Sunday, September 28, 2014


It’s that time again for my Saturday and Sunday recap.  I have been swamped this weekend, and I am so far behind, so I will keep this a bit short this week.  I do want to say how much I appreciate all the new fans, and how much it means to me to hear from you. 

Now, let’s talk about “Outlander.”  Wasn’t it so awesome!  I was amazed, startled, and fell in love with Jamie even more when he came to rescue Claire. I did feel sorry for her husband in the 1945, but there is just something so appealing about Jamie. He’s hot, strong, fearless, and so handsome in both looks and ways. 

And how many of you are bummed by the fact we have to wait until April to see more?  Oh well, anticipation is good, right? 

Take care all, and have a blessed upcoming week.

Thursday, September 25, 2014


Tiernan, King of the Seelie Court, is tossed back in time without his magick where he meets Mista, a Viking Jarl, who is a seductive but brave adversary.  Mista believes the handsome warrior who was present during a battle with one of her clan’s enemies is a bit not there when he claims he is a king and from a land far away. 

“Thor’s hammer!” Mista cursed as she tripped over a pair of soft leather slippers. She was running late to oversee their captive’s transformation into a thrall. The dragonflies in her belly were fighting so fiercely she hoped she would not lose the scant food she’d consumed.
Why was she so nervous? The man was nothing to her. Just an enemy she needed to deal with. But what if he was innocent? Mista shook her head and sent a wave of hair into her eyes. She’d meant to pin it up but she’d slept past her normal rising. Gunhilde’s upset about the prisoner seemed to have returned. The woman had barely spoken a word when she arrived moments after Mista awakened and dropped a tray of food on the table.
To be fair, Mista understand her angst, but she had to do what was right. Until more evidence could be gathered, she would not put the man to death or even sell him on the block as many of her warriors and household wanted. Having him serve as a thrall until judgment would allow her to witness his behavior. Perhaps that would give her a key to the man himself.
She pulled on a pair of short boots over her leggings just as a bell rang somewhere in the bowels of the castle. Mista caught up her dagger and ran for the door. The thralls would be going about their chores and the warriors would be starting their morning fighting practice.
If she were lucky, Baldr would join the men and leave her to deal with the stranger. Or she could hope.
She took the stairs at a run and then grasped the side of the wall as she slipped a bit in her haste. Her breath escaped in small gasps. Mista shook her head—better to slow down than risk a broken limb. Even though she was anxious to see the warrior called Tiernan.
She arrived in the great hall just as he was escorted into the room by one of the younger warriors, Olav. Baldr was also there, and he looked none too pleased.
Displeasure also shone from the fjord blue of the prisoner’s eyes, and whereas normally she could care less what a prisoner thought, especially one of Erik’s men, this man touched Mista on a level she wasn’t ready to explore now, or maybe not ever. It would not benefit her to think about the handsome warrior. Even if he wasn’t an enemy of her people, he did not belong with her kind.
“We are ready to shear this lout of a sheep.” Baldr’s comment was gleeful in nature, and his eyes held a malice she’d prefer not to see.
“Thank you, Baldr. You and Olav may go to the practice field.” She knew her words would not find favor.
Her second-in-command’s lips twisted into a scowl, and she braced for the coming verbal assault.
“’Twould not be a good idea for you to be alone with the prisoner.” Baldr’s soft tone belied the look in his brown gaze that bespoke of agitation, frustration, and a bit of anger.
“I understand your concern, but tie his hands and then place him in the chair.” Mista smiled at the grizzled Viking. “He will be no trouble.”
“Mista…” Baldr’s words trailed off as she raised an eyebrow at his usage of her given name among those not of their clan. He knew better than to address her as such when it came to chieftain matters.
“My chieftain, I plead with you to allow Olav or myself to stay.” Baldr’s conciliatory words held a bite.
She could reply in kind, but she truly did love Baldr, and she understood his worry, yet…
“I know ’tis not how we normally would handle this, but Baldr, I would not ask you to leave if I felt I was in any danger. And to offset your worry…” Mista held out her hand. “I have my dagger. Trust me to use it if I need to, please.” She hoped her words would placate a man who had acted as advisor to her da and to her since she’d become chieftain.
Baldr scowled. “Truth, ’tis not to my liking, but I will abide by your wishes.”
“Thank you, my friend.” Mista smiled slightly and then gestured to the dais. “Olav, please seat the man and then secure him.”
Olav did as she asked dragging Tiernan up the two steps, and pushing him down into a chair. He then took a piece of braided hemp and secured the prisoner’s hands behind his back.
At a nod from Baldr, Olav left. Baldr stood his ground. “Chieftain, are you sure you would not have me stay?”
She caught his hand and patted it. “I will be fine. I was trained by two of the best Vikings that have ever been born.”
Mista did not have to say who those men were; she and Baldr both knew it was him and her da.
“All right, but if this dog gives you any trouble, do not hesitate to gut him.” Baldr slanted a look at Tiernan before following Olav from the hall.
Mista watched Tiernan as he watched Baldr leave. She expected the man was relieved to have her bloodthirsty mentor gone. When he finally looked up at her, she was amazed.
The man’s blue eyes glinted with laughter. How was that possible? He should be frightened to death.
“I would not be amused if I were in your position.”
Tiernan bit back the chuckle he wanted to release. The woman in front of him, chieftain status or not, was the size of a gnat compared to him. Even sitting down he was eye-level with her heavenly blue gaze.
And she was just as sensually alluring now, as she was last night and in his dreams. He’d love to take her to bed, to suckle the breasts she kept hidden under the loose tunic she wore, and to pull her astride his lap. The leggings encasing her lower frame would not be an impediment to feeling her lush bottom.
The thought of taking the miniature chieftain sent a pulse-wave of heat straight to his shaft. So strong was the current of lust, Tiernan prayed she would not notice.
It would just take one outraged scream to bring down the entire Einarsson clan. Something he did not relish happening.
“My apologies, Chieftain Einarsson. It was just a passing fancy.” He hoped she would let it go.
“Do you not realize you are a prisoner?” Her sunset hair spun in a kaleidoscope of colors as she walked up and down the narrow strip between the table and the wall.
“I assure you, that is something I am not likely to forget.” Tiernan flexed his wrists, but the rope didn’t give even the width of a petite faery wing.
“Well, there is no reason to put off what needs to be done.” Mista, as Baldr called her, opened a leather box, removed a metal circlet, and stepped forward.
Tiernan watched cautiously. What did the woman plan to do with the metal jewelry?
“’Twill only take a moment so hold still.” She walked behind him, and he felt the cold brace of the necklace against his throat.
There was something he needed to remember about the band she’d placed against his skin, but what?
He heard an ominous click.
“What is this for?”
The woman moved to face him. “Where are you from, and why do you not know about the thrall collar?”
Tiernan’s mind raged against the implications. He knew they were going to make him a slave, but he’d planned to leave long before being branded.
“Remove the collar. I will not wear it.” His tone rose as the indignity and truth of his plight registered.
“You have no choice.” She didn’t glare at him, but her gaze was relentless in its seriousness.
“Free me. I will show you what choices I have.” Tiernan’s heart beat so hard he could feel the pulse inside his head. His fingers trembled at the thought of spending the next year as a slave, subject to any and all that the woman in front of him might command.
“The collar remains and will continue to stay for the length of your servitude.”
“Length?” Tiernan spit out the question.
“Yes, once we meet for the Thing, it will be decided how long you will serve the Einarsson clan.”
“This is a travesty of justice. Just because I was near a battle with your enemy, you capture me and deny my freedom.” He again twisted his wrists, trying to get the unforgiving rope to loosen.
“If you are innocent of any crime then you will be freed.” The Einarsson chieftain picked up the dagger and moved to stand between Tiernan’s thighs.
“What are you planning now?” His growl was received with silence for a moment, but then the woman took a deep breath.
“A thrall must have his hair shorn to a certain length.”
The rage that had been consuming Tiernan dissipated like sun-dried dew. The new emotion touching him was simply one of horror. Never since he’d grown into manhood had he allowed his hair to be shorter than past his shoulders. His hair was a symbol of his age and stature as a fae. Fae men who were turned out from the court even kept their hair.
He wasn’t a vain man, but losing his locks as a symbol of slavery would nigh on kill him.
The fae at court would mock him, taunt him, and unmercifully brand him with their barbs.
“No, please, do not cut my hair.”
Mista stood frozen in place, holding a strand of his moonbeam hair. Not only because of the man’s muscular thighs pressed against her legs, but the almost plea in his tone touched her.
“’Tis the law to do so.” Her words were a whisper of air.
“Not where I come from. To cut my hair is to unman me as a warrior.” His words were guttural, but she felt the desperation in them.
“If I allow you to wear your hair long, then others will fight to keep theirs. What reason can you give me to placate my men?” She held her breath waiting for his answer.
“I am not what I seem to you. I come from a place so far away you would have to travel through what you call Midegarde to find it.”
Mista wasn’t prone to believe in Norse gods, although a good many of her people did so, yet she didn’t correct the warrior. His eyes glowed with blue fire when he continued.
“A place where magick is commonplace, where there are no wars or...not usually.” He chuckled just a bit, the sound warming Mista’s heart.
“And just how did you get from there to here?” She knew she sounded scornful, but the blue-eyed charmer told a whopping tale.
“I traveled through time.”
His words dropped into the pregnant silence, and Mista dropped the dagger—narrowly missing the man’s groin and her foot before it clattered to the rush-covered floor.
“Dammit, woman, are you planning to neuter me as well as as take my hair?”
“Nay, but your words are fantasy. There is no such thing as time travel.” Mista flung her statement at him as she released his hair and bent to pick up the dagger. She retrieved the weapon and straightened up, only to lose her balance. Her hands connected with the warrior’s thighs, and her gaze was drawn to his manroot. She quickly removed her hands and reached once more for his hair.
“Please, I know it’s hard to grasp, but what if I could prove it?”
She knew it was foolishness to believe the man, but she’d learned to judge men over the years, and his intent gaze showed no dishonesty.
“Perhaps, I would be willing to listen, but for right now I need to—”
“Then allow me to keep my hair until such a time we can talk about how I got here.”
Mista was torn between duty and her instincts, and although in the past they had both been the same, this time she needed to make a choice. Besides, what harm would it do for him to keep his hair? The thought of cutting such a beautiful mane made her feel a bit sick.
“All right, but you must braid and keep it tucked inside your tunic.”
The moment the words were out of Mista’s mouth, Baldr walked into the hall.
“Is there a problem, mistress? You have not cut his hair.” Her second-in-command smirked. “I will be glad to do the job for you.”
“No, thank you, Baldr.” She gave Tiernan a look that stopped the words she knew waited to spill forth.
“Our prisoner will be keeping his hair, for now.” She held up her hand when Baldr looked to argue.
“See that it is braided and tucked under his tunic, and he needs something to wear to complete his chores.” She turned back to Tiernan. “We will speak later on what you have told me. In the meantime, you will be put to work in the stables.”
Mista stepped off the dais. “Yes, Baldr, I know ’tis not usually done, but ’tis a man thing for his clan.” She gave him a hard stare. “Surely you understand the honor involved when it comes to all things male?”
As Baldr stood there with his mouth opening and closing like a Lute fish, Mista made her escape.

Sunday, September 21, 2014


Evening everyone!  I hope you all have had an awesome weekend.  Let’s see just what I did over mine.  Yesterday I pretty much blew off everything but answering email and reading a superb suspense novel by Karen Robards. “The Last Victim” was scary, suspenseful, and you’d never guess the ending in a million years.   Of course that meant I didn’t watch “Outlander” until a bit ago.  Shall we say hot?  I fell for Jamie’s eyes, yes, I know his bod was smoking, but his eyes told me about his heart and soul.  So romantic!

And now I am scrambling to get caught up on homework, since I took a nice nap this afternoon.  Yeah, I know I should have been working, but hey, I prevaricated big time. So until next time, read a good book, hey mine are all ready for new fans, kiss a loved one, and dream of a Highlander with “devilish roguish eyes that speak volumes to a woman’s heart and soul.”

Friday, September 19, 2014


Tonight we are delving into the traumatic and sensual relationship between Princess Catriona when she meets mortal Derek Harrison, a wounded Marine who is recovering at his cousin's house in Michigan. You may remember Raven from “Viking, Go Home.” But for now let’s explore what happens when Fae Magick comes up against the force of a bonafide Marine in “Semper Fi Magick.”

Dark shadows merged into the space behind the terrorists. Black garb, night goggles, and stealth should insure they were upon the terrorists before they were noticed.
The first objective would be to take out the man with the distribution device. No way could the chemicals be released into the lake. Derek moved forward and prayed his men would be successful in taking out the rearguard of the cell.
He shouldered his rifle and debated taking a shot. He didn’t want to hit the cylinder. Better to get in close and use his Ka-Bar. The utility knife with its eleven and three-quarter inch blade would do the job without a loud hello.
Thankfully the moon chose that moment to hide behind a cloud. Derek quickened his pace as his magnified night vision spotlighted the first terrorist submerging the hose into the water.
Twenty feet from the hostile, Derek could hear the muffled whispers of the cell. He needed to move fast or he would miss his chance. They were a scant moment or two from discharging the chemicals.
He lunged his body into air and tackled the man holding the device, knocking him into the sand-and-stone lake edge. The device hit the ground before Derek could catch it in his hands, but a quick glance showed the chemicals were still in place.
The terrorist elbowed Derek in the gut, and then punched and jabbed him in the face. He returned the favor, trying to get the upper hand. Instead he found a knife similar to his own glinting in the reemerging moonlight.
He dodged the jab and brought his Ka-Bar to bear against the man’s chest. The man twisted and tried to get away, and when he couldn’t, he slammed his blade into Derek’s stomach.
Pain lanced his insides like hot metal. He tried to ignore the sensation as he brought his knife back to its target. A quick flick and the man’s curse died on his lips. A second later the man followed as a blood filled rattle issued from his throat.
Derek cursed as he felt the blood soaking his pants, and climbed to his knees. The device lay where it fell, and he yanked it back from the lake’s edge. His men were still containing the other terrorists. He berated the weakness encasing his limbs, and fought the darkness threatening to take his vision. A swirl of color materialized near him right before he blacked out.
Catriona gazed in horror at the blood staining Derek’s clothes. Her instinct was right. Even though he hadn’t called her name out loud or whispered it in his mind, she’d known he was in trouble.
As she surveyed the chaos around her, she also knew that help would arrive too late for Derek if she didn’t act. The others were still involved in hand-to-hand fighting. She could stop all of it by a wave of her hand, but did she dare?
To interfere with a mortal’s destiny was something the court frowned upon. Maybe she could just freeze time until she could get Derek some help. And the only help that might save him lay in the faery realm. She’d never tried to heal another person, and too much magick could make his situation worse. He needed someone who knew what they were doing.
Catriona couldn’t lose him, not now, and not like this. She bent, placed her hand on his shoulder, and then zapped them both to her room in the palace.
She used magick to strip Derek of his clothes after she placed him on the bed. The wound was bleeding horribly. She needed help.
Their healer!
Before Catriona could flash out to seek Isabella’s help, her da flashed in. His eyes glowed blue fire, his mouth opened, closed, and then opened again.
“Catriona! You have gone beyond any fae to date in bringing this mortal to our court.” Her da’s eyes flashed more fire and colors twirled from his fingertips: signs he was more than a bit irate.
“Da, I am sorry, but he’s hurt badly, and he needs our help.” Catriona didn’t care if her statement was a plea. She would beg, cry, or get on her knees if it would help Derek.
“What is this man to you, daughter?” His voice was harsh, and Catriona knew he now acted in the form of king, although he used the word daughter.
“A friend, a man who tried to stop an enemy from polluting his country’s water supply. He is a soldier who is in need of our help. I beg you to allow the healer to take care of him.”
“I ask you again, what is this man to you?” Her da’s voice dropped an octave in timbre, but he still pinned her with his gaze.
“He is the man I choose as my mate. The only man I will ever have if he will have me.” Catriona spilled the words out and then waited to see what her da would do. Derek still lay immobile, and she feared she may have signed his death warrant and possibly her own. The court which was made up of other aristocracy from various realms could be brutal when their laws were disobeyed.
“To take a mortal as a mate goes against all of our rules. Are you sure, Catriona? The repercussions could be serious.” Her da’s voice was husky with emotion, and she thought she saw a glimmer of tears in his gaze.
“Yes. I love him. I don’t want to be mated to someone who won’t love me for me. He sees past the princess and to the woman inside of me, Da. Please save him!” Catriona felt the moisture on her face, and realized she was crying. Something she rarely did.
“Very well, I will summon Isabella. However you do realize that you could be severely punished. The others on the court could banish you from the fae world for a time or forever. Or they could take your magick.”
A chill teased Catriona spine. She didn’t want to give up her home. And giving up her magick would leave a huge hole in her chest, but nothing compared to losing Derek.
“I know, Da, but if he dies, I won’t care about anything but dying anyway.”
“Daughter, I love you, and will do all I can to make it right with the court.” Her da caressed her cheek, and then called for the healer.
The next moments seemed to drag by, even though the healer arrived almost the instant her da called. Catriona welcomed her da’s arm around her shoulders as they watched Isabella touch the wound and then sprinkle different herbs onto Derek’s stomach.
Several long sighs later, Catriona jerked to attention when the healer turned their way. “King Tiernan, I have done all I can. His wound is grievous, but the bleeding has stopped. He will need to be watched for fever.” Isabella waved her hands in the air. “I am sorry, I could not do more. He is mortal and I’ve never tried to heal one of their kind before now.”
Tiernan nodded when Isabella curtsied to both him and Catriona. “Thank you. I will make sure you are rewarded for your efforts.”
“My reward will be if the man lives.” Isabella shook her dark hair back from her shoulders, and her blue-eyed gaze darted to Catriona. “If I’m not mistaken, this man is meant for great things, and is important to the princess.”
“You are correct. Again my thanks.”
“And mine, Isabella.” Catriona smiled at the healer as she slid from beneath her da’s arm. She moved to Derek’s side. His bronze tone had paled, his lids slightly blue, and his lips were bled of color. She knew Isabella had indeed done all she knew to help him. Catriona just hoped it was enough.

Thursday, September 18, 2014




  I'm overjoyed to share with everyone that DRAGON KNIGHT'S MEDALLION will be released on December 5th! Now you can curl up with Stephen and Aileen for the holidays. 

Please make welcome, historical, time-travel, Scottish Highlander author, MARY MORGAN to my blog!  I have found Mary to be an extraordinary person, and when I asked her to tell readers a bit about herself, this is what she had to say:
I’ve been married to my own knight in shining armor for thirty-one years and have three grown children. I’ve held many jobs in my lifetime, but it was my position at Borders Books that really stepped me on the path I’m on now. I loved the interaction and sharing of books with others. 

Faith: When did you first know you wanted to write and why?
Mary: I’ve been writing since I was a young girl. It started with my diaries, poems, and plays for the family. Of course, I always did have an active imagination and daydreamed constantly of faraway places. Yet, as I got older, those dreams were forgotten.
Faith: I have heard exciting comments about your work, and of course you know I’m a fan but tell us a bit about your series, “Order of the Dragon Knights.” How did it evolve?
Mary: Like my heroine, Brigid, in “Dragon Knight’s Sword,” I’ve been fascinated by the mythology of Ireland for years. I took my love of those ancient tales and created my own. I can still remember the moment, sitting on a boulder in the Highlands surrounded by sheep, wool, and heather; I heard the stories unfold within my mind. Originally, I had planned on seven brothers in Ireland, but was torn with my love of Scotland. I had an epiphany while driving one day—why not combine both countries! And from there, the Order of the Dragon Knights was born.
Faith: How did you settle on which brother’s story to write first?
Mary: Ha! I didn’t—they did. I wanted to write the oldest, Angus’s story, but he waved me off with a few choice words I cannot repeat. Quietly, Duncan strode forward and said, “Ye will tell my story first.”
Faith: How much research did you have to do in order to write this series?
Mary: I read books on the history of Ireland and Scotland, studying medieval periods. Part is historical and the other, fantasy. Research is one of my favorite aspects of writing. I’m always learning something new.

Who is your favorite brother?
Mary: They all have a soft spot in my heart. Each so different in their personalities. Duncan will always pull at me a bit more, since he was the most tortured of the brothers.
Faith: I know you have traveled to Scotland, so can you tell us a bit about your trip? What you saw…etc?
Mary: It was more what I felt as I gazed upon the mountains draped with mists, heather that carpeted the ground, or pricking my finger on thistles. My soul connected with the spirit of the land, especially when I was on the Isle of Skye in 2000 on Summer Solstice. Standing there in the evening by a lake, the past and the present surrounded me. It was truly a magical experience.
Faith: What did you feel when you were first contracted?
Mary: That this was only the beginning! Euphoric!
Faith: And what is your favorite part of the process?
Mary:  Besides writing, when the book—my baby is released.
Faith: You have a wonderful grasp of druids in your books, what research did you do to clarity some of the festivals, etc?

Mary: I read many books on the druids. They had this amazing way of learning through oral study. Traditions were passed down orally, leaving no written record of themselves. I combined some of their own nature beliefs/rituals with my own imagination to create the festivals and marriages in my books.
Faith: Do you have favorite sites you go to for research?
Mary: Not really. I love to pull out my old Scottish and Ireland maps along with reference books on these countries. However, my favorite “go to” site when I’m missing Urquhart is Google Earth! Love flying down to the entrance of the castle ruins and map out images.
Faith: If you could pair yourself with any of your heroes, which would it be and why?
Mary: That’s a tough one, Faith. If I absolutely had to choose, it would be Angus—the true knight. He’s tortured just like his brothers and this has left him with a feeling of complete failure. He failed in his responsibility to his family. I can understand this, since I’m the oldest, too. In addition, I love a man who can argue with me, and I’m finding that Angus is more than what I thought.    
Faith:  With the publication of “Dragon Knight’s Sword” and the upcoming release of “Dragon Knight’s Medallion” do you feel a sense of accomplishment?
Mary: Yes, though it’s a quiet sense of accomplishment. Don’t get me wrong…after the release of Dragon Knight’s Sword, I remember holding my book, and shouting, “I did it!”

Faith: What type of books do you like to read when you are not hard at work writing?
Mary: History—non-fiction and fiction, Science Fiction, Romance—Regency, and any good medieval or culinary mystery. 

Faith: What do you do to relax after a hard day of creating characters and plots?
Mary:  Cook! I love whipping up a meal after sitting and using my brain all day. Food feeds this writer’s soul.

Faith: What sage advice would you care to give to aspiring authors?
Mary: It doesn’t matter if you write 100 or 1,000 words every day—just write. It helps to keep the creativity flowing. Also, don’t let fear keep you from writing. Use it as a sword to conquer and not a shield to hide from the world. 
Faith: Is there anything you would like to say to your fans?
Mary: You are the best ever! I’m in awe of your passion and love for the Dragon Knights! Thank you! Simple words, but they’re packed with so much love to all! 

Faith: And do you have a schedule of where you will be doing book signings in the future.
Mary:   I don’t have a schedule yet, but you can keep updated by signing up for my newsletter and blog.
Now remember if you want to reach out to Mary, she is available by these avenues online! 

Wednesday, September 17, 2014


I have decided to do my pick me up on Friday this week because of the special guest author Mary Morgan who will be visiting here on my blog on Thursday!  I know you all will love to read about how she developed the Dragon Knight's Series, so please come on over tomorrow and see what is happening.  And Friday I will be putting up a post from "Semper Fi Magick!

Sunday, September 14, 2014


Greetings everyone!  It’s hard to believe another week has rolled around. I got up this morning, which at this time is still Saturday with a horrific backache. Chronic nerve pressure to those of you who experience it is so not fun. However, I did get some reading done, and wrote one paper, which I still need to proof for class. Although I have written what a detective feels while working in several of my books, it is harder to explain why I would want to be a certain type of policeman. Oh well, maybe the paper on the “CSI Effect” will be more enthusiastic.  It is heading toward midnight and I fear my bed is calling my name, but I shall be back in the morning to give you my thoughts on “Outlander” after I watch it on Demand. I am so looking forward to it.  It will probably be the highlight of my day, since I am woefully behind in computer class. You would think someone one who has penned nine books, and is working on several more would have a better grasp of operating system 8.2 and Microsoft Office 2013.  I’m afraid I hate change and will kick and scream when I have to learn something out of my comfort zone.

Sunday morning and “Outlander.”  Did anyone else want to slap Black Jack Randall? I know I did and still do!  Claire seemed to hold her own for a bit with the Englishmen, until he arrived, but the violence the blackguard exhibited toward her was not well done at all.  It just shows that no matter what nationality a man may be, the choice of being brutal is his own.  I will look forward to next week’s episode. And the fact that Jamie is a virgin makes me love him more. However, I think he will be a fast learner on his wedding night, don’t you?

Please remember to check in on Thursday for my Thursday Pick Me Up, and a fabulous blog by Mary Morgan.  An author who makes magick and highlanders come alive.  Her first book, "Dragon Knight's Sword" is selling like a run on kilts, and let me just say I love Duncan!!!!!

Friday, September 12, 2014


I am so excited!  So many awesome authors and a special industry icon coming here to my blog!  I think my fans and theirs will be over the moon to see who will be visiting over the next year or so!  I know I am!

Thursday, September 11, 2014


Wulgar is a womanizing Viking when he's not fighting or taking care of business as a jarl.  But because of his habit of bedding women, an irate Faery princess, Catriona sends him forward in time, where he meets Raven who is a published romance author. Together they have some sensual and harrowing times between dodging an atrocious villain and the faery princess.

Before Wulf could gather his words to reply, a sound like metal hitting rock bounced off the building near them.
The woman jerked and squeaked, then grabbed his arm.
“Someone’s shooting,” she hissed. “We have to get out of here.”
For one so much smaller than he, her grasp was strong. He allowed her to pull him down the hill, as more sounds echoed all around them.
“Hurry up, do you want to get killed?”
She towed him along until they reached some type of wire fencing. The woman grabbed the wire and began to climb rapidly to the top.
“Get a move on, will you? Those are bullets not popcorn coming our way.”
Another round of sound and the dirt in front of his feet bucked up.
“God help us!” Her voice conveyed the urgency he was beginning to feel, and Wulf followed the woman’s lead and began to climb, all the time wondering what else could go wrong.
Once over the side, she moved to a large metal object. He jumped back with alarm when she opened it up and climbed in.
She growled at him. “What are you waiting on, an engraved invitation? We have to go.”
Wulf copied her prior movements and tried to fold his body into the small area.
“Shut the door, Viking.”
He looked and then found what looked like a lever. He grasped it and then pulled it forward—enclosing himself inside with, as much as it hurt to admit, his rescuer.
“Whew, looks like we made it.” Raven’s heartbeat began to slow somewhat, but her hands still trembled. “I have no earthly idea why someone was shooting at us, but I’m definitely calling the police.”
Raven looked over at her passenger. Wulf’s face still had not regained his previously tanned color. The man’s hands gripped his thighs in such a way, if he wasn’t built like he was, he’d leave bruises. For pity’s sake, she wasn’t driving all that fast. You’d think the man had never been in a car before.
Well he said he was born in 976. She shushed the tiny voice in her head. Time travel was a myth. He probably just didn’t like female drivers… Still—
“Hey, you okay?”
“What is this thing?” His words were uttered through clenched teeth.
“What?” The man was more loony than she’d originally thought or a good actor. Or maybe he’s telling the truth.
“This thing we are riding in.”
“It’s a car. Haven’t you ever seen one before?”
“We do not travel this way in my time.”
Raven gritted her teeth. “Look, you have to understand, what you’re telling me about being from the past is totally crazy to me.”
“As it is to me. I wish to return home, but I cannot.” The Viking’s voice held anger as well as regret.
“Okay, so let’s say you’re for real. Maybe I can help.”
“I thank you, but Princess—”
“Whoa, princess? That’s the second time you mentioned this princess. I think we need to talk. I’m going to hit a drive-through and pick up some food, and then we’ll go to my place. I need to call the police about what happened, but after we eat, you can tell me your story.”
“You would open your home to me?”
“Well, if what you’re telling me is true, you don’t know any one else in this century.” Raven would weigh the pros and cons of having the seductive and hot bod in her house at a later time. For now, the man could use some help one way or the other.
“I do not even know your name.”
A quick glance reiterated she needed to keep her eyes on the road. His silver eyes glowed with frustration and probably homesickness. Poor thing. She’d bet whatever caused him, if it was true, to be sent to the future had not been his fault. Poor baby.
“I’m Raven. Raven Harrison.”
“Your father named you after a bird?
“Actually, my mother did. She used to do a lot of bird watching.”
Apparently Wulf’s curiosity was satisfied for the time being. He remained quiet as she rolled through a fast-food restaurant and ordered hamburgers, fries, and shakes.
Not long after that, she pulled into the circular drive of her home. Being an author had been a second job at first, but now with the revenue from her books, she’d put down a down payment on her first real home away from her childhood home.
After putting the car in park and turning off the ignition, she opened the door and got out. Raven walked around to the passenger side and opened the door for Wulf, who held the bags with their food. She retrieved the cardboard holder with the shakes.
“You about ready to eat?”
His puzzled stare went from her to the bags and then back again. “You eat parchment?”
Raven’s laughter brought a slight smile to his lips.
“No, silly, the food is inside the bags.” Unable to resist, she touched him lightly on the arm and couldn’t help but enjoy the feel of taut muscle under her fingertips.
The man was built like a brick house.
She stepped back as Wulf finally managed to unwedge his body from the car. He stood silent while she closed the car door, and she motioned for him to follow her up the walkway.
One minute later they stood inside the entryway. After bolting the door, she started toward the kitchen.
“Let’s eat.”
When she turned after taking the bags from him and putting the food on the old farm-style table, she almost stepped on his bare feet.
Funny, Raven had failed to notice he didn’t wear any type of footwear. She gave his scrumptious body a once-over and noticed the gold bands he wore on each massive forearm.
“What are those for?”
Wulf glanced down and then his gaze speared hers. “They are bands with my family crest.”
“I see…a hammer for Thor?”
“Yea, but for Thorrason not the god of thunder.” The slight grin he gave her revealed even and extremely white teeth.
“Come on, sit down. I’m starved.” Raven yanked out a chair and promptly sat. Her hopefully short-term house guest did the same. She took a burger out of the bag, dumped it and a large order of fries onto a paper plate, and slid it across the table.
Not sure if Wulf knew what a straw was or how to use it, she prepped his shake and pushed it within hand’s reach.
His eyes followed her as she took a bite of burger and crunched on a fry. He did the same. When she took a sip of her chocolate shake, he mimicked her move again, like he really had no clue as to how to eat junk food.
“This is good; I like it.”
Raven hid a grin when he picked up a napkin and dotted the catsup off his lips.
“I’m glad. When we finish eating, I need to call about the shooting at the cemetery, but after that I really want to talk to you about where you came from. Now tell me about the pendant you wear. Is it a family heirloom?”
Suddenly the tantalizing taste of meat tasted like ashes to Wulf. What if she still didn’t believe him? And if she did, what then? Catriona’s words he needed to learn love in order to return home made no sense to him. He’d cared for all the women he’d taken to bed. And there had been many. Raven would think him a womanizer. Why it should matter to Wulf, he did not know, but it did.
“Earth to Wulf. Did you hear me?”
“Yes, I am sorry. Of course, we shall talk about my home. My mother gave me the pendant when I became a jarl.”
After gathering and tossing the remains of their meal, he followed Raven into a room she called a den. She motioned for him to sit. If he were not so beholden to her for a place to lay his head tonight, or if he were not dazzled by the now dry waves of blonde hair drifting over her breasts and the soft blue of her eyes, he would order her to stop treating him like a hunting dog to be commanded.
Once he did as she asked, he shrugged his shoulders. “You may ask your questions.” He prayed his rescuer would believe him. Until he could figure out how to get home, he could not afford to make her think him more crazy than she already did. Thor’s hammer, he certainly did not want to leave—just yet. Something about Raven called to him. He wasn’t sure in what way, but it was more than lust that caught his interest.
The smile Raven shot his way bordered on irritated. Who did he think he was? Oh yeah, right, a Viking.
“Thank you, I believe I’ll start with, what did you do to make someone mad enough to banish you from your home?”
“I uh…I was…” Wulf’s words trailed off.
Yep, he was a bit perturbed. Good. He’d had her in a tizzy ever since they met. It was his turn now.
“You what?”
“I was accused of rutting too much.”
Raven bit her lip until she tasted the salty tang of blood. Oh my Lord, the man got banished because he couldn’t keep his pants up.
Well…maybe it wasn’t all his fault. The women were probably all over him. He was more than a bit cute, he was hunk city with all the chocolate in the world thrown in for good measure.
“I see. So did you?”
“Did I what?”
The blaze of color turning his cheeks a deeper bronze was actually endearing, but she wasn’t ready to let him off the hot seat. And she still needed to find out if his story was true.
“Have sex with all those women?”
This time Wulf’s face turned a rich crimson.
“Ye should not be talking that way. Ye are a woman.”
His statement threw her for a moment and then she laughed.
“Look. Viking warrior or whatever, this is 2010. Women not only talk that way but they actually participate.”
Shock lanced through his eyes, turning them almost black.
“Do you participate that way?”
Heat scalded her cheeks. “That is none of your business, Mr. Thorrason.”
“ ’Tis Jarl Thorrason. And you asked me, so I’m asking you.”
Raven cleared her throat. “Well, I think this conversation is finished. Why don’t I show you where the bathroom is…” Her words trailed off at his look of confusion.
“It’s a place you can take a bath and take care of any personal needs.”
Her guest stood up when she did, and followed when she moved out of the kitchen and to the bathroom. He flinched but did not say a word when she turned on the light. He moved closer when she pulled back the sliding door to the walk-in shower and turned a knob.
“How did you do that?”
“You mean make the water come on?”
“Yea, I do not think you would be part of witchcraft, but how?”
The man was either an expert in reenactment skills, or as she truly began to believe, a visitor from the past.
“Water is channeled through underground pipes. There is a heater that warms the water when you turn one knob and then there is also a knob that makes the water run cold.”
“Do you think I could try it?”
“Of course. Just let me check this and I’ll leave…” Raven’s words disappeared in a throat suddenly gone dry. Wulf, the split second she’d turned to test the water temp, stripped off his pants. His bottom half was just as impressive as his top portion.
In fact, the male portion of him, even unaroused, was way more imposing than she could have imagined.
She brought her gaze back to his face, and cringed at the smirk on his sensual lips.
“So you see, sometimes, I was the hunted instead of the hunter.”
“So, you’re telling me you just allowed yourself to be led to the slaughter...or should that be bedroom?”
“I may have allowed myself to be led to the bedchamber, but I assure you once there ’twas I who did the leading.”
Raven would have—should have—knocked the sensual smirk off his lips, but instead decided to do the prudent thing and retreat.
Moments later, she pulled a flannel gown from her clothes bureau and prepared for bed. She couldn’t get the scene in the bathroom out of her mind. Sure, his chest had looked just fine in the kitchen. Well, actually, a bit more than fine. Muscular and probably warm if she’d dared to touch his bronze skin, but combined with a full frontal sans braies, Wulf oozed testosterone until her knees almost buckled. Something she would definitely have to guard against if he stayed.
Stayed? That would be pure lunacy on her part. The man was a walking advertisement for sex. She certainly didn’t need him in her life, and she positively did not want him anywhere near her bed.
Raven snorted out loud. Maybe if she said it enough, she might believe it. But that was the least of her worries. Somewhere between the cemetery and the shower, she’d found herself warming to him, not just the physical perfection of Wulf, but his smile, his accent, and his old-world charm.
Just her luck to pick up a stray that could be endearing, obstinate, and would make a great sex toy.
Whoa. Don’t go there, girlfriend.
The man was just staying the night, and then she’d find him a nice hotel until she decided if he should be committed. Or, if he spoke the truth, she’d help him find his way back home.
Once in bed, she flicked off the bedside lamp and settled under the covers. Ten minutes later, she still lay awake. The Viking’s movements in the adjacent guest room filtered in through every nook and cranny. Why didn’t he go to sleep? She was more than ready for a good night’s sleep after today. She frowned. Crackers, what with listening to Wulf and doing a more than adequate fill of looking at his drool-worthy body, she’d forgotten to call the police about the shooting at the cemetery. First thing in the morning, she’d fix that mistake.
Wulf’s muffled exclamations on finding and exploring new objects finally ended, and Raven took advantage of the quiet and closed her eyes.
A creaking noise woke her sometime later. She punched her pillow and tried to go back to sleep. Wulf undoubtedly suffered from insomnia. Raven turned on her back and stared straight into the eyes of a masked man.

Next week we will explore what happens to Princess Catriona in "Semper Fi Magick."