Spotlight & Giveaway: Highland Beast by Heather McCollum

Today it is my pleasure to Welcome author Heather McCollum to HJ!

Hi Heather and welcome to HJ! We’re so excited to chat with you about your new release, Highland Beast!

Hello! I’m so happy to be here today with you all to celebrate my new Scottish Historical Romance release!
 

Please summarize the book a la Twitter style for the readers here:

HIGHLAND BEAST: Raised to be the executioner for his clan, Bàs Sinclair is tasked to kill the lass who gave him his very first kiss. Refusing means war. Following through means death to his own soul.
 

Please share the opening lines of this book:

Bàs Sinclair knelt in the smoothed dirt raked around his rock garden. His skull mask, made from an an¬cient Sinclair enemy, sat discarded among the delicate bluebells and daisies that he’d encouraged to grow around the outer perimeter. He hadn’t yet cleaned the blood splatter from his tunic nor taken his horse, Dòchas, to the creek to wash the green stain from his brilliant pale gold coat.

“May God forgive me for fulfilling my duty. Judge well and with mercy, dear Lord, the soul I sent to ye this morn.” He pulled a rock from a pouch made from the slack of the woolen plaid wrapped around him.

Please share a few Fun facts about this book…

• The two Highland coos in the book, Ilsa and Iona, are real cows that I met in Auchenblae, Scotland last year. Mama and calf were so much fun to brush!
• I love animals and grew up rescuing dogs. Now we have a rescued sugar glider (marsupial) and two ball pythons along with my geriatric rescued golden retriever. We’ve also had guinea pigs and a rescued calico kitten. Experiencing an animal’s non-judgmental love made it easy to see why Bàs would surround himself with animals instead of people.
• I am not a plotter, so I usually have no idea what will happen in subsequent books in the series. But from the beginning of my Sons of Sinclair series, I knew that Bàs would be my most tortured hero. How could he not after being told by his father that his first execution had been his mother when she died birthing him?
• I have a bird feeding station right outside my writing window. Sure, the birds get in there some of the time, but it’s really become a squirrel feeding station. Betty, Bàs’s squirrel, was built upon my daily squirrel visitors who peer in at me each day.
• In order to keep track of all the characters in the growing Sinclair world, I created a collage of images, names, and dates. I cut and glue pictures into a manilla folder and mod podge over it. Then I prop it up while I write to keep me straight on the details.

What first attracts your main characters to each other?

Bàs finds Shana unconscious in the woods with a newborn baby tied up in a tree. When he rescues her and the baby, Shana wakes up in Bàs’s cabin with a squirrel in her face. So there isn’t an immediate attraction with all the screaming and Shana worrying that Bàs’s wolf will eat her nephew. But once she sees how human Bàs is when he can’t sleep, and once Bàs hears her sweet voice, the attraction begins to stir.
 

Using just 5 words, how would you describe your main characters”love affair?

Forbidden, Opposites, Slow-Burn, Steamy, Fierce
 

The First Kiss…

His gaze was in shadows, but it still held her there. “Thank ye for the drink.” He set the empty goblet on the wooden porch and tipped his head back to look at the stars.

Shana needed to get him to sleep so she could sneak away at dawn, but right now she also just wanted to soothe him. This mighty man who’d saved her and Edward. He didn’t sleep well. Why?
She swallowed and wet her lips, opening her mouth to let the tune of the lullaby out.

“Lavender’s blue, dilly dilly, Lavender’s green.
When you are king, dilly dilly, I shall be queen.”

It was a familiar song meant to soothe babes to sleep. Shana used the refrain to tie her own words together.

“The night is dark, dilly dilly, The stars are bright.
Your eyes are heavy, dilly dilly, Your thoughts are light.”

Bàs turned his head to watch her sing, their gazes connecting with darkness wrapped around them like woven blankets. The words flowed out softly in perfect notes even though something tugged at her heart, threatening to steal her breath.

His strong features drew her, his lips parted gently as if he might join her song. But he stayed silent, watching, listening.

“Banish the shadows, dilly dilly, From your dark dreams.”

Shana’s hand rose to his face, pausing briefly before sliding her thumb across his cheek above his short beard.

“Rest in the promise, dilly dilly, That you are seen.”

She leaned in the slightest bit, but they were suddenly together, their lips mere inches apart, as if the breezes or shadows had pressed them closer. It had been so long since she’d been this close to a man, one who made her heart flip about and the heat rush through her blood.

Her lips remained open on the last note, and her eyes closed as she felt his warm mouth brush against hers. The kiss was gentle and strong and ignited the heat within her into a fire. But suddenly he pulled back, and her eyes fluttered open.

Black eyes glittered from the darkness, the shadows cutting lines across his hard face. Her breath caught in her throat as he met her gaze. “Lass, I don’t want to be seen.” He stood and walked into the cottage, leaving her alone on the swing in the night breeze.

Without revealing too much, what is your favorite scene in the book?

Bàs’s brother, Joshua, interrupts Shana and him the morning after their second sexual encounter. Shana is a midwife.

“Brother!”

“Daingead,” Bàs whispered and began to shift Shana to the pillow next to her.

“What time is it?” Shana murmured.

“Past dawn, and we have a visitor.”

She pushed up in the rumpled bed, and Bàs froze at the view. Her hair, which seemed like it would never be tame again, lay in tangled curls covering her bare skin, but her breasts broke through the red curtain.

“Brother!”

“Bloody hell,” Bàs said, turning from the most precious sight, his jack already standing tall.

“Did you send your hawk with word to Girnigoe?” Shana asked, her eyes wide, probably imagining her sister’s panic when she didn’t return last night.

“Aye. Bruce returned without the note last night.” He’d rewarded the bird with part of their dinner of fish.

His front door banged below. “Brother, I need ye.” It was Joshua, and he sounded alarmed.
Bàs opened the door to his bedroom, his plaid in his hand as he ran down the steps. “What’s wrong?”

“Good God,” Kára said, her eyes wide as she took in the sight of Bàs running naked down the stairs. She looked to Joshua. “So all you Sinclair brothers are built like randy bulls.”

Joshua jumped before his wife. “Cover yourself,” he said, frowning at Bàs. His gaze went up the steps, and then his brows rose high. “Is Shana with ye upstairs?”

Bàs wrapped his plaid around his hips when he saw Kára peeking out from behind Joshua. “’Tis no business of yours,” Bàs said.

“Well, she’s not at Girnigoe,” Joshua said, his head tipping back and forth as he glanced around the room. “And she’s not down here.”

“I am here,” Shana said, padding down the steps. “Is something wrong with Ivy or Edward?” They all turned toward her. She had the thin blanket wrapped around her over a very rumpled looking smock that they’d forgotten on the floor.

Kára stepped out from behind Joshua. “They’re well.”

Joshua’s mouth hitched up, twisting in a comical smile, and he scratched the side of his bristled face. “Didn’t mean to ruin your morning,” he said.

“’Tis me,” Kára said, her hand on her protruding belly.

Whatever crude teasing that was about to fall from Joshua’s mouth dissolved as his face tightened with concern. “She’s bleeding.”

“Not much,” Kára said.

“Any pain?” Shana came down and led Kára to sit.

“No, and the babe is kicking. I think my time is coming.”

“Why not find her grandmother and aunt?” Bàs asked, buckling his belt to hold the plaid in place. “Instead of riding her all the way out here?”

“Hilda and Amma are at Varrich Castle,” Kára said, sliding her hands over her stomach. “This was closer, and Joshua’s quite concerned.”

A chattering started above, and Kára looked up at the rafters. “You have a squirrel in your cabin.”

“That’s Betty,” Shana said as if that explained everything. She looked toward Bàs and Joshua.
“Perhaps you two can wait outside while I examine Kára.” She smiled sweetly, but it was obviously a dismissal.

Bàs walked toward the door, grabbing Joshua’s upper arm on the way out. “So…?” Joshua drew out before they’d even stepped off the porch. “The fiery-haired sister. She’s bonny. Did ye bring her to her pleasure first?”

“We’re not having this conversation,” Bàs said and strode toward the barn to check on Ilsa and her calf.

Joshua jogged after him. “’Tis important that the lass feels good if ye want her to do it again, brother.”

“Shana felt very good,” Bàs said.

“Did ye use your mouth on her? Kára loves that.”

They had come together again in pretty much the same way they had the first time except that she’d been on top for the first half. She’d found her release with his, but Bàs surely wasn’t going to share intimate details with Joshua. “Don’t ye worry about Shana,” Bàs said.

“I’m not,” Joshua said. “I’m worried about ye. If she leaves ye for not making her moan and thrash about, she’ll break your tender heart.”

Bàs turned in frustration, the words huffing out of him. “She moaned my name over and over and thrashed about in pleasure and release. So ye don’t—” He stopped mid-sentence at the sight of Keenan and two more lasses staring at them from their horses across the quiet clearing, listening to every word.

If your book was optioned for a movie, what scene would be absolutely crucial to include?

A scene from Bàs’s childhood when he’s forced to take on the mantle of The Horseman of Death. He is five years old in this scene.

George Sinclair turned back to him, holding something Bàs did not dare to look upon because Aunt Merida said it would cause him not to sleep.

“Ye were born the Horseman of Death,” Father said.

Aunt Merida made a strangled noise, and Bàs’s arms started to tingle. He inhaled slowly. Gideon said whenever he started to tingle or saw stars he should remember to breathe evenly. That would keep him upright. And, since Father could attack at any time, he must stay upright.

The rush of Bàs’s exhale was loud in his ears, but nothing could block his father’s voice. “Ye became the Horseman of Death the day of your birth, the day your mother died giving ye life. ’Twas why I named ye death, Bàs.”

He’d known that was his name, and he remembered well the surprised looks people gave him when they learned it. Hannah had said that’s why the other children didn’t play with him, because of his name. Not because there was anything wrong with him.

George Sinclair thrust what he was holding toward Bàs, and his gaze instinctually dropped to it. He gasped. The skull looked human, polished white like it had baked in the sun after ravens had picked it clean. The lower jaw was missing. What remained was the nose bridge, dark eye sockets, and skullcap.

“The back is cut away so ye can wear it,” Father said.

Bàs looked up at his father’s dark eyes. “I don’t want it,” he said, proud that he’d kept the tremor out of his voice. “I like to sleep.”

Aunt Merida snorted, and his father cast her a glare before shoving the thing toward him. “Take it, boy.”

“I…I don’t want to be death,” Bàs said.

His father frowned down at him. “And I didn’t want to lose the woman I loved more than my life and this whole damned world.” His father looked up at the vaulted ceiling as if Bàs’s mother might be hovering there, and then met his son’s gaze once more. “Ye will take this mask made of an enemy’s skull, and one day ye will wear it into battle as the fourth horseman, Death. Ye will be the most brutal of all my sons, with battle ax and sword. People will cringe at the sight of ye riding toward them. For ye are Death, Bàs Sinclair, the executioner of our mighty clan.”

“I am?” Bàs’s voice did shake then.

“Aye, lad,” Father said, once again shoving the skull toward him. He leaned closer, bending so he could meet Bàs’s eyes evenly. “Your mother was your first execution.”

Bàs’s breath stuck in his chest as his whole face pinched, trying to stop the tears that would not be stopped. They poured hot from his eyes, down his cheeks. His hands opened, and the white daisies and bluebells fell from his sticky palm to the floor as he took the bleached skull from his father.

Readers should read this book …

To experience an epic 16th century romance between two broken people who at first seem to be complete opposites but who come full circle to heal with the power of the love that grows between them.

What are you currently working on? What other releases do you have planned?

I am currently writing the fifth Sons of Sinclair book about Hannah Sinclair, the sister of the Four Horsemen. The hero in Hannah’s book is a Norwegian warrior descended from Vikings. Erik Halverson is on a mission by his sovereign to abduct Hannah in order to control her powerful brothers. All is going to plan until she seduces him. HIGHLAND SURRENDER will release in Fall/Winter 2023.
I have another Highlander series, The Brothers of Wolf Isle, which follows the adventures of five Macquarie brothers as they try to resettle their ancestral isle despite a curse that’s plagued the clan for a century. Book #4, THE HIGHLANDER’S SECRET AVENGER, will release August 2023.

Thanks for blogging at HJ!

Giveaway: A print copy of Highland Beast as provided by Entangled Publishing

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Excerpt from Highland Beast:

“The river has swept into the coos’ barn,” Bàs said, running to the front of the structure and throwing open the doors. Beò trotted inside and then back out, standing watch.

“The cows must have been washed downstream in the storm surge when the river swelled over its bank,” Shana said.

“Bloody hell,” Bàs said and grabbed their halters off the nail in the barn.

Shana gasped. “The calf.” Iona was only four months old and vulnerable to predators and the rushing waters. Her mother, Ilsa, could survive as long as a pack of wolves didn’t surround her.

Bàs threw an arm out to the river and looked at Beò. “Where are they?” The wolf trotted toward it. Shana followed behind Bàs as he ran after the wolf. Bàs kept slowing and glancing behind him to make sure Shana wasn’t in trouble. Even holding her skirts up, they dragged in the mud as she sunk.

She shooed him ahead. “Don’t wait for me. Find that babe.”

“Yell if ye need me,” he said over the rush of the water. “Don’t get too close to the bank. ’Twill give way.”

“Go on!” She shooed him again, and he took off after Beò, leaping over increasingly large puddles and dodging trees that gripped the soggy banks with knobby roots washed clean by the raging river, as if they held on for dear life. For long minutes he followed the swollen river until water had risen to flood the forest floor, creating a wide estuary. Ahead, a low bellowing rose over the rushing water.

“Ilsa!” Bàs yelled. He tore forward, dodging a thick tree. “Ilsa!” She stood mired in muck with Iona next to her. Bàs let out a huff of relief. “Thank ye, Lord,” Bàs said, lifting his feet high as the mud sucked them into the boggy area. Old leaves floated by, lifted from the forest floor, and the tops of ferns were tugged by the slower water flowing over the land. Ilsa bellowed again. Her eyes were wide under the long hair, and Iona huddled near her, mewing in a higher voice.

“You found them!” Shana called. “Are they stuck?”

“I’ll see,” he said, pulling his legs up one after another to climb closer to them. He hadn’t thought to grab a rope. Mo chreach! Ilsa weighed a thousand pounds. When he reached the spot where they stood, Ilsa’s legs were muddy but not mired where she stood on a buried plateau of rock. She remained there because Iona was stuck.

“There now, mama,” Bàs said, his voice calm as he approached. He slipped her large, soft halter over her nose, avoided her horns, and buckled it in the back. Ilsa snorted, her thick tongue curling out to lick her gray nose. She tossed her head upward, her curved horns thrusting about, and snorted again. Bàs dodged her horns as she lowered her nose to her calf who stood beside the rocks mired up to her belly.

“Ilsa must have followed her down the river,” Shana said from a spot six feet back. “What a good mama,” she called.

Beò trotted around them, staying on firm ground. His smart friend had known the cows would be attacked by wolves that night if they weren’t rescued today. The water and Ilsa’s horns would hold the pack off only so long. A sucking noise came with each pull of his boot from the mud, and Bàs came up to Ilsa, scratching the wide part of her nose where the hair lay in a stringy mess.

“How long have ye been out here?”

She snorted again, glancing down to make sure Iona was still there. The calf weighed a bit over a hundred pounds from what Bàs guessed the last time he lifted her. The mud would add to the weight, but where Ilsa would be impossible to get out without ropes and men, Iona should be easier.

A gasp behind him made him turn in time to see Shana land hands first on her stomach.

“Shana!”

“Blasted mud.” She slowly relaxed there on her stomach but kept her head up with her elbows squishing into the mud. “My foot stuck in it.” Her dress lay in the dark reddish-brown soup of river water and floating brush.

He traipsed back to her, grabbing one arm at the same time she tried to roll onto her back. Feet stuck in the thicker mud, Bàs wobbled, thrown off-balance. “Mo chreach!” He hit the muddy water with a splash. His eyes shut right before his face went under.

“Bàs!” Shana yelled.

He pushed a hand down, his fingers squishing through the soft, cold dirt to raise his head. Turning onto his side, he wiped a hand over his wet face, probably smearing more mud on than he removed. They looked at each other, and Shana’s lips curved upward.

She brushed a dirty finger over her nose. “You’ve got a little dirt on your nose.”

Laughter pushed up from deep inside Bàs, coming out with a natural smile. “Ye do, too.”

Her eyes opened wide, and she gave a shocked frown. “Do I? Where?”

He laughed harder and crawled closer, one of his boots staying behind in the mud. He reached Shana, pointing at her nose. “There.” She wiped it, her smile returning. “And there.” He pointed at her forehead.

“How about my cheeks?” she asked. They were close, both lying in the mud with cold creek water running under and around them as if they were boulders in this shallow inlet.

His hand rose, and he slid his thumb across a little leaf stuck to her cheek. “Aye,” he said, his smile fading at the intensity in Shana’s gaze. They stared at each other for a moment. Bàs felt pulled to her. He inched closer, staring at the greenness in her eyes. The light of the trees enhanced it. Even covered in mud her beauty wasn’t dimmed at all. Her lush lips parted, and he drew in a shallow breath, his heart pounding as hard as during intense training. He wanted so badly to kiss her again, just one kiss. He leaned closer, and by some miracle Shana didn’t pull back.

Excerpts. © Reprinted by permission. All rights reserved.
 
 

Book Info:

Bàs Sinclair is the cold and brutal hand—and sword—of justice across the Highlands. He has one destiny: to bring fear into the hearts of guilty men. But when he is called to execute a midwife for her crimes, he cannot raise his weapon. For Bàs already knows this lovely, part-wild creature. After all, she gave him his first and only kiss…

Shana Drummond will do anything to protect her beloved sister. Now her cruel, merciless brother-in-law has called upon Bàs to have Shana killed for crimes she didn’t commit. She can’t reconcile the cold, lethal warrior before her with the gentle one she met—nay, kissed—only days before.

But mercy from Bàs can only lead to one thing: war among the clans. A war that will test allegiances, tear families apart, and challenge everything Bàs knows about himself and his heart. Because once this Highlander knows love, nothing will stop him from keeping Shana safe…even if it means destroying his own destiny.
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Meet the Author:

Heather McCollum is a USA Today Bestselling author of over twenty 16th century Scottish romances full of adventure and intrigue, sprinkled with humor, history, and spice.

When she’s not researching Britain’s rich history or writing adventures, she spends her time educating women on the symptoms of Ovarian Cancer. She’s a survivor and resides with her very own Highland hero and three spirited children in the wilds of suburbia on the mid-Atlantic coast.
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