HIGHLAND SURRENDER
Defiant Highland beauty Fiona Sinclair is shocked by her brothers’ treachery. To seal a fragile truce, they have traded her hand in marriage to their sworn enemy, a man she has never met, a man she was raised to despise. With no choice but to wed, Fiona makes her own private vow: though she may surrender her freedom, she will never surrender her heart.Commanded by his king, Myles Campbell is no more willing than his reluctant bride. Still, she is a rare beauty, passionate enough to warm even the coldest marriage bed. Buy Myles quickly realizes Fiona Sinclair is no common wench. She has a warrior’s spirit and a fierce pride that only a fool would try to tame. And Myles Campbell is no fool. Their marriage was meant to unite warring clans. They never imagined it would ignite a once-in-a-lifetime love…
AUTHOR GUEST POST - WHY HISTORICAL?
People often askwhy I write in two different genres – contemporary and historical. One reasonmay be that I have dual personalities. My family is quick to point out I haveboth Princess and Ogre-like tendencies – but just because Mommy has moodswings, that doesn’t quite answer the question. Truthfully, I never expected towrite a contemporary, but while I toiled away on multiple historical novels, afunny, little, modern-day romance popped into my head. So I wrote it, andvoila! Dual genres.
But my true loveremains solidly with historical romance. HIGHLAND SURRENDER is a culmination ofrough outlines and rougher drafts, purple prose and loose threads that Icarried in my mind for several years before truly committing it to paper andpolishing it smooth. I won’t say it is the book of my heart simply because Ifind whatever book I’m working on becomes that, but I will say it is the book Iwas referring to all those times in my past when I said, “I’m going to write abook someday.”I love historicalnovels for their ability to take me back in time. Since I don’t typically enjoyscience fiction or futuristic storylines, visiting the past is the best way forme to experience a different world than the one I inhabit. While I’m certainthose golden days gone by were full of daily inconveniences, uncomfortableclothing, strict social constraints, and a distinct lack of decent bathroomfacilities, I choose to view them through a kindly haze of nostalgia. The rustlingsilk of ball gowns as debutantes twirl around the dance floor in the arms of cravat-wearinggentleman, furtive glances over an ivory fan betraying secret longings ofunrequited love, the drama of history unfolding when it was still a mysteriouscloud of uncertainty.
There is also myappreciation, and I don’t think I’m alone in this, for the alpha male! There isan old expression about it being “a time when men were men, and women wereglad.” In my fiction, I like men to be MEN.Stubborn and certain and really, really strong. When writing contemporaryfiction, especially romantic comedy like my other books, you can’t have a manbe too chest-thumpy or he comes across like an un-evolved knuckle-dragger. Butback in the day, that was just how men behaved. They were warriors defendingtheir hearth and home. And since we’re talking fiction, we can create brawny,intelligent men with big muscles AND big hearts. And big… well, you get theidea. For me, there issomething inherently romantic about the past. The quests, the hardships, thefight our heroines must go through to follow their hearts and minds to make alove-match. Like most readers of historical romance, I love to be immersed inthe grandeur and the mystique. As a writer of it, I try to provide a portal toanother wonderful era. Excerpt
Scottish Highlands, 1537
Fiona Sinclair could not reconcile the irony of nature’s twisted humor. Fortoday of all wretched days the sky should be burdened with clouds as dark anddismal as her mood. But the morning dawned soft and fair, mild as a Highlandcalf, and she knew that God himself mocked her. At any moment, Myles Campbelland his father, the Earl of Argyll, would pass through the gates of SinclairHall, unwelcome, yet unhindered by her clan. Soon after that, she must standupon the chapel steps and marry a man she had never met, and yet had hated forall of her life.Through her narrow bedchamber window, sounds from the bailey filtered up. Thesmithy’s hammer tapped a mellow cadence as if this day were just like anyother. Perhaps he shaped a horseshoe or a pointed pike. She smiled at thelatter and imaged the heaviness of that same pike in her hand. Oh, that she hadthe courage to plunge it deep into the earl’s heart, if indeed he had one.She rose from the threadbare cushion on the bench and moved without purposetoward the stone fireplace. A low fire burned, warding off the spring morning’schill. From habit, Fiona slipped her hand into the leather pouch around herwaist. She squeezed tight the silver brooch inside, its design and inscriptionetched as clearly in her memory as on the pin itself. A boar’s head, symbol ofClan Campbell, with words chosen by the king himself.To Cedric Campbell, a truefriend is worth a king’s ransom. James V. The brooch had been a gift to the Campbell chief, the man about to become her father-in-law.But he had left it behind nearly seven years earlier, pierced into the flesh ofFiona’s mother so that all the world might know he had dishonored her. Thepriest found Aislinn Sinclair’s lifeless body in a secluded glen outside thevillage, stripped bare and broken, marked by Cedric’s lust and spite. Thus afeud, long simmering at the edges, boiled over.But today the king thought to put an end to it with this farce of a marriagebetween a Sinclair lass and a Campbell son. It would not work.Fiona paced to the window, restless and melancholy. She leaned out to breathefresh spring air, hoping it might lighten her spirits. The too-sweet scent ofhyacinth clung to the breeze, along with the ever-present brine of Moray Firth.Along the west curtain wall, more hammering sounded as masons worked to bolsterthe steps leading to the main keep. As if precarious stairs alone might haltthe Campbell men from gaining entrance. But nothing would. Her fate as aCampbell bride had been declared the very day she drew in her first breath, andsealed when her father blew out his last.
Author Bio
Tracy Brogan is a two-time RWA Golden Heart finalist who writes funny contemporary stories about ordinary people finding extraordinary love, and also stirring historical romance full of political intrigue, damsels causing distress, and the occasional man in a kilt. Her first two books, CRAZY LITTLE THING, and HIGHLAND SURRENDER both earned a 4-Star review from RT magazine and have hit the Amazon Best Selling Books list.
Tracy lives in Michigan with her bemused husband, her perpetually exasperated children, and two dogs, who would probably behave better if they could understand sarcasm.
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