Eliza Knight's Blog, page 44
January 11, 2013
Real Men Wear Kilts! by Thursa Wilde
Happy Friday! Today I'd like to welcome a guest blogger, Thursa Wilde to History Undressed! She's written a fascinating piece on one of my fav topics -- kilts!
Real Men wear Kilts!by Thursa Wilde
‘A man in a kilt is a man and a half’ so some are wont to impressively claim, but where did this item of dress come from, and we might well ask why, in such a cold country, would the wearing of one be a good idea at all?
We turn to history to answer that question. In Highland Scotland the kilt originated with the Breacan an Fhéilidh, or Great Kilt, a huge heap of cloth half worn over the shoulders and often brought up over the head to keep out the cold. The cloth was held in place by a leather belt so it could be ‘kilted’. This word is thought by etymologists to be a Scandinavian verb, Norse in origin, which literally meant to be tucked up around the waist.
The earliest recorded mention of this garment comes from a book written in 1594 entitled ‘Life of Red Hugh O’Donnell. Written in Irish Gaelic, it describes the Scottish mercenaries from the Hebrides standing out among their Irish counterparts because in their dress they ‘wore their belts outside of their mantles’. As the price of wool continued to fall by the end of the sixteenth century more fabric was used in the belted plaid, and it was considered a mark of prosperity to see oodles of opulently folded cloth!
However Lowlanders considered the kilt barbarous and uncivilized They would never be seen dead in something so backward! They gave their Highland brothers the disparaging name of ‘Redshanks’ which described the state of their lower legs between knee and ankle from exposure to cold. (The sensible Lowlanders wore tartan ‘truis’, or ‘trowse’) But Highlanders were a proud lot and the kilt had come to signify their indomitable heritage.
Then those pesky English outlawed the wearing of the great kilt with their Dress Act of 1746. To understand why, we need a dose of political history. Scottish Highlanders supported the deposed King James II (Catholic) of the House of Stuart, originally founded by Robert II of Scotland. After the defeat of Bonnie Prince Charlie - James II’s grandson and the last Stuart - at the Battle of Culloden, the English government wanted to suppress the rebellious Jacobite sympathies of the Highlanders. William and Mary (Protestants) were on the throne, soon to be succeeded by the brief turn of Queen Anne, and then the House of Hanover. It was a trying time in British history, partly due to the legacy of that game changer, Henry VIII. The union of Scotland and England had already begun with the Act of Settlement of 1701 (when it was forbidden for a monarch to be, or marry, a Catholic) and The Act of Union in 1707 (in which Scotland and England forged themselves into a single Protestant kingdom henceforth to be called ‘Great Britain’).
As a consequence of their rebellion Highlanders were forbidden to wear kilts or tartan for 36 years. The law stated: ‘For the first offence [perpetrators] shall be liable to be imprisoned for 6 months, and on the second offence, to be transported to any of His Majesty's plantations beyond the seas, there to remain for the space of seven years.’ Strong punishment! Wear a kilt and end up in the colonies!
The Highlanders were given one dispensation, that if they served in the British armed forces they could wear a form of tartan kilt in regimental colours, in regiments such as the ‘Black Watch’, those fabulous kilted men with their black berets.
A soldier of the Black Watch c. 1740, courtesy of Wikipedia (Public domain mark 1.0)The Dress Act was repealed in 1782, and the Highlanders embraced kilt wearing again. During this time the philibeg, or small Kilt, more like the kilt we know today, came into fashion, and the everyday wearing of the great kilt gradually died out.
When George IV visited Scotland with great pomp in 1822, the Scottish raced to invent new tartans to signify their heritage, and the kilt became the national dress of Scotland. This became part of a romantic resurgence of Scottish culture, inspired by the novels of Walter Scott and the poetry of Robert Burns among others. How things have changed since they considered kilts the ‘uncivilised outfits of mountain thieves’.
Now anyone with even a tiny claim to Scottish heritage adopts the kilt and wears it like a proud Highlander!
The official registered tartan of Highland Titles Ltd (Photo courtesy of Highlandtitles.com)Thursa Wilde is a writer and member of the support team at Highland Titles. Highland Titles sells plots of Scottish land to people all over the world, many of whom have an affinity with Scotland and Great Britain.
January 9, 2013
Castle of the Week: Caerlaverock, Dumfries, Scotland, with Blythe Gifford
Welcome back to another fabulous castle of the week!!! This week's castle is in Scotland and presented to you by romance author, Blythe Gifford. Enjoy!
Castle of the Week: Caerlaverock, Dumfries, Scotland, with Blythe Gifford
When I started work on CAPTIVE OF THE BORDER LORD, I knew I wanted to take my 16th century heroine away from her beloved Scottish Borders valley to “a castle by the sea.” Lo and behold, I found the perfect one: Caerlaverock.
Caerlaverock, on the coast of the Solway Firth, is the only triangular castle in Britain. Still surrounded by a moat, it is the epitome of the imposing medieval fortress, one that “feared no siege.”
Feared or not, the castle was besieged numerous times over the years, by Edward I of England, by the Scots trying to reclaim it, and after the Union of the Crown, by the Covenanters.
The first castle on the site was probably built around 1220 but the foundation of the current castle was built around fifty years later. The ancestral home of the Maxwell family, it was modified several times over the years, and at the time of its final battle, in 1640, it had been turned into more of a home than a military fortification. Alas, most everything was stripped and part of the castle destroyed in the aftermath of that siege. It survived, in ruins, for years, still owned by the Maxwell family. Today, it is under the protection of Historic Scotland.
My challenge was to recreate for myself and the reader how the castle might have looked in the early 1500’s, before the impressive residential wing was added. Fortunately, I had lots of help. The floor plans are accessible online, as are many views of the castle.
Now open to the public, the castle sits adjacent to a Caerlaverock National Nature Preserve. The marsh which helped protect it from assault in olden times now protects swans, ducks, geese, and a myriad of other wildlife. It is a photographer’s paradise, which meant I had lots of visual fodder for my imagination. I think this is one of the most photographed corners of Scotland! I could see not only the castle, but the surrounding area, which was so different for a heroine who had lived in a landlocked valley.
But in some ways, I loved the images in the old postcards best. They took a more romantic view of the towers, hinting how they might have looked in days of yore, when my heroine came to a castle by the sea.
And here’s a bit about the story.
TO MARRY HIM WILL BE TO BETRAY HER FAMILY
Bessie, the selfless sister of the powerful but stubborn Brunson clan, has sacrificed herself for her family’s honor and is at the mercy of the court of King James. Ill-suited to court life, she must confront their mortal enemy, Lord Thomas Carwell, dressed in nothing but borrowed finery and pride.
Underneath the relentless gaze of her captor, she’s enticed not only by him but also by the opulence of a world far removed from her own. When the furious king demands her brother’s head, Carwell is the only one to whom she can turn. But she must pay the ultimate price for his protection….
January 2013Harlequin HistoricalsTM ISBN# 978-0-373-29722-1
Blythe Gifford has been known for medieval romances featuring characters born on the wrong side of the royal blanket. Now, she’s launched a Harlequin Historical trilogy set on the turbulent Scottish Borders of the early Tudor era: RETURN OF THE BORDER WARRIOR, November 2012; CAPTIVE OF THE BORDER LORD, January 2013; and TAKEN BY THE BORDER REBEL , March 2013. The Chicago Tribune has called her work "the perfect balance between history and romance." Visit her at www.blythegifford.com, www.facebook.com/BlytheGifford, or www.twitter.com/BlytheGifford.
Cover Copyright © 2013 by Harlequin Enterprises Limited; Cover copy text used by arrangement with Harlequin Enterprises Limited. Cover Art used by arrangement with Harlequin Enterprises Limited ® and ™ are trademarks owned by Harlequin Enterprises Limited or its affiliated companies, used under license.
Castle of the Week: Caerlaverock, Dumfries, Scotland, with Blythe Gifford
When I started work on CAPTIVE OF THE BORDER LORD, I knew I wanted to take my 16th century heroine away from her beloved Scottish Borders valley to “a castle by the sea.” Lo and behold, I found the perfect one: Caerlaverock.
Caerlaverock, on the coast of the Solway Firth, is the only triangular castle in Britain. Still surrounded by a moat, it is the epitome of the imposing medieval fortress, one that “feared no siege.”
Feared or not, the castle was besieged numerous times over the years, by Edward I of England, by the Scots trying to reclaim it, and after the Union of the Crown, by the Covenanters.
The first castle on the site was probably built around 1220 but the foundation of the current castle was built around fifty years later. The ancestral home of the Maxwell family, it was modified several times over the years, and at the time of its final battle, in 1640, it had been turned into more of a home than a military fortification. Alas, most everything was stripped and part of the castle destroyed in the aftermath of that siege. It survived, in ruins, for years, still owned by the Maxwell family. Today, it is under the protection of Historic Scotland.
My challenge was to recreate for myself and the reader how the castle might have looked in the early 1500’s, before the impressive residential wing was added. Fortunately, I had lots of help. The floor plans are accessible online, as are many views of the castle.
Now open to the public, the castle sits adjacent to a Caerlaverock National Nature Preserve. The marsh which helped protect it from assault in olden times now protects swans, ducks, geese, and a myriad of other wildlife. It is a photographer’s paradise, which meant I had lots of visual fodder for my imagination. I think this is one of the most photographed corners of Scotland! I could see not only the castle, but the surrounding area, which was so different for a heroine who had lived in a landlocked valley.
But in some ways, I loved the images in the old postcards best. They took a more romantic view of the towers, hinting how they might have looked in days of yore, when my heroine came to a castle by the sea.
And here’s a bit about the story.
TO MARRY HIM WILL BE TO BETRAY HER FAMILY
Bessie, the selfless sister of the powerful but stubborn Brunson clan, has sacrificed herself for her family’s honor and is at the mercy of the court of King James. Ill-suited to court life, she must confront their mortal enemy, Lord Thomas Carwell, dressed in nothing but borrowed finery and pride.
Underneath the relentless gaze of her captor, she’s enticed not only by him but also by the opulence of a world far removed from her own. When the furious king demands her brother’s head, Carwell is the only one to whom she can turn. But she must pay the ultimate price for his protection….
January 2013Harlequin HistoricalsTM ISBN# 978-0-373-29722-1
Blythe Gifford has been known for medieval romances featuring characters born on the wrong side of the royal blanket. Now, she’s launched a Harlequin Historical trilogy set on the turbulent Scottish Borders of the early Tudor era: RETURN OF THE BORDER WARRIOR, November 2012; CAPTIVE OF THE BORDER LORD, January 2013; and TAKEN BY THE BORDER REBEL , March 2013. The Chicago Tribune has called her work "the perfect balance between history and romance." Visit her at www.blythegifford.com, www.facebook.com/BlytheGifford, or www.twitter.com/BlytheGifford.
Cover Copyright © 2013 by Harlequin Enterprises Limited; Cover copy text used by arrangement with Harlequin Enterprises Limited. Cover Art used by arrangement with Harlequin Enterprises Limited ® and ™ are trademarks owned by Harlequin Enterprises Limited or its affiliated companies, used under license.
January 7, 2013
Seven Things You Didn't Know About Georgette Heyer by Jennifer Kloester
Today I'd like to welcome guest author, Jennifer Kloester to History Undressed. Not only is Ms. Kloester the author of a biography on Georgette Heyer, she's written a fascinating piece on Georgette Heyer, a renowned author of Regency titles. Leave a comment for you chance to win her new book! Enjoy!
Seven things you didn't know about Georgette Heyer:
1. As a baby, Georgette's favourite lullaby was 'The Animals Went in Two by Two'.
2. Georgette's 1923 novel The Transformation of Philip Jettan (re-titled Powder and Patch in 1930) was probably inspired by the famous letters Lord Chesterfield wrote to his son Philip (also the name of Heyer's hero in the novel). Published under the title: Letters to His Son on the Art of Becoming a Man of the World and a Gentleman the letters are full of entertaining insights, brilliant wit and sound advice to a young man making his debut in high society. Heyer's novel is peppered with French phrases and is the only one of her books to include a rondeau – a form of verse much favoured by the Renaissance poets and a favourite of her father's. There seems little doubt that her father helped with the book. He spoke fluent French and probably checked the novel's French phrases and may even have written the rondeau which the hero, Philip, reads aloud in idiomatic French to his friends at a select dinner in Paris. As well as being her only novel written under a pseudonym, The Transformation of Philip Jettan is also unusual as being the only book Georgette ever wrote in which she uses the first-person and in which, as the narrator, she occasionally obtrudes into the text to speak directly to her audience: 'A while back I spoke of three gentlemen…'
3, In 1924 Georgette had one of her short stories: 'Chinese Shawl' translated and published in the Danish periodical, Tvidenskronder. It tells the story of Mary, a well-bred young woman, whose father has killed himself after becoming bankrupt in the stock market crash. A wealthy aunt sends her an exquisite Chinese shawl for which Mary, too poor to go to parties and without suitable clothes, can see no use. Although loath to part with such a beautiful thing, she is eventually forced to sell it, but the shawl proves to be a good-luck charm reuniting Mary with her lost love and providing, as Georgette wrote in the last line of the tale, an ending 'just like in a real fairy story'.
4. One of the most original reviews of Georgette Heyer ever received was for her novel Helen. The review appeared in the famous magazine Punch in the form of a poem. It is an amusing and remarkably accurate account of Heyer's most autobiographical novel.
Is a pleasant story, as stories go, But everyone in it talks such a lotThat they constantly seem to forget the plot, Though that, to be sure when you smooth it out,Is hardly a thing to worry about.
We start when Helen arrives on earth,Or rather the evening before her birth,And we go right on to the period whenShe has captured the hearts of a score of men,Some in the country and some in the town,And finally turned the whole lot down. And, just when we're dropping a silent tearTo think that Helen, who's rather a dear,Must fizzle out at the end of the bookWithout a suitable male on her hookUp turns one of the turned-down batchAnd just at the close she achieves a catch.
In fact I think, though I may be wrong, That it's not too short and it's not too long, It's not too broad and it's not too deep, And it weaves no nightmares into your sleep; And Georgette Heyer must write again In an equally pleasant and placid vein.
5. Despite her professed dislike of household chores ("I loathe domesticity") Georgette did enjoy some 'domestic arts' such as knitting and once, in 1955 after finishing Bath Tangle – she actually took up stitchery. She'd never done it before but she had found an old fire-screen that needed re-covering and, as she explained, being 'seized by unaccustomed energy' refurbished it with silk and brocade. When it was finished she was so delighted with her achievement that she made a patchwork cushion with the left-over silk – her 'first attempt at this kind of work'. Although she did not consider herself a 'needlewoman', she'd become so caught up in the pleasure of sewing that she made several more. A week before Christmas Georgette delivered one of her cushions to her dearest friend, Patricia Wallace, the wife of her publisher A.S. Frere of Heinemann, with a note explaining that it was a present for their flat 'so that Frere shall no longer be able to go about town telling people that the only thing Georgette Heyer can do is to write frippery romances.'
GEORGETTE HEYER AND HER CAR NICKNAMED 'THE VIPER' CIRCA 19366. Georgette was not a very good driver but in the 1930s she had a car which she nicknamed 'the Viper' which she drove around the Sussex countryside. 7. In 1969 Georgette went to Bath to see Doris Langley Moore's collection of historic costumes, in the Assembly Rooms. Her report of her visit revealed that, despite having set a number of books in Bath, she had never before visited the Assembly Rooms: 'One or two interesting exhibits, and a lot of exquisitely embroidered brocades, but a great many omissions. I thought the settings the best part of the exhibition – and was far more interested in the Assembly Rooms, which I had never been able to see before, since they have been under reconstruction ever since they were blitzed in the war. They have done a lovely job on them.'
January 3, 2013
New Release: A Knight's Victory
A KNIGHT'S VICTORY, my second novel in the Rules of Chivalry is now available!!!
ABOUT THE BOOK...
A knight's victory will be the lady's undoing...
Sir Michael Devereux has fallen for his childhood friend, Lady Elena. In return she has also given him her heart. However their love is not to be. Lady Elena is whisked from their homeland of Wexford, Ireland to marry the malicious Earl of Kent in England.
Suffering greatly Elena pleas for Michael to come and be her savior. At long last an opportunity arises in the form of a tournament. Winner becomes Kent's Captain of the Guard—and closer to the Lady Elena.
But with victory comes tragedy… When stealing kisses in the dark leads to something more, and the sinister ambitions of people in their midst threatens their safety, Michael and Elena will have to make a choice. That choice could mean life or death and has them asking, does love really conquer all?
EXCERPT...Prologue
“Either our history shall with full mouth,
Speak freely of our acts, or else our grave…”Shakespeare’s, Henry V, Act 1 scene 2
Ireland, 1409
Mist curled around her ankles as Elena picked her way through the woods in search of Michael. Dawn had barely broken, and pink and orange hues reached their way through lustrous trees to dance in magical light upon the dew covered ground.She lifted her skirts to keep them from dragging and snagging on fallen branches. The hem was already damp, and her slippers not much better.She couldn’t help a deep breath or the smile of excitement that was etched permanently on her face.Today was going to change everything. And not just because it was her day of birth.“My love…” Michael’s soft, husky voice came from behind.Hesitating in her steps, she whirled around to see him leaning against a tree. Soft brown leather boots encased his lower legs to just below his knees. Light colored breeches showed off the strength of his legs to mid-thigh. His shirt of dark green brightened the indigo in his blue-green eyes. His arms were crossed over the broad expanse of his chest, reminding her of how he trained as a knight throughout the day and evening. A shiver rushed through her, just as it did each time she saw him.He pushed off the tree, his hands outstretched toward hers. “You came.”She nodded, loving the sound of his English accent against that of her Irish brogue.“Indeed I did.” She placed her hands in his, feeling small and delicate.“I confess I had my doubts.” He winked to cover up the true fear flashing in his eyes.“Why would you doubt me?” She stepped closer, feeling the heat of his body reaching out toward hers.“’Tis not every day that a lowly knight as myself would be handfasted to a lady as beautiful as you.” He brought one of her hands up to his lips and kissed her knuckles.Warm tendrils rippled through her arm. She loved his touch. Loved him!“’Tis my dream, Michael. For us to be together, to love one another freely.” She bowed her head. “Alas, your words ring true… My father swears he will never agree. So we must do so in secrecy.” She was ashamed that they had to hide their feelings, but she knew, after having loved Michael since the moment she’d met him some nine years ago at the tender age of nine, that she could never be with another. “Know that as long as I live, I will never give myself to another.”A sad smile crossed over Michael’s lips. “I know. I too vow to be yours forever in this life and eternity.”Elena reached up and threaded her fingers through his soft, dark hair. “I wish it did not have to be this way,” she whispered.Michael had broached the topic of marriage with her father, but he’d shot him down. No knight training in his guard would ever be allowed to touch his daughter—despite whom Michael’s own father was—a titled lord in service of their king.“Me too…” Michael’s hand came up to cover hers, and he turned his face into her palm, lightly kissing her tingling flesh.She sighed as fear and desire warred within her. “At least we shall know we are together. Our souls one, and soon we shall break through my father’s disavowal of our commitment to one another and be married in truth.”“Until my last breath I will not stop until you are mine, princess.”Her heart soared at his vow and the charming endearment he’d called her since she was a girl. “How many times should I have to tell you, I am not a princess.”“You will always be my princess, and today you are a birthday princess.” With that said, his hands slipped around her waist and he pulled her close.The length of his body molded against hers, and sank into him just as his mouth closed over hers. He brushed his lips gently back and forth—a whisper-soft caress that left her trembling. Elena pressed closer, wanting more. Her fingers tangled in his hair, her nails gently scraping his scalp. She felt him shudder against her.“Not yet…” Michael murmured against her lips, before sliding his kiss to her cheek and then her forehead. “First we plight our troth.”She sucked in a deep breath of excitement, her gaze catching his. From inside the V opening of his tunic, he pulled out a long length of embroidered linen. Recognition hit.“Is that—”“Aye, the token you made me for my very first tournament.”She beamed. “You kept it all these years?” The strip of linen had to be at least five years old. She remembered how giddy she’d been, staying up until the candle burned through the wick, just so she could give it to him on the following morning as he made his way to the lists.“As I have each token you’ve given me since.”He took her hand in his, and with his free hand wrapped the strip of fabric around their hands three times. With their hands clasped tightly together, they gazed into one another’s eyes. Elation and fear of the unknown bubbled up in her throat, made her breath come quick and shallow.“Elena, my love, to thee I plight my troth. Forever shall I be yours. I will honor you, protect you, see that you are happy for all the days to come. And when the time arises, we shall be married in truth, of that I swear.” Michael’s eyes were solemn, serious, his mouth set in a determined line.Elena’s heart soared. She smiled through tears of joy. Everything he said to her meant so much. Did he have any idea of how much he affected her? With a deep breath, she gave him her own vow.“My love, Michael, to thee I plight my troth. Though there be no witnesses here to uphold our promises, God and we, too, know that our words ring true and our hearts are pure. Forever, I am yours. I will honor you” —she cast him a mirthful smile— “protect you, and see that you are happy for all the days to come. I will petition my father daily to allow us to be together in truth, and I swear to all that is holy, one day we shall see ourselves married before all.”With the last words spoken, Michael’s gaze intensely bored into hers. So much emotion—love, fear, desire, promise—was held in their depths. She swallowed hard, knowing each of them would never stop until they were together as man and wife under the eyes of the law.“Then I say to the trees, we are man and wife.” Michael sought out her lips once more for a deep kiss. Claiming her mouth, her soul, before nature. His tongue swept over the crease of her lips. One of his hands stroked up her ribs, to her shoulder and then he stroked his knuckles over the sensitive flesh of her neck.“You will always be mine,” he murmured.“Always,” she answered.The sound of an approaching horse had them pulling apart, although their hands were still tightly clasped and bound by the linen.“What the devil?” Michael said harshly as his man, Fletch, burst through the trees.“You must come back to the castle straightaway. They’re looking for you both.”“What? How?” Elena suddenly felt as if all the air had left her lungs.“There’s a visitor.” Fletch shook his head, his eyes catching the length of fabric handfasting them together. Pity softened his gaze. “You may wish to run away now. I’ll give you my horse.”“We won’t run,” Michael started, but then stopped, catching the pleading look in Elena’s eyes. “We have to face them. We must tell them what has happened here today. They can’t take it away.”Elena shook her head. “Mayhap it won’t be necessary.” She turned to Fletch. “Does my father suspect we are together?”“Aye.”“Then we shall tell him.” Her voice was surprisingly strong for how weak she felt inside.“Together.” Michael squeezed her hand and smiled—although behind his bright eyes lurked the same fear she’d seen earlier.“You risk much, Michael.” Fletch’s brows were drawn together. “The earl won’t take kindly to you disobeying his orders.”“I needn’t the reminder.” He turned to Elena. “Where did you leave your horse?”“Beside yours.”“I’ll accompany you both.” Fletch turned his mount, but before he could leave, Michael gripped the reins.“No. Go on without us.”Elena feared the reason he wanted Fletch to go ahead was because he thought this might be the last moments they’d have alone. But she refused to believe that her father would do anything but accept. They had disobeyed him, but what was done was done. They’d plighted their troth. They would be married. She would plead with her sire to see reason.The worst that could happen was that he would banish them. They could make their way. Michael was a hard worker, she could sew. They’d find a way to survive.Dark clouds rolled over the early morning horizon creating a gloomy sense of foreboding.“Michael?” Her lips trembled slightly.“Be strong, princess. This too, we shall overcome.”She swallowed. “With you by my side, I shall.”They reached the bailey, the stone walls of her father’s castle penetrating the clouds in the most intimidating way. Before she could dismount, the large threatening figure of her father burst from the castle doors, his long grey hair whipping around his head with the force of his pace. He stormed toward them, an angry scowl marring his features.“Where the hell have you been?” he demanded. “Get off that horse.”Elena dismounted, keeping her eyes lowered, focusing on a small rock jutting from the dirt. “I have been with Michael, my lord.”She felt, rather than saw, Michael beside her. She desperately wanted to reach for his hand, but knew her father would not be impressed.“Get. Off. My. Land.” Her father spoke to Michael through gritted teeth and from her position, she could see his hands flexing and unflexing.He was seething, in a murderous rage, but why she could not fathom. How could he banish Michael? She wouldn’t let him. Elena glanced up, her gaze rocketing back and forth between the men, panic seizing her chest.“No, Father, you cannot!” she half-shouted, half-choked.“I can do as I please,” he sneered in her direction before turning his hate-filled gaze back to Michael. “Now get back to your Sassenachfather, boy! You have deliberately disobeyed me. Most likely stolen my daughter’s virtue. I should flay you alive!”“My lord—” Michael started but her father cut him off with a loud, bone-cracking punch to the jaw.Michael fell backward, eyes closed in unconsciousness. Elena rushed to his side, only to be ripped away by her father. He gripped her tightly on the upper arm, and dragged her up the stairs and into the keep. All of her wrestling against him might have been for not, for he seemed not to notice one twist or yank from her.“How dare you threaten your people by rutting with that knight!”Threaten her people?“Without your marriage to the devil-English Lord Kent, we wouldn’t survive another winter, not with the way the bastard Sassenachs are taxing us.”Marriage? Her mouth went dry. She tried to speak, to protest, but no words came from her lips. She swallowed. And swallowed again. Her throat was tight, her vision blurred.“Lucky for you, I warned him you most likely weren’t pure because of some lecherous knight looking to bed an Irish lass.”Finally her voice managed a strangled, “What?”“You are to be married. Today. Now.”They burst into the great hall, filled with servants, knights and a white-haired man with evil black eyes. He glared at her with disgust, and sneered before turning to spit into the rushes.“My Lord Kent, may I present to you, my daughter, Lady Elena.” Her father thrust her forward, and she nearly stumbled over the hem of her gown which got caught beneath her slippers.“Let us get this over with.” Lord Kent snapped of his fingers.Their priest stepped forward, uttering words to which both Kent and her father answered. When the priest looked to her she shook her head. “No, no, no…” she repeated.This couldn’t be happening. Elena looked around for anyone who might come to her aid, but all she had sought comfort from once, kept their gazes averted.“Say, aye,” her father gritted out, squeezing her arm.“Do not embarrass me,” Kent threatened under his breath. He too gripped her arm in a painful pinch.“I can’t,” she whispered. “I am—”“She will,” her father said to the priest, cutting her off.“Or it will be your head,” Kent added.The priest nodded, fear making his knees shake. He left off the rest of the ceremony, pronouncing them man and wife, right then and there.“No! I did not consent!” she shouted. But she was ignored by all, especially Kent.He snapped his fingers again and a man who looked like he ate children for breakfast, stepped forward, picked her up, hauled her over his shoulder and started to exit the great hall.“We ride to the shore tonight. I cannot stand the stench of Irish soil,” the evil lord—her husband!—grated out.Elena screamed, beat her fists against the monster’s back. The last thing she saw before someone hit her on the temple, knocking her mercifully from consciousness, was the anguished face of her father as he slumped to the floor.
READ MORE!Amazon KindleBarnes and Noble NookSmashwords (all e-formats)
ABOUT THE BOOK...A knight's victory will be the lady's undoing...
Sir Michael Devereux has fallen for his childhood friend, Lady Elena. In return she has also given him her heart. However their love is not to be. Lady Elena is whisked from their homeland of Wexford, Ireland to marry the malicious Earl of Kent in England.
Suffering greatly Elena pleas for Michael to come and be her savior. At long last an opportunity arises in the form of a tournament. Winner becomes Kent's Captain of the Guard—and closer to the Lady Elena.
But with victory comes tragedy… When stealing kisses in the dark leads to something more, and the sinister ambitions of people in their midst threatens their safety, Michael and Elena will have to make a choice. That choice could mean life or death and has them asking, does love really conquer all?
EXCERPT...Prologue
“Either our history shall with full mouth,
Speak freely of our acts, or else our grave…”Shakespeare’s, Henry V, Act 1 scene 2
Ireland, 1409
Mist curled around her ankles as Elena picked her way through the woods in search of Michael. Dawn had barely broken, and pink and orange hues reached their way through lustrous trees to dance in magical light upon the dew covered ground.She lifted her skirts to keep them from dragging and snagging on fallen branches. The hem was already damp, and her slippers not much better.She couldn’t help a deep breath or the smile of excitement that was etched permanently on her face.Today was going to change everything. And not just because it was her day of birth.“My love…” Michael’s soft, husky voice came from behind.Hesitating in her steps, she whirled around to see him leaning against a tree. Soft brown leather boots encased his lower legs to just below his knees. Light colored breeches showed off the strength of his legs to mid-thigh. His shirt of dark green brightened the indigo in his blue-green eyes. His arms were crossed over the broad expanse of his chest, reminding her of how he trained as a knight throughout the day and evening. A shiver rushed through her, just as it did each time she saw him.He pushed off the tree, his hands outstretched toward hers. “You came.”She nodded, loving the sound of his English accent against that of her Irish brogue.“Indeed I did.” She placed her hands in his, feeling small and delicate.“I confess I had my doubts.” He winked to cover up the true fear flashing in his eyes.“Why would you doubt me?” She stepped closer, feeling the heat of his body reaching out toward hers.“’Tis not every day that a lowly knight as myself would be handfasted to a lady as beautiful as you.” He brought one of her hands up to his lips and kissed her knuckles.Warm tendrils rippled through her arm. She loved his touch. Loved him!“’Tis my dream, Michael. For us to be together, to love one another freely.” She bowed her head. “Alas, your words ring true… My father swears he will never agree. So we must do so in secrecy.” She was ashamed that they had to hide their feelings, but she knew, after having loved Michael since the moment she’d met him some nine years ago at the tender age of nine, that she could never be with another. “Know that as long as I live, I will never give myself to another.”A sad smile crossed over Michael’s lips. “I know. I too vow to be yours forever in this life and eternity.”Elena reached up and threaded her fingers through his soft, dark hair. “I wish it did not have to be this way,” she whispered.Michael had broached the topic of marriage with her father, but he’d shot him down. No knight training in his guard would ever be allowed to touch his daughter—despite whom Michael’s own father was—a titled lord in service of their king.“Me too…” Michael’s hand came up to cover hers, and he turned his face into her palm, lightly kissing her tingling flesh.She sighed as fear and desire warred within her. “At least we shall know we are together. Our souls one, and soon we shall break through my father’s disavowal of our commitment to one another and be married in truth.”“Until my last breath I will not stop until you are mine, princess.”Her heart soared at his vow and the charming endearment he’d called her since she was a girl. “How many times should I have to tell you, I am not a princess.”“You will always be my princess, and today you are a birthday princess.” With that said, his hands slipped around her waist and he pulled her close.The length of his body molded against hers, and sank into him just as his mouth closed over hers. He brushed his lips gently back and forth—a whisper-soft caress that left her trembling. Elena pressed closer, wanting more. Her fingers tangled in his hair, her nails gently scraping his scalp. She felt him shudder against her.“Not yet…” Michael murmured against her lips, before sliding his kiss to her cheek and then her forehead. “First we plight our troth.”She sucked in a deep breath of excitement, her gaze catching his. From inside the V opening of his tunic, he pulled out a long length of embroidered linen. Recognition hit.“Is that—”“Aye, the token you made me for my very first tournament.”She beamed. “You kept it all these years?” The strip of linen had to be at least five years old. She remembered how giddy she’d been, staying up until the candle burned through the wick, just so she could give it to him on the following morning as he made his way to the lists.“As I have each token you’ve given me since.”He took her hand in his, and with his free hand wrapped the strip of fabric around their hands three times. With their hands clasped tightly together, they gazed into one another’s eyes. Elation and fear of the unknown bubbled up in her throat, made her breath come quick and shallow.“Elena, my love, to thee I plight my troth. Forever shall I be yours. I will honor you, protect you, see that you are happy for all the days to come. And when the time arises, we shall be married in truth, of that I swear.” Michael’s eyes were solemn, serious, his mouth set in a determined line.Elena’s heart soared. She smiled through tears of joy. Everything he said to her meant so much. Did he have any idea of how much he affected her? With a deep breath, she gave him her own vow.“My love, Michael, to thee I plight my troth. Though there be no witnesses here to uphold our promises, God and we, too, know that our words ring true and our hearts are pure. Forever, I am yours. I will honor you” —she cast him a mirthful smile— “protect you, and see that you are happy for all the days to come. I will petition my father daily to allow us to be together in truth, and I swear to all that is holy, one day we shall see ourselves married before all.”With the last words spoken, Michael’s gaze intensely bored into hers. So much emotion—love, fear, desire, promise—was held in their depths. She swallowed hard, knowing each of them would never stop until they were together as man and wife under the eyes of the law.“Then I say to the trees, we are man and wife.” Michael sought out her lips once more for a deep kiss. Claiming her mouth, her soul, before nature. His tongue swept over the crease of her lips. One of his hands stroked up her ribs, to her shoulder and then he stroked his knuckles over the sensitive flesh of her neck.“You will always be mine,” he murmured.“Always,” she answered.The sound of an approaching horse had them pulling apart, although their hands were still tightly clasped and bound by the linen.“What the devil?” Michael said harshly as his man, Fletch, burst through the trees.“You must come back to the castle straightaway. They’re looking for you both.”“What? How?” Elena suddenly felt as if all the air had left her lungs.“There’s a visitor.” Fletch shook his head, his eyes catching the length of fabric handfasting them together. Pity softened his gaze. “You may wish to run away now. I’ll give you my horse.”“We won’t run,” Michael started, but then stopped, catching the pleading look in Elena’s eyes. “We have to face them. We must tell them what has happened here today. They can’t take it away.”Elena shook her head. “Mayhap it won’t be necessary.” She turned to Fletch. “Does my father suspect we are together?”“Aye.”“Then we shall tell him.” Her voice was surprisingly strong for how weak she felt inside.“Together.” Michael squeezed her hand and smiled—although behind his bright eyes lurked the same fear she’d seen earlier.“You risk much, Michael.” Fletch’s brows were drawn together. “The earl won’t take kindly to you disobeying his orders.”“I needn’t the reminder.” He turned to Elena. “Where did you leave your horse?”“Beside yours.”“I’ll accompany you both.” Fletch turned his mount, but before he could leave, Michael gripped the reins.“No. Go on without us.”Elena feared the reason he wanted Fletch to go ahead was because he thought this might be the last moments they’d have alone. But she refused to believe that her father would do anything but accept. They had disobeyed him, but what was done was done. They’d plighted their troth. They would be married. She would plead with her sire to see reason.The worst that could happen was that he would banish them. They could make their way. Michael was a hard worker, she could sew. They’d find a way to survive.Dark clouds rolled over the early morning horizon creating a gloomy sense of foreboding.“Michael?” Her lips trembled slightly.“Be strong, princess. This too, we shall overcome.”She swallowed. “With you by my side, I shall.”They reached the bailey, the stone walls of her father’s castle penetrating the clouds in the most intimidating way. Before she could dismount, the large threatening figure of her father burst from the castle doors, his long grey hair whipping around his head with the force of his pace. He stormed toward them, an angry scowl marring his features.“Where the hell have you been?” he demanded. “Get off that horse.”Elena dismounted, keeping her eyes lowered, focusing on a small rock jutting from the dirt. “I have been with Michael, my lord.”She felt, rather than saw, Michael beside her. She desperately wanted to reach for his hand, but knew her father would not be impressed.“Get. Off. My. Land.” Her father spoke to Michael through gritted teeth and from her position, she could see his hands flexing and unflexing.He was seething, in a murderous rage, but why she could not fathom. How could he banish Michael? She wouldn’t let him. Elena glanced up, her gaze rocketing back and forth between the men, panic seizing her chest.“No, Father, you cannot!” she half-shouted, half-choked.“I can do as I please,” he sneered in her direction before turning his hate-filled gaze back to Michael. “Now get back to your Sassenachfather, boy! You have deliberately disobeyed me. Most likely stolen my daughter’s virtue. I should flay you alive!”“My lord—” Michael started but her father cut him off with a loud, bone-cracking punch to the jaw.Michael fell backward, eyes closed in unconsciousness. Elena rushed to his side, only to be ripped away by her father. He gripped her tightly on the upper arm, and dragged her up the stairs and into the keep. All of her wrestling against him might have been for not, for he seemed not to notice one twist or yank from her.“How dare you threaten your people by rutting with that knight!”Threaten her people?“Without your marriage to the devil-English Lord Kent, we wouldn’t survive another winter, not with the way the bastard Sassenachs are taxing us.”Marriage? Her mouth went dry. She tried to speak, to protest, but no words came from her lips. She swallowed. And swallowed again. Her throat was tight, her vision blurred.“Lucky for you, I warned him you most likely weren’t pure because of some lecherous knight looking to bed an Irish lass.”Finally her voice managed a strangled, “What?”“You are to be married. Today. Now.”They burst into the great hall, filled with servants, knights and a white-haired man with evil black eyes. He glared at her with disgust, and sneered before turning to spit into the rushes.“My Lord Kent, may I present to you, my daughter, Lady Elena.” Her father thrust her forward, and she nearly stumbled over the hem of her gown which got caught beneath her slippers.“Let us get this over with.” Lord Kent snapped of his fingers.Their priest stepped forward, uttering words to which both Kent and her father answered. When the priest looked to her she shook her head. “No, no, no…” she repeated.This couldn’t be happening. Elena looked around for anyone who might come to her aid, but all she had sought comfort from once, kept their gazes averted.“Say, aye,” her father gritted out, squeezing her arm.“Do not embarrass me,” Kent threatened under his breath. He too gripped her arm in a painful pinch.“I can’t,” she whispered. “I am—”“She will,” her father said to the priest, cutting her off.“Or it will be your head,” Kent added.The priest nodded, fear making his knees shake. He left off the rest of the ceremony, pronouncing them man and wife, right then and there.“No! I did not consent!” she shouted. But she was ignored by all, especially Kent.He snapped his fingers again and a man who looked like he ate children for breakfast, stepped forward, picked her up, hauled her over his shoulder and started to exit the great hall.“We ride to the shore tonight. I cannot stand the stench of Irish soil,” the evil lord—her husband!—grated out.Elena screamed, beat her fists against the monster’s back. The last thing she saw before someone hit her on the temple, knocking her mercifully from consciousness, was the anguished face of her father as he slumped to the floor.
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December 21, 2012
The Real Women of Surprise! by Tracey Lyons
Today I'd like to welcome guest author Tracey Lyons to History Undressed! She's written a fascinating piece for us. Enjoy!The Real Women of Surprise!by Tracey Lyons
The one big question we authors always get asked is, “Where do you get your ideas for your characters?” Most times I will say that they just sort of come to me. And since I write historicals they usually come to me in some form of a persona from the mid-to late 1800’s. But when I started developing the concept for my Women of Surprise series two things became apparent. The books had to be set in the real life small Catskill NY Mountain town of Surprise and the three female heroines had to be based on my sisters and myself. Now it’s not that I’m vain, but let’s face it, every writer has a little bit of themselves in each book they write. The short synopsis for the Women of Surprise is simple. And here is where I took a bit of creative license. The three female heroines are cousins who arrive in the dying town of Surprise at the behest of their Aunt Margaret, who along with her long since deceased husband, founded the town of Surprise a long time ago. Margaret has plans to bring the town back to life and needs her nieces help in getting the job done.
A Surprise For Abigail is my book. The main character is a feisty, young woman who isn’t afraid to go against convention. Her task is a bit unorthodox for the time; she is the town’s sheriff. And she doesn’t take trouble from anyone least of all the hero of the story who ends up locked up in one of her jail cells. I don’t know if I’d ever take on the job of sheriff anywhere, but people who know me tell me I’m not afraid to speak my mind!
Lydia’s Passion is my oldest sister, Linda’s, book. Lydia is the school teacher for the town of Surprise. She is a lover of life and all things fun! Her students love this, but the head of school board, Alexander Judson, feels she needs to be more serious in the classroom. This creates all sorts of problems for Lyida! My sister Linda is a social being. She knows everyone in her small town, has lived there her entire life and is happy as a clam! Though my sister has never in her life been a teacher, this character took on her lighthearted personality elements and worked them to the fullest!
Making Over Maggie is my middle sister, Patty’s book. Maggie is sort of uptight. I’m not saying my sister, Patty is uptight, she’s not….really. She’s very routine and has a very kind heart. I took one facet of my sister’s personality and blew it out of proportion with Maggie. This character’s task is to bring an old saloon back to life by turning it into a dance hall. She runs up against a con man who turns her small town life upside down. I don’t know of any con men in my sister’s life, although she might tell you otherwise!
I really enjoyed writing the Women of Surprise series. Whether or not I’ll use more family members as characters in one of my books…well we’ll just have to wait and see.Author Bio: I really wanted to be an actress, but stage fright kept me from continuing along that path. I started writing almost three decades ago and sold my first book on 9/9/99! My books are now available in several languages, in digital, hardcover and paperback formats. When I’m not writing I enjoy my life in a lovely little downstate New York village with my husband, two dogs and our backyard chickens. I invite you to stop by my website at www.traceylyons.com to learn more about the Women of Surprise series and my other writing projects. You can find the newly released Kindle format editions of The Women of Surprise at www.amazon.com.
December 20, 2012
'Twas the Fright Before Christmas by Kate Dolan
Today I'd like to welcome Kate Dolan back to History Undressed! She's written a fun post today about Christmas and ghosties... Enjoy!
Twas the Fright Before Christmasby Kate Dolan
Most people these days associate scary tales of the supernatural with Halloween, not Christmas. Oh, there are usually a few haunted gingerbread houses at the annual "Festival of Trees" because of Tim Burton's The Nightmare Before Christmas, and this year I saw a zombie-themed Christmas tree, but generally our modern interpretation of the holiday is jolly elves and smiling gingerbread men.
That was not always the case.
The church designated the celebration of the nativity to occur during the shortest, darkest coldest days of the year not because clerics thought Jesus was actually born in December but because pagans already celebrated a number of holidays around the winter solstice and overlaying the Christian holiday on top of a pagan festival made it easier to keep converts from backsliding.
The winter solstice is a time of cold deadly fear reaching back into the collective unconscious of mankind's earliest days. It taps into our deepest, darkest terrors. What if the sun doesn't come back? What if we remain in a perpetual state of chill, darkness and hunger, just a hair's breadth away from the cold finality of the grave?
A great time to celebrate, right?
I assume the celebrations started as a way to triumph humanity's power of the intellect over the power of our fears. We know that once we've reached the solstice, the worst is behind us. Each day from then on the sunlight will grow stronger and the earth will come back to life. We have faith in our future.
So we can tell ourselves things will get better and we can stage a celebration. But deep down, we are still mourning the loss of light and life.
It is a natural time for telling scary stories of spirits roaming the earth during the long dark nights. The cycle of work which demanded grueling days of hard labor during planting and harvest seasons left little to do during the winter months. People huddled inside and told stories to while away the hours. And very often they were scary stories.
These were sometimes called "winter tales," a term which eventually became synonymous with "old wives tales" of the fantastical and this is why Shakespeare named his tale of a statue coming to life A Winter's Tale. In the beginning of the play ,the character Prince Mamillius proposes to tell a story and suggests "A sad tale's best for winter: I have one/Of sprites and goblins…"
Unfortunately, most of these tales have been lost and scholars conjecture even how the prince's tale ends.
One scary legend we do know a little about comes from the Germans and it is about "der Belznickel," the Christmas demon. He's sort of the evil twin of Santa Claus. Often said to visit on the eve of St. Nicholas Day (December 6), he comes not to reward the good but to punish the bad. He carries a switch to whip misbehaving children and chains to tie them up. In short, he is not a good role model for positive discipline practices. Like St. Nick, he is often said to dress in clothes trimmed with fur, but they are ragged and black. He sometimes has goat horns reminiscent of the devil, and glowing red eyes. Tales of this "Anti-Claus" inspired me to write my first ghost story, "Bride of Belznickel," which was released in anthology of Christmas paranormal tales a few years ago and has just recently come out as a standalone ebook.
Some have argued that the tradition of telling winter tales died out and was not revived until the early 19th Century. I disagree. I have no evidence whatsoever, but I suspect that at least in some places, the tradition continued simply because the pattern of life continued. It was not until industry drew workers to the cities and gaslight extended the working day that people lost the long idle storytelling hours of winter.
But regardless of whether the tradition carried through or was re-started by the Victorians, there is no doubt that ghost stories, including several by Charles Dickens, made up a key component of their celebrations. "It is quite unnecessary to mention the date at all," Jerome K. Jerome explains in his introduction to Told After Supper, a collection of Christmas ghost stories published in 1891. "The experienced reader knows it was Christmas Eve, without my telling him. It always is Christmas Eve, in a ghost story. Christmas Eve is the ghosts' great gala night."
Jack Skellington tried to tell us that when he urged the ghoulish characters of Halloween Town to take over Christmas. Not everyone was ready to listen, but with sightings of zombie Christmas trees on the rise, who knows? Maybe we are ready again to wish each other a Very Scary Christmas._________________________________________Told After Supper is available free online through Project Gutenberg (http://www.gutenberg.org/catalog/worl...)
Kate Dolan writes historical fiction and romance under her own name and contemporary mysteries and children’s books under the name K.D. Hays. You can learn more about her misadventures with history by visiting www.katedolan.com.
Twas the Fright Before Christmasby Kate Dolan
Most people these days associate scary tales of the supernatural with Halloween, not Christmas. Oh, there are usually a few haunted gingerbread houses at the annual "Festival of Trees" because of Tim Burton's The Nightmare Before Christmas, and this year I saw a zombie-themed Christmas tree, but generally our modern interpretation of the holiday is jolly elves and smiling gingerbread men.That was not always the case.
The church designated the celebration of the nativity to occur during the shortest, darkest coldest days of the year not because clerics thought Jesus was actually born in December but because pagans already celebrated a number of holidays around the winter solstice and overlaying the Christian holiday on top of a pagan festival made it easier to keep converts from backsliding.
The winter solstice is a time of cold deadly fear reaching back into the collective unconscious of mankind's earliest days. It taps into our deepest, darkest terrors. What if the sun doesn't come back? What if we remain in a perpetual state of chill, darkness and hunger, just a hair's breadth away from the cold finality of the grave?
A great time to celebrate, right?
I assume the celebrations started as a way to triumph humanity's power of the intellect over the power of our fears. We know that once we've reached the solstice, the worst is behind us. Each day from then on the sunlight will grow stronger and the earth will come back to life. We have faith in our future.
So we can tell ourselves things will get better and we can stage a celebration. But deep down, we are still mourning the loss of light and life.
It is a natural time for telling scary stories of spirits roaming the earth during the long dark nights. The cycle of work which demanded grueling days of hard labor during planting and harvest seasons left little to do during the winter months. People huddled inside and told stories to while away the hours. And very often they were scary stories.
These were sometimes called "winter tales," a term which eventually became synonymous with "old wives tales" of the fantastical and this is why Shakespeare named his tale of a statue coming to life A Winter's Tale. In the beginning of the play ,the character Prince Mamillius proposes to tell a story and suggests "A sad tale's best for winter: I have one/Of sprites and goblins…"
Unfortunately, most of these tales have been lost and scholars conjecture even how the prince's tale ends.
One scary legend we do know a little about comes from the Germans and it is about "der Belznickel," the Christmas demon. He's sort of the evil twin of Santa Claus. Often said to visit on the eve of St. Nicholas Day (December 6), he comes not to reward the good but to punish the bad. He carries a switch to whip misbehaving children and chains to tie them up. In short, he is not a good role model for positive discipline practices. Like St. Nick, he is often said to dress in clothes trimmed with fur, but they are ragged and black. He sometimes has goat horns reminiscent of the devil, and glowing red eyes. Tales of this "Anti-Claus" inspired me to write my first ghost story, "Bride of Belznickel," which was released in anthology of Christmas paranormal tales a few years ago and has just recently come out as a standalone ebook.Some have argued that the tradition of telling winter tales died out and was not revived until the early 19th Century. I disagree. I have no evidence whatsoever, but I suspect that at least in some places, the tradition continued simply because the pattern of life continued. It was not until industry drew workers to the cities and gaslight extended the working day that people lost the long idle storytelling hours of winter.
But regardless of whether the tradition carried through or was re-started by the Victorians, there is no doubt that ghost stories, including several by Charles Dickens, made up a key component of their celebrations. "It is quite unnecessary to mention the date at all," Jerome K. Jerome explains in his introduction to Told After Supper, a collection of Christmas ghost stories published in 1891. "The experienced reader knows it was Christmas Eve, without my telling him. It always is Christmas Eve, in a ghost story. Christmas Eve is the ghosts' great gala night."
Jack Skellington tried to tell us that when he urged the ghoulish characters of Halloween Town to take over Christmas. Not everyone was ready to listen, but with sightings of zombie Christmas trees on the rise, who knows? Maybe we are ready again to wish each other a Very Scary Christmas._________________________________________Told After Supper is available free online through Project Gutenberg (http://www.gutenberg.org/catalog/worl...)Kate Dolan writes historical fiction and romance under her own name and contemporary mysteries and children’s books under the name K.D. Hays. You can learn more about her misadventures with history by visiting www.katedolan.com.
December 19, 2012
Castle of the Week: Inverlochy with Terri Brisbin!
I'm excited for another castle of the week! Today's castle is Inverlochy in Scotland and is presented by historical romance author, Terri Brisbin! Enjoy :)
Visiting Inverlochy Castle by Terri Brisbin
During my last trip to Scotland (lamentably, 3 years ago), I went all by myself and drove all over the country, islands and highlands. When I saw a place I knew or one that looked interesting, I stopped. So, after leaving Oban, as I was driving up the west coast and had just passed through Fort William, I spied this wonderful castle by the road. On the south bank of the River Lochy, it sits at the entrance to the Great Glen.
Inverlochy Castle was built in the late 1200’s by John ‘the Black’ Comyn, Lord of Badenoch and Lochaber, though there are reports of earlier forts and settlements on the same site from even Vikings times. After Robert the Bruce won the Scottish throne, his enemies (especially the Comyns) lost their lands and Inverlochy was vacant for some time. In the mid-15th century, the Battle of Inverlochy saw Alexander MacDonald, Lord of the Isles, defeated by the army of King James I. Over the next centuries, it was owned by the Gordons and used in another strategic battle when James Graham, the Marquess of Montrose, fought against the Covenanters in 1645.
Later, the castle was abandoned for new fortifications downstream which would become Fort William. And the castle ruins remained pretty much as they were…..
I arrived there on a quiet day and had much of the castle to myself. Most impressive were the THICK stone walls and the corner towers. When I stood at the base of one of the towers and looked up the curving staircase, I could almost imagine those living in the castle. Actually, standing in the middle of the stone ruins, I could imagine myself living in those earlier times! Even now, ideas for stories are floating through my mind for this castle.
If you get the chance to visit the west of Scotland, make sure to stop and explore the ruins of Inverlochy Castle – and for more info about the castle, visit http://www.inverlochycastle.co.uk/
~Terri
Award-winning, ‘South Jerseyan’ Terri Brisbin, when not being a mom, a wife and a dental hygienist, has sold more than 1.7 million copies of her historical romance novels and novellas in more than 20 countries around the world. Her current and upcoming romances will be published by Harlequin Historicals and Terri is re-releasing some of her earlier works, too. Visit www.terribrisbin.com for more info about Terri, her works and upcoming events.
December 18, 2012
Scandals of the Scottish Tudor Court by Blythe Gifford
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Today, I'd like to welcome back guest blogger, Blythe Gifford to History Undressed! Today she's written a fascinating piece on scandals in the Scottish Tudor court! I thoroughly enjoyed this post and hope you do to! Leave a comment WITH YOUR EMAIL ADDRESS for your chance to win! 2 winners--your choice of book one, RETURN OF THE BORDER WARRIOR or book two, CAPTIVE OF THE BORDER LORD.
Blythe Gifford – Scandals of the Scottish Tudor Court
When I started researching the Scottish court for my Brunson Clan trilogy, I didn’t even know that Henry VIII’s sister was a Queen of Scotland, nor that Henry’s nephew became King James V.
But as I delved into history, I quickly discovered that Tudor blood ran lusty on both sides of the border. Both Queen Margaret and her son would have been right at home on a Showtime episode. Here are some tidbits.
Queen Margaret, Henry’s older sister, divorced before Henry. As a 25 year old widow of the Scottish King James IV, she married, for love, a decision both she and the country came to regret. Archibald Douglas, 6th Earl of Angus, took her money, kept a mistress in one of her castles, and kidnapped her son.
In despair, she wrote her brother that she was considering divorce. Ironically, Henry sent her a pious and crabby note saying that marriage was “divinely ordained.” Obviously, he was a man open minded enough to re-examine his opinions a few years later.Without her brother’s support, Margaret succeeded in getting the Pope to release her from her marriage to Angus on the grounds that he had been pre-contracted to another woman. It seems to have been an annulment, which is a little disingenuous since they had a daughter together, who, in an amazing sleight of hand, was legitimized by a special clause in the decree that severed her parents’ marriage.
By that time, Margaret was already living with the man who would become her third husband. After a brief honeymoon period, Henry Stewart, Earl of Methven, proceeded to steal her money and live with a mistress and their children. This time, her plans for divorce were squashed by her son, by now, king in his own right.
Angus, James’ stepfather and acting Regent, held the young man captive for several years and ruled in his name. History has blamed Angus for encouraging James’ wicked ways in an attempt to prevent him from focusing on the fact that his throne was being withheld.
It is not clear that James needed much encouragement. He fathered at least nine children out of wedlock, three of those before he was twenty, apparently by as many mothers.
King James had a habit of traveling incognito among the people, calling himself the "Gudeman (Goodman) of Ballengeich." (Ballengeich, or “windy pass,” was the nickname of a road that ran by Stirling Castle.) Though history does not report all the details of the travels he took disguised as a commoner, one wonders whether the “Gudeman” might also have fathered a child or two.Although the identities of some of the mothers of his known bastards are lost to history, some of his mistresses were the daughters of Scottish nobles. Their children were treated accordingly and several of them played prominent roles in Scottish history.Five of the illegitimate sons of King James V were named “Priors” as children. This meant they held the five richest livings in the Scottish Church—Holyrood, Kelso, Melrose, Coldingham, and St Andrews. (This did not happen, of course, without the approval of the Pope. James apparently wrote asking his permission for three of his illegitimate sons to receive ecclesiastical positions before 1532, when the boys were still babes. James, unlike his uncle, remained a staunch Catholic all his life.)
His first queen died soon after their marriage, but his marital record was much better than might have been expected. Once married to his second wife, Mary of Guise, he seemed to settle down and they had three children together.
The irony of all this, is that despite fathering seven illegitimate and two legitimate sons, his only heir was a daughter: Mary Queen of Scots.
And so, Mary faced her father’s cousin, Queen Elizabeth of England, in a battle for the island. After the death of both Mary and Elizabeth, Mary’s son James (the sixth of Scotland, the first of England), became king of England as well as Scotland.
His great-grandmother on both sides(that is to say, his sole great-grandmother) was Margaret Tudor, but he kept his dynasty’s Scottish name: the Stewarts.
CAPTIVE OF THE BORDER LORD, Book Two of The Brunson Clan, is on bookshelves today. The e-version will be released January 1. Here’s the description:TO MARRY HIM WILL BE TO BETRAY HER FAMILY Bessie, the selfless sister of the powerful but stubborn Brunson clan, has sacrificed herself for her family’s honor and is at the mercy of the court of King James. Ill-suited to court life, she must confront their mortal enemy, Lord Thomas Carwell, dressed in nothing but borrowed finery and pride.Underneath the relentless gaze of her captor, she’s enticed not only by him but also by the opulence of a world far removed from her own. When the furious king demands her brother’s head, Carwell is the only one to whom she can turn. But she must pay the ultimate price for his protection….January 2013Harlequin HistoricalsTM ISBN# 978-0-373-29722-1
A lucky reader who comments on today’s blog will be randomly selected to win a signed copy of (your choice) RETURN OF THE BORDER WARRIOR (Book 1) or CAPTIVE OF THE BORDER LORD (Book 2).
Blythe Gifford has been known for medieval romances featuring characters born on the wrong side of the royal blanket. Now, she’s launched a Harlequin Historical trilogy set on the turbulent Scottish Borders of the early Tudor era: RETURN OF THE BORDER WARRIOR, November 2012; CAPTIVE OF THE BORDER LORD, January 2013; and TAKEN BY THE BORDER REBEL , March 2013. The Chicago Tribune has called her work "the perfect balance between history and romance." Visit her at www.blythegifford.com, www.facebook.com/BlytheGifford, or www.twitter.com/BlytheGifford.
Photo credits. Cover used with permission. Author photo by Jennifer Girard.
December 17, 2012
Hogmanay in Scotland by Alexa Bourne
Today I'd like to welcome my good friend Alexa Bourne to History Undressed! She's written a lovely post for us on Hogmanay in Scotland. Enjoy!
Thank you to Eliza for inviting me to guest post here today! I’m very excited. I LOVE reading historical romances and I even tried writing one. Tried is the key word. I was overwhelmed with the amount of research I’d have to do, with the pressure to be completely accurate, and I ended up quitting after writing only 20 pages in 2 months. (For my contemporary stories, I can complete a novella and a short story in that same amount of time!)
So what does a contemporary romantic suspense writer have to share on an historical blog? Well, my next novella , Simple Treasures , takes place in Edinburgh, Scotland during Hogmanay and so I thought I’d share some information about the holiday.
Hogmanay is the Scots word for the last day of the year. In Edinburgh, it has become a major event over the years and often sells out early. It includes a Ferris wheel, stalls selling knickknacks and food, a skating rink, colored lights, the Torchlight Procession, and lots of live music as people ring in the New Year. And of course, there are fireworks and the traditional singing of Auld Lang Syne while holding hands with the people close to you…or the strangers who happen to be partying right next to you.
The Torchlight Procession, which takes place on December 30th, is a version of the Up Helly Aa Fire usually associated with the Shetland. Originally, the event began in the 1880s to mark the end of the Yule season. It grew out of the older tradition of tar barreling, where young men would drag tarred barrels through the streets and raise hell. Gradually it became more civilized, with people walking through the streets with torches blazing. At the end of the walk, everyone would throw their torches into a replica of a Viking ship. For more information on the festival, visit www.uphellyaa.org.
Today, the Torchlight Procession begins on the Royal Mile where thousands of people line up behind bagpipers to carry lit torches through the streets of Edinburgh up to Calton Hill. Once at the top, people watch while a replica of a Viking ship burns in the distance, music plays and then fireworks signal the end of the procession. See? Not much has changed in the last 135 years.
On the last day of the year, there is much music, dancing and drinking throughout the streets of Edinburgh. Surprisingly, even with an average of over a quarter million people, it never really feels crowded.
One holiday event that has always interested me is First-Footing. This event is popular in Scotland and northern England. Once the New Year has rung in, a dark haired man walks through the front door. This usually means those who live there will have good luck. The man usually brings gifts, such as coins (for financial success), bread (for food), salt (for flavor), coal (for warmth), or whisky (for good cheer). In some places, a fair-haired man or a female first through the door is considered unlucky!
Thank you to Eliza for allowing me to join you all today! I’ve had fun sharing my favorite holiday traditions with you.
ALEXA BOURNE- SIMPLE TREASURES
Author Bio:
Alexa Bourne is a teacher by day and a romantic suspense writer by nights, weekends, and all school holidays. She also teaches online classes for writers throughout the year. She is thrilled to be writing for Decadent Publishing and to have the chance to share her love of Great Britain with readers everywhere.
When she's not concocting sinister plots and steamy love scenes or traveling and exploring new cultures, Alexa spends her time reading, watching brainless TV and thinking about exercising. She loves to interact with readers, so visit her web page, hang out at her blog, follow her on Twitter or drop her a note at Alexa@alexabourne.com!
Book Blurb:
Coming soon...
Take-charge bodyguard Colin Munro believes working for the International Protective Network will be the perfect occupation for him. Unfortunately, his trial assignment is protecting a woman who has no intention of blindly following orders. Aye, he’ll bring the bonnie lass in line because there’s no way he’ll allow her to ruin his chance of securing his dream job.
Physically and emotionally scarred during her stint as a U.S. soldier, Joanna Grainger wants nothing more than to enjoy life. New Year's Eve in Edinburgh marks the beginning of her transformation. But when she witnesses a crime no one believes occurred, her plans come to a screeching halt. To make matters worse, her sexy but headstrong bodyguard has no compassion for her or the victim.
As danger hunts them during one of the busiest time of the year, Joanna must convince Colin she's a worthy partner. But first, can she convince herself?
Excerpt:
Joanna bolted upright. Darkness wrapped her in its hideous embrace. And silence reigned. Her heart raced. She flattened her hands on the mattress beneath her.
Mattress. Bed. Colin’s hotel room.
Rustling sounds came from the floor. The bedside lamp flickered on. Colin propped himself up, one knee bent and an arm dangling over it. He squinted against the brightness. “Are you all right?”
“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to wake you.” She brushed her fingers under her eyes.
“Don’t be daft, lass.”
“I had a bad dream.” She smoothed her hair back off her face. Moisture beaded at her temples.
“Here we call it a nightmare.” He smiled, and at once she relaxed her shoulders.
“Americans do, too.” After another deep breath, she said, “I’ll be all right.” Once her heart rate slowed to normal. With her forearm, she wiped perspiration from her forehead.
He stood, padded into the bathroom, and ran the faucet. When he returned, he sat beside her, tucked his finger under her chin, and pressed the cloth to her cheek. The cool moisture soothed her burning skin.
She reached up and covered his hand with hers. “I can do that.”
“I know.” He brushed her fingers away. “But you’ll not.”
After a few seconds, he moved the wet towel across her forehead and to her other cheek. When he reached her neck, she sighed and closed her eyes for a few valuable seconds. “Thank you.”
His gentle caress reminded her how much she’d missed simple comfort…from anyone.
“You’re welcome.” The cloth soon disappeared. “Now, will you tell me what you dreamed about?”
“Mark Rawlings. I dreamed I was back in the train car and he was bleeding out on the floor. The guy with him faded into the background, but I could see the man’s hands and lips moving. I couldn’t hear anything, though. Then somebody jabbed me with something, and my blood drained out of my body, but there was nothing I could do. The guy standing stayed in front of me. There was another voice, but the words were garbled.”
“Did you see anyone else?”
“No, but at the end I wasn’t paying attention. I was losing consciousness.” She tilted her head to one side and into her palm. “Colin, what am I going to do if we don’t find the professor’s attacker soon?”
“We’ll take it one day at a time.” Strong, confident, able to leap tall buildings and all…even in the middle of the night.
Read it! Amazon / Barnes and Noble
Website: www.alexabourne.com Blog: http://alexabourne.blogspot.com Twitter: @AlexaBourne Facebook: http://www.facebook.com/AuthorAlexaBourne Goodreads: http://www.goodreads.com/author/show/5818611.Alexa_Bourne
Thank you to Eliza for inviting me to guest post here today! I’m very excited. I LOVE reading historical romances and I even tried writing one. Tried is the key word. I was overwhelmed with the amount of research I’d have to do, with the pressure to be completely accurate, and I ended up quitting after writing only 20 pages in 2 months. (For my contemporary stories, I can complete a novella and a short story in that same amount of time!)So what does a contemporary romantic suspense writer have to share on an historical blog? Well, my next novella , Simple Treasures , takes place in Edinburgh, Scotland during Hogmanay and so I thought I’d share some information about the holiday.
Hogmanay is the Scots word for the last day of the year. In Edinburgh, it has become a major event over the years and often sells out early. It includes a Ferris wheel, stalls selling knickknacks and food, a skating rink, colored lights, the Torchlight Procession, and lots of live music as people ring in the New Year. And of course, there are fireworks and the traditional singing of Auld Lang Syne while holding hands with the people close to you…or the strangers who happen to be partying right next to you.
The Torchlight Procession, which takes place on December 30th, is a version of the Up Helly Aa Fire usually associated with the Shetland. Originally, the event began in the 1880s to mark the end of the Yule season. It grew out of the older tradition of tar barreling, where young men would drag tarred barrels through the streets and raise hell. Gradually it became more civilized, with people walking through the streets with torches blazing. At the end of the walk, everyone would throw their torches into a replica of a Viking ship. For more information on the festival, visit www.uphellyaa.org.
Today, the Torchlight Procession begins on the Royal Mile where thousands of people line up behind bagpipers to carry lit torches through the streets of Edinburgh up to Calton Hill. Once at the top, people watch while a replica of a Viking ship burns in the distance, music plays and then fireworks signal the end of the procession. See? Not much has changed in the last 135 years. On the last day of the year, there is much music, dancing and drinking throughout the streets of Edinburgh. Surprisingly, even with an average of over a quarter million people, it never really feels crowded.
One holiday event that has always interested me is First-Footing. This event is popular in Scotland and northern England. Once the New Year has rung in, a dark haired man walks through the front door. This usually means those who live there will have good luck. The man usually brings gifts, such as coins (for financial success), bread (for food), salt (for flavor), coal (for warmth), or whisky (for good cheer). In some places, a fair-haired man or a female first through the door is considered unlucky!
Thank you to Eliza for allowing me to join you all today! I’ve had fun sharing my favorite holiday traditions with you.
ALEXA BOURNE- SIMPLE TREASURES
Author Bio:
Alexa Bourne is a teacher by day and a romantic suspense writer by nights, weekends, and all school holidays. She also teaches online classes for writers throughout the year. She is thrilled to be writing for Decadent Publishing and to have the chance to share her love of Great Britain with readers everywhere.
When she's not concocting sinister plots and steamy love scenes or traveling and exploring new cultures, Alexa spends her time reading, watching brainless TV and thinking about exercising. She loves to interact with readers, so visit her web page, hang out at her blog, follow her on Twitter or drop her a note at Alexa@alexabourne.com!
Book Blurb:
Coming soon...
Take-charge bodyguard Colin Munro believes working for the International Protective Network will be the perfect occupation for him. Unfortunately, his trial assignment is protecting a woman who has no intention of blindly following orders. Aye, he’ll bring the bonnie lass in line because there’s no way he’ll allow her to ruin his chance of securing his dream job.
Physically and emotionally scarred during her stint as a U.S. soldier, Joanna Grainger wants nothing more than to enjoy life. New Year's Eve in Edinburgh marks the beginning of her transformation. But when she witnesses a crime no one believes occurred, her plans come to a screeching halt. To make matters worse, her sexy but headstrong bodyguard has no compassion for her or the victim.
As danger hunts them during one of the busiest time of the year, Joanna must convince Colin she's a worthy partner. But first, can she convince herself?
Excerpt:
Joanna bolted upright. Darkness wrapped her in its hideous embrace. And silence reigned. Her heart raced. She flattened her hands on the mattress beneath her.
Mattress. Bed. Colin’s hotel room.
Rustling sounds came from the floor. The bedside lamp flickered on. Colin propped himself up, one knee bent and an arm dangling over it. He squinted against the brightness. “Are you all right?”
“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to wake you.” She brushed her fingers under her eyes.
“Don’t be daft, lass.”
“I had a bad dream.” She smoothed her hair back off her face. Moisture beaded at her temples.
“Here we call it a nightmare.” He smiled, and at once she relaxed her shoulders.
“Americans do, too.” After another deep breath, she said, “I’ll be all right.” Once her heart rate slowed to normal. With her forearm, she wiped perspiration from her forehead.
He stood, padded into the bathroom, and ran the faucet. When he returned, he sat beside her, tucked his finger under her chin, and pressed the cloth to her cheek. The cool moisture soothed her burning skin.
She reached up and covered his hand with hers. “I can do that.”
“I know.” He brushed her fingers away. “But you’ll not.”
After a few seconds, he moved the wet towel across her forehead and to her other cheek. When he reached her neck, she sighed and closed her eyes for a few valuable seconds. “Thank you.”
His gentle caress reminded her how much she’d missed simple comfort…from anyone.
“You’re welcome.” The cloth soon disappeared. “Now, will you tell me what you dreamed about?”
“Mark Rawlings. I dreamed I was back in the train car and he was bleeding out on the floor. The guy with him faded into the background, but I could see the man’s hands and lips moving. I couldn’t hear anything, though. Then somebody jabbed me with something, and my blood drained out of my body, but there was nothing I could do. The guy standing stayed in front of me. There was another voice, but the words were garbled.”
“Did you see anyone else?”
“No, but at the end I wasn’t paying attention. I was losing consciousness.” She tilted her head to one side and into her palm. “Colin, what am I going to do if we don’t find the professor’s attacker soon?”
“We’ll take it one day at a time.” Strong, confident, able to leap tall buildings and all…even in the middle of the night.
Read it! Amazon / Barnes and Noble
Website: www.alexabourne.com Blog: http://alexabourne.blogspot.com Twitter: @AlexaBourne Facebook: http://www.facebook.com/AuthorAlexaBourne Goodreads: http://www.goodreads.com/author/show/5818611.Alexa_Bourne
December 13, 2012
Video of the Week: Danny Bhoy - Visitor's Guide to Scotland
This week's video is Danny Bhoy's Visitor's Guide to Scotland. Its a bit off the cuff... a little bit of fun!
Enjoy!
Enjoy!
