MUSE MONDAY
Please read on for a fun guest post from Jean M. Grant.
However, Alasdair and Deirdre’s journey begins at the
signature castle, Eilean Donan, originally built in the 6th century
but fortified circa 1300s. Remarkably, sunshine visited me on that day (it was
a very wet September when I visited Scotland). Like many castles, it’s steeped
in a colorful history of feuds, disputes, ownerships, destruction, and
restorations; and there are even claims that Robert the Bruce stayed here
during the Scottish Wars of Independence. This castle is as resplendent and
utterly dreamy as all the pictures portray. It’s situated on a small isle,
surrounded by three lochs, and stands guard over the Kintails. I managed a solo
visit with my husband right before a tour bus arrived. We were gifted with a
bowing rainbow over the breathtaking mountain and loch.
Even though Skye and the isles eluded me, there were plenty
of windswept moors, lochs, meadows, stone-topped crags, and green rolling
hills. And rain. Plenty of rain to inspire. Scotland’s rugged enchantment did
not let me down. And I hope I did it justice in A Hundred Kisses.
Blurb
1296
Two wedding nights. Two dead husbands.
Deirdre MacCoinneach wishes to understand her unusual
ability to sense others’ lifeblood energies…and vows to discover if her gift
killed the men she married. Her father’s search for a new and unsuspecting
suitor for Deirdre becomes complicated when rumors of witchcraft abound.
Under the façade of a trader, Alasdair Montgomerie travels
to Uist with pivotal information for a Claimant seeking the Scottish throne. A
ruthless baron hunts him and a dark past haunts him, leaving little room for
alliances with a Highland laird or his tempting daughter.
Awestruck when she realizes that her unlikely travel
companion is the man from her visions, a man whose thickly veiled emotions are
buried beneath his burning lifeblood, Deirdre wonders if he, too, will die in
her bed if she follows her father’s orders. Amidst magic, superstition, and
ghosts of the past, Alasdair and Deirdre find themselves falling together in a
web of secrets and the curse of a hundred kisses…
Excerpt
She sensed no colors in the murky, lifeless water, and it
was freeing. All breath escaped her. Muted visions passed before her eyes—her
mother, her father, Gordon, and Cortland. Just a moment longer, she thought…
Suddenly, a burst of warm light invaded her thoughts as air
filled her lungs. Red-hot hands burned her shoulders and ripped her from her
icy grave. She breathed life into her body. She coughed, gagging on the change.
Muffled words yelled at her.
Oh, God, so hot. His fingers
were like hot pokers. Her head pounded as she slowly returned to the present.
Heat radiated from her rescuer. Somebody had pulled her from the water.
“Wh—?”
“Hush, lass. You nearly drowned.”
His voice was as soothing as a warm cup of goat’s milk on a
winter’s day. A red-hot glow emanated from his body. Never before had she felt
such a strong lifeblood, and it nearly burned her. She struggled in his arms to
get free. She blinked, only seeing a blurry form before her. “Release me!”
She splashed and wriggled, and he did as told. She
clambered to the shoreline. Numb and shaken, she began to dress. It wasn’t easy
as she fumbled with slick fingers to put dry clothes over wet skin. She
instantly regretted her naked swim. She pulled on her long-sleeved white
chemise first.
She faced the forest, away from her rescuer. He quietly
splashed to shore. His lifeblood burned into her back. He wasn’t far behind,
but he stopped. She refused to look at him until she was fully clothed, not out
of embarrassment of her nudity, but for what had just happened. He released a
groan and mumbled under his breath about wet boots. His voice was not one of
her father’s soldiers.
When she put the last garment on, her brown wool work
kirtle, she squeezed out her sopping hair and swept her hands through the
knotty mess. She fastened her belt and tied the lacings up the front of the
kirtle. Blood returned to her fingertips, and she regained her composure.
Belated awareness struck her, and she leaned down and searched through her bag
for her dagger. She spun around.
She gasped as she saw the man sitting on the stone-covered
shoreline, his wet boots off. Confusion and the hint of a scowl filled his
strong-featured face. She staggered back, caught her heel on a stone, and fell,
dropping the dagger. Dirt and pebbles stuck to her wet hands and feet, and she
instinctively scrambled away from him.
His glower, iridescent dark blue eyes, and disheveled black
hair were not unfamiliar. Staring at her was the man she had seen in her
dream—it was the man from the wood.
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Author bio:
Jean is a
scientist, part-time education director, and a mom. She currently resides in
Massachusetts and draws from her interests in history, science, the outdoors,
and her family for inspiration. She enjoys writing non-fiction articles for
family-oriented and travel magazines, and aspires to write children’s books
while continuing to write novels. In 2008, she visited the land of her
daydreams, Scotland, and it was nothing short of breathtaking. Jean enjoys
tending to her flower gardens, tackling the biggest mountains in New England
with her husband, and playing with her sons, while daydreaming about the next
hero to write about...
Website: http://www.jeanmgrant.com
Twitter: @JeanGrant05
