STEALING
MOIRRA’S HEART
Moirra Dundottar needs a man. Much as she hates to admit it, it's true. With a reputation for losing husbands, her prospects are slim, her outlook bleak. Until the morning she sees a strange man on the town square--a man who's accused of being a thief and is locked in the pillory.
"Something tells me ye be no thief."
The strange man gives her a quick glance up and down, flashes a brilliant white smile and laughs. "I am many things, lass. All around bastard, ne'er-do-well, and rakehell. But I be no thief."She didn’t believe he was a thief when she rescued him … until he stole her heart.
SUZAN
TISDALE
Award winning author, Suzan Tisdale, lives in the midwest with her verra
handsome carpenter husband and the youngest of their four children. They are
currently accepting monetary donations to help feed their 16 year old, 6’3”,
built-like-a-linebacker son. They live in a quiet little hamlet where the only
traffic jams occur in the very early morning hours when they must wait for
the wild deer and turkeys to cross the road.
In her distinctive voice, Suzan combines history, romance, and adventure
to create epic tales filled with Highlanders, intrigue, romance, and laughter.
Her first series, The Clan MacDougall Series, includes four books: Laiden’s
Daughter, Findley’s Lass, Wee William’s Woman and McKenna’s Honor. In her Clan
Graham Series, you will find Rowan’s Lady and Frederick
Tell my fans a little bit about yourself and your books.
Author.
Storyteller. Cheeky Wench.
How would you introduce your books to someone that has yet to
read them?
My books are not your typical
historical romance and are definitely not ‘bodice rippers’. You’ll find lots of
humor and suspense, lots of passion,
but not graphic sex. And bad guys whose comeuppance you look forward too.
What inspired you to start writing? What age did you
start?
What do you enjoy doing when you’re not writing?
What advice would you
give to an aspiring author?
What’s your favorite scene/line from your
works?
What's the hardest thing about writing? The easiest?
What are you
currently reading?
I’ve been writing since childhood. I was a
horribly, painfully shy and introverted child. In my ‘stories’ I wasn’t so
painfully shy and had lots of friends. Plus, we usually ended up saving the
world from one bad guy or another.
My
advice to aspiring authors? Just write the book. Don’t worry about covers,
formatting, etc., until after you’ve written it. Write from your heart, with
passion, fervor, and zeal and you can never go wrong.
What are you currently working on?
What books did you read as a child? How has
your life changed since you began writing?
Currenlty
working on the sequel to Stealing
Moirra’s Heart, titled Saving
Moirra’s Heart. It is the second part of the novella I wrote for the
Guardians of Cridhe Anthology. I’m also working on Caelen’s Wife, Book One of the Clan McDunnah Series.
My
life has changed in so many wonderful ways! I published my first book in
December of 2011. By October 2012, I was able to give up my day job. I now
write full time. I also get to nap whenever I want. I fib and tell family I’m
trying to work out a scene or a plot, but husband knows the truth – I’m
napping.
Do you listen to music while you write? What's been your favorite
moment as an author? Out of all of your characters, who is your favorite? What
do you want readers to take away from your books?
No
music. I need silence and solitude to write, which is not easy with the current
amount of construction taking place at our home, lol. We’ve added on a 24 x 30
room addition that will house my new kitchen, a dinning room, and my office.
Husband is sound-proofing the office and hanging a red light over door to let
people know ‘do not enter’ – kind of like what photographers do. He drew the
line at installing a retinal scanner and key pad.
I
simply want to take my readers away from everyday life for just a little while.
My stories usually have an underlying message that good always conquers evil
and happily ever afters are real.
Do you
have any interesting dreams or goals?
I want
to write until the day I die. I have dozens upon dozens of stories in my head.
Sometimes, I wish I could insert a gig-stick into my brain and just download
the books straight to my computer. :D
Where do
you see yourself in five years?
If it
is wintertime, then on a beach somewhere, writing.
If it
is summertime, then in the lovely landscaped yard tucked away behind my
Scottish Manor or Castle, writing.
If someone wrote a biography about you, what do you think the
title should be?
Welcome
To My World
Where can fans find you?
www.suzantisdale.com,
https://www.facebook.com/SuzanTisdaleromance, or in my office with a bottle of
Gentleman Jack.
Moirra Dundotter needed a man.
As much as she hated to
admit it, ’twas true.
But not just any man.
She needed one with a strong back and, preferably, a malleable mind.
With a dispirited
heart, she made her way through the winding streets of the small town of Glenkirby
At nearly thirty years
of age and widowed three times now, she was not considered a fine catch by the
men of her clan or the little town she was now making her way through. The men
who knew her thought her far too stubborn for her own good — not one to bend
easily to a man’s will — and far too blunt, no matter how pretty they might
consider her to be for a woman of her advanced age.
The fact that her first
two husbands had died and the last one had been missing for months now did
nothing to help her current situation. Moirra had a reputation for losing
husbands.
’Twasn’t that she
needed the comfort or love of a man. She’d had that once, with her first
husband. Passion and lust with the second. Her last husband she tried very hard
to forget.
Nay, she simply needed
a man who could help her tend to her fields and animals. A husband would also
keep the arrogant farmer to her north from offering another proposal. A husband
who might also keep Sheriff Wilgart from asking more uncomfortable questions as
they pertained to her aforementioned missing husband.
If she could not find a
husband here in Glenkirby, she’d have to travel some three days to the next
town. The pickings here were slim at best. Any unmarried man was either too
young or far too old. Or worse yet, put off by her reputation and unwilling to
enter into marriage with her. Even Malcomb McFarland wouldn’t have her and he
was widowed with five children at home in desperate need of a mother.
Entering the town
square, Moirra was ready to give up hope, return home and pack her things, when
a commotion ahead caught her attention. Making her way through a small crowd of
people, she was finally able to see clearly what was — or more specifically who
— was making the commotion.
’Twas an odd scene
before her. A large, well muscled man, was locked in the pillory. That in and
of itself was not so odd. What was odd was the fact that he was dressed
in fine clothing and was currently swearing at the auld woman who had just
tossed a rotten cabbage at his head. From the look on the auld woman’s face,
she neither spoke nor understood the French words that flew from his mouth.
But Moirra understood
every word. Her mother, God rest her soul, had been French. “Vieille
sorciere ride. Vous estes en cooler parce que vows avez perdu botre ta
jeunesse.” Wrinkled auld hag. You’re angry because ye lost yer youth.
Moirra studied him closely
for a time. Even locked in the pillory as he was, there was an educated air
about him. Although he was quite dirty at the moment, what with bits of rotted
cabbage dangling from his dark hair and his muddy trews and boots, it didn’t
appear to Moirra that that was his normal state of dress. With her
curiosity piqued, she drew closer.
A young boy, mayhap no
aulder than ten summers, began taunting the man. “Dunnae where ye be from, ye
big lout, but here, we do no’ steal!” The boy threw something unrecognizable at
the man’s head before running away.
“Les puce son trop
bon pour ton cul.” Fleas are too good
for your arse.
The man hid his anger
behind a big smile that showed straight white teeth. ’Twas all Moirra could do
not to giggle. Though his French was impeccable, something in his countenance —
if one could have such a thing whilst locked in a pillory — told her French was
his second language. She’d always been quite good at sizing up a person’s
character. Well, almost always. She’d been quite wrong about husband number
three and did her best to push the thought of him from her mind.
Moirra might not know
who this man was, but she sensed he was no thief. She took a step closer.
Exceedingly handsome, even if he was dirty and covered with bits of rotten food.
’Twas his smile that pulled her in even closer. His full lips, when drawn back
as they were, revealed beautiful, straight white teeth.
His large hands were
balled into fists, and she could just make out the faint line where a ring had
once been worn, on the small finger of his right hand. A signet ring mayhap?
’Twas possible when she took all the bits and pieces as a whole.
’Twas quite possible
that he was a man of means, or had been at one time. Mayhap he had
fallen on hard times, for she couldn’t think of another reason why a man who
appeared to be educated and affluent — again, when taken as a whole — would be
locked in a pillory in the center of Glenkirby. The scenario made perfectly
good sense to Moirra. Wanting to know if she was correct in her assumptions,
she drew even closer.
Another small boy,
friend no doubt of the first, decided that he, too, wanted to taunt and torment
the man. “Thief, thief, thief!” he teased. “And no’ a verra good one, neither!”
The man growled at the
child and lunged forward. The pillory shook and rattled as he fought to be free
of it. The little boy looked ready to wet himself, his eyes growing as wide as
wagon wheels. He stepped back and stumbled, landing on his rear end with a
thud. The man growled and lunged a second time. The boy scrambled to his feet
and ran away.
A loud, nearly
melodious laugh filled the air. ’Twasn’t the laugh of a tetched man, but rather
one who was quite enjoying himself. Odd, but not the least bit off-putting or
terrifying in her way of thinking. Moirra bit the inside of her cheek to keep
from laughing out loud as she enjoyed the scene playing out before her.
’Twas then that an idea
began to form in her mind. A former man of means, down on his luck, ending
up in Glenkirby of all places, now locked in a pillory for stealing, cursing at
auld women and terrifying little boys, and he seemed to be taking great
enjoyment from it. If she were
correct, the man was harmless.
If her instincts were
off, as she had been not long ago, well, things could end up going ghastly
wrong again. Still, the man in the pillory was as good as any other choice she
might have at the moment. What she needed was a chance to look into his eyes
and see. Moirra was a firm believer that one could gain a sense of a
person’s character just by looking into their eyes.
She searched the
immediate vicinity for the bailie and found him leaning back in a chair, his
eyes closed. Good.
While the man continued
to laugh and watch the small children fleeing, Moirra quietly made her way to
the pillory. She leaned in and whispered, in perfect French, “Somethin’ tells
me ye be no thief.”
The man turned
abruptly, his bright green eyes flashed with a hint of confusion before he
masked it with air of nonchalance. Those bright eyes sparkled in the sun, and
something in their twinkle warned her that she would have to tread very
carefully with this man. He was dangerous. Och, not the he’ll slice your
throat whilst ye sleep kind of dangerous. Nay, he was the kind of dangerous
that made women do foolish and stupid things.
He gave her a quick glance up and down, flashed that brilliant white
smile and laughed. They were close enough that she could feel his warm breath
on her cheek. “I am many things, lass. All around bastard, ne’er-do-well, and
rakehell. But I be no thief.”
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