Update: Mary picked the lucky winners and they are:  Maria Smith and Stacy Fox! Congrats!! Since Mary linked this giveaway with her Facebook Fan page ( http://www.facebook.com/pages/Mary-Wine/133965836120), you can find the full details there.

It’s my pleasure to welcome awesome historical author Mary Wine to the party.  Mary writes wonderfully sensual and romantic tales that I adore. Mary, thanks for joining us!

It’s release time!

Always a favorite time for us authors. You see, we turn in our babies, edit and polish them and then…move on to another book before they come out and we get to share them with anyone. Congrats Cynthia! Excellent reason for a party!

My last release of Highland Heat and my coming one is ‘My Fair Highlander’, both Scottish historicals, so I thought I’d blog about men in kilts.

What is it about men in kilts?

I think it isn’t so much what they wear as who they are. Those Celts are tough people, Scotland itself isn’t the easiest place to survive. The soil is thin in many places and it rains…a lot! But these northern lands have been home to people that flourish where I fear I might raise my white flag of surrender.

The kilt itself is a garment that comes from practicality. First of all, it’s wool. For centuries, this was one of the only textile fibers being produced in the area. It is the easiest one to cultivate because sheep can graze freely. Wool maintains ninety percent of its insulting factor when wet when cotton keeps only ten. Something very important if you are talking about surviving in a time when there is no central heating. The kilt was a length of wool, which might be sheered off a sheep, carded by hand and spun into yarn which could be woven by even the most rural family.

But that’s not what draws me to the Highlands for my stories. I do love reading the historical facts because it puts me in touch with the time period. I think that’s vital to a good historical novel. As a reader, I want to have enough detail to believe I’m there and as an author, I try to make sure that happens. There’s a delicate balance to maintain it but Highlanders are worth the effort.

They were hardened by the land they lived on but had a great sense of humor too. These men held themselves to noble ideals and that is what brings to my mind as my heroes. The kilt, that so many poke fun at is actually another detail of their ability to preserver. Textiles were hard to produce, meaning you had one garment and they belted it during the day and unpleated it at night to use for bedding. Rather ingenious of them in my opinion.

Beyond that…the clans of Scotland draw the imagination because of the unity they are heralded to have had. I think that’s part of every humans desire to be part of something. There are certainly times that you long for privacy but for the most part, we all value knowing that we are missed. When I’m writing my story, my hero has to care about more than just himself. His dedication is what proves he’s noble. Drop by my website for excerpts!

Mary Wine….MaryWine.com….romance that’s intoxicating.

I’ll be giving away a couple of advance copies of ‘My Fair Highlander’. Don’t miss out on this treat. Here’s an excerpt to tempt you, to enter go over and like my FaceBook page. Tell me what you think of the excerpt to be entered in the give-a-way.

https://www.facebook.com/#!/pages/Mary-Wine/133965836120

My Fair Highlander….Aug 2011.

Excerpt-

One of those dark eyebrows arched in arrogant display. “Well now, lass, I’ve asked yer brother for permission to court ye. A thing I did long before tonight, so do nae be calling me sinful just because ye enjoyed running yer hands across me chest.”

Jemma snarled. “You kissed me first.”

Gordon shrugged. “Aye, I did. Does that mean that ye would like the opportunity to touch me first? I’m ready to stand steady while ye do with me as ye please, lass.”   His eyes sparkled like a boys.   “I feel the weather growing warmer at just the idea of ye reaching for me.”

Her hand flew out before she thought about it. She balled up her fingers and punched him on the side of his mocking jaw just as she’d seen the men doing in the training yard. Pain snaked up her arm and into her shoulder, drawing another profane word from her lips.

Gordon laughed, full volume, and the man actually leaned over to brace his hands on the top of his thighs while he continued to roar with amusement. In spite of the pain, Jemma pulled her hand back for another swing. Gordon ducked when she came at him this time, his body lowering so that the force of her strike carried her over his wide shoulder. He took full advantage of her inexperience with fighting and surged up so that she ended up bent over his shoulder. One hard hand connected with her unprotected bottom with a smack that echoed off the chamber walls.

“Put me down!”

“As ye like.”    He slapped her unprotected bottom another time, before dumping her off his shoulder. Jemma shrieked as she felt her body falling through the air. A vision of her slamming into the floor made her cringe but her body bounced on the soft surface of the bed instead. Her skirts flew up and came down in a tangled mess that knotted around her legs.

“You beast!” She flipped onto her belly and felt the night air brush against her bare thighs above the top of her knee-high stockings. She jerked her face up to discover Gordon admiring the view her tussled skirts was affording him. Kicking at the fabric, she rose up onto her knees but stopped because the man stood in front of the bed, blocking the path she would have taken off it.

He looked for all the world like some Viking from winter stories. The ones that were told near the end of winter when all of the better stories were exhausted. Sitting back down, Jemma rolled over, intent on leaving the bed from the opposite side. But something large and heavy landed on the bed. She snarled and tried to swing her legs off the bed only to discover that her dress held her back. Turing her head, she found Gordon lying across the foot of the bed with one elbow propped against the surface of the bed and his head resting in his hand while the beast smirked at her.

His heavier body lay across her skirts, trapping her where she lay with only her chemise to guard her modesty.

“Ye hit me wildcat, so do nae be crying when it was you that set the tone of our conversation.”

Jemma grabbed her skirt and gave it a yank, but the fabric remained lodged beneath his weight. “You earned it for behaving like such a blackard and stealing a kiss from me.”

“Hmmm….possibly.”

“There is no question about it. Now get off my dress, we should not be in…in—”

“In bed together?”

Jemma felt her face burn with a blush. “Exactly.”

“With yer skirts tossed?” His lips were curving up in a grin while his tone mocked her.

“Stop it. This is cruel. Riding out was foolish, but I am not a slut, and you should not be looking at my thighs. No one has ever looked at…” She couldn’t help how pitiful she sounded. Helplessness was closing around her with an icy grip. There was nothing to stop him from doing what he would. Even her own body seemed to have a liking for his touch. She looked away from him, unable to prevent two tears from easing from her eyes. She many have done some foolish things since her father’s death, but never had she shamed him.

A soft word muttered in Gaelic drew her attention back to Gordon. He lifted his body so that her skirts were loose. She pulled them towards her and sat up so that her legs were covered once again. Gordon relaxed against the bed once more, lying in a contented pose while he studied her. It was by far the most unusual setting she had ever been in. All of her life had been dictated by rules and traditions. The prospect of being in bed with a man she barely knew had never occurred to her. At least, not if that man was not her husband. Brides often had to deal with meeting their spouses for the first time on the night of their wedding.

But she had no such comfort as knowing that wedding vows protected her honor and future. Losing her maidenhead tonight would see her facing a harsh reality tomorrow morning. There would be plenty who would point and judge her for not being pure. Gordon wouldn’t face such. No, the shame would be hers alone and well deserved for sneaking past Synclair the way she had. There was no one to blame but herself.

She drew in a deep breath and banished the tears from her eyes, better to face what was to come then shiver in dread.

“Well? What do you want now, Gordon Dwyre?”

His lips twitched but they didn’t curve. The man appeared to watching her, studying her.

“I shouldn’t have looked at yer thighs, lass.”

Jemma nodded agreement.

“But I enjoyed it full well.”   He smiled with arrogant confirmation of that enjoyment.

She offered him a short huff.   “If you think I’ll thank you for that compliment, you are mistaken.”

He lifted one thick finger.   “Maybe not but I see that ye find me as interesting as I find you.”

“I do not.”

His lips parted as his smile became larger.   “Ye undress me with yer eyes Jemma, ‘tis a fact that I find it hard to resist.”

“Try harder.”    She would, she had to.

He shook his head.   “But ye did hit me, so—” His gaze lowered to her lips and passion flared to life in his eyes. “Ye owe me one sweet kiss to relieve the pain.”

“Trust a man to believe kisses relieve pain.”

One of those eyebrows rose once more. “Do ye deny that many a mother has offered a kiss to soothe the discomfort of her child?”

“You are not a child.” And she was far too aware of it for her own sanity. Her nipples were still hard, begging for the touch of his skin against them. The idea of kissing him was threatening to cast every scrap of self discipline aside.

“If I roll onto me back and allow ye to tickle me belly, will ye offer me a sweet kiss, Jemma?”

Her mouth went dry. “I shall not.” Jemma forced the words past the wicked urgings that were emerging from the excitement flickering in her belly. Part of her did want to touch him, almost too much to ignore.

“Well that’s a pity. I think I would have enjoyed it full well.” He winked at her before rolling over his shoulder and off the edge of the bed. His kilt went flying but he landed on his feet in a balanced stance before straightening up and all she gained was a flash of his trim back side.

A pity…

Her cheeks flamed scarlet.

“I must admit that I did enjoy putting ye to bed, lass. I hope I get the chance to do it more often.”

She gasped and snarled as she struggled to crawl off the bed, but her dress hampered her progress.

“Why do women wear such stupid clothing?”

Jemma didn’t realize that she had voiced her thought until she heard Gordon laughing once again. This time it was husky and sweet, sounding far too enticing for her frayed self control.

“Well now, lass, I admit that the idea of seeing ye in a kilt would be pleasing indeed.” His face became a mask of sensuous intent, shocking her with how much she noticed his emotions. “But that would put yer thighs on display to everyone and I think that I’m not liking that part of it at all.” He plucked at the edge of the rust and orange wool that formed his kilt, lifting it a few inches to show his own thigh that was cut with powerful muscle. Her gaze lowered to it, remaining there until the wool pleats of his plaid fell back down to cover his bare skin.

“No one will disturb ye in this chamber. Ula will knock.”

“So I may feel at ease, is that what you suggest?”

He shrugged. “I could stay and do me best to help ye settle in. We do seem to find things to talk about.”   His eyes narrowed.   “And do.”

“The chamber is very nice, thank you for your kindness, I have all that I require.” She fired off her retort rapidly.   “Pray, do not let me keep from more important matters.”

He chuckled at her, his lips flashing an arrogant grin at her. “Very well, lass, although I confess to being just a wee bit disappointed in yer choice.”

He considered her with one more long look before turning and quitting the room. Jemma relaxed, her body sagging on her knees in the middle of the bed with her skirts puddled all about her. Her heart was beating fast as though she had been running. The night air felt good against her skin because she was warm, just like on a summer day. Her corset felt abnormally tight and her nipples were still hard behind them. She felt drained now that he was gone, as though her emotions had returned to normal but she now understood how little she felt during her everyday life.

Jemma gasped at the horror of the moment, raising a hand to cover her mouth. Horror, torment and longing. Shock held her in its grasp so tightly, all she could do was sit there while the events of the night replayed themselves across her mind. She trembled at the recollection of how close she had come to her own death, but that paled when compared to the way she quivered when she thought about the kiss Gordon Dwyre had pressed against her lips.  The darkness around her suddenly became more friend than enemy because it shrouded her and her blush. Try as she might, there was no way to banish Gordon from her mind.

No there was only the night and the man that had kissed her beneath its velvet curtain.

***

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This entry was posted on Tuesday, June 28th, 2011 at 3:00 pm and is filed under Romance. You can follow any comments to this entry through the RSS feed. Both comments and pings are currently closed.