Tuesday, 17 October 2023

Have a sneak-peak between the covers of James Gault's fabulous novel - King’s Warrior (The Owerd Chronicles)

 


King’s Warrior
(The Owerd Chronicles)
By James Gault


Publication Date: 18th July 2023
Publisher: Independently Published
Page Length: 294 Pages
Genre: Historical Fiction

In 11th Century England, King William has achieved almost total domination of the Englisc and turns his attention to Scotland. Owerd, possibly the last of the Britons to be deemed ‘lord’, faces powerful enemies from all quarters. He seems to hold the king’s favour by a thread, which only serves to encourage others to try and bring him down. 

Treachery abounds as he tries to juggle multiple roles and prove himself and his men worthy warriors for the Norman king. But will his lust for a woman finally prove his undoing?

Note from the author

11th Century men and women were just as complex beings as we are today. Owerd, the main character in these chronicles is no different. In “King’s Warrior”, the third book of the series, he goes from violence (“…the air was filled with the clash of swords, angry shouts, and screams of the injured”) to compassion (“… Owerd had rarely, if ever, made love as tenderly as he did with Runa that night”) in the space of a day.

Happiness, fear, disgust, anger, pride and jealousy all play their part in Owerd’s character but what comes to the fore is courage, with perhaps a helping hand from fate – “wyrd” if you will.


Excerpt

There was a relaxed but thoughtful gathering over an evening meal of fresh bread, trout and eel with piles of root vegetables in the castle that evening. The men had been joined by Edward’s wife Matilda and that ensured the conversation did not descend into any excessive male-oriented humour or politics. Regardless, the events of the day concerning the Mint could not be avoided.
‘We have ourselves a mystery’, said Edward. ‘All the signs are of some wrongdoing but the means, the offences themselves and the offenders, other than our prisoner Tomas and his woman Joan, are yet undiscovered’.
‘I agree’, said Owerd, ‘although the woman has convicted herself by attacking and wounding one of my men. It is the possible villainy concerning the coinage that has me most concerned. If the minting process is controlled and the weights are correct, I fail to see what can be amiss, though I am cert that something is. Without good evidence we are at an impasse and moving against the moneyer on mere suspicion could make us look both foolish and put us in way of the king’s wrath’.
Cadoc had been quiet during the meal but listening attentively. ‘Could we not search the moneyer’s dwelling on some pretext? That could bring to light any other stolen goods or suchlike’.
Owerd thought upon that for a few moments, considering the risks of being seen to overstep his authority for no good reason. The image of the fleeing Joan then came to mind.
‘Cadoc, kindly take yourself down to our prisoner. If he is to show he is truly cooperating he will tell you where he believes that Joan woman will flee to. Make no promises but you could suggest that I am in a merciful mood’.
The meal was interrupted again after Cadoc had left by a retainer with word that a monk awaited at the door seeking audience with Owerd. He was duly brought in and Owerd rose from the table in delight at recognizing his friend, the warrior monk and intelligencer Brother John.
‘My apologies for the lateness of my arrival, Sir Owerd, but I went seeking you first at the manor in Wilton before being told you would possibly be here. I have news but I would not disturb others with it, though a share of your bread would not go astray. I have not eaten all day’.
Brother John sat eating quietly, enjoying much more than bread alone, as Cadoc returned to announce the village of Grateley as the fugitive’s likely destination.
‘I believe that our man Alard has his residence near there’, mentioned Edward.
‘That settles it’. Owerd shrugged off the torpor brought on by the plentiful food and wine and became brusque and businesslike. ‘Cadoc, kindly have Cuthbert arrange for a messenger to ride to Winchester at first light. I will have three missives for him: one for the king, another for the Sheriff of Hampshire and one for the king’s moneyer who he should find at the Winchester Mint. Tell Cuthbert also to have most of the men ready to ride at the same time. We will go hunting our female thief. Edward and Matilda please excuse me for a little while I have some letters to write’.
As he rose, Brother John did so also and followed him into the ante-room where they could converse privately as Owerd wrote.
‘I thought it best to give you advance notice, Owerd, the angels of darkness are gathering and seek your blood’. John’s manner was easygoing but his message was chilling. ‘You are accused by Sheriff Roger of Gloucester of gathering a large force of soldiers and threatening to burn Gloucester Castle. He complained to Bishop Odo, who placed that before the king, adding his own complaint about you attacking a delegation of his to Wilton Abbey that was seeking contributions for the restoration of Canterbury Cathedral. Odo’s brother Count Robert has added his own accusation to the pile asserting that you lied to the king when you said you had no personal motive in stealing that woman from Trematon Castle and killing his sergeant-at-arms. The king has his mind elsewhere just now over disturbing reports from the north but I suspect he will feel forced to act upon these multiple accusations. Gird your loins my friend for a trip to Winchester yourself and meanwhile stay out of dark alleys’.
‘Those accusations are all nonsense of course’, said Owerd as he looked up from his writing, ‘but I thank you for taking the trouble to let me know. I will be prepared’.
‘I have other news, perhaps of a better nature, Owerd. I know how you value your new ships of war so I called in there at Gosport to see how matters lie. The men there seem to be in good spirits and have made many a capture of pirate vessels of late. Sir Godric I cannot recall meeting before but he seems a competent man and mentioned that should I see you he recommends an early visit. He said you should take a good escort. Why he suggested that I know not but that is something I would recommend anyway, things being as they are’.
‘I must admit John, that these duties as sheriff take up such of my time as to prevent me paying proper attention to the business of being the king’s Sea Lord. I shall make a point of visiting there very soon. Meanwhile, let us go and enjoy a few more cups of the castle’s quite palatable wine and we shall find you a bed for the night’.
The next morning’s weather was not conducive to leaving the warmth of one’s bedding. The sky was a dark glowering grey and a harsh northern wind knocked the already-frigid air another few degrees colder. Owerd was thus delighted to see Cadoc holding his horse ready as he left the castle keep and he could just sight his men gathering their mounts in the outer bailey. Cuthbert stood alongside Cadoc with another housecarl.
‘Ralph here is ready for your messages, my lord’.
Owerd handed over three tightly wrapped pieces of parchment and a small purse.


Grab your copy HERE!
This title is available to read on #KindleUnlimited.


James Gault


James is a semi-retired Naval Captain with an abiding interest in storytelling and history. He has written a few contemporary fiction stories and a history text but lately has concentrated on historical fiction. He lives in a small coastal town in SE Australia – which provides quite a challenge when addressing medieval England with the aid of an old school atlas.

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Thursday, 12 October 2023

Have a sneak-peek between the covers of Burning Secret by R J Lloyd



Burning Secret
By R J Lloyd 


Publication Date: 24th May 2022
Publisher: Matador
Page Length: 384 Pages
Genre: Historical Fiction 

Inspired by actual events, Burning Secret is a dramatic and compelling tale of ambition, lies and betrayal. 

Born in the slums of Bristol in 1844, Enoch Price seems destined for a life of poverty and hardship-but he’s determined not to accept his lot. 

Enoch becomes a bare-knuckle fighter in London’s criminal underworld. But in a city where there’s no place for honest dealing, a cruel loan shark cheats him, leaving Enoch penniless and facing imprisonment. 

Undaunted, he escapes to a new life in America and embarks on a series of audacious exploits. But even as he helps shape history, Enoch is not content. Tormented by his past and the life he left behind, Enoch soon becomes entangled in a web of lies and secrets. 
Will he ever break free and find the happiness he craves? 

Influenced by real people and events, Enoch’s remarkable story is one of adventure, daring, political power, deceit and, in the end, the search for redemption and forgiveness.  


Excerpt

A moment later, a gust of cool fresh air struck Harry in the face. Taking a deep breath, it felt refreshing and pleasant, a welcome relief from the hot, stifling smoke, but before he could exhale, the horror of it dawned. The wind had turned and was now blowing due south towards him. This fresh, invigorating breeze fanned the glowing embers like a blacksmith’s bellows, roaring the fire back into action. Within seconds, it had again built to an inferno, destroying buildings as if made of paper and card. The blaze was worse than before, launching itself across Beaver Street, smashing into Ashley, then south into Church Street. Ten blocks disappeared in the space of minutes. Haney and his crews were seen in Newman Street running for their lives, pumps and horses abandoned. At Main Street, they regrouped to face the onslaught, but it was futile. The Church of the Immaculate Conception exploded and crashed to the ground as a pile of burning debris. At this rate of advance, it would take less than an hour before the fire levelled City Hall, the courthouse and armoury. Nothing could withstand its force. Neither brick, stone nor walls of granite provided any defence to its renewed ferocity. Harry and Munoz watched in horror as three blocks north, a pencil- thin tornado of roaring gases and jets of hot flame whipped and twisted hundreds of feet upwards. This whirlwind of fire dipped and wrapped its flowing skirt around the elegant St James Hotel before ripping it out by its roots, the whole block vanishing into the sky as a flash of blinding heat. 
Munoz grabbed Harry by the arm. ‘My God, it’s coming! Mr Mason, we must leave. The Devil himself is upon us!’ 
But the fiery orb mesmerised Harry’s attention. Munoz slapped him hard. 
‘No!’ screamed Harry. ‘I can’t lose again. I must fight.’ ‘Mr Mason, if we stay, we’ll die.’
At that moment, their attention was drawn to a commotion in the street below. Freshly arrived from Savannah, fire crews were careering up from the train station, bells clanging and horns hooting. Two large steam- driven pumps on heavy wagons, each pulled by six snarling, chestnut drays, sped wildly along West Bay Street. Harry and Munoz were transfixed as forty firefighters followed close behind, jogging in close order towards the danger. The two spectators allowed their gaze to follow the parade to the intersection with Laura Street, where Haney and his men had reassembled. Long hoses were being hurriedly unreeled and connected to the nearby jetty hydrants. 
‘Look, Mr Mason. They are preparing an action to fight. Here is where your hotel is saved,’ said Munoz, wrapping a firm hand around Harry’s wrist, dragging him away from the decking and pushing him hard through the trapdoor of their crow’s nest. Munoz came behind, helter-skelter down the wooden stairs they went, through the clock tower and into the foyer where Harry’s staff had gathered. Every one of them terrified and ready to desert. Munoz, commanding them in melodramatic style, said, ‘Come, gentlemen. Take up your buckets and follow. We will save our hotel.’ 
Outside on the street, Harry urged his men on as hot embers showered down, scorching holes in their clothes and catching their hair. Harry and Munoz jumped into a buggy and drove furiously towards Haney and his congregation of firefighters. The heat was so fierce, the buggy’s canopy burst spontaneously into flames. The horse, its eyes bulging in terror, reared and kicked, frantically whinnying in distress. Harry leapt forward, releasing the traces, allowing the terrified creature to escape at a wild gallop along West Bay. 
Harry’s band of porters, bellhops and kitchen boys ran to make up the distance, frantically pulling their hoses on two dog carts found abandoned on the sidewalk. In their grey and burgundy-striped uniforms, they had the appearance of a gang of crazed convicts. 
At the junction of West Bay and Laura Street, Haney’s men were hampered by crowds of panic-stricken refugees packing the jetties in the hope of salvation across the river. 

Pick up your copy HERE!

R J Lloyd


After retiring as a senior police officer, R J Lloyd turned my detective skills to genealogy, tracing his family history to the 16th century. However, after 15 years of extensive research, he couldn’t track down his great-great-grandfather, Enoch Price, whose wife, Eliza, had, in living memory, helped raise his mother.

It was his cousin Gillian who, after several more dead-ends, called one day to say that she had found him through a fluke encounter. Susan Sperry from California, who had recently retired, decided to explore the box of documents given to her thirty years before by her mother, which she had never opened. In the box, she found some references to her great grandfather, Harry Mason, a wealthy hotel owner from Florida who had died in 1919. It soon transpired that Susan’s great grandfather, Harry Mason, was, in fact, Enoch Price. 

From this single thread, the extraordinary story of Harry Mason began to unravel, leading R J Lloyd to visit the States to meet his newly discovered American cousins, and it was Susan Sperry and Kimberly Mason, direct descendants, who persuaded R J Lloyd to write the extraordinary story of their ancestor. 

R J Lloyd graduated from the University of Warwick with a degree in Philosophy and Psychology and a Masters in Marketing from UWE. Since leaving a thirty-year career in policing, he’s been a non-executive director with the NHS, social housing, and other charities. He lives with my wife in Bristol, spending his time travelling, writing and producing delicious plum jam from the trees on his award-winning allotment. 

Author Links: 




Sunday, 8 October 2023

Check out Julia Ibbotson's fabulous novel - Drumbeats

 


Drumbeats

By Julia Ibbotson



Publication Date: re-published June 21st, 2023

Publisher: self-published / Archbury Books

Page Length: 230 Pages

Genre: Historical Romance / Historical Mystery (20th Century)


t’s 1965, and 18 year old Jess escapes her stifling English home for a gap year in Ghana, West Africa. But it’s a time of political turbulence across the region. Fighting to keep her young love who waits back in England, she’s thrown into the physical and emotional dangers of civil war, tragedy and the conflict of a disturbing new relationship. And why do the drumbeats haunt her dreams?


This is a rite of passage story which takes the reader hand in hand with Jess on her journey towards the complexities and mysteries of a disconcerting adult world.


This is the first novel in the acclaimed Drumbeats trilogy: Drumbeats, Walking in the Rain, Finding Jess.


For fans of Dinah Jefferies, Kate Morton, Rachel Hore, Jenny Ashcroft.



Pick up your copy HERE!

This title is available to read on #KindleUnlimited.


Julia Ibbotson



Award-winning author Julia Ibbotson herself spent an exciting time in Ghana, West Africa, teaching and nursing (like Jess in her books), and always vowed to write about the country and its past. And so, the Drumbeats Trilogy was born. She’s also fascinated by history, especially by the medieval world, and concepts of time travel, and has written haunting time-slips of romance and mystery partly set in the Anglo-Saxon period. 


She studied English at Keele University, England, specialising in medieval language, literature and history, and has a PhD in linguistics. She wrote her first novel at age 10, but became a school teacher, then university lecturer and researcher. Her love of writing never left her and to date she’s written 9 books, with a 10th on the way. 


Julia is a member of the Romantic Novelists Association, Society of Authors and the Historical Novel Society.



Author Links:

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Check out an excerpt from Rebecca Rosenberg's fabulous Champagne Widows Series

 


Champagne Widows, the first woman of champagne
Madame Pommery, Creator of Brut Champagne
By Rebecca Rosenberg


Book Titles: Champagne Widows / Madame Pommery
Series: Champagne Widows Series
Author: Rebecca Rosenberg
Publication Dates: March 2022 / April 2023
Publisher: Lion Heart Publishing
Page Length: 368 Pages
Genre: Historical Fiction

EDITORS CHOICE HISTORICAL NOVEL SOCIETY
“A-Tour-de-Force” Publisher’s Weekly BookLife Prize

MADAME POMMERY, Creator of Brut Champagne


"A tour-de-force of historical fiction, Madame Pommery is a deeply fascinating work that blends true-to-life details with artfully crafted elements." --Publishers Weekly BookLife Prize

Madame Pommery is a story of a woman's indomitable spirit in the face of insurmountable odds. Set in Champagne, France in 1860, Madame Pommery is a forty-year-old widow and etiquette teacher whose husband has passed away. Now she must find a way to support her family. With no experience, she decides to make champagne, but no champagne makers will teach her their craft. Undeterred, Madame Pommery begins to secretly excavate champagne caves under the Reims city dump and faces numerous obstacles to achieve her dream. From the Franco-Prussian war that conscripts her son and crew to the Prussian General Frederick Franz occupying her home, Madame Pommery perseveres. She even must choose between her champagne dreams and a marriage proposal from her former lover, a Scottish Baron. Inspired by a true story, Madame Pommery is a heroic tale of a woman's strength and determination to create a champagne legacy. If you enjoyed the novel Sarah's Key, you will enjoy Madame Pommery. 
 
~~

CHAMPAGNE WIDOWS, the First Woman of Champagne


EDITORS CHOICE HISTORICAL NOVEL SOCIETY This engrossing historical novel by Rebecca Rosenberg follows Veuve Clicquot, a strong-minded woman determined to defy the Napoleon Code and become a master champagne maker. In 1800 France, twenty-year-old Barbe-Nicole inherits her great-grandfather's uncanny sense of smell and uses it to make great champagne, despite the Code prohibiting women from owning a business. When tragedy strikes and she becomes a Veuve (widow), she must grapple with a domineering partner, the complexities of making champagne, and the aftermath of six Napoleon wars. When she falls in love with her sales manager, Louis Bohne, she must choose between losing her winery to her husband to obey the Napoleon Code, or losing Louis. In the ultimate showdown, Veuve Clicquot defies Napoleon himself, risking prison and even death. If you enjoyed books like 'The Widow of the South' by Robert Hicks or 'The Paris Seamstress' by Natasha Lester, you'll love 'Veuve Clicquot'.



Excerpt

“Champagne. In victory one deserves it, in defeat one needs it.” –Napoleon Bonaparte

Chapter 1
Le Nez
The Nose 

Reims, Champagne, France 1797

Grand-mère sways over the edge of the stone stairs into the cavern, and I step between her and eternity, dizzy from the bloody tang of her head bandage.
“Let’s go back. We’ll come another time.” I try to turn her around, so we don’t tumble into the dark crayère, but she holds firm. 
“There won’t be another time if I know your maman and her heretic doctor.” 
They drilled into Grand-mère’s skull again for a disease they call hysteria. The hole was supposed to let out evil spirits, but the gruesome treatment hasn’t stopped her sniffing every book, pillow, and candle, trying to capture its essence, agitated that her sense of smell has disappeared.
“This is how you know you are alive, Barbe-Nicole.” She taps her nose frantically. “The aromas of brioche fresh from the oven, lavender water ironed into your clothes, your father’s pipe smoke. You must understand. Time is running out.” Her fingernails claw my arm, the whale oil lamp sputtering and smoking in her other hand.
“Let me lead.” Taking the stinking lantern, I let her grip my shoulders from behind. Grand-mère shrunk so much, she’s my height of five feet, though she’s a step above. For as long as I remember, she has tried to justify my worst fault. My cursed proboscis, as Maman calls my over-sensitive nose, has been a battle between us since I was little. I remember walking with her through town, avoiding chamber pots dumped from windows, horse excrement paving the roads, and factories belching black gases. Excruciating pain surged to my nose, making my eyes water and sending me into sneezing fits. Maman left me standing alone on the street. 
From then on, my sense of smell swelled beyond reason. Mostly ordinary odors, but sometimes I imagine I can smell the stink of a lie. Or the perfume of a pure heart. Or the heartbreaking smell of what could have been. 
Maman complains my cursed sense of smell makes me too particular, too demanding, and frankly, too peculiar. Decidedly troublesome traits for a daughter she’s tried to marry off since I was sixteen. But why must the suitors she picks have to smell so bad?  
Grand-mère squeezes my shoulder. “It is not your fault you are the way you are, Barbe-Nicole; it’s a gift.” She chirped this over and over this afternoon until Maman threatened to have the doctor drill her skull again. 
The lantern casts ghoulish shadows on the chalk walls as my bare toes reach for the next stair and the next. I’ll have hell to pay if we’re caught down here. Part of me came tonight to humor Grand-mère, but part of me craves more time with her. I’ve witnessed her tremors, her shuffling feet, her crazy obsessions, which now seem to focus on my nose. 
As we descend, the dank air chills my legs; feathery chalk dust makes my feet slip on the steps. The Romans excavated these chalk quarries a thousand years ago, creating a sprawling web of crayères under our ancient town of Reims. What exactly does Grand-mère have in mind bringing me down here? The lantern throws a halo on grape clusters laying on the rough-hewn table. 
Ah, she wants to play her sniffing game. 
“How did you set this up?” My toes recoil from cold puddles of spring water. 
“I’m not dead yet,” she croaks. Taking off her fringed bed shawl, she ties it like a blindfold over my eyes. “Don’t peek.”
“Wouldn’t dare.” I lift a corner of the shawl, and she raps my fingers like the nuns at St.-Pierre-Les-Dames where Maman sent me to school before the Revolution shut down convents.  
“Quit lollygagging and breathe deep.” Grand-mère’s knobby fingertips knead below my cheekbones, opening my nasal passages to the mineral smell of chalk, pristine groundwater, oak barrels, the purple aroma of fermenting wine. 
But these profound smells can’t stop me fretting about Maman’s determination to marry me off before the year is out. I told her I’d only marry a suitor that smells like springtime. “Men do not smell like that,” she scolded.
But men do. Or one did, anyway. He was conscribed to war several years ago, so he probably doesn’t smell like springtime anymore. His green-sprout smell ruined me for anyone else.
Grand-mère places a bunch of grapes in my hands and brings it to my nose. “What comes to you?” 
“The grapes smell like ripening pears and a hint of Hawthorne berry.”  
She chortles and replaces the grapes with another bunch. “What about these?” 
Drawing the aroma into the top of my palate, I picture gypsies around a campfire, smoky, deep, and complex. “Grilled toast and coffee.”
Her next handful of grapes are sticky and soft, the aroma so robust and delicious, my tongue longs for a taste. “Smells like chocolate-covered cherries.”
Grand-mère wheezes with a rasp and rattle that scares me. 
I yank off the blindfold. “Grand-mère?”
“You’re ready.” She slides me a wooden box carved with vineyards and women carrying baskets of grapes on their heads. “Open it.”
Inside lays a gold tastevin, a wine-tasting cup on a long, heavy neck chain. 
“Your great Grand-père, Nicolas Ruinart, used this cup to taste wine with the monks at Hautvillers Abbey. Just by smelling the grapes, he could tell you the slope of the hill on which they grew, the exposure to the sun, the minerals in the soil.” She closes her papery eyelids and inhales. “He’d lift his nose to the west and smell the ocean.” She turns. “He’d smell German bratwurst to the northeast.” Her head swivels. “To the south, the perfume of lavender fields in Provence.” Her snaggletooth protrudes when she smiles. “Your great Grand-père was Le Nez.” The Nose. “He passed down his precious gift to you.”
Here she goes again with her crazy notions. “Maman says Le Nez is a curse.”
Grand-mère clucks her tongue. “Your maman didn’t inherit Le Nez, so she doesn’t understand it. It’s a rare and precious gift, smelling the hidden essence of things. I took it for granted, and now it’s gone.” Her wrinkled hand picks up the gold tastevin and christens my nose. 
A prickling clusters in my sinuses like a powerful sneeze that won’t release. I wish there were truth to Grand-mère’s ramblings; it would explain so much about my finicky nature. 
“You are Le Nez, Barbe-Nicole.” She lifts the chain over my head, and the cup nestles above my breasts. “You must carry on Grand-père Ruinart’s gift.” 
“Why haven’t you told me about this until now?” 
“Your maman forbid it.” She wags her finger. “But I’m taking matters into my own hands before I die.” 
I feel an etching on the bottom of the cup. “Is this an anchor?”
“Ah, yes, the anchor. The anchor symbolizes clarity and courage during chaos and confusion.” 
“Chaos and confusion?” Now I know the story is a delusion. “Aren’t those your cat’s names?”
“I have cats?” She stares vacantly into the beyond, and her eerie, foreboding voice echoes through the chamber. “To whom much is given, much is expected.” 
Holding her bandaged head, Grand-mère keens incoherently. The lantern casts her monstrous shadow on the crayère wall; her tasting game has become a nightmare. 
“Let’s get you back to your room.” I try to walk her to the stairs, but her legs give out. Lifting her bird-like body in my arms, I carry her as she carried me as a child, trying not to topple over into the crayère. 
“Promise you’ll carry on Le Nez,” she says, exhaling sentir le sapin, the smell of fir coffins. 
My dear Grand-mère is dying in my arms. Now I know Le Nez is a curse.
“Promise me.” Her eyelids flutter and close.
“I won’t let you down, Grand-mère,” I whisper. She feels suddenly light in my arms, but the gold tastevin feels heavy, so very heavy, around my neck.
© Rebecca Rosenberg


Pick up your copy HERE!

Rebecca Rosenberg


Rebecca Rosenberg is an award-winning novelist, champagne geek, and lavender farmer. Rebecca first fell in love with methode champenoise in Sonoma Valley, California. Over decades of delicious research, she has explored the wine cellars of France, Spain, Italy, and California in search of fine champagne. When Rebecca discovered the real-life stories of the Champagne Widows of France, she knew she’d dedicate years to telling the stories of these remarkable women who made champagne the worldwide phenomenon it is today. 
Rebecca is a champagne historian, tour guide, and champagne cocktail expert for Breathless Wines. Other award-winning novels include The Secret Life of Mrs. London and Gold Digger, the Remarkable Baby Doe Tabor.

Author Links:




Wednesday, 4 October 2023

Have a sneak-peek bettwen the covers of MK McClintock's fabulous book - The Ghost of Greyson Hall (British Agents Series, Book #4).



The Ghost of Greyson Hall
(British Agents Series, Book #4)
By MK McClintock


Publication Date: October 3rd, 2023
Publisher: Independently Published
Page Length: 169 Pages
Genre: Historical Romance Mystery

Once a year, an ancient secret walks the corridors of Greyson Hall, a place shrouded in mystery and whispered legend. 

When Devon Clayton inherited the stately mansion in England’s wild north from his uncle, he never imagined what secrets lurked within its walls, hidden for centuries. When his friends and brothers join him for the holiday, the British Agents and their families discover that their most unusual case will bring new meaning to Christmas spirit. 

They must now unravel a century-old mystery if they are to break the curse and save a love that transcends time.

A long novella set in Northumberland in December 1782 and 1892.

***
Also Available:

Alaina Claiborne
Blackwood Crossing
Clayton's Honor

Note: The British Agent series books are written to be read as stand-alone novels. However, they each have cross-over characters, meaning characters from each book will appear in the others. The only reading order is chronological, but each title can still be read as stand-alone.

***

Praise for the British Agent Series:

"Ms. McClintock succeeds in masterfully weaving both genres meticulously together until mystery lovers are sold on romance and romance lovers love the mystery!" 
—InD'Tale Magazine on Alaina Claiborne

"This book was perfectly-paced with mystery, romance, adventure, and so much more. I am definitely recommending that everyone who loves historical fiction in general read this book. I cannot wait to start reading the next book in this series."
—Dreams Come True Through Reading on Blackwood Crossing

"MK McClintock has spun an enchanting tale deeply entrenched in the lands of Scotland and England that will leave you riveted to your chair until you turn the last page." —My Life, One Story at a Time on Blackwood Crossing

"Clayton's Honor by MK McClintock is a clean historical romance that will keep your heart beating and your palms sweating. This is definitely a novel that is going on my 'read again' shelf! A really good and smooth read!" —Readers' Favorite 



Excerpt

A duke, an earl, and a mere mister, each willing to sacrifice the dream of a family to serve their king and country. The three men had become allies by necessity, friends through trust, and brothers of the heart through loyalty and devotion. Of course, not one of them had anticipated meeting the brave and remarkable women whose love promised a life apart from cold beds, scar-ridden bodies, and more secrets than any one person should have to keep.

Love, unwavering and eternal, was the legacy they could now pass onto their sons and daughters. Devon planned to revive the talk of little ones with Anne at the first opportunity. For now, he continued down the landing to the east wing, where his younger brothers, Derek and Zachary, occupied rooms when they were in residence. They still served as trusted agents to the crown and rarely spent more than a week a month at Greyson Hall.

Devon stopped at the first bedroom, the original nursery, and opened the door. The draft Anne mentioned coursed over his face and bare hands before he even entered. “Of course, there’s a draft without heat.” He found the vent, knelt, and held a hand over it. The servants kept the coal furnace fueled most of the day, and though not an ideal system, it warmed the impressive house to a reasonable degree of comfort. Natural convection was indeed pushing some of the heat into the room.

He stood and examined each window. Each one was secure, and the cold glass panes did not explain the draft still flowing around him. Devon examined the padded bench at a corner dressing table, determined it would hold his weight, and moved it next to the wardrobe. He reached a hand along the edges of the ceiling, to no avail.

“You must find country life far more tedious than I do if you’ve resorted to dusting corners for cobwebs. It has only been three months since your retirement.”

Without looking at his friend, Devon stepped off the stool and asked Charles, “Do you feel a draft?”

“All these country houses have drafts. It’s a requirement. The attics at Blackwood Crossing have several, and no matter who looks at it or how often we have crevices filled or the roof repaired, the drafts remain.”

“You don’t feel it?”

Excerpt from The Ghost of Greyson Hall copyright © MK McClintock.



Pick up your copy HERE!

MK McClintock


MK McClintock is an award-winning author who writes historical romantic fiction about chivalrous men and strong women who appreciate chivalry. Her stories of romance, mystery, and adventure sweep across the American West to the Victorian British Isles with places and times between and beyond. 

Her works include the following series: Montana Gallaghers, Crooked Creek, British Agents, Whitcomb Springs, and the stand-alone collection, A Home for Christmas. She is also the co-author of the McKenzie Sisters Mysteries.

MK enjoys a quiet life in the northern Rocky Mountains. Visit her online home at www.mkmcclintock.com, where you can learn more about her books, explore extras, and subscribe to receive news. 

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Thursday, 28 September 2023

Check out an excerpt from Ally Stirling's fabulous novel - The Sight of Heather



The Sight of Heather
By Ally Stirling


Publication Date: September 15th, 2023
Publisher: Author Ally Stirling
Page Length: 338 Pages
Genre: Historical Women’s Fiction / Scottish Folklore

For centuries, the fae folk and spae women of Scotland were feared – and persecuted.

Life in the 1800s countryside, with its unforgiving climate, was both magnificent and harsh – testing cultures, beliefs and the loyalties of crofters.

The first in this series, The Sight of Heather, begins a journey of allegiance, sacrifice, and fortitude in a land of bold, resilient women.

Jessie’s ideal life spirals when she learns she is a first daughter in a biological line of ‘spaes’ endowed with unique gifts of spiritual sight and healing, aided by powerful ancestral stones.

Backed by a vindictive priest intent on charging Jessie with murder and witchcraft, the new owner of the Cruachan Manor plots to rout the spaes and destroy their beloved forest.

Despite grave warnings and family conflict, Jessie determinedly pursues her skills and powers, plunging her family and village into danger.

Resolute in uplifting her fellow women, Jessie consults her stones.
Faced with those who deem her evil, she must choose to relinquish her craft, or sacrifice herself to protect her culture and kin – and Lily, the next first daughter – the future of the spaes.



Excerpt

Her mind emptied as she breathed in the aroma of white heather still hanging in the air from making Jessie’s dress. The stones warmed. Sitting cross-legged, she let her body sway before slipping into weightlessness. Time stood still as her surroundings melted into the dark, allowing her mind to travel. An indeterminate time passed before she opened her eyes, returned both stones to their bag, wrapped the tartan knot in brown paper with a sprig of the white heather from Jessie’s bouquet, then packed both away. After pushing the chest back to its place under the bed, she changed into her nightclothes, climbed into bed, blew out the candle, then prayed to her guides … before crying herself to sleep.



Pick up your copy HERE!

Ally Stirling



Ally Stirling is a Fiction writer of Scottish origin, currently living in Cape Town with her Braveheart husband, awesome children, the happiest dog in the world, and her menacing cat (aka 'Devil Cat').

An unexpected gift resulting in a prophetic message prompted Ally to give her passion for writing the time it demanded, and in 2018 she joined Cathy Eden's Working with Words writers group. She credits the love, support, and inspiration of this group of talented women, her 'writing tribe' for encouraging her to put words on paper. She also joined (ROSA,) and while Romance is not her genre, this association has been an invaluable source of knowledge and insight into the indie publishing world.

Allowing her imagination freedom to roam resulted in various short stories, before one in particular rooted itself, evolving into her first full-length novel. This book has now become first in a series, with the second and third ready to follow, four and five in the planning stage. Who knew her characters would be so demanding.

Her love of writing fiction stems from her belief that it transports us to magical places when life gets too real. 

Addicted to her friends, coffee, every colour of wine, and any type of chocolate, she describes her clan as the family and friends who have built her castle and keep her sane, without whom she'd be short on humour and drinking games. 

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Blog Tour: Poole of Honour by RJ Verity

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