Spotlight & Giveaway: The Highlander’s Lady of Loch & Sea 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, The Highlander’s Lady of Loch & Sea!

Thanks so much for having me! I’m excited to be here with you all.
 

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

A night of carnal adventure with a mysterious siren leads Cyrus Mackinnon to wake, tied to his bed, with a blade to his throat… How will he forge peace on Skye if he’s a dead man?
 

Please share the opening lines of this book:

Cyrus Mackinnon stood along the side of the Great Hall with his friend, Chief Rory MacLeod, as they watched the spectacle unfold. The small, sleek beast dashed on short legs back up the aisle created by chairs set up for his sister’s wedding to Chief Iain Macqueen.

“My wedding is ruined,” Grace Mackinnon wailed as she jumped onto a table, holding her voluminous skirts close to her ankles. Her dark curls shot out as her head swiveled, searching for the animal running wild through what was supposed to be the perfect day, a day to unite Clan Mackinnon with Clan Macqueen.

“First the chickens,” she yelled, “and now this… this weasel.”

Please share a few Fun facts about this book…

• I first envisioned Laria as the Arthurian Lady of the Lake, which is how Cyrus sees her rising from the mist covered loch. But Laria proves to be much more trouble!
• Even though Ginny, the spaniel, was in great jeopardy, I would never let a dog come to terrible harm in one of my books.
• Cleas, the “weasel” is really a Eurasian Otter. Cleas is the word for “trick” in Scottish Gaelic. I fell in love with the little creature while researching them. Otters are so curious and mischievous.
• I make paper collages for my book projects. I take a manilla folder and use scrapbook paper and ephemera in the background. Then I scour Pinterest for pictures of my characters and settings. Sometimes I find pictures that resonate with me even though I don’t know how they will fit into my book. I print them, cut them out with real scissors, and glue them into my manilla folder. Then I can prop my inspiration up to look at while I write.
• Water is Laria’s element where she feels most comfortable. I was like that as a kid. I used to swim for hours in my backyard swimming pool when I was eight years old, keeping my legs together like a tail. I hoped that they’d magically fuse together and I’d become a mermaid. Did that happen? Let’s just say that none of my readers have seen me in water to find out.

What first attracts your main characters to each other?

Cyrus is entranced by the mysterious woman who enters his sister’s wedding masquerade party. Just like him, she is masked, and her costume makes her look like a watery siren. He’s caught by her beauty and grace.
Laria, on the other hand, has a task. She must get Cyrus Mackinnon vulnerable. But after a night of carnal adventure with the sexy Highlander, can she do the deed that will save her people? Can she kill the man who gives so much of himself to bring her such pleasure?
 

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

Instant
Carnal
Blissful
Forbidden
Unstoppable
 

The First Kiss…

She smiled, following him closer to the bed. “‘Siren’ will do tonight.” She liked to tease, and he’d let her. The mood was one of intrigue and hidden identity. He’d discover her true name on the morrow when he questioned her about her note.

“Kiss me, Cyrus Mackinnon.” Her voice wrapped around him like the arms of a mermaiden.
He stepped up to her, close but without touching.

“‘Siren’ is most appropriate, lass, because I will make ye sing yer pleasure tonight.” He lowered his mouth to her parted lips.

They were soft and yielding. He inhaled the sweet, spicy scent of her, his hands traveling up her gently arched spine to her hair. She pressed her body into his, and his cock pulsed in anticipation. It would have to be patient, because Cyrus planned to wring ecstasy out of this lass before sating his lust.

Lifting her against him, he backed them up to the chapel bed made with four carved posts and a canopy that framed the open top. Rich satin curtains in white were pulled back to show the plump mattress and pillows.

He set her there without breaking the kiss. She wrapped her arms around his neck, clinging to him and slanting her mouth against his. He could taste the whisky on her tongue, along with a hint of mint. When he moved his mouth along her jaw, she let her head roll back, exposing that luscious neck. He reached her ear and whispered, “I would taste all of ye, Siren.”

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

In this scene, Cyrus is sacrificing his own pride to pull unwanted attention away from Laria.

She stood wearing the simply cut gown of blue she’d been wearing the night of the masquerade, without the costume’s second layer of sea-green, white, and darker blue cut to resemble waves and seaweed. Her chest rose and fell with rapid breaths. Was she afraid? She looked more relieved that Erskine was being released. The man would need to heal, but at least it had ended with one strike.
“The woman is a resident of Tuath Tower,” Cyrus said as he stepped past Iain to her side. “She is the daughter of Chief Sandris Macqueen and granddaughter of Sophie Macqueen. She has a right to take food meant for the inhabitants of the chief’s castle.”
“She is a criminal,” Iain said, “even if ye don’t consider her a thief.” His face turned dark under Cyrus’s challenge. “She tied ye to yer bed the night of the masquerade and tried to slice yer throat.”
A series of gasps overlapped through the throng.
“After she enticed ye to carnal play like a succubus,” Iain added. “Her crimes are against ye, my new brother.”
“Oh my,” a woman murmured somewhere beside him.
Cyrus stood tall, his shoulders broad and solid. He looked from Laria to Iain. The bastard meant to embarrass him into silence. He didn’t know Cyrus very well.
Cyrus looked out at those gathered. “I was enthralled with a woman from the masquerade. I took her to my bedchamber and seduced a kiss from her.” Silence reigned in the square. Men frowned, and women stared at him wide-eyed, a rosiness to some of their cheeks. Now for the lie. “But Laria Macqueen was not the woman who’s kept me up at night with the memories of her touch.”
“Didn’t she take off her mask?” said a woman with lines scored into the weathered skin around her thin lips.
“Nay. She was a mystery to me.”
“Her hands,” called another matron, pointing to Laria. “Were her hands scarred and deformed like hers?”
Jasper reached over and yanked Laria’s gloves off, exposing the circular red marks. He held her hand up, and people gasped. Fury burned in Cyrus’s gut. He must have moved forward, because Rory’s hand on his shoulder kept him back.
Laria stood still, her gaze on the ground. Silent hurt radiated from her, and he desperately wanted to get her away from Tuath and Iain and all these judgmental people.
“His jack would wither if it was touched by those talons,” said a man whom Cyrus wanted to punch.
Cyrus pulled in a long inhale. He needed to turn the attention away from Laria, to shield her with his own spectacle. The villagers needed another topic to discuss in whispers later, a new target to gossip over. “I recall only strength and courage in the lass’s hands.”
“Nothing but scratchy disease in Laria’s hands,” Jasper said.
“If I scratch you, Jasper Whitt,” she said, her voice stronger than her stance, “I hope disease takes you.”
“Tie her hands,” Iain said.
Fok. This was getting worse. Cyrus turned to the villagers standing at least six deep around the square. His gaze ranged over the lasses with a searching look. Kenan had once said that Cyrus could look at a woman in a way that turned her heart to instant folly. Rory had called it his bewitching charm. Cyrus knew nothing of bewitching, but he forced his mouth to relax in a roguish grin as his gaze connected with the young women’s. He’d use his charm as a beacon, pulling the judgmental stares.
“The lass who enchanted me was masked the entire time, her hair tucked away under a scarf to hide herself, but I know the softness of her lips. She was modest with virtue and left me with only a kiss. Her name was Mary.”
Several young ladies gasped softly, their faces snapping to others in the crowd as if searching out Cyrus’s Mary. Others held their hands over their mouths.
“Ye were tied to the bed,” Iain said with cutting sarcasm. “Naked.”
Eyes widened, some gazes dropping to Cyrus’s plaid as if they could imagine his naked form.
“’Twas a fantasy of mine,” he answered without looking at Iain. “I asked her to tie me up and kiss me.” Murmurs and gasps rose like a wave.
“Bloody hell,” Rory murmured and turned to look back at the tower. “’Tis a good thing yer mother isn’t out here. She’d either run ye through or swoon.”
Cyrus held up his arms to pull his audience back in. “But Mary remained chaste, only surrendering a kiss, one I will remember even into the grave. My sweet Mary.” Cyrus didn’t look at Rory or at Laria but kept his attention on the women of the village. Even the stares from the older matrons had softened into something more wistful.
“Enough of—” Iain started, but Cyrus cut him off, his voice resonating with appeal.
“I will be the chief of Clan Mackinnon, and I would find this mystery Mary, a woman who has captured my heart with a single kiss.” Cyrus let his gaze move over Laria, who stood with her head again level, her lips parted and brows raised. His gaze stopped on Iain. “Yer cousin is not that woman. She has done no wrong except to take food that belongs to her through her ties to Tuath Tower and her father, Chief Sandris.”
Iain’s mouth seemed unhinged at the jaw, and he blinked in confusion. “This is ridiculous. Laria seduced ye, tied ye to her bed in the tower, and almost sliced yer throat.”
“’Twas Mary who seduced me with a kiss and tied me to her heart,” Cyrus said, his voice rising up. If he was going to lie, he’d make the farce huge and heartfelt. “I must find her, kiss her again, and marry her. I demand it.” He stood with his legs braced for battle, as if he’d wage war against God Himself if He dared stand in the way of his true love.
Feminine murmurs rose behind him. The men made no sound, but Cyrus could feel their hard stares. A few shook their heads. Was this farce working?
“My name is Mary.”
Cyrus spun to see a willowy young woman with blond hair and a shy smile. “I will kiss ye. See if I’m the Mary you remember.”
“How many people did ye kiss the night of the masquerade?” an older warrior asked. “Ye’ll be known as the randy Chief Mackinnon who likes to be tied up.” Several men laughed. The bloody nickname would probably haunt him the rest of his life.
A hand went up in the back of the crowd, saving Cyrus from having to answer. “My daughter here is Mary.” A woman in a worn apron pushed through the throng, pulling a thin lass who hardly looked old enough to wed. Her cheeks burned as if she’d spent the day staring at the sun.
“I’m Marybeth,” said a woman with full lips and a saucy grin who stepped out before the young lass. “And you can call me anything you’d like if you marry me.”
A few chuckles came from the crowd. Cyrus wasn’t certain, but it seemed as though the females in the group had moved forward, like a net cinching around him. Three more Marys pushed forward. “Lord Mackinnon,” said one with braids tied high on the top of her head, “ye should kiss each Mary to see which was the one to steal yer heart.”
Everyone started talking at once.
“Aye!”
“To find yer Mary.”
“My daughter is Jane, but she likes the name Mary. You can call her Mary.”
“We can set up a line, and Lord Mackinnon can kiss each lass to find his Mary.”
“Put yer hand down,” a man with a patchy beard said. “Ye’re wed to me, and yer name is Esther.”

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

After their night of carnal bliss, this scene shows what Laria is being forced to do to save her people.

Stopping before the sleeping man, she whispered his name. He didn’t move. She should slash across his neck like she would a deer that had been shot, ending its suffering quickly. But this was a man, not a brute or raider without morals, nor an English soldier who had committed crimes against her or her people. No, the fiend was her cousin, Iain Macqueen. As usual, he’d ordered his henchman, Jasper Witt, to deliver his orders and bribes and threats. Iain hid evidence of his scheming, murderous nature.
Iain orders ye to kill the Mackinnon son. In return, yer people will have all the food, clothing, and shelter they need through this winter and next, perhaps every winter if ye do it well. They can live unharried on Macqueen territory, all because ye found the courage to do something more than steal chickens and send yer foking otter in to upend his wedding. When she’d emerged from her underwater cave to receive her orders, Jasper had leaned forward so that she felt his hot breath on her ear. Do this, or not only will I skin that little beast, but he’s promised me that I can punish ye any way I wish. The man had left tremors along her skin, like violent breaks on a calm sea when fish pop up to escape a shark.
Laria held the blade to Cyrus’s throat. His swallow pushed against it, and the honed edge cut easily into the skin. She gasped as blood swelled from it and snatched the blade back.
Cyrus’s eyes blinked open. “Siren?” He slid his lips together as if they were numb and tried to pull his arm down, but it wouldn’t come. He glanced up, pulling harder, making his already impressive bicep bulge and the bed shudder. The pigment outlines of a wave and ship curved over the taut skin of his upper arm. Holy Mary’s tears, the man was perfectly made.
“I’m…tied.” He looked back at her and shook his head against the pillow, as if trying to rid himself of the sleeping draught. “Why am I tied?” He jerked his knees up, trying to free his feet from the binding, but the knots held.
Laria stared, her lips parted as she took in shallow breaths. “I am so very sorry,” she said, holding the blade with two hands. They shook, her whole body trembling, and she blinked back tears that were swelling like an incoming tide caught in the rocks.
Think of Grandmama and the others. They have nowhere to go. But could she really do this? Kill an innocent man? Damn her soul to save her people? Would she ever be able to sleep soundly again? Murderers slept. I’m no murderer. No, she’d never sleep again. Cyrus Mackinnon’s face would haunt her forever.
“Siren, put the knife down,” Cyrus said, his voice smooth. “Ye don’t want to have blood on yer hands.” With that, he looked closer at her horrid hands, the skin twisted from burns. It didn’t matter if he saw them now. Not when he was going to die.
With a sob, she lifted the blade to his neck, the warm neck that she’d nibbled and kissed. “I have no choice.” Tears streamed down her face. “I’m so sorry, Cyrus.”

Readers should read this book …

For an adventurous romp across 16th century Isle of Skye, full of romance, fun, and peril, while flavored by steamy love scenes. Cyrus Mackinnon is a brawny, sexy Highlander with a golden heart and integrity that he struggles to keep. Laria Macqueen is clever, brave, and ready to sacrifice her soul to save the outcast people she’s sworn to protect. It’s the perfect escape!

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

I am 2/3 of the way through writing the first draft of book #4 in this series about Asher MacNicol, the brotherhood’s lone wolf. I am also preparing to release the fourth book in my historical romantasy series, The Dragonfly Chronicles, under my pen name, Eleri Drake.

Thanks for blogging at HJ!

Giveaway: Signed copy of The Highlander’s Wild Flame, Book #1 of my Brotherhood of Solway Moss series for US winner. International winner will receive a $10 USD e-gift card.

To enter Giveaway: Please complete the Rafflecopter form and Post a comment to this Q: Have you ever been to a wedding where something disruptive happened? All the books in my Brotherhood of Solway Moss series have disastrous weddings.

Excerpt from The Highlander’s Lady of Loch & Sea:

Soon they were down to very few pieces on both sides. Their queens had caused havoc across the board. And then Laria made a mistake, leaving her queen open. Once the queen was stolen, checkmate would quickly ensue. She met his gaze. “Your turn.”
He frowned. This was a test. She wouldn’t forfeit the game without purpose.
He stared back into her eyes. The pupils were large from the low light, and glimmers of gold flashed in them as they reflected the firelight. The scattering of freckles over her nose gave her a look of innocence, but there was a calculating mind behind that stare.
So he moved forward, capturing her queen. No one in the cave said a word, but Laria’s shoulders relaxed as she used her king to take his last pawn, moving her into checkmate. Her tight mouth relaxed. “You’ve won.”
“’Tis illegal to move yerself into checkmate,” he said, setting her king back into place.
“’Twas a legal move to steal a pawn,” she countered.
“He’s ri—” Maxwell started, but Oscar used his crutch to poke the lad. “Ouch.”
“Let the two figure it out,” Oscar whispered.
“Ye can surrender,” Cyrus said, tipping her king over gently to illustrate and then setting him back up. “Or ye can run.”
“I prefer to go out swinging,” she said. “By taking your pawn.”
“It breaks the rules.”
“The outcome is the same.”
The faces in the cave turned between them in unison as they argued about Laria’s loss.
“Then surrender,” Cyrus said.
She stared him hard in the eyes. “Never.” The word was a whisper, but it filled the silent, watching cave. The conviction in it sent shivers along his skin. Laria would rather die out here in the cold forest than return to Tuath Tower under Iain Macqueen’s threat—imagined or real.
Laria left her king upright and stood. “Time to find our pallets for the night. I can take first watch.”
“Erskine is already on watch,” Kate said, pulling Leah up. The wee lass’s eyes drooped as if she were half asleep.
“And I’m second watch,” Maxwell said.
“I’m third,” Errol said, the orange glow from the lanterns making the burns across his grizzled cheek look bright red.
“You need to sleep,” Sophie said to Laria, sounding every bit the imperious mother, clear and lucid. “After being awake most of the last two nights.”
They’d been together the first of those two nights. Did her grandmother know of her night at the tower? Laria turned away and marched out of the cave. Were her cheeks burning? Did they all know that she’d seduced Cyrus, that she’d been told to kill him but then hadn’t? Had that been what prevented her sleep last night? Guilt? Worry about not accomplishing her mission?
He stood with the others, following them out of the cave. Bonnie remained, as did Maxwell and his sister. “Sleep well,” he said to Leah, and she waved over her shoulder as Kate led her away.
Stepping out of the cave, he didn’t see Laria. The sun had gone down, and the shadows had lengthened into night. He caught movement behind the rocks where they’d spoken earlier. The sway of long hair that he knew to be soft and fragrant pulled him like a siren’s song. He followed her into the darkness, stopping when he was out of the light cast by the lanterns. He blinked, allowing his eyes to adjust. The moon had risen, but it was mostly blocked by those trees that hadn’t yet dropped their exhausted leaves.
“The men’s pissing area is south of the camp.” Her voice came from the shadows.
“Do ye worry about Iain finding ye? Is that why ye didn’t sleep well last night?”
There was a pause. “I worry about my people, my grandmother, wee Leah, and Ginny, a helpless dog who lost her lady mother to an unfair fate.”
His eyes adjusted, and he could see her standing above him on the rise. “They all felt the need to leave the safety and comfort of Staffin Village,” he said, keeping disbelief as well as encouragement out of his voice.
“Yes. Iain doesn’t value them, but that doesn’t mean they don’t have worth. Whether he feels threatened by their differences or just repulsed, it doesn’t matter. They would eventually be exiled or worse.” She turned, climbing higher away from the caves. “So I worry about the rain leaking on their heads and the coming cold that will make them shiver and grow ill. The hunger that will gnaw their middles and the cuts that can fester without proper medicines.”
He followed her deeper into the forest, the rain still dripping from the heavy leaves. “Ye need to find proper shelter.”
“I know that.”
Cyrus rubbed absently at his throat, the sting of the cut along his skin barely noticeable. “Come to Mackinnon territory,” he said. “I will find ye shelter, and ye can become part of the Mackinnon Clan.” And maybe she could share his bed again. Just the thought made his cock twitch, and he adjusted it. Damn fool. This was no time to think of such things, even if she was luscious and warm.
Laria turned back to him. “Sophie is the Lady of Tuath Tower. Despite her decline, she is stubborn and clever enough to know if I move her. And she will not go. The others agree with her, although Kate would probably take Leah somewhere else if she didn’t love Erskine.”
And Laria wouldn’t leave them. Suggesting it would just make him sound cruel and flippant. Leaving others in order to survive was not something easily done, especially when they looked to her for help.
“I will give ye monies to buy food and blankets,” he said.
“And I will take them with gratitude.”
They stared at each other for a long moment, her arms crossed. “But that won’t fix the problem, will it?” he said.
He saw her mouth tip upward. “You’re a bright man, Cyrus Mackinnon.”
He closed the distance between them, and she did not retreat. “And ye’re a complicated woman, Laria Macqueen.” When she didn’t reply, he continued, “Today, when I saw ye in the loch, I could imagine ye raising Excalibur from it.” If she’d named her steed Lancelot, she’d know that Excalibur was the mythical sword given to King Arthur to lead Britain.
A wry smile curved her very kissable mouth. “If I held Excalibur, all the chiefs of Scotland would bow to me.”
“And what would ye do with that power?” Cyrus reached for one of the curls lying against her cheek. She didn’t pull back, and he stroked the skin there.
“I would move my grandmama back into Tuath Tower and give her Iain’s bedchamber.”
Laria could rule everyone with the mythological sword gifted by the Lady of the Loch, and what she immediately thought to enforce was her grandmother’s happiness. There was no selfish agenda hiding behind her gorgeous, soulful eyes.
He slid his thumb across her cheek, enjoying the softness and the fact that she didn’t step away. Did she also feel the magnetic pull between them? This need to fit her against his body, to fill her full of himself and wrap his arms around her, protecting her from the world and all its treachery?
Responsibilities tried to push in on him. He needed to confront Iain about his sins. He needed to discover if he’d married his sister to a murderous tyrant. And he needed to somehow still forge peace on Skye. But right there in the woods in the dark, all his needs turned to Laria.
They stared at one another for long moments in the filtered cast of moonlight through the waving leaves. Drops of the earlier rain tapped down. The trees stood around them like living sentries. Neither of them spoke for a long time. “Do ye feel that, lass?” he asked.
Time passed, and he thought she wouldn’t answer.
“’Tis a foolish pull,” she whispered.
Her words shot hope through him. “An irrational need to touch ye.”
She stepped closer, so their bodies grazed each other, and he realized that her breaths were shallow. “Like the sizzle of lightning spurring my blood to run fast,” she said.
“And an ache,” he said. His hand lifted and threaded through her soft curls to the back of her head, spanning it to cradle in his palm. “An ache to touch.”
“And taste,” she whispered. Her face leaned in, her lips brushing his.
“To move as one.” His lips slid against hers as he held her there. Not kissing, exactly, but brushing against each other.
The tip of her tongue wet her bottom lip. “To give each other pleasure.”
“To breathe our combined scent,” he said. He moved to her ear and whispered. “…..

Excerpts. © Reprinted by permission. All rights reserved.
 
 

Book Info:

Cyrus Mackinnon has always had a way with the lasses. But beneath his roguish grin lies the heart of a warrior—and a destiny to be the chief of his clan. By wedding his sister to the Macqueen chief, he’s forged a strong alliance among the Isle of Skye clans. Until a lovely stranger with eyes the color of the sea disrupts the celebrations to warn Cyrus that his brother-in-law is on par with the devil himself…

Laria Macqueen knows that none of the clans of Skye are safe from her cousin’s sinister plotting—least of all her people. And if she can’t stop the wedding, she’ll have to do the unthinkable: seduce Cyrus…and kill him. But while bedding the battle-hardened warrior is altogether satisfying, she hesitates once she has her dagger to his throat.

Now Cyrus is caught in the Macqueens’ secret war of attrition. With one wrong move, the fragile alliance will be shattered and Skye soaked in blood. And in the middle stands Laria, a siren who will either steal Cyrus’s soul…or lure them all to their deaths.
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Meet the Author:

Heather McCollum is a USA Today and Publishers Weekly bestselling author of historical romance full of adventure and touched with spice. Under her Eleri Drake penname, she writes historical romance with fantasy and paranormal elements to make the adventure and passion even more fun.
She has published thirty Scottish historical romances, is the 2022 Winner of the National Excellence in Romance Fiction Award, 2024 Winner of Romance Through the Ages Contest, and a finalist in RWA’s 2024 Diamond Heart Contest. Under Eleri Drake, she has published four historical romantasies with many more to come.
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