Book Excerpt: Sisters of the Sweetwater Fury by Kinley Bryan #HistoricalFiction #BlogTour #CoffeePotBookClub @kinleybauthor @maryanneyarde

 

Sisters of the Sweetwater Fury 

By Kinley Bryan

Publication Date: 12th October 2021

Publisher: Blue Mug Press

Page Length: 324 Pages

Genre: Historical Fiction

Three sisters. Two Great Lakes. One furious storm.

Based on actual events...

It's 1913 and Great Lakes galley cook Sunny Colvin has her hands full feeding a freighter crew seven days a week, nine months a year. She also has a dream—to open a restaurant back home—but knows she'd never convince her husband, the steward, to leave the seafaring life he loves.

In Sunny’s Lake Huron hometown, her sister Agnes Inby mourns her husband, a U.S. Life-Saving Serviceman who died in an accident she believes she could have prevented. Burdened with regret and longing for more than her job at the dry goods store, she looks for comfort in a secret infatuation.

Two hundred miles away in Cleveland, youngest sister Cordelia Blythe has pinned her hopes for adventure on her marriage to a lake freighter captain. Finding herself alone and restless in her new town, she joins him on the season’s last trip up the lakes.

On November 8, 1913, a deadly storm descends on the Great Lakes, bringing hurricane-force winds, whiteout blizzard conditions, and mountainous thirty-five-foot waves that last for days. Amidst the chaos, the women are offered a glimpse of the clarity they seek, if only they dare to perceive it. 

Excerpt

Lake Huron

That afternoon waves continued to rock the Titus Brown, though not calamitously so. By three o’clock the Old Man still hadn’t come aft for his meal. Normally Cleve might be the one to take something forward for the captain, but he was chopping vegetables for that evening’s shepherd’s pie. Sunny would take care of it. After putting a couple of sandwiches, some pudding, and fruit in a basket, she went to tell Herb where she was going.

He was in the mess room, a spartan space with two long tables surrounded by stools, all bolted to the deck. Several crew members gathered at one table. Herb sat with his back to the doorway, drinking coffee and recounting a youthful misadventure he’d had with his brothers. The man’s nostalgia for his childhood knew no bounds. There was no need to interrupt his trip down memory lane.

Carrying the basket of food, Sunny went out onto the spar deck. The sky had fully clouded over now, and appeared as if dusk, although it was barely three o’clock in the afternoon. The waves were as high as they’d been at Harbor Beach, maybe higher. The Titus Brown had about ten feet of freeboard, and with growing trepidation she watched the waves nearly spill over the starboard gunwales. She should have done this earlier. In any case, Captain Hanna needed to eat.

Despite the boat’s rolling, her balance was good. Her heartbeat quickened as she clipped herself to the starboard lifeline. If a wave washed her over the side, heaven forbid, she would dangle from the cable until somebody hoisted her on deck and though she’d be terrified out of her wits, she wouldn’t drown.

She squinted against the snow flurries and began to tread the long straight path toward the bow. She would have to cross more than a football field’s length of flat deck before she reached the forecastle. The winds were coming strong and loud out of the northeast. A gust of arctic wind struck her face, so cold and fierce that, for a panicked second, she couldn’t breathe.

With her right hand gripping the lifeline, she continued forward, shifting her weight as the boat rolled, watching the waves as they rose ever closer to deck level. She was halfway to the forecastle when a tremendous wave—twice the size of those nearly breaching the gunwales—reached up from the lake’s surface and smashed into the wheelhouse on the starboard side. She inhaled sharply and watched, awestruck. Moments later the force of the blow reverberated in the metal deck beneath her feet.

Sunny knew the strength of water. An icy fear spread through her limbs, rooting her to the deck. She ought to retreat. Even if she did make it forward the captain wouldn’t want to see her in the wheelhouse when he was dealing with rogue waves like that one. And he might not let her return aft if he deemed it too dangerous. Snowflakes whipped about her furiously. She shifted her weight to steady herself as the freighter rolled from starboard to port and back again. What had she been thinking, coming out in this?

“Mrs. Colvin! Get back here!”

The gravelly voice came from the boilerhouse behind her. It was the bosun.

“It’s too dangerous!” the bosun shouted. “Get back now!”

The worry in his voice scared her more than anything. If the typically unflappable bosun was fearful, then she was in real danger. Yes, she would go back. Without another thought Sunny turned and started for the boilerhouse, more quickly now, all the while adjusting her weight to match the rolling of the ship and readying herself for a tremendous wave to crash over the deck as it had the wheelhouse. With a singleness of focus she watched the deck in front of her meet her feet, her vision obscured by the thick snowflakes whipping past.

In her peripheral vision a big wave approached. An awed terror surged in her chest. Even if she ran as fast as she could, it was going to hit before she reached the boilerhouse. Sunny planted her feet on the deck, bent her knees, and clung to the steel cable, her heart racing. In mere seconds the wave closed in. It broke several feet over the starboard gunwales. Freezing spray stung her face and thick water pushed hard against her. She held herself firm against the force of the water, and when it had finally rushed past her, she was still standing, holding her breath. She exhaled shakily and hurried on. Seas on the Great Lakes were short—there would be little time before the next one.

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Kinley Bryan

Kinley Bryan is an Ohio native who counts numerous Great Lakes captains among her ancestors. Her great-grandfather Walter Stalker was captain of the four-masted schooner Golden Age, the largest sailing vessel in the world when it launched in 1883. Kinley’s love for the in-land seas swelled during the years she spent in an old cottage on Lake Erie. She now lives with her husband and children on the Atlantic Coast, where she prefers not to lose sight of the shore. Sisters of the Sweetwater Fury is her first novel.

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Book Excerpt: Hidden Masterpiece (Soli Hansen Mysteries, Book 3) by Heidi Eljarbo #HistoricalFiction #HistoricalMystery #DualTimeline @HeidiEljarbo @maryanneyarde

Hidden Masterpiece

(Soli Hansen Mysteries, Book 3)

By Heidi Eljarbo

Publication Date: 15th September 2021

Publisher: Independently Published

Page Length: 260 Pages

Genre: Historical Fiction, Historical Mystery, Dual Timeline

In this riveting third book in the Soli Hansen Mysteries series, a woman’s courage to follow her conviction during a horrible war leads her to the portrait of a young Jewish heiress painted three centuries earlier.

Norway 1944. Art historian Soli Hansen has gone undercover to rescue masterpieces and keep them from falling into the hands of Nazi thieves. Working with a small resistance group led by her best friend Heddy, Soli will stop at nothing to thwart the efforts of the invaders of their scenic country. Trust and loyalty mean everything when working against a merciless enemy.

Riddles and clues lead the way to a mysterious work of art. It’s a race against time, but Soli and her network refuse to give up. However, when news arrives that her sweetheart Nikolai is missing in action, she strives to concentrate on the demanding quest.

From the streets of Oslo to the snow-covered mountains and medieval churches of Nume Valley, Soli takes risks larger than her courage, trying to preserve and hide precious art. But she must decide if it’s all worth losing the man she loves.

Antwerp 1639. Fabiola Ruber’s daughter, Annarosa, wants to honor her mother’s last wish and have her portrait done by a master artist who specializes in the art of chiaroscuro. Her uncle writes to an accomplished painter in Amsterdam and commissions him to paint his beloved niece.

Struggling with religious and social persecution, the Jewish Ruber family uproots once again and travels northward. On the way, they will sojourn in Amsterdam for Annarosa’s sitting in the master painter’s studio. But will they make it there? None of them can foresee the danger of such a journey.

Excerpt

Oslo, 1944

The snow-filled street outside Rolf’s apartment stretched toward a dead end with a fenced-in park with an open gate. The wintry scene seemed tranquil except for the pair of uniformed soldiers leading a German Shepherd and heading that way. Good thing the dog was on a leash. Heddy had encountered military dogs before, and she stiffened at the sight of them.

She paused to check her watch again. An hour before curfew. There was still time. She walked in the direction of her father’s residence. He no longer lived in her childhood home, having moved after Heddy’s mother had passed away and his daughters had left. This would be Heddy’s first visit.

The evening was like ebony velvet, and every blackout curtain was drawn shut. The streetlights had been turned off, leaving only the reflection of a soft white glow from the moonlight on the frosted street. A perfect night for an air raid, but she hoped it wouldn’t come to that. The alarms sounded often enough, as airplanes flew overhead to various destinations. Tonight, the only noise came from a few cars that passed them on the street outside her father’s residence. Their headlight had covers with slots in them that directed their beams down toward the ground.

“His apartment’s up there,” Heddy said and pointed to the third floor. “You boys can probably go home.”

Arvid and Birger refused to budge.

“We’re not going anywhere,” Birger said. He leaned against the wall and crossed his arms.

“I’m just going to talk with my father,” Heddy insisted.

Arvid nodded. “That might be so, but we don’t know what will happen when you try to find out about the ledger. What if he’s not alone? What if his Nazi ideals overshadow his better judgment, and he does something to hurt you?”

“You’re right, and I’m grateful for your loyalty and support.” She sighed. “Stay out of sight, at least. Take up a position so you have an easy escape route and notice cars coming and going.”

“Sure. You’ve taught us well. Birger and I won’t leave until you’re back,” Arvid said.

She gave them a comforting smile. “I really don’t think my father will hurt me.”

Birger shifted his weight from one foot to the other. “No, but others might. Be careful.”

Heddy stroked his cheek. “Always, Birger. Always.”

She’d taken every precaution to keep her group and herself safe these four years, but the imminent danger was still something she lived with around the clock.

Dreading the impending encounter, Heddy stood for a moment on her father’s doorstep, rubbing her hands. After a few seconds, she took a deep breath and rang the doorbell. Throughout her childhood, her father had been strict and controlling. Now, as an adult, the few times she’d met him proved he hadn’t changed. That he supported the Nazi movement and worked for the occupants made matters worse. In no way did she trust him, and she weighed every word she spoke in his presence. Waiting for him to open, she rehearsed an excuse for her unexpected visit at such an hour. No doubt, he’d be suspicious.

Heddy stiffened at the sound of footsteps from inside. In the next instant, the door swung open, and there he stood in his tight, pin-striped suit, holding a cigarette in his hand.

“Hedvig. This is a surprise. What are you doing here this late?”

She gave a casual shrug. “Long day at work. I only just got off. I came straight here to ask you something. May I come in?”

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Heidi Eljarbo

Heidi Eljarbo is the bestselling author of historical fiction and mysteries filled with courageous and good characters that are easy to love and others you don't want to go near.

Heidi grew up in a home filled with books and artwork and she never truly imagined she would do anything other than write and paint. She studied art, languages, and history, all of which have come in handy when working as an author, magazine journalist, and painter.

After living in Canada, six US states, Japan, Switzerland, and Austria, Heidi now calls Norway home. She and her husband have a total of nine children, thirteen grandchildren—so far—in addition to a bouncy Wheaten Terrier.

Their favorite retreat is a mountain cabin, where they hike in the summertime and ski the vast, white terrain during winter.

Heidi’s favorites are family, God's beautiful nature, and the word whimsical.

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Liz Harris is chatting about the inspiration behind her fabulous novel - Darjeeling Inheritance (The Colonials) #HistoricalFiction #HistoricalRomance #BlogTour @lizharrisauthor @maryanneyarde

 

Darjeeling Inheritance

(The Colonials)

By Liz Harris

Publication Date: 1st October 2021

Publisher: Heywood Press

Page Length: 365 pages

Genre: Historical Romance 

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.

Guest Post

The inspiration behind Darjeeling Inheritance

By Liz Harris

To explain the inspiration behind Darjeeling Inheritance, I have to go back a few years.

My debut novel, published in 2012, was set in the 1950s, in London and in Ladakh, an Indian province that lies between the Karakoram range to the north and the Himalayas to the south. My uncle had visited Ladakh while stationed in North India in the 1940s, and had compiled an album of his visit on his return. This had unexpectedly come into my temporary possession, and when I read the album, I was inspired to set a story in that region.

A page of Uncle Kenneth’s album

I’d so enjoyed learning about an area new to me, and getting to know how the Ladakhi lived, that after I’d finished the book, with a deadline to produce another within a year, I looked for a location that would give me similar satisfaction, as I was to do ever after.

Having lived in California for six years, it probably wasn’t surprising that I ended up locating the next book in the US. I set it in Wyoming in 1887, which was a transitional year for Wyoming Territory. As part of my research, I spent three wonderful weeks in Wyoming, travelling through a large part of the State, and visiting every museum I could.

Arriving in Wyoming

Wyoming gave me a wealth of material, and I ended up setting three novels there. After that, I felt I should look for a different location for my next novel, and when I was browsing in a book shop, looking for ideas, I saw the title 1,000 Places To See Before You Die, and I couldn’t resist it.

When I got the book home, it fell open at a section about Darjeeling, in West Bengal, India, where there was a picture of a tea plantation. That looks interesting, I thought. I’d read in the past, and very much enjoyed, A Passage to India, by E.M. Forster, The Jewel in the Crown, by Paul Scott, and The Far Pavilions, by M.M. Kaye. And I felt drawn to India.

I wasn’t to write Darjeeling Inheritance, however, until three years after that. Shortly after purchasing the travel book, I visited a friend in New York. At the time I had a single-line idea for a story in the back of my mind, which wouldn’t have worked in the Darjeeling background. But the moment I walked into the Tenement Museum in Orchard Street, New York, flesh gathered around my single-line skeleton, and before I’d even returned to the UK, I’d started to write The Dark Horizon, the first of the three standalone novels in the Linford Series.

The Tenement Museum, Orchard Street, New York 

As soon as I’d finished writing the third novel, The Lengthening Shadow, I returned to Darjeeling in my mind. By then, I had an idea for a Darjeeling-based story, which I felt in my heart would work. And I began to research the novel.

The more that I found out about the history of the area, and about the method of tea production, the more my story filled out and grew. And the more I learnt about the flora, fauna, climate and terrain of Darjeeling, the more my setting took shape. 

And as it did so, I became increasingly keen to go to Darjeeling and visit the tea gardens and town for myself, and not just rely on books and the internet. There can be no greater inspiration than standing on the ground where your characters will walk, and breathing the air they’ll breathe.

So I booked a trip there two Octobers ago. Sadly, two months before I was due to leave, the Foreign Office advised against going there owing to trouble between the Bengali and Nepali. The issues are now resolved, but at that time, the tea gardens were closed and so, too, most of the hotels.

I went instead to South India, a trip which included Munnar, in Kerala, which is famous for its tea plantations and tea factory. It was a truly wonderful trip, and I felt very close to my characters as I walked between the rows of tea bushes, and stood in the factory watching the process of tea production.

The magical Backwaters in Kerala, India

The result of my research, derived from personal experience and through books and the internet, is Darjeeling Inheritance, a novel that I loved writing.

 

If I can substitute ‘writing a story’ for ‘genius’, I can paraphrase Edison. Writing a novel is one percent inspiration and ninety-nine percent perspiration. It’s by applying yourself as hard as you can to every aspect of your research that you give body to that inspiration, which it’s been a real pleasure to do with every book I’ve written. 

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Liz Harris

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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Book Excerpt: Island of Gold (Sea and Stone Chronicles) by Amy Maroney #HistoricalFiction #BlogTour #CoffeePotBookClub @wilaroney @maryanneyarde

 

Island of Gold 

(Sea and Stone Chronicles)

By Amy Maroney

Publication Date: September 8, 2021

Publisher: Artelan Press

Page Length: 380 Pages

Genre: Historical adventure and romance

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.
Excerpt

Spring, 1440

Bruges, Flanders

Cédric descended the steps of the inn with care, his head still pounding from last night’s excesses. Mist clung to the rooftops, its cool dampness sending a chill through him. He had one more matter of urgent business before he returned to Auvergne. The sooner he could unburden himself of the gold coins in his purse, the better.

He crossed to the canal that lay opposite the inn. A family of ducks glided a stone’s throw away, the ducklings paddling furiously to keep up with their mother. He smiled a little, grateful for a moment of peace, and began his trek to the harbor.

Just ahead of him, a city alderman and his entourage of notaries and servants entered the street from an adjoining lane, their dark caps bobbing like a flock of errant crows. Cédric quickened his stride, skirting past the group.

He passed a row of warehouses as the morning sun burned through the mist. A familiar figure exited one of the buildings, young cloth merchant Gregoire Portier of Toulouse, whom he’d met during his first stay in Bruges. They had shared a game table last night in a tavern not far from here. Portier was trailed by an older man in a fur-trimmed cap and a short black cape. “How goes it, my friend?” Cédric called out, approaching the duo. “Good morning!” Gregoire’s bloodshot eyes were the only evidence of last night’s revelry on his smiling face. He turned to his companion. “Papa, this is Cédric de Montavon, falconer to a count of Auvergne.” Cédric nodded to the elder Portier. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, sir. Are you enjoying your visit to the north?” “Exceedingly.” The man inspected Cédric with interest. “Falconer, eh? You must have tales to tell.” “A few.” The three men fell into step together. “Any more word of the Venetian fleet?” Cédric asked. Last night at the tavern, before Grégoire had disappeared with a brightly painted courtesan on his arm, he’d passed along gossip that Venetian merchants were nearing Bruges. “No,” Grégoire said, squinting against the sun. “A new rumor came out of the cloth merchants’ guild this morning. It seems the fleet was waylaid by pirates in the Bay of Biscay.” Cédric looked at him in dismay. “I pray the gossips are wrong. I’d hoped to be among the first to see their wares today.” “I know. We’re eager to get our hands on Syrian silks, and the Venetian fleet can usually be relied upon for a good supply,” Grégoire said. “What do the Venetians carry that you seek?” “Items of silver,” he answered vaguely, unwilling to share more details. He liked Grégoire, but the man had a wagging tongue. “Never fear, other merchants will come from the East. The Catalans can usually be counted on to show up with valuable goods at better prices.” “If you like your wares pirated,” Grégoire said with a grin. “For the right price, I don’t care how their goods are sourced,” Cédric replied. “The Venetians aren’t above piracy either, though they’d never call it that.” The threesome arrived at the harbor’s edge, where the alderman and his attendants stood discussing the missing fleet in worried tones. Cédric sighed. How long would his return to Auvergne be delayed? “It seems my errand must wait.” He shaded his eyes with a hand, pointing to a nearby barge. “If you’re in no hurry, join me for a few rounds of cards. The captain of a Norwegian ship anchored down the river in Sluys has a hospitable game table. That barge makes the journey twice a day, for a reasonable price.” “Would it please you, Papa?” Grégoire put a solicitous hand on his father’s shoulder. “There’s nothing I’d enjoy more,” the elder Portier said. * At Sluys, dozens of ships were anchored in the harbor, their goods destined for barges returning to Bruges. The men followed Cédric aboard a battered-looking vessel that had plied the cold waters between Flanders and Norway many times. After greeting Cédric with an affectionate embrace, the captain welcomed the Portier men and escorted them all below decks into his quarters. On a table sat a stack of playing cards and a leather cup holding a pair of dice. The men settled on stools around the table while a sailor fetched wine and the captain shuffled and dealt the cards. “A ship at anchor is far preferable to one at sea,” Monsieur Portier remarked, arranging his cards in his hand. “Our journey here was far too stormy for my taste.” “The more time you spend at sea, the easier it gets.” The captain looked at Cédric with a grin. “You’d better find your sea legs again. Fancy another scramble up some Norwegian cliffs? You proved an excellent nest robber the first time.” Gregoire glanced at Cédric in surprise. “You’ve been to Norway?” “Yes.” Cédric put a card in the discard pile and selected a new one. “I was lucky in my choice of companions. We netted two dozen raptors, half of them gyrfalcons, if I recall correctly.” He looked at the Norwegian, shaking his head ruefully. “Stol på meg, Karl, I would return with you in a heartbeat if I could.” His friend laughed. “Those three words saved our hides more than once. They likely will again.” The Norwegian’s laughter was interrupted by the clatter of boots descending from the upper decks. A man burst into the cabin, his short cape swirling around him. “May I be of service?” the Norwegian asked, still speaking French. He put down his cards and rose from the table. “Captain, forgive me for the interruption,” the stranger said with a bow. His French was inflected with the rolling r’s of Catalan. “But I was told on good faith that you carry a cargo of gyrfalcons. My employer has dispatched me to purchase some without delay.” Cédric’s shoulders tensed. The hold contained several gyrfalcons and a peregrine falcon destined for his own employer’s mews in Auvergne. The captain’s expression turned serious. “I’m afraid my gyrfalcons are already reserved.” The Catalan’s eyes narrowed. “I’ve a letter to show you. It may convince you otherwise.” He withdrew a square of folded linen paper from a pocket and handed it to the Norwegian. From where Cédric was sitting, the seal looked like a star. The captain broke the seal and studied the letter for a moment. His eyes widened a little as he scanned the lines of script. “Tell me,” the Catalan said when the captain met his gaze again. “How much did your other buyers pledge to pay? I’ll double it.” Cédric scraped back his stool and stood. “You cannot buy falcons that are already spoken for, sir. Mine, for instance.” The Catalan turned. He was not much older than Cédric himself, with a taut, chiseled face and dark eyes. He gave Cédric a sweeping, dismissive glance. “This is not your affair,” he said sharply. “I’m afraid it is,” Cédric replied, stepping away from the game table. The captain put up a mollifying hand. “My friend, there’s no cause for you to worry.” “I disagree.” Cédric took another step in the Catalan’s direction, one hand gripping the hilt of his sword. The Catalan widened his stance. “As I said before, my business is not with you, sir.” He slid his own sword from its scabbard with silent precision. The Portier men looked at each other in alarm. “Enough!” The Norwegian’s tone grew hard. Two of his officers materialized in the doorway. “Aboard this ship, everyone is obliged to heed my command.” Cédric’s chest grew tight. He sought the captain’s eyes. “Answer me this. Will you honor our agreement or not?” “Stol på meg, Cédric,” the Norwegian replied in a low voice, his expression steady. Clearing his throat, the Catalan retrieved a purse from his belt and shook it. The clink of metal resonated through the chamber. “Perhaps you’re new to the falcon trade, sir. Gyrfalcons are the most costly and rare of them all,” Cédric said. “I doubt your purse holds enough gold for what you seek. Did you bring another?” The Catalan shot Cédric a look of pure contempt and trained his gaze on the captain. “Show me the birds, and I can pay you now, with my notary as witness.” He called out something in rapid Catalan. Another man appeared in the doorway. “The deal will be quickly done, Captain, and you’ll be a much richer man for it.” The notary drew a leather-bound book from a satchel slung over his shoulder. “With your permission,” he murmured, spreading the book open in his hands. The seal of the city of Bruges was stamped on the first page. The Norwegian nodded his approval. “Follow me,” he told the Catalan and the notary.

The three men vanished, the officers close behind them, and the hard tap of their boots on the planks faded.

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Amy Maroney

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. (Just copy and paste into your browser.)
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