someone else could take the lairdship.Faolan rose from the table, rolling his weary shoulders to work out the tension knotted through his muscles. He'd much rather be in the courtyard, slicing the air with his sword as he practiced with his warriors. With a resigned sigh, he plodded to the staircase leading to his private rooms. He stopped by the stairwell and tucked a cask of ale under one arm. This one belonged to him. Lore, I need a drink. His mood darkened as though he headed for the gallows rather than to meet his bride. It was time he readied for his betrothal banquet and resigned himself to his fate. In but a few short hours, he promised himself to a wife, whether he wanted one or not. A satisfying blend of saucy sensuality and heartrending sincerity - 4 Stars - RT Book Reviews Buy Links: The Wild Rose Press , Amazon , Barnes & Noble