Christine Presents: Highland Honor

Highland Honor

Christine Young

Excerpt Heat Level: 1

Book Heat Level: 3

Buy at: www.roguephoenixpress.com

Scotland November 1512:

A heavy frost sat on the frozen earth, and a full moon shone clearly between the heavy clouds dotting the sky. Lady Callie Whitcomb looked over her shoulder as she raced through the deepening gloom toward the lighted tavern ahead. Every shadow, every mournful sigh of the wind sweeping through the trees, every chilling animal sound filled her with terror. Fear for her life drove her to put all thoughts of danger aside. He would follow her, find her, and drag her home.

Home.

"Don't think of that now," she reminded herself fiercely, even while tears stung in the back of her throat and fear made her limbs tremble. "Don't ye dare think of home. It no longer exists." Nothing and no one could coax her back or make her believe there was naught but terror in the home where she'd been born.

"I will never marry Lord Huntington. Never!" she whispered fiercely, the chill night air solemnly echoing her words.

Her stepbrother, Archibald Covington III, made sure she could never return.

"There ye be, lass! I've been waiting for you."

The voice rose from nowhere and surprised her. Her heart froze, lurched, then began an erratic beat, while raw nerves snapped, sending a myriad of sensations racing down her spine.

"Archibald--" she whispered, panic sweeping through her. "He's found me." All she could hear was the pounding of blood in her ears.

Before she could reach her destination, before she could find safe refuge from him, his men had found her. No! Not now. Not when she thought she had eluded them all.

A wave of fear sweeping through her reminded her, that if caught, she would be taken back to Archibald and forced to marry Lord Huntington.

"I'll help you down, lass."

"No."

Before she could react and spur her horse forward, callous, rough hands centered on her waist then pulled her from her mount.

"No!" She cried out to no avail. Regaining her wits, she beat fiercely upon the man's broad chest, tearing at his face and his thick beard with her fingers.

"Ach, lass! Hold still! I mean ye no harm. Stop this--" His voice was gruff and impatient.

Fear for her life had spurred her haste. Terror she might see Huntington or Archibald with each turn of the road haunted every hour of her journey. Archibald had retainers everywhere. Messages would have been sent. A highlander could be bought.

"Ruffian! Unhand me! Ye barbarous Scotsman."

If Archibald had guessed what path she followed...

"Verra well, ne'er let it be said that I dinna do a lass' bidding." Just as suddenly as he'd grabbed her, his hold upon her vanished. She stumbled backward.

Instantly, she found herself sitting on the frozen earth. The man towering above her watched her with concerned dark eyes. Despite the scar stretching from forehead to chin, his mouth quirked upward in a humorous slant.

"Ye be a handful, lass."

Mary of A Romance Review says, "Overall I liked the story and can recommend it as a worthwhile read. The author has a lot of talent and the plot and tension of the story are well handled."

Christine Presents: Crib Sheets

Crib Sheet/Cheat Sheets, perhaps notes.

As a teacher, back in the day, I remember the day when chest sheets were considered...cheating. Well, they were then but as I approached retirement, unfortunately, chest sheets became a necessary evil. Many students stopped studying. They needed cheat sheets to pass tests. I hate to say it but I became a supporter of this. I reasoned that if they took the time to make notes then perhaps they would remember the info and not need the cheat sheet. Sigh... I'm sure it worked for some.

As a writer, I love having the information on the side of my computer. A click and I have what I'm looking for.

Do you use cheat sheets? I do.

1. I have compiled a list of he/she said notes which I keep handy while I write.

2. There is a list of Chapter/Scene sheets on my blog. I make notes which I can pull up about the scene. This sheet includes so much info I tend to not use all of it just what works for said scene.

3. Also on my blog one can find personality traits. Again, I think if I listed everything on this sheet for each of my characters, I would never get the book started. But I do make notes and jot down the most important traits for that character for said book. (Which I keep in a folder on my computer.)

4. As I gather research info I copy and paste for future reference. In the day of Google this is so easy.
I remember when I used 3 x 5 note cards and had to shuffle through them. OMG and when we all had to go to the library and sift through book after book for the needed information. I rarely found everything I wanted.

Life of a writer is soooo....much easier than it used to be.

Please feel free to look through my blog and use anything that takes your fancy.

Forever His is the final book in my Lakota/Pinkerton series. You can purchase the first two books, Dakota's Bride and My Angel for just $0.99

Forever His by Chrsitine Young

Excerpt Heat Level:

Book Heat Level:

August 30, 1895

Near Buffalo Creek,

South Dakota

The sun beat down. Searing heat waves hit the hard packed earth, blistering, charring everything, even the dry prairie grass. Jacob St. John, his arms stretched overhead and bound to a whipping post, no longer counted the lashes tearing into his back, no longer felt the horrific agony.

More than a half-dozen men and one woman were gathered in the sage-patched backyard of the run-down shack. So far not one person made a sound as they watched Chavez wield the whip, stripping the flesh off his back.

If Chavez weren't so angry and seeking revenge of his own, he would probably have just had him shot. Revenge was a powerful motive. Chavez wanted Jacob to suffer, to yell before he died. It seemed Etta Barringer did too. So far Chavez was toying with him, taunting and teasing him, cutting an inch here, ripping an inch there, not doing much damage but making mincemeat out of his back.

Jacob hadn't made a sound yet, not even a sharp, indrawn breath. He wasn't about to even though he knew Chavez would get impatient and start slashing. There was no hurry. Chavez had as long as he wanted. No one save Etta knew where he was, no one would come looking for him, at least not until the sun went down. By then Chavez would be done with him, and he would either be dead or buzzard-bait. For the life of him, he couldn't figure why Etta would hand him over to Chavez. She had always been Pinkerton to the core, yet she had betrayed him once before. If he survived this, he meant to have answers. He'd move heaven and earth to search out the lying Etta Barringer and find out exactly what she had against him.

The pain of betrayal at the forefront of his mind, and vows of revenge against the instigator of this kept him going. He focused on the woman's laughter and the scent of lemons that permeated his soul.

He had been taken by surprise. Still, he didn't go down easily. It took all of Chavez's men to get him bound securely to the post in back of the shack. And of those men, not one came away from the encounter without a scratch. Blood from the multitude of small cuts Chavez had inflicted ran in rivulets from his back, pooling on the parched thirsty ground, soaking into the dirt, staining it.

He stood, his head proudly erect and that seemed to draw anger from Chavez. The grip of his fingers curled around the top of the post, the only sign of Jacob's pain--and fury.

The first real stroke of the whip felt like a red-hot branding iron searing across his back. Jacob didn't flinch, nor would he as long as he could hear her laughter or smell lemons floating languidly on the breeze. He wished he could see her, stare into her beguiling, green eyes until she knew he'd never stop hunting for her. Fury at his own weakness rose, and the anger he felt deep inside simmered, because she'd always attracted him. Ever since she showed up in a small town in Oregon, seduced him then drugged him and left him to sleep off the opium-laced whiskey, she'd fascinated him.

Concentrate on her--on what you're going to do when you find her again . . .

 REVIEW:

Christine Young has done it again in this historical romance. The blizzards, betrayal, deceit and a ruthless bandito like Chavez made this a great romance.

Melinda for Night Owl Romance     5 out of 5

Christine Presents: Dakota'sBride

Dakota's Bride by Christine Young

Excerpt Heat Level: 1

Book Heat Level:

Moonless and frigid, the December night sent chills down Emma's spine. Yet she didn't stop at the lighted inn nearby, nor did she break stride when she stumbled over a rut in the muddy road. Instead, she pulled her skirts higher. A carriage raced by, hell-bent in the same direction, spitting mud as it flew past

A frantic look over her shoulder did nothing to relieve the fear. He was closing on her, forcing her from her hiding place. She stopped for a moment while she quickly shook the mud off her cape, then she turned to the little girl.

"You all right, Clare?" Emma asked.

The little girl nodded but didn't say anything, her face screwed tight with concentration, her breaths ragged and hard.

The big Mississippi paddle wheeler, due to leave in ten minutes, let out two loud, booming whistles. To Emma's frayed nerves, the sound was heart-stopping.

The wind from the docks smelled of fish and tar. When it shifted, she could make out the aroma of fresh baked scones coming from the inn. Emma gripped the tiny hand she held in her own a little tighter, and prayed that Clare could keep up the pace.

"It's only a wee bit farther. We can make it," Emma told the little girl, her sister. Half sister, she reminded herself.

Clare's father was not her own. His demonically hand­some face leering at her while he calmly explained what he meant for Emma to do in the bordello was something she'd never forget.

Clare was a tiny and very fragile seven-year old. She had loving green eyes and a long, slender nose coupled with delicate cheekbones. Emma knew that someday Clare would grow into a classic beauty.

One long blond lock of hair slipped loose from Clare's cap. The little girl pushed it away with her free hand, wrinkling her nose disgustedly.

Frost coated the road, and each hurried step caused the almost frozen mud to crunch beneath their feet. A horse and rider passed them, the man tipping his hat as he and his mount thundered by. Church bells rang out, the sound hollow and thin. It was almost six o'clock. She had five minutes to reach the boat.

A gust of wind caught her broadside and whisked the hood of her cape off the top of her head. She grabbed the soft fur and pulled the fabric back where it belonged. Distracted by the wind and her haste to reach the boat, Emma caught the toe of her shoe on a rock and balanced precariously for an instant.

She swore softly under her breath.

Had only one month passed?

No, three weeks ago her mother had died and two weeks ago she had learned the awful truth. Lawrence Stevens had slowly poisoned her mother. He had given her a small dose of arsenic each day until finally her mother took to her bed. Several days later Emma had held her mother's hand while she breathed her last.

Emma would never have known about the murder if she hadn't overheard Stevens speaking in harsh whispers with a friend of his. There were other things said and promised, things Emma had not wanted to acknowledge.

Disbelief and denial had caused her to waste precious time. Seven days had come and gone since she'd had her last horrible encounter with her stepfather. It was an encounter that had left her with no doubts that everything she'd heard was the god-awful truth. Stevens had meant to sell her to a whorehouse. Still, she'd had a difficult time believing the extent of Lawrence Stevens's depravity. But when he'd installed her in Madame leBon's bordello, she realized too late that her life was in grave jeopardy.

And Clare, sweet, sweet Clare, had understood all she'd told her and perhaps more. With the eyes of a child, Clare had somehow sensed the evil that surrounded her father long before anyone else did.

Five long days and nights they'd spent on the run. Clare had not complained. No matter how exhausted or hungry she was, the little girl had pressed on, understanding the imminent danger that faced Emma. Clare had somehow known that Emma had to get as far away from Lawrence as possible.

This incredible romance is one I positively fell in love with and is good enough to read again and again.

Cherokee
Reviewer for Coffee Time Romance & More 4 Cups

I can’t remember the last time I was so engrossed in a book: Dakota’s Bride took over my weekend, and even now, am wishing to go peruse it one more time…

Rating: 4.5 Books
Reviewed by Snapdragon Long and Short Reviews 

Christine Presents: Beacon of Love

Please welcome Allie Boniface author of Beacon of Love.

Allie will be awarding a $10 Amazon OR B&N Gift Card AND an e-copy of any title of her backlist (winner's choice) to a randomly drawn commenter during the tour.

SO DON'T FORGET TO LEAVE A COMMENT!

Beacon of Love

by Allie Boniface

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

1.What or who inspired you to start writing?

         Well, I loved the idea of creating stories from the moment I could read. I spent much of my childhood coming up with characters and plots and writing them down in composition notebooks. So I'll give credit to my parents for instilling the love of language in me early on. But my first published novel, One Night in Boston, is dedicated to my fifth grade teacher because she wrote in my yearbook, "Someday I'll read books written by you!" I never forgot that. When you're ten, words like that stick with you forever :)

2.How did you come up with ideas for your books?

   Sometimes the ideas come easily, sometimes not so much! I get ideas from the things I read or hear on the news, from songs, from experiences people have around me. Beacon of Love was inspired by my annual trips to the Outer Banks of North Carolina and the lighthouse in Corolla. My husband and I love lighthouses and visit them whenever we can. They all have fascinating – and sometimes mysterious or gruesome – histories. After we climbed to the top of the one in Corolla, I started wondering how many of them might be haunted, and that's where the first idea of Beacon of Love came from. As most writers do, I'm always asking "What if?"

3.What components are necessary for the genre of this novel?

         Romance demands a happy ending, which is part of why I'm drawn to it. We see so much in real life that doesn't guarantee that kind of ending, that it's nice to get lost in a book that promises happiness at the end. I also think compelling, believable, complex characters are crucial, as well as emotion you can feel in the pit of your stomach. I hope I've accomplished all that here!

4.As far as your writing goes, what are your future plans?

         I hope to continue writing for as long as I can, as long as characters and story ideas pop up in my head. I do enjoy the "happy ever after" promise of the romance genre, though I'm also working on my first Young Adult novel right now. I teach high school students and constantly have their voices (and their angst) in my head. So far, I like branching out and exploring another genre. We'll see how it goes!

5.If you could be one of the characters from any of your books, who would it be and why?

         Believe it or not, I would be Kira March from One Night in Napa, because she is so completely different from me. She's tough as nails, tattooed, pierced, and not afraid of anything. She's also fiercely devoted to her family and brave enough, by the end of the story, to confront the demons from her past. I loved writing her!

6.Do you belong to a critique group? If so how does this help or hinder your writing?

         I've belonged to 2 different critique groups at different points in my writing career: early on, before I was published, and after I had published my first couple of books. Both groups were helpful to me in shaping my writing and also toughening me up to take criticism. I currently don't belong to a formal group; I found that as my writing grew I preferred to send my chapters-in-progress to one or two good writing friends who were at the same point in their careers as I. You need to look carefully at what you want and need, and what you're getting, from your critique partners. Don't be afraid to switch or move on if the feedback isn't as helpful as it once was. We all change.

7.What is the best and worst advice you ever received? (regarding writing or publishing)

         Best advice: believe in yourself and keep writing. Keep trying different avenues if the first one doesn't work out. This is a tough business to break into, and a tough business in which to sustain a long-term career. Be willing to change as you want and need to.

         Worst advice (from an agent, in a rejection letter for my first novel): Your writing isn't strong enough to be published. This is not a field you should continue in (different words, but something to that extent). Nice, right? Good thing I didn't listen to her!

8.Do you outline your books or just start writing?

         I have to outline; I have enough OCD in me to need that structure and to know where I'm going. Interestingly enough, though, I've gotten a little more flexible over time and do let my characters and plots go off in their own direction. In Beacon of Love, the whole sub-plot of who commits the attacks on Sophie and Lucas came from a character I hadn't originally planned. All of a sudden, this character popped up and started having a whole other personality side, and I thought, Wow, this is fantastic! I couldn't have plotted this if I'd tried.

9.What is your favorite reality show?

  

         Believe it or not, my husband and I still watch Survivor – the granddaddy of all reality shows, right? We've watched every season since it began, which is kind of neat because we were just dating when the first season aired, and we'll be celebrating our 12th wedding anniversary this summer! I'm not exactly sure why the show still captivates us, except that it's easy to get caught up in the survivors' personalities and interactions (and manipulations). Makes for a fascinating character study, actually!

10.         Can you tell us a little about the black moment in your book?

         Oh, I'm so glad you asked! I know this might be strange to admit, but the black moment in Beacon of Love is my favorite of all the books I've ever written. To this day, when I go back and read that scene, knowing every word and action that's about to unfold, my heart still aches for Sophie and Lucas. I began this book thinking that the haunted lighthouse was the most important element of the plot, and that the black moment would stem from local boy Lucas not wanting outsider Sophie meddling in the town's history and traditions. But in the second and third revisions, a whole other sub-plot started to take shape: the loss of Lucas's best friend ten years earlier. The most poignant part of Beacon of Love comes from that loss. For me, it feels like the truest black moment in any of my works, because it focuses on the deepest, most personal wound a person can have, and whether anything – or anyone – can help them over it.

Welcome to Lindsey Point, Connecticut: suspicious of outsiders, loyal to tradition, and absolutely devoted to its local legends.

Enter Sophie Smithwaite, feisty travel show host, in town to film an episode about Lindsey Point’s haunted lighthouse. But digging into the story of a tragic murder-suicide and love gone wrong reveals startling connections to Sophie’s own past. When a gorgeous local handyman fills in behind the camera, Sophie’s life gets complicated by more than just her family history.

Part-time paramedic, handyman, seasonal Santa-Lucas Oakes does it all–except get attached. He’s still reeling from the death of his best friend ten years ago and the more recent infidelity of his ex-fiancee. Yet despite Sophie’s big-city nosiness and her insistence on chasing long-dead ghosts, he’s drawn to her.

But mixing with an outsider means questioning people and traditions Lucas has always defended. When a series of attacks seem to be connected to Sophie’s investigation, both Sophie and Lucas must decide if they are willing to risk everything to uncover the town’s secrets…and their own.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Want something to drink? Water?”

Sophie shook her head.

“Not thirsty?”

“Lucas.”

He set the glasses down on the counter. “What?”

“Come over here and kiss me.”

His smile crooked. “Or what?”

She took two steps toward the kitchen, and he took one toward the living room, and they met in the middle. “Or I’m going to go crazy.”

He placed his hands on her cheeks and kissed her forehead.

Sophie closed her eyes, waiting for the slow, inevitable slip of his mouth down her neck. To her curve of her collarbone. Maybe lower.

“There you go,” he said. His hands went away.

Her eyes flew open. “That’s it?”

“You said you wanted a kiss.”

Her fists landed on her hips. “Ha ha. Funny guy. So funny, in fact, I think I’m gonna recommend that comedy special you were talking about to Lon. He’s looking for a new show, you know. Maybe you’re the next big thing.”

Lucas swung her off the ground. Her arms went around his neck and her mouth ended up a fraction of an inch below his. “Maybe I am.” He kissed her again, this time not on the forehead. And not sweetly. “What do you think?”

But she couldn’t answer, couldn’t think of anything at all except his tongue teasing hers, her legs wrapping themselves around his waist and holding on like she’d never held onto a man in her life. Fire sizzled up her spine, and the air in the room went hot. Her hands--God, her hands couldn’t get enough of him. They wanted to be everywhere, in his hair and on his face and unbuttoning that damn shirt and taking off her own dress that was so in the way right now.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Allie Boniface is a small-town girl at heart who's traveled around the world and still finds that the magic and the mystery of small towns make them the best places to fall in love and find adventure. From the New England coast to Rocky Mountain hotels to tiny European bars, she's found more character and plot inspirations than she could ever count. Currently, she's lucky enough to live in New York's beautiful Hudson Valley with her own "Hometown Hero," a guy who can fix, build, drive, and grill anything and is the epitome of the strong and silent type.

When she isn't writing love stories, Allie is a full-time high school English teacher who gets a kick out of helping her teenagers negotiate the ups and downs of writing along with the ups and downs of life (because, really, she's still trying to do the same thing!). And while she'll continue to travel far and wide, Allie knows there's really nothing like coming back to the place where the people who have known you forever welcome you home with open arms. 

ALLIE BONIFACE – ONLINE LINKS

www.allieboniface.com

www.allieboniface.blogspot.com

Twitter: AllieBoniface1

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