Spotlight & Giveaway: Highland Crown by May McGoldrick

Today it is my pleasure to Welcome author May McGoldrick to HJ!

Hi Nikoo & Jim and welcome to HJ! We’re so excited to chat with you about your new release, Highland Crown!

 
Thanks for having us!
 

Please summarize the book for the readers here:

Highland Crown is the first book in our new Royal Highlander series. The novel is set in 1820 at the height of the Regency period, and England and Scotland are in complete turmoil. Isabella Drummond is a trained physician who’s been recently widowed, and Cinaed Mackintosh is a ship’s captain with a mysterious past. In our story, Isabella and Cinaed are thrown together in the middle of Scotland’s ‘Radical War’. Theirs is a relationship tested in fire by the ongoing social unrest. We believe that struggle makes their story timeless.

Highland Crown delves into actual history that most readers might not be aware of. As far as political unrest, there is a great deal in common between what was happening in 1820 Scotland and what is happening in our society now. Early reviewers are loving the novel, and more than one said it, “Gave me all the Outlander feels.” We can live with high praise like that.
 

Please share your favorite line(s) or quote from this book:

Okay, in a certain scene Cinaed is looking at a crowd of Highland men, women, and children and thinking, “They were fearless. With a gang of armed men, he had freed two so-called enemies of the Crown, but these people—born with the same Highland blood that flowed through his body—had come here with nothing but empty hands and raised voices. They’d come to this protest, crying out for reform, for freedom, for justice, armed only with a free, clear conscience…and their courage.”

Please share a few Fun facts about this book…

• Fiction and history are so closely woven together in this novel that many times the reader won’t be able to tell them apart. For example, we present the prologue in the point of view of Sir Walter Scott, the fiction writer who actually created of the romantic image of the Highlanders that we hold now.
• We made Isabella Drummond, our heroine, a doctor because of the existence of a real-life physician named Dorothea Erxelben. She was the first female doctor in Germany and got her medical degree from a university about 70 years before our story takes place.
• The idea for this novel first came to us twenty years ago when we met a young man in Edinburgh who claimed to be the descendant of Bonnie Prince Charlie.
• This series piqued the interest of a Hollywood production company while our story was still at the concept stage.

What first attracts your Hero to the Heroine and vice versa?

The first thing that attracts Cinaed to Isabella is the fact that after she fishes him out of the water (his ship has just exploded on a Scottish reef) and saves his life. He’s pretty shocked that this beautiful woman stitching him up is a real doctor.

Isabella is immediately drawn to this seemingly indestructible Highlander. Cinaed is loyal and tenacious. He’s a reluctant hero with a dark past, and she soon learns that he’s a man who leads by example, knows his own mind, and will act ruthlessly when the situation calls for it. Who wouldn’t like a guy like that?

Did any scene have you blushing, crying or laughing while writing it? And Why?

Auld Jean is a side character who becomes a mother figure to Isabella. She has a way of expressing herself that is pretty unique….

Isabella was relieved when Jean arrived to rescue her from her thoughts. Coming over to the mirror, she circled wordlessly around Isabella, studying the dress carefully. It seemed today that the older woman’s back was a little more stooped. She was more unsteady on her feet than she had been, and her hand shook more severely. No surprise. Jean had been indispensable in caring for Cinaed during the fever. She had to be exhausted from the ordeal, especially since it only added weight to her constant worry about her nephew.

Jean cast a critical eye over the dress and wearer like some Parisian modiste.

“Damn me, but yer a bonnie lass.” She flared the skirts out to get the full effect of the brocade, then pulled down on the bodice, revealing a little bit more of Isabella’s breasts. “When ye go to market with the halibut, mistress, ye don’t hide ’em in the sacking.”

Readers should read this book….

…because Highland Crown blends history and fiction seamlessly and has a fantastic romance.

What are you currently working on? What other releases do you have in the works?

We’ve just finished the final edits of Highland Jewel, the second book in this Royal Highlander series. It’s the story of Maisie, the younger sister of Isabella. She’s a secret rebel who has been fighting in the streets for the cause of universal suffrage without her family knowing anything about her activism. Her world is about to be turned upside down and a very swoon-worthy former officer in the 42nd Highlanders Regiment will only complicate her life. In this story, readers will learn more about how Isabella and Cinaed are faring…because their adventure isn’t over yet!

Right now, we’re working on Highland Sword, the third book in the series. The readers are in for some BIG surprises in that story because Morrigan, the heroine, is a force to be reckoned with. She’s coming to that story (and to her romance with Aidan Grant) armed with sword and pistol!
 

Thanks for blogging at HJ!

Giveaway: 1 Autographed copy of their May McGoldrick novel, Much Ado About Highlanders.

We’ve got some great things happening over on the ‘Giveaways and Bargains’ page on our website.
Right now, we’ve got a PreOrder Celebration drawing going for a $50 Amazon Gift Card, and for a beautiful ring that plays an important role in Highland Crown.
We’re also giving away free copies of our award-winning novel, The Dreamer, as well as offering limited-time deals.These giveaways are open internationally!

To enter Giveaway: Please complete the Rafflecopter form and Post a comment to this Q: Many Regency-era novels deal mainly with the English nobility and their high society lives. Highland Crown is an exception to that. What is your interest level in reading about romances and tragedies of real everyday people who lived during the time period? Can you recommend other books written in the same vein?

 
a Rafflecopter giveaway

 

Excerpt from Highland Crown:

The loud bang shocked her awake, and Isabella sat bolt upright.
Looking about her, she remained where she was for a few moments and tried to clear away the filmy webs of confusion. She couldn’t quite grasp her surroundings. The place was unfamiliar, and she couldn’t remember how she’d gotten here or why she was here. It was like a dream she could not escape.
But was the bang part of her dream? She blinked and tried to clear her head.
Jean, John Gordon’s aunt. Isabella was in the Highlands, in the old woman’s cottage. The driftwood fire on the hearth had burned down to embers, casting a flickering glow over the floor and the walls and the humble furnishings.
The door swung hard, driven by a gust of wind, and banged once more against the scarred table by a shuttered window. A briny gust swept in through the open door, spattering the stone floor with rain that glistened like drops of amber.
Fanned by the sweep of salt air, the meager flames leapt up momentarily, and she glanced around the small cottage.
The woman was nowhere to be seen.
A quick series of explosions propelled Isabella to her feet. The blast was close, and she hurriedly yanked on her boots. Throwing on her cloak, she crossed to the door and peered out into the rain. Here on the Highland coast, the night sky retained the dismal grey hue of twilight throughout the summer, never yielding completely to the blackness of more southern climes. Even the storm clouds failed to blot out the dim light. But a second sun was burning brightly on the water. She stepped out onto the hard-packed sand and stared through the windswept rain at the wild scene before her.
Not a half mile from the stony beach, nearly cut off from view by heavy mists, the remains of a burning ship lay on a reef. Flames and smoke rose high in the sky.
Smatterings of villagers lined the black stretch of strand, pointing toward the wreck. A few men stood on a jagged ridge of rock projecting out into the raging surf. The attention of Jean’s neighbors was riveted on the events offshore, but Isabella moved cautiously to a vantage point on the shadowy side of a line of large boulders leading down into the sea. From here, she could see and not be discovered.
A thick swirling cloud obscured the reef for a few moments, lifting just as a wave carried the burning vessel off the rocks. Shouts and curses peppered the air as the ship went under. Isabella had no experience with shipwrecks, but she guessed the sinking was a hard blow to the scavengers waiting on shore.
Before long, villagers began to wade out to gather the few casks and parts of the ship being carried in ahead of the crashing rollers. Working together, they dragged their meager treasure up onto the beach.
Isabella recalled that a visitor had come to Jean’s door earlier. They must have seen the ship hit the reef. They knew this was coming. The sea takes, and the sea provides; that’s the way of things.
Through the mist, she espied a single longboat foundering near the rocky point. It disappeared into a trough, and when it rose again, the boat was riding lower in the water. Wind and waves were buffeting it about.
A shot rang out from the rugged point.
Isabella gasped and took a couple of steps forward as a man in the longboat fell backward, tumbling out and disappearing into the surf. From where she stood, she could not see who fired the musket, but it was clear to her that the villagers were determined to scavenge what they could. They wanted no survivors to muddy their claim. And they would not brook the existence of any interfering witnesses either.
Pressing a fist to her stomach, Isabella watched the longboat fight to turn away from the rocks. A moment later, it disappeared into the mists.
Villagers continued to pull wreckage from the water, but she looked on with unseeing eyes. Lost in thought as the rain beat down on her, she considered the absurd naiveté of the life she led. Isabella had devoted her entire existence to healing people. But in the real world, men regularly ended each other’s lives without hesitation or regret. She’d seen it. In Edinburgh, her own husband had died from a bullet fired by some soulless man in uniform. Even as they ran from the house, she’d seen the bodies on the streets, ridden down by the very men who were supposed to protect them. And she’d seen it here. Now.
How long she stood there, she didn’t know. But suddenly she became aware of Jean hurrying toward her from the cottage. The old woman reached her and plucked at Isabella’s cloak.
“I told ye to stay inside,” Jean said fiercely, motioning toward the door. “This is village business. It’s no business of yers. Get back inside afore someone sees ye.”
“Who set the ship on fire?”
“They did, the blasted curs.” She spat in the direction of the water. “They wanted to deny us whatever they were carrying.”
“A villager shot a man in the boat,” Isabella said, unwilling to forget what she’d seen. “In cold blood.”
“I saw nothing of that. And neither did ye.”
No law. No principle. No compassion. The only thing that mattered was one’s own survival. This is how they lived. And, she guessed, how they’d always lived. This was why John brought her here. Still, it was difficult to witness. But she had to remain silent. Three days, she reminded herself. Three more days and she’d sail away from the Highlands. And the events of this night would fill only one thin chapter in the tragic memoir of her life in Scotland.
“Go in, I say.” Jean peered through a gap in the boulders at the villagers. “Now. Afore someone sees ye. And don’t be talking of shooting. We’ve got no guns in the Highlands.”
Isabella planted her feet when the old woman tried to push her back toward the cottage. A movement at the sea’s edge drew her eye. At the base of one of the boulders that cut off this narrow stretch of stony beach from the long strand leading to the village and Duff Head, a man was dragging himself through the wind-whipped foam. Just above the waterline, he sank onto the beach.
“Someone from the ship!”
Jean gripped Isabella’s arm tightly. “I see no one.”
She shook herself loose of the older woman. “I care nothing about salvaged goods. Your villagers can keep it all. But that man needs help.”
“Wait. Ye can’t.”
For many, being a physician meant following a dignified profession, one that generally garnered respect and modest financial benefits. But to Isabella, it was an obligation and an honor. She always treated her chosen path as a responsibility. It didn’t matter who or what the patient’s circumstances were. Friend or foe, poor or rich, she did the same for all. She’d been given a gift that she was determined to use.
She moved quickly down the stony slope to the water’s edge, and Jean stayed close behind her, grumbling the entire way.
The man’s longish dark hair was matted with seaweed and grit. His face was half-buried in the stones and sand. He was clearly a large man, tall and broad across the shoulders. From the well-made wool jacket and from the quality leather of the boots, she decided he was no ordinary tar. He was either a passenger or an officer from the ship.
Isabella put her back to the gusts of rain and crouched beside him. Putting her fingers on his throat, she felt for a pulse. His skin was clammy and cold.
“God willing, the dog’s dead,” Jean mumbled, hovering over her.
“Your wish might come true. He’s more dead than alive.”
If this was the man who was shot, she imagined there’d be no mercy shown if the villagers found him alive. And his body would never be found. The rising tide was washing up around his boots.
“Help me turn him over.”
“I’ll not help ye with any such thing. And if ye have any sense, ye’ll leave him be and let the sea take him.”
Isabella wiped the salty rain from her face and pulled his arm, managing on her own to turn him onto his side. A growth of beard covered his face, but his skin was pale as ash, his breathing shallow. Taking hold of his jacket, she rolled him onto his back. Her hand came away red. She pushed his coat open and saw a hole in his black waistcoat an inch or so above the heart. Blood was seeping from the wound.
“I knew it.” She pressed her hand against the wound to stop the bleeding.
“Let him go.”
She pressed harder. The storm and the rage of the sea blended with Jean’s warnings before fading away. Her mind was transported back to their house in Edinburgh. The stranger’s face was Archibald’s. Warm blood oozed through her fingers. All her years of training and she hadn’t been able to save him. His life had just slipped away.
Isabella would not let this man die.
Archibald was her friend, her mentor, and her teacher. Just as when her father died, losing him had slapped her down with the cruelty of life’s uncertainties. The responsibility for the well-being of her sister and her stepdaughter was overwhelming. In a moment, she’d been stripped of the ideal existence she’d been living. At four and thirty years of age, she had to learn how to survive. She had to run for her life.
“Not much is washing ashore.” Jean’s voice came to her from the gap in the boulders, where she was watching the villagers down the beach. “Folk’ll be coming this way to see if anything drifted this far.”
The blood continued to pulse from the wound.
The old woman shuffled back to Isabella’s side. “Ye have to go in, mistress. Now. They won’t be any too happy with this one.”
“I can’t let him die. Not again. I can’t,” she said, her voice belonging to a stranger.
Isabella reached for a clump of seaweed that washed up beside them. She pressed it into the wound. The bullet was still in him. If she could extract it, sew the wound shut, she could stop the bleeding. It was the only way to save him. Ten years ago, she’d helped her father operate on the bloodied men carted back to Wurzburg from the battle at Leipzig. After a week, they’d still carried Russian musket balls and shrapnel in their festering wounds. The death rate had been dreadful.
The bag containing her surgical instruments was beside the cot. “Help me take him up the hill.”
“This one will never see the inside of my cottage. Just leave him.”
“I’ll drag him up there by myself, then.”
Jean tugged at Isabella’s cloak again. “Yer daft, woman. Ye remember nothing of what I said last night, do ye?”
The patch of seaweed was helping staunch the flow of the blood. Isabella looked up at the sandy stretch, trying to decide on how she could get him up the hill.
“Ye listen to me now, mistress—”
“I am not leaving him,” she cut in sternly. “Do you hear? I am not letting him die out here on the beach. Now, you do what you see fit. But if you want to deliver this man up to your friends, then you can just hand me over with him.”
The older woman let go of the cloak and straightened up, staring at her as if she were a creature with two heads.
They both started at the sound of someone calling from the beach beyond the boulders. A man’s voice.
Too soon, Isabella thought. Her bravado was being tested. “I stand by my words.”
“Stay down and don’t move,” Jean hissed. “Mind me now.”
The urgency in the old woman’s voice sank in. Isabella crouched beside the injured man. She kept firm pressure on the seaweed over the wound.
Concealed by the boulder at the edge of the water, she watched Jean climb with surprising agility onto the rocks to head off the villager.
“Oy, Auld Jean. Anything come in along this stretch?”
From where Isabella waited, she could see the man was carrying a stout cudgel.
“Nay, Habbie. Not a thing, curse ’em,” she wailed. “The dogs blew it up rather than giving us our deserving share. And what purpose does that serve, I’d like to know.”
“If any of them boats land nearby, I’m thinking the lads’ll be taking it out of their hides.”
“Well, that blast was a fine show, to be sure,” she remarked. “What do ye think they had in there to go to such trouble?”
“French gold and Old Boney’s crown, no doubt. Wouldn’t want that lot to fall into the wrong hands.” Habbie laughed. “Though maybe they was carrying a weapon or two.”
Illegal in the Highlands, Isabella thought.
“And maybe a keg of powder or two?”
“Ye could be on to something, woman. Wouldn’t be the first smuggler to run too close to the Head.”
Isabella frowned at the man lying motionless in the sand beside her. A smuggler.
The sound of others calling from the beach drew the villager’s attention. “Come for us if anything washes ashore. Don’t be dragging any crates out of the sea by yerself.”
“Of course, ye fool. I’m too auld to be doing anything like that.”
Isabella didn’t know if it was safe yet to let out a breath of relief. The sailor or the smuggler or the passenger or whoever this man was, remained unconscious. But beneath her palms, she could feel his beating heart. He was not giving up.
She watched Jean make her way back down.
“Thank you,” Isabella said. “Now can you please help me drag him up to the cottage?”
“Best look at him again. The blasted cur looks dead enough to me.”
“He’s not dead. He—”
The words caught in her throat as a hand shot up and long, viselike fingers clutched her windpipe, squeezing hard.
Isabella gasped for air, stunned by the attack. She tried desperately to yank herself free of the deadly grip. She tried to claw at his face but couldn’t reach. Her nails dug into his wrist, but he wouldn’t let go. His eyes were open but unfocused. He was intent on murder, and there was nothing she could do to stop him.
Her lungs threatened to burst. This was the end, she thought. Her destiny was not to die beside Archibald and his rebel comrades in Edinburgh, but here, alone, her life choked out of her in a storm on a Highland shore. Jean would surely push her body into the sea, and her killer’s body would soon follow. Maisie and Morrigan’s faces flashed across her mind’s eye. The two would need to survive without her, Isabella decided, feeling herself losing consciousness. They had each other, and they were no longer children but strong women. They would need to be.
But her end didn’t come so quickly. Unexpectedly, the man released his grip with the same suddenness that he attacked her. Isabella fell backward onto the stony beach, coughing and trying to force air back into her chest.
One breath. Her lungs protested. Another breath. She was breathing. Breathing. She held her bruised throat.
Jean was crouched beside the man’s head, proudly waving a good-sized rock in her hand.
“This time I’d say the sea dog really is dead.”

Excerpt. © Reprinted by permission. All rights reserved.
 
 

Book Info:

THE ROYAL HIGHLANDER SERIES
Scottish pride, persuasion, and passion…
The Radical War of 1820 is tearing Britain apart. In Scotland, cries of liberty, equality, and fraternity ring out in the streets, and the planned visit of the newly crowned British king fuel is fueling the Rising.
In this new series, three extraordinary women must find the courage in the Highlands to fight for the future of a nation.

HIGHLAND CROWN

Inverness, 1820
Perched on the North Sea, this legendary town is a place where Highland rebels and English authorities clash. Among the fray is a lovely young widow who possesses rare and special gifts.

WANTED: Isabella Drummond
A true beauty and trained physician who has inspired longing and mystery in a great many men, Isabella is being hunted by Englishmen and Scottish rebels both. She’s escaped to the Highlands in search of survival.

FOUND: Cinaed Mackintosh
Cast from his home as a child, Cinaed is a fierce soul who answers to nobody but himself until Isabella saves his life—and adds more risk to her own. Now, the only way Cinaed can keep her safe is to return to the place from which he was banished. When the truth of his past comes out, what will these two ill-fated lovers sacrifice to be together…forever?
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Meet the Author:

USA Today Bestselling Authors Nikoo and Jim wrote their first May McGoldrick romance using historical figures that Jim researched while earning a PhD in sixteenth-century Scottish and English literature. Nikoo, a mechanical engineer, is a born storyteller. She is all about characters and feeling. Jim is about action and sense of place. Together, they have crafted over forty fast-paced, conflict-filled historical and contemporary novels and two works of nonfiction under the pseudonyms May McGoldrick and Jan Coffey.

These popular and prolific authors write historical romance, suspense, mystery, and young adult novels. They are four-time Rita Finalists and the winners of numerous awards for their writing, including the Romantic Times Magazine Reviewers’ Choice Award, the Daphne DeMaurier Award, three NJRW Golden Leaf Awards, two Holt Medallions, and the Connecticut Press Club Award for Best Fiction. Their work is included in the Popular Culture Library collection of the National Museum of Scotland.
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