Many people can't listen to any kind of music while writing, especially if it features vocals and lyrics. I'm one of those authors who finds the atmosphere outside, the weather, and the music I'm listening to a real inspiration for my work. Fog and rain and gloomy actually inspire me as much or more than sunshine. Go figure. :) In fact, on my iTunes there is a playlist called LOVE AND DANGER. That's right. The music is set up just to inspire me when I need it and give the story in my head a soundtrack. Just recently I found some intriguing music watching Moonlight on CBS. I hunted and hunted to find out what some of the music was...believe me that took some serious Google time. I was delighted! In fact, I hunted for a long time to locate Evanescence (at the time I didn't know they were a gothic band) with lead singer Amy Lee's song My Immortal. I'd heard it during the end of the first episode of Moonlight and it haunted me. When I found it I knew I'd be able to use it as a background for other things I am writing. Ahem. But I digress.
November 9 is the reissue of a book of my heart, BRIDGE THROUGH THE MIST. I lived in England while I was writing the first drafts of this book, and although the setting for the book is 1318 Scotland, the misty English countryside where I loved was a genuine inspiration. The book came out in 2001. When I submitted to a new publisher in 2006, I went through another round of edits and listened to quite a bit of Braveheart and some Rob Roy music to inspire me. So when you're reading BRIDGE THROUGH THE MIST, I hope you can feel a little of that mystical magic yourself, and allow some Celtic inspired music to serve as a background. Here's the blurb and a snippet excerpt. For more, be sure to stop by Ellora's Cave at www.ellorascave.com and my website at www.deniseagnew.com
When Alenna Carstairs is hurled through time into 1318, Scotland's medieval world brings her face to face with hot, sexy Tynan of MacBrahin. Infuriated with his barbaric manners, and yet sensing vulnerability within him, she vows to discover the heartbreak that has scarred his soul.
World-weary knight, Tynan of MacBrahin lost two loves to the brutality of other men. He can't forgive himself for failing to protect the women who depended on him. When Alenna saves his life, her independent spirit stirs desires so strong within him he can't resist her. A depraved baron soon wants Alenna for his own, and Tynan must find a way to conquer this powerful man to save her. Alenna struggles with soul-staggering desire for Tynan, but most of all, she must convince Tynan his love is not lethal, and she is the one who can bring shine to his armor again.
Most women would run in fear from him. A few inches over six feet, his sheer size swallowed the small room. Did a man this outrageously feral have a concept of tenderness? Of restraint? He looked ready to spring, to dominate. His brutishly handsome face arrested her. Time slowed, and all the fantasies she’d harbored about gorgeous men over the years dissolved, overwhelmed by the sheer male animal presence in front of her.
Unfastening the broach at his shoulder, he allowed his heavy brown cloak to fall open. Under the cloak, he wore a dark shirt of rough material open at the throat. The gap revealed a bit of muscled chest sprinkled with dark hair. Broad of shoulder, his powerful frame demanded attention. His black trousers revealed just enough with their cut to suggest strong thighs and calves. She licked her lips involuntarily. His gaze landed on her mouth and stayed for one stomach-dropping second, then glided over her body with a mix between curiosity and pure male appreciation. His hungry appraisal sent a coil of heat deep into her loins, and a blush to her cheeks. She couldn’t speak and she almost couldn’t breathe.
Taking off the cloak, he settled it over a chair. Crossing the room, he stood next to her makeshift pallet. “Are ye deaf, then, lass? Or mayhap a mute?”
“No,” she said softly, her throat feeling as parched as if she’d crossed the Sahara. His strange questions threw her, and she couldn’t think of a first-class retort.
His brow crinkled, and she noted a deep scar ran down the right side of his forehead, as if he’d suffered a severe blow at one time and never had it stitched properly. He shoved a hand through his inky black hair, and it fell about the top of his shoulders in thick waves.
Turning to the skinny boy, he said, “Clandon, ye had best get back to yer duties. And visit yer sister at the donjon to see how she fares.”
Continuing to look at her as if she might decide to bite him, the boy nodded. He scrambled up from his chair and started for the door.
“She must be a witch, sir,” the boy said, his voice squeaking in his excitement.
The man smiled slightly, a twinkle leaping into his eyes. Before the boy could open the door, the man clasped his arm. “Tell not a soul about the woman.”
Tell not a soul about the woman.
A curl of apprehension wandered along her body.
“Aye, sir,” the boy said in a whisper, and rushed out the door as if the devil were on his heels and fast closing.
Maybe the boy knew something she didn’t. She looked at the door with longing. It really wasn’t far, and Alenna wasn’t that ill. She could dash by this big man and make a run for it.
No. The man had planted his solid bulk in her way. If he caught her, she knew she wouldn’t be a match for him. He possessed a sheer, brutal power she knew could overpower if provoked.
“Why did you send him away?” she asked.
The man turned back to her. “His sister worries about him.”
As he stared at her, Alenna shivered and realized that although her stomach no longer lurched like a drunken sailor a heat wave invaded her. She pushed the pungent fur off her shoulders. Again his eyes traced over her, penetrating and searching. He didn’t guard his emotions well, she realized. She saw unadulterated sexual interest overlaid by curiosity.
Sexual interest? Another warm wave settled over her and then she shivered. God, since when did extraordinary men like this enter her life?
Denise A. Agnew