tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-80644827284198556412024-02-18T19:57:34.998-08:00Like a thousand suns...Helenahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06962202331435066843noreply@blogger.comBlogger209125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8064482728419855641.post-37719152775643384352023-02-27T23:00:00.001-08:002023-02-27T23:00:00.316-08:00#BlogTour - The Yanks are Starving: A Novel of the Bonus Army by Glen Craney @glencraney @cathiedunn<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiXVQ9VOUn58kz0SRfUvwdEEXyUIqgM66uZ_ttSifBWUvNpEbJwwlbxmfMmX4F9I17q37GNthgWXMKV4BP3jzoY-yiGbXt5sIc6-kNWuWYqZ7kw6_CnbY02a99sq5rr-f27l5SDDPCyKVdT6lg94eJITuoSqvoPMXh0VqOUT0FgsZo3lzATvnhFGA-E9w/s640/The%20Yanks%20are%20Starving%20Tour%20Banner.png" style="color: black; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 14.85px; margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center; text-decoration-line: none;"><img border="0" data-original-height="360" data-original-width="640" height="360" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiXVQ9VOUn58kz0SRfUvwdEEXyUIqgM66uZ_ttSifBWUvNpEbJwwlbxmfMmX4F9I17q37GNthgWXMKV4BP3jzoY-yiGbXt5sIc6-kNWuWYqZ7kw6_CnbY02a99sq5rr-f27l5SDDPCyKVdT6lg94eJITuoSqvoPMXh0VqOUT0FgsZo3lzATvnhFGA-E9w/w640-h360/The%20Yanks%20are%20Starving%20Tour%20Banner.png" style="border: none; position: relative;" width="640" /></a></div><p> </p><p style="background-color: white; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 14.85px;"></p><div style="background-color: white; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="background-color: white; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Architects Daughter; font-size: x-large;">The Yanks are Starving:</span></div><div style="background-color: white; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Architects Daughter; font-size: x-large;">A Novel of the Bonus Army</span></div><div style="background-color: white; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Architects Daughter; font-size: x-large;">By Glen Craney</span></div><div style="background-color: white; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="background-color: white; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="background-color: white; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="background-color: white; clear: both; text-align: center;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhS-WNSpTT6clWA7dxND4Z5Mh-1ybTw_Vni7fQ3b-FmymspTm9Gk-_SiaWZvV5eDxryX2d0mx0j5F_nkyElHjXF5qNUHBVev89wkd-BHIMMBfT1R1lvUY5Dngh-_eJKIwi4iZtiyJm4BhDzwRzSbTUEp9d0cQ6A_39-xnTtFDJJ2VxLeiJU3t4Q0VATGA/s2700/TheYanksAreStarvingArt4_final.jpg" style="color: black; margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-decoration-line: none;"><span style="font-family: Architects Daughter; font-size: x-large;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2700" data-original-width="1800" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhS-WNSpTT6clWA7dxND4Z5Mh-1ybTw_Vni7fQ3b-FmymspTm9Gk-_SiaWZvV5eDxryX2d0mx0j5F_nkyElHjXF5qNUHBVev89wkd-BHIMMBfT1R1lvUY5Dngh-_eJKIwi4iZtiyJm4BhDzwRzSbTUEp9d0cQ6A_39-xnTtFDJJ2VxLeiJU3t4Q0VATGA/w426-h640/TheYanksAreStarvingArt4_final.jpg" style="border: none; position: relative;" width="426" /></span></a></div></div><div style="background-color: white; text-align: center; text-size-adjust: auto;"><div style="caret-color: rgb(0, 0, 0);"><br /></div><div><div><div><div><b><span style="font-family: Architects Daughter; font-size: x-large;">Two armies. One flag. No honor.</span></b></div><div><b><span style="font-family: Architects Daughter; font-size: x-large;"><br /></span></b></div><div><span style="font-family: Architects Daughter; font-size: x-large;">The most shocking day in American history.</span></div><div><span style="font-family: Architects Daughter; font-size: x-large;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: Architects Daughter; font-size: x-large;">Former political journalist Glen Craney brings to life the little-known story of the Bonus March of 1932, which culminates in a bloody clash between homeless World War I veterans and U.S. Army regulars on the streets of Washington, D.C.</span></div><div><span style="font-family: Architects Daughter; font-size: x-large;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: Architects Daughter; font-size: x-large;">Mired in the Great Depression and on the brink of revolution, the nation holds its collective breath as a rail-riding hobo named Walter Waters leads 40,000 destitute men and their families to the steps of the U.S. Capitol on a desperate quest for economic justice.</span></div><div><span style="font-family: Architects Daughter; font-size: x-large;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: Architects Daughter; font-size: x-large;">This timely epic evokes the historical novels of Jeff Sharra as it sweeps across three decades following eight Americans who survive the fighting in France and come together fourteen years later to determine the fate of a country threatened by communism and fascism.</span></div><div><span style="font-family: Architects Daughter; font-size: x-large;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: Architects Daughter; font-size: x-large;">From the Boxer Rebellion in China to the Plain of West Point, from the persecution of conscientious objectors to the horrors of the Marne, from the Hoovervilles of the heartland to the pitiful Anacostia encampment, here is an unforgettable portrayal of the political intrigue and government betrayal that ignited the only violent conflict between two American armies.</span></div></div></div><div><br /></div><div><div><span style="font-family: Architects Daughter; font-size: x-large;">Awards:</span></div><div><span style="font-family: Architects Daughter; font-size: x-large;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: Architects Daughter; font-size: x-large;">Foreword Magazine Book-of-the-Year Finalist</span></div><div><span style="font-family: Architects Daughter; font-size: x-large;">Chaucer Award Book-of-the-Year Finalist</span></div><div><span style="font-family: Architects Daughter; font-size: x-large;">indieBRAG Medallion Honoree</span></div></div><div><span style="font-family: Architects Daughter; font-size: x-large;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: Architects Daughter; font-size: x-large;">Praise for The Yanks are Starving:</span></div><div><span style="font-family: Architects Daughter; font-size: x-large;"><br /></span></div><div><div><span style="font-family: Architects Daughter; font-size: x-large;">"[A] wonderful source of historical fact wrapped in a compelling novel."<br /><i>~ Historical Novel Society Reviews</i></span></div><div><span style="font-family: Architects Daughter; font-size: x-large;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: Architects Daughter; font-size: x-large;">"[A] vivid picture of not only men being deprived of their veterans' rights, but of their human rights as well.…Craney performs a valuable service by chronicling it in this admirable book."<br /><i>~ Military Writers Society of America</i></span></div><div><span style="font-family: Architects Daughter; font-size: x-large;"><br /></span></div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiVuXvhkZ6PrGdZbHPLu50x3FplP5p_JxaoPbu9ZXPeQeZ0kpTA59evt6XxswzBy6Khw2S9IP7uUJgH0xDwiFlAFaYJcLclhyUZB8Ty79uL3RurlEPBo-1yD_OrU379v9vyz271aknWhdVJB5UEkkP-b1iOTO6IeD7Y9L5UCJym6W9Gm-sB1_hqNx_NjQ/s1080/IG%20The%20Yanks%20are%20Starving.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1080" data-original-width="1080" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiVuXvhkZ6PrGdZbHPLu50x3FplP5p_JxaoPbu9ZXPeQeZ0kpTA59evt6XxswzBy6Khw2S9IP7uUJgH0xDwiFlAFaYJcLclhyUZB8Ty79uL3RurlEPBo-1yD_OrU379v9vyz271aknWhdVJB5UEkkP-b1iOTO6IeD7Y9L5UCJym6W9Gm-sB1_hqNx_NjQ/w640-h640/IG%20The%20Yanks%20are%20Starving.png" width="640" /></a></div><br /></div></div><div style="text-align: left;"><a href="https://books2read.com/Yanks" style="color: black; text-decoration-line: none;" target="_blank"><span style="font-family: Architects Daughter; font-size: x-large;">Universal Buy Link</span></a></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: Architects Daughter; font-size: x-large;"><a href="http://www.amazon.com/Yanks-Are-Starving-Novel-Bonus-ebook/dp/B00G8OZ3MM" style="color: black; text-decoration-line: none;" target="_blank">Amazon US</a></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: Architects Daughter; font-size: x-large;"><a href="https://www.amazon.co.uk/dp/B00G8OZ3MM" style="color: black; text-decoration-line: none;" target="_blank">Amazon UK</a></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: Architects Daughter; font-size: x-large;"><a href="https://www.amazon.ca/dp/B00G8OZ3MM" style="color: black; text-decoration-line: none;" target="_blank">Amazon CA</a></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: Architects Daughter; font-size: x-large;"><a href="https://www.amazon.com.au/dp/B00G8OZ3MM" style="color: black; text-decoration-line: none;" target="_blank">Amazon AU</a></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: Architects Daughter; font-size: x-large;"><a href="https://itunes.apple.com/us/book/the-yanks-are-starving/id726771775" style="color: black; text-decoration-line: none;" target="_blank">Apple Books</a></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: Architects Daughter; font-size: x-large;"><a href="http://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/the-yanks-are-starving-glen-craney/1117253154" style="color: black; text-decoration-line: none;" target="_blank">Barnes & Noble</a></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: Architects Daughter; font-size: x-large;"><a href="https://store.kobobooks.com/en-US/ebook/the-yanks-are-starving" style="color: black; text-decoration-line: none;" target="_blank">Kob</a>o</span></div><div><span style="font-family: Architects Daughter; font-size: x-large;"><br /></span></div><div><b><span style="font-family: Architects Daughter; font-size: x-large;">Glen Craney</span></b></div><div><span style="font-family: Architects Daughter; font-size: x-large;"><br /></span></div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgXAKg4901FCWiY9Oah3cmIn7tewU5rt0e1rgFlfLUiXYQ0XjcXZlqmSeLJOpLgn3U8zm3jnhUa65_-iSPLEtE9bhm18JW9BC9J5oDz1Mel5fFILEd0sZNfV1j_T0MkIrhD9eKtHbb0iFqUWAdzNGvTbFAqzKMOnC6Mt1jiqm9dfGjQcX3mvVFdsvAj2Q/s900/Glen.jpg" style="color: black; margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-decoration-line: none;"><span style="font-family: Architects Daughter; font-size: x-large;"><img border="0" data-original-height="900" data-original-width="600" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgXAKg4901FCWiY9Oah3cmIn7tewU5rt0e1rgFlfLUiXYQ0XjcXZlqmSeLJOpLgn3U8zm3jnhUa65_-iSPLEtE9bhm18JW9BC9J5oDz1Mel5fFILEd0sZNfV1j_T0MkIrhD9eKtHbb0iFqUWAdzNGvTbFAqzKMOnC6Mt1jiqm9dfGjQcX3mvVFdsvAj2Q/s320/Glen.jpg" style="border: none; position: relative;" width="213" /></span></a></div></div><div><br /></div><div><span style="font-family: Architects Daughter; font-size: x-large;">GLEN CRANEY is an author, screenwriter, journalist, and lawyer. </span></div><div><span style="font-family: Architects Daughter; font-size: x-large;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: Architects Daughter; font-size: x-large;">A graduate of Indiana University Law School and Columbia University Graduate School of Journalism, he is the recipient of the Nicholl Fellowship Prize from the Academy of Motion Pictures and the Chaucer and Laramie First-Place Awards for historical fiction. </span></div><div><span style="font-family: Architects Daughter; font-size: x-large;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: Architects Daughter; font-size: x-large;">He is also a four-time indieBRAG Medallion winner, a Military Writers Society of America Gold Medalist, a four-time Foreword Magazine Book-of-the-Year Award Finalist, and an Historical Novel Society Reviews Editor's Choice honoree. </span></div><div><span style="font-family: Architects Daughter; font-size: x-large;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: Architects Daughter; font-size: x-large;">He lives in Malibu and has served as the president of the Southern California Chapter of the HNS.</span></div><div><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: Architects Daughter; font-size: x-large;">Social Media Links</span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: Architects Daughter; font-size: x-large;"><a href="http://www.glencraney.com/" style="color: black; text-decoration-line: none;" target="_blank">Website</a></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: Architects Daughter; font-size: x-large;"><a href="https://twitter.com/glencraney" style="color: black; text-decoration-line: none;" target="_blank">Twitter</a></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: Architects Daughter; font-size: x-large;"><a href="http://www.facebook.com/GlenCraneyAuthor" style="color: black; text-decoration-line: none;" target="_blank">Facebook</a></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: Architects Daughter; font-size: x-large;"><a href="https://www.bookbub.com/authors/glen-craney" style="color: black; text-decoration-line: none;" target="_blank">BookBub</a></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: Architects Daughter; font-size: x-large;"><a href="https://www.amazon.com/Glen-Craney/e/B002C1VQZ8" style="color: black; text-decoration-line: none;" target="_blank">Amazon Author Pag</a>e</span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: Architects Daughter; font-size: x-large;"><a href="http://www.goodreads.com/author/show/1516207.Glen_Craney" style="color: black; text-decoration-line: none;" target="_blank">Goodreads</a></span></div><div><span style="font-family: Architects Daughter; font-size: x-large;"><br /></span></div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjUDCNIG7a_6iZfNWX_W6uz_0d35GI-ZVX6WX7NEgDIfRD8WC9CUE8Om2367hpLEBRGRXEKILThRFw1Z1oHm7_GlRIJcrmMUxZvl-A4OnaaA2wmRZAsZVO884p0fGIq1B_ZljeBPOnuiX-B4_e5_RSg5Rmt6U4RHS9Bfd1GkaneeXy3jWKfx-a4OxRY9g/s640/The%20Yanks%20are%20Starving%20Tour%20Schedule.png" style="color: #a1230d; margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: Architects Daughter; font-size: x-large;"><img border="0" data-original-height="360" data-original-width="640" height="360" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjUDCNIG7a_6iZfNWX_W6uz_0d35GI-ZVX6WX7NEgDIfRD8WC9CUE8Om2367hpLEBRGRXEKILThRFw1Z1oHm7_GlRIJcrmMUxZvl-A4OnaaA2wmRZAsZVO884p0fGIq1B_ZljeBPOnuiX-B4_e5_RSg5Rmt6U4RHS9Bfd1GkaneeXy3jWKfx-a4OxRY9g/w640-h360/The%20Yanks%20are%20Starving%20Tour%20Schedule.png" style="border: none; position: relative;" width="640" /></span></a></div></div></div></div>Helenahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06962202331435066843noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8064482728419855641.post-39092470266339713892023-01-22T23:00:00.007-08:002023-01-22T23:00:00.249-08:00#BlogTour - The Flame Tree (The Hong Kong Collection) by Siobhan Daiko @siobhandaiko @cathiedunn<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh_gM4uDGkQaANU-FLdz6QYe0Gnqo50YOQdZsNsuwjmXlc4RniKN1GGBRMWkx_mcqPfV3lrHII8AaefZr6IpulQW8IjbMrHuBtuDLE4eKm-qJYh_yibTiuv0reFNzSyz1VNadnPPLDMRWBloT4bP5jT1fqBpzNUhjw4PE9_qhwjgX1nv4ZSD8lW6sF2tA/s640/The%20Flame%20Tree%20Tour%20Banner.png" style="color: black; margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center; text-decoration-line: none;"><img border="0" data-original-height="360" data-original-width="640" height="360" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh_gM4uDGkQaANU-FLdz6QYe0Gnqo50YOQdZsNsuwjmXlc4RniKN1GGBRMWkx_mcqPfV3lrHII8AaefZr6IpulQW8IjbMrHuBtuDLE4eKm-qJYh_yibTiuv0reFNzSyz1VNadnPPLDMRWBloT4bP5jT1fqBpzNUhjw4PE9_qhwjgX1nv4ZSD8lW6sF2tA/w640-h360/The%20Flame%20Tree%20Tour%20Banner.png" style="border: none; position: relative;" width="640" /></a></div><p><span style="font-family: Architects Daughter; font-size: x-large;"></span></p><div style="background-color: white; text-align: center;"><p><span style="font-family: Architects Daughter;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><br /></span><span style="font-size: x-large;">The Flame Tree</span><span style="font-size: x-large;"><br /></span><span style="font-size: x-large;">(The Hong Kong Collection)</span><span style="font-size: x-large;"><br /></span><span style="font-size: x-large;">By Siobhan Daiko</span></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><div><span style="font-family: Architects Daughter; font-size: x-large;"><br /></span></div></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEicV5OkwPv-_Y0u0sAs40gjo9R1_55_N9heKvFZIoSb-qduTyJiBkAjxVh-w6UtPTeooc1w9_XrOYnLUW-5sqkT9oucK7HHjPwQclEwrzlrJRgH1ES3r9Jz4Yvr9LQmsyHlo3u0yk8CDieL1hZr0kABLR9cQLJyTNm44tJmWSBetlPideABOa9A7lK6fQ/s2700/The%20Flame%20Tree%20Cover%20LARGE%20EBOOK%20.jpg" style="color: black; margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-decoration-line: none;"><span style="font-family: Architects Daughter; font-size: x-large;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2700" data-original-width="1800" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEicV5OkwPv-_Y0u0sAs40gjo9R1_55_N9heKvFZIoSb-qduTyJiBkAjxVh-w6UtPTeooc1w9_XrOYnLUW-5sqkT9oucK7HHjPwQclEwrzlrJRgH1ES3r9Jz4Yvr9LQmsyHlo3u0yk8CDieL1hZr0kABLR9cQLJyTNm44tJmWSBetlPideABOa9A7lK6fQ/w426-h640/The%20Flame%20Tree%20Cover%20LARGE%20EBOOK%20.jpg" style="border: none; position: relative;" width="426" /></span></a></div></div><div style="background-color: white; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Architects Daughter; font-size: x-large;"><br /></span></div><div style="background-color: white; text-align: center; text-size-adjust: auto;"><div><div><div><div><div><span style="font-family: Architects Daughter; font-size: x-large;">In the spring of 1939, dashing young William Burton and the beautiful Constance Han set sail from London on the same ocean liner to Hong Kong.</span></div><div><span style="font-family: Architects Daughter; font-size: x-large;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: Architects Daughter; font-size: x-large;">Romance blossoms while they enjoy games of deck quoits and spend sultry tropical evenings dancing under the stars. Connie is intrigued by Will’s talent for writing poetry, and she offers to give him Cantonese lessons to help him with his new job—a cadet in the colonial service.</span></div><div><span style="font-family: Architects Daughter; font-size: x-large;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: Architects Daughter; font-size: x-large;">But once in Hong Kong, Connie is constrained by filial duty towards her Eurasian parents, and their wish for her to marry someone from her own background. She can't forget Will however and arranges to meet him in secret under the magnificent canopy of a flame of the forest tree—where she fulfils her promise to teach him to speak Chinese.</span></div><div><span style="font-family: Architects Daughter; font-size: x-large;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: Architects Daughter; font-size: x-large;">Before too long, trouble looms as Japanese forces gather on the border between Hong Kong and mainland China. Will joins a commando group tasked with operating behind enemy lines, and Connie becomes involved in the fight against local fifth columnists.</span></div><div><span style="font-family: Architects Daughter; font-size: x-large;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: Architects Daughter; font-size: x-large;">When war breaks out, they find themselves drawn into a wider conflict than their battle against prejudice. Can they survive and achieve a future together? Or do forces beyond their control keep them forever apart?</span></div><div><span style="font-family: Architects Daughter; font-size: x-large;"><br /></span></div><div><b><span style="font-family: Architects Daughter; font-size: x-large;">Based on a little-known true story, <i>The Flame Tree</i> is a tale of love and survival against all the odds.</span></b></div><div><br /></div><div><span style="font-family: Architects Daughter; font-size: x-large;"><u>PRAISE FOR SIOBHAN DAIKO</u></span></div><div><span style="font-family: Architects Daughter; font-size: x-large;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: Architects Daughter; font-size: x-large;">"Siobhan Daiko will tug at your heartstrings, and leave you desperate for more..." </span></div><div><span style="font-family: Architects Daughter; font-size: x-large;">Ellie Yarde, The Coffee Pot Book Club</span></div><div><span style="font-family: Architects Daughter; font-size: x-large;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: Architects Daughter; font-size: x-large;">"Daiko is an author you’ll want to add to your historical fiction favourites." </span></div><div><span style="font-family: Architects Daughter; font-size: x-large;">Netgalley Reviewer</span></div></div></div></div><div><span style="font-family: Architects Daughter; font-size: x-large;"><br /></span></div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjATMmEH6379WMj4lsdqCSsG6_wVWvjg4RRjq9Ok8XBd-ZJq1HImdS2YP28-jGAg15pQ2Ug4Cc-WO1aBE8UdtkpTz3QVx0AlpaCwsdCp7JbyFD3RiVN42CuDW70eo_h2R2BssbkgFt2VDQCJ4l8-Dbygk5IFH7ONHWJxJm71w3nSIA4CLHe-9e9kldK-Q/s1080/IG%20banner%20The%20Flame%20Tree.png" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: Architects Daughter; font-size: x-large;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1080" data-original-width="1080" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjATMmEH6379WMj4lsdqCSsG6_wVWvjg4RRjq9Ok8XBd-ZJq1HImdS2YP28-jGAg15pQ2Ug4Cc-WO1aBE8UdtkpTz3QVx0AlpaCwsdCp7JbyFD3RiVN42CuDW70eo_h2R2BssbkgFt2VDQCJ4l8-Dbygk5IFH7ONHWJxJm71w3nSIA4CLHe-9e9kldK-Q/w640-h640/IG%20banner%20The%20Flame%20Tree.png" width="640" /></span></a></div><span style="font-family: Architects Daughter; font-size: x-large;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><a href="https://amzn.to/3VWaWzI" style="color: black; text-decoration-line: none;" target="_blank"><span style="font-family: Architects Daughter; font-size: x-large;">Amazon UK</span></a></div><div style="text-align: left;"><a href="https://amzn.to/3VX4iJy" style="color: black; text-decoration-line: none;" target="_blank"><span style="font-family: Architects Daughter; font-size: x-large;">Amazon US</span></a></div><div style="text-align: left;"><a href="https://amzn.to/3SrD6Qj" style="color: black; text-decoration-line: none;" target="_blank"><span style="font-family: Architects Daughter; font-size: x-large;">Amazon CA</span></a></div><div style="text-align: left;"><a href="https://amzn.to/3VWbUMm" style="color: black; text-decoration-line: none;" target="_blank"><span style="font-family: Architects Daughter; font-size: x-large;">Amazon AU</span></a></div><div><span style="font-family: Architects Daughter; font-size: x-large;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Architects Daughter; font-size: x-large;">Siobhan Daiko</span></div><div><span style="font-family: Architects Daughter; font-size: x-large;"><br /></span></div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi_pk-Ad69ndIaNbgj2EOXXj8J3XY4vKQMtwNQJCIYZ-u74QNCehQj5P8Fk3M3ssvu1UiExnjmTQFmMMXgvmw33ti8pPyeyBePXDgac_JRqvZSEMZuGqScYlU5od_tDm-vcOE0c3qA_7dBaK6g8EP0-TjY6HCj5aNo7X1aIG-o5b3HoGHWfaqEWNgrpZw/s1500/Author%20Pic%202.jpg" style="color: black; margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-decoration-line: none;"><span style="font-family: Architects Daughter; font-size: x-large;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1500" data-original-width="1500" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi_pk-Ad69ndIaNbgj2EOXXj8J3XY4vKQMtwNQJCIYZ-u74QNCehQj5P8Fk3M3ssvu1UiExnjmTQFmMMXgvmw33ti8pPyeyBePXDgac_JRqvZSEMZuGqScYlU5od_tDm-vcOE0c3qA_7dBaK6g8EP0-TjY6HCj5aNo7X1aIG-o5b3HoGHWfaqEWNgrpZw/s320/Author%20Pic%202.jpg" style="border: none; position: relative;" width="320" /></span></a></div></div></div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><span style="font-family: Architects Daughter; font-size: x-large;"><br /></span></div></div></div><div><div><span style="font-family: Architects Daughter; font-size: x-large;">Siobhan Daiko is a British historical fiction author. A lover of all things Italian, she lives in the Veneto region of northern Italy with her husband, a Havanese dog and a rescued cat. </span></div><div><span style="font-family: Architects Daughter; font-size: x-large;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: Architects Daughter; font-size: x-large;">Siobhan was born of English parents in Hong Kong, attended boarding school in Australia, and then moved to the UK—where she taught modern foreign languages in a Welsh comprehensive school. She now spends her time writing page-turners and enjoying her life near Venice. </span></div><div><span style="font-family: Architects Daughter; font-size: x-large;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: Architects Daughter; font-size: x-large;">Her novels are compelling, poignant, and deeply moving, with strong characters and evocative settings, but always with romance at their heart. You can find more about her books on her website <a href="http://www.siobhandaiko.org/" style="color: black; text-decoration-line: none;" target="_blank">www.siobhandaiko.org</a>.</span></div></div><div><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: Architects Daughter; font-size: x-large;">Social Media Links:</span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><a href="https://siobhandaiko.org/" style="color: black; text-decoration-line: none;" target="_blank"><span style="font-family: Architects Daughter; font-size: x-large;">Website</span></a></div><div style="text-align: left;"><a href="https://twitter.com/siobhandaiko" style="color: black; text-decoration-line: none;" target="_blank"><span style="font-family: Architects Daughter; font-size: x-large;">Twitter</span></a></div><div style="text-align: left;"><a href="https://www.facebook.com/AsolandoBooks" style="color: black; text-decoration-line: none;" target="_blank"><span style="font-family: Architects Daughter; font-size: x-large;">Facebook</span></a></div><div style="text-align: left;"><a href="https://www.facebook.com/siobhan.daiko" style="color: black; text-decoration-line: none;" target="_blank"><span style="font-family: Architects Daughter; font-size: x-large;">Facebook Profile</span></a></div><div style="text-align: left;"><a href="https://www.pinterest.it/SiobhanDaiko/_saved/" style="color: black; text-decoration-line: none;" target="_blank"><span style="font-family: Architects Daughter; font-size: x-large;">Pinterest</span></a></div><div style="text-align: left;"><a href="https://www.instagram.com/siobhandaiko_asolandobooks/" style="color: black; text-decoration-line: none;" target="_blank"><span style="font-family: Architects Daughter; font-size: x-large;">Instagram</span></a></div><div style="text-align: left;"><a href="http://author.to/SiobhanDaiko" style="color: black; text-decoration-line: none;" target="_blank"><span style="font-family: Architects Daughter; font-size: x-large;">Amazon Author Page</span></a></div><div style="text-align: left;"><a href="https://www.bookbub.com/authors/siobhan-daiko" style="color: black; text-decoration-line: none;" target="_blank"><span style="font-family: Architects Daughter; font-size: x-large;">BookBub</span></a></div><div style="text-align: left;"><a href="https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/7091256.Siobhan_Daiko" style="color: black; text-decoration-line: none;" target="_blank"><span style="font-family: Architects Daughter; font-size: x-large;">Goodreads</span></a></div><div style="text-align: left;"><a href="https://www.linkedin.com/in/siobhan-daiko-74993651/" style="color: black; text-decoration-line: none;" target="_blank"><span style="font-family: Architects Daughter; font-size: x-large;">LinkedIn</span></a></div></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: x-large;"><br /></span></div><div style="font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 14.85px;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: x-large;"><br /></span></div><div style="font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 14.85px;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEizR1qseC4DxKOzHyRSMsAnfUfpZ6_OUYwmO5co9sdyn-fU9aPV_EvPZ_IJXR8t3oaxY8Bct19zy8isrpadgT4eq9srHR_MuFUqBLycpYBBWzHP6o_9Fz0B67BC3bMZyLzeqqP2QJCoRd18PK_lqLHb3SxgjpN6nSAyHYD7FM-gknVECbHDD4NNab6yEw/s640/The%20Flame%20Tree%20Tour%20Schedule.png" style="color: #a1230d; margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="360" data-original-width="640" height="360" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEizR1qseC4DxKOzHyRSMsAnfUfpZ6_OUYwmO5co9sdyn-fU9aPV_EvPZ_IJXR8t3oaxY8Bct19zy8isrpadgT4eq9srHR_MuFUqBLycpYBBWzHP6o_9Fz0B67BC3bMZyLzeqqP2QJCoRd18PK_lqLHb3SxgjpN6nSAyHYD7FM-gknVECbHDD4NNab6yEw/w640-h360/The%20Flame%20Tree%20Tour%20Schedule.png" style="border: none; position: relative;" width="640" /></a></div></div></div>Helenahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06962202331435066843noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8064482728419855641.post-76628808268526777482023-01-15T23:00:00.001-08:002023-01-15T23:00:00.256-08:00Blog Tour - Caledon by Virginia Crow @DaysDyingGlory @CrowvusLit @cathiedunn<p> <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh75a_JCPDfJV2CckLA1bZDkr8m2eh0izU92g7oe9gxU8huFl8YOdmsoLu5P84I3Syt7-6tMk0ICwfTVzPIPVJ06Bf8f-yA9Wcm3wssueXXQXN_JNZq2lkvaVvPUZLc9rdKxByuavNtFTSyPZ30nTOL3sqBUBoNG_fAjQ3pTd95q59I7k6bSKsbKWO_wA/s640/Caledon%20Tour%20Banner.png" style="color: black; margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center; text-decoration-line: none;"><img border="0" data-original-height="360" data-original-width="640" height="360" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh75a_JCPDfJV2CckLA1bZDkr8m2eh0izU92g7oe9gxU8huFl8YOdmsoLu5P84I3Syt7-6tMk0ICwfTVzPIPVJ06Bf8f-yA9Wcm3wssueXXQXN_JNZq2lkvaVvPUZLc9rdKxByuavNtFTSyPZ30nTOL3sqBUBoNG_fAjQ3pTd95q59I7k6bSKsbKWO_wA/w640-h360/Caledon%20Tour%20Banner.png" style="border: none; position: relative;" width="640" /></a></p><div class="separator" style="background-color: white; clear: both; text-align: center;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><span style="clear: left; float: left; font-family: times; font-size: x-large; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2700" data-original-width="1800" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg-2S7GZgq6w3EB-ZQYe4Od2q_QXkynAV7XBQXtnSVY8KDoXuOhAesjL3k2WTyireHRJGhVI0XYR2Ore8mwSskKosdvLFyUcSQ0qJVqnwWLnbZHSipfh54eBWwe45GBLXaFDzeYuBgNqsQJrTOSCtRBwinwL4W0Dn4PgkmDa2ESatAKwRcM1K7KVDKTDw/w426-h640/Caledon.jpg" style="border: none; position: relative;" width="426" /></span></div></div><div style="background-color: white; text-align: center; text-size-adjust: auto;"><div style="caret-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); text-align: left;"><br /></div><div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Architects Daughter; font-size: x-large;">Caledon </span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Architects Daughter; font-size: x-large;">By Virginia Crow</span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: Architects Daughter; font-size: x-large;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: Architects Daughter; font-size: x-large;">Publication Date: January 22nd, 2019</span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: Architects Daughter; font-size: x-large;">Publisher: Crowvus</span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: Architects Daughter; font-size: x-large;">Pages: 293 Pages</span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: Architects Daughter; font-size: x-large;">Genre: Historical Fantasy</span></div><div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: Architects Daughter; font-size: x-large;"><br /></span></div><div><div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: Architects Daughter; font-size: x-large;">"Go out and tell all those you meet, Caledon has risen. Caledon will be protected and defended. And to you who would cause her harm, be prepared. A new fight has come."</span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: Architects Daughter; font-size: x-large;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: Architects Daughter; font-size: x-large;">After the destruction of the Jacobite forces at Culloden, Scotland is divided, vulnerable and leaderless, with survivors from both sides seeking to make sense of the battles they have fought against their fellow Scots.</span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: Architects Daughter; font-size: x-large;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: Architects Daughter; font-size: x-large;">James Og flees Drumossie, seeking the protection of his uncle's house in Sutherland. It is here that James learns that the Northern Highlands hold a secret power only he can wield: Caledon. When Ensign John Mackay begins hunting Og's family, James realises he must harness this power to defeat the enemies of Scotland.</span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: Architects Daughter; font-size: x-large;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: Architects Daughter; font-size: x-large;">But, as the ageless Caledon awakes, so too does an ancient evil. When it allies with Mackay, the small Clan of Caledon faces enemies at every turn, discovering that even those closest to them may seek to destroy them.</span></div></div></div></div><div><span style="font-family: Architects Daughter; font-size: x-large;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: Architects Daughter; font-size: x-large;">Excerpt</span></div><div><span style="font-family: Architects Daughter; font-size: x-large;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><div><span style="font-family: Architects Daughter; font-size: x-large;">After the battle at Drumossie, James had not believed he could feel greater shame. But as the sky began to pale, he realised he had been wrong. All night, all the while he had been running, skidding, crawling up and down the sides of the hills towards Golspie, he had been followed by the shrieking scream of his sweetheart while he had watched in disbelief as John Mackay shot dead the wounded man. And then the repetitive wailing of his name as Mary's voice had faded. Mackay had been right in his assessment of the outlaw; he was indeed a coward. He had not always been this way. He had marched proudly under the royal banner of Prince Charles Stuart but following the sheer madness and the annihilation of so many men at Drumossie he had come to realise how rampant death was, and he was afraid to the point of terror regarding his own.</span></div><div><span style="font-family: Architects Daughter; font-size: x-large;">He clutched his arm and recalled, too, the skill of the shooter who had caught him with a bullet in the engulfing night. He thanked heaven that he had been more fortunate in its placing than his uncle, Robert Mackenzie, but with this thought he was reminded once more of those terrible events and he felt bowed down with shame. He missed his footing and fell, slithering down the wooded hillside until he crashed onto the rocks at the bottom. His senses felt numbed as he lifted his hand up to his head and felt the sticky blood which rushed from it. What a foolish death he would die here, but how fitting it should be an act of shame which killed him.</span></div><div><span style="font-family: Architects Daughter; font-size: x-large;">Somewhere, only a short distance from him, the sound of a waterfall could be heard, both heavy and gentle in a manner which made his head throb even more. It was the hard work and efforts of these falls which had carved out the ravine where he lay. The trees which had broken his fall on his way down, clung to the sheer sides and gave the April sky a peculiar criss-cross with their branches which, though budding, had not yet come into full leaf. He realised it was no longer raining. The ground around him was dry save for the spray from the waterfall which he noticed, with interest, was coming into view. He lifted his head up and, though it spun when he moved, he was surprised to find he was able to rise. At first, he felt his eyes were betraying him, and he screwed them closed before opening them once more, but the peculiar form of the waterfall was indeed beginning to take shape. Two hands with long watery fingers reached away from the rock and rolling from side to side on wide though fragile shoulders an ever-changing head appeared. It was queer, the manner in which this form looked so alive in its monochrome appearance, and James Og gave a slight cry as two large eye sockets appeared.</span></div><div><span style="font-family: Architects Daughter; font-size: x-large;">He would have liked to run, to have turned away and promised himself he had only imagined the whole apparition, but he could not take his eyes from it. It had no mouth, yet as it looked at him, he could hear its liquid voice, as though a peculiar form of telepathy existed between them.</span></div><div><span style="font-family: Architects Daughter; font-size: x-large;">"Jamie Og," it began, its soothing voice neither male nor female in tone. "Your coming here was far from misfortune."</span></div><div><span style="font-family: Architects Daughter; font-size: x-large;">James looked afraid as it addressed those thoughts he had held in private counsel. "What are you?"</span></div><div><span style="font-family: Architects Daughter; font-size: x-large;">"More than you can comprehend," came the mystical reply. "But you must rise, Jamie Og, you have work to do."</span></div><div><span style="font-family: Architects Daughter; font-size: x-large;">"No," he murmured. "No man ever survived such a fall as this."</span></div><div><span style="font-family: Architects Daughter; font-size: x-large;">"And yet you shall." There was almost no inflection to the voice and its statements were clearly non-negotiable. "You were guided here for a purpose, Jamie Og. You are no longer the person you were when you fell into this ravine. You have purpose, and a role which has been assigned to you."</span></div><div><span style="font-family: Architects Daughter; font-size: x-large;">"You do not know me," James sighed and would have shaken his head if he had been given the strength to. "I’ve fled from all those who needed me."</span></div><div><span style="font-family: Architects Daughter; font-size: x-large;">"But you shall no longer. Caledon needs you now and it is for her, and her alone, that you have been saved. Already you are feeling the healing power of the spring, are you not? You are given this purpose for you have a strength, a strength that even you cannot see. But you shall not have to do this alone, Jamie Og. Men from the scattered lands of Caledon shall help you, those of both Jacobean and Hanoverian calling. Do not seek them, Caledon shall bring them to you."</span></div><div><span style="font-family: Architects Daughter; font-size: x-large;">"How shall I know who to trust?"</span></div><div><span style="font-family: Architects Daughter; font-size: x-large;">"You will not know, you must discover. Take a little of this water, Jamie Og, for it has healing qualities. But be warned, you can use it only once, use it with care and on one you could not bear to lose, for its power is not only in recovery and healing but also protection, as you shall find."</span></div><div><span style="font-family: Architects Daughter; font-size: x-large;">He watched both relieved and horrified as the waterfall began, once again, to become a waterfall. "Wait!" he called out, so loud that his ears rang, and his head pounded. "How do I know what my task is?"</span></div><div><span style="font-family: Architects Daughter; font-size: x-large;">"To begin with, Jamie Og, you must journey westward. Your task shall find you."</span></div><div><span style="font-family: Architects Daughter; font-size: x-large;">There could be no further talking, for the waterfall was only that. He looked around and tried to ease his aching body, but it was too much for him and he felt the weariness of fear, disbelief and pain, pour down on him. He slipped from consciousness into a dark state where neither dreams nor rest await.</span></div><div><span style="font-family: Architects Daughter; font-size: x-large;"><br /></span></div></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: Architects Daughter; font-size: x-large;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><a href="https://books2read.com/Caledon" style="color: black; text-decoration-line: none;" target="_blank"><span style="font-family: Architects Daughter; font-size: x-large;">International Buy Link</span></a></div><div style="text-align: left;"><a href="https://www.amazon.co.uk/gp/product/B083JNL9NK" style="color: black; text-decoration-line: none;" target="_blank"><span style="font-family: Architects Daughter; font-size: x-large;">Amazon UK</span></a></div><div style="text-align: left;"><a href="https://www.amazon.com/gp/product/B083JNL9NK" style="color: black; text-decoration-line: none;" target="_blank"><span style="font-family: Architects Daughter; font-size: x-large;">Amazon US</span></a></div><div style="text-align: left;"><a href="https://www.amazon.ca/gp/product/B083JNL9NK" style="color: black; text-decoration-line: none;" target="_blank"><span style="font-family: Architects Daughter; font-size: x-large;">Amazon CA</span></a></div><div style="text-align: left;"><a href="https://www.amazon.com.au/gp/product/B083JNL9NK" style="color: black; text-decoration-line: none;" target="_blank"><span style="font-family: Architects Daughter; font-size: x-large;">Amazon AU</span></a></div><div><span style="font-family: Architects Daughter; font-size: x-large;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: Architects Daughter; font-size: x-large;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: Architects Daughter; font-size: x-large;">Virginia Crow</span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: Architects Daughter; font-size: x-large;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: Architects Daughter; font-size: x-large;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEifdXpxCVflb70YLEtXV17Y7osh6kLrnckye7XL-Z3WssiMJ5CjWRZxDRHkffeRKIcCUrz7dIMMEFGkG0HMSv-o3fOW9OxDLHd7p7qtpMRQxrL5SGzdh3S0K0tMoOixEPPTXWw2uxuAZQq-1ZU39c-oIRISMbUUycgvqvDGQPus5uOWJzrhtgKGFFz5RA/s400/Virginia%20Crow.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="400" data-original-width="300" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEifdXpxCVflb70YLEtXV17Y7osh6kLrnckye7XL-Z3WssiMJ5CjWRZxDRHkffeRKIcCUrz7dIMMEFGkG0HMSv-o3fOW9OxDLHd7p7qtpMRQxrL5SGzdh3S0K0tMoOixEPPTXWw2uxuAZQq-1ZU39c-oIRISMbUUycgvqvDGQPus5uOWJzrhtgKGFFz5RA/s320/Virginia%20Crow.jpg" width="240" /></a></div><br />Virginia grew up in Orkney, using the breath-taking scenery to fuel her imagination and the writing fire within her. Her favourite genres to write are fantasy and historical fiction, sometimes mixing the two together. She enjoys swashbuckling stories such as The Three Musketeers by Alexandre Dumas and is still waiting for a screen adaption that lives up to the book!</span></div><div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: Architects Daughter; font-size: x-large;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: Architects Daughter; font-size: x-large;">When she's not writing, Virginia is usually to be found teaching music. She believes wholeheartedly in the power of music, especially as a tool of inspiration. She also helps out with the John o' Groats Book Festival which is celebrating its 4th year.</span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: Architects Daughter; font-size: x-large;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: Architects Daughter; font-size: x-large;">She now lives in the far-flung corner of Scotland. A doting spaniel-owner to Orlando and Jess, Virginia soaks up in inspiration from the landscape as she ventures out with her canine companions.</span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: Architects Daughter; font-size: x-large;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: Architects Daughter; font-size: x-large;">She loves cheese, music, and films, but hates mushrooms.</span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: Architects Daughter; font-size: x-large;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: Architects Daughter; font-size: x-large;"><br /></span></div></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: Architects Daughter; font-size: x-large;">Social Media Links:</span></div><div><span style="font-family: Architects Daughter; font-size: x-large;"><a href="http://stompermcewan.com/" style="color: black; text-decoration-line: none;" target="_blank">Website</a> / <a href="https://twitter.com/DaysDyingGlory" style="color: black; text-decoration-line: none;" target="_blank">Twitter</a> / <a href="https://www.facebook.com/DaysDyingGlory" style="color: black; text-decoration-line: none;" target="_blank">Facebook</a> / <a href="https://www.instagram.com/stompermcewan/" style="color: black; text-decoration-line: none;" target="_blank">Instagram</a> / </span></div><div><span style="font-family: Architects Daughter; font-size: x-large;"><a href="https://www.amazon.co.uk/Virginia-Crow/e/B078QBNYFB/" style="color: black; text-decoration-line: none;" target="_blank">Amazon Author Page</a> / <a href="https://www.bookbub.com/authors/virginia-crow" style="color: black; text-decoration-line: none;" target="_blank">BookBub</a> / <a href="https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/16049964.Virginia_Crow" style="color: black; text-decoration-line: none;" target="_blank">Goodreads</a></span></div><div style="caret-color: rgb(0, 0, 0);"><span style="font-family: Architects Daughter; font-size: x-large;"><br /></span></div></div><div style="caret-color: rgb(0, 0, 0);"><span style="font-family: Architects Daughter; font-size: x-large;"><a href="https://thecoffeepotbookclub.blogspot.com/2022/09/blog-tour-caledon-by-virginia-crow.html" target="_blank">Tour Schedule</a></span></div><div><div><span style="font-family: Architects Daughter; font-size: x-large;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhX0dRXpNHFyxm-jZMNNrzJAdK_R7hft07QpFnF54Q5_PQEaiuILdXiuvUU-7GWTUrxbFVqE7HdRHr5KWJXDqLdMw3y1iKrVESUCZJxczjXOWNb_RHlX_66KogGQZz6rpr2V86hpXWQgMpPsew8bnxU6CptsixwOFbqe1uDC7eVAweueLvPFSY4Exog4A/s640/Caledon%20Tour%20Schedule.png" imageanchor="1" style="color: black; margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-decoration-line: none;"><span style="font-family: Architects Daughter; font-size: x-large;"><img border="0" data-original-height="360" data-original-width="640" height="360" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhX0dRXpNHFyxm-jZMNNrzJAdK_R7hft07QpFnF54Q5_PQEaiuILdXiuvUU-7GWTUrxbFVqE7HdRHr5KWJXDqLdMw3y1iKrVESUCZJxczjXOWNb_RHlX_66KogGQZz6rpr2V86hpXWQgMpPsew8bnxU6CptsixwOFbqe1uDC7eVAweueLvPFSY4Exog4A/w640-h360/Caledon%20Tour%20Schedule.png" style="border: none; position: relative;" width="640" /></span></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><span style="font-family: Architects Daughter; font-size: x-large;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-size: x-large;"><br /></span></div></div></div>Helenahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06962202331435066843noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8064482728419855641.post-12130303525541381262022-12-05T23:00:00.002-08:002022-12-05T23:00:00.203-08:00#BlogTour - Her Castilian Heart by Anna Belfrage @maryanneyarde @abelfrageauthor<p> </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgODerCsDooOrc9b90GMmRdnU3TkcuTY6xZIiYgb7hbW_P7u-XIRJ4spvm-93nlqr8B3mK5ElNcf6NhphnH_cMSbFeSIdyHAxpxE9YYBlBxKEHVf04Z4qG8QEIEL8XZW4xgoljp5G35XoRKubkKnToR9BLW3LGbAeOKjVT9_Hlaqh-foMDkUgVWxT5jQQ/s1600/Her%20Castilian%20Heart%20Tour%20Banner.png" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="900" data-original-width="1600" height="360" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgODerCsDooOrc9b90GMmRdnU3TkcuTY6xZIiYgb7hbW_P7u-XIRJ4spvm-93nlqr8B3mK5ElNcf6NhphnH_cMSbFeSIdyHAxpxE9YYBlBxKEHVf04Z4qG8QEIEL8XZW4xgoljp5G35XoRKubkKnToR9BLW3LGbAeOKjVT9_Hlaqh-foMDkUgVWxT5jQQ/w640-h360/Her%20Castilian%20Heart%20Tour%20Banner.png" width="640" /></a></div><p></p><div style="text-align: left;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhwly4j1xCEHQLQGx_qsr6ahFmUrDBV7tj7-wCkuFemAP7ewHQjBQ7Lj3bPDQTFSPbYPs2DDGsd3Guzy5wr5jX_aZ_15TSY3vsJKqM4zNXPv8cSfQPIV7keYW_OPXcOSkziu0weaGRL7e7DWnRrUsmdUaGIB19bHVrTC6ZUwBF8j2DSp4HPsQIP5ZwcAg/s1280/heart.jpg" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1280" data-original-width="853" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhwly4j1xCEHQLQGx_qsr6ahFmUrDBV7tj7-wCkuFemAP7ewHQjBQ7Lj3bPDQTFSPbYPs2DDGsd3Guzy5wr5jX_aZ_15TSY3vsJKqM4zNXPv8cSfQPIV7keYW_OPXcOSkziu0weaGRL7e7DWnRrUsmdUaGIB19bHVrTC6ZUwBF8j2DSp4HPsQIP5ZwcAg/w426-h640/heart.jpg" width="426" /></a></div><br /><span style="font-family: Architects Daughter; font-size: x-large;"><b>Her Castilian Heart<br />By Anna Belfrage</b></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: Architects Daughter; font-size: x-large;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><div><span style="font-family: Architects Daughter; font-size: x-large;">Publication Date: 27 Sept 2022 </span></div><div><span style="font-family: Architects Daughter; font-size: x-large;">Publisher: Timelight Press</span></div><div><span style="font-family: Architects Daughter; font-size: x-large;">Page Length: 380 Pages</span></div><div><span style="font-family: Architects Daughter; font-size: x-large;">Genre: Historical Fiction, Romantic Historical Fiction, Historical Romance</span></div><div><span style="font-family: Architects Daughter; font-size: x-large;"><br /></span></div><div><div><span style="font-family: Architects Daughter; font-size: x-large;"><b>Blood is not always thicker than water…</b></span></div><div><span style="font-family: Architects Daughter; font-size: x-large;">At times a common bloodline is something of a curse—or so Robert FitzStephan discovers when he realises his half-brother, Eustace de Lamont, wants to kill him. </span></div><div><span style="font-family: Architects Daughter; font-size: x-large;">A murderous and greedy brother isn’t Robert’s only challenge. He and his wife, Noor, also have to handle their infected relationship with a mightily displeased Queen Eleanor—all because of their mysterious little foundling whom they refuse to abandon or allow the queen to lock away. </span></div><div><span style="font-family: Architects Daughter; font-size: x-large;">Eustace is persistent. When Robert’s life hangs in the balance, it falls to Noor to do whatever it takes to rip them free from the toothy jaws of fate. Noor may be a woman, but weak she is not, and in her chest beats a heart as brave and ferocious as that of a lioness. But will her courage be enough to see them safe? </span></div><div><span style="font-family: Architects Daughter; font-size: x-large;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: Architects Daughter; font-size: large;">Trigger warnings:</span></div><div><span style="font-family: Architects Daughter; font-size: large;">There is some sexual (consensual) content, and some violence</span><span style="font-family: Architects Daughter; font-size: x-large;"> </span></div></div><div><span style="font-family: Architects Daughter; font-size: x-large;"><br /></span></div></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: Architects Daughter; font-size: x-large;"><a href="http://myBook.to/HEART" target="_blank">Amazon</a></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: Architects Daughter; font-size: x-large;"><span style="background-color: white;">#KindleUnlimited </span></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Architects Daughter; font-size: x-large;"><span style="text-align: left;"><span><div style="text-align: left;">Anna Belfrage</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEit21I8ojSMnwlf8rjRR5kihPtCOnUyVSKKP6FqfDPZP3G3Mc0GNwgZwFZvZ-fjNl1Zlfi6JBlEzIwZt-bg-unTzmK2eSr4Kqx7rHI8_01m7ufYYnhlF3yaR8QUdKnYiSPk0i_bXd_B70mAAqKFLJkoysaJp6Sxgf1uz9K3p9Df1sQBBPLQEGCAqpuPCw/s200/Anna%20Belfrage.jpg" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="color: black;"><img border="0" data-original-height="200" data-original-width="200" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEit21I8ojSMnwlf8rjRR5kihPtCOnUyVSKKP6FqfDPZP3G3Mc0GNwgZwFZvZ-fjNl1Zlfi6JBlEzIwZt-bg-unTzmK2eSr4Kqx7rHI8_01m7ufYYnhlF3yaR8QUdKnYiSPk0i_bXd_B70mAAqKFLJkoysaJp6Sxgf1uz9K3p9Df1sQBBPLQEGCAqpuPCw/w320-h320/Anna%20Belfrage.jpg" width="320" /></span></a></div>Had Anna been allowed to choose, she’d have become a time-traveller. As this was impossible, she became a financial professional with two absorbing interests: history and writing. Anna has authored the acclaimed time travelling series The Graham Saga, set in 17th century Scotland and Maryland, as well as the equally acclaimed medieval series The King’s Greatest Enemy which is set in 14th century England. </div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">Anna has also published The Wanderer, a fast-paced contemporary romantic suspense trilogy with paranormal and time-slip ingredients. </div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">Her Castilian Heart is the third in her “Castilian” series, a stand-alone sequel to her September 2020 release, His Castilian Hawk. Set against the complications of Edward I’s invasion of Wales, His Castilian Hawk is a story of loyalty, integrity—and love. In the second instalment, The Castilian Pomegranate, we travel with the protagonists to the complex political world of medieval Spain. This latest release finds our protagonists back in England—not necessarily any safer than the wilds of Spain!</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">Anna has also authored The Whirlpools of Time in which she returns to the world of time travel. Join Duncan and the somewhat reluctant time-traveller Erin on their adventures through the Scottish Highlands just as the first Jacobite rebellion is about to explode! </div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">All of Anna’s books have been awarded the IndieBRAG Medallion, she has several Historical Novel Society Editor’s Choices, and one of her books won the HNS Indie Award in 2015. She is also the proud recipient of various Reader’s Favorite medals as well as having won various Gold, Silver and Bronze Coffee Pot Book Club awards.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">Find out more about Anna, her books and enjoy her eclectic historical blog on her website, www.annabelfrage.com </div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">Social Media Copy</div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: #444444;"><a href="http://www.annabelfrage.com" target="_blank">Website</a> / <a href="https://twitter.com/abelfrageauthor" target="_blank">Twitter</a> /<span style="background-color: white; text-align: center;"> </span><a href="https://www.facebook.com/annabelfrageauthor" target="_blank">Facebook</a> <span style="background-color: white;">/ </span><a href="https://instagram.com/annabelfrageauthor" target="_blank">Instagram</a> <span style="background-color: white;">/ </span><a href="https://www.bookbub.com/profile/anna-belfrage" target="_blank">BookBub</a> <span style="background-color: white;">/ </span><a href="http://Author.to/ABG" target="_blank">Amazon Author Page</a> /<span style="background-color: white; text-align: center;"> </span><a href="https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/6449528.Anna_Belfrage" target="_blank">Goodreads</a></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: #444444;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://maryanneyarde.blogspot.com/2022/08/blog-tour-her-castilian-heart-by-anna.html" target="_blank"><span style="color: #444444;">Tour Schedule</span></a></div><div style="color: #cc0000; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgaXrEo-DIdO1FKfM0ZunZWdNZLc7G0RBVt47adot3Uy1PgpZbhqWsUs7DuseTfzuiXnuasHbWJ4kFR7L-ZKsh-OSZbNndbU5IVNuJmnPCH1sHJrSzg2Ayu0UScdTEvHWvvZbOx-yn4at-rkZekEs8ha8nzehOouhjRWW_Sg_IfSikkJQcneUi9YrDlSw/s1600/Tour%20Schedule%20Her%20Castilian%20Heart%20Tour%20Banner.png" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="900" data-original-width="1600" height="360" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgaXrEo-DIdO1FKfM0ZunZWdNZLc7G0RBVt47adot3Uy1PgpZbhqWsUs7DuseTfzuiXnuasHbWJ4kFR7L-ZKsh-OSZbNndbU5IVNuJmnPCH1sHJrSzg2Ayu0UScdTEvHWvvZbOx-yn4at-rkZekEs8ha8nzehOouhjRWW_Sg_IfSikkJQcneUi9YrDlSw/w640-h360/Tour%20Schedule%20Her%20Castilian%20Heart%20Tour%20Banner.png" width="640" /></a></div><br /><div style="color: #cc0000; text-align: center;"><br /></div></span></span><span style="text-align: left;"><span><div style="color: #cc0000; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="color: #cc0000; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="color: #cc0000; text-align: left;"><br /></div></span></span></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #cc0000;"><span style="font-family: Architects Daughter; font-size: x-large;"><br /></span></span></div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Architects Daughter; font-size: x-large;"><br /></span></div><span style="font-family: Architects Daughter; font-size: x-large;"><br /></span><br /></div>Helenahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06962202331435066843noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8064482728419855641.post-24796940230731112672022-12-04T23:00:00.001-08:002022-12-04T23:00:00.196-08:00Blog Tour - The Founding (Across the Great Divide, Book #3) by Michael L. Ross #HistoricalRomance #BlogTour #TheCoffeePotBookClub @hollybushbooks @cathiedunn<p><span style="font-family: Architects Daughter; font-size: x-large;"> <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjum2G5DorIRpJpHCPe9RyKad4xrR6tr0H7bYhTZT9IaxxXEszI4TCbk3jazQuQ-oktwxg1gtEHAcMIfGYlN_IFI9SNSddmWwVfQ5yk_UwzdD8UoHzHrgeIV0GAUP0TH-BqeqgBFUrCX_l5PW9xBe34Xv02TSNwBXV1ZK7yFxGEc4Eud2MejWYwu14MyQ/s640/The%20Founding%20Tour%20Banner.png" style="background-color: white; color: black; margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center; text-decoration-line: none;"><img border="0" data-original-height="360" data-original-width="640" height="360" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjum2G5DorIRpJpHCPe9RyKad4xrR6tr0H7bYhTZT9IaxxXEszI4TCbk3jazQuQ-oktwxg1gtEHAcMIfGYlN_IFI9SNSddmWwVfQ5yk_UwzdD8UoHzHrgeIV0GAUP0TH-BqeqgBFUrCX_l5PW9xBe34Xv02TSNwBXV1ZK7yFxGEc4Eud2MejWYwu14MyQ/w640-h360/The%20Founding%20Tour%20Banner.png" style="border: none; position: relative;" width="640" /></a></span></p><div class="separator" style="background-color: white; clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgoRYalk1tsxU2Uj7L7JqLk18OpKo8B0W5sZfgKismAbpaEp3pDl1WsL5u2Cy8S5UE4uDnK2khLCbrKzrJ3if3W_i7dL9FELFI5ET4EZffdZwOKsgtS663LIqye477TpOHP28f6hncw8LLw_R1tpaQPhZadLP-YHI-4Ch9P8jtyKILDaJcpwwqyzp8vxA/s2453/The%20Founding%20eBook%20Cover%20Amazon%20XL.jpg" style="clear: left; color: black; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-decoration-line: none;"><span style="font-family: Architects Daughter; font-size: x-large;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2453" data-original-width="1635" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgoRYalk1tsxU2Uj7L7JqLk18OpKo8B0W5sZfgKismAbpaEp3pDl1WsL5u2Cy8S5UE4uDnK2khLCbrKzrJ3if3W_i7dL9FELFI5ET4EZffdZwOKsgtS663LIqye477TpOHP28f6hncw8LLw_R1tpaQPhZadLP-YHI-4Ch9P8jtyKILDaJcpwwqyzp8vxA/w426-h640/The%20Founding%20eBook%20Cover%20Amazon%20XL.jpg" style="border: none; position: relative;" width="426" /></span></a></div><div style="background-color: white; text-align: center; text-size-adjust: auto;"><div><span style="font-family: Architects Daughter; font-size: x-large;"><br /><b>The Founding<br />(Across the Great Divide, Book #3)<br />By Michael L. Ross</b></span></div><div><div><div><b><span style="font-family: Architects Daughter; font-size: x-large;"><br /></span></b></div><div><div><span style="font-family: Architects Daughter; font-size: x-large;"><b>Two men, two dreams, two new towns on the plains, and a railroad that will determine whether the towns—one black, one white—live or die.</b> </span></div><div><span style="font-family: Architects Daughter; font-size: x-large;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: Architects Daughter; font-size: x-large;">Will Crump has survived the Civil War, Red Cloud’s War, and the loss of his love, but the search for peace and belonging still eludes him. From Colorado, famed Texas Ranger Charlie Goodnight lures Will to Texas, where he finds new love, but can a Civil War sharpshooter and a Quaker find a compromise to let their love survive? When Will has a chance to join in the founding of a new town, he risks everything—his savings, his family, and his life—but it will all be for nothing if the new railroad passes them by.</span></div><div><span style="font-family: Architects Daughter; font-size: x-large;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: Architects Daughter; font-size: x-large;">Luther has escaped slavery in Kentucky through Albinia, Will’s sister, only to find prejudice rearing its ugly head in Indiana. When the Black Codes are passed, he’s forced to leave and begin a new odyssey. Where can he and his family go to be truly free? Can they start a town owned by blacks, run by blacks, with no one to answer to? But their success will be dependent on the almighty railroad and overcoming bigotry to prove their town deserves the chance to thrive.</span></div><div><span style="font-family: Architects Daughter; font-size: x-large;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: Architects Daughter; font-size: x-large;">Will’s eldest sister, Julia, and her husband, Hiram, are watching the demise of their steamboat business and jump into railroads, but there’s a long black shadow in the form of Jay Gould, the robber baron who ruthlessly swallows any business he considers competition. Can Julia fight the rules against women in business, dodge Gould, and hold her marriage together?</span></div><div><span style="font-family: Architects Daughter; font-size: x-large;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: Architects Daughter; font-size: x-large;">The Founding tells the little-known story of the Exodusters and Nicodemus, the black town on the plains of Kansas, and the parallel story of Will’s founding of Lubbock, Texas, against the background of railroad expansion in America. A family reunited, new love discovered, the quest for freedom, the rise of two towns. In the end, can they reach Across the Great Divide? The Founding is the exciting conclusion to the series.</span></div></div></div><div><span style="font-family: Architects Daughter; font-size: x-large;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: Architects Daughter; font-size: x-large;"><br /></span></div><div><b><span style="font-family: Architects Daughter; font-size: x-large;">Praise </span></b></div><div><span style="font-family: Architects Daughter; font-size: x-large;"><br /></span></div><div><div><span style="font-family: Architects Daughter; font-size: x-large;">“Michael is an excellent storyteller and has done a wonderful job depicting Luther, and the other black characters in this book. He has done his homework and depicts many historical facts about Nicodemus in a most enlightening and creative way. It has been a pleasure working with someone who has made a concerted effort to get things right. </span></div><div><span style="font-family: Architects Daughter; font-size: x-large;"> </span></div><div><i><span style="font-family: Architects Daughter; font-size: x-large;">~ Angela Bates</span></i></div><div><i><span style="font-family: Architects Daughter; font-size: x-large;">Nicodemus Descendant/Historian</span></i></div><div><i><span style="font-family: Architects Daughter; font-size: x-large;">Executive Director</span></i></div><div><i><span style="font-family: Architects Daughter; font-size: x-large;">The Nicodemus Historical Society and Museum</span></i></div></div><div><span style="font-family: Architects Daughter; font-size: x-large;"><br /></span></div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: Architects Daughter; font-size: x-large;">Excerpt</span></div></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: Architects Daughter; font-size: x-large;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><span style="font-family: Architects Daughter; font-size: x-large;">When the dance finished, Will took both her hands and gazed into her eyes. “I’ve been thinking so much about you, about how I wanted tonight to be. I wish we could float away together.”</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><span style="font-family: Architects Daughter; font-size: x-large;">“Perhaps after the dance,” whispered Mary as the band struck up a lively polka. Mary picked up her skirt with one hand and placed her other on Will’s shoulder as they whirled about the floor. They were laughing and out of breath. When the polka finished, the musicians took a short break and then played a waltz. It was a new one, "The Blue Danube.” Will and Mary watched at first, but he offered her a hand, and they began. She was graceful, knew how to pirouette, and Will took his queues from the other men, even doing a lift here and there. His heart beat rapidly with the exercise and the feel of her. It was only a few minutes, but it seemed frozen in time. </span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><span style="font-family: Architects Daughter; font-size: x-large;">Another young man attempted to cut in on a later dance, but Mary claimed to be indisposed and went to find the privy. When she returned, she went to her father, whispered something to him, pointing at her maid, Miranda, in the corner, and then came back to Will. They’d been dancing for two hours according to the large clock at the head of the hall. </span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><span style="font-family: Architects Daughter; font-size: x-large;">“Will, I spoke to Father. What do you say to a buggy ride? He said you could drive ours. Miranda can ride in the back.”</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><span style="font-family: Architects Daughter; font-size: x-large;">“I would love that! I’m out of breath, and it’s a full moon tonight. It should be easy to see. As long as we stay on the east side, we should be safe.”</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><span style="font-family: Architects Daughter; font-size: x-large;">Once outside, the livery man brought the Kings’ buggy and helped the ladies get in. The moon looked like a huge yellow ball peeking above the horizon, so close it seemed to Will that he could simply step from the earth onto its surface. They drove at a slow walk along Broadway, with Will looking at Mary and the river. Miranda was in the back seat. Will thought she was pretending to be invisible.</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><span style="font-family: Architects Daughter; font-size: x-large;">“Wasn’t that a fun dance? I can’t remember when I’ve enjoyed one so much!” said Mary.</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><span style="font-family: Architects Daughter; font-size: x-large;">“You’re a very good dancer! I’m rather out of practice.”</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><span style="font-family: Architects Daughter; font-size: x-large;">“You did quite well for a cowpoke soldier. I hope we can do it again.”</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><span style="font-family: Architects Daughter; font-size: x-large;">“I’d like to do it over and over, forever. You’re the most beautiful woman. Dancing with you is like being in a dream.”</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><span style="font-family: Architects Daughter; font-size: x-large;">“It is exciting dancing with you. I enjoy getting all prettied up, like any girl. But I also enjoy less formal times, getting away from it all,” she said as they turned the corner to the right down Cochran Street. “I like fishing and long walks.”</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><span style="font-family: Architects Daughter; font-size: x-large;">Will pulled the buggy over by a tree. They were both quiet a moment, then Will asked, “Would you care to walk now? We could go down toward the river.”</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><span style="font-family: Architects Daughter; font-size: x-large;">“That would be delightful,” said Mary.</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><span style="font-family: Architects Daughter; font-size: x-large;">“Oh dear,” said Miranda. “I’m afraid I haven’t brought the right shoes for it. Would it be acceptable if I stay at the top of the path—not too far back, mind?” Miranda gave a conspiratorial wink.</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><span style="font-family: Architects Daughter; font-size: x-large;">Mary smiled. “Why yes, I think that would work.”</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><span style="font-family: Architects Daughter; font-size: x-large;">Will helped the ladies down, set the brake, and tied the buggy to the tree. He showed Mary a narrow path that led toward the water. Miranda stayed at the top of the path. About ten yards down, the land sloped more steeply toward the river, and Will offered his arm for balance, which Mary accepted. </span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><span style="font-family: Architects Daughter; font-size: x-large;">“I love the quiet of the night,” she said. “I know some are afraid of the dark, but to me, it speaks of hidden possibilities, magical times to come. And looking at the stars never fails to show me the wonder of God.”</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><span style="font-family: Architects Daughter; font-size: x-large;">“It makes you feel special, like God took the trouble to design all that just for us to look at.”</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><span style="font-family: Architects Daughter; font-size: x-large;">She stumbled a little, her head dropping to his shoulder. He caught her, turning her toward him. Miranda was out of sight, though not out of earshot. Her head tilted back, and he lightly held her arms a moment, looking at the moonlight on her hair and into her eyes. He moved closer and bent to kiss her, first lightly and then, when she responded, with more urgency. He let go of her arms and embraced her. Her arms encircled his neck. He kissed her quick and light several times and then returned to a deep kiss until they were breathless. He released her, and her head dipped, but she still kept her hands on his shoulders. </span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><span style="font-family: Architects Daughter; font-size: x-large;">“I suppose we should get back,” Will said, “or Miranda will think we’ve fallen in.”</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><span style="font-family: Architects Daughter; font-size: x-large;">Mary chuckled. “No need to worry. She won’t tell anyone. We have an understanding. But we do have Father’s buggy, and he can’t go home until we return.”</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><span style="font-family: Architects Daughter; font-size: x-large;">“When can I see you again? Your father mentioned going to see the land after church. Could you come? Maybe we could ride around the property together.”</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><span style="font-family: Architects Daughter; font-size: x-large;">“I’ll ask Father, but I can’t imagine he would refuse. If he agrees, I could bring a picnic lunch—and challenge you to a race!”</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><span style="font-family: Architects Daughter; font-size: x-large;">“A race? That wouldn’t be fair. Dusty has never been beaten. And besides, what would your father say?”</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><span style="font-family: Architects Daughter; font-size: x-large;">“Father suffers from the disease of many fathers: underestimating their daughters.”</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><span style="font-family: Architects Daughter; font-size: x-large;"> </span></div></div><div><span style="font-family: Architects Daughter; font-size: x-large;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: Architects Daughter; font-size: x-large;"><a href="https://www.amazon.co.uk/dp/B0BL9438XP/" style="color: black; text-decoration-line: none;" target="_blank">Amazon UK<br /></a><a href="https://www.amazon.com/dp/B0BL9438XP/" style="color: black; text-decoration-line: none;" target="_blank">Amazon US<br /></a><a href="https://www.amazon.ca/dp/B0BL9438XP/" style="color: black; text-decoration-line: none;" target="_blank">Amazon CA</a> <br /><a href="https://www.amazon.com.au/dp/B0BL9438XP/" style="color: black; text-decoration-line: none;" target="_blank">Amazon AU<br /></a><a href="https://www.amazon.com/dp/B087JSMHY4" style="color: black; text-decoration-line: none;" target="_blank">Series Link Amazon US<br /></a><a href="https://www.amazon.co.uk/dp/B087JSMHY4" style="color: black; text-decoration-line: none;" target="_blank">Series Link Amazon UK</a></span></div><div><span style="font-family: Architects Daughter; font-size: x-large;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: Architects Daughter; font-size: x-large;">Michael L. Ross</span></div><div><span style="font-family: Architects Daughter; font-size: x-large;"><br /></span></div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgt1DCgvQxnNdlprTIMgQCIyV1LlJ92fqdxjVPw_tBU6qgI1HtFO8fEDNNShfkKv6gNpbQ9Y9mKsUhmudJIV0222DZSWEusgE1n9T8rxoyofEzhfwNh2wnUAU6OpiKd9IaaET9qnKQSxNQtPh1FW20Mf6AE1VPA3SrlhVBiFwIlWVMbj3xm_3r6OCPYxg/s400/Michael%20L%20Ross.jpeg" style="clear: left; color: black; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-decoration-line: none;"><span style="font-family: Architects Daughter; font-size: x-large;"><img border="0" data-original-height="400" data-original-width="400" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgt1DCgvQxnNdlprTIMgQCIyV1LlJ92fqdxjVPw_tBU6qgI1HtFO8fEDNNShfkKv6gNpbQ9Y9mKsUhmudJIV0222DZSWEusgE1n9T8rxoyofEzhfwNh2wnUAU6OpiKd9IaaET9qnKQSxNQtPh1FW20Mf6AE1VPA3SrlhVBiFwIlWVMbj3xm_3r6OCPYxg/s320/Michael%20L%20Ross.jpeg" style="border: none; position: relative;" width="320" /></span></a></div></div><div><span style="font-family: Architects Daughter; font-size: x-large;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: Architects Daughter; font-size: x-large;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: Architects Daughter; font-size: x-large;">Michael Ross is a lover of history and great stories.</span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: Architects Daughter; font-size: x-large;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: Architects Daughter; font-size: x-large;">He’s a retired software engineer turned author, with three children, and five grandchildren, living in Newton, Kansas with his wife of 39 years. Michael graduated from Rice University and Portland State University with degrees in German and software engineering. He was part of an MBA program at Boston University. </span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: Architects Daughter; font-size: x-large;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: Architects Daughter; font-size: x-large;">Michael was born in Lubbock, Texas, and still loves Texas. He’s written short stories and technical articles in the past, as well as articles for the Texas Historical Society. </span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: Architects Daughter; font-size: x-large;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: Architects Daughter; font-size: x-large;">Across the Great Divide now has three novels in the series, "The Clouds of War", and "The Search", and the conclusion, "The Founding". "The Clouds of War" was an honorable mention for Coffee Pot Book of the Year in 2019, and an Amazon #1 best seller in three categories, along with making the Amazon top 100 paid, reviewed in Publisher's Weekly. "The Search" won Coffee Pot Cover of the Year in 2020, and Coffee Pot Silver Medal for Book of the Year in 2020, as well as short listed for the Chanticleer International Book Laramie Award. </span></div><div><span style="font-family: Architects Daughter; font-size: x-large;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: Architects Daughter; font-size: x-large;">Social Media Links:</span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: Architects Daughter; font-size: x-large;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: Architects Daughter; font-size: x-large;"><a href="http://historicalnovelsrus.com/" style="color: black; text-decoration-line: none;" target="_blank">Website</a> / <a href="https://twitter.com/MichaelLRoss7" style="color: black; text-decoration-line: none;" target="_blank">Twitter</a> / <a href="http://facebook.com/HistoricalNovelsRUS" style="color: black; text-decoration-line: none;" target="_blank">Facebook</a>/ <a href="https://www.amazon.co.uk/Michael-Ross/e/B07PTB7WMK" style="color: black; text-decoration-line: none;" target="_blank">Amazon Author Page</a> / <a href="https://www.bookbub.com/profile/michael-l-ross" style="color: black; text-decoration-line: none;" target="_blank">BookBub</a> / <a href="https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/19005014.Michael_Ross" style="color: black; text-decoration-line: none;" target="_blank">Goodreads</a></span></div></div><div><div><span style="font-family: times; font-size: x-large;"><br /></span></div><div style="font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 14.85px;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEizkQXE_O6xjkpMF5CaPp_PKIzBfzGKV8xZb79FVL03QfsBZkIqLMuT8L9EwPHtoWgHYoSSF76YVKEAYNgY8gzwHqMrAESs-BMiExTi2AfUdVDnAhAQMK5zHL0WZJDgGqjerXU6sMM_Qxdimbic_ksL1XjWgo4MfLjpSBvobIKYfp3F31tMyZkuTkQcRA/s640/The%20Founding%20Tour%20Schedule.png" imageanchor="1" style="color: #a1230d; margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="360" data-original-width="640" height="360" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEizkQXE_O6xjkpMF5CaPp_PKIzBfzGKV8xZb79FVL03QfsBZkIqLMuT8L9EwPHtoWgHYoSSF76YVKEAYNgY8gzwHqMrAESs-BMiExTi2AfUdVDnAhAQMK5zHL0WZJDgGqjerXU6sMM_Qxdimbic_ksL1XjWgo4MfLjpSBvobIKYfp3F31tMyZkuTkQcRA/w640-h360/The%20Founding%20Tour%20Schedule.png" style="border: none; position: relative;" width="640" /></a></div></div></div></div></div>Helenahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06962202331435066843noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8064482728419855641.post-14779957992668528952022-11-30T23:00:00.004-08:002022-11-30T23:00:00.230-08:00Cover Reveal - The Captain’s Woman by Holly Bush #HistoricalRomance #BlogTour #TheCoffeePotBookClub @hollybushbooks @cathiedunn<p><span style="font-family: Architects Daughter;"> </span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhtKQZo7L8CeIlhPs2SthGf7NPX39FcKJgA6L6RcNSvsbKpskF8uaQQMyR1mBFEAmU_2GrBLf1LTu2OonmNRg9EAOINTAtA51DdbXzerQXJr5JoyFq2ZD2arB212ANbG2Q9_Qwrnv4r-AL2K5SqJfGhdki3ZMElFCTNAsGhwc07xZAbe6pYzUtDpAaL3w/s640/The%20Captain's%20Woman%20Tour%20Banner%20with%20Cover.png" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: Architects Daughter;"><img border="0" data-original-height="360" data-original-width="640" height="360" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhtKQZo7L8CeIlhPs2SthGf7NPX39FcKJgA6L6RcNSvsbKpskF8uaQQMyR1mBFEAmU_2GrBLf1LTu2OonmNRg9EAOINTAtA51DdbXzerQXJr5JoyFq2ZD2arB212ANbG2Q9_Qwrnv4r-AL2K5SqJfGhdki3ZMElFCTNAsGhwc07xZAbe6pYzUtDpAaL3w/w640-h360/The%20Captain's%20Woman%20Tour%20Banner%20with%20Cover.png" width="640" /></span></a></div><p></p><p style="text-align: center;"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjSS6J7AqEeWtVf-vRY8c8aR6eEmKtk-Czq9rXk7HWeE2DoXnhF6QrzBVw06idlGY1PmKfOG5JWeO77jlSsDXrBt-Lo5w8zZe49fb-lJ9pv5fIqyCQ-l8KF1hPtTdN2RkfF0CsHIL5Tz5lknwjy-4kTBNpajt8z6Y99zjYiwWHvQEu3adUGLYcT5A3mGA/s2453/Captain's%20Woman%20eBook%20Cover.jpg" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: Architects Daughter;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2453" data-original-width="1635" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjSS6J7AqEeWtVf-vRY8c8aR6eEmKtk-Czq9rXk7HWeE2DoXnhF6QrzBVw06idlGY1PmKfOG5JWeO77jlSsDXrBt-Lo5w8zZe49fb-lJ9pv5fIqyCQ-l8KF1hPtTdN2RkfF0CsHIL5Tz5lknwjy-4kTBNpajt8z6Y99zjYiwWHvQEu3adUGLYcT5A3mGA/w426-h640/Captain's%20Woman%20eBook%20Cover.jpg" width="426" /></span></a></div><span style="font-family: Architects Daughter;"><br /></span><p></p><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Architects Daughter;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">The Captain’s Woman <br /></span><span style="font-size: x-large;">By Holly Bush</span></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Architects Daughter; font-size: x-large;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Architects Daughter;"><br /></span><span style="font-size: x-large;"><div><b><span style="font-family: Architects Daughter;">Meet the Thompsons of Locust Street, an unconventional family taking Philadelphia high society by storm…</span></b></div><div><span style="font-family: Architects Daughter;"> </span></div><div><span style="font-family: Architects Daughter;">1870 ~ Muireall Thompson has taken her duties seriously since her parents died on the family’s crossing from Scotland to America in 1854. As the eldest sibling, their death made her responsible for her family and left little time for a life of her own. But now her brothers and sisters are adults; even the youngest is nearly ready to face the world on his own. What will she do when she is alone, other than care for an elderly aunt and volunteer at the Sisters of Charity orphanage? Has the chance for a husband and children of her own passed her by?</span></div><div><span style="font-family: Architects Daughter;"> </span></div><div><span style="font-family: Architects Daughter;">Widower Anthony Marcus, formerly a captain in the Union Army, is a man scraping the bottom of his dignity and hanging on to his honor by the barest thread. Reduced to doing odd jobs to keep a roof over his dear daughter Ann’s head, he often leaves her with the Sisters of Charity while he is out seeking steady work with a decent salary that will allow him to move from their single-room living quarters.</span></div><div><span style="font-family: Architects Daughter;"> </span></div><div><span style="font-family: Architects Daughter;">After an initial meeting that finds Muireall and Anthony at odds, a tentative friendship forms as they bond over their mutual affection for Ann. As friendship leads to passion, can a wealthy spinster and a poor soldier overcome their differences in station to forge a future together? Just as Muireall finds the courage to reach for her own happiness, Anthony’s past rises up between them and an old enemy reemerges to bring the Thompson family down once and for all. Will the divide between them be insurmountable, or can they put aside pride and doubt for a love worth fighting for?</span></div><div><span style="font-family: Architects Daughter;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: Architects Daughter;">If you would like to read this novel click <a href="https://books2read.com/u/b6zwwZ " target="_blank">here</a> to access your favourite online bookstore.</span></div><div><span style="color: #cc0000; font-family: Architects Daughter;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: Architects Daughter;">Holly Bush</span></div><div><span style="font-family: Architects Daughter;"><br /></span></div><div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhP1AocXITW8AqFqob0-R7o_uk3txNSwie2TAM3m_oS8_ZAMOrdRtSk4GhUw_LHm1VdDt0CS4jt4woY1jAL0iuqpL1BRcfPphQMA2VQx-8JJSXjLpX8JTvFad1ZAUPLSqOEJ7QzwhilvgnyUV42f1ImedzRIWktYGlvpVIFHdeKRe7b5UPv7OXAYsgF1w/s478/Holly%20Bush%20author.jpg" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: Architects Daughter;"><img border="0" data-original-height="478" data-original-width="450" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhP1AocXITW8AqFqob0-R7o_uk3txNSwie2TAM3m_oS8_ZAMOrdRtSk4GhUw_LHm1VdDt0CS4jt4woY1jAL0iuqpL1BRcfPphQMA2VQx-8JJSXjLpX8JTvFad1ZAUPLSqOEJ7QzwhilvgnyUV42f1ImedzRIWktYGlvpVIFHdeKRe7b5UPv7OXAYsgF1w/s320/Holly%20Bush%20author.jpg" width="301" /></span></a></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: Architects Daughter;">Holly Bush writes historical romance set in the U.S.in the late 1800’s, in Victorian England, and an occasional Women’s Fiction title. Her books are described as emotional, with heartfelt, sexy romance. She makes her home with her husband in Lancaster County, Pennsylvania. </span></div></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: Architects Daughter;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: Architects Daughter;">Social Media Links:</span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><div><span style="font-family: Architects Daughter;"><a href="https://hollybushbooks.com/ " target="_blank">Website</a> / <a href="https://twitter.com/hollybushbooks " target="_blank">Twitter</a> / <a href="https://www.facebook.com/holly.r.bush " target="_blank">Facebook</a> / <a href="https://www.bookbub.com/authors/holly-bush " target="_blank">BookBub</a> / <a href="https://www.amazon.com/Holly-Bush/e/B006ZDTQ1A/" target="_blank">Amazon Author Page</a> / <a href="https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/3378392.Holly_Bush " target="_blank">Goodreads</a></span></div><div><span style="font-family: Architects Daughter;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://thecoffeepotbookclub.blogspot.com/2022/10/blog-tour-captains-woman-by-holly-bush.html " target="_blank"><span style="font-family: Architects Daughter;">Tour Schedule</span></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgWIBLXwJdRFO0Ye4Vga_VqzgPfVIYNZR56hP3tDhzhzR51o50lq6ZVShvOIzfc0h8C7QOP84ma0V9klSChzl7L-i7vhUE13HJjZP6wtLL2pBcD44dycOZaua0FOwtW2dj3howtZlx2_-gtZYPazbfdrpp9RsiAG-E76-OZdIOIwRXlhDM4Y-2BmbvFNw/s640/The%20Captain's%20Woman%20Tour%20Schedule.png" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="360" data-original-width="640" height="360" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgWIBLXwJdRFO0Ye4Vga_VqzgPfVIYNZR56hP3tDhzhzR51o50lq6ZVShvOIzfc0h8C7QOP84ma0V9klSChzl7L-i7vhUE13HJjZP6wtLL2pBcD44dycOZaua0FOwtW2dj3howtZlx2_-gtZYPazbfdrpp9RsiAG-E76-OZdIOIwRXlhDM4Y-2BmbvFNw/w640-h360/The%20Captain's%20Woman%20Tour%20Schedule.png" width="640" /></a></div><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div><br /></div></div><div><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi4JiL2yNAPA_WQAD0aGlKqMneqZr3ZMEQD1LHMCy6nkHd7tmb1kTGbBXAv7iCnvNMVjBsAZc4b8G3-imKJSaeDfBYpJ3Jmj8_piUgMxtFviumK_5pm2onKlfw5sQYouR2kNFy3tSXHrRrrD4radjCf61f52HrU5QW8afArCWlXXjEcpkxB9_GETKCn9g/s640/The%20Captain's%20Woman%20Tour%20Schedule.png" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="360" data-original-width="640" height="360" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi4JiL2yNAPA_WQAD0aGlKqMneqZr3ZMEQD1LHMCy6nkHd7tmb1kTGbBXAv7iCnvNMVjBsAZc4b8G3-imKJSaeDfBYpJ3Jmj8_piUgMxtFviumK_5pm2onKlfw5sQYouR2kNFy3tSXHrRrrD4radjCf61f52HrU5QW8afArCWlXXjEcpkxB9_GETKCn9g/w640-h360/The%20Captain's%20Woman%20Tour%20Schedule.png" width="640" /></a></div><br /><div><br /></div></div></span></div><p><br /></p>Helenahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06962202331435066843noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8064482728419855641.post-13959344182132975622022-11-24T23:00:00.002-08:002022-11-24T23:00:00.185-08:00BOOK EXCERPT - Liopleurodon: The Master of the Deep by M. B. Zucker #HistoricalFantasy #BlogTour #TheCoffeePotBookClub @MBZuckerBooks @MichaelZucker1 @cathiedunn<div class="separator" style="background-color: white; clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhHIQZyhFqEy_ZxMic6SDulmOQGQyFWuk2ctydMkLs5B6sSH1402NXwNn0cwHsvuTIZOv6YEI_7NCjK0rrKfAy-7OLuJvhXu6a-EMeIz64D81MzICBo7IXoGtEbXWBzvCDV3du_UJZWJ2-riDf8VhKch-JbDtg346ZBDp-aTMpH5mIRM3g73ldZK6JxwA/s640/Liopleurodon%20Tour%20Banner.png" style="color: black; margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-decoration-line: none;"><span style="font-family: Architects Daughter; font-size: x-large;"><img border="0" data-original-height="360" data-original-width="640" height="360" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhHIQZyhFqEy_ZxMic6SDulmOQGQyFWuk2ctydMkLs5B6sSH1402NXwNn0cwHsvuTIZOv6YEI_7NCjK0rrKfAy-7OLuJvhXu6a-EMeIz64D81MzICBo7IXoGtEbXWBzvCDV3du_UJZWJ2-riDf8VhKch-JbDtg346ZBDp-aTMpH5mIRM3g73ldZK6JxwA/w640-h360/Liopleurodon%20Tour%20Banner.png" style="border: none; position: relative;" width="640" /></span></a></div><div style="background-color: white; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Architects Daughter; font-size: x-large;"><br /></span></div><div style="background-color: white; text-align: center;"><span style="caret-color: rgb(0, 0, 0);"><span style="font-family: Architects Daughter; font-size: x-large;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="background-color: white; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: Architects Daughter; font-size: x-large;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgzYrSGFcCu8x9fMioT39tYJNUmzbPjFeXFNR1idB80kZEuCfXTR252neJm8sPqo9XIB1SXwX3LFBczGR8vPqSHuLTMjuy_2eMmnjjMRkYl6NZ_LdoqgSd1hY9c73Xhk2Fcc357C2TgiO64DMj3PlY7HPOzcxn7PCnd4mHL7fEOkKpT-FgdPm8dTSYGgg/s2700/Liopleurodon%20Ebook%20Front%20Cover.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2700" data-original-width="1800" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgzYrSGFcCu8x9fMioT39tYJNUmzbPjFeXFNR1idB80kZEuCfXTR252neJm8sPqo9XIB1SXwX3LFBczGR8vPqSHuLTMjuy_2eMmnjjMRkYl6NZ_LdoqgSd1hY9c73Xhk2Fcc357C2TgiO64DMj3PlY7HPOzcxn7PCnd4mHL7fEOkKpT-FgdPm8dTSYGgg/w426-h640/Liopleurodon%20Ebook%20Front%20Cover.jpg" width="426" /></a></div>Liopleurodon:</span></div><div style="background-color: white; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: Architects Daughter; font-size: x-large;">The Master of the Deep</span></div><div style="background-color: white; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: Architects Daughter; font-size: x-large;">By M. B. Zucker</span></div><div style="background-color: white; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: Architects Daughter; font-size: x-large;"><br /></span></div><div style="background-color: white; text-align: left;"><div style="text-align: center;"><div style="text-align: left;"><b><span style="font-family: Architects Daughter; font-size: x-large;">From M. B. Zucker, award-winning author of</span></b></div><div style="text-align: left;"><b><span style="font-family: Architects Daughter; font-size: x-large;">"The Eisenhower Chronicles"</span></b></div></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: Architects Daughter; font-size: x-large;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><p style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: Architects Daughter; font-size: x-large;">Liopleurodon ferox was the deadliest sea predator of all time, the king of the Jurassic ocean. This whale-sized reptile's return to the early twentieth century triggers a geopolitical crisis in this new historical science fiction thriller. Former President Theodore Roosevelt foresees the threat the Liopleurodon would pose if it falls into the wrong hands. The race is on as Roosevelt leads the American effort to destroy it before the Kaiser’s Germany can turn it into a weapon.</span></p><p></p><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: Architects Daughter; font-size: x-large;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><b><span style="font-family: Architects Daughter; font-size: x-large;">Fans of Jurassic Park and Steve Alten’s Meg series will not want to miss this adventure filled with action, political intrigue, and characters that readers will remember long after finishing this novel.</span></b></div><p></p></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: Architects Daughter; font-size: x-large;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><b><span style="font-family: Architects Daughter; font-size: x-large;">Advance Praise for Liopleurodon: The Master of the Deep</span></b></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: Architects Daughter; font-size: x-large;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: Architects Daughter; font-size: x-large;">"The storyline itself was superb ---- A Jaws/Jurassic Park thriller and a bit of a spy novel all in one - and compelling."</span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><i><span style="font-family: Architects Daughter; font-size: x-large;">~ The Historical Fiction Company</span></i></div></div></div><div style="background-color: white; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: Architects Daughter; font-size: x-large;"><br /></span></div><div style="background-color: white; text-align: center; text-size-adjust: auto;"><div><div><div><span style="font-family: Architects Daughter; font-size: x-large;"><br /></span></div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><span style="font-family: Architects Daughter; font-size: x-large;"><iframe allowfullscreen="allowfullscreen" class="b-hbp-video b-uploaded" frameborder="0" height="266" id="BLOGGER-video-4adf9d1f26de48fc-13200" mozallowfullscreen="mozallowfullscreen" src="https://www.blogger.com/video.g?token=AD6v5dyiUK_7UNKyme-EKYXtjmifWvd58r49SmfmpxFdKws9nuQwUs9pX2bzHvdiVL5O7xN-oaZsV5rMKxvP7m0OwoX9q-c2W2KON8Jea7saL5hP3WrGfu-_1ZwJoa0qz4uCRAASCXJQ" webkitallowfullscreen="webkitallowfullscreen" width="320"></iframe></span></div><span style="font-family: Architects Daughter; font-size: x-large;"><br /></span></div></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: Architects Daughter; font-size: x-large;">Excerpt</span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: Architects Daughter; font-size: x-large;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: Architects Daughter; font-size: x-large;"><div><i>Luke reflects while waiting for the Liopleurodon to arrive for the monster's first battle with the protagonists.</i></div><div><br /></div><div>Luke watched the sunrise on the Sea Otter’s deck as the sky became an evolving painting, shifting from black to pink to orange to blue. Nature’s beauty was a lifelong source of excitement. He should get up early every morning—with Kelsey beside him. It was free entertainment, as captivating as any work of art ever crafted by man because this was crafted by God. The sky’s progression was only the beginning. Beyond it waited the universe, infinite in scale, majesty, and power. Who knew what was out there, what marvels existed to be adored? Stars, planets, other species, all going through their own cycles of life and death. He resented being stuck on Earth. Though the Earth had its own untapped universe to explore, one that was closer and more meaningful. Luke glanced at the ocean’s surface. Beneath was another world, virtually none of which man had yet seen. Incredible creatures—predator and prey, monster and magnificent—all part of the same planet, from the same hand as the colors drawn across the sky. That included the ancient monster—evolution’s most dangerous creation—that Luke knew was on its way.</div><div><br /></div><div>Anxiety bubbled below the surface of Luke’s mind. He sought to impose calm, but his consciousness struggled to put its pants on as his subconscious darted ahead. Panic surged every few moments, not derived from thoughts, but from his intuition of what was coming and what was at stake if the Navy failed. What if too many poisoned bullets and harpoons missed? What if the Liopleurodon killed everyone on the patrol boats? What if the Germans captured it? What would they do with it? Could it affect the outcome of a future war? Would the Kaiser rule the world? Luke tried taking his mind off his fear. He thought of Kelsey. Her blonde hair. Her embrace. Yes. Think of that. Another surge. Kelsey’s image faded. Tainted. Next he thought of his father. A legacy redeemed. If only he’d known. He didn’t have to die. Didn’t have to leave Luke and his mother. Another surge. Damnit. Think of the sea, where he was more comfortable than he was on land. Of being a great fish. A being of power and grace. No issues of status or love to think of. Just swimming. And eating. And reproduction. And not being killed by sharks. Or the Liopleurodon. Another surge.</div><div><br /></div><div>Luke shook his head and snorted. He looked at the others. Maybe getting out of his musings would distract him. Professor Harris was nearby. Like Luke, Harris wore a float vest and a belt that clipped to a canister full of putrescine. Harris looked away from the water, staring blankly, focusing on his breathing to stay calm. Luke looked at Colonel Roosevelt and General Wood, sitting together on the other side of the deck, facing opposite the Paulding and the concoction zone. Roosevelt’s forearms rested on his knees, his hands dangling between his stretched legs. He wore khaki trousers and a blue flannel shirt with yellow suspenders. Atop his head sat a brown felt hat with a blue and white bandanna tied around it. It was the same outfit he’d worn when he rode up Kettle Hill.</div><div><br /></div><div>Roosevelt noticed Luke staring at him.</div><div><br /></div></span></div><div><span style="font-family: Architects Daughter; font-size: x-large;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: Architects Daughter; font-size: x-large;"><span style="color: #333333; text-align: left;">If you would like to read this novel then you can find your copy at the following bookstores: </span><a href="https://www.amazon.co.uk/Liopleurodon-Master-Deep-M-B-Zucker-%20ebook/dp/B0B99H12H2" style="color: black; text-decoration-line: none;" target="_blank">Amazon UK</a>, <a href="https://www.amazon.com/Liopleurodon-Master-Deep-M-B-Zucker-%20ebook/dp/B0B99H12H2" style="color: black; text-decoration-line: none;" target="_blank">Amazon US</a>, <a href="https://www.amazon.ca/Liopleurodon-Master-Deep-M-B-Zucker-%20ebook/dp/B0B99H12H2" style="color: black; text-decoration-line: none;" target="_blank">Amazon CA</a>, <a href="https://www.amazon.com.au/Liopleurodon-Master-Deep-M-B-Zucker-%20ebook/dp/B0B99H12H2" style="color: black; text-decoration-line: none;" target="_blank">Amazon AU</a>,</span></div><div><span style="font-family: Architects Daughter; font-size: x-large;"><a href="https://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/liopleurodon-m-b-zucker/1141992437?%20ean=9798986256467" style="color: black; text-decoration-line: none;" target="_blank">Barnes and Noble</a>, <a href="https://www.waterstones.com/book/liopleurodon/m-b-zucker/historium-%20press/9798986256450" style="color: black; text-decoration-line: none;" target="_blank">Waterstone</a>s, <a href="https://www.kobo.com/us/en/ebook/liopleurodon-1" style="color: black; text-decoration-line: none;" target="_blank">Kobo</a> </span></div><div><span style="font-family: Architects Daughter; font-size: x-large;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: Architects Daughter; font-size: x-large;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: Architects Daughter; font-size: x-large;"><br /></span></div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><span style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: Architects Daughter; font-size: x-large;"><img border="0" data-original-height="600" data-original-width="450" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgjJULWdbZgxcePnMoCJwOH3pIMKDp8LTHYpFJqKv5MbK7iNpqzF_W1c5peKEn6C25YLIAgLoR1vOncLheFyzN2Y6dZIBtdkiFvE50v0vLdxNVgxOuTKVH2lhyz9LSeiFE06l7p3KscbnbHB1rB465AvtUzhyDigEASPwQYVYTf4JzmUgRw-N8VB-pGZA/s320/MB%20Zucker.jpg" style="border: none; position: relative;" width="240" /></span></span></div></div><div><span style="font-family: Architects Daughter; font-size: x-large;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: Architects Daughter; font-size: x-large;">M. B. Zucker has been interested in storytelling for as long as he can remember. He discovered his love of history at fifteen and studied Dwight Eisenhower for over ten years. </span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: Architects Daughter; font-size: x-large;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: Architects Daughter; font-size: x-large;">Mr. Zucker earned his B.A. at Occidental College and his J.D. at Case Western Reserve University School of Law. He lives in Virginia with his wife.</span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: Architects Daughter; font-size: x-large;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: Architects Daughter; font-size: x-large;">Social Media Links:</span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: Architects Daughter; font-size: x-large;"><a href="https://www.michaelbzucker.com/" style="color: black; text-decoration-line: none;" target="_blank">Website</a> • <a href="https://twitter.com/michaelzucker1" style="color: black; text-decoration-line: none;" target="_blank">Twitter</a> • <a href="https://twitter.com/MBZuckerBooks" style="color: black; text-decoration-line: none;" target="_blank">Twitter Books</a> • <a href="https://www.facebook.com/profile.php?id=100061516155957" style="color: black; text-decoration-line: none;" target="_blank">Facebook</a> </span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: Architects Daughter; font-size: x-large;"> <a href="https://www.instagram.com/m.b.zucker.author/" style="color: black; text-decoration-line: none;" target="_blank">Instagram</a> • <a href="https://www.amazon.com/M-B-Zucker/e/B09JM74HMF" style="color: black; text-decoration-line: none;" target="_blank">Amazon Author Page</a></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: Architects Daughter; font-size: x-large;"><a href="https://www.linkedin.com/in/michaelbzucker" style="color: black; text-decoration-line: none;" target="_blank">LinkedIn</a> • <a href="https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/21882348.M_B_Zucker" style="color: black; text-decoration-line: none;" target="_blank">Goodreads</a></span></div><div style="caret-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: Architects Daughter; font-size: x-large;"><br /></span></div></div><div style="caret-color: rgb(0, 0, 0);"><a href="https://thecoffeepotbookclub.blogspot.com/2022/09/blog-tour-liopleurodon-master-of-deep.html" target="_blank"><span style="font-family: Architects Daughter; font-size: x-large;">Tour Schedule</span></a></div></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj251_cyPQcfR6XKUG1OT47fyLrrySr1WdEomqymjYQ_fkxGI_0qnXmzr5XMXqsg-OSXyeiCBunEKgIesfFBigwaoNuT2BcEH_5SsfhQUglbgrdQblJ5EbO5QdcK09_VIq94gqbGOoesjFV4kVDKA4Z5xzMK1S3iE2QwkrydfPNkrI8T4Xrm57P8I6RfA/s640/Liopleurodon%20Tour%20Schedule.png" style="background-color: white; color: #a1230d; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 14.85px; margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="360" data-original-width="640" height="360" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj251_cyPQcfR6XKUG1OT47fyLrrySr1WdEomqymjYQ_fkxGI_0qnXmzr5XMXqsg-OSXyeiCBunEKgIesfFBigwaoNuT2BcEH_5SsfhQUglbgrdQblJ5EbO5QdcK09_VIq94gqbGOoesjFV4kVDKA4Z5xzMK1S3iE2QwkrydfPNkrI8T4Xrm57P8I6RfA/w640-h360/Liopleurodon%20Tour%20Schedule.png" style="border: none; position: relative;" width="640" /></a></div><p> </p>Helenahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06962202331435066843noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8064482728419855641.post-7121441307093337132022-11-14T22:30:00.001-08:002022-11-14T22:30:00.200-08:00New Release - Wolves of Wagria by Eric Schumacher #Viking #HistoricalFiction #BlogTour @DarkAgeScribe @cathiedunn <p><br /></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg40oS3gxW_BDUtwwRok9UFAm1vlUVFlZVcwmNzgRkVCj6v1DU5zLYD5pEkmtTuG5gKna99sxEgYiGXd3dZuWfe6ivleGZhhnPL-ssQ1B2g3gjRd4ONR2rnnpbzc4Q_PnXi1xANFXci52oIPWJMpDmvZTEPWxLYN1eWLRVyIXRlQPVTjIjoZTKKS-bUbw/s640/Wolves%20of%20Wagria%20Tour%20Banner.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: Architects Daughter; font-size: x-large;"><img border="0" data-original-height="360" data-original-width="640" height="360" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg40oS3gxW_BDUtwwRok9UFAm1vlUVFlZVcwmNzgRkVCj6v1DU5zLYD5pEkmtTuG5gKna99sxEgYiGXd3dZuWfe6ivleGZhhnPL-ssQ1B2g3gjRd4ONR2rnnpbzc4Q_PnXi1xANFXci52oIPWJMpDmvZTEPWxLYN1eWLRVyIXRlQPVTjIjoZTKKS-bUbw/w640-h360/Wolves%20of%20Wagria%20Tour%20Banner.png" width="640" /></span></a></div><p></p><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: Architects Daughter; font-size: x-large;"><b><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhBB-f2mSGtvkkTjbDO0tB3KX9EBYEs7w37PbHJjkXJ4TOyTLCdkT_k_krjth3_JNzCoTa9hi3m9Z_QyFNkyNC5I3yOmJ4YyPYakF8SXYhJpKgY3gMuveu0C9zOJm4oBUiMtX4l2PWaNVngD6q8VGNdYC9_ZGbafQ2FAZH5e8waVaej8JXRAh9xoD7qSw/s500/Wolves%20of%20Wagria%20cover.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="500" data-original-width="336" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhBB-f2mSGtvkkTjbDO0tB3KX9EBYEs7w37PbHJjkXJ4TOyTLCdkT_k_krjth3_JNzCoTa9hi3m9Z_QyFNkyNC5I3yOmJ4YyPYakF8SXYhJpKgY3gMuveu0C9zOJm4oBUiMtX4l2PWaNVngD6q8VGNdYC9_ZGbafQ2FAZH5e8waVaej8JXRAh9xoD7qSw/w430-h640/Wolves%20of%20Wagria%20cover.jpeg" width="430" /></a></div><br />Wolves of Wagria<br /></b><b>By Eric Schumacher</b></span></div><p></p><p><b><span style="font-family: Architects Daughter; font-size: x-large;">Three kingdoms. Two friends. Only one way to survive.</span></b></p><p><i><span style="font-family: Architects Daughter; font-size: x-large;">For fans of Bernard Cornwell and Conn Iggulden comes the tale of Olaf Tryggvason and his adventures in the battle-scarred kingdom of Wagria.</span></i></p><p><span style="font-family: Architects Daughter; font-size: x-large;">It is AD 972. Olaf Tryggvason and his oath-sworn protector, Torgil, are once again on the move. They have left the Rus kingdom and now travel the Baltic Sea in search of plunder and fame. But a fateful storm lands them on the Vendish coastline in a kingdom called Wagria.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: Architects Daughter; font-size: x-large;">There, they find themselves caught between the aggression of the Danes, the political aspirations of the Wagrian lords, and the shifting politics in Saxland. Can they survive or will they become just one more casualty of kingly ambitions? </span></p><p><span style="font-family: Architects Daughter; font-size: x-large;">Find out in this harrowing sequel to the best-selling Forged by Iron and Sigurd’s Swords.</span></p><div><a href="https://mybook.to/wolvesofwagria" target="_blank"><span style="font-family: Architects Daughter; font-size: x-large;">Amazon</span></a></div><div><span style="font-family: Architects Daughter; font-size: x-large;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: Architects Daughter; font-size: x-large;">Eric Schumacher </span></div><div><span style="font-family: Architects Daughter; font-size: x-large;"><br /></span></div><div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh77WBPaGI977eEMSel6MdqQhyemlEyR98Pc60f-aVxH-vdK37ukwG-LCIYBZw3tbKWV4tkUVdRPw-TWwvUe6wZjG_J9yFBFxf9tcTQ97-wUVO_NPwFcZATua7S-TteHVVcA6HzryDQgvmPtbffslkqJX47s0yz7sVMwFC_Bvc9pDGIg4Jdn-GnIftJdQ/s400/Eric%20Schumacher%20author.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: Architects Daughter; font-size: x-large;"><img border="0" data-original-height="400" data-original-width="400" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh77WBPaGI977eEMSel6MdqQhyemlEyR98Pc60f-aVxH-vdK37ukwG-LCIYBZw3tbKWV4tkUVdRPw-TWwvUe6wZjG_J9yFBFxf9tcTQ97-wUVO_NPwFcZATua7S-TteHVVcA6HzryDQgvmPtbffslkqJX47s0yz7sVMwFC_Bvc9pDGIg4Jdn-GnIftJdQ/s320/Eric%20Schumacher%20author.jpeg" width="320" /></span></a></div><span style="font-family: Architects Daughter; font-size: x-large;"><br />Eric Schumacher discovered his love for writing and medieval European history at a very early age, as well as authors like J.R.R. Tolkien, C.S. Lewis, Bernard Cornwell, Jack Whyte, and Wilbur Smith. Those discoveries fueled his imagination and continue to influence the stories he tells. His first novel, God’s Hammer, was published in 2005.</span></div><div><span style="font-family: Architects Daughter; font-size: x-large;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: Architects Daughter; font-size: x-large;">You can follow Eric Schumacher on Amazon or by joining his newsletter at https://www.ericschumacher.net/readers-club.</span></div><div><span style="font-family: Architects Daughter; font-size: x-large;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: Architects Daughter; font-size: x-large;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: Architects Daughter; font-size: x-large;">Social Media Links: </span></div><div><span style="font-family: Architects Daughter; font-size: x-large;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: Architects Daughter; font-size: x-large;"><a href="http://www.ericschumacher.net" target="_blank">Website</a> / <a href="https://twitter.com/DarkAgeScribe " target="_blank">Twitter</a> / <a href="https://www.facebook.com/EricSchumacherAuthor" target="_blank">Facebook</a> / <a href="https://www.linkedin.com/in/eric-schumacher-91b80b/" target="_blank">LinkedIn</a> / <a href="https://www.bookbub.com/profile/eric-schumacher" target="_blank">Book Bub</a> / <a href="https://www.amazon.com/Eric-Schumacher/e/B001K8G4YW/ " target="_blank">Amazon Author Page</a> / <a href="https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/399517.Eric_Schumacher" target="_blank">Goodreads</a></span></div><div><span style="font-family: Architects Daughter; font-size: x-large;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: Architects Daughter; font-size: x-large;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://thecoffeepotbookclub.blogspot.com/2022/10/blog-tour-wolves-of-wagria.html " target="_blank"><span style="font-family: Architects Daughter; font-size: x-large;">Tour Schedule</span></a></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhoKVwm9rizp1Mqjo1PMqO04PLL5gJzwgkbYshI_lkdLsQzyh4_7ufp5dB9pil8y3D7wjuZTmN8tVos_rdIpCtCriJFatnARrcnPXVM6wyoHQqjYSHgVVAEnoIV1a2WKPWNqY6r_PM67wGmxQJQ7eq-SbymGC4Ea43QBTNITjNZg7203Ggxo9jmz7zflg/s640/Wolves%20of%20Wagria%20Tour%20Schedule.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="360" data-original-width="640" height="360" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhoKVwm9rizp1Mqjo1PMqO04PLL5gJzwgkbYshI_lkdLsQzyh4_7ufp5dB9pil8y3D7wjuZTmN8tVos_rdIpCtCriJFatnARrcnPXVM6wyoHQqjYSHgVVAEnoIV1a2WKPWNqY6r_PM67wGmxQJQ7eq-SbymGC4Ea43QBTNITjNZg7203Ggxo9jmz7zflg/w640-h360/Wolves%20of%20Wagria%20Tour%20Schedule.png" width="640" /></a></div><br /><div><br /></div><div><br /></div></div>Helenahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06962202331435066843noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8064482728419855641.post-32516723411294915742022-11-08T23:00:00.002-08:002022-11-08T23:00:00.198-08:00#BlogTour - Squire’s Hazard (Book 5 of The Meonbridge Chronicles) by Carolyn Hughes #HistoricalFiction #BlogTour #TheCoffeePotBookClub @writingcalliope @cathiedunn<p> <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgEdG9CY6sAw7fDG_HvoFGNlrpgZk2ocbkjjIFcbbe9ENtk84S8gcKWFNq2iEtpc1E48mZ0JEJQQ-Obeq7OdMJimi7llCu3waf2ESjzEPSejWBjqrPzViW0UrKqo7GSR98HxjNiaogqEK_8ORryOYiHhGWlDJDwPDS5C08zTN-K1OZir5Zf-TWyHpBObA/s640/Squire's%20Hazard%20Tour%20Banner.png" style="color: black; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 14.85px; margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center; text-decoration-line: none;"><img border="0" data-original-height="360" data-original-width="640" height="360" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgEdG9CY6sAw7fDG_HvoFGNlrpgZk2ocbkjjIFcbbe9ENtk84S8gcKWFNq2iEtpc1E48mZ0JEJQQ-Obeq7OdMJimi7llCu3waf2ESjzEPSejWBjqrPzViW0UrKqo7GSR98HxjNiaogqEK_8ORryOYiHhGWlDJDwPDS5C08zTN-K1OZir5Zf-TWyHpBObA/w640-h360/Squire's%20Hazard%20Tour%20Banner.png" style="border: none; position: relative;" width="640" /></a></p><p style="background-color: white; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 14.85px;"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg0BoxEv3eqkwy43AoeAZCgGVYBKUQ6aiOHjQBOY4UpZwdPYQXT51B9Zc1UnY6Fw7w0wG3vCV3xKJlXCTQveItpm0Fxj_vH9iviNGfT93vRls-IDE7c-0eOXHa70SJGRHtYVM_GYGb73I8eob5VafFMH3CGD-jiiJQPQFW-w-gtYk6-EmOydNjQG2riSw/s2560/Squire-EBOOK-Cvr.jpg" style="clear: left; color: black; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-decoration-line: none;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2560" data-original-width="1600" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg0BoxEv3eqkwy43AoeAZCgGVYBKUQ6aiOHjQBOY4UpZwdPYQXT51B9Zc1UnY6Fw7w0wG3vCV3xKJlXCTQveItpm0Fxj_vH9iviNGfT93vRls-IDE7c-0eOXHa70SJGRHtYVM_GYGb73I8eob5VafFMH3CGD-jiiJQPQFW-w-gtYk6-EmOydNjQG2riSw/w400-h640/Squire-EBOOK-Cvr.jpg" style="border: none; position: relative;" width="400" /></a></div><p></p><div style="background-color: white; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 14.85px; text-align: center;"><span style="caret-color: rgb(0, 0, 0);"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: x-large;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="background-color: white; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 14.85px; text-align: center;"><span style="caret-color: rgb(0, 0, 0);"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: x-large;"><br /></span></span></div><p style="background-color: white; text-align: center;"><b><span style="font-family: Architects Daughter; font-size: x-large;">Squire’s Hazard<br /><i>(Book 5 of The Meonbridge Chronicles)</i><br />By Carolyn Hughes</span></b></p><p style="background-color: white; text-align: center;"><b><span style="font-family: Architects Daughter; font-size: x-large;"><br /></span></b></p><div style="background-color: white; text-align: center; text-size-adjust: auto;"><div><div><div><div><div><b><span style="font-family: Architects Daughter; font-size: x-large;">How do you overcome the loathing, lust and bitterness threatening you and your family’s honour?</span></b></div><div><span style="font-family: Architects Daughter; font-size: x-large;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: Architects Daughter; font-size: x-large;">It’s 1363, and in Steyning Castle, Sussex, Dickon de Bohun is enjoying life as a squire in the household of Earl Raoul de Fougère. Or he would be, if it weren’t for Edwin de Courtenay, who’s making his life a misery with his bullying, threatening to expose the truth about Dickon’s birth.</span></div><div><span style="font-family: Architects Daughter; font-size: x-large;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: Architects Daughter; font-size: x-large;">At home in Meonbridge for Christmas, Dickon notices how grown-up his childhood playmate, Libby Fletcher, has become since he last saw her and feels the stirrings of desire. Libby, seeing how different he is too, falls instantly in love. But as a servant to Dickon’s grandmother, Lady Margaret de Bohun, she could never be his wife.</span></div><div><span style="font-family: Architects Daughter; font-size: x-large;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: Architects Daughter; font-size: x-large;">Margery Tyler, Libby’s aunt, meeting her niece by chance, learns of her passion for young Dickon. Their conversation rekindles Margery’s long-held rancour against the de Bohuns, whom she blames for all the ills that befell her family, including her own servitude. For years she’s hidden her hunger for retribution, but she can no longer keep her hostility in check.</span></div><div><span style="font-family: Architects Daughter; font-size: x-large;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: Architects Daughter; font-size: x-large;">As the future Lord of Meonbridge, Dickon knows he must rise above de Courtenay’s loathing and intimidation, and get the better of him. And, surely, he must master his lust for Libby, so his own mother’s shocking history is not repeated? Of Margery’s bitterness, however, he has yet to learn…</span></div><div><span style="font-family: Architects Daughter; font-size: x-large;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: Architects Daughter; font-size: x-large;">Beset by the hazards these powerful and dangerous emotions bring, can young Dickon summon up the courage and resolve to overcome them?</span></div><div><span style="font-family: Architects Daughter; font-size: x-large;"><br /></span></div><div><b><span style="font-family: Architects Daughter; font-size: x-large;">Secrets, hatred and betrayal, but also love and courage – Squire’s Hazard, the fifth MEONBRIDGE CHRONICLE.</span></b></div><div><b><span style="font-family: Architects Daughter; font-size: x-large;"><br /></span></b></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: Architects Daughter; font-size: x-large;">Excerpt</span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: Architects Daughter; font-size: x-large;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><div><span style="font-family: Architects Daughter; font-size: x-large;">Edwin clapped a hand across his mouth, stifling a snigger. Nick and Alan, crouching beside him just behind the stables entrance, sniggered too. Their hiding place was out of sight of Sir Eustace Beneyt and his squire, but they had a good view of the unfolding skirmish.</span></div><div><span style="font-family: Architects Daughter; font-size: x-large;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: Architects Daughter; font-size: x-large;">Edwin held his breath, and he could sense his friends’ excitement too at what might happen next.</span></div><div><span style="font-family: Architects Daughter; font-size: x-large;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: Architects Daughter; font-size: x-large;">And, when it did, it was exactly what he had hoped for.</span></div><div><span style="font-family: Architects Daughter; font-size: x-large;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: Architects Daughter; font-size: x-large;">With a resounding slap, the knight struck the squire’s ear with an open-handed blow. The clout was hard and heavy, and the boy cried out. Tears burst from his astonished eyes. He bit down upon his lip, drawing blood. Pressing his hand to his assaulted ear, he looked up at Sir Eustace’s furious face, red and purple now, his bushy eyebrows merging.</span></div><div><span style="font-family: Architects Daughter; font-size: x-large;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: Architects Daughter; font-size: x-large;">Edwin nudged the others and snorted softly, and they snorted back but did not speak.</span></div><div><span style="font-family: Architects Daughter; font-size: x-large;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: Architects Daughter; font-size: x-large;">Sir Eustace had a reputation for ferocity on the battlefield, but here at Steyning he was known to be a man of modest temper, who rarely raised a hand against his squire. He would shout at him, yes, and damn him for his failings, but, as far as Edwin could remember, he had never struck him before.</span></div><div><span style="font-family: Architects Daughter; font-size: x-large;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: Architects Daughter; font-size: x-large;">But never before had the knight’s beloved mare, Morel, been harmed whilst in the squire’s supposed care.</span></div><div><span style="font-family: Architects Daughter; font-size: x-large;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: Architects Daughter; font-size: x-large;">Edwin punched the air, delighted with the way the prank had worked. It was the best so far, though the other tricks they had played upon Dickon de Bohun had been good too. Like when Alan stole one of Sir Eustace’s armoured gauntlets, and the matter of the missing piece of Morel’s bridle.</span></div><div><span style="font-family: Architects Daughter; font-size: x-large;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: Architects Daughter; font-size: x-large;">Both times, Sir Eustace had been so furious Edwin expected him to punish de Bohun severely. But his chastisements then were still not physical, which was frustrating. It was then Edwin decided to make Sir Eustace absolutely mad with anger at his squire, and he had known exactly what would do it.</span></div><div><span style="font-family: Architects Daughter; font-size: x-large;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: Architects Daughter; font-size: x-large;">And he was right. Of course, it was a shame poor Morel had to suffer too, but it was worth it for the sight of de Bohun’s humiliation.</span></div><div><span style="font-family: Architects Daughter; font-size: x-large;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: Architects Daughter; font-size: x-large;">It had been a clever plan.</span></div><div><span style="font-family: Architects Daughter; font-size: x-large;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: Architects Daughter; font-size: x-large;">Alan had called Dickon away when he was part way through preparing Morel for Sir Eustace to go out hunting. ‘Dick,’ he had said, coming over, ‘can you help me? I’ve got a problem with some harness.’</span></div><div><span style="font-family: Architects Daughter; font-size: x-large;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: Architects Daughter; font-size: x-large;">Dickon had hesitated. He was already behind with saddling Morel. But he followed Alan down the stable to a stall right at the far end. Of course, Alan had no real problem, but had tangled up the straps on purpose.</span></div><div><span style="font-family: Architects Daughter; font-size: x-large;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: Architects Daughter; font-size: x-large;">Anyway, whilst they were away from Morel’s stall, Edwin had crept in and hidden one small but especially spiny chestnut between the folds of the thick blanket Dickon had just thrown over the mare’s back. Naturally she whinnied when he placed it there, but he managed to soothe her and she was calm enough when Dickon returned, out of breath and agitated, now even more behindhand with his work.</span></div><div><span style="font-family: Architects Daughter; font-size: x-large;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: Architects Daughter; font-size: x-large;">Edwin had by then vanished, hunkering down in a nearby stall, where the others joined him. It was dark inside the stables and easy enough to keep out of sight.</span></div><div><span style="font-family: Architects Daughter; font-size: x-large;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: Architects Daughter; font-size: x-large;">Horses were often nervous in the moments before they took the saddle, and Dickon, who was, even Edwin would admit, good with horses, murmured to her as he lifted the fine leather saddle and lowered it with care over the blanket. Morel whinnied shrilly as soon as she felt it touch her, arching her back, and kicking out. Yet Dickon was now in such a hurry, he just continued buckling the girth and fixing the bridle, by turns whispering into Morel’s ear and stroking her on the muzzle.</span></div><div><span style="font-family: Architects Daughter; font-size: x-large;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: Architects Daughter; font-size: x-large;">When Sir Eustace came to mount her, he was puzzled by her skittishness. ‘What’s amiss with her?’ he said, as she pranced and whickered out on the bailey.</span></div><div><span style="font-family: Architects Daughter; font-size: x-large;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: Architects Daughter; font-size: x-large;">Dickon shuffled his feet. ‘Naught I know of, sir,’ though his face betrayed unease. Nonetheless, he brought the mounting block and, as Sir Eustace stepped up onto it, Edwin and his chums each held their breath.</span></div><div><span style="font-family: Architects Daughter; font-size: x-large;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: Architects Daughter; font-size: x-large;">The knight put his foot into the stirrup and, bouncing, swung his leg up and over the restless horse’s back. He lowered himself into the saddle and Morel screamed and bucked. Then, snorting, she took off across the bailey, her rider clinging to the pommel on the saddle, until at length she reared in fury and threw him off, to land with a heavy thud upon the dusty ground.</span></div><div><span style="font-family: Architects Daughter; font-size: x-large;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: Architects Daughter; font-size: x-large;">The conspirators had scuttled to the stable door to watch the ensuing spectacle. It took the knight a while to recover both himself and his mare and walk her back to the stables. As he approached, they retreated once more into the gloom.</span></div><div><span style="font-family: Architects Daughter; font-size: x-large;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: Architects Daughter; font-size: x-large;">‘De Bohun,’ Sir Eustace yelled, and Dickon, white and shaking, had run forward.</span></div><div><span style="font-family: Architects Daughter; font-size: x-large;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: Architects Daughter; font-size: x-large;">‘Take off the saddle,’ roared the knight and, with trembling fingers, Dickon had unbuckled the girth and lifted off the saddle, and the blanket. ‘Shake it,’ snarled Sir Eustace, and Dickon opened the blanket out and flapped it. And out dropped the sweet chestnut husk, falling to the ground.</span></div><div><span style="font-family: Architects Daughter; font-size: x-large;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: Architects Daughter; font-size: x-large;">The knight lunged forward and, snatching up the spiteful object, advanced upon Dickon, his face purple. ‘Your hand,’ he commanded and, when Dickon held it out, Sir Eustace pressed the chestnut into it. Then, wrapping his big fist over Dickon’s, he squeezed. Dickon had yelped like a whipped puppy, as the chestnut’s spines bit into his palm.</span></div><div><span style="font-family: Architects Daughter; font-size: x-large;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: Architects Daughter; font-size: x-large;">Then came the first blow to Dickon’s ear, then a second and a third. ‘You heedless dolt,’ Sir Eustace cried. ‘I’m done with all your carelessness. No longer will I have you as my squire. I shall tell the earl you are dismissed from my service.’</span></div><div><span style="font-family: Architects Daughter; font-size: x-large;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: Architects Daughter; font-size: x-large;">He turned back to the mare and rubbed his face against the side of hers, running his hand over her muzzle and cooing. Then he stood up straight and yelled ‘Alan’, and Edwin slapped his friend upon the back as he slunk out of the stables.</span></div><div><span style="font-family: Architects Daughter; font-size: x-large;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: Architects Daughter; font-size: x-large;">Eustace’s eyebrows knit. ‘Were you hiding?’</span></div><div><span style="font-family: Architects Daughter; font-size: x-large;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: Architects Daughter; font-size: x-large;">‘Of course not, sir, just tidying.’</span></div><div><span style="font-family: Architects Daughter; font-size: x-large;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: Architects Daughter; font-size: x-large;">The knight grunted. ‘Right, I shall tell Lord Raoul you are my squire now.’ He gestured to Morel with his head. ‘Take good care of her. I shall give hunting a miss today.’</span></div><div><span style="font-family: Architects Daughter; font-size: x-large;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: Architects Daughter; font-size: x-large;">When Alan led Morel back into the stable, Edwin slapped him again upon the shoulder. ‘Excellent. Puts de Bohun right back down where he belongs. And gives you a new knight to serve.’</span></div><div><span style="font-family: Architects Daughter; font-size: x-large;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: Architects Daughter; font-size: x-large;">Alan’s previous knight left Steyning two weeks ago, and he had not yet been allocated another. He smirked. ‘Couldn’t have worked out better.’</span></div><div><span style="font-family: Architects Daughter; font-size: x-large;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: Architects Daughter; font-size: x-large;">Edwin peeped once more out of the stables to gloat upon the sight of Dickon’s face, red and snot-covered, distraught with grief and shame. Then, remembering his own knight had also ordered up his rouncey, he hurried back inside. </span></div><div><br /></div><div><span style="font-family: Architects Daughter; font-size: x-large;"><span style="color: #333333;">If you would like to read this novel then head over to <a href="https://books2read.com/u/bW5yJz" target="_blank">Amazon</a>. </span><span style="color: #333333;">This book is available to read on #KindleUnlimited.</span></span></div></div><div><br /></div></div></div></div><div><span style="font-family: Architects Daughter; font-size: x-large;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><b><span style="font-family: Architects Daughter; font-size: x-large;">Carolyn Hughes</span></b></div><div><span style="font-family: Architects Daughter; font-size: x-large;"><br /></span></div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiaA8I9D-8iwYEgPcUKaNN6l7ATe2MtjEesTjkayVFzHZ-4kzLxZS1pNtOXMQU5PuSd2pNFnIbpn3lUB9H1OT2LuxoN0LQd2zwEwKRaeh0fmWmqukxKbgIkmdhqlcHGBaQrpxfsAhGNVhvtOvVZ--KE4_yBFPWab93wKXv6zvUHdULwrcMMzTPacsT45Q/s1362/Carolyn%20publicity.jpg" style="clear: left; color: black; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-decoration-line: none;"><span style="font-family: Architects Daughter; font-size: x-large;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1353" data-original-width="1362" height="318" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiaA8I9D-8iwYEgPcUKaNN6l7ATe2MtjEesTjkayVFzHZ-4kzLxZS1pNtOXMQU5PuSd2pNFnIbpn3lUB9H1OT2LuxoN0LQd2zwEwKRaeh0fmWmqukxKbgIkmdhqlcHGBaQrpxfsAhGNVhvtOvVZ--KE4_yBFPWab93wKXv6zvUHdULwrcMMzTPacsT45Q/s320/Carolyn%20publicity.jpg" style="border: none; position: relative;" width="320" /></span></a></div><span style="font-family: Architects Daughter; font-size: x-large;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: Architects Daughter; font-size: x-large;">Carolyn Hughes has lived much of her life in Hampshire. With a first degree in Classics and English, she started working life as a computer programmer, then a very new profession. But it was technical authoring that later proved her vocation, as she wrote and edited material, some fascinating, some dull, for an array of different clients, including banks, an international hotel group and medical instruments manufacturers.</span></div><div><div><span style="font-family: Architects Daughter; font-size: x-large;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: Architects Daughter; font-size: x-large;">Having written creatively for most of her adult life, it was not until her children flew the nest several years ago that writing historical fiction took centre stage, alongside gaining a Master’s degree in Creative Writing from Portsmouth University and a PhD from the University of Southampton.</span></div><div><span style="font-family: Architects Daughter; font-size: x-large;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: Architects Daughter; font-size: x-large;">Squire’s Hazard is the fifth MEONBRIDGE CHRONICLE, and more stories about the folk of Meonbridge will follow.</span></div><div><span style="font-family: Architects Daughter; font-size: x-large;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: Architects Daughter; font-size: x-large;">You can connect with Carolyn through her website <a href="http://www.carolynhughesauthor.com/" style="color: black; text-decoration-line: none;">www.carolynhughesauthor.com</a> and social media.</span></div></div><div><br /></div><div><span style="font-family: Architects Daughter; font-size: x-large;">Social Media Links:</span></div><div><span style="font-family: Architects Daughter; font-size: x-large;"><a href="http://www.carolynhughesauthor.com/" style="color: black; text-decoration-line: none;" target="_blank">Website</a> / <a href="https://twitter.com/writingcalliope" style="color: black; text-decoration-line: none;" target="_blank">Twitter</a> / <a href="https://www.facebook.com/CarolynHughesAuthor" style="color: black; text-decoration-line: none;" target="_blank">Facebook</a> /</span></div><div><span style="font-family: Architects Daughter; font-size: x-large;"><a href="https://www.amazon.co.uk/Carolyn-Hughes/e/B01MG5TWH1?" style="color: black; text-decoration-line: none;" target="_blank">Amazon Author Page UK</a> / <a href="https://www.bookbub.com/profile/carolyn-hughes" style="color: black; text-decoration-line: none;" target="_blank">BookBub</a> / <a href="https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/16048212.Carolyn_Hughes" style="color: black; text-decoration-line: none;" target="_blank">Goodreads</a></span></div><div style="caret-color: rgb(0, 0, 0);"><span style="font-family: Architects Daughter; font-size: x-large;"><br /></span></div></div><div><span style="font-family: Architects Daughter; font-size: x-large;"><br /></span></div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi-mG9Skr3k1OG0IEAYDj6CCI8Cqmo0qGV0xvdYSXd5_u2NKkZe_BfzOFqO8A4tj47aX3ZlUmL07Zddss_jKogxgWRSvuJjnguzg58EqurYZxQDtweAlj3H66Pru1PAXx_ArwYBkMNsmClgMHi9wHYxiPSQdesSAOWjvfeRteZ-pULrwnceF5bwckMkBg/s640/Squire's%20Hazard%20Tour%20Schedule.png" style="color: #a1230d; margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: Architects Daughter; font-size: x-large;"><img border="0" data-original-height="360" data-original-width="640" height="360" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi-mG9Skr3k1OG0IEAYDj6CCI8Cqmo0qGV0xvdYSXd5_u2NKkZe_BfzOFqO8A4tj47aX3ZlUmL07Zddss_jKogxgWRSvuJjnguzg58EqurYZxQDtweAlj3H66Pru1PAXx_ArwYBkMNsmClgMHi9wHYxiPSQdesSAOWjvfeRteZ-pULrwnceF5bwckMkBg/w640-h360/Squire's%20Hazard%20Tour%20Schedule.png" style="border: none; position: relative;" width="640" /></span></a></div></div></div>Helenahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06962202331435066843noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8064482728419855641.post-65869387761996927252022-10-25T23:00:00.006-07:002022-10-25T23:00:00.198-07:00BOOK EXCERPT - Island of Dreams by Harry Duffin #HistoricalFiction #BlogTour #CoffeePotBookClub @duffin26 @cathiedunn <p><br /></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi-Z1VNsjizjvPgEtd2NLgOUG1mrGe35JkWu-mMYETttBRdzilWYITry1kQcF4ul7kPPtWlYM3uci7K8mnJBxHYFNOQuq0piNPpGJYx_f9kbjpPonFotyjl2Iw0auXcSWKBWviN68qi6sgz1zlnYVh8zWPoG9BlJNTznoaaSIdnnztX6jK-R2CaLR5kHg/s640/Island%20of%20Dreams%20Tour%20Banner.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: Architects Daughter; font-size: x-large;"><img border="0" data-original-height="360" data-original-width="640" height="360" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi-Z1VNsjizjvPgEtd2NLgOUG1mrGe35JkWu-mMYETttBRdzilWYITry1kQcF4ul7kPPtWlYM3uci7K8mnJBxHYFNOQuq0piNPpGJYx_f9kbjpPonFotyjl2Iw0auXcSWKBWviN68qi6sgz1zlnYVh8zWPoG9BlJNTznoaaSIdnnztX6jK-R2CaLR5kHg/w640-h360/Island%20of%20Dreams%20Tour%20Banner.png" width="640" /></span></a></div><p></p><p><span style="font-family: Architects Daughter; font-size: x-large;"><br /></span></p><div style="text-align: left;"><b><span style="font-family: Architects Daughter; font-size: x-large;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgtdjo8SQvpsQeHPAP4YcaJbbMEC0247cRBQyFQAOXnB77H9pkMsY9pNds0pZKHi5NPJZmgAcagVHUM1xRU1AA_br4gdhOHWpRZtie84AJIGLRqykwpY1tKWTbZbBAFh_Wm_6BCzdpYRTUHf3_vkLlaZorXrHTrmMBom2fIP2G9sUFYPHNrO_84nrgFgg/s2700/ISLAND%20OF%20DREAMS%20cover.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2700" data-original-width="1800" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgtdjo8SQvpsQeHPAP4YcaJbbMEC0247cRBQyFQAOXnB77H9pkMsY9pNds0pZKHi5NPJZmgAcagVHUM1xRU1AA_br4gdhOHWpRZtie84AJIGLRqykwpY1tKWTbZbBAFh_Wm_6BCzdpYRTUHf3_vkLlaZorXrHTrmMBom2fIP2G9sUFYPHNrO_84nrgFgg/w426-h640/ISLAND%20OF%20DREAMS%20cover.jpg" width="426" /></a></div><br />Island of Dreams<br />By Harry Duffin</span></b></div><div><span style="font-family: Architects Daughter; font-size: x-large;"><br /></span></div><div><div><span style="font-family: Architects Daughter; font-size: x-large;">In May 1939, when Professor Carl Mueller, his wife, Esther, and their three children flee Nazi Germany, and find refuge on the paradise island of Cuba, they are all full of hopes and dreams for a safe and happy future. </span></div><div><span style="font-family: Architects Daughter; font-size: x-large;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: Architects Daughter; font-size: x-large;">But those dreams are shattered when Carl and Esther are confronted by a ghost from their past, and old betrayals return to haunt them. </span></div><div><span style="font-family: Architects Daughter; font-size: x-large;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: Architects Daughter; font-size: x-large;">The turbulent years of political corruption leading to Batista’s dictatorship, forces the older children to take very different paths to pursue their own dangerous dreams. </span></div><div><span style="font-family: Architects Daughter; font-size: x-large;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: Architects Daughter; font-size: x-large;">And - among the chaos and the conflict that finally leads to Castro’s revolution and victory in 1959, an unlikely love begins to grow - a love that threatens the whole family. </span></div><div><span style="font-family: Architects Daughter; font-size: x-large;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: Architects Daughter; font-size: x-large;">Having escaped a war-torn Europe, their Island of Dreams is to tear them apart forever.</span></div><div><span style="font-family: Architects Daughter; font-size: x-large;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: Architects Daughter; font-size: x-large;">Excerpt</span></div><div><span style="font-family: Architects Daughter; font-size: x-large;"><br /></span></div><div><div><span style="font-family: Architects Daughter; font-size: x-large;">Havana’s Necrópolis de Cristóbal Colón is known as one of the world’s most captivating cemeteries. It is enormous, grandiose and eccentric. </span></div><div><span style="font-family: Architects Daughter; font-size: x-large;">‘The Cristóbal Colón?’ said Freddie. ‘But Carl wasn’t Catholic.’</span></div><div><span style="font-family: Architects Daughter; font-size: x-large;"> Esther had gathered Freddie and Hans together to discuss the funeral arrangements.</span></div><div><span style="font-family: Architects Daughter; font-size: x-large;"> ‘Everyone gets buried there,’ she said. ‘Everyone important.’ </span></div><div><span style="font-family: Architects Daughter; font-size: x-large;"> ‘If they are Catholic,’ said Freddie.</span></div><div><span style="font-family: Architects Daughter; font-size: x-large;"> ‘I am.’</span></div><div><span style="font-family: Architects Daughter; font-size: x-large;"> ‘But you’re not being buried, Mama,’ said Hans.</span></div><div><span style="font-family: Architects Daughter; font-size: x-large;"> She looked at him. Hans shrugged and avoided her eyes. The look was enough.</span></div><div><span style="font-family: Architects Daughter; font-size: x-large;"> ‘I am the next of kin, Freddie. I think Carl would have wanted that.’</span></div><div><span style="font-family: Architects Daughter; font-size: x-large;">Knowing that Esther had never visited Carl when he was dying, Freddie said, ‘Why, did you ask him?’</span></div><div><span style="font-family: Architects Daughter; font-size: x-large;">Despite Freddie’s objections, it was Esther’s event. She had it her way. Mrs Price altered Esther’s most elegant black dress, which she wore with the diamond necklace. On his mother’s instructions, Hans paid for the most magnificent wreaths for the coffin, and Carlotta was made to scrub Klaus to within an inch of his life. Esther wanted to put on a show.</span></div><div><span style="font-family: Architects Daughter; font-size: x-large;"> But there were few people at the ceremony. The family, Carlotta, a few of Professor Carls’ poorer patients and an elegant woman Freddie didn’t recognise. It wasn’t Isabel Luisa Gonzales Rio de Cruz. ‘La Isabel’ exerted a powerful influence among the elite. None of her circle came.</span></div><div><span style="font-family: Architects Daughter; font-size: x-large;">Freddie stood a step back from the small group surrounding the flower-festooned grave of the man he had helped to die. He looked around him, anxiously. She would come, he felt it. Despite the danger, she would come. As the black-frocked priest droned beneath the fierce sky, Freddie surveyed the vast sweep of marble tombs, cold, even in heat of the sun, that surrounded the tiny group of mourners. </span></div><div><span style="font-family: Architects Daughter; font-size: x-large;">The ornate cemetery looked deserted, but he knew they were there. Invisible, deadly, concealed among the lavish tombs of Havana’s famous and wealthy dead; crouching beside the weeping angels, the praying Madonna’s, the mock castles of granite and the towering black pyramid, last resting place of the city’s most celebrated and scandalous lovers – they were there. Hiding behind those final monuments to vanity, cradling their weapons, believing she would take up the challenge. </span></div><div><span style="font-family: Architects Daughter; font-size: x-large;">His heart thumped heavily inside the damp cotton shirt and linen jacket. Reaching inside, he felt the butt of the gun he had brought from Hans. He hadn’t fired a gun since he’d fought against Franco in the Spanish Civil War. It felt foolish to have one now, but he was prepared to give up his life to defend her.</span></div><div><span style="font-family: Architects Daughter; font-size: x-large;">She was brave and headstrong, and she would come, somehow. Freddie craved and feared it at the same time. ‘Craved’ – the word revealed his age as much as his feelings. Foolish old man, harbouring such dreams. Dreams he had promised himself she would never know. </span></div><div><span style="font-family: Architects Daughter; font-size: x-large;">They were dreams she had given him. For he had none when the ship sailed into the harbour all those years ago. She had brought him her dreams, bright as that May morning, as innocent as he was corrupt…</span></div><div><span style="font-family: Architects Daughter; font-size: x-large;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: Architects Daughter; font-size: x-large;"> </span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: Architects Daughter; font-size: x-large;">If you would like to read this novel then head over to:</span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: Architects Daughter; font-size: x-large;">Amazon</span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Architects Daughter; font-size: x-large;"><span style="background-color: white; text-align: left;"><span style="color: #333333;">If you have a #KindleUnlimited </span></span><span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; text-align: left;"><span data-dobid="hdw">subscription you can read for free.</span></span></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Architects Daughter; font-size: x-large;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; text-align: left;"><span data-dobid="hdw"><br /></span></span></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; text-align: left;"><span data-dobid="hdw"><span style="font-family: Architects Daughter; font-size: x-large;"><br /></span></span></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="background-color: white; text-align: left;"><span data-dobid="hdw"><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="color: #333333; font-family: Architects Daughter; font-size: x-large;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi3yuuVbqExLci75nhhN237v2eoJK4dU57ItJNv0ioTWJ4ERZ75zLX8LpMyVYazj3SBSJ_fZ91F13mkD3rbQyysOHEJUzvvXGYz7Nhs9HXcRDEpPl3kNuH7BfwYbN31W_xtcKN-xfcxOxXUCGoGrRJ5TvpYAqeS4CbTGDpnS45gn4RvdL8KY1DgRiFrmQ/s2237/Harry%20Duffin.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2237" data-original-width="1740" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi3yuuVbqExLci75nhhN237v2eoJK4dU57ItJNv0ioTWJ4ERZ75zLX8LpMyVYazj3SBSJ_fZ91F13mkD3rbQyysOHEJUzvvXGYz7Nhs9HXcRDEpPl3kNuH7BfwYbN31W_xtcKN-xfcxOxXUCGoGrRJ5TvpYAqeS4CbTGDpnS45gn4RvdL8KY1DgRiFrmQ/s320/Harry%20Duffin.jpg" width="249" /></a></div><b>Harry Duffin</b> is an award-winning British screenwriter, who was on the first writing team of the BBC’s ‘Eastenders’ and won the Writers’ Guild Award for Best TV serial for ‘Coronation Street’. </span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="color: #333333; font-family: Architects Daughter; font-size: x-large;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="color: #333333; font-family: Architects Daughter; font-size: x-large;">He was Head of Development at Cloud 9 Screen Entertainment Group, producing seven major television series, including ‘Swiss Family Robinson’ starring Richard ‘John Boy’ Thomas, and ‘Twist in the Tale’, featuring William Shatner. </span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="color: #333333; font-family: Architects Daughter; font-size: x-large;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="color: #333333; font-family: Architects Daughter; font-size: x-large;">He was the co-creator of the UK Channel Five teen-cult drama series ‘The Tribe’, which ran for five series. </span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="color: #333333; font-family: Architects Daughter; font-size: x-large;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="color: #333333; font-family: Architects Daughter; font-size: x-large;">He has written three novels, Chicago May, Birth of the Mall Rats [an intro to the TV series ‘The Tribe’], and Island of Dreams, which will be published in December 2022.</span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="color: #333333; font-family: Architects Daughter; font-size: x-large;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="color: #333333; font-family: Architects Daughter; font-size: x-large;">Chicago May is the first book of a two-part series: <a href="http://www.chicagomay.com">www.chicagomay.com</a></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="color: #333333; font-family: Architects Daughter; font-size: x-large;">Social Media Links:</span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="color: #333333; font-family: Architects Daughter; font-size: x-large;"><a href=" www.harryduffin.co.uk" target="_blank">Website</a></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="color: #333333; font-family: Architects Daughter; font-size: x-large;"><a href="https://twitter.com/duffin26 " target="_blank">Twitter</a></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="color: #333333; font-family: Architects Daughter; font-size: x-large;"><a href="https://www.facebook.com/harry.duffin.5" target="_blank">Facebook</a></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="color: #333333; font-family: Architects Daughter; font-size: x-large;"><a href="https://uk.linkedin.com/in/harry-duffin-b7030a47" target="_blank">LinkedIn</a></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="color: #333333; font-family: Architects Daughter; font-size: x-large;"><a href="https://www.instagram.com/duffinharry/ " target="_blank">Instagram</a></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="color: #333333; font-family: Architects Daughter; font-size: x-large;"><a href="https://www.bookbub.com/authors/harry-duffin" target="_blank">BookBub</a> </span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="color: #333333; font-family: Architects Daughter; font-size: x-large;"><a href="https://www.amazon.co.uk/Harry-Duffin/e/B005KR3E74" target="_blank">Amazon Author Page</a></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="color: #333333; font-family: Architects Daughter; font-size: x-large;"><a href="https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/4674467.Harry_Duffin" target="_blank">Goodreads</a></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: Architects Daughter; font-size: x-large;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: Architects Daughter; font-size: x-large;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Architects Daughter; font-size: x-large;"><a href="https://thecoffeepotbookclub.blogspot.com/2022/08/blog-tour-island-of-dreams-by-harry.html " target="_blank">Tour Schedule</a> </span></div><div style="color: #333333;"><span style="font-family: Architects Daughter; font-size: x-large;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEibqtfumFHlGBijJ938FrMXu7JP-EezpzypZn_Rc6Gkq33YqroDpo-BRPAyxLq-e1k6XM-3YIq6OnYNbiIjIEhRwMlkcg0jkGsOYp5lCs-QLJQ4GKBbrfKi0_Y2AvRc-yPA6c0qgOK-HSIAdr-rjUq3g7K8j5VljQ-0hg3Q50NmZXhpbKHrVHjgB11QKg/s640/Island%20of%20Dreams%20Tour%20Schedule.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="360" data-original-width="640" height="360" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEibqtfumFHlGBijJ938FrMXu7JP-EezpzypZn_Rc6Gkq33YqroDpo-BRPAyxLq-e1k6XM-3YIq6OnYNbiIjIEhRwMlkcg0jkGsOYp5lCs-QLJQ4GKBbrfKi0_Y2AvRc-yPA6c0qgOK-HSIAdr-rjUq3g7K8j5VljQ-0hg3Q50NmZXhpbKHrVHjgB11QKg/w640-h360/Island%20of%20Dreams%20Tour%20Schedule.png" width="640" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><br /><div style="color: #333333; font-family: "Architects Daughter"; font-size: x-large;"><br /></div></span></span></div><div style="text-align: right;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: "Architects Daughter"; font-size: x-large; text-align: left;"><span data-dobid="hdw"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: "Architects Daughter"; font-size: x-large; text-align: left;"><span data-dobid="hdw"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: "Architects Daughter"; font-size: x-large; text-align: left;"><span data-dobid="hdw"><br /></span></span></div><div> </div></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div></div>Helenahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06962202331435066843noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8064482728419855641.post-5222393646818685722022-10-16T23:00:00.002-07:002022-10-16T23:00:00.198-07:00#BlogTour - Small Eden by Jane Davis #HistoricalFiction #TheCoffeePotBookClub #BlogTour @janedavisauthor @cathiedunn<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhx0eFeD4xKOn7v0rQ8ptu5HDl2b_tZcBURmBJjGxVvcN8F7obQ_1K446U2xV1-5Ov53NPqf36KjBz8tX_FbD9mtz1LHPLo41ZvSyMx9CCHRiLiQhWhSJLH1mR6nIy5K4pGIwP9p2aC4gF2f13mh0uz6Wlz5O2EEdV9V9AHDn2O_DS7jzs-3U-pbZMPhg/s640/Small%20Eden%20tour%20banner.png" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="360" data-original-width="640" height="360" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhx0eFeD4xKOn7v0rQ8ptu5HDl2b_tZcBURmBJjGxVvcN8F7obQ_1K446U2xV1-5Ov53NPqf36KjBz8tX_FbD9mtz1LHPLo41ZvSyMx9CCHRiLiQhWhSJLH1mR6nIy5K4pGIwP9p2aC4gF2f13mh0uz6Wlz5O2EEdV9V9AHDn2O_DS7jzs-3U-pbZMPhg/w640-h360/Small%20Eden%20tour%20banner.png" width="640" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><p></p><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: Architects Daughter; font-size: x-large;"><b><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj1j9KUBjNTpAKG0OKi8Gjr5dkqbUZGERbSqS_srQArodD4QP6JU34-LRAzEcQsu6TNDhOtMmwf_zrrg5ZFZ3y8_wPmqVPfDVQ6oPvX6sBozZb6ghpLev-YWS7HJso1PFwimdjXQIc-CbT7n1S7OQddtSszwomwDTB-qJquVz9AWRq7nZKB1Ahu_zeHxw/s2397/Small%20Eden%20cover.jpg" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2397" data-original-width="1500" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj1j9KUBjNTpAKG0OKi8Gjr5dkqbUZGERbSqS_srQArodD4QP6JU34-LRAzEcQsu6TNDhOtMmwf_zrrg5ZFZ3y8_wPmqVPfDVQ6oPvX6sBozZb6ghpLev-YWS7HJso1PFwimdjXQIc-CbT7n1S7OQddtSszwomwDTB-qJquVz9AWRq7nZKB1Ahu_zeHxw/w400-h640/Small%20Eden%20cover.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>Small Eden<br />By Jane Davis</b></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: Architects Daughter; font-size: x-large;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><div><b><span style="font-family: Architects Daughter; font-size: x-large;">A boy with his head in the clouds. A man with a head full of dreams. </span></b></div><div><span style="font-family: Architects Daughter; font-size: x-large;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: Architects Daughter; font-size: x-large;">1884. The symptoms of scarlet fever are easily mistaken for teething, as Robert Cooke and his pregnant wife Freya discover at the cost of their two infant sons. Freya immediately isolates for the safety of their unborn child. Cut off from each other, there is no opportunity for husband and wife to teach each other the language of their loss. By the time they meet again, the subject is taboo. But unspoken grief is a dangerous enemy. It bides its time.</span></div><div><span style="font-family: Architects Daughter; font-size: x-large;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: Architects Daughter; font-size: x-large;">A decade later and now a successful businessman, Robert decides to create a pleasure garden in memory of his sons, in the very same place he found refuge as a boy – a disused chalk quarry in Surrey’s Carshalton. But instead of sharing his vision with his wife, he widens the gulf between them by keeping her in the dark. It is another woman who translates his dreams. An obscure yet talented artist called Florence Hoddy, who lives alone with her unmarried brother, painting only what she sees from her window… </span></div><div><span style="font-family: Architects Daughter; font-size: x-large;"><div><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://www.amazon.co.uk/gp/product/B09X61J6PR " target="_blank">Amazon UK</a> / <a href="https://www.amazon.com/dp/B09X61J6PR" target="_blank">Amazon US</a> / <a href="https://www.amazon.ca/dp/B09X61J6PR " target="_blank">Amazon CA</a> / <a href="https://www.amazon.com.au/dp/B09X61J6PR" target="_blank">Amazon AU</a> / <a href="https://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/small-eden-jane-davis/1141322156" target="_blank">Barnes and Noble</a> / <a href="https://www.waterstones.com/book/small-eden/jane-davis/9781838034825" target="_blank">Waterstones</a> / <a href="https://www.foyles.co.uk/witem/fiction-poetry/small-eden-gambles-sometimes-pay-off-a,jane-davis-9781838034818 " target="_blank">Foyles</a> / <a href="https://www.kobo.com/gb/en/ebook/small-eden" target="_blank">Kobo</a> / <a href="https://books.apple.com/gb/book/small-eden/id1617742505" target="_blank">iBooks</a> / <a href="https://www.smashwords.com/books/view/1142088" target="_blank">Smashwords</a> </div><div><br /></div><div><div>Jane Davis</div><div><br /></div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhC2aR0yi7_wRBMywScYNL-S1dtx4OZQ7BdBMDrgfvJqgEYylRcTefDMLHus9P9jpiZZSlkBuWbjEF8S7sTVzTEaX6jNZmQ81HngZzwmYbvPOf6O1HujR9pTFUK7INumqH7NqzPtJM9FAASGwgc2G0VjsdugVUsWHhJqrq5q8qtzqq5tw0E_9mq06kNnA/s512/_XJeqxNA.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="512" data-original-width="512" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhC2aR0yi7_wRBMywScYNL-S1dtx4OZQ7BdBMDrgfvJqgEYylRcTefDMLHus9P9jpiZZSlkBuWbjEF8S7sTVzTEaX6jNZmQ81HngZzwmYbvPOf6O1HujR9pTFUK7INumqH7NqzPtJM9FAASGwgc2G0VjsdugVUsWHhJqrq5q8qtzqq5tw0E_9mq06kNnA/s320/_XJeqxNA.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br />Hailed by The Bookseller as ‘One to Watch’, Jane Davis writes thought-provoking literary page turners.</div><div><br /></div><div>She spent her twenties and the first half of her thirties chasing promotions in the business world but, frustrated by the lack of a creative outlet, she turned to writing.</div><div><br /></div><div>Her first novel, 'Half-Truths and White Lies', won a national award established with the aim of finding the next Joanne Harris. Further recognition followed in 2016 with 'An Unknown Woman' being named Self-Published Book of the Year by Writing Magazine/the David St John Thomas Charitable Trust, as well as being shortlisted in the IAN Awards, and in 2019 with 'Smash all the Windows' winning the inaugural Selfies Book Award. Her novel, 'At the Stroke of Nine O’Clock' was featured by The Lady Magazine as one of their favourite books set in the 1950s, selected as a Historical Novel Society Editor's Choice, and shortlisted for the Selfies Book Awards 2021.</div><div><br /></div><div>Interested in how people behave under pressure, Jane introduces her characters when they are in highly volatile situations and then, in her words, she throws them to the lions. The themes she explores are diverse, ranging from pioneering female photographers, to relatives seeking justice for the victims of a fictional disaster.</div><div><br /></div><div>Jane Davis lives in Carshalton, Surrey, in what was originally the ticket office for a Victorian pleasure gardens, known locally as ‘the gingerbread house’. Her house frequently features in her fiction. In fact, she burnt it to the ground in the opening chapter of 'An Unknown Woman'. In her latest release, Small Eden, she asks the question why one man would choose to open a pleasure gardens at a time when so many others were facing bankruptcy?</div><div><br /></div><div>When she isn’t writing, you may spot Jane disappearing up the side of a mountain with a camera in hand.</div><div><br /></div><div>Social Media Links:</div><div><a href="https://jane-davis.co.uk" target="_blank">Website</a> / <a href="https://twitter.com/janedavisauthor " target="_blank">Twitter</a> / <a href="https://www.facebook.com/JaneDavisAuthorPage " target="_blank">Facebook</a> / <a href="https://www.linkedin.com/in/jane-davis-b1159563/ " target="_blank">LinkedIn</a> / <a href="https://www.pinterest.co.uk/janeeleanordavi " target="_blank">Pinterest</a> / <a href="https://www.bookbub.com/profile/jane-davis " target="_blank">BookBub</a> / <a href="https://www.amazon.co.uk/Jane-Davis/e/B0034P156Q" target="_blank">Amazon Author Page</a> / <a href="https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/6869939.Jane_Davis " target="_blank">Goodreads</a></div><div><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://thecoffeepotbookclub.blogspot.com/2022/07/blog-tour-small-eden-by-jane-davis.html" target="_blank">Tour Schedule</a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgjW559y-JF4fpbVJvzpVD9S5xhxNniLo_mUOMlTkVvv9CSVDe_SqD8lB56ig83I1L5lfdT-l2_YGod-IT_0tHZ4YCjCW5Xor3VAhuYBn2oprNGeLZakj5uKxUdkfDNs6Fmfbo_Bj2D4R7ybtMQVfqhJMjeEd_cpyMhfzxhMLJgEscqiLobMb4UyL6g_A/s640/Small%20Eden%20Tour%20Schedule.png" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="360" data-original-width="640" height="360" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgjW559y-JF4fpbVJvzpVD9S5xhxNniLo_mUOMlTkVvv9CSVDe_SqD8lB56ig83I1L5lfdT-l2_YGod-IT_0tHZ4YCjCW5Xor3VAhuYBn2oprNGeLZakj5uKxUdkfDNs6Fmfbo_Bj2D4R7ybtMQVfqhJMjeEd_cpyMhfzxhMLJgEscqiLobMb4UyL6g_A/w640-h360/Small%20Eden%20Tour%20Schedule.png" width="640" /></a></div><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div><br /></div></div><div><br /></div></span></div><div><br /></div></div><div><br /></div><p> </p>Helenahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06962202331435066843noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8064482728419855641.post-90942842262008224522022-10-11T23:30:00.000-07:002022-10-11T23:30:00.219-07:00BOOK SPOTLIGHT! Owerd the Briton by James Gault #HistoricalFiction #BlogTour #TheCoffeePotBookClub @ozjimg @cathiedunn <p> </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhPYPlOvgoEYztrBFBJf4QUirtI7fJrHjZLHsX6ESk5je08b-AKw7gv92qBn9SARH4Cl5GtsMSFPOUE-vcMGyvFIgX3yGlomu4CtaHmhmAo0q10LSaFdmA8FtunqHOu_l2QwXg_nzSa5RlV8lPna8TaRaYiVMIt_bGbNesmDKlzgwtX8VJ1Gey_A0j59Q/s640/Owerd%20the%20Briton%20Tour%20Banner.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="360" data-original-width="640" height="360" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhPYPlOvgoEYztrBFBJf4QUirtI7fJrHjZLHsX6ESk5je08b-AKw7gv92qBn9SARH4Cl5GtsMSFPOUE-vcMGyvFIgX3yGlomu4CtaHmhmAo0q10LSaFdmA8FtunqHOu_l2QwXg_nzSa5RlV8lPna8TaRaYiVMIt_bGbNesmDKlzgwtX8VJ1Gey_A0j59Q/w640-h360/Owerd%20the%20Briton%20Tour%20Banner.png" width="640" /></a></div><br /><p></p><div style="text-align: left;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiQ523fa1LktPqK9Y3EwLpEnNTULYi0YZfA9-gollrOI3sXn8gmMlMW1FeFqpeN4P-XYhCXjXaw_IsbNZJtdce7BVej48y7PM3n7N6bcIsURUes75w_fOYKN4cOyBCM20YG8MJ959vAHhrL2FfrxQgl_NKqwVnTdK1htHXyiT8-Fp0cT0lDPpmHCaakOg/s1500/OwerdtheBriton.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1500" data-original-width="1000" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiQ523fa1LktPqK9Y3EwLpEnNTULYi0YZfA9-gollrOI3sXn8gmMlMW1FeFqpeN4P-XYhCXjXaw_IsbNZJtdce7BVej48y7PM3n7N6bcIsURUes75w_fOYKN4cOyBCM20YG8MJ959vAHhrL2FfrxQgl_NKqwVnTdK1htHXyiT8-Fp0cT0lDPpmHCaakOg/w426-h640/OwerdtheBriton.jpg" width="426" /></a></div><br /><span style="font-family: Architects Daughter; font-size: x-large;"><b>Owerd the Briton<br />By James Gault</b></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: Architects Daughter; font-size: x-large;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><div><span style="font-family: Architects Daughter; font-size: x-large;">Publication Date: 24 July 2022</span></div><div><span style="font-family: Architects Daughter; font-size: x-large;">Publisher: Independently published</span></div><div><span style="font-family: Architects Daughter; font-size: x-large;">Page Length: 365 Pages</span></div><div><span style="font-family: Architects Daughter; font-size: x-large;">Genre: Historical Fiction</span></div><div><span style="font-family: Architects Daughter; font-size: x-large;"><br /></span></div><div><div><span style="font-family: Architects Daughter; font-size: x-large;">In Saxon England of the 1060s, the prospects for Owerd are grim. He is a Briton; son of a miller; and looks like a Dane. The Church beckons, as does a warrior life but he must first learn his ‘station’ with frequent humiliation. </span></div><div><span style="font-family: Architects Daughter; font-size: x-large;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: Architects Daughter; font-size: x-large;">Fate lends a hand in rewarding his courage but as his lot improves the Normans invade. Does he fight them or aid them? </span></div><div><span style="font-family: Architects Daughter; font-size: x-large;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: Architects Daughter; font-size: x-large;">His loyalties are tested by events involving violence, loss, love and fate as he tries to manage the balance between security and oppression.</span></div></div><div><span style="font-family: Architects Daughter; font-size: x-large;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="background-color: white; color: #333333;"><span style="font-family: Architects Daughter; font-size: x-large;">If you would like to read this novel then head over to <a href="https://books2read.com/u/31DOAw " target="_blank">Amazon</a>.</span></span></div><div><span style="background-color: white; color: #333333;"><span style="font-family: Architects Daughter; font-size: x-large;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span style="background-color: white;"><span style="font-family: Architects Daughter; font-size: x-large;"><div><span style="color: #333333;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgYoLF5FtaYRfuUYz5wTQrmWYtHIEfIweqBOxVY7eDBD6Vy3h5P5Q1mmho10JQpkBgxZIx0TcJFc5-uOnP9mmQNegglG9dAqXmIEyYCpzGe0iiKOTXU8KdQay4En9lonNKcMb0NJ213gDdmzKkCpEYwl4L2lqzS6Tn1t6ThVrF1vLJ__C92S-EvRC_Hng/s1106/James%20Gault%20new%20image.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1106" data-original-width="1106" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgYoLF5FtaYRfuUYz5wTQrmWYtHIEfIweqBOxVY7eDBD6Vy3h5P5Q1mmho10JQpkBgxZIx0TcJFc5-uOnP9mmQNegglG9dAqXmIEyYCpzGe0iiKOTXU8KdQay4En9lonNKcMb0NJ213gDdmzKkCpEYwl4L2lqzS6Tn1t6ThVrF1vLJ__C92S-EvRC_Hng/s320/James%20Gault%20new%20image.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br />James, or Jim by preference, was a successful mariner who spent much of his life at sea mucking around in ships and boats. That was the relatively adventurous part of his life, encompassing a good slice of the world and its ever-changing challenges and joys, from violent wars and cyclones to glorious sunrises and oceans of tranquillity.</span></div><div><span style="color: #333333;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="color: #333333;">These days the stability of reading and writing are preferred, especially writing about the fictional adventures of others. He enjoys the company of his wife Sally and Labrador dog Pippa in a small coastal town in Australia.</span></div><div><br /></div><div><span style="color: #333333;">Social Media Links:</span></div><div><span style="color: #333333;"><a href="https://twitter.com/ozjimg " target="_blank">Twitter</a></span></div><div><span style="color: #333333;"><a href="https://www.facebook.com/james.gault.94214" target="_blank">Facebook</a></span></div><div><span style="color: #333333;"><a href="https://www.instagram.com/ozjimg/ " target="_blank">Instagram</a></span></div><div><span style="color: #333333;"><a href="https://www.bookbub.com/authors/james-gault-cdd26537-0398-4993-b3bb-56c9b6f5a670" target="_blank">Book Bub </a></span></div><div><span style="color: #333333;"><a href="https://www.amazon.com/~/e/B08DLDVFRB" target="_blank">Amazon Author Page</a> </span></div><div><span style="color: #333333;"><a href="https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/20889378.James_Gault" target="_blank">Goodreads</a></span></div><div><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://thecoffeepotbookclub.blogspot.com/2022/08/blog-tour-owerd-briton-by-james-gault.html" target="_blank">Tour Schedule</a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiQNfwaqg3E1HZw3EnG0mDJet7LwTCf5fMzMHS2GukeShM2qESdcif29BkTt_CtAhRpbITexliQwvlkV8TyHXGnedEAD3HaHm2fs_LWB_1YT_5U4vvpY_odsIUkiUFaZ87_jTf-E_zCI_7lx_zhqVfuum1HOOjSqQYx-Vw-6uvh0CJC7Aj3ofQmzcQY5A/s640/Owerd%20the%20Briton%20Tour%20Schedule.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="360" data-original-width="640" height="360" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiQNfwaqg3E1HZw3EnG0mDJet7LwTCf5fMzMHS2GukeShM2qESdcif29BkTt_CtAhRpbITexliQwvlkV8TyHXGnedEAD3HaHm2fs_LWB_1YT_5U4vvpY_odsIUkiUFaZ87_jTf-E_zCI_7lx_zhqVfuum1HOOjSqQYx-Vw-6uvh0CJC7Aj3ofQmzcQY5A/w640-h360/Owerd%20the%20Briton%20Tour%20Schedule.png" width="640" /></a></div><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div><span style="color: #333333;"><br /></span></div><div style="color: #333333;"><br /></div></span></span></div></div><div><br /></div>Helenahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06962202331435066843noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8064482728419855641.post-77265453461643723242022-10-10T23:00:00.000-07:002022-10-10T23:00:00.205-07:00BOOK EXCERPT! JULIA PRIMA by Alison Morton #HistoricalFiction #BlogTour #CoffeePotBookClub @alison_morton @cathiedunn<p><br /></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiHHImALqZc4yCC9ByHT77Msgx1oLivd8erPMN_zjq4vk7ieWukYeeGJDOuEa1_SxaNlnRPkwTzz1xa1aocubaEH-okJw9sd1TDGWFitOzETEmNihd06TKvxGMp6W-9dgEr47GoD9z4IXZ6RgVPiLn38IcDRS6N3h4LuNsCOKVRoFm-rwrIMprBhlsCkg/s640/Julia%20Prima%20Tour%20Banner%20final.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: Architects Daughter; font-size: x-large;"><img border="0" data-original-height="360" data-original-width="640" height="360" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiHHImALqZc4yCC9ByHT77Msgx1oLivd8erPMN_zjq4vk7ieWukYeeGJDOuEa1_SxaNlnRPkwTzz1xa1aocubaEH-okJw9sd1TDGWFitOzETEmNihd06TKvxGMp6W-9dgEr47GoD9z4IXZ6RgVPiLn38IcDRS6N3h4LuNsCOKVRoFm-rwrIMprBhlsCkg/w640-h360/Julia%20Prima%20Tour%20Banner%20final.png" width="640" /></span></a></div><p></p><div style="text-align: left;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiJ0pp6N6wpbUgvKA19F_MTlf0cYqsh22og3ozRlwyZCvAP4HviCH6cI9-pgrGZQUiYkb4xp2GR7d_RU0daMmNAvCbh4rDqPlocLsZFAOS1Zj1GaW_LsFbcMk9LlzDq0aK3-bV4e2v81HTyL7RJs95H333ExLpzlRXLFdJ1tWOhoZ7ewZpsfzkf4N6wCw/s800/JuliaPrima_eBcov%208x5.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: Architects Daughter; font-size: x-large;"><img border="0" data-original-height="800" data-original-width="518" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiJ0pp6N6wpbUgvKA19F_MTlf0cYqsh22og3ozRlwyZCvAP4HviCH6cI9-pgrGZQUiYkb4xp2GR7d_RU0daMmNAvCbh4rDqPlocLsZFAOS1Zj1GaW_LsFbcMk9LlzDq0aK3-bV4e2v81HTyL7RJs95H333ExLpzlRXLFdJ1tWOhoZ7ewZpsfzkf4N6wCw/w414-h640/JuliaPrima_eBcov%208x5.jpg" width="414" /></span></a></div><span style="font-family: Architects Daughter; font-size: x-large;"><br /><b>JULIA PRIMA<br />By Alison Morton</b></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: Architects Daughter; font-size: x-large;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><div><span style="font-family: Architects Daughter; font-size: x-large;">Publication Date: August 23rd, 2022</span></div><div><span style="font-family: Architects Daughter; font-size: x-large;">Publisher: Pulcheria Press</span></div><div><span style="font-family: Architects Daughter; font-size: x-large;">Page Length: 335 pages</span></div><div><span style="font-family: Architects Daughter; font-size: x-large;">Genre: Historical fiction</span></div><div><span style="font-family: Architects Daughter; font-size: x-large;"><br /></span></div></div><div style="text-align: left;"><div><i><span style="font-family: Architects Daughter; font-size: x-large;">“You should have trusted me. You should have given me a choice.”</span></i></div><div><span style="font-family: Architects Daughter; font-size: x-large;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: Architects Daughter; font-size: x-large;">AD 370, Roman frontier province of Noricum. Neither wholly married nor wholly divorced, Julia Bacausa is trapped in the power struggle between the Christian church and her pagan ruler father. </span></div><div><span style="font-family: Architects Daughter; font-size: x-large;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: Architects Daughter; font-size: x-large;">Tribune Lucius Apulius’s career is blighted by his determination to stay faithful to the Roman gods in a Christian empire. Stripped of his command in Britannia, he’s demoted to the backwater of Noricum – and encounters Julia.</span></div><div><span style="font-family: Architects Daughter; font-size: x-large;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: Architects Daughter; font-size: x-large;">Unwittingly, he takes her for a whore. When confronted by who she is, he is overcome with remorse and fear. Despite this disaster, Julia and Lucius are drawn to one another by an irresistible attraction.</span></div><div><span style="font-family: Architects Daughter; font-size: x-large;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: Architects Daughter; font-size: x-large;">But their intensifying bond is broken when Lucius is banished to Rome. Distraught, Julia gambles everything to join him. But a vengeful presence from the past overshadows her perilous journey. Following her heart’s desire brings danger she could never have envisaged…</span></div><div><span style="font-family: Architects Daughter; font-size: x-large;"><br /></span></div></div><div><span style="font-family: Architects Daughter; font-size: x-large;">Excerpt</span></div><div><span style="font-family: Architects Daughter; font-size: x-large;"><br /></span></div><div><div><span style="font-family: Architects Daughter; font-size: x-large;">Asella, Julia’s body servant, and Julia herself reminisce about Julia’s mother and father</span></div><div><span style="font-family: Architects Daughter; font-size: x-large;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: Architects Daughter; font-size: x-large;">‘I did not mean to be disrespectful to your father, domina. Prince Bacausus is a good man who treated my mistress well.’ Asella’s eyes softened. She’d accompanied my mother when she’d left her tribe to marry the young warrior prince my father had been. Father had been fighting against the tribes raiding across the Danuvius as part of the Legio II Italica based at Lauriacum. He’d led his men across the river into tribal territory and captured the local chieftain himself.</span></div><div><span style="font-family: Architects Daughter; font-size: x-large;">Asella said he’d stood as proud as the Christians’ Lucifer and demanded the chieftain’s surrender. If he gave himself up, the tribespeople would be spared. Given the overwhelming number of Romans armed to the hilt, the chieftain acquiesced and was led away as a captive. Then my father saw the chieftain’s daughter, Suria, defiant and trembling with rage at her father’s fate. Asella said sourly that he might have won the fight against the father, but it was at that moment he surrendered to the daughter. He said she had to be part of the surrender bargain and held out his hand. The daughter – who would become my mother – had stared at him long and hard, but stepped forward. She knew her refusal would mean disaster for the tribe. Asella told me that my mother had gone very willingly and had never regretted her decision, but she became homesick from time to time and would ride all the way up to the Danuvius River and watch across it for hours. </span></div><div><span style="font-family: Architects Daughter; font-size: x-large;">I remember Asella nursing my mother when she was dying. The medicus from the military camp had given her poppy seed draught to relieve the pain but shook his head when my father raised his eyebrow in question. I watched my father’s shoulders slump as he turned and trudged back to his tablinum and drew the curtain across to forbid any possible visitors.</span></div><div><span style="font-family: Architects Daughter; font-size: x-large;"> Asella’s cousin had appeared at our door the next day without warning. Her face looked like any other tribeswoman’s, but she wore a boldly patterned dress with bells and fringes at the edges of an overtunic. The fibula holding her cloak at the shoulder was silver, but with fantastic and frightening animal shapes and the gold torc round her neck the most intricately twisted that I’d ever seen. Her belt looked like metal skulls linked together and a pouch hung from it on the right side. The most normal thing was her hair, dark and gathered at the back with ring-headed pins sticking out. She fixed me with dark grey eyes buried deep in her face. I felt she was reading my soul, then she ignored me as she greeted Asella who bowed to her and called her Talusia. They’d disappeared down the corridor together towards my mother’s room, leaving me alone, feeling a mere bystander. </span></div><div><span style="font-family: Architects Daughter; font-size: x-large;">Only when my father threatened to slice the cousin in half if he wasn’t permitted to see his wife did she let him, and me, into my mother’s room. Her poor face, so thin, her skin stretched across her cheekbones. I had fallen to my knees by her bed, ignoring the herbal smells from the brazier, the tribeswoman crooning and the other people in the room, and I took her hand. Warm tears ran down my face. I was supposed to be an adult at sixteen, but at that moment I was a tiny child desperate for her mother to never leave her. She turned her head slowly and looked at me.</span></div><div><span style="font-family: Architects Daughter; font-size: x-large;">‘Julia,’ she’d said softly. This thin croak wasn’t her voice. Hers should be assured, positive and warm. But it was her hand, even though it felt like skin with only bones and sinews underneath. ‘I’m so sorry to leave you. I wanted to see you with a good man and strong children.’ Her fingers curled round mine as if she tried to grip them, but her touch had no strength. </span></div><div><span style="font-family: Architects Daughter; font-size: x-large;">‘Matir,’ I said, my throat parched. ‘Don’t tire yourself.’</span></div><div><span style="font-family: Architects Daughter; font-size: x-large;">‘My Julia, listen. When you find a man who pleases you, marry him in the way of my people. And please your father and marry as the Romans, but not as their new god.’ Her eyes glowed for a moment. ‘Promise me!’</span></div><div><span style="font-family: Architects Daughter; font-size: x-large;">‘I promise, but—’</span></div><div><span style="font-family: Architects Daughter; font-size: x-large;">Her eyes fluttered as she searched my face. </span></div><div><span style="font-family: Architects Daughter; font-size: x-large;">‘I hope I have been a good mother to you,’ she whispered, then sighed and looked up at the ceiling. After a minute she turned back to me. ‘Now, farewell. Let me speak to your father. He is a noble and courageous man, and kind. Honour him.’</span></div><div><span style="font-family: Architects Daughter; font-size: x-large;">The last sight I had of my mother alive was of my father kissing her mouth in the Roman way to take her breath, her essence, into him. Then he’d stroked her forehead and run his fingers over her eyes to close them. </span></div><div><span style="font-family: Architects Daughter; font-size: x-large;"><br /></span></div></div><div><span style="font-family: Architects Daughter; font-size: x-large;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #333333;">If you would like to read this novel then head over to <a href="https://books2read.com/JULIAPRIMA " target="_blank">Amazon</a>, </span><span style="color: #333333;"><a href="https://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/julia-prima-alison-morton/1141719007?ean=2940186610922 " target="_blank">Barnes and Noble</a>, </span><span style="color: #333333;"><a href="https://www.waterstones.com/book/julia-prima/alison-morton/9791097310356 " target="_blank">Waterstones</a>, </span><span style="color: #333333;"><a href="https://www.kobo.com/ebook/julia-prima " target="_blank">Kobo</a>, </span><span style="color: #333333;"><a href="https://books.apple.com/us/book/id6443066547 " target="_blank">Apple</a> </span></span></div><div><span style="color: #333333;"><span style="font-family: Architects Daughter; font-size: x-large;"><br /></span></span></div><div><div><span style="color: #333333; font-family: Architects Daughter; font-size: x-large;">Alison Morton writes award-winning thrillers featuring tough but compassionate heroines. Her nine-book Roma Nova series is set in an imaginary European country where a remnant of the ancient Roman Empire has survived into the 21st century and is ruled by women who face conspiracy, revolution and heartache but with a sharp line in dialogue. </span></div><div><span style="color: #333333; font-family: Architects Daughter; font-size: x-large;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="color: #333333; font-family: Architects Daughter; font-size: x-large;">She blends her fascination for Ancient Rome with six years’ military service and a life of reading crime, historical and thriller fiction. On the way, she collected a BA in modern languages and an MA in history. </span></div><div><span style="color: #333333; font-family: Architects Daughter; font-size: x-large;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="color: #333333; font-family: Architects Daughter; font-size: x-large;">Alison now lives in Poitou in France, the home of Mélisende, the heroine of her latest two contemporary thrillers, Double Identity and Double Pursuit. Oh, and she’s writing the next Roma Nova story.</span></div><div><span style="color: #333333; font-family: Architects Daughter; font-size: x-large;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="color: #333333; font-family: Architects Daughter; font-size: x-large;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="color: #333333; font-family: Architects Daughter; font-size: x-large;">Social media links:</span></div><div><span style="color: #333333; font-family: Architects Daughter; font-size: x-large;"><a href="https://alison-morton.com" target="_blank">Alison Morton’s World of Thrillers site</a> </span></div><div><span style="color: #333333; font-family: Architects Daughter; font-size: x-large;"><a href="https://www.facebook.com/AlisonMortonAuthor" target="_blank">Facebook</a></span></div><div><span style="color: #333333; font-family: Architects Daughter; font-size: x-large;"><a href="https://twitter.com/alison_morton" target="_blank">Twitter </a></span></div><div><span style="color: #333333; font-family: Architects Daughter; font-size: x-large;"><a href="https://alisonmortonauthor.com" target="_blank">Alison’s writing blog</a></span></div><div><span style="color: #333333; font-family: Architects Daughter; font-size: x-large;"><a href="https://www.instagram.com/alisonmortonauthor/" target="_blank">Instagram</a> </span></div><div><span style="color: #333333; font-family: Architects Daughter; font-size: x-large;"><a href="https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/5783095.Alison_Morton" target="_blank">Goodreads</a></span></div><div><span style="color: #333333; font-family: Architects Daughter; font-size: x-large;"><a href="https://www.bookbub.com/profile/alison-morton" target="_blank">BookBub</a></span></div><div><span style="color: #333333; font-family: Architects Daughter; font-size: x-large;"><a href="https://Author.to/AlisonMortonAmazon" target="_blank">Alison’s Amazon page</a></span></div><div><span style="color: #333333; font-family: Architects Daughter; font-size: x-large;"><a href="https://www.alison-morton.com/newsletter" target="_blank">Newsletter sign-up</a></span></div><div><span style="font-family: Architects Daughter; font-size: x-large;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://thecoffeepotbookclub.blogspot.com/2022/07/blog-tour-julia-prima-by-alison-morton.html " target="_blank"><span style="font-family: Architects Daughter; font-size: x-large;">Tour Schedule</span></a></div></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgZcc3bPdC4n0L_1o1Z3JpRvEHnSlVYAisiKnPGQWPJ04EGk5TpPc76qPZkgg6FdjB3g_-sVU6ZzMtQSf3QBrgZEgjHHdop5ACLI_Xv7JlcMefFsd30qVRxoD_-kPZwhQkcTWyo6zwSS4xj6y4IaiNr7ucFmEODJl-Gps9K7NE0RLWdFlaK5AouU-zm2w/s640/Julia%20Prima%20Tour%20Schedule%20final.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="360" data-original-width="640" height="360" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgZcc3bPdC4n0L_1o1Z3JpRvEHnSlVYAisiKnPGQWPJ04EGk5TpPc76qPZkgg6FdjB3g_-sVU6ZzMtQSf3QBrgZEgjHHdop5ACLI_Xv7JlcMefFsd30qVRxoD_-kPZwhQkcTWyo6zwSS4xj6y4IaiNr7ucFmEODJl-Gps9K7NE0RLWdFlaK5AouU-zm2w/w640-h360/Julia%20Prima%20Tour%20Schedule%20final.png" width="640" /></a></div><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div><br /></div>Helenahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06962202331435066843noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8064482728419855641.post-34616377135751062672022-10-05T23:00:00.000-07:002022-10-05T23:00:00.214-07:00#BlogTour - Fortunate Son by Thomas Tibor @thomastibor57 @maryanneyarde @cathiedunn<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh2_5tqOvMzjyhfVi-ecH4k5yyXgmvqlvNzN_kn5_0PVRFQucUqU6cu5_bVedmKPZILbLLkT7ZR0fS_mTl1xjtiNgYq-Zu8cM58YXkV3gA8SrFq9HFGCZxj6VM5eYg5BCdYb_tkKcd0SvlyVSCi-BAd28Dtb8cw8MZ0f1Jl-dgL63tdtcxlvow04AUXQg/s1600/Tour%20Banner%20Fortunate%20Son.png" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="900" data-original-width="1600" height="360" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh2_5tqOvMzjyhfVi-ecH4k5yyXgmvqlvNzN_kn5_0PVRFQucUqU6cu5_bVedmKPZILbLLkT7ZR0fS_mTl1xjtiNgYq-Zu8cM58YXkV3gA8SrFq9HFGCZxj6VM5eYg5BCdYb_tkKcd0SvlyVSCi-BAd28Dtb8cw8MZ0f1Jl-dgL63tdtcxlvow04AUXQg/w640-h360/Tour%20Banner%20Fortunate%20Son.png" width="640" /></a></div><br /> <p></p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: Architects Daughter; font-size: x-large;"><b><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhGSipfznS-w7plw18AHx5zdTHz02GAxSQHBmgFmYJQUcXCmOp1bMSj5Dp0vLJFxcfsYVMHdJ_krMyjI5p1WTWETsugjZXuNCMX0wod4O8C2OD-3EhEMCoZeScOQ8jpCV69XwihHzXiMlycMzfXfpMLVZrcFp_x-6-ohHZdYLkiuRuMZNSVZU5foI5j5w/s2550/FortunateSon_Ebook-cover.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2550" data-original-width="1637" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhGSipfznS-w7plw18AHx5zdTHz02GAxSQHBmgFmYJQUcXCmOp1bMSj5Dp0vLJFxcfsYVMHdJ_krMyjI5p1WTWETsugjZXuNCMX0wod4O8C2OD-3EhEMCoZeScOQ8jpCV69XwihHzXiMlycMzfXfpMLVZrcFp_x-6-ohHZdYLkiuRuMZNSVZU5foI5j5w/w410-h640/FortunateSon_Ebook-cover.jpg" width="410" /></a></div><br />Fortunate Son<br />By Thomas Tibor</b></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><div><span style="font-family: Architects Daughter; font-size: x-large;">Publication Date: February 2022 </span></div><div><span style="font-family: Architects Daughter; font-size: x-large;">Publisher: Zahav Brothers Publishing</span></div><div><span style="font-family: Architects Daughter; font-size: x-large;">Page Length: 338 Pages</span></div><div><span style="font-family: Architects Daughter; font-size: x-large;">Genre: Historical Fiction</span></div><div><div><span style="font-family: Architects Daughter; font-size: x-large;">Trigger warnings:</span></div><div><span style="font-family: Architects Daughter; font-size: x-large;">One aspect of this story dramatizes instances of self-harm and makes references to suicide.</span></div></div><div><span style="font-family: Architects Daughter; font-size: x-large;"><br /></span></div><div><div><span style="font-family: Architects Daughter; font-size: x-large;">A powerful, evocative novel that transports the reader to a tense period in America, Fortunate Son is set on a southern college campus during the turbulent spring of 1970. Reed Lawson, an ROTC cadet, struggles with the absence of his father, a Navy pilot who has been Missing in Action in Vietnam for three years.</span></div><div><span style="font-family: Architects Daughter; font-size: x-large;">While volunteering at a drug crisis center, Reed sets out to win the heart of a feminist co-worker who is grappling with a painful past, and to rescue a troubled teenage girl from self-destruction. In the process, he is forced to confront trauma’s tragic consequences and the fragile, tangled web of human connections.</span></div><div><span style="font-family: Architects Daughter; font-size: x-large;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Architects Daughter; font-size: x-large;">EXCERPT</span></div><div><span style="font-family: Architects Daughter; font-size: x-large;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: Architects Daughter; font-size: x-large;"><div><br /></div><div>“Sorry I’m late,” Reed said as Annabel jumped into the Mustang. “How was your weekend?”</div><div><br /></div><div>“Forget my weekend. Why’d you have to blab about me? Now they think I’m a wacko!”</div><div><br /></div><div>“I’m sure they don’t. You’re dealing with heavy stuff right now and need some help, that’s all.”</div><div><br /></div><div>“Forget that shit. Mom dragged me to a doctor last year. He laid some crap on me about having an anxiety disorder. Gave me a bunch of Librium, which just made me sick.”</div><div><br /></div><div>Flipping down the sun visor, she inspected the dark circles beneath her eyes. “Dammit, forgot the concealer—I’ll look like a corpse all day.”</div><div><br /></div><div>Reed tried to change the subject. “By the way, have you written any poetry lately?”</div><div><br /></div><div>“Fuck no. Gonna burn all my notebooks.”</div><div><br /></div><div>“What! You can’t do that.”</div><div><br /></div><div>“Who says? Not like anyone’s gonna read that garbage anyway.”</div><div><br /></div><div>“Wait a minute. You can’t just get rid of creative stuff like that. Besides, it’s really good.”</div><div><br /></div><div>“Says only you.”</div><div><br /></div><div>“I don’t get it. I thought you wanted to go to college and become a writer.”</div><div>“Another stupid pipe dream.”</div><div><br /></div><div>Clearly, nothing else he could say was going to make a difference.</div><div><br /></div><div>—</div><div><br /></div><div>That same day—Monday, May 4—Ohio National Guard troops were summoned to restore order at Kent State University. In the confrontation with protesters that ensued, Guardsmen opened fire, killing two students and two bystanders. Nine others were wounded. News of the Kent State killings quickly spread nationwide.</div><div><br /></div><div>In the crowded TV room, Reed and Adam fixated on the evening broadcast—Guardsmen firing, students screaming. And a photo of a young woman pleading for help, kneeling next to a guy lying on the pavement, his head in a puddle of blood.</div><div><br /></div><div>Adam raised his voice above the angry clamor. “I guess American citizens are now no safer than the Vietnamese we’re killing.”</div><div><br /></div><div>—</div><div><br /></div><div>The next morning after drill, Reed stood in the ROTC parking lot and spread the newspaper across the Mustang’s hood. According to the front-page article, the Guardsmen had lobbed tear gas at protesters in attempts to break up the rally. Some protesters threw the smoking canisters—along with stones—back at the Guardsmen, who retreated, except for twenty-eight, who suddenly turned and fired into the unarmed crowd. Over sixty rounds in thirteen seconds.</div><div><br /></div><div>As he finished the article, students slowed and leaned out of passing cars to jeer.</div><div><br /></div><div>“Fuck you, ROTC!”</div><div><br /></div><div>“Fascist pig!”</div><div><br /></div><div>Reed stiffened but didn’t bother to respond, then walked into class.</div><div><br /></div><div>Captain Harwood joined the class that day to discuss the killings. He began by reading excerpts from articles: “According to the Ohio National Guard, the Guardsmen had been forced to shoot after a sniper opened fire against the troops from a nearby rooftop. Others claimed there was no sniper fire . . . the brigadier general commanding the troops admitted students had not been warned that soldiers might fire live rounds . . . a Guardsman always has the option to fire if his life is in danger.”</div><div><br /></div><div>The captain scanned the room. “So, what do you all think?”</div><div><br /></div><div>“Seems to me, sir,” a cadet responded, “it was self-defense.”</div><div><br /></div><div>Reed raised his hand. “Sir, why couldn’t they have just fired warning shots?”</div><div><br /></div><div>Harwood was about to speak when he was interrupted by shouting from protesters outside: “Down with ROTC!” “ROTC off campus!” “Burn it down!”</div><div><br /></div><div>He pressed on. “Once weapons are loaded, Guardsmen have a license to fire. These guys were inexperienced, afraid, and poorly trained.”</div><div><br /></div><div>As another cadet raised his hand, bricks crashed against the classroom windows, cracking a few panes.</div><div><br /></div><div>Reed dove to the floor and crouched under his desk. Son of a bitch! </div><div><br /></div><div>More bricks, glass breaking, and chanting continued until Harwood was able to shepherd the cadets into the hallway amid pounding on the front door.</div><div><br /></div><div>Sirens wailed in the distance. Campus police soon arrived to clear the front lawn and sidewalk, cordon off the area, and direct the cadets outside.</div><div><br /></div><div>Reed escaped to his Mustang. It was all too freaking crazy. He drove across the lot, but protesters blocked the exit. Gunning his engine, he envisioned knocking the assholes down like bowling pins. Moments later, the police cleared his path and motioned him through.</div><div><br /></div><div>Back at the dorm, he ripped off his uniform and rummaged for a clean pair of Levi’s. Adam sat at his desk, furiously scribbling notes.</div><div><br /></div><div>“Don’t you have class?”</div><div><br /></div><div>“Walked out,” Adam said.</div><div><br /></div><div>“Why?”</div><div><br /></div><div>“Because of what my fascist teacher wrote on the blackboard: Lesson for the Week—He who stands in front of soldiers with rifles should not throw stones.”</div><div><br /></div><div>“Harsh.”</div><div><br /></div><div>“Screw it. I’m not going back.”</div><div><br /></div><div>“Wait a minute. What about finals next week?”</div><div><br /></div><div>Adam shoved his notebook aside and stepped toward the door. “Who gives a shit? It’s like that saying, To sin by silence when they should protest makes cowards of men. At some point in life, you gotta take a stand.”</div><div><br /></div><div>—</div><div><br /></div><div>In Political Philosophy class, Reed’s professor was drowned out by shouting from the hallway. “Strike, strike, strike!” </div><div><br /></div><div>Several students burst into the classroom.</div><div><br /></div><div>“They murdered four people!” a girl cried. “How can you sit there like nothing’s going on? Strike!”</div><div><br /></div><div>“Get lost. We’re trying to study!” a guy yelled.</div><div><br /></div><div>“They were students, just like you and me!”</div><div><br /></div><div>As Reed tried to focus, more protesters interrupted the class. Several kids got up and walked out.</div><div><br /></div><div>The professor stopped writing on the blackboard. “All right, who else wants to leave? If you do, please do so now.”</div><div><br /></div><div>Should he stay or go? Of course, the killing of the students at Kent State was horrible. Jeffrey Miller wasn’t an activist, just a concerned kid. Sandy Scheuer had been walking to speech therapy class, paying no attention to the surrounding chaos. Allison Krause had put a flower in a Guardsman’s rifle on Sunday. On Monday, she was dead. William Schroeder, age twenty, was in ROTC. Just like me.</div><div><br /></div><div>Adam’s quote echoed in his head: To sin by silence when they should protest makes cowards of men. Yet what was a strike actually supposed to accomplish?</div><div><br /></div><div>Reed surrendered to inertia and stayed in class.</div><div><br /></div><div>Afterward, he drove to the 7-Eleven, yet found no respite from the mayhem. When he walked out, a tearful woman about his mother’s age, wearing a peasant dress, leaned against the Mustang holding a sign: 48,700 Dead Soldiers. Four Dead Students. America—What Are We Doing to Our Children?</div><div><br /></div><div>Back on campus, a guy shoved a leaflet into his hand: Strike to End the War. Strike to Take Power. Strike to Smash Corporations. Strike to Set Yourself Free!</div><div><br /></div><div>Reed crumpled and tossed it. Strike for whose power? Smash which corporations? Set yourself free from what exactly?</div><div><br /></div><div>At Annabel’s high school, tensions ran nearly as high. Kids had commandeered the sidewalk. White-helmeted police officers lined the curb, clenching batons and shielding protesters from passing cars.</div><div><br /></div><div>“Can you believe it?” Annabel said. “One minute you’re waving some sign, the next minute you’re dead.”</div><div><br /></div><div>On the way to Jordan’s, traffic was stalled by hundreds of protesters spilling across the road in front of the university’s administration building. When Reed tried to make a U-turn, the police signaled him toward a side street.</div><div><br /></div><div>Annabel poked her head out the window. “Come on. Let’s park and see what’s going on.”</div><div>They walked to the administration building, where a school official stood blocking the front door, trying to calm the crowd.</div><div><br /></div><div>“I appeal to everyone to use reason. A mob has no reason. Let’s not create a situation that invites the very same violence we all deplore!”</div><div><br /></div><div>His words were met with a mix of approval and derision.</div><div><br /></div><div>The next speaker, no older than the students, wore a military fatigue jacket despite the heat and introduced himself as a member of Veterans for Peace. “I experienced enough violence, blood, and death at Khe Sanh for a lifetime. I vowed, never again!”</div><div><br /></div><div>At the mention of Khe Sanh, Reed glanced at Annabel. She had a faraway look in her eyes. Must be thinking about her father.</div><div><br /></div><div>The vet continued, “Now that killing is happening here, the time for complacency is over! I’m not a leftist. I’m not a communist. I’m a patriot. I love America.” He concluded by reading from a petition: “We believe in life, not death, love not hate, peace not war. Join us and demand that President Nixon stop this war now!”</div><div><br /></div><div>Annabel turned away. “I gotta get the hell out of here.”</div><div><br /></div><div>She remained stone-faced and silent until Reed dropped her off at Jordan’s.</div><div><br /></div><div>Too agitated to study, Reed parked at the dorm and walked into the student union. On TV, a reporter was asking a middle-aged woman from Kent, Ohio, about the dead students.</div><div><br /></div><div>“They’re traitors!” she hissed. “They deserve everything they got!”</div><div><br /></div><div>The news program cut to the streets of Manhattan, where helmeted construction workers hoisting American flags fought antiwar protesters with fists and lead pipes. At least twenty people had been hospitalized. In Seattle, members of a vigilante group ironically called HELP—Help Eliminate Lawless Protest—had also attacked demonstrators.</div><div><br /></div><div>Reed had had enough and left. Maybe Olivia’s warning of a nation sliding toward another civil war wasn’t off base after all.</div><div><br /></div><div>—</div><div><br /></div><div>When Reed arrived for the free clinic that night, he discovered it had been canceled due to the protests. On the porch, Jordan, Olivia, Meg, and other volunteers were donning red-and-black armbands emblazoned with the number 644,000. Reed now understood it referred to the total estimated casualties so far—soldiers and civilians, both Americans and Vietnamese.</div><div><br /></div><div>He watched uneasily as Meg distributed white candles. A candlelight vigil march had been planned to honor the Kent State deaths.</div><div><br /></div><div>Olivia beckoned them to leave, but Jordan lingered and said to Reed, “Are you coming with us?”</div><div><br /></div><div>He was relieved by her tone—gentle, not accusing. “I don’t know.”</div><div><br /></div><div>“You realize what’s at stake, don’t you? You can’t stay on the sidelines. Not anymore.”</div><div><br /></div><div>“Maybe not. But if you’re right and the war is immoral, that means my dad must be a criminal.”</div><div><br /></div><div>He expected her to argue, but she remained sympathetic. “It’s not for me to judge your father. I’m sure he’s suffering horribly, but what’s happening now all over the country is bigger than one person. Much bigger.”</div><div><br /></div><div>Reed hesitated, thinking about an argument between Sandy and Mom last fall. Dad had been MIA for two years, but Mom had refused to participate in any protests.</div><div><br /></div><div>“What if your father really is alive and in prison?” she’d asked. “What if the North Vietnamese saw a newspaper article quoting me as criticizing the government? What if they showed your father a picture of me protesting? It would completely destroy his morale.”</div><div><br /></div><div>Down the street, Olivia and the others were joining protesters gathering on University Avenue—students and locals, all carrying flickering candles.</div><div><br /></div><div>What to do? His mother was right, but Jordan was too. He felt his father’s presence—watching, judging—as if they were tethered by a nine-thousand-mile cord. Yet Reed heard no voice in his head, no command, no advice. Nothing…</div><div><br /></div><div><a href="https://books2read.com/u/boyrra" target="_blank">Amazon</a></div></span></div><div><span style="font-family: Architects Daughter; font-size: x-large;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: Architects Daughter; font-size: x-large;"><div>Thomas Tibor</div><div><br /></div><div>A veteran writer and video producer, Thomas Tibor has helped develop training courses focusing on mental health topics. In an earlier life, he worked as a counselor in the psychiatric ward of two big-city hospitals. He grew up in Florida and now lives in Northern Virginia. Fortunate Son is his first novel.</div><div><br /></div><div>Social Media Links:</div><div><a href="https://tiborcommunications.com/" target="_blank">Website</a> / <a href="https://mobile.twitter.com/thomastibor57" target="_blank">Twitter</a> / <a href="https://www.linkedin.com/in/thomas-tibor-5602b04/" target="_blank">LinkedIn</a> / <a href="https://www.amazon.com/Thomas-Tibor/e/B09TM27L46" target="_blank">Amazon Author Page</a> / <a href="https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/22287866.Thomas_Tibor" target="_blank">Goodreads</a> </div><div><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://maryanneyarde.blogspot.com/2022/08/blog-tour-fortunate-son-by-thomas-tibor.html" target="_blank">Tour Schedule</a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjUoeorj2SWel9KVPCI-kH4cdsWcpIrE-xeYNw3EzSHu564Rz_jBm2SrKjnBW8tGePjWaESkka-CCmXkrfl7Y6LJzd0a8Ppvq-XQscP2FAPP5lR3rE2k56a-2UZ2901wuBzwkKCAHRpp63fBg4CAs9NvH2UFyWMdIokmCeoC9xLFq6Rxu4VTsK20aC0Xg/s1600/Tour%20Scedule%20Banner%20Fortunate%20Son.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="900" data-original-width="1600" height="360" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjUoeorj2SWel9KVPCI-kH4cdsWcpIrE-xeYNw3EzSHu564Rz_jBm2SrKjnBW8tGePjWaESkka-CCmXkrfl7Y6LJzd0a8Ppvq-XQscP2FAPP5lR3rE2k56a-2UZ2901wuBzwkKCAHRpp63fBg4CAs9NvH2UFyWMdIokmCeoC9xLFq6Rxu4VTsK20aC0Xg/w640-h360/Tour%20Scedule%20Banner%20Fortunate%20Son.png" width="640" /></a></div><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div><br /></div></span></div><div><span style="font-family: Architects Daughter; font-size: x-large;"><br /></span></div></div></div><div><br /></div>Helenahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06962202331435066843noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8064482728419855641.post-9300685330350328132022-09-29T23:00:00.003-07:002022-09-29T23:00:00.192-07:00BOOK EXCERPT!!! Brushstrokes from the Past (Soli Hansen Mysteries) By Heidi Eljarbo #solihansenmysteries #BlogTour #TheCoffeePotBookClub @HeidiEljarbo @cathiedunn <p><br /></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjrvKMV5pkq2MvanZMqBP7dhvooIRDYeXfvUVAEy9ofKwTwfAj0AvwwL0BP013WBFuvQja_ryedqc98daso4W5WVNaZmRy82uWajHcajBgSfGjr15FZPVeJDU0VZ_q2Qb1e6QToPOeMRkP3fnrh9Mnup_64vE07LoKX7tM1wKh3Mg4XEZS9v-lPu9WT/s640/Brushstrokes%20from%20the%20Past%20tour%20banner.png" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: Architects Daughter; font-size: x-large;"><img border="0" data-original-height="360" data-original-width="640" height="360" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjrvKMV5pkq2MvanZMqBP7dhvooIRDYeXfvUVAEy9ofKwTwfAj0AvwwL0BP013WBFuvQja_ryedqc98daso4W5WVNaZmRy82uWajHcajBgSfGjr15FZPVeJDU0VZ_q2Qb1e6QToPOeMRkP3fnrh9Mnup_64vE07LoKX7tM1wKh3Mg4XEZS9v-lPu9WT/w640-h360/Brushstrokes%20from%20the%20Past%20tour%20banner.png" width="640" /></span></a></div><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Architects Daughter; font-size: x-large;">Brushstrokes from the Past</span></div></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Architects Daughter; font-size: x-large;">(Soli Hansen Mysteries)</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Architects Daughter; font-size: x-large;">By Heidi Eljarbo</span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Architects Daughter; font-size: x-large;"><br /></span></div></div><p style="text-align: left;"><b><span style="font-family: Architects Daughter; font-size: x-large;"></span></b></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><b><span style="font-family: Architects Daughter; font-size: x-large;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj3ncIiv6yCJ7Ao4AKH26cydh6Nimf7L4z7UiG5PgD9mr3Wnwfkd_kwWla0oL4RH7iaahkzilJhswFRwpbwQJgI2a9HqfaKU_9TTyMx8t8nuj6k2xgJwrIsQuxeGtRyIHxOFUy3UXeWMgxdlIpGrbRykTiuM9t14SG846u3pPGgUJiBl8KMnBIiXGRcow/s2550/BFTP%20Ebook.jpg" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2550" data-original-width="1650" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj3ncIiv6yCJ7Ao4AKH26cydh6Nimf7L4z7UiG5PgD9mr3Wnwfkd_kwWla0oL4RH7iaahkzilJhswFRwpbwQJgI2a9HqfaKU_9TTyMx8t8nuj6k2xgJwrIsQuxeGtRyIHxOFUy3UXeWMgxdlIpGrbRykTiuM9t14SG846u3pPGgUJiBl8KMnBIiXGRcow/w414-h640/BFTP%20Ebook.jpg" width="414" /></a></span></b></div><b><span style="font-family: Architects Daughter; font-size: x-large;"><br />WWII and the mid-seventeenth century are entwined in this fourth dual timeline novel about Nazi art theft, bravery, friendship, and romance.</span></b><p></p><p style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: Architects Daughter; font-size: x-large;">April 1945. Art historian Soli Hansen and her friend Heddy arrive at an excavation site only to find Soli’s old archeology professor deeply engrossed in an extraordinary find in a marsh. The remains of a man have lain undisturbed for three centuries, but there’s more to this discovery…</span></p><p style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: Architects Daughter; font-size: x-large;">As Soli tries to understand who the baroque man was and discovers what he carried in a sealed wooden tube, problems arise. A leak reveals the finds to the notorious Lieutenant Colonel Heinz Walter, and soon, both Nazi elite and the Gestapo are after the treasure.</span></p><p style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: Architects Daughter; font-size: x-large;">When Heddy and the professor disappear along with the artwork, Soli and her resistance group must find them before it’s too late.</span></p><p style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: Architects Daughter; font-size: x-large;">1641. In Amsterdam, French musketeer Claude Beaulieu has had his portrait done by his close friend and artist Rembrandt van Rijn. When a band of thieves steal the precious painting, Claude and his wife Annarosa Ruber pick up their swords and a few belongings and go after the culprits.</span></p><p style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: Architects Daughter; font-size: x-large;">Set in Norway during the tumultuous last days of the second world war, as well as the peak of the glorious baroque art period, these two stories are a must for readers who love historical fiction with adventure, suspense, and true love that conquers all.</span></p><p style="text-align: left;"><i><span style="font-family: Architects Daughter; font-size: x-large;">Perfect for fans of Kate Morton, Lucinda Riley, Kathleen McGurl, Rhys Bowen, and Katherine Neville.</span></i></p><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Architects Daughter; font-size: x-large;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Architects Daughter; font-size: x-large;"><br /></span></div><p style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Architects Daughter; font-size: x-large;">EXCERPT</span></p><p style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Architects Daughter; font-size: x-large;"><br /></span></p><p><span style="font-family: Architects Daughter; font-size: x-large;">Only a few patches of snow were left in the shadiest parts of the forest. A lazy haze drifted horizontally between the tall trunks of pine, slowly lifting before melting into the rays of the early morning sun.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: Architects Daughter; font-size: x-large;"><br /></span></p><p><span style="font-family: Architects Daughter; font-size: x-large;">“How much farther?” Soli asked.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: Architects Daughter; font-size: x-large;">“From the map, I’d say five or ten minutes.” Heddy opened the lid of the tin box containing cold, boiled potatoes and herring. “Do you want some more?”</span></p><p><span style="font-family: Architects Daughter; font-size: x-large;">Soli picked up another piece of fish, put it into her mouth, and licked her fingers. Her mind raced with curiosity. An old archaeologist had contacted her by messenger boy the evening before. Professor Holst had been a respected member of the university faculty in Oslo for decades. Even after the Germans shut down the institution of higher education in the capital, they’d allowed him to continue teaching under the direction of Nasjonal Samling, the only legal political party during the war. Perhaps they thought he’d discover something of great value, treasures they could take back to their notorious Führer. But the desire to freely learn could not be stopped. The Illegal Academy for artists had been established in 1941, and their administration kept the professor’s extracurricular supervision in the dark. Art students secretly received their education in a loft above the corset manufactory—called the Factory—a place Soli knew well.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: Architects Daughter; font-size: x-large;"><br /></span></p><p><span style="font-family: Architects Daughter; font-size: x-large;">“What will we find when we get there?” Heddy asked.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: Architects Daughter; font-size: x-large;">“I don’t know. But since Holst specifically requested my presence, he must want to discuss something about art history. The note was brief and didn’t disclose any facts about what he’s discovered or anything else.”</span></p><p><span style="font-family: Architects Daughter; font-size: x-large;">“Wait,” Heddy said as they arrived at a clearing overlooking a field. “That looks like an excavation site.” She placed her hand in front of Soli, blocking her from continuing. “Do you see any German soldiers or suspicious-looking people around?”</span></p><p><span style="font-family: Architects Daughter; font-size: x-large;">“No, but there’s bound to be Nazi-friendly folks here, just like everywhere else.”</span></p><p><span style="font-family: Architects Daughter; font-size: x-large;">“I know. We just need to be prepared in case we must run. Be careful when you speak with these people.”</span></p><p><span style="font-family: Architects Daughter; font-size: x-large;">“I will.”</span></p><p><span style="font-family: Architects Daughter; font-size: x-large;">“Do you trust this professor?”</span></p><p><span style="font-family: Architects Daughter; font-size: x-large;">“Well, he used to be the head of the archaeology department at the university, and I learned a lot from him. He never seemed like the kind who’d abandon his country. Besides, he did say our boys in the woods had contacted him.”</span></p><p><span style="font-family: Architects Daughter; font-size: x-large;">“Milorg wouldn’t have approached him if he’d been Nazi; they wouldn’t risk being caught.” Heddy put the last piece of potato in her mouth. “But why did you take his classes when you studied art history?”</span></p><p><span style="font-family: Architects Daughter; font-size: x-large;">“The various fields of history are linked together. Somehow, they’re all dependent upon archaeological digs and research.”</span></p><p><span style="font-family: Architects Daughter; font-size: x-large;">“I understand.” Heddy kept staring at two men shoveling the ground at the excavation site.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: Architects Daughter; font-size: x-large;">“You’re worried.” Soli said.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: Architects Daughter; font-size: x-large;">“Always, Soli. Wherever we go, there are dangers lurking around corners. After all, I recruited you to our clandestine organization.”</span></p><p><span style="font-family: Architects Daughter; font-size: x-large;">Soli hooked her arm around Heddy’s. “And you feel responsible for my safety.”</span></p><p><span style="font-family: Architects Daughter; font-size: x-large;">Heddy nodded. “Something like that. But then again, we’ve been through a lot already, and you’ve taught the rest of us a thing or two about courage and perseverance.”</span></p><p><span style="font-family: Architects Daughter; font-size: x-large;">“We’re in this together and keep an eye on each other.” Soli squeezed Heddy’s arm. “Come. Let’s speak with the professor first. Then we’ll try to save the world later, all right?”</span></p><p><span style="font-family: Architects Daughter; font-size: x-large;"><br /></span></p><p><span style="font-family: Architects Daughter; font-size: x-large;"></span></p><p><span style="background-color: white; color: #333333;"><span style="font-family: Architects Daughter; font-size: x-large;">If you would like to read this novel then head over to:</span></span></p><p><span style="font-family: Architects Daughter; font-size: x-large;"><a href="https://books2read.com/u/47g8Ej" target="_blank">Amazon</a></span></p><p><span style="font-family: Architects Daughter; font-size: x-large;"><span style="background-color: white;"><span style="color: #333333;">If you have a #KindleUnlimited </span></span><span style="background-color: white; color: #333333;"><span data-dobid="hdw">subscription you can read for free.</span></span></span></p><p><span style="font-family: Architects Daughter; font-size: x-large;"><br /></span></p><p><span style="font-family: Architects Daughter; font-size: x-large;"></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Architects Daughter; font-size: x-large;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjGr15iwUkGX_v9pPzD4LN0qxHLdL4caXfbUv-e1ikED7SoH1F2DwjzlOnl-D9L3XXN-DSCGHxPoUw8I9e091sBTQ2nv9AX_5dhvZczp8_xQDjdrgKODrqP87Z6keYI29IaC21Qwf6HPlCXkAFQJnJH9qUvjXAf1691ljXSdKsSZYtmRtTF_sMa4Q3zOw/s3147/Heidi%20Eljarbo%20portrait.jpg" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3147" data-original-width="2743" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjGr15iwUkGX_v9pPzD4LN0qxHLdL4caXfbUv-e1ikED7SoH1F2DwjzlOnl-D9L3XXN-DSCGHxPoUw8I9e091sBTQ2nv9AX_5dhvZczp8_xQDjdrgKODrqP87Z6keYI29IaC21Qwf6HPlCXkAFQJnJH9qUvjXAf1691ljXSdKsSZYtmRtTF_sMa4Q3zOw/s320/Heidi%20Eljarbo%20portrait.jpg" width="279" /></a></span></div><span style="font-family: Architects Daughter; font-size: x-large;"><br />Heidi Eljarbo is the bestselling author of historical fiction and mysteries filled with courageous and good characters that are easy to love and others you don't want to go near.</span><p></p><p><span style="font-family: Architects Daughter; font-size: x-large;">Heidi grew up in a home filled with books and artwork and she never truly imagined she would do anything other than write and paint. She studied art, languages, and history, all of which have come in handy when working as an author, magazine journalist, and painter.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: Architects Daughter; font-size: x-large;">After living in Canada, six US states, Japan, Switzerland, and Austria, Heidi now calls Norway home. She and her husband have a total of nine children, thirteen grandchildren—so far—in addition to a bouncy Wheaten Terrier.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: Architects Daughter; font-size: x-large;">Their favorite retreat is a mountain cabin, where they hike in the summertime and ski the vast, white terrain during winter.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: Architects Daughter; font-size: x-large;">Heidi’s favorites are family, God’s beautiful nature, and the word whimsical.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: Architects Daughter; font-size: x-large;">Social Media Links:</span></p><p><span style="font-family: Architects Daughter; font-size: x-large;"><a href="https://www.heidieljarbo.com/ " target="_blank">Website</a> </span></p><p><span style="font-family: Architects Daughter; font-size: x-large;"><a href="https://twitter.com/HeidiEljarbo " target="_blank">Twitter</a> </span></p><p><span style="font-family: Architects Daughter; font-size: x-large;"><a href="https://www.facebook.com/authorheidieljarbo " target="_blank">Facebook</a></span></p><p><span style="font-family: Architects Daughter; font-size: x-large;"><a href="https://www.linkedin.com/in/heidi-eljarbo-morrell-andersen-345a253a/" target="_blank">LinkedIn</a></span></p><p><span style="font-family: Architects Daughter; font-size: x-large;"><a href="https://www.instagram.com/heidieljarbo/ " target="_blank">Instagram</a></span></p><p><span style="font-family: Architects Daughter; font-size: x-large;"><a href="https://www.instagram.com/authorheidieljarbo/" target="_blank">Instagram author page</a></span></p><p><span style="font-family: Architects Daughter; font-size: x-large;"><a href="https://no.pinterest.com/heidieljarbo/" target="_blank">Pinterest</a> </span></p><p><span style="font-family: Architects Daughter; font-size: x-large;"><a href="https://www.bookbub.com/authors/heidi-eljarbo" target="_blank">Book Bub</a></span></p><p><span style="font-family: Architects Daughter; font-size: x-large;"><a href="https://www.amzn.com/Heidi-Eljarbo/e/B073D852VG/" target="_blank">Amazon Author Page</a></span></p><p><span style="font-family: Architects Daughter; font-size: x-large;"><a href="https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/16984270.Heidi_Eljarbo " target="_blank">Goodreads</a> </span></p><p style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Architects Daughter; font-size: x-large;"><a href="https://thecoffeepotbookclub.blogspot.com/2022/07/blog-tour-brushstrokes-from-past-by.html " target="_blank">Tour Schedule</a></span></p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgJN2Ui4N3dbVZ9gr4mdKZK1sRtCkGd8NOKLEL-xzMgvjYbNm4T8eYoA3O1-MbZ7LLuulc7_HqaaOnARASvE_7O6cZmhiWWabcvWYgkDdBs0bBNcjmwt9rW960h6iSW5YznuXdrktfHaOULLbGGf6m85sTfH1F-Q5rXPP_7azGytySBSCNj-dAjKAQ-/s640/Brushtrokes%20from%20the%20Past%20tour%20schedule.png" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="360" data-original-width="640" height="360" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgJN2Ui4N3dbVZ9gr4mdKZK1sRtCkGd8NOKLEL-xzMgvjYbNm4T8eYoA3O1-MbZ7LLuulc7_HqaaOnARASvE_7O6cZmhiWWabcvWYgkDdBs0bBNcjmwt9rW960h6iSW5YznuXdrktfHaOULLbGGf6m85sTfH1F-Q5rXPP_7azGytySBSCNj-dAjKAQ-/w640-h360/Brushtrokes%20from%20the%20Past%20tour%20schedule.png" width="640" /></a></div><br /><span style="font-family: Quicksand; font-size: large;"><br /></span><p></p><p style="text-align: center;"><br /></p>Helenahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06962202331435066843noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8064482728419855641.post-57521731894837190312022-09-28T22:30:00.000-07:002022-09-28T22:30:00.198-07:00BOOK SPOTLIGHT!!! Tempted by Her Outcast Viking by Lucy Morris #HistoricalRomance #TheCoffeePotBookClub #BlogTour @LMorris_Author @cathiedunn<p><span style="font-family: Dancing Script; font-size: x-large;"> </span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgm_JoEn9Oax8dsnR4zcyY77WeWwCFehYfbMH6MZc4Nd1pqgWSnZhLmNV5lpN9b1n8BacI-QAvED6X6yhWHpTFObSuAUpQM_MxP0bYnKINdSgO3LSeWyC_AB7sNgft8SrQPSCVG4RWfd6xs-ADFLouCcQzwndSd9x1Zbu4bVZyITlKHi-d5Q6RSlIs/s640/Tempted%20by%20Her%20Outcast%20Viking%20Tour%20Banner.png" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="color: black; font-family: Dancing Script; font-size: x-large;"><img border="0" data-original-height="360" data-original-width="640" height="360" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgm_JoEn9Oax8dsnR4zcyY77WeWwCFehYfbMH6MZc4Nd1pqgWSnZhLmNV5lpN9b1n8BacI-QAvED6X6yhWHpTFObSuAUpQM_MxP0bYnKINdSgO3LSeWyC_AB7sNgft8SrQPSCVG4RWfd6xs-ADFLouCcQzwndSd9x1Zbu4bVZyITlKHi-d5Q6RSlIs/w640-h360/Tempted%20by%20Her%20Outcast%20Viking%20Tour%20Banner.png" width="640" /></span></a></div><span style="font-family: Dancing Script; font-size: x-large;"><br /></span><div style="text-align: center;"><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: xx-large;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; font-family: "Dancing Script"; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjOjZlTiyrjfW1dsXiPe_UarjpJxwqn_D7-2QFEuEJQbETNljA5TdpDR6TkTJWQtkxdDOfAllE5OATuGEJIM5eTCuwe_-OsK5eRQ2vgWBI6NOZkV5V9dM0Ryf7VVYLN_Y_jAyQHPbnBXaqhoZbk3HwCXFjvOuhcn0fVuTkXkG9-4n_hs-njO7m4KxNkrA/s2386/Cover%20UK.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2386" data-original-width="1500" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjOjZlTiyrjfW1dsXiPe_UarjpJxwqn_D7-2QFEuEJQbETNljA5TdpDR6TkTJWQtkxdDOfAllE5OATuGEJIM5eTCuwe_-OsK5eRQ2vgWBI6NOZkV5V9dM0Ryf7VVYLN_Y_jAyQHPbnBXaqhoZbk3HwCXFjvOuhcn0fVuTkXkG9-4n_hs-njO7m4KxNkrA/w402-h640/Cover%20UK.JPG" width="402" /></a></div><span style="font-family: Architects Daughter;"><b>Tempted by Her Outcast Viking</b></span></span></div><span style="font-family: Architects Daughter; font-size: x-large;"><div style="text-align: left;"><b>By Lucy Morris</b></div></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: Architects Daughter;"><br /></span></div><p style="text-align: left;"><b><span style="font-family: Architects Daughter; font-size: x-large;">Tempted by the Warrior</span></b></p><p style="text-align: left;"><i><span style="font-family: Architects Daughter; font-size: x-large;">But she’ll never wed</span></i></p><p style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: Architects Daughter; font-size: x-large;">Brynhild had once been close to Erik – until he’d betrayed her, and she’d hoped never to see him again. Now the fiercely independent shieldmaiden needs Erik’s skills to rescue her sister. Striking a truce with the tough, isolated loner they reach a mutually beneficial deal: in return, she’ll help him in his quest to find a wife – by teaching him how to please a woman in bed…!</span></p><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Architects Daughter; font-size: x-large;"><br class="Apple-interchange-newline" /><span style="background-color: white;"><a href="https://books2read.com/u/4jgVLX" style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(0, 0, 0);" target="_blank">Amazon</a> / <a href="https://harpercollins.co.uk/products/tempted-by-her-outcast-viking-shieldmaiden-sisters-book-2-lucy-morris" target="_blank">Harper Collins</a> / <a href="https://www.whsmith.co.uk/products/tempted-by-her-outcast-viking-shieldmaiden-sisters-book-2/lucy-morris/paperback/9780263301939.html " target="_blank">WH Smiths</a></span></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="background-color: white;"><span style="font-family: Architects Daughter; font-size: x-large;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="clear: left; color: black; float: left; font-size: x-large; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><span style="background-color: white;"><span style="font-family: Architects Daughter;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgKSjpF8ovhVytsGZDMpcZGmqC3ri97K_sDGZPQ4dHynMX7u9xbkoB31NL6kefPmWQpCY0nDMAAVY1xw963ZTurQwTQj6zJtmuznL0ZGSwZXOH_D7Hhv90UPa6jvYu2HRUBbFVT4n9szrDbSITTSwrHasJpkxSN3w6AHn8qc8gU3ohJTO7YtRIH6CP-sA/s2250/Lucy%20Morris.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2250" data-original-width="1500" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgKSjpF8ovhVytsGZDMpcZGmqC3ri97K_sDGZPQ4dHynMX7u9xbkoB31NL6kefPmWQpCY0nDMAAVY1xw963ZTurQwTQj6zJtmuznL0ZGSwZXOH_D7Hhv90UPa6jvYu2HRUBbFVT4n9szrDbSITTSwrHasJpkxSN3w6AHn8qc8gU3ohJTO7YtRIH6CP-sA/s320/Lucy%20Morris.jpg" width="213" /></a></div>Lucy Morris has always been obsessed with myths and legends. Her books blend sweeping romance with vivid worldbuilding to whisk you away to another time and place filled with adventure. Expect passion, drama and vibrant characters. </span></span></span><span style="clear: left; color: black; float: left; font-size: x-large; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><span style="background-color: white; font-family: "Architects Daughter";">Lucy lives in Essex, UK, with her husband, two children, and two cats. She has a massively sweet tooth and loves Terry's Chocolate Oranges and Irn-Bru. In her spare time she likes to explore castles with her family, or drink bubbly with her friends.</span></span></div><span style="background-color: white;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><span style="font-family: Architects Daughter;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><span style="font-family: Architects Daughter; font-size: x-large;"><a href="https://lucymorrisromance.com/" target="_blank">Website</a> / <a href="https://twitter.com/LMorris_Author" target="_blank">Twitter</a> / <a href="https://www.facebook.com/LucyMorrisAuthor/" target="_blank">Facebook</a> / <a href="https://www.instagram.com/lucymorris.author/" target="_blank">Instagram</a> / <a href="https://www.bookbub.com/authors/lucy-morris" target="_blank">BookBub</a>, <a href="https://www.amazon.co.uk/Lucy-Morris/e/B08P9LV36V" target="_blank">Amazon Author Page</a> / <a href="https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/21274610.Lucy_Morris" target="_blank">Goodreads </a></span></div><div class="separator" style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); clear: both;"><span style="font-family: Architects Daughter; font-size: x-large;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); clear: both;"><span style="font-family: Architects Daughter; font-size: x-large;"><a href="https://thecoffeepotbookclub.blogspot.com/2022/08/blog-tour-tempted-by-her-outcast-viking.html" target="_blank">Tour Schedule</a></span></div><div class="separator" style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); clear: both; font-size: x-large;"><span style="color: #990000; font-family: Architects Daughter;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjAxLUzIn4zgkCAuhm0xOaP7nrUWdkNS7doouF-D83ZZvcIq84sRSNUHvI8ICKH7rXF9iNeg62CBU6IAdHvVD5CsQJUsDziIKWn6rg3eWm-fR6wdls9FNDMtovhLicQFHSRIdQmPEczbyDqBEYAubKfSQ5u5pUUDiZVui2qHMn0FQkLtNCTdym28co/s640/Tempted%20by%20Her%20Outcast%20Viking%20Tour%20Schedule.png" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="color: #990000; font-family: Architects Daughter;"><img border="0" data-original-height="360" data-original-width="640" height="360" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjAxLUzIn4zgkCAuhm0xOaP7nrUWdkNS7doouF-D83ZZvcIq84sRSNUHvI8ICKH7rXF9iNeg62CBU6IAdHvVD5CsQJUsDziIKWn6rg3eWm-fR6wdls9FNDMtovhLicQFHSRIdQmPEczbyDqBEYAubKfSQ5u5pUUDiZVui2qHMn0FQkLtNCTdym28co/w640-h360/Tempted%20by%20Her%20Outcast%20Viking%20Tour%20Schedule.png" width="640" /></span></a></div><span style="color: #990000; font-family: Architects Daughter;"><br /></span><div class="separator" style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); clear: both; font-size: x-large;"><span style="color: #990000; font-family: Architects Daughter;"><br /></span></div></div><br /></span></div>Helenahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06962202331435066843noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8064482728419855641.post-1995175897361555852022-09-14T23:00:00.000-07:002022-09-14T23:00:00.195-07:00BOOK SPOTLIGHT! The Muse of Freedom - a Cévenoles Sagas novel - by Jules Larimor #historicalfiction #BlogTours #TheCoffeePotBookClub @jules_larimore @cathiedunn <p style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Architects Daughter; font-size: x-large;"> </span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgetUIWUzQzTridrFyK9DjFQXe1JjMQeDRN2WSREdjbZh7So5ifXJFdlUyBv5yB9q9vNtN8gMkgdfyFZQZTO6386rf4eNvd34TPFeo8PHof4hp3PA6UymGbcDJsTWPqwSGfK6PzYVTH30w_Q_cUGRE76BMJIM-AKM42n2OE1Od2XJTjbZBVPWCZc2wUxw/s640/The%20Muse%20of%20Freedom%20Tour%20Banner.png" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="color: black; font-family: Architects Daughter; font-size: x-large;"><img border="0" data-original-height="360" data-original-width="640" height="360" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgetUIWUzQzTridrFyK9DjFQXe1JjMQeDRN2WSREdjbZh7So5ifXJFdlUyBv5yB9q9vNtN8gMkgdfyFZQZTO6386rf4eNvd34TPFeo8PHof4hp3PA6UymGbcDJsTWPqwSGfK6PzYVTH30w_Q_cUGRE76BMJIM-AKM42n2OE1Od2XJTjbZBVPWCZc2wUxw/w640-h360/The%20Muse%20of%20Freedom%20Tour%20Banner.png" width="640" /></span></a></div><span style="font-family: Architects Daughter; font-size: x-large;"><br /></span><p></p><div style="text-align: center;"><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: Architects Daughter; font-size: x-large;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjsddK42eQv8pxeNVQJ-ngyKcD89bTknoftsuo3zsz_QUO_oA8bmKaRgkGGDrV7mVeZ_AlX3qBp3_UX-oQgTvzM8luaSYbIPNquHd1Rb3X1_5cIh5fWKsb8NSwdekxrgGULOgoEYaFuxzaGetZJRVZqE1GWjm6A-lhpHLFhmY-NlgPN5t03G0sNYOVnuA/s2560/The%20Muse%20of%20Freedom%20cover.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2560" data-original-width="1677" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjsddK42eQv8pxeNVQJ-ngyKcD89bTknoftsuo3zsz_QUO_oA8bmKaRgkGGDrV7mVeZ_AlX3qBp3_UX-oQgTvzM8luaSYbIPNquHd1Rb3X1_5cIh5fWKsb8NSwdekxrgGULOgoEYaFuxzaGetZJRVZqE1GWjm6A-lhpHLFhmY-NlgPN5t03G0sNYOVnuA/w420-h640/The%20Muse%20of%20Freedom%20cover.jpg" width="420" /></a></div><b>The Muse of Freedom </b></span></div><span style="font-family: Architects Daughter; font-size: x-large;"><b><div style="text-align: left;"><i>a Cévenoles Sagas novel </i></div><span><div style="text-align: left;">By Jules Larimore</div></span></b></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: Architects Daughter; font-size: x-large;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: Architects Daughter; font-size: x-large;"><br /></span></div><span style="font-family: Architects Daughter; font-size: x-large;"><div style="text-align: left;">Publication Date: September 13, 2022</div><div style="text-align: left;">Publisher: Mystic Lore Books</div><div style="text-align: left;">Page Length: 454 Pages</div><div style="text-align: left;">Genre: Historical Fiction / Renaissance Fiction / Sagas</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div><div style="text-align: left;">First in the series from The Cévenoles Sagas is THE MUSE OF FREEDOM.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">“Brilliantly told, a story that will stick with you long after you've turned the last page . . . fresh and compelling, as relevant now as it was then.”</div><div style="text-align: left;">~ Janet Wertman, award-winning author of The Seymour Saga trilogy</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">A French Huguenot apothecary’s legacy of secrets, a mystic healer’s inspiration, a fateful decision.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">In the mysterious Cévennes mountains of Languedoc, France, 1695, Jehan BonDurant, a young nobleman forcibly held in a Dominican prieuré as a child, comes of age only to inherit a near-derelict estate and his Huguenot family’s dangerous legacy of secrets. While he cherishes his newfound freedom apprenticing as an apothecary, his outrage mounts over religious persecutions led by King Louis XIV’s Intendant Basville, who is sent to enforce the King’s will for “One King, One Law, One Faith”. </div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">The ensuing divisions among families and friends and the gradual revelation of his own circumstances lead Jehan to question his spiritual choices. A journey deep into the heart of the Cévennes in search of guidance, unfolds in a way he least expects when he enters the enchanting Gorges du Tarn. There he discovers his muse, Amelia Auvrey, a free-spirited, mystic holy woman who reveals ancient healing practices and spiritual mysteries.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">Together they quest for peace and spiritual freedom by aiding the persecuted until the Intendant’s spy reports their activities and the King’s dragoons are sent out after them. To retain their freedom, they must choose to live in hiding in a remote wilderness, join a festering uprising against the persecutions, or flee their cherished homeland with thousands of other refugees in search of hope.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">Inspired by the true story of Jean Pierre Bondurant dit Cougoussac, distilled and blended with Cévenole magic lore, this is an inspiring coming of age story and family saga of courage, tenacity, and the power of love in a country rife with divisions under the control of an authoritarian king obsessed with power. </div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">Fans of Poldark, Magic Lessons, The Lost Apothecary, and The Huguenot Chronicles will find thematic elements from those stories melded into this thrilling and obscure slice of French history.<i style="text-align: center;"> </i></div></div><div style="text-align: left;"><p style="background-color: white;">If you would like to read this novel then head over to <a href="https://books2read.com/u/b5jMXp " style="background-color: transparent; text-align: center;" target="_blank">Amazon</a><span style="background-color: transparent; text-align: center;"> </span></p></div></span><span style="font-size: x-large;"><div><span style="font-family: Architects Daughter;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgFYL4uErHLFij-mZfnlDRZQHFwnYMshO033gIDiD81yOIzONVbAdS_KSiqc6BwErstdW4EuM9bnYn_jKiyHDrDM_7Z2WGwO3XQBYbNfwLXl_-uXttprhVhB3_QWf5Pd1bNEb9jIfrXY04eYWuertJPha-z_t1mN3keB91cBMCANVHeKJAsXQThIwsWfw/s1706/Jules%20Larimore%20portrait_pont%20du%20gard.jpg" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="color: black; font-family: Architects Daughter;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1343" data-original-width="1706" height="252" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgFYL4uErHLFij-mZfnlDRZQHFwnYMshO033gIDiD81yOIzONVbAdS_KSiqc6BwErstdW4EuM9bnYn_jKiyHDrDM_7Z2WGwO3XQBYbNfwLXl_-uXttprhVhB3_QWf5Pd1bNEb9jIfrXY04eYWuertJPha-z_t1mN3keB91cBMCANVHeKJAsXQThIwsWfw/s320/Jules%20Larimore%20portrait_pont%20du%20gard.jpg" width="320" /></span></a></div><span style="font-family: Architects Daughter;">Jules Larimore writes emotive, literary-leaning historical fiction to inspire positive change for the oppressed and refugees, and to encourage an intimate relationship with the natural environment.</span></div><div><span style="font-family: Architects Daughter;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: Architects Daughter;">Influenced by a background in freelance travel writing, Jules uses captivating historical settings as characters. Then distills and blends them with a dose of magic, myth, and romance to bring to life hopeful human stories. A previous career in marketing offered an outlet for creative writing used to romance brands with mystery, excitement, and remoteness from everyday life.</span></div><div><span style="font-family: Architects Daughter;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: Architects Daughter;">With a Bachelor of Arts from Indiana University, Jules has studied medieval history, ancient Greek culture, anthropology, folklore, narrative composition, and architectural design, and has trained under writing geniuses Libbie Hawker/Olivia Hawker and Roz Morris. While investigating the ancestor who inspired The Muse of Freedom, Jules researched late 17th century Languedoc customs, politics, and spiritual traditions specific to the little known Cévennes mountains of south-central France, culminating in a rich repository to feed future novels about the Cévenol people and culture.</span></div><div><span style="font-family: Architects Daughter;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: Architects Daughter;">Jules lives primarily in Ojai, California, with time spent around the U.S. and in various countries in Europe gathering more treasures in a continued search for authenticity.</span></div><div><span style="font-family: Architects Daughter;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: Architects Daughter;">Social Media Links:</span></div><div><span style="font-family: Architects Daughter;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><a href="https://juleslarimore.com/ " target="_blank"><span style="color: black; font-family: Architects Daughter;">Website</span></a></div><div style="text-align: left;"><a href="https://twitter.com/jules_larimore " target="_blank"><span style="color: black; font-family: Architects Daughter;">Twitter</span></a></div><div style="text-align: left;"><a href=" https://www.facebook.com/juleslarimore/ " target="_blank"><span style="color: black; font-family: Architects Daughter;">Facebook</span></a></div><div style="text-align: left;"><a href=" https://www.instagram.com/juleslarimore/" target="_blank"><span style="color: black; font-family: Architects Daughter;">Instagram</span></a></div><div style="text-align: left;"><a href="https://www.pinterest.com/juleslarimore/ " target="_blank"><span style="color: black; font-family: Architects Daughter;">Pinterest</span></a></div><div style="text-align: left;"><a href="https://www.bookbub.com/profile/70036407" target="_blank"><span style="color: black; font-family: Architects Daughter;">Book Bub</span></a></div><div style="text-align: left;"><a href="https://www.amazon.com/Jules-Larimore/e/B0BBC13BR7/ " target="_blank"><span style="color: black; font-family: Architects Daughter;">Amazon Author Page</span></a></div><div style="text-align: left;"><a href="https://www.goodreads.com/user/show/115944791-jules-larimore " target="_blank"><span style="color: black; font-family: Architects Daughter;">Goodreads</span></a></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="color: black; font-family: Architects Daughter;"><a href="https://www.youtube.com/channel/UC0rKEuQwQDt_-dpnzQAYNvA " target="_blank">YouTube</a> </span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Architects Daughter;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://thecoffeepotbookclub.blogspot.com/2022/08/blog-tour-muse-of-freedom-by-jules.html " target="_blank"><span style="color: black; font-family: Architects Daughter;">Tour Schedule</span></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh7-Ahta0CdxirDnfOgstlB1Ze9w3IvhBAgfnu2gk_ZHClkfJHl9xXmzuEb0Xhv6iBztu0pGDpqm46UMW_ccWWnoy_FLkbaLe2iRnd_02B-VPCsWW_1hW9KUSfki17T1bgdw2xlkQGbeB3zq1EFD1iUiZjCEa7fL-EOnMBbyRwrdejRMD7SyTVA5trOYw/s640/The%20Muse%20of%20Freedom%20Tour%20Schedule.png" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="360" data-original-width="640" height="360" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh7-Ahta0CdxirDnfOgstlB1Ze9w3IvhBAgfnu2gk_ZHClkfJHl9xXmzuEb0Xhv6iBztu0pGDpqm46UMW_ccWWnoy_FLkbaLe2iRnd_02B-VPCsWW_1hW9KUSfki17T1bgdw2xlkQGbeB3zq1EFD1iUiZjCEa7fL-EOnMBbyRwrdejRMD7SyTVA5trOYw/w640-h360/The%20Muse%20of%20Freedom%20Tour%20Schedule.png" width="640" /></a></div><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div></div></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div>Helenahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06962202331435066843noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8064482728419855641.post-77221538054512190182022-08-05T00:20:00.001-07:002022-08-05T00:20:00.192-07:00A Royal Mistake by Jennifer Bonds #Romance #Giveaway @jbondswrites<div style="margin: 0px auto 15px; text-align: center;">
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<p><span style="font-family: Architects Daughter; font-size: x-large;"><strong>A Royal Mistake</strong><br /><strong>By Jennifer Bonds</strong><br />(Royally Engaged, #3)<br />Publication date: August 2nd 2022<br />Genres: Adult, Comedy, Contemporary, Romance</span></p><blockquote><p><span style="font-family: Architects Daughter; font-size: x-large;">Princess Philippa Stanley is over being the perfect royal.</span></p>
<p><span style="font-family: Architects Daughter; font-size: x-large;">The world’s got bigger problems than the color of her nail polish, but the tabloids insist on detailing her every royal faux pas. Like her bold new hairstyle and missing pantyhose. <em>Freaking pantyhose</em>. Things that don’t matter to anyone. Except her parents.</span></p>
<p><span style="font-family: Architects Daughter; font-size: x-large;">Their Majesties are desperate for her to settle down. So desperate they invite a dozen overzealous bachelors to compete for her hand in marriage. Now she’s living her own nightmare version of <em>The Bachelorette: Royal Edition</em> with suitors ambushing her at every turn.</span></p>
<p><span style="font-family: Architects Daughter; font-size: x-large;">No way is she participating in this farce of a courtship, but when her father makes her an offer she can’t refuse—take part in exchange for access to her trust fund—it’s the only way to get the money she needs to start her own charitable foundation.</span></p>
<p><span style="font-family: Architects Daughter; font-size: x-large;">Fine. She’ll play the game. There’s zero chance she’ll fall in love until she crashes into a sexy, down-to-earth philanthropist who can help her launch her charity <em>and</em> drive off the unwanted suitors. It’s like she’s met the perfect guy.</span></p>
<p><em><span style="font-family: Architects Daughter; font-size: x-large;">But what if he’s really the perfect lie?</span></em></p>
<p><span style="font-family: Architects Daughter; font-size: x-large;"><strong>What can you expect in A ROYAL MISTAKE?</strong><br />
✓ Awkward meet-cute</span></p>
<p><span style="font-family: Architects Daughter; font-size: x-large;">✓ Royal in disguise</span></p>
<p><span style="font-family: Architects Daughter; font-size: x-large;">✓ Virgin heroine</span></p>
<p><span style="font-family: Architects Daughter; font-size: x-large;">✓ Friends-to-Lovers</span></p>
<p><span style="font-family: Architects Daughter; font-size: x-large;">✓ Sexy, slow burn RomCom</span></p>
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<span style="font-family: Architects Daughter; font-size: x-large;"><a href="https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/60642155-a-royal-mistake" target="_blank">Goodreads</a> / <a href="https://amzn.to/3oCkWPt" target="_blank">Amazon</a> / <a href="https://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/a-royal-mistake-jennifer-bonds/1140521457?ean=2940185728499" target="_blank">Barnes & Noble</a> / <a href="https://books.apple.com/us/book/id6442846138" target="_blank">iBooks</a> / <a href="https://www.kobo.com/ca/en/ebook/a-royal-mistake-3" target="_blank">Kobo</a></span></p>
<p style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Architects Daughter; font-size: x-large;">—</span></p>
<p style="text-align: center;"><strong><span style="font-family: Architects Daughter; font-size: x-large;">EXCERPT:</span></strong></p>
<p><span style="font-family: Architects Daughter; font-size: x-large;">Pippa lifted her chin and squared her shoulders. The last place she wanted to be was at Heinrich von der Recke’s door, but here she was, fist raised, courage gathered. Sometimes you had to take the shite with the sunshine.</span></p>
<p><span style="font-family: Architects Daughter; font-size: x-large;">Today it was her turn to roll in the muck.</span></p>
<p><span style="font-family: Architects Daughter; font-size: x-large;">She knocked three quick raps, her nerves stretched taught. Maybe he’d be out and she could just slip a note under his door. She’d written one just in case. Another of Miss Cartwright’s lessons; always be prepared.</span></p>
<p><span style="font-family: Architects Daughter; font-size: x-large;">She glanced up and down the empty hall. There wasn’t a soul in sight, save Sarah, her constant shadow. She’d give Heinrich to the count of thirty—no, twenty—and she’d slide her card under the door. After all, a written apology was still an apology.</span></p>
<p><span style="font-family: Architects Daughter; font-size: x-large;">Pippa quickly counted to twenty and pulled the handwritten note from her pocket. Just as she knelt down, the door swung open. Heinrich stood over her, looking even taller and more handsome than she remembered. Like before, he wore a trim summer suit that showcased his broad shoulders, slim waist, and a rather impressive package.</span></p>
<p><span style="font-family: Architects Daughter; font-size: x-large;">Not that she was looking at his package, but it was <em>right</em> <em>there</em>.</span></p>
<p><span style="font-family: Architects Daughter; font-size: x-large;">God, what was wrong with her? Miss Cartwright would have a conniption fit if she could see her now.</span></p>
<p><span style="font-family: Architects Daughter; font-size: x-large;">She jerked her eyes up to his face. Though it was barely noon, dark stubble covered his jawline. Didn’t the man own a razor? Not that she was complaining. The look suited him. She wanted to run her fingers along his jaw to find out for herself if it was scratchy or soft or something in between.</span></p>
<p><span style="font-family: Architects Daughter; font-size: x-large;">Which should’ve been her first clue he wasn’t a suitor. Because no way would her body betray her by getting hot for one of the toffs.</span></p>
<p><span style="font-family: Architects Daughter; font-size: x-large;">Heinrich lowered his gaze, and his dark eyes sharpened when they locked on her own. Then that insufferable smirk spread across his lips and she forgot all about stroking his… <em>beard</em>.</span></p>
<p><span style="font-family: Architects Daughter; font-size: x-large;">“To what do I owe the pleasure?” he asked, voice as smooth and rich as a Richart truffle. “It’s not every day I open my door to find a beautiful woman on her knees.”</span></p>
<p><span style="font-family: Architects Daughter; font-size: x-large;">He thought she was beautiful?</span></p>
<p><em><span style="font-family: Architects Daughter; font-size: x-large;">So not the point. Get off the damn floor!</span></em></p>
<p><span style="font-family: Architects Daughter; font-size: x-large;">“I’m not— It’s not—” Flames heated her cheeks as she scrambled to her feet and shoved the parchment envelope in the pocket of her sundress. His gaze slid over her, slow and deliberate, as if he were memorizing every inch of exposed skin.</span></p>
<p><span style="font-family: Architects Daughter; font-size: x-large;">Pippa shivered in anticipation. She’d never felt a true lover’s caress, but she imagined it might feel like this, her skin hot and tight everywhere his gaze lingered. She sucked in a steadying breath, combing her memory for her carefully practiced speech, which seemed to have evacuated her brain.</span></p>
<p><em><span style="font-family: Architects Daughter; font-size: x-large;">Bloody hell. This was not how she’d imagined their meeting. At. All.</span></em></p>
<p><span style="font-family: Architects Daughter; font-size: x-large;">“Careful, Your Highness.” He folded his arms over his chest and leaned casually against the doorjamb, ankles crossed. “A lesser man might get the wrong idea. Me? I figure we should get the introductions out of the way before we get to know one another intimately.”</span></p>
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<p><span style="font-family: Architects Daughter; font-size: x-large;">Jennifer Bonds is the USA Today bestselling author of sizzling contemporary romance with sassy heroines, sexy alphas, and a whole lot of mischief. She’s a sucker for enemies-to-lovers stories, laugh-out-loud banter, and over-the-top grand gestures. Jennifer lives in Pennsylvania, where her overactive imagination and weakness for reality TV keep life interesting. She's lucky enough to live with her own real-life hero, two adorable (and sometimes crazy) children, and one rambunctious K9. Loves Buffy, Mexican food, a solid Netflix binge, the Winchester brothers, cupcakes, and all things zombie. Sings off-key.</span></p>
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<span style="font-family: Architects Daughter; font-size: x-large;"><a href="https://jenniferbonds.com/" target="_blank">Website</a> / <a href="https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/13650425.Jennifer_Bonds" target="_blank">Goodreads</a> / <a href="https://twitter.com/jbondswrites" target="_blank">Twitter</a> / <a href="https://www.instagram.com/jbondswrites/" target="_blank">Instagram</a> / <a href="https://www.facebook.com/jbondswrites" target="_blank">Facebook</a> / <a href="https://www.pinterest.com/jbondswrites" target="_blank">Pinterest</a></span></p>
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Helenahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06962202331435066843noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8064482728419855641.post-65666600337470919842022-08-04T00:23:00.001-07:002022-08-04T00:23:00.200-07:00#Giveaway - $25 Amazon gift card. #BlogTour - Peaches and Cream by S. London #Romance @siera_london<div style="margin: 0px auto 15px; text-align: center;">
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<p><span style="font-family: Architects Daughter; font-size: x-large;"><strong>Peaches and Cream</strong><br /><strong>By S. London</strong><br />Publication date: August 3rd 2022<br />Genres: Adult, Contemporary, Romance</span></p><blockquote><p><span style="font-family: Architects Daughter; font-size: x-large;"><strong>Gabriel Abruzzo</strong><br />
Soft.<br />
Ripe.<br />
Juicy.<br />
Her name is Empress. I asked, she didn’t tell. The new masseuse at The Governor is quiet and delicate. Delicate things get broken in the underworld, but Empress is on edge, those dark eyes harboring a thousand nightmares. Edgy gets my attention. And drawing my attention means trouble is coming. I should send her packing, but she clings to me, a man without a soul. One touch and all I think about is the taste of sweet nectar on my tongue. I know she has secrets but I’ll protect my little peach from bruises…at all costs.</span></p>
<p><span style="font-family: Architects Daughter; font-size: x-large;"><strong>Empress Reign</strong><br />
Dark.<br />
Lethal.<br />
Haunted.<br />
I ran from a dangerous man. Now, I’m attracted to one with a darkness that frightens even my demons. Distractions, in the form of my new client, Gabriel could prove deadly. Touching him, stroking my fingers over all his sinewy muscle makes my mouth water for a taste. Getting involved would mean trusting him with my secret. Gabriel’s no angel, yet being close to him transforms my living hell into heaven. Maybe I’m biting off more than I can swallow, or am I?</span></p>
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<p style="font-weight: bold; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Architects Daughter; font-size: x-large;"><a href="https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/61148590-lunchtime-chronicles" target="_blank">Goodreads</a> / <a href="https://amzn.to/3nro7sr" target="_blank">Amazon</a></span></p>
<p style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Architects Daughter; font-size: x-large;">—</span></p>
<p style="text-align: center;"><strong><span style="font-family: Architects Daughter; font-size: x-large;">EXCERPT:</span></strong></p>
<p><span style="font-family: Architects Daughter; font-size: x-large;">“Bill ain’t here, lady. Now get out.”</span></p>
<p><span style="font-family: Architects Daughter; font-size: x-large;">Bill? Now I’m for real confused. “I don’t know Bill.”</span></p>
<p><span style="font-family: Architects Daughter; font-size: x-large;">He twists those gorgeous full lips into a lopsided smirk. “With the road dust on you, thought you were here for a kill.”</span></p>
<p><span style="font-family: Architects Daughter; font-size: x-large;">I can’t help the eye roll at the movie reference. “Haha. You made a funny.”</span></p>
<p><span style="font-family: Architects Daughter; font-size: x-large;">“I don’t joke,” he rasps. “Who are you?”</span></p>
<p><span style="font-family: Architects Daughter; font-size: x-large;">“Excuse me?”</span></p>
<p><span style="font-family: Architects Daughter; font-size: x-large;">“Answer my question. A name.”</span></p>
<p><span style="font-family: Architects Daughter; font-size: x-large;">“I would like to see The Doctor,” I repeat, lifting my chin, staring him in those dark pits that are swallowing me up like shadow giving way to darkness.</span></p>
<p><span style="font-family: Architects Daughter; font-size: x-large;">“No. Leave,” he says.</span></p>
<p><span style="font-family: Architects Daughter; font-size: x-large;">“Why is that?”</span></p>
<p><span style="font-family: Architects Daughter; font-size: x-large;">“Because you don’t belong here.”</span></p>
<p><span style="font-family: Architects Daughter; font-size: x-large;">“Tell me something I don’t know, Mr. No. But it’s a free country.”</span></p>
<p><span style="font-family: Architects Daughter; font-size: x-large;">“Not in these walls. Management reserves the right to say leave… while you can.” He smiles, flashing me one gold canine.</span></p>
<p><span style="font-family: Architects Daughter; font-size: x-large;">My heart slams in my chest. What the fuck? I will myself not to take a step back. He’s trying to intimidate you, Empress. Inhaling, I slow my rapid breathing. Who in the hell on the management team thought a bully with a double flare plug in each earlobe and a polished fang should greet the guests? Not that it’s my business, but I ain’t scared… that much.</span></p>
<p><span style="font-family: Architects Daughter; font-size: x-large;">“He’s expecting me. You can do your job and tell him that his guest has arrived. I will wait right here.”</span></p>
<p><span style="font-family: Architects Daughter; font-size: x-large;">He narrows dark eyes on me. The broad muscles across his chest bunch in agitation. I can see it even through his suit jacket, that looks so out of place on a man built like a mountain. Images of him shirtless, no, naked and alone on a mountain peak, the world perfectly poised on his broad shoulders, have me sucking in a breath. He-man tattoos all across his chest proclaiming him the biggest and the baddest of them all.</span></p>
<p><span style="font-family: Architects Daughter; font-size: x-large;">I forget that Jada is on speaker until she says, “Tell that asshole that you have an appointment with The Doctor, don’t let him stop you.”</span></p>
<p><span style="font-family: Architects Daughter; font-size: x-large;">He looks to the phone I’m still holding in my hand. I tuck it behind my back as if he might take it from me. Like I’m a child who’s touched something that daddy says I can’t have.</span></p>
<p><span style="font-family: Architects Daughter; font-size: x-large;">“Yeah, what she said. Go get The Doctor, now.”</span></p>
<p><span style="font-family: Architects Daughter; font-size: x-large;">“Why do you need his help?” The way he asks the question gives me pause. Like he’s trying to decipher an agenda beyond medical necessity.</span></p>
<p><span style="font-family: Architects Daughter; font-size: x-large;">“That’s none of your business. Why don’t you just do your job, you glorified jackass. And go get The Damn Doctor like I asked.”</span></p>
<p><span style="font-family: Architects Daughter; font-size: x-large;">“Not wise to call me names, pretty girl.”</span></p>
<p><span style="font-family: Architects Daughter; font-size: x-large;">“Woman,” I correct. “And, normally I don’t, but when the ass fits, wear it. You’re giving me a hard time. So, I do what I have to do.” It’s true. I’ve always done what I had to do. It may have taken me a little bit longer to get away from Rafa, but I did it. I’m not going back.</span></p>
<p><span style="font-family: Architects Daughter; font-size: x-large;">No one is gonna stop me. Not even this asshole who’s trying to play gatekeeper in this fancy hotel. No one gives shit about women like me. Those who choose the wrong men. Who are stalked and hunted by men with money, power, or both.</span></p>
<p><span style="font-family: Architects Daughter; font-size: x-large;">I don’t give a shit what this man thinks of me. I have responsibilities. Jada is depending on me to protect her. And Alfie… I have to figure a way out of this.</span></p>
<p><span style="font-family: Architects Daughter; font-size: x-large;">“You know what? Never mind. I don’t need your help. I’ll find The Damn Doctor myself.”</span></p>
<p><span style="font-family: Architects Daughter; font-size: x-large;">I pivot on one soggy sneaker, a deliberate drag of my feet to scuff the clean tiles. Looking from left to right for something that hints at where a doctor’s corner would be in a palatial hotel.</span></p>
<p><span style="font-family: Architects Daughter; font-size: x-large;">There’s this club to my right. Al Di La is elegantly carved into the sign above double paned doors. It looks like some type of lounge. Inside, people are huddled in semi-circular booths chatting and laughing. Distracted by the opalescent, I missed the soft jazz accompanying a female vocalist floating through the air.</span></p>
<p><span style="font-family: Architects Daughter; font-size: x-large;">I turn to my left. There’s a bank of elevators. I’ll start with them.</span></p>
<p><span style="font-family: Architects Daughter; font-size: x-large;">Before I can take a step, Mr. No is around the counter. I see him coming towards me. I take a step back, stumbling over another guest’s personal luggage behind me.</span></p>
<p><span style="font-family: Architects Daughter; font-size: x-large;">Mr. No reaches out an arm and snakes it around my waist.</span></p>
<p><span style="font-family: Architects Daughter; font-size: x-large;">Panic. Fear. It all crushes into me.</span></p>
<p><span style="font-family: Architects Daughter; font-size: x-large;">“Let go of me. Don’t!” I scream. My arms are flailing as I curl my fingers into talons to fight off my attacker.</span></p>
<p><span style="font-family: Architects Daughter; font-size: x-large;">“Sis, what’s happening? Say something. I swear, if that jackass lays one finger on you, I’m gonna come down there and a kick his jolly green ass.”</span></p>
<p><span style="font-family: Architects Daughter; font-size: x-large;">“Whoa,” he grumbles while blocking my blows with ease. “You’re going to hurt yourself.”</span></p>
<p><span style="font-family: Architects Daughter; font-size: x-large;">Too late. Cramps shoot up my balled fists. Pain explodes in my shoulders. “Damn it.”</span></p>
<p><span style="font-family: Architects Daughter; font-size: x-large;">“That’s enough!” His voice rumbles over me, weighted and slow, crushing my anger. The previous agitation tumbles over at the impact. A new, more troubling sensation emerges. Attraction.</span></p>
<p><span style="font-family: Architects Daughter; font-size: x-large;">He holds me firm in his arms, but his touch is gentle. Our size difference is comedic. His big beast nostrils flare to my round-eyed dark beauty. I relax my fighting stance and cling to him. But then, like a well-trained pet, I remember. Big hands bruise. Big hands hurt. Big hands kill. Tensing, my demons break free, their defenses fighting a battle one touch from this stranger could defend.</span></p>
<p><span style="font-family: Architects Daughter; font-size: x-large;">I draw back my hand. With my open palm, I make contact, across his bearded jaw as hard as I can.</span></p>
<p><span style="font-family: Architects Daughter; font-size: x-large;">“What the fuck was that for?” he bellows, but he doesn’t release me.</span></p>
<p><span style="font-family: Architects Daughter; font-size: x-large;">“Don’t ever touch me!” I yell, shoving his hands away. “Stop being an asshole. Stop telling me no. Stop holding me.”</span></p>
<p><span style="font-family: Architects Daughter; font-size: x-large;">My breath is a choppy, high pitch. My inside voice is gone. All hope of staying invisible vanishes. The other guests watch the beginnings of what I’m sure is an emotional meltdown.</span></p>
<p><span style="font-family: Architects Daughter; font-size: x-large;">My clothes have shifted, and the scars to both wrists are on display. He looks at them, then back at me. I refuse to feel shame for surviving Rafa’s hell. Steeling my spine, I point in the direction of the lounge.</span></p>
<p><span style="font-family: Architects Daughter; font-size: x-large;">“Is The Doctor in there?”</span></p>
<p><span style="font-family: Architects Daughter; font-size: x-large;">“No,” he says, lifting one of my wrists for a closer examination. “Who hurt you?”</span></p>
<p><span style="font-family: Architects Daughter; font-size: x-large;">It comes out as a growl. His eyes darken to an obsidian I’ve only seen under museum glass. His whole body seems to grow before my eyes like the hulking beast he is. I grab the edges of my secondhand sweater, yanking the sleeves lower.</span></p>
<p><span style="font-family: Architects Daughter; font-size: x-large;">“No one,” I lie, averting my gaze.</span></p>
<p><span style="font-family: Architects Daughter; font-size: x-large;">“Hate liars, pretty woman.”</span></p>
<p><span style="font-family: Architects Daughter; font-size: x-large;">“Well, that’s all you’re gonna get from me, beast boy.”</span></p>
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<p><span style="font-family: Architects Daughter; font-size: x-large;">Siera writes heroines you know, heroes you love, and romance you feel.</span></p>
<p><span style="font-family: Architects Daughter; font-size: x-large;">USA Today Bestselling & Award-winning author, Siera London pens contemporary and paranormal romance, romantic suspense, and crime fiction. She crafts stories of diverse characters navigating their journeys to love with intelligence, wit, and heart-gripping emotion. </span></p>
<p><span style="font-family: Architects Daughter; font-size: x-large;">When away from the literary world, Siera lives on the east coast with Mr. Awesome and a color patch tabby named Frie. Visit her website at www.sieralondonauthor.com to subscribe to Siera London News or follow her on Facebook at www.facebook.com/authorsieralondon. Repped by Latoya Smith / ArtHouse Literary Services</span></p>
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<span style="font-family: Architects Daughter; font-size: x-large;"><a href="https://www.sieralondonauthor.com/" target="_blank">Website</a> / <a href="https://www.facebook.com/authorsieralondon" target="_blank">Facebook</a> / <a href="https://twitter.com/siera_london" target="_blank">Twitter</a> / <a href="https://www.instagram.com/sieralondon/" target="_blank">Instagram</a></span></p>
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Helenahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06962202331435066843noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8064482728419855641.post-75570915646488645632022-08-03T00:29:00.000-07:002022-08-03T00:29:00.204-07:00#Giveaway - $25 Amazon gift card + 2x ebook copies of Awaken by Vanessa MacLellan #Fantasy @McCVan<div style="margin: 0px auto 15px; text-align: center;">
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<img alt="" src="http://www.xpressobooktours.com/wp-content/uploads/sites/3/2022/06/Awaken-Kindle.jpg" style="display: inline-block; float: left; margin: 0px 15px 15px 0px;" />
<p><span style="font-family: Architects Daughter; font-size: x-large;"><strong>Awaken</strong><br /><strong>By Vanessa MacLellan</strong><br />Publication date: July 30th 2022<br />Genres: Adult, Dark Fantasy, Fantasy, Horror</span></p><blockquote><p><strong><span style="font-family: Architects Daughter; font-size: x-large;">Balin stands between two great Powers. One will shatter his mind; the other will destroy his soul. Only one of them can save his people.</span></strong></p>
<p><span style="font-family: Architects Daughter; font-size: x-large;">Fort Resonbirg, a Norse stronghold in the New World, is besieged by the evil sorcerer Ursulard the Dreamspinner. Though their fields are scorched and homes destroyed, the residents and refugees do not worry, because Fort Resonbirg is <em>Awakened</em> with the power to provide, protect, and grow. But not all is as it seems when a wall of impenetrable mist surrounds the fort, and within the mist hunts the dragon, Nidhogg. Nidhogg hungers for more than flesh and bone. It instills nightmares on its prey, feeding on fear and pain, inevitably taking lives.</span></p>
<p><span style="font-family: Architects Daughter; font-size: x-large;">Balin Tremore, a commoner bound for the militia but hoping to stay by his noble love’s side, never expected to amount to grand things. When the great power of Cradleweaving is awakened within him, Balin unknowingly becomes the one person with the power to pierce the wall of mist and banish the deadly beast within before it destroys them all—if he can master the new power in time. But to master the power, he must sacrifice much. The question is, will it be his position, his Lady, or his very soul?</span></p>
<p><em><span style="font-family: Architects Daughter; font-size: x-large;">The Mist meets Nightmare on Elm Street in this classic tale of personal sacrifice.</span></em></p>
</blockquote>
<p style="font-weight: bold; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Architects Daughter; font-size: x-large;"><a href="https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/61224181-awaken" target="_blank">Goodreads</a> / <a href="https://amzn.to/3JcU41G" target="_blank">Amazon</a></span></p>
<p style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Architects Daughter; font-size: x-large;">—</span></p>
<p style="text-align: center;"><strong><span style="font-family: Architects Daughter; font-size: x-large;">EXCERPT:</span></strong></p>
<p><span style="font-family: Architects Daughter; font-size: x-large;">He rapped his knuckles against the wooden door, leaning against the frame to take the strain from his leg.</span></p>
<p><span style="font-family: Architects Daughter; font-size: x-large;">“Who is there?”</span></p>
<p><span style="font-family: Architects Daughter; font-size: x-large;">“It is I, Balin Tremore.” He glanced up and down the hallway. Vacant. “I request an audience.”</span></p>
<p><span style="font-family: Architects Daughter; font-size: x-large;">The door swung open. “Please enter with an open heart, Balin.” Elaine beamed at him, her joy evident in the musical laughter in her words.</span></p>
<p><span style="font-family: Architects Daughter; font-size: x-large;">Balin stepped inside, and Elaine slammed the door closed.</span></p>
<p><span style="font-family: Architects Daughter; font-size: x-large;">“Is Kirsten here?” he asked, scanning the suite for Elaine’s handmaiden.</span></p>
<p><span style="font-family: Architects Daughter; font-size: x-large;">Elaine shook her head. “She’s getting fabric.” With no warning, she threw her arms around Balin’s shoulders and hugged him close. “I’m so, so, so glad you are well,” she said, her words held stiffly, as if voicing a vow. “Don’t ever do that again. Don’t ever.” She squeezed him. His body took a moment to react, and then he melted into her hold.</span></p>
<p><span style="font-family: Architects Daughter; font-size: x-large;">He embraced her, brushing his cheek against her plum silk shirt, holding her close, praying to Baldr that she’d never be taken from his arms. He inhaled her lilac scent and closed his eyes.</span></p>
<p><span style="font-family: Architects Daughter; font-size: x-large;">She pulled back, and the intensity in her gaze captured his breath. They were of a same height, except for when she wore ball shoes and could stare down at him with haughty superiority. She’d tease him then, drape her arm over his shoulders when nobody was looking their way. He didn’t mind, he just enjoyed being close to her. Now, however, no tease twinkled in her stormy eyes. Only worry and determination resided there, and he hated to see all those emotions in turmoil over her sweet features.</span></p>
<p><span style="font-family: Architects Daughter; font-size: x-large;">“Balin, would you just give in? You don’t have to return to the field.”</span></p>
<p><span style="font-family: Architects Daughter; font-size: x-large;">Balin took in a breath and let his gaze slip from hers to stare at the side of her nose. “I can’t do that.”</span></p>
<p><span style="font-family: Architects Daughter; font-size: x-large;">“Yes. You can.” She pulled away sharply, turning her back on him as she charged into her sitting room, her strong trouser-clad legs cutting the distance to a few strides. She gleaned pieces of paper from her writing desk and tromped back towards him, shaking the papers in his face. “I’ve completed the requisition. All I need is the Hauld’s approval, and after you and William—” she waved her hands through the air in a grand gesture, the papers crackling under the abuse, “—there’s no way he wouldn’t agree to you being my steward.”</span></p>
<p><span style="font-family: Architects Daughter; font-size: x-large;">They’d had this argument before, and Balin found it harder and harder to refuse her.</span></p>
<p><span style="font-family: Architects Daughter; font-size: x-large;">But he wanted to be so much more to her than just her steward.</span></p>
<p><span style="font-family: Architects Daughter; font-size: x-large;">“I don’t even need your approval, you know.” Her eyes narrowed, and her mouth turned into a frown.</span></p>
<p><span style="font-family: Architects Daughter; font-size: x-large;">He dropped his shoulders back, attention wandering over the copper molding encircling her ceiling. “You wouldn’t do that.”</span></p>
<p><span style="font-family: Architects Daughter; font-size: x-large;">“Don’t you tempt me, Balin Tremore. If it means keeping you out of the war, I will do what I have to do.”</span></p>
<p><span style="font-family: Architects Daughter; font-size: x-large;">The command in her voice drew his attention back to her face. He scooped up her hands, papers and all, and pressed his forehead to hers. They stood that way for a moment, Elaine’s breathing fast, Balin’s heart thumping in his ears. Those weeks in the cage, cold, starving, he’d wanted her. Wanted her soft touch. Her amused smile. He’d kept her stored in his mind in the hidden places Zebbens couldn’t beat out of him.</span></p>
<p><span style="font-family: Architects Daughter; font-size: x-large;">“We have to fight him, Elaine. Every one of us, we all have to do what we can.”</span></p>
<p><span style="font-family: Architects Daughter; font-size: x-large;">“Then, Balin,” she argued, her voice a terse whisper, “that means I need to be out there, too.”</span></p>
<p><span style="font-family: Architects Daughter; font-size: x-large;">Through his bangs, he saw her looking at him. He rolled his forehead against hers until their noses touched. “You can’t go out there, Elaine,” he whispered, the words hovering between their nearly touching lips.</span></p>
<p><span style="font-family: Architects Daughter; font-size: x-large;">“I’m a better fencer than you.”</span></p>
<p><span style="font-family: Architects Daughter; font-size: x-large;">“Fencer, not swordsman, they aren’t the same.”</span></p>
<p><span style="font-family: Architects Daughter; font-size: x-large;">Behind him, the door opened.</span></p>
<p><span style="font-family: Architects Daughter; font-size: x-large;">“Oh, Miss, I’m so sorry to intrude,” Kirsten said.</span></p>
<p><span style="font-family: Architects Daughter; font-size: x-large;">The air crackled with anticipation, but Kirsten, so-sorry-to-intrude, didn’t leave.</span></p>
<p><span style="font-family: Architects Daughter; font-size: x-large;">Balin bowed his head and slowly pulled away. Then he turned to the handmaiden. “Hello, Kirsten.”</span></p>
<p style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Architects Daughter; font-size: x-large;"><img alt="" src="http://www.xpressobooktours.com/wp-content/uploads/sites/3/2022/07/Awaken-Quote-2.png" style="height: auto; max-width: 100%;" /></span></p>
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<p><span style="font-family: Architects Daughter; font-size: x-large;">Author Bio:</span></p>
<p><span style="font-family: Architects Daughter; font-size: x-large;">Vanessa MacLellan was born and raised in the farmlands of eastern Washington, works as an environmental engineer, and is an avid birder, naturalist and hiker living in Portland, Oregon. </span></p>
<p style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Architects Daughter; font-size: x-large;"><a href="https://www.vanmaclellan.com/" target="_blank">Website</a> / <a href="https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/12175291.Vanessa_MacLellan" target="_blank">Goodreads</a> / <a href="https://www.facebook.com/VanMacLellan/" target="_blank">Facebook</a> / <a href="https://twitter.com/mccvan" target="_blank">Twitter</a></span></p>
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Helenahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06962202331435066843noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8064482728419855641.post-11227798509895966392022-08-03T00:26:00.001-07:002022-08-03T00:26:00.217-07:00#Giveaway - 2 x print copies of Blackmail by Amelia Wilde #Romance @awilderomance<div style="margin: 0px auto 15px; text-align: center;">
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<p><span style="font-family: Architects Daughter; font-size: x-large;"><strong>Blackmail</strong><br /><strong>By Amelia Wilde</strong><br />Publication date: August 2nd 2022<br />Genres: Adult, Contemporary, Romance</span></p><blockquote><p><span style="font-family: Architects Daughter; font-size: x-large;">Bristol Anderson will do anything to protect her younger siblings. Even if it means embezzling from the company where she’s a temp. No one will find out. And the wealthy owner of the investment firm will never notice.</span></p>
<p><span style="font-family: Architects Daughter; font-size: x-large;">Except Will LeBlanc doesn’t miss a thing.</span></p>
<p><span style="font-family: Architects Daughter; font-size: x-large;">He could call the police, but he has more interesting plans for her. In the copy room. On the conference table. Under his desk.</span></p>
<p><span style="font-family: Architects Daughter; font-size: x-large;">The coldhearted venture capitalist will make her pay back every last cent.</span></p>
</blockquote>
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<span style="font-family: Architects Daughter; font-size: x-large;"><a href="https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/60673854-blackmail" target="_blank">Goodreads</a> / <a href="https://amzn.to/3JdotgA" target="_blank">Amazon</a> / <a href="https://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/blackmail-amelia-wilde/1141245685?ean=2940160944296" target="_blank">Barnes & Noble</a> / <a href="https://books.apple.com/us/book/blackmail/id1615159553?ign-itscg=30200&ign-itsct=books_box_link" target="_blank">iBooks</a> / <a href="https://www.kobo.com/us/en/ebook/blackmail-48" target="_blank">Kobo</a> / <a href="https://play.google.com/store/books/details/Amelia_Wilde_Blackmail?id=gwdlEAAAQBAJ" target="_blank">Google Play</a></span></p>
<p style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Architects Daughter; font-size: x-large;">—</span></p>
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<p><span style="font-family: Architects Daughter; font-size: x-large;">Amelia Wilde is a USA TODAY bestselling author of steamy contemporary romance and loves it a little too much. She lives in Michigan with her husband and daughters. She spends most of her time typing furiously on an iPad and appreciating the natural splendor of her home state from where she likes it best: inside.</span></p>
<p><span style="font-family: Architects Daughter; font-size: x-large;">Amelia is a USA Today best selling author from northern Michigan. Be her friend!</span></p>
<p style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Architects Daughter; font-size: x-large;"><a href="https://awilderomance.com/" target="_blank">Website</a> / <a href="https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/14671616.Amelia_Wilde" target="_blank">Goodreads</a> / <a href="https://www.facebook.com/awilderomance" target="_blank">Facebook</a> / <a href="https://twitter.com/awilderomance" target="_blank">Twitter</a> / <a href="https://www.instagram.com/awilderomance/" target="_blank">Instagram</a> / <a href="https://www.bookbub.com/authors/amelia-wilde" target="_blank">Bookbub</a> / <a href="https://www.amazon.com/Amelia-Wilde/e/B01C38CNJ2" target="_blank">Amazon</a></span></p>
</blockquote>
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Helenahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06962202331435066843noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8064482728419855641.post-82547280416326705012022-08-01T13:00:00.000-07:002022-08-01T13:00:00.200-07:00#Giveaway - Kindle copy of Beginning of the End by Colleen Green #Romance <div style="margin: 0px auto 15px; text-align: center;">
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<p><span style="font-family: Architects Daughter; font-size: x-large;"><strong>Beginning of the End</strong><br /><strong>By Colleen Green</strong><br />(Amber Milestone, #3)<br />Publication date: August 10th 2022<br />Genres: Adult, Romance, Suspense</span></p><blockquote><p><span style="font-family: Architects Daughter; font-size: x-large;">“Amber Milestone’s life in New York City has been plagued by the Mafia for as long as she’s lived there. Her roommate, Fiona, and friend, Henry have had their lives ruined by drugs and mobsters, and the trio agree to share what they know with the police in the hopes of taking down the Bugiardini family once and for all. However, informing on the Mafia is not without risk, and Amber will have to be careful if she wants to make it out of the investigation alive.”<br />
Alyssa B., Proofreader, Red Adept Editing</span></p>
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<p style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Architects Daughter; font-size: x-large;">—</span></p>
<p style="text-align: center;"><strong><span style="font-family: Architects Daughter; font-size: x-large;">EXCERPT:</span></strong></p>
<p><span style="font-family: Architects Daughter; font-size: x-large;">The thought of speaking about my mob-related experiences over the past months caused an emotion I couldn’t name even if I tried. I couldn’t digest what I was feeling. It was such a mixture that it left me with an ache in the pit of my stomach grinding against the swarm of nerves, making it quiver uncontrollably. It was anxiousness and anger toward the men who did horrible deeds under the guise of so-called business. It was hatred toward them, their actions, and the pain they inflicted on others. It was sadness for the irreparable damage they had caused, like Fiona’s disappointment in her gambling-addicted father. Somehow, I was about to take all those feelings and turn them into coherent information with names, dates, places, and suspicions for my father to take to his NYPD contacts.</span></p>
<p><span style="font-family: Architects Daughter; font-size: x-large;">As we got off the train at our stop, it wasn’t just the cold fall breeze cutting through me. Memories of every injustice played back in my mind and filled my veins with ice. To help take down the mob with information, I needed to be calm under pressure. I couldn’t worry about the bullet that might get lodged in my brain because of the words I was about to speak or the bullets that may go into my dear friends’ heads. I couldn’t let fear win. Instead, truth and justice would prevail no matter what, no matter the cost. It was the only way to stop these so-called businessmen.</span></p>
<p><span style="font-family: Architects Daughter; font-size: x-large;">Fiona and I walked side by side without talking to each other. We knew what each other would say to my father per our discussion last night. We knew the information was valuable to the police and how dangerous it was to divulge it to the authorities. There was nothing left to say to each other until we were done speaking to my father.</span></p>
<p><span style="font-family: Architects Daughter; font-size: x-large;">My cell vibrated in my pocket. I pulled it out and saw “Henry” on the screen. I flipped it open. “Hey. What’s going on?”</span></p>
<p><span style="font-family: Architects Daughter; font-size: x-large;">“Change of plans. Now we’re meeting in the restaurant Tea Time in the Continuance Center on the third floor. The building is in the Columbus Circle area. I told your father that you and Fiona are coming to talk to him. He seemed excited to see you. After what he put your family through, he’s lucky you’re talking to him at all!”</span></p>
<p><span style="font-family: Architects Daughter; font-size: x-large;">“He is. But I’m not doing it for his sake. I’m doing it to do my part in taking down the mob.”</span></p>
<p><span style="font-family: Architects Daughter; font-size: x-large;">“Yes, of course. I’ll see you soon.”</span></p>
<p><span style="font-family: Architects Daughter; font-size: x-large;">I hung up by flipping the phone before putting it back into my pocket.</span></p>
<p><span style="font-family: Architects Daughter; font-size: x-large;">“What was that about?” Fiona asked.</span></p>
<p><span style="font-family: Architects Daughter; font-size: x-large;">“New meeting place. We’re still headed in the right direction, so at least we don’t have to backtrack.”</span></p>
<p><span style="font-family: Architects Daughter; font-size: x-large;">“That’s good. Where?”</span></p>
<p><span style="font-family: Architects Daughter; font-size: x-large;">“Tea Time in the Continuance Center.”</span></p>
<p><span style="font-family: Architects Daughter; font-size: x-large;">“I’ve heard they have delicious pastries.” Fiona’s eyes lit up, but the gleam faded quickly.</span></p>
<p><span style="font-family: Architects Daughter; font-size: x-large;">“I know. It would have been an exciting thing to do if it weren’t for all the ugly things we’re about to talk about.” I frowned. “I’ve always wanted to go to have tea and crumpets or whatever, but not like this.”</span></p>
<p><span style="font-family: Architects Daughter; font-size: x-large;">At nearly four o’clock, Columbus Circle was already crowded, almost like rush hour on a Monday. In Manhattan, though, it always seemed like rush hour. New Yorkers say the busiest time is from four in the afternoon to about seven in the evening.</span></p>
<p><span style="font-family: Architects Daughter; font-size: x-large;">Tourists with maps, people in business suits, workers in black-and-white uniforms who must have been servers or bartenders at restaurants, and casually dressed New Yorkers walked around Columbus Circle, heading to different buildings. Traffic was congested, with horns beeping. The statue of Christopher Columbus stood high in the air on a pedestal. We had seen it in the distance when we were walking.</span></p>
<p><span style="font-family: Architects Daughter; font-size: x-large;">Henry was ahead of us, standing beside the twenty-story Continuance Center. I had heard it had business offices, restaurants, and shops inside. His drawn face, puffy eyes, and the crease above his forehead were most likely due to his inner struggle of living with what he thought his brother, Charles, could be doing with the mob. As we approached Henry, he mustered a faint grin.</span></p>
<p><span style="font-family: Architects Daughter; font-size: x-large;">I hugged him more tightly than I ever had before.<br />
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<p><span style="font-family: Architects Daughter; font-size: x-large;">Author Bio:</span></p>
<p><span style="font-family: Architects Daughter; font-size: x-large;">Author Colleen Green lives in Ohio. She loves to write, read, and cook. Creating a world that readers can immerse themselves into is her passion. Last Words is her debut novel. The romance suspense book is set in the breathtaking vineyards of Napa Valley, California. Romance suspense, YA paranormal romance, and urban fantasy genres are among her favorites to read and write. She is currently working on the second book in the Amber Milestone series and a series of short YA urban fantasy stories.</span></p>
<p style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Architects Daughter; font-size: x-large;"><a href="https://colleengreenkarenkasey.com/" target="_blank">Website</a> / <a href="https://www.instagram.com/jbondswrites/" target="_blank">Instagram</a></span></p>
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Helenahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06962202331435066843noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8064482728419855641.post-91291950174621993542022-08-01T00:31:00.000-07:002022-08-01T00:31:00.194-07:00Giveaway - Ebook copy of It Started with a Dance by Tinia Montford #Romance <div style="margin: 0px auto 15px; text-align: center;">
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<p><span style="font-family: Architects Daughter; font-size: x-large;"><strong>It Started with a Dance</strong><br /><strong>By Tinia Montford</strong><br />(Pacific Grove University, #2)<br />Publication date: July 28th 2022<br />Genres: Adult, Contemporary, New Adult, Romance</span></p><blockquote><p><strong><span style="font-family: Architects Daughter; font-size: x-large;">WILL THEY PULL OFF THE PERFECT PERFORMANCE? </span></strong></p>
<p><strong><em><span style="font-family: Architects Daughter; font-size: x-large;">It’s double time for Cami Clinton… </span></em></strong></p>
<p><span style="font-family: Architects Daughter; font-size: x-large;">Dance is in Cami’s blood, but a bombshell diagnosis puts her on the sidelines. Now returning for her senior year of college, she’s determined to prove she is the dancer she once was. Each year, at the end of the semester, the campus hosts a dance festival. Cami knows this is her shot at redemption, but while at a party, things go horribly wrong and Cami suddenly has a new boyfriend: Marsh Lincoln.</span></p>
<p><em><strong><span style="font-family: Architects Daughter; font-size: x-large;">Marsh Lincoln has two left feet… </span></strong></em></p>
<p><span style="font-family: Architects Daughter; font-size: x-large;">He doesn’t dance. A nasty accident haunts Marsh and he’s just ready to graduate. Until he’s told he’s missing credits. The only class left to fill his missing credits? Ballroom dancing. To make matters worse, his girlfriend breaks-up with him in front of everyone at a party, leaving him with a new girlfriend he’s never met before…</span></p>
<p><em><strong><span style="font-family: Architects Daughter; font-size: x-large;">It takes two to tango… </span></strong></em></p>
<p><span style="font-family: Architects Daughter; font-size: x-large;">Acting like the perfect couple isn’t easy when you’ve just met. When the lines between what’s real and pretend blurs, they have to ask themselves: Can you catch feelings for something that’s all pretend?</span></p>
</blockquote>
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<span style="font-family: Architects Daughter; font-size: x-large;"><a href="https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/60715676-it-started-with-a-dance" target="_blank">Goodreads</a> / <a href="https://amzn.to/3opNFXH" target="_blank">Amazon</a> / <a href="https://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/it-started-with-a-dance-tinia-montford/1141304988?ean=2940165424274" target="_blank">Barnes & Noble</a> / <a href="https://books.apple.com/us/book/it-started-with-a-dance/id1617004193" target="_blank">iBooks</a> / <a href="https://www.kobo.com/ca/en/ebook/it-started-with-a-dance" target="_blank">Kobo</a></span></p>
<p style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Architects Daughter; font-size: x-large;">—</span></p>
<p style="text-align: center;"><strong><span style="font-family: Architects Daughter; font-size: x-large;">EXCERPT:</span></strong></p>
<p><em><span style="font-family: Architects Daughter; font-size: x-large;">Girl, don’t do it; it’s not worth it. Don’t do it… Don’t do it, Cami. Last time was supposed to be it! Don’t… </span></em></p>
<p><span style="font-family: Architects Daughter; font-size: x-large;">Paper crinkled under Cami as she shifted on the exam table, facing the cabinet on the wall. It held a box of gloves, a thermometer, an otoscope, and the little disposable thingies that went with it. She exhaled shakily and squeezed her eyes shut. <em>I swear I’m just thinking about stealing the doctor’s glove; I’m not gonna do it. Last time was it… They are good for cleaning. It would be awful if Devin had to bail me out of jail for stealing gloves in a doctor’s office. I’ll get expelled from school and be forced onto the mean streets of the Tenderloin. I’ll have to fight cats for chicken bones and steal cough syrup to stay high. </em></span></p>
<p><span style="font-family: Architects Daughter; font-size: x-large;">Cami’s karma was shot to hell based on her last six months of existence. She didn’t want the big man upstairs to send a bolt of lightning down to obliterate her.</span></p>
<p><span style="font-family: Architects Daughter; font-size: x-large;">She would be good…</span></p>
<p><span style="font-family: Architects Daughter; font-size: x-large;">Pushing herself up, she strained to hear any footsteps in the hall. The doctor wouldn’t notice a few missing gloves, would she?</span></p>
<p><span style="font-family: Architects Daughter; font-size: x-large;">Her phone dinged twice with a text message. It was her best friend, Deja. <em>Saved by the bell.</em></span></p>
<p><strong><span style="font-family: Architects Daughter; font-size: x-large;">Where are you?? I thought we were getting lunch? Winter and I are in the restaurant.</span></strong></p>
<p><span style="font-family: Architects Daughter; font-size: x-large;">Cami slapped her forehead. <em>How could she forget?</em> It was their annual back-to-school tradition. Lunch in Japantown and mochi ice cream afterward. A staple in their friendship since freshmen year and even more important since last semester.</span></p>
<p><strong><span style="font-family: Architects Daughter; font-size: x-large;">I had to meet with my adviser. Let’s meet for dinner?</span></strong></p>
<p><span style="font-family: Architects Daughter; font-size: x-large;">Deja’s reply was instant.</span></p>
<p><strong><span style="font-family: Architects Daughter; font-size: x-large;">Fine. Take a sneak pic of your adviser. Clark is foine.</span></strong></p>
<p><span style="font-family: Architects Daughter; font-size: x-large;">Cami hung her head. <em>Why did I lie? </em>Deja and Winter, her best friends, knew about her hospital stint. They visited her every day until they had to go home for summer break, right before she finally received her diagnosis. Cami still couldn’t utter the words <em>chronic disease… </em></span></p>
<p><span style="font-family: Architects Daughter; font-size: x-large;">She told herself she would confess to them, but when the moment came, she found herself saying <em>viral infection</em> instead. Each time after that, the lie flowed easier and it became harder and harder for her to backpedal. She told herself lying was for a good reason. Cami was tired of being the one people needed to look after. She was reinventing herself after this setback, presenting herself as independent and poised. Even if it was a façade.</span></p>
<p><span style="font-family: Architects Daughter; font-size: x-large;">Anxiety churned in her stomach, and she hoped her doctor would come back with the results she wanted. A glance at her phone let her know the time.</span></p>
<p><span style="font-family: Architects Daughter; font-size: x-large;">12:04 PM.</span></p>
<p><span style="font-family: Architects Daughter; font-size: x-large;">How long had she been sitting here? Twenty or thirty minutes? It was the first day of the semester, and Cami wasn’t letting it slip through her fingers. It was late August and freezing in San Francisco because of the coastal fog and wind. She tugged at the pink chunky sweater she’d paired with a skirt and combat boots. She pulled her knotless braids over her shoulder, biting her lip with a glance at the door before she pushed herself off the exam table.</span></p>
<p><span style="font-family: Architects Daughter; font-size: x-large;">“I’m just gonna take one. I’ve been through a lot,” she muttered, justifying the petty theft.</span></p>
<p><span style="font-family: Architects Daughter; font-size: x-large;">Cami plucked a glove from the box and held her breath as if alarms would sound. Once the coast was clear, she took another. Then another. Her hands were full as someone knocked at the door. She squealed, dropping some contraband as she darted across the room and shoved the gloves into her book bag, and plopped her butt back on the exam table, winded from that simple yet covert act.</span></p>
<p><span style="font-family: Architects Daughter; font-size: x-large;">“Y-yes?”</span></p>
<p><span style="font-family: Architects Daughter; font-size: x-large;">She tried placing a neutral expression on her face, hoping it didn’t reveal how fast her heart was beating, or her fear that a minor sprint consumed most of her energy.</span></p>
<p><span style="font-family: Architects Daughter; font-size: x-large;">The door opened, and her doctor’s head appeared. “Camille?”</span></p>
<p><span style="font-family: Architects Daughter; font-size: x-large;">“Dr. Aguilar.”</span></p>
<p><span style="font-family: Architects Daughter; font-size: x-large;">The last time Cami was in a hospital, besides her own illness, she found out her father had died. Of course, she didn’t remember this. She had been a toddler; her mother and brother recounted the story solemnly to her years later. It was a good enough excuse to avoid hospitals ever since.</span></p>
<p><span style="font-family: Architects Daughter; font-size: x-large;">Dr. Aguilar <em>almost </em>changed her mind about hospitals. The older woman’s aura of calmness and matronly appearance never failed to put her at ease. Bracelets adorning both arms and rings on all fingers. Plump. Graying hair. She smiled and her eyes went to the blue glove lying on the floor.</span></p>
<p><span style="font-family: Architects Daughter; font-size: x-large;">“The gloves fell out of the box…” <em>That was a lame excuse.</em><br />
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<p><br /></p>
<p><span style="font-family: Architects Daughter; font-size: x-large;">Tinia (TUH-NIA) Montford is a Pisces who’s a sap for romance, especially when there’s (tons of) kissing. Loves eighties sitcoms and will consume anything with chocolate. She graduated from the University of San Francisco with a degree in English and Graphic Design.</span></p>
<p><span style="font-family: Architects Daughter; font-size: x-large;">She is a world traveler having climbed a volcano in Nicaragua, scaled Angkor Wat in the blistering sun, and roamed the Acropolis of Athens. Oh, she also dabbles in short stories occasionally.</span></p>
<p><span style="font-family: Architects Daughter; font-size: x-large;">If you can’t catch her writing, you can bet she’s overindulging on poke bowls, listening to the same four songs, or chilling with her adorbs doggie. She is currently pursuing her MFA in Fiction.</span></p>
<p style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Architects Daughter; font-size: x-large;"><a href="http://tiniamontford.com/" target="_blank">Website</a> / <a href="https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/21958554.Tinia_Montford" target="_blank">Goodreads</a> / <a href="https://www.facebook.com/tiniawritesbooks/" target="_blank">Facebook</a> / <a href="https://www.instagram.com/tiniawritesbooks/" target="_blank">Instagram</a> / <a href="https://www.pinterest.ca/tiniawritesbooks/_created/" target="_blank">Pinterest</a></span></p>
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Helenahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06962202331435066843noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8064482728419855641.post-20054295090745981662022-07-30T00:34:00.004-07:002022-07-30T00:34:43.441-07:00All This Time by Annabelle McCormack #BlogTour #Romance <div style="margin: 0px auto 15px; text-align: center;">
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<p><span style="font-family: Architects Daughter; font-size: x-large;"><strong>All This Time</strong><br /><strong>By Annabelle McCormack</strong><br />Publication date: October 25th 2022<br />Genres: Adult, Contemporary, Romance</span></p><blockquote><p><span style="font-family: Architects Daughter; font-size: x-large;">Samantha Redding swore off her hometown of Brandywood, Maryland when she left after high school. Sure, she misses her family, but growing up the victim of vicious gossip cured her of small-town living. Besides, the photography career she dreamed of couldn’t be found in the Appalachians.</span></p>
<p><span style="font-family: Architects Daughter; font-size: x-large;">But when Sam’s mom gets sick and needs her help, Sam’s faced with a long-term stay back home. As a tight deadline for her fast-paced job forces her to relocate a holiday photoshoot to Brandywood, Sam finds her old life converging with her new one. What’s more, she needs help from the townspeople she’s spent years disregarding. Overwhelmed, Sam finds an ally in a man who kept her at arm’s length all his life: brooding and sarcastic Garrett Doyle—her on-and-off again boyfriend’s best friend.</span></p>
<p><span style="font-family: Architects Daughter; font-size: x-large;">There’s a reason Garrett’s tried to keep his distance from Sam, though: being in love with your best friend’s girl sucks. But Sam needs help and he’s too much of a sucker to say no. Anyway, she’s leaving Brandywood soon enough, and then he can go back to trying to forget her.</span></p>
<p><span style="font-family: Architects Daughter; font-size: x-large;">. . . except, Sam’s about to discover that everything she thought she knew about home—and Garrett—was wrong.</span></p>
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<p style="font-weight: bold; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Architects Daughter; font-size: x-large;"><a href="https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/61713255-all-this-time" target="_blank">Add to Goodreads</a> / <a href="https://amzn.to/3oyPXU8" target="_blank">Pre-order</a></span></p>
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<p><span style="font-family: Architects Daughter; font-size: x-large;"><br /></span></p>
<p><span style="font-family: Architects Daughter; font-size: x-large;">Annabelle McCormack spins you tales of epic historical adventure, heartfelt romance, and complex family dynamics with strong female protagonists to make things interesting. She graduated from the Johns Hopkins University’s M.A. in Writing Program. She's a sucker for pizza (cheese, bread, and tomatoes are the perfect foods) and mangoes, loves baking and photography, and never wants to do laundry again. She lives in Maryland with her hilarious husband, where she serves as a snack bitch for her (lucky-they’re-cute) five children and three boxers.</span></p>
<p><span style="font-family: Architects Daughter; font-size: x-large;">She's half-Costa Rican and speaks fluent Spanish, so you can always drop her a line in either English or Spanish. Pura vida!</span></p>
<p style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Architects Daughter; font-size: x-large;"><a href="https://annabellemccormack.com/" target="_blank">Website</a> / <a href="https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/21418629.Annabelle_McCormack" target="_blank">Goodreads</a> / <a href="https://www.facebook.com/annabelledmccormack" target="_blank">Facebook</a> / <a href="https://www.instagram.com/annabellemccormack/" target="_blank">Instagram</a> / <a href="https://www.bookbub.com/profile/annabelle-mccormack" target="_blank">Bookbub</a></span></p>
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<p style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Architects Daughter;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">Hosted by:</span><br />
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Helenahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06962202331435066843noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8064482728419855641.post-83018191660817789322022-07-29T09:24:00.001-07:002022-07-29T09:24:00.238-07:00#Giveaway - $25 Amazon gift card. Blog Tour - The Last One by A.S. Kelly #Romance<div style="margin: 0px auto 15px; text-align: center;">
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<p><span style="font-family: Architects Daughter; font-size: x-large;"><strong>The Last One</strong><br /><strong>By A.S. Kelly</strong><br />Publication date: July 25th 2022<br />Genres: Adult, Comedy, Contemporary, Romance</span></p><blockquote><p><span style="font-family: Architects Daughter; font-size: x-large;">Allow me to introduce myself.<br />
My name is Anya O’Donnell, and I’d like to declare myself guilty beyond all reasonable doubt.<br />
Guilty of what, you ask?<br />
Well, for starters, I’m guilty of lying to everyone for years; of pretending when I should have been showing them all who I really was, what I really wanted. I’m guilty of pushing away the only person who wanted to stay, convinced that, one day, he’d have left, anyway.<br />
I told him we were a mistake.<br />
I told him I was better off without him.<br />
I told him that I didn’t love him.<br />
And now I miss him. I miss his cups of tea and his stupid cheese crackers. I miss his clothes, strewn about the house. I miss the way he would watch me sleep. I miss his arms, holding me tightly each night, making me feel at home.<br />
But now we’re both alone. And I’m scared.<br />
I’m scared that he believed everything I told him; that he has no intention of coming back.</span></p>
<p><span style="font-family: Architects Daughter; font-size: x-large;">Allow me to introduce myself.<br />
My name is Owen McKenna, and I’m furious.<br />
Why, you ask?<br />
Well, because I decided to follow my heart and not my head. Because I didn’t listen to my friends or to their far-fetched theories. Because I left anyway – even when everyone was telling me to stay.<br />
And now she doesn’t want me back. But I want her, desperately.<br />
She’s the woman I’ve been waiting for. She’s incredibly sexy, and can make you laugh, even when you least want to. She’s never let anyone in, apart from me; and when she crumbles into my arms, it makes me feel like the only guy in the world.<br />
But I ruined everything.<br />
I let the L-word slip, and she panicked.<br />
She told me things she didn’t even think – I know that. I know her.<br />
I know that she’s scared, that she doesn’t want to take this risk. But I do. I’m ready.<br />
I’m her exception.<br />
I just need to make her see that, too.</span></p>
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<p style="font-weight: bold; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Architects Daughter; font-size: x-large;"><a href="https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/61496683-the-last-one" target="_blank">Goodreads</a> / <a href="https://amzn.to/3yVBF4R" target="_blank">Amazon</a></span></p>
<p style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Architects Daughter; font-size: x-large;">—</span></p>
<p style="text-align: center;"><strong><span style="font-family: Architects Daughter; font-size: x-large;">EXCERPT:</span></strong></p>
<p><span style="font-family: Architects Daughter; font-size: x-large;">“Ms. O’Donnell.”<br />
“What?”<br />
“My surname. O’Donnell.”<br />
“Mine is…”<br />
“I didn’t ask. I’m telling you mine. You can call me Ms. O’Donnell.”<br />
“Are you serious?”<br />
“Good morning, Ms. O’Donnell. Or good evening, depending on the circumstance.”<br />
“Can I wish you goodnight, too?”<br />
“You’re not helping yourself.”<br />
I laugh. I like winding her up – mainly because she doesn’t flinch.<br />
“Are you telling me I can’t even say your name?”<br />
“Only friends use my name.”<br />
“And I’m not a friend?”<br />
“No.”<br />
“And I’ll never become a friend?”<br />
“Absolutely not.”<br />
“Why not?”<br />
“Because you’ve seen me naked. And usually, friends don’t see each other naked.”<br />
“Is that one of your rules?”<br />
“It’s just become one.”<br />
“A special rule for me?”<br />
“Don’t flatter yourself. You’re not even my type.”<br />
“What is your type?”<br />
“That’s something I don’t share with strangers or acquaintances. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have work waiting for me.”<br />
She slowly walks to the entrance, under my watchful gaze. I can’t help but fixate on the slinky, sensual movement of her hips.<br />
“Ms. O’Donnell?” I call. She stops and looks around at me again.<br />
“I hope you have a great day.”<br />
“I thought it would be. Now I’m not so sure.”<br />
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<p><span style="font-family: Architects Daughter; font-size: x-large;">Author Bio:</span></p>
<p><span style="font-family: Architects Daughter; font-size: x-large;">A. S. Kelly writes Rom-Com, Romantic Fiction and Family Saga.<br />
Avid reader, hopeless romantic, lover of yoga, knitting and home baking.<br />
She was born in Italy but lives in Ireland with her husband, two children and a cat named Oscar.</span></p>
<p style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Architects Daughter; font-size: x-large;"><a href="https://www.authoraskelly.com/" target="_blank">Website</a> / <a href="https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/21195166.A_S_Kelly" target="_blank">Goodreads</a> / <a href="https://www.facebook.com/ASKellyAuthor" target="_blank">Facebook</a> / <a href="https://twitter.com/askelly_writes" target="_blank">Twitter</a> / <a href="https://www.instagram.com/authoraskelly/" target="_blank">Instagram</a> / <a href="https://www.authoraskelly.com/" target="_blank">Newsletter</a></span></p>
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Helenahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06962202331435066843noreply@blogger.com0