One of my most prized possessions is a chamber pot.
There. I
wrote it. Out loud. On the Internet.
Think I
am strange, if you must. But the chamber pot in question came from my
great-great grandmother on my father’s side, and I like to imagine it carries
inside it the stories of my hard-scrabble mountain relatives (if not residual
traces of their DNA).
I have
used it as a raffle bowl, a place to toss my keys when I walk through the door,
and of course, a conversation piece. This morning it is being used as one half
of a book-end, holding up my Complete Works
of Charlotte Bronte. It is always proudly and prominently displayed in my
house, but most folks have no idea what it is because it’s so darn pretty: delicate white porcelain, with
scalloped edges and a floral and wheat design. I like to imagine I could have
willingly done my business in such an imaginative vessel, once upon a time, but
nope.
I think
I would rather serve soup in it.
Or
chocolate truffles. I admit my sick sense of humor has made me consider just
such a scenario.
It has
also served as one of my most important muses. You see, it’s prominently
featured in the opening pages of my new book, What Happens in Scotland. In fact, a chamber pot that looks exactly
like this one is the hero’s first clue that something untoward has happened the
night before—not that he can remember any of it.
“Can you hear
me, you sodding fool?”
Though
better sense bade him not to, James MacKenzie opened his eyes. His brother
William loomed over him, his face strung with a smirk and his fingers curved
around shards of white pottery.
“Bugger off,”
James moaned, his head a mass of mangled thoughts and pain. “Can you not see I
am sick?”
William hefted
the ruined bit of china and dangled it above James’s nose. “I confess that was
my first thought, but by the looks of things here, it seems you have put the
chamber pot to a different use.” He frowned a moment, the motion looking more
like a grimace. “Injured, is more like it. Did you get in a fight with your
piss pot, then?”
James squinted
up at his brother, absorbing his words like water into sand. His evening had
consisted of dinner and several draughts of ale in the local pub house. Now he
felt as if he had been hauled in from the knackers.
What had any of
that to do with a ruined chamber pot?
“You don’t know
what you are talking about.” James started to shake his head and then decided
better of it. Life seemed so much better when his brain wasn’t bouncing around
his skull.
“Oh that’s rich,
coming from a man who doesn’t know where his boots are.” William tossed a pair of battered footwear onto the
bed. “Tis a bonny nap you’ve had, nigh on two hours since dawn. But the
innkeeper insists on your removal now, I am afraid.”
“Innkeeper?”
James sat up and waited until his chest stopped heaving and the walls stopped
bending toward corners. “Is that where I am?”
He swung his
bare legs off the edge of the mattress. The floorboards crunched under his
feet, and the sharp, sweet odor in the air gave him pause. Christ, had he
smashed a bottle of brandy on the floor last night? He peered around the room,
took in the ruined wardrobe, the upturned washbasin. Feathers floated in the
air and stuck to the walls. A woman’s corset hung from the drapery rod,
something plain and demure but oddly beautiful for its lack of adornment. There
was no denying the room looked as if a bloody good party had taken place.
“I hope she was
worth it, you daft fool,” William snorted.
“Who was worth
it?” James muttered, grabbing his shirt from the floor.
“The woman you
brought up here last night.”
James stiffened
against the slide of fabric across his chest. The shirt seemed different. It smelled
of brandy, and an exotic fragrance that he could not quite name. “What woman?”
he managed, starting in on his buttons. “And where in the bloody hell am I?”
“The Blue
Gander,” his brother chuckled. “And the woman you married last night.”
What Happens in
Scotland is my
debut novel, and I am so excited that the publication date (February 26th)
is almost here! I have been writing for several years, but apparently my
previous efforts were lacking the vital elements of a ruined chamber pot and a
naked Scotsman with amnesia, because the moment I put those down on a page, my life changed forever. What Happens in Scotland was ridiculous fun to write, and I hope
you find it an enjoyable read. It is a total romp—those of you expecting a
dark, twisting Victorian tragedy might want to back away slowly. But those of you wanting to know more about my
naked amnestic Scotsman (and the woman he apparently married last night) should
trot on over to Amazon or Barnes and Noble, where it is available for
pre-order.
While
we are waiting for February 26th (because honestly, does anything
move more slowly than the week before a debut author’s release?), I can offer
this as a consolation prize! I will choose one lucky commenter at random to
receive this fun bag of Haggis-flavored potato crisps, imported directly from
Mackie’s of Scotland.
‘Cause
you know… nothing goes better with a yummy Scotsman (did I mention he was naked?) than Haggis. Except maybe
chocolate. And brandy.
OK,
I’ll throw in some of these amazing little brandy chocolates too! No, not the
whole box, you greedy things. These things are potent.
And
I’d hate for you to lose your memory and wake up in bed with James MacKenzie.
(Giveaway restricted to U.S. addresses only.)
Discover more information about Jennifer (and some breathtaking photos of Scotland) at her website and connect with her at Facebook and Twitter. You can also find Jennifer at the multi-author Dashing Duchesses Romance Blog.
Jennifer will be going on a book signing tour next week along with historical romance authors
Sophia Nash and Liz Carlyle.
Thursday, February 28 ~ 7:00pm
Eagle Eye Books
2076 North Decatur Rd.
Decatur, GA 30033
Friday, March 1 ~ 12:30 to 2:30pm
Fountain Books
1312 E Cary St.
Richmond, VA 23219
Saturday, March 2 ~ 7:00pm
Saturday, March 2 ~ 7:00pm
Malaprops
55 Haywood St.
Asheville, NC 28801
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