Welcoming Tonya Ulynn Brown and her book - The Queen's Almoner - to my blog

 Today I'm welcoming Tonya Ulynn Brown and her book - The Queen's Almoner- to my blog as part of the blog tour hosted by The Coffee Pot Book Club (founded by Mary Anne Yarde). 

I'm delighted to be able to share an excerpt with you, but first I'll introduce the book.

The Queen's Almoner By Tonya Ulynn Brown

Sometimes loyalty to the queen comes at a cost.

Thomas Broune is a Reformer and childhood friend of the young queen, Mary Stuart. When Mary embarks on a new life in her estranged homeland of Scotland, Thomas is there to greet her and offer his renewed friendship. But the long-time friends grow closer, and Thomas realizes his innocent friendship has grown into something more. Yet he is a man of the cloth. Mary is the queen of the Scots. Both of them have obligations of an overwhelming magnitude: he to his conscience and she to her throne. 

When he must choose between loyalty to his queen or his quiet life away from her court, he finds that the choice comes at a high price. Driven by a sense of obligation to protect those he loves, and crippled by his inability to do so, Thomas must come to terms with the choices he has made and find a peace that will finally lay his failures to rest.

Publication Date: June 30, 2020 

Publisher: Late November Literary  

Print Length: 320 Pages

Genre: Historical Fiction

You can purchase a copy of the book via -

 Amazon UK: https://www.amazon.co.uk/Queens-Almoner-Tonya-Ulynn-Brown-ebook/dp/B089VRV6C4

Amazon US: https://www.amazon.com/Queens-Almoner-Tonya-Ulynn-Brown/dp/1734100885

Barnes and Noble: https://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/the-queens-almoner-tonya-ulynn-brown/1137160238?ean=9781734100884

Now for the excerpt -

We left Strathbogie at daybreak. We made a great spectacle, as over 3,000 men, most on horseback but many on foot, had joined with Mary and were now moving in unison toward Aberdeen. A sea of blacks, browns, grays, chestnuts, and every color of horse in between thundered across the plains and over the hillsides. The regal garments and royal standards of the queen’s army and the colorful tartans and humble weapons of the Highland clans who joined with her cause, merged together into one purpose. The sound of the horses alone was deafening, but when you added the powerful cries of thousands of warriors, the sound was quite bone-jarring.

“Ramses seems a little more skittish than normal, don’t you think, Thomas?” Mary observed the horse with her sharp eye as we made our way to Aberdeen.

“Aye, he has been giving me fits for two days now. He seemed especially on edge this morning as I performed his daily grooming ritual, and then dressed his saddle and bridle. I mean, all the horses seemed to anticipate the fight. But where most pranced in anxious anticipation, Ramses has trembled with nervous energy.”

We were within a few miles of Aberdeen when Lord James commanded a halt of our soldiers. We dismounted to stretch our legs, and James motioned for us to join him at the edge of a long, flat meadow.

“We will stop here at Corrichie Burn. Just over that hill is Midmar Castle. We have reason to believe that Gordon is hiding there.” James pointed to the north. A small canyon lied between where we stood and the castle on the other side.

“Marshland covers that canyon,” Sir Arrick added. “We will need to be very careful when we cross. Watch for small knolls covered in cotton grass. That is where you will want to step. The ground beneath is firmer there and will give you a sure spot to place your step. Avoid the sphagnum moss; it will be soggy and you will lose your footing.”

“How will we ever cross safely on horseback?” Mary cried. “It’s a devil’s trap.”

“You will not be crossing at all,” James said. “You will stay here, on the safety of this hill. You will be able to see everything and send messages should you find the need.”

“May I remind you who’s in command here?” Mary crossed her arms in aggravation, staring James down with those fiery green eyes.

James sighed, “Mary, please.”

“Allow me,” I interrupted, touching the queen gently under the elbow and pulling her aside. “Mary, this is a very dangerous area, as you have already observed. Your safety is the most important issue at hand. No matter what the outcome is here today on this field, if something happens to you it will all be in vain. Please, just stay here. Rizzio will keep you company and there will be soldiers here to protect you. You can still watch the whole thing unfold before you.”

The color drained from her face at my words. “You mean Rizzio and you will be here with me, correct?”

I didn’t speak for a moment, but the silence was answer enough.

“Thomas,” she hissed, “you talk of my safety, but what of yours?”

“Mary, I’m not the sovereign. If anything happens to me, the world will go on.” She opened her mouth, presumably to protest, but I continued. “I cannot stand idly by, knowing that I have the skill and strength to assist in this battle. I do it for my queen, and my queen only. Do I have your blessing?”

She stood, lips trembling and tears puddling in her eyes. “I…” she choked, unable to go on.

I pulled my sword from its scabbard and turned the blade toward me. Kneeling, I handed Mary the handle of my sword. “Your blessing, my queen…please.”

“What about your oath…to God?”

“I do not feel I am compromising my oath. If I said it was for God and queen, would that make you feel better?”

A slight smile lifted the corner of her mouth and she wrapped her hands around the guard. “You have my blessing, Reverend Thomas Broune.” She raised the sword to her lips and gently kissed the hilt. Handing the sword back to me, she added under her breath, “If you get yourself killed, I will never forgive you.” The husky scratch in her voice on the word never drove her point home.

I stood and took my sword from her hands. Replacing it in my scabbard, I gave her one last look. My chest tightened, causing a shortness of breath. This woman had turned my world upside down. No matter what happened here today, I knew she held my heart in her hands.

Mary’s men assembled at the edge of the marsh. I stood holding Ramses’ reins when Sir Arrick approached me. “I have been given strict instructions to keep you within my sight at all times.”

I barked a laugh at him, “You just worry about the battle at hand. I can take care of myself.”

“Nay, I cannot defy the queen’s orders. She is concerned about your horse, and I must admit, I have seen how uneasy he is.”

“Aye, he is a little rambunctious today. I think he senses a fight.”

“Smart horse. Just be sure to stay close to me. If you don’t, she might have both of our heads.”

I nodded in understanding but made no promises. Arrick had enough to worry about without having to play nursemaid to me.

We picked our way across the bog, almost reaching the other side when a shout rang out from the top of the hill. In an instant Gordon’s men rained down on us, as we scurried to mount our horses and prepare our arms. I watched Arrick turn to the east and unman a horse before I had finished mounting. But before I could follow him on his campaign, I suddenly felt the ground shift under Ramses’ feet. The horse let out a terrible noise and reared onto his back legs. I gained control of him just in time to reflect a sword coming straight at me. I easily deflected the blade, for the man who bore it was on foot. Thrusting my own sword between his ribs, the soldier fell with a curse on his lips.

“God forgive me and give his soul rest,” I breathed. And that was the last thing I remembered.

Tonya Ulynn Brown

 Tonya Ulynn Brown was born and raised in Columbus, Ohio, USA, but now calls southeastern Ohio home. She spent her younger years right out of college, living in Europe and teaching English as a second language. She attributes her time in Eastern Europe as being one of great personal growth, where her love for history, the classics, and all things European was born. Tonya holds a Master’s degree in Teaching and is now an elementary school teacher where she uses her love of history and reading to try to inspire younger generations to learn, explore and grow. Along with all the historical characters that she entertains in her head, she lives with her husband, two sons and a very naughty Springer Spaniel. Her mother has also joined their home, making for a cozy and complete little family.

You can connect with Tonya Ulynn Brown via th following platforms -

Website: https://www.tonyaubrown.com/

Twitter: https://twitter.com/MrsBrownee2U

Instagram: https://www.instagram.com/tonyaubrown/

Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/TonyaUBrown/

Goodreads: https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/53936984-the-queen-s-almoner

You can follow this blog tour and find out more about the book by visiting the blogs detailed here -

I hope you check out Tonya Ulynn Brown's work.

Till the next time.

Take care Zoe

Welcoming Tony Riches and his book - Drake - Tudor Corsair (The Elizabethan Series Book 1) - to my blog

 Today I'm welcoming Tony Riches and his book - Drake - Tudor Corsair (The Elizabethan Series Book 1) - to my blog as part of the blog tour hosted by The Coffee Pot Book Club (founded by Mary Anne Yarde). 

I'm delighted to be able to share a review with you, but first I'll introduce the book.

Drake - Tudor Corsair by Tony Riches

1564

Devon sailor Francis Drake sets out on a journey of adventure.

Drake learns of routes used to transport Spanish silver and gold, and risks his life in an audacious plan to steal a fortune.

Queen Elizabeth is intrigued by Drake and secretly encourages his piracy. Her unlikely champion becomes a national hero, sailing around the world in the Golden Hind and attacking the Spanish fleet.

King Philip of Spain has enough of Drake’s plunder and orders an armada to threaten the future of England.

Publication date: 5^th August 2020

Genre: Historical Fiction

Publisher: Preseli Press Ltd.

Print Length: 344 pages

You can purchase a copy of this book via the following links -

Amazon UK:  https://www.amazon.co.uk/dp/B08FCTYQF4

Amazon US:  https://www.amazon.com/dp/B08FCTYQF

Amazon CA:  https://www.amazon.ca/dp/B08FCTYQF4

Amazon AU:  https://www.amazon.com.au/dp/B08FCTYQF4

Now for the review -

Sir Francis Drake – daring sea captain, defender of the realm, brave explorer and a favourite of the Queen. Drake is one of those historical figures that often appear in other people's stories, but I have never seen a historical fiction novel that was told from his perspective. When I discovered that he was the protagonist in Tony Riches new book, how could I possibly resist?

This novel starts at the very beginning of Sir Francis' sea fairing adventures. His humble beginnings are a stark contrast to the glittering jewels of the Elizabethan court, and his rise from nobody to one of the Queen's favourites is fascinating. Despite his achievements and being knighted by the Queen, Sir Francis is never quite one of them, and he is looked down upon by men who think they are his betters. The novel ends with the death of Sir Francis, and I must admit I shed a tear for this rather loveable scoundrel.

The historical detailing of this book is staggering, and the author's knowledge of not only Sir Francis’ illustrious career, but also the inner workings of the great Man-Of-War ships is evident in every page. I thought Mr Riches really captured the essence of what it must have been like to be a sailor during this time. Likewise, the various nations, and the people that lived there were also wonderfully well-drawn. The excitement, fear, and the desperate desire to make each venture profitable makes this book unputdownable.

Likewise, the tenuous relationship between the English and the Spanish is played out with remarkable accuracy. The idea that the English fought the Spanish until they agreed to buy their slaves was very telling of the time this book is set in! The back and forth between the English and the Spanish as they tried to steal each other's gold also made for some, at times shocking, but mostly very entertaining reading.

There are many characters in this book, most of which are drawn from real historical figures. I thought Mr Riches portrayal of Queen Elizabeth was marvellous, but even the Virgin Queen could not eclipse the hero of this story.

If you enjoy Tudor fiction, then you are definitely going to love this book. I cannot wait to get my hands on Book 2 and discover which historical person Mr Riches is going to write about next!

Tony Riches

Tony Riches is a full-time UK author of best-selling historical fiction. He lives in Pembrokeshire, West Wales and is a specialist in the history of the Wars of the Roses and the lives of the early Tudors. Tony’s other published historical fiction novels include: Owen – Book One Of The Tudor Trilogy, Jasper – Book Two Of The Tudor Trilogy, Henry – Book Three Of The Tudor Trilogy, Mary – Tudor Princess, Brandon – Tudor Knight and The Secret Diary Of Eleanor Cobham.

You can connect with Tony Riches via the following - 

Website: https://www.tonyriches.com 

Writing blog: https://tonyriches.blogspot.com 

Twitter: https://twitter.com/tonyriches 

Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/tonyriches.author 

Podcasts: https://tonyriches.podbean.com 

Goodreads: https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/5604088.Tony_Riches 

You can follow Tony and his book - Drake - Tudor Corsair - on the blog tour. Dates and blogs detailed here - 

I hope you check out Tony Riches work.

Till the next time.

Take care Zoe

 

Welcoming Paul Walker and his book - The Queen's Devil (William Constable Spy Thriller Book 3) - to my blog

 Today I'm welcoming Paul Walker and his book - The Queen's Devil (Book 3 of the William Constable Spy Thriller series) - to my blog as part of the blog tour hosted by The Coffee Pot Book Club (founded by Mary Anne Yarde). 

 I'm delighted to be able to share a review with you, but first I'll introduce the book.

The Queen's Devil by Paul Walker

 

1583.

William Constable, recently married astrologer and mathematician, has settled into routine work as a physician when he is requested to attend two prisoners in the Tower of London. Both are accused of separate acts treason, but their backgrounds suggest there may be a connection.

Sir Francis Walsingham and Lord Burghley urge William to discover further intelligence from the prisoners while tending their injuries from torture.

The agent's investigations lead him to the French Embassy, which lies at the heart of a conspiracy which threatens the nation.

Through his enquiries, an unsuspecting William becomes entangled in a perilous web of politicking and religious fervour.

The threat comes from one the most powerful men in the English court – one referred to as the Queen’s Devil.

William faces a race against time to unpick these ties, climaxing in a daring raid on the Embassy.

Praise for Paul Walker:

“Walker skilfully creates a treacherous world of half-truths, plots and duplicity... simmering with impending danger.” Michael Ward, author of Rags of Time.

"A gripping and evocative page-turner that vibrantly brings Elizabeth's London to life." Steven Veerapen, author of A Dangerous Trade.

"Full of convincing characters both historical and imagined." Peter Tonkin 

Publication date: 27 July 2020

Genre: Historical Fiction / Historical Thriller

Publisher: Sharpe’s Books

Print Length: 274 pages

You can get your copy via the following link. The book is free with Kindle Unlimited subscription.

Amazon

Now for the review -

I enjoy everything Tudor, so I was really looking forward to reading Paul Walker’s fabulous new book, The Queen’s Devil. I was a little bit concerned because this is book 3 in A William Constable Spy Thriller, but I was assured that this book did stand alone, and I have heard such wonderful things about the other two books in the series that I thought, why not?

Dear Reader, I am so glad I did. This novel is filled with espionage and conspirators, secrets and lies. The fact that the men who found themselves in the Tower were based upon historical people made this book even more gripping in its delivery.

The story follows Dr William Constable, who is a physician, an astrologer and mathematician, but he is also a husband, a friend and a son. William is a likeable character, and I immediately connected with him. But oh my, the things he goes through! He certainly does not have an easy time.

There are many historical characters in this book, and I was really fascinated by how Mr Walker approached each one. They were so well fleshed and authentic in the telling, as is the historical backdrop of this story. This is a book that screams Elizabethan England, the history oozes from the pages.

The one thing that really fascinated me with this book is the depiction of Scoliosis and how it was viewed in the Elizabethan era and how it was treated. Robert Cecil is in a great deal of pain, he has trouble breathing, but is helped by William who has devised a brace for him to wear, which in itself causes pain from rubbing. I thought Mr Walker approached Robert Cecil depiction with a great deal of care and knowledge for the condition.

If you love historical thrillers, then I can assure you that you will enjoy this book. If this book is anything to go by, then I will certainly be adding the rest of the series to my to-read list.

Paul Walker

Paul is married and lives in a village 30 miles north of London. Having worked in universities and run his own business, he is now a full-time writer of fiction and part-time director of an education trust. His writing in a garden shed is regularly disrupted by children and a growing number of grandchildren and dogs.

Paul writes historical fiction. He inherited his love of British history and historical fiction from his mother, who was an avid member of Richard III Society. The William Constable series of historical thrillers is based around real characters and events in the late sixteenth century. The first two books in the series - State of Treason and A Necessary Killing - were published in 2019. The third book, titled The Queen's Devil, was published in the summer of 2020.

You can connect with Paul Walker via - 

Twitter: https://twitter.com/PWalkerauthor

Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/paul.walker.923171

Amazon Author Page: http://author.to/PaulWalkerbooks

 

I hope you will check out Paul Walker's work.

Till the next time.

Take care Zoe

Welcoming Kathleen Harryman and her book - The Promise - to my blog

Today I'm welcoming Kathleen Harryman/Lucy Marshall and their book - The Promise (A world war Two historical romance) - to my blog as part of the blog tour hosted by The Coffee Pot Book Club (founded by Mary Anne Yarde).

I'm delighted to be able to share an excerpt with you which I will do after I've introduced the book.  

The Promise By Kathleen Harryman and Lucy Marshall

How far would you go to keep a promise?
In the heat of battle, one man's promise to another will be tested.

September 1939

As Britain is gripped by the fear and uncertainty of war, Tom Armitage stands to gain the one thing that he never thought possible - his freedom.

Rosie Elliot sees her future crumbling to dust as Will Aarons leaves Whitby with Jimmy Chappell to fight in the war. As she begins work at The Turnstone Convalescent Home, Rosie finds something she thought she had lost. Friendship. But friendship soon turns to love. Can this new love replace Will?

This is not an ordinary love story.

It's a story of love, loss, courage, and honour.
Of promises that must be kept or risk losing everything you've ever held dear.

 Publication date: 28th February 2019

Genre: Historical Romance

Publisher: Kathleen Harryman and Lucy Marshall

Print Length: 328 pages (paperback) 330 pages (kindle)

YouTube Book Trailer Link: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=PLO2AcnQvWU

You can purchase the book via -

 http://getbook.at/thepromise

Now for the excerpt -

Chapter 5

Tom Armitage
1940
Whitby, England

A thundering noise echoed through my despair. I lifted my head suddenly aware that the sky above me was turning dark. My eyebrows drew together. I wiped at the tears, rubbing at my eyes. What the hell was going on? The noise got louder, roaring in my ears, until it was the only thing I could hear. My pulse sped up. Slowly, I turned around and looked up. My breath caught in my throat; my eyes wide in disbelief. I became glued to the spot as fear slid along my spine. Approximately 8,220 kilograms of grey mass of a Heinkel He bomber came heading my way.

Oh, hell! This was it.

The Heinkel He propellers spun as smoke billowed from the right propeller, casting a stream of dark angry grey fog behind it. This wasn’t good, not good at all. Gravity pulled at the German bomber. Its speed in- creased as it got nearer to the ground, and me. My legs seemed incapable of moving as I watched the large grey mass of the plane come charging towards me. It coughed and sputtered. The left propeller cut out, and it now sat idle like the right one. Suddenly, my brain came to life at an accelerated pace. I frantically looked around me. There was nowhere for me to hide in the open field. The plane dived downward, nose first, spiralling out of control, coming at me faster and faster. It was as if it had me in its sight and wasn’t about to let me go – and live.

Run, run, run! My brain screamed at me repeatedly. I looked at Red. The tractor was the only cover available. I dived beneath it, my fingers digging into the ground as I pulled myself under the dirty green body. I prayed liked I’d never prayed before. Please God, please, not like this... not like this! All the time, my heart hammered against my ribs. I felt the impact of the bomber as it hit Red. The field disappeared from view, replaced with a net of black grey smoke.

The tractor shook and screeched. Metal ground on metal. I was conscious of Red moving under the force of the plane’s impact. I tried to roll with it. Metal flew around me, banging down on Red like huge hailstones. I cried out as the air shifted over me and I became aware that Red no longer protected me. I looked over my shoulder to see what was happening. What was left of the bomber was coming for me. Red lay on its side, as though it had given up and admitted defeat.

I closed my eyes briefly, thinking that if I couldn’t see, it wouldn’t hurt when it hit me. My brain couldn’t take it. My need to see what was happening was too great. My eyes flew open and widened in disbelief and fear. I fought against my brain’s new command, and its incessant screams for me to get up and run. There was no way I could make it out of the bomber’s way in time. Where would I run to? The wheat offered no resistance. I’d never reach a safe place in time.

My heart pounded against my chest. My only option was to hope that by remaining on the ground, the impact wouldn’t be so great. I could survive this. I watched as pieces of the plane rained down around me. I rolled as a large piece of metal came flying my way. It missed me, but not by much. I flipped onto my stomach, pressing myself into the dirt beneath me. My hands wrapped over my head for protection. I felt the impact, as something hit me on the head and ripped the skin on my arms. Panic set in. I stood up and started running, my heart wildly beating against my ribs. Blood drip- ping down my arms.

Something hit me in the legs. The impact brought me down, pressing my face into the earth and wheat. I fell awkwardly and felt my bone snap. Rolling in pain, I saw part of the Heinkel He wing hurtling towards me. My mouth opened but no sound came out. It landed along my legs and chest. I screamed and screamed. Pain shot throughout my entire body. I couldn’t move. I tried shoving at the metal but there was no strength left in my bloody arms to move it. I had become a prisoner. My chest hurt, weighted down by the bomber’s wing. I was being crushed by the sheer weight of it. My ribs hurt. I was finding it difficult to breathe. Sweat broke out on my forehead. I couldn’t feel my right leg. I was aware that at some point, something had pierced the skin along my calf and sunk deep inside my flesh.

Somewhere, I thought I heard someone shout my name. My head was ringing. I wasn’t sure if what I was hearing was a human voice, or just the ringing in my head. It could even be my brain playing tricks on me. Its desire for human contact, for someone to save me.

Darkness kept pushing at me. I knew I should stay awake, keep my eyes open. As the seconds ticked into minutes, I couldn’t remember why closing them was a bad idea. They felt so heavy. Suddenly, closing them seemed to be the right thing to do. My eyes had long since stopped seeing or focusing on anything. There was a bright light. Maybe it was the sun? Everything was beginning to hurt, and I was starting to feel really cold. A shiver ran along my body. I twitched, as pain like a hot iron crawled along my skin. I cried out. My eyes opened momentarily. The pain seemed to heighten. I closed my eyes again and the pain went away a bit.

I thought I heard someone speak again. It sounded like my name. Everything seemed unreal, as though all of this was happening to someone else. Dad’s face came floating in front of my closed eyes. I thought about let- ting go, like he had. Leaving the responsibility of the farm, of mum and Becky, to someone else. I’d be free. Free to fly with the birds high in the sky. Free to not feel. It sounded good. My thoughts hesitated. Who would be that someone I could trust to look after mum and Becky? To care for them and the farm? I tried to think. There must be someone. My brain hurt. Too tired to think.

Free, be free like a bird. My brain called. I raised my arms. I flapped them at my sides, like they were wings. I wasn’t sure at this stage if the lifting of my arms was a hypothetical thing, or if I really was flapping them. I looked at my arms. They weren’t arms, they were feathers. Free. Free to fly. I smiled. The more I thought about it, the more I liked the idea. Had this been what dad had done? Had he planned to kill himself, days, weeks, months before he did so? All the while acting like the loving husband, and doting dad. Had he carefully planned it, thought about how it would feel to be free of the torment that sat heavy upon his soul?

Yeah, at last I think I got it. To be free. To never feel. Was dying giving up? I began to wonder if it did bring peace, or if your soul would be forever tortured by the decision that you made. Did dad look down on us and think that he had made the worst mistake ever when he’d tied that rope around his neck? I groaned, even now with my body shaking in pain and the coldness set- ting in, I could still feel the weight of my responsibility to the farm, to mum, to Becky, pulling at me. It made me realise that I still had a choice. That I could fight this.

I had to concentrate. I had to think of mum and Becky. It would be wrong to give up now, like dad had done. To entrust them to someone, not knowing who that someone would be. I screamed, hoping that some- one would hear me, even out here.

That I hadn’t been delusional

That I had heard someone shouting my name. Suddenly, the warmth of the sun hit the right side of my face. I blinked. It was so bright. Too bright. Regardless of the intensity of the light, my eyes flew open as a hand gently touched my face. Brown eyes met mine. Tears swam within their deep brown depths. I looked upon her face and thought I had never seen something so wonderful as the soft smile that played upon her lips. The relief that filled her eyes with light. Someone cared. Cared about the loner. Cared about me. And that someone wasn’t mum or Becky. And that someone was looking at me. And she had the most beautiful smile I had ever seen.

“Don’t you dare die, Tom Armitage!” Rosie gently touched my brow.

A tear fell from her eyes. I longed to wipe it away. My arms felt too heavy, so I smiled back at her. At least that’s what I tried to do. Pain was everywhere. Oh, God, I hurt.

I closed my eyes and gave in to the darkness, and the pain disappeared. I felt something wet touch my cheek. It felt good that someone cared about me. That if I died, my death would mean something to someone. For the first time in such a long time, I felt at peace.

I hoped that dad had felt peace when he had stepped off the ladder, and the rope had tightened about his neck...before death claimed him.
   

Kathleen Harryman

Kathleen Harryman is a storyteller and poet in the historically rich city of York, North Yorkshire, England, with her husband, children and pet dog and cat. 

Kathleen was first published in 2015, a romantic suspense entitled The Other Side of the Looking Glass. Since then, Kathleen has developed a unique writing style which readers have enjoyed, and she became a multi-genre author of suspense, psychological thrillers, poetry and historical romance. 

You can connect with Kathleen Harryman via -

Website: https://www.kathleenharryman.com/

FB: https://www.facebook.com/WriterKH

Instagram: https://www.instagram.com/kathleen_author

YouTube: https://www.youtube.com/channel/UCuBLk8lhDdiavwG3UObJwtQ/videos

Twitter: https://twitter.com/KathleenHarrym1

IAN: https://independentauthornetwork.com/kathleen-harryman.html

I hope you will check out Kathleen's work.

Till the next time.

Take care Zoe

Welcoming Roberta Kagan and her book - The Smallest Crack - to my blog

 Today I'm welcoming author Roberta Kagan and her book - The Smallest Crack - to my blog as part of the blog tour hosted by The Coffee Pot Book Club (founded by Mary Anne Yarde).

I'm delighted to be able to share an excerpt with you which I will do after I've introduced the book. 

The Smallest Crack by Roberta Kagan

1933 Berlin, Germany.

The son of a rebbe, Eli Kaetzel, and his beautiful but timid wife, Rebecca, find themselves in danger as Hitler rises to power. Eli knows that their only chance for survival may lie in the hands of Gretchen, a spirited Aryan girl. However, the forbidden and dangerous friendship between Eli and Gretchen has been a secret until now. Because, for Eli, if it is discovered that he has been keeping company with a woman other than his wife it will bring shame to him and his family. For Gretchen her friendship with a Jew is forbidden by law and could cost her, her life.

You can purchase a copy of the book via the following link -

Amazon: https://books2read.com/u/4jWMDZ

Publication date: July 1, 2019 

Genre: Historical Fiction

Publisher: Roberta Kagan

Print Length: 321 pages

Now for the excerpt -

 Hilde found it easy to steal from Jews. She’d been caught once when she took the lipstick from a Jewish shop. The owner was furious, but when Hilde threatened to tell the German police that he had molested her, he let her go without reporting the theft. The best part was that she still kept the tube of lipstick.

The shopkeeper was not watching Hilde intently, making it easy for her to put two dresses on underneath the dress she was wearing. She hung the others back on the hangers and handed them to the shopkeeper.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t find anything,” Hilde said. These Jews have been stealing from us good Germans for a very long time. So what if I get a little of it back? Hilde thought.

“Well, good luck to you. I hope you find what you’re looking for,” the shopkeeper said as she began to straighten the dresses on the hangers.
Hilde left the store and ran home. She carefully removed the price tags and hung the stolen goods on hangers. She marveled at her conquest. One dress was pale pink, and the other was pale yellow. Either one would be perfect for a spring dance. They fit Hilde, so she knew both dresses would be too big for Gretchen. Since Hilde liked both frocks equally, she decided she would let Gretchen choose first then she’d wear the other one. Once Gretchen chose her favorite, Hilde would help her add a belt at the waist to make it fit.

Sitting on her bed with her back against the wall, Hilde smiled. She was excited about the dance. Perhaps, by some miracle, with her new dress and her red lipstick, she would be able to attract Hann’s attention. She could hardly wait until the dance. It was two weeks away, and she was counting the days.

Roberta Kagan

I am an USA Today Best Selling Author of Historical Jewish Fiction mainly set during World War 2. My father was Romany and my mother was Jewish, When I was very young I learned about the Holocaust. I couldn't understand how something like this could happen. So, I began to research and learn more. I met with survivors. I even met with children and grandchildren of SS officers. But I still had no answers. I cannot say that I have all of the answers to all of my questions even now. But what I do know is that soon all of the survivors will be gone. Their message must be remembered, the sacrifices that they made must not be forgotten. And so I humbly and with the utmost humility I try to tell their stories. It is painful, but I must convey the darkness and horror of the time, However, I also want the world to know and celebrate the unsung heroes. Because there were many ordinary people who acted in heroic ways. I realize that writing these books is a great responsibility. I pray every day that I am able to do this correctly. I am trying to reach out and touch many people, not with the message of the horrors but with the promise of hope. I thank you from the bottom of my heart for considering my work. It is an honor that I never take lightly.

You can connect with Roberta Kagan via th following links -

Website: http://www.robertakagan.com/

Twitter: https://twitter.com/RobertaKagan

Instagram: https://www.instagram.com/robertakaganauthor/

Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/roberta.kagan.9

Facebook, author page: https://www.facebook.com/Rkagan4

Roberta Kagan Book Club: https://www.facebook.com/groups/1494285400798292

I hope you will check out Roberta Kagan's work.

Till the next time.

Take care Zoe

 

 

 

Welcoming M J Porter and her book - The Last King: England: The First Viking Age (The Ninth Century Book 1) - to my blog

 Today I'm welcoming author M J Porter and her new book - The Last King: England: The First Viking Age (The Ninth Century Book 1) - to my blog as part of the blog tour hosted by The Coffee Pot Book Club (founded by Mary Anne Yarde).

 

 I'm delighted to be able to share an excerpt with you which I will do after I've introduced the book. 

The Last King: England: The First Viking Age (The Ninth Century Book 1)

By M J Porter

 They sent three hundred warriors to kill one man. It wasn’t enough.

Mercia lies broken but not beaten, her alliance with Wessex in tatters.

Coelwulf, a fierce and bloody warrior, hears whispers that Mercia has been betrayed from his home in the west. He fears no man, especially not the Vikings sent to hunt him down.

To discover the truth of the rumours he hears, Coelwulf must travel to the heart of Mercia, and what he finds there will determine the fate of Mercia, as well as his own.

Publication date: 23rd April 2020

Publisher: Indie

You can purchase your copy via the following links -

Amazon UK: https://www.amazon.co.uk/gp/product/B085QN74WW

Amazon US: https://www.amazon.com/Last-King-England-Viking-Century-ebook/dp/B085QN74WW

 Now for the excerpt -

AD874

I taste it on my lips, and over the salt of my sweat.

And I scowl. It’s not a flavour I wish to get used to. All the same, I know what it is without a second thought.

My seax glistens slickly in the dull light, the gleaming claret reminding me more of an exotic wine from the south than the lifeblood it truly is. The double headed-eagle impeccably depicted on the handle seems to wink at me, as the eyes fill with the ruby mixture.

Not that I focus on it for more than the time it takes me to blink.

This horde feels as though it’ll never stop, and I’m determined to end the lives of as many of them as possible. Such slaughter doesn’t bring me joy, but this is my skill. I wield it because I must.

My weapon, so sharp it cuts through byrnies as though they’re no more than spider webs, is busy today.

They come against my force, as small as it is, and they mean to annihilate us. But we will not go without making our sacrifices to their god of war.

My seax sweeps effortlessly along the abruptly exposed throat of my enemy, the realisation of what’s befallen him only reaching his eyes as he falls to the ground. I step over him, already sighting my next enemy.

This one swirls an axe in his left hand, as I reveal my bloodied teeth. His entire body recoils, almost a backward step. Before he can consider his move, I’ve sliced through his belly, the gut threatening to spill at my feet. I dismiss him and move onto the next man.

The ground beneath my feet squelches with each step, slick, more like a flooded river than the solid ground it should be.

It’s awash with the dead and wounded, the long shield wall that tried to defeat us long since disintegrated to small spots of desperate one to one fighting. This is my favourite part of any battle.

I turn, noting the angle of the sun, the brush of the breeze against my slick body, breathing deeply through my nose. This is not my first battle. Far from it.

I hear the cries of those boys who thought themselves men, and equally of those men who’ve found they are but boys when their lives are threatened.

I scorn them. They’re not worthy of my attention.

Quickly, I reach for my weapons belt, keen to know that all is where it should be. My hand brushes over the sharpened edges and deadly blades that make a home there. For now.

Satisfied, I pick my next target, a tight knot of men fighting not five steps away, and move forward.

I don’t hurry. Not this time. Neither, as I’ve seen others do, do I check the weight of my weapon, or test the strength of my arm as I consider my next move. Instinctively I know that all is well.

They’ll not fail me. They haven’t before.

The sun is high above my head, few clouds to be seen, other than high up, more wisps than anything substantial.

This battle has been long. It began with the streak of fire across the eastern sky, and I don’t foresee it ending other than when that same stripe sinks below the western horizon.

Those who met their death in the first wave of the assault will be cold and stiff by then, the heat of the sun of no help to them.

Those yet shivering with their mortal injuries will watch for the flashes of disappearing gold with fear. They’ll not see it rise again.

I simply mark it with detachment. There are more warriors to kill.

There are always more enemies to kill.

My seax arm sweeps to the right. I would sooner not kill a man who doesn’t know I’m there, but he should be paying more attention.

The wound along the back of his neck opens up with unsurprising ease, and I notice how my sworn-man takes advantage of the action to slice across the throat.

The enemy wobbles, his head bobbing. I fear it will topple to the floor before he does, and so I step around him.

Icel grins at me, his black beard dripping with the blood of his foe, as I grunt an acknowledgement, and nothing more.

Icel pivots to face the next enemy, as I stride beyond him. Coldly I count how many face us, how many are my warriors, almost pleased to see that the numbers, with my presence, are now equal.

That’s not how we started this battle.

And it’s not how I plan on ending it either.

I’ll ensure we roundly defeat our enemy, and when they’re dead, I’ll plan my next move.

I focus my thoughts, sight my target, and rush quickly toward them. He barely has time to raise his seax before I slice across his body. Blood spurts, as the links of his metal coat burst open under the blow from my weapon.

Another step, a slash of the seax from left to right, and blood is falling like rain.

Sometimes, I think the enemy make it too easy for me. I’m fast and relentless, and always have been. But, I’m cautious against my arrogance. My men tell me that my strength is prodigious. For one always used to being so strong, it’s impossible to know what it must feel like not to be.

My enemy staggers, perhaps not appreciating the extent of the injury. I take a cold moment of pity and allow him to fall onto the edge of my seax.

His final gasp of air is filled with fluid, as I reverse my hold, letting him slide to the floor.

I step gingerly over the rapidly growing pool of blood, grimacing at the stench of opened bowels and salty iron, at the result of my particular talents. Each kill is more than a number. But only just.

I feel as though I sweep through the enemy. They are warriors of all shapes and sizes, ages and skill levels. They all fall beneath my weapons, as though I fell defenceless saplings. This butchery gives me pleasure, and a burst of adrenaline only found in battle.

Only when I glance up, finding no enemy before me, do I stand upright, bring my legs together, menace with my seax, and glance at the field of slaughter.

I lead twenty men. The enemy must have numbered at least double that. Of those who remain, three are stood, angled to protect the back of each other, while three of my warriors threaten them. Another five wait to take the place of any who might fall. I think they’ll wait forever. My sworn warriors know how to make a kill, but some of them will insist on enjoying it first.

To the far right, I see where one lone figure attempts to escape into the muddy field ditch, alive for now, but not for much longer.

Other than those four opponents, all others are dead, or fled, or pretending to be dead.

I sigh heavily, abruptly aware of the ache in my shoulders, and the dryness of my mouth.

I could drink a barrel of cold water. But it’s not yet time to declare this battle won.

“How many?” I call, as though to no one, but Edmund answers, as quickly as always, his voice rich with the joy of battle.

“Two who will die, three with injuries that should recover, and Pybba, who lost his hand. The damn fool.”

I turn to meet the eyes of Edmund. He grins at me, as cocky as ever when the battle seems to be won. It’s not the same when a battle starts. In fact, when a battle commences, I almost expect him to run from the attack, or, if he stays, to soil himself, there and then.

His courage is slow to arrive and takes days to dissipate. But he fights with a tenacity I admire, and I’d never wish to go into battle without him.

“Leave one alive,” I turn and bellow, reminding my warriors that we must employ the tactics of the Raiders, even if I don’t want to. One must always live to tell of what befell their friends and comrades on the field of slaughter.

“Too late,” Edmund’s voice is soaring with laughter, as he too watches the remnants of the three Raiders losing their fight to live. “They always get bloody carried away,” he complains, but amusement thrums through the words rather than anger.

“Then bring me the one over there, heading toward the field ditch. We’ll stitch him up and send him on his way.” Once the killing begins, it’s almost impossible to stop until everyone on the battlefield lies unmoving.

M J Porter

 

I'm an author of fantasy (viking age/dragon themed) and historical fiction (Early English, Vikings and the British Isles as a whole before the Norman Conquest), born in the old Mercian kingdom at some point since AD1066. I write A LOT. You've been warned!

You can connect with M J Porter via the following links -

Author Website: https://www.mjporterauthor.com/

Author Blog: https://earlofmercia.wordpress.com/

Twitter: https://twitter.com/coloursofunison

Hope you will check out M J Porter's work.

Till the next time.

Take care Zoe