Tracy Cooper-Posey's Blog, page 21

Find it hard to buy books?

Find it hard to buy books? This might help.

I’ve got two pieces of news for you that, if you struggle to buy books, you might find very welcome.

The first item is exciting even for me.

I get a lot of emails from readers who have downloaded one of my free books, loved it to pieces, and would absolutely, in a heartbeat, buy the next books in the series except…

They’re on a fixed income.They’re out of work.They just don’t earn enough.They’re suffering through debilitating and expensive diseases.They blew their budget this week/month/year on super expensive New York authors, whose publishers think three times the price of an indie title, and two dollars more than the print edition is a fine and suitable price for their ebooks.

There’s many more issues I’ve heard over the years from readers who simply can’t afford to buy my books.

I now have a solution for readers who are in this position. They can earn my books.

If you’d like to learn more, join my Discord server.

Join me on Discord.

I have a Discord server set up for readers. You. It has channels for chatting, channels for asking me anything, channels for learning how to earn brownie points. There’s a channel for my Street Team, and another for my Patreon subscribers (although they are both restricted to those specific readers).

On the Discord channel you can hear about upcoming books, see new covers when I get ’em, get snippets from upcoming books. Hear about contests, talk about books, and hang out with me.

Head here to join the server: https://discord.gg/d5w4dKth.

Discord is free. Joining my server is free. To join the Patreon channels does require a Patreon subscription, and those channels may not even appear to you when you join the server.

Cheaper books!

The second item is actually multiple items.

When COVID first broke out, I discounted the Kiss Across Time vampire time-travel PNR series because suddenly, millions of people were out of a job.

Two years later, millions of people are still out of jobs. So I’ve discount two more series for a while.

The two series are:

Scandalous Scions (Historical Romance)

Once and Future Hearts (Fantasy Romance)

All the books in the series are now discounted to $2.99 each, except the first in the series, which is free.

Enjoy!

First Chapter from the new Historical Romance set

First Chapter from the new Historical Romance set

We’re a week away from the release of the Scandalous Scions Box Three set, which means it’s first chapter time. 

The first book in this boxed set is Season of Denial, Book 7 in the series, and one of my personal favourites. 

Here’s Chapter One from Season of Denial.

Excerpt

EXCERPT FROM SEASON OF DENIAL
COPYRIGHT © TRACY COOPER-POSEY 2022
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

Chapter One

Mayfair, London. April 1870.

Airy notes of a Strauss waltz filtered through the walls of the salon. The distant tinkle underlined the silence, which was as thick as the cigar smoke drifting above the heads of the four players like fingers of London fog.

Iefan put his cards face down, picked up his brandy and settled back in the comfortable chair, his expression bland. “Whenever you are ready, Westgate.”

Dinsby, the new Earl of Westgate, hissed and tugged at his waistcoat. “Damn it, man, let me think.”

Iefan suppressed his comment about Westgate’s capacity for clear thought and said instead, “You have been thinking since the butler delivered the third decanter. Come along. Play your hand.”

Louis, Duke of Gascony and Westgate’s partner, cleared his throat. His fashionable bowtie was still perfectly tied and his shirtfront immaculate. His back was still straight. No one would know he had been playing for four hours. “I have trouble counting English Sterling notes, although I do believe there is more than twenty pounds upon the table, no?” His Gallic features were as neutral as Iefan’s.

“Twenty-seven pounds, three shillings,” Iefan replied, without looking at the tidy pile of big notes sitting upon the center of the round table.

“A rather large sum,” Gascony pointed out.

“If you are losing your nerve, Westgate, you have only to say,” Iefan told the sweating man on his right.

Alexander Ramsey, Esquire, sitting opposite Iefan, caught his gaze and shook his head. It was important to Alex that the two of them win the hand. No one in the room nor, indeed, the entire building, knew Alex lived upon the proceeds of his whist playing.

Westgate huffed, his face turning red. “Are you calling me a coward, sir?”

“Not at all,” Iefan said, with a mental sigh. “Cowardice is a product of an over-active imagination, which in turn requires intelligence.”

Gascony’s eyes widened, while Westgate threw down his cards and spluttered with wounded dignity. “I take offense at that!”

Alex sighed and put down his hand, for Westgate’s cards laid face up, ruining the game.

“The truth offends you?” Iefan asked.

“Truth?” Westgate repeated, astonishment warring with his indignation. “Is this the excuse you will use to defend your remarkable run of luck, Davies?”

Iefan tossed his cards onto the linen, his frustration building. “You ask if I am cheating?”

Gascony slid his hand together and put the neat pile on the table, too. “You must admit, monsieur, that even the most skilled card players cannot win every single game the way you and M. Ramsey have done.”

Iefan sat back and laughed. “Luck!” He laughed again.

Westgate’s face grew a deep scarlet.

Alex smiled to himself as he separated the notes on the table and gave them back to their owners.

“There is no luck involved, Gascony,” Iefan said. “Even mediocre skill is enough to best a poor player and Westgate, here, is too simple to recognize just how weak his skills are.”

Gascony drew down his mouth in a purely French expression. “Strong words.”

Iefan threw out his hand toward Westgate. “He dithers because he needs the king of spades to complete his run. The king of spades was played by you, two rounds ago. He wonders if he might instead find himself with the ten of the suit, yet Alex held that card, or else he would not have picked up the nine.”

“You remember what cards I played?” Gascony enquired.

“I remember them all!” Iefan shot back. He pointed at Alex, who had begun the round. “Three of heart, six of clubs, seven of hearts.” He pointed at Westgate. “The ace, which was stupid. Seven of diamonds, also stupid.”

Westgate gasped.

Iefan finished the list of played cards, in the five rounds of this game, while Alex looked bored and Gascony’s brow lifted. When Iefan finished, he added, “Shall I tell you the cards played in the other six games?”

Silence, while another dance, a polka this time, punctuated by heavy feet and breathless laughter, filtered through the closed door.

“You…could name cards in all six games?” Gascony asked, sounding winded.

“I do not cheat,” Iefan said, his tone flat. He got to his feet and glanced at Westgate. “I have no need.”

Westgate growled.

Iefan didn’t waited for the portly man to struggle to his feet. He pushed his money back to Alex and stepped out into the bright, busy hallway between the salon and the ballroom. When he heard Westgate lumbering after him, he quickened his pace and looked for an escape route.

If he couldn’t dodge Westgate, who was an imbecile, then he deserved everything the newly minted Earl handed out.

The humiliation was too great to remain in the ballroom. Mairin picked up the front of her pale blue satin gown and hurried through the back entrance. She tore the dance card from her wrist and squeezed it in her gloved hand as she moved through the rooms and halls blindly. Her heart beat far too hard for a woman who had not danced but once this night.

Windows ahead showed a brightly lit conservatory on the other side. The cool air under the glass and the freshness of green growing things would help her recover. With a touch of relief, Mairin pushed the door open and moved into the glassed-in garden. Palms and greenery edged the brick path she used to move deeper into the shrubbery. If this was a typical conservatory, there would be a chair or bench somewhere in the middle where one could repose and take in the garden.

True to form, the path widened and a bench presented itself. It was empty, which was remarkable, although the supper hour was drawing near and everyone lingered in the ballroom, waiting for the announcement of the meal.

Mairin settled on the bench, automatically arranging the folds of her ballgown. She barely noticed the sky-blue satin which had so pleased her when she bought it. She shoved the folded and bent dancing card into her pocket and felt the soft folds of paper already there.

With a sigh, Mairin pulled out the much-read letter and smoothed it open once more.

 

Dearest sister:

I barely know where to begin. I suppose I must impart the greatest of my news. I am a mother…

 

There was no need to read the remainder of the letter. Mairin knew it by heart. Bridget had born a daughter and gushed over the wonder of babies. On every page of the three tightly written sheets, her obsession over her husband, Will, spoke from among the descriptions of domestic bliss. Will, who was family and the last man she should have considered.

Mairin’s eyes ached and the lines of script blurred.

How could she? Why? The questions made her throat tighten, too.

Hurried footsteps on the brick path made Mairin lift her head, her heart sinking even farther. She had no wish to see anyone. She had thought herself safe from interruption here.

Perhaps she should have risked the scorn of the ton and returned home despite the early hour.

The tall, lean man with thick black curls who pushed through the last of the big tropical leaves and palm fronds wasn’t a stranger, although she had not seen him in a long time.

Iefan Davies, the absentee heir of the Davies family and an honorary cousin, looked as though he was in a great hurry. His black eyes met hers and his jaw worked.

From closer to the door of the conservatory came the sound of male voices, one of them strident.

Iefan glanced over his shoulder, then raised his finger to his lips. He stepped off the path and moved behind the thick copse of ferns and palms.

The other two men appeared only a few moments later. One of them was the red-faced Earl of Westgate, who appeared to be doing the muttering. His mouth worked, and his hands were fisted.

The other man was a stranger, although his clothing and appointments said he was a lord. He did not seem to be as upset as Westgate.

“Lady Mairin,” Westgate said, hurrying up to her. “I’m looking for your blighted cousin. Davies. Did he come this way?”

“Which Davies cousin do you refer to, Lord Westgate?” she asked coolly. Westgate had once spent a summer letting her think he was interested in her, only to marry Violet Brigham-Jones the next Christmas. The gossips said the new couple were unhappy and Mairin might have felt satisfaction over their unhappiness, except that little pleased her anymore. “Benjamin or Morgan?” she added, for she had spotted Ben earlier in the evening, although she wasn’t certain if Morgan was here or not.

“Iefan,” Westgate said heavily, as if she strained his patience. He mispronounced Iefan’s name as so many did, as “eye-fan” instead of the Welsh pronunciation of “ei-ven”.

“Iefan?” she repeated, saying it properly. “Why, I do believe I saw him rush down the corridor in front of the conservatory, as I came in. He looked as though he was in a great hurry. Is he trying to avoid you, Lord Westgate?”

Westgate whirled to look back toward the windows of the conservatory which looked into the house proper. “That way?” he said, his tone one of disbelief. “I swore I saw him enter here.”

“Are you accusing me of being untruthful?” Mairin asked, injecting even more chill into her tone.

Westgate glared at her.

“No, he is not, and he apologizes,” the other man said, gripping Westgate’s sleeve. “Come along, Dinsby,” he added, tugging. “Let’s find the champagne, hmm?”

Westgate stood indecisively, his mouth working.

The other man turned him and shepherded him down the path. He looked back at her and bent his head. “I apologize for interrupting your peace, my lady.” Then he pushed Westgate into returning the way they had come.

As soon as they had disappeared, Iefan emerged. He smiled, his eyes dancing, as he came toward her. “Lady Mairin, you are my savior.”

“I doubt that,” she replied. “Whatever are you doing here, Iefan? I didn’t think soirees were your cup of tea.”

He grimaced, his full lips pressing together. “They are not. The whist game in the smoking salon, however, was.”

“Ah.” She folded Mairin’s letter and slid it back into her pocket. “What caused Westgate to chase you in that way? Did he catch you cheating?”

“Me?” Iefan said. He frowned. “I do not cheat.” His voice rang like struck iron.

Mairin put her hands together in her lap. “I apologize for the inference.” She might have felt guilty about thinking Iefan capable of such a dishonorable practice, had her heart not been too full of troubles already.

How long would he linger here? When would he leave her alone? She wanted to think, which she could not do while he stood there.

Iefan studied her, a tiny crease between his brows. “Have you been crying?”

Mairin dropped her gaze to her hands, her heart giving a hard, little beat. “I had forgotten that about you,” she murmured.

“Forgotten what?”

“Your directness.”

“If you were being direct, you would call it rudeness.”

She looked up at him, startled. His eyes were dancing once more.

“What are you doing here, anyway, Iefan? You never come to society things. Did you really attend just to play a game of whist?”

“A rich game of whist, yes. You are quite right. I would rather be anywhere than in this thick concentration of upper class hypocrisy. A friend of mine was invited to play in the game and he wanted a reliable partner, so I agreed to help him.”

That Iefan had friends at all was a surprise to Mairin. That those friends were not family was intriguing.

Will and Jack and Peter, and even her older brothers, Cian and Neil, clung together. They were members of the same clubs. They kept each other company at events they attended together. They drank together. They got into mischief together. Even Ben, Iefan’s older brother, often kept the company of the family, bringing Dane with him.

Iefan, though, was different. He always went his own way. He rarely came to the family gatherings in Cornwall each September, either—while everyone else in the family attended those if they possibly could.

The mischief Iefan got up to was darker and more serious than anything his cousins had tried…or so Jack and Will and the others hinted.

What Iefan did with his time was a mystery to just about everyone. Had Mairin just glimpsed the answer? Gambling seemed to fit with the rumors she had heard about him over the years.

She considered Iefan once more, assessing him. “If you did not cheat, then why was Westgate so upset with you?”

“Because he’s a fool and cannot play a descent hand of whist even when money rides upon the outcome.” Iefan shrugged and pointed to the bench. “May I sit beside you? It would be best to linger here for a while until Westgate gives up the chase. Then I can escape this house and find a better card game elsewhere.”

Mairin cleared her throat. She wanted to refuse his request. She wanted to be alone. Yet it was a polite request and a reasonable one under the circumstances. She shifted on the bench and tucked her skirts more closely around her, to give him room.

Iefan nodded his thanks and sat, thrusting out a long leg and resting his curled hand on the other knee.

He wore perfectly acceptable evening clothes, including a fashionable tie instead of a cravat. Put amongst a room full of lords, Iefan would be indistinguishable, except for his height, which he had taken from his father, Rhys, and his wild, thick hair that never seemed to behave itself.

He had his father’s high cheekbones and thin cheeks, although his chin was square and his nose straight. His mouth was usually held in a cynical curl at the corner. In fact, he was making that same sour smile now as he looked at her.

“I don’t think I have seen you for several years,” he said. “Should you not have been married years ago?”

She flinched. “If this is the way you engage in conversation with ladies, your continuing bachelorhood is understandable.”

He smiled fully, showing even, white teeth. “I do not generally trouble myself with conversations with ladies.”

“So I have heard.”

His smile grew. “I did not fail to notice how you shifted the subject away from my original observation, either.”

She blinked. “I beg your pardon?” Oh, how she wished he would leave! Now she remembered why she didn’t like him. Whenever she had been in his company, growing up, she had been left with this same uncomfortable churning in her chest and her heart.

“You were crying, when I arrived,” Iefan replied.

“If you were a gentleman, you would have let me shift the subject,” she said, her jaw stiff. Of course, Iefan would pursue it!

“Yes, if I was a gentleman, I would have. You and I both know my heritage.” There was no resentment in his voice.

“You’re the son of royalty,” Mairin pointed out.

“A disowned princess,” he amended. “Sometimes, my mother is more common than my father.” Despite the terrible words, he was smiling with a fondness which made Mairin catch her breath. She had not thought him capable of such warmth. Then he cocked his head, considering her once more. “Would it surprise you if I told you I am rather good at card-playing?”

“Not at all,” she assured him.

He nodded. “There is a reason for that.”

“Ben spoke of your card-playing once. He said you remember every card played.”

Iefan dismissed the notion with a slight shake of his head. “A parlor trick which helps. It is not why the Alex Ramseys of the world seek me as a partner and pay me half their winnings for the privilege—”

“They do? Half the winnings?”

“Yes,” he said. “It is not what assures the outcome, though. It is understanding men and how their minds work that is the true skill. Knowing their greed and hope will outweigh their good sense gives me the advantage even before the cards are shuffled.”

“That is terribly pessimistic.”

“Honest people don’t gamble.”

“Then you did cheat.”

His lips parted. Then he laughed. It was not a polite chuckle, either. It pulled from his belly and seemed to surprise him, too.

He shifted on the bench, so he could face her. “I don’t cheat,” he said. This time, he spoke without anger. “There is no fun in cheating, while there is an intense pleasure in properly beating a man who thinks he is superior.”

Mairin caught her breath. “Does the ton really treat you that badly?”

Iefan shook his head, with an amused expression. “I would have thought, after so many seasons being paraded in the marriage market, you would have acquired more wisdom by now.”

Mairin thought of the crumpled letter in her pocket and the hurt it had delivered. “I have gained more than you know.”

“Oh? Is that why you sit alone in the conservatory? Licking your wounds, Mairin?”

“Yes.”

His eyes widened. Then they narrowed thoughtfully. “I see.” He leaned a little closer and lowered his voice. “Then you are losing hope that you will find the husband you seek outside the family?”

Her middle jumped, making her heart work. “You know about that?”

Iefan sat back. “I do talk to the family every now and again. Ben told me about the gathering when you and Bridget turned up your noses at every man in the family.”

Mairin sighed. “It was such a long time ago. It wasn’t meant to insult anyone.”

“I wasn’t insulted,” Iefan said. “I even know why you said it.”

“You do?” Mairin couldn’t help voicing her surprise and doubt, for even she was not sure why she and her twin had settled on such an ambition. Not anymore. Once, though, it had seemed clear, simple and straight-forward.

Iefan shrugged in response to her skepticism. “The family is closed-in. Their sameness chokes you. Marrying anyone else would release you from the familiar.”

“Yes,” she breathed, stunned. It was as if Iefan had reached into her mind and plucked her feelings from the buried morass of the past. Now she remembered why she had been so determined to marry well outside the family.

“That is why you sit here, sunk into your misery,” Iefan added. “I estimate this is your…sixth season?”

Mairin swallowed. He had named the number precisely.

“Five previous seasons and still unwed,” he murmured. “Now, a sixth lies before you and you don’t even have a dance card on your wrist.”

“It is in my pocket,” she said, stung.

“And how many names are on it?” Despite the awful question, his tone was gentle.

“One,” she admitted and looked at her silk gloves. Her cheeks burned. “Bridget and Will are married. Did you know?” It was easier to speak the words if she did not look at him.

“I did. I also know she was with child. It should have been born by now.”

“Last August,” she admitted. “A girl.”

“Bridget marrying a man in the family…I wonder, do you feel betrayed, Mairin?”

Mairin closed her eyes. “Yes,” she whispered, for it was exactly what she felt. Until Iefan had spoken the words, she did not know it. Now the truth throbbed in her chest. It was why she carried the letter with her. It was why she read it often and experienced yet again the hot rush of hard feeling which rose in reaction to Bridget’s happy news.

Her eyes ached and prickled. If she cried in front of Iefan of all people, it would be the utter end. She swallowed and blinked and breathed, forcing the tears back.

“Why do you continue with this charade?” Iefan asked, his voice as soft as hers. “Why do you not give up and go live in the country and enjoy the bucolic peace and quiet, with an untroubled mind?”

The raw wound he had just prodded made her speak with the same bluntness he had delivered upon her. “I would wither and die, if I did. I would suffocate!”

“Ah!” He breathed the word, with a note of surprise and satisfaction. “Do you believe marrying into another man’s family would provide freedom and adventure?”

Horror jerked her chin up. She stared at Iefan, the dawning realization making her shrink back on the bench. “I…had not thought of it that way,” she admitted, her throat tight.

Iefan’s expression was one of commiseration. He got to his feet. “It seems you’re in quite a pickle, Lady Mairin,” he told her. “Damned if you don’t marry and damned if you do.”

Mairin looked up at him, her heart heavy. “Thank you for the clarification.”

His smile grew warmer. The dry curl at the corner of his mouth smoothed out. “Cheer up,” he told her. “You may yet have your adventure.”

“Is that what you do? Have adventures?”

“I suppose…yes,” he admitted.

“Ladies don’t have adventures,” she pointed out. “Not if they wish to remain ladies.”

“Oh, there are ways to have adventures that don’t involve spoiling your reputation,” he assured her.

“Not that I am aware of.”

“You cling too hard to society’s rules, Mairin,” Iefan replied. “It is why you are doomed.”

Hurt tightened her chest. “Your conversations impart the same sensations as always.”

“A nicely two-faced insult typical of the ton,” he said, although he sounded amused, not angry. “You don’t like talking to me because you find honesty uncomfortable.”

“Truth unleavened with empathy has that effect upon everyone,” she snapped. “Good evening, Mr. Davies.”

“Lady Mairin.” He bowed and turned away, toward the path back to the conservatory door, although not before she saw his smile, rich with enjoyment.

He liked making her feel this way. Damn him.

Mairin watched his back slip between palm fronds and disappear. With some luck she would go another handful of years without seeing him. Iefan Davies ruffled her far too much to speak to him more frequently than that.

He’s a rake, she’s not quite a spinster. Life is interesting when they’re together, but…

 

When her twin sister, Bridget, betrays Lady Mairin’s trust by marrying a man within the Great Family, Mairin determines she will find a suitable husband elsewhere, no matter what.

Iefan Davies, the family rakehell, who has rejected both the family and society, introduces Mairin to the Duke of Gascony, then teaches her to woo the duke.  Between seduction lessons, Iefan shows her the world beyond the ton.

Neither considers the other suitable marriage material, for Mairin has a duke in her sights, while Iefan has no intention of curtailing his bachelor ways, although life is certainly interesting when they’re together.

Season of Denial is the seventh book in the spin-off series following the historical romances of Scandalous Sirens.  Scandalous Scions brings together the members of three great families, to love and play under the gaze of the Victorian era’s moralistic, straight-laced society.

Reader Advisory :  This story contains frank sex scenes and sexual language.

This story is part of the Scandalous Scions series:
0.5 Rose of Ebony
1.0 Soul of Sin
2.0 Valor of Love
3.0 Marriage of Lies
3.5 Scandalous Scions Boxed Set One
4.0 Mask of Nobility
5.0 Law of Attraction
6.0 Veil of Honor
6.5 Scandalous Scions Boxed Set Two
7.0 Season of Denial
8.0 Rules of Engagement
9.0 Degree of Solitude
9.5 Scandalous Scions Boxed Set Three
10.0 Ashes of Pride
11.0 Risk of Ruin
12.0 Year of Folly
13.0 Queen of Hearts

A Sexy Historical Romance

And don’t forget that if you pre-order directly from me, you get your copy a week earlier than anyone else — that is, next week.

Buy from me @ SRP!



Buy from your favorite retailer!

Enjoy!

Like Romantic Suspense? I’ve got a new short RS for you to read

Like Romantic Suspense?  I’ve got a new short RS for you to read

The subject line pretty much says it all.  Deadweight is romantic suspense, very short and readable without signing up for anything or downloading anything.  It’s from the same story world as Dead Again, set before that book.

Read it here. 

Enjoy!

One for all the science fiction romance lovers

One for all the science fiction romance lovers

I’ve been writing up a storm lately, and one of the projects I managed to squeeze in was to write another book in the Endurance series.

I’m not sure what else to say other than that, except that it was lovely to slide back aboard The Endurance, and find out what everyone was up to.

I hope you enjoy the visit, too. 

Mongrels United was released this morning on all bookseller sites. 

Morale on the Endurance is at an all-time low.

Grady Read is one of the youngest Chiefs of Staff to the Captain to ever serve.  She is supremely ethical and hard working.   Nash Hyson, on the other hand,  is one of the Endurance’s richest citizens, lives life at light speed, is friends with all the wrong people, and is absolutely the last person Grady should be seen with.

When Nash’s father dies from unknown causes, Nash’s hunt for answers brings him and Grady together to investigate what they believe is a deadly threat to the Endurance, one that might explain the misery that grips the ship and makes life unpleasant for everyone. They struggle to keep their relationship purely business, even though their mutual attraction is powerful.

Their investigation uncovers a decades-old conspiracy, and brings them into the sights of those who will do anything to keep their secrets…

Mongrels United is part of the science fiction romance series readers are calling gripping, superb and fantastic.  Written by award-winning SFR author Tracy Cooper-Posey, it is set aboard the marathon-class vessel Endurance, a generation ship a thousand years from its destination.  If you like the smart, romantic SF of authors like Linnea Sinclair and Anna Hackett, you will love the Endurance series. Dive into this thought-provoking science fiction romance series today!

This book is part of The Endurance SFR series:

0.5 5,001
1.0 Greyson’s Doom
2.0 Yesterday’s Legacy
3.0 Promissory Note
3.1 Quiver and Crave
4.0 Xenogenesis
5.0 Junkyard Heroes
5.1 Evangeliya
6.0 Skinwalker’s Bane
7.0 Mongrels United
…and more to come!

A Science Fiction Romance Novel.

Buy Mongrels United Now!

Enjoy!

First chapter of Mongrels United — new science fiction romance!

First chapter of Mongrels United — new science fiction romance!

We’re two weeks out from the release of Mongrels United on the booksites (my site comes earlier — see below).  That means it’s time for the first chapter.  Without further ado:

Excerpt

EXCERPT FROM MONGRELS UNITED
COPYRIGHT © TRACY COOPER-POSEY 2022
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

Chapter One

Grady had heard rumors about Dere Street over the last couple of years. Not enough of them for her to look into it, though. Mere whispers, spoken from the corners of mouths, or speculated about as “can’t possibly be true.” As most people on the ship were careful about what they said in front of the Captain’s Chief of Staff, one or two drips of rumor probably meant there were even more out there, when she wasn’t around to hear them.

Now she knew the rumors were true. She sidled between clumps of people, keeping Kailash’s back in sight and fighting with the impulse to grab his hand so they weren’t separated.

She had never considered herself a coward, but her belly was cramping with a visceral fear that kept her heart pumping and every nerve on alert.

Dere Street was the name given to the event, rather than the location, Grady assumed. Although there had to be a relationship to the location, too, and she would look it up, later.

Illicit bars and sub-surface gatherings were part of the underbelly of life upon the Endurance, but she had never heard of a temporary bar—or gathering, or party, or whatever this was—taking place inside the Field of Mars. Although, technically, it wasn’t exactly in the Field, but in the primary lane through the field of pipes, conduits, control panels and dashboards, wiring and electronics that reached up close to the roof of the ship. During the day, the forest of piping and conduits and towers were tended by mechanical engineers, while pedestrians used the four-meter-wide lane to pass through the field to reach the Capitol, or the Esquiline, which lay fore and aft to the Field.

At night, most people didn’t wander the ship.

But tonight, enough of them had made their way to the lane, that it was a struggle to get through the clumps of people with drinks in their hands, shouting at each other.

The noise was astonishing. Music thumped loudly—something with a heavy beat that echoed along the wide lane and lifted up to the roof of the ship, far overhead. It belted out among the pipes and service boxes of the Field itself.

Many of the people who were drinking were also dancing. Their drinks were in free-fall pouches, and they bounced and swayed to the beat while talking to others.

Service bots were serving the drinks, which added to the traffic in the lane. The pouches rested on trays fitting on top of the waist-high bots, and no one appeared to be paying for them.

It wasn’t the noise or the drinking that made her wary. It was the quality of the people squashed into the lane. They looked dangerous, although she couldn’t exactly say why.

Perhaps it was the way they kept looking over their shoulders with suspicious glances, checking anyone who came too close to them. Or the way they were dressed. Worker’s overalls on some of them, dark free-file garments for others, lots of jackets with internal pockets—which some of them would reach into with a startled jerk when they saw her, before relaxing and dropping their hands once more.

No one appeared to have dressed up for an evening out, the way Grady would have if Kailash hadn’t pulled her straight out of the office. She saw unshaved chins, messy and greasy hair, ironed-in wrinkles in clothing that came from staying in one position for too long, stains and dusty boot toes.

She had let down her hair and released the clasp at the top of her shirt so she didn’t look like she was still at work, but she still looked out of place. Kailash, with his black pants and shirt and full beard, fit in with everyone else, but as his beard was trimmed, even he looked a little neater than most.

They were drawing attention, and she didn’t think that was a good thing. Grady reached for Kailash’s hand. Screw it.

She tugged on his hand and shouted, “Where is your contact? Can you see them?”

Kailash bent to speak close to her ear. “I’m looking!”

Grady was beginning to understand why Kailash had asked her to come with him, tonight. It wasn’t a place in which to be alone.

They worked their way down the lane, their pace slowing as they drew closer to the heart of the party. Event. Thing. Then she saw why their pace had slowed.

People’s backs were a thick barrier across the width of the lane. They were all facing away from her, looking at something she couldn’t see. Grady was tall for a woman, but had to stand on her toes to see through the shoulders and heads.

Two men—but she could only see their heads. They faced each other. Black, thick hair on the one with his back to her. The other had a bloody face.

Her heart gave a little jolt. They were fighting?

Kailash pulled her around the thick border of watchers, into the edge of the Field itself, stepping over horizontal pipes, and around vertical chimneys and channels. The audience thinned out because of the obstructions and suddenly, Grady could see the fight properly.

Kailash kept going and her hand pulled out of his.

The two men who were fighting were stripped to the waist. As she turned to watch, the taller of them swung his fist at the one with the bloody face. The short man swayed and the fist whizzed past his jaw. The crowd ooohed.

They were bare knuckle fighting. Probably for a monetary prize. But that would be dwarfed by the side-bets happening around the edges. She spotted members of the audience leaning toward each other, shouting in ears, making bets, changing bets. Inner wrist to inner wrist connected—the bets were placed.

The taller fighter bobbed and moved around the tight circle of space, watching his opponent, and Grady saw him properly for the first time.

He wasn’t just tall. He was solid through the shoulders, and very fit—his thick chest muscles gleamed with sweat, which also glistened on the ridges which cascaded down to the band of his trousers. He’d spent time beneath the sunlights without his shirt, for he had a mild tan. His thigh muscles beneath the trousers were as strong as the rest of him.

Grady’s attention pulled back to his face. He hadn’t been bloodied, yet, but she could see a red bloom on the corner of his jaw which would be a deep bruise by tomorrow. He’d taken a few blows to the face.

It was an interesting face. Black brows over pale eyes, a straight nose, and full lips. A dimple in the center of his square chin. The line of his jaw was sharp beneath the stubble. High cheekbones made the cheeks beneath fall straight to the jaw, and made his face look strong.

Grady forgot her fear. She forgot that she was the Chief of Staff to the Captain of the Endurance. For a single moment, she was a creature of pure feminine reactions and appreciation. She could easily imagine drawing closer to such a powerful man and appreciating the sheer animal physicality of him.

She watched him land a punch, this time to his opponent’s jaw, which wrenched the man’s head about and sent him staggering into the audience, who pushed him back onto his feet.

Kailash came back to her side. He’d noticed her fall behind.

Grady leaned closer to him. “Who’s that?” She nodded her head at the tall fighter.

Kailash looked and rolled his eyes. “Sweetheart, you don’t want to go anywhere near that one.”

There was a note of knowledge in his voice that made her ask, “That’s your contact?”

“Stars, no!” Kailash gave a mock shudder. “That’s Nash Hyson.”

The name told her a lot. “That’s Hyson? His Forum photo is out of date.” Although it had been years since she’d seen Hyson’s profile. Hyson and her moved in different circles. Some of the churning in her gut eased. It sank into a pool of disappointment. “He’s trouble.”

“More trouble than a dabble is worth,” Kailash agreed. They could speak at just under a shout, back here, for the thick rope of people watching the fight muffled some of the music. “This is his party, you know.”

“I’m shocked,” Grady said, her tone flat. “Only Nash Hyson could arrange something like this.” She recalled what she knew of him, which was very little. Two facts she could recall with ease. One; that he was one of the richest men on the ship. And two; his father had been the very last Skinwalker.

Neither of those facts accounted for his trouble quotient. It was the bar he ran in the Palatine that was the source of his sour reputation. More whispers said he ran gambling tables in one of the rooms in the building he’d purpose-built to house his bar.

But the bar alone did not explain his amazing wealth. He owned other businesses or had a controlling interest in them.

Hyson also outright owned, one hundred percent, the Dreamhawks tankball team, which had won the championship for ten years straight. Although that had to be the least lucrative of Hyson’s business, for no one went to tankball games.

Kailash tilted his head, considering the fight with narrowed eyes. “Hyson is a curiosity,” he said thoughtfully. “He’s seen with all the interesting people.”

“Captain Carpenter is seen with all the right people,” Grady shot back. “Believe me, I know. I spend most of my day making sure he is. And Hyson isn’t among those people.”

Kailash rolled his eyes. “I mean interesting, not politically correct.”

Grady smiled. “You have interesting people in your bed, too.”

“Nash isn’t seen with just lovers and partners,” Kailash said quickly. “Although plenty of those, too. Maybe he beds everyone who can make him richer or more influential? It’d be a way of coaxing them, wouldn’t it? I mean, look at him.” He did just that, as Hyson shifted around the circle. “Look at that broad back, hmmm?”

Grady nudged him again. “What else?”

“Fancy a bit of nasty yourself, Grady Read?” Kailash asked.

She shook her head firmly. “This is his party. It’s illegal in about three different ways, including the fist fight for money—”

“I brought you here as a friend, not as the Chief of Staff with a direct line to the Civil Guard!”

She made a patting motion in the air with her hand, to calm him down. “It’s all minor stuff, but it’s right out in the open. It’s…rude. It’s flaunting outrageous behavior at the whole ship. Which makes me wonder what’s going on here that I can’t see.”

“That law-abiding streak of yours will get you into trouble here,” Kailash warned her. “Let me find this idiot I’m looking for, then we can get out of here.”

“You don’t like it here, either?”

Kailash grimaced. “I like conversations that don’t need me to shred my voice box to be heard.”

“Go find your contact, then.”

He didn’t move away immediately. Instead, he glanced once more at the fight, and shook his head with a touch of reluctance. “I’d take a swing at him myself, but I like to be in control. Alas.”

Grady grinned and dug her elbow into Kailash’s side. “And Marko would never forgive you.”

Kailash waved that away with an impatient motion. “Marko is old news.”

“Already?” The revolving door of Kailash’s love life never failed to fascinate her. As she didn’t have time for a single note of romance, she vicariously enjoyed Kailash’s affairs and dramas.

The crowd ooohed loudly enough to pull her attention back to the fight. Hyson had just slugged his opponent in the belly, for the man was bent over nearly double, a hand to his gut.

The next hit would be to the exposed chin, driving the man up and off his feet, she guessed.

But the punch didn’t happen. She shifted her attention to Hyson himself.

He was staring at her. At her.

Hyson’s eyes were magnetic, holding her attention. Drawing her toward him.

Grady drew in a breath that burned all the way down to her toes. It ignited her body in a way she had nearly forgotten. No, she hadn’t felt anything this intense, not with any of her three indifferent lovers over the years…

Then his attention snapped away as his opponent surged forward from his bent position and rammed his shoulder into Hyson’s unguarded belly.

Hyson went down with a heavy grunt and landed on his back with an impact that Grady thought she could feel through her feet.

“Oooh, that hurt,” Kailash commented, his arms crossed.

Hyson got his arms up to protect his face as the other man straddled his hips and beat at him with his fists, at whatever vulnerable point he could reach.

The crowd screamed their delight, waving their hands in the air as if they wanted to punch Hyson out, too. Their expressions were animalistic. They smelled blood and the end of the fight, and it wasn’t happening the way they’d expected. They’d been surprised.

Hyson reached out with one hand and slapped the other man on the shoulder three times. He was tapping out.

The watchers went crazy.

“That’s my cue,” Kailash said. “Want to stay here while I find this joker and do the deal? It’s a bit quieter, in this little pocket.”

She nodded. It was quieter, but that was relative. She had a feeling that when they left the noise behind, she’d discover that her head was still pounding with the same beat as the music.

The winner of the fight was handed a towel to wipe his face clean of the blood, while other hands held out his clothes and possessions. Another two people stepped into the circle and stripped off their clothes. One was a woman, powerfully-built. She didn’t stop at her breastband, either. She stripped it off with the same casualness as her opponent removed his shirt. No one seemed shocked at that, although Grady could see the gleam of interest in some of the gazes around her.

The woman brought her fists up in the classic guard position, then extended a finger and beckoned her opponent toward her.

He danced closer. She snapped out her fist, directly against his nose. Blood spurted.

Grady looked away, uncomfortable. It wasn’t right to watch someone get hurt. She didn’t enjoy it the way the spectators did. Also, the fight was completely illegal. If she wasn’t going to shut it down, she should turn and walk away, even if this was the quietest spot in the lane.

Her decision made, she turned and stepped over the low pipe, intending to head in the direction that Kailash had gone. They could leave the field at the other end of the lane, then circle back to the Esquiline using the Artery magline, or if they really had to, the back tunnel.

Nash Hyson stepped in front of her. His smile held an edge.

 

Morale on the Endurance is at an all-time low.

 

Grady Read is one of the youngest Chiefs of Staff to the Captain to ever serve.  She is supremely ethical and hard working.   Nash Hyson, on the other hand,  is one of the Endurance’s richest citizens, lives life at light speed, is friends with all the wrong people, and is absolutely the last person Grady should be seen with.

When Nash’s father dies from unknown causes, Nash’s hunt for answers brings him and Grady together to investigate what they believe is a deadly threat to the Endurance, one that might explain the misery that grips the ship and makes life unpleasant for everyone. They struggle to keep their relationship purely business, even though their mutual attraction is powerful.

Their investigation uncovers a decades-old conspiracy, and brings them into the sights of those who will do anything to keep their secrets…

Mongrels United is part of the science fiction romance series readers are calling gripping, superb and fantastic.  Written by award-winning SFR author Tracy Cooper-Posey, it is set aboard the marathon-class vessel Endurance, a generation ship a thousand years from its destination.  If you like the smart, romantic SF of authors like Linnea Sinclair and Anna Hackett, you will love the Endurance series. Dive into this thought-provoking science fiction romance series today!

This book is part of The Endurance SFR series:

0.5 5,001
1.0 Greyson’s Doom
2.0 Yesterday’s Legacy
3.0 Promissory Note
3.1 Quiver and Crave
4.0 Xenogenesis
5.0 Junkyard Heroes
5.1 Evangeliya
6.0 Skinwalker’s Bane
7.0 Mongrels United
…and more to come!

A Science Fiction Romance Novel.

If you pre-order Mongrels United directly from me, you will get your copy a week early — that is, next week.

Buy from me @ SRP!



Buy from your favorite retailer!

Enjoy!

Creativity comes from limitations, while the white page actually terrifies writers

Creativity comes from limitations, while the white page actually terrifies writers

There is a common misconception among non-writers unfamiliar with how writers work that writers pluck stories from their brains wholesale–the entire concept just appears in their minds and they record the mental dictation.

I honestly wish it was like that.  Except, once, it actually was for me.  The entire story for Eva’s Last Dance came to me one sleepless night and the next morning I got up and wrote it out.  Only, even then, it didn’t just drop into my wired, insomniac brain.  I laid for hours, bolting the details together so the story hung properly and wore a nice set of clothes.  But the concept (the skeleton) was right there, whole and complete.

The actual process of creating a story is far more prosaic, long-winded and sheer hard work. 

Staring at a blank screen or page with no idea about what to write is a terrifying thing.  A blank screen gives the writer carte blanche to write anything at all.  So where does one start?  And if I write a paranormal romance, with a hero like xxx, what about the SFR story over there with xxx in it? 

It’s a bit like being in a candy store stuffed full of delicious treats, with a nickel in your hand.  What do you pick?

And what if you pick wrong and it doesn’t taste as good as you’d hoped?

On the other hand, setting up some limitations about the story helps the writer form ideas.

Think of it this way:  A whole candy store to buy a nickel’s worth of candy is overwhelming.

But what if there were only three pieces of candy in front of you, all worth a nickel? 

That makes the choice far easier.

It works this way with creativity, too.  As soon as someone (including the author herself) says:  “You have to write a story that is only xx,xxx words long; it must be paranormal romance, with a single hero and heroine, set on present day Earth, and he’s a vampire.  Go!

And suddenly, the ideas start to form.  Well, if he has to be a vampire, what if she’s a werewolf?  Or an angel?  Or…no, let’s say she can cure him…!*  Or perhaps…she’s a vampire, too, but a different caste, and they’re mortal enemies…  Who would be the worst person for him to fall in love with?????

{*actually, as soon as I wrote that, I thought “oooh, that’s an interesting idea!”.  Then I realized, I’ve written that story already.  Which is why established authors often spend so much time developing concepts–they have to discard everything they’ve done before.}

And so it goes.  Building a story is done (usually) a single decision at a time.  Sort of like building a frame house–only there is no set order in how the lumber is put together.  I can build the story roof first, then figure out where the studs have to go to hold it up.

And my lord, I am mixing metaphors today!!

With the sixth book in the Adelaide Becket series, I had limitations to work within.  Most of them come with the fact that this is the sixth book in the series, and the characters and their arcs are established.  Most of the series storylines are also set. 

But I added even more limitations with this story.

One of them was that I wanted this story to have a Christmas theme.  I’ve grown aware, over the last few years, that I have very few Christmas themed stories, and readers seem to enjoy them immensely.  So, for once–no, actually, this is the second Christmas story, because I wrote a short contemporary romance for the Christmas Romance Digest 2021, and just remembered it.  Wow!  No Christmas stories, then suddenly two in one year!

Anyway, I wanted The Salinghall Error to have a Christmas setting, because of the release date.  And I wanted Adele, the heroine, to go home for Christmas so readers could see where she comes from. 

I also wanted Adele to make a mistake.

Yep, I wanted her to screw up.  The series is set in Edwardian Britain, when women were just beginning their decades long campaign for equality and the right to vote.  Adele started the series full of doubts about her abilities as an agent for William Melville, hunting down German spies in England.  Through the stories she has become gradually more confident, to the point where she demands equal consideration from her co-agents…and gets it.

So it was appropriate that now she slips and makes a mistake…which tempers her growing confidence, and makes her question herself all over again–at least, she will in later stories, which just might be her saving grace, because over-confidence can be as fatal as the lack of it.

The result of all these limitations was The Salinghall Error, which was released today on all bookstores, everywhere, in print and ebook. 

Lady Adelaide closes in on the German spymaster called the Doctor…

Lady Adelaide Azalea Margaret de Morville, Mrs. Hugh Becket, leads an operation to recruit a potential double agent with a connection to the Doctor, with Torin Slane, the Irish professor and Fenian, and Daniel Bannister, Baron Leighton, to assist her.  All three work under the cover of the traditional Salinghall Christmas Eve Ball, which Adele’s family has attended every year for decades.

But returning home for Christmas, after eloping with a commoner many years ago, comes with complications, including her judgmental and difficult father and her trouble-prone sisters.

Only, the real trouble comes from a completely unexpected direction, putting Adele on a collision course with the Doctor himself…

This novelette is the sixth in the Adelaide Becket Edwardian espionage series.
1.0: The Requisite Courage
2.0: The Rosewater Debutante
3.0: The Unaccompanied Widow
4.0: The Lavender Semaphore
5.0: The Broadcloth Midnight
6.0: The Salinghall Error
…and more to come.

A historical suspense espionage novelette.

Buy from me @ SRP!



Buy from your favorite retailer!

Enjoy!

Do you like Science Fiction Romance? Get a free SFR book every month throughout 2022!

Do you like Science Fiction Romance? Get a free SFR book every month throughout 2022!

If you love SFR, but you’ve been hesitating to sign up for my email list, this might be just the excuse you need. 

Throughout 2022, twelve SFR authors, including me, will be offering a free SFR book at the beginning of each month.  I will email everyone with the link to download the book each month.

If you’re already subscribed to my email list, you’re set.  The download link will come to you each month…as long as you’ve chosen to receive BF news emails.  (The link is at the bottom of every email I send out.)

If you’d like to take advantage of this giveaway, then subscribe to my list here.

Enjoy!

Excerpt from THE SALINGHALL ERROR

Excerpt from THE SALINGHALL ERROR

We’re two weeks away from the release of The Salinghall Error, so as usual, I’m running a decent-sized excerpt from the front of the book (as it doesn’t have chapters).

Excerpt

EXCERPT FROM THE SALINGHALL ERROR
COPYRIGHT © TRACY COOPER-POSEY 2021
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

Salinghall Christmas Eve Ball, Great Saling, Braintree, Essex. December 1907.

 

The great manor house at Salinghall was lit by new electric lights, with every window on all five floors blazing. The light from the windows illuminated the grand concourse circling a dancing fountain, and the many motor cars disgorging their passengers upon the broad steps.

Hundreds of British peers, upper class members of the ton, along with a good sprinkling of those with pretentions, stood about the steps. The women glittered from their tiaras down to their rhinestone and jewel-enhanced dancing slippers, while the men added a graceful dark note in their tailed jackets and white ties. It was a mild night for December, which allowed them to linger, greet newcomers and secretly critique women’s gowns and jewels.

Adelaide Becket smoothed her gown’s top layer of lace over her hip, then touched her tiara to ensure it was still properly secured to her hair. Fussing in such a manner let her glance at the faces of everyone upon the steps and not be caught staring.

From inside the hall, she could hear the orchestra working its way through a minuet—a sedate dance for the start of this customary Christmas Eve ball.

“Mama, it won’t sit still,” Davinia said, her hand securing the small tiara perched upon her dark curls. Davinia was seventeen and had attended her first season this year. She was dressed in a pretty ivory gown with green sprigs embroidered upon the bodice and the train.

“Don’t push it about so, then,” her mother, Lady Cathleen, said calmly, arranging her train. “It isn’t becoming to continually wave your hands about your face.” Lady Cathleen was Adele’s oldest sister and wore a conservative dark green satin gown with matching long gloves. She glanced at Adele and smiled. “Is that not correct, Adelaide?”

“I find that sliding a clip across the teeth ensures the tiara won’t move at all,” Adele said. “The clip sits behind the tiara, so no one can see it. Plus two clips crossing each other, through the loops at the ends.”

Davinia spun to face Adelaide. “Oh, please tell me you have spare clips I may use?”

Adele opened her evening purse—carefully, for she did not want anyone in her family to see the small revolver inside it—and removed a handful of clips, which she gave to Davinia.

“A few clips are all you need for that tiny thing you are wearing, sister,” Georgina said. Georgina was Adele’s other sibling. “You are a lady and the daughter of an earl. You should be wearing a tiara that befits your station.” Georgina’s own headpiece was ridiculously large, soaring nearly five inches in the middle.

“I’m the widow of a commoner,” Adele reminded her sister, her tone flat.

Richard de Morville, their father, harrumphed loudly. “There is a place for feminine concerns to be aired and it is not upon the steps of Lord Andrew’s house.” He tugged his waistcoat into place. “We will enter, now. Adelaide, try to comport yourself in a manner which does not embarrass the family.”

Adelaide held her teeth together for a count of three. “Yes, Father.”

Cathleen caught Adele’s gloved hand in her own and tugged her up the steps. “Let’s see the ballroom decorations for this year, Adele.”

Adele let herself be drawn up the steps. Cathleen wound her arm through Adele’s and squeezed her arm with her other hand. “I am so pleased you came home for Christmas.” She kept her voice low, to discourage eavesdroppers.

“You almost begged me to,” Adele pointed out. “Three letters, at least.”

“Well, yes, but I didn’t think you would respond to any of them. You didn’t, last year. We only learned you would not be coming home for Christmas when Christmas Day arrived, and you did not.”

Adele ignored the touch of guilt stirring in her belly. “I had a difficult year, last year.” It was not a complete untruth.

“Oh, yes, of course. How dreadful of me to overlook your husband’s death like that.”

Cathleen sounded genuinely abashed at her faux pas, so Adele did not remind her that she had lost more than a husband, that she had also lost her son. Instead, she gave Cathleen a small smile. “But I am here, this year.”

Cathleen’s smile grew even warmer.

Her husband, the long and rangy Lord Stirling, climbed up beside them, his legs working. “I’m off to find the fellows,” he said shortly, his hair falling across his forehead from the vigor of his climb.

“But…a dance first, Stirling?” Cathleen called after him.

He didn’t look back.

“I’m sure Dudley will give you a dance,” Adele told Cathleen. Dudley Winston, Baron Wadebridge, was Georgina’s husband.

“Once he has danced with all the proper partners of the evening, of course,” Cathleen said.

Adelaide managed not to laugh aloud at that, for Dudley was just as sensitive to matters of propriety and one’s station as Georgina was.

Their father pushed past both of them, almost stepping on Adele’s hem. She tugged the black lace and purple satin out from beneath his boots.

“Father!” Cathleen protested.

The Earl of Panfield also continued without pause into the hall.

“I’m sorry, Adelaide,” Cathleen murmured. “I don’t understand at all why he is angry with you.”

“It is because I came home for Christmas.”

“But that doesn’t make any sense at all!” Cathleen protested, as they moved up another step toward the crowded front door.

“This afternoon, after tea, he had me brought to his library and asked me how much money I needed, for he could think of no other reason why I would bother coming to Panfield, unless it was because I was in a jam I wanted him to solve for me.”

Cathleen squeezed her arm once more. “You know what he’s like, Adele. He’s all bluster. I’m sure he’s really very pleased you’re home.”

“Actually, I do believe he meant every word,” Adele said. “But it doesn’t matter, for I know why I am here.”

“And so do I,” Cathleen murmured happily.

Again, guilt nudged her, but only a little. Adele really was pleased to be here, if only because it made Cathleen so happy.

Lady Adelaide closes in on the German spymaster called the Doctor…

Lady Adelaide Azalea Margaret de Morville, Mrs. Hugh Becket, leads an operation to recruit a potential double agent with a connection to the Doctor, with Torin Slane, the Irish professor and Fenian, and Daniel Bannister, Baron Leighton, to assist her.  All three work under the cover of the traditional Salinghall Christmas Eve Ball, which Adele’s family has attended every year for decades.

But returning home for Christmas, after eloping with a commoner many years ago, comes with complications, including her judgmental and difficult father and her trouble-prone sisters.

Only, the real trouble comes from a completely unexpected direction, putting Adele on a collision course with the Doctor himself…

This novelette is the sixth in the Adelaide Becket Edwardian espionage series.
1.0: The Requisite Courage
2.0: The Rosewater Debutante
3.0: The Unaccompanied Widow
4.0: The Lavender Semaphore
5.0: The Broadcloth Midnight
6.0: The Salinghall Error
…and more to come.

A historical suspense espionage novelette.

Don’t forget that if you pre-order directly from me, you get your copy a week earlier than everyone else.  That is, next week.

Buy from me @ SRP!



Buy from your favorite retailer!

Enjoy!

Cyber Monday SRP Sale — **40% Off Everything**

Cyber Monday SRP Sale — **40% Off Everything**

This month, as the start of the normal monthly Stories Rule Press sale starts on Cyber Monday, we’re going with the flow and offering you a coupon for 40% off, instead of the usual 20% off.

Copy this coupon code:  YMKCQJUS

Then head over to Stories Rule Press to browse the available titles:  https://storiesrulepress.com/shop/.  You can also sort and filter the books to find exactly what you want.

Use the coupon when you checkout, to get your 40% off.

The discount applies to absolutely everything — boxed sets, books already on sale, pre-orders, the lot.

The coupon will only work for books bought from Stories Rule Press.

And the sale, as usual, only lasts for four days; the last two of November and the first two of December.  It closes at midnight MDT on December 2nd.

Enjoy your shopping!

Tracy, and the authors at Stories Rule Press.

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Why was Fighting With the Left Hand So Dishonorable?

Why was Fighting With the Left Hand So Dishonorable?

If I didn’t catch you already, this morning, and you’re celebrating Thanksgiving, have a great rest of your day!

If you shop at Kobo (and I shop anywhere there’s a sale!), and you’re in Canada, the USA, the UK, Australia or New Zealand, then you might want to pop over to Kobo and check out their Black Friday/Cyber Monday sale.  Look for the banners at the top of the site, mentioning the sale.

My book, The Requisite Courage, is part of the sale (which you can find here, on Kobo) and all books in the sale are heavily discounted.

Recently, I was asked a question by a reader that sent me into one of my history paroxysms.  At the time I put my answer on my Patreon page for the readers there.  I’m adding the main post here.

Hi guys:

I got a question from a reader this morning, and my answer was long (because anything historical automatically becomes complicated).  If you’ve read the Once and Future Hearts series, you might also be interested in the answer, so here it is.

I have a question: why was switching sword/knife hands during battle considered to be dishonorable? I’ve seen this mentioned once or twice in your books and always wondered why this was so. Usually in life, being ambidextrous is thought to be a “good” thing. It seems the code of “honorable” fighting might feel comfortable and predictable, but reinforces Lancelot’s philosophy of taking advantage of any edge you can gain.

My answer:

Left-handed fighting being dishonorable was actually medieval.  But I extrapolated backwards to make the point about Lancelot’s way of fighting.  Here’s why.

The Celts were incredibly bound up in honor and tradition, etc.  They met the Romans on the field of battle, north of Rome, and agreed that instead of a full scale battle, their champion could fight the Roman champion and whoever won, that was who won the “battle” and would take all the spoils.   Then everyone would get to go home and kiss their wives.

The Romans agreed, their champion won the fight, but instead of just claiming the lands and going home, they loosed the Legions upon the Celts and slaughtered them.  It was one of the cornerstones of British enmity toward Rome.

Fighting with the left hand was difficult, because the left arm held the shield, and therefore the knife would be hidden behind it.  It was also a dangerous way to fight, because it exposed the unshielded right side of the fighter.  So fighters were discouraged from fighting that way.

This discouragement extended into medieval times, when fighting with the left hand simply became “not the done thing” and dishonorable, because it was a guerilla tactic.  It was “unfair” and shouldn’t be included in the rules of engagement because it didn’t give the opposition a fighting chance (literally).  This was also the time when two knights fighting a duel would stop to help each other up if they went down.

Fighting with the left hand also had religious overtones – it was the devil’s hand.

True story.  My aunt is left handed, and when she was in school (WWII period), they made her write with her right hand, because the left hand was the devil’s.  She can now write with both hands.  Interestingly, the handwriting from her right hand is completely different from what she produces with the left.

So considering the use of the left hand as “bad” has a very long history.   I just stretched it backwards in history a bit.  And who knows?  I might even be right about the Celts not liking it, too – there’s so little known about them.

Enjoy!