Sunday, December 30, 2012


Well, I'm pleased Krystal honored me by revisiting my crib again. Yay!!! This time she's bringing her latest release--Highland Hogmanay. She'll be doing a giveaway for a free PDF copy of the book to the random winner who leaves a comment. So don't forget to leave some love for Krystal at the end of the post.

Hogmanay at Granny's

First I would like to thank Cynthia for having me back so soon.

My Granny Dickson had a world view that was a complete mix of realism and superstition. She died when I was seventeen but I never forgot her superstitions which were mixed in with a realistic outlook on life coming from having been brought up in Glasgow in the 20s.

Her first husband was killed in the Second World War and her two year old daughter died of meningitis some time later.  Then she met my Papa.  She seems to have had a happy life with him and she had two daughters (my mother and my aunt) both of whom had good childhoods.

But it is the new year celebrations that always brought out her superstitious nature.  Granny loved New Year.  But woe betide you if you even considered wishing her a Happy New Year before the bells. (In Scotland we used to wait on the bells from Big Ben in London sounding on the radio). It was terribly bad luck.  Generally if a Scot sees you on Hogmanay, they'll say “have a good one when it comes.” Not in my Granny's hearing we didn't.  You just said bye to her if you were leaving before the bells.

Then there was the thing with the calendar. You daren't put a calendar up before the bells.  This was also bad luck.  It's a tradition I have kept to.  I won't put my 2013 calendar up until after midnight on January the first.

In Scotland it is the tradition to be first footed by a tall, dark, handsome man bearing gifts.  Thus the first person through the door on New Year's day had to fit that description.  Luckily for Granny, my aunt had married a tall dark-haired man. My poor dad, being just 5 foot 8, didn't quite cut the mustard.  So at 11.58pm on Hogmanay, Uncle Harry was sent out the back door of the house with the dog, a box of shortbread and a bottle of whisky.  It was his job to walk around the block and come in the front door and first foot us. In all those years, I suspect Uncle Harry never heard the midnight chimes of Big Ben at midnight on Hogmanay.
I miss my Granny's new year celebrations.  She's the only person I know of who drank red Martini. And she always gave us a snowball (advocaat and lemonade) to bring in the new year. If I tell someone to have a good one when it comes this Hogmanay, I will be able to feel her disapproval.  It's tangible to me.

If you want to read about a traditional but slightly different Hogmanay, with another tall, dark handsome stranger, Highland Hogmanay is now available at It will be available at Amazon etc. within the next week or so.


The week between Christmas and New Year is always dreary and for single mum of two small children, Isla, it's doubly so. A toddler throwing a tantrum and an over-inquisitive four year old are stressing her out. The broken carrier bag spilling her shopping out in the wet street is the final straw. But handsome Mark Ferguson turns up out of the blue to help her.

The New Year may be looking up, until she finds out that Mark owns one of the biggest computing firms in the USA. Can they make a long distance relationship work and can Mark stop trying to make their relationship into a business venture?


“Well I see you worked out how to put on the shirt. I suppose that’s something,” said Isla as she walked over the threshold of Mark's cottage and stamped the snow off her Wellington boots. She pulled them off and removed her coat before following him into the living area. The curtains were closed and the kilt outfit was lying over one of the leather chairs.
“Even I can manage a shirt,” he groused.
“OK, first things first. If you really have Scottish blood in you, you need to take the boxers off.”
“No, you’re not taking them off and are therefore proving yourself to be a soft Yankee, or no, you’re too shy to take your breeks off in front of me.”
“What the hell are breeks?”
“Pants or underpants—it kind of depends. In this instance, we are definitely discussing underpants.”
“I’m not taking them off in front of you.”
“I thought we were leading up to sleeping together. You did have your hand inside my pants last night. Mark, you are single, aren’t you?”
“Of course! Do you think I would cheat on someone else? I’m not your ex, Isla.”
“I know. It was just when I told my friend about you, she asked whether you were single and I had to confess that I hadn’t actually asked and had just presumed.”
“You presumed right,” he said as he cupped her face. He touched his lips gently to hers and kissed until she opened to him. Then he slanted his mouth, pressing his tongue into her mouth. She moved closer, snaking her arms around his neck as he claimed her butt with his hands.
As he rocked gently against her, he began to harden. She kissed him harder, plunging her tongue in and out of his mouth in time with her leg, which she was now rubbing up and down his thigh. She wanted to lift her skirt and let him take her, there and then, over the back of the sofa. But she also wanted to wait until New Year. It seemed appropriate to let this year finish, complete with its problems, and start a new year with someone new—even if it was just a short fling. Besides, if they had sex, she’d never want to go back to the party and he’d never see his relatives to first foot them.
She moved her hands round to his collar and started to undo the buttons.
“Isla, do we have time?”
She planted light kisses on his neck, causing him to dig his fingers deeper into her butt.
“I’m just relieving your tension,” she said into the wall of muscle that was his chest. She only had a couple more buttons to go as she licked around one of his nipples. Her hands nudged the top of his erection, and he groaned.
“Believe me, honey. This ain’t relieving anything. I want to carry you upstairs right now and make love to you all night, until you can’t walk.”
“How terribly romantic.” She pulled his boxers down with one swift movement and clasped his long, thick cock in her fist.


Thanks again for stopping by Krystal! Hope to see you again soon. 


  1. Great blog site, Cynthia...and what a wonderful guest!

    Krystal, you have a sure hand (especially that one at the very end, ahem). I really loved your intro, and I am still excited about your excerpt. You're one of the few writers about Scotland that I could read start to finish and be captured on every page.


  2. Great post, Krystal, and what a hot, hot, hot excerpt!

  3. I grew up in the most Scottish town in England, and I so remembering being lifted from my bed to see in the New Year. My dad would be bundled out of the back door, to come in the front a wee bit later, once the bells had seen the new year in.
    And I got a very weak port and lemon...

  4. Thank you ladies for your comments. The winner of the book, picked by a random number generator is Samantha Holt. Congratulations, Samantha.


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