Judith Arnopp's Blog, page 21

The Coffee Pot Book Tour presents Darjeeling Inheritance (The Colonials) by Liz Harris,

 

Book Title: Darjeeling Inheritance

Series: The Colonials

Author: Liz Harris

Publication Date: 1st October 2021

Publisher: Heywood Press

Page Length: 365 pages

Genre: Historical Romance 

Follow the Tour HERE: 

Darjeeling Inheritance

(The Colonials)

By Liz Harris

Darjeeling, 1930

 After eleven years in school in England, Charlotte Lawrence returns to Sundar, the tea plantation owned by her family, and finds an empty house. She learns that her beloved father died a couple of days earlier and that he left her his estate. She learns also that it was his wish that she marry Andrew McAllister, the good-looking younger son from a neighbouring plantation. 

 Unwilling to commit to a wedding for which she doesn’t feel ready, Charlotte pleads with Dan Fitzgerald, the assistant manager of Sundar, to teach her how to run the plantation while she gets to know Andrew. Although reluctant as he knew that a woman would never be accepted as manager by the local merchants and workers, Dan agrees.

 Charlotte’s chaperone on the journey from England, Ada Eastman, who during the long voyage, has become a friend, has journeyed to Darjeeling to marry Harry Banning, the owner of a neighbouring tea garden.

When Ada marries Harry, she’s determined to be a loyal and faithful wife. And to be a good friend to Charlotte. And nothing, but nothing, was going to stand in the way of that.

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Born in London, Liz Harris graduated from university with a Law degree, and then moved to California, where she led a varied life, from waitressing on Sunset Strip to working as secretary to the CEO of a large Japanese trading company.

Six years later, she returned to London and completed a degree in English, after which she taught secondary school pupils, first in Berkshire, and then in Cheshire.

In addition to the ten novels she’s had published, she’s had several short stories in anthologies and magazines. 

Liz now lives in Oxfordshire. An active member of the Romantic Novelists’ Association and the Historical Novel Society, her interests are travel, the theatre, reading and cryptic crosswords. To find out more about Liz, visit her website at: www.lizharrisauthor.com

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S. J. A. Turney joins me on the HWF Hauntings Blog Hop!

The Romans were an immensely practical people, their forte making things work efficiently. The Greek world had been replete with thinkers and inventors, but it was often the Romans who found practical uses for their dreams. Yet despite the practicality and mundane sense of efficiency that led to Rome conquering most of the known world, there was another side to them.

The Romans had a strange reliance upon superstition that went far beyond religion. Little happened in Rome that was not guided by the belief in divine signs and omens. Generals had called off battles because of a bad sheep’s liver, and emperors rose and fell because the omens suggested it had to happen.

In Plutarch’s life of Marcellus, we are told “At the time of their departure, however, the river that flows through Picenum was seen to be running with blood, and it was reported that at Ariminum three moons had appeared in the heavens, and the priests who watched the flight of birds at the time of the consular elections insisted that when the consuls were proclaimed the omens were inauspicious and baleful for them. At once, therefore, the senate sent letters to the camp, summoning the consuls to return to the city with all speed and lay down their office, and forbidding them, while they were still consuls, to take any steps against the enemy.”

I recently studied the story of the great general Gnaeus Julius Agricola and his campaigns in Britain, as part of my research for several works on the subject, which also led to my supernatural horror tale for the coming Halloween compendium. Among the events recorded by Tacitus in the life of his father-in-law is the invasion of Anglesey and the suppression of the druids, and little in recorded Roman history holds more of a supernatural fascination than that strange sect.

We know almost nothing about the druids. What you generally read concerning druidic culture is mostly 19th and 20th century invention. The Celts did not leave us a written record, and the only accounts of the druids are from Roman sources, written as concerned and fascinated outsiders.

Since they are our only sources, despite an expected level of bias, we have to admit to the likelihood of at least a few grains of truth among the Roman accounts. Caesar’s writing tells us that druids “are concerned with divine worship, the due performance of sacrifices, public and private, and the interpretation of ritual questions: […] who decide in almost all disputes, public and private; and if any crime has been committed, or murder done, or there is any disposes about succession or boundaries, they also decide it, determining rewards and penalties.” Thus in Caesar’s experience, the druids form something that combines the priesthood, the legal system and education, and yet even Caesar notes a dark side to the druids:

“[People] either sacrifice human victims or vow to do so, employing the Druids as ministers for such sacrifices. […] Others use figures of immense size, whose limbs, woven out of twigs, they fill with living men and set on fire, and the men perish in a sheet of flame. They believe that the execution of those who have been caught in the act of theft or robbery or some crime is more pleasing to the immortal gods; but when the supply of such fails they resort to the execution even of the innocent.”

Tacitus, being something of a storyteller himself, gives us a slightly more colourful view. He tells us that the governor decides “to demolish the groves consecrated to their savage cults: for they considered it a duty to consult their deities by means of human entrails.”

Indeed, Tacitus has “a circle of Druids, lifting their hands to heaven and showering imprecations, struck the troops with such an awe at the extraordinary spectacle that, as though their limbs were paralysed, they exposed their bodies to wounds without an attempt at movement.”

Lucan seems to supply a similar image of the Celtic priest class: “There stood a grove […] matted boughs entwined prisoned the air within. No sylvan nymphs here found a home, nor Pan, but savage rites and barbarous worship, altars horrible on massive stones upreared; sacred with blood of men was every tree.”

While our three sources are all Roman and therefore surely biased, agreement between Roman writers on a subject is not hugely common, and the ready correlation between these accounts lends towards a certain veracity, or at least a nugget of truth. The druids of all surviving accounts might be teachers and priests, but they are also bloody, human-sacrificing monsters, who paralyse an army with fear through their supernatural abilities. It is interesting to consider that Tacitus’s audience would be educated Romans, and that therefore this view of druids, with all its magic and horror, was clearly going to be perfectly accepted as true and reasonable by his readers. As are his British women who are, at this same event “flitting between the ranks. In the style of Furies, in robes of deathly black and with dishevelled hair, they brandished their torches.”

One might think that Tacitus was writing horror rather than an account of real events.

Romans, indeed, would be more than ready to accept such tales at face value. Of Piso, on trial, we hear “he had, they said, destroyed Germanicus himself by sorceries and poison, and hence came those ceremonies and horrible sacrifices made by himself and Plancina.”

The Romans, for all their bloodthirsty nature and love of such events as chariot racing and gladiatorial bouts, were oddly squeamish and disapproving of magic and human sacrifice. These things were anathema to the Roman nature, perhaps owing to their somewhat agrarian background and practical ways. Human sacrifice had been banned by Senatorial decree in 97 BC. It was one of the practices attributed to, as well as the druids, the Carthaginians, Rome’s oldest great foe. While all our accounts of these brutal and wicked druids are of suspect Roman origin, such practices as the infamous ‘threefold death’ that might be the cause of the demise of Lindow Man, might lend weight in support of our Roman writers.

In the destruction of the Celtic caste that drove their resistance to Rome, the invaders under first Suetonius Paulinus and then Agricola wipe out not only a sector of society but all non-Roman evidence of that people. The tale of the black furies and the magical druids awaiting the Roman army on the shores of Anglesey is also the tale of their demise and their removal from history. What remains will likely forever be an enigma. Our image of the druids will always be formed by Caesar, Lucan and Tacitus. And while as a historian we have to always keep one eye on the ‘bias-ometer’, as a reader we can still enjoy the gruesome tales. Vale, and Happy Halloween

Having spent much of his childhood visiting historic sites with his grandfather, Simon fell in love with the Roman heritage of the region, beginning with the world famous Hadrian’s Wall. His fascination with the ancient world snowballed with interest in Egypt, Greece and Byzantium, though his focus has remained Rome. A born and bred Yorkshireman with a love of country, history and architecture, Simon spends most of his time visiting historic sites, writing, researching the ancient world and reading.Simon’s career meandered along an eclectic path from the Ministry of Agriculture to network management before settling back into the ancient world, returning to university to complete an honours degree in classical history. With a rekindled love of all things Roman, he set off on a journey to turn Caesar’s Gallic War diaries into a novel accessible to all. Marius’ Mules was completed in 2003 and has garnered considerable, bestseller status and reviews, spawning numerous sequels.
Now, with in excess of 40 novels available in numerous languages, Simon is a prolific writer, spanning genres and eras and releasing novels both independently and through renowned publishers including Canelo, Head of Zeus, and Orion. Simon’s varied series cover numerous periods of ancient Rome, Medieval and Renaissance Europe, Viking Byzantium, and the Templar Knights. Simon writes full time and is represented by MMB Creative literary agents.
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The Coffee Pot Blog Tour presents: Bloody Dominions (The Conquest Trilogy, Book 1) by Nick Macklin

Book Title: Bloody Dominions

Series: (The Conquest Trilogy, Book 1)

Author: Nick Macklin

Publication Date: 28th June 2021

Publisher: Troubador Publishing

Page Length: 368 Pages

Genre: Historical Fiction

FOLLOW THE TOUR HERE:  

Bloody Dominions

(The Conquest Trilogy, Book 1)

By Nick Macklin

Journey with those at the heart of the conflict as Caesar embarks on the tumul-tuous conquest of Gaul 58-51 BC. Book One 58-56 BC.

As Caesar’s campaign begins, tests of courage and belief will confront the three protagonists, shaping them as individuals and challenging their views of the world and each other:

Atticus – an impetuous but naturally gifted soldier, whose grandfather served with distinction in the legions;

Allerix – a Chieftain of the Aduatuci, who finds himself fighting both for and against Caesar; and

Epona – a fierce warrior and Allerixs’ adopted sister.

Experiencing the brutalities of conflict and the repercussions of both victory and defeat, Atticus, Allerix and Epona will cross paths repeatedly, their destinies bound together across time, the vast and hostile territories of Gaul and the barri-ers of fate that have defined them as enemies. In a twist of fate, Atticus and Al-lerix discover that they share a bond, a secret that nobody could ever foresee…

Trigger Warnings: Violence, attempted rape.

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A history graduate, Nick Macklin enjoyed developing the skills that would stand him in good stead during the extensive research he conducted prior to writing his nov-el. Whilst the ancient world unfortunately didn’t feature to any extent in his his-tory degree, (the result of failing miserably to secure the A level grades that would have permitted greater choice) he maintained a lifelong and profound in-terest in ancient history and especially the Roman Empire, continuing to read av-idly as he embarked on a career in HR. Over the next 30 years or so Nick occu-pied a variety of Senior/Director roles, most recently in the NHS. Unsurprising-ly, writing in these roles was largely confined to the prosaic demands of Board papers but Nick never lost the long-harboured belief, motivated by the works of writers such as Robert Fabbri, Robyn Young, Anthony Riches, Simon Scarrow, Matthew Harffy and Giles Kristian, that he too had a story to tell. When he was presented with a window of opportunity c3 years ago he took the decision to place his career on hold and see if he could convert that belief into reality. 

Nick always knew that he wanted to set the novel against the backdrop of a sig-nificant event/period in Roman history. Looking to narrow that down to some-thing offering the potential for meaningful character and plot development, but that hadn’t already received exhaustive coverage, he settled on Caesars tumultu-ous occupation of Gaul. Spanning 8 years, the prolonged clash of cultures of-fered ample opportunity for the kind of dual perspective from which he was hoping to tell the story, whilst the violent conflict provided a wealth of exciting material to explore the changing fortunes of war and its impact at a personal lev-el. The switching of allegiances, nations fighting for and against Rome also pro-vided the potential for some intriguing plot lines. As his research unfolded, he was also struck by just how heavily the Roman psyche during this period was influenced by the scare they had received 50 years earlier when Germanic tribes invaded their territories and defeated their legions. Seeing references to the vet-erans of that war watching their sons and grandsons enlist for a similar cam-paign, he started to think about developing that link on both sides of the con-flict. And so, the idea for the Conquest Trilogy was born.

In Bloody Dominions Nick has sought to produce a novel in which unfolding events are experienced and described from the perspective of protagonists on both sides of Caesar’s incursion into Gaul.  Conscious that the role of women in Roman fiction, Boudica aside, is largely confined to spouse, prostitute or slave, Nick wanted to ensure that one of his lead characters was female and a promi-nent member of the warrior clan of her tribe. The novel is driven by these char-acters but the framework against which their stories unfold is historically accu-rate, featuring actual participants in Caesar’s campaign and drawing on real events as they occurred. As such Nick is genuinely excited about his characters and the story they have to tell.

Nick lives in Exeter with his two daughters and is currently juggling work as an Independent HR Consultant with writing the second novel in the Conquest Tril-ogy, Battle Scars. 

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#New Release from Pam Lecky - Her Secret War available for pre-order now!

 

HER SECRET WAR by Pam Lecky

Published by: Avon Books UK/Harper Collins

Release date: 14th October 2021

A life-changing moment

May 1941: German bombs drop on Dublin taking Sarah Gillespie’s family and home. Days later, the man she loves leaves Ireland to enlist.

A heart-breaking choice

With nothing to keep her in Ireland and a burning desire to help the war effort, Sarah seeks refuge with relatives in England. But before long, her father’s dark past threatens to catch up with her.

A dangerous mission

Sarah is asked to prove her loyalty to Britain through a special mission. Her courage could save lives. But it could also come at the cost of her own…

 A gripping story that explores a deadly tangle of love and espionage in war-torn Britain, perfect for fans of Pam Jenoff, Kate Quinn and Kate Furnivall.

Available for Pre-order Now!

UK link: 

US link: 

Pam is an Irish historical fiction author with Avon Books UK/Harper Collins. Pam is represented by Therese Coen at the Hardman & Swainson Literary Agency, London.

Her Secret War, a WW2 thriller, will be released in October 2021. The second book in the series will be released in 2022.
The Bowes Inheritance, her debut novel, was awarded the B.R.A.G. Medallion; was shortlisted for the Carousel Aware Prize 2016; made 'Editor's Choice' by the Historical Novel Society; long-listed for the Historical Novel Society 2016 Indie Award; and chosen as a Discovered Diamond in February 2017.
June 2019, saw the release of No Stone Unturned, the first book in the Lucy Lawrence Mystery series, set in the late Victorian era. This was closely followed by the sequel, Footprints in the Sand, in March 2020, which is set in Victorian Egypt. Pam is currently working on the third book in the series.

Amy Maroney's Coffee Pot Book Club Blog Tour continues with an excerpt from Island of Gold (Sea and Stone Chronicles)

Book Title: Island of Gold

Series: Sea and Stone Chronicles

Author: Amy Maroney

Publication Date: September 8, 2021

Publisher: Artelan Press

Page Length: 380 Pages

Genre: Historical Adventure and Romance

 Follow the Tour!

Island of Gold 

(Sea and Stone Chronicles)

By Amy Maroney

1454. A noble French falconer. A spirited merchant’s daughter. And a fateful decision that changes their destiny forever.

 When Cédric is recruited by the Knights Hospitaller to the Greek island of Rhodes, his wife Sophie jumps at the chance to improve their fortunes. After a harrowing journey to Rhodes, Cédric plunges into the world of the knights—while Sophie is tempted by the endless riches that flow into the bustling harbor. But their dazzling new home has a dark side. 

Slaves toil endlessly to fortify the city walls, and rumors of a coming attack by the Ottoman Turks swirl in the streets. Desperate to gain favor with the knights and secure his position, Cédric navigates a treacherous world of shadowy alliances. Meanwhile, Sophie secretly engineers a bold plan to keep their children safe. As the trust between them frays, enemies close in—and when disaster strikes the island, the dangers of their new world become terrifyingly real. 

  With this richly-told story of adventure, treachery, and the redeeming power of love, Amy Maroney brings a mesmerizing and forgotten world to vivid life.

Read an Excerpt

Spring, 1440

Bruges, Flanders

The Portier family entered the church one by one. The warm, stale air smelled faintly of beeswax. Sophie followed Papa, Maman, and Grégoire down the main aisle of the nave to their appointed spot, about three-quarters of the way back from the altar. Behind the altar a three-paneled painting of saints and angels was affixed to the stone wall. Above it, a round window made of colorful stained glass let in filtered sunlight. Sophie stared up at it, mesmerized by the beauty. Ensconced between her parents, she did not hear Cédric de Montavon slip into the pew. Her family’s murmured greetings to him brought her back to the moment. She turned her head and met the falconer’s eyes.

He nodded at her in silence as he took his seat. Flushing, she lowered her eyelids. When she raised them again, he was still looking her way, a faint expression of surprise on his face. She was accustomed to seeing that expression on a man’s face when he first encountered her. Papa took great pride in the attention she attracted.

Like moths to a flame, he often said.

Usually, Sophie found the attention of men annoying. But this time, she felt a powerful tug of attraction. The heat in her throat and cheeks swept into her chest, then settled languidly just above her hips.

The priest began to speak. The familiar Latin words of Mass soon lulled her into a stupor. For a while she trained her eyes on the rosy light spilling forth from the stained glass window above the altar. Then she tried glimpsing Cédric de Montavon from the corner of her eye without turning her head.

She could see the falconer’s fine black leather boots, the dark green hose he wore, his hands resting on his thighs. His slender, sun-browned fingers were a stark contrast to her father’s plump white ones.

The priest droned on and on. She prayed for Mass to end.

Finally, it did. They all stood and filed back down the aisle through the tall doors of the church to the sunlit square beyond. It was a crisp spring day, with a gentle breeze that whispered over her cheeks. Sophie stood with Maman. They discussed the Flemish ladies’ elaborate head coverings, the fine drape of their cloaks, the foreign sounds of their language drifting overhead. Gregoire and the falconer chatted with Papa about business matters, about trade and war and commerce and tariffs.

Several merchants joined them, their attention focused on Monsieur de Montavon. They peppered him with questions about falcons and his work for the count. Sophie watched him respond, admiring his confident manner, the strong line of his jaw, the hard angles of his cheekbones. She stared at his well-formed lips, at his short, carefully-trimmed beard.

“Sophie,” Maman said. “Did you not hear Monsieur de Montavon?”

She scrambled to find her voice, feeling oddly shy.

“Forgive me, sir,” she murmured. “What was your question?”

“How do you find Bruges, mademoiselle?” he asked. “Is it to your liking?”

His brown velvet doublet was criss-crossed with green silk thread embroidered in a diamond-shaped pattern. She was struck with an impulse to run her fingers across the raised ridges of the thread.

“I have lost my heart to Bruges,” she admitted, favoring him with a smile. “I would like to come back every year. It’s a beautiful city, not like Toulouse at all.”

“And what is wrong with Toulouse?” Papa said, pretending to be hurt, but with a mocking gleam in his eyes.

While there were a few rich pastel merchants like him in Toulouse, the city of Sophie’s birth was essentially an overgrown farm town riddled with abandoned and decaying buildings, still not entirely recovered from the plague that had ravaged the world a few generations ago.

“Papa,” she laughed. “How can we compare the two? It is like comparing a stone with a pearl.”

Papa grinned. “Too true, my child. There are treasures to be found here and nowhere else. Like gyrfalcons.” He glanced meaningfully at Monsieur de Montavon.

“Indeed,” the falconer replied.

“Gyrfalcons!” a merchant cried. “Why, aren’t they the most costly birds on earth?”

Monsieur de Montavon shrugged. “It depends on the age of the bird, the color of its feathers, the condition of its health.”

“What color feathers are best, monsieur?” Sophie asked.

“White gyrfalcons are the most coveted,” the falconer responded. His eyes were brown, with flecks of green and gold that caught the light. “After the molt, of course, the feathers can change color. So a bird that begins gray can turn white. But one never knows if it will.”

Grégoire pointed at the doors of the church. “Look there. Isn’t that the Catalan we saw on the Norwegian’s ship?”

Sophie watched a dark-haired man with a short beard emerge from church in the company of two other well-dressed gentlemen.

“Yes,” Papa concurred. “One and the same.”

Perhaps sensing the eyes upon him, the Catalan glanced their way. For the second time in one day, Sophie felt the curious prickling sensation of attraction under a man’s scrutiny. He was nearly as handsome as the falconer, and more elegantly dressed.

“We were gaming on a Norwegian’s ship and met that man, an agent of the Knights Hospitaller,” Grégoire told the gathered men. “He was buying gyrfalcons for someone of great rank.”

“Perhaps the King of Cyprus,” mused Papa. “Imagine having a friend connected to the Cypriot court. The trade in camlets and cloth of gold would open up to us immediately.”

“Cloth of gold has gotten harder and harder to find,” one of the merchants complained. “The Genoese had a steady trade in it for a time, but pirates have made a mess of the shipping lanes in Greece. Sometimes Venetian merchants show up here with a few bolts, but the price!”

“Outrageous,” Papa agreed. “I’ve a mind to hire a gold-beater or two, set up an atelier, and make the blasted stuff myself.”

The men launched into a discussion about cloth prices and the perils of maritime shipping. Sophie had heard versions of this conversation too many times to count. Luckily, she stood directly opposite Monsieur de Montavon and had an unobstructed view of his face. He seemed distracted by the presence of the Catalan. He glanced at the man repeatedly. Then his expression tightened as the Catalan and his companions moved toward their group.

“We never had a chance to be properly introduced,” the man said in French, sweeping into a polite bow. “Those business transactions leave little time for pleasantries.” He looked straight at the falconer. “Your name, sir?”

The falconer gave a shallow bow. “Cédric de Montavon. And yours?”

“Nicolau Baldaia.” The Catalan turned to Sophie’s father expectantly.

“Henri Portier, at your service, sir,” Papa said. “And my son, Grégoire.”

The Catalan nodded at them both, then looked at Maman. “Madame Portier, I am honored to meet you,” he said without waiting for an introduction. His eyes slid to Sophie. “And who is this?”

“Our daughter, Sophie,” Maman said, hooking an arm around Sophie’s waist.

The gesture should have felt reassuring, but instead Sophie felt trapped. The Catalan’s bold stare was oddly possessive, as if just with a look he had taken ownership of her. A fragment of fear penetrated her consciousness. She longed to escape the Catalan’s inspection.

Fortunately, the merchants began to lob questions at him about his work for the knights, about news from Rhodes, about trade in far-off ports like Alexandria and Famagusta. Relieved, Sophie let her eyes drift back to the falconer just as he looked in her direction, his lips quirking in a slight smile.

Her heart thrashing like an eel in a basket, Sophie smiled in return.

This novel is available on #KindleUnlimited

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Amy Maroney lives in the Pacific Northwest with her family, and spent many years as a writer and editor of nonfiction before turning her hand to historical fiction. When she's not diving down research rabbit holes, she enjoys hiking, dancing, traveling, and reading. Amy is the author of the Miramonde Series, a trilogy about a Renaissance-era female artist and the modern-day scholar on her trail. To receive a free prequel novella to the Miramonde Series, join Amy's readers' group at www.amymaroney.com. 

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New Release from Annie Whitehead Coming Soon!

 

The Sins of the Father (Release date Sep 15th, on pre-order now)

A father’s legacy can be a blessing or a curse...

AD658: The sons of Penda of Mercia have come of age. Ethelred, the youngest, recalls little of past wars while Wulf is determined to emulate their father, whose quest to avenge his betrayed kinswomen drew him to battle three successive Northumbrian kings.

Ecgfrith of Northumbria is more hostile towards the Mercians than his father was. His sister Ositha, thwarted in her marriage plans, seeks to make her mark in other ways, but can she, when called upon, do her brother’s murderous bidding?

Ethelred finds love with a woman who is not involved in the feud, but fate intervenes.

 Wulf’s actions against Northumbria mean Ethelred must choose duty over love, until he, like his father before him, has cause to avenge the women closest to him. Battle must once more be joined, but the price of victory will be high.

Can Ethelred stay true to his father’s values, end the feud, keep Mercia free, and find the path back to love?

This is the second of the two-book series, Tale of the Iclingas, which began with Cometh the Hour, but can be read as a standalone. 

mybook.to/TSOF

Book One - Cometh the Hour is on 99p Promotion. You can pick up a copy here: mybook.to/ComeththeHour

 "An excellent historical tale, told with energy, enthusiasm, and a love of the period. I will be back for more."

The next stop on Anna Belfrage's Coffee Pot Book Club Blog Tour!

 

Book Title: The Whirlpools of Time

Author: Anna Belfrage

Publication Date: 11th June 2021

Publisher: Timelight Press

Page Length: 388 Pages

Genre: Time travel romance, Scottish Historical Romance

The Whirlpools of Time

By Anna Belfrage

He hoped for a wife. He found a companion through time and beyond.

It is 1715 and for Duncan Melville something fundamental is missing from his life. Despite a flourishing legal practice and several close friends, he is lonely, even more so after the recent death of his father. He needs a wife—a companion through life, someone to hold and be held by. What he wasn’t expecting was to be torn away from everything he knew and find said woman in 2016…

Erin Barnes has a lot of stuff going on in her life. She doesn’t need the additional twist of a stranger in weird outdated clothes, but when he risks his life to save hers, she feels obligated to return the favour. Besides, whoever Duncan may be, she can’t exactly deny the immediate attraction.

The complications in Erin’s life explode. Events are set in motion and to Erin’s horror she and Duncan are thrown back to 1715. Not only does Erin have to cope with a different and intimidating world, soon enough she and Duncan are embroiled in a dangerous quest for Duncan’s uncle, a quest that may very well cost them their lives as they travel through a Scotland poised on the brink of rebellion.  

Will they find Duncan’s uncle in time? And is the door to the future permanently closed, or will Erin find a way back?

Trigger Warnings: Sexual Content. Violence.

***

Whirlpool: In which Duncan ends up holding magic in his hands

Her fear was contagious. Erin might scoff and tell him she had things handled, but over the coming days he’d catch her glancing out the window every other minute and the way she hugged herself when he said something about that accursed Steve Wilkes had him wishing he’d run him through with his sword the first time he’d met the unsavoury character.

She refused to talk about it, insisting they were safe here, in her home because they’d never be able to sneak up on them. 

“They do not need to sneak,” he’d said. “It is not exactly an impenetrable fortress this, is it?”

Which is when she’d proudly shown him something she called the panic room. Aye, this cramped dark space did have him breaking out in something akin to panic, even more so when she explained it was sufficiently stocked with water and foodstuffs to last a couple of days. 

“In the dark?” He detested dark and cramped places. 

“Not entirely,” she said, “but yeah, it won’t exactly be brightly lit.” 

Not much of a comfort, but he nodded all the same while thinking he would rather die out in the sunlight than end up buried alive in here.

“There’s a secure phone line,” she told him. “If we’re in here, I can call the cops.”

That made him feel much better. But still, hours in a space which had room for a narrow pallet bed and not much else was something best avoided. There was a small box tucked into a corner. “What’s that?” 

“That’s where I keep the locket.” She slid him a look. “I prefer to keep it in here, in that metal box.”

“To keep it safe,” he assumed.

“Yeah. And because…”

“Because what?”

“It weirds me out.” She laughed shakily. “Silly, right? Emily always said it was the power contained within that I reacted to, but that is just stupid.”

“Can I see it?” he asked, while concluding that weirding someone out was to make them singularly uneasy.

Reluctantly, she nodded. “Be my guest. I’ll just stay here, okay?” 

With Erin hovering at the door, he lifted the lid an inch before slamming it back down. “It hums!”

“I know.” 

Intrigued, Duncan opened the box. Inside, was a round, wooden container of sorts, badly charred but sufficiently undamaged to reveal the remains of exquisite woodworking, a pattern of leaves encircling what looked like a huge thistle. Whoever had made this little box had been a true artist, he thought, lifting it up carefully. A soft, soothing humming filled the room, caressed his ears. Like a lullaby, he thought, a comforting sound that had him recalling nights as a small child, with Simon reading to him by the light of a flickering candle. 

Inside the box was a golden object, resting on plush, red velvet. The size of an egg, it was a beautiful piece of work, the detailed engravings studded with little rubies and diamonds. Even in the weak light, the stones glittered and twinkled, and the humming urged him to pick it up, hold it. When he did, the humming increased in strength, a hypnotic request that he open it, open it and look deep within. 

He fumbled with the clasp.

“Duncan, no!” Erin said, but it was too late, the locket lay open in his hand, and the interior was as beautiful as the exterior—except that now he was looking at a beautifully executed piece of art, a whirlwind of blues and green and right in its midst a beckoning point of white. The humming became a roaring command. “Look,” it said, “look deep and fall!” His heart cramped. No, no, no, his brain wailed, and he gritted his teeth with the effort of attempting to close his eyes and break the connection with the magical swirls that seemed to grow out of the locket to dance around him in thin bands of green and blue. 

“Duncan!” Erin shrieked, and next he knew she’d knocked the locket out of his hand, sending it spinning to rest in a corner.

He collapsed, breathing heavily. His pulse thundered through his head, and he was covered in a sheen of cold sweat. He’d recognised those swirls of colour and the fear they’d induced, knew exactly when he’d seen them last. 

“Duncan?” She sounded on the verge of tears. “You okay?”

“Yes,” he croaked. 

“You began to blur around the edges,” she said with a groan. “What is that thing?” She was in his arms, pressing her face to his shirt. “Maybe I should just give it to that cow Josephine and watch her go all invisible.”

“That is a powerful object,” he managed to say. “And in the hands of a ruthless person likely quite dangerous.” He licked his lips. A portal, of sorts, he thought. Someone had captured the terrifying funnel he’d fallen through in enamelled paint. Bile filled his mouth. To fall again…The fear, the pain, the unbearable noise and at the end of it all to land in a new unfamiliar place. “Dearest Lord, keep me safe,” he prayed in an undertone, before gently disengaging himself from Erin. “I need to get out of here.”

From the corner came a faint humming. He hurried them both out of the room and Erin slammed the door shut before sliding the wall panel that hid it back into place.

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Had Anna been allowed to choose, she’d have become a time-traveller. As this was impossible, she became a financial professional with two absorbing interests: history and writing. Anna has authored the acclaimed time travelling series The Graham Saga, set in 17th century Scotland and Maryland, as well as the equally acclaimed medieval series The King’s Greatest Enemy which is set in 14th century England.  

Anna has also published The Wanderer, a fast-paced contemporary romantic suspense trilogy with paranormal and time-slip ingredients. Her September 2020 release, His Castilian Hawk, has her returning to medieval times. Set against the complications of Edward I’s invasion of Wales, His Castilian Hawk is a story of loyalty, integrity—and love. Her most recent release, The Whirlpools of Time, is a time travel romance set against the backdrop of brewing rebellion in the Scottish highlands.

All of Anna’s books have been awarded the IndieBRAG Medallion, she has several Historical Novel Society Editor’s Choices, and one of her books won the HNS Indie Award in 2015. She is also the proud recipient of various Reader’s Favorite medals as well as having won various Gold, Silver and Bronze Coffee Pot Book Club awards.

Find out more about Anna, her books and her eclectic historical blog on her website, www.annabelfrage.com 

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~The Coffee Pot Book Club presents Wall of Stone by Heather Robinson

 

Book Title: Wall of Stone

Author: Heather Robinson

Publication Date: 23rd August 2014

Publisher: Independently Published

Page Length: 366 Pages

Genre: Historical Fiction

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Wall of Stone 

By Heather Robinson

In AD121 the Twentieth Legion of Rome stands at the northern frontier of Britannia. Forgotten, neglected and dour in spirit, they must still do their duty for an Empire whose meaning is becoming lost to them.

As the lives of the local Teviot family intertwine with the legion, relationships of love and bitter anguish unfurl. Will the invading army push north? Will the disputing native tribes unite in an uprising? Can Marcus be with Jolinda?

When peace is fragile, friendships count for everything...

An excerpt from Wall of Stone

Jolinda knew the argument would not be resolved. Her mother’s views would not change. She was simply strangled by a gripping fog of grief over the matter.

“But we must trade with the Romans,” Jolinda implored. She was speaking in her native Bryothonic tongue, a Celtic language evolved from the Welsh. This was the only language her mother knew, although Jolinda could also converse in the Roman tongue. Her father had arranged for a menthor to tutor her – with great foresight, she realised. “We need their Roman coins to purchase grain and fodder from the southern people who’ve turned to their ways. We can’t grow enough on our northern hills to survive. We’ve always traded with our southern neighbours, the only difference is now we must use their new trading methods, coins not barter. And to get the coins we must first trade with the Romans. It’s just an extra step that’s all. Ma, can’t ya see we don’t have a choice? The animals will starve, we’ll starve. We must trade with them.”

“I won’t let ya father’s memory be tarnished. I will not. He’s been in his grave one moon is all and ya want to forsake him. No, Jolinda, no, he died by their hand.” Her voice rose with exasperation as she spoke the words. How could her daughter even consider the idea? “We’re the fourth generation of Teviots to live freely off this land and we’ll not be forced to succumb to anyone. D’ya hear me? I would rather rot slowly with a foetid wound of maggots than trade with the Roma…” the word died in a trembling choke of misery. Jolinda felt the burden like a hundredweight sack across her shoulders. She went to her mother’s side and gently rubbed her back. Giving comfort to the older woman who was failing in her attempt to stop the tears, brushing them away with the back of her hand as she continued to pound the grain in the large wooden bowl, polished smooth over the years from grinding. Jolinda spoke softly.

“It’ll be all right Ma, I’ll make it all right. Tamsin can take over some of my chores to help ya run the housestead. I’ll farm the land like Da used to. I’ve heard of a new piece of equipment that can be dragged along by oxen to turn the soil. If we can get one maybe we could sow more wheat and barley. The boys can help me. Kye’s pretty good at wielding a sickle these days and young Aaron’s old enough to sow and harvest. It’ll be all right.” Even as she was speaking, Jolinda knew the task was too great. As strong and independent as her father had been, he’d always bartered with the southern folk for extra fodder and grain. It had been easier before the south had romanized. Sometimes he’d exchange goods for meat over the winter months when the hunting was poor. The winters were harsh in these northern crags. Her father had often laughingly said the piercing wind alone was enough to send even a woolly mammoth to find a burrow. A lazy wind he’d called it – goes through ya ‘stead of round ya! 

Her heart lifted a little as she remembered his rugged smile and gruff words. A solid exterior had covered a melting heart. Providing for and protecting his family had been his life. He’d found the challenges of the wild countryside fulfilling and the love of his woman satisfying. Energy exuded from every pore, creating an aura of optimism that breathed through the family. Jolinda, his eldest, had a similar trait. A smaller sheaf of energy but her presence always pervaded a room as she entered. She knew clearly, more clearly than she’d known anything before, that she would have to defy her mother’s wishes and trade with the Romans for their coins. With or without her family’s understanding she would do so, or they simply would not survive. 

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This book is available on #KindleUnlimited.

Heather Robinson is a novelist and short story award winner from Wiltshire, UK.  Her academic background includes a Bachelor of Science degree with most of her working life spent as an Administration Manager locally.  She is also a qualified and experienced radio presenter, hosting a weekly show for Warminster Community Radio.  Proud parents of two boys, Heather and her husband Graham share a passion for live music, hiking and motorcycling. 

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The Coffee Pot Book Club Blog Tour continues with The Queen’s Spy by Clare Marchant

Book Title: The Queen’s Spy

Author: Clare Marchant

Publication Date: 8th July 2021 

Publisher: Avon

Page Length: 400 Pages

Genre: Historical Dual Timeline

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The Queen’s Spy 

By Clare Marchant

1584: Elizabeth I rules England. But a dangerous plot is brewing in court, and Mary Queen of Scots will stop at nothing to take her cousin’s throne.

There’s only one thing standing in her way: Tom, the queen’s trusted apothecary, who makes the perfect silent spy…

2021: Travelling the globe in her campervan, Mathilde has never belonged anywhere. So when she receives news of an inheritance, she is shocked to discover she has a family in England.

Just like Mathilde, the medieval hall she inherits conceals secrets, and she quickly makes a haunting discovery. Can she unravel the truth about what happened there all those years ago? And will she finally find a place to call home?

Read an excerpt

January 1584 

All around him crowds of people, men, women and children pushed each other as they disembarked, standing on the quayside looking around in confusion, as if shocked they were finally back on dry land. The air was full of the smell of the sea, now so familiar to him he could taste it lodged in the back of his throat; sharp salt together with the harsh tang of the fish he was so sick of eating, mingling with the reek of sweaty unwashed bodies he barely noticed now. After two days on the boat his legs felt shaky, and although he was on dry land, he could feel himself still swaying slightly. A small boy beside him clutched a cage containing two small yellow birds flitting back and forth. He smiled and winked at the child who grinned back. Everyone seemed delighted to have arrived, even though thankfully it had been a smooth and easy crossing. Above him huge white cliffs soared away to a pale, cold unwelcoming sky. Tom questioned his belief that this journey would help him finally find everything he’d been searching for. 

A large hand slapped him on his back, and turning he was pleased to see his shipmate William. They’d become friends on the crossing when both men realised they were carrying similar luggage containing plants and bulbs. Despite Tom having been both deaf and mute since birth, the two men managed to communicate with rudimentary hand signals combined with Tom’s lip reading and writing some words on a wax tablet Tom had brought with him. A piece of smooth ivory overlaid with many layers of wax meant that he could scratch words in it then rub them over afterwards to use again. It was easier than forever searching for scraps of parchment. He’d needed to learn how to convey and share information from a young age, and his adoptive mother had taught him as they worked together in the stillroom where they created potions and medications from herbs and other plants. Now he understood most words and was never taken for a fool. William enjoyed the fact Tom couldn’t engage him in idle mindless chatter, and they’d sat together on the deck for hours watching the wheeling, ever-present gulls in companionable silence. He indicated to Tom to pick up his baggage and follow, and together on unsteady legs they made their way off the quay.

 They’d barely walked a few yards when Tom felt a pull on his arm and turning, he was face to face with one of the port guards. The man was speaking to him and Tom watched his lips in silence hoping to catch an occasional word he understood, to guess the gist of what was being said, but he was at a loss. His English was poor despite it being his mother tongue; he hadn’t used it for many years and this, combined with the fact that the man was talking rapidly, resulted in him being very confused. The wafts of foul, sour breath together with the man’s blackened teeth made him wince and take a step back. The hand on his arm gripped tighter so it was pinching his skin. Tom had no way of hearing him although he could tell from the man’s red face and the way the drool was flying from his mouth that he wasn’t happy with the lack of response. Tom was used to it. He attempted to start his normal hand signals to indicate his deaf and mute status, but it wasn’t easy with one arm held fast. 

Suddenly the man’s head whipped around behind him as over his shoulder Tom could see a fight break out beside the ship they’d just disembarked from, and then the guard was gone, running towards the affray. Tom wasn’t going to miss the opportunity to make himself scarce and hefting his sack of belongings higher onto his back he turned and hurried after William towards the road to London. His lack of hearing and speech made him more noticeable despite his desire to blend into the background and he was used to being apprehended everywhere he went. Suspicion and mistrust were the same in every language. 

The sack containing his belongings was heavy and his precious triptych, a painting in three separate parts crudely hinged together to appear as one when it was opened out, dug into his shoulder with its sharp corners, but Tom didn’t mind. He was pleased to be back in England, the place where he’d been born over forty years previously. His recollections of living here were hazy now, having been taken by his adoptive mother to France when he was still a young boy, just hours before they were hounded from their home by His Majesty’s men. After his father – the only father he could remember – had been murdered by the King. Killed for no reason other than having worked alongside a secretary by the name of Francis Dereham who’d been convicted of committing adultery with Queen Catherine, the King’s fifth wife. Dereham had been executed and his innocent father had died whilst being tortured for information he didn’t have. His adoptive mother had kept their memories alive though, in her drawings, her sign language and the saffron she grew. Nevertheless, he hoped to find a home here once more, somewhere he could feel safe and accepted. People didn’t like you if you were different, and he was certainly that. 

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Growing up in Surrey, Clare always dreamed of being a writer. Instead, she followed a career in IT, before moving to Norfolk for a quieter life and re-training as a jeweller.

Now writing full time, she lives with her husband and the youngest two of her six children. Weekends are spent exploring local castles and monastic ruins, or visiting the nearby coast.

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The Steel Rose (The Boar King’s Honor Trilogy, Book 2) by Nancy Northcott

Book Title: The Steel Rose

Series: The Boar King’s Honor Trilogy (Book 2)

Author: Nancy Northcott

Publication Date: April 29, 2021

Publisher: Falstaff Books

Page Length: 370 Pages

Genre: Historical Fantasy/Romantic Fantasy

The Steel Rose 

(The Boar King’s Honor Trilogy, Book 2)

by Nancy Northcott

THE BOAR KING’S HONOR TRILOGY

A wizard’s misplaced trust

A king wrongly blamed for murder

A bloodline cursed until they clear the king’s name

BOOK 2: THE STEEL ROSE

Amelia Mainwaring, a magically Gifted seer, is desperate to rescue the souls of her dead father and brother, who are trapped in a shadowy, wraith-filled land between life and death as the latest victims of their family curse. Lifting the curse requires clearing the name of King Richard III, who was wrongly accused of his nephews’ murder because of a mistake made by Amelia’s ancestor.

In London to seek help from a wizard scholar, Julian Winfield, Amelia has disturbing visions that warn of Napoleon Bonaparte’s escape from Elba and renewed war in Europe. A magical artifact fuels growing French support for Bonaparte. Can Amelia and Julian recover the artifact and deprive him of its power in time to avert the coming battles?

Their quest takes them from the crowded ballrooms of the London Season to the bloody field of Waterloo, demanding all of their courage, guile, and magical skill.  Can they recover the artifact and stop Bonaparte? Or will all their hopes, along with Amanda’s father and brother, be doomed as a battle-weary Europe is once again engulfed in the flames of war?

The Steel Rose is the second book in the time-traveling, history-spanning fantasy series The Boar King’s Honor, from Nancy Northcott (Outcast Station, The Herald of Day).

An excerpt from The Steel Rose

The scene below is the introduction of the book’s hero, Julian Winfield, Earl of Aysgarth. It’s set at his mansion in Yorkshire a few days after the book opens.

***

Julian Winfield, Earl of Aysgarth and holder of assorted other titles, frowned at the bits of parchment spread across his library worktable. The ancient codex, supposedly the work of Viking wizards in the eighth century, had fallen apart, and a household fire—again, supposedly, though the damage didn’t fit that explanation—had destroyed parts of the pages. 

The Latin script was an odd choice for Viking wizards of that pagan era. 

Standing just above six feet, he had to bend over the long table. Perhaps he should have a higher one made, but this one served well enough most of the time.

“Making progress?” his Aunt Augusta asked. She lounged back against the cushions of her chair, a decidedly unladylike pose. At fifty-one, a widow for a decade, his mother’s sister wore her graying blond hair in a simple bun-and-ringlets style and chose her frocks for comfort with the barest nod to fashion.

Her lack of concern with propriety, at least in private, was one reason they got on so well. He rarely wore a cravat or coat or waistcoat at Aysgarth, in or out of the house, and bedamned to society. 

“Some,” he replied. “The more I look at this codex, the more I think the story old Fortescue told me was made up out of whole cloth. Though perhaps that’s the story given to him. It doesn’t matter now. I’ll uncover the truth soon enough.”

The writing had faded on the fragment in front of him, and singe marks obliterated some of the words. At the edge, though, the letters o-p-p were clear enough. Was that oppidum, for town? Or some form of opprimere, to oppress?

“Can’t you sort all that magically?” his aunt asked.

“Where’s the fun in that?” Scowling, he shifted the fragments, looking for one that continued the word. Bloody hell, the singed pages made matching things up difficult. Magic had failed to restore the damage, perhaps because it was so longstanding. At least he could magically bind fragments together once he determined how they fit.

Aunt Augusta added, “If you want puzzles, I’m certain the Home Office would welcome your return.”

“I’ve had my fill of their sort of puzzles, thank you.” Not to mention the way everyone wanted to put in his oar. If not for the secret help of the Merlin Club’s Gifted members, well-meant Home Office interference would’ve made accomplishing anything difficult. 

He turned his attention back to the fragments. His aunt devoted herself to her book.

Mounds of snow still blanketed the shady parts of the back lawn that were visible through the windows and the French doors to the terrace. Frost sparkled on the windowpanes. In here, though, the fire kept the room cozy. Only its crackling and the occasional whispery sound of his aunt turning a page broke the silence. He liked it that way. This room was his haven, the books like old friends. The crossed cavalry sabers and broadswords above the two mantels and the family portraits hanging above those were so familiar that he scarcely noticed them.

With the war over and that Corsican menace, Bonaparte, safely confined, he could go back to his horses and his books in peace. Perhaps even find something that would help lift the curse confining his friend Adam’s soul.

“Julian?”

His aunt’s voice sounded odd, but it sometimes did when she was distracted. “Yes, Aunt?”

Was that word poena, for punishment, or—

“My dear, there’s a dragon landing on the lawn.”

—no, perhaps it was postulo, for ask or demand. “I’m sure Hawes will tend to it,” he told her. No, it wasn’t postulo. It was…wait. What?

He lifted his head to look at his aunt. Sitting ramrod straight now, she stared out the windows. Her lips were slightly parted. As though suddenly aware her jaw had dropped, she snapped her mouth shut.

“What did you say?” he asked.

“You heard me perfectly well. Come and look.”

He walked around the table to join her. Staring out the window, he blinked, rubbed his eyes, and looked again. “Yes,” he said slowly, “I do believe that’s a dragon.”

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Nancy Northcott’s childhood ambition was to grow up and become Wonder Woman. Around fourth grade, she realized it was too late to acquire Amazon genes, but she still loved comic books, science fiction, fantasy, history, and romance. She combines the emotion and high stakes, and sometimes the magic, she loves in the books she writes.

She has written freelance articles and taught at the college level.  Her most popular course was on science fiction, fantasy, and society.  She has also given presentations on the Wars of the Roses and Richard III to university classes studying Shakespeare’s play about Richard III. Reviewers have described her books as melding fantasy, romance, and suspense. Library Journal gave her debut novel, Renegade, a starred review, calling it “genre fiction at its best.”

In addition to the historical fantasy Boar King’s Honor trilogy, Nancy writes the Light Mage Wars paranormal romances, the Arachnid Files romantic suspense novellas, and the Lethal Webs romantic spy adventures. With Jeanne Adams, she cowrites the Outcast Station science fiction mysteries.

Married since 1987, Nancy and her husband have one son, a bossy dog, and a house full of books.

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