"Queen"
by Heather Gray
I've got Heather Gray as my guest today. Heather is not only a fellow Astraea Press, but has also become a good friend. She writes beautiful stories and as no surprise has established herself as a bestseller within only a short period of time.
1. What draws you to historical romance?
Okay, to be completely honest, I started in historical
because I hoped it wouldn't be as obvious if I made mistakes. Was I ever wrong!
Fans of historical fiction know their details. I ended up staying in
historical, though, because I loved the era and the characters I'd gotten to
know. You know how it is when you write a novel. Somewhere in those pages you
meet a character that takes you by surprise and that you simply have to know
more about...and so they get their own book. That's sort of what's kept me in
historical fiction. I keep meeting characters that I don't want to let go of
just yet. There's a lot to be said for the era, too. People treated each other
with a special sort of gallantry that doesn't easily fit in a contemporary
novel.
2. How much research is involved for your historical romances?
Gah!!! So much! I love history - enough that I minored
in it in college. The constant research that goes into writing historical
fiction, though, is intense. I don't just need to have a solid understanding of
the facts, traditions, and clothing of the era. I also need to understand the
language. I easily research 300+ words in each historical novel. Was that word
in use during that time? Did it mean the same thing then that it means now? I
had a sentence in one novel. "Square one welcomed her back to its familiar
embrace." I loved that sentence, but in revisions I looked up the phrase
"square one" and realized it didn't come into use until 15 years
after my novel took place. I still miss that sentence. I'm going to find a way
to use it again someday...in a contemporary novel.
3. Tell us a little about your current project.
I am currently working on a new series that I hope to
launch in 2015. Despite my love of historicals, this series is contemporary and
takes place in Northern Virginia. Each of the heroines (and a hero in book 3)
work at a hospital in the area. I've got the first three books planned and am
currently working on revisions for book 1. It'll be contemporary romance with a
touch of humor and a smidgen of suspense. The working title for the series is
"Love It!" ... we'll see how long I keep it.
Blurb:
You can't hide from
the past.
Queen's world was
shattered, and she was banished to a foreign land. Years pass before she dares
to return, but what she finds is of little comfort. Greed and dishonesty have
festered and grown in her absence. Embittered and cynical, Queen trusts few
people.
Owen pursues a
clandestine investigation and finds himself working side-by-side with a
veritable ghost, an agent few have seen, a master of disguise known simply as
Queen. He craves her trust…but then
uncovers a secret from his family's past that could destroy her.
Queen once sought
refuge in America and now seeks it in disguise. Owen has always found his
refuge in God, but will his faith be strong enough for the challenges ahead?
Can he convince her to stop hiding, or is he doomed to become her most hated
enemy?
Author:
Heather Gray authors
the Ladies of Larkspur inspirational western romance series, including Mail
Order Man, Just Dessert, and Redemption.
She also writes the Regency Refuge series: His Saving Grace, Jackal, and
Queen - plus contemporary titles Ten Million Reasons and Nowhere for Christmas. Aside from a long-standing love affair with
coffee, Heather’s greatest joys are her relationships with her Savior and
family. She also enjoys laughter. This theme is prevalent in Heather's writing
where, through the highs and lows, her characters find a way to love God,
embrace each day, and laugh out loud right along with her.
You can find Heather
online at http://www.facebook.com/heathergraywriting,
http://www.twitter.com/laughdreamwrite, and
http://www.heathergraywriting.com. She
can also be found most days at The Inspired Inkpot, a street team, prayer group,
and all around awesome place to hang out -
http://www.facebook.com/groups/theinspiredinkpot.
Excerpt:
Prologue
Christmas Eve 1817
Owen crouched low and
looked around him. At least four hale and strong men had given chase. He was
nursing a bullet wound to his side and a knee expressing reluctance to cooperate.
The alley's darkness
provided the illusion of safety. He might yet get out of this alive, if the
clouds cooperated and kept the moon concealed.
Leather scraped on
cobblestones to his right, and he pivoted, knife at the ready. An old man
stumbled down the alley. His stringy grey hair was greasy and his coarse woven
clothes tattered. He reeked of liquor, vomit, and… Owen wrinkled his nose as he
fought the urge to gag.
The ruffians who'd
been chasing him must have heard the old man, too. Or, worse, they'd heard
Owen. They stopped their pursuit down the street and began backtracking to the
mouth of the alley.
Drat. Owen slipped
back behind some crates. He wanted to call a warning to the old beggar but
couldn't risk giving away his position. Instead, he tucked his body as tightly
together as his wounds would allow while he prayed.
"Did you hear
that?"
"Someone's down
there."
"Who's
there?"
The old man shuffled
his way, with a dragging hitch to his step, toward the street.
Come on, old man. Get
out of the way. They're not looking for you!
"Never mind. It's
a drunkard. Let's keep searching."
From his vantage
point, Owen watched as one of the thugs shoved the beggar down onto the ground
and then kicked him full in the ribs. He winced in sympathetic pain but dared not
leave his hiding place yet. To reveal himself at this juncture would ensure a
far worse outcome for both him and the old man.
The echo of footsteps
faded and silence once again fell over the alley, broken only by the yowling of
a tom cat. A few minutes ticked by with no indication the group would return.
Owen eased himself out from his position, relieved to no longer be wedged
between a slimy moss-covered wall and the dilapidated, rotting crates. Pain
radiated up and down his side from where he'd been shot, and his knee burned
with each step.
The old man hadn't
moved since landing on the cobblestones. Stooping, Owen glanced at the man's
hair-covered face. Age was kinder to some than to others. Between the faded
moonlight and the excessive facial hair, Owen couldn't distinguish any features
beyond the large bulbous nose. The poor gent could have used a little more
kindness.
A slight movement of
the chest caught Owen's eye, and he sighed with relief. Now to figure out how
to move him…
The old man was bulky,
and Owen was wounded. Could he rouse him? Would he be able to walk? Owen shook
the man by the shoulders. His efforts elicited nothing but a high-pitched
groan. Seeing no hope for it, he pulled the man over his shoulder and stood,
keeping most of his weight on his uninjured knee.
No longer radiating,
the pain in his side now pulsed with each beat of his heart, its intensity
growing with his exertion. Getting the old man settled across his shoulder as
best he could, Owen took a step toward the street. Dizziness swept through him,
and he knew his knee was in worse shape than he wanted to admit. Three blocks
would still be manageable. Wouldn't it? A back room in the apothecary's shop
housed a clandestine meeting place for agents.
The apothecary was
barely three blocks away…
Blast it, what had he
been thinking?
