Cecelia Mecca's Blog, page 12

The Mercenary and Monica McCarty

 

My readers know that I am a massive Monica McCarty fan. Having taken a break from romance for a spell after spending years with the likes of Johanna Lindsey, Judith McNaught and Jude Devereux on my nightstand, I picked up the first book in her Highland Guard series for a beach vacation one summer. I knew nothing of the author and still do not remember exactly how I found her.

But I was instantly hooked.

The old generation of medieval romance novels left me with high expectations as I jumped back into the genre. And McCarty delivered. A combination of historical accuracy, well-developed characters worth caring about laced from beginning to end with sexual tension and a healthy dose of sexy scenes left me flying through the series.

Years later, in 2017, I fulfilled a life-long dream and became a romance author myself. As I'm about to release book #17 and the second in a new series called Order of the Broken Blade, this medieval historical romance, The Mercenary, just received one of the highest compliments this author could possibly receive as an Amazon review.

If you are a lover of Monica McCarty books you will love Cecelia Mecca’s books they are that good!!

And now, my life is complete.

If I could buy the reviewer a drink, wrap my arms around her and say thank you, I would do it. She may not realize how deeply I respect the attorney-turned novelist and her unique brand of Scottish romance novels. But for me, though this book is out less than one day, it is already a success. I'm both humbled and grateful to be able to make a living dreaming up swoon-worthy heroes like mercenary Guy Lavallis. To create a character that another reviewer says (about Lady Sabine), “I want to be her best friend.”

Game. Over.

Grab  The Mercenary for a reduced release-week price on Amazon.

The post The Mercenary and Monica McCarty appeared first on Cecelia Mecca.

The Mercenary Sneak Peek

 

St. Andrew Holybourne Abbey, England, 1214

Lady Sabine never wanted to be a nun.

She’d attempted to escape the abbey twice. On her last attempt, the monk with whom she’d arranged to leave had fallen ill and later died, a horrible omen, if one believed in such things. The time before that, she’d gone off alone, only to be spied by a stable boy, who had promptly told the abbess. Sabine had been given a warning—one more attempt and Lord Burge would be notified of her antics.

She shuddered at the thought.

“There you are,” said a familiar voice, the tone thick with accusation.

Sister Christine, the very woman she’d snuck out of the sext to avoid. The bishop was visiting, which had driven the sister into a frenzy. She had never taken to Sabine and had begun to critique her every action, especially at mealtimes. “Straighten your shoulders” or “Do not eat with such force” were admonishments she had heard for the past three days at nearly every meal.

How does one eat with force, precisely? Sabine wanted to ask but knew doing so would only anger Sister Christine. And so she had taken to avoiding meals these past three days, preferring to eat in her small chamber. Such an arrangement robbed Sister Christine of the chance to “better” her, however, and the sister often sought her out.

“Your presence is required at the evening meal.”

“Reverend Mother gave me leave,” she whispered in her most reverent tone. One she’d perfected of late.

The nun, her habit hiding all but her pale face riddled with wrinkles, was apparently not pleased with that particular response. Her eyes pinned Sabine to the spot. “Bishop Salerno is in residence,” she said, her tone brooking no argument. “You will take your meal in the refectory.”

Eyes downcast Sabine moved to make her way through the cloister to do just that when the nun’s hand wrapped around her wrist.

“And you will quit your attempts at escape. Many would be grateful for the opportunity you’ve been given.”

Her hand squeezed.

“Reverend Mother has been too tolerant.”

Sabine did not attempt to disengage her hand. Nor did she question the nun or comment on what she had left out of her speech. All knew the abbess was ill, even though she went about her duties as if well. Sabine had only been at the abbey one month, and even she could discern a difference in the elderly woman’s health. Sister Christine clearly had ambitions, and once she took control of the abbey, she would not be so tolerant.

“Aye, Sister. If you will pardon me?”

She attempted to pull her hand away, to no avail.

“You will be a Bride of Christ, child. Your haughtiness is not welcome here.”

Haughtiness? Sabine had never been accused of such in her life. But then, she’d never said so few words as she had since coming here. Her parents would be both surprised and appalled at the woman she’d become.

“I understand.”

Sister Christine did let go of her then, but she continued to glare at her as if Sabine had breathed a word of dissent. Turning slowly so as not to anger her further, Sabine held her head high and walked the length of the cloister to the hall. Nuns sat side by side in rows, mostly silent other than a few whispered words. Moments after she sat, another novice plopped down a bowl of soup in front of her. Sabine had served both the morning and midday meal, but still the young woman glared at her as if she’d shirked her duties.

Unlike Sabine, she wanted to be here. Had chosen to become a nun and devote her life to God. So why the dour disposition?

“He seems to know the bishop,” said the older nun beside her.

“Who?” she asked, attempting to peer over the tables that separated them from their august visitor.

“We’ve another visitor this eve.”

“A knight,” whispered the nun to her left.

Sabine couldn’t remember her name, but she liked this one. She had an easy way about her, and when she smiled, it was obvious she meant it. The smile she was giving Sabine now looked almost . . . conspiratorial, as if their new visitor was . . .

“Is he handsome?”

A certain sparkle in the nun’s eyes was her answer. The nun seated directly across from Sabine gave her a stern glance that cautioned her not to say such things.

It was the kind of remark she may have made to her mother. Who would have laughed as her father admonished both of them for their forwardness. But he’d have done it with a smile on his face.

Sabine pushed aside the thought.

A handsome knight. Friend to the bishop.

She really should eat her soup and make her way to the kitchen, where she’d be expected to work until vespers. It would be best to forget about a man who was as likely to tell the Reverend Mother on her as he was to help her escape.

But once the thought took hold, she could not put it aside so easily.

……

“You may use the calefactory, if you please,” the abbess said to Bishop Salerno after they finished their meager meal. “I will see you are not disturbed.” She didn’t spare a glance for Guy, although that didn’t surprise him. He could tell she was leery of him, and his purpose here.

Smart woman.

Guy followed the bishop into the room. Three nuns stood at the fire, their hands outstretched, although they quickstepped away from the hearth when they spotted the visitors. They nodded to the bishop in deference as they passed, ignoring Guy.

With luck, this would be the first and only night he’d spend at the cold and unwelcoming Holybourne Abbey. When Guy had spoken of his mission with the rest of the Order of the Broken Blade, his friend Terric had burst into laughter. So many women, none of whom would fall at his feet the moment Guy stepped into the room. He’d laughed at the time, but in truth, it was slightly disconcerting. He was unused to receiving so little attention from the fairer sex.

And he liked it not at all.

That he should admit the fact, even to himself . . . Guy shrugged internally. He was nothing if not honest.

The bishop extended his hand, and Guy sat, as indicated, in front of the fire. Though he’d been in the man’s presence all evening, he had little indication of the man’s temperament. He knew only what Conrad, their leader, had told him. That Bishop Salerno supported the order’s cause. Like them, he was alarmed by King John’s overreach. In truth, nothing else mattered.

When the abbess closed the door, Guy waited until he was sure she had left and was out of hearing. He tried not to stare at the rings bedecking every finger of the old man’s hands. Such wealth could serve a better purpose, but saying so, or even acting like he thought so, would not win him any friends.

“So you count the Earl of Licheford a friend?” the bishop asked him.

Guy pretended not to notice the bishop’s uneasiness around him. He was a mercenary, not a murderer. Although some may question the distinction.

“Conrad is more than a friend.”

Aware his next statement could see him executed as a traitor if said to the wrong person, Guy put his faith in Conrad and Terric’s insistence that Bishop Salerno would indeed support their cause.

“He is an ally in our quest for King John to answer for his actions.”

For the first time that evening, the bishop’s stoicism was replaced with surprise.

“And how,” he said carefully, “do you propose to accomplish such a thing?”

The bishop’s intelligent eyes looked through him as he awaited an answer. The others they’d brought to their cause over the last few months had required more delicacy. But Conrad had assured him none was needed in this particular case. He knew the man personally and was sure of his leanings. Perhaps Guy should have allowed Conrad to be the one to speak to the bishop. But somehow, as it always had been with these vague notions of his, Guy knew this task was meant for him.

He took a deep breath.

“We’ve formed an order. Our aim is to amass enough support that we may compel the king to adjust his policies.”

He had the man’s attention now.

“He will never agree to do such a thing,” the bishop said, his voice flat.

The bishop had good reason to be skeptical. Had the king been an agreeable man, predisposed to listen to his people, there would have been no need for the order. But King John’s demands were outrageous, his tax increases so high some barons had been forced to forfeit their properties rather than pay the money they owed.

“He will agree or see himself at war with his barons,” Guy boldly claimed.

If Bishop Salerno had looked surprised earlier, he seemed even more so now.

Dammit Conrad, you better be right.

“Your plan? And the men in your order?” His mask of indifference back in place, the bishop folded his hands on his lap, the glint of a particularly massive gold ring drawing Guy’s eye.

Once he uttered the names, there would be no turning back. There was already no turning back.

“Conrad Saint-Clair, the Earl of Licheford. Terric Kennaugh, chief of Clan Kennaugh and Earl of Dromsley,” he said, naming the Scot’s two titles. “And Sir Lancelin Wayland of Marwood and now lord of Tuleen.”

“The blacksmith.”

It was Guy’s turn to be surprised. “You are well informed, Your Excellency.”

“Indeed.”

If he had heard of Lance, the bishop had no doubt been informed his friend had married the Earl of Stanton’s daughter. Which meant he knew the Northumbrian border lord was on their side. Guy decided then he liked the bishop. Despite his show of wealth and stoic countenance, Conrad had been correct in his assessment of the man. He was intelligent. Straightforward. Guy could appreciate both qualities.

“I could have you and your friends hung for treason,” the bishop correctly assessed.

If the bishop were being honest, he’d give no less.

“I would not allow that to happen.”

The man actually smiled.

“And you would prevent it by?”

“Any means necessary.”

Bishop Salerno uncrossed his hands and leaned forward. “You would kill a man of God?”

He did not hesitate with the ugly truth. “I would do anything for those men.”

“And you would die for your efforts,” the bishop shot back.

“Indeed.”

The bishop glanced at the still-closed door. “Tell me of your plans.”

Guy had negotiated with all sorts of men. He’d learned it was best to keep his words short and honest. “With your support—”

“My coin, you mean?”

“Aye.” The bishop could not, would not, support them publicly. But that was not their aim. “I will meet with the leader of Bande de Valeur. Convince him to take his company back to France. I know the man well and once fought beside him. With the right amount of coin, I’m confident in my ability to persuade him. Without the mercenaries he’s secured, John has only his southern army and unhappy Northern retainers to call on.”

“You will ask for an audience with the king, then?”

“Nay,” he said, thinking of the day Conrad had proposed this plan. “We will demand it.”

Salerno had all of the information he needed now. Sitting back, the bishop continued to watch him. There were more names, additional barons that Conrad and Terric had brought to their side. But Guy would give no more details, and the bishop knew it.

He also knew they had his support. Which was a good thing as he’d understated their need. All of the earls and barons they’d gathered into the fold possessed only a fraction of this man’s wealth. Without him, they could not afford to make an offer large enough to compel the French mercenaries King John had secured, for a war against his own people, to turn back to France.

But would he risk supporting them, even if such support was silent?

It was rumored John may seek the pope’s support. Although the pontiff would never back the monarch financially, his word held incredible weight, and it would make securing new allies nearly impossible for the order. Add in Bande de Valeur’s presence . . . and their rebellion would end before it truly began.

“I will give you any amount necessary to convince them back to the shores of their homeland. Do what you must,” the bishop said as if commenting on the warmth of the chamber in which they sat.

So Conrad had been right. Bishop Salerno despised the king as much as they did. Whether it was his exorbitant taxes or ruthless policies, or some other, more personal reason, Guy cared not.

He allowed for his own smile then, standing. When Bishop Salerno did the same, extending a hand, Guy shook it heartily.

It was done.

And he still had his head. For now.

Preorder on Amazon

 

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My Current Obsessions

If you're a CM Insider, you already  know about my obsessions. It's kinda (but not really) like Oprah's favorite things. Fun fact…I once saw the Oprah show in Chicago with my mother and had the opportunity to ask Nate Berkus an interior decorating question. I really didn't have a question but just wanted to “talk” to him.

The Blacksmith is LIVE + some fun facts about Lance Wayland

It's been a whirlwind week releasing a book and hitting RWA (Romance Writer's of America) in New York. With the first book one in a new historical romance series since I started writing in 2017, The Blacksmith is similar to the Border Series in some ways. Both set in 12th and 13th century with England as the center setting and Scotland as a backdrop, they also both focus on bad boys medieval woman love to tame.

http://ceceliamecca.com/wp-content/uploads/2019/07/Historical-Medieval-Sword-2-1.mp4

 

But in Order of the Broken Blade, a brotherhood formed in childhood ensures all four heroes (The Blacksmith, The Mercenary, The Scot and The Earl) are featured in each book ensuring readers get to know them at a deeper level. But even those who've already read The Blacksmith may not realize these fun facts about Lance Wayland:

His mother's name is Evelyn and father (not a great guy) is Martin. Who knew, right?
Lance was 21 when he learned his mother died which affected him deeply.
Google his last name, “Wayland,” to see why I chose it for Lance's last name.
My personal favorite line of his?

If given the chance, this woman could heal his tortured soul.

Haven't picked up The Blacksmith yet? It's on Amazon and Kindle Unlimited and also includes a secret link at the back to some special goodies, so keep your eye out for that!

The post The Blacksmith is LIVE + some fun facts about Lance Wayland appeared first on Cecelia Mecca.

The Blacksmith: Media Kit

THE BLACKSMITH

SERIES: Order of the Broken Blade, Book 1

RELEASE DATE: July 23, 2019

COVER DESIGN: Kim Killion

PUBLISHER: Altiora Press

ISBN: 978-1-946510-35-8

AVAILABLE: Amazon, Kindle Unlimited, Barnes and Noble and Walmart (paperback)

PRICE: $2.99

AUTHOR BIO:

Cecelia Mecca is the author of historical and paranormal romance.

Every heroine, from Lady Sara in the Border Series to Alessandra Fiore in Bloodwite, is your best friend– the one who kicks ass and takes names. When these ladies meet alpha-males who try to take control, sparks fly until the very last page.

Cecelia writes the bestselling Border Series which takes readers to an admittedly romanticized time of knights and castles along the 13th century Anglo-Scottish border.

​Our Highlander-loving author can be found in Northeast, Pennsylvania​, chai in hand, thinking up new ways to tame both medieval and paranormal playboys. She is firmly House Stark and Gryffindor.

SNEAK PEEK:

Read a sneak peek, the first chapter of THE BLACKSMITH, and feel free to share using that page's social share buttons.

SPREAD THE WORD:

Spread the word with pre-formatted social shares below. This page will continually be updated pre-release with new images and copy for sharing.

COVER REVEAL GIVEAWAY

Facebook: Be the first to read THE BLACKSMITH, book one of a brand new historical romance series from Cecelia Mecca, author of the Border Series. Enter to win a signed paperback ARC here: https://buff.ly/2XusP9s #BookGiveaway

Tweet: Enter to win an advanced signed paperback of @CeceliaMecca's THE BLACKSMITH, book one in a brand new #HistoricalRomance series coming July 23rd:

PROFILE PIC:

Change your profile pic to THE BLACKSMITH to show your support for the brand new series!

CHAPTER ONE TEASER:

Facebook: The first chapter of THE BLACKSMITH, a brand new medieval romance from Cecelia Mecca is now live on her website! Warning, this snippet, like the hero Lance, is

The Blacksmith {Order of the Broken Blade Book 1}: Sneak Peek

Chapter 1

Northumbria, England, 1214

“This is treason.”

Lance said it first and wasn’t surprised when no one responded. They all knew it, and speaking the word aloud again would serve no purpose.

“Think carefully before you respond.” Conrad moved to the flap of the tent, peered outside, and apparently satisfied, sat back down.

So this was why his friend had set up so far away from the rest of the tents. Conrad had known that his proposal would turn the four of them into traitors.

“I’ll do it,” he said.

The earl would only have proposed such a drastic action after careful consideration, and he trusted his friend implicitly.

All three of the men watched him, none more carefully than Conrad. But he had said his piece. He wouldn’t change his mind.

“We will need support.” Terric had more reason to march against the king than any of them, but he was also the most cautious. He would have the most questions, but Lance was confident he would do it. They all would.

“If the Northern lords don’t join together now,” Conrad said, “then they are lost.”

“We’ll be lost too, lest you forget.” Guy crossed his arms and sat back in the chair that had been carted here on a wagon filled with the luxuries afforded them by Conrad’s station.

Their friend cared little for such comforts, which was why it had surprised Lance when he’d insisted on attending the Tournament of the North in such a stately fashion, something his father would have done were he still alive. Conrad was reminding those who might join their cause that the Earl of Licheford was one of the most powerful Northern border lords.

“I am no great lord,” Guy continued, “but I’m as affected by John’s policies as any.”

“And taxes,” Conrad added. “His policies and taxes. Both will be our demise if we allow it.”

Guy shrugged as if their friend had asked if he wished for a meal rather than suggested they join forces against their king. “I’d not turn away an adventure such as this.”

“An adventure?” Terric shook his head. “You’re mad to call it one.” Then, turning back to Conrad, “You have a plan?”

“The beginnings of one, aye. The most crucial part being your support.”

By “your” he meant the three of them. With just one more assent, the course of each of their lives would change forever.

Terric stood and extended his arm, fist clenched. His friend had extended his arm for such a vow only once before.

Conrad clasped his wrist.

Guy was next.

Lance, last.

“Today we pledge more than a vow of silence. We form an order this day.” Conrad looked directly at Terric. “The Order of the Broken Blade.”

A perfect name. A symbol of the abuse of power that can accompany a man who believes his rule divine. Nothing but silence followed his proclamation.

It was more than a name. It was a promise. Like the first one they made to one another many, many years ago. No one else would understand the significance, yet each of them did—and each took it to heart.

“For England,” Terric said. Ironic for him to be the one to say so, as he was the only one among them not English.

Lance hated to dissent but thought it important to mention a fact Conrad seemed to have overlooked.

“An order? Of knights?”

Unclasping hands, they waited for him to finish.

“Surely you see the problem? Aye, you’re an earl, and Terric’s a baron’s son.” He nodded to Guy. “Even the mercenary is a knight.”

“And my title is well earned,” Guy winked, “unlike these two.”

Lance couldn’t help but smile at that. Guy had made the remark many times over the years. That it failed to rile Conrad now was a mark of the seriousness of their discussion.

“Take out your sword,” Conrad ordered, his gaze on Lance.

There were few men Lance took orders from these days, but this man was one of them. So he complied.

He’d intended to remind Conrad he was but a blacksmith, but there was no use telling his friends what they already knew. And though Lance had no use for a fancy title or any of its trappings, the solemnity of the moment was not lost on him. No, it was clear to them all. One look at Terric’s and Guy’s expressions told him as much.

Ignoring the others, he dropped to one knee, laying his sword across it as Conrad pulled out his own sword. Tapping him on each shoulder, he uttered the words Lance had never thought to hear in his lifetime. When he was finished, Conrad bade him rise.

“Stand up as a knight, in the name of God.”

He did, unsure what to say.

“Do you have any further opposition to our order?” Conrad asked.

“No.”

“Good. We’ve much to discuss.”

Of that, Lance had no doubt. Rebelling against a king required planning, after all.

“Including your new title.” Guy bowed to him. “Sir Lance.”

“I quite like it.” Terric bowed as well.

“A Scots clan chief bowing to an English blacksmith.” Guy looked at Conrad, raising his eyebrows dramatically. “I’ll admit ’tis a sight I’ll not soon forget.”

“When you finish jesting . . .”

“Does he ever?” Lance asked Conrad sincerely.

“We’ve the small matter of King John to discuss.”

Small matter indeed. If even a hint of what they’d just done were whispered to the wrong person, their heads would be forfeit for it.

Knight or blacksmith, earl or mercenary . . . none of their titles, or lack thereof, would matter if they were exposed as traitors to the crown.

#

The king’s men marched through the courtyard as if it were their own. Idalia’s father stood next to her on the doorstep of the great keep’s entrance. She peeked up at him, wondering when the hair of his beard had become more gray than black.

“Welcome,” he boomed as the first of the newcomers reached them. A captain, perhaps? Idalia tried not to smile at the looks they were receiving. Not outright hostility, but certainly the people of Stanton could give the representatives of the king a warmer welcome.

She was secretly glad they did not.

“My lord.” The tall, thin captain bowed to her father, the Earl of Stanton. “We travel to Norham Castle and request shelter for the evening.”

Interesting. Why were the king’s men on their way to Norham and so far north?

Idalia could hear her father’s silent answer to her silent question. Do not concern yourself with the affairs of men. She also knew what he would say next.

“My daughter will see to your comfort.” He looked at her as if expecting a retort. It was market day, her favorite, and Father knew it well.

But he knew his daughter too.

“Of course.” She smiled as the captain and his two companions joined her. They were dressed identically, in armor topped with bright red tunics bearing the crest of their king. They’d require assistance in removing that armor. Marina, her mother’s maid, would normally assist her in making the arrangements, but Marina was nowhere to be seen.

More likely than not, she was sitting at Idalia’s mother’s bedside, something the maid often chided her for doing.

I have been her maid for as many years as you are alive, she would say. Which was not fully correct—Idalia had only been alive for two and twenty years, and Marina had been her mother’s most trusted servant for four years longer. Sometimes it felt as if Idalia had two mothers.

“Follow me,” she instructed the men, catching her father’s small smile. Seeing one of his rare smiles almost made missing market day worthwhile.

Taking them past the great stairs on either side of the entranceway to the keep, Idalia nearly missed the flash of royal blue.

Her younger sister. She wished to call out to Tilly, but it was unlikely she’d get a response. Tilly disliked helping with the duties about Stanton. Sure enough, the flash of blue was there and then gone.

By the time she showed the men to their chambers and sent up a squire to assist them with their armor, Dawson, the seneschal, had already spoken to Cook about dinner and arranged baths for the three men.

His help had eased the burden of the unexpected guests, but Idalia had one more thing to do before she could check on her mother. The captain had made a special request of her—or rather, of the smith. She left the great keep and walked through the courtyard down to the castle forge. Stepping around puddles that had formed on the gravel path after that morning’s rain, she arrived, the door, as always, already open.

“Daryon,” she said, stepping into the darkened room. “Is there enough light to repair a shoe?”

The apprentice looked up, hammer in hand. His brother had already begun tidying up. It was a habit Roland had instilled in his apprentices. Idalia pushed the thought away. When she thought of how the blacksmith had suffered before he’d succumbed to an illness all had known would claim him someday, a familiar pang in her chest reminded her of the master smith’s absence.

“Aye, my lady.” He looked at her hand.

“I don’t have it with me but will send it straightaway. ’Tis for the king’s captain,” she added.

“Shall I fetch it from the stables?” the lad’s twin brother, Miles, asked. At only ten and two, the boys were carrying a responsibility that should never have been asked of them. Two apprentices smithing for a castle the size of Stanton . . . she shook her head. The situation could have been avoided had her father taken Roland’s illness more seriously. They should have started looking for a new master smith long ago.

“Aye, thank you. The new master should be arriving any day now.” A replacement smith had finally been found at this year’s Tournament of the North, a yearly event where English knights and Scottish warriors prepared for the very real battles they would later fight.

She wanted the boys to know their hard work had not gone unnoticed. “My father is grateful for your service in the interim.”

As expected, both boys beamed at the praise. And it was true. Although her father rarely seemed to notice her own service to Stanton, he did recognize the boys were much too young for their current position. They were only in their third year of seven in training.

Daryon watched his brother leave. Unlike most others in the keep, Idalia could easily tell the two boys apart, and it was that look that made it so easy. Daryon was by far the more serious of the two.

The boy’s thoughtful eyes darted from the doorway to her. “’Tis market day.”

And Idalia never missed one if she had the choice.

“Aye, but we must see to our royal visitors,” she said.

Three years earlier, her father had received a charter for Stanton to be designated a market town, courtesy of the well-maintained old Roman roads that led both north and south as well as east and west. Many castles did not enjoy such a right, especially in the “wilds” of Northern England, and Idalia was grateful for their good fortune. She visited the market as one of her duties for Stanton—her mother was much too ill to do so. Secretly, she also hoped she would one day find the herb or tonic that might help her mother. The market attracted all sorts, after all. To make such inquiries directly was impossible, however, as her father had forbidden her from speaking of her mother’s worsening condition to anyone.

“Had I known, I would have gone yesterday,” she said. The market day was actually poorly named—it had grown in popularity enough to stretch to two days. “And if the new master does not have the drift you need, I promise to secure your tool on the next market day.”

“Thank you, my lady.”

She could tell Daryon was anxious to get back to work, so she left him to it, intent on visiting with her mother before supper.

And that was when she saw him, the most handsome man she’d ever seen, striding downhill toward the forge.

Toward her.

 

Add THE BLACKSMITH to your Goodreads to-be-read list so you don't miss it when it releases July 23, 2019. And thank  you for using the share buttons below to spread the word!

The post The Blacksmith {Order of the Broken Blade Book 1}: Sneak Peek appeared first on Cecelia Mecca.

Surprise!

So what was I writing diligently on my vacation each morning?

After more than twenty years of having the Border Series in my head and publishing eleven books in that historical romance series, I was more than a little sad to release the final chapter, The Knight's Reward last month. I've spent countless hours on the border of England and Scotland during the 13th century. Not literally, of course. Wouldn't that be cool? Maybe.

On the other hand, they say don't be sad it's over, be happy it happened. Which is doubly true when I have a brand new historical romance series to focus on. I announced the name and premise in my Facebook reader group and am excited to share here publicly, my next four-book medieval romance series. . .

 

Coming July 23, 2019 the books are already titled which is SHOCKING if you know how long it typically takes for me to title a book. The series starter is already on Goodreads too if you organize your book reading with TBR lists, stick in on there!

The Blacksmith
The Mercenary
The Scot
The Earl

A bit more about the series:

http://ceceliamecca.com/wp-content/uploads/2019/05/Order-of-the-Broken-Blade_-A-New-Historical-Romance-Series-Announcement.mp4

 

More details coming soon, but in the meantime a question:

What is your favorite romance trope? The Blacksmith is a forbidden love romance, The Mercenary, a captive story. But the next two are still in flux, so your opinion matters!

The post Surprise!

Surprise!

So what was I writing diligently on my vacation each morning?

After more than twenty years of having the Border Series in my head and publishing eleven books in that historical romance series, I was more than a little sad to release the final chapter, The Knight's Reward last month. I've spent countless hours on the border of England and Scotland during the 13th century. Not literally, of course. Wouldn't that be cool? Maybe.

On the other hand, they say don't be sad it's over, be happy it happened. Which is doubly true when I have a brand new historical romance series to focus on. I announced the name and premise in my Facebook reader group and am excited to share here publicly, my next four-book medieval romance series. . .

 

Coming July 23, 2019 the books are already titled which is SHOCKING if you know how long it typically takes for me to title a book. The series starter is already on Goodreads too if you organize your book reading with TBR lists, stick in on there!

The Blacksmith
The Mercenary
The Scot
The Earl

A bit more about the series:

http://ceceliamecca.com/wp-content/uploads/2019/05/Order-of-the-Broken-Blade_-A-New-Historical-Romance-Series-Announcement.mp4

 

More details coming soon, but in the meantime a question:

What is your favorite romance trope? The Blacksmith is a forbidden love romance, The Mercenary, a captive story. But the next two are still in flux, so your opinion matters!

The post Surprise!

Surprise!

So what was I writing diligently on my vacation each morning?

After more than twenty years of having the Border Series in my head and publishing eleven books in that historical romance series, I was more than a little sad to release the final chapter, The Knight's Reward last month. I've spent countless hours on the border of England and Scotland during the 13th century. Not literally, of course. Wouldn't that be cool? Maybe.

On the other hand, they say don't be sad it's over, be happy it happened. Which is doubly true when I have a brand new historical romance series to focus on. I announced the name and premise in my Facebook reader group and am excited to share here publicly, my next four-book medieval romance series. . .

 

Coming July 23, 2019 the books are already titled which is SHOCKING if you know how long it typically takes for me to title a book. The series starter is already on Goodreads too if you organize your book reading with TBR lists, stick in on there!

The Blacksmith
The Mercenary
The Scot
The Earl

A bit more about the series:

http://ceceliamecca.com/wp-content/uploads/2019/05/Order-of-the-Broken-Blade_-A-New-Historical-Romance-Series-Announcement.mp4

 

More details coming soon, but in the meantime a question:

What is your favorite romance trope? The Blacksmith is a forbidden love romance, The Mercenary, a captive story. But the next two are still in flux, so your opinion matters!

The post Surprise!

Surprise!

So what was I writing diligently on my vacation each morning?

After more than twenty years of having the Border Series in my head and publishing eleven books in that historical romance series, I was more than a little sad to release the final chapter, The Knight's Reward last month. I've spent countless hours on the border of England and Scotland during the 13th century. Not literally, of course. Wouldn't that be cool? Maybe.

On the other hand, they say don't be sad it's over, be happy it happened. Which is doubly true when I have a brand new historical romance series to focus on. I announced the name and premise in my Facebook reader group and am excited to share here publicly, my next four-book medieval romance series. . .

 

Coming July 23, 2019 the books are already titled which is SHOCKING if you know how long it typically takes for me to title a book. The series starter is already on Goodreads too if you organize your book reading with TBR lists, stick in on there!

The Blacksmith
The Mercenary
The Scot
The Earl

A bit more about the series:

http://ceceliamecca.com/wp-content/uploads/2019/05/Order-of-the-Broken-Blade_-A-New-Historical-Romance-Series-Announcement.mp4

 

More details coming soon, but in the meantime a question:

What is your favorite romance trope? The Blacksmith is a forbidden love romance, The Mercenary, a captive story. But the next two are still in flux, so your opinion matters!

The post Surprise!