Monthly Archives: December 2013

Three reasons why you should read: His Judas Bride by Shehanne Moore

Today I welcome  Scottish author Shehanne Moore, whose humor, energy and friendship gives me another good reason to visit my grandmother’s homeland of Scotland someday. She’s here to give you three reasons why you should read her latest release, HIS JUDAS BRIDE. Shehanne’s books really send you back to another time and place,  all with some sizzling adventure.

But first, here’s the book’s blurb:


To love, honor, and betray…

To get back her son, she will stop at nothing…

For five years Kara McGurkie has preferred to forget she’s a woman. So it’s no problem for her to swear to love and honor, to help destroy a clan, when it means getting back the son she lost. But when dire circumstances force her to seduce her fiancé’s brother on the eve of the wedding, will the dark secrets she holds and her greatest desire be enough to save her from his powerful allure?

To save his people, neither will he…

Callm McDunnagh, the Black Wolf of Lochalpin, ruthlessly guards heart and glen from dangerous intruders. But from the moment he first sees Kara he knows he must possess her, even though surrendering to his passion may prove the most dangerous risk of all.

She has nothing left to fear except love itself…

Now only Kara can decide what passion can save or destroy, and who will finally learn the truth of the words… Till death do us part.

Take it away, Shey…

Sharon, firstly thanks for asking me to your fantastic blog. Your posts are something I look forward to, so it’s a great honor to be here—especially brining along a  hot Scottie seeing as I know about your little obsession with men in kilts! Why would anyone read my book, His Judas Bride. Well, I’m not sure but hopefully these moments might convince you.

#1 –I just love writing about how people don’t want to fall in love. So a fav scene

Stay out, Callm!

Stay out, Callm!

for me was when Callm McDunnagh, the Black Wolf of Lochalpin, sets Dug–that’s his three and half-legged hellhound—at Kara’s bedroom door after a snowstorm forces them to share the same roof for a night. Everyone thinks it’s to keep her in her chamber. In fact it’s to keep himself out.

#2—It’s the same the next morning when he gives her half an hour to get ready to leave after she locks Dug up. She sails in and challenges him in front of his men about the order being issued 45 mins ago. The Wolf can’t believe it. That, hard man that he is too, who should be rubbing his hands at the prospect of handing her over to his brother, he’s so smitten, he wants to keep her for himself. And he can’t.

#2—Kara and the Wolf have both suffered horrendously at her father’s hands. If you want to know more about that, you’ll have to read the book, which is really about them finding that piece of common ground between them by tortuous inches and degrees.  The scene below is kind of example of that, although I’d have to say my third favorite is where the Wolf, not trusting Kara an inch, but loving her just the same, goes for broke and kills her father and rescues her son, so she can have her life back.  The odds against him are huge but he’d rather do it than see her place herself in further jeopardy. You just gotta love a guy like that.  And when Kara’s little boy puts his grubby paw in his….well… I’d a tight throat writing that one.

Book Excerpt

Did her very thoughts inspire him to step toward her in that second though, iron bands of foreboding cinching her chest, as he next gripped the ties of the cloak?

He started to untie it. “Your dues.”

What was there to conclude, when there wasn’t even the chance of the merest fumble on his par, unlike earlier? Except her whole body stiffened, her gaze veiling, as she drew it back from the pretty silver dishes. The crystal flagons. It had taken years for her to learn to deal with men like him, to fight every humiliation. And what had it taken him to undo that oppression? That abuse? Five minutes in the castle yard.

The effect on her was unquantifiable. Something she could not allow when his very stillness breathed danger.

He tossed the cloak onto a stool. “Sit.”

Anger burned in her blood that she had thought him different from these others. The suspicion sneaked it was probably why he had defended her in the yard, battering her defenses, so when she did finally walk in here, they would already be swirling in an ebbing tide.

She jerked up her chin, her throat so tight she could barely speak. “Where?”

“Well.” The air of visceral annoyance dropped away from his manner and he gave a weary sigh. “Where do you think?”

As if in answer, she spied a bed with ornate posts and covered in dark mulberry. Whatever else she was doing, she was not sitting on that. She held her chin higher. On this occasion he wasn’t making her either.

He gave another sigh. “Hell, what about you use some of the imagination you were so clearly born with and stop having me do all the work? The day’s been long and hard enough.”

She suspected the day wasn’t the only thing. Indeed she was burningly aware of it. In their bonds she clenched her hands into fists.

She wouldn’t obey. Not if wild horses dragged her around the castle yard. It wasn’t her idea to marry him. A vow was only a vow if given willingly. In her heart she had known she was never going to be his wife. He would find the truth of that if he came any closer. She was burningly aware of that too.

He reached behind him and dragged into view another piece of furniture. A chair. He set it there between them without taking his eyes off her once.

“Christ, Princess, what did you think I was meaning?”


 Shehanne Moore writes gritty, witty, historical romance, set wherever takes her fancy. What hasn’t she worked at while pursuing her dream of becoming a published author? Shehanne still lives in Scotland,  with her husband Mr Shey. She has two daughters. When not writing intriguing historical romance, where goals and desires of sassy, unconventional heroines and ruthless men, mean worlds collide, she plays the odd musical instrument and loves what in any other country, would not be defined, as hill-walking


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