Showing posts with label ebook. Show all posts
Showing posts with label ebook. Show all posts

Tuesday, February 28, 2012

New Historical Romance--The Lady and the Warrior!




Hot off the presses, Amazon Kindle rather, my new short historical romance,The Lady and the Warrior.  My talented art major graduate daughter, Elise, did the gorgeous cover–her first.  Mom’s proud.  So is her father.  And other friends and relations.

A tender adventure romance with a The Last of the Mohican’s flavor,  The Lady and the Warrior gives readers  a taste of my full-length American historical romance novels.  If you like The Lady and the Warrior, chances are you will enjoy Red Bird’s Song, Through the Fire and Daughter of the Wind...all have a Native American theme interwoven with the plot.

Blurb: An abused young wife stranded in the Alleghenies in 1783 is rescued from drowning by a rugged frontiersman who shows her kindness and passion. But is he more than he seems? And can they ever be together?

Pop over to Amazon and find out. FREE for Amazon Prime and .99 for others.

Friday, January 20, 2012

Suspenseful Scottish Time Travel Romance



“Ms. Trissel masterfully blended the past and the present in order to create a lovely romance that spans centuries.” ~Poinsettia, Long and Short Reviews
An ancient relic, a medieval crypt, a mad Highlander at their throats and time fast running out.  Mystery, suspense, romance… 
SOMEWHERE MY LASS

BLURB: Neil MacKenzie’s well-ordered life turns to chaos when Mora Campbell shows up claiming he’s her fiancĂ© from 1602 Scotland. Her avowal that she was chased to the future by clan chieftain, Red MacDonald, is utter nonsense, and Neil must convince her that she is just addled from a blow to her head–or so he believes until the MacDonald himself shows up wanting blood.
Mora knows the Neil of the future is truly her beloved Niall who disappeared from the past. Although her kinsmen believe he’s dead, and she is now destined to marry Niall’s brother, she’s convinced that if she and Neil return to the past, all will be right. The only problem is how to get back to 1602 before it’s too late.
The balance of the present and future are in peril if she marries another, and the Neil of the present will cease to exist. An ancient relic and a few good friends in the future help pave the way back to the past, but will Mora and Neil be too late to save a love that began centuries before?~
EXCERPT:  How in the name of—Stunned beyond oaths, Neil gaped down at the slender young woman dressed in an outlandish Scottish costume.
Hair the color of a flaming sunset spilled down over the red and blue tartan plaid draped around her like a shawl. A circular brass brooch heavily engraved by some skilled craftsman held the edges together. A full green skirt covered the rest of her, a hint of petticoats beneath.
Good God. She looked straight out of the Old Country.
In profound disbelief, he knelt beside her and laid his hand on her shoulder. He wasn’t hallucinating. She was real enough, warm against his hand. Stranger still, the peaty scent of turf smoke emanated from her. And some perfume he couldn’t place, but inherently knew.
Moss rose, maybe? The rich meld of fragrances carried him back, but to where? Baffled, he shook her gently. “Miss?”
She gave a soft moan.
“Are you hurt?” he asked.
She turned toward him, fluttering a dark fringe of auburn lashes. Another moan issued from between what surely were petal soft lips. He frowned at the ugly bruise marring her forehead.
Had that maniac done this to her? The rest of her smooth skin was pale except for the sprinkle of freckles on her nose—not too long with a pert tilt, Neil noted, along with an absence of any other immediate injuries. Thank God he hadn’t been too late to help this young woman. Perhaps he’d frightened off her attacker, the coward. Although he had no idea where the killer had gone.
Neil remained on his guard. He mustn’t take anything for granted. The only certainty—a violent criminal was on the loose. Difficult to keep watching over his shoulder, though, with the inexplicable stranger commanding his attention.
Intrigued, despite the gruesome circumstances of their meeting, Neil locked his gaze on her once again. Vivid blue eyes, cast with a purplish hue, opened wide. Unusual color and deeply stirring. She blinked and stared up at him as if he’d materialized out of the mist. But it was she who’d mysteriously come upon him with such wonder and beauty.
His already pounding heart skipped a beat for an entirely different reason now. He looked long into her eyes…for a moment he forgot the grisly murder, forgot everything.  There was a timeless quality in those violet depths; the term “window to the soul” took on a whole new meaning. And it seemed to him that he’d seen these eyes before… Impossible.
He came back to himself. Mastering the tremor threatening his speech, he said, “You were knocked out, but you’ll be all right.”
She shook her head, wincing. “None of us will. The MacDonald comes,” she warned in a Scottish brogue.
The hair on the back of Neil’s neck bristled. And so it begins, a voice inside him said.~
“The glowing reviews for this book are not to be ignored. If you are not really a fan of time travel, this book will make you feel differently. Even though this was a romance novel, the adventure of the whole book was exciting and appealing.” ~Romance Novel Junkies
*I would rate this story PG13.
“Somewhere My Lass presents a convoluted time-twisting conundrum which becomes more intriguing as it goes along. I found the romance of it touching, the enigma baffling, and the resolution unexpected. A light, interesting blend of contemporary and historical fiction.” ~joysann, Publisher’s Weekly
SOMEWHERE MY LASS is available in various e-book formats to suit any readers or electronic devices at: The Wild Rose Press, Amazon Kindle, Barnes & Noble and other online booksellers.  *Price for this story recently reduced.

Thursday, September 8, 2011

More About My New Historical Romance



If you like a good historical romance and aren’t set on its being ‘hot! hot! hot!’ (I do NOT write erotica) you might enjoy my new release, Into the Lion’s Heart.
Set in 1789 England, the story opens with the hero, Captain Dalton Evans (fought in the American Revolution) journeying to Dover to meet the ship carrying a distant cousin, Mademoiselle Sophia Devereux, who’s fleeing the French Revolution.  *Pause here to note all the research the revolution took, not to mention Georgian England in general, Cornwall in particular, rum smuggling, stage-coach travel and sailing in the late 18th century….you get the idea. But I digress. Back to Dalton who’s irked with his mission, not only because he finds it tedious, but he resents the French, partly as a result of their aid to the Americans during the war and some of the Frenchmen he fought during that lost cause.  Plus he thinks French aristocrats are arrogant.  However, the young woman he rescues from the sinking ship is nothing like he expects and rocks his world.
BLURB:  As the French Revolution rages, the English nobility offer sanctuary to many a refugee. Captain Dalton Evans arrives in Dover to meet a distant cousin, expecting to see a spoiled aristocrat. Instead, he’s conquered by the simplicity of his new charge. And his best friend Thomas Archer isn’t immune to her artless charm, either.
Cecile Beaumont didn’t choose to travel across the Channel. And she certainly didn’t expect that impersonating her own mistress would introduce her to a most mesmerizing man. Now she must play out the masquerade, or risk life, freedom – and her heart.~
EXCERPT from The Opening of CHAPTER ONE
October 1789 Dover Harbor, England, the King’s Arms
Glowering at everyone and no one in particular, Captain Dalton Evans uncoiled his taut body and leaned back into the tall, paneled chair. The mission foisted upon him grew ever more tedious, and he damn well wasn’t pleased about it. He could do with a bloody good gallop on his best hunter after days cooped up in that wretched coach, but the horse remained at Brevin Hall and he was confined to the King’s Arms.
Stretching long limbs cramped from the lengthy journey, he stared out leaded windows awash with rain. How long must he delay here, awaiting her arrival onThe White Rose?
He saw no break in the deluge lashing the diamond-shaped panes. The snug inn above the harbor provided a haven from the storm, but Dalton was primed for action—all those years fighting that endless war in America partly responsible for his keenness.  Damn it all, when would he let it go? Blasted Americans. Was there ever a more troublesome lot?
 Ah yes, the French. As if for one moment he could forget the insanity erupting across the channel or the reason for this—
“Cor! You’ll drown yerself, drinking like a bleeding fish!”
The male hoot jerked Dalton back to the robust men holed up with him.
“Thought I might find you here brooding on your own.”
He looked around at the familiar voice. His longtime friend, Tom, destined to become Lord Archer, grinned and lowered his lanky limbs into the empty seat across the table from him.
Brown hair beaded with rain curled loosely at Tom’s shoulders in the carefree style typical of his easy manner, his elegant coat a beacon of gold in contrast to Dalton’s somber olive.
“You’re prompt, Archer,” Dalton said by way of welcome.
A look of satisfaction enhanced Tom’s dark Norman looks; his family claimed noble lineage back to William the Conqueror. “The horses made excellent time. Finest bays in four counties.”
Despite annoyance at his mission, a smile tugged at Dalton’s mouth. “The return journey should go more smoothly.”
“Undoubtedly. And you won’t have to endure a hired coach.”
“Another boon.” Dalton gestured at the serving girl, then swept his hand at the rustic gathering. “Our dining companions.”
Weathered seamen in short wool coats and baggy breeches slouched on high-backed benches along stout tables, their thick boots turned toward the fire in the massive hearth. Pungent pipe tobacco mingled with the pervasive odor of fish and men, while savory aromas seeped from the bustling kitchen.
Tom circled his gaze over the room. “Rough but amiable.”
“Not him.” Dalton jerked his chin at the lean figure in the corner in a black frock coat and wide-brimmed hat, hunched over his second bowl of stew and a crusty loaf. The continual darting of his eyes and the hunger in his manner not satisfied by the ample portions bespoke a man seeking more than food and shelter. “He’d shove a pistol in your gut along a dark highway.”~