Thursday Threads Welcomes Cathy MacRae, author of The Highlander’s Accidental Bride

The Highlander’s Accidental Bride (Book 1 in the Highlander’s Bride series)

by Cathy MacRae

Historical Romance set in the Highlands of Scotland, 1375

Heat Scale: Sensual

Wed at the king’s command, they entered a marriage neither wanted. Realizing he married the wrong woman, can Laird Scott forge a lasting bond with his new bride and put a long-standing feud to rest?


“Ah, Eaden.” Ranald’s raised voice brought the earl to a halt.

He turned. “What?”

“There may be a problem with your, er, wife.”

“I saw her with the servants.” Eaden scowled at the memory. “I’ll speak to her about her duties.”

“Och, ‘tis no’ the problem.”

“Then what is?”

“She’s no’ yer wife.”

“What do ye mean?” Eaden bit out the words. Damn the Barde wench! What kind of trouble had she stirred up in the two weeks he’d been gone?

Ranald squared his shoulders. “I mean, ye married her, but she isnae the woman we thought she was.”


“The day after ye left for Troon, yer bride came running from yer bedroom all in a panic.” He tossed Eaden a wry look. “I wasnae too surprised about that. She kept telling me she wasnae Miriam.”

“What are ye talking about?” Eaden ground out in a voice growing thin with impatience.

“She swears she isnae Miriam Barde, but Mary Marsh, Lady Miriam’s companion.”

Eaden’s face flushed hot with anger as he digested the news and considered the ramifications. “The woman is lying. She has fought me tooth and nail from the beginning. The treacherous wench is trying one last time to put an end to this marriage.” He glared at Ranald, daring him to disagree.

“Nay,” Ranald replied evenly. “You dinnae see or hear her that day. She was pale and trembling. I dinnae think she was lying.”

Eaden didn’t bother to answer. He spun on his heel and strode down the stairs and into the castle, looking for the woman who was turning his life upside down.


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Happy Halloween!

Tomorrow is one of my favorite days of the year.

Now, I love Halloween, but not for the reasons one would expect. As a kid, it was close to the top, but it wasn’t my favorite. It actually became my favorite holiday after I got married.

I love the chill in the air, the dramatic colors of the leaves. I love the costumes, even if I don’t get dressed up myself. I like how creative people sometimes get with their costumes. I love the food–in my house we do mulled cider and hot cocoa, “holiday scones” (my daughter’s term) and, if my son plays his cards right, chicken wings.

I love kitschy Halloween, the changing seasons, and even the vaguely sinister feel in the air. (I don’t like it too scary, and the boy doesn’t like it scary at all, so we play it pretty safe)

But what solidified Halloween’s place in my heart as my favorite holiday? It was one of those rare exceptions where I didn’t have to worry about upsetting anyone.

There were no fights over where we would be for Halloween night, or whose house we would go to the following morning. It was one of those days where we could just do whatever we wanted and be with whomever we wanted. It was a holiday that was about M and me and no one else.

This year, we have a couple of packed weekends. Tomorrow is trick-or-treating with the kids. Friday, we’re all going to a party at a friend’s house. The following day, we’re going to an event thing, where I’m pretty certain I’m supposed to get dressed up all fancy, and I don’t have a dress. It’s a 20’s theme, but I’m really hoping I can get away with just dressed up.

Looks like I’m going shopping on Saturday.

This after attending three parties last weekend. It’s actually quite a lot for an introvert like me. 🙂

Halloween…it’s a wonder I get any writing done at all this time of year!

Thursday Threads Welcomes CD Hersh!

The Promised One
By C.D. Hersh
Genre: Paranormal romance suspense
Heat Level: Sensual

When homicide detective Alexi Jordan is forced to use her shape shifting powers to catch a paranormal killer, she risks the two most important things in her life—her badge and the man she loves.


The woman stared at him, blood seeping from the corner of her mouth. “Return the ring, or you’ll be sorry.”
With a short laugh he stood. “Big words for someone bleeding to death.” After dropping the ring into his pocket, he gathered the scattered contents of her purse, and started to leave.
“Wait.” The words sounded thick and slurred . . . two octaves deeper . . . with a Scottish lilt.
Shaw frowned and spun back toward her. The pounding in his chest increased. On the ground, where the woman had fallen, lay a man.
He wore the same slinky blue dress she had—the seams ripped, the dress top collapsed over hard chest muscles, instead of smoothed over soft, rounded curves. The hem skimmed across a pair of hairy, thick thighs. Muscled male thighs. Spiked heels hung at an odd angle, toes jutting through the shoe straps. The same shoes she’d been wearing.
The alley tipped. Shaw leaned against the dumpster to steady himself. He shook his head to clear the vision, then slowly moved his gaze over the body.
A pair of steel-blue eyes stared out of a chiseled face edged with a trim salt-and-pepper beard. Shaw whirled around scanning the alley.
Where was the woman? And who the hell was this guy?
Terrified, Shaw fled.
The dying man called out, “You’re cursed. Forever.”

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I’ll Admit It

I’ll admit it…This vacation, I thought we were going to be THAT family.

You know, THAT family. The one you follow around Disneyland just to hear what outrageous thing they’ll say next (oh, and trust me, whatever does get said is so horrible, it’s funny).

After two years, we decided to return to Disneyland. Last time we were here, my then four year old threw ginormous fits and acquired a terror of fire alarms that we still haven’t broken him of, not entirely.

So it was with great reluctance that we decided to return. Ok, actually if it had been up to me, we wouldn’t have. But M was set on the idea, and really wanted to come back, so here we are.

And the first day, Chewey did his part.

He was crabby and cranky and refused to even ride the bus at Universal Studios. He threw a massive fit in the haunted mansion at Disneyland, precipitating a covert escape mid ride through the fire exits (in his defense, now that I’ve seen it, I get why he was scared. It’s loud and dark and a little spooky. I thought it was great. But I get that it might scare a little kid who doesn’t do loud on his best days, and never does the dark).

After the covert escape, M and I were snipping at each other. Nothing major, just general crabbiness. Also, the escape served as a major buzz kill, and left both of us not really wanting to do much of anything.

Then Monk wanted to go on the Matterhorn.

The Matterhorn is my favorite ride in the park, and doing this with her was a great mood elevator. She loved it, and I got to separate myself for about half an hour, which, for me, was like hitting a giant RESET button. Once we got done, I sent M off with her, and sure enough, he came back happy, too.

But we needed one success. One ride that we could do without a freak out. We had tried three, with little success. Then Chewey requested Star Tours.

Now, I get motion sick fairly easily. Star Tours was not something I had planned. I thought I’d get sick, he’d get scared, and we’d be all irritated and on edge all over again. But he begged, we needed a success, so we went.

He loved it. He would have gone on that ride half a dozen times. Me? I saw the introduction, anyway. Then I closed my eyes and just tried to breathe through it. It was bad enough that my eight year old took one look at me as we were leaving and said, “Daddy, Mommy looks like she needs a Zofran.”

(Yes, my children are well acquainted with my stomach meds. A) They live with me. My nausea is no longer constant since I gave up wheat, but it was such a regular occurrence for so long, I’d be surprised if they didn’t know the names of my meds; B) They’re smart and they notice things)

But… We had our success!

He really did pull it out. He did well enough that when we got stuck on a ride, he didn’t even complain. He didn’t complain (that much) when we had to leave Disney early because Monk felt sick. He made it!

So, I’m happy to report that I was wrong. Disneyland was not the disaster I thought it would be. And hooray for that!

Thursday Threads: The King’s Vampire by Brenda Stinnett

The King’s Vampire, first in an Abyss series
Written by Brenda Stinnett
Historical Paranormal set in London, England, after the Restoration of Charles II.
Heat Scale : Sizzling

Darius Einhard, demon slayer, will stop at nothing to help Elizabeth Curran, immortal vampire, break the bonds of vampirism, even while helping her protect Charles Stuart II, who’s in danger of being entrapped into becoming an immortal vampire and leading his people into the abyss of hell by the psychic vampire demons.

The ruins of St. Paul’s Cathedral, London, England, November, 1675

First to reach the top of the ladder, Elizabeth said, “I see a dim light outside the archways of the church. Follow me.”

They’d almost reached the entrance when a hooded figure came rapidly gliding toward them. In silence, the shadowy figure stepped in front of them, blocking the exit while tossing back its hood. Elizabeth recognized Julian, his horrible eyes blazing blood-red, and his mummified face transformed into a skull whose hinged jaws tantalizingly opened and closed, while his wings beat back and forth.

Fear-frozen, Elizabeth watched the skull increase in size, the jaws continuing to rise and fall. The creature grew until it filled the archway.

With a shout, Darius shoved his three companions away from him and toward the archway. “Run! John, take the women to safety.”

John grabbed both women by the arm and started running with them, dodging the skull and slipping beneath Julian’s enormous wings. Elizabeth pulled back and turned around in time to see the huge jaws closing over Darius. She screamed, but John yanked her back and dragged her and Amelia out of the church forcibly, before she could protest further. He gave a shrill whistle. Darius’s coach appeared in front of the ruins. John shoved the women into the coach, and shouted to the driver, “To the Boar’s Head Inn. Hurry up, my good man.”

In the coach, Elizabeth glared at him with such ferocity that he drew away from her in surprise. “How dare you, John!”

His eyes widened. “What’s wrong? Darius told me to get you and Amelia to safety, and that’s what I’ve done.”

His wife touched his shoulder and gave a shake of her head.

Elizabeth sat up on her knees, pressing her face to the back window of the carriage. Even with her superior vision, she saw neither Darius, nor the huge skull from her vantage point.

“We’ve abandoned him to those horrible demons. We should have stayed and fought.”

When she let out an enormous sob, Amelia gently pulled her back onto the seat. “John was doing what Darius asked him to do. Darius is a great warrior and he can take care of himself.”

Elizabeth hardly noticed Amelia stroking her arm in a comforting manner. She felt a pain in the pit of her stomach grow until it reached up and clutched her heart. How could she live with herself if anything happened to him?

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Thursday Threads: Blame It On the Brontes by Becky Lower


Genre Contemporary Romance

Heat Level: Sensual

Three separate love stories intertwine around a central theme, as fractious sisters Charlotte, Emily and Anne Bronson, each in her forties, are in Puffin Bay, ME for their mother’s funeral. Each is ready to sink their claws into the fortune their mother left behind. But their mother has other plans. Her substantial fortune won’t be divided until the trio return to their childhood home and live together for a year. It’s a request that pits sister against sister but could unite them in a common goal to find the friendship they shared as children, to create a family jewelry business and to win over the men of Puffin Bay. They have a year to figure it all out.


Anne Bronson pressed her foot on the gas pedal, trying to ignore the little red light on the dashboard—the one highlighting the E on her gas gauge. She willed the rental moving truck to make it up the next hill, hunching over the steering wheel to help with the climb. No good gas-guzzling piece of crap. Anne directed the truck to the side of the road. There should have been plenty of fuel to get to the house.

If she hadn’t already maxed out her credit card, she would have gladly paid professionals to move her from New York to Maine. But here she was, driving her own belongings north, and out of gas. Her stomach knotted even tighter. She had an inheritance at stake. Eighteen minutes till midnight. Damn.

Hauling her purse behind her, she climbed out of the truck. She kicked a tire and let out a half-hearted scream at the damage her instinctive motion caused her black leather Manolo Blahniks. Tapping her fingernails against her teeth, she peered up and down the dark road. No headlights. No life. No sound.

She fished into her purse for her cell phone and stared at it. No signal, of course. With a deep sigh, she wrestled with her old suitcase with its wonky wheel and strapped her oversized purse across her body as she began to climb the rest of the way up the incline. Two miles to the house. She had eighteen minutes to get there. In six-inch heels.







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Thursday Threads Welcomes BJ Scott!

Highland Homecoming, Book 3 in the Fraser Brothers Trilogy
Written by B.J. Scott
Historical Romance set in northern Scotland, 1308.
Heat Scale : Sizzling (While not considered Erotica, it does contain scenes with some descriptive sexual content.)

When Highland patriot, Alasdair Fraser, offers aid to an unconscious lass he finds on the beach, will he drop the shield that guards his heart or will the secrets she fails to reveal and his own stubbornness drive an impenetrable wedge between them?

Northern Coast of Scotland. Summer 1308
Hooves pounded against rocks, surf, and sand as Alasdair Fraser pushed his mount beyond reasonable limits. Few things rivaled the thrill and exhilarating rush of mastering the powerful destrier between his thighs, controlling the magnificent beast with reins and will. The wind whipped through unbound hair and the tangy scent of the salty sea air filled Alasdair’s nostrils.
He’d ridden hard all afternoon, hoping to reach the stronghold of his friend, Jayden Sinclair. But the sun had slipped below the horizon, the twilight sky ablaze with orange, red, and purple hues. Darkness would soon be upon him and he’d be forced to make camp for the night. He licked his parched lips and his stomach rumbled. Many hours had passed since he’d last eaten, but a hot meal and a tankard of ale would have to wait. Water, oatcakes, and a bit of dried venison would suffice until he reached his destination.
He dug in his heels, and the steed surged forward. The more distance they covered before nightfall, the shorter the journey would be on the morrow. But as they rounded a bend in the shoreline, Odin faltered, reared up on his hind legs, then began to dance nervously from side-to-side. The battle-hardened warhorse didn’t spook easily so Alasdair took heed of the animal’s uneasiness.
With one hand resting on the hilt of his sword, the other fisting the reins, he carefully surveyed the immediate area. Nothing appeared out of the ordinary, yet the niggling of trepidation gnawing at his gut led him to believe there was something amiss. He nudged the horse’s flank and the pair advanced with caution.
They’d only traveled a short distance up the beach when the sight of something a few yards ahead at the water’s edge brought them to an abrupt halt. With his heart hammering in his chest, Alasdair cupped his hand over his brow and narrowed his eyes, trying to get a better look. The image came into focus and he could make out the unmistakable outline of a person sprawled out on the shore.
“What is it, Odin? Or, should I say, who is it?”
While this could be someone in need, it might also be a trap, an enemy or bandit lying in wait. Without hesitation, Alasdair slid from the saddle, pulled a claymore from the baldric slung on his back, and raced down the beach on foot. Stopping a few feet away, he sucked in a sharp breath.
“Mo chreach!”
He sheathed his weapon and took a step closer. A young woman, wearing nothing more than a thin nightrail, lay motionless in the sand, the waves of the incoming tide lapping at her bare feet.

Buy links
Highland Homecoming ( book 3 of Fraser Brother Trilogy)

Highland Quest (book 2 of Fraser Brother Trilogy)

Highland Legacy: (book 1 of Fraser Brother Trilogy)