Sunday, 25 June 2017
Kilchoan, Mainland Scotland 1672
Swathes of wet hair clung and tangled around her face in a heavy curtain, enough to obscure her view as another spasm seized her. Pain far worse than she’d ever imagined wrenched through her, and clutched deep into her belly to tear at her insides. Pride refused to allow her to cry out. As she surfaced, she snatched another lungful of air. The frigid waters chilled her to the bone, sending a fresh rash of shudders through her between each painful contraction.
The villagers crowded closer, faces twisted with fear and rage. People she’d known all her life, people she loved. Women she’d tended in childbirth, and men whose wounds she’d healed. The sentiment turned vicious as the sun dipped below the horizon and the moon rose in the darkened sky. After a full day of her tied to the ducking stool, their disgust in her was palpable at not obtaining the confession they sought. How could she confess to something that wasn’t true?
She’d never consorted with the devil.
Hysteria driven, they leaned in closer to scream their blood lust. “Kill the witch, kill the witch.”
The terror of the moment was overcome with something far more important. Another stab of pain seized her body, forcing her to contort once again, but she pried open her eyes and met his frigid, slate-gray gaze across the wide expanse of water. Tall and regal in his gentleman’s finery, there was no trace of the passionate lover she knew so well. His handsome features were carved into a cold mask. He could say something. In silent entreaty, she begged him to intervene.
He could save her.
He chose not to.
Instead, he took hold of his pregnant wife’s hand and turned away to stare up at the night sky. Her heart died long before her body. Tears flowed unheeded down her cheeks to streak through the slime of mud coating her skin as she sucked deep breaths into her lungs, ready for the next duck of the stool into the stinking, fetid depths of the river. She knew it was all in vain. Death was upon her. Moya drew on her last ounce of strength and concentrated. Every muscle in her body contracted as she bore down to push, while her power waned. The ducking stool plunged once again, to submerge her into the icy depths and steal her breath away. The burn in her chest spread while she held the air in her lungs for as long as she could, but it was pointless. She closed her eyes and forced her muscles to relax. Her body floated a little above the stool. The ropes stretched in the cold and the wet. Moya raised her hips high, and her attention never wavered as she remained centered on this last, essential feat.
Little effort was required to weave the curse, for any witch knew a curse did not need to be spoken aloud. Instead, she focused the last of her energy to accomplish her final deed. Eyes wide again, she stared up through the dark murkiness of the water, into the night sky, where blood smothered the full moon and spread its tendrils out to blur beneath the overpowering cast of light.
She recognized her death written in the blood. Death and rebirth. She took cold comfort in the knowledge her curse had worked. Agony clenched her body. She drew her lips back from her teeth and expelled the final, desperate clutch of air she held in her lungs. In a wild, frenzied scream, distorted by the bubbles, the sound carried to the surface.
Ice froze the blood in her veins to numb her mind and dull the pain as she expelled the bairn from her womb in a cloud of thick mucus and crimson blood. It bloomed through the dark waters while her child spewed into the evil world. The heat of her own blood stroked a tender warmth over her frozen hands in farewell as Moya floated, lifeless, to the surface.
The full moon, obscured by a blood-soaked cloud, transformed the land into a desolation of deep shadows and dark craters while the scarlet waters around Moya turned inky black as it bubbled and steamed in the chill of the Scottish night. With proof of the witch’s existence, their screams pierced the dark as the villagers fled to hide behind closed doors and deny the wrongdoing they’d taken part in that night.
Available now for pre-order
Amazon UK http://bit.ly/2sQil6T
Saturday, 10 June 2017
One of my lovely fans asked me "where are the wordz?" but I do like to tease, so here's the fabulous new cover, and... oh go on then, you can have some words.
Since the age of ten when his father died, and he lost his childhood, cynical journalist Stuart Caldwell has searched the world in his quest to find the key to his family’s centuries-old curse.
What he finds when he lands on the Scottish island of Breggar is far from what he expects. Instead of a battle to the death with the ferocious witch he believes resides there, Stuart finds he is the one in the firing line, and the target is his heart.
And I promise you can have an excerpt next time.
Wednesday, 7 June 2017
Saturday, 27 May 2017
Soooo, it's only been two weeks since last I was here and once again the time has flown.
Along Came Dani has been accepted by my publisher and I'm expecting the edits to come through any day now. Under the Full Blooded Moon is with the final line editor.
In the meantime, I flipped manuscript. I'm quite happily writing Hunter's Quest, but no, If Love Had Wings, the second book in my Montgomery's Sin Series insisted that I pay it some attention.
At the rate I have been hurling out the words lately, I hope I'll have this one wrapped up by the end of June. I'm currently at 30,000 words with it and as anybody who knows me will tell you I'm a true panster, but once I have my story in mind, it flows. And this one is flowing.
By the way, if you haven't tried my books yet, and you'd like to give them a go, this weekend the first in my Atlantic Divide Series is free.
The subject of his grandmother’s enthusiasm to marry him off, Sheriff Jack T Swan is fighting dirty to save his skin and has sworn off women until further notice. So the very last thing he needs in his life is a beautiful damsel in distress. Despite initial appearances, Jack soon discovers Kate is anything but distressed. In fact, she’s more than capable of skewering him with her kitten heel.
Doctor Kate Marsden is handy with a scalpel, but she’s not quite sure how to deal with the local sheriff, who she inadvertently mistakes for a pervert while trying to report a crime.
Time and again their paths cross and attraction rages between them, but while Jack is adamant he’s not in the market for a serious relationship, Kate is definitely not interested in a one-night stand.
Shit. They’d sent him a stripper.
Jack raked his gaze along the woman’s just-got-out-of-bed hair, followed it down her slender body dressed in a cheap, wrinkled suit to where her messy plait stopped at her hips. God, he hoped she was only a stripper and they hadn’t sent him a prostitute. He almost leaned forward to check out the rest of her shapely legs, but he didn’t want to make her think he was interested in any way. Not in a prostitute or a stripper. Whichever one she was; this was beyond a joke. He thought he’d reached an understanding with his grandmother, but from the look of it, she’d got together with his aunts and had managed to find another one.
Perhaps this time they’d made a big mistake.
He took his time as he studied the woman, noted with satisfaction the nervous way she licked her lips, but he’d caught the quick flash of awareness when his half-asleep gaze first met hers. It wasn’t ego, but at his age he recognized that look of admiration in a woman’s eyes. Under different circumstances, he may well have returned that interest, but as it was, he needed to get rid of her.
It wouldn’t take long.
With a roll of amusement, he squinted at the woman across the room. What would be the best way to achieve it without enlisting Bill’s help?
Since the incident with the eighteen-year-old Lucy, he’d become a laughing stock. The little hoots of laughter and the sly digs from his deputies weren’t subtle. Couldn’t handle a kid, they snickered. Well he could handle this woman. He studied her a moment longer. She’d not been sent by his grandmother, he’d stake his life on that, but the boys may have clubbed together to send him a kiss-a-gram as a joke. From her willowy slenderness, she had to be a performer. Perhaps he should wait to see if she started to sing.
With slow indolence, he trailed his gaze back up her body, deliberately resting his hands back on his stomach so he gave the impression of being relaxed. He wasn’t relaxed. His nerves jumped and twitched. He could call Bill in to get rid of her, but if he did, they’d have even more to laugh about.
Damn, but they all thought he was frightened of women. They weren’t far wrong, but it was more that he was frightened of what he’d become for the right woman.
There was no right woman. Not for him.
He let his gaze continue to cruise over her.
Fine boned, her delicate face would have been perfection if not for the tell-tale worn-off makeup, black smudges of tiredness and mascara swiped under her lazily hooded eyes. Her drawn features hinted she’d already put in a full day. She may not have the energy to sing. As long as they didn’t expect him to pay for the pleasure of her shimmying her hips. He wouldn’t put it past them to land him with the bill too. That was if she could bear to push herself away from the door long enough to shimmy. Perhaps a little stagger would be more likely, if he was lucky enough for her to stay upright.
He tried not to laugh, but his lips twitched up at the edges, and the thick black flutter of her eyelashes warned that she’d noticed.
The way she leaned against the door, she didn’t seem to be in any hurry to start. He’d be willing to give her a moment longer, but from the look of her, there was the distinct prospect she was about to fall asleep. Perhaps she needed an invitation. Or some music.
“In your own time, sweet cheeks.”
Where to Find Diane Saxon
About the Author
Diane Saxon lives in the Shropshire countryside with her tall, dark, handsome husband, two gorgeous daughters, a Dalmatian, one-eyed kitten, ginger cat, four chickens and a new black Labrador puppy called Beau, whose name has been borrowed for her hero in For Heaven's Cakes.
After working for years in a demanding job, on-call and travelling great distances Diane gave it all up when her husband said “follow that dream”.
Having been hidden all too long, her characters have burst forth demanding plot lines of their own and she’s found the more she lets them, the more they’re inclined to run wild.
Loving Lydia -Atlantic Divide Book 2
Bad Girl Bill – Atlantic Divide Book 3
Finding Zoe - Atlantic Divide Book 4
Flight of Her Life
Flynn’s Kiss – Disarmed & Dangerous Book 1
Barbara’s Redemption – Disarmed & Dangerous Book 2
Short Circuit Time
For Heaven’s Cakes
Banshee Seduction – Montgomery’s Sin, Book 1
- Amazon UK https://www.amazon.co.uk/Gun-Shy-Atlantic-Divide-Book-ebook/dp/B01INWUHRM/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&qid=1468932111&sr=8-1&keywords=Gun+Shy+Diane+Saxon
- Amazon.com https://www.amazon.com/Gun-Shy-Atlantic-Divide-Book-ebook/dp/B01INWUHRM/ref=sr_1_1?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1468932248&sr=1-1&keywords=Gun+shy+diane+saxon
Monday, 15 May 2017
Today starts the voting for the RONE Awards for which Gun Shy has been nominated. I'm thrilled about this as you can imagine and would love for Gun Shy to get through to the next round. If you'd like to vote, you need to register first at the following site, and then click on Cops, Jocks & Cowboys and vote for Gun Shy. http://www.indtale.com/2017-rone-awards-week-five
Saturday, 13 May 2017
Who would have known how fast the last two weeks would fly?
Here am I, leg still elevated, and yet I've been really busy. The weather has been so beautiful that I've been able to sit outside to write and edit. For someone who is supposedly laid up, I look remarkably healthy, with a bit of a tan going on.
Work has moved on too. I've had some brilliant news this week. Because we've managed to get through the edits of Under the Full Blooded Moon in record time - because, hey what else have I got to do for 12 hours a day? I've heard that they've brought the release date forward to 11th July. That's not too long now and I am so excited about this new book. More details next time we meet.
I've also submitted my manuscript for Along Came Dani, my Atlantic Divide Series Book 5 and I'm currently working on Book 6.
I think I may ask the hospital if I can keep my cast on a little longer ... :)
If you'd like a little taste of my paranormal romance, try For Heaven's Cakes
Twelve years of living in Ireland smoothed Beau’s rough edges, and hard work as a construction worker made him a wealthy man. The call of his pack is stronger than he can resist though, and he isn’t averse to returning to show his small home town in America what he’s made of himself.
What he doesn’t anticipate is meeting the local pharmacist’s daughter - in his wolf form. By day, he renovates the pharmacy, and tries to cajole the lush assistant into having dinner with him. By night he watches Catherine bake her fantastic creations and blossom through her art.
Sleeping on her bed each night in his wolf form isn’t exactly ideal, but how does he tell her the wolf she’s come to love, is the man she lusts over?
Mrs. Timmins turned to see what had caught Catherine’s attention. Her pointed chin turned upward to meet the dip of her nose, which nearly fell into her wizened old mouth as it opened and closed.
He seemed to have the same effect on all women, no matter what age. He was probably used to it.
“Well now, this is precisely what I mean, Catherine.” Mrs. Timmins smacked her lips together. “Hello, young man. Don’t I know you?”
“Yes ma’am. Good to see you looking so well Mrs. Timmins. You don’t look a day older than when I last saw you.”
The harsh cackle took Catherine by surprise, but Beau smiled at the old lady as he leaned his elbow on the counter. She tried not to stare as his T-shirt pulled tight across his chest, but a small whimper threatened to escape.
Mrs. Timmins wiped her dry old lips with the back of her hand. “I remember you. You’re the middle Devlin boy. The one who left to make his fortune.”
“And did you?”
“Good. I never did believe all those rumors about you being trash.”
Catherine almost choked, but Mrs. Timmins hooted with laughter and patted Beau’s arm, pausing a moment to give it a sly stroke.
With a regretful sigh, she peered near-sighted into his face. “Are you married?”
“No ma’am, are you proposing?”
The hawking laughter drew Catherine’s gaze away from the flexed muscles of Beau’s arm to the old lady who seemed to have difficulty breathing. Another side effect of the hunk’s presence. He had the ability to stop a woman’s breath.
It wasn’t deliberate, but Catherine simply couldn’t stop uttering. “Definitely not!”
Heat washed over her as they both stared at her. Beau’s slow smile made her want to hide under the counter. She’d never had the ability to stop words blurting from her mouth before her brain had the foresight to stop them.
She tried a casual shrug, but from the deep laughter lines slashing into his cheeks, her awkward jerk had been just that.
“There you go. I just told Catherine how she needed a man to give her a real good…”
Friday, 14 April 2017
After a difficult week when I slipped while out walking with my lovely dogs, and broke my ankle, I had the terrific news that Gun Shy has been nominated for a RONE Award.