Cecelia Mecca's Blog, page 11

Help me choose a series title!

The Border Series was an easy one since, well, my first series centered around the tumultuous 13th century Anglo-Scottish border. And then came my co-authored series, Enchanted Falls and Highlander's Through Time. For those, I had help in the form of co-authors.

But now, with a new series coming in October, I'll admit I'm stumped. Book and series names are harder for me than writing the actual book itself! So I'd love to get your help and can tell you this…

https://ceceliamecca.com/wp-content/uploads/2020/08/Balmy-shores-to-the-south.mp4

The next series is set on the Isle of Meria. Two kingdoms fight for power in a medieval world not quite like any other. Is it fantasy? No. Is it a world you're familiar with? Also no. But the political intrigue, battles, tournament and plenty of sexy bits are very much ME. I know you will love it. But first, I need a name.

Scandalous Scot Extended Sneak Peek

New Orleans, Louisiana

Present Day

And just like that, Reik was gone too, leaving Ian alone in the cavernous house.

How many times had Ian looked around the Quarter and said to himself, I’ve seen stranger shit than that? Having grown up in a place with a history of accepting the unwanted, the “freaks” of society . . . Ian was pretty much used to anything.

But this took the cake.

All three of his damn brothers had officially disappeared, presumably into the past.

Ian stared at the ancient silver cross in his hands, the one he and his brother had been holding together a few minutes earlier. It was unnaturally cold, but it hardly looked like a relic that had the power to send one person into the past, let alone three. And yet, there was no denying Rhys, Grey, and Reikart had all disappeared while holding it.

This was some crazy shit. But he couldn’t sit here all day and dwell on it. He had work to do.

Laying the cross on his father’s desk, he strode to the picture window, grateful it overlooked the private garden. St. Charles Ave. was probably swarmed with reporters curious about the increasingly strange affairs of the McCaim family. Dad in a coma. His brothers’ disappearances getting more and more difficult to hide.

And wouldn’t they have a field day with this?

Ian slipped his phone out of his perfectly tailored pants, which would only garner strange looks where he was going. He found his cousin’s number, then called him on speaker and tossed the phone onto the mahogany desk next to him. It would only make him more anxious if he had to watch it shake in his hands.

“Reik’s gone,” he said as soon as his cousin answered.

Silence.

Jeremy, completely up to speed on everything that had happened since the day Rhys disappeared, must be beyond shock at this point.

“Jeremy?”

“I’m here. It’s just . . .”

Yeah, I know.

The whole thing was nuts, which was why they’d assumed their father was crazy the moment the words time travel left his lips. For five years, he’d been claiming their mother hadn’t left them—that she was, in fact, a time traveler from ancient Scotland who’d been called back to her time. The best investigators money could buy had disagreed, saying she’d walked away from the family and scrubbed her identity to avoid being found.

She didn’t leave us. Your mom is from the past. I know it sounds crazy, but I’m going to prove it to you. When I figure out the chant, I will prove it.

They hadn’t laughed him off—he was their dad, after all—but they hadn’t believed him either. Ian felt guilty for that now. They all did. Especially since their father was in a coma. His dedication to finding their mother had taken a toll on him, and he’d suffered a breakdown.

“We worked it out. Jeremy . . .” Ian closed his eyes, blocking out the bright sun streaming in through the picture windows. “I’m going too. You know what to do.”

More silence.

Jeremy would serve as McCaim Shipping’s interim director and take the lead in convening executive sessions. If they weren’t back in two weeks, he would step in to help lead Ian’s public relations team, the one he’d put together over the last four years. After a month, a search firm would be hired to replace all four of the brothers.

They’d come close to losing the business when his mom had first gone missing. Investors had lost faith in the McCaim patriarch, and they’d threatened to walk—so Rhys and Grey had done the hard thing and forced their father out. But Rhys and Grey were gone, and Reik and Ian had agreed they would stop at nothing to go with them. While Ian had wanted to try again immediately, Reik’s cooler head had prevailed. He’d reminded Ian that they were the only two McCaim brothers left in good enough health to run the company. Provisions had to be made. For the company. For their father.

Mom had been gone for five years. What if they were gone as long?

What if they never came back at all? Without the cross, they couldn’t get back. Presumably. And it was still here in his father’s study.

So they’d made their contingency plan. Told their cousin everything to ensure someone would be here for Dad, someone with the best interests of McCaim Shipping in mind.

Now it was time to put it into action.

“Jesus, Ian. I can’t believe this. I mean, I do believe you, but . . . he’s seriously gone?”

Ian turned to look at the spot Reik had occupied moments before.

“He’s gone. And I can’t screw around here. None of us knows how the rules work. If I don’t do this right now, who knows when, or where, I’ll end up. This way, at least I’ll have a good shot at finding Reik.”

“Are you prepared?”

Ian moved toward the duffle bag he’d prepared.

“More than Rhys and Grey, for sure,” he said, unzipping the bag. He hadn’t even changed from work yet. But unlike when he and Reik grabbed the cross earlier, as they’d done most days since Rhys had vanished in front of them, this time, he knew it would work.

He’d watched first Rhys, then Grey, then Reik succeed where he’d failed . . . He knew now which word had tripped him up and was confident he would be joining his brothers next.

“And you’re sure about this?”

Ian tried to ignore the censure in Jeremy’s voice. His cousin didn’t understand the choice he was facing: abandon his mother and brothers in the past or his father and the company he’d built in the present. In the end, nothing mattered more than his family, and the doctor had made it clear that his dad was all but screwed. His brain was still swollen, his prospects dim. So he would go back, find his brothers and mother, and use this silver cross to bring them all back.

Maybe, just maybe, hearing their mother’s voice again would bring their father back too.

He had to hope.

“I’m sure.” He began taking off his dress shoes. “Thank you, Jeremy.”

“Good luck, cuz. I have a feeling you’re going to need it.”

Ian pulled off his socks next and then dumped the jeans, T-shirt, and hoodie out from his bag. What was one supposed to wear to time travel, anyway?

Certainly not a suit.

“Take care of him.” Ian would not get emotional again. He and Reik had already visited the hospital to say their goodbyes to a father who couldn’t hear them.

“Will do.”

This time, the silence wasn’t broken by his cousin’s voice. Jeremy had hung up.

Ian finished changing, and before his brother could get too far ahead of him—if that was even how this worked—he grabbed the cross and took a deep breath.

He’d only been this scared three times in his life.

The night they’d learned their mother was missing. The day they’d gotten the call that their dad was in the hospital. And the first time one of his brothers had disappeared before their eyes. And now he was about to follow in his older brothers’ footsteps, as he’d always done, for better or worse.

Ian’s hands refused to stop shaking. What a chickenshit he was.

Just say the words.

He didn’t need the slip of paper anymore, Ian knew them by heart. He’d listened to Reik’s recording of the words over and over again. His brother hadn’t thought he was listening—it wasn’t something he was known for in the family—but this time, he had been all ears.

Roll the gh on the last word.

“Talamh, èadhar, teine, usige ga thilleadh dhachaigh.”

………….

Scandalous Scot is coming May19, 2020 on Amazon and in Kindle Unlimited.

The post Scandalous Scot Extended Sneak Peek appeared first on Cecelia Mecca.

Author Insight for Scandalous Scot

Background:

Ian McCaim, from modern-day New Orleans, is tossed back to medieval Scotland where he meets Lady Màiri and manages to get himself into trouble almost immediately. This is from Scandalous Scot, Chapter 20.

Author Insight:

I choose this section to illustrate one of my absolute favorite things about writing a time travel in this Highlander's Through Time series. I enjoy putting myself in the mind of a person who suddenly finds themselves in the midst of a war between kings, a time when bow practice was mandatory and clan rivalries very real.

In the last paragraph, Ian prepares to meet his grandfather. Creating a cast of characters for this series who weave through each book mean Julie and I coordinated continually, at times on a daily basis. We also were intent from the beginning to root the story amidst a backdrop of real history choosing a time before Robert the Bruce came to power.

This one page represents a balance between my own vision for Scottish time travel and the shared one Julie and I blended together for the series along with more than a sprinkling of history and, of course, love.

Get Scandalous Scot when it's released on Amazon and in KUon May 19, 2020.

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Find your perfect historical romance

I've banded together with a few romance author friends to bring you the ultimate historical romance lover's quiz to find out the perfect histrom for you. Which historical romance did you get? Comment to let me know! And if you'd prefer time travel as a genre instead of just in the quiz, try this sneak peek at my new Scottish time travel release.

The post Find your perfect historical romance appeared first on Cecelia Mecca.

Sexy Scot Author Insight

Background:

Greyson McCaim, from modern New Orleans, is tossed back to medieval Scotland where he meets Lady Marian, daughter of the Earl of Fenwall. Unable to explain his pecularities, Greyson finally decides to tell her the truth.

Author Insight:

Writing my first time travel romance, Falling for the Knight, I realized one of the challenges of this particular genre was being able to reconcile the unbelievability of time travel. Frankly, it gets in the way of the romance.

In Sexy Scot, I decided to circumnavigate that awkwardness by having Marian cope with such a claim using humor. Instead of running for the hills, she laughs him off. Marian chooses to believe he's teasing her, refusing to answer her questions sincerely.

This allowed me to develop their relationship while at the same time not quite reconciling the truth which, in my opinion, would be a difficult sell– believing someone is truly from the future.

So what will Greyson say to finally convince her? Find out March 31st when Sexy Scot releases on Amazon and in Kindle Unlimited. Subscribe to chat with Greyson for an extended sneak peek here.

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Sneak Peek of Sexy Scot

Get an even longer extended sneak peek ahead of March 31st when Sexy Scot (Highlander's Through Time, Book 2) releases on Amazon, Kindle Unlimited and on audio by subscribing to chat with the hero of Sexy Scot, Greyson McCaim.

The Earl: A Second Chance Medieval Romance {Sneak Peek}

With just two days left until the release of the final Order of the Broken Blade installment, “The Earl: A Second Chance Medieval Romance,” here's a sneak peek at the first chapter. Enjoy!

Licheford Castle, England, 1215

“Nude becomes you, Lady Threston.”

Conrad, as always, told only the truth. She was quite handsomely formed for a woman of two and thirty or, more accurately, for a woman of any age.

“Jeanette,” the blonde widow corrected, not for the first time that evening. Or since they’d met the month before. It peeved her when he used her courtesy title. “Come back.” She bent one leg up slowly, giving him a view sure to entice most men.

But not him. Not now.

“I cannot.”

Conrad could have told her his steward awaited him. Or that he was so anxious for word from his friends and co-conspirators at Dromsley Castle that he felt the need to keep a near-constant lookout. He’d not heard from any of them in more than a fortnight. But taking her into his confidence in such a way would deepen their relationship, something he had no intention of doing. So instead he said nothing and continued to dress.

“I spoke with your guest, Lady Sabine, today.” Jeanette lowered her leg, though she did not attempt to cover herself, another attribute he quite liked. Her lack of modesty became her. “She speaks to me as she would any other widow of my station.”

“I’m glad for it.” Conrad finished wrapping the laces of his boots and stood.

Unfortunately, he seemed to have missed her point. Jeanette’s perfectly arched eyebrows turned downward, but she did not comment.

Conrad relented, if only slightly. “Jeanette?”

He stood by the bed, waiting.

“I am not simply any widow at Licheford.”

Ahhh. She wanted him to openly acknowledge her. That was something he could never do, not for her or any woman. He had been clear about his limitations that first night, but Conrad had suspected for some time now that Jeanette wanted more from him. They would obviously need to have a talk. On another day.

“You are a most entertaining bed partner.” Conrad leaned down, kissed her, and stood to leave. “But one who must do without her earl for the evening. We will talk more on the morrow.”

Surprisingly, she held her tongue, although she was clearly unhappy with his dismissal.

He should not have come to her.

But the waiting . . .

Making his way from Marchette Tower toward the keep, Conrad looked for Wyot. Thankfully, his steward’s red hair should be easy to spot, even in the crowd dispersing from the evening meal he had missed.

“I’d not have expected you back so soon.”

It was Guy’s voice. If anyone was more impatient for news than Conrad, it was Guy. As a mercenary who had also been raised by a mercenary, he was accustomed to moving from place to place. The months he’d stayed at Licheford, waiting for word—from their friends, from the king, from anyone—would likely have driven him mad if not for Sabine. Although his friend had once spurned marriage, he had found the one woman who suited him.

He turned toward his friend, fully expecting a joke about his failure to make an appearance at the meal.

“Oh?” he asked. Then, because he couldn’t help himself, he added, “Any word?” He’d asked Guy that very same question just before his short visit to Jeanette.

Guy rolled his eyes. “Aye, in the very few moments you’ve been gone—a fact that does not recommend your manhood, my friend—we have indeed received word. A missive from Dromsley.”

His mocking tone said otherwise, but Conrad decided to play along.

“And what, pray tell, did the missive say?”

The sound of childish laughter drew his gaze to a couple of young children playing with a pup in the corner of the courtyard. Conrad would fight to preserve their innocence, their smiles and laughter. The king’s unjust policies and cruel taxes and reprisals, all to fund a war no one wanted, had taken a toll on the country he loved. They had not touched Licheford yet, but if King John went unchecked, they would. He and the other members of the order had set out to stop that. They, along with the twenty or so barons who’d joined their cause, had taken the unprecedented step of presenting the king with a list of demands. He had indicated he would treat with them, but they’d heard nothing else. All winter they’d waited for a response.

It was enough to drive a man mad.

“It was quite surprising, really,” Guy continued. “It said your continued vigil for a missive is likely to drive away your friends, your steward, that lusty widow, and all those who come into contact with you.”

Conrad crossed his arms. “I do not fare well with all this waiting,” he admitted.

“I had not noticed.”

“My lord?”

Wyot pulled on his bushy red beard as he approached them, a sure sign he had something important to impart. The steward bowed to them, his back slightly hunched with age, a habit he persisted in despite the fact that Conrad had long ago entreated him to stop.

“A party approaches,” Wyot said.

Conrad waited for more information, his heart beating out of his chest, but the steward didn’t seem to be inclined to offer it. “Who?” he finally asked, running his hands through his hair.

“We do not know yet.”

Conrad had waited all winter, preparing the men. Preparing to defend Licheford against siege or an attack.

Preparing for war.

Perhaps he was foolish, but he would wait no longer.

“I will meet them,” he said, striding toward the door that would lead to the first floor and outside the keep. He could feel Guy’s presence behind him, but Conrad did not slow his pace.

Finally, the waiting had come to an end.

Add “The Earl: A Second Chance Medieval Romance” to your Goodreads TBR list and pre-order the book here.

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What is this “Talk to Conrad” Anyway?

It started with Terric from The Scot. Readers were offered an opportunity to chat with him ahead of the release, and their responses to, “Did you lick the screen?” after one particular exchange still make me chuckle. Of course, the men of the Order of the Broken Blade haven't truly time travelled from the 13th century to learn Facebook Messenger. (We'll leave time travel for my new series, Highlanders Through Time, with Julie Johnstone.)

Terric recently passed the torch to his friend, and fellow Broken Blade member, Conrad, earl of Licherford. If you're reading the series you'll know Conrad as the man who formed the knightly order to blunt the power of King John. And it's working. In the first three books the've gathered enough support, from other barons to even the church, and are now poised to force the corrupt king to act. Of course, in the conclusion to the series, The Earl, things don't go exactly as planned, especially when a woman from Conrad's past appears in the opening of the book.

Back to the chats.

Do we really need a new way to connect, authors and readers? I can pop into Blood & Brawn anytime and say hello, ask for book recommendations, update everyone on book progress. . . why the Facebook Messenger chats? In part, it's because Messenger is a growing platform, one of the most downloaded apps in the world at the moment. But also because it's fun. Conrad can give readers insight in the scenes just before the book opens. Messenger becomes a sort of “build your own adventure” and another way to become involved in a world built for the sheer pleasure of it. And who doesn't like a little extra pleasure? (Trick question.)

If you haven't tried it out just yet, click here to start chatting with Conrad. The link does subscribe readers to new release updates and a continued chat, but every first message also includes an “unsubscribe” so the messages can be stopped at any time.

And a warning, don't really lick the screen if Terric, or Conrad, ask you to. Even if Guy makes an appearance, don't do it. Especially for Guy. The Broken Blade boys are bold, and besides, your computer screen likely doesn't taste very good.

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A Sneak Peek of THE SCOT

Dromsley Castle, Northumbria, 1214

“Again.”

Terric ignored the sound of swords clanging around him, focusing instead on blocking his friend’s blade as the blunted steel hurtled toward his head.

“The men are near frozen, Terric.”

Lance threw this bit of commentary at him as he twisted away from his counterattack.

Sure enough, snow dotted the frozen ground. March at Dromsley Castle, he had found, was as frigid as it was back home.

Though, he supposed, this was his home now. Terric had spent more time at his English estate this past year than he had at Bradon Moor. He’d known that would be so, of course, when he and his friends had formed the Order of the Broken Blade, pledging to either dethrone the corrupt King John or force him to desist his worst policies. All four of them, along with the barons and others who had pledged themselves to their cause, had given up something. Relinquishing his home, for now, was a small price to pay.

“The men may soon be fighting for their lives,” he huffed out, taking another swing. “The practice will do them good.”

Terric landed a blow against his friend’s sword this time, the sound ringing through the training yard.

“Again,” he prompted when Lance held up a hand.

His friend’s brow crinkled, which was really fair enough. They had been training since the midday meal, and now that darkness began to descend, he supposed their session should soon come to an end.

“Last one,” he amended.

As he always did in training, Terric imagined his sister, defenseless, splayed on the ground in front of the man who’d meant to steal her innocence. With a roar, he swung harder than he had all day. Lance deflected him, but he promptly lowered his weapon and held up his hands. This time, he knew his friend would not be waylaid. They were done for the day.

“Idalia will wonder if you finally managed to kill me in training.”

Terric sheathed his sword. “Not today.” Grinning, he slapped his friend on the back. As always, Lance remained much too serious for his liking. “You look as if the king himself waits at the gate.”

The blacksmith-turned-knight sheathed his own sword.

“He may well be at the gate sooner than we think.” The Order of the Broken Blade had finally declared their demands to the king several months prior. If he agreed, his tyranny would be at an end—if he did not, they would go to war.

The Order of the Broken Blade and the others who supported their rebellion had spent all winter waiting.

The other men in the training yard began to pack up their things.

“Has Idalia received word from her father yet?”

“Nay. Nothing since the last report. No movement from John’s allies has been detected.”

The two remained silent as they made their way from the training yard back into the castle. Lance stopped suddenly, pulling Terric to the side.

“John delays too long.”

They’d had this conversation so many times over the past months, Terric had nothing new to offer. He agreed. But they certainly hadn’t expected the king would immediately accept their demands.

Open rebellion against a king was not supposed to be easy. Or clean. They’d made their demands, and now they waited. And waited.

Dromsley Castle was as prepared as possible, although Terric’s clansmen had not yet joined them from across the border in Scotland. They would arrive as soon as the weather allowed for travel.

“’Tis maddening.” Lance’s jaw ticked. “How can you remain so calm?”

He was anything but.

“We will crush him,” Terric said in a tone that made even his hardened friend flinch. “If I am calm, it’s because I’ve been waiting for the moment John, or his men, dare to take what is mine. I look forward to it.”

“I worry for Idalia,” Lance admitted.

“You’re a fool for taking a wife,” he said, nodding toward the corridor. He’d said the words any number of times, although there was no heat behind them. They began walking once again, the smell of some kind of roasting meat reminding Terric he’d hardly eaten that day.

“Say as much to Idalia,” Lance dared.

“It’s as if you conjured her,” he said with a grin. Indeed, the very woman they’d discussed had just stepped into the other end of the corridor.

“You will not come into the hall in such a state,” she called to them, reminding Terric of the many times his mother had chastised him and his brother for entering the hall much as they had today, directly from the training yard.

It still amazed him, the way his friend, the steadfast warrior, changed at the sight of his lady wife. He became a man who smiled easily, spoke gently, and greeted his wife with a kiss. The pair of them had lived with him at Dromsley all winter, so Terric had become accustomed to their antics. And despite what he’d said to Lance, he was very fond of Idalia. It was almost as if his sister were here, with them, rather than back home at Bradon Moor.

“How will Dromsley Castle get on without you when you return to Tuleen Castle?” Terric asked as they reached Idalia. Turning to Lance, he added, “To be clear, I’m speaking of your wife. Not of you.”

Lance ignored him.

“You could, mayhap, obtain a wife of your own,” Idalia answered sweetly.

He laughed, Lance joining him, until Idalia planted her hands on her hips.

“’Tis not so outrageous as that.”

“Aye.” Lance placed another kiss on his wife’s nose in parting. “’Tis as outrageous as the idea of King John actually arranging a meeting.”

“More outrageous,” Terric muttered, shaking his head. “We will return.”

When they turned to leave, Idalia called back to them. “Clean and changed for dinner.”

“You’ll miss her,” Lance commented as he turned toward the corridor that led to the east tower.

“Indeed,” he agreed. He was sorry to see them both leave—and worried for their safety too. Dromsley Castle would not be as easily breached as Tuleen. Although it might not come to a battle. Perhaps the reason for the delay was because the king was considering giving in to the order’s demands.

The thought was not a welcome one. He was ready to fight.

He wanted one.

The Scot will be available on Amazon and in Kindle Unlimited on November 5th. Terric will notify you through Facebook messenger when it's live. Add to your Goodreads TBR list if you plan to keep reading, and in the meantime, join us in Blood and Brawn to chat about the sneak peek.

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Tom Holland Dancing, Because…

First, I discovered this:

 

And then, slightly obsessed, I came across another Tom Holland dancing video:

While y'all are sharing that one dance video of Tom Holland I would just like to remind everyone that this one also exists pic.twitter.com/4qSaMMGE64

— spiderman stan account (@BiancaJelani) July 7, 2019

 

Of course, it doesn't stop there. Here's one with Zendaya:

Since that clip of Tom Holland and Deja Carter is going viral again I thought I’d just let y’all know that there’s a vid of the two of them dancing with Zendaya too