tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-13726091078881073542024-03-05T06:34:36.223+00:00LoupDargent.infoThe Blog formerly known as 'Forward and Share' and 'LoupDargent.com'...Loup Dargenthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11143365444371974784noreply@blogger.comBlogger2423125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1372609107888107354.post-42703269481564555302021-11-25T06:22:00.000+00:002021-11-25T06:22:00.514+00:00[Blog Tour] 'Christmas at Hembry Castle' (Hembry Castle Chronicles) By Meredith Allard #HistoricalFiction<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEiMswp51z3F9o1DixmTfhPqgqM9aCWo_Qsj0O00lgsqSA6-toCzdStBNaC5Fo7eEBE_k0PSTjNmBSFcx94l2QUSaNbjMpwDydaqwET6gpdEB4RmH-4oFd6G3Kue-75lNTj5GYqqmb2C4uo5Dzi2O6k6HwZIB5sjNGg5g31hJhYqq_5Jg-5vrRg1XEfWcw=s1600" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img alt="[Blog Tour] 'Christmas at Hembry Castle' (Hembry Castle Chronicles) By Meredith Allard #HistoricalFiction" border="0" data-original-height="900" data-original-width="1600" height="360" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEiMswp51z3F9o1DixmTfhPqgqM9aCWo_Qsj0O00lgsqSA6-toCzdStBNaC5Fo7eEBE_k0PSTjNmBSFcx94l2QUSaNbjMpwDydaqwET6gpdEB4RmH-4oFd6G3Kue-75lNTj5GYqqmb2C4uo5Dzi2O6k6HwZIB5sjNGg5g31hJhYqq_5Jg-5vrRg1XEfWcw=w640-h360" width="640" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i><span style="font-family: arial;">Christmas at Hembry Castle - Tour Banner </span></i></td></tr></tbody></table><h3><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: x-large;">The Book:</span></h3><div><span style="font-family: arial;"><b>Christmas at Hembry Castle </b><br /><i>(Hembry Castle Chronicles)</i><br /><i>By Meredith Allard</i><br /><ul style="text-align: left;"><li><span style="font-family: arial;"><b>Publication Date:</b> <i>1st December 2020</i></span></li><li><span style="font-family: arial;"><b>Publisher:</b> <i>Copperfield Press</i></span></li><li><span style="font-family: arial;"><b>Page Length: </b><i>120 Pages</i></span></li><li><span style="font-family: arial;"><b>Genre:</b> <i>Historical Fiction/Victorian/Holiday</i></span></li></ul></span><h3 style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: x-large;">The Blurb:</span></h3><span style="font-family: arial;"><i><blockquote>You are cordially invited to Christmas at Hembry Castle.<br /><br />An unlikely earl struggles with his new place. A young couple’s love is tested. What is a meddling ghost to do?<br /><br />In the tradition of A Christmas Carol, travel back to Victorian England and enjoy a lighthearted, festive holiday celebration.</blockquote></i></span><h3 style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: x-large;">Buy Links:</span></h3><span style="font-family: arial;"><ul style="text-align: left;"><li><span style="font-family: arial;"><b><a href="https://meredithallard.com/her-dear-loving-husband/hembry-castle-chronicles/christmas-at-hembry-castle/" target="_blank">Meredith Allard’s Website</a> </b></span><b><span style="font-family: arial; font-style: italic;">✔ </span><span style="font-family: arial;"><a href="https://www.amazon.co.uk/Christmas-at-Hembry-Castle-Novella-ebook/dp/B08P948ZBL" target="_blank">Amazon UK</a> </span><span style="font-family: arial; font-style: italic;">✔ </span><span style="font-family: arial;"><a href="https://www.amazon.com/Christmas-at-Hembry-Castle-Novella-ebook/dp/B08P948ZBL" target="_blank">Amazon US</a></span><span style="font-family: arial;"> </span><span style="font-family: arial; font-style: italic;">✔ </span><span style="font-family: arial;"><a href="https://www.amazon.ca/Christmas-at-Hembry-Castle-Novella-ebook/dp/B08P948ZBL" target="_blank">Amazon CA</a></span><span style="font-family: arial;"> </span><span style="font-family: arial; font-style: italic;">✔ </span><span style="font-family: arial;"><a href="https://www.amazon.com.au/Christmas-at-Hembry-Castle-Novella-ebook/dp/B08P948ZBL" target="_blank">Amazon AU</a></span><span style="font-family: arial;"> </span><span style="font-family: arial; font-style: italic;">✔ </span><span style="font-family: arial;"><a href="https://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/christmas-at-hembry-castle-meredith-allard/1138391622" target="_blank">Barnes and Noble</a></span><span style="font-family: arial;"> </span><span style="font-family: arial; font-style: italic;">✔</span><span style="font-family: arial;"> </span><span style="font-family: arial;"><a href="https://www.kobo.com/us/en/ebook/christmas-at-hembry-castle" target="_blank">Kobo</a></span><span style="font-family: arial;"> </span><span style="font-family: arial; font-style: italic;">✔ </span><span style="font-family: arial;"><a href="https://books.apple.com/us/book/christmas-at-hembry-castle/id1542820906" target="_blank">iBooks</a></span><span style="font-family: arial;"> </span><span style="font-family: arial; font-style: italic;">✔</span></b><span style="font-family: arial;"> </span></li></ul></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgGVuzwyVcb4SJjJ9P0el53D969bTM7dNCQ79nvzarxlVB3pOoiYnD_3nBYWmPbFfwiKYi7bmCvAmSQbBNZQzxo_4lEh3ldc-PNEhOFggkgu-y_dBXKAHTe_Yhfpti-JQanZnHiQ-XG4Y3mdF_cuj3KiXSN5HwoxCeA_9JC32iO57VlLuzyrKia8-yvmA=s640" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img alt="[Blog Tour] 'Christmas at Hembry Castle' (Hembry Castle Chronicles) By Meredith Allard #HistoricalFiction" border="0" data-original-height="640" data-original-width="426" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgGVuzwyVcb4SJjJ9P0el53D969bTM7dNCQ79nvzarxlVB3pOoiYnD_3nBYWmPbFfwiKYi7bmCvAmSQbBNZQzxo_4lEh3ldc-PNEhOFggkgu-y_dBXKAHTe_Yhfpti-JQanZnHiQ-XG4Y3mdF_cuj3KiXSN5HwoxCeA_9JC32iO57VlLuzyrKia8-yvmA=w426-h640" width="540" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i><span style="font-family: arial;">Christmas at Hembry Castle - Cover</span></i></td></tr></tbody></table><h3><span style="font-family: arial;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">'Christmas at Hembry Castle' - Excerpt:</span></span></h3></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: arial;">Preparing for Christmas at Hembry Castle was a months-long affair. In September, Mrs. Graham, in consultation with the Countess of Staton and Lady Daphne, created her festive menus for breakfasts, luncheons, teas, dinners, and other celebrations from the first of December through Twelfth Night. She gathered ingredients in October and cooked and baked in November and December. Mrs. Ellis once asked Mrs. Graham how many pies she baked in a Christmas season, to which Mrs. Graham replied, “Somewhere between one hundred and ten thousand million.” Everyone always clamored for pies—mince pies, pork pies, turkey pies, pigeon pies, raised game pies, squab pies, steak and kidney pies, roast chicken pies, beef and potato pies, cheese and onion pies, and more mince pies. Mrs. Graham baked enough for the family and their many guests, enough for the villagers, enough for the farmers, enough for all England it seemed. Pies were all Mrs. Graham knew these days. <br /><br /> Sometimes, when Mrs. Ellis was taking tea in her sitting room, bent over the house accounts, her head popped up at the call of “Pies!” ringing from the kitchen. “Pies! Pies! Pies!” When Mrs. Ellis went to investigate, she saw Mrs. Graham and her maids elbow-deep in pastry, nutmeg, sugar, milk, eggs, suet, beef, apples, currants, raisins, brandy, and lemons. Indeed, mince pies were most popular this time of year. Mrs. Ellis always tip-toed away, leaving them to their “Pies!” <br /><br /> A constant stream of visitors flowed through the ancient halls of Hembry Castle throughout the month of December, and Hembry Castle would not be caught out before its guests. The maids dusted every volume in the library, buffed every droplet of the chandeliers until they gleamed, turned on the gaslights, and set glowing candles on the shelves. The footmen polished the silver and laid bowls of pomegranates, oranges, and spices on every flat surface, the scents of cinnamon and citrus filling the air. His lordship and Lady Daphne busied themselves writing Christmas cards, and Lady Daphne made a decoupage display with the colorful cards they received. Mr. Ellis was only slightly embarrassed by the arrival of a box of Christmas crackers ordered by Lady Daphne, who had been so charmed by the bon-bons and poems inside the tissue paper at her first Christmas at Hembry Castle. The butler set his wire-rimmed spectacles back on his nose, coughed, winked, then finally accepted the box from the impatient delivery boy. <br /><br /> Feathered trees lined the shelves, proudly displaying their cotton stars and glass ornaments. The warm spicy scents of the season were soon overpowered by the fresh greens dragged inside by the gardeners, and suddenly the midwinter wasn’t quite so bleak. Holly with its star-shaped leaves and red berries was made into wreaths for doors both inside and out. Mistletoe hung discreetly from the Roman arches, leaving giggling maids and grinning footmen scurrying when footsteps headed their way. Pine boughs lined the banisters and framed every door. Sometimes, after their guests had gone for the day, after they partook of Mrs. Graham’s scrumptious delights, as they sat before a hot fire with a good book and a cup of tea, both Frederick and Daphne found some respite from their worries. What they would not admit, even to themselves, was that Christmas at Hembry Castle in the Year of Our Lord 1871 was all a performance with Lord Staton and Lady Daphne primed for the stage. The grand old house looked festive enough, though neither the earl nor his daughter were much in the holiday spirit. Still, they played the role of Gaiety as if wearing smiling Greek masks. Father and daughter did their duty to every guest expecting a grand celebration. <br /><br /> Frederick and Daphne found still another reprieve when some of the farmers dragged in the tall Christmas tree, freshly chopped from the forest. Frederick meant to speak to Clayton, to say hello, to inquire after the farmer’s family, wondering if he had made it to London after all. He had heard rumors, you know, his lordship, and he wanted to be certain all was well. Clayton turned his apple face away, slightly less brown in the winter months, ignoring Lord Staton’s gestures toward anything resembling conversation. <br /><br /> After the tree was set upright everyone gasped as the highest point nearly touched the cathedral ceiling. By way of Prince Albert, sadly passed nearly ten years to the day now, Christmas trees had become the fashion in England and no stately home was complete for the holiday season without one. After the mess of needles was cleared away it was time to decorate with strings of sparkling beads, candies, tinsel, paper ornaments, and candles nestled within the branches. Everyone, from the maids to his lordship, laughed aloud at the lovely sight. It was, Mrs. Ellis said to a passing maid, the most beautiful tree anyone had ever seen. Hembry Castle looked, sounded, and smelled like Christmas. Then she thought of Lady Daphne and her grandson and hid her tears behind her handkerchief.<br /><br /></span><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjd1djJe6D-RZNzBYw9Ykoyce1rkcqOs-aw-ko6E_IXxFrRCqF1YcpOkEqW-YVMW993cL2673_eN-3OVVaSTTRTTF7Ud9tzC7h5wH3j8I062kQtRI0tDPlO1-OxH42oUaOODJFWd47_Vzx3I52P_0q6ZYf9s0r8_7kfrE2Gi1mmrB_WCwA3WGaI2o4x5A=s300" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img alt="[Blog Tour] 'Christmas at Hembry Castle' (Hembry Castle Chronicles) By Meredith Allard #HistoricalFiction" border="0" data-original-height="300" data-original-width="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjd1djJe6D-RZNzBYw9Ykoyce1rkcqOs-aw-ko6E_IXxFrRCqF1YcpOkEqW-YVMW993cL2673_eN-3OVVaSTTRTTF7Ud9tzC7h5wH3j8I062kQtRI0tDPlO1-OxH42oUaOODJFWd47_Vzx3I52P_0q6ZYf9s0r8_7kfrE2Gi1mmrB_WCwA3WGaI2o4x5A=w512-h640" width="540" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i><span style="font-family: arial;">Meredith Allard</span></i></td></tr></tbody></table><h3><span style="font-family: arial;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">Author Bio:</span></span></h3><i><b style="font-family: arial;"></b></i></div><blockquote><div style="text-align: left;"><i><b style="font-family: arial;">Meredith Allard</b><span style="font-family: arial;"> is the author of the bestselling paranormal historical Loving Husband Trilogy. Her sweet Victorian romance, When It Rained at Hembry Castle, was named a best historical novel by IndieReader. Her latest book, Painting the Past: A Guide for Writing Historical Fiction, was named a #1 new release in Authorship and Creativity Self-Help on Amazon. When she isn’t writing she’s teaching writing, and she has taught writing to students ages five to 75. She loves books, cats, and coffee, though not always in that order. She lives in Las Vegas, Nevada. </span></i></div><div><span style="font-family: arial;"><i><br /></i></span></div><div><span style="font-family: arial;"><i>Visit Meredith online at www.meredithallard.com.</i></span></div></blockquote><h3 style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><span style="font-family: arial;">Connect With </span><span style="font-family: arial;">Meredith Allard</span><span style="font-family: arial;">:</span></span></h3><div><ul style="text-align: left;"><li><b><span style="font-family: arial;"><a href="http://www.meredithallard.com" target="_blank">Website</a> ✔ <a href="https://www.facebook.com/authormeredithallard/" target="_blank">Facebook</a></span><span style="font-family: arial;"> ✔ </span><span style="font-family: arial;"><a href="https://www.pinterest.com/meredithallard" target="_blank">Pinterest</a></span><span style="font-family: arial;"> ✔ </span><span style="font-family: arial;"><a href="https://www.bookbub.com/authors/meredith-allard" target="_blank">Book Bub</a></span><span style="font-family: arial;"> ✔ </span><span style="font-family: arial;"><a href="https://www.amazon.com/~/e/B000APN2C8" target="_blank">Amazon Author Page</a></span><span style="font-family: arial;"> ✔ </span><span style="font-family: arial;"><a href="https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/4866638.Meredith_Allard" target="_blank">Goodreads</a></span><span style="font-family: arial;"> ✔</span><span style="font-family: arial;"> </span></b></li></ul></div><div><div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhR9d3PJqFB5IFCQCFcZq2RhnZw9IgOhGtFyDwvLDrOU3-TH0VrN6SzNgSX96rrj5n1flYBs2qFo5jPC8HhPopduWLyeP-4hZYNfgk3vnuTmIenf8IIIyJOY5JnjhsYyYADi9KlZX_7sFIPVcZhsf-jLglQFy8OyHBDwAzypU0ncBgXirETpEdjGgmKyw=s1600" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img alt="https://maryanneyarde.blogspot.com/2021/07/blog-tour-christmas-at-hembry-castle-by.html" border="0" data-original-height="900" data-original-width="1600" height="360" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhR9d3PJqFB5IFCQCFcZq2RhnZw9IgOhGtFyDwvLDrOU3-TH0VrN6SzNgSX96rrj5n1flYBs2qFo5jPC8HhPopduWLyeP-4hZYNfgk3vnuTmIenf8IIIyJOY5JnjhsYyYADi9KlZX_7sFIPVcZhsf-jLglQFy8OyHBDwAzypU0ncBgXirETpEdjGgmKyw=w640-h360" width="640" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i><span style="font-family: arial;">Christmas at Hembry Castle - <a href="https://maryanneyarde.blogspot.com/2021/07/blog-tour-christmas-at-hembry-castle-by.html" target="_blank">Tour Schedule</a> Banner</span></i></td></tr></tbody></table><br /></div></div>Loup Dargenthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11143365444371974784noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1372609107888107354.post-57237726446796869922021-11-11T05:46:00.000+00:002021-11-11T05:46:20.172+00:00[Blog Tour] "Empire’s Heir" (Empire’s Legacy, Book VI) By Marian L Thorpe #HistoricalFantasy<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEg7ABADeUluaP8LEzV0Bjf7U_MwoHWTdXOkFnpLVkvuMH7rDy3Psp_dxMUzA35TQnlCeb2qvXUXbCJuGYUS_3bZfQR0FabaFitUMc4KsFD5fMm4my0fbQMfnJJCQAK0wyY4kYOY9Sx0r184pI-42oNSYo1ZmnQdcM58fNBni_3iGp33TkzR8HgeO8fkPg=s1600" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img alt="[Blog Tour] "Empire’s Heir" (Empire’s Legacy, Book VI) By Marian L Thorpe #HistoricalFantasy" border="0" data-original-height="900" data-original-width="1600" height="360" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEg7ABADeUluaP8LEzV0Bjf7U_MwoHWTdXOkFnpLVkvuMH7rDy3Psp_dxMUzA35TQnlCeb2qvXUXbCJuGYUS_3bZfQR0FabaFitUMc4KsFD5fMm4my0fbQMfnJJCQAK0wyY4kYOY9Sx0r184pI-42oNSYo1ZmnQdcM58fNBni_3iGp33TkzR8HgeO8fkPg=w640-h360" width="640" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><i>Empire's Heir - Tour Banner</i></span></td></tr></tbody></table><h3><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: x-large;">The Book:</span></h3><span style="font-family: arial;"><b>Empire’s Heir</b></span><br style="font-family: arial;" /><span style="font-family: arial;"><i>(Empire’s Legacy, Book VI)</i></span><br style="font-family: arial;" /><span style="font-family: arial;"><i>By Marian L Thorpe</i></span><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /><ul style="text-align: left;"><li><span style="font-family: arial;"><b> Publication Date: </b><i>30th August 2021</i></span></li><li><span style="font-family: arial;"><b> Publisher:</b> <i>Arboretum Press</i></span></li><li><span style="font-family: arial;"><b> Page Length: </b><i>438 Pages</i></span></li><li><span style="font-family: arial;"><b> Genre:</b> <i>Historical Fantasy</i></span></li></ul></span><h3 style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: x-large;">The Blurb:</span></h3><span style="font-family: arial;"><i></i><blockquote><i> Some games are played for mortal stakes.<br /><br />Gwenna, heir to Ésparias, is summoned by the Empress of Casil to compete for the hand of her son. Offered power and influence far beyond what her own small land can give her, Gwenna’s strategy seems clear – except she loves someone else.<br /><br />Nineteen years earlier, the Empress outplayed Cillian in diplomacy and intrigue. Alone, his only living daughter has little chance to counter the Empress's experience and skill. Aging and torn by grief and worry, Cillian insists on accompanying Gwenna to Casil.<br /><br />Risking a charge of treason, faced with a choice he does not want to make, Cillian must convince Gwenna her future is more important than his – while Gwenna plans her moves to keep her father safe. Both are playing a dangerous game. Which one will concede – or sacrifice?<br /></i><br /><br /><ul style="text-align: left;"><li><b> Trigger Warnings: </b>Death, rape.</li></ul></blockquote></span><h3 style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><b><span style="font-size: x-large;">Buy Links: </span></b></span></h3><div><ul style="text-align: left;"><li><span style="font-family: arial;"><i>Available on Kindle Unlimited</i></span><span style="font-family: arial;"> ✔ </span><b><span style="font-family: arial;"><a href="https://relinks.me/B096MY4LRC" target="_blank">Universal Link</a> ✔ <a href="https://www.amazon.co.uk/Empires-Heir-Legacy-Book-ebook/dp/B096MY4LRC" target="_blank">Amazon UK</a></span><span style="font-family: arial;"> ✔ </span><span style="font-family: arial;"><a href=" https://www.amazon.com/Empires-Heir-Legacy-Book-ebook/dp/B096MY4LRC" target="_blank">Amazon US</a></span><span style="font-family: arial;"> ✔ </span><span style="font-family: arial;"><a href="https://www.amazon.ca/Empires-Heir-Legacy-Book-ebook/dp/B096MY4LRC" target="_blank">Amazon CA</a></span><span style="font-family: arial;"> ✔ </span><span style="font-family: arial;"><a href="https://www.amazon.com.au/Empires-Heir-Legacy-Book-ebook/dp/B096MY4LRC/" target="_blank">Amazon AU</a></span><span style="font-family: arial;"> ✔</span></b></li></ul></div><div style="text-align: left;"><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhVpIK4IFaWEQxWASMJP9j96HsMSrbb2TWDQkvAEHOAhguh66F6VJu05YyTd9SKJAe8wuAKs1AniELpIlWPLTXowEy4X2cZyBcqmTyx8cWlw3XxGsEgxrfnOYfmMpsdeWFY1JdDLRf0-GX1SxCZwUJMr0NWsV_FFQfLfWk752XAi5gt52u3idN3kVnYiQ=s2048" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img alt="[Blog Tour] "Empire’s Heir" (Empire’s Legacy, Book VI) By Marian L Thorpe #HistoricalFantasy" border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1388" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhVpIK4IFaWEQxWASMJP9j96HsMSrbb2TWDQkvAEHOAhguh66F6VJu05YyTd9SKJAe8wuAKs1AniELpIlWPLTXowEy4X2cZyBcqmTyx8cWlw3XxGsEgxrfnOYfmMpsdeWFY1JdDLRf0-GX1SxCZwUJMr0NWsV_FFQfLfWk752XAi5gt52u3idN3kVnYiQ=w434-h640" width="550" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="text-align: start;"><i><span style="font-family: arial;">Empire’s Heir - Book Cover</span></i></span></td></tr></tbody></table><h3><b style="font-family: arial;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">Empire’s Heir - Excerpt:</span></b></h3><div><span style="font-family: arial;"><i>© 2021 Marian L Thorpe</i></span></div><div><div><span style="font-family: arial;"><i></i><blockquote><i>Here, Gwenna, one of the two narrators of</i> Empire’s Heir<i>, in her role as a junior trade envoy, is reporting to her superior, to be assigned work for the few weeks before she must travel to Casil, capital of the Eastern Empire, as a possible bride for the young prince.</i><br /><br /><br /> The morning brought sunshine, and a meeting with Michan, the officer to whom I reported. He’d been one of Casyn’s adjutants, alongside my father, when my great-uncle had been <i>Princip</i> in the years after the Casilani had arrived; regardless, he treated me no differently than the rest of the young envoys he supervised. <br /><br /> We reviewed the terms of the tariff agreements I’d made with Ruar. He pursed his lips at the rate set for salt fish. “That’s very low, Gwenna.” <br /><br /> “But within the range I was given.” <br /><br /> “It is. But we’ll have to give the Varslanders the same rate, which will reduce revenues more than I would have liked.” <br /><br /> “Why?” I asked. “Didn’t we request more high-value goods from them? Furs and ivory and amber?” <br /><br /> He leant back in his chair. “Yes, but we are getting fewer of those, not more.” <br /><br /> “A bad winter?” I suggested, “Hunting and trapping difficult, and if the ice stayed late, amber difficult to find?” <br /><br /> “Possibly. But we’ve heard nothing about heavy snows or a late spring. Such hard weather would have affected northern Sorham, too, surely?” <br /><br /> “Then they are holding these goods back? Hoping to renegotiate prices, perhaps?” <br /><br /> “Perhaps. Or?” <br /><br /> “Or bypassing us altogether,” I said, realizing. By the terms of the treaties signed after the Taiva, the Marai brought goods only as far south as the trading harbour in Linrathe, to be transferred to Casilani ships there. It kept them away from Ésparias, their ships and men held in the north. But the sea wasn’t the only way to travel to Casil, just the fastest. “You think they are taking the river route east?” <br /><br /> “I’ve received no confirmation of this from our agents in Casil, but I believe that route not navigable until only a few weeks ago, so it’s not surprising.” <br /><br /> “Am I to investigate, while I’m there?” <br /><br /> “That, I think, might be difficult, given why you are going,” he said gravely. “Nonetheless, be alert.” <br /><br /> “Of course.” Inwardly I smiled: it would be something to do that wasn’t polite conversation and court presentation. “What is my next assignment, sir?” <br /><br /> “As I cannot send you away from the fort, I thought to use you here. It will be mostly translation, and tallying cargo manifests, and such. Not very interesting, I’m afraid.” <br /><br /> I’d spent much of the last year doing similar work—tallying, not translating—in the coastal villages, so I already knew it wasn’t, in itself, interesting. At least I’d been listening as well as auditing records, noting what was said about tax rates and prices—and in the weeks spent at Tirvan, I’d got to know my aunt Kira and my cousin Teárdh a little better. I had a good head for numbers, and I’d been trained to be precise, so the work wasn’t difficult; as well, I’d enjoyed the travel. <br /><br /> I suspected Michan had another motive: the opportunity to negotiate border tariffs with Linrathe had come rather early in my career, and by assigning me to mundane work, he’d be sending a message to the other young envoys that I was not being singled out for special treatment. He’d taken advantage of my rank for one situation, but it wasn’t going to be common practice. </blockquote><div style="text-align: center;"><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEh3zGSXt2VJZNHbedJMsJddDVUKwNoc_9caw9CqQBdzsDcW47KYUJzwIwM1ki1PXrR0IczqVzpc3S18Ff7yxirY9Dx8wcaYgMAhLRcCMOuZ26VeToNiMDmPGXRTLgbKPswRyUtSF5BeayGT4Dxaa-CGTmVeqkuuh1zeWs14wtSwA1MrurgvEj-wkkt6kg=s2048" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img alt="[Blog Tour] "Empire’s Heir" (Empire’s Legacy, Book VI) By Marian L Thorpe #HistoricalFantasy" border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1536" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEh3zGSXt2VJZNHbedJMsJddDVUKwNoc_9caw9CqQBdzsDcW47KYUJzwIwM1ki1PXrR0IczqVzpc3S18Ff7yxirY9Dx8wcaYgMAhLRcCMOuZ26VeToNiMDmPGXRTLgbKPswRyUtSF5BeayGT4Dxaa-CGTmVeqkuuh1zeWs14wtSwA1MrurgvEj-wkkt6kg=w480-h640" width="550" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i><span style="font-family: arial;">Marian L Thorpe </span></i><br /></td></tr></tbody></table></div> </span><h3 style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: x-large;">Author Bio:</span></h3><span style="font-family: arial;"><blockquote><i> Essays, poetry, short stories, peer-reviewed scientific papers, curriculum documents, technical guides, grant applications, press releases – if it has words, it’s likely </i><b>Marian L Thorpe</b><i> has written it, somewhere along the line. But nothing has given her more satisfaction than her novels. Combining her love of landscape and history, set in a world reminiscent of Europe after the decline of Rome, her books arise from a lifetime of reading and walking and wondering ‘</i>what if?’<i> Pre-pandemic, Marian divided her time between Canada and the UK, and hopes she may again, but until then, she resides in a small, very bookish, city in Canada, with her husband Brian and Pye-Cat.</i></blockquote></span><h3 style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><span style="font-family: arial;">Connect With </span><b style="font-family: arial;">Marian L Thorpe</b><span style="font-family: arial;">:</span></span></h3></div><div><ul style="text-align: left;"><li><b><span style="font-family: arial;"><a href="https://www.marianlthorpe.com" target="_blank">Website</a> ✔ <a href="https://twitter.com/marianlthorpe" target="_blank">Twitter</a></span><span style="font-family: arial;"> ✔</span><span style="font-family: arial;"> </span><span style="font-family: arial;"><a href="https://www.facebook.com/marianlthorpe" target="_blank">Facebook</a></span><span style="font-family: arial;"> ✔</span><span style="font-family: arial;"> </span><span style="font-family: arial;"><a href="https://www.amazon.com/~/e/B015YQYKKK" target="_blank">US</a></span><span style="font-family: arial;"> ✔ </span><span style="font-family: arial;"><a href="https://www.amazon.co.uk/~/e/B015YQYKKK" target="_blank">UK</a></span><span style="font-family: arial;"> ✔</span><span style="font-family: arial;"> </span><span style="font-family: arial;"><a href="https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/13526863.Marian_L_Thorpe" target="_blank">Goodreads</a></span><span style="font-family: arial;"> ✔</span></b></li></ul></div><div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEiWQUshii9_5kECGPYjqajAGNg6bueAHFFI8OTpaNHvnt9JbK9pAgiCaV3KCcRLZnyGqcmqXx2khfeqxz8oBlwyRWAYWm-cZTw0wIWSYl_qMgA_9y9Esx5_g8D7vncKxTVvxDJJWaTtWE10PIbnZpmu1A1jwxvE1_a6ilm86jVqDBU3WYC5DPwVtG3r0w=s1600" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img alt="[Blog Tour] "Empire’s Heir" (Empire’s Legacy, Book VI) By Marian L Thorpe #HistoricalFantasy" border="0" data-original-height="900" data-original-width="1600" height="360" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEiWQUshii9_5kECGPYjqajAGNg6bueAHFFI8OTpaNHvnt9JbK9pAgiCaV3KCcRLZnyGqcmqXx2khfeqxz8oBlwyRWAYWm-cZTw0wIWSYl_qMgA_9y9Esx5_g8D7vncKxTVvxDJJWaTtWE10PIbnZpmu1A1jwxvE1_a6ilm86jVqDBU3WYC5DPwVtG3r0w=w640-h360" width="640" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i><span style="font-family: arial;">Empire's Heir - <a href="https://www.coffeepotbookclub.com/post/blog-tour-empire-s-heir-empire-s-legacy-book-vi-by-marian-l-thorpe-marianlthorpe" target="_blank">Tour Schedule</a> Banner</span></i></td></tr></tbody></table></div></div></div>Loup Dargenthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11143365444371974784noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1372609107888107354.post-15737669155743264642021-11-02T07:10:00.000+00:002021-11-02T07:10:29.546+00:00[Blog Tour] 'Lies That Blind' By E.S. Alexander #HistoricalFiction<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgSF6kG4abPXXc5soSBYuXl88OEhTMIz6zl5VCzquPMOpj7CoJ1d52RJo5GWeucZ4vEAPRmR1l79JiMBBhCQJm3U-Nt-DOWZJZmAwMDmIuIePvVyYHa8miK9-PP3ISW2CsH08MHCY1yHlnVVpZt_lN_IgNwjxOeCKyKLmws5vtlc2pPjHQ0Q_fwYoHtXw=s1600" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="900" data-original-width="1600" height="360" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgSF6kG4abPXXc5soSBYuXl88OEhTMIz6zl5VCzquPMOpj7CoJ1d52RJo5GWeucZ4vEAPRmR1l79JiMBBhCQJm3U-Nt-DOWZJZmAwMDmIuIePvVyYHa8miK9-PP3ISW2CsH08MHCY1yHlnVVpZt_lN_IgNwjxOeCKyKLmws5vtlc2pPjHQ0Q_fwYoHtXw=w640-h360" width="640" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i><span style="font-family: arial;">Lies That Blind - Tour Banner</span></i></td></tr></tbody></table><h3><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: x-large;">The Book:</span></h3><span style="font-family: arial;"><b>Lies That Blind</b><br /><i>By E.S. Alexander</i><br /><ul style="text-align: left;"><li><span style="font-family: arial;"><b>Publication Date:</b> <i>19th October 2021</i></span></li><li><span style="font-family: arial;"><b>Publisher:</b> <i>Penguin Random House</i></span></li><li><span style="font-family: arial;"><b>Page Length:</b><i> 304 Pages</i></span></li><li><span style="font-family: arial;"><b>Genre:<i> </i></b><i>Historical Fiction</i></span></li></ul></span><h3 style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: x-large;">The Blurb:</span></h3><span style="font-family: arial;"><b><i></i></b><blockquote><b><i>What would </i>you<i> risk to avoid obscurity?</i></b><br /><br /><b style="font-style: italic;">Malaya, 1788</b><br /><br /><i>Aspiring journalist Jim Lloyd jeopardises his future in ways he never could have imagined. He risks his wealthy father’s wrath to ride the coat-tails of Captain Francis Light, an adventurer governing the East India Company’s new trading settlement on Penang. Once arrived on the island, Jim—as Light’s assistant—hopes that chronicling his employer’s achievements will propel them both to enduring fame. But the naïve young man soon discovers that years of deception and double-dealing have strained relations between Light and Penang’s legal owner, Sultan Abdullah of Queda, almost to the point of war. Tensions mount: Pirate activity escalates, traders complain about Light’s monopolies, and inhabitants threaten to flee, fearing a battle the fledgling settlement cannot hope to win against the Malays. Jim realises that a shared obsession with renown has brought him and Light perilously close to infamy: a fate the younger man, at least, fears more than death. Yet Jim will not leave Penang because of his dedication to Light’s young son, William, and his perplexing attraction to a mercurial Dutchman. He must stay and confront his own misguided ambitions as well as help save the legacy of a man he has come to despise.</i><br /><br /><i>Inspired by true events, </i>Lies That Blind<i> is a story featuring historical character Francis Light (1740-1794) who, in an effort to defy his mortality, was seemingly willing to put the lives and livelihoods of a thousand souls on Penang at risk.</i></blockquote><b><ul style="text-align: left;"><li><span style="font-family: arial;"><b>Buy Links: <a href=" https://books2read.com/u/bwaxNe" target="_blank">Universal Link</a> ✔ <a href="https://www.amazon.co.uk/Lies-That-Blind-Century-Penang/dp/981495442X" target="_blank">Amazon UK</a> ✔ <a href="https://www.amazon.com/Lies-that-Blind-Century-Penang-ebook/dp/B09HKXYT12" target="_blank">Amazon US</a> ✔ <a href="https://www.amazon.ca/Lies-that-Blind-Century-Penang-ebook/dp/B09HKXYT12" target="_blank">Amazon CA</a> ✔ <a href="https://www.amazon.com.au/Lies-that-Blind-Century-Penang-ebook/dp/B09HKXYT12" target="_blank">Amazon AU</a> ✔ </b></span></li></ul></b></span><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgSnlSoHnFlLvMg6DoG8T-GmelbGdu9u3rNe7_TJ9Hwq4ondfjO3ozASlrxcP9UNOVr7XaK6BQVOpQGYa870pJxFpb3Ak261TLX135IDcJ4eZou-PhSkpNbCLpGG5kqCaZiTUHl4kfjI5vNNXNSJ1rxxo338O-hOnAtG0bor2kJibCMGjuQK_-3z2EPVQ=s2048" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img alt="[Blog Tour] 'Lies That Blind' By E.S. Alexander #HistoricalFiction" border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1335" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgSnlSoHnFlLvMg6DoG8T-GmelbGdu9u3rNe7_TJ9Hwq4ondfjO3ozASlrxcP9UNOVr7XaK6BQVOpQGYa870pJxFpb3Ak261TLX135IDcJ4eZou-PhSkpNbCLpGG5kqCaZiTUHl4kfjI5vNNXNSJ1rxxo338O-hOnAtG0bor2kJibCMGjuQK_-3z2EPVQ=w418-h640" width="550" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i><span style="font-family: arial;">Lies That Blind - Book Cover</span></i></td></tr></tbody></table><h3><span style="font-family: arial;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">'Lies That Blind' - Excerpt:</span></span></h3><div>
<p class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><b><span style="font-family: arial;">(Protagonist,
Jim Lloyd, has just arrived on the island of Penang to begin work for
his new employer, Captain Francis Light, the island’s
superintendent.)</span></b></p>
<p class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><i>George
Town, Penang. Wednesday, 7</i><sup><i>th</i></sup><i>
January 1789.</i></span></p>
<p align="JUSTIFY" class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: arial;">Captain
Light announced that we had arrived at my lodgings, and that he would
speak first with the Chinese owner, a relative of their headman or
‘Kapitan China’, Koh Lay Huan. My face sank in disappointment. I
had not expected to lodge with Captain Light, of course, nor did I
wish to stay in the barracks with a bunch of unruly sepoys, but I
would not have chosen to live among the Chinese whose language I did
not know and who, from my experience of the ones who lived among us
in Calcutta, were rather too fond of setting off firecrackers for no
good reason, and whose constant burning of incense I did not like.</span></p>
<p align="JUSTIFY" class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: arial;">My
new employer disappeared around a corner where I heard the knocking
of knuckles on wood, some brisk chatter, followed swiftly by the
closing of a door. When Light reappeared, he was scowling. “It
seems word did not get passed to the right people after all. I
suggest you wait here, Jim, while I seek out the Chinese towkay to
resolve this.”</span></p>
<p align="JUSTIFY" class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: arial;">“Captain
Light?” I said, before he had a chance to stride off. “Might it
be possible to lodge in Malay Town since the Chinese landlord appears
not to be expecting me?”</span></p>
<p align="JUSTIFY" class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: arial;">Light
looked startled. “Whyever would you wish to do that?”</span></p>
<p align="JUSTIFY" class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: arial;">I
shuffled my feet and looked down with some embarrassment. “After
arriving in India, I became fascinated by the history of the Mughal
Empire, whose bloodline I have come to learn goes back to Jenghiz
Khan.”</span></p>
<p align="JUSTIFY" class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: arial;">“Malays
are not related to the Mughals,” snapped Light.</span></p>
<p align="JUSTIFY" class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: arial;">“Yes,
sir, I am aware of that. But both groups are Mohammedans and I wish
to understand that religion and culture better. I had hoped that
residing here would afford me such an opportunity as well as help to
improve my Malay. Not least since we will presumably be in constant
communication with the sultan and his <i>wakils</i>.”</span></p>
<p align="JUSTIFY" class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: arial;">Light
made a scoffing sound and pointed out that there was a difference
between the language written and spoken in the court and that used by
the <i>rakyat</i>
in the streets. I replied that knowing everyday Malay would still
give me an advantage with Penang’s local population.</span></p>
<p align="JUSTIFY" class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: arial;">“You
realize you are asking to reside among pirates, Jim,” barked Light.</span></p>
<p align="JUSTIFY" class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: arial;">“I
did not think that would be the case,” I responded with more of an
edge to my voice than I had intended. Why was this so difficult for
him to understand?</span></p>
<p align="JUSTIFY" class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: arial;">“Then
allow me to offer some background that will change your mind.”
Light sighed. “The Malays may be divided into two orders: those who
are inoffensive and easily ruled but capable of no great exertion
beyond planting paddy, sugar cane, and a few fruit trees for which no
great labour is required. Then there are those who skulk in rivers
and bays in their prahus, watching for the unwary trader whose goods
they plunder. Addicted to smoking opium, gaming, and other vices,
they spend their whole time in sloth and indolence, only rousing
themselves when an opportunity presents itself to rob and assassinate
with abandon.” Light barely took a breath before continuing. “The
feudal government of the Malays encourages these pirates, since every
chief is desirous of procuring these desperate fellows to bring him
plunder and execute his revengeful purposes.”</span></p>
<p align="JUSTIFY" class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: arial;">Like
a court prosecutor confident that his summation would return a guilty
verdict, Captain Light looked at me, but obviously did not expect
this reply: “I am still interested to live among the Malays, sir,
if the additional distance to their township would not cause you too
much extra exertion.”</span></p>
<p align="JUSTIFY" class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: arial;">Light’s
face appeared to darken as if a rain cloud had singled him out. His
eyes narrowed and his voice seemed to chill the surrounding air. “I
already have three sets of antagonists: Sultan Abdullah of Queda
grows increasingly impatient over the treaty we had expected by now
would be ratified by London and Bengal; Lord Cornwallis, whose
notorious parsimony prevents me from investing in further benefits to
this new settlement and appears ignorant of the fact that a rising
settlement cannot be expected to yield much profit; and our European
enemies, the Dutch, who eye my success here with increasing jealousy
and hatred.</span></p>
<p align="JUSTIFY" class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: arial;">“<i>I</i>
should not venture to trust myself alone with the Malays, on account
of their treacherous nature. But I am beleaguered enough without
battling you over where you choose to lodge. Should you decide to
ignore my expert opinion, that is up to you. Just be sure you arrive
promptly at Fort Cornwallis tomorrow morning.” And with that,
Francis Light turned on his heels and hurried off.</span></p>
<p align="JUSTIFY" class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: arial;">Had
it not been for my surprise at Light’s explosive reaction I might
have bolted after him to say that I would lodge with the Chinese
after all. But I became as rooted to the spot as a tree. I imagined
the captain was tired and had not wished to walk further on to Malay
Town so watched him grow more miniscule with each lengthening stride.</span></p>
<p align="JUSTIFY" class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: arial;">Disappointed
at this inauspicious start to my employment, I determined to apply
myself with the utmost energy and diligence so that I might
demonstrate my value to Penang’s superintendent the very next day.
I truly desired to be helpful to Captain Light but should never
forget that he needed me just as much as I needed him. After all, I
had just freed myself from the yoke of one oppressor who sought to
constrain my personal liberty, I did not need to substitute Father
with Captain Francis Light.</span></p>
<p align="JUSTIFY" class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: arial;">With
that thought, I turned heel myself and made towards Malay Town,
confident that I had sufficient language to make myself understood
and enough money to pay for a bed and food. As I grew closer to the
<i>kampong</i>,
past a smattering of fierce-looking Armenians, I began to doubt the
wisdom of my stubbornness. If Light was right about the piratical
Malays, I might end up with my throat cut before morning.</span></p><span style="font-family: arial;"><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjitlCzZHiCGwG1J4CVPg1jo08lqgxatOUpF8WN4HbUakwghtLVfvbufIKV1oBfm6IxNgYDAHuG4nWDfbORUx2gztX-MDrzPrWp5lanZkdOLhzSJu2aKnUQ5sLFPjaDMraTm_sW12HXSSmb2Q-WPiGeF8I7WrxeruuffsZDrQrFgHLKTOsuzDdIcbyEOw=s500" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img alt="[Blog Tour] 'Lies That Blind' By E.S. Alexander #HistoricalFiction" border="0" data-original-height="375" data-original-width="500" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjitlCzZHiCGwG1J4CVPg1jo08lqgxatOUpF8WN4HbUakwghtLVfvbufIKV1oBfm6IxNgYDAHuG4nWDfbORUx2gztX-MDrzPrWp5lanZkdOLhzSJu2aKnUQ5sLFPjaDMraTm_sW12HXSSmb2Q-WPiGeF8I7WrxeruuffsZDrQrFgHLKTOsuzDdIcbyEOw=w640-h480" width="640" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i><span style="font-family: arial;">E.S. Alexander </span></i><br /></td></tr></tbody></table></div></span><h3 style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: x-large;">Author Bio:</span></h3><span style="font-family: arial;"><i><b></b></i><blockquote><i><b>E.S. Alexander</b> was born in St. Andrews, Scotland in 1954, although her family moved to England a few years later. Her earliest memories include producing a newspaper with the John Bull printing set she was given one Christmas. She wrote and directed her first play, Osiris, at age 16, performed to an audience of parents, teachers, and pupils by the Lower Fifth Drama Society at her school in Bolton, Lancashire. Early on in her writing career, Liz wrote several short stories featuring ‘</i>The Dover Street Sleuth’<i>, Dixon Hawke for a D.C. Thomson newspaper in Scotland. Several of her (undoubtedly cringe-worthy) teenage poems were published in An Anthology of Verse.<br /><br />Liz combined several decades as a freelance journalist writing for UK magazines and newspapers ranging from British Airway’s Business Life and the Daily Mail, to Marie Claire and Supply Chain Management magazine, with a brief stint as a presenter/reporter for various radio stations and television channels, including the BBC. In 2001 she moved to the United States where she earned her master’s degree and Ph.D. in educational psychology from The University of Texas at Austin.<br /><br />She has written and co-authored 17 internationally published, award-winning non-fiction books that have been translated into more than 20 languages.</i><br /><br /><i>In 2017, Liz relocated to Malaysia. She lives in Tanjung Bungah, Pulau Pinang where she was inspired to embark on one of the few forms of writing left for her to tackle: the novel.</i></blockquote></span><h3 style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><span style="font-family: arial;">Connect With </span><i style="font-family: arial;"><b>E.S. Alexander</b></i><span style="font-family: arial;">:</span></span></h3></div><div><ul style="text-align: left;"><li><b><span style="font-family: arial;"><a href="http://www.esalexander.com" target="_blank">Website</a> ✔ <a href="https://twitter.com/ES_Alexander7" target="_blank">Twitter</a></span><span style="font-family: arial;"> ✔</span><span style="font-family: arial;"> </span><span style="font-family: arial;"><a href="https://www.instagram.com/liesthatblindnovel/" target="_blank">Instagram</a></span><span style="font-family: arial;"> ✔</span><span style="font-family: arial;"> </span><span style="font-family: arial;"><a href="https://www.facebook.com/ESAlexanderLTB/" target="_blank">Facebook</a></span><span style="font-family: arial;"> ✔</span><span style="font-family: arial;"> </span><span style="font-family: arial;"><a href="https://www.linkedin.com/in/drlizfuturist/" target="_blank">LinkedIn</a></span><span style="font-family: arial;"> ✔</span><span style="font-family: arial;"> </span><span style="font-family: arial;"><a href="https://www.youtube.com/channel/UCUSceIIWwVZtRuURu5n8f-A" target="_blank">YouTube</a></span><span style="font-family: arial;"> ✔ </span><span style="font-family: arial;"><a href="https://www.amazon.com/E.S.-Alexander/e/B09HQLL4T8" target="_blank">Amazon Author Page</a></span><span style="font-family: arial;"> ✔ </span><span style="font-family: arial;"><a href="https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/59131359-lies-that-blind" target="_blank">Goodreads</a></span><span style="font-family: arial;"> ✔</span></b></li></ul></div><div><div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEh4dvFMI9MSytBvgnj7H4lh5K8nkB_frU3eF57UJWGmo_4BWlZrAoUhwATAqjPuWohZnJVuSK8CD-hhpXrDjGwJiDFonojl45G4mE5TKV1tRt9UeA6Z7_bkaWd1bxWl1P0dtrq7Dg1-NDeVNcnFizSUPA2J-TNs4u0cPzVEdv3kDOfmO4Lq9Lqyy7YPGg=s1600" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img alt="[Blog Tour] 'Lies That Blind' By E.S. Alexander #HistoricalFiction" border="0" data-original-height="900" data-original-width="1600" height="360" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEh4dvFMI9MSytBvgnj7H4lh5K8nkB_frU3eF57UJWGmo_4BWlZrAoUhwATAqjPuWohZnJVuSK8CD-hhpXrDjGwJiDFonojl45G4mE5TKV1tRt9UeA6Z7_bkaWd1bxWl1P0dtrq7Dg1-NDeVNcnFizSUPA2J-TNs4u0cPzVEdv3kDOfmO4Lq9Lqyy7YPGg=w640-h360" width="640" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i><span style="font-family: arial;">Lies That Blind - <a href="https://www.coffeepotbookclub.com/post/blog-tour-lies-that-blind-by-e-s-alexander-es_alexander7" target="_blank">Tour Schedule</a> Banner</span></i></td></tr></tbody></table><br /></div></div>Loup Dargenthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11143365444371974784noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1372609107888107354.post-83869135408027630992021-10-29T07:32:00.000+01:002021-10-29T07:32:34.983+01:00[Audio Blog Tour] 'Widdershins' (Widdershins, Book 1) By Helen Steadman Narrated by Christine Mackie #HistoricalFiction #Witches #Audiobook<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEiD-SVQMqXCVllV3D8m9uBTpNcRWi8nj0duUEFdtVRMxyDeYTVmet0Wp6xi4iCbwohzHBF8RTQX_wxCV-DiU_HkSldzSQzKqfoTRsoNZYrWXQr4sqHOYL-uE6bStHNSjzU7i68UN_lCzTP9v3hzC95cwwid4tROzOl4SZRmf4jtxzEnfglBbtKjJ--gBg=s1600" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img alt="[Audio Blog Tour] 'Widdershins' (Widdershins, Book 1) By Helen Steadman Narrated by Christine Mackie #HistoricalFiction #Witches #Audiobook" border="0" data-original-height="900" data-original-width="1600" height="360" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEiD-SVQMqXCVllV3D8m9uBTpNcRWi8nj0duUEFdtVRMxyDeYTVmet0Wp6xi4iCbwohzHBF8RTQX_wxCV-DiU_HkSldzSQzKqfoTRsoNZYrWXQr4sqHOYL-uE6bStHNSjzU7i68UN_lCzTP9v3hzC95cwwid4tROzOl4SZRmf4jtxzEnfglBbtKjJ--gBg=w640-h360" width="640" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i><span style="font-family: arial;">Widdershins - Tour Banner</span></i></td></tr></tbody></table><h3><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: x-large;">The Book: </span></h3><div><span style="font-family: arial;"><b>Widdershins</b></span><br style="font-family: arial;" /><i><span style="font-family: arial;">(Widdershins, Book 1)</span><br style="font-family: arial;" /><span style="font-family: arial;">By Helen Steadman</span><br style="font-family: arial;" /><span style="font-family: arial;">Narrated by Christine Mackie</span></i><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /><ul style="text-align: left;"><li><span style="font-family: arial;"><b> Publication Date:</b> <i>25 June 2021</i></span></li><li><span style="font-family: arial;"><b> Publisher:</b><i> Impress Books</i></span></li><li><span style="font-family: arial;"><b> Audiobook Length:</b> <i>8.5 hours</i></span></li><li><span style="font-family: arial;"><b> Genre:</b> <i>Historical Fiction </i></span></li><li><span style="font-family: arial;"><i><a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=_8aAAwAqrLc" target="_blank">Video of Narrator talking about audiobook</a></i></span></li></ul></span><h3 style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: x-large;">The Blurb:</span></h3><span style="font-family: arial;"><i></i><blockquote><i> The new audio book of Widdershins is narrated brilliantly by talented actor, <b>Christine Mackie</b>, from </i>Downton Abbey<i>, </i>Coronation Street<i>, </i>Wire in the Blood<i>, and so on.<br /><br /> The first part of a two-part series, Widdershins is inspired by the Newcastle witch trials, where 16 people were hanged. Despite being the largest mass execution of witches on a single day in England, these trials are not widely known about. In August 1650, 15 women and one man were hanged as witches after a Scottish witchfinder found them guilty of consorting with the devil. This notorious man was hired by the Puritan authorities in response to a petition from the Newcastle townsfolk who wanted to be rid of their witches.<br /><br /> Widdershins is told through the eyes of Jane Chandler, a young woman accused of witchcraft, and John Sharpe, the witchfinder who condemns her to death. Jane Chandler is an apprentice healer. From childhood, she and her mother have used herbs to cure the sick. But Jane soon learns that her sheltered life in a small village is not safe from the troubles of the wider world. From his father’s beatings to his uncle’s raging sermons, John Sharpe is beset by bad fortune. Fighting through personal tragedy, he finds his purpose: to become a witchfinder and save innocents from the scourge of witchcraft.<br /><br /><b> Praise for Widdershins:</b><br /> The Historical Novel Society said of Widdershins: “</i>Impeccably written, full of herbal lore and the clash of ignorance and prejudice against common sense, as well as the abounding beauty of nature, it made for a great read. There are plenty of books, both fact and fiction, available about the witch-trial era, but not only did I not know about such trials in Newcastle, I have not read a novel that so painstakingly and vividly evokes both the fear and joy of living at that time.<i>” <br /><br /><b> Trigger Warnings:</b><br /> Domestic abuse, rape, torture, execution, child abuse, animal abuse, miscarriage, death in childbirth. </i></blockquote><div style="text-align: left;"><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEiTMREZhfOojl7uqBM4B6YJcrpP9tzdDHdw8mN_3rQShcsCZRRoMbaIqvc3qa9zYhR0SqOfP2HGQkbR-1NvIGwmmE0_OWCC1PwZPIkCulry7FcijnR1CjeaIIG2l1Plt7s33JfIVJavZAEiO4Lh6c2DHbY8Y16sXCV7V_SvoZMmWoMLhU0XdaawY0u47Q=s960" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img alt="[Audio Blog Tour] 'Widdershins' (Widdershins, Book 1) By Helen Steadman Narrated by Christine Mackie #HistoricalFiction #Witches #Audiobook" border="0" data-original-height="960" data-original-width="960" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEiTMREZhfOojl7uqBM4B6YJcrpP9tzdDHdw8mN_3rQShcsCZRRoMbaIqvc3qa9zYhR0SqOfP2HGQkbR-1NvIGwmmE0_OWCC1PwZPIkCulry7FcijnR1CjeaIIG2l1Plt7s33JfIVJavZAEiO4Lh6c2DHbY8Y16sXCV7V_SvoZMmWoMLhU0XdaawY0u47Q=w640-h640" width="640" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Widdershins - dark and haunting</i></td></tr></tbody></table><h3><span style="font-size: x-large;">Buy Links:</span></h3></div></span></div><div><ul style="text-align: left;"><li><b><span style="font-family: arial;"><a href="https://www.amazon.co.uk/Widdershins/dp/B097TZ2KQB" target="_blank">Amazon UK</a> ✔ <a href="https://www.amazon.com/Widdershins/dp/B097WF4YXN" target="_blank">Amazon US</a></span><span style="font-family: arial;"> ✔ </span><span style="font-family: arial;"><a href="https://www.amazon.ca/Widdershins-Helen-Steadman-ebook/dp/B0848N433L" target="_blank">Amazon CA </a></span><span style="font-family: arial;"> ✔ </span><span style="font-family: arial;"><a href="https://www.amazon.com.au/Widdershins/dp/B097WP1F6Q" target="_blank">Amazon AU</a></span><span style="font-family: arial;"> ✔</span><span style="font-family: arial;"> </span><span style="font-family: arial;"><a href="https://bit.ly/WiddershinsAudio" target="_blank">Audible Link</a></span><span style="font-family: arial;"> ✔ </span><span style="font-family: arial;"><a href="https://blackwells.co.uk/bookshop/product/Widdershins-by-Helen-Steadman-author/9781911293040" target="_blank">Blackwells</a></span><span style="font-family: arial;"> ✔</span><span style="font-family: arial;"> </span><span style="font-family: arial;"><a href="https://www.waterstones.com/book/widdershins-widdershins-1/helen-steadman/9781911293040" target="_blank">Waterstones</a></span><span style="font-family: arial;"> ✔ </span><span style="font-family: arial;"><a href="https://www.kobo.com/gb/en/ebook/widdershins-20" target="_blank">Kobo</a></span><span style="font-family: arial;"> ✔</span><span style="font-family: arial;"> </span><span style="font-family: arial;"><a href="https://books.apple.com/gb/author/helen-steadman/id1245484068" target="_blank">iBooks</a></span><span style="font-family: arial;"> ✔ </span><span style="font-family: arial;"><a href="https://books.apple.com/gb/author/helen-steadman/id1245484068" target="_blank">iTunes</a></span><span style="font-family: arial;"> ✔</span><span style="font-family: arial;"> </span><span style="font-family: arial;"><a href="https://www.foyles.co.uk/witem/fiction-poetry/widdershins-(widdershins-1),helen-steadman-9781911293040" target="_blank">Foyles</a></span><span style="font-family: arial;"> ✔</span><span style="font-family: arial;"> </span><span style="font-family: arial;"><a href="https://www.bookdepository.com/Widdershins-Widdershins-1-Helen-Steadman/9781911293040" target="_blank">Book Depository</a></span><span style="font-family: arial;"> ✔ </span><span style="font-family: arial;"><a href="https://books2read.com/u/boa6VR" target="_blank">Universal eBook link</a></span><span style="font-family: arial;"> ✔</span></b></li></ul></div><div style="text-align: left;"><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhisuP2CL6CAJ77IAe4SUUV9U6C0QVv2qgcQ_uUxGZcdxJ2Q3hwHvFm8E5ncXXmjPqme4gKjRrk1_rgyYqft718uSW-MDinF9g1tCtxPYhYtckSkl-PV04OTMnSTJlPwvPDRXvxtXGAa-srAo_8pje66OrHCjFAwo5H2Nicta7gE3JigJxLMxe9QUy4zw=s2048" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img alt="[Audio Blog Tour] 'Widdershins' (Widdershins, Book 1) By Helen Steadman Narrated by Christine Mackie #HistoricalFiction #Witches #Audiobook" border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="2048" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhisuP2CL6CAJ77IAe4SUUV9U6C0QVv2qgcQ_uUxGZcdxJ2Q3hwHvFm8E5ncXXmjPqme4gKjRrk1_rgyYqft718uSW-MDinF9g1tCtxPYhYtckSkl-PV04OTMnSTJlPwvPDRXvxtXGAa-srAo_8pje66OrHCjFAwo5H2Nicta7gE3JigJxLMxe9QUy4zw=w640-h640" width="640" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i><span style="font-family: arial;">Widdershins - audio cover</span></i></td></tr></tbody></table><h3><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: x-large;">'Widdershins' - Excerpt:</span></h3></div><div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><iframe allow="accelerometer; autoplay; clipboard-write; encrypted-media; gyroscope; picture-in-picture" allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="315" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/KBlvW-9ujNo" title="YouTube video player" width="560"></iframe></span></div><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEheuLLARQ8lDnUDs2EJH8dXLVtiQUbRtcYEWeLFLCQTCu7SafumPAmMUva9GsvHKwKWQ5RJNr4DwdABwvIZuG0jid4QFegQzPe5cTgURL9rau-UB_LFAvYTAtjgN2KkDEOPMWkVLKdYiqYtAxSflTQsRTRHnW9ZIt5MmZcsed_6n9qgM6Hv1eWbDYaEdA=s920" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img alt="[Audio Blog Tour] 'Widdershins' (Widdershins, Book 1) By Helen Steadman Narrated by Christine Mackie #HistoricalFiction #Witches #Audiobook" border="0" data-original-height="800" data-original-width="920" height="556" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEheuLLARQ8lDnUDs2EJH8dXLVtiQUbRtcYEWeLFLCQTCu7SafumPAmMUva9GsvHKwKWQ5RJNr4DwdABwvIZuG0jid4QFegQzPe5cTgURL9rau-UB_LFAvYTAtjgN2KkDEOPMWkVLKdYiqYtAxSflTQsRTRHnW9ZIt5MmZcsed_6n9qgM6Hv1eWbDYaEdA=w640-h556" width="640" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i><span style="font-family: arial;">Helen Steadman</span></i><br /></td></tr></tbody></table></div></span><h3 style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: x-large;">Author Bio: </span></h3><span style="font-family: arial;"><i><b></b><blockquote><b>Dr Helen Steadman</b> is a historical novelist. Her first novel, Widdershins and its sequel, Sunwise were inspired by the Newcastle witch trials. Her third novel, The Running Wolf was inspired by a group of Lutheran swordmakers who defected from Germany to England in 1687.<br /><br /> Despite the Newcastle witch trials being the largest mass execution of witches on a single day in England, they are not widely known about. Helen is particularly interested in revealing hidden histories and she is a thorough researcher who goes to great lengths in pursuit of historical accuracy. To get under the skin of the cunning women in Widdershins and Sunwise, Helen trained in herbalism and learned how to identify, grow and harvest plants and then made herbal medicines from bark, seeds, flowers and berries. <br /><br /> The Running Wolf is the story of a group of master swordmakers who left Solingen, Germany and moved to Shotley Bridge, England in 1687. As well as carrying out in-depth archive research and visiting forges in Solingen to bring her story to life, Helen also undertook blacksmith training, which culminated in making her own sword. During her archive research, Helen uncovered a lot of new material and she published her findings in the Northern History journal. <br /><br /> Helen is now working on her fourth novel. </blockquote></i></span><h3 style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><span style="font-family: arial;">Connect With </span><span style="font-family: arial;">Helen Steadman:</span></span></h3></div><div><ul style="text-align: left;"><li><b><span style="font-family: arial;"><a href="https://helensteadman.com/" target="_blank">Website</a> ✔ <a href="https://twitter.com/hsteadman1650" target="_blank">Twitter</a></span><span style="font-family: arial;"> ✔</span><span style="font-family: arial;"> </span><span style="font-family: arial;"><a href="https://www.facebook.com/helensteadmanauthor" target="_blank">Facebook</a></span><span style="font-family: arial;"> ✔</span><span style="font-family: arial;"> </span><a href="https://www.instagram.com/helensteadmanauthor" style="font-family: arial;" target="_blank">Instagram</a><span style="font-family: arial;"> ✔ </span><span style="font-family: arial;"><a href="https://www.amazon.com/Helen-Steadman/e/B076P4VRJD" target="_blank">Amazon Author Page</a></span><span style="font-family: arial;"> ✔</span><span style="font-family: arial;"> </span><a href="https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/2297484.Helen_Steadman" style="font-family: arial;" target="_blank">Goodreads</a><span style="font-family: arial;"> ✔ </span><a href="https://www.youtube.com/channel/UCHQ6GYusuraZF3fb-sLWx2Q" style="font-family: arial;" target="_blank">YouTube</a><span style="font-family: arial;"> ✔</span></b></li></ul></div><div><span style="font-family: arial;"><div style="text-align: center;"><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgchchIIjKWZLpz3ida1kABI6clfFj12YQ21UpbUdPf63ol4E-fq8wE28FueblG0VKyFEjdCACm8VcM7pRNanqNtRDAXHREZus8ovf9QaK62yvzObQC6ZpgCycdatotPoM32TahR5OHueBDcv6wzJSDLZYNJOmOptvk3S8sT1ODDaDjP_kGtCtHYR7BJA=s960" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img alt="[Audio Blog Tour] 'Widdershins' (Widdershins, Book 1) By Helen Steadman Narrated by Christine Mackie #HistoricalFiction #Witches #Audiobook" border="0" data-original-height="700" data-original-width="960" height="466" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgchchIIjKWZLpz3ida1kABI6clfFj12YQ21UpbUdPf63ol4E-fq8wE28FueblG0VKyFEjdCACm8VcM7pRNanqNtRDAXHREZus8ovf9QaK62yvzObQC6ZpgCycdatotPoM32TahR5OHueBDcv6wzJSDLZYNJOmOptvk3S8sT1ODDaDjP_kGtCtHYR7BJA=w640-h466" width="640" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i><span style="font-family: arial;">Narrator, Christine Mackie</span></i><br /></td></tr></tbody></table></div> </span><h3 style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: x-large;">Audiobook Narrator Bio:</span></h3><span style="font-family: arial;"><i><b></b><blockquote><b>Christine Mackie</b> has worked extensively in TV over the last thirty years in well-known TV series such as Downton Abbey, Wire in the Blood, Coronation Street, French & Saunders and The Grand. Theatre work includes numerous productions in new writing as well as classics, such as A Midsummer Night’s Dream, Comedy of Errors, Richard III, An Inspector Calls, and the Railway Children. In a recent all women version of Whisky Galore, Christine played three men, three women and a Red Setter dog!</blockquote></i><a href="https://www.imdb.com/name/nm0533499/" target="_blank"></a><ul style="text-align: left;"><a href="https://www.imdb.com/name/nm0533499/" target="_blank"></a><li><a href="https://www.imdb.com/name/nm0533499/" target="_blank"><span style="font-family: arial;"></span></a><span style="font-family: arial;"><a href="https://www.imdb.com/name/nm0533499/" target="_blank"><b>IMDB for Christine Mackie</b></a></span></li></ul></span></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhcn7xwjnXm1-JV7Bgj1G3C43ffPKM6IxIuNDiMnLocTb3nrml2-ql3eyN3eKjhaKVbcbZYAg3rQIodC6lcSOJ5ypuGl-hoP7B36em2DqkXY7cyCfIE_DYsVRm01slXVVgQWj2KU9bZyawdRKVK6OHFCvlnEFl95d2IZmsLBnI5MwobQcjvHUyF867Bow=s1600" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img alt="[Audio Blog Tour] 'Widdershins' (Widdershins, Book 1) By Helen Steadman Narrated by Christine Mackie #HistoricalFiction #Witches #Audiobook" border="0" data-original-height="900" data-original-width="1600" height="360" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhcn7xwjnXm1-JV7Bgj1G3C43ffPKM6IxIuNDiMnLocTb3nrml2-ql3eyN3eKjhaKVbcbZYAg3rQIodC6lcSOJ5ypuGl-hoP7B36em2DqkXY7cyCfIE_DYsVRm01slXVVgQWj2KU9bZyawdRKVK6OHFCvlnEFl95d2IZmsLBnI5MwobQcjvHUyF867Bow=w640-h360" width="640" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i><span style="font-family: arial;">Widdershins - <a href="https://www.coffeepotbookclub.com/post/blog-tour-widdershins-widdershins-book-1-by-helen-steadman-hsteadman1650" target="_blank">Tour Schedule</a> Banner</span></i></td></tr></tbody></table>Loup Dargenthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11143365444371974784noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1372609107888107354.post-60861652246989615872021-10-26T07:30:00.000+01:002021-10-26T07:30:01.245+01:00[Blog Tour] 'Beneath the Veil of Smoke and Ash' By Tammy Pasterick #HistoricalFiction<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjJ1olTDXRucWJUNbnPXNWnGh3mjZtDfrKJAZw4E41QjoYhwVNswv_YhpuCB_6Noe-ewx8Y08oztZQoG0P7wfVddwgaJmupKJMaWbvXnmN6vSzEzuNw0mw6_Sw4odvbstPkT8W94a4IblX2gG1qkdCyjw5XTaHEkcIugkeCvo4kIKjN1NSoHHE8k9GJ6w=s1600" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img alt="[Blog Tour] 'Beneath the Veil of Smoke and Ash' By Tammy Pasterick #HistoricalFiction" border="0" data-original-height="900" data-original-width="1600" height="360" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjJ1olTDXRucWJUNbnPXNWnGh3mjZtDfrKJAZw4E41QjoYhwVNswv_YhpuCB_6Noe-ewx8Y08oztZQoG0P7wfVddwgaJmupKJMaWbvXnmN6vSzEzuNw0mw6_Sw4odvbstPkT8W94a4IblX2gG1qkdCyjw5XTaHEkcIugkeCvo4kIKjN1NSoHHE8k9GJ6w=w640-h360" width="640" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><i>Beneath The Veil of Smoke and Ash - Tour Banner</i></span></td></tr></tbody></table><h3><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: x-large;">The Book:</span></h3><span style="font-family: arial;"><b>Beneath the Veil of Smoke and Ash</b><br /><i>By Tammy Pasterick</i><br /><ul style="text-align: left;"><li><span style="font-family: arial;"><b> Publication Date:</b> <i>21st September 2021</i></span></li><li><span style="font-family: arial;"><b> Publisher:</b> <i>She Writes Press</i></span></li><li><span style="font-family: arial;"><b> Page Length:</b> <i>371 Pages</i></span></li><li><span style="font-family: arial;"><b> Genre:</b> <i>Historical Fiction</i></span></li></ul></span><h3 style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: x-large;">The Blurb:</span></h3><span style="font-family: arial;"><i><blockquote> It’s Pittsburgh, 1910—the golden age of steel in the land of opportunity. Eastern European immigrants Janos and Karina Kovac should be prospering, but their American dream is fading faster than the colors on the sun-drenched flag of their adopted country. Janos is exhausted from a decade of twelve-hour shifts, seven days per week, at the local mill. Karina, meanwhile, thinks she has found an escape from their run-down ethnic neighborhood in the modern home of a mill manager—until she discovers she is expected to perform the duties of both housekeeper and mistress. Though she resents her employer’s advances, they are more tolerable than being groped by drunks at the town’s boarding house.<br /><br /> When Janos witnesses a gruesome accident at his furnace on the same day Karina learns she will lose her job, the Kovac family begins to unravel. Janos learns there are people at the mill who pose a greater risk to his life than the work itself, while Karina—panicked by the thought of returning to work at the boarding house—becomes unhinged and wreaks a path of destruction so wide that her children are swept up in the storm. In the aftermath, Janos must rebuild his shattered family—with the help of an unlikely ally. <br /><br /> Impeccably researched and deeply human, <b>Beneath the Veil of Smoke and Ash</b> delivers a timeless message about mental illness while paying tribute to the sacrifices America's immigrant ancestors made. </blockquote></i></span><h3 style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: x-large;">Buy Links:</span></h3><span style="font-family: arial;"><ul style="text-align: left;"><li><span style="font-family: arial;"><b><a href="https://www.amazon.co.uk/Beneath-Veil-Smoke-Ash-Novel-ebook/dp/B08QZ1QBCV" target="_blank">Amazon UK</a> ✔ <a href="https://www.amazon.com/Beneath-Veil-Smoke-Ash-Novel/dp/1647421918" target="_blank">Amazon US</a></b><b> ✔ <a href="https://www.amazon.ca/Beneath-Veil-Smoke-Ash-Novel-ebook/dp/B08QZ1QBCV" target="_blank">Amazon CA</a> ✔ <a href="https://www.amazon.com.au/Beneath-Veil-Smoke-Ash-Novel-ebook/dp/B08QZ1QBCV" target="_blank">Amazon AU</a> ✔ <a href="https://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/beneath-the-veil-of-smoke-and-ash-tammy-pasterick/1138488946?ean=9781647421915" target="_blank">Barnes and Noble</a> ✔ <a href="https://books.apple.com/us/book/beneath-the-veil-of-smoke-and-ash/id1547390720" target="_blank">iBooks</a> ✔ <a href="https://bookshop.org/books/beneath-the-veil-of-smoke-and-ash/9781647421915" target="_blank">Bookshop.org</a> ✔ <a href="https://www.booksamillion.com/p/Beneath-Veil-Smoke-Ash/Tammy-Pasterick/9781647421915?id=8256847579781" target="_blank">Books-A-Million</a> ✔ <a href="http:/https://www.indiebound.org/search/book?keys=beneath+the+veil+of+smoke+and+ash/indiebound.org/" target="_blank">IndieBound.org</a> ✔</b><b> </b></span></li></ul></span><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEii6GgRAc1bzsh4ptFlBjm0SeVjzrBKmONv9cRHZ315B3tIsne2DHcStGVW002CbFqPW1sVKaoSRCo0rAgJhqHfvKpdh-Gh2ar_j5Sd4wZt3IL8dBw2fnDsFhuUheexmocZjT7ISRj3CfNHkeYxyATNnoNpF3kRGIjgl2296XN-vdC51wFEtOMl1XEODQ=s2048" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img alt="[Blog Tour] 'Beneath the Veil of Smoke and Ash' By Tammy Pasterick #HistoricalFiction" border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1324" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEii6GgRAc1bzsh4ptFlBjm0SeVjzrBKmONv9cRHZ315B3tIsne2DHcStGVW002CbFqPW1sVKaoSRCo0rAgJhqHfvKpdh-Gh2ar_j5Sd4wZt3IL8dBw2fnDsFhuUheexmocZjT7ISRj3CfNHkeYxyATNnoNpF3kRGIjgl2296XN-vdC51wFEtOMl1XEODQ=w414-h640" width="550" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i><span style="font-family: arial;">Beneath the Veil of Smoke and Ash - Book Cover</span></i></td></tr></tbody></table><h3><span style="font-family: arial;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">'Beneath the Veil of Smoke and Ash' - Excerpt:</span></span></h3><div style="text-align: left;"><p class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: arial;">As
Sofie followed the narrow trail at the edge of town that led to her
favorite fishing spot, she heard the roar of an angry river. The
morning’s thunderstorm had left the river swollen and had
strengthened its already swiftly moving currents. She immediately
spotted Pole leaning against a hazelnut tree with three carp on his
stringer. Though he was a few months shy of his thirteenth birthday,
he looked older due to his height and muscular build. His wavy, brown
hair was disheveled, and his flannel shirt was covered in dirt.</span></p>
<p class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: arial;">“How
did you catch three fish already?”</span></p>
<p class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: arial;">“I
skipped my Slovak lesson. Couldn’t really see the point,” Pole
said in his most rebellious tone.</span></p>
<p class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: arial;">“The
point is to preserve our heritage. I like learning about our culture
and language.”</span></p>
<p class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: arial;">“Your
parents may be Slovak, but you’re American, Sofie. You were born
here. Besides, I’m only half Slovak, and that’s not my favorite
side. I like bein’ Polish better.”</span></p>
<p class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: arial;">“I
know, <i>Pole</i>,”
Sofie said sarcastically.</span></p>
<p class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: arial;">Pole’s
defiant nature sometimes irritated her, but he had good reason to be
bitter. His mother died two years earlier, and all he had left was a
drunken father. John Stofanik worked at the mill and made Sofie’s
father uneasy. He worried that Stofanik would fall into a pot of
molten steel, or worse, he would be responsible for someone else’s
death.</span></p>
<p class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: arial;">Pole
was currently wearing a nasty shiner, and Sofie didn’t need to ask
where it came from. Even if she did, Pole would invent a ridiculous
story. He was ashamed of his father, and who could blame him? That
drunk was the reason Pole rejected his Slovak heritage and embraced
his mother’s Polish one.</span></p>
<p class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: arial;">“I
saw your mama on her way to work this morning. Does she always leave
that early?”</span></p>
<p class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: arial;">“Sometimes.
She doesn’t seem to mind though,” Sofie said, trying not to sound
angry. She resented the fact that her mother was more devoted to her
job than her family. Mama had practically sprinted out the door that
morning to impress the men from Pittsburgh. Sofie was still upset
about the comment her mother had made about her hair. Suddenly, a
disturbing thought popped into her head. <i>Mama
doesn’t think I’m pretty. </i>Was
that the reason she never paid her any attention?</span></p>
<p class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: arial;">“Must
be paradise cookin’ and cleanin’ for Mr. Archer all day in a
house like that. How’d she get so lucky?” Pole picked up his tin
can full of worms and handed it to Sofie.</span></p>
<p class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: arial;">She
grabbed the can and gave him a dirty look.</span></p>
<p class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: arial;">“I
guess that was a stupid question. Who wouldn’t prefer a pretty lady
washin’ their drawers over an ugly one? Your mama’s a looker.”
Pole brushed some dirt off his knee and gazed across the river. “You
know, you have her blonde hair and blue eyes.”
</span></p>
<p class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: arial;">“I’d
rather have a fat, ugly mother who loves me.” Sofie bit her lip and
angrily baited her hook with a worm. The poor creature bore the brunt
of her frustration.</span></p>
<p class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: arial;">“At
least you’ve got your papa. He’s a good man. I’d trade my pop
in any day for yours.” Pole sighed and stared at his fishing rod.</span></p>
<p class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: arial;">The
two sat quietly for several minutes, tending their fishing poles. The
top of her head growing warm, Sofie looked up to see an exceptionally
bright sun beating down upon her. The sky over Riverton was usually
filled with too much smoke to see the sun, but the morning’s
thunderstorm had cut down the haze.</span></p>
<p class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: arial;">Sofie
turned her attention to the river and watched the afternoon sunlight
sparkle on its ever-changing surface. It was mesmerizing. The little
twinkles of light danced among the currents, carrying her upsetting
thoughts away with them downstream. Sofie inhaled deeply as she
caught the scent of wild lilacs in the gentle breeze. She leaned
toward the ground to smell the earthworms and wet grass. She was
suddenly calm and content.</span></p>
<p class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: arial;">A
strong tug at the end of Sofie’s fishing line interrupted her
reverie. She tightened her grip on her rod and began to reel in what
she imagined was an enormous beast. Beads of sweat formed on her
forehead as she jerked her rod while fighting her way backwards up
the riverbank. The fish was tenacious, yanking so hard on Sofie’s
line she feared it might snap. She was encouraged when her
adversary’s head emerged from the water several minutes into the
battle, but it quickly fought its way back to its murky domain. Sofie
cursed under her breath.</span></p>
<p class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: arial;">“Need
a hand?” Pole asked from behind her.</span></p>
<p class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: arial;">“No,
I’ve got him,” she said, grunting. Determined to conquer her
dinner, Sofie gritted her teeth and gave her rod one last forceful
jerk. She squealed as the fish sailed through the air and landed in
the grass at Pole’s feet.</span></p>
<p class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: arial;">“That’s
a monster!” he shouted.</span></p>
<p class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: arial;">Sofie
leapt with joy at the sight of the carp. It was nearly as long as her
arm. She rushed over to Pole to retrieve her prize.</span></p>
<p class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: arial;">“Let
me put it on the stringer for you, Sof,” he said, holding the fish.
“You catch your breath.”<br />
</span></p>
<p class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: arial;">As
Pole busied himself with the stringer, Sofie found herself staring at
her best friend instead of her fish. “How lucky would we be if we
lived together in a house with my father and your mother?” she
wondered aloud. “If she were still alive, of course. We’d have
the perfect family.” Sofie had always wished for a mother as sweet
and thoughtful as Pole’s. She often had freshly baked cookies
waiting for them when they returned from fishing. And she gave the
best hugs.</span></p>
<p class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: arial;">“Sounds
nice, but there’s no use daydreamin’ about things that can never
be.”</span></p>
<p class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: arial;">Sofie
frowned, disappointed in Pole’s lack of imagination.
</span></p>
<p class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: arial;">“Aww,
come on.” He laid a hand on her shoulder. “I’m not tryin’ to
be mean. I just think you’re better off keeping your head out of
the clouds. You gotta deal with the reality you’ve got.”</span></p>
<p class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: arial;">Sofie
thought about her awkward interaction with her mother that morning
and her poor excuse for not wanting to visit the neighbors. It was
nothing out of the ordinary. Mama was always looking for ways to
avoid her family. Sofie doubted it would ever change.</span></p>
<p class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: arial;">“Wipe
that frown off your face and look at the size of this fish you
caught,” Pole said, holding up the stringer. “Wait until your
papa sees it. He won’t believe his eyes.”</span></p>
<p class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: arial;">Sofie
glanced at the enormous carp and then studied Pole’s face. “Why
do <i>you </i>look
so proud? You didn’t catch that fish.”</span></p>
<p class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: arial;">“No,
but I wish I did.” Pole chuckled. “I’m proud of you, Sof. Now
let’s hurry up and catch a few more. I can’t wait to get back to
town to show off this beast.”</span></p>
<p class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: arial;">Sofie
blushed as she shoved a hook through a worm. She suddenly couldn’t
remember what had been troubling her minutes earlier.
</span></p>
<p class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhcPCyW9VGacfDdkVRmirWT4pzL9erH0gNt7mxy45E25kCrnySUwawXx-3AU-jxbgAgb0oVu7BlFjq8jPWYd-JTOeSAyUFXcUB6kDMvyz77QLbMbMg6gFmuudADlLyFaAQwNkN1QXudtGgQoL6yQ46ByHKVNYiK3_W2KV-1a0vqdlFNntd52yIP_jQM6g=s2048" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img alt="[Blog Tour] 'Beneath the Veil of Smoke and Ash' By Tammy Pasterick #HistoricalFiction" border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1365" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhcPCyW9VGacfDdkVRmirWT4pzL9erH0gNt7mxy45E25kCrnySUwawXx-3AU-jxbgAgb0oVu7BlFjq8jPWYd-JTOeSAyUFXcUB6kDMvyz77QLbMbMg6gFmuudADlLyFaAQwNkN1QXudtGgQoL6yQ46ByHKVNYiK3_W2KV-1a0vqdlFNntd52yIP_jQM6g=w426-h640" width="550" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i><span style="font-family: arial;">Tammy Pasterick</span></i></td></tr></tbody></table><h3><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: x-large;">Author Bio:</span></h3><span style="font-family: arial;"><i><blockquote>A native of Western Pennsylvania, <b>Tammy Pasterick</b> grew up in a family of steelworkers, coal miners, and Eastern European immigrants. She began her career as an investigator with the National Labor Relations Board and later worked as a paralegal and German teacher. She holds degrees in labor and industrial relations from Penn State University and German language and literature from the University of Delaware. She currently lives on Maryland's Eastern Shore with her husband, two children, and chocolate Labrador retriever. </blockquote></i></span><h3 style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: x-large;">Connect WithTammy Pasterick:</span></h3></div><div><ul style="text-align: left;"><li><b><span style="font-family: arial;"><a href="http://www.tammypasterick.com" target="_blank">Website</a> ✔ <a href="https://twitter.com/TammyPasterick" target="_blank">Twitter</a> ✔ <a href="https://www.facebook.com/authortammypasterick" target="_blank">Facebook</a></span><span style="font-family: arial;"> ✔</span><span style="font-family: arial;"> </span><span style="font-family: arial;"><a href="https://www.instagram.com/authortammypasterick/" target="_blank">Instagram</a></span><span style="font-family: arial;"> ✔</span><span style="font-family: arial;"> </span><span style="font-family: arial;"><a href="https://www.bookbub.com/search?authors=Tammy+Pasterick&search=Tammy+Pasterick" target="_blank">BookBub</a></span><span style="font-family: arial;"> ✔</span><span style="font-family: arial;"> </span><a href="https://www.amazon.co.uk/Tammy-Pasterick/e/B08RSJN7D4" style="font-family: arial;" target="_blank">Amazon Author Page</a><span style="font-family: arial;"> ✔ </span><span style="font-family: arial;"><a href="https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/21335619.Tammy_Pasterick" target="_blank">Goodreads</a></span><span style="font-family: arial;"> ✔</span><span style="font-family: arial;"> </span></b></li></ul></div><div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEi8t8r7i8vkONUzIA6DFTejp9n1iNimM92drDNmA4Jj_W0tFZB8WlB1AW9xxR3oxIWkingcY7jpibjOvH3-IQSO4zFR5rOQ5pv8YPIMOk9P-v4hefsgltSq-NwnojSqcqt6t6mvGoCpZGVjmyEJM5Kl0Y5vjE38ko5-xSklQD4UlhswTiCfqdtEc9kfDQ=s1600" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img alt="[Blog Tour] 'Beneath the Veil of Smoke and Ash' By Tammy Pasterick #HistoricalFiction" border="0" data-original-height="900" data-original-width="1600" height="360" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEi8t8r7i8vkONUzIA6DFTejp9n1iNimM92drDNmA4Jj_W0tFZB8WlB1AW9xxR3oxIWkingcY7jpibjOvH3-IQSO4zFR5rOQ5pv8YPIMOk9P-v4hefsgltSq-NwnojSqcqt6t6mvGoCpZGVjmyEJM5Kl0Y5vjE38ko5-xSklQD4UlhswTiCfqdtEc9kfDQ=w640-h360" width="640" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i><span style="font-family: arial;">Beneath The Veil of Smoke and Ash - <a href="https://www.coffeepotbookclub.com/post/blog-tour-beneath-the-veil-of-smoke-and-ash-by-tammy-pasterick-tammypasterick" target="_blank">Tour Schedule</a> Banner</span></i></td></tr></tbody></table><br /></div>Loup Dargenthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11143365444371974784noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1372609107888107354.post-19362790536153167752021-10-21T06:20:00.000+01:002021-10-21T06:20:48.135+01:00[Blog Tour] 'Redemption' (The Hacker Chronicles, Book 2) By Philip Yorke #HistoricalFiction #EnglishCivilWar<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhOv7MjwE998Y_ZJJvxx03dAFPK_iaf7BtrX6g_sknZjtSR6t7qOcDGaC3CZ9ud7d-9WRrmvDlob3FCPc5RTe0clyr3vu5qM8ICPqP4opgr-J1Eio2iAilK_0-_hXwt8XqxamTE2rflwXtCS2QqcTJmGENHGVPG5NeGhfPsmTg1EC5K6QYIrtc9NHniJQ=s1600" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img alt="[Blog Tour] 'Redemption' (The Hacker Chronicles, Book 2) By Philip Yorke #HistoricalFiction #EnglishCivilWar" border="0" data-original-height="900" data-original-width="1600" height="360" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhOv7MjwE998Y_ZJJvxx03dAFPK_iaf7BtrX6g_sknZjtSR6t7qOcDGaC3CZ9ud7d-9WRrmvDlob3FCPc5RTe0clyr3vu5qM8ICPqP4opgr-J1Eio2iAilK_0-_hXwt8XqxamTE2rflwXtCS2QqcTJmGENHGVPG5NeGhfPsmTg1EC5K6QYIrtc9NHniJQ=w640-h360" width="640" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i><span style="font-family: arial;">Redemption - Blog Tour Banner</span></i></td></tr></tbody></table><h3><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: x-large;">The Book:</span></h3><b><span style="font-family: arial;">Redemption</span></b><br style="font-family: arial;" /><span style="font-family: arial;">(<i>The Hacker Chronicles, Book 2</i>)</span><br style="font-family: arial;" /><span style="font-family: arial;"><i>By Philip Yorke</i></span><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /><ul style="text-align: left;"><li><span style="font-family: arial;"><b>Publication Date: </b><i>2nd July 2021</i></span></li><li><span style="font-family: arial;"><b>Publisher: </b><i>Mashiach Publishing</i></span></li><li><span style="font-family: arial;"><b>Page Length: </b><i>480 Pages</i></span></li><li><span style="font-family: arial;"><b>Genre:</b> <i>Historical Fiction</i></span></li></ul></span><h3 style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: x-large;">The Blurb:</span></h3><span style="font-family: arial;"><i><blockquote>Saturday, the second day of July, in the year of our Lord, 1644, will be a day long remembered by the men and women committed to ending the reign of a tyrannical King. For on this day, the forces of Charles the First were crushed on the bloody fields of Marston Moor.<br /><br />The calamitous defeat forces the increasingly desperate Royalists to intensify their attempts to bring about the immediate demise of their Parliamentarian enemies. This includes devising an audacious plan to assassinate the man they believe is key to the war’s outcome.<br /><br />With the plotters ready to strike, Francis Hacker, one of Parliament’s most loyal soldiers, becomes aware of the conspiracy. With little time to act, he does everything in his power to frustrate their plans. But, alas, things start to unravel when brave Hacker finds himself pitted against a ruthless and cunning mercenary, a man who will resort to anything to achieve a ‘kill’. </blockquote></i><b><ul style="text-align: left;"><li><span style="font-family: arial;"><b>Buy Links:</b> (<i>This novel is available with #KindleUnlimited subscription.</i>) <b><a href="https://books2read.com/u/mq1XKv" target="_blank">Universal Link</a> ✔ <a href="https://www.amazon.co.uk/dp/B098CRPC7Y" target="_blank">Amazon UK</a></b></span><b><span style="font-family: arial;"> ✔</span><span style="font-family: arial;"> <a href="https://www.amazon.com/dp/B098CRPC7Y" target="_blank">Amazon US</a></span><span style="font-family: arial;"> ✔ </span><span style="font-family: arial;"><a href="https://www.amazon.ca/dp/B098CRPC7Y" target="_blank">Amazon CA</a></span><span style="font-family: arial;"> ✔ </span><span style="font-family: arial;"><a href="https://www.amazon.com.au/dp/B098CRPC7Y" target="_blank">Amazon AU</a></span><span style="font-family: arial;"> ✔</span><span style="font-family: arial;"> <a href="https://www.philipyorke.org/store" target="_blank">Philip Yorke</a></span><span style="font-family: arial;"> ✔</span></b></li></ul></b></span><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgCODqZhOsknwGdwEClXW11QVOGdjVYY0fA1SktWCSlUU3ArpvN-qOmSDoSbFL6TdTLJU6a6oN52YUPauuUFn2g2vOcxq6qylwjZa4KcDO0CAT3KwY9T6IGwpap6XVYogHW74szxpJ9xQJ-kWG_ja3wAL1zipb-YJmNIOvvrwEAojsrirqbArHp0r79YA=s2048" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img alt="[Blog Tour] 'Redemption' (The Hacker Chronicles, Book 2) By Philip Yorke #HistoricalFiction #EnglishCivilWar" border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1319" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgCODqZhOsknwGdwEClXW11QVOGdjVYY0fA1SktWCSlUU3ArpvN-qOmSDoSbFL6TdTLJU6a6oN52YUPauuUFn2g2vOcxq6qylwjZa4KcDO0CAT3KwY9T6IGwpap6XVYogHW74szxpJ9xQJ-kWG_ja3wAL1zipb-YJmNIOvvrwEAojsrirqbArHp0r79YA=w412-h640" width="550" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i><span style="font-family: arial;">Redemption - book cover</span></i></td></tr></tbody></table><h3><span style="font-family: arial;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">'Redemption' - Excerpt:</span></span></h3><div><span style="font-family: arial;">It is past midnight and the songbirds retired to their treetop roosts long before I set about seeking comfort and solace in this quiet, grief-stricken place. <br /><br /> I am sitting in a large, sterile room. My thoughts are my own, as I have little to occupy my mind other than study lines of terracotta, web-encrusted bricks that make up the interior wall of a building hastily commandeered to house Parliament’s most senior officers, the men who masterminded the full-scale destruction of the King’s army some two days since. <br /><br /> From where I am sitting, I have spent a couple of hours scrutinising the crumbling, blistered masonry, measuring every line of mortar, and identifying line after line of imperfection and weakness. While doing so, I have wished and prayed for the torment that afflicts my companion to cease, so he and I can celebrate the magnificent victory he led us to, one that may have swung the tide of this brutal war firmly in our favour. <br /><br /> Alas, it will not be so. Merriment and revelry are the last things my friend has on his mind. <br /><br /> Hundreds of rotting, naked Royalist corpses, stripped bare of anything valuable and with their dignity on show for all to see, still litter the bloody killing fields less than three miles away, on the grasslands of Marston. They are waiting to join the thousands who have already been buried in mass pits, with no marker or recognition offered for their courage and sacrifice. In these cruel times, a final resting place, hidden amongst the bracken and many miles from their loved ones, is all that is afforded the vanquished. <br /><br /> The moorland, a nondescript place just south of York, is the site of the first significant victory for those opposing the King's autocratic regime. And, at a time when we should be toasting the heroism and courage of our troops, ordinary men who have bested their social superiors, I find I have little choice but to surrender as the chill of the summer’s morn starts to torment my aching bones. <br /><br /> I am impotent, unable to play the part of the comforter. And I feel wretched. <br /><br /> My gaze falls on the man I respect more than any other in this violent and turbulent world. <br /><br /> Oliver Cromwell is Lieutenant-General of the Eastern Association army. He is also my friend. <br /><br /> Magnificent on the field of battle, Oliver now sits before me a broken man, no longer the powerful, all-conquering soldier who has just blooded a Sovereign's nose. Tonight he is closer to resigning his commission than ever before. He has been tested many times already in the turbulent months since Charles raised his standard at Nottingham. Tearful and angry, he is no longer the warrior hero his devoted men perceive him to be. <br /><br /> The source of his distress is the double dose of tragedy that has befallen him and his family. <br /><br /> In the battle that saw Prince Rupert’s finest men routed as a direct result of Cromwell’s strategic brilliance and bravery, Oliver’s nephew, Valentine Walton, was killed. <br /><br /> A cannonball sliced through the young man’s leg while he was leading a charge against the enemy. Despite his best efforts, the field surgeon could do nought for him, so the limb was lost, as was much of the young man’s precious blood, which bathed the fields of Yorkshire in garnet gemstone red. <br /><br /> After the hacksaw that sliced through Valentine's bone had been wiped clean, the young man's life force quickly ebbed away, condemning him to the same fate that awaited many comrades that day – men like Major Charles Fairfax and Captains Micklethwaite and Pugh. All fought and died so bravely for the cause we all serve. <br /><br /> Cromwell has spent the last few hours writing a letter conveying the terrible news to his brother-in-law, the dead officer’s father, a man who also carries the name of Valentine Walton. <br /><br /> "What say you, Francis? How does this read, is it any better than my previous inadequate attempts?" whispers Oliver, his voice barely audible as he holds the manuscript with a shaking hand. He moves a flickering candle closer, allowing its dancing flames to offer an illuminating shroud of light. <br /><br /> “Tell me, truthfully, friend, do my words offer the comfort and love that is intended and needed at this most terrible of times?” <br /><br /> Brushing aside several sheets of paper, Cromwell rises from the table and steadies himself. He turns to face me. His eyes are swollen. Deep folds of skin hang like sacks underneath his sockets. Grief has taken its toll. He pauses for a moment and then slowly starts to recount the few short sentences that will surely bring further miseries to another unsuspecting family. <br /><br /><i> “Dear Sir, <br /><br /> “It is our duty to sympathise in all mercies, that we may praise the Lord together, in chastisements or trials, so we may sorrow together. <br /><br /> “Truly England and the church of God hath had a great favour from the Lord in this great victory, given unto us such as the like never was since this war began. It had all the evidences of an absolute victory obtained by the Lord’s blessing upon the godly. We never charged, but we routed the enemy. The left-wing, which I commanded, being our own horse, saving a few Scots in our rear, beat all the Prince's horse. God made them as stubble to our swords; we charged their Regiments of foot with our horse, routed all we charged. The particulars I cannot relate now, but I believe of twenty thousand, the Prince hath not four thousand left. Give glory, all the glory to God. <br /><br /> “Sir, God hath taken away your eldest son by a cannon shot. It broke his leg. We were necessitated to have it cut off, whereof he died. <br /><br /> “Sir, you know my trials this way, but the Lord supported me with this, and the Lord took him into the happiness we all pant after and live for. <br /><br /> “There is your precious child, full of glory, to know sin nor sorrow any more. <br /><br /> “He was a gallant young man, exceedingly gracious. God give you his comfort. Before his death, he was so full of comfort; it was so great above his pain. This he said to us. Indeed it was admirable. A little after, he said one thing lay upon his spirit. I asked him what that was. He told me that it was that God had not suffered him to be no more the executioner of his enemies. <br /><br /> "At his fall, his horse being killed with the bullet and, as I am informed, three horses more, I am told, he bid them open to the right and left, that he might see the rogues run. Truly he was exceedingly beloved in the Army of all that knew him, but few knew him, for he was a precious young man, fit for God. <br /><br /> “You have cause to bless the Lord. He is a glorious saint in heaven, wherein you ought exceedingly to rejoice. Let this drink up your sorrow, seeing these are not feigned words to comfort you, but the thing is so real and undoubted a truth. You may do all things by the strength of Christ. Seek that, and you shall easily bear your trial. <br /><br /> “Let this public mercy to the church of God make you forget your private sorrow. The Lord be your strength, so prays your truly faithful and loving brother…” </i><br /><br /> As he reaches out and puts the letter on the desk, I can clearly see the tears flowing steadily down Oliver’s reddened face, staining his doublet and the shirt beneath. His acute distress is plain to see. <br /><br /> “Is it suffice, dear friend?” he enquires of me. “Is it the epitaph and encourager I hope it to be?” <br /><br /> I nod my head in approval, saying: “Words are inadequate at moments like these, Oliver. You know that as well as I. Yet what you have written will be a true source of comfort. They will know their son died bravely, like the martyr he is.” <br /><br /> For the briefest of moments, a flicker of contentment flashes in Oliver’s eyes. Then it is gone. <br /><br /> “Thank you for your forbearance, Francis,” he adds. “I may make some further, minor amendments, but I think it will do. It will have to. I must write to more unfortunate people who have suffered the loss of loved ones, and there are also campaigning matters to consider.” <br /><br /> I have never met Valentine’s mother, but I am told her son was the embodiment of her. All members of the Cromwell family have the same distinctive physical features: a prominent nose and a full, strong forehead. They are also the bravest of people. Margaret, Valentine’s mother, is cut from this rock. So, too, is her brother, Oliver, the rising star of the Parliamentary army.<br /><br /></span><div style="text-align: left;"><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEggm57VHNnq7OKWyC_mEsF9KAGa6TQ29E7YBeFUuMcz_aFydIZ81aRuUl8AuxHlsaR84qdbISFCWZ0NxU6cJ8wE4ZL6yYBvVo7GKXZxU9Nkd6UiPk9GlsfPi3a6mLuLyVUH8cxNnkL5ktvDD863S16hFGZuPFkGA-gqhGV0EM1dwX-X2HV5OUzCp73xSg=s2048" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img alt="[Blog Tour] 'Redemption' (The Hacker Chronicles, Book 2) By Philip Yorke #HistoricalFiction #EnglishCivilWar" border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1536" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEggm57VHNnq7OKWyC_mEsF9KAGa6TQ29E7YBeFUuMcz_aFydIZ81aRuUl8AuxHlsaR84qdbISFCWZ0NxU6cJ8wE4ZL6yYBvVo7GKXZxU9Nkd6UiPk9GlsfPi3a6mLuLyVUH8cxNnkL5ktvDD863S16hFGZuPFkGA-gqhGV0EM1dwX-X2HV5OUzCp73xSg=w480-h640" width="550" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="text-align: left;"><i><span style="font-family: arial;">Philip Yorke</span></i></span></td></tr></tbody></table><h3><span style="font-family: arial;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">Author Bio:</span></span></h3></div><div><span style="font-family: arial;"><i><b></b></i><blockquote><i><b>Philip Yorke</b> is an award-winning former Fleet Street journalist who has a special interest in history. His Hacker Chronicles series, to be told in five fast-paced historical fiction novels, tells the story of Parliamentarian soldier, Francis Hacker.<br /><br /><b>Redemption</b>, the second book in the series, is set during the period 1644-46 (</i>during the first English Civil War<i>), when events take a significant turn in favour of Parliament. <br /><br />Philip is married, and he and his wife have five children. He enjoys relaxing to classical music, reading the works of Nigel Tranter, Bernard Cornwell, Robyn Young and CJ Sansom, and supporting Hull City FC and Leicester Tigers RFC. <br /><br />He lives in Leicestershire, England. </i></blockquote></span><h3 style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><span style="font-family: arial;">Connect With </span><span style="font-family: arial;">Philip Yorke</span><span style="font-family: arial;">:</span></span></h3></div><div><ul style="text-align: left;"><li><b><span style="font-family: arial;"><a href="http://philipyorke.org" target="_blank">Website</a> ✔ <a href="https://twitter.com/yorkeauthor" target="_blank">Twitter</a></span><span style="font-family: arial;"> ✔</span><span style="font-family: arial;"> </span><a href="http://facebook.com/philipyorkeauthor" style="font-family: arial;" target="_blank">Facebook</a><span style="font-family: arial;"> ✔ </span><span style="font-family: arial;"><a href="https://www.instagram.com/yorkeauthor/?hl=en" target="_blank">Instagram</a></span><span style="font-family: arial;"> ✔</span><span style="font-family: arial;"> </span><span style="font-family: arial;"><a href="http://bookbub.com/profile/philip-yorke?list=about" target="_blank">BookBub</a></span><span style="font-family: arial;"> ✔</span><span style="font-family: arial;"> </span><span style="font-family: arial;"><a href="http://amazon.co.uk/~/e/B07YX5JMHY" target="_blank">Amazon Author Page</a></span><span style="font-family: arial;"> ✔</span><span style="font-family: arial;"> </span><span style="font-family: arial;"><a href="http://goodreads.com/author/show/19831059.Philip_Yorke" target="_blank">Goodreads</a></span><span style="font-family: arial;"> ✔</span></b></li></ul></div><div><div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjvDADlzbbCtFDYniLNm_5IP5vU_Omg8dL6jKFM1RujrvGVF9UwXaIpB398yHjNofZpXdb9v08duFIcuyUEi_debjqXFaNoEQurtmjJTv_Drf9xuq71Wi2tchxbzzA9qH1cxoqE9F0ukiZ9VnwZiHzE0SDHgR-sG1msf6HWbWCh6mGAoUgGn1QW1Rv7Ng=s1600" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img alt="[Blog Tour] 'Redemption' (The Hacker Chronicles, Book 2) By Philip Yorke #HistoricalFiction #EnglishCivilWar" border="0" data-original-height="900" data-original-width="1600" height="360" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjvDADlzbbCtFDYniLNm_5IP5vU_Omg8dL6jKFM1RujrvGVF9UwXaIpB398yHjNofZpXdb9v08duFIcuyUEi_debjqXFaNoEQurtmjJTv_Drf9xuq71Wi2tchxbzzA9qH1cxoqE9F0ukiZ9VnwZiHzE0SDHgR-sG1msf6HWbWCh6mGAoUgGn1QW1Rv7Ng=w640-h360" width="640" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i><span style="font-family: arial;">Redemption - <a href="https://www.coffeepotbookclub.com/post/blog-tour-redemption-the-hacker-chronicles-book-2-by-philip-yorke-yorkeauthor" target="_blank">Blog Tour Schedule </a>Banner</span></i></td></tr></tbody></table></div></div></div>Loup Dargenthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11143365444371974784noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1372609107888107354.post-38791895551420440612021-10-18T06:12:00.001+01:002021-10-18T06:12:44.380+01:00[Blog Tour] 'Shadow Shinjuku' By Ryu Takeshi #UrbanFantasy #CrimeThriller<span style="font-family: arial;"></span><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEh82q9iX3rYHzKu6pUuDKw0Ej1VGyJTIHyfUIxA321HLRvlftVPlM-2UrqxqByPNhRZpezFCGtTuHC6vz2hZ0qjEwqRBr2jtThEz51KcB2vV594usrTJTQPv5q5UW9rqU0h_UgP3f2ovazYfY8brp3QK8FxXatzTjmWDtDFqHlHcVKauPog7nQcyiX3hg=s1640" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img alt="[Blog Tour] 'Shadow Shinjuku' By Ryu Takeshi #UrbanFantasy #CrimeThriller" border="0" data-original-height="924" data-original-width="1640" height="360" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEh82q9iX3rYHzKu6pUuDKw0Ej1VGyJTIHyfUIxA321HLRvlftVPlM-2UrqxqByPNhRZpezFCGtTuHC6vz2hZ0qjEwqRBr2jtThEz51KcB2vV594usrTJTQPv5q5UW9rqU0h_UgP3f2ovazYfY8brp3QK8FxXatzTjmWDtDFqHlHcVKauPog7nQcyiX3hg=w640-h360" width="640" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i><span style="font-family: arial;">Shadow Shinjuku - Book Tour Poster</span></i></td></tr></tbody></table><h3><span style="font-family: arial;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">The Book:</span></span></h3><b style="font-family: arial;">Shadow Shinjuku</b><span style="font-family: arial;"> </span><br /><div><span style="font-family: arial;"><i>By Ryu Takeshi</i><br /><ul style="text-align: left;"><li><span style="font-family: arial;"><b>Publication Day: </b><i>5th August 2021 </i></span></li><li><span style="font-family: arial;"><b>Publisher:</b> <i>Purple Crow Press</i></span></li><li><span style="font-family: arial;"><b>Page Count:</b> <i>358 pages</i></span></li><li><span style="font-family: arial;"><b>Genre:</b> <i>Urban Fantasy/Crime Thriller</i></span></li></ul></span><div><h3 style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: x-large;">The Blurb:</span></h3><span style="font-family: arial;"><i></i><blockquote><i>The streets of Tokyo are different at night.<br /><br />There is darkness behind the glitter and the neon lights, and people who prefer to stay in the shadows, to dwell in the underworld – whores, gangsters, the homeless, the lost.<br /><br />People like Sato.<br /><br />He’s part of this world, he always has been, but a feeling of change is lingering in the heavy air of the bustling city. A feeling brought to life by fateful encounters of solitary souls.<br /><br /><b>Shadow Shinjuku </b>is a dark, yet magical journey into the depths of Tokyo’s nightlife and the depths of the human soul.<br /><br /><b>Ryu Takeshi’</b>s first novel is both a crime thriller and urban fantasy. It's a unique and mesmerizing blend of the imagery of Japanese animation and film, the colors and details of street photography, and the mystical lyricism of soulful music.</i><br /><i><br />But above everything, it is a gripping story that doesn’t let go.</i></blockquote><b><ul style="text-align: left;"><li><span style="font-family: arial;"><b>Buying Links: <a href="https://www.amazon.co.uk/Shadow-Shinjuku-Japanese-Crime-Thriller-ebook/dp/B09C2RPCBP" target="_blank">Amazon UK</a> ✔ <a href="https://www.amazon.com/Shadow-Shinjuku-Japanese-Crime-Thriller-ebook/dp/B09C2RPCBP" target="_blank">Amazon US</a></b></span><span style="font-family: arial;"><b> ✔</b></span><span style="font-family: arial;"> </span><span style="font-family: arial;"> </span></li></ul></b></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhB1C1IKRUbDWN3PSQBdPEvubF437A7NTO0bVeHuAKSx6br3SkOCUNEqV-5yGVIMgUCF9gCjLKmWHKHqSHGDZrYLYFHDW0E5HMBgNwapl5-sfWXuQIAp-xCT9lGG06x84lmW8iseiuoKI808JobceWu7EWpTtr1CQXEgCZGKmKlxgFVPsu9Eu6V8zb8ZQ=s2048" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img alt="[Blog Tour] 'Shadow Shinjuku' By Ryu Takeshi #UrbanFantasy #CrimeThriller" border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1280" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhB1C1IKRUbDWN3PSQBdPEvubF437A7NTO0bVeHuAKSx6br3SkOCUNEqV-5yGVIMgUCF9gCjLKmWHKHqSHGDZrYLYFHDW0E5HMBgNwapl5-sfWXuQIAp-xCT9lGG06x84lmW8iseiuoKI808JobceWu7EWpTtr1CQXEgCZGKmKlxgFVPsu9Eu6V8zb8ZQ=w400-h640" width="550" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i><span style="font-family: arial;">Shadow Shinjuku - Book Cover</span></i></td></tr></tbody></table><h3><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: x-large;">'Shadow Shinjuku' - Excerpt:</span></h3></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><blockquote>I took a shower after practice and then made a simple dinner. I had an omelet with three eggs, tofu, and green peppers. A typical dinner of mine – I would have it three or four times a week. Simple, light, tasty. And I liked the combination of colors. The yellow, the green, and the white went really well together. For a while, I had thought it was only me with this strange attraction to this particular set of colors, but then I learned that people over in Europe love preparing eggs with spinach and goat cheese. Of course, you prepare a dish because you want to eat something good, but it can’t be good enough if it doesn’t have the looks. Even before the tongue gets to decide whether the food is good or bad or somewhere in between the nose and the eyes give the first impression. And the first impression is crucial. It creates an idea of how the food will taste, and it’s almost impossible to ignore. Like planting a seed inside the mind, for small veins to then grow out of it in the blink of an eye. These veins run wide, run deep, and attach themselves to all kinds of other veins from other seeds of other ideas. And it requires precision surgery to detach and untangle them. As I said, it’s almost impossible. But there is a way. Kei once told me about a person who can fully remove one idea from the mind while leaving everything else intact. The “Cleaner”, he called him. <br /><br />According to Kei, artificially removing ideas is risky. When you remove them, they don’t disappear, die, or self-destruct. No, they stay. More precisely, they go back to the “Sea of Thought” – the source of all ideas. The Sea of Thought is usually not visible to us humans. It resides in a different dimension. It’s hard to describe, but a simple version would be to think of it as the outer layer of space. The one up there, with all the planets and stars. The infinite one. You take the space, then turn it inside out, like a sweater, and that’s where you find the Sea of Thought.</blockquote></span><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjNpBoEzyqChLucOT7MAwmpJnLEgXFkb9-lzIHPGxErVAvu35Rp-mffJgObDw9NAH50qfjm5zHUxTWFy3cbyqLCpPWtthEqFbLzM8VwxaMb1lxLH9mk_TNy4AetUeGegVOJ4wgg2f_MEG_ZcQ2BELKMunZD7E9nElWpNlqSMMdMHGyXZSHzsY64BVY3xg=s942" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img alt="[Blog Tour] 'Shadow Shinjuku' By Ryu Takeshi #UrbanFantasy #CrimeThriller" border="0" data-original-height="942" data-original-width="942" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjNpBoEzyqChLucOT7MAwmpJnLEgXFkb9-lzIHPGxErVAvu35Rp-mffJgObDw9NAH50qfjm5zHUxTWFy3cbyqLCpPWtthEqFbLzM8VwxaMb1lxLH9mk_TNy4AetUeGegVOJ4wgg2f_MEG_ZcQ2BELKMunZD7E9nElWpNlqSMMdMHGyXZSHzsY64BVY3xg=w640-h640" width="640" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i><span style="font-family: arial;">Ryu Takeshi </span></i></td></tr></tbody></table><h3><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: x-large;">Author Bio:</span></h3><span style="font-family: arial;"><i><b></b><blockquote><b>Ryu Takeshi </b>loves to write. It’s a way for him to find and explore new worlds, both inner ones and those way outside. And this process is spontaneous and instinctive, his stories born out of a single image, following a path Ryu himself never fully understands – not its origin, nor its end -, immersed in the magic of the moment, and the magic of everything that surrounds us, the visible and the invisible. <br /><br />Ryu is a daydreamer, a believer in the magic of humanity, a friend to all the mystical creatures of the night, and a sucker for the visual beauty of anime. But above all else, Ryu is just a human being, like yourself.<br /><br />Ryu was born in 1983, has a beautiful wife, a funny little dog, and a lovely daughter. He adores sumo, practices traditional kenjutsu, sometimes plays basketball (Go Denver Nuggets!), relaxes playing video games, watching anime and reading books.<br /><br />Oh, and he loves to eat! But who doesn’t… </blockquote></i></span><h3 style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><span style="font-family: arial;">Connect With Ryu Takeshi</span><span style="font-family: arial;">:</span></span></h3></div><div><ul style="text-align: left;"><li><b><span style="font-family: arial;"><a href="https://www.facebook.com/ryutakeshi.official/" target="_blank">Facebook</a></span><span style="font-family: arial;"> ✔</span><span style="font-family: arial;"> </span><span style="font-family: arial;"> </span><span style="font-family: arial;"><a href="https://www.instagram.com/ryutakeshi.official/" target="_blank">Instagram</a></span><span style="font-family: arial;"> ✔</span><span style="font-family: arial;"> </span><span style="font-family: arial;"><a href="https://twitter.com/RyuTakWrites" target="_blank">Twitter</a></span><span style="font-family: arial;"> ✔</span><span style="font-family: arial;"> </span><span style="font-family: arial;"><a href="https://ryutakeshi.com/" target="_blank">Website</a></span><span style="font-family: arial;"> ✔</span><span style="font-family: arial;"> </span><span style="font-family: arial;"> </span></b></li></ul></div></div>Loup Dargenthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11143365444371974784noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1372609107888107354.post-39146235510821426712021-10-15T08:37:00.000+01:002021-10-15T08:37:25.008+01:00[Blog Tour] 'Amongst The Mists' By M.L Rayner #GhostStory<span style="font-family: arial;"></span><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhvfWRpPh7DZO_ClaJ-JDICDcrxkJjrh9zu-dPqt35z4k76WYb8bH_oRjBJBAIeli6Se8K76teqCjehGztfjX_148fcerpATHeq6wWeuokmvyXQFOl7C6rDfqJhpBqA2KvcMLaSL4oAkIVUmRtZWXyUz5b3ikL9642XAra1BIV0PO1doJxEiwrsiUFDig=s1640" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img alt="[Blog Tour] 'Amongst The Mists' By M.L Rayner #GhostStory" border="0" data-original-height="924" data-original-width="1640" height="360" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhvfWRpPh7DZO_ClaJ-JDICDcrxkJjrh9zu-dPqt35z4k76WYb8bH_oRjBJBAIeli6Se8K76teqCjehGztfjX_148fcerpATHeq6wWeuokmvyXQFOl7C6rDfqJhpBqA2KvcMLaSL4oAkIVUmRtZWXyUz5b3ikL9642XAra1BIV0PO1doJxEiwrsiUFDig=w640-h360" width="640" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i><span style="font-family: arial;">Amongst The Mists - Book Tour Poster</span></i></td></tr></tbody></table><h3><span style="font-family: arial;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">The Book:</span></span></h3><b style="font-family: arial;">Amongst The Mists</b><span style="font-family: arial;"> </span><br /><div><span style="font-family: arial;"><i>By M.L Rayner</i><br /><ul style="text-align: left;"><li><span style="font-family: arial;"><b>Publication Day:</b> <i>12th October 2021 </i></span></li><li><span style="font-family: arial;"><b>Publisher:</b> <i>Question Mark Press</i></span></li><li><span style="font-family: arial;"><b>Page Count:</b> <i>TBC pages</i></span></li><li><span style="font-family: arial;"><b>Genre:</b> <i>Horror/ Ghost Story</i></span></li></ul></span></div><div><h3 style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: x-large;">The Blurb:</span></h3><span style="font-family: arial;"><i><blockquote> It was the most anticipated summer break of their young lives. <br /><br /> For Bran Lampshire, that summer of 1986 would be far different. The lure of a wilderness adventure sends him and his friends on a troublesome journey that would see them far from home and into the isolated shadows of the Sleathton Estate. In a forgotten land where nature thrives, an unexplained mist settles upon the shaded grounds. And stories were told of events so chilling, they were forcibly buried over time. <br /><br /> Lose yourself beneath the endless trees. And discover that legends are sometimes so much more than ghost stories.</blockquote></i></span><div><ul style="text-align: left;"><li><b><span style="font-family: arial;">Pre Order Links:</span><a href="https://www.amazon.co.uk/dp/B09DHQDYG1" style="font-family: arial;" target="_blank">Amazon UK</a><span style="font-family: arial;"> ✔ </span><span style="font-family: arial;"><a href="https://www.amazon.com/dp/B09DHQDYG1" target="_blank">Amazon US</a></span><span style="font-family: arial;"> ✔</span><span style="font-family: arial;"> </span></b></li></ul></div><div style="text-align: left;"><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgFJQgIrVCNQa1u4wTFhLmytSQ-3q6yXwaeDXCpSVC_yqeoVgFor5ymmO4NQpgwRLLd2ZSY5oPaBOC9Sx1I2WtKBE6slOV_sNr1lahZ10gppZjCH9srvQMncgERB-ouK9wb11eLR0miCIGYGWDC_IuxQ19sKo9toeH52M4k6hR51EriQtxV2wNYKlbybg=s2048" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img alt="[Blog Tour] 'Amongst The Mists' By M.L Rayner #GhostStory" border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1278" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgFJQgIrVCNQa1u4wTFhLmytSQ-3q6yXwaeDXCpSVC_yqeoVgFor5ymmO4NQpgwRLLd2ZSY5oPaBOC9Sx1I2WtKBE6slOV_sNr1lahZ10gppZjCH9srvQMncgERB-ouK9wb11eLR0miCIGYGWDC_IuxQ19sKo9toeH52M4k6hR51EriQtxV2wNYKlbybg=w400-h640" width="550" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i><span style="font-family: arial;">Amongst the Mists - Book Cover</span></i></td></tr></tbody></table><h3><span style="font-family: arial;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">'Amongst The Mists' - Excerpt:</span></span></h3></div><div><span style="font-family: arial;"><div></div><blockquote><div>She sprinted farther and farther downstream, committed to catching the caller. But with each bend in the river that was reached, the nasal call was heard farther away. </div><div><br /></div><div><i>I’ll catch you… You little runt</i>, she thought with a scowl. Her lungs started to weigh heavily with exhaustion. She stopped, hesitant to go on. Olivia waited, watching as the clear glistening water freely tumbled between her legs and into the dimness of woodland beyond. She held no fear of the forest but knew she should not stay. She had prolonged her time here enough.</div><div><br /></div><div>“I’m not playing now,” she yelled. “Gotta go I have.”</div><div><br /></div><div>Olivia waited, and surely enough the reply was delayed in return. </div><div><br /></div><div>“Lost!” It yelled back through the trees. The vocalisation seemed more distant than before.</div><div><br /></div><div>“I said, I ain’t playing. You deaf or something?” Olivia screamed, trying her best to be heard through the seemingly endless trees.</div><div><br /></div><div>“Lost…” The caller replied but was perceived with more uncertainty than the last. Olivia tilted her head inquisitively, trying to peer through the thick shrubs.</div><div><br /></div><div>“You really lost?” she yelled, now beginning to feel a sense of concern. “Or you just fakin’?”</div><div><br /></div><div>Again she was answered, but the sound echoed even deeper from the dense thicket. The girl cautiously moved forward, following the route of the water. It would be dark soon. She was well aware of that. But as the fading voice cried out from the depth of the woods, Olivia’s small body vanished into the endless tunnel of arched trees.</div></blockquote></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEj8wH_Ax2Qku0fXy7pdZOlhVIePGiIVSUp_HCI9ohN7tCjrzi3Uuc13Sk6DwHLzS3qaX6zzgpL2QqUaM-Ds6Cdo31JVjyQ3Se5CUgYZ89K7ubNLm_sc55SvAsnhxWyL-LqOsKyx5kLADTV0T7dX9j1vRI2dCRCahXIrRTIOjRqzyTsTrS7SOdJIQQekjw=s960" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img alt="[Blog Tour] 'Amongst The Mists' By M.L Rayner #GhostStory" border="0" data-original-height="960" data-original-width="960" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEj8wH_Ax2Qku0fXy7pdZOlhVIePGiIVSUp_HCI9ohN7tCjrzi3Uuc13Sk6DwHLzS3qaX6zzgpL2QqUaM-Ds6Cdo31JVjyQ3Se5CUgYZ89K7ubNLm_sc55SvAsnhxWyL-LqOsKyx5kLADTV0T7dX9j1vRI2dCRCahXIrRTIOjRqzyTsTrS7SOdJIQQekjw=w640-h640" width="640" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i><span style="font-family: arial;">ML Rayner </span></i></td></tr></tbody></table><h3><span style="font-family: arial;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">Author Bio:</span></span></h3></div><div><span style="font-family: arial;"><i><blockquote>Born and bred in the county of Staffordshire. Matt is a keen reader of classical, horror and fantasy literature and enjoys writing in the style of traditional ghost stories. During his working life, Matt joined the ambulance service in 2009, transporting critically ill patients all over the UK. After writing his first novel, Matt was welcomed into the family of Question Mark Press publishing and now dedicates his time on future releases. His hobbies include genealogy and hiking, and he enjoys spending time with his wife, Emma, his children, and his family.</blockquote></i></span><h3 style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><span style="font-family: arial;">Connect With </span><span style="font-family: arial;">M.L Rayner</span><span style="font-family: arial;">:</span></span></h3></div><div><ul style="text-align: left;"><li><b><span style="font-family: arial;"><a href="https://www.facebook.com/MLRayner/" target="_blank">Facebook</a> ✔ </span><span style="font-family: arial;"><a href="https://www.instagram.com/m.l.rayner/" target="_blank">Instagram</a></span><span style="font-family: arial;"> ✔</span><span style="font-family: arial;"> </span><span style="font-family: arial;"><a href="https://twitter.com/M_L_Rayner" target="_blank">Twitter</a></span><span style="font-family: arial;"> ✔ </span><span style="font-family: arial;"><a href="https://www.amazon.co.uk/M.-L.-Rayner/e/B08LTXNSH4" target="_blank">Amazon</a></span><span style="font-family: arial;"> ✔</span><span style="font-family: arial;"> </span><span style="font-family: arial;"><a href="https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/20902655.M_L_Rayner" target="_blank">Goodreads</a></span><span style="font-family: arial;"> ✔</span></b></li></ul></div></div>Loup Dargenthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11143365444371974784noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1372609107888107354.post-40650159258812619722021-10-11T05:36:00.000+01:002021-10-11T05:36:17.950+01:00[Blog Tour] 'After Gáirech' By Micheál Cladáin #HistoricalFiction<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhrlWrd5k4vkNqiOSJ5g5Py4nVjFjZgqGB6w0QaahKAVxoPWPTVdrkX4_Wzafk5Kmxiq4fjnEhEg4yzVrofH9U_2fxM43dzMrpMcJmJmKtAOb68zr6tc_QDDfWJFmp15nGY7L-hrYlcbKfWHGvdF0bBMKivRb7xJ5b6MiCSaGkxcUf-6SMzu9ofR6Nvmg=s1600" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img alt="[Blog Tour] 'After Gáirech' By Micheál Cladáin #HistoricalFiction" border="0" data-original-height="900" data-original-width="1600" height="360" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhrlWrd5k4vkNqiOSJ5g5Py4nVjFjZgqGB6w0QaahKAVxoPWPTVdrkX4_Wzafk5Kmxiq4fjnEhEg4yzVrofH9U_2fxM43dzMrpMcJmJmKtAOb68zr6tc_QDDfWJFmp15nGY7L-hrYlcbKfWHGvdF0bBMKivRb7xJ5b6MiCSaGkxcUf-6SMzu9ofR6Nvmg=w640-h360" width="640" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i><span style="font-family: arial;">After Gáirech - Tour Banner</span></i></td></tr></tbody></table><h3><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: x-large;">The Book:</span></h3><span style="font-family: arial;"><b>After Gáirech</b><br /><i>By Micheál Cladáin</i><br /><ul style="text-align: left;"><li><span style="font-family: arial;"><b> Publication Date:</b> <i>30th September 2021</i></span></li><li><span style="font-family: arial;"><b> Publisher:</b> <i>PerchedCrowPress</i></span></li><li><span style="font-family: arial;"><b> Page Length:</b> <i>370 Pages</i></span></li><li><span style="font-family: arial;"><b> Genre:</b> <i>Historical Fiction</i></span></li></ul></span><h3 style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: x-large;">The Blurb:</span></h3><span style="font-family: arial;"><i><blockquote>The battle of Gáirech is over; the armies of Connachta, Lagin, and Mumu are destroyed! Survivors are ravaging The Five Kingdoms of Ireland! <br /><br /> While working to resolve the Kingdoms’ issues and bring peace, Cathbadh is murdered, dying in his son Genonn’s arms. Genonn vows to avenge the death of his father. <br /><br /> For his revenge to work, he needs Conall Cernach and the Red Branch warriors of Ulster. But Conall is gone, searching for the head of Cú Chulainn. Genonn sets out to find him, aided by the beautiful Fedelm, the capricious Lee Fliath and the stalwart Bradán. </blockquote></i></span><h3 style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: x-large;">Buy Links: </span></h3><span style="font-family: arial;"><ul style="text-align: left;"><li><span style="font-family: arial;"><i>Available on KindleUnlimited<b> ✔ </b></i><a href="https://www.amazon.co.uk/dp/B093TF86Z4" target="_blank"><b>Amazon UK</b></a></span><b><i style="font-family: arial;"> ✔ </i><span style="font-family: arial;"><a href="https://www.amazon.com/dp/B093TF86Z4" target="_blank">Amazon US</a></span><i style="font-family: arial;"> ✔</i><span style="font-family: arial;"> <a href="https://www.amazon.ca/dp/B093TF86Z4" target="_blank">Amazon CA</a> </span><i style="font-family: arial;">✔ </i><span style="font-family: arial;"><a href="https://www.amazon.com.au/dp/B093TF86Z4" target="_blank">Amazon AU</a></span><i style="font-family: arial;"> ✔</i></b></li></ul></span><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEigRc0zQ-yYlon91A6as-dds9TonymHeo9VcO1MIkxzCRkrCvzk58VF2b1OgDFQm8p5ZDWiyO1Zljor_8L3o-RpNwIL0HnAV6YTupIPUMEeN7Z6kuOptgvMqTSaoIINN4o7_fYcwj6cuP1AZBymBVzG8N_kVYZ56gmQm45xALrPeNCCAsgpXqJ8oExpNA=s2048" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img alt="[Blog Tour] 'After Gáirech' By Micheál Cladáin #HistoricalFiction" border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1448" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEigRc0zQ-yYlon91A6as-dds9TonymHeo9VcO1MIkxzCRkrCvzk58VF2b1OgDFQm8p5ZDWiyO1Zljor_8L3o-RpNwIL0HnAV6YTupIPUMEeN7Z6kuOptgvMqTSaoIINN4o7_fYcwj6cuP1AZBymBVzG8N_kVYZ56gmQm45xALrPeNCCAsgpXqJ8oExpNA=w452-h640" width="550" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i><span style="font-family: arial;">After Gáirech - Book Cover</span></i></td></tr></tbody></table><h3><span style="font-family: arial;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">'After Gáirech' - Excerpt:</span></span></h3><div><span style="font-family: arial;">Nechtan listened to the mumbling of the snaking line of warriors. They were riding through the foothills of the Wicklow Mountains, fidgeting in their saddles and moaning in whispers, vainly trying to keep their pain to themselves. Thirty warriors and only a handful could say they were free of wounds. The cattle raid had promised riches beyond belief and then delivered nothing but pain and hunger and for some, death. <br /><br /> Sighing, Nechtan peered up through the canopy. The sky was taking on the darker blue of one soon to be abandoned by the sun. He was searching for a crow, any crow, so long as it flew in the same direction as his warband. His brows creased when the skies appeared empty. No crows. No birds of any kind. <br /><br /> Now ain’t that a shite. Where’s the crows when you need them? <br /><br /> Staring into the forest, he wondered what would be better: a good omen or no omen. His suspicions were with the former. Anything to keep his fénnid happy. Warriors in pain were prone to violence. Hungry warriors in pain were prone to extreme violence, usually directed at the one they considered responsible: the captain. <br /><br /> And rightly so. A captain was only as good as the silver, meat, and mead he provided. Steering them up the Cooley Peninsula to steal Mac Fiachna’s famous Brown Bull proved to be a mistake. And it wasn’t even good eating. Tough as old saddle leather. Why the Cailleach decided to roast the animal was anyone’s guess. Roast it and then spread the rumour the two bulls fought it out in an epic battle, even more so. Still, who was he to question Queen Medb? She was a queen, and he was nothing but an elevated woodsman. <br /><br /> Although uninjured, Nechtan felt a despondency bubbling under his shirt, ants of sweat crawling over his skin. With another night of soulless fires and tight belts, his warriors would start to think of a change. Start to listen to the claims of those who considered themselves his better. Nothing would stop them from turning to a captain who could feed them, provide them with enough silver to live a decent life. A captain who would keep their promises, at the very least. <br /><br /> Sharvan, he thought, glancing sideways. <br /><br /> ‘If we hurry, we’ll make Ráth Droma before sunset,’ he called. ‘We’ll demand respite from the chief. Keeps a good vat of mead, does yer man Mathaman.’ <br /><br /> ‘What makes you think he’ll welcome us, this chieftain?’ Sharvan asked, staring at him with his little pig eyes. <br /><br /> Nechtan glowered at his redheaded second, before turning away and sighing. Sharvan made his warhorse seem like a pony. He was a good fighter, a good leader, his bulk demanding obedience, but his constant questions and less than average brainpower grated. You’re a bit of a dog shite and no mistake, Nechtan thought, turning to stare into the forest. <br /><br /> ‘We go way back,’ Nechtan said, wondering how many times he needed to repeat it. <br /><br /> ‘Aye, so you said. Often. Said you hanged a usurper. But that happened years back. Long before they routed us at Gáirech. You think this cúl an tí chief will remember? You think he’ll feed us even if he does remember?’ <br /><br /> ‘Aye, he’s a bogman. So, if he’s even heard of Gáirech, he won’t show no favour. He’s no love for Ulster neither. Besides, the Cailleach claims victory. Says she got the bull, and the Ulster king ran. She could be right, his kingship’s over either way. The Red Branch won’t forgive him running like a beaten cur.’ <br /><br /> ‘Won, did we?’ Sharvan scoffed. ‘Good of the lady to forget Cú Chulainn cutting swathes through us like we was harvest wheat.’ <br /><br /> ‘You can’t hold that against her. Them as rule, think different to us. They have different ideas about winning and losing. Different ideas about–’ <br /><br /> ‘None of that fills our bellies,’ Sharvan interrupted with a snort. ‘Nor give us the promised silver. Them as rule, can stick their ideas of winning up their holes.’ <br /><br /> Nechtan stood in his stirrups and turned back to the warriors riding in his wake, his fían. There were thirty, and he would welcome all of them beside him in a shield wall, even though they were not the best fighters. The band had included fifty-two fénnid when they rode with the Cailleach just a handful of days before. Now the best of them were rotting on the field at Gáirech, feed for the animals. Crows and wolves, mostly. Maybe the occasional fox when the wolves allowed. <br /><br /> The view behind did not improve his unease. <br /><br /> There was none of the usual banter as they rode towards the ráth of Mathaman, just a stench of blood and a profusion of dirty, rag wrapped wounds. They were tired. War-weary and poor. Captain Bréannin was meant to pay their purse with spoils from the raid on Cooley, but the army of Ulster took all the loot, along with most of Nechtan’s best warriors. It was always the best who died, being first in the shield wall. Each wall meant having to start again, which he hated. This time, there were no spoils to pay for the rebuild. He would have to grab some young ‘uns. Bring them up to be fighters; fill their heads with tales of gold and glory. It would be a long and slow road, which would push back his buying a steading where he could raise some cattle and a baby or two. Get himself a beautiful redheaded seeress like the one who predicted the outcome of the cattle raid. He was too far away to clearly hear the name she gave before forecasting Cú Chulainn’s murderous attacks. But she reminded him of a redheaded whore he knew on Ynys Môn. Next time he was on the island, he would pay her some coppers and live his dream, if only for a short while. <br /><br /> If he ever made it to the island. He was not sure he would make it out of this bunghole of a forest. With the giant acting as their voice, he could see himself hanging from a tree before nightfall. <br /><br /> Trying to hide the grimace he felt creasing his mouth, he turned and made an attempt to appease Sharvan. <br /><br /> ‘He’ll give us our traveller rights. I’m sure.’ <br /><br /> ‘And if he doesn’t?’ <br /><br /> ‘We’ll take them. From what I remember, there’s four guards, different generations of the same family. Rusty shirts. Blunt swords. Big guts from lots of mead and no exercise. Gráinne could take them on her own, one arm tied behind her back.’ <br /><br /> ‘Did you hear that Gráinne? You’re to be the razer of Ráth Droma,’ Sharvan called, raising a laugh for the first time since the eve of Gáirech, that one-sided battle they should have won with ease. They had twice the numbers of Ulster’s Red Branch. Nechtan still didn’t understand how they lost. Bad leadership aside, they should have just overwhelmed the opposing wall. <br /><br /> ‘Hush. We near the gates. I know the gatekeep is older than the Dagda, but he might have a hearing horn,’ Nechtan called. Those who heard laughed again. <br /><br /> ‘Never mind the talk,’ Sharvan said. ‘We take our rights by force, and Bréannin will be after us with a company of Leinster’s best.’ <br /><br /> ‘The Leinster company ran, leaving Bréannin sat on his horse like a shite on the doorstep of a royal roundhouse. I doubt he’s still a captain. If the Cailleach got hold of him, I doubt he’s still alive. No, we’ve no need to worry about Leinster’s best, nor anyone else’s. The kingdoms are in a mess, none more so than Leinster.’ Nechtan hesitated, thinking. <br /><br /> ‘You think Leinster defenceless?’ Sharvan asked with a smile, made plain by the movement of his beard. <br /><br /> ‘They have much to deal with before they can worry about the likes of one small fían.’ <br /><br /> ‘So, we’re free to raid?’ <br /><br /> ‘We are free to raid,’ Nechtan nodded. <br /><br /> As the shadows darkened, they turned off Slíghe Chualann and arrived at the closed gates of Ráth Droma, nestled in a vale back from the road. Nechtan shook his head at the wooden trunks on top of the ráth as they neared. The settlement was a picture of tranquillity, the ramparts free of guards. Nothing of the cattle raid had yet made its way this far south. The bog men and woodcutters were still unaware of their danger, which he knew would not be for long. <br /><br /> Things were set to change after Gáirech.</span></div><div><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEiIaEgtQVAJ9utyBJUlrav4AM8Dsak1BlPIWegM41V_NUqifULbdUkPJ2-GgAbWy0CN24AVq4oQlN-GDUx4PlzMIBcCce8jcBB_tAW7ILM1SXYF5vqeYGpyQjFsLD_7WfnGzjau7PdtGCcA2SaP9-4Y0uJhcjVKkps7gPZMCif0NVXOaPkP1RHT1skQrg=s1844" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img alt="[Blog Tour] 'After Gáirech' By Micheál Cladáin #HistoricalFiction" border="0" data-original-height="1844" data-original-width="1348" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEiIaEgtQVAJ9utyBJUlrav4AM8Dsak1BlPIWegM41V_NUqifULbdUkPJ2-GgAbWy0CN24AVq4oQlN-GDUx4PlzMIBcCce8jcBB_tAW7ILM1SXYF5vqeYGpyQjFsLD_7WfnGzjau7PdtGCcA2SaP9-4Y0uJhcjVKkps7gPZMCif0NVXOaPkP1RHT1skQrg=w468-h640" width="550" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i><span style="font-family: arial;">Micheál Cladáin</span></i></td></tr></tbody></table><h3><span style="font-family: arial;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">Author Bio:</span></span></h3></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><i><b></b><blockquote><b> Micheál Cladáin</b> studied the classics and developed a love of ancient civilizations during those studies. Learning about ancient Roman and Greek cultures was augmented by a combined sixteen years living in those societies, albeit the modern versions, in Cyprus and Italy. As such, Micheál decided to write historical fiction, trying to follow in the footsteps of such greats as<b> Bernard Cornwell</b> and <b>Conn Iggulden</b>. Because of his Irish roots, he chose pre-Christian Ireland as his setting, rather than ancient Italy or Greece.<br /><br /> Micheál is a full-time writer, who lives in the wilds of Wexford with his wife and their border terriers, Ruby and Maisy. </blockquote></i></span><h3 style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><span style="font-family: arial;">Connect With </span><b style="font-family: arial;">Micheál Cladáin</b><span style="font-family: arial;">:</span></span></h3></div><div style="text-align: left;"><ul style="text-align: left;"><li><b><span style="font-family: arial;"><a href="https://twitter.com/Phil_Hughes_Nov" target="_blank">Twitter</a> ✔ <a href="http://www.facebook.com/PerchedCrowPress" target="_blank">Facebook</a></span><span style="font-family: arial;"> ✔</span><span style="font-family: arial;"> </span><span style="font-family: arial;"><a href="https://www.amazon.co.uk/Miche%25C3%25A1l-Clad%25C3%25A1in/e/B07BGWK6BD" target="_blank">Amazon Author Page</a></span><span style="font-family: arial;"> ✔</span><span style="font-family: arial;"> </span></b></li></ul></div><div style="text-align: left;"><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEh2O76aUIyIbDbImRvzqIyvP5T1UhC6yXdky0NLg8vjTtPey9S8YSNXunbmGxCNkysFrjKyihYjywomXMSWr1yp-0jorMfsScay05ZS2b6jxcG4PRWm35z3dWplwqWDXV2XV0WuJmBFDAMga0o-vSov-r8i-9TCe82zNyfU7qkpeUAvg8yqoZeJ7pBYeg=s1600" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img alt="[Blog Tour] 'After Gáirech' By Micheál Cladáin #HistoricalFiction" border="0" data-original-height="900" data-original-width="1600" height="360" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEh2O76aUIyIbDbImRvzqIyvP5T1UhC6yXdky0NLg8vjTtPey9S8YSNXunbmGxCNkysFrjKyihYjywomXMSWr1yp-0jorMfsScay05ZS2b6jxcG4PRWm35z3dWplwqWDXV2XV0WuJmBFDAMga0o-vSov-r8i-9TCe82zNyfU7qkpeUAvg8yqoZeJ7pBYeg=w640-h360" width="640" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i><span style="font-family: arial;">After Gáirech - <a href="https://www.coffeepotbookclub.com/post/blog-tour-after-g%C3%A1irech-by-miche%C3%A1l-clad%C3%A1in-october-11th-october-22nd-2021" target="_blank">Tour Schedule</a> Banner</span></i></td></tr></tbody></table><br /></div>Loup Dargenthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11143365444371974784noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1372609107888107354.post-38234167940038182562021-10-08T09:02:00.000+01:002021-10-08T09:02:35.705+01:00[Blog Tour] 'Conspiracy of Cats' by B.C Harris #Paranormal #Thriller<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhs8TizYIeonNlnxTObRcRhTaPo7YTqO57opMEXBb6akPg_6wj4iRN9Ur1z7O1iqZQIPsV6lMZOoo4RZfOR4muvhYNl-J4SOb9r7d9ullYuRnLnDG00TKkhi5paEv5v5w2gADrwzpXm86PN-70X1-1w4kr1_jFl1YRwgLb0aI-sHz6xW92awWoBpmv7Mw=s1640" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img alt="[Blog Tour] 'Conspiracy of Cats' by B.C Harris #Paranormal #Thriller" border="0" data-original-height="924" data-original-width="1640" height="360" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhs8TizYIeonNlnxTObRcRhTaPo7YTqO57opMEXBb6akPg_6wj4iRN9Ur1z7O1iqZQIPsV6lMZOoo4RZfOR4muvhYNl-J4SOb9r7d9ullYuRnLnDG00TKkhi5paEv5v5w2gADrwzpXm86PN-70X1-1w4kr1_jFl1YRwgLb0aI-sHz6xW92awWoBpmv7Mw=w640-h360" width="640" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i><span style="font-family: arial;">Conspiracy of Cats - Tour Poster</span></i></td></tr></tbody></table><h3><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: x-large;">The Book: </span></h3><span style="font-family: arial;"><b>Conspiracy of Cats</b> </span><div><span style="font-family: arial;"><span><i>by B.C Harris</i><br /><ul style="text-align: left;"><li><span style="font-family: arial;"><b>Publication Day:</b> <i>26th August 2021</i> </span></li><li><span style="font-family: arial;"><b>Publisher:</b> <i>Olympia Publishers</i></span></li><li><span style="font-family: arial;"><b>Page Count:</b> <i>325 pages</i></span></li><li><span style="font-family: arial;"><span><b>Genre:</b><i> Paranormal/Thriller</i></span></span></li></ul></span></span></div><div><h3 style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><span><span style="font-size: x-large;">The Blurb:</span> </span></span></h3><span style="font-family: arial;"><span><i><b></b><blockquote><b>Conspiracy of Cats</b>… a supernatural murder mystery.<br /><br /> An apprehensive Jos Ferguson travels from Edinburgh to northern Tanzania to visit the house her Uncle Peter built before he died. <br /><br /> But Peter isn’t as dead as he should be… he was murdered, and he wants his niece to help him exact revenge upon his killer. With a little Maasai magic and a conspiracy of cats, Jos sets out to do exactly that. <br /><br /> A beautiful house. <br /><br /> A horrible death. <br /><br /> A brilliant revenge. <br /><br /> Who knew death could be so lively? </blockquote></i><b><ul style="text-align: left;"><li><span style="font-family: arial;"><span><b>Buy Links: <a href="https://www.amazon.co.uk/Conspiracy-Cats-B-C-Harris/dp/1800740328/r" target="_blank">Amazon UK</a> ✔ <a href="https://www.amazon.com/Conspiracy-Cats-B-C-Harris-ebook/dp/B09CGHZ7K7" target="_blank">Amazon US</a></b></span></span><span style="font-family: arial;"><b> ✔</b></span></li></ul></b></span></span><span style="font-family: arial;"><span><span style="font-family: arial;"><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEi6XOcPz0_7mkf3DulVwbbQX3dmJsY8Q6ztA4K5vjjplVveBvSKm7KobliU72S8zBiibVxj_7DlbTuq0Up4KSKfId96OFldI_xMTAaVtPtkBWK0VGbXHpkCEJ14sDmljSer00ds0-Xz9I0nsdtum-iCEhhtR6wCKDjUGkTo51fBA11j_bY8JM3tlMQEWA=s883" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img alt="[Blog Tour] 'Conspiracy of Cats' by B.C Harris #Paranormal #Thriller" border="0" data-original-height="883" data-original-width="590" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEi6XOcPz0_7mkf3DulVwbbQX3dmJsY8Q6ztA4K5vjjplVveBvSKm7KobliU72S8zBiibVxj_7DlbTuq0Up4KSKfId96OFldI_xMTAaVtPtkBWK0VGbXHpkCEJ14sDmljSer00ds0-Xz9I0nsdtum-iCEhhtR6wCKDjUGkTo51fBA11j_bY8JM3tlMQEWA=w428-h640" width="550" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Conspiracy of Cats - Book Cover</i></td></tr></tbody></table></span><h3><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: x-large;">'Conspiracy of Cats' - Excerpt:</span></h3></span></span></div><div><span style="font-family: arial;"><blockquote>Looking back, it was as if Peter had known that he was going to die. <br /><br />It was as if all of them had known, because the Maasai came prepared for their ritual even though their little brother died only a few hours before they arrived. It was the largest group of Maasai Beola had ever encountered at the white house. At least fifty men, most of them warriors, all carrying their weapons and their shields. Their chests and faces and arms painted as if they were going into battle. She watched them from the master bedroom window, just as she’d watched the police arrive, having gone back up to finish changing the bed so it would be clean and ready when Jude returned. They arrived on foot just before sunset, and it would have taken all day to walk from their village on the western side of Mount Kilimanjaro all the way to the white house. <br /><br />Some of the warriors carried armfuls of wood, and immediately began building a large fire in the middle of the lawn. The elders, including their bearded laibon, sat down on the porch steps to rest and, when Beola went out to meet them, they asked only for water. When she offered food they politely refused. When Beola moved to go back inside to fetch the water, a young warrior stopped her. ‘We must leave the white house in peace, little sister,’ he told her, and then he and several of his fellow warriors guided her towards the lodge where they fetched enough water for all. When that was done, the young warrior told her, ‘Word has been sent into the park so your husband and your son will come home soon. When they do, you must be ready to leave.’ <br /><br />‘But why?’ <br /><br />‘The laibon wishes to cleanse the white house of sorrow.’ <br /><br />Beola knew better than to argue with the wishes of a laibon, and so she nodded, resigned. ‘How long must we stay away?’ <br /><br />‘Moon die and come back again, man die and stay away. Come back with the new moon, sister.’ <br /><br />Back inside the lodge Beola began to pack, without any clear idea of where her family would go or who they would stay with. By then it was full dark, and the fire was burning so brightly she could see its orange glow above the garage blocking her direct view. Kissi and Ben arrived while she was still packing, in shock at both the death of their friend and the large gathering on the white house lawn. The evening breeze was becoming a wind by then, and the stars were obscured by gathering clouds. The warriors had begun to sing a sorrowful sounding song, their beautiful voices competing with the mounting voice of the wind. <br /><br />By the time the Nyerere’s were readying to leave, a storm was in full flow. The perimeter of trees bent and swayed in the wind that had initially made their leaves whisper. That wind was howling and shrilling by then, a tempest that thrashed and whipped the leaves and branches. Storm clouds had gathered so close, they were piled on top of one another, grumbling, rumbling, crashing with thunder directly overhead. Lightening split the night over and over. Up on the roof garden, a solitary figure braved the onslaught. The old laibon was yelling into the night, his spells snatched away by the wind that seemed, in turns, to want to blow him away and push him down. Rain pelted down upon him, it blinded his eyes, dripped from his beard, soaked his shuka and chilled his bones. He fought against it, at the same time as he embraced it, arms stretched wide and high. Calling out, over and over, to the spirit of his friend.</blockquote><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEg5LpeqUueI3N9URZTgPwBDT6cRIWXBJ-zXxELwFadGVAiBV66yZDfjjW6mAXQ5T5xpcEENjvz0ryvWkST8OBSdKBzXWCVBOL_74pIZYAInJHlJPzdEz2utcbaMYZgJoNd__AUie_vDqUoYf72JntTN-qrX440nt-a9QNQ5bm5m1IFQAlLJRw-BJpvUow=s2048" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img alt="[Blog Tour] 'Conspiracy of Cats' by B.C Harris #Paranormal #Thriller" border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEg5LpeqUueI3N9URZTgPwBDT6cRIWXBJ-zXxELwFadGVAiBV66yZDfjjW6mAXQ5T5xpcEENjvz0ryvWkST8OBSdKBzXWCVBOL_74pIZYAInJHlJPzdEz2utcbaMYZgJoNd__AUie_vDqUoYf72JntTN-qrX440nt-a9QNQ5bm5m1IFQAlLJRw-BJpvUow=w640-h480" width="640" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>B.C. Harris</i></td></tr></tbody></table></span></div><h3 style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">Author Bio:</span></span></h3><div><span style="font-family: arial;"><span><i><b></b><blockquote><b>B C Harris</b> is a Scot who, at the time of writing, had just finished renovating a farmhouse in France.<br /><br />A labour of love that began from first sight back in 2016. No sooner had the final length of flooring been laid and the last paintbrush dried, than disaster struck in the form of pandemic. France went into a strict lockdown and, with time to do more than simply daydream about writing books, a new project began to take shape.<br /><br />Writing began as an escape from the fear and isolation that was soon affecting us all, and quickly flourished to become ‘<b>Conspiracy of Cats</b>.’ The global pandemic seems to be receding now, but the passion for writing has taken root.</blockquote></i></span></span><h3 style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><span>Connect With </span></span><span style="font-family: arial;">B C Harris</span><span style="font-family: arial;">:</span></span></h3></div><div><ul style="text-align: left;"><li><b><span style="font-family: arial;"><span><a href="https://www.facebook.com/AuthorBCHarris" target="_blank">Facebook</a></span></span><span style="font-family: arial;"> ✔ </span><span style="font-family: arial;"><span><a href="https://www.instagram.com/beverleycharrisauthor/" target="_blank">Instagram</a></span></span><span style="font-family: arial;"> ✔</span><span style="font-family: arial;"> </span><span style="font-family: arial;"><span><a href="https://twitter.com/BCHarris64" target="_blank">Twitter</a></span></span><span style="font-family: arial;"> ✔</span></b></li></ul></div>Loup Dargenthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11143365444371974784noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1372609107888107354.post-22420470036980552362021-10-07T12:00:00.084+01:002021-10-07T17:06:09.969+01:00Vision Films Adds to October Halloween Film Fare With Sci-Fi Alien Adventure 'White Sky' [Trailer Included]<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEg75jHBQdVAj1ZWRAxmaDt-uUCmNYnl6GszPwBcJpeHAclfO5I6L1Fsshqqh2WGWjWTPcjImXQa7eWoMmUe4k-0d4vGlf3H59Oz43AMGYoQ1Q9A41nQwjMOhvisQGD1ylZPen_2hJl_MkM4nyaZ6oa5bjydtpCOKvVew6HkQpHD8uepKm-lyyTLos1V1Q=s2000" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img alt="Vision Films Adds to October Halloween Film Fare With Sci-Fi Alien Adventure 'White Sky' [Trailer Included]" border="0" data-original-height="2000" data-original-width="1350" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEg75jHBQdVAj1ZWRAxmaDt-uUCmNYnl6GszPwBcJpeHAclfO5I6L1Fsshqqh2WGWjWTPcjImXQa7eWoMmUe4k-0d4vGlf3H59Oz43AMGYoQ1Q9A41nQwjMOhvisQGD1ylZPen_2hJl_MkM4nyaZ6oa5bjydtpCOKvVew6HkQpHD8uepKm-lyyTLos1V1Q=w432-h640" width="550" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #373737; text-align: start;"><i><span style="font-family: arial;">'White Sky' Sci-Fi Thriller - Movie Poster</span></i></span></td></tr></tbody></table><span style="font-family: arial;"><i><b>Vision Films Inc</b>. announces the US and Canadian VOD release on October 16 of sci-fi alien adventure <b>White Sky</b> from <b>M and M Film Productions UK</b>. Written by <b>Philip Daay</b>, directed and produced by <b>Adam Wilson</b>, and produced by <b>Malcolm Winter</b>, <b>Makenna Guyler</b>, and <b>Monika Gergelova</b> of M and M. <b>White Sky</b> was filmed on location in Wales during the pandemic, September 2020</i>.<br /></span><h3 style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">Synopsis:</span> </span></h3><div><span style="font-family: arial;"><blockquote><i>When three campers witness an alien mothership descending on their town and turning the population into "</i>Altered<i>" human beings, they team up with a reclusive stranger who offers to guide them to safety. As they're chased deep into the forest and one of them becomes infected, they realize there's nowhere to hide from the Altered horde that seems intent upon finding and assimilating them.</i></blockquote></span><h3 style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: x-large;">Starring: </span></h3><div><ul style="text-align: left;"><li><span style="font-family: arial;"><b>Natalie Martins </b>(<i>Get Gone</i>), <b>Ade Dimberline</b> (<i>The Spanish Princess</i>), <b>Makenna Guyler</b> (<i>King of Crime</i>), and <b>Jordan McFarlane</b>.</span></li></ul><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjU0u-Si2rgdYgOXGJXjoYYnR94mw5PlpZ8PRajidd8SdAdFY8OHG0LOpG2E3riyXUEPembQUOsmNatu0FA6zsDOE-MbjngIYGC2xAbfCHrUiqC5_3RTJJxTluNg3pBKpLtAs45uz4ZIhmVCsf-8E9gGvt9F3OQiiYMTZOePioGBsWTjAEwBCTc3TCoIg=s1333" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img alt="Vision Films Adds to October Halloween Film Fare With Sci-Fi Alien Adventure 'White Sky' [Trailer Included]" border="0" data-original-height="549" data-original-width="1333" height="264" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjU0u-Si2rgdYgOXGJXjoYYnR94mw5PlpZ8PRajidd8SdAdFY8OHG0LOpG2E3riyXUEPembQUOsmNatu0FA6zsDOE-MbjngIYGC2xAbfCHrUiqC5_3RTJJxTluNg3pBKpLtAs45uz4ZIhmVCsf-8E9gGvt9F3OQiiYMTZOePioGBsWTjAEwBCTc3TCoIg=w640-h264" width="640" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i><span style="font-family: arial;">'White Sky' (Screengrab)</span></i></td></tr></tbody></table><span style="font-family: arial;"><i><b></b></i><blockquote><i><b>Lise Romanoff</b></i>, CEO/Managing Director of Vision Films shares, "<i>White Sky is the perfect sci-fi release for Halloween, it covers all the bases the horror audiences love: great special effects, suspense, action and of course, aliens</i>."</blockquote><b></b><blockquote><b>Malcolm Winter</b>, Managing Director/Commercial Director says, "<i>M & M Film Productions overcome all the obstacles to shoot White Sky in the lockdown and create an entertaining Sci-Fi drama</i>." </blockquote><b></b><blockquote><b>Monika Gergelova</b>, CEO/Managing Director adds, "<i>White Sky has a strong female character in "</i>Hailey"<i> who does not give up, no matter what she has to face. Sensational all the way through</i>."</blockquote></span><h3 style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: x-large;">The Trailer:</span></h3><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><iframe allow="accelerometer; autoplay; clipboard-write; encrypted-media; gyroscope; picture-in-picture" allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="315" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/U_Ywe4yMvM8" title="YouTube video player" width="560"></iframe></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><ul style="text-align: left;"><li><span style="font-family: arial;"><i><b>White Sky</b> will be available on all major streaming and cable platforms in the US and Canada, and on DVD October 19, 2021.</i></span></li></ul></span><span style="font-family: arial;"><i></i></span><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgEKbwk3EbQu2EBchp-QpqM2n0hOU1nSepYFm3UaIQscz2MmRtnpUauP981dTjKh7nq8KIHeI5tz6URCE3-GXeBPPHW3qiQvn3_SE3SuOuSEadC6Yvh2mkA7Ygjj4Ih9tOkV1L6qYtY22N0ktfjP1nOBXzF692Hp4rjkZeX3DSjhOvjNWnEzdSgPOVLqA=s1327" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img alt="Vision Films Adds to October Halloween Film Fare With Sci-Fi Alien Adventure 'White Sky' [Trailer Included]" border="0" data-original-height="553" data-original-width="1327" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgEKbwk3EbQu2EBchp-QpqM2n0hOU1nSepYFm3UaIQscz2MmRtnpUauP981dTjKh7nq8KIHeI5tz6URCE3-GXeBPPHW3qiQvn3_SE3SuOuSEadC6Yvh2mkA7Ygjj4Ih9tOkV1L6qYtY22N0ktfjP1nOBXzF692Hp4rjkZeX3DSjhOvjNWnEzdSgPOVLqA=w640-h266" width="640" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i><span style="font-family: arial;">'White Sky' (Screengrab)</span></i></td></tr></tbody></table><h3><span style="font-size: x-large;"><span style="font-family: arial;">About </span><span style="font-family: arial;"><b>M and M Film Productions</b></span><span style="font-family: arial;">:</span></span></h3><i><b style="font-family: arial;"></b><blockquote><b style="font-family: arial;">M and M Film Productions</b><span style="font-family: arial;"> is an Independent UK Motion Picture Production company founded/led by <b>Monika Gergelova</b>, CEO/Managing Director and <b>Malcolm Winte</b>r Managing Director/Commercial Director and together they bring decades of motion picture and investment financing to <b>M & M Film Productions</b>. The principals also possess well-respected relationships with production suppliers and distribution outlets on a needed basis.</span></blockquote></i><div style="text-align: right;"><i style="font-family: arial;">SOURCE: <a href="https://www.visionfilms.net/" target="_blank">Vision Films, Inc.</a></i></div></div></div></div>Loup Dargenthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11143365444371974784noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1372609107888107354.post-49523353242791322562021-10-04T06:21:00.000+01:002021-10-04T06:21:25.723+01:00[Blog Tour] 'Darjeeling Inheritance' (The Colonials) By Liz Harris #HistoricalFiction #HistoricalRomance<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgHzEj9f31bZziV0EbzT_DdBMvRVvJS5fh4TBSddHppuQlHLOohtFC_tI7erM7lx0ncXUK3lxcXeT4NAIerCNxoXUffLxxnl2Fm3lEomW25KqFtQ9s4y-AemaSCeX6L9bfa5cioKOBXlI7c/s1600/Darjeeling+Inheritance+Tour+Banner+%25281%2529.png" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img alt="[Blog Tour] 'Darjeeling Inheritance' (The Colonials) By Liz Harris #HistoricalFiction #HistoricalRomance" border="0" data-original-height="900" data-original-width="1600" height="360" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgHzEj9f31bZziV0EbzT_DdBMvRVvJS5fh4TBSddHppuQlHLOohtFC_tI7erM7lx0ncXUK3lxcXeT4NAIerCNxoXUffLxxnl2Fm3lEomW25KqFtQ9s4y-AemaSCeX6L9bfa5cioKOBXlI7c/w640-h360/Darjeeling+Inheritance+Tour+Banner+%25281%2529.png" width="640" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i><span style="font-family: arial;">Darjeeling Inheritance - Tour Banner</span></i></td></tr></tbody></table><h3><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: x-large;">The Book:</span></h3><span style="font-family: arial;"><b>Darjeeling Inheritance</b></span><br style="font-family: arial;" /><i><span style="font-family: arial;">(The Colonials)</span><br style="font-family: arial;" /><span style="font-family: arial;">By Liz Harris</span></i><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /><ul style="text-align: left;"><li><span style="font-family: arial;"><b>Publication Date:</b> <i>1st October 2021</i></span></li><li><span style="font-family: arial;"><b>Publisher:</b> <i>Heywood Press</i></span></li><li><span style="font-family: arial;"><b>Page Length:</b> <i>365 pages</i></span></li><li><span style="font-family: arial;"><b>Genre:</b> <i>Historical Romance</i></span></li></ul></span><h3 style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: x-large;">The Blurb:</span></h3><span style="font-family: arial;"><i><blockquote>Darjeeling, 1930 <br /><br />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.<br /><br />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.<br /><br />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.<br /><br />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. </blockquote></i><b><ul style="text-align: left;"><li><span style="font-family: arial;"><b>Buy Links: <a href="https://www.amazon.co.uk/Darjeeling-Inheritance-Colonials-Liz-Harris-ebook/dp/B0938Y6XVS" target="_blank">Amazon UK</a> ✔ <a href="https://www.amazon.com/Darjeeling-Inheritance-Colonials-Liz-Harris-ebook/dp/B0938Y6XVS" target="_blank">Amazon US</a></b></span><b><span style="font-family: arial;"> ✔</span><span style="font-family: arial;"> <a href="https://www.amazon.ca/Darjeeling-Inheritance-Colonials-Liz-Harris-ebook/dp/B0938Y6XVS" target="_blank">Amazon CA</a></span><span style="font-family: arial;"> ✔</span><span style="font-family: arial;"> <a href="https://www.amazon.com.au/Darjeeling-Inheritance-Colonials-Liz-Harris-ebook/dp/B0938Y6XVS" target="_blank">Amazon AU</a></span><span style="font-family: arial;"> ✔</span></b><span style="font-family: arial;"><b> </b><br /></span></li></ul></b></span><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg33ZmWdNIQZ6za7nVFd3-Ngxb-CX08yHosZVHIjmtJ-MBfOUwLHtz7nis9GJCRBesfxykp0S-HHGzOp70s6iZagz-kwg63Ae-NeM3kBnacoJSArBljMSycGuxd2NJh22-ngdxsfklaX1uF/s648/Darjeeling+Inheritance+Cover+.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img alt="[Blog Tour] 'Darjeeling Inheritance' (The Colonials) By Liz Harris #HistoricalFiction #HistoricalRomance" border="0" data-original-height="648" data-original-width="432" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg33ZmWdNIQZ6za7nVFd3-Ngxb-CX08yHosZVHIjmtJ-MBfOUwLHtz7nis9GJCRBesfxykp0S-HHGzOp70s6iZagz-kwg63Ae-NeM3kBnacoJSArBljMSycGuxd2NJh22-ngdxsfklaX1uF/w426-h640/Darjeeling+Inheritance+Cover+.jpg" width="550" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i><span style="font-family: arial;">Darjeeling Inheritance - Book Cover </span></i></td></tr></tbody></table><h3 style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">'Darjeeling Inheritance' - Excerpt:</span></span></h3><div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><b>CHAPTER ONE</b></span></div><span style="font-family: arial;"><i>March, 1930 </i><br /><br />Charlotte Lawrence stood on the short drive leading up to her family’s home and stared in surprise at the silent house. <br /><br />All around her, the harsh squawking of parrots vied with the repetitive call of the brainfever bird and with the ceaseless high-pitched chatter of the small, brightly coloured birds that circled restlessly above the corrugated-iron roof of the house, just as they’d continued to do in her mind since the day, eleven years before, that she’d been sent from Sundar to go to school in England. <br /><br />But the house itself was silent and still. <br /><br />Puzzled, she ran her gaze from one end of the lower verandah that spanned the width of the house to the other, seeking any movement behind the screen of plant-covered bamboo trellises that shielded the verandah from the full glare of the sun. <br /><br />But there was none. <br /><br />She raised her eyes to the glass-fronted upper verandah, but there was no sign of anyone there, either. <br /><br />Instead of the normal bustle of late-morning activity that she’d expected, an air of lethargy enveloped the house. <br /><br />Taking a step back, she glanced to her right, and squinted against the strengthening sun in an attempt to see past the well-tended lawn and potting-sheds to the brick-walled area where the servants had their quarters, and to the stables beyond them. But there was no one to be seen. Or to be heard. <br /><br />How strange, she thought. <br /><br />Her eyes returned to the house, and she frowned slightly, a sense of unease growing within her. <br /><br />She’d assumed that her father would work at home for a day or so to be sure of being there when she got back. Or that if he’d been called away, her mother would have been there. <br /><br />And the servants, too. Why weren’t they around? <br /><br />In all the years she’d been at school in England, she hadn’t returned to Sundar so much as once. That was a long time to be away. She knew that her <i>ayah</i> had left some years ago, but she’d rather thought—rather hoped, if she were truly honest—that all the servants would run out of the house the moment they heard the cart, eager to see as soon as possible how their little <i>burra baba</i> had grown. <br /><br />She swallowed the lump of disappointment that rose in her throat. <br /><br />A dull thud behind her made her jump, and she turned towards the sound. The first of their trunks had landed in the reddish-brown dust on the ground, dropped there by the elderly driver of the bullock-drawn cart which had bumpily conveyed her and her chaperone from the small railway station in Sonada. <br /><br />Dust billowed up around the trunk and drifted towards her. <br /><br />She coughed, and turned back to face the house before the second trunk could strike the ground. She heard it land heavily, followed by the light thump of someone jumping the short distance from the cart to the ground. A moment later, she sensed her chaperone come to her side. <br /><br />‘I wonder where everyone is, Ada,’ she said, her eyes still on the house. ‘The place looks completely deserted.’ <br /><br />Ada followed the direction of Charlotte’s gaze. ‘I expect they’re inside and haven’t heard us.’ She raised her arm and adjusted the angle of her blue straw cloche. <br /><br />Charlotte turned to her. ‘What! With the noise the axles made? They squeaked horrendously at every turn of the wheel. They must have heard us from miles away.’ <br /><br /> ‘Of course,’ Ada said quickly. ‘I wasn’t thinking, I was too busy admiring the house and its setting. It’s lovely here, Charlotte. You’re lucky to have such a home.’ <br /><br />Charlotte gave her a warm smile. ‘And you’ll have such a home, too, with your Mr Banning.’ <br /><br />‘Yes, I’m sure I will. As for your father, maybe he had to sort out a problem with the tea bushes. And the servants might be doing what they ought to be doing, but so often aren’t if they’re anything like English servants, and that’s working.’ She squeezed Charlotte’s arm. ‘Don’t worry, Charlotte dear. There’ll be a good reason why no one’s in, or if they are in, why they haven’t come out yet.’ <br /><br />Charlotte nodded. ‘You’re right, of course. And since Father managed to get to England twice only in all the time I was there, and I rarely saw Mother more than once a year, it’ll hardly hurt me to wait a little longer to see them. All the same … .’ <br /><br />She shrugged her shoulders, and glanced back at the cart. ‘As soon as the driver’s unloaded the luggage, we’ll go in and have some refreshment. I don’t know about you, but I’m absolutely parched. And the smell of tea in the air is only making it worse. Also, it’s getting quite hot.’ <br /><br />Ada gave Charlotte a light push. ‘You go on in. I’ll take care of everything out here.’ <br /><br />Charlotte looked back at the house. ‘That’s very kind of you, Ada. I think I will, thank you. I must admit, I’m excited to be home at last. I’m longing to see Father again.’ <br /><br />Ada assumed an expression of mock amazement. ‘You don’t say! I’d never have guessed. Not even though you started counting down the hours to Sundar from the moment we sailed out of Southampton.’ <br /><br />Charlotte laughed. She pulled off her felt cloche, shook free the auburn hair she’d pinned with a comb on top of her head, and went up the path to the wooden steps that led to the verandah, swinging her hat at her side as she walked. <br /><br />When she reached the top step, she glanced back at Ada, gave her a smile of excited anticipation, and then went up to the front door, pushed it open and stepped into the house. <br /><br />Pausing in the cool of the hall, she looked around her. Then she closed her eyes, and inhaled the musky scent of sandalwood, turmeric and cardamom. Her breath escaped in a sigh of deep happiness—she was home at last, back in the place she loved, the place that part of her had never truly left. <br /><br />For a minute or two she stood there motionless, her head tilted back, her eyes shut, drinking in the moment and letting delight flow through her. <br /><br />Then she opened her eyes, walked along the hall to the door at the far end and opened it, half-expecting to see her father sitting in his favourite chair in the morning room. <br /><br />But the room was empty of everything except the rays of the sun and the shimmering particles of dust that were trapped in the columns of light. And there was no one on the verandah outside, either. <br /><br />Her anxiety returning, she went to the foot of the teak wood staircase that led to the upstairs rooms, put her hand on the newel post, and called up to the landing, ‘Is anyone there?’ <br /><br />The air was weighted with silence. <br /><br />She let go of the bannister, went across to the far right-hand corner of the hall and pushed aside the flimsy screen made of split bamboo that concealed the opening to a small kitchen and pantry. But the kitchen, too, was empty. <br /><br />Biting her lip, she went quickly across the kitchen to the back door, pushed it open and stared along the covered walkway to the main cookhouse, which stood at the entrance to the servants’ compound. <br /><br />But there was no activity anywhere: not around the cookhouse; not in front of any of the houses in the compound; not on any of the small vegetable plots she could see from where she was standing. <br /><br />Her heart beating fast at the strangeness of the situation, she returned to the hall, and stopped abruptly in front of the sliding doors leading to the drawing room. <br /><br />A wave of relief swept through her, and her hand flew to her head. <br /><br />Of course! That’s where her father would be—he’d be in his office! <br /><br />His office led off the far end of the drawing room and was on the back of the house. Being in there, he wouldn’t have heard her arrive. How stupid of her—she should have gone there before anywhere else. <br /><br />She went to pull aside the doors, but stopped sharply at the sound of footsteps in the drawing-room. Someone was coming towards her. It’d be her father. Her relief deepened and she moved back and stood still, waiting, a smile on her lips. <br /><br />The doors opened and a tall lean man in a dust-coloured safari suit came out into the hall. <br /><br />She froze. Her smile faded. ‘Who are you?’<br /><br /></span><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEidedgghKzReOIwvg_nZamZkQygrJCO7zH6xt6LZOeNFngAlY3ybSum8uH6doPAYnPt4DrLRqtS8xBgkOiVkJg-DPJ50SIDBEx9-YqK21lKCUS6GgMV_dnJKlf_weLKarS6z5PG8KktH6zN/s650/Liz+Harris.JPG" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img alt="[Blog Tour] 'Darjeeling Inheritance' (The Colonials) By Liz Harris #HistoricalFiction #HistoricalRomance" border="0" data-original-height="650" data-original-width="433" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEidedgghKzReOIwvg_nZamZkQygrJCO7zH6xt6LZOeNFngAlY3ybSum8uH6doPAYnPt4DrLRqtS8xBgkOiVkJg-DPJ50SIDBEx9-YqK21lKCUS6GgMV_dnJKlf_weLKarS6z5PG8KktH6zN/w426-h640/Liz+Harris.JPG" width="550" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i><span style="font-family: arial;">Liz Harris</span></i></td></tr></tbody></table></div><h3 style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">Author Bio:</span></span></h3><div><span style="font-family: arial;"><i><blockquote>Born in London, <b>Liz Harris</b> 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.<br /><br />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.<br /><br />In addition to the ten novels she’s had published, she’s had several short stories in anthologies and magazines.<br /><br />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.</blockquote></i></span><h3 style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><span style="font-family: arial;">Connect with Liz Harris</span><span style="font-family: arial;">:</span></span></h3></div><div><ul style="text-align: left;"><li><b><span style="font-family: arial;"><a href="http://www.lizharrisauthor.com" target="_blank">Website</a> ✔ <a href="https://twitter.com/lizharrisauthor" target="_blank">Twitter</a></span><span style="font-family: arial;"> ✔</span><span style="font-family: arial;"> </span><span style="font-family: arial;"><a href="https://www.facebook.com/lizharrisauthor" target="_blank">Facebook</a></span><span style="font-family: arial;"> ✔</span><span style="font-family: arial;"> </span><span style="font-family: arial;"><a href="https://www.linkedin.com/in/liz-harris-b866341a/" target="_blank">LinkedIn</a></span><span style="font-family: arial;"> ✔</span><span style="font-family: arial;"> </span><span style="font-family: arial;"><a href="https://www.instagram.com/liz.harris.52206/?hl=en" target="_blank">Instagram</a></span><span style="font-family: arial;"> ✔ </span><span style="font-family: arial;"><a href="https://www.amazon.co.uk/Liz-Harris/e/B009V1G8UA" target="_blank">Amazon Author Page</a></span><span style="font-family: arial;"> ✔</span><span style="font-family: arial;"> </span></b></li></ul></div><div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjxL4g1cShljk6UCINB6fx0ci2LQJyIHZqMTPtURDZMB5o54U4s1rO4CBdq7X94mmer0mOMWylJWzZxXuwWxqDu-PeitQm_JYyBATW2TAiiB9fTVfNbPe16LLzUjwE0qqmak2x0i0GsJz7S/s1600/Darjeeling+Inheritance+Tour+Schedule+Banner+%25281%2529.png" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img alt="[Blog Tour] 'Darjeeling Inheritance' (The Colonials) By Liz Harris #HistoricalFiction #HistoricalRomance" border="0" data-original-height="900" data-original-width="1600" height="360" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjxL4g1cShljk6UCINB6fx0ci2LQJyIHZqMTPtURDZMB5o54U4s1rO4CBdq7X94mmer0mOMWylJWzZxXuwWxqDu-PeitQm_JYyBATW2TAiiB9fTVfNbPe16LLzUjwE0qqmak2x0i0GsJz7S/w640-h360/Darjeeling+Inheritance+Tour+Schedule+Banner+%25281%2529.png" width="640" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i><span style="font-family: arial;">Darjeeling Inheritance - <a href="https://www.coffeepotbookclub.com/post/blog-tour-darjeeling-inheritance-the-colonials-by-liz-harris-lizharrisauthor" target="_blank">Tour Schedule</a> Banner</span></i></td></tr></tbody></table></div>Loup Dargenthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11143365444371974784noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1372609107888107354.post-72300573011534511022021-10-01T08:11:00.001+01:002021-10-01T08:11:27.863+01:00[Blog Tour] 'Bloody Dominions' (The Conquest Trilogy, Book 1) By Nick Macklin #HistoricalFiction<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgxj8XU9-4wvHqAueVt-p99ZCsHoixm05X7JesQxto48XwoEzqpQpT2Cqd37333cIdu_VVbFU7YzRZr4fTJ2DSuFov5BeqEVTZ0g81nq5D-OiB07G1ax5KKVIxWw0MWNAclXxJDYThecDmm/s1600/Bloody+Dominions+Tour+Banner.png" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img alt="[Blog Tour] 'Bloody Dominions' (The Conquest Trilogy, Book 1) By Nick Macklin #HistoricalFiction" border="0" data-original-height="900" data-original-width="1600" height="360" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgxj8XU9-4wvHqAueVt-p99ZCsHoixm05X7JesQxto48XwoEzqpQpT2Cqd37333cIdu_VVbFU7YzRZr4fTJ2DSuFov5BeqEVTZ0g81nq5D-OiB07G1ax5KKVIxWw0MWNAclXxJDYThecDmm/w640-h360/Bloody+Dominions+Tour+Banner.png" width="640" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i><span style="font-family: arial;">Bloody Dominions - Tour Banner</span></i></td></tr></tbody></table><h3><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: x-large;">The Book:</span></h3><span style="font-family: arial;"><b>Bloody Dominions</b></span><br style="font-family: arial;" /><i><span style="font-family: arial;">(The Conquest Trilogy, Book 1)</span><br style="font-family: arial;" /><span style="font-family: arial;">By Nick Macklin</span></i><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /><b>Publication Date:</b> <i>28th June 2021</i><br /><b>Publisher:</b> <i>Troubador Publishing</i><br /><b>Page Length:</b> <i>368 Pages</i><br /><b>Genre:</b> <i>Historical Fiction</i><br /></span><h3 style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: x-large;">The Blurb:</span></h3><span style="font-family: arial;"><i><b></b><blockquote><b>Journey with those at the heart of the conflict as Caesar embarks on the tumultuous conquest of Gaul 58-51 BC. Book One 58-56 BC.</b><br /><br />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:<br /><br />Atticus – an impetuous but naturally gifted soldier, whose grandfather served with distinction in the legions;<br /><br />Allerix – a Chieftain of the Aduatuci, who finds himself fighting both for and against Caesar; and<br /><br />Epona – a fierce warrior and Allerixs’ adopted sister.<br /><br />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 barriers of fate that have defined them as enemies. In a twist of fate, Atticus and Allerix discover that they share a bond, a secret that nobody could ever foresee…<br /><br /><b>Trigger Warnings:</b> Violence, attempted rape.</blockquote></i></span><h3 style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: x-large;">Buy Links:</span></h3><span style="font-family: arial;"><ul style="text-align: left;"><li><span style="font-family: arial;"><b><a href="https://books2read.com/u/mdDq9l" target="_blank">Universal link</a> ✔ <a href="https://www.amazon.co.uk/dp/B096KQPDH8" target="_blank">Amazon UK</a></b></span><b><span style="font-family: arial;"> ✔</span><span style="font-family: arial;"> <a href="https://www.amazon.com/dp/B096KQPDH8" target="_blank">Amazon US</a></span><span style="font-family: arial;"> ✔ </span><span style="font-family: arial;"><a href="https://www.amazon.ca/dp/B096KQPDH8" target="_blank">Amazon CA</a></span><span style="font-family: arial;"> ✔</span><span style="font-family: arial;"> <a href="https://www.amazon.com.au/dp/B096KQPDH8" target="_blank">Amazon AU</a></span><span style="font-family: arial;"> ✔</span><span style="font-family: arial;"><a href="https://www.amazon.com.au/dp/B096KQPDH8" target="_blank"> </a><a href="https://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/bloody-dominions-nick-macklin/1139627825" target="_blank">Barnes and Noble</a></span><span style="font-family: arial;"> ✔</span><span style="font-family: arial;"> <a href="https://www.waterstones.com/book/bloody-dominions/nick-macklin/9781800463080" target="_blank">Waterstones</a></span><span style="font-family: arial;"> ✔</span><span style="font-family: arial;"> <a href="https://www.kobo.com/gb/en/search?query=bloody+dominions" target="_blank">Kobo</a></span><span style="font-family: arial;"> ✔</span><span style="font-family: arial;"> <a href="https://books.apple.com/gb/book/bloody-dominions/id1570620774" target="_blank">iBooks</a></span><span style="font-family: arial;"> ✔</span><span style="font-family: arial;"> <a href="https://play.google.com/store/books/details/Nick_Macklin_Bloody_Dominions?id=-HQxEAAAQBAJ" target="_blank">Google Play</a></span><span style="font-family: arial;"> ✔ </span><span style="font-family: arial;"><a href="https://www.whsmith.co.uk/products/bloody-dominions-the-conquest-trilogy1/nick-macklin/paperback/9781800463080.html" target="_blank">WHSmith</a></span><span style="font-family: arial;"> ✔</span></b></li></ul></span><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhuy9DEnM7cxDTaM9_ohT5GEnLvHzZMseY9mQtRdeaUMAar5IkBN1S-wMCsHNcNBH7-sroKGnUwYeO2lLWHkDecolwMQFJe6hY6ET3gq97XnHJGLlkDVFOJnr2z_Qb6u72_rRRcrjIB5oAn/s2048/Bloody+Dominions+Cover.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img alt="[Blog Tour] 'Bloody Dominions' (The Conquest Trilogy, Book 1) By Nick Macklin #HistoricalFiction" border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1309" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhuy9DEnM7cxDTaM9_ohT5GEnLvHzZMseY9mQtRdeaUMAar5IkBN1S-wMCsHNcNBH7-sroKGnUwYeO2lLWHkDecolwMQFJe6hY6ET3gq97XnHJGLlkDVFOJnr2z_Qb6u72_rRRcrjIB5oAn/w410-h640/Bloody+Dominions+Cover.jpg" width="550" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i><span style="font-family: arial;">Bloody Dominions - Book Cover</span></i></td></tr></tbody></table><h3><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: x-large;"> 'Bloody Dominions' - Excerpt:</span></h3><span style="font-family: arial;"><blockquote>Free of his armour, Atticus set off up the slope after Garmanos. Surprisingly nimble for one so large, he was already approaching the top of the climb. Determined to close the gap, Atticus gritted his teeth and pushed on. It was hard going and he was dripping with sweat and breathing heavily as he reached Garmanos, who was by now laying prostate on the forest floor. He signalled for Atticus to do likewise and together they inched forward until they were able to peer cautiously over the ridge. Screwing up his eyes against the glare of the sun, Atticus could see that the ridge was topped with a grass-covered hollow. It was quite narrow but extended for some distance along the ridge. Garmanos nudged Atticus and gestured toward the remains of a fire in the centre of the open space. It didn’t look like it had long been extinguished. He could see the signs of several more at either end of the hollow. By the looks of it, a sizeable group had camped here and very recently too. He felt decidedly uneasy. Garmanos took one last look around and jumped to his feet. Atticus followed him down the bank and watched as he quickly surveyed the ground. He wasn’t sure how Garmanos had determined which of the paths to follow but he seemed confident enough.<br /><br /> “This way. But quietly. There are men and horses on this side of the hill.”<br /><br /> Leaving that thought hanging he set off down the path. If anything, the hill was steeper on this side but the path wound its way down the slope in a series of wide arcs sweeping between the trees and they were able to make good progress. As they rounded one of the bends, Atticus could see that the path dropped abruptly into a ditch running parallel to a wider track cutting across their own. He followed Garmanos into the ditch and was about to climb out when he felt a tug to his sleeve. Garmanos signalled for him to be quiet and pointed to a moss-covered tree trunk that had long since fallen into the ditch. Atticus wasn’t sure what was happening but he followed Garmanos as he hurriedly edged towards the tree and squeezed into the space between the upturned roots and the wall of the ditch. Garmanos pointed towards the right of the track.<br /><br /> “Riders. Two of them.”<br /><br /> Atticus hadn’t seen or heard anything but he wrapped his arms tightly around his legs and tried to make himself as small as possible. He pulled some of the larger ferns across the gap and tried to control his breathing. For a while, Atticus wondered if Garmanos had been mistaken. Then he heard the sound of hooves on the road. He swallowed nervously; they were tucked well into the bank but he still felt horribly exposed. And he would have walked right into their path if it hadn’t been for Garmanos. Perhaps he had misjudged his prowess as a guide after all. Hardly daring to move, he peered towards the path from the corner of his eye. The two riders trotted slowly into view. Warriors. They were talking animatedly as they rode but gave no indication that they had seen anything untoward. Relieved, Atticus let out a deep breath. As the riders reached the intersection of the two paths, they paused. After what seemed like a heated discussion, they set off again, continuing along the wider track, passing directly above them as they did. Atticus could hear them laughing. Garmanos waited for a few moments and quietly crawled back into the ditch. Atticus followed him out from under the roots, keeping a careful watch on the track.<br /><br /> “What was that all about?”<br /><br /> “They are looking for you and your friends. The scout must have alerted them to our presence in the forest.” <br /><br /> “What were they arguing about?”<br /><br /> “Whether they should explore the smaller path.”<br /><br /> “Why didn’t they?” <br /><br /> “The wider track was easier and…” <br /><br /> Garmanos paused. Atticus felt a pang of concern.<br /><br /> “And what?”<br /><br /> “They said it wouldn’t matter since you would all be dead soon enough anyway.”<br /><br /> Atticus’ blood ran cold. He had to warn Plautius but what about? He didn’t know how many warriors there were. He needed to know more. Fighting the impulse to head back immediately, he gestured in the direction from which the warriors had approached.<br /><br /> “Can we follow the track a little further?”<br /><br /> Garmanos seemed a little surprised at this but he shrugged and nodded his head. Remaining in the ditch for safety, they carefully moved forward. They hadn’t gone far when the path started to dip and the treeline began to thin, revealing what looked like a narrow valley nestling between the hills. It might have been a pleasant sight if the lush green fields hadn’t been filled by a huge camp. Stretching as far as the eye could see, the valley was filled with tents, wagons, horses and a growing number of enemy warriors. Those already on the plain were being jostled slowly forward as more and more spilled out from the woods on either side. Atticus was filled with a sudden sense of dread. The first of the legions would surely be arriving soon.<br /><br /> They were walking into a trap.<br /><br /> He had to get back. He nodded to Garmanos and they hurriedly set about retracing their steps. Atticus desperately wanted to break cover and use the track but he knew it increased the risk of them being spotted. He was growing ever more anxious however as they finally arrived back at the path they had originally followed. Inching up the bank, he craned his neck to see if he could detect any sign of the warriors behind them. Nothing. Yet. They might still have time. Garmanos dragged himself up the bank and with one final look he set off back up the hill. Atticus followed suit. Running for his life and those of his unsuspecting comrades on the opposite side of the hill.</blockquote><div style="text-align: center;"><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjp3DSAXTXcBP09QzakFkUL1qcoGJuNODcAR33xeIjLxGqhW-lgVzgUKdV8xQYImDnR_TuQ7iXHy9ePAaeXiwlgjZzz1vEB8wxVzSFMnxdCf4BG8yGKlvfB2syO7AAYYCAR_cuSrkRTzjo9/s2048/Nick+Macklin.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img alt="[Blog Tour] 'Bloody Dominions' (The Conquest Trilogy, Book 1) By Nick Macklin #HistoricalFiction" border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1360" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjp3DSAXTXcBP09QzakFkUL1qcoGJuNODcAR33xeIjLxGqhW-lgVzgUKdV8xQYImDnR_TuQ7iXHy9ePAaeXiwlgjZzz1vEB8wxVzSFMnxdCf4BG8yGKlvfB2syO7AAYYCAR_cuSrkRTzjo9/w426-h640/Nick+Macklin.jpg" width="550" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i><span style="font-family: arial;">Nick Macklin<br /></span></i></td></tr></tbody></table></div></span><h3 style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: x-large;">Author Bio:</span></h3><span style="font-family: arial;"><i>A history graduate, </i><span style="font-family: arial;"><b><i>Nick Macklin</i></b></span><span style="font-family: arial;"><i> enjoyed developing the skills that would stand him in good stead during the extensive research he conducted prior to writing his novel. Whilst the ancient world unfortunately didn’t feature to any extent in his history degree, (the result of failing miserably to secure the A level grades that would have permitted greater choice) he maintained a lifelong and profound interest in ancient history and especially the Roman Empire, continuing to read avidly as he embarked on a career in HR. Over the next 30 years or so Nick occupied a variety of Senior/Director roles, most recently in the NHS. Unsurprisingly, 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.</i></span></span><br /><span style="font-family: arial;"><i><br />Nick always knew that he wanted to set the novel against the backdrop of a significant event/period in Roman history. Looking to narrow that down to something offering the potential for meaningful character and plot development, but that hadn’t already received exhaustive coverage, he settled on Caesars tumultuous occupation of Gaul. Spanning 8 years, the prolonged clash of cultures offered 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 level. The switching of allegiances, nations fighting for and against Rome also provided 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 veterans of that war watching their sons and grandsons enlist for a similar campaign, he started to think about developing that link on both sides of the conflict. And so, the idea for the <b>Conquest Trilogy</b> was born.<br /><br />In <b>Bloody Dominions</b> 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 prominent member of the warrior clan of her tribe. The novel is driven by these characters but the framework against which their stories unfold is historically accurate, 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.<br /><br />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 <b>Conquest Trilogy</b>, <b>Battle Scars</b>.</i></span><br /><h3 style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: x-large;">Connect with <span>Nick Macklin:</span></span></h3><span style="font-family: arial;"><ul style="text-align: left;"><li><span style="font-family: arial;"><a href="https://twitter.com/NMacklinAuthor" target="_blank"><b>Twitter</b></a></span><b><span style="font-family: arial;"> ✔</span><span style="font-family: arial;"> <a href="https://www.linkedin.com/in/nick-macklin-68622122/" target="_blank">LinkedIn</a></span><span style="font-family: arial;"> ✔ </span><span style="font-family: arial;"><a href="https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/58386922-bloody-dominions" target="_blank">Goodreads</a></span><span style="font-family: arial;"> ✔</span><span style="font-family: arial;"> <a href="https://www.bookbub.com/books/bloody-dominions-by-nick-macklin" target="_blank">BookBub</a></span><span style="font-family: arial;"> ✔</span><span style="font-family: arial;"> </span></b></li></ul></span><div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEglv1dh71RZHP4onmdtSz8Ebs2K7p4_DpXM3CRJV1mcl-9HQThTi5ZHpn4GFKKBoLeJGd8JXbEeDSuTC5yfQInNrrRtGOIcplT_XD-X48m1UbU6B51CQ0nLnwzY2bFE8OK-EfDXK_Oo_ds9/s1600/Bloody+Dominions+Tour+Schedule+Banner.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img alt="[Blog Tour] 'Bloody Dominions' (The Conquest Trilogy, Book 1) By Nick Macklin #HistoricalFiction" border="0" data-original-height="900" data-original-width="1600" height="360" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEglv1dh71RZHP4onmdtSz8Ebs2K7p4_DpXM3CRJV1mcl-9HQThTi5ZHpn4GFKKBoLeJGd8JXbEeDSuTC5yfQInNrrRtGOIcplT_XD-X48m1UbU6B51CQ0nLnwzY2bFE8OK-EfDXK_Oo_ds9/w640-h360/Bloody+Dominions+Tour+Schedule+Banner.png" width="640" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i><span style="font-family: arial;">Bloody Dominions - <a href="https://www.coffeepotbookclub.com/post/blog-tour-bloody-dominions-the-conquest-trilogy-book-1-by-nick-macklin-nmacklinauthor" target="_blank">Tour Schedule</a> Banner</span></i></td></tr></tbody></table></div>Loup Dargenthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11143365444371974784noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1372609107888107354.post-64537458739882445132021-09-28T06:20:00.001+01:002021-09-28T06:20:22.767+01:00[Blog Tour] 'The Amber Crane' By Malve von Hassell #HistoricalFiction #Timeslip<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgTNxfpZCdGaSRUfk8tvhITVzEIGC8kLitzgNqQDtCvXyRj1lMgqn14Ivd0hFnWMyQipG9CW8eoqoXK4jWbHF4CTtLVhePceYmi4VuGgZ8jlOT3D6j9rkjkZjXK2viq6FHTsHVMRIQ9uqtf/s1600/The+Amber+Crane+Tour+Banner.png" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img alt="[Blog Tour] 'The Amber Crane' By Malve von Hassell #HistoricalFiction #Timeslip" border="0" data-original-height="900" data-original-width="1600" height="360" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgTNxfpZCdGaSRUfk8tvhITVzEIGC8kLitzgNqQDtCvXyRj1lMgqn14Ivd0hFnWMyQipG9CW8eoqoXK4jWbHF4CTtLVhePceYmi4VuGgZ8jlOT3D6j9rkjkZjXK2viq6FHTsHVMRIQ9uqtf/w640-h360/The+Amber+Crane+Tour+Banner.png" width="640" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i><span style="font-family: arial;">The Amber Crane - Tour Banner</span></i></td></tr></tbody></table><h3><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: x-large;">The Book:</span></h3><span style="font-family: arial;"><b>The Amber Crane</b></span><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /><i>By Malve von Hassell</i></span><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /><b>Publication Date:</b> <i>25th June 2021</i><br /><b>Publisher:</b> <i>Odyssey Books</i><br /><b>Page Length:</b> <i>268 Pages</i><br /><b>Genre:</b> <i>Time-slip Historical Fiction / Young Adult </i><br /></span><h3 style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: x-large;">The Blurb: </span></h3><span style="font-family: arial;"><i><blockquote>Chafing at the rules of the amber guild, Peter, an apprentice during the waning years of the Thirty Years’ War, finds and keeps a forbidden piece of amber, despite the risk of severe penalties should his secret be discovered.<br /><br />Little does he know that this amber has hidden powers, transporting him into a future far beyond anything he could imagine. In dreamlike encounters, Peter witnesses the ravages of the final months of World War II in and around his home. He becomes embroiled in the troubles faced by Lioba, a girl he meets who seeks to escape from the oncoming Russian army.<br /><br />Peter struggles with the consequences of his actions, endangering his family, his amber master’s reputation, and his own future. How much is Peter prepared to sacrifice to right his wrongs? <br /><br /><ul style="text-align: left;"><li><b>Trigger Warnings:</b> References to rape, Holocaust, World War II, violence </li></ul></blockquote></i></span><h3 style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: x-large;">Buy Links:</span></h3><span style="font-family: arial;"><ul style="text-align: left;"><li><span style="font-family: arial;"><b><a href="https://books2read.com/u/bzeXqE" target="_blank">Universal Link</a> ✔ <a href="https://www.amazon.co.uk/Amber-Crane-Malve-von-Hassell/dp/1922311227" target="_blank">Amazon UK</a></b></span><b><span style="font-family: arial;"> ✔</span><span style="font-family: arial;"> </span><span style="font-family: arial;"> <a href="https://www.amazon.com/Amber-Crane-Malve-Von-Hassell/dp/1922311227" target="_blank">Amazon US</a></span><span style="font-family: arial;"> ✔</span><span style="font-family: arial;"> </span><span style="font-family: arial;"><a href="https://www.amazon.ca/Amber-Crane-Malve-von-Hassell-ebook/dp/B097433JFH" target="_blank">Amazon CA</a></span><span style="font-family: arial;"> ✔</span><span style="font-family: arial;"> </span><span style="font-family: arial;"><a href="https://www.amazon.com.au/Amber-Crane-Malve-von-Hassell/dp/1922311227" target="_blank">Amazon AU</a></span><span style="font-family: arial;"> ✔</span><span style="font-family: arial;"> </span><span style="font-family: arial;"><a href="https://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/the-amber-crane-malve-von-hassell/1139681973?ean=9781922311221" target="_blank">Barnes and Noble</a></span><span style="font-family: arial;"> ✔</span><span style="font-family: arial;"> </span><span style="font-family: arial;"><a href="https://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/the-amber-crane-malve-von-hassell/1139681973?ean=9781922311238" target="_blank">Nook</a></span><span style="font-family: arial;"> ✔</span><span style="font-family: arial;"> </span><span style="font-family: arial;"> <a href="https://www.indiebound.org/book/9781922311221" target="_blank">Indiebound</a></span><span style="font-family: arial;"> ✔</span><span style="font-family: arial;"> </span><span style="font-family: arial;"><a href="https://bookshop.org/books/the-amber-crane/9781922311221" target="_blank">Bookshop.org</a></span><span style="font-family: arial;"> ✔</span></b><span style="font-family: arial;"> </span><span style="font-family: arial;"> </span></li></ul></span><div style="text-align: left;"><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh_y93-Bo9VaRjeWxlAj11fSFenaniDO5g-XF_UlaUSfu45iTsXSdMVVqUwQ_lRoCwRyR3mULfb4H-MJ-Q3taUQuuC9CpICJg7CWAk1W9MUPDlv1vvOPu7RXO6hbofa9Wr16t0-I2cBQfJu/s2048/Amber+Crane_von+Hassell.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img alt="[Blog Tour] 'The Amber Crane' By Malve von Hassell #HistoricalFiction #Timeslip" border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1325" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh_y93-Bo9VaRjeWxlAj11fSFenaniDO5g-XF_UlaUSfu45iTsXSdMVVqUwQ_lRoCwRyR3mULfb4H-MJ-Q3taUQuuC9CpICJg7CWAk1W9MUPDlv1vvOPu7RXO6hbofa9Wr16t0-I2cBQfJu/w414-h640/Amber+Crane_von+Hassell.jpg" width="550" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="text-align: start;"><i><span style="font-family: arial;">The Amber Crane - Book Cover</span></i></span></td></tr></tbody></table><h3><span style="font-family: arial;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">'The Amber Crane' - Excerpt:</span></span></h3></div><div>
<p align="LEFT" lang="en-US" style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; break-after: auto; break-inside: auto; line-height: 0.49cm; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><b><i></i></b></span></p><blockquote><span style="font-family: arial;"><b><i>Excerpt from Chapter 8 - LIOBA</i></b><br /><br />Peter bumps against a wall. It is dark. Feeling around with his hand, he touches a metal knob. He twists it, and a door opens. <br /><br /> Peter stares at the sight in front of him, faintly illuminated by early morning light from a window. It is a room filled with rows of wooden tables and chairs. Peter’s eyes are drawn to a huge picture on the wall. A face with a mustache, shiny black hair combed to one side, and piercing eyes looms over the room. On a big blackboard, he can just make out two lines on top in a scraggly script, the last word missing where someone had started to wipe the board. <br /><br /><i> Oh, stranger, when you arrive in Sparta, tell of our pride<br /> That here, obeying her behests, we – </i><br /><br /> “That here, obeying her behests, we died,” he completes the line in his mind. He had heard the lines often enough from Lorenz, who had learned them from his tutor. He had recited them to Peter over and over again at night when they sat in their beds and talked. Three hundred Spartans had died there at the battle of Thermopylae, the narrow pass where they made their last stand against tens of thousands of enemies. <br /><br /> Maybe this is a schoolroom, albeit an elaborate one. In the school in Stolpmünde, where Peter and Lorenz learned their letters, there are only benches without tables and a plain lectern for the teacher. Still, this space somehow smells like a schoolroom, stale and musty, evoking bored students waiting for the droning voice of the teacher to come to an end. <br /><br /> Startled by a soft rustling, Peter whips his head around. <br /><br /> The girl from his dreams is sitting on the floor with her back against the wall, wrapped in a ratty-looking blanket. She is awake. <br /><br /> “It’s you again.” The girl pulls up the blanket. “Are you in my dream, or am I in yours?” <br /><br /> “I honestly do not know,” Peter says slowly. “This is not like any dream I have ever had.” <br /><br /> “Well, at least you’re not a Russian soldier. Anyway, they haven’t gotten this far west yet. Are you going to vanish again in midsentence?” <br /><br /> “I do not even know how I got here. Why do you talk so strangely?” He could understand her, but it was like listening to someone through a thick blanket. She seemed to swallow many of her words. “Why do you keep talking about Russians? Where is this?” <br /><br /> “Somewhere east of Danzig.” The girl frowns at him. “You sound like someone reciting the Luther Bible.” <br /><br /> Peter stares at her, bewildered and shaken. The bread from his supper sits in his stomach like a rock. The long-legged beast he remembers from before gets up from behind the desk and stretches. <br /><br /> Peter backs up. <br /><br /> “Don’t worry, she won’t bite you.” <br /><br /> It is the tallest dog he has ever seen—if it is a dog. It comes up to Peter and starts sniffing him vigorously. He can feel its breath. Then it evidently loses interest and lies down again, its legs stretched out in front like those of a crane. The matted fur smells like a sack of dirty woolens, but it is a warm and comforting scent. <br /><br /> “Your dog seems real,” Peter says, eyeing the beast nervously. <br /><br /> “So do you—for someone in a dream.” The girl studies him. She does not seem afraid any longer. “My name is Lioba. What’s yours?” <br /><br /> “Peter.” <br /><br /> “Well, Peter, are you going to vanish again, or can we talk a bit? This is actually nice. You are the first person I have talked to in a while.” She starts to laugh. “Since you aren’t real, it’s not as if you are going to hurt me.” Then she wipes her face roughly as if irritated. <br /><br /> “You are crying,” Peter says. <br /><br /> Lioba’s hands are long and slender, but her nails are ragged and dirty. <br /><br /> The dog lifts its head as if in response to her distress and pushes its long nose against her leg. <br /><br /> Uncomfortable with Lioba’s evident anguish, Peter tries to distract her. “What sort of dog is that?” <br /><br /> “I think it’s a <i>Borzoi</i>.” Her voice sounds muffled. <br /><br /> “A what?” <br /><br /> “You know—a Russian wolfhound.” <br /><br /> “What do you mean, you think? This is not your dog?” <br /><br /> “She has been following me for weeks. You don’t have anything to eat, by any chance?” The dark shadows under Lioba’s eyes emphasize her broad cheekbones. <br /><br /> “Sorry.” Peter thinks of the loaf of bread Mistress Nowak had cut up for supper. Maybe the next time he goes to sleep, he should try to keep a piece of bread in his pocket. <br /><br /> Lioba drops the blanket and gets up. She closes the shutters of the windows and fastens them. She pulls the two panels of black fabric together, plunging the room into total darkness. <br /><br /> “Why are you doing this? I cannot see you.” <br /><br /> “Haven’t you heard of the blackout?” she scoffs. <br /><br /><i> Blackout</i>? Bewildered, Peter hears the girl move toward the wall near the door. Suddenly, light streams from a strange lamp. At least, he thinks it is a lamp. Definitely not a candle or an oil lantern. “How did you do that?” he asks. <br /><br /> “Really?” Lioba scowls. “Are you making fun of me?” <br /><br /> “No, of course not. What is that? How did you make it glow?” <br /><br /> “Electricity, stupid! What century are you living in?” <br /><br /> “What do you mean, what century?” How dare this girl call him stupid? Clearly, she was confused. “Everybody knows that. This is the year of our Lord 1644.” <br /><br /> Lioba stares at him. Then her lips widen into a grin. “I don’t believe this. I am talking to someone in a dream, and he is not even from my own time.” <br /><br /> “Your own time?” <br /><br /> “Right. I don’t know about the year of our Lord 1644. This sure isn’t that. This is 1944. But I would gladly trade with you if I could.” <br /><br /> Three hundred years into the future. Peter reaches out to touch the wall next to him. It feels solid. The dog’s smell certainly feels real. Nothing else does in this strange, flat, dark grey world. It is as if he is standing outside, looking through the frame of a window. <br /><br /> Lioba frowns, folding her arms across her chest. <br /><br /> There is a roaring in his ears. A door bangs loudly somewhere, and everything goes dark<span style="background-color: white;">.</span></span></blockquote><span style="font-family: arial;"><div style="text-align: center;"><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjalkKREuIpcBYFEuR8Mkylyu34PZnQbopz2prRNft28wFtbiB1fM6UoElxplnte1rZTrBl3EBvJuEjZI-KhXGK1AkONYtnG9SgsitQJhaM5NZX_pcqY1GHcWUXLe13D8EAC5bapPeOzle6/s800/Malve+von+Hassell.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img alt="[Blog Tour] 'The Amber Crane' By Malve von Hassell #HistoricalFiction #Timeslip" border="0" data-original-height="800" data-original-width="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjalkKREuIpcBYFEuR8Mkylyu34PZnQbopz2prRNft28wFtbiB1fM6UoElxplnte1rZTrBl3EBvJuEjZI-KhXGK1AkONYtnG9SgsitQJhaM5NZX_pcqY1GHcWUXLe13D8EAC5bapPeOzle6/w512-h640/Malve+von+Hassell.jpg" width="550" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i><span style="font-family: arial;">Malve von Hassell</span></i><br /></td></tr></tbody></table></div></span><h3 style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: x-large;"> Author Bio:</span></h3><span style="font-family: arial;"><b></b><blockquote><b>Malve von Hassell</b> is a freelance writer, researcher, and translator. She holds a Ph.D. in anthropology from the New School for Social Research. Working as an independent scholar, she published <b>The Struggle for Eden: Community Gardens in New York City</b> (<i>Bergin & Garvey 2002</i>) and <b>Homesteading in New York City 1978-1993: The Divided Heart of Loisaida</b> (<i>Bergin & Garvey 1996</i>). She has also edited her grandfather Ulrich von Hassell's memoirs written in prison in 1944, <b>Der Kreis schließt sich - Aufzeichnungen aus der Haft 1944</b> (<i>Propylaen Verlag 1994</i>). She has taught at Queens College, Baruch College, Pace University, and Suffolk County Community College, while continuing her work as a translator and writer. She has self-published two children’s picture books, <b>Letters from the Tooth Fairy</b> (<i>2012/2020</i>) and <b>Turtle Crossing</b> (<i>2021</i>), and her translation and annotation of a German children’s classic by Tamara Ramsay, <b>Rennefarre: Dott’s Wonderful Travels and Adventures</b> (<i>Two Harbors Press, 2012</i>). <b>The Falconer’s Apprentice</b> (<i>namelos, 2015</i>) was her first historical fiction novel for young adults. She has published <b>Alina: A Song for the Telling</b> (<i>BHC Press, 2020</i>), set in Jerusalem in the time of the crusades, and <b>The Amber Crane</b> (<i>Odyssey Books, 2021</i>), set in Germany in 1645 and 1945. She has completed a biographical work about a woman coming of age in Nazi Germany and is working on a historical fiction trilogy featuring Adela of Normandy.</blockquote></span><h3 style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><span style="font-family: arial;">Connect with </span><b style="font-family: arial;">Malve von Hassell</b><span style="font-family: arial;">:</span></span></h3></div><div><ul style="text-align: left;"><li><b><span style="font-family: arial;"><a href="https://www.malvevonhassell.com" target="_blank">Website</a> ✔ <a href="https://twitter.com/MvonHassell" target="_blank">Twitter</a></span><span style="font-family: arial;"> ✔</span><span style="font-family: arial;"> </span><span style="font-family: arial;"><a href="https://www.facebook.com/malvevonhassellauthor/" target="_blank">Facebook</a></span><span style="font-family: arial;"> ✔</span><span style="font-family: arial;"> </span><span style="font-family: arial;"><a href="https://www.linkedin.com/in/malve-von-hassell-02b61517/" target="_blank">LinkedIn</a></span><span style="font-family: arial;"> ✔</span><span style="font-family: arial;"> </span><span style="font-family: arial;"><a href="https://www.bookbub.com/authors/malve-von-hassell" target="_blank">Book Bub</a></span><span style="font-family: arial;"> ✔</span><span style="font-family: arial;"> </span><span style="font-family: arial;"><a href="https://www.amazon.com/Malve-von-Hassell/" target="_blank">Amazon Author Page</a></span><span style="font-family: arial;"> ✔ </span><span style="font-family: arial;"><a href="https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/471746.Malve_von_Hassell" target="_blank">Goodreads</a></span><span style="font-family: arial;"> ✔</span><span style="font-family: arial;"> </span></b></li></ul></div><div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg8kyOyRJz1kzWjAr5xbqsdOE0F5ZQKjFMF0UGGw72EjMoTnFnat1oj8sqwtEHuLn_N-iWz6SseNdfYVCkngXfzCOTPiqBezIKjG5P0pYs8nViCR5EA2BUobJWQHl3vyqKhCYeX6zj41xT6/s1600/The+Amber+Crane+Tour+Schedule+Banner.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img alt="[Blog Tour] 'The Amber Crane' By Malve von Hassell #HistoricalFiction #Timeslip" border="0" data-original-height="900" data-original-width="1600" height="360" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg8kyOyRJz1kzWjAr5xbqsdOE0F5ZQKjFMF0UGGw72EjMoTnFnat1oj8sqwtEHuLn_N-iWz6SseNdfYVCkngXfzCOTPiqBezIKjG5P0pYs8nViCR5EA2BUobJWQHl3vyqKhCYeX6zj41xT6/w640-h360/The+Amber+Crane+Tour+Schedule+Banner.png" width="640" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i><span style="font-family: arial;">The Amber Crane - <a href="https://www.coffeepotbookclub.com/post/blog-tour-the-amber-crane-by-malve-von-hassell-august-31st-november-2nd-2021-mvonhassell" target="_blank">Tour Schedule</a> Banner</span></i></td></tr></tbody></table></div>Loup Dargenthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11143365444371974784noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1372609107888107354.post-20696794399286520182021-09-20T06:34:00.001+01:002021-09-20T06:51:12.507+01:00[Blog Tour] 'Where Your Treasure Is' By M. C. Bunn #HistoricalFiction #VictorianRomance<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiRbFSSRMmk9H-tDgD-u7ss06AR2j8LDLr07AmeSP1Q5vGEZpKCs3mlMfDpZ_cNu_LCT87TKQspFk4MDKpuoeA3Qe5JQrW28ltRYYSxyq-HyrQwb3UX2Ih79VBkNhHUdV2hpKp4V8T02e6V/s1600/Where+Your+Treasure+Is+Tour+Banner.png" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img alt="[Blog Tour] 'Where Your Treasure Is' By M. C. Bunn #HistoricalFiction #VictorianRomance" border="0" data-original-height="900" data-original-width="1600" height="360" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiRbFSSRMmk9H-tDgD-u7ss06AR2j8LDLr07AmeSP1Q5vGEZpKCs3mlMfDpZ_cNu_LCT87TKQspFk4MDKpuoeA3Qe5JQrW28ltRYYSxyq-HyrQwb3UX2Ih79VBkNhHUdV2hpKp4V8T02e6V/w640-h360/Where+Your+Treasure+Is+Tour+Banner.png" width="640" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i><span style="font-family: arial;">'Where Your Treasure Is' - Tour Banner</span></i></td></tr></tbody></table><h3><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: x-large;">The Book:</span></h3><span style="font-family: arial;"><b>Where Your Treasure Is</b></span><br style="font-family: arial;" /><span style="font-family: arial;"><i>By M. C. Bunn</i></span><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /><b>Publication Date:</b> <i>23rd April 2021</i><br /><b>Publisher:</b> <i>Bellastoria Press</i><br /><b>Page Length:</b><i> 454 Pages</i><br /><b>Genre: </b><i>Historical Fiction, Historical Romance, Victorian Romance </i><br /></span><h3 style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: x-large;">The Blurb:</span></h3><span style="font-family: arial;"><b></b><blockquote><b>Feisty, independent heiress Winifred de la Coeur has never wanted to live according to someone else’s rules—but even she didn’t plan on falling in love with a bank robber. </b><br /><br />Winifred is a wealthy, nontraditional beauty who bridles against the strict rules and conventions of Victorian London society. When she gets caught up in the chaos of a bungled bank robbery, she is thrust unwillingly into an encounter with Court Furor, a reluctant getaway driver and prizefighter. In the bitter cold of a bleak London winter, sparks fly. <br /><br />Winifred and Court are two misfits in their own circumscribed worlds—the fashionable <i>beau monde</i> with its rigorously upheld rules, and the gritty demimonde, where survival often means life-or-death choices. <br /><br />Despite their conflicting backgrounds, they fall desperately in love while acknowledging the impossibility of remaining together. Returning to their own worlds, they try to make peace with their lives until a moment of unrestrained honesty and defiance threatens to topple the deceptions that they have carefully constructed to protect each other. <br /><br /><i>A story of the overlapping entanglements of Victorian London’s social classes, the strength of family bonds and true friendship, and the power of love to heal a broken spirit. </i></blockquote></span><h3 style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: x-large;">Buy Links:</span></h3><span style="font-family: arial;"><ul style="text-align: left;"><li><span style="font-family: arial;"><b><a href="https://books2read.com/u/m0K2DP" target="_blank">Universal Buy Link</a> ✔ <a href=" https://www.amazon.co.uk/Where-Your-Treasure-M-Bunn-ebook/dp/B08Y5M6HMB" target="_blank">Amazon UK</a></b></span><b><span style="font-family: arial;"> ✔</span><span style="font-family: arial;"> </span><span style="font-family: arial;"><a href="https://www.amazon.com/Where-Your-Treasure-M-Bunn/dp/1942209797" target="_blank">Amazon US</a></span><span style="font-family: arial;"> ✔</span><span style="font-family: arial;"> </span><span style="font-family: arial;"><a href="https://www.amazon.ca/Where-Your-Treasure-M-Bunn-ebook/dp/B08Y5M6HMB" target="_blank">Amazon CA</a></span><span style="font-family: arial;"> ✔</span><span style="font-family: arial;"> </span><span style="font-family: arial;"><a href="https://www.amazon.com.au/Where-Your-Treasure-M-Bunn/dp/1942209797" target="_blank">Amazon AU</a></span><span style="font-family: arial;"> ✔</span><span style="font-family: arial;"> </span><span style="font-family: arial;"><a href="https://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/where-your-treasure-is-m-c-bunn/1138745703?ean=9781942209799" target="_blank">Barnes and Noble</a></span><span style="font-family: arial;"> ✔</span><span style="font-family: arial;"> </span><span style="font-family: arial;"><a href="https://www.waterstones.com/book/where-your-treasure-is/m-c-bunn/9781942209799" target="_blank">Waterstones</a></span><span style="font-family: arial;"> ✔</span><span style="font-family: arial;"> </span><span style="font-family: arial;"><a href="https://www.kobo.com/us/en/search?query=Where+your+Treasure+is%2C+M.+C.+Bunn" target="_blank">Kobo</a></span><span style="font-family: arial;"> ✔</span><span style="font-family: arial;"> </span><span style="font-family: arial;"><a href="https://www.page158books.com/book/9781942209799" target="_blank">Page 158 Books</a></span><span style="font-family: arial;"> ✔</span><span style="font-family: arial;"> </span><span style="font-family: arial;"><a href="https://www.quailridgebooks.com/book/9781942209799" target="_blank">Quail Ridge Books</a></span><span style="font-family: arial;"> ✔</span><span style="font-family: arial;"> </span><span style="font-family: arial;"><a href="https://www.indiebound.org/search/book?keys=Where+Your+Treasure+Is+M.+C.+Bunn" target="_blank">Indie Bound</a></span><span style="font-family: arial;"> ✔</span><span style="font-family: arial;"> </span></b></li></ul></span><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjJ1RVSJMbdulvbaqIMz_T1AEzmstqqwg44jehOotWJpGJKZUi6hina2JKBrMBaM0QUfHIjx8kpFBaMS1bV3GYDO0a_2JksTPpQ2-aIohSNhbZz-jK0vhxuKsq4zhRHqHe_ymwwC3f3GW6p/s2048/Where+Your+Treasure+Is+Cover.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1365" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjJ1RVSJMbdulvbaqIMz_T1AEzmstqqwg44jehOotWJpGJKZUi6hina2JKBrMBaM0QUfHIjx8kpFBaMS1bV3GYDO0a_2JksTPpQ2-aIohSNhbZz-jK0vhxuKsq4zhRHqHe_ymwwC3f3GW6p/w426-h640/Where+Your+Treasure+Is+Cover.jpg" width="550" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i><span style="font-family: arial;">'Where Your Treasure Is' - Cover</span></i></td></tr></tbody></table><h3><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: x-large;">'Where Your Treasure Is' - Excerpt:</span></h3><div>
<p class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: arial;"></span></p><blockquote><p class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: arial;">Winifred
and the man stumbled down a flight of narrow stairs. He kicked a
door. Before them a deserted kitchen gleamed. Pots steamed
unattended. The man pushed her toward the scullery. In a moment they
would be outdoors. She redoubled her efforts to break free of him.
</span></p>
<p class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: arial;">In
a corner, a scullery maid and a butcher’s boy kissed. At the sound
of Winifred’s screams, they broke apart guiltily and stared
openmouthed at her. Her captor swore and pointed his gun at the
couple. The girl screeched, and the boy snatched up a dripping pot
lid in defense of his paramour.
</span></p>
<p class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: arial;">“Fire!”
the man shouted at them. “Run for your lives!”
</span></p>
<p class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: arial;">The
boy threw down the pot lid, grabbed his girl, and they fled outside.
</span></p>
<p class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: arial;">Gasping,
the man pushed Winifred after them. Stairs, fresh air—she gulped at
it. Then she saw a hackney waiting in the alley and the driver in his
purple coat.
</span></p>
<p align="CENTER" class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: arial;">******</span></p>
<p class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: arial;">Court’s
horse remained wary, her ears up, and swung her head toward the
stairs that led down to the scullery. All at once, the butcher’s
boy and a shrieking scullery maid clambered up the steps. They raced
down the alley and took off in the boy’s cart at top speed. There
was another rumble like the one Court had heard a minute ago. It
sounded like distant thunder. He was vaguely aware of a rattle of
bells in the street at the other end of the alley. A fire brigade
passed. He smelled smoke.
</span></p>
<p class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: arial;">Suddenly
Geoff and a woman appeared at the bottom of the stairs. They were
covered in white dust and coughing. A bright, wet, bloody streak
covered half of Geoff’s face. Their progress was impeded by the
woman’s wildly kicking little boots. Her struggles and the flashes
of her bright green and purple silks made her look like an exotic
bird thrashing in Geoff’s arms.
</span></p>
<p class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: arial;">“What
in ’ell ’appened to you? Where’s ’Ez?” Court shouted and
ran forward to help.
</span></p>
<p class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: arial;">“I
don’t know!” Geoff coughed. “Forget ’im! We’ve got to get
out ’o ’ere!”
</span></p>
<p class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: arial;">“What
about ’er? I saw a fire truck! Is she ’urt?”
</span></p>
<p class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: arial;">“She’s
comin’ with us!”
</span></p>
<p class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: arial;">“Bleedin’
’ell! ’Ave you lost your mind?” Court shouted. “Put ’er
down!”</span></p>
<p class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"> <span style="font-family: arial;">Geoff
coughed and swore. “No! She saw me! Open the door!”
</span></p>
<p class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: arial;">Geoff
did not wait for Court to comply and thrust the woman at him. While
Geoff bent over in another fit of coughing, the woman struggled and
kicked, fanning dust all over Court, and cried for help.
Involuntarily, he clapped his hand over her mouth. She only screamed
louder.
</span></p>
<p class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: arial;">“Shut
up, you fat sow!” Geoff swatted her across the temple with Hez’s
pistol.
</span></p>
<p class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: arial;">The
woman’s eyes rolled and she went limp.
</span></p>
<p class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: arial;">Court
howled in dismay and caught her.
</span></p>
<p class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: arial;">Unconscious,
her face took on an even sicklier pallor than the dust already gave
it. In his arms, she was a mountain of soft cashmere and folds of
velvet. Her mantle fell open, and her scent hit him. Lilies and some
dark, exotic spice. It was so unexpected and heavenly that the alley
and the hackney disappeared. Even his panic was gone.
</span></p>
<p class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: arial;">“Give
’er ’ere!” Geoff grabbed the woman and hauled her into the cab.
The hem of her skirt caught on the door and ripped. “Give me your
tie,” Geoff ordered.
</span></p>
<p class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: arial;">Court
removed his neckerchief, thinking Geoff wanted to wipe the blood off
his face. Instead, he gagged the woman then removed his belt in order
to bind her wrists. This was too much. Court grabbed the woman’s
ankles. “Put ’er ’ands in front o’ ’er at least!”
</span></p>
<p class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: arial;">“The
bitch tried to stab me with a ’atpin!”
</span></p>
<p class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: arial;">“Do
it, or we ain’t goin’ nowhere!”
</span></p>
<p class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: arial;">Geoff
scowled in disgust but tied her hands in front. “Soft!”
</span></p>
<p class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: arial;">From
above came another low rumble. The mare lunged. Court let go of the
woman to steady the horse. Another fire truck raced past the end of
the alley. There was a distinct odor of smoke.
</span></p>
<p class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: arial;">Geoff
dumped the woman onto the floor of the cab. “The gas lines is
goin’! Go on, drive!”
</span></p>
<p class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: arial;">In
spite of the horse, Court made another attempt to extract the woman
from Geoff’s clutches. “We can’t leave ’Ez! We can’t take
’er!”
</span></p>
<p class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: arial;">Geoff
clicked off the safety and waved the pistol under Court’s nose.
When Court did not let go of the woman, he pointed the pistol at her
head. “I ain’t arguin’! Drive!” He slammed the cab door.
</span></p>
<p class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: arial;">His
heart hammering, his head whirling, Court untied the horse, swung up
onto the box, and grabbed the reins. As he turned the cab into the
street behind the bank, yet another fire truck raced past.
</span></p>
<p class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: arial;">Jesus,
Mary, and Joseph! They were in for it now.</span></p></blockquote><p class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: arial;"></span></p><span style="font-family: arial;"><div style="text-align: center;"><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjwa5MN66khSdJ7rgIC2xq0jZFPDk6X2fPk8T0fEeSt0PoMo3Xp0wf4ZZBDYV-wVL5zsV1JKxC3hHxyhm0lsjv8efJIm5JSR2WYgtpZom7UbyrsMGJyerqDoA1mG5QhJGVUDmc6x4JYLZk8/s568/M.+C.+Bunn+.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img alt="[Blog Tour] 'Where Your Treasure Is' By M. C. Bunn #HistoricalFiction #VictorianRomance" border="0" data-original-height="568" data-original-width="426" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjwa5MN66khSdJ7rgIC2xq0jZFPDk6X2fPk8T0fEeSt0PoMo3Xp0wf4ZZBDYV-wVL5zsV1JKxC3hHxyhm0lsjv8efJIm5JSR2WYgtpZom7UbyrsMGJyerqDoA1mG5QhJGVUDmc6x4JYLZk8/w480-h640/M.+C.+Bunn+.jpg" width="550" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i><span style="font-family: arial;">M. C. Bunn <br /></span></i></td></tr></tbody></table></div> </span><h3 style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: x-large;">Author Bio:</span></h3><span style="font-family: arial;"><b></b><blockquote><b>M. C. Bunn</b> grew up in a house full of books, history, and music. “<i>Daddy was a master storyteller. The past was another world, but one that seemed familiar because of him. He read aloud at the table, classics or whatever historical subject interested him. His idea of bedtime stories were passages from Dickens, Twain, and Stevenson. Mama told me I could write whatever I wanted. She put a dictionary in my hands and let me use her typewriter, or watch I, Claudius and Shoulder to Shoulder when they first aired on Masterpiece Theatre. She was the realist. He was the romantic. They were a great team</i>.”<br /><br /><b>Where Your Treasure Is</b>, a novel set in late-Victorian London and Norfolk, came together after the sudden death of the author’s father. “<i>I’d been teaching high school English for over a decade and had spent the summer cleaning my parents’ house and their offices. It was August, time for classes to begin. The characters emerged out of nowhere, sort of like they knew I needed them. They took over.</i>”<br /><br />She had worked on a novella as part of her master’s degree in English years before but set it aside, along with many other stories. “<i>I was also writing songs for the band I’m in and had done a libretto for a sacred piece. All of that was completely different from </i><b>Where Your Treasure Is</b><i>. Before her health declined, my mother heard Treasure’s first draft and encouraged me to return to prose. The novel is a nod to all the wonderful books my father read to us, the old movies we stayed up to watch, a thank you to my parents, especially Mama for reminding me that nothing is wasted. Dreams don’t have to die. Neither does love.</i>” <br /><br />When <b>M. C. Bunn</b> is not writing, she’s researching or reading. Her idea of a well-appointed room includes multiple bookshelves, a full pot of coffee, and a place to lie down with a big, old book. To further feed her soul, she and her husband take long walks with their dog, Emeril in North Carolina’s woods, or she makes music with friends.<br /><br />“I try to remember to look up at the sky and take some time each day to be thankful.”</blockquote></span><h3 style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><span style="font-family: arial;">Connect with </span><span style="font-family: arial;">M. C. Bunn</span><span style="font-family: arial;">:</span></span></h3></div><div><ul style="text-align: left;"><li><b><span style="font-family: arial;"><a href="https://www.mcbunn.com/" target="_blank">Website</a></span><span style="font-family: arial;"> ✔</span><span style="font-family: arial;"> </span><span style="font-family: arial;"><a href="https://twitter.com/MCBunn3" target="_blank">Twitter</a></span><span style="font-family: arial;"> ✔</span><span style="font-family: arial;"> </span><span style="font-family: arial;"><a href="https://www.facebook.com/mcbauthor/" target="_blank">Facebook</a></span><span style="font-family: arial;"> ✔ </span><span style="font-family: arial;"><a href="https://www.instagram.com/mcbunnauthor/" target="_blank">Instagram</a></span><span style="font-family: arial;"> ✔</span><span style="font-family: arial;">:</span><span style="font-family: arial;"><a href="https://www.pinterest.com/bunn6220/_saved/" target="_blank">Pinterest</a></span><span style="font-family: arial;"> ✔ </span><span style="font-family: arial;"><a href="https://www.bookbub.com/profile/m-c-bunn?list=about" target="_blank">BookBub</a></span><span style="font-family: arial;"> ✔ </span><span style="font-family: arial;"><a href="https://www.amazon.com/kindle-dbs/entity/author/B08W9PN6NV" target="_blank">Amazon Author Page</a></span><span style="font-family: arial;"> ✔ </span><span style="font-family: arial;"><a href="https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/21256508.M_C_Bunn" target="_blank">Goodreads</a></span><span style="font-family: arial;"> ✔</span></b> </li></ul></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhDbozBFr1cTxRzyMnM-QQW8SbPv1HGPaAHCQKDkaY-kLgEtfeVM9bnedBBciEolhVyQ-0iuPViwYb1QPZNAPJ0VYUi46D8WUL1N-qnYqzAbTBXA7vugQLJH_55RCnBxQ-Di_Sz-nJLcNpi/s1600/Where+Your+Treasure+Is+Tour+Schedule+Banner.png" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img alt="[Blog Tour] 'Where Your Treasure Is' By M. C. Bunn #HistoricalFiction #VictorianRomance" border="0" data-original-height="900" data-original-width="1600" height="360" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhDbozBFr1cTxRzyMnM-QQW8SbPv1HGPaAHCQKDkaY-kLgEtfeVM9bnedBBciEolhVyQ-0iuPViwYb1QPZNAPJ0VYUi46D8WUL1N-qnYqzAbTBXA7vugQLJH_55RCnBxQ-Di_Sz-nJLcNpi/w640-h360/Where+Your+Treasure+Is+Tour+Schedule+Banner.png" width="640" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i><span style="font-family: arial;">'Where Your Treasure Is' - <a href="https://www.coffeepotbookclub.com/post/blog-tour-where-your-treasure-is-by-m-c-bunn-july-26th-september-27th-2021" target="_blank">Tour Schedule</a> Banner</span></i></td></tr></tbody></table>Loup Dargenthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11143365444371974784noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1372609107888107354.post-83508652599986922782021-09-15T06:44:00.000+01:002021-09-15T07:37:01.388+01:00[Blog Tour] 'The Wisdom of the Flock: Franklin and Mesmer in Paris' By Steve M. Gnatz #HistoricalFiction<span style="font-family: arial;"><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjmdNIyf4taP4ymVe7gbCxyctrzTmDFbWmINT4nGneVBk-n9wYscjQuCNrskatm29pyBsJc-0Gx_LKykq6H1k5WFT4Sddb-so-yfdat4wdkQYyKn13aOcqQnl6v-vYAksU3uFtUNlGfKwCD/s1600/The+Wisdom+of+the+Flock+Tour+Banner.png" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img alt="[Blog Tour] 'The Wisdom of the Flock: Franklin and Mesmer in Paris' By Steve M. Gnatz #HistoricalFiction" border="0" data-original-height="900" data-original-width="1600" height="360" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjmdNIyf4taP4ymVe7gbCxyctrzTmDFbWmINT4nGneVBk-n9wYscjQuCNrskatm29pyBsJc-0Gx_LKykq6H1k5WFT4Sddb-so-yfdat4wdkQYyKn13aOcqQnl6v-vYAksU3uFtUNlGfKwCD/w640-h360/The+Wisdom+of+the+Flock+Tour+Banner.png" width="640" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>The Wisdom of the Flock - Tour Banner</i></td></tr></tbody></table></span><h3 style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">The Book:</span></span></h3><span style="font-family: arial;"><span><b>The Wisdom of the Flock: Franklin and Mesmer in Paris</b></span><br /><span><i>By Steve M. Gnatz</i></span><span><br /><ul style="text-align: left;"><li><span style="font-family: arial;"><span><b>Publication Date:</b> <i>November 2020 </i></span></span></li><li><span style="font-family: arial;"><span><b>Publisher:</b> <i>Leather Apron Press </i></span></span></li><li><span style="font-family: arial;"><span><b>Page Length:</b> <i>541 Pages </i></span></span></li><li><span style="font-family: arial;"><span><b>Genre:</b> <i>Historical Fiction</i></span></span></li></ul></span></span><h3 style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">The Book Trailer:</span></span></h3><div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><iframe allow="autoplay; clipboard-write; encrypted-media; picture-in-picture; web-share" allowfullscreen="true" frameborder="0" height="314" scrolling="no" src="https://www.facebook.com/plugins/video.php?height=314&href=https%3A%2F%2Fwww.facebook.com%2Fstevegnatzauthor%2Fvideos%2F3881313301879562%2F&show_text=false&width=560&t=0" style="border: none; overflow: hidden;" width="560"></iframe></span></div><div><h3 style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">The Blurb:</span></span></h3><span style="font-family: arial;"><span><b></b><blockquote><b>A WORLD OF ENLIGHTENMENT, REVOLUTION, AND INTRIGUE</b><br /><br /> 1776: Benjamin Franklin sails to Paris, carrying a copy of the Declaration of Independence, freshly signed. His charge: gain the support of France for the unfolding American Revolution. Yet Paris is a city of distractions. Ben’s lover, Marianne Davies, will soon arrive, and he yearns to rekindle his affair with the beautiful musician. <br /><br />Dr. Franz Mesmer has plans for Marianne too. He has taken Parisian nobility by storm with his discovery of magnétisme animale, a mysterious force claimed to heal the sick. Marianne’s ability to channel Mesmer’s phenomena is key to his success.<br /><br /> A skeptical King Louis XVI appoints Ben to head a commission investigating the astonishing magnétisme animale. By nature, Ben requires proof. Can he scientifically prove that it does not exist? Mesmer will stop at nothing to protect his profitable claim. <br /><br /><i> The Wisdom of The Flock explores the conflict between science and mysticism in a time rife with revolution, love, spies, and passion. </i><br /><br /><ul style="text-align: left;"><li><b>Trigger Warnings:</b> <i>Mild sexual content</i></li></ul></blockquote><ul style="text-align: left;"><li><span style="font-family: arial;"><span><b style="font-weight: bold;">Buy Links:</b> <i>Available on Kindle Unlimited ✔</i><b> </b><a href="https://www.amazon.co.uk/dp/B08NZ67DKD" style="font-weight: bold;" target="_blank"><b>Amazon UK</b></a></span><b style="font-weight: bold;"><span> ✔ </span><span><a href="https://www.amazon.com/dp/B08NZ67DKD" target="_blank">Amazon US</a></span><span> ✔ </span><span><a href="https://www.amazon.ca/dp/B08NZ67DKD" target="_blank">Amazon CA</a></span><span> </span><span>✔ </span><span><a href="https://www.amazon.com.au/dp/B08NZ67DKD" target="_blank">Amazon AU</a></span><span> ✔ </span><span><a href="https://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/the-wisdom-of-the-flock-steve-m-gnatz/1138440512" target="_blank">Barnes and Noble</a></span><span> ✔ </span><span><a href="https://www.waterstones.com/book/the-wisdom-of-the-flock/steve-m-gnatz/9781735348018" target="_blank">Waterstones</a></span></b></span><b style="font-family: arial; font-weight: bold;"> ✔</b><b style="font-family: arial; font-weight: bold;"><span> </span></b></li></ul></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhmvDuHgijbc6q03gC3DBBjcIBsgobFthjVVhy_zkdz9ES4_qWh35g2UBziopj7lpBT6gEC7Ux1B0Xsmo_JC9Yx8uGyv5iwv0JaqvLBcyeRhQqnEHmBDR0rXREYLFe3cU-9YVr3yhg7hNNr/s2048/The+Wisdom+of+the+Flock+Cover.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img alt="[Blog Tour] 'The Wisdom of the Flock: Franklin and Mesmer in Paris' By Steve M. Gnatz #HistoricalFiction" border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1280" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhmvDuHgijbc6q03gC3DBBjcIBsgobFthjVVhy_zkdz9ES4_qWh35g2UBziopj7lpBT6gEC7Ux1B0Xsmo_JC9Yx8uGyv5iwv0JaqvLBcyeRhQqnEHmBDR0rXREYLFe3cU-9YVr3yhg7hNNr/w400-h640/The+Wisdom+of+the+Flock+Cover.jpg" width="550" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i><span style="font-family: arial;">The Wisdom of the Flock - Book Cover</span></i></td></tr></tbody></table><h3><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: x-large;">'The Wisdom of the Flock: Franklin and Mesmer in Paris' - Excerpt:</span></h3></div><div><span style="font-family: arial;"><span><p class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"></p><blockquote><p class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">The crew would be
starting their breakfast soon, yet food was the last thing Ben
wanted. He made his way to the cloth-covered part of the deck. The
thick oaken planks were wet with rain and sea spray. The area he
sought was sheltered from the howling wind. Ben found the air on deck
to be electrically charged and more invigorating than usual, exactly
what he needed to settle his stomach and pounding head.<br />
</p>
<p class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">Ben sat down on a deck
chair and spread a heavy wool blanket over his legs to shelter
himself from the cold ocean spray.<br />
</p>
<p class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">“Do you believe in
God, Doctor Franklin?” a deep voice asked.<br />
</p>
<p class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">Ben jumped, flailing
his arms out of his lap. He hadn’t realized he was not alone. He
squinted through his bifocals to make out a gaunt man, completely
dressed in black, occupying a nearby chair. He was as emaciated as a
saint but with the haughty countenance of a bishop. It was the
Reverend William Smith.<br />
</p>
<p class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">“Reverend, I
fervently hope that not only does He exist on such a foul day as this
. . . but that He has a benevolent nature,” Ben replied.<br />
</p>
<p class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">The Reverend sat back
and pulled a blanket up around his neck. “Well spoken,” he said
with a chill in his voice.<br />
</p>
<p class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">Ben had learned long
ago that there was no gain to be had in debating religious faith with
devotees such as the Reverend. It wasn’t that Ben didn’t believe
in God; it was simply that he didn’t have proof. And Ben needed
proof of things. He could think of only a few aspects of his life
that he was willing to take on faith. The love of his late wife came
to mind. But then, that belief hadn’t been based entirely on faith
either, for she had had ways of proving her love to him. God was a
different matter altogether. A painful memory flashed of Ben praying
to God to spare his son Francis from the pox, but the four-year-old
succumbed. While this certainly wasn’t proof that God didn’t
exist, though, it had shaken his faith. However, Ben knew that, like
any true believer worth his salt, the Reverend would have an
explanation for God’s lapse. Ben decided to change the subject.<br />
</p>
<p class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">“That bolt of
lightning was close just now,” Ben said. He gazed out at the clouds
that flashed in the distance.<br />
</p>
<p class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">“Aye, a bit too close
for comfort,” the Reverend said. “But we can thank the Almighty
for the effectiveness of your lightning rod. Lord knows how many
ships were destroyed by fire before you were inspired by Him to
invent it.”<br />
</p>
<p class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">Ben had not been
certain that the clergyman would even know about his invention.
Smith’s reply encouraged him to go on.<br />
</p>
<p class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">“Thank you,
Reverend,” he said. “The Lord works in mysterious ways, even
through men such as me. Though I am sure He’s familiar with how the
rod works, I wonder if you are?”<br />
</p>
<p class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">The Reverend sat up a
bit. “I know only that the lightning bolt was somehow prevented
from striking the ship,” he replied.<br />
</p>
<p class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">“Oh no, the lightning
almost certainly struck our ship just now,” Ben explained. “Our
mast is the tallest point for miles at sea. When I began studying the
behavior of lightning, I noted that it always seeks the highest point
in the landscape. Not only that, but also that lightning always seeks
its way to the ground. My lightning rod simply creates a safe channel
for the lightning to pass through the ship, so as not to endanger the
vessel or its cargo. If the lightning were to strike a mast, there
would be damage or fire. And if the damage were severe enough, it
might even sink the ship.<br />
</p>
<p class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">“My rod is placed at
the highest point on the ship and attracts the lightning. But that
alone isn’t enough to prevent catastrophe, for I also found that I
needed to channel it through the ship to the water. A thick metal
cable runs from the lightning rod to below the water line to
accomplish this.”<br />
</p>
<p class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">“A truly marvelous
invention,” the Reverend replied. “Thanks be to God. But I
thought you said that lightning always seeks the ground. Wouldn’t
you have to run your metal cable back to the Colonies for the rod to
be effective?”<br />
</p>
<p class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">“Excellent,
excellent,” Ben exclaimed, “that is just the sort of question a
man of science carries within him like a man of the cloth seeks to
understand the mysteries of his faith . . . but I do beg to remind
you that our country is now called the United States of America.”<br />
</p>
<p class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">“Oh, yes! Force of
habit,” the Reverend exclaimed.<br />
</p>
<p class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">“Perhaps not a bad
habit to maintain until your mission is accomplished,” Ben said.
“Your Anglican Church does not support independence for the people
of the United States.”<br />
</p>
<p class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">“That doth vex me,”
the Reverend replied. He sunk back in his chair.<br />
</p>
<p class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">Ben resumed his
explanation animatedly. “You will observe Reverend, as I did early
on, that lightning is an electrical fluid that has no trouble
traveling quickly through the air. Through careful experiments, I
also found that this electrical fluid travels through water, albeit
more slowly. Hence, there’s no need to run a cable back to shore so
long as we are connected to the earth by water. Scientists around the
world have taken to calling this electrical fluid ‘electricity’.”<br />
</p>
<p class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">“But what do you
believe to be the source of this ‘electricity’, as you call it?”
the Reverend asked. “The Bible tells us that lightning is sent down
from Heaven by God.”
</p>
<p class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">A slight shiver
traveled Ben’s spine. Was it the cold sea spray or a sense that the
Reverend was once again testing his religious beliefs?<br />
</p>
<p class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">It had not been so many
years since scientists had been treated as heretics and persecuted
for their belief that natural forces might be studied for the benefit
of mankind. Now, in modern-day 1776, in this age of enlightenment, a
fragile truce existed between religion and science. Ben believed the
truce had occurred in part because of advances in natural
philosophy—the science of the natural world and medicine.<br />
</p>
<p class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">The revelation that
tiny creatures seen through the microscope by Van Leeuwenhoek and
others in the last century might be the cause of human diseases was
gaining wider acceptance. With increasing frequency, descriptions of
these microbes and their associated diseases were being published in
the proceedings of the Royal Society in London.<br />
</p>
<p class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">Ben had a personal
stake in understanding the spread of disease and in making others
aware. Smallpox had claimed the life of his beloved son Francis over
forty years ago, and still claimed the lives of thousands each year.<br />
</p>
<p class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">It was disheartening
that despite the advent of effective inoculation against smallpox,
the Church continued to consider the medical technique to be
inconsistent with the established canon. Ben had stormed out of more
than one sermon when the clergyman had condemned vaccination as
unholy.<br />
</p>
<p class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">“Reverend, you may if
you wish, believe that lightning represents the wrath of God . . .
sent down to avenge the sins of mankind,” Ben said. “But I
believe that this electrical fluid is simply another natural force—no
more mystical than the powerful flow of water through a stream that
the miller uses to turn a wheel and grind the grain from the field.
Mankind has learned to harness many natural forces. While it is wild
and dangerous today, I believe that electricity may someday yield
tangible benefits to mankind . . . if we can learn how to channel it
appropriately.”<br />
</p>
<p class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">The Reverend appeared
to be deep in thought. He raised his eyebrows and shrugged. “What
do workers gain from their toil? I have seen the burden God has laid
on the human race. He has made everything beautiful in its time. He
has also set ignorance in the human heart; so that no one can fathom
what God has done from beginning to end,” he said.<br />
</p>
<p class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">“Ecclesiastes,” Ben
replied. “But what do you mean by it?”<br />
</p>
<p class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"> “Ben, don’t you
see that there might be mysteries that are not intended to be known
to man? That God has intended for some things to be taken on faith?
That your natural philosophy both cannot, and I dare say should not,
attempt to provide a proof for everything under the Sun? That by
attempting to do so, by requiring proof for everything, you denigrate
God and His power?”</p>
<p class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">“No, I don’t see it
that way at all, Reverend,” Ben said. “I believe that God would
want mankind to discover the intricate workings of the universe that
He has created for us to live in. I believe that He has designed us
to be probing, intelligent beings; designed us to yearn to discover
and elucidate the hidden workings of the universe—not designed us
as sheep, blindly following established doctrine.”<br />
</p>
<p class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">The Reverend looked as
if he might object but said nothing.<br />
</p>
<p class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">Ben went on. “Take
your own situation as an example. You do not believe that the
Anglican Church is right in backing the British in this conflict over
our freedom, correct?”<br />
</p>
<p class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">The Reverend squirmed
in his seat. “Aye.”<br />
</p>
<p class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">“And the Church would
say that you should accept their decision blindly, that it is God’s
will, correct?”<br />
</p>
<p class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">“Aye.”<br />
</p>
<p class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">“But you do not see
it that way. You have seen the injustices inflicted by the British on
our people. You have thought independently and asked yourself why God
would want things this way. The answer we agree upon is that God
would want our people to be free. It is the Church that has a
different goal, the Church that has a need to maintain the status
quo. Your Anglican Church claims to know the will of God in this
matter . . . but do they? Once you start asking questions, as you
have, once you start demanding proof of things, as I do—then you
will ultimately find the correct answer: that the will of God and the
will of the Church may not be one and the same.”<br />
</p>
<p class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">“Yes, I see your
point,” the Reverend replied, “but what of God’s true will?
Would it not be one of the mysteries that cannot be proven? Isn’t
God’s will ultimately something that must be taken on faith?”<br />
</p>
<p class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">Ben didn’t have an
answer to his question, but during the time they had talked, the
storm had abated enough that his appetite returned.<br />
</p>
<p class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">“Reverend, what say
we see what the cook has prepared for breakfast?”<br />
</p>
<p class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">“Nay, I’m not yet
ready to eat, sir. I’ll sit out here a bit longer, contemplating
what the Lord may have in store for me.”<br />
</p>
<p class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"> Ben bid the Reverend
good day and headed for the galley.</p></blockquote> <br /><div style="text-align: center;"><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgn4FadIcKHFSBNaC1TUTJfXoF4VBQ9MMC0q9j0kpDEF9zaTAEYfRNXQHZMExHeJH1HRojfjHUDpRK6fy-_xFh4NeGTrofzo0ZXo5PHfA9hol5xAYgjwXiOjlOiZ4JJNHoRHmGCmSPrrQ3l/s1002/Steve+Gnatz.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img alt="[Blog Tour] 'The Wisdom of the Flock: Franklin and Mesmer in Paris' By Steve M. Gnatz #HistoricalFiction" border="0" data-original-height="972" data-original-width="1002" height="620" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgn4FadIcKHFSBNaC1TUTJfXoF4VBQ9MMC0q9j0kpDEF9zaTAEYfRNXQHZMExHeJH1HRojfjHUDpRK6fy-_xFh4NeGTrofzo0ZXo5PHfA9hol5xAYgjwXiOjlOiZ4JJNHoRHmGCmSPrrQ3l/w640-h620/Steve+Gnatz.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Steve Gnatz</i><br /></td></tr></tbody></table></div> </span></span><h3 style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">Author Bio:</span></span></h3><span style="font-family: arial;"><span><i><b></b><blockquote><b>Steve Gnatz</b> is a writer, physician, bicyclist, photographer, traveler, and aspiring ukulele player. The son of a history professor and a nurse, it seems that both medicine and history are in his blood. Writing historical fiction came naturally. An undergraduate degree in biology was complemented by a minor in classics. After completing medical school, he embarked on an academic medical career specializing in Physical Medicine and Rehabilitation. There was little time for writing during those years, other than research papers and a technical primer on electromyography. Now retired from the practice of medicine, he devotes himself to the craft of fiction. The history of science is of particular interest, but also the dynamics of human relationships. People want to be good scientists, but sometimes human nature gets in the way. That makes for interesting stories. When not writing or traveling, he enjoys restoring Italian racing bicycles at home in Chicago with his wife and daughters.</blockquote></i></span></span><h3 style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><span>Connect with </span></span><b style="font-family: arial;">Steve Gnatz:</b></span></h3><span style="font-family: arial;"><ul style="text-align: left;"><li><span style="font-family: arial;"><span><b><a href="http://www.stevegnatz.com" target="_blank">Website</a> ✔ <a href="https://stevegnatz.com/blog/" target="_blank">Blog</a></b></span></span><b><span style="font-family: arial;"> ✔</span><span style="font-family: arial;"> </span><span style="font-family: arial;"><span><a href="https://www.facebook.com/stevegnatzauthor/" target="_blank">Facebook</a></span></span><span style="font-family: arial;"> ✔ </span><span style="font-family: arial;"><span><a href="https://www.bookbub.com/books/the-wisdom-of-the-flock-franklin-and-mesmer-in-paris-by-steve-m-gnatz" target="_blank">BookBub</a></span></span><span style="font-family: arial;"> ✔</span><span style="font-family: arial;"> </span><span style="font-family: arial;"><span><a href="https://www.amazon.com/Steve-M-Gnatz/e/B004FRM6EM" target="_blank">Amazon Author Page</a></span></span><span style="font-family: arial;"> ✔ </span><span style="font-family: arial;"><span><a href="https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/56123081-the-wisdom-of-the-flock" target="_blank">Goodreads</a></span></span><span style="font-family: arial;"> ✔</span></b></li></ul></span></div><div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgMG3fVdEDPFas66982FazwfSAPIV4ZF3OOLHssf-HRBBjqiS0xfv9SV8pFwgxtWfNF2dIAMGIzrVPL46fx-YuFTbE4tPfh6hTu9Fj2s3JjE2oD1jzgx4sF7dzBanDUz8xtbouawd-weH1k/s1600/Tour+Schedule+The+Wisdom+of+the+Flock+Tour+Banner.png" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="900" data-original-width="1600" height="360" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgMG3fVdEDPFas66982FazwfSAPIV4ZF3OOLHssf-HRBBjqiS0xfv9SV8pFwgxtWfNF2dIAMGIzrVPL46fx-YuFTbE4tPfh6hTu9Fj2s3JjE2oD1jzgx4sF7dzBanDUz8xtbouawd-weH1k/w640-h360/Tour+Schedule+The+Wisdom+of+the+Flock+Tour+Banner.png" width="640" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"> <i><span style="font-family: arial;">The Wisdom of the Flock - <a href="https://www.coffeepotbookclub.com/post/blog-tour-the-wisdom-of-the-flock-franklin-and-mesmer-in-parisby-steve-m-gnatz" target="_blank">Tour Schedule</a> Banner</span></i></td></tr></tbody></table><br /></div></div>Loup Dargenthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11143365444371974784noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1372609107888107354.post-80989883085334937692021-09-08T06:44:00.000+01:002021-09-08T06:44:35.093+01:00[Blog Tour] 'At Her Fingertips' (The Chronicles of Alice and Ivy, Book 3) By Kellyn Roth #HistoricalFiction<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEirrcvj83GldU3x1yzsyvtfbkjWl4NdmfVyndRVmzhCKUXvrfwGfrGY4yOjLn2TschqcFPKsUJfi4T8WNNt-BcLn86XMdP8PoxXVFvFvHU1cjvhyQH1YJPyu-VlCgLbYZF0UhozWEWv9hQ3/s1600/At+her+Fingertips+Tour+Banner.png" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><img alt="[Blog Tour] 'At Her Fingertips' (The Chronicles of Alice and Ivy, Book 3) By Kellyn Roth #HistoricalFiction" border="0" data-original-height="900" data-original-width="1600" height="360" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEirrcvj83GldU3x1yzsyvtfbkjWl4NdmfVyndRVmzhCKUXvrfwGfrGY4yOjLn2TschqcFPKsUJfi4T8WNNt-BcLn86XMdP8PoxXVFvFvHU1cjvhyQH1YJPyu-VlCgLbYZF0UhozWEWv9hQ3/w640-h360/At+her+Fingertips+Tour+Banner.png" width="640" /></span></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: arial;"> <i>'At Her Fingertips' - Tour Banner</i></span></td></tr></tbody></table><h3><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: x-large;">The Book: </span></h3><div><span style="font-family: arial;"><b>At Her Fingertips</b><br /><i>(The Chronicles of Alice and Ivy, Book 3)<br />By Kellyn Roth</i><br /><ul style="text-align: left;"><li><b> Publication Date:</b> <i>17th July 2021</i></li><li><b> Publisher:</b> <i>Wild Blue Wonder Press</i></li><li><b> Genre: </b><i>Christian Historical Romance </i></li></ul></span><h3 style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: x-large;">The Blurb: </span></h3><span style="font-family: arial;"><i></i><blockquote><i>She’s willing to do anything to follow her plan</i>. <br /><br />Debutante Alice Knight is ready for her first social season in London. She’s determined to impress society and her mother with an affluent match, at last escaping her past and embracing a future of her own making.<br /><br /> Peter Strauss, an American reporter visiting England, isn’t exactly what Alice had in mind. However, his friendship proves invaluable as Alice faces the challenges of her debut. Almost immediately, she attracts the attention of a well-born gentleman—perfect save for the simple fact that he’s not a Christian. <br /><br /> The life she longs for is finally at her fingertips, but between her own heart and the convictions of her faith, she isn’t sure she ought to grasp it. <br /><br /><i><b> At Her Fingertips</b>, a romantic women's fiction novel, is the third novel in <b>Kellyn Roth</b>'s Christian family saga, <b>The Chronicles of Alice and Ivy</b>. </i></blockquote><ul style="text-align: left;"><li><span style="font-family: arial;"><b style="font-weight: bold;">Buy Links</b><b>:</b><i>This book is available to read on #KindleUnlimited</i> <b style="font-weight: bold;">✔ <a href="https://books2read.com/u/me9oyZ" target="_blank">Universal “Amazon” link</a></b></span><b style="font-weight: bold;"> ✔ <span style="font-family: arial;"><a href="https://www.amazon.co.uk/dp/B08WPCM9NY" target="_blank">Amazon UK</a></span> ✔ <span style="font-family: arial;"><a href="https://www.amazon.com/dp/B08WPCM9NY" target="_blank">Amazon US</a></span> ✔ <span style="font-family: arial;"><a href="https://www.amazon.ca/dp/B08WPCM9NY" target="_blank">Amazon CA</a></span> ✔ <span style="font-family: arial;"><a href="https://www.amazon.com.au/dp/B08WPCM9NY" target="_blank">Amazon AU</a></span> ✔ </b></li></ul></span></div><div><span style="font-family: arial;"><div style="text-align: center;"><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgk-V3-VKL1lBq1CTwfoqZoRmbW3M6b0eBuD1vcH1JqvjG0F2W3ezfuHp8Me-Zi6niWGq1AH6uDWzvCHTEmEoTjea1kX2Luk-sQT2n0aDbDDLkKOVGqqSheQYlnJvVRITFEUIZoZ67yBbxR/s2048/At+Her+Fingertips+Cover.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img alt="[Blog Tour] 'At Her Fingertips' (The Chronicles of Alice and Ivy, Book 3) By Kellyn Roth #HistoricalFiction" border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1366" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgk-V3-VKL1lBq1CTwfoqZoRmbW3M6b0eBuD1vcH1JqvjG0F2W3ezfuHp8Me-Zi6niWGq1AH6uDWzvCHTEmEoTjea1kX2Luk-sQT2n0aDbDDLkKOVGqqSheQYlnJvVRITFEUIZoZ67yBbxR/w426-h640/At+Her+Fingertips+Cover.jpg" width="550" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>'At Her Fingertips' - Book Cover</i><br /></td></tr></tbody></table></div> </span><h3 style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><span style="font-size: x-large; text-align: center;">'At Her Fingertips' - Excerpt:</span></span></h3></div><div><div style="text-align: left;"><p align="JUSTIFY" class="western" style="background: rgb(255, 255, 255); line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm; orphans: 0; widows: 0;">
<span style="font-family: arial;">Miss Knight was sitting by
herself after dinner, staring into the fire with her eyes absent.
Normally, Peter left people who seemed consumed by their own thoughts
alone—that was what he preferred. But something told him she wasn’t
the type to enjoy her own ponderings.</span></p>
<p align="JUSTIFY" class="western" style="background: rgb(255, 255, 255); line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm; orphans: 0; widows: 0;">
<span style="font-family: arial;">She continued to puzzle him.
<i>Strong and
weak.</i> Over
and over again, those words echoed in his head. Miss Ivy was a
delicate flower that would continue to bloom if crushed; he didn’t
sense that in Miss Knight. She was more like a mighty pine that, once
felled, would lie there until it crumbled into splinters. He didn’t
know how she would handle collapse, or if she would at all.</span></p>
<p align="JUSTIFY" class="western" style="background: rgb(255, 255, 255); line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm; orphans: 0; widows: 0;">
<span style="font-family: arial;">Was it his business? No.
Normally he would’ve made his observations within his own mind and
kept silent. However, something about her compelled him to take a
seat near her and make the necessary pleasantries.</span></p>
<p align="JUSTIFY" class="western" style="background: rgb(255, 255, 255); line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm; orphans: 0; widows: 0;">
<span style="font-family: arial;">After conversation faded
again, he asked her if they could visit the library with Miss Ivy. “I
haven’t had a chance, and Miss Ivy has told me about it often. Of
course I wouldn’t go with her alone.”</span></p>
<p align="JUSTIFY" class="western" style="background: rgb(255, 255, 255); line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm; orphans: 0; widows: 0;"><span style="font-family: arial;">
“Of course.” There was
grudging respect in her eyes. Did she think it was so different in
America that he wouldn’t take care of Miss Ivy’s reputation? He
honestly wasn’t sure why Miss Knight was so suspicious of him.</span></p>
<p align="JUSTIFY" class="western" style="background: rgb(255, 255, 255); line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm; orphans: 0; widows: 0;">
<span style="font-family: arial;">Had America stolen her father?
Was that her reasoning? Or was she just too traditional to conceive
of a friendship with him? He supposed it wasn’t exactly normal, but
he made friends with anyone he could, and that usually included
women. Not in an improper way—most women just seemed to, for no
discernable reason, confide in him.</span></p>
<p align="JUSTIFY" class="western" style="background: rgb(255, 255, 255); line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm; orphans: 0; widows: 0;">
<span style="font-family: arial;">It was simultaneously
frustrating and touching.</span></p>
<p align="JUSTIFY" class="western" style="background: rgb(255, 255, 255); line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm; orphans: 0; widows: 0;">
<span style="font-family: arial;">The three of them went to the
library together, and Miss Ivy rambled on about their collection, who
had added books over the years, and so on. Peter found it interesting
but couldn’t help but be concerned about Miss Knight, and he began
searching for a conversation topic that would suit all three of them.</span></p>
<p align="JUSTIFY" class="western" style="background: rgb(255, 255, 255); line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm; orphans: 0; widows: 0;">
<span style="font-family: arial;">It was when he gave up,
however, that he succeeded. “Do either of your parents read?” he
asked, deciding to focus his efforts on Miss Ivy, who actually wanted
to talk to him. Reading, he felt, they could talk about.</span></p>
<p align="JUSTIFY" class="western" style="background: rgb(255, 255, 255); line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm; orphans: 0; widows: 0;">
<span style="font-family: arial;">Miss Ivy answered that her
mother would read occasionally, and Miss Knight’s eyes focused on
them both, interested for the first time.</span></p>
<p align="JUSTIFY" class="western" style="background: rgb(255, 255, 255); line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm; orphans: 0; widows: 0;">
<span style="font-family: arial;"><i>Thank God,</i>
he thought.</span></p>
<p align="JUSTIFY" class="western" style="background: rgb(255, 255, 255); line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm; orphans: 0; widows: 0;"><span style="font-family: arial;">
“Mother reads what Nettie
does,” Miss Knight said. “But then she’s not had time until
lately to read.”</span></p>
<p align="JUSTIFY" class="western" style="background: rgb(255, 255, 255); line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm; orphans: 0; widows: 0;"><span style="font-family: arial;">
“Oh?” Peter supposed the
lady had had a child almost every year, but she only had somewhere in
the range of three to five children—he’d gotten confused at this
point as to which were hers by birth and which by marriage. Ned
certainly was the child of the late Mrs. Hazel Bailey Knight, but
otherwise he didn’t know.</span></p>
<p align="JUSTIFY" class="western" style="background: rgb(255, 255, 255); line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm; orphans: 0; widows: 0;"><span style="font-family: arial;">
“Yes, because—” Then
Miss Ivy stopped and looked to Miss Knight.</span></p>
<p align="JUSTIFY" class="western" style="background: rgb(255, 255, 255); line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm; orphans: 0; widows: 0;">
<span style="font-family: arial;">There was a moment in which
the sisters stared each other down, clearly unsure who was going to
communicate what. Then Miss Knight cleared her throat.</span></p>
<p align="JUSTIFY" class="western" style="background: rgb(255, 255, 255); line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm; orphans: 0; widows: 0;"><span style="font-family: arial;">
“Mr. Strauss, I know you
asked one of our footmen for details about our family, and he
declined to give you the full story.” Her dark eyes focused on him,
intense to the point of anger. “If I were to tell you my family
history, I don’t know what your reaction would be. Ivy promises me
you are a fair, compassionate man, but I don’t know you, and you
are a reporter.”</span></p>
<p align="JUSTIFY" class="western" style="background: rgb(255, 255, 255); line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm; orphans: 0; widows: 0;">
<span style="font-family: arial;">Peter winced. “I am at that.
But I’m not the type of reporter who would ever discuss private
details publicly, either in writing or with my mouth.” He struggled
for the correct words. “I always take my cues from Proverbs. ‘Whoso
keepeth his mouth and his tongue keepeth his soul from troubles.’”</span></p>
<p align="JUSTIFY" class="western" style="background: rgb(255, 255, 255); line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm; orphans: 0; widows: 0;"><span style="font-family: arial;">
“I see.” Miss Knight
glanced at Miss Ivy.</span></p>
<p align="JUSTIFY" class="western" style="background: rgb(255, 255, 255); line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm; orphans: 0; widows: 0;">
<span style="font-family: arial;">She nodded.</span></p>
<p align="JUSTIFY" class="western" style="background: rgb(255, 255, 255); line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm; orphans: 0; widows: 0;"><span style="font-family: arial;">
“I’ll tell you a bit of
what’s happened, so that there need be no awkwardness to us.” She
gestured to a few chairs across the library. “It’s a simple
story, really.”</span></p>
<p align="JUSTIFY" class="western" style="background: rgb(255, 255, 255); line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm; orphans: 0; widows: 0;">
<span style="font-family: arial;">Miss Ivy raised her eyebrows.
“It is <i>not</i>.”</span></p>
<p align="JUSTIFY" class="western" style="background: rgb(255, 255, 255); line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm; orphans: 0; widows: 0;"><span style="font-family: arial;">
“Nevertheless, let’s sit
down and go over it. Quickly.”</span></p>
<p align="JUSTIFY" class="western" style="background: rgb(255, 255, 255); line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm; orphans: 0; widows: 0;">
<span style="font-family: arial;">Curiosity spiked, but
determined to remain compassionate, Peter took a seat and fixed his
eyes on Miss Knight’s face.</span></p><p align="JUSTIFY" class="western" style="background: rgb(255, 255, 255); line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm; orphans: 0; widows: 0;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></p>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiyHCdzFDegU-rXTsiXclQsltr3_D1o6UNz6FFuU0ZX-fcqzgBb8wzJCqwWRcPEnfxiX1LHXrXKLF1xBLLt7_D658WhKT_xBDFa9auq3B2fwfoDiZljoMnH6SuBZlLqTNX4Wrv0o3CMccuT/s1224/Kellyn+Roth.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img alt="[Blog Tour] 'At Her Fingertips' (The Chronicles of Alice and Ivy, Book 3) By Kellyn Roth #HistoricalFiction" border="0" data-original-height="1224" data-original-width="816" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiyHCdzFDegU-rXTsiXclQsltr3_D1o6UNz6FFuU0ZX-fcqzgBb8wzJCqwWRcPEnfxiX1LHXrXKLF1xBLLt7_D658WhKT_xBDFa9auq3B2fwfoDiZljoMnH6SuBZlLqTNX4Wrv0o3CMccuT/w426-h640/Kellyn+Roth.jpg" width="550" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="text-align: left;"><i><span style="font-family: arial;">Kellyn Roth</span></i></span></td></tr></tbody></table><h3><span style="font-family: arial;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">Author Bio:</span></span></h3></div><span style="font-family: arial;"><i><b></b><blockquote><b>Kellyn Roth</b> is a Christian historical women’s fiction & romance author from North-Eastern Oregon who has independently published multiple novels, the most notable being The Chronicles of Alice and Ivy series. You should definitely call her Kell.<br /><br /> Kell lives on family-owned property outside an unmemorable but historical town with her parents, two little brothers, precious border collies, a dozen cows, and lots of chickens. She also possesses a classic, vintage aesthetic which does not at all speak to her country girl side, but such is life.<br /><br /> When not writing, Kell likes to blog, work as a virtual assistant for authors and other small business owners, and spend lavish amounts of money on Dairy Queen french fries. She also likes to talk about her books (and occasionally Keira Knightley) way too much. You’ve been warned. </blockquote></i></span><h3 style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: x-large;">Connect with Kellyn Roth:</span></h3><span style="font-family: arial;"><ul style="text-align: left;"><li><span style="font-family: arial;"><b><a href="https://kellynrothauthor.com/" target="_blank">Website</a> ✔ <a href="https://twitter.com/kellyntheauthor/" target="_blank">Twitter</a> ✔ <a href="https://facebook.com/kellynrothauthor/" target="_blank">Facebook</a> ✔ <a href="https://instagram.com/kellynrothauthor/" target="_blank">Instagram</a> ✔ <a href="https://www.pinterest.com/kellynrothauthor/" target="_blank">Pinterest</a></b></span><b><span style="font-family: arial;"> ✔</span><span style="font-family: arial;"> </span><span style="font-family: arial;"><a href="https://www.bookbub.com/profile/kellyn-roth" target="_blank">BookBub</a></span><span style="font-family: arial;"> ✔</span><span style="font-family: arial;"> </span><a href="https://www.amazon.com/Kellyn-Roth/e/B01B0W0O7U" style="font-family: arial;" target="_blank">Amazon Author Page</a><span style="font-family: arial;"> ✔ </span><a href="https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/14874133.Kellyn_Roth" style="font-family: arial;" target="_blank">Goodreads</a><span style="font-family: arial;"> ✔</span></b></li></ul></span></div><div><div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhcZHsZTb1FT9o4kpCi0YTCofKlxc48Yy-ZI7Lj3MWgZOkmTGojJXJ5qEKr2QRISYvaKcDx5xjQSzaK36AEaxvL1Q1Tk7IkqLMO5i9kgQrQk1Awg_ctinIKuYnebkUI1preZTP8XO3brfUO/s1600/At+her+Fingertips+Tour+Schedule+Banner.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img alt="[Blog Tour] 'At Her Fingertips' (The Chronicles of Alice and Ivy, Book 3) By Kellyn Roth #HistoricalFiction" border="0" data-original-height="900" data-original-width="1600" height="360" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhcZHsZTb1FT9o4kpCi0YTCofKlxc48Yy-ZI7Lj3MWgZOkmTGojJXJ5qEKr2QRISYvaKcDx5xjQSzaK36AEaxvL1Q1Tk7IkqLMO5i9kgQrQk1Awg_ctinIKuYnebkUI1preZTP8XO3brfUO/w640-h360/At+her+Fingertips+Tour+Schedule+Banner.png" width="640" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><i>'At her Fingertips' - <a href="https://www.coffeepotbookclub.com/post/blog-tour-at-her-fingertips-the-chronicles-of-alice-and-ivy-book-3-by-kellyn-roth" target="_blank">Tour Schedule</a> Banner</i></span></td></tr></tbody></table></div></div>Loup Dargenthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11143365444371974784noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1372609107888107354.post-60058342340310295602021-08-30T06:18:00.001+01:002021-08-30T06:18:57.698+01:00[Blog Tour] 'The Queen of the Citadels' (The King’s Germans, Book 3) By Dominic Fielder #HistoricalFiction<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjvAvVnBiQN41trqzn-PhFfS5uXmp3CFddvpkRz7mDqZ82BUeq6MjMkwctNfmFHvKZ7qPaakAY0Kmhx7cuCQ6LSZk1W0SoSom-yEpB7PulCf5Jy4fC4xBdaaxQ3SxN5oDt3KsZ1XfD5OpXo/s1600/The+Queen+of+the+Citadels+Tour+Banner.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img alt="[Blog Tour] 'The Queen of the Citadels' (The King’s Germans, Book 3) By Dominic Fielder #HistoricalFiction" border="0" data-original-height="900" data-original-width="1600" height="360" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjvAvVnBiQN41trqzn-PhFfS5uXmp3CFddvpkRz7mDqZ82BUeq6MjMkwctNfmFHvKZ7qPaakAY0Kmhx7cuCQ6LSZk1W0SoSom-yEpB7PulCf5Jy4fC4xBdaaxQ3SxN5oDt3KsZ1XfD5OpXo/w640-h360/The+Queen+of+the+Citadels+Tour+Banner.png" width="640" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i><span style="font-family: arial;">The Queen of the Citadels - Tour Banner</span></i></td></tr></tbody></table><h3><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: x-large;">The Book:</span></h3><div><span style="font-family: arial;"><b>The Queen of the Citadels</b><br />(<i>The King’s Germans, Book 3</i>)<br /><i>By Dominic Fielder</i><br /><ul style="text-align: left;"><li><span style="font-family: arial;"><b>Publication Date:</b> <i>26th August 2021</i></span></li><li><span style="font-family: arial;"><b>Publisher:</b> <i>Independently Published</i></span></li><li><span style="font-family: arial;"><b>Page Length: </b><i>550 Pages</i></span></li><li><span style="font-family: arial;"><b>Genre:</b> <i>Historical Military Fiction</i></span></li></ul></span><h3 style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: x-large;">The Blurb:</span></h3><span style="font-family: arial;"><i><blockquote>October 1793: The French border. <br /><br />Dunkirk was a disaster for the Duke of York’s army. The French, sensing victory before the winter, launch attacks along the length of the border. Menen is captured and the French now hold the whip hand. Nieuport and Ostend are threatened, and Sebastian Krombach finds himself involved in a desperate plan to stop the Black Lions as they spearhead the French advance. Werner Brandt and the men of 2nd Battalion race to Menen to counterattack and rescue Erich von Bomm and the Grenadiers, whilst von Bomm struggles to save himself from his infatuation with a mysterious French vivandière. <br /><br />Meanwhile, dark and brooding, the citadel of Lille dominates the border. The Queen of the Citadels has never been captured by force. The allies must now keep Menen, which guards Flanders, and seize Lille to open the road to Paris. All of this must be done under the watchful eyes of a spy in the Austrian camp. Juliette of Marboré is fighting her own secret war to free Julian Beauvais, languishing in the Conciergerie prison, and waiting for his appointment with the guillotine, as the Terror rages in Paris. </blockquote></i><b><ul style="text-align: left;"><li><span style="font-family: arial;"><b>Buy Links</b>: <i>Available on Kindle Unlimited</i> <b>✔ <a href="https://www.amazon.co.uk/dp/B08X3SS947" target="_blank">Amazon UK</a></b><b> ✔ <a href="https://www.amazon.com/dp/B08X3SS947" target="_blank">Amazon US</a> ✔ <a href="https://www.amazon.ca/dp/B08X3SS947" target="_blank">Amazon CA</a> ✔ <a href="https://www.amazon.com.au/dp/B08X3SS947" target="_blank">Amazon AU</a> ✔ </b></span></li></ul></b></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjgimOT0SW4RwTpKjVrML4mkqeSZtk249xaagMXoGEygQdWyQZ7QxGWM7qYMGBxPDI3FzJ0Amfu5YOzJS5E850S59JZBGYlExCt9PKZ7wD2aIPnuAdD9HlOEgOQ7sFq-tvWJe2I7sG96bD-/s2048/The+Queen+of+the+Citadels+Cover.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img alt="[Blog Tour] 'The Queen of the Citadels' (The King’s Germans, Book 3) By Dominic Fielder #HistoricalFiction" border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1353" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjgimOT0SW4RwTpKjVrML4mkqeSZtk249xaagMXoGEygQdWyQZ7QxGWM7qYMGBxPDI3FzJ0Amfu5YOzJS5E850S59JZBGYlExCt9PKZ7wD2aIPnuAdD9HlOEgOQ7sFq-tvWJe2I7sG96bD-/w422-h640/The+Queen+of+the+Citadels+Cover.jpg" width="550" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>The Queen of the Citadels - Book Cover</i></td></tr></tbody></table></span><h3><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: x-large;"> 'The Queen of the Citadels' - Excerpt:</span></h3></div><blockquote><div><div style="text-align: center;"><b style="font-family: arial;">Paris: 20th December 1793</b></div><p align="JUSTIFY" class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: arial;">“I
once said that what matters most is ‘<em>Liberté</em>,
<em>égalité</em>,
<em>fraternité’.
That is what should be written on our flags, into the very fabric of
our uniforms.</em>
Well, I was wrong. Do you know what matter most at this very moment?
What the people truly need?” Maximillian Robespierre turned around
to face his audience. A dozen men focused on the pointed finger of
Robespierre as he moved from face to face. The question was
rhetorical. Carnot was amongst those who listened. Genet sat at the
back of the room and watched the most powerful Jacobin ministers
spellbound by his master’s voice.</span></p>
<p align="JUSTIFY" class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: arial;">Robespierre
held the room at the point of his finger, and then whispered a
solitary word,” Fear!”</span></p>
<p align="JUSTIFY" class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: arial;">His
audience nodded understandingly, to Robespierre and then to one
another as though the pronouncement had been handed down from on
high.</span></p>
<p align="JUSTIFY" class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: arial;">“The
past few months have been called ‘the Terror’, by some in this
room and by our enemies. That’s true enough but until the
revolution is secured so that we may hand back to the people what we
have won on their behalf, there must be ‘Terror’. It must
continue! It is the language that the people understand, and it is
the most effective way of preventing failure!”</span></p>
<p align="JUSTIFY" class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: arial;">Robespierre
was working the room; Genet had felt the electricity of his master’s
words before but never like this. Maximillian Robespierre was a force
of nature.</span></p>
<p align="JUSTIFY" class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: arial;">“The
Bourbons had four hundred years to stake their claim to the throne.
They did not rule by kindness, and they never once ruled for the good
of the people. We rule in the name of the people but like any good
father we must show discipline now….” The voice once raised to a
crescendo had died away to a whisper again…”so that when France
grows from the child like state in which the Bourbons kept it, into a
strong and noble prince amongst nations, the people will know truly
know the price of ‘<em>Liberté</em>,
<em>égalité</em>,
<em>fraternité’
and will never again question the price of defending such a
privilege!”</em></span></p>
<p align="JUSTIFY" class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: arial;">The
room stood as one and applauded, a dozen pairs of hands reached out
to shake his. Genet noticed the signal, no more than a nod in his
direction. Robespierre waved the men down and motioned for quiet.</span></p>
<p align="JUSTIFY" class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: arial;">“To
that end, we must continue to make examples of those who fail to
protect the republic. These papers call for the arrest of the
commanders of the armies of the North and the Rhine. We have reports
from trusted officers as to the ineffective methods and lack of
conviction in Generals Jourdan and Hoche. The people shall decide
their fate. Any general now condemned to death will be executed in
front of his own men. The army must understand Terror too and know
that the punishment of a loving father is worse than the fiercest
cannonade of the enemy! Who will countersign these orders?”</span></p>
<p align="JUSTIFY" class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: arial;">There
it was: the lie hidden in the barrage of hyperbole. France had failed
to secure victories on her borders. The generals would not turn on
themselves, Genet knew that, but they had to fear that such an
outcome might arise. It had been Genet’s brainchild and Robespierre
had clapped his hands with glee the moment that the scheme was laid
before him.</span></p>
<p align="JUSTIFY" class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: arial;">It
was the soldiers who were always the problem. Come the spring, the
army would do the bidding of Maximillian Robespierre. And Serge Genet
would make such a wish a reality.</span></p><p align="JUSTIFY" class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></p>
<span style="font-family: arial;"><div style="text-align: center;"><b>Wissembourg: 31st December 1793</b></div></span><p align="JUSTIFY" class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: arial;">“You
came from Paris to deliver this and arrest the General?”</span></p>
<p align="JUSTIFY" class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: arial;">Pale
grey eyes surveyed Maurice Caillat, not out of fear, reproach, or
pity. Perhaps instead they searched for understanding. After all, it
cannot have been a usual occurrence to receive notification of a
fellow general’s arrest; orders to provide evidence against that
same officer; and a promotion to command the Army of the North as a
most obvious bribe.</span></p>
<p align="JUSTIFY" class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: arial;">But
that was what Jean-Charles Pichegru was being asked to contemplate.
His hand ruffled shoulder length hair where steel grey was beginning
to outstrip black, despite the general only being two years past his
thirtieth birthday.</span></p>
<p align="JUSTIFY" class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: arial;">“Somebody
has sent you on a fool’s errand, Monsieur. I will accept the
promotion, but I will not indict General Hoche.</span></p>
<p align="JUSTIFY" class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: arial;">“But
I have been told to…”</span></p>
<p align="JUSTIFY" class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: arial;">Pichegru
held up a hand, “Monsieur?”</span></p>
<p align="JUSTIFY" class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: arial;">“Caillat,
Maurice Caillat, Representat…”</span></p>
<p align="JUSTIFY" class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: arial;">“Yes,
yes, I know your rank. Monsieur Caillat, Maurice, remove that
raincoat, pour yourself a glass of wine and take a seat by the fire.
Words seem so less intimidating when there is at least a degree of
civility.”</span></p>
<p align="JUSTIFY" class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: arial;">However,
Maurice Caillat had imagined this interview to progress, drinks with
his quarry had not been a possible scenario. And the more
questionable the purpose, the more Caillat doubted in his own ability
to resolve matters to Genet’s satisfaction. This trip was only
serving to underline that point.</span></p>
<p align="JUSTIFY" class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: arial;">Caillat
took his seat as ordered, and the two men faced one another, fierce
yellows of the fire casting long shadows across the peasant cottage
that Pichegru had taken for his quarters.</span></p>
<p align="JUSTIFY" class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: arial;">“Pray,
continue…you were saying that you had been told to?”</span></p>
<p align="JUSTIFY" class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: arial;">“Err,
yes, General, I have been instructed to tell…”</span></p>
<p align="JUSTIFY" class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: arial;">“Not
General… too formal… I am Jean, and you will be Maurice, is that
agreeable? Good…this wine is rather agreeable too, isn’t it?”</span></p>
<p align="JUSTIFY" class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: arial;">Maurice
Caillat was at a loss as to what to say. The fire was warm; the chair
comfortable, far better than the carriage that he had spent ten days
travelling in; and the wine was rather good. Threatening a man who
had shown such hospitality to a stranger seemed, frankly, to be both
absurd and ungrateful. Caillat’s mouth open and closed; thoughts
formed but no words came out.</span></p>
<p align="JUSTIFY" class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: arial;">“Maurice,
I shall save you the trouble. I have been rather rude. I am, as you
may well be aware, the president of one of the most powerful Jacobin
clubs in Paris. I knew of your orders and the arrest of Lazare Hoche,
three days before your arrival. Oh, they will make a fuss over Hoche,
of course. But he is a capable soldier. I haven’t always agreed
with his methods, but nothing would compel me to sign that death
warrant that you were sent with. And make no mistake, that is the
purpose of the message that you were delivering from your friends in
Paris.”</span></p>
<p align="JUSTIFY" class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: arial;">“I
have no friends in Paris, General.”</span></p>
<p align="JUSTIFY" class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: arial;">Caillat
had not meant the words to come out, but they had escaped and there
was no taking them back.</span></p>
<p align="JUSTIFY" class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: arial;">Pichegru
tutted heavily.</span></p>
<p align="JUSTIFY" class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: arial;">“Now
Maurice, you are not playing the game. Around my fireside, I am Jean
and nothing more formal than that.”</span></p>
<p align="JUSTIFY" class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: arial;">Caillat
gazed into his dark silhouette dancing on the red surface of the
glass.</span></p>
<p align="JUSTIFY" class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: arial;">“I
am supposed to be representing the authority of Paris: the might and
the Terror.”</span></p>
<p align="JUSTIFY" class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: arial;">“Paris
should not be about might and terror. We are Frenchmen, born of the
same soil. We should be able to resolve our disagreements more
cordially, do you not think?” For a moment there had been iron and
anger in the words but in an instant, they were gone and the warm,
near mesmeric voice of Pichegru had returned. “Now tell me of
yourself and of Paris.”</span></p>
<p align="JUSTIFY" class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: arial;">Caillat
told the General of his life before the revolution and after, in part
because he wanted to, and because he felt that Pichegru already knew
the answers. Maurice Caillat had been an investigator for the Marquis
de Beurnonville, once Minister of War, now a captive of the
Austrians, following the treachery of Dumouriez. He even recounted
the events in Dunkirk and the matters involving Julian Beauvais,
whose release had lifted a very real threat to his life.</span></p>
<p align="JUSTIFY" class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: arial;">Pichegru
had listened, nodded but asked for no additional detail, save one.</span></p>
<p align="JUSTIFY" class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: arial;">“Wattignies,
are you certain about Wattignies, Maurice?”</span></p>
<p align="JUSTIFY" class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: arial;">“Yes,
Gener…err… Yes, Jean I am, why?”</span></p>
<p align="JUSTIFY" class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: arial;">“Let
me tell you one or two things, Maurice. Firstly, no man can hope to
live in Paris, as things stand, without friends. You will leave here
tomorrow at first light, with an introduction to my club. They are
expecting you. Secondly, you do not question why I should want to
accept the death sentence that has become command of the Army of the
North.”</span></p>
<p align="JUSTIFY" class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: arial;">Caillat
mouthed to ask but Pichegru held up his hand.</span></p>
<p align="JUSTIFY" class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: arial;">“What
Hoche and I accomplished here, beating the Austrians, Prussians,
Brunswickers was done with a third of the resources that are in the
north. Jourdan is a good man, as far as I can tell. He does not
deserve this spectacle of a trial. You want to know what I’m going
to do with the Army of the North? I’m going to liberate Flanders
and throw the Austrians back over the Rhine and chase the British
into the North Sea. Now go and find one of my orderlies, they will
find a bed for you. I have reports to prepare which you will take to
Paris. And consider my advice. A man needs friends. If the people who
sent you on this fool’s errand do not change then…”</span></p>
<p align="JUSTIFY" class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: arial;">Pichegru
drained his glass, eased his tired body from the chair, and motioned
towards the door. “Goodnight, Monsieur Caillat, it has been a
pleasure to make your acquaintance.”</span></p></div></blockquote><div style="text-align: left;"><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjVvaCJS4opKYIkeCDJR1G3KyrkGbLfVw2CgBkcVNIF9avvQNTNFTDGtx1P-NxCjzILtBAUGECOz69C1L048RBKdWYW_nLqkinJ8pSUCnZBnaJVNh2sM0pTB9NpCO6L_xXdnHSFNqRhnMsQ/s200/Dominic+Fielder.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img alt="[Blog Tour] 'The Queen of the Citadels' (The King’s Germans, Book 3) By Dominic Fielder #HistoricalFiction" border="0" data-original-height="200" data-original-width="200" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjVvaCJS4opKYIkeCDJR1G3KyrkGbLfVw2CgBkcVNIF9avvQNTNFTDGtx1P-NxCjzILtBAUGECOz69C1L048RBKdWYW_nLqkinJ8pSUCnZBnaJVNh2sM0pTB9NpCO6L_xXdnHSFNqRhnMsQ/w640-h640/Dominic+Fielder.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i><span style="font-family: arial;">Dominic Fielder</span></i></td></tr></tbody></table><h3><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: x-large;">Author Bio: </span></h3><span style="font-family: arial;"><i><b></b><blockquote><b>Dominic Fielder</b> has had careers in retail and the private education sector and is currently working as a secondary school Maths teacher. He has a First-class honours degree in history and a lifetime’s interest in the hobby of wargaming. <b>The King's Germans</b> series is a project that grew out of this passion He currently juggles writing and research around a crowded work and family life. <br /><br />Whilst self-published he is very grateful for an excellent support team. <b>The Black Lions of Flanders</b> (set in 1793) is the first in the <b>King's Germans</b>' series, which will follow an array of characters through to the final book in Waterloo. He lives just outside of Tavistock on the edge of Dartmoor. where he enjoys walking on the moors and the occasional horse-riding excursion as both writing inspiration and relaxation. </blockquote></i></span><h3 style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: x-large;">Connect with <b>Dominic Fielder</b>:</span></h3></div><div><ul style="text-align: left;"><li><b><span style="font-family: arial;"><a href="https://twitter.com/Kings_Germans" target="_blank">Twitter</a> ✔ <a href="https://www.facebook.com/KingsGermans" target="_blank">Facebook</a>:</span><span style="font-family: arial;">✔</span><span style="font-family: arial;"> </span><span style="font-family: arial;"><a href="https://www.instagram.com/kingsgermans/?hl=en" target="_blank">Instagram</a></span><span style="font-family: arial;"> ✔</span><span style="font-family: arial;">:</span><a href="https://www.amazon.co.uk/Dominic-Fielder/e/B07HMB9W2Z" style="font-family: arial;" target="_blank">Amazon Author Page</a><span style="font-family: arial;"> ✔ </span><span style="font-family: arial;"><a href="https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/58128682-the-queen-of-the-citadels" target="_blank">Goodreads</a></span><span style="font-family: arial;"> ✔</span></b></li></ul></div><div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEho69lqQLHVvvB0gJzx_c4UGN46yx_uoZ4T9pzYlMM8FUu8bIkOKABn-xuqYNhH0PGbs7R1EABZRqWbIwUrTflEwN__RbU35YBYwvfbqo7jbg2TOu7Mr0yV_Sjxa_2vvtO-l4NciZlbXtr2/s1600/The+Queen+of+the+Citadels+Tour+Schedule+Banner.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img alt="[Blog Tour] 'The Queen of the Citadels' (The King’s Germans, Book 3) By Dominic Fielder #HistoricalFiction" border="0" data-original-height="900" data-original-width="1600" height="360" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEho69lqQLHVvvB0gJzx_c4UGN46yx_uoZ4T9pzYlMM8FUu8bIkOKABn-xuqYNhH0PGbs7R1EABZRqWbIwUrTflEwN__RbU35YBYwvfbqo7jbg2TOu7Mr0yV_Sjxa_2vvtO-l4NciZlbXtr2/w640-h360/The+Queen+of+the+Citadels+Tour+Schedule+Banner.png" width="640" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><i>The Queen of the Citadels - <a href="https://www.coffeepotbookclub.com/post/blog-tour-the-queen-of-the-citadels-the-king-s-germans-book-3-by-dominic-fielder" target="_blank">Tour Schedule</a> Banner</i></span></td></tr></tbody></table><br /></div>Loup Dargenthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11143365444371974784noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1372609107888107354.post-11966339323806085742021-08-23T06:27:00.001+01:002021-08-23T06:27:42.836+01:00[Blog Tour] 'In a Grove of Maples' (Sheltering Trees: Book 1) By Jenny Knipfer #ChristianHistoricalFiction<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEiDOwQrbrWPBOPAvC0X7EkPfOTRb4mTzm5efgJ0W4v_oqSia8q8bs4RG8VxlXiu38-2K0VjqwxLpMnRo30_9xKPsLMLncHnyOnMDvKj4hTuR6UhfB68JukiqKqJgn_JSK_BosNGEvsgF3fhcbNoaRlafEH0Q-Y57k6xNG8jc-aDf25sO7tHAVTuhEL69w=s1600" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><img alt="[Blog Tour] 'In a Grove of Maples' (Sheltering Trees: Book 1) By Jenny Knipfer #ChristianHistoricalFiction" border="0" data-original-height="900" data-original-width="1600" height="360" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEiDOwQrbrWPBOPAvC0X7EkPfOTRb4mTzm5efgJ0W4v_oqSia8q8bs4RG8VxlXiu38-2K0VjqwxLpMnRo30_9xKPsLMLncHnyOnMDvKj4hTuR6UhfB68JukiqKqJgn_JSK_BosNGEvsgF3fhcbNoaRlafEH0Q-Y57k6xNG8jc-aDf25sO7tHAVTuhEL69w=w640-h360" width="640" /></span></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i><span style="font-family: arial;">'In A Grove of Maples' - Tour Banner</span></i></td></tr></tbody></table><h3 style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">The Book:</span></span></h3><span style="font-family: arial;"><span><b>In a Grove of Maples</b></span><br /><i><span>(Sheltering Trees: Book 1)</span><br /><span>By Jenny Knipfer</span></i><span><br /><ul style="text-align: left;"><li><span style="font-family: arial;"><span><b>Publication Date:</b> <i>1st July 2021</i></span></span></li><li><span style="font-family: arial;"><span><b>Publisher:</b> <i>Jenny Knipfer--Author</i></span></span></li><li><span style="font-family: arial;"><span><b>Page Length:</b> <i>264 Pages</i></span></span></li><li><span style="font-family: arial;"><span><b>Genre:</b> <i>Historical Fiction, Christian Historical Fiction</i></span></span></li><li><span style="font-family: arial;"><span><b>Audio Narrated By</b> <i>Jenn Lee</i></span></span></li></ul></span></span><h3 style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">The Blurb:</span></span></h3><span style="font-family: arial;"><span><blockquote><i>"... a heartfelt tale of the struggles of married life on a nineteenth-century farm. Edward and Beryl are both relatable and sympathetic. Knipfer expertly captures the emotion and stress of their lives and relationship. It’s a touching and realistic portrayal of love, loss, and friendship."</i> <b>Heather Stockard for Readers’ Favorite five-star review</b><br /><br /><b>A HISTORICAL NOVEL OF THE PERILS OF NEWLYWED LIFE AND OF ALL THAT COMES TO DIVIDE LOVERS</b><br /><br /><i>In 1897 newly married Beryl and Edward Massart travel more than one thousand miles from Quebec to farm a plot of land in Wisconsin that they bought sight-unseen. An almost magical grove of maples on their property inspires them to dream of a real home built within the grove, not the tiny log cabin they’ve come to live in.<br /><br />Misunderstandings and tempers get the better of them when difficulties and troubles arise. Just months after they wed, Edward leaves pregnant Beryl in the midst of the coming winter to tend the farm and animals while he goes to be a teamster at a northern Wisconsin logging camp.<br /><br />Will Beryl and Edward walk into the future together to build their house of dreams in the grove of maples, or will their plans topple like a house of sticks when the winds of misunderstanding and disaster strike?<br /><br /><b>Readers of Christian historical fiction, Historical fiction, Women’s fiction, and Christian historical romance will be endeared to this slice of late 19th century farm life</b>.</i></blockquote></span><ul style="text-align: left;"><li><span style="font-family: arial;"><b style="font-weight: bold;">Buy Links:</b><b> </b><i>Available on Kindle Unlimited</i><b style="font-weight: bold;"> ✔ <a href=" https://books2read.com/u/bojLRR" target="_blank">Universal Link</a> ✔ <a href="https://www.amazon.co.uk/Grove-Maples-Sheltering-Trees-Book-ebook/dp/B0916GL4L2" target="_blank">Amazon UK</a> ✔ <a href="https://www.amazon.com/Grove-Maples-Sheltering-Trees-Book-ebook/dp/B0916GL4L2" target="_blank">Amazon US</a> ✔ <a href="https://www.amazon.ca/Grove-Maples-Sheltering-Trees-Book-ebook/dp/B0916GL4L2" target="_blank">Amazon CA</a> ✔ <a href="https://www.amazon.com.au/Grove-Maples-Sheltering-Trees-Book-ebook/dp/B0916GL4L2" target="_blank">Amazon AU</a> ✔</b></span></li></ul></span><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhrV3EiSGEj2u9kzSnExDej3CaYN1xYUXMW3Ki5cwd8npVDH58pvfdJPUmIbBGoPtPD2NBDjAY8bMuJYi6r_GTbUYdtTX8eQQ2ADmIATFkQjaalwMinyJzx_0mWj1GbjasuvYwLN_jcZqdiK9zrEdRr2zFmyoOpO1d7KmDujrMM2OfYkWBtXiWN_dPQWQ=s2048" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><img alt="[Blog Tour] 'In a Grove of Maples' (Sheltering Trees: Book 1) By Jenny Knipfer #ChristianHistoricalFiction" border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1365" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhrV3EiSGEj2u9kzSnExDej3CaYN1xYUXMW3Ki5cwd8npVDH58pvfdJPUmIbBGoPtPD2NBDjAY8bMuJYi6r_GTbUYdtTX8eQQ2ADmIATFkQjaalwMinyJzx_0mWj1GbjasuvYwLN_jcZqdiK9zrEdRr2zFmyoOpO1d7KmDujrMM2OfYkWBtXiWN_dPQWQ=w426-h640" width="550" /></span></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i><span style="font-family: arial;">'In a Grove of Maples' - Book Cover</span></i></td></tr></tbody></table><h3><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: x-large;">'In a Grove of Maples' - Excerpt:</span></h3><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><blockquote>“Done for the day?” <br /><br />Edward hadn’t seen his wife approach. <i>Must have been picking flowers again</i>. <br /><br />Despite the fact that they didn’t have a table yet to put them on, Beryl liked to pick a fresh jar of wildflowers every couple of days. She placed them on the crate where they ate their meals. <br /><br />She smiled her sunny smile, which transformed her whole face; her thin but well-defined lips stretched back into a grin, which arched high on her cheeks. <br /><br />“Yep. Paul invited us for supper. He didn’t give me the option of declining.” <br /><br />“Oh, well, I suppose the beans and bacon I had planned can wait.” <br /><br />She winked at him. He moved forward to touch her face and wrap her in his arms, but thought better of it, being so sweaty and dirty. <br /><br />“Come here and give your wife a kiss. The result of your hard work matters not.” <br /><br />Beryl motioned with her free hand. The other held stems of grasses and flowers. What kinds they were he didn’t know. He obeyed her command and stepped forward to lightly encircle her waist with his arms and kiss her on the lips. She tasted of summer berries ripening in the sun. <br /><br />“Mmm, me thinks the lady has partaken of some fruit.” <br /><br />Beryl tilted her head up and gave him a sneaky flash of eyes. “What? How can you tell?” <br /><br />He backed up a little and unwrapped her arms from around his neck. Grabbing her right hand, he held up her red-stained fingers. <br /><br />“You bear the evidence of your crime,” he said in mock judgement. <br /><br />“Darn. It was supposed to be a surprise.” She pointed to the east. “I found a bunch of raspberries back there. I filled a small basket full.” <br /><br />“Well, I’ll wash up before we head to Paul and Nola’s. Let’s bring the berries as a thankyou gift.” <br /><br />“Fine idea. It’s one of the things I love about you—your generosity.” <br /><br />Beryl clasped her hand in his as they ambled back to their cabin. Edward felt heat rising in his cheeks. Whenever a compliment came his way, they tended to flush pink. He didn’t need his wife seeing him blushing like a girl, so he turned his face away and changed the subject. <br /><br />“While I wash, you fetch your berries and take care of your bouquet. Then we’ll hitch up the team and be off.” <br /><br />“Why don’t we just take Benny? We can both ride on him, and it’s not far. It’ll be cozy.” <br /><br />She winked again. The thought of being cozy sent a tingle through his muscles. It might be a precursor to another sort of intimacy. <i>But maybe not. I’m dog-tired</i>. <br /><br />“Sure, whatever you’d like,” he offered. <br /><br />She smiled and walked toward their little abode. Edward realized as he watched her sashay off through the tall grass that he’d say yes to almost anything his wife asked for. She captivated him, and he was thoroughly entrenched in love.</blockquote>
</span><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEivLqdq1NfwaqU-h5erkKLmd-Qq1Sp1UCUN6-IkZBxh5K5pQELC8cwybcvNWyPG8-JlFp7DsnAXwY_JZylGwBKsdkgUFcBWYtHh-_YpN59eV1yT28Dr081M1MGyG69xzQxDulPhH4EsXTYeqH-cl32QrR4DYiOhWD0GVAluJnGAb36mNbU0ay3d0EuGbQ=s2048" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><img alt="[Blog Tour] 'In a Grove of Maples' (Sheltering Trees: Book 1) By Jenny Knipfer #ChristianHistoricalFiction" border="0" data-original-height="1365" data-original-width="2048" height="426" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEivLqdq1NfwaqU-h5erkKLmd-Qq1Sp1UCUN6-IkZBxh5K5pQELC8cwybcvNWyPG8-JlFp7DsnAXwY_JZylGwBKsdkgUFcBWYtHh-_YpN59eV1yT28Dr081M1MGyG69xzQxDulPhH4EsXTYeqH-cl32QrR4DYiOhWD0GVAluJnGAb36mNbU0ay3d0EuGbQ=w640-h426" width="640" /></span></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i><span style="font-family: arial;">Jenny Knipfer</span></i></td></tr></tbody></table><h3><span style="font-family: arial;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">Author Bio:</span></span></h3><div><span style="font-family: arial;"><b><i></i></b></span><blockquote><span style="font-family: arial;"><b><i>Jenny Knipfer</i></b></span><span style="font-family: arial;"><i> lives in Wisconsin with her husband, Ken, and their pet Yorkie, Ruby. She is also a mom and loves being a grandma. She enjoys many creative pursuits but finds writing the most fulfilling.<br /><br />Spending many years as a librarian in a local public library, Jenny recently switched to using her skills as a floral designer in a retail flower shop. She is now retired from work due to disability. Her education background stems from psychology, music, and cultural missions.<br /><br />She holds membership in the: <b>Midwest Independent Booksellers Association</b>, <b>Wisconsin Writers Association</b>, <b>Christian Indie Publishing Association</b>, and <b>Independent Book Publishers Association</b>.<br /><br />Jenny’s favorite place to relax is by the western shore of Lake Superior, where her novel series, <b>By The Light of the Moon</b>, is set. A new historical fiction, four-part series entitled, <b>Sheltering Trees</b>, will be released in 2021 and 2022. Jenny is currently writing a novella series entitled, <b>Botanical Seasons</b>. </i></span></blockquote><h3 style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><span style="font-family: arial;">Connect with </span><span style="font-family: arial;">Jenny Knipfer</span><span style="font-family: arial;">:</span></span></h3></div><div><ul style="text-align: left;"><li><b><span style="font-family: arial;"><a href="https://jennyknipfer.com/" target="_blank">Website</a> ✔ <a href="https://twitter.com/jennyknipfer/" target="_blank">Twitter</a></span><span style="font-family: arial;"> </span><span style="font-family: arial;">✔</span><span style="font-family: arial;"> </span><span style="font-family: arial;"><a href="https://facebook.com/jennyknipfe.writer/" target="_blank">Facebook</a></span><span style="font-family: arial;"> </span><span style="font-family: arial;">✔ </span><span style="font-family: arial;"><a href="https://instagram.com/jennyknipferbrave/" target="_blank">Instagram</a></span><span style="font-family: arial;"> </span><span style="font-family: arial;">✔ </span><span style="font-family: arial;"><a href="https://pinterest.com/jennyknipfer/" target="_blank">Pinterest</a></span><span style="font-family: arial;"> </span><span style="font-family: arial;">✔ </span><span style="font-family: arial;"><a href="https://www.bookbub.com/profile/jenny-knipfer" target="_blank">Book Bub</a></span><span style="font-family: arial;"> </span><span style="font-family: arial;">✔</span><span style="font-family: arial;"> </span><span style="font-family: arial;"><a href="https://www.amazon.com/Jenny-Knipfer/e/B07QV9HPH4" target="_blank">Amazon Author Page</a></span><span style="font-family: arial;"> </span><span style="font-family: arial;">✔ </span><span style="font-family: arial;"><a href="https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/19133392.Jenny_Knipfer" target="_blank">Goodreads</a></span><span style="font-family: arial;"> </span><span style="font-family: arial;">✔</span></b></li></ul></div><div><b><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgcJFcdni_f83AO7aAp1quEIJP-v4U0oGxxx1t-IDTtA0gOX26mkFHS4YdYuBfMRxZ9pPqeSNecxgMMcUqbQhFzHlulWt0FRsqFsXfcd8uO_rAXDrnUfv9J16z3qK7wX7UoNtbphS76FXVq5xCOO1NS3DEAZz3sTpJUn565O0QApANCvRXdDQZ0gLMEzg=s1600" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><img alt="[Blog Tour] 'In a Grove of Maples' (Sheltering Trees: Book 1) By Jenny Knipfer #ChristianHistoricalFiction" border="0" data-original-height="900" data-original-width="1600" height="360" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgcJFcdni_f83AO7aAp1quEIJP-v4U0oGxxx1t-IDTtA0gOX26mkFHS4YdYuBfMRxZ9pPqeSNecxgMMcUqbQhFzHlulWt0FRsqFsXfcd8uO_rAXDrnUfv9J16z3qK7wX7UoNtbphS76FXVq5xCOO1NS3DEAZz3sTpJUn565O0QApANCvRXdDQZ0gLMEzg=w640-h360" width="640" /></span></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i><span style="font-family: arial;">'In A Grove of Maples' - Tour Schedule Banner</span></i></td></tr></tbody></table><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></b></div></div>Loup Dargenthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11143365444371974784noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1372609107888107354.post-21361674841725720172021-08-21T06:38:00.000+01:002021-08-21T06:38:20.017+01:00[Blog Tour] 'Ouija' By Zoé O'Farrell #Horror #YA<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgMJzsGGbTu7BDW-SN0yiSAhltnAA0Q1Jc7JNzJbH9y1EQxPf0IngeHz2m7jdXdmmGO7AoqpOyWH7C8e4YFE9lAXbL0V6zhPtWv79t-Da6f-7GwlX_cmV6Xbsce2E53nwb7aA00h1K7pC10uM_dt8JAIBi476RryxS_J-U4smYw_BnYIbXSYtoORmbLfw=s2048" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img alt="[Blog Tour] 'Ouija' By Zoé O'Farrell #Horror #YA" border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1280" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgMJzsGGbTu7BDW-SN0yiSAhltnAA0Q1Jc7JNzJbH9y1EQxPf0IngeHz2m7jdXdmmGO7AoqpOyWH7C8e4YFE9lAXbL0V6zhPtWv79t-Da6f-7GwlX_cmV6Xbsce2E53nwb7aA00h1K7pC10uM_dt8JAIBi476RryxS_J-U4smYw_BnYIbXSYtoORmbLfw=w400-h640" width="550" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i><span style="font-family: arial;">'Ouija' - Book Cover</span></i></td></tr></tbody></table><h3><span style="font-family: arial;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">The Book:</span></span></h3><span style="font-family: arial;"><b>Ouija</b></span><div><span style="font-family: arial;"><span><i>By Zoé O'Farrell</i><br /><ul style="text-align: left;"><li><span style="font-family: arial;"><b>Publication Day:</b> <i>30th August 2021</i></span></li><li><span style="font-family: arial;"><b>Publisher:</b> <i>Question Mark Press (QMP)</i></span></li><li><span style="font-family: arial;"><b>Page Count</b> :<i> 171 pages</i></span></li><li><span style="font-family: arial;"><b>Genre:</b> <i>Young Adult Horror</i></span></li></ul></span></span><h3 style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: x-large;">The Blurb: </span></h3><span style="font-family: arial;"><i><b></b></i><blockquote><i><b>The only thing for certain is the deaths were no accident. </b><br /><br />Rayner High School once a prestigious school stands in ruins after such a terrible event.<br /><br />A year later, a group of friends return to the abandoned school and their nightmare begins.<br /><br />Something wants to get out and won’t take NO for an answer…</i><br /><br /><ul style="text-align: left;"><li><span style="font-family: arial;"><b>Ouija</b> is Book 2 in a new series brought to you by <b>Question Mark Horror</b>. For fans of <b>Point Horror</b>, <b>Christopher Pike</b> & <b>Nicholas Pine.</b></span></li></ul></blockquote><ul style="text-align: left;"><li><b>Buy Links: <a href="https://www.amazon.co.uk/dp/B0997CPK3J" target="_blank">Amazon UK</a> ✔ <a href="https://www.amazon.com/dp/B0997CPK3J" target="_blank">Amazon US</a> ✔ </b></li></ul></span><h3 style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: x-large;">'Ouija' - Excerpt:</span></h3></div><div><span style="font-family: arial;"></span><blockquote><span style="font-family: arial;">For some reason, the school doors weren’t locked. It was as though it was expecting their visit that night. Jon grabbed the handles, and everyone took a breath before heading in. <br /><br />The initial aroma was a stale one. There had been no ventilation in this school for years, so it just lingered in the air around them. Jon had to pull his T-shirt over his nose initially to try and stop the odour. It was rank, but not as bad as the other smell. <br /><br />The other smell that hit them square in the face, was pungent, almost metallic. Jon gulped. Straight away he knew what it was: he had smelt enough recently. <br /><br />It was blood. <br /><br />He heard someone behind cough, and he tutted to indicate to be quiet. Jon faltered just for a minute and took a small step inside. He moved out of the way to let everyone get in. They huddled together in a small tight group, all touching each other so they didn’t get left behind. Their eyes were looking around in different areas of the small reception they found themselves in. The torchlights highlighting various things: the upturned abandoned chair behind the reception desk; the phone dangling by the cord, slightly swaying in the breeze they had created. Paper was strewn all over the office desks and floor. Someone had left and quick. Where this was once a nice and bright welcoming space, it was now cold, stark and ominous. There weren’t even any spider webs. Maybe the spiders knew what roamed these corridors and stayed away. <br /><br />Jon leaned in and whispered, “Right we need to go down the end of this corridor and take a left. Up some stairs, and it’s the last door on the left.” <br /><br />Simon and Jon shuffled slowly forward taking the lead, with Caley arm in arm with Sophie following them, leaving Lara and Ben bringing up the rear. <br /><br />“How are you feeling?” Caley asked, leaning her head on Sophie’s shoulder, “I mean, I’m scared but excited at the same time.” <br /><br />Sophie was shining her torch in every direction she could, trying to block out the shadows, but at the same time trying to avoid looking through any of the classroom windows. She was probably scaring herself more, but she was worried that if she looked in the rooms, she might see a face at the window. She shuddered at the thought. It made it worse there was no natural light from the moon anywhere in this corridor and that all the doors were shut. If people had left in a hurry, why would the doors be shut? <br /><br />“I think I’m OK. I think I’m just scaring myself more than anything. I mean, nothing is going to happen. It will just be a bit of fun,” trying to reassure herself more than anyone else. <br /><br />Caley just nodded in agreement. They had all made it to the end of the corridor when Lara screamed. Jon pushed past the girls to get to her. “What? What is it?” <br /><br />Trying to hold back her tears, “I saw something in that classroom. I saw someone watching me in the shadows.” Her voice trembled.</span></blockquote><span style="font-family: arial;"><div style="text-align: center;"><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEibAGZ2Y6Gh_y--9T7GVSlQ2e3ADe02MRpEjHd7ySXBYe3dDO15qWYSS3WNWJnWiuZ2Be9eOVte49ORA6QYv9T8KdmuRR966zDj8rHM4X7FCCXYmOykIn3lfEkN_S_nlX-cfm97oH9PCgdBi_JxxAX0rWADHipdmu3GDgAlG1WmQmA1yNqVQsvCCYNriA=s677" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img alt="[Blog Tour] 'Ouija' By Zoé O'Farrell #Horror #YA" border="0" data-original-height="677" data-original-width="672" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEibAGZ2Y6Gh_y--9T7GVSlQ2e3ADe02MRpEjHd7ySXBYe3dDO15qWYSS3WNWJnWiuZ2Be9eOVte49ORA6QYv9T8KdmuRR966zDj8rHM4X7FCCXYmOykIn3lfEkN_S_nlX-cfm97oH9PCgdBi_JxxAX0rWADHipdmu3GDgAlG1WmQmA1yNqVQsvCCYNriA=w636-h640" width="640" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i><span style="font-family: arial;">Zoé O'Farrell <br /></span></i></td></tr></tbody></table></div></span><h3 style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: x-large;">Author Bio:</span></h3><span style="font-family: arial;"><i><b></b></i></span></div><blockquote><div><span style="font-family: arial;"><i><b>Zoé O’Farrel</b>l grew up in Watford but left the town life to live by the sea down at the White Cliffs of Dover.</i></span><i><br /></i></div><div><span style="font-family: arial;"><i><br />She spends her days working with numbers before escaping in the evening to the world of words and movies. Her go-to relaxation is watching a scary movie or reading a terrifying book!<br /><br />She is a book blogger and tour organiser just to keep her extra busy. When she is not reading or writing, you can usually find her watching Watford FC or at a gig. Failing that she can be found rolling her eyes at her husband as he acts the same age as her spitfire of a Mini-Me whilst separating her two cats.<br /><br /><b>Ouija</b> is her debut novel.</i></span></div></blockquote><div><h3 style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><span style="font-family: arial;">Connect with </span><b style="font-family: arial;">Zoé O’Farrel</b><span style="font-family: arial;">:</span></span></h3></div><div><ul style="text-align: left;"><li><b><span style="font-family: arial;"><a href="https://www.facebook.com/zoelee.anthony" target="_blank">Facebook</a> ✔ <a href="https://www.instagram.com/zooloosbookdiary/" target="_blank">Instagram</a></span><span style="font-family: arial;"> ✔</span><span style="font-family: arial;"> </span><a href="https://twitter.com/zooloo2008" style="font-family: arial;" target="_blank">Twitter</a><span style="font-family: arial;"> ✔ </span><span style="font-family: arial;"><a href="https://zooloosbookdiary.co.uk/" target="_blank">Website</a></span><span style="font-family: arial;"> ✔</span><span style="font-family: arial;"> </span></b></li></ul></div><div><span style="font-family: arial;"><b></b></span><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjG99d-VhEUfVm8miEmbP5aBvqALaXYqKh9HHNQK_A_dMF-PxWpzkp4zplZTd1j7zhvDv6KmN-azHBIbrZ26sQ1XoVngrSPU6g1ZaS7AH5YZTnT9DEzCT8SdRN7xB_bQf37j_wh-XCvY4ooYd_oDPiNud7soymnsNRJVq0RNiUJ7ol4lBct_B_DH1Y3kA=s2048" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img alt="[Blog Tour] 'Ouija' By Zoé O'Farrell #Horror #YA" border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1448" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjG99d-VhEUfVm8miEmbP5aBvqALaXYqKh9HHNQK_A_dMF-PxWpzkp4zplZTd1j7zhvDv6KmN-azHBIbrZ26sQ1XoVngrSPU6g1ZaS7AH5YZTnT9DEzCT8SdRN7xB_bQf37j_wh-XCvY4ooYd_oDPiNud7soymnsNRJVq0RNiUJ7ol4lBct_B_DH1Y3kA=w452-h640" width="550" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i><span style="font-family: arial;">QMP Tour - Week One</span></i></td></tr></tbody></table><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: arial;"> <span style="font-size: x-large;">➤ <b><a href="https://www.loupdargent.info/2021/08/blog-tour-camp-death-by-jim-ody-horror.html" target="_blank">Check out Book 1 - 'Camp Death' by Jim Ody</a></b></span></span></div><div><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></div><div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgqCp_j51wJQdP4Itbw2YFnX0n0l_wuO0E_aZBqAoLebLG61fsB8ykY7OK0s6fFEz9rf5kN5NWlKszw7r3nrnK-gE2vOYuAVS4pJ8Ld88sW48X1Qjs46kXTMCVwLF-08ahQ7vvBpD4UlPHktIT9nTPHRz0oXw_10yr23yYvzgW3RLdTWlP9op0kfTCkyA=s2048" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img alt="[Blog Tour] 'Ouija' By Zoé O'Farrell #Horror #YA" border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1448" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgqCp_j51wJQdP4Itbw2YFnX0n0l_wuO0E_aZBqAoLebLG61fsB8ykY7OK0s6fFEz9rf5kN5NWlKszw7r3nrnK-gE2vOYuAVS4pJ8Ld88sW48X1Qjs46kXTMCVwLF-08ahQ7vvBpD4UlPHktIT9nTPHRz0oXw_10yr23yYvzgW3RLdTWlP9op0kfTCkyA=w452-h640" width="550" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i><span style="font-family: arial;">QMP Tour - Week Two</span></i></td></tr></tbody></table><br /></div>Loup Dargenthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11143365444371974784noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1372609107888107354.post-84293502085328986192021-08-18T12:00:00.011+01:002021-08-21T07:04:33.873+01:00[Blog Tour] 'Camp Death' By Jim Ody #Horror #YA<div style="text-align: left;"><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjXINVUHi66f-VXhO71QImHLdM2bUQDhLpPqBya_s-X31lTavwk9oEl1HuDBF4VxS4HZZ0ACHLO7yo-dTzCKKF11qjJis6waBsnA-uQjRMFGIEGri1l9wRTlDDvhVz87E3ejVKhXXA_h5bz0Gka1pOz9UEBbD8Xi1s0PkD2hHhWZNt0IBPbwMPJPM22Bw=s500" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img alt="[Blog Tour] 'Camp Death' By Jim Ody #Horror #YA" border="0" data-original-height="500" data-original-width="313" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjXINVUHi66f-VXhO71QImHLdM2bUQDhLpPqBya_s-X31lTavwk9oEl1HuDBF4VxS4HZZ0ACHLO7yo-dTzCKKF11qjJis6waBsnA-uQjRMFGIEGri1l9wRTlDDvhVz87E3ejVKhXXA_h5bz0Gka1pOz9UEBbD8Xi1s0PkD2hHhWZNt0IBPbwMPJPM22Bw=w400-h640" width="550" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i><span style="font-family: arial;">'Camp Death' - Book Cover</span></i></td></tr></tbody></table><h3><span style="font-family: arial;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">The Book:</span></span></h3></div><span style="font-family: arial;"><b>Camp Death</b><br /><i>By Jim Ody</i><br /><ul style="text-align: left;"><li><span style="font-family: arial;"><b>Publication Date:</b><i> 30th August </i></span></li><li><span style="font-family: arial;"><b>Page Count:</b> <i>158 pages</i></span></li><li><span style="font-family: arial;"><b> Publisher:</b> <i>Question Mark Press Horror (QMP Horror)</i>.</span></li><li><span style="font-family: arial;"><b>Genre:</b> <i>Young Adult Horror</i></span></li></ul></span><div><h3 style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: x-large;">The Blurb: </span></h3><span style="font-family: arial;"><i><b></b></i><blockquote><i><b>The place had a gruesome past that nobody wanted to talk about…</b><br /><br />Camp Deathe is now a great place to spend the summer. Ritchie soon finds a group of outsiders like himself. Teenagers who ignore the organised activities, and bunk off in the old abandoned cabins deep in the woods. The cabins that have a history.<br /><br />The campfire monster stories were meant to just scare them. Nobody expected them to come true. Then one of the teenagers disappears in the middle of the night.<br /><br />Something is watching them. It hides in the woods and hunts at night.<br /><br />Ritchie will have to uncover the secrets of the camp and understand his own problems in order to survive.</i><br /><br /><ul style="text-align: left;"><li><span style="font-family: arial;"><b>Camp Death</b> is Book 1 in a new series brought to you by <b>Question Mark Horror</b>. For fans of <b>Point Horror</b>, <b>Christopher Pike</b> & <b>Nicholas Pine</b>.</span></li></ul></blockquote><ul style="text-align: left;"><li><b>Buy Links :<a href="https://www.amazon.co.uk/Camp-Death-Question-Mark-Horror-ebook/dp/B0999JVT1F" target="_blank">Amazon UK</a> ✔ <a href="https://www.amazon.com/Camp-Death-Question-Mark-Horror-ebook/dp/B0999JVT1F" target="_blank">Amazon US</a> ✔ </b></li></ul></span><h3 style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">'Camp Death' - Excerpt:</span></span></h3><span style="font-family: arial;"><blockquote>The footsteps stopped altogether outside of the room. There was someone else there. She clamped her own hand over her mouth as she heard a sound. A low predatory rumble of a growl. Animalistic. <br /><br /> Now she was frightened. Really frightened. <br /><br /> A pitiful voice of a teenager pleaded, “No. Please! Who… are… argh!” There was a louder growl, but this time it exploded into a roar with movement and banging. The teenager screamed, and then made a gut-wrenching sound before everything went quiet. <br /><br /> And then silence. <br /><br /> And in some ways that was even worse. <br /><br /> She was acutely aware of her breathing again. Even with her hand still over her mouth it was so loud. Too loud. The beating of her heart was so hard she thought her T-shirt was moving with each beat. <br /><br /> Outside the wardrobe she heard padding footsteps. Slow and purposeful. They sounded like a heavy dog. The canine clip-clip of nails on the wooden floors. <br /><br /> Pointed claws that could swipe at her. She pictured long sharp teeth and dark, soulless, eyes. <br /><br /> A tear escaped down her cheek. She wanted her mum. She wanted to be in her bedroom, sat with her family, eating ice-cream. She wanted to be anywhere but here. <br /><br /> She felt vulnerable. Only a thin, wooden door protected her from what was only a few feet away. <br /><br /> She heard it sniff. First once, and then again, taking in a deep lungful. <br /><br /> It could smell her. It knew she was here</blockquote></span><div><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjHF58cj4mAH-15cBNbbz6B9NXxXBquiDKtP293aGYyZ1-R7uYtFMQptnpCBzVwGY7dArzFb8V8knhHsPy-5yeY_JPYCnriJxhBIEY9Gik7Bc8XUBvjrYlkDmIWtrcWtLopn0YqaVwkSk6PoJg50fe_Vsc8VeabKZEz6JbelFg3WVU4yO2MEMwtRjD2MA=s461" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img alt="[Blog Tour] 'Camp Death' By Jim Ody #Horror #YA" border="0" data-original-height="456" data-original-width="461" height="634" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjHF58cj4mAH-15cBNbbz6B9NXxXBquiDKtP293aGYyZ1-R7uYtFMQptnpCBzVwGY7dArzFb8V8knhHsPy-5yeY_JPYCnriJxhBIEY9Gik7Bc8XUBvjrYlkDmIWtrcWtLopn0YqaVwkSk6PoJg50fe_Vsc8VeabKZEz6JbelFg3WVU4yO2MEMwtRjD2MA=w640-h634" width="640" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i><span style="font-family: arial;">Jim Ody </span></i></td></tr></tbody></table><h3><span style="font-family: arial;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">Author Bio:</span></span></h3></div><div><span style="font-family: arial;"><i><blockquote>Jim writes dark psychological/thrillers, Horror and YA books that have endings you won’t see coming, and favours stories packed with wit. He has written over a dozen novels and many more short-stories spanning many genres.<br /><br />Jim has a very strange sense of humour and is often considered a little odd. When not writing he will be found playing the drums, watching football and eating chocolate. He lives with his long-suffering wife, three beautiful children and two indignant cats in Swindon, Wiltshire UK.</blockquote></i></span><h3 style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: x-large;">Connect with Jim Ody:</span></h3><span style="font-family: arial;"><ul style="text-align: left;"><li><span style="font-family: arial;"><b><a href="http://www.facebook.com/JimOdyAuthor" target="_blank">Facebook</a> ✔ <a href="https://www.instagram.com/jimodyauthor/" target="_blank">Instagram</a> ✔ <a href="https://twitter.com/Jim_Ody_Author" target="_blank">Twitter</a> ✔ <a href="https://www.amazon.co.uk/Jim-Ody/e/B019A6AMSY/" target="_blank">Amazon</a></b></span><span style="font-family: arial;"><b> ✔</b></span></li></ul></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhp8X4GLIjuqXu3flwcibvJRs6M_2nDPKJbArdg3pOPAJJn2sNf8BqT6bgibDyitBjU6JmLAFCRAgLa9KwWrZD704jE5SSXI-hOkuqP3y1daE7FUTb-S83fYKwJwDVlpdmAV7zUFyM2MDxbWi6IqSZCw4rtyiEeBnAgwx8h9RrxsVaERl6p-eVxmTp4bQ=s2048" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img alt="[Blog Tour] 'Camp Death' By Jim Ody #Horror #YA" border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1448" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhp8X4GLIjuqXu3flwcibvJRs6M_2nDPKJbArdg3pOPAJJn2sNf8BqT6bgibDyitBjU6JmLAFCRAgLa9KwWrZD704jE5SSXI-hOkuqP3y1daE7FUTb-S83fYKwJwDVlpdmAV7zUFyM2MDxbWi6IqSZCw4rtyiEeBnAgwx8h9RrxsVaERl6p-eVxmTp4bQ=w452-h640" width="550" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i><span style="font-family: arial;">QMP Tour - Week One</span></i></td></tr></tbody></table><b style="font-family: arial;"><br /></b></div><div style="text-align: center;"><b style="font-family: arial;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">➤ <a href="https://www.loupdargent.info/2021/08/blog-tour-ouija-by-zoe-ofarrell-horror.html" target="_blank">Check out Book 2 - 'Ouija' by Zoe-Lee O'Farrell</a> </span></b></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: arial;"> <br /></span><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEiUnuuDYKM8DR8ytI3gKpmo3oPrgjtWU-r5UpwDhmMamPtbLeruINBLGsfxjpiGGrAOadMX81q23DF4B6uPxo_dTjWi5wLrZdDsA-NsGw3_PsopVlq-Gfa0pleqbBjkiGGDHG6Qn_rs7j1gInDjf-_ZUxHVdVm0Jj7ic6IJLBHB4padWxtPqsomxNB2mg=s2048" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img alt="[Blog Tour] 'Camp Death' By Jim Ody #Horror #YA" border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1448" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEiUnuuDYKM8DR8ytI3gKpmo3oPrgjtWU-r5UpwDhmMamPtbLeruINBLGsfxjpiGGrAOadMX81q23DF4B6uPxo_dTjWi5wLrZdDsA-NsGw3_PsopVlq-Gfa0pleqbBjkiGGDHG6Qn_rs7j1gInDjf-_ZUxHVdVm0Jj7ic6IJLBHB4padWxtPqsomxNB2mg=w452-h640" width="550" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i><span style="font-family: arial;">QMP Tour - Week Two</span></i></td></tr></tbody></table><br /></div></div>Loup Dargenthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11143365444371974784noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1372609107888107354.post-14575295734470929802021-08-16T06:08:00.001+01:002021-08-16T06:08:30.288+01:00[Blog Tour] 'The Whirlpools of Time' By Anna Belfrage #HistoricalFiction #TimeTravel<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhxB3JXGzSip-8pcYRBEjYlHJiL61kcStJMW0lmty3A5JFLIH-9iN3pCgjpaMszSOBsXrusnQWbLM4ty32FABqfu9c9lWa49T792a8TIdoE_pbWJpXdZoeOWJ7xswvJjDB4wrKA3gyB86M7/s1600/The+Whirlpools+of+Time+Tour+Banner.png" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img alt="[Blog Tour] 'The Whirlpools of Time' By Anna Belfrage #HistoricalFiction #TimeTravel" border="0" data-original-height="900" data-original-width="1600" height="360" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhxB3JXGzSip-8pcYRBEjYlHJiL61kcStJMW0lmty3A5JFLIH-9iN3pCgjpaMszSOBsXrusnQWbLM4ty32FABqfu9c9lWa49T792a8TIdoE_pbWJpXdZoeOWJ7xswvJjDB4wrKA3gyB86M7/w640-h360/The+Whirlpools+of+Time+Tour+Banner.png" width="640" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i><span style="font-family: arial;">'The Whirlpools of Time' - Tour Banner</span></i></td></tr></tbody></table><h3><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: x-large;">The Book:</span></h3><span style="font-family: arial;"><b>The Whirlpools of Time</b></span><br style="font-family: arial;" /><span style="font-family: arial;"><i>By Anna Belfrage</i></span><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /><ul style="text-align: left;"><li><span style="font-family: arial;"><b>Publication Date:</b> <i>11th June 2021</i></span></li><li><span style="font-family: arial;"><b>Publisher: </b><i>Timelight Press</i></span></li><li><span style="font-family: arial;"><b>Page Length:</b> <i>388 Pages</i></span></li><li><span style="font-family: arial;"><b>Genre:</b> <i>Time travel romance, Scottish Historical Romance</i></span></li></ul></span><h3 style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: x-large;">The Blurb: </span></h3><span style="font-family: arial;"><b></b><blockquote><b>He hoped for a wife. He found a companion through time and beyond.</b><br /><br />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…<br /><br />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.<br /><br />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. <br /><br /><i>Will they find Duncan’s uncle in time? And is the door to the future permanently closed, or will Erin find a way back?</i><br /><br /><ul style="text-align: left;"><li><span style="font-family: arial;">Trigger Warnings: Sexual Content. Violence.</span></li></ul></blockquote><b><ul style="text-align: left;"><li><span style="font-family: arial;"><b>Buy Links: <a href="http://myBook.to/WoT" target="_blank">Universal Link</a> ✔ Available on #KindleUnlimited</b></span><b><span style="font-family: arial;"> </span><span style="font-family: arial;">✔</span></b></li></ul></b></span><span style="font-family: arial;"><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhTVK1cLZXc5sSAmRrlNl1N3sTcRmHYnJXNTsg5Vx9Wsyq44fWwN8l1xXXUeLMoUZ6TJt6T02NbQuIKPc4LnFRQHpK8aqmta8_TFmHmn04Ho0EprY3B3_8AE0L1ZkeB-CYFDE3r04eG3eJh/s2048/Whirlpools+Cover.jpg" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img alt="[Blog Tour] 'The Whirlpools of Time' By Anna Belfrage #HistoricalFiction #TimeTravel" border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1365" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhTVK1cLZXc5sSAmRrlNl1N3sTcRmHYnJXNTsg5Vx9Wsyq44fWwN8l1xXXUeLMoUZ6TJt6T02NbQuIKPc4LnFRQHpK8aqmta8_TFmHmn04Ho0EprY3B3_8AE0L1ZkeB-CYFDE3r04eG3eJh/w426-h640/Whirlpools+Cover.jpg" width="550" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><i>'The Whirlpools of Time' - Book Cover</i></span></td></tr></tbody></table></span><h3 style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: x-large;">'The Whirlpools of Time' - Excerpt:</span></h3><span style="font-family: arial;"><b>Duncan has just taken his first ever ride in a car… </b><br /><br /> Once the contraption had come to a halt, Duncan carefully released his hold on his seat. His head throbbed but most of all his brain ached, trying to make some sense of all these new impressions. Erin opened her door and got out. He studied the door on his side, not knowing just where the locking mechanism was. She made no move to help him. Mayhap she intended to keep him here, confined in this box of metal on wheels. <br /><br /> He groaned and hid his face in his hands. What had happened to him? <br /><br /> The door opened. <br /><br /> “Need help?” she asked. <br /><br /> “Aye.” With everything, really, starting with an explanation of where he was and how he came to be here. But he didn’t say that. He just took her offered hand and gingerly dragged himself out of the vehicle. Part of him—the rational part—was intrigued by it, wanting nothing more but to understand how this piece of advanced engineering worked. The other part quivered with fear. This was some sort of magic and he’d ended up in a time of powerful sorcerers. Except that Erin did not look like a witch should look. That curly hair of hers framed a face in which the most distinctive feature were her eyes, at present studying him with concern. <br /><br /> “Are you alright? That gash on your forehead is bleeding.” <br /><br /> “It is?” He lifted his hand to his head, surprised at discovering she was right. Blood coated his fingers. “No great matter,” he said. But the world was spinning and he gritted his teeth, willing the dizziness to abate. <br /><br /> She slipped an arm round his waist, holding him steady. “It’s the concussion,” she said. “The nurse said you might feel the effects for some more days.” <br /><br /> “Likely.” He’d had one several years ago when he’d stolen a ride on one of Michael Connor’s precious brood mares and been thrown for his efforts. That time, it had been Grandma Alex looking after him. <br /><br /> She helped him to the door, had him steady himself against the wall as she unlocked, fiddled with something that emitted several strange high-pitched sounds, and then invited him inside. He drew in a surprised breath when she set her finger on a little protuberance and flooded the interior with light. <br /><br /> The room was huge. On the opposite side, large windows replaced what should have been walls and even on a day as overcast as this, Duncan could not tear his gaze away from the large expanse of water that lapped at the shoreline a stone’s throw from the windows. <br /><br /> “Stunning, isn’t it?” she said, and he could hear the pride in her voice. <br /><br /> “It is.” Truth be told, everything about the space they were standing in was stunning. White walls were hung with paintings that were mostly a collection of colours, there was a thick Turkish rug on the floor that would have had Kate Jones turning green with envy. The thought brought him up short. Was she dead yet? And then he shivered: everyone he knew was dead—since centuries back. He shook himself free of these thoughts and concentrated instead on the huge hearth with wood neatly stacked to the side and a pelt spread out before it, the wide-open mouth of the cat who’d once owned the hide frozen in a permanent snarl. Beside him, she shifted on her feet.<br /><br /> “I inherited it,” she said, sounding apologetic. “I’d never have bought a tiger skin.” <br /><br /> “Ah.” <br /><br /> “I guess my great-grandfather shot it before tigers became an endangered species,” she added and he didn’t understand one word of that but nodded all the same, kept on nodding as she chattered on about how few tigers there were left and how much she despised trophy hunters. He found her voice soothing even if he had never heard of trophy hunters and as to the poor tigers, how could one possibly know how many such ferocious beasts roamed the jungles? <br /><br /> Other than the fireplace, the room contained a large table to one side, something resembling an overgrown settle on the other. Bright red cushions and matching throws added gaiety to a room otherwise dominated by wood and black leather. An opulent space, along the lines of the Jones’ residence in Annapolis, and Duncan threw Erin a look. In her revealing breeches—very revealing—a pink shirt that barely covered her midriff and shoes in brightly coloured fabric that covered her ankles, she did not quite match the furnishings. She reminded him of a butterfly, all bright colour and flitting movements as she darted from one side of the room to the other, plumping up a cushion here, tweaking at a coverlet there.<br /></span><br /><div style="text-align: left;"><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgMsQ5jOaSM7Y0TYeEmRMZcFf4pTJn-S1YXIYy4daes5l9bq3GmBbP0CvEGLw3NpWnCykZKjVVxaneR95VvpFN4BoY2RkYbcJL3tNNU9Dp_QHbZet1o28_RMDuBA2zJJvR4XKifmL9qxT7I/s1300/Anna+Belfrage+%25281%2529.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img alt="[Blog Tour] 'The Whirlpools of Time' By Anna Belfrage #HistoricalFiction #TimeTravel" border="0" data-original-height="1300" data-original-width="1000" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgMsQ5jOaSM7Y0TYeEmRMZcFf4pTJn-S1YXIYy4daes5l9bq3GmBbP0CvEGLw3NpWnCykZKjVVxaneR95VvpFN4BoY2RkYbcJL3tNNU9Dp_QHbZet1o28_RMDuBA2zJJvR4XKifmL9qxT7I/w492-h640/Anna+Belfrage+%25281%2529.jpg" width="550" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="text-align: start;"><i><span style="font-family: arial;">Anna Belfrage</span></i></span></td></tr></tbody></table><h3><span style="font-family: arial;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">Author Bio:</span></span></h3></div><div><span style="font-family: arial;"><i></i><blockquote><i>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 <b>The Graham Saga</b>, set in 17th century Scotland and Maryland, as well as the equally acclaimed medieval series <b>The King’s Greatest Enemy</b> which is set in 14th century England.<br /><br />Anna has also published <b>The Wanderer</b>, a fast-paced contemporary romantic suspense trilogy with paranormal and time-slip ingredients. Her September 2020 release, <b>His Castilian Hawk</b>, has her returning to medieval times. Set against the complications of Edward I’s invasion of Wales, <b>His Castilian Hawk</b> is a story of loyalty, integrity—and love. Her most recent release, <b>The Whirlpools of Time</b>, is a time travel romance set against the backdrop of brewing rebellion in the Scottish highlands.<br /><br />All of Anna’s books have been awarded the <b>IndieBRAG Medallion</b>, she has several <b>Historical Novel Society Editor’s Choices</b>, and one of her books won the <b>HNS Indie Award</b> in 2015. She is also the proud recipient of various <b>Reader’s Favorite</b> medals as well as having won various <b>Gold, Silver and Bronze Coffee Pot Book Club awards</b>.<br /><br /></i><ul style="text-align: left;"><li><span style="font-family: arial;"><i>Find out more about Anna, her books and her eclectic historical blog on her website, www.annabelfrage.com .</i></span></li></ul></blockquote></span><h3 style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: x-large;">Connect with Anna Belfrage:</span></h3></div><div><ul><li><b><span style="font-family: arial;"><a href="http://www.annabelfrage.com" target="_blank">Website</a> ✔ <a href="https://twitter.com/abelfrageauthor" target="_blank">Twitter</a></span><span style="font-family: arial;"> ✔</span><span style="font-family: arial;"> </span><span style="font-family: arial;"><a href="https://www.facebook.com/annabelfrageauthor" target="_blank">Facebook</a></span><span style="font-family: arial;"> ✔ </span><span style="font-family: arial;"><a href="https://instagram.com/annabelfrageauthor" target="_blank">Instagram</a></span><span style="font-family: arial;"> ✔ </span><span style="font-family: arial;"><a href="https://www.bookbub.com/profile/anna-belfrage" target="_blank">BookBub</a></span><span style="font-family: arial;"> ✔ </span><span style="font-family: arial;"><a href="http://Author.to/ABG" target="_blank">Amazon Author Page</a></span><span style="font-family: arial;"> ✔ </span><span style="font-family: arial;"><a href="https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/6449528.Anna_Belfrage" target="_blank">Goodreads</a></span></b><b><span style="font-family: arial;"> ✔</span></b></li></ul></div><div style="text-align: center;"><b style="text-align: start;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgTZCD-itK71rm4YF2usUzOIza3uNi_SnR-cQGxBv_Z9B2uHN8Rh8-zAZCJbiHyQLRKAoAVagRkNc7Q7Dt5CppB1LFuWAuQqhHqN_nXqwyFc2n2fALABeSvIcD8rHupsiFqkQDrI3PYTZ6s/s1600/The+Whirlpools+of+Time+Tour+Schedule+Banner.png" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="900" data-original-width="1600" height="360" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgTZCD-itK71rm4YF2usUzOIza3uNi_SnR-cQGxBv_Z9B2uHN8Rh8-zAZCJbiHyQLRKAoAVagRkNc7Q7Dt5CppB1LFuWAuQqhHqN_nXqwyFc2n2fALABeSvIcD8rHupsiFqkQDrI3PYTZ6s/w640-h360/The+Whirlpools+of+Time+Tour+Schedule+Banner.png" width="640" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>'The Whirlpools of Time' - Tour Schedule Banner<br /></i></td></tr></tbody></table></span></b></div>Loup Dargenthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11143365444371974784noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1372609107888107354.post-50805301543088146132021-08-11T07:30:00.001+01:002021-08-11T08:54:25.857+01:00[Blog Tour] 'Down Salem Way' (The Loving Husband Series) By Meredith Allard #HistoricalFiction<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjschrZPS1kSvcctabSRGTujc4Gs-tifjPOTxTh2Brm8yflumydz1iRc7gRc4u4P8GuCLHaR9fPzVFUuaIRbwSr9RzeBttmZIGvSUs_b0zoQJ45tUqpEpKXDoX_vTvsmIhkFGuK9GpYhoe3/s1600/Down+Salem+Way+Tour+Banner.png" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img alt="[Blog Tour] 'Down Salem Way' (The Loving Husband Series) By Meredith Allard #HistoricalFiction" border="0" data-original-height="900" data-original-width="1600" height="360" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjschrZPS1kSvcctabSRGTujc4Gs-tifjPOTxTh2Brm8yflumydz1iRc7gRc4u4P8GuCLHaR9fPzVFUuaIRbwSr9RzeBttmZIGvSUs_b0zoQJ45tUqpEpKXDoX_vTvsmIhkFGuK9GpYhoe3/w640-h360/Down+Salem+Way+Tour+Banner.png" width="640" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><i>'Down Salem Way' - Blog Tour Banner</i></span></td></tr></tbody></table><h3><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: x-large;">The Book:</span></h3><span style="font-family: arial;"><b>Down Salem Way</b><br /><i>(The Loving Husband Series)</i><br /><i>By Meredith Allard</i><br /><ul style="text-align: left;"><li><span style="font-family: arial;"><b> Publication Date:</b> <i>June 2019</i></span></li><li><span style="font-family: arial;"><b> Publisher:</b> <i>Copperfield Press</i></span></li><li><span style="font-family: arial;"><b> Page Length</b>: <i>352 Pages</i></span></li><li><span style="font-family: arial;"><b> Genre</b>: <i>Historical Fiction</i></span></li></ul></span><h3 style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">The Blurb:</span></span></h3><span style="font-family: arial;"><i><blockquote>How would you deal with the madness of the Salem witch hunts? <br /><br />In 1690, James Wentworth arrives in Salem in the Massachusetts Bay Colony with his father, John, hoping to continue the success of John’s mercantile business. While in Salem, James falls in love with Elizabeth Jones, a farmer’s daughter. Though they are virtually strangers when they marry, the love between James and Elizabeth grows quickly into a passion that will transcend time. <br /><br /> But something evil lurks down Salem way. Soon many in Salem, town and village, are accused of practicing witchcraft and sending their shapes to harm others. Despite the madness surrounding them, James and Elizabeth are determined to continue the peaceful, loving life they have created together. Will their love for one another carry them through the most difficult challenge of all?</blockquote></i></span><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjklHenTGoAf0ZiuqXQwFI39FHeEMHMWjolHQmH0vJgEuac8jOxe9x9oW2YWRZrWUxjzzOg-d8MwTLJzbuZWSpJ7EeiGN8fyUyO43DSsW08-xt6qyvVL-UjvmkLkQvTt6nZnmG7uwATNhch/s1600/The+Loving+Husband+Trilogy+Banner.png" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img alt="[Blog Tour] 'Down Salem Way' (The Loving Husband Series) By Meredith Allard #HistoricalFiction" border="0" data-original-height="900" data-original-width="1600" height="360" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjklHenTGoAf0ZiuqXQwFI39FHeEMHMWjolHQmH0vJgEuac8jOxe9x9oW2YWRZrWUxjzzOg-d8MwTLJzbuZWSpJ7EeiGN8fyUyO43DSsW08-xt6qyvVL-UjvmkLkQvTt6nZnmG7uwATNhch/w640-h360/The+Loving+Husband+Trilogy+Banner.png" width="640" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><i>The Loving Husband Trilogy - Banner</i></span></td></tr></tbody></table><div><h3 style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: x-large;">Buy Links:</span></h3><span style="font-family: arial;"><ul style="text-align: left;"><li><span style="font-family: arial;"><b> Universal links - <a href="https://books2read.com/u/4XQdqL" target="_blank">Down Salem Way</a> ✔ <a href=" https://books2read.com/u/49NXzk" target="_blank">Her Dear and Loving Husband</a></b></span><b><span style="font-family: arial;"> </span><span style="font-family: arial;">✔ </span><span style="font-family: arial;"><a href="https://books2read.com/u/baZ576" target="_blank">Her Loving Husband’s Curse</a></span><span style="font-family: arial;"> </span><span style="font-family: arial;">✔ </span><span style="font-family: arial;"><a href="https://books2read.com/u/31l5vD" target="_blank">Her Loving Husband’s Return</a></span><span style="font-family: arial;"> </span><span style="font-family: arial;">✔</span></b></li><li><b><span style="font-family: arial;"><a href="https://www.amazon.co.uk/Down-Salem-Loving-Husband-Book-ebook/dp/B07QPBFYRP" target="_blank">Amazon UK</a></span><span style="font-family: arial;"> </span><span style="font-family: arial;">✔ </span><span style="font-family: arial;"><a href="https://www.amazon.com/Down-Salem-Loving-Husband-Book-ebook/dp/B07QPBFYRPd" target="_blank">Amazon US</a></span><span style="font-family: arial;"> </span><span style="font-family: arial;">✔ </span><span style="font-family: arial;"><a href="https://www.amazon.ca/Down-Salem-Loving-Husband-Book-ebook/dp/B07QPBFYRP" target="_blank">Amazon CA</a></span><span style="font-family: arial;"> </span><span style="font-family: arial;">✔ </span><span style="font-family: arial;"><a href="https://www.amazon.com.au/Down-Salem-Loving-Husband-Book-ebook/dp/B07QPBFYRP" target="_blank">Amazon AU</a></span><span style="font-family: arial;"> </span><span style="font-family: arial;">✔ </span><span style="font-family: arial;"><a href="https://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/down-salem-way-meredith-allard/1134064819?ean=2940160988214" target="_blank">Barnes and Noble</a></span><span style="font-family: arial;"> </span><span style="font-family: arial;">✔ </span><span style="font-family: arial;"><a href="https://www.kobo.com/us/en/ebook/down-salem-way" target="_blank">Kobo</a></span><span style="font-family: arial;"> </span><span style="font-family: arial;">✔ </span><span style="font-family: arial;"><a href="https://books.apple.com/us/book/down-salem-way/id1484383282" target="_blank">iBooks</a></span><span style="font-family: arial;"> </span><span style="font-family: arial;">✔</span></b></li></ul></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiYG7kfiyNhv0R7jTS8jkrKzersmc_30ykAmc9x-0AzVVp_O6uokj0yD0Gfl0xm3O9S4Y1YeSCPBwhN0V7R11wKDSrCl2Q0HKi7ZcKpAa3-3QJLF4W_Fq2g2gVGZfxuiMZzeq-x1QmnLair/s1000/Down+Salem+Way+cover.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img alt="[Blog Tour] 'Down Salem Way' (The Loving Husband Series) By Meredith Allard #HistoricalFiction" border="0" data-original-height="1000" data-original-width="667" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiYG7kfiyNhv0R7jTS8jkrKzersmc_30ykAmc9x-0AzVVp_O6uokj0yD0Gfl0xm3O9S4Y1YeSCPBwhN0V7R11wKDSrCl2Q0HKi7ZcKpAa3-3QJLF4W_Fq2g2gVGZfxuiMZzeq-x1QmnLair/w426-h640/Down+Salem+Way+cover.jpg" width="550" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><i> 'Down Salem Way' - Cover</i></span></td></tr></tbody></table><h3><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: x-large;">'Down Salem Way' - Excerpt:</span></h3></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: arial;">“Are you a Witch?” he asked. <br /><br /> I laughed. I was ready for the joke. Dear God, please, I begged in the silence of my mind, this has to be a joke. But I knew. No matter no matter. This was no joke. The man had come to take Lizzie away. <br /><br /> “Did you sign a pact with the Devil in your own blood? How long have you been a Witch?” The constable’s eyes blazed with haughty fire. <br /><br /> “I am no Witch, sir,” Lizzie said. I was proud of her. Her voice was strong, her back was straight, and she held the man’s eyes. <br /><br /> “I can assure you,” I said, “my wife is no Witch. What proof have you for such groundless accusations against my wife?” <br /><br /> “We know she’s a Witch because witnesses have spoken against her.” He turned to Lizzie. “Why don’t you confess?” <br /><br /> “I am no Witch, sir,” Lizzie said again. She backed into me, hoping, I’m certain, that I could protect her. Dear God, why could I not get her away sooner? Just one day sooner? I have been wanting to take Lizzie to England for as long as we have been married, but we are here and not there and now my wife is in Hell. I am in a different kind of Hell but tis Hell all the same. <br /><br /> Whatever turmoil I felt, as though my innards quivered and I would heave everything I had ever eaten, I had to hold myself together. When the pock-faced man showed us the arrest warrant where Lizzie was named, she sobbed. I put my arm round her waist. I would be her rock. I would keep her strong. <br /><br /> “I have a warrant for your arrest, Goody Wentworth, and you must come with me.” <br /><br /> “Mistress Wentworth,” I said in my most haughty tone, but what did such distinctions matter then? I tried to stop him from taking Lizzie but the man knew what he was about. He had done this many times before. When Father arrived I ran to him, shaking him, needing his help as I hadn’t since I was a boy. And then I remembered. Father is an affluent member of Society, a Selectman of the Church. Surely, he could do something. <br /><br /> “Father, please,” I begged, “we have to help Lizzie.” <br /><br /> Father watched the constable bind Lizzie in chains. Lizzie looked fluid, as though she melted away. She tried to pat the bump where our babe waits, but the irons were too heavy. I ran to her, and as she reached for me she tripped and I caught her in my arms. The constable jerked her away. My life, he took her away. <br /><br /> Father did what he could. “What business have you with Mistress Wentworth?” he yelled. <br /><br /> “I have a warrant for her,” the pock-faced man said. <br /><br /> Father grabbed the paper and read it. He shook his head. There was nothing he could do. I raged at the pock-faced man. I promised Lizzie I would never leave her ever and twas up to me to put an end to this. <br /><br /> “You dare take an innocent woman away on false charges?” I yelled. “Ask her to recite the Lord’s Prayer! Ask her to recite the Ten Commandments! You think Witches cannot speak them because the Devil won’t allow it. Test her! If you knew the Commandments yourself you would know the ninth—thou shalt not bear false witness!” <br /><br /> The constable grinned. “If you know the Bible so well then you also know 1 Peter 5:8.” He waited for my response, but my mind was blank. Father knew. <br /><br /> “Be sober, be vigilant, because your adversary the Devil, as a roaring lion, walketh about, seeking whom he may devour.” <br /><br /> “And from Exodus?” asked the constable.
Father slumped forward. “Thou shalt not suffer a Witch to live.” “My wife is no Witch,” I said. “She is an innocent woman. Please. Let her go and we shall leave here and never return.” <br /><br /></span><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEit7iBJT7c5u4nzdf5iAtT-B_3oINyIXP9iE_33vPhaU1sVPEEWtkXFs03YXvSH-euXigLD9Hbx3cm8-rBhuTfjfHL0TIyTbcm2QDwTuMR0tBq3lIZUz1Z4YU_nnPuZUFZvqahPIcLS2QAw/s468/Meredith+Allard.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img alt="[Blog Tour] 'Down Salem Way' (The Loving Husband Series) By Meredith Allard #HistoricalFiction" border="0" data-original-height="468" data-original-width="375" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEit7iBJT7c5u4nzdf5iAtT-B_3oINyIXP9iE_33vPhaU1sVPEEWtkXFs03YXvSH-euXigLD9Hbx3cm8-rBhuTfjfHL0TIyTbcm2QDwTuMR0tBq3lIZUz1Z4YU_nnPuZUFZvqahPIcLS2QAw/w512-h640/Meredith+Allard.jpg" width="550" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><i>Meredith Allard</i></span></td></tr></tbody></table><h3><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: x-large;">Author Bio:</span></h3></div><div><span style="font-family: arial;"><i><b></b></i></span></div><blockquote><div><span style="font-family: arial;"><i><b>Meredith Allard</b> is the author of the bestselling paranormal historical <b>Loving Husband Trilogy</b>. Her sweet Victorian romance, <b>When It Rained at Hembry Castle</b>, was named a best historical novel by <b>IndieReader</b>. Her nonfiction book, <b>Painting the Past: A Guide for Writing Historical Fiction</b>, was named a <b>#1 New Release in Authorship and Creativity Self-Help</b> by <b>Amazon</b>. When she isn’t writing she’s teaching writing, and she has taught writing to students ages five to 75. She loves books, cats, and coffee, though not always in that order. She lives in Las Vegas, Nevada. </i></span></div><div><span style="font-family: arial;"><i><br /></i></span></div><div><span style="font-family: arial;"><i>Visit Meredith online at www.meredithallard.com.</i></span></div></blockquote><div><h3 style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: x-large;"> Connect with Meredith Allard:</span></h3><span style="font-family: arial;"><ul style="text-align: left;"><li><span style="font-family: arial;"><b><a href="http://www.meredithallard.com/" target="_blank">Website</a> ✔ <a href="https://www.facebook.com/authormeredithallard" target="_blank">Facebook</a> ✔ <a href="https://www.linkedin.com/in/meredith-allard-0a8a5821/" target="_blank">LinkedIn</a> ✔ <a href="https://www.pinterest.com/meredithallard" target="_blank">Pinterest</a> ✔ <a href="https://www.bookbub.com/authors/meredith-allard" target="_blank">Book Bub</a> ✔ <a href="https://www.amazon.com/Meredith-Allard/e/B000APN2C8" target="_blank">Amazon Author Page</a></b></span><b><span style="font-family: arial;"> </span><span style="font-family: arial;">✔</span></b></li></ul></span></div><div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiga4JiY63d4uB9Zg6IncCiWrK87oAbQOq-UOHDwAG9K9bhNHv2KUOsuhrE0OTAXTIwJCbGYvZiS52Yi_33qh6QL1cJp1KFITmRM583guA1hXau0j3k7t9G0YdX2Sg2WzQs7uyogbA10iNc/s1600/Down+Salem+Way+Tour+Schedule+Banner.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="900" data-original-width="1600" height="360" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiga4JiY63d4uB9Zg6IncCiWrK87oAbQOq-UOHDwAG9K9bhNHv2KUOsuhrE0OTAXTIwJCbGYvZiS52Yi_33qh6QL1cJp1KFITmRM583guA1hXau0j3k7t9G0YdX2Sg2WzQs7uyogbA10iNc/w640-h360/Down+Salem+Way+Tour+Schedule+Banner.png" width="640" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i><span style="font-family: arial;">Down Salem Way - Tour Schedule Banner</span></i></td></tr></tbody></table></div>Loup Dargenthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11143365444371974784noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1372609107888107354.post-3528250225849303082021-08-06T08:15:00.001+01:002021-08-06T08:18:57.147+01:00[Blog Tour] 'Kingfisher' (The Kingfisher Series, Book One) By D. K. Marley #HistoricalFiction #TimeTravel <div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i style="font-family: arial; text-align: start;"><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgdYLFkNR8O8da4bSqiyHyKpf5eSFS11xZDA1ldLiOkNcZz1jaRlOt7pFInJhcXCq4HnDug2lS33WKcPiSnn-rrZ1j6-wnPNTGMIFyIi6sORl97es7qUGvmnzeaEGiFXrM61czddkb2Hae9/s1600/Kingfisher+Blog+Tour+Banner.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img alt="]Blog Tour] 'Kingfisher' (The Kingfisher Series, Book One) By D. K. Marley #HistoricalFiction #TimeTravel" border="0" data-original-height="900" data-original-width="1600" height="360" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgdYLFkNR8O8da4bSqiyHyKpf5eSFS11xZDA1ldLiOkNcZz1jaRlOt7pFInJhcXCq4HnDug2lS33WKcPiSnn-rrZ1j6-wnPNTGMIFyIi6sORl97es7qUGvmnzeaEGiFXrM61czddkb2Hae9/w640-h360/Kingfisher+Blog+Tour+Banner.png" width="640" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Kingfisher - Blog Tour Banner</i><br /></td></tr></tbody></table></i></div><h3 style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: x-large;"> The Book:</span></h3><span style="font-family: arial;"><b>Kingfisher</b></span><br style="font-family: arial;" /><i><span style="font-family: arial;">(The Kingfisher Series, Book One)</span><br style="font-family: arial;" /><span style="font-family: arial;">By D. K. Marley</span></i><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /><ul style="text-align: left;"><li><span style="font-family: arial;"><b>Publication Date</b>: <i>June 28, 2021 </i></span></li><li><span style="font-family: arial;"><b>Publisher: </b><i>The White Rabbit Publishing (HFC Press) </i></span></li><li><span style="font-family: arial;"><b>Page Length:</b> <i>530 Pages </i></span></li><li><span style="font-family: arial;"><b>Genre:</b> <i>Historical Time Travel</i></span></li></ul></span><h3 style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: x-large;">The Blurb:</span></h3><span style="font-family: arial;"><blockquote><i>The past, future, and Excalibur lie in her hands. </i><br /><br /><i>Wales, 1914. Vala Penrys and her four sisters find solace in their spinster life by story-telling, escaping the chaos of war by dreaming of the romantic days of Camelot. When the war hits close to home, Vala finds love with Taliesin Wren, a mysterious young Welsh Lieutenant, who shows her another world within the tangled roots of a Rowan tree, known to the Druids as ‘the portal’.</i><br /><br /><i>One night she falls through, and suddenly she is Vivyane, Lady of the Lake – the Kingfisher – in a divided Britain clamoring for a High King. What begins as an innocent pastime becomes the ultimate quest for peace in two worlds full of secrets, and Vala finds herself torn between the love of her life and the salvation of not only her family but of Britain, itself.</i><br /><br /><i>"</i>It is, at the heart of it, a love story – the love between a man and a woman, between a woman and her country, and between the characters and their fates – but its appeal goes far beyond romance. It is a tale of fate, of power, and, ultimately, of sacrifice for a greater good.<i>" - </i><b>Riana Everly</b>, author of Teaching Eliza and Death of a Clergyman </blockquote></span><h3 style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: x-large;">Buy Links: </span></h3><span style="font-family: arial;"><ul style="text-align: left;"><li><span style="font-family: arial;"><i>Available on Kindle Unlimited.✔ </i><a href="https://amzn.to/3A94jzi" target="_blank"><b>Universal Link</b></a></span><b><i style="font-family: arial;">.✔ </i><span style="font-family: arial;"><a href="https://www.amazon.co.uk/Kingfisher-Book-1-DK-Marley-ebook/dp/B095M5NJTT" target="_blank">Amazon UK</a></span><i style="font-family: arial;">.✔ </i><span style="font-family: arial;"><a href="https://www.amazon.com/Kingfisher-Book-1-DK-Marley-ebook/dp/B095M5NJTT" target="_blank">Amazon US</a></span><i style="font-family: arial;">.✔ </i><span style="font-family: arial;"><a href="https://www.amazon.ca/Kingfisher-Book-1-DK-Marley-ebook/dp/B095M5NJTT" target="_blank">Amazon CA</a></span><i style="font-family: arial;">.✔ </i><span style="font-family: arial;"><a href="https://www.amazon.com.au/Kingfisher-Book-1-DK-Marley-ebook/dp/B095M5NJTT" target="_blank">Amazon AU</a></span><i style="font-family: arial;">.✔</i></b></li></ul></span><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjJvOobcQ-kQ6mIdUlHtWe7LjnyVfRshnrayivZv7ENd4SlWtgVB1qB-FLb_pFMBoDgLVm6cJztsK__x2kCQNF795ppJd_cnuMK7boNYzZmZUc_v1ktqrpMLAw-locFb9G-Z-V_Ky__bNp0/s2048/Kingfisher+Cover.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img alt="]Blog Tour] 'Kingfisher' (The Kingfisher Series, Book One) By D. K. Marley #HistoricalFiction #TimeTravel" border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1402" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjJvOobcQ-kQ6mIdUlHtWe7LjnyVfRshnrayivZv7ENd4SlWtgVB1qB-FLb_pFMBoDgLVm6cJztsK__x2kCQNF795ppJd_cnuMK7boNYzZmZUc_v1ktqrpMLAw-locFb9G-Z-V_Ky__bNp0/w438-h640/Kingfisher+Cover.jpg" width="550" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i><span style="font-family: arial;">Kingfisher - Book Cover</span></i></td></tr></tbody></table><h3><span style="font-family: arial;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">'Kingfisher' - Excerpt:</span></span></h3><div><span style="font-family: arial;"><b>Excerpt from Chapter 2 “The Rowan Tree” </b><br /><br /> Five pairs of eyes gazed up at my face when I approached, all in various states of inebriation—glazed, half-closed, wide-eyed, curious, and another with a look I dared not label from the leer on his lips. I raised my chin and steeled my courage, holding out the two pennies.<br /><br /> “Is there a fortune-teller here?” They looked askance at one another, murmuring and gesturing. One of them, a thin wiry man with a snaggled grin, slurred out an answer.<br /><br /> “Dw I dymm yn dallt.”<br /><br /> He did not understand. I smiled, my mind searching the Welsh tongue still tucked beneath my English facade. Father insisted on his girls speaking English on an everyday basis, especially when visiting London or attending the Season in search of husbands, as he concluded the high-born aristocrats of London society never stooped to learn the language of the least populated section of Great Britain. He was right, for even Edward, the Prince of Wales, knew only a smattering of the tongue. Even our house staff he hired from Dorset and Warwick instead of any locals to ensure we maintained the speech. In truth, his insistence on all things English piqued my curiosity on more than one occasion. I dared never ask, though.<br /><br /> “Dach chi’n siarad Saesnag?” I answered back, hoping at least one of them spoke English. <br /><br /> Each of them, in turn, shook their head. I held up the coins again, this time asking for the fortune-teller in their language.<br /><br /> “Ble mae’r rhifwr ffortiwn?”<br /><br /> The same wiry man stood up, brushed the dust from his trousers, and motioned for me to follow him. He approached one of the wagons and tapped his swarthy knuckles against the frame.<br /><br /> “Kezia,” he belted out. “Mae gennych fusnes ac arian.”<br /><br /> The woman, upon hearing that she had business and money, peeked out through the small square side window. She looked as ancient as the Black Mountains, grey hair, furrowed brow, and eyes full of fog.<br /><br /> She opened the door, her twig-like fingers beckoning for the coins and curling over them once obtained.<br /><br /> “Come in,” she said, her voice unmatching her appearance—wispy and soothing, yet rich like fine boxed Belgian chocolate.<br /><br /> I glanced back to the carriage and waved to Isla who stared out the window, biting her fingernails, while Harri stood near the campfire with the other men, accepting an offer of a cup of something to warm his gut. Blowing Isla a kiss, I mounted the steps and entered the cramped quarters.<br /><br /> The woman cackled softly and pointed towards a chair across from a round table in the centre of the room. I sat, taking in the surroundings. A fire burned in a iron-belly stove at one end of the room, the scented heat inundating the ambience with oakwood and anise. Snatches of herbs dangled from a hemp rope along the ceiling and rich burgundy scarves embroidered with botanical scenes lined the walls, as well as decorating my chair and the cushions behind my back. The air exuded mystery.<br /><br /> The woman, Kezia, blended into the atmosphere as naturally as a butterfly on a flower, even in her worn, aged state. She poured out two cups of tea and sat across from me, smiling a quite uncomfortable yet knowing grin. <br /><br /> “Ye sister not want to come?” Her question billowed out and her dark midnight eyes narrowed.<br /><br /> “My sister? No, she did not . . . how did you know?” <br /><br /> She chuckled and took a sip of her tea, tapping one finger to the side of her head. “I am knowing many things.” Leaning forwards, she stared deep into my face. “Like this . . . I know who ye are, my lady of waters.”<br /><br /> A sudden flush of nausea flooded my stomach and I touched my hand to my neck, my pulse racing beneath my fingertips.<br /><br /> “Lady of waters, what do you mean?”<br /><br /> She leaned back, draping her arms over the thick brocade upholstered arm chair she sat on. “Is this not why ye came . . . to hear ye ffortiwn?” <br /><br /> The nausea morphed into fear and I made a move to stand, but she stilled me with her words. <br /><br /> “I remember ye mam-gu, ye nain,” she said. “Illya was her name, was it not?”<br /><br /> “Wha . . . what?” I sputtered, easing back down. “How?”<br /><br /> “Ooh, ‘tis fifty years now, I think, when she died. I knew her before the Major, before India . . . that journey kill’d her, ye know.” <br /><br /> I huffed through my nose, an sardonic sneer as I pushed my teacup away and crossed my arms. “No, I wouldn’t know.”<br /><br /> She replied with a wink and a chuckle. “No, I suspect ye wouldn’t living with secrets now, would ye?”<br /><br /> “Secrets?” <br /><br /> She snickered and struck a white-tipped matchstick, lighting a thick beeswax candle in the centre of the table. The flickering flame danced in her pupils and she held the smouldering stick in between her thumb and forefinger; the smoke wafting in two slender entangling streams. <br /><br /> “White phosphorous . . .” she said, “very deadly, if eaten. One pack of matchsticks can kill a person.”<br /><br /> I arched my eyebrow, uncertain if I ought to sip any more of the tea. She blew away the smoke with a blast of breath, finishing off with a wave of her hand and crooked a smile.<br /><br /> “Useful information, is it not?” She added.<br /><br /> “I suppose, if you need to know such a thing.” <br /><br /> She nodded in agreement and pointed to my teacup. “Go on, finish the tea and with the last few drops, swirl the leaves and hand me the cup.”<br /><br /> With much trepidation, I finished the strong brew, deciding if she indeed poisoned me, at least Harri and Isla were close enough to ensure a rescue.<br /><br /> Handing her the cup, I waited for a moment as she turned the cup clockwise from the handle, her slight hum pausing once, twice, and a third time, with a ‘hmm’ or ‘ahh’.<br /><br /> She set the cup down and pointed to a long line close to the rim, formed by the residue of the leaves.<br /><br /> “Ye will take a long journey . . . far away from here. And here . . . near the bottom . . . the ‘T’. Do ye see it?”<br /><br /> I squinted and tilted my head, unsure, but agreed any ways. “Yes . . . I think.” <br /><br /> “This is for love . . . ye will look for this letter in your search for love. And the last, ye are a traveller as ye grandmother before ye.”<br /><br /> My heart leapt in my chest. “And where does it show that?”<br /><br /> She smiled and pushed the cup away, wrapping her warm hands over mine. “I need not the cup to see that.” Raising her hand, she pointed her forefinger and jabbed her rounded fingernail into my chest, right above my pounding heart. “Here . . . in ye soul and in ye eyes.”<br /><br /> The words lured me in with a strong pulling sensation, creeping into my core. “You said you remember her,” I said, hoping to draw more information from her about my past. <br /><br /> “Yes, she was like me.”<br /><br /> “A gipsy traveller, you mean . . . a Kale . . . from Caernarfon.” <br /><br /> She snickered. “Ooh, much more than just a Kale . . . for she knew the ways of travellers from long ago. She was a woman Bard with a voice like a nightingale—her favourite was Keats . . . do ye have a favourite?”<br /><br /> “Yes . . . I do. I adore Tennyson.”<br /><br /> “Ah,” she acknowledged, her eyes alighting with a long ago remembrance. “Of course, ye love Tennyson . . . the days of King Arthur. Romantics, both poets in search of escape, and dreamers of days long gone.” She narrowed her eyes. “Ah, I am seeing doubt in ye eyes. You have listened to rumours that we gipsy folk are ignorant . . . illiterate, even. Some are, no doubt, but ye nain was special, like a muse of fire to poets. She used to read poetry to me late into the night. One of her favourite lines was from Keats—‘O, for a life of sensations rather than of thoughts!’” <br /><br /> I grinned at the quote. “I know that line . . . my mother recites that quite often. But, what do you mean ‘of course, I love Tennyson’?”<br /><br /> She chuckled and lifted the teacup, tilting the rim for me to see inside. “What do ye see when ye look inside?”<br /><br /> I thought, for a moment, that her question answering my question was her attempt to evade, but as I stared into the cup, a clear picture formed in my thoughts. I shook my head and touched my fingers to my temple, just above my right eyebrow.<br /><br /> “The roots of a tree . . . like my ancestry reaching deep into the soul . . . searching for water . . .”<br /> She cackled, reached across and touched my arm. From her fingertips, the goose flesh sped across my skin, all the way to the crown of my head. She narrowed her eyes and quoted another line. “Lo! I must tell a tale of chivalry, for large white plumes are dancing in mine eyes.”<br /><br /> Keat’s poetic words compulsed from my heart and throat. “Last night I lay in bed, there came before my eyes that wonted thread of shapes, and shadows, and remembrances . . .” <br /><br /> She continued. “You know the Enchanted Castle—it doth stand upon the rock on the border of a lake . . . ye know it well enough, where it doth seem a mossy place, a Merlin’s hall, a dream . . .”<br /><br /> And I added, without volition. “Here do they look alive to love and hate, to smiles and frowns; they seem a lifted mound above some giant, pulsing underground.” <br /><br /> She leaned towards me, her eyes narrowing. “And from them comes a silver flash of light, as from the westward of a summer’s night; or like a beauteous woman’s large blue eyes gone mad through olden songs and poesies . . . it is a flaw in happiness to see beyond our bourn—it forces us in summer skies to mourn, it spoils the singing of the nightingale . . .”<br /><br /> “I have a tale to tell,” I rhymed. “And yet, I cannot speak it.” <br /><br /> “And yet, your dreams speak the tale, do they not?”<br /><br /> I shook my head, scattering her question tingling the hairs on my arm, and rubbed my brow again.<br /><br /> “What . . . what just happened?” I asked. <br /><br /> She answered only with another low chuckle. <br /><br /> Even with much eye-lash blinking and lip-biting, confusion bubbled inside me, fearing what just passed between me and the gipsy. Looking over to the empty tea cup, I felt a sudden fear that more than tea, indeed, poured from her kettle and down my throat.<br /><br /></span><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiUrcCM4HzkBe2wFshX3kG6M6-lP6zRoLVDzfr7Ov4I35d9-EqoxtHY4oxm58iGEof6S6CUglrOiOw6qfAB1bgl9HWcGGUSnWWaVPf__WOOQkJTd6VvD5-CrA1V134pl5ij9L3Z4KIUX0ib/s960/DKMarley+Author+Photo.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img alt="]Blog Tour] 'Kingfisher' (The Kingfisher Series, Book One) By D. K. Marley #HistoricalFiction #TimeTravel" border="0" data-original-height="960" data-original-width="960" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiUrcCM4HzkBe2wFshX3kG6M6-lP6zRoLVDzfr7Ov4I35d9-EqoxtHY4oxm58iGEof6S6CUglrOiOw6qfAB1bgl9HWcGGUSnWWaVPf__WOOQkJTd6VvD5-CrA1V134pl5ij9L3Z4KIUX0ib/w640-h640/DKMarley+Author+Photo.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i><span style="font-family: arial;">D. K. Marley</span></i></td></tr></tbody></table></div><h3 style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">Author Bio:</span></span></h3><div><span style="font-family: arial;"><b></b><blockquote><b>D. K. Marley</b> is a Historical Fiction author specializing in Shakespearean adaptations, Tudor era historicals, Colonial American historicals, alternate historicals, and historical time-travel. At a very early age she knew she wanted to be a writer. Inspired by her grandmother, an English Literature teacher, she dove into writing during her teenage years, winning short story awards for two years in local competitions. After setting aside her writing to raise a family and run her graphic design business, <b>White Rabbit Arts,</b> returning to writing became therapy to her after suffering immense tragedy, and she published her first novel <b><i>“Blood and Ink</i></b>” in 2018, which went on to win the <i>Bronze Medal for Best Historical Fiction from The Coffee Pot Book Club</i>, and the <i>Silver Medal from the Golden Squirrel Book Awards</i>. Within three years, she has published four more novels <i>(two Shakespearean adaptations, one Colonial American historical, and a historical time travel</i>). <br /><br />When she is not writing, she is the founder and administrator of <b>The Historical Fiction Club</b> on Facebook, and the CEO of <b>The Historical Fiction Company</b>, a website dedicated to supporting the best in historical fiction for authors and readers. And for fun, she is an avid reader of the genre, loves to draw, is a conceptual photography hobbyist, and is passionate about spending time with her granddaughter. She lives in Middle Georgia U.S.A. with her husband of 35 years, an English Lab named Max, and an adorable Westie named Daisy. </blockquote></span><h3 style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><span style="font-family: arial;">Connect with </span><b style="font-family: arial;">D. K. Marley:</b></span></h3><span style="font-family: arial;"><ul style="text-align: left;"><li><span style="font-family: arial;">:<b><a href="https://www.thehistoricalfictioncompany.com" target="_blank">Website</a> ✔ <a href="https://www.thehistoricalfictionpress.com/hist-fic-chickie-blog" target="_blank">Blog</a></b></span><b><span style="font-family: arial;"> ✔</span><span style="font-family: arial;">:</span><span style="font-family: arial;"><a href="https://www.thehistoricalfictionpress.com/podcast" target="_blank">Podcast</a></span><span style="font-family: arial;"> ✔ </span><span style="font-family: arial;"><a href="https://www.facebook.com/groups/historicalfictionbookclub" target="_blank">Group</a></span><span style="font-family: arial;"> ✔ </span><span style="font-family: arial;"><a href="https://twitter.com/histficchickie" target="_blank">Twitter</a></span><span style="font-family: arial;"> ✔ </span><span style="font-family: arial;"><a href="https://www.facebook.com/therealdkmarley.author" target="_blank">Facebook</a></span><span style="font-family: arial;"> ✔ </span><span style="font-family: arial;"><a href="https://www.instagram.com/thehfpress/?hl=en" target="_blank">Instagram</a></span><span style="font-family: arial;"> ✔ </span><span style="font-family: arial;"><a href="https://www.pinterest.com/thehistoricalfictioncompany" target="_blank">Pinterest</a></span><span style="font-family: arial;"> ✔ </span><span style="font-family: arial;"><a href="https://www.amazon.com/DK-Marley/e/B003MS4JPE" target="_blank">Amazon Author Page</a></span><span style="font-family: arial;"> ✔ </span><span style="font-family: arial;"><a href="https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/4091669.D_K_Marley" target="_blank">Goodreads</a></span><span style="font-family: arial;"> ✔</span></b></li></ul></span></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEihtBatwEmRQ8xV766Pt-zHH4V7UlU_3_kUH_UREE3enCJiFca4dstfi3rgM0NltcFZjkzqQkmdXTRB2-LuCR5yE2N2pwH2kWNHAqvwiKSLCL07IS4PKRh4_sMybHnXH0GcQil1J7plw_V_/s1600/Kingfisher+Blog+Tour+Schedule+Banner.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="900" data-original-width="1600" height="360" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEihtBatwEmRQ8xV766Pt-zHH4V7UlU_3_kUH_UREE3enCJiFca4dstfi3rgM0NltcFZjkzqQkmdXTRB2-LuCR5yE2N2pwH2kWNHAqvwiKSLCL07IS4PKRh4_sMybHnXH0GcQil1J7plw_V_/w640-h360/Kingfisher+Blog+Tour+Schedule+Banner.png" width="640" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i><span style="font-family: arial;">Kingfisher - Blog Tour Schedule Banner</span></i></td></tr></tbody></table>Loup Dargenthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11143365444371974784noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1372609107888107354.post-19738149085817136782021-08-03T06:00:00.143+01:002021-08-05T17:58:16.788+01:00French-Corsican DJ Alexis Petronio Releases First Single "Strange" Featuring Keith With A Hopeful Post-Pandemic Message [Music Video Included]<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgaxW7EXPMzKazV09OcEBWH1NshhEUcDqOuEYmRYD5wTQT1Sltc69gktrochtQkOwtGWBG-zqf2jnkyV6MKSaN6YQ419cN9RbiY_V-CnOv0jDDAIEsw4tfxzz0w1xIM6RdLXejLR2VeMrPW/s2048/La_French_Production_Summer_hit.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img alt="French-Corsican DJ Alexis Petronio Releases First Single "Strange" Featuring Keith With A Hopeful Post-Pandemic Message [Music Video Included]" border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="2048" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgaxW7EXPMzKazV09OcEBWH1NshhEUcDqOuEYmRYD5wTQT1Sltc69gktrochtQkOwtGWBG-zqf2jnkyV6MKSaN6YQ419cN9RbiY_V-CnOv0jDDAIEsw4tfxzz0w1xIM6RdLXejLR2VeMrPW/w640-h640/La_French_Production_Summer_hit.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i><span style="font-family: arial;">French-Corsican DJ Alexis Petronio Releases First Single "Strange" Featuring Keith With A Hopeful Post-Pandemic Message</span></i></td></tr></tbody></table><span style="font-family: arial;"><b></b><blockquote><b>DJ Alexis Petronio </b>has collaborated with guitarist and singer <b>Keith</b> to release his debut single, "<b><i>Strange</i></b>," a guitar-tinged summer anthem with a human hopeful post-pandemic message.</blockquote><blockquote>Alexis was inspired to write and produce the new track as COVID restrictions ease and people reconnect with each other. "<i>The pandemic was tragic in many ways</i>," says Alexis, "<i>but it reminded us how important feelings of freedom and connection with other people really are</i>."</blockquote><blockquote>The Singer and guitarist Keith, who features on the song, agrees: "<i>Both Alexis and I believe that every cloud has a silver lining. 'Strange' is about embracing the opportunity for rebirth and becoming aware of the significance of our connection with people and nature in an increasingly digital new world</i>."</blockquote><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi4HjHRjLZhh8ibeWGmYH4eAZjmTu_3PtzOVndH99hKjFaPr1-ZrAhLpEQ3Anaqh0MYYbz4iOqehN54F9cGK08cp0yYZAgxtyZfCz0GdDJ1cTmk5_NyTyLsneeyTT-P5so6omUfuAl4xUfa/s2048/AlexisKeith2_1627554656095-HR.png" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img alt="French-Corsican DJ Alexis Petronio Releases First Single "Strange" Featuring Keith With A Hopeful Post-Pandemic Message [Music Video Included]" border="0" data-original-height="1152" data-original-width="2048" height="360" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi4HjHRjLZhh8ibeWGmYH4eAZjmTu_3PtzOVndH99hKjFaPr1-ZrAhLpEQ3Anaqh0MYYbz4iOqehN54F9cGK08cp0yYZAgxtyZfCz0GdDJ1cTmk5_NyTyLsneeyTT-P5so6omUfuAl4xUfa/w640-h360/AlexisKeith2_1627554656095-HR.png" width="640" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>DJ Alexis Petronio and Keith</i></td></tr></tbody></table>"<i>Strange</i>" features blues, soul, and Andalusian influences with the help of Keith's vocal and guitar, backed by Callaghan's saxophone and set against the irresistibly festive electropop production from Alexis.<br /></span><h3 style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: x-large;">"Strange" - The Music Video:</span></h3><div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><iframe allow="accelerometer; autoplay; clipboard-write; encrypted-media; gyroscope; picture-in-picture" allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="315" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/O24V7iczaRI" title="YouTube video player" width="560"></iframe></span></div><span style="font-family: arial;"><b></b><blockquote><b>Alexis Petronio</b> is an independent DJ and a member of the "<b><i>The French Production</i></b>" collective from Porto Vecchio in Corsica. He has played every summer for the last 10 years at Via Notte and at B52 with the world's biggest DJs, including <b>David Guetta</b>, <b>Solomun</b>, <b>DJ Snake</b>, <b>Roger Sanchez</b>, and<b> Little Louie Vega</b>. His winter appearances include Paris, Abidjan, and Tulum.</blockquote><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgHZ25EPTUYg_hXwBCeabQNGfCLTmhwdtS5pvPqViBHj66yTC51mtZ2tHTdltrTnZmU1DzmKxRGrE08ahOAHLpknIAIdph5rrtvbgogvW8gL4rm_EVC0t6YDfoypynknlBH25hyphenhypheneMva7sV1/s2040/BeachMusic_1627569277374-HR.png" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img alt="French-Corsican DJ Alexis Petronio Releases First Single "Strange" Featuring Keith With A Hopeful Post-Pandemic Message [Music Video Included]" border="0" data-original-height="1148" data-original-width="2040" height="360" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgHZ25EPTUYg_hXwBCeabQNGfCLTmhwdtS5pvPqViBHj66yTC51mtZ2tHTdltrTnZmU1DzmKxRGrE08ahOAHLpknIAIdph5rrtvbgogvW8gL4rm_EVC0t6YDfoypynknlBH25hyphenhypheneMva7sV1/w640-h360/BeachMusic_1627569277374-HR.png" width="640" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Beach Music</i></td></tr></tbody></table></span><h3 style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: x-large;">Connect with Alexis Petronio:</span></h3><div><ul style="text-align: left;"><li><b><span style="font-family: arial;"><a href="http://www.alexis-petronio.com/" target="_blank">Website</a> ✔ </span><span style="font-family: arial;"><a href="https://twitter.com/AlexisPetronio" target="_blank">Twitter</a></span><span style="font-family: arial;"> ✔</span><span style="font-family: arial;"> </span><span style="font-family: arial;"><a href="https://www.instagram.com/alexispetronio_music/" target="_blank">Instagram</a></span><span style="font-family: arial;"> ✔</span><span style="font-family: arial;"> </span></b></li></ul></div><div><span style="font-family: arial;"><div style="text-align: right;"><i>SOURCE: La French Production</i></div></span></div></div>Loup Dargenthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11143365444371974784noreply@blogger.com