Thursday, June 27, 2013

Lindsay Townsend's Medieval Knave @lindsayromantic @KMNbooks @ellorascave

KAREN: Can you fall in love with a Medieval Knave? The award-winning author Lindsay Townsend sheds some light on the medieval knave and her hero Geraint. Let's give Lindsay a warm welcome!

A Medieval Knave?  
by Lindsay Townsend

I’m talking about jugglers in the Middle Ages.  Geraint, the Welsh hero of my latest historical romance, ‘Dark Maiden’, is a juggler, which medieval people regarded as a lowly art. This made Geraint an object of suspicion – a knave.  In the Middle Ages, other performers such as musicians and tumblers could serve in royal courts and receive high status. Minstrels in particular were highly thought of, ranked in royal and noble households as equal to huntsmen and falconers. Dancers, too, were well regarded - in 1306, the only woman paid as a musician in the royal household was an acrobatic dancer with the stage name of Matilda Makejoy. She possibly danced by bending backwards and touching her head with her feet, or on her hands, or on knives - in medieval stained glass Salome was shown dancing on knives.

Such dancers could be athletic and graceful or tumble in a jesting manner, playing for laughter. They could also be well paid and respected - Richard II paid John Katherine, a dancer from Venice, over £6 for playing and dancing before him, a sum not far short of £3,000 today. 

Amongst the minstrels themselves there was a kind of ranking, with professional musicians at the top and jugglers and puppeteers at the bottom. Consider some of the words used to describe a juggler, such as ‘mountebank’, ‘emperick’ or ‘quacksalver’.  Jugglers were considered coarse creatures at the time, especially those who made a living wandering from fair to fair or village to village. John of Salisbury, writing in his ‘Polycraticus’, remarked that the performance of a troop of jugglers was ‘so shameful even a cynic would blush’.  They were felt to have few morals and to achieve their tricks through magic - always a dangerous idea in the Middle Ages.  I make my juggler hero Welsh, with a Celtic heritage and sensibility.  In Celtic society, a juggler was known as a clesamnach, a performer of feats. In France, the bateleur would do juggling and magic – so much so that the Tarot card known as the Magician in English is called Bateleur in French.

Geraint is a wanderer, too, which would be another mark against him. During the time of the Black Death and the subsequent shortage of manpower in the countryside, the authorities tried to compel peasants and others to remain tied to the land. By 1388 the government of Richard II was ordering that people moving about the country should stop and be forced to settle down.

My hero would certainly have fought against this. He can be abrasive and he is instantly suspicious of all authority, including that of the Church. He will argue with anyone,  freely admits to being a thief and indulges in the common medieval  crime of stealing fish from lords’ fishponds. Is he also a knave? Read ‘Dark Maiden’ to find out.

About the Author:
Lindsay Townsend is fascinated by ancient world and medieval history and writes historical romance covering these periods. She also enjoys thrillers and writes both historical and contemporary romantic suspense. When not writing, Lindsay enjoys spending time with her husband, gardening, reading and taking long, languid baths – possibly with chocolate.

Links to her 'Dark Maiden':
Ellora Cave

Monday, June 24, 2013

Rational Animals by K.A. M’Lady @KMNbooks @Mojocastle

KAREN: K.A. M'Lady takes a closer look at the question: What sets us apart from creatures? K.A. M'Lady is a multi-published author of dark paranormal romance, and she's celebrating her new release Rational Animals with us. Let's give K.A. a warm welcome!

Rational Animals by K.A. M’Lady

René Descartes defined the first man as “the thinker”— presuming that man is the one who thinks, which fits the definition of man given by Aristotle as a “rational animal,” which is also the basis for Homo sapiens.

 However, by the late 11th century, restricted use of man, in the sense of “adult male” only began to occur in late Old English; the word formerly expressing the male sex – wer.  The use of the word had died out by 1300 AD (but survives in e.g. in the form of were-wolf, and were-gild.)  So one might ask, where do you find anything rational in an animal?
  
When constructing the background for my story, Rational Animals, I chose a setting where the landscape was rugged and beautiful; wild, and untouched, for the most part, by man. A place where wolves reigned supreme. But to do so, I had to know the history of the wolf and the history of the land they were introduced to. This brought me to many points of reference regarding the reintroduction of wolves in Yellowstone after their species had mostly died out. As well as the peoples that have lived and hunted those wild lands for a millennia, until the white-man settled there and made their mark upon the Great Valley known as Yellowstone.

There is beauty, grace, mystery and myth to be found in every history.  How those stories are told and passed down may change from generation to generation. One telling may not be the same as the one that has gone before. Perhaps it is what we find believable that sets us apart from other creatures.  Or, perhaps it is in the telling and how we perceive the broader scope of history that makes us the thinker. The rational animals that Descartes describes.

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Author K.A. M’Lady lives a few stone throws from corn fields, chaos and congestion; all lying on the outskirts of the many burbs of Chicago. KA M'lady spends her days calculating life expectancies, mortality and the certainty of death and taxes while in her free time the dead wander freely, buy shoes, homes, the occasional odd business or two and, if you even think of charging them too much in taxes…well, let’s just say the tax man may never come back. But if he does he might just shamble a bit. An All Romance eBooks bestselling author, K.A. M'lady's work has been described as scary, descriptive, beautiful, dark, frightening, prosaic, addictive, sexy and believable. She loves to read paranormal romances, watching horror movies, westerns on Sundays with her husband, playing fetch with her pocket beagle, Chevy and buying weird shoes. Her friends call her eccentric, her family refuses to comment. She’s been lost in the world of fiction since she was a small child, and frankly, never wants to be found—at least not any time soon. “Myth and magic builds dreams and inspirations – and in an insane world, it is our dreams that spark the revolution of change. No matter which world is being conquered. Within our dreams – all things are possible.”

For more information look her up on the web and join her Mondays at Just Another Paranormal Monday:
  http://groups.yahoo.com/group/ParanoralMonday/

Website
Facebook
Amazon Page
Goodreads

Blurb: 
For the first time in nearly seventy years, wolf song can be heard throughout the great valley of Yellowstone. But as the chill December winds gather, something dark, powerful, and mystical stalks the valley, and Toren Crushing has become its prey.

Renee Faroque is a shaman’s granddaughter—a child of the great Crow Indians. She has learned great knowledge from her dream walks with her ancestors. But has she learned enough to save herself and the beautiful stranger from the ancient evil that abides within?

Kin to the wolf and brother to man,

Inside ~ Every man holds a darkness


~ Rational Animals ~

Purchase a copy of Rational Animals at:
ARe   

Amazon  

Excerpt:


When I was a little girl, my grandfather called me She-lish-ga or Chick-a-de for the morning chick that sings after a night of long dreams. He would always ask me of my journeys and tell me to sing for him. Sing of our ancestors and the Spirits in the Sky.

Tonight I smelled the lingering sweetness of honeysuckle and the rich pungent aroma of pine smoke clinging to every breath I inhaled as it swirled through my mind, loitering like a childhood secret that only my grandfather and I shared. I knew in the dusty wasteland between sleep and dreams that I’d left the warmth of my bed and the peace of my dreams far behind.

My sight was soon filled with the morning mist and the smoke of my grandfather’s pipe—peppermint and tobacco enveloped me as I opened my eyes to the world beyond. I waited for what he had to show me.

“Wake, child,” I heard him say in the voice that reminded me of water upon rocks and dark earth, rich like red clay.

“I am here, Grandfather,” I’d tell him. Then I’d take his proffered hand and we’d begin a journey deep into the forest. I’d have no idea where he was taking me, but then I was never afraid—for I’d been here before. Not to this place in the forest, but here to the spirit realm, on another journey, with the honor of having my grandfather as my guide.

Since the time I was but a small child, I had had these visions. I’d wake in the night at the hand of an ancestor, and we’d walk the great valley. Sometimes they’d tell me our history as the sun burned away the night and the earth came alive. Other times we simply walked through the foliage, the moon as our guide. Whatever the case, they always had something to show me, and I’d leave their realm much wiser than when I’d entered.

I’d learned many things on my journeys—the proper herbs for festering wounds, or the leaves for a sour stomach, what a person’s spirit animal was, and how to call a guardian. I learned the proper way to hunt a deer and how to track a bear. There was much my ancestors taught me and still so much I had to learn.
Unless the vision was of great importance, I had walked little in this realm with my grandfather. Tonight I was filled with uncertainty, unsure of what would follow.

“Here is where the Dark Spirit runs like a freed beast with devilry in his heart.” My grandfather spread his arm before him to show the white earth beyond. “He is old like the mountains and wise like the Great Mother Earth. But too long has his darkness ruled this valley. Too long has he fed on the innocence of man.”

“There was a time, long ago,” he stated as he brought me to a downed tree trunk overlooking the snow-covered valley below, “when he came and claimed our brother. Turned him, maddened him. Made him Yellow Wolf. Among the Crow he was called Hemene Moxmox, and he warred with the white man, and warred with himself—and still the Yellow Wolf died.”

“We thought that the Dark One died with him, but now, now we know it is the land that holds the Wyakin Powers and that the Dark Wolf has returned. He comes like a thief in the night—he is Heinmot Hihhih—White Lightning, and he seeks another to carry his pack. He seeks another to rule and bring suffering to the Nez Perce.”

“But I say no!” My grandfather fiercely pounded his fist in his hand. “No more will we be the Metis—the Landless Ones. No more will our lands bleed and our people suffer. To fight the beast and win you must first run with the beast. You Renee, my Chick-a-de, you have the power to stop this. You have the visions of your forefathers to guide you through this darkness. You hold the power to tame the Dark One. He was the first, and you have the power to make sure that he is the last.”

Saturday, June 22, 2013

True Classics Never Die by Mariposa Cruz @WildRosePress @KMNbooks

KAREN: The talented Mariposa Cruz is here to chat about the old classic: The Phantom of the Opera. So grab your popcorn and soda and join us as we discuss Lon Chaney's portrayal of a tortured soul.

The Phantom of the Opera 1925 by Mariposa Cruz

The pizza joint in my hometown played continuous silent movies.  One of my favorite memories is savoring a thick slice of pepperoni pizza while watching the silent drama unfold on the big screen. Eventually the silent movies were dumped for big screen football games and the joint later became a Chinese buffet.


But true classics never die. One night over chicken chow mien my son and I watched the original Phantom of the Opera. Deemed “culturally significant” by the Library of Congress, the film’s haunting elegance and Lon Chaney’s poignant performance makes this classic well worth a watch. Often older horror films are diminished by now-dated special effects (like a rubber bat dangling outside a window). The cinematography of the 1925 film evokes a sense of eeriness with looming shadows and a solitary black cat racing down a stone staircase.

The opera house set still resides inside Soundstage 28 of Universal Studios.  The opera house is the oldest surviving structure constructed for a movie and has appeared in hundreds of TV shows and films including The Muppets (2011). 

Lon Chaney did his own make up for the film and the result horrified audiences.  He painted his eye sockets and nostrils black for a skull-like effect. Whether Chaney wears the phantom’s mask or a grotesque leer, his hand movements are smooth and graceful reflecting an artistic soul. In an autobiographical article for “Movie” magazine, Chaney noted “Most of my roles since The Hunchback of Norte Dame, such as The Phantom of the Opera… have carried the theme of self-sacrifice or renunciation. Those are the stories I wish to do.”

About the Author: 
Mariposa Cruz balances writing with working as a fulltime corporate paralegal. As a writer she has interviewed cowboy crooners and rock divas. Her articles have appeared in local magazines and indie newspapers. She currently resides with her own pack of two teens in Reno, Nevada.


Roar by Mariposa Cruz   

Focused on the bottom line, corporate paralegal Linda Underwood answers to no one. Linda’s world is torn apart when a bear shifter turns her romantic weekend rendezvous into a desperate struggle to stay alive. Now a recently-turned shifter herself, she is determined to beat the affliction by ignoring her newly awakened beastly impulses.

After the accidental death of his wife, shifter Flynn Cromwell finds solace immersed in his computer network security work in a remote mountain cabin. When he discovers Linda’s ravaged body near the brink of death, he’s compelled to protect her.

Can Flynn save Linda from her own stubborn nature and defend her from a vicious shifter with a taste for her blood? Available at: The Wild Rose Publishing


Find the Author at:

Thursday, June 20, 2013

Muses Inspire Tricia Andersen @triciaandersen #books #kindlebooks @KMNbooks

KAREN:  Find out what inspires Tricia Andersen to pen tales of adventure and romance. Read an excerpt from Queen of Savon and check out her eye-catching book cover, too!  Welcome Tricia!

My Muses by Tricia Andersen

As writers, we all have different kinds of muses – things that inspire us to write the things that we write.  I can count my severe caffine addiction and my fascination (my children would call an obsession) with a certain brawling British wrestler among my muses.

However, my greatest muse is music.  I listen to all genres from classical to heavy metal (hard rock is my favorite).  I will drive down the street listening to a song on the radio and by the time it’s over I can place the tune or lyrics to one of my books.  Then I will download the song and listen to it again a few times.  Before long I have a scene to my story that didn’t exist before.  A few songs have inspired the plot lines for my books.

Authors can find all sorts of thing to inspire them  – to be their muse.  What things inspire you?  Share them with us in the comments below!

Author’s Bio:
Tricia Andersen lives in Iowa with her husband, Brian and her three children – her sons, Jake and Jon, and her daughter, Alex.  She graduated from the University of Iowa with a Bachelor of Arts in English and from Kirkwood Community College with an Associate of Arts degree in Communications Media/Public Relations.  Along with writing (which she loves to do), Tricia coaches and participates in track and field, does kickboxing, reads, sews and is involved in many of her children's activities.

Tricia is a member of the Romance Writers of America and RWA Chapter 177 From the Heart Romance Writers.
Links to buy the book:
Secret Cravings Publishing
Soon to Amazon!

Author’s links:
2.  Facebook
3.  Website
4.  Twitter 
5.  Goodreads

Blurb:
Cassandra is brought to the palace by her grandfather, the sorcerer Malicar, after her parents are brutally murdered.  After being presented to King Thomas she is raised alongside two boys – Thomas’s son, Matthew and Victor, the young man chosen to be Matthew’s commander of the army.

However her life in the royal palace comes at a price. She is vowed into a life of servitude Matthew’s advisor, forfeiting the dream of having a husband and children of her own.

As they mature into adults, childhood curiosities turn to jealousy and burning desire. Cassandra finds herself caught between the two men and forced to make a decision – to throw away her vows for the life she dreamt about with a man she does not love or to stay shackled to the promises she made as a child to be with the man she wants with her heart, body and soul but cannot have.


Excerpt:
Cassandra firmly capped the bottle of herbs with a cork and slipped the container in her bag. She marked her books, stacking one on top of the other. Glancing out the window, she watched as Matthew gently kissed Stephana before helping her into the carriage.

Sighing, she pulled herself away from the window to gather more herbs. She picked up her books and the bag of bottles. Then, she hobbled to the door and struggled to open it with her one free hand.

Cassandra jumped back, startled, as she discovered Matthew standing in the doorway. He clung to the doorframe as he stared at her.

“How may I serve, my lord?” she greeted as she awkwardly bowed to him.

“Where are you going?” he asked, barely audible.

“Home. I have much to do before I return in the morning and you leave for battle.”

Matthew paused. “I did not propose to Stephana.”

Cassandra set her items on a table nearby. “That was unwise, my lord.”

Matthew stared at her as he dug his fingernails into the wood of the frame. “Cassa, do not leave me like this.”

Cassandra swallowed as she heard the urgency in his voice. “Like what, my lord?”

“Like this—the formal address, the subservient nature. This.” Matthew stood up straight, taking a step to grip her arms in his hands.

“Tell me her name,” Matthew demanded.

“There is no one.”

“Tell me her name,” Matthew begged. “Tell me, and I will give her my heart and make her my bride. I swear this.”

Cassandra stared at him, tears filling her eyes. “What if she belongs to another man?” She looked away as the words she spoke seemed to crush him. He closed his eyes, fighting to defeat the truth, the truth he already must know. Capitalizing on his weakness, Cassandra pulled away. “I told you there is no one.”

He grasped her hand, pressing it to his heart. “No, my lady, I will win her. I will fight, and I will not stop until she is cradled in my arms. This I promise you. Do you hear me? This I promise you.”
Her tears burst their floodgates as she slipped her fingers from his. “I must go,” she stumbled out. “I have much to do. I must go.”

Cassandra scooped up her books then swept by Matthew and ran down the stairs. She cringed as she heard him call her name, his voice betraying his pain.

Cassandra could not sleep. She lay in her bed, staring at the ceiling of her room as the night passed by. As dawn brushed the sky, she pulled herself from her covers, dressed, and trudged her return to the palace.

In no time, she stood in the courtyard, the soldiers around her completely oblivious to her presence. She glanced up as Victor rode next to her. “Lock yourself in the tower. I will see you when I get back,” he instructed as he kissed her on the cheek.

“Stay safe,” she murmured.

Cassandra looked to the ground as Victor’s horse trotted away. Then, she raised her head as she heard hoof steps approach. Matthew wandered across the courtyard, leading his stallion behind him. His eyes, yearning and desperate, locked on her.

She shuddered as he approached, his stride determined as he wove his way around the soldiers scattered around the courtyard. He stopped, dropping the reins of his horse, when he reached her.
Without warning or care for decency, Matthew cupped Cassandra’s face in his hands drawing her lips to his and parting them in a soul-wrenching kiss. She clung to his arms as he tasted her, clearly searching for confession, answers—her love for him. As he pulled away, he whispered, “Lock yourself in. I could not live another day if anything happened to you.”

Matthew’s fingers caressed Cassandra’s skin once more before they slipped away to grasp his horse's reins. He glanced at her over his shoulder before he disappeared behind the wall. Cassandra hugged herself tightly, her limbs shaking in uncertainty.

Collecting herself as much as possible, she wound her way to her tower blindly. Her thoughts were incoherent. Matthew? Victor? She rubbed her fingertips against her swollen lips. Both had made their feelings for her abundantly clear. And both were riding out to battle. Above all, the vows she had taken as a child dictated she could have neither of them.

Tears filled her eyes as she collapsed onto her cushion. The only thing she knew with clarity was that she needed to get her thoughts together. It wouldn’t be long before she would be joining them on the battlefield.

Tuesday, June 18, 2013

Win a Print Copy of Soul Taker! @KMNbooks @rebeccajvickery



Goodreads Book Giveaway


Soul Taker by Karen Michelle Nutt

Soul Taker

by Karen Michelle Nutt


Giveaway ends August 17, 2013.

See the giveaway details
at Goodreads.

Enter to win

Monday, June 17, 2013

Manlove in the time of S. Patrick by Erin O'Quinn @dawnofireland @KMNbooks #Manlove

KAREN: Erin O'Quinn pens m/f steamy romances and erotic m/m historical tales where her fascination with the  Gaelic tongue, is reflected in many of her novels. She's here today with a behind the scene look at her series: The Iron Warrior. Let's give her a warm welcome! Take it away Erin!


ERIN: Thank you very much, Karen Nutt, for allowing me to share your lovely site. I’ll give you a short bio and then draw your attention to a couple of historical manlove novels that I wrote for Siren last year.

I  was born almost literally on the side of a mountain in Nevada and was hauled kicking and screaming into  the nearest town, fifty miles away, to attend first grade. To this day, I feel kindergarten-deprived.

I earned a few degrees from the University of So. California, but my real education began on the back docks of the Las Vegas (NV) Review-Journal newspaper, and on the good-old-boy car lots in Abilene, Texas where I sold Chryslers and used cars.

I live outside a tiny town in central Texas, far from any locale I’ve ever written about.  But I’m blessed with a rich imagination!

If I had spare time, I’d spend it in a weed-tangled yard playing with my curmudgeonly cats. But nay, I spend most of the time in front of an iMac keyboard writing, writing, writing. Novels, short stories, blog articles, FB posts, and more.

I guess I’m  a changeable kind of person. One day I’m writing young adult history/fantasy, the next day mainstream romance, the day after that gay lit. But one pursuit is strong and clear: the dedication to writing novels, both historical and contemporary.

The following discussion is based on these two books:

 Find both on Siren Bookstrand along with two 5* reviews.

Manlove in the time of St. Patrick 
by Erin O'Quinn

As Erin O'Quinn, I have gained some recognition as a writer of M/F historical romances published by Siren Bookstrand, set in the Ireland of St Patrick.

Now, with the publication of two novels in the Iron Warrior Series, my romances have taken a dramatic turn—away from the traditional, even expected coupling of men and women and to the outright passion of two men for each other.

The M/F novels have followed a logical progression, from the time in ca. 432 AD when Caylith lands with a group of 300 immigrants in the area of present-day Belfast, to their migration to Armagh and the Hill of Macha where St. Patrick has established his ministry. From Armagh, the immigrants from Britannia make their way to Derry, where Caylith has been ceded land by the High King.

All the while my Dawn of Ireland novels track the immigrants, the characters Gristle and Wynn are on the periphery, sometimes coming into Caylith's focus and other times receding.

Forty year-old Gristle is Caylith's armsman, a professional ex-Roman soldier and former guerilla-style fighter who served a Welsh lord. Wynn is a man half his age, a pony trainer who once had the raw beginnings of a romantic relationship with Caylith. As soon as  readers pick up the first series novel Warrior, Ride Hard, they will see that these two characters have been close to Caylith all along. And they will see that during most of the time period covered by those books, the two men have been living together in a homoerotic relationship. For readers of the trilogy, this may come as a shock. Who'd have thought it?

The first question a reader might ask is this: Is it possible that two gay men could live together and establish a complex relationship in the context of the culture and beliefs of the time?

The short answer is yes. The centuries-old Brehon law did not proscribe gay relationships. In fact, the harshest "punishment" I have found for homosexuality is that a married woman who discovers that her husband is gay may be granted an automatic divorce. The law is silent on any other aspect of homosexuality.

Now, 1500 years later, we will never really know how people felt about the "morality" or propriety of gay relationships. I suspect that they were understood, tolerated, probably even largely ignored. He who sired no children did not enlarge his cenél, his extended clan. That left more property and cattle for the others.

And so all the while Caylith and her immigrants are having their own adventures, these two lovers discover each other, come together, and slowly begin to feel a deep emotional attachment to each other—all in the context of sometimes humorous, sometimes grim adventures in the beautiful yet dangerous environment of Old World Ireland.

Warrior, Ride Hard is not just the story of Gristle and Wynn. It is also the story of Gristle and a lost love—Tristus, the runaway whose parents have been killed by Picts. This is a man whom the Roman soldier Gristle met ten years prior to the present story. He disappeared from his watch one night, instilling an immutable sorrow in Gristle's deep subconscious. The story, then, revolves around the complex relationship among these three men.

Warrior, Stand Tall is more straightforward in its adventures, yet more complex in the conflicts between Gristle and Wynn. The younger man feels shame over a possible violation by two immoral druids. Not voicing his inner turmoil, he allows it to come between him and his lover. Gristle, meanwhile, is plagued by deep jealousies and by a heartfelt fear of the goddess Fortuna—she whose wheel revolves, changing good luck to bad and happiness to despair.

All the while exploring the psychological barriers and conflicts of Gristle and Wynn, the books take a reader from St. Patrick’s famous monastery at Armagh, north to the settlement called Derry, then to the famous hill of Tara, home of Ireland’s high king.

In all, the two novels explore old world Britannia near Hadrian’s Wall; Wales and its Cairn Mountains;  and northern Ireland as the adventures take the characters to places both achingly beautiful and rife with peril.

In a rare interlude from the dangers around them, Gristle and Wynn take a side trip into Wales’ Cairn mountains in search of wild ponies.  

Here is an excerpt from that section of Warrior, Stand Tall:

They did not wait for dawn, and they did not build a fire. Both men saddled their horses by touch alone, and Wynn tied two loops of rope behind the saddle of his palomino. Last night he had selected a four-foot, limber birch branch. Now he fixed it behind the saddle and mounted the stallion.

Without a word, they guided their horses around one side of the rocky summit toward the east face where the rising sun might catch a pony trembling in the new day. Wynn noticed that Gristle was letting him take the lead, as though quietly asking to be taught. He grinned at the notion of the trainer allowing himself to be trained.

Wynn would not allow his horse to walk quickly. Only the hooves of a mountain pony would find safe purchase in the sliding, treacherous rocks. By now, a wan light had caused the stars to disappear, showing the coarse ground under their horses’ hooves.

After about ten minutes, both riders stopped on a high, flat outcropping. The eastern horizon had become a saffron-pink, and tendrils of blushing clouds spread and raced in the direction of the wind. 
Wynn sat erect, his ears tuned to the slightest sound of falling rock or the breathy whffle of an excited pony.

And then he heard a familiar snort and whinny, the kind he had heard every morning for three years on Marrie’s wooded estate. He raised his hand and pointed so that Gristle could look in the same direction as the sound.

A shallow canyon lay about thirty feet to their right and perhaps twenty feet below the spot their horses were standing. Wynn stroked the palomino’s neck, reassuring him with his touch, knowing that his stallion had sensed them, too. He hoped there were no ready mares among the ponies. Otherwise, the palomino would be worse than useless—he would probably destroy their chances of snaring their prey.

He rode his horse closer to Gristle and spoke in a low voice. “The days grow longer. A mare may be in season. We need to find a place to tether our horses.”

Gristle waved his hand briefly to let him know he understood. Wynn directed his horse slowly off the outcropping and into a little copse of stripling pines whose deep roots, along with the hungry roots of the alpine flowers, had somehow taken hold in this place of stone. They tethered their stallions. Wynn handed Gristle one of the rope loops. He seized the second rope in one hand and the slender birch limb in the other. Together, they walked on feet of shadows into the canyon.

Wynn motioned Gristle to a standstill and surveyed the scene below. There were five ponies just twenty feet away. Two were standing on the canyon rim, and three were browsing the ground cover in the rocky trench.

Wynn’s eyes felt the sudden sting of salty tears. The ponies, sleek and spirited, had probably never smelled or laid eyes on a man. They were calm and confident, not knowing what danger lay in the hands of two crafty hunters.

KAREN: Erin, thank you for joining us today and sharing a behind the scene look at The Iron Warrior series. I wish you the very best with your books! 

You can find Erin O'Quinn at:



Erin’s Blogs:  Gaelic Spirit   The Man in Romance  
MM: Gaslight Mysteries: http://caitlinfire.wordpress.com
Erin’s Historical Romances: SirenBookstrand

Including The Iron Warrior (MM) series
Erin’s Contemporary MM Romances:
FB  Erotica Writers & Readers group founder. You’re invited to apply.



Sunday, June 16, 2013

Snippet Sunday: Magic of the Loch (Chapter Two #1) #SPeekSunday #8sunday #snippetsunday

Snippet Sunday: Magic of the Loch, Chapter 2 #1 

Michaela has agreed to let Alan and Hyatt give her a tour of the loch. Alan is not pleased with Hyatt's flirting and he's not thrilled with the way he responded to meeting Michaela. These are his thoughts...



Snippet Sunday: Magic of the Loch (Chapter Two #1) #SPeekSunday #8sunday #snippetsunday

Monday, June 3, 2013

Legend and Myth of a Cowboy by Karen Michelle Nutt

Tues. June 4th:  Join me at the Western Fictioneers. I'll be chatting about cowboys and why we love them so much.

Tweets are always appreciated: Tues. June 4th Legend & Myth of a Cowboy by Karen Michelle Nutt @WestFictioneers @WestTrailBlazer @paladin_68 http://westernfictioneers.blogspot.com/