We had a long and pretty normal winter. Our winters in lower Michigan can be awfully cold (by that, I mean temperatures close to 0° F). But this past winter, I don’t think it went below the 20s more than a handful of days. We had more snow than last year – a little more than average for us, I think – but no big storms that dropped 2 feet or anything like that. We just had multiple drops of 5 or 6 inches. Very manageable. Here’s my house in the winter. Who wouldn’t want to snuggle up here in front of the fire?
So now it’s spring, and so far, it’s been enjoyable – amazing in fact, as always. Plants and trees go from invisible (or brown) and dormant to lively green shoots so quickly! The picture on the left is one of my little gardens and was taken nine days ago.

Here’s the same space yesterday. (One of my kids always gives me a huge container of impatiens on Mother’s Day, so that pot will be filled this weekend.

Lately, the temperature has been hovering around 70, and we had lots of rain, which is great for me, because I love rainy days. I thrive on the cozy feeling you get when it rains steadily all day. I like it when it’s cold and snowy outside and the radiators click on in every room. I must have a major nesting instinct, because my favorite seasons are the ones when we’re snuggled into our house and having a fire in the fireplace, when the oven is on and something is roasting or baking. Chances are, one or more of my kids will stop by because they know there’ll be something good on for dinner. I like winter sports – ice hockey and skiing. I like walking the dog in the cold weather.

And I hate being hot. Summers here are sweltering – hot and humid. It used to be that we’d have only a few days of 90°F weather, but last year, we were close to 100°F for weeks at a time. Even the people who have air conditioning in their homes complained about it. Because how do you do your yard work when it’s 98°? When do you walk your dog? At dawn? When it’s only 80° with 90% humidity? I have to insert here that my house is nearly 100 years old, and it has no ductwork. We have pipes for steam heat, but in order to put in central air, it would cost about $25,000 or more. And since we never used to have so many crazy-hot days, it didn’t matter so much. Luckily, we do put in a few room air conditioners, so we can get some relief. You can see them in the picture on the left, hanging out of the upstairs bedroom windows (and there’s my poor, parched lawn, too).

But back to the season itself. Summer is when friends and family leave town, go on vacations or away to their cottages. And I miss them. My kids always seemed to be … well, somewhat out of my control during summer vacation. A way from structure. They spent their days at our community pool, they were involved in summer sports (like swimming and baseball, which are not my favorite spectator sports), skateboarding, and riding bikes; playing with their friends. Which is all good, right? They needed their unstructured, down time between school years – because, as we all know – tight schedules and responsibilities come all too soon.

But enough whining! This summer, I’ve got a couple of things to look forward to. In July, I’ll be going to Atlanta (another hot place, right?) for the RWA conference. I’m pretty excited to be able to see – in person! – my Jaunty Quill buddies! I’m also going to Scotland during the first two weeks of August. This is exciting because it’s been eight years since I was there, and now I’m writing Scottish Highlander books, so I need to do some live and in-person research. My newest book (The Highlander’s Desire) will be released just a few days before I leave. I’ll tell you more about it when we’re closer to release day. In the meantime – what are your plans for this summer? Have you made any yet?

Yesterday, a vaguely familiar neighbor lady came to my front door, asking if I knew where the Johnsons lived. Of course I know the Johnsons – their family and ours have been living within 4 or 5 houses of each other for over twenty years. “Yes,” I said, “they live in the red brick house four doors down.” I knew that this lady does a lot of walking with a friend, at at that moment, I noticed that her friend was leading an elderly gentleman into the home of my neighbor, Janet, across the street. Janet is an older widow who has also lived there for over twenty years, and I know her well. I know that she is absolutely useless in a crisis. And this little episode was turning into a crisis rather quickly

 It turns out that as the two ladies were on their daily walk, they came upon this elderly gentleman who had been riding his bike, but he got cold (it was only 25 degrees here yesterday) and he was in some distress. He was on his way home and decided he needed to stop somewhere and warm up. But his friends, the Johnsons, were not home, and he’d ridden a long way from his own house – about 5 or 6 miles. The two walkers weren’t sure what to do about him, other than taking him to a house where they figured he could warm up and then… Well, they didn’t know what.

My husband came home just then, and I sent him over to Janet’s house to see if he could help. After about 15 minutes, my hubby called me and said I was needed.

When I got there, I found the man sitting in a chair, breathing heavily. And he said his chest felt tight. He also told me he was 88 years old, and rides his bike everywhere. He had been to the bank (3 miles farther up the road) and his lawyer (another 2 miles) before heading back in our direction. Now, I haven’t practiced nursing for a number of years, but nobody needed advanced medical skills to see that he was not looking good. I asked if he had any family – any relatives at all – and he said no. He didn’t want us to call 911, and was resistant to the idea of any medical intervention. He just wanted to go home. And yet, he said quite clearly, “I don’t want to die.”

He was not confused at all, and seemed completely normal, except for being overly fearful of medicine. When I asked if he had any nitroglycerine with him, he frowned and said, “Oh heavens no. I wouldn’t take anything like that…” And yet this man is very well-educated (a mechanical engineer) and well-read. He has 60 patents to his name. But he just wanted to keep us talking there in Janet’s living room, in complete denial that anything untoward could possibly be happening to him while he was well-aware that the tightness in his chest was a very bad sign.

The two walking ladies and Janet pulled him into diversionary conversations about where he lived, and why he didn’t want medicines, and whether or not Medicare would pay, and blah blah blah, while I had visions of an impending cardiac arrest on Janet’s living room floor. I pulled a nurse trick and cut to the chase. “Bill,” I said, “do you want to be taken to Hospital X or Hospital Z. He replied “Oh, Hospital Z, of course!” And I said, “Great. Mike” (my hubby) “will take you. Let’s go.” With that, I took him by the arm and led him out to Mike’s car. I knew he would be in good hands.

While I put Bill’s bike in our garage, Mike took him to Hospital Z and stayed with him all through the Emergency Room process – the EKG and bloodwork and IV insertion. Mike gave his phone number to the nurse to be called if Bill needed a ride home, and told him he would be back to check on him later.

My husband is not a religious man. But he is kind and considerate in a way that most people are not – and it’s not based on any belief system other than the idea that people ought to take care of each other. He returned to visit Bill last night, and went back again at lunchtime today to take him some of his scientific journals. He talked with Bill about the stent procedure the cardiologist wants to perform, and the Wholistic Medical Clinic the hospital referred him to. When he left, he told Bill he would be back later – he’ll go after dinner, I guess.

What would you have done? Would you have taken an old guy in a filthy jacket to the hospital, or called the local cops or 911 to handle it?

Bill is a rational 88 year old man. If he wants to go home and take his chances, who am I to say he shouldn’t do that? On the other hand, maybe he just doesn’t understand the gravity of his situation, and the medical options available to him. #2 was the rationale for my actions. I figure he can sign out of Hospital Z if he doesn’t like their plans for him.

Hey Marcy Shuler – You won my drawing!

Thanks to everyone who weighed in on their favorite TV shows yesterday. I’ve got a few new ones to put on my DVR…

Congrats, Marcy! (email me with your snail mail address here: margomaguire@yahoo.com)

I am not much of a TV watcher, but I do have streaming video on my iPad, which is great when I’m riding my stationary bike every morning. I’ve caught up on a couple of movies I wanted to see but never got around to seeing, and now I’m watching some television programs I might never have noticed before.

One is Ripper Street. The series is set in London in the late 1880s and filmed in a way that’s reminiscent of the recent Sherlock Holmes movies with Jude Law and Robert Downey, Jr. The stories are brutal, just as you’d expect life in the east end of London, so the series is dark. But it stars Matthew MacFadyen, and who can resist his voice, his diction? And the episodes – even though they are seriously gritty, are compelling. It’s on BBC America, if you can get that channel. 

Of course I’ve been watching Downton Abbey. But I had no idea what the finale was going to bring. I didn’t even notice the foreshadowing that everyone mentioned afterwards. I was disappointed that it ended the way it did, but I’m sure I’ll take my place in front of the TV when Season 4 begins next year.

I am a sucker for post-apocalyptic themes, and I have to admit I watch The Walking Dead. I almost quit after Season 2, because it seemed like nothing was happening, and I got a bit tired of the two lead men posturing with each other so much (who is tougher? who is manlier? who is in charge?) I wanted everybody to just grow up and be an adult. But Season 3 changed all that, much to my satisfaction. I’d like it if they did some “bigger” things – I’d like to know how the whole world is faring during this Zombie apocalypse.

I watched Once Upon a Time for a season or two, but then it started to bore me. Once the spell was broken and everyone knew who was who… well, I just lost interest. And that Mr. Gold character started to grate on my nerves, so I quit watching entirely, and deleted it from my DVR files.

Another really good one is Copper – the story of an Irish immigrant who is a policeman in 1860s New York City – the roughest part of town, of course. And, like Ripper Street, the episodes aren’t easy. The crimes – the victims and perpetrators – are all too real. You can easily imagine how it was back in those days, when law and order meant the law of the streets.

Last, but not least is Grimm. This one grew on me slowly. I thought the first season was a little bit lame, but as they develop the overall story arc, it gets better and better. I’m antsy for the next season to begin.

What shows are on your list of things to watch? I’m going to pick one commenter and send her a copy of my most recent book, The Warrior Laird.

The best part of being a romance writer is writing heroes who are manly and powerful, but sweet and tender. It’s also the most challenging task. But we romance writers have had great role models. We’ve seen all kinds of wonderful heroes between the pages of our favorite romance novels — from the men whose words make us melt, to the silent types whose actions speak louder than any words they might say.

Do you remember the heroes of Julie Garwood’s early books? How about Lord Royce, Nicolaa’s hero in The Prize. He was a gruff Norman knight but there was a kind and gentle side to him that was irresistible. And the heat they generated between them…  Oh baby.

Then there was Katherine Woodiwiss and all her wonderful heroes: Lord Saxton, who buys Erienne at an outrageous auction in A Rose in Winter, and Ruark Beauchamp, who is saved from a wrongful execution in Shanna. These were unquestionably
drool-worthy heroes. And what about Jude Devereaux? In Sweet Liar, Jude wrote a hero for everybody’s tastes – Michael Taggert. And Stephen Montgomery, the Englishman who – against all odds – fell in love with Bronwynn, a highland lass. Their larger-than-life love gives me the shivers just thinking about it.

Along came the Clan of the Cave Bear series, which was more about the heroine than the hero, but Jondalar came through, quite amazingly. These books were original and incredibly imaginative. Who would have thought a story about a prehistoric woman would be so fascinating? Or so romantic?

Does anyone remember Judith McNaught’s A Kingdom of Dreams? The conflict and the hero’s love for his woman nearly cost him his life. He was willing to give it in order to prove his love for her. It was maddening and brutal, and yet one of the most powerful love stories I’ve ever read.

Karen Robards wrote some truly fabulous historicals before switching to contemporary romantic suspense. Nobody’s Angel and This Side of Heaven were two sensual historicals set in colonial America. Very hot, very emotional.
Unfortunately, it’s nearly impossible to find a romance set in pre-Revolutionary America any more, and it was such a vast, ‘anything is possible’ time with plenty of opportunity for adventure and romance. And heroes in buckskin?  Daring rescues from dangerous situations? 

My two Highlander books have heroes who are more apt to do something than talk about it, which is really my favorite kind of hero. I want him brawny and brash – a man’s man – but I also want him to be gentle with the heroine. I want her to get under his skin, and make him willing to sacrifice anything for her. (The Highlander’s Desire will be out later this year).

Now that I’ve told you some of my early favorites, what are the books that brought you over to the romance genre? Did you start with historicals like I did? Or was there something else that grabbed you?

…On the way to the holidays. I hosted Thanksgiving, as I always do. Everybody brought parts of the meal – squash, salad, vegetable – so it wasn’t all on me. Because with 24 sitting down to dinner, there is a LOT to do! On top of that, I had a book due at the end of the next week, and I knew I was going to have to really knuckle down and work straight through until that Friday to get it done on time. And then I’d be free during that first week of December to do my Christmas shopping. And I intended to get it all done!

On Deadline Day, I was nearing the end of the manuscript and saw that I had some major plot problems. Then I realized I was writing badly, just to get it done. Which is unlike me! And then it hit me! The reason I wasn’t doing such a good job was because my stomach hurt. A lot. More than it’s ever hurt before (outside of childbirth, and this was continuous…)

I emailed my editor and told her I wouldn’t finish that day, but I’d work on it over the weekend.  Then I went to bed, hoping that if I could sleep for an hour or two, I’d wake up and feel better.

But I couldn’t sleep. My stomach hurt too much. Actually, it wasn’t my entire stomach, but just my lower right side. Of course I know the anatomy. (I wasn’t a critical care nurse for 25 years for nothing!) But I was truly hoping I was wrong. Why couldn’t it be a kidney stone that would just pass? Or a little ovarian problem that would disappear by morning? Or maybe just some really bad gas? What was I doing with appendicitis at my age??? (It usually hits young kids or octogenarians).

I took some acetaminophen and actually did fall asleep for a couple of hours. When I woke up and the pain was still there, my husband said he thought we should go to the ER. My reaction: “On a Friday night? Are you kidding?” (We live in a large urban area, and I know what the ER is like on a Friday night). Besides, if I went to the ER and it turned out to be nothing, well then I would have just wasted a whole lot of time, and gotten into the ER “system” where they’d do a battery of tests and I still might never know what it was.

At about 2 am my dear hubby asked me again about going to the ER. At this point, I could no longer deny what was going on. But I replied: “I don’t want a surgeon who’s had only ONE hour of sleep. I want him or her wide awake. I’m going to try and stick it out until morning.”

Yeah. Really dumb, for someone who should know better.

I did hold out until 5:30 Saturday morning. I was in an ER bed by 6:00, had bloodwork done and an IV in my arm, and was pretty much diagnosed by 6:30. They gave me morphine, which didn’t touch the pain, but gave me a headache. The ER doc ordered a CT scan (to verify his diagnosis – because again… people my age don’t typically get appendicitis). When that was done, my nurse hit me with some IV Dilaudid for pain, and that worked (although it sort of knocked out my respirations and gave my poor husband a panic attack).

This is about the time when “the girls” came in and introduced themselves. I’m talking about three very nice-looking, happy, enthusiastic, late 20-somethings. One of them said: “Hi, I’m Dr. This, and here is Dr. That, and she is Dr. So-and-so. And we’re going to take out your appendix!” All three were senior surgical residents, but they reminded me of my kids!  You know: my children!

Ah well, time marches on, right? My eldest kid is a lawyer. My next one is a medical research scientist. And the third is a professional musician. Who am I to say those children don’t grow up?

Things moved quickly from there. I found myself in the operating room, and they were checking to see if I had any loose teeth before knocking me out and intubating me. I woke up a couple of hours later, in my own room, with my husband and kids waiting. A little sore, but ok. So I got out of bed and went for a walk down the long hall and back. And then I did it again.

Three cheers for laparoscopic surgery! I went home the next day and did very well for about three weeks. Then I hit a wall, and felt like every system in my body was coming apart. I guess I’d been feeling much too good, and so I overdid it a bit. How could I not, when Christmas was just around the corner, and I still had a manuscript to finish? My husband couldn’t help me with the writing, but he did do most of the shopping. I did a good bit of it online, but there was still a lot to do, and I did everything in my power to get it done.

But I learned my lessons.
1. Denial is not necessarily a good thing.
2. When you feel good after an illness, that’s when you need to pace yourself. (My grandmother used to say that).

So … I was supposed to see my doctor two weeks after surgery, which would have been December 15th. I tried to get an appointment, but his schedule was loaded until today!! Six weeks later. Apparently, everyone wants to get in their little surgeries before the year-end and their deductibles kick back in. So, off I go this morning. I’ll see you all later and let you know what he says. (After he’s done yelling at me for waiting so long to go to the ER).

It’s the beginning of a new year and time for all those Best Of lists. My Jaunty Quills want to let you know some of their bests from 2012. These recommendations are not to be missed. Add pine nuts to each, and they’re even better!

Terri Brisbin has a suggestion for Best TV show of 2012—IMHO “Once Upon A Time” is the best TV show of 2012. It draws on familiar mythology and fairy tales, tweaks and twists them, makes characters come alive and shows the power of true love, too. How could a romance author not love a series that does all that?!

Robyn DeHart says, Okay I’m probably jumping on the proverbial bandwagon here, but the best new website of 2012 was Pinterest! I love being able to have a visual collection of recipes and ideas for my house and my biggest obsession, organization ideas! Long before this lovely website came along I used to cut things out of magazines and put them in photo albums, having a way to store ideas of cool things to do. This makes it so much easier and everything is in one tidy location and I can sort to my heart’s content.

Personally, I like to pin pictures of pine nuts.

For Best Book of 2012, Shana Galen recommends THE SELECTION by Kiera Cass–romance, mystery, intrigue, royalty…what more could you want?

Best chocolate of 2012. Okay, I say this as a professional chocolate taster (or as close as one can get to being a professional chocolate taster). I love Lindt, Ghiradelli, Godiva. I love me some of the Whitman’s Sampler, and I love Hershey. White chocolate, dark chocolate, milk chocolate, malted chocolate balls, chocolate Santas…I think I probably eat chocolate every day, and I have no intention of stopping. But the best chocolate I tasted this year was in Seattle at Fran’s Chocolates. A salted milk chocolate caramel that tasted like angel tears and unicorn kisses. Try them. I command you. And happy new year! –Kristan Higgins

In 2012 Cindy Kirk discovered J D Robb’s In Death series and was hooked! If you like a suspenseful tale mixed with a health dose of romance, Cindy recommends you check out this series.

Margo Maguire: My most amazing experience this year was surviving a nasty case of appendicitis, in spite of myself. On December 1st, I overcame my denial (yes, denial that I had a serious problem that wasn’t going to just go away) and went into the ER. Within a couple of hours, I’d had an appendectomy, managed to get past a crash in blood pressure, and a post-operative spike in temperature. I went home the following day and walked a quarter mile – and kept at it until I was up to my usual 2 miles a day. Thank heavens for modern medicine! And Hooray for the timing. I didn’t have to do any Christmas shopping this year!

Emily McKay has a recommendation for Best new recipe of 2012—

This is a great pot pie recipe if you:

a) love pot pies (and I do!)

b) are trying to eat more veggies (and I am!)

c) are trying to eat less meat (and, again, I am!)

or

d) just love ridiculously yummy food (duh, who doesn’t?)

I really can’t stress how yummy this was. The ingredients seem very humble, but somehow the result is amazing. You might be tempted not to make the crust yourself, but I urge you to try. I didn’t roll mine out, so mine looked nothing like hers. I just patted them into big fat circles and plopped them on top of the bowls. They weren’t pretty, but they weren’t around long enough for it to matter.

One question, Emily. No pine nuts?

Best 2012 Smartphone App: Christmas night, Nancy Robards Thompson and her family went to see the Les Miserables movie. While they were waiting in line to get into the theater, they struck up a conversation with the family in front of them. This is where they learned about a phone app called “Runpee.” It tells you the best times to run and er… do your business so you don’t miss anything important during the movie. Among other features, it even has a timer that makes your phone vibrate to give you the heads-up on when you can “go.” It’s available for all smartphones.

Readers, your turn. What’s on your best of list?

An Unexpected Guest

The Scottish Highlands. Christmas Eve 1690.

Isobel Kincaid did not know what she was going to do. Wee Rory was so very ill, and she was on her own, much as she’d been since that horrid day in June of 1689, when Ket MacGaurie had left Balcraig to join Viscount Dundee’s army in the rebellion against the new British king. Her heart still quaked, all these months later, when she thought of Ket lying dead on the battlefield at Killiecrankie.

She’d called him an arse and worse for leaving her, for leaving their clan to fight for a cause that was doomed to fail. Ach, aye – Isobel wanted King James back on the Scottish throne. Who didn’t? But had that cause been worth his life?

Ach, how she wished she could take back her angry words now, for they were the last Ket had heard from her. ’Twas just that she’d been so very frightened. He was the son of the MacGaurie chieftain, and a prime target for the royalist forces. She’d been terrified that he would be targeted by the enemy.

That she’d been right was of no comfort to her. None at all.

Her poor bairn would grow up without a father now, for there’d been no one like Ket, nor would there ever be another. Isobel had loved him with every fiber of her being. Even now – after more than a year – she could hardly believe he was gone.

And if missing Ket was not bad enough, being cast out and shunned by his mother – and the rest of the clan who followed her, of course – had broken what little piece of her heart had been left after the news of Ket’s demise. The woman even refused to recognize Rory as her grandson, when ’twas well known that Ket and Isobel had had eyes for no others before he’d gone to fight with Dundee.

Only Una MacGaurie denied it. She’d despised Isobel’s mother for being Laird MacGaurie’s first choice for a wife. And her animosity had not abated even when Isobel’s mother had chosen Angus Kincaid and married him instead. In subsequent years, Una’s rancor had extended to Isobel, refusing to accept her as Ket’s choice.

This was nearly the worst Christmas Isobel could remember. Last year, her grief over losing Ket had been raw and overwhelming. ’Twas only through her grandfather’s care and acceptance that she’d survived her pregnancy and moved past the utter devastation of Ket’s loss. This year she had Rory, at least. But Grandfather was gone.

The wind howled and whipped ’round the eaves of Isobel’s croft – the home she’d shared with her grandfather who’d succumbed to age and an assortment of ailments just before the harvest. Somehow, Isobel had gone on, bringing in their crops, and shoring up the cottage against their usual harsh winter. But now, with Rory ill, Isobel was loath to leave him alone, even to visit the privy.

But there was no more peat on the hearth. She needed to go out to the shed to get some more, before the storm got even worse.

She rocked her son in her arms until he drifted off to sleep, then placed him gently on his bed and covered him with a warm woolen blanket. He’d been restless, and Isobel knew he would not sleep for long. But at least his fever had abated and his color was better. She prayed he was on the mend. She quickly wrapped herself in her grandfather’s heavy plaid, pulled on some thick mittens and let herself outside.

The snow was a good many inches deeper than only a few hours before, when she’d ventured out the last time. Now, ’twas up to her knees, and still coming down in thick waves of cottony white. She could barely see the trees on the slopes above her, and couldn’t see the peaks across the valley.

Isobel filled her basket with as much peat as she could carry, but as she turned back toward the cottage, she saw what looked to be a shadowy figure in the distance. ’Twas not easy to make it out, but Isobel was sure the figure was not just a tree. She knew every inch of this land by heart, for she had lived there with her grandfather ever since… well, ever since Ket’s mother had cast her out of Balcraig and caused the clan to shun her.

Isobel could not bear to think of those days, when her own clan had turned its back upon her. ’Twas bad enough that Una MacGaurie had called her a liar and a whore, and refused to recognize her handfast marriage with Ket, the woman had turned her back upon her own bonny grandson.

Isobel put the past behind her and strained her eyes toward the figure in the distance. She decided it must be a man on horseback, though what he would be doing out in the high country during a blizzard was a mystery. Mayhap he’d been on his way to Balcraig and gotten lost in the storm.

Isobel was gripped by a moment of alarm, but as she looked closer, she could see that the rider was slumped over the horse’s neck. He was hurt, or possibly ill. Mayhap he was frostbit, for ’twas bitter cold.

She quickly let herself into the cottage and placed her basket on the hearth. She checked on Rory, and found him still sleeping, his breathing sounding far more normal than it had in days. Moving quietly, Isobel pulled her blanket off the bed and carried it outside.

The horse and man were closer now. ’Twas as though the horse sensed a place where it could shelter, and was coming for it, despite its rider’s inaction. Isobel trudged down the snow-covered trail toward the man, and when she reached him, she tossed the blanket over his shoulders. She went to his far side and pulled the heavy wool down over him, then took the horse’s lead.

The way uphill was a challenge in the wind and snow, and Isobel was worried that her nine month-old bairn would awaken and find himself alone. She moved as fast as she could and somehow managed to get them to the cottage where she helped the man slide down. He stayed on his feet, but just barely, leaning heavily upon Isobel for support.

She pushed open the door and let him in, and he staggered toward the fireplace. In half a second, he was lying down before it, shivering violently.

“I-I’ll be right back,” she said, a bit nervously.

She was reluctant to leave the stranger with Rory, but could not ignore her visitor’s horse. The man appeared to be no threat. At least, not now. She left the cottage and hastily led the beast into her shed where it nickered a greeting to her own gelding. Removing the saddle, she made sure their water was not wholly frozen, and put out some feed for both horses. Then she went back into the cottage.

The man had not moved. He lay huddled under the blanket on his side by the fire, still trembling with the cold.

Isobel tried to get a glimpse of his face, but he was heavily bearded and the blanket covered most of his head. She worked ’round him to add more peat to the fire, and then she heard him groan.

“I know you must be frozen to the bone,” she said. “I’ll heat some—“

“S-stay.” His hand shot out and grabbed her arm.

Isobel yanked it back. “I do not welcome your advance, sir, and if you persist, I will turn you out into the cold to fend for yourself.” Her grandfather’s muzzle loader was hanging over the bedstead and she could have it loaded and ready to fire before her frozen guest could rise to his feet.

“No, I…”

“You may stay here and thaw, but then you must be on your way. Balcraig is only a few miles north. You will find more hospitable lodgings there.”

Isobel took a cautious step back when the man pushed himself up. The blanket fell away from his head, and with trembling hands, he fumbled to cover one of his eyes with a circle of cloth that hung ’round his neck.

Or what was left of it.

Isobel did not recoil at the sight of the man’s scarred face. She’d seen many a clansman return from battle with terrible wounds – lost limbs, horrid scars, damaged or lost eyes.

Her visitor was scarred, too, and when he looked up at her with his one good eye, Isobel’s heart lurched and she dropped to her knees before him. No living man had eyes so very green or black lashes quite so long. No one but her own wee bairn.

“Ket?” she whispered, afraid even to think of the possibility. “Oh dear Lord. Ket?”

It could not be. Not when their clansmen had come home from Killiecrankie, vividly recounting his mortal injuries and death on the field of battle. She clutched her chest where her heart tattooed impossibly hard and fast. Her throat thickened almost painfully.

He took a deep, shuddering breath and nodded. “I did’na think you would know me, lass.”

She let out a sob and reached for him.

He opened the blanket and pulled her into his arms. “Belle.”

She wept against his chest. “How?” She felt her tears running into his plaid, but did naught to stanch them. She thought never to hear anyone call her Belle again. “They said you were killed at Killiecrankie.”

He gave a jerky nod, still shivering from the cold. “I was w-wounded. Badly. B-but someone found me and took me to a surgeon. They said I was close to death for weeks—”

“Oh Ket!”

“When I came to, I could’na remember my own name.”

Isobel cupped his beloved face in her hands and kissed him, enveloping him in the heat of her body. He drew her closer still, and kissed her with the kind of passion she remembered, though it seemed an eternity since she’d felt it.

She pulled back a wee bit, just to look at him, touching his cheeks, his chin, his mouth. ’Twas all too much to take in. “Oh Ket, I missed you so.”

“Aye, lass,” he said. “And I you. I’d hoped to g-get back to you by Ch-Christmas. Did I m-make it?”

“Oh aye, Ket. You’ve made this the best Christmas of my life.”

He frowned. “But what are you doing up here in your grandfather’s croft? Why are you not in Balcraig?”

None of that mattered now. Ket was home, and that was all Isobel cared about. “We’ll speak of that later, love,” she said. “We’ll warm you, and then there’s someone I want you to meet.”

If you enjoyed that, you might also like The Warrior Laird, my most recent book from Avon.
I hope you have a very Merry Christmas and a Happy New Year!
Margo Maguire 

*This was originally posted as part of the An Historical Christmas Eve blog event on Not Another Romance Blog*

Kristan’s post on Monday reminded me of a certain type of person called “underminers.” These are individuals – sometimes good friends! – who say things like:

You look so tired today!

I’m so glad you broke up with that creep.

Oh! I didn’t realize your hair was so naturally… curly.

Aren’t you glad your skin cleared up before the [insert event]?

Once you hear these things, all you can think of is:

Crap. I slept really well last night. Are those little bags around my eyes really that ginormous?

He was a creep? I was totally into that guy. Who else thought he was a creep?

I spent a half hour with my blow dryer this morning to even out all those wacky curls, thank you very much.

Oh. So that giant zit on my chin wasn’t invisible, then?

Then there are the ones who – when you report that “my seven year-old son scored a hat trick in his first hockey game of the season,” they respond with something like  “my son has been the top soccer scorer for years.” Ok, nice. But we weren’t talking about your kid just then. We’ve hashed over his exploits for years. Now it’s Junior’s turn.

I think insecurity gives some people the need to belittle others – oh so subtly – because they don’t want to be seen as too negative. Fortunately, none of my friends fit into this category. I think maybe we’re all past the age where we have something to prove.

My most recent book, The Warrior Laird, is full of doers. And the only undermining that goes on is when the heroine masterfully puts the hero in a position where he has no choice but to help her, maybe even at the cost of losing his own lands. Check it out.

What about you? Do you know an underminer? What was the worst, most undermining thing that she (or he) said?

I thought the pet lovers among us would enjoy these…

The reason a dog has so many friends is that he wags his tail instead of his tongue. -Anonymous

Don’t accept your dog’s admiration as conclusive evidence that you are wonderful. -Ann Landers

If there are no dogs in Heaven, then when I die I want to go where they went -Will Rogers

There is no psychiatrist in the world like a puppy licking your face. – Ben Williams

To sit with a dog on a hillside on a glorious afternoon is to be back in Eden, where doing nothing was not boring – it was peace.  ~Milan Kundera

A dog is the only thing on earth that loves you more than he loves himself. -Josh Billings

The average dog is a nicer person than the average person. – Andy Rooney

We give dogs time we can spare, space we can spare and love we can spare. And in return, dogs give us their all. It’s the best deal man has ever made. – M. Acklam

Dogs love their friends and bite their enemies, quite unlike people, who are incapable of pure love and always have to mix love and hate. -Sigmund Freud

Scratch a dog and you’ll find a permanent job.  ~Franklin P. Jones

I wonder if other dogs think poodles are members of a weird religious cult. -Rita Rudner

A dog teaches a boy fidelity, perseverance, and to turn around three times before lying down. -Robert Benchley

Anybody who doesn’t know what soap tastes like never washed a dog. -Franklin P. Jones

If I have any beliefs about immortality, it is that certain dogs I have known will go to heaven, and very, very few persons. – James Thurber

If your dog is fat, you aren’t getting enough exercise -Unknown

If you get to thinking you’re a person of some influence, try ordering somebody else’s dog around.  ~Will Rogers

My dog is worried about the economy because Alpo is up to $3.00 a can. That’s almost $21.00 in dog money! – Joe Weinstein

Ever consider what our dogs must think of us? I mean, here we come from a grocery with the most amazing haul, chicken, pork, half a cow. They must think we’re the greatest hunters on earth! – Anne Tyler

Women and cats will do as they please, and men and dogs should relax and get used to the idea. – Robert A. Heinlein

An old dog, even more than an old spouse, always feels like doing what you feel like doing.  ~Robert Brault

If you pick up a starving dog and make him prosperous, he will not bite you; that is the principal difference between a dog and a man.- Mark Twain

You can say any foolish thing to a dog, and the dog will give you a look that says, ‘Wow, you’re right! I never would’ve thought of that!’ – Dave Barry

Dogs are not our whole life, but they make our lives whole. -Roger Caras

If you think dogs can’t count, try putting three dog biscuits in your pocket and then give him only two of them. – Phil Pastoret

The great pleasure of a dog is that you may make a fool of yourself with him and not only will he not scold you, but he will make a fool of himself too.  ~Samuel Butler, Notebooks, 1912

My little dog – a heartbeat at my feet.  ~Edith Wharton

My goal in life is to be as good a person as my dog thinks I am.
Here are a few more quotes of a different nature:

Publisher’s Weekly: Maguire makes smooth, fast-paced writing look effortless.

Romantic Times: Maguire’s latest may be her most emotionally moving novel yet. Replete with incredible passion and characters who quickly grab readers’ heartstrings, THE WARRIOR LAIRD will not be easily forgotten.

Romance Junkies: Cleverly written, this delightful story is packed with adventure, sizzling situations, deceit, complex characters, clever repartee, a hidden treasure, mystery, suspense and romance. As a longtime fan of Ms. Maguire’s works, I highly recommend THE WARRIOR LAIRD and look forward to seeing what she comes up with next. Do not miss it!!