By J.P. Bowie (Guest Blogger)
About six years ago Phil and I decided we wanted to go on a European tour,
Italy, France, the UK. We actually got as far as sending a deposit,
picking out hotels etc, then Phil got sick. It turned out to be a
serious heart problem which involved a triple by-pass, some
complications that necessitated the use of feeding tube, all of which
put the kybosh on our travel plans. It seemed that each time we
started making future plans something would crop up and we’d have
to cancel. Last year we decided that barring the Apocalypse, we were
going to Europe in April 2016. By the time we put all our plans
together for this trip of a lifetime, we would be gone for close to
six weeks!
“Good
Heavens,” certain friends declared, that’s far too long, but we
forged ahead and left on April 12th for Rome. After 4 days in the
Eternal City and thoroughly overawed by all it represents, we boarded
a cruise ship which took us to Naples, Corfu, Crete, Santorini,
Dbrovnik, Split and Venice. We spent a further three days in Venice
then flew to Scotland, then to Madrid, then to Cornwall and finally
London. We flew home on May 22nd – 40 days and 40 nights later,
thoroughly exhausted but with memories to last us a lifetime – and
photographs and stories with which to bore anyone within listening
distance.
During
that time I had two new releases that had to wait for my return to
get some promo going.
https://www.pride-publishing.com/book/never-too-late
and http://www.mlrbooks.com/ShowBook.php?book=JPBWTRKL
But
today I want to tell you about my latest paranormal romance –
Highland Hearts – which is available for preorder with a general
release date of July 12th. I love writing about Scotland, probably
because I was born there, and it was a thrill to visit again last
month after many years away.
Blurb
Callum
Robertson has inherited his grandfather’s mansion in northern
Scotland, but the house comes with a history he knew nothing
about—should he be thrilled, or feel threatened as the house seems
to lure him in?
When
Callum Robertson first sees the old Scottish country mansion his
grandfather bequeathed him, his immediate instinct is to sell the
antiquated pile for whatever he can get for it—admittedly not much
in a downturned market. Then he meets Craig MacPherson, a local
farmer with auburn curls and sparkling gray eyes, and suddenly the
gloomy old house doesn’t look quite the white elephant it first
appeared to be.
Craig
tells Callum that it’s rumored the house is haunted but by what or
whom no one seems to know. Books flying off shelves then being
mysteriously replaced give Callum pause to reconsider his rejection
of the idea of an actual ghost haunting the place. When he finds a
journal relating to the history of his family, he is, by turn,
intrigued then fascinated as the saga unfolds through the writings of
his ancestors.
An
encounter with what he feels must be the spirit of his
great-great-great-uncle Alistair makes him change his mind not only
about selling the house, but also about his future with Craig.
Here’s
a short excerpt:
My
heart’s in the Highlands, my heart is not here,
My
heart’s in the Highlands a’chasing the deer...
~ Robert
Burns
Chapter
One
Callum
Robertson climbed out of his BMW and surveyed, with a fair degree of
shock, the property he had inherited from his grandfather, Edward
Robertson. The old man Callum scarcely knew of, had never met, had
bequeathed this—he wasn’t quite sure what to call it—but the
word ‘folly’ might be the one he was searching for. He’d heard
it used to describe things that might have been built for decorative
purposes only. What he was looking at wasn’t really a folly,
despite the several griffin and gargoyle heads that lined the
building’s walls and eaves. It could be lived in, he supposed, as
he walked towards the several steps that led to an overly ornamental
front door flanked by two rather stiff and comical looking lions.
“Someone
goose you?” he asked the one on his left which stared back at him,
a glazed expression in its strangely crossed eyes. Shaking his head
he inserted the large key into the brass lock and turned it. The
heavy door creaked open and he couldn’t stop the wry chuckle that
slipped from his lips.
“Cue
the creepy music,” he muttered.
Once
inside, he gaped at the size of the entry hall he’d walked into.
The afternoon sun, streaming through the stained glass windows over
his head, illuminated the interior better than any spotlight. Colours
of green and blue danced over the oak paneled walls and marble floors
and picked out the crystal prisms on the chandelier that hung in
majestic splendor from the vaulted ceiling. To his right, a staircase
curved upwards to the floor above. It reminded him of the set in the
musical “Sunset Boulevard” that he’d seen two or was it, three
years ago, in Edinburgh, or Manchester maybe? He traveled around so
much he found it hard to remember particular dates and places after a
time.
“Amazing,”
he murmured then entered a large room off the cavernous entry.
Obviously the living room, it too sported paneled walls adorned with
portrait and landscape paintings. The furniture was shrouded in dust
sheets—some, probably high backed chairs, giving the appearance of
the room’s silent guardians. Callum was glad he’d left the front
door open or the silence would have been oppressive, but from outside
he could hear the chirping of birds and the rustle of leaves stirred
by a soft breeze that brought a fresh scent into this too long closed
up mausoleum.
“What
am I going to do with this lot?” he said aloud as he left the room
and started climbing the stairs to the upper level.
“It’s
all he had to leave you,” Matthew Cross, his grandfather’s
solicitor had told him, “but the good thing is it’s free and
clear, no mortgage to worry about, just the upkeep really.”
And
that would be fierce. The place was huge. Seven bedrooms, Cross had
told him, six bathrooms, a library, a dining room to seat twelve, a
fully equipped kitchen and five acres of land. There was even a pool,
thankfully indoors. He couldn’t begin to imagine how much it would
cost to keep an outdoor swimming pool heated in Scotland. Even
indoors it would be a bloody fortune most likely. Well, he’d have
to sell the place, that’s all. Although finding a buyer in a
depressed market for a mansion north of Inverness, miles off the
beaten track, and from the looks of things, needing quite a bit of
work, might just prove impossible.
He
paused at the door to one of the bedrooms. Am I being an ingrate? he
wondered as he pushed it open and stepped inside. In the dim light he
could make out the shape of an immense four poster bed that dominated
the room. He walked over to the window and pulled open the heavy
brocade curtains letting welcome daylight fill the room. The bathroom
was an eye-opener. A huge marbled space with an enormous bathtub on
clawed feet, complete with brass fittings that included a hand-held
shower.
“Nice...”
He had a sudden longing to fill the bath and take a good long soak in
sudsy water. Hmm... much better than that plastic piece of rubbish in
my flat. He caught his reflection in the large gilded mirror over the
sink and stopped to peer at himself for a moment. He looked tired, he
thought. There were shadows under his blue eyes. Too many nights
poring over sales sheets and inventories. He ran a hand through his
dark, almost black hair, then turned on the tap to splash his face
with water. After a lot of rumbling and cranking noises a thin stream
of something brownish yellow trickled out.
“Yuck.
The tank’s probably rusted through,” he muttered, changing his
mind about refreshing himself. He was about to turn it off when with
a loud gurgle and a sudden rush, the water poured out, growing
clearer every second.
Not
so bad, just needed using.
If
you would like a free e-book copy of Highland Hearts please leave a
comment (with your email address), and I’ll have random.org choose two readers. Thanks!
Connect with me!
Website: J.P. Bowie
Twitter @jpbowie
