Wednesday, January 5, 2011
Guest Author Denise Agnew-For a Roman's Heart
Congratulations on your book! Why don’t you tell us a little about For A Roman’s Heart.
For A Roman’s Heart is set in 167 AD Roman Britain, in an area of England I actually lived in for three years. The hero is a Roman Centurion and the heroine a weaver who is the daughter of exceptionally cruel parents. Despite this, she’s a strong character. She still has flaws and insecurities, and I think that’s one of the things I liked showing about her. She’s got guts, but at the same time she’s learned things from childhood that she must “unlearn.” The hero is on the trail of a deserter, and the deserter is one nasty character. This book doesn’t pull a lot of punches and it’s very gritty. But it’s also very sexy and romantic. I love bringing the reader in touch with the history, too.
Is this part of a series? If so, how many books are in the series so far?
This book isn’t in a series.
Where were you when you got your first book contract? Who did you tell?
I was living in England at the time and I told my husband first.
What genre do you write?
I write in almost every genre of romance there is, with the exception of inspirational. I also haven’t written urban fantasy.
Do you publish in both print and e-book? What are the advantages?
I haven’t published any books through a traditional NY publishing house. I’m with Samhain Publishing, Ellora’s Cave, and Liquid Silver Publishing. Samhain and Ellora’s Cave do have some of my books available in trade paperback. As far as advantages between small press/electronic and traditional publishing, it depends on whom you talk to as to advantages and disadvantages. I think the most obvious is that with traditional publishers your distribution channel has the potential to be much larger. With small press the advantage for me is being able to write several genres within romance, plus writing more stories out of the box. With the popularity of ebook readers increasing all the time, I see the problem with distribution narrowing somewhat.
Do you have any tips for new writers?
Learn everything you can, but at some point you’ll have to make decisions that come from the heart. What books do you want to write, and do you want to write for yourself first? To be true to yourself you’ll have to sit down and make a list of what it is you’re trying to accomplish and not let either people tell you what your goals should be. And I mean no one else. This is all about you. In the end, if you aren’t happy writing what you’re writing and who you’re writing it for, then think about writing something that you can get behind and that has meaning to you.
Where can your readers reach you?
I’m on Facebook an Twitter, but the best place is www.deniseagnew.com
Are you working on another book?
Absolutely. I’m actually working on more than one at a time. LOL.
Do you have an excerpt you’d like to share?
Sure! Here’s the blurb and a short excerpt for FOR A ROMAN’S HEART which releases January 4, 2011 at Samhain Publishing www.samhainpublishing.com
His scarred soul knows no vulnerability—except her touch.
Trapped between cruel parents and the need to hide her gift of second sight from suspicious villagers, Adrenia Tertia Brigomalla walks a line as thin as the threads she weaves. The need for independence burns fierce in her heart, but not as hot as her unexpected attraction to a Roman soldier who comes to the village in search of a deserter.
Though hardened by war, Centurion Terentius Marius Atellus defies any man to harm an innocent. Nothing shakes his relentless determination to track down a murderous legionnaire with a taste for young women. Yet Adrenia’s spirit and vulnerability spark a protective instinct stronger than duty…and temptation that could be his downfall.
Fragile trust built on stolen kisses and a premonition saves his life and drives his offer of the ultimate protection—marriage. While she revels in the feral passion he awakens within her, Adrenia would sooner brave the fires of Hades than trade one yoke for another.
It’s a decision that could leave them both dangling above a precipice they may not survive…
Adrenia’s lips parted, her breathing coming faster as she took in the men before her. Part of her wanted to step back, to run. She didn’t know these strangers, and anything could happen. Yet something about the centurion, an honor and integrity in his expression, told her she had nothing to fear. The other hulking man looked a bit larger than the centurion, and his dark eyes held amusement. She didn’t think he meant any harm. His closely cropped almost-black hair was straight and his face angular and long. He looked decidedly awkward, but she had a feeling he could be deadly given the chance. Some woman might consider him a bit more handsome than ordinary.
While she felt ambivalent about the optio, the centurion was a different story. Her belly fluttered as she took in the centurion’s rugged face. He looked rough and more than capable of killing mercilessly. A tremble wracked her body, and she hoped he couldn’t sense the fear she held so tightly within.
His thick dark brown hair, cut fairly short, held mahogany highlights. It curled against his head. Though his jaw looked strong, it wasn’t too wide, his mouth firm but not thin. His regal nose gave him a patrician air, but didn’t stand out boldly enough to make it too large. More than all these facial qualities, she noticed the powerful concentration within his green eyes. Dark brows sheltered his gaze and thick lashes fanned downward when he blinked.
Neither the centurion nor the optio dressed in formal battle wear. They didn’t wear helmets or mail armor. They wore white tunics, their gladius hung from a wide belt, their socks and closed-toe boots indicated they worked for the army. Their red cloaks also gave them away. The centurion’s gaze pinpointed her so intently a flush heated her cheeks.
She jerked to full awareness. They must think her an imbecile, she’d remained silent for so long.
“We’re assigned to the fort,” the optio said. “Are you from the village?”
She shook her head and gestured to one of the long, rectangular houses separated from the villa complex. “My father is a tenant on villa land.”
“Who is the villa owner?” the centurion asked.
“Decimus Caelius Cordus. You have come far,” she said. “You may be welcome at the villa if you require food and drink.”
“We’ll visit them another time,” the centurion said. “What is your name?”
His military brisk question demanded an answer. “Adrenia Tertia Brigomalla.”
She wiped her hand over her forehead as weariness weakened her resolve. Though the day wasn’t hot, her long walk to the neighbors and through the Haunted Woods had taken more from her than she first realized. She swayed, and she closed her eyes with one thought. Goddess, don’t let me faint now.
“Easy there.” The centurion alighted from his horse in a heartbeat. “Are you all right?”
She opened her eyes just as he clasped her shoulders. On the horse he’d looked large, but now he towered over her. He appeared as tall as Sulla, around five foot ten or eleven if she guessed right. Unlike Sulla’s rangy frame, this man possessed wide shoulders and powerful arms that reminded her of shelter, of safety. Automatically her hands landed on his chest, and the rock-hard strength of his muscles under her hands rippled as he moved.
Embarrassed, she drew her hands back and dared gaze into his extraordinary eyes. She expected to see pity there, but instead genuine concern warmed them. His unexpected caring threw her off kilter. She almost couldn’t speak. “I’m fine. I forgot to bring water with me on my long walk.”
He released her and went to his saddle and pack. He returned with a water skein. He handed it to her. “Drink.”
“But you need it.”
“Not as much as you. Drink as much as you like.”
She took one tentative sip, and when the liquid touched her lips, she realized how thirsty she’d become. She drank more, but stopped short of gulping. She wiped her mouth with the back of her wrist and returned the skein to him. “Thank you. You are most generous, sir.”
“I beg your pardon?”
“Call me Terentius.”
“You’re thinking you shouldn’t. That it isn’t expected or right.” His gaze twinkled.
“He hates it when people call him sir,” the optio said. “Take my word for it.”
She laughed, the sound slipping through her throat and out of her mouth before she could stop it. She pressed her hand to her mouth, half expecting his wrath to come down upon her. She never laughed.
She should never laugh.
Fear rose up like steam from a cauldron. Her breath grew short, her palms beginning to sweat. When he didn’t strike her and his smile grew wider, astonishment fought with intellectual reasoning. Of course he wouldn’t strike her. He didn’t know her. She fought with her fear, but it wouldn’t cease.
He frowned deeply. “You’re trembling. You are ill.”
She shook her head vigorously. “No. That’s not… I’m not ill.” The centurion unhooked his cloak and with one efficient move swirled the garment over shoulders and fastened it together with the large broach. The red wool cloak encompassed her in a musky man-and-leather scent both comforting and disturbing. “Sir, I can’t take this. It is improper.”
“You will take it.” The centurion frowned down at her, his hands arranging the wool so that it covered her entire body and almost came all the way to her ankles. “I can get another.”
His long arms rippled with muscle, and she stared too long at all his masculine beauty. She widened her eyes, and cleared her throat. “It’s unheard of. I couldn’t wear a soldier’s cloak.”
“You may insist on calling me sir, but I won’t relent about this. My mother and father taught me that women are to be cherished and protected.”
What could she say to that? Surprise held her immobile and almost voiceless at first. “I…I never heard such a thing.”
The optio’s thick brows arched upward. “Who are your people?”
She drew herself up to her full height. “Our people descend from the Iceni and the Catuvellauni.”
“Barbarians.” The optio nodded. “Of course.”
She didn’t know whether to feel insulted or not, so she stayed silent.
After a long agonizing moment where the centurion’s stare speculated, he asked, “Why do you hide your laugh?”
“It’s not proper for me to express it.”
He frowned. “What foolishness is this?” He looked back at the optio. “Have you ever heard such a ridiculous thing?”
“Strangest I’ve heard,” the optio said. “Seems like we’re talking a different language all together.”
“You don’t know my…” she started to say, then shook her head.
“Please, centurion. Leave it be. It is not your…business.”
He chuckled, and the sound came out rich and deep. It sent new pinwheels of heat through her loins. How could a man this dangerous inspire such confidence inside her? When he smiled, the whole world lit up. His green eyes sparkled. His straight white teeth and the dimple in his right cheek surprised her.
Then his gaze sobered, and she saw it. The look many a man gave many a woman, but had never been bestowed upon Adrenia in all her twenty years. His gaze traveled over her breasts, then slid down the rest of her body as if he could see through the thick cloak and shapeless tunica. The centurion’s undeniable interest found an echo inside her. She, too, wanted to trace his body with her gaze, to explore him as she’d never explored another man. Frightened by the intensity, she took three steps away from his powerful body and his masculine threat.