Guest Post: “Excerpt from ‘Soldiers of Christ’ by Jon Byrne”

Today, I am pleased to welcome Jon Byrne back to my blog to share an excerpt from his latest novel, “Soldiers of Christ.” I would like to thank Jon Byrne and the Coffee Pot Book Club for allowing me to participate in this blog tour.

There was another cheer from the Semigallians around us. I was too exhausted to feel anything but relief that it was all over. My friends reluctantly went to help collect the dead. 

The infirmarer eventually made it over to where I sat in the snow. Brother Burkhardt was as brusque as ever, examining the swelling around my neck with deft fingers before turning his attention to the wound on my leg. ‘It is heavily bruised, but you will live and walk again. Come and see me when we return to the commandery.’ 

He left as quickly as he had arrived. A little way off, my horse whickered. For a moment, I looked at the sky, watching the circling crows and ravens. Some of the birds were already gorging on the bodies further away from the main site of the battle, squawking and flapping over the pickings. A large group of Semigallians, flushed with victory, gathered about fifty paces from me, looking in my direction. Were our erstwhile allies, almost all of them pagans like the Lithuanians we had just defeated, contemplating treachery? They certainly heavily outnumbered our men. If they turned on us suddenly, we would be in real trouble. 

My heart jumped when one of the Semigallians gestured at me. Misunderstanding his meaning, I glanced quickly over my shoulder to see who he was pointing at, but there was no one else. My apprehension grew when the group began walking towards where I sat. There must have been nearly a hundred of them, and they were all armed with an assortment of axes, spears, and javelins. The rest of my comrades were some distance away, stripping the dead of valuables and piling up the corpses. No one even noticed, and they were too far away to help anyway. As the Semigallians came closer, I came to my feet hurriedly and drew my sword, my heart hammering in my chest. 

The group stopped in front of me. I gripped my sword in clammy hands, but I swiftly realised the tribesmen were not hostile. They were smiling. My attention was grabbed by a small man wearing a blue felt shirt who began to sing and dance. I watched dumbfounded as he cavorted around whilst his comrades began banging their shields with their weapons and chanting. What in the Devil’s name was the man doing? 

‘They are singing a song to honour you,’ Dieter said, suddenly behind me. 

‘You understand them?’ 

‘A little. Remember, I have been here from the beginning.’ 

‘But why me?’ 

‘Because you killed the Lithuanian champion.’ Dieter said. ‘They are proclaiming your courage to one of their Gods… Perkūnas. He is the God of thunder, lightning and war.’ Dieter laughed. ‘And, more suitably, the god of oak trees!’ 

I smiled. The Lithuanian champion had been named Ąžuolas, which aptly meant ‘oak tree’ in their language. The pagans continued their singing and dancing. I watched bemused now rather than uncomfortable, a warm glow flowing through me. It was true… against all odds, I had killed the champion and survived. 

However, I was aware that the scene was attracting attention. More people were looking over in our direction. I saw Wenno and Sighard, both mounted, talking together and frowning. My adversaries, Wolfgang and Gabriel, paused in their work clearing the bodies, pointing at where I stood. 

The crowd of Semigallians parted as Viesthard, their king, pushed his way through. A man behind was carrying something, and he tossed it at my feet. When I saw what it was, I recoiled and stepped back instinctively. It was the Lithuanian champion’s head.  

King Viesthard laughed and said something I didn’t understand. I had seen the Semigallian king a few weeks earlier in the town hall in Riga, and he didn’t look any different now dressed in his battle gear. He wore a large bear pelt fastened by a gold circular clasp fashioned to look like a snake. Around his neck was a chunky chain, and several armbands of silver adorned his lower arms. Viesthard spoke with the man who had been dancing. With a quick movement, he yanked off the thin leather cord from around his man’s neck and gave me the charm that was attached. It was a tiny silver axe.  

‘It is a symbol of their god,’ Dieter said. ‘They honour you.’ He turned as Wenno rode up with Sighard, Berthold, and several other knight-brothers. 

When I look back on this day, nearly forty years later, it is the irony that strikes me most. I was a member of an Order whose duty and mission was to forcibly convert the pagans of Livonia to Christianity, being praised and lauded by other pagans for my bravery in my first proper battle – for killing the pagan champion. They gave me this token, the tiny axe, which I still have today. It also saved my life later, which my story will tell, but I don’t want to get ahead of myself. Suffice it to say, the whole spectacle was a little embarrassing for my comrades, and when Master Wenno turned up, it ended quickly. The Semigallians drifted off to continue looting the remaining bodies, and Viesthard lost interest, probably more concerned with the spoils to be found.  

I just wanted to go home. 

Blurb:  

In a land torn by crusade and rebellion, honour is earned in blood.  

1205. Richard Fitz Simon has fled England after his title was usurped, joining the Livonian Order of Swordbrothers – a German brotherhood of warrior-monks fighting to bring the word of God to the pagan frontier. After slaying the Lithuanian champion at the Battle of Rodenpois, Richard is celebrated by the Order and their Semigallian allies. 

Yet his position remains precarious. Jealous rivals question his right to stand among the brotherhood, and his master, Knight-brother Rudolf, is enraged by Richard’s disobedience. When dark secrets from Lübeck resurface, Richard also finds himself at odds with Bishop Albert, head of the Christian mission in Livonia. As he struggles to reconcile faith, duty, and identity, he is drawn into a brutal world of suspicion and bloodshed. 

Sent on an expedition to build a castle deep in the wilderness, Richard soon sees tensions erupt – and the path he has chosen threatens to destroy everything he has fought to become. 

Buy Links: 

Universal Buy Link: https://books2read.com/u/bz0eaZ  

Google Play: https://play.google.com/store/books/details?id=uQnLEQAAQBAJ 

Kobo: https://www.kobo.com/gb/en/ebook/soldiers-of-christ-1  

Author Bio:  

Jon Byrne, originally from London, now lives with his German family by a lake in Bavaria with stunning views of the Alps. As well as writing, he works as a translator for a local IT company and occasionally as a lumberjack. He has studied the medieval world for over twenty years, building up a comprehensive personal library and a particular interest in the often-overlooked Northern Crusades. 

Soldiers of Christ is Book Two of The Northern Crusader Chronicles, a gritty, historically grounded series focused on realism, moral ambiguity, and the brutal realities of medieval warfare. 

Written for readers who value authenticity and atmosphere over romanticised adventure, the novel explores a largely forgotten crusading frontier, culminating in the first of many confrontations in a harsh wilderness of forest and swamp. 

Readers who enjoy the historical detail of authors such as Bernard Cornwell, Conn Iggulden, or Ben Kane may find familiar ground here. 

Author Links

Website: https://www.jonbyrnewriter.com/ 

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

Amazon Author Page: https://www.amazon.co.uk/stores/author/B0DJC6PL8D 

Goodreads: https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/249448581-soldiers-of-christ 

Guest Post: “Excerpt from ‘Queen of Shadows’ by Anna Belfrage

I am pleased to welcome Anna Belfrage back to my blog to share an excerpt from her latest novel, “Queen of Shadows.” I would like to thank The Coffee Pot Book Club and Anna Belfrage for allowing me to participate in this blog tour.

Alma felt safer the moment she entered her city. One of the guards at the city gate recognised her and asked her to give his regards to her mother. She slowed her pace along the familiar streets, passed by the huge cathedral just as the bells in the Giralda rang out the noon hour, and came to an abrupt stop at the sight of her childhood home. The gates stood wide open, people spilling out from the courtyard within to stand in the street. She pushed her way through, her initial fear that something bad had happened assuaged by the laughter, the loud voices.  

The small patio was crowded with people, and sitting on a chair in the centre was Ramona, her cheeks flushed.  

“Alma!” Abuela greeted her with a hug. “How propitious that you should come today. We are celebrating.” 

One of the women present broke out in song. Several others fell in, some clapping out the rhythm. A song of love, of marriage and future babes, and Alma turned to blink at Ramona, who gave her a smug look. 

“You’re getting married?” Alma asked. 

“I am. The contracts were signed earlier today. I come with an adequate dowry, so Mamá has arranged a good marriage for me.” Ramona smirked. “Not much left for you. Or Nuria.”  

For the first time ever, Alma felt a twinge of jealousy. Not because Ramona was to wed, but because she, Alma, would never have anything to offer someone like Rodrigo.  

“Is he handsome?” she asked. 

Ramona shrugged. “I have not met him. Mamá says he is.” She lowered her voice. “He’s a widower, father of three.” 

“Ah.” Whatever jealousy she’d felt dissipated. “Is he from Sevilla?”  

“No.” Ramona frowned. “He is from Cádiz.” 

So far away!  

“Have you been there?” Ramona asked.  

She had, some years back when Doña Leonor had instead on accompanying the king when he set out to visit both Cádiz and Tarifa, central locations for his plans to one day retake Gibraltar from the Marinids.  

“Mamá says it is a good place to live.” Ramona snorted. “How would she know? She’s never been further away than the Sierra Morena.”  

“It benefits from the sea,” Alma said. “It is never as hot as Sevilla because there is always a breeze.” And it was also very small compared to Sevilla, the protective walls resulting in cramped conditions, but she did not think Ramona needed to hear this. “Is your future husband a caballero?” 

Sí. He now serves the king as a tax collector,” Ramona replied. “Before that, he served the local adelantado for years. He commanded men at the siege of 1333 but was grievously wounded and can no longer ride to war.” She cocked her head. “Mamá says the king should have persisted until he won.” 

“Mamá knows nothing of what it is to be king.” Alma knew, from listening to Doña Leonor, that the king had every intention of retaking Gibraltar, but then, back in 1333, he’d had to break the siege to handle Juan Manuel and his cohorts, who had been happily raiding their way through Castile. Outlaws and renegades, the lot of them! Since then, Juan Manuel had been reined in—until last year, when he’d allied himself with Portugal.  

“No, I suppose she doesn’t. Just as she doesn’t know anything about living in Cádiz.” Ramona sighed. “I won’t know anyone.” 

“You will make friends soon,” Alma told her. “Your husband will be so proud of you and will likely parade you round every plaza, every church.” 

Ramona gnawed her lip. “You truly think so?” 

“You are very pretty.” And also very young, only a year older than Alma. Her husband-to-be had to be at least twice her age if he’d held command in 1333. She dug into her basket and found the pair of ivory hair combs she’d intended to give Mamá. Of Moorish origin, they were old but beautiful. “Here. For the bride-to-be.” 

Ramona gaped. And then she threw her arms around Alma.  

“I bought them for you,” Alma said much later to her mother. “But Ramona—” 

“You did the right thing,” Mamá said. “You made her very happy.”   

 

Blurb: 

She should have stayed in the shadows—but Leonor de Guzmán yearned for the sun. 

Castile in the 1330s is a place of constant turmoil. King Alfonso must contend with the incursions from the Muslim Marinids, eager to reclaim Al-Andalus while struggling with repeated rebellions against his firm rule. 
 

When Alfonso needs respite, he finds it in the arms of his Leonor—the most beautiful woman in the realm. But while he may love Leonor over all others, his lawful wife, Maria of Portugal, is tired of being constantly displaced by the fair Leonor.
 

Leonor loves her man. She gives him healthy sons, a place to be himself. But she is only a mistress, even if Alfonso treats her like a queen. Leonor’s enemies watch and hate. 

Flying too close to the sun comes at a high price. How much will Leonor’s love cost her? 

Based on the true story of Alfonso XI and his complicated relationships to wife and lifelong mistress   

Buy Link: 

Universal Buy Link: https://myBook.to/QofS 

This title is available to read on #KindleUnlimited. 

Author Bio:  

Had Anna been allowed to choose, she’d have become a time-traveller. As this was impossible, she became a financial professional with three absorbing interests: history, romance, and writing. Anna has authored the acclaimed time-travelling series The Graham Saga, set in 17th-century Scotland and Maryland, as well as two equally acclaimed medieval series: The King’s Greatest Enemy, which is set in 14th century England, and The Castilian Saga, which is set against the medieval conquest of Wales. She has also published a time travel romance, The Whirlpools of Time, and its sequel Times of Turmoil, and is now considering just how to wiggle out of setting the next book in that series in Peter the Great’s Russia, as her characters are demanding. . . 

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. 

“A master storyteller. “This is what all historical fiction should be like. Superb.” 

Find out more about Anna, her books, and enjoy her eclectic historical blog on her website, www.annabelfrage.com, where you will also find her post about Alfonso and Leonor:  

Author Links: 

Website: www.annabelfrage.com
X: https://twitter.com/abelfrageauthor
Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/annabelfrageauthor
Instagram: https://instagram.com/annabelfrageauthor
Bluesky: https://bsky.app/profile/abelfrageauthor.bsky.social
Book Bub: https://www.bookbub.com/profile/anna-belfrage
Amazon Author Page: http://Author.to/ABG      
Goodreads: https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/6449528.Anna_Belfrage

Guest Post: “Excerpt from ‘Enheduanna’s Song From The Sands’ by Ellen Rachlin

I am pleased to welcome Ellen Rachlin to my blog today to share an excerpt of her novel, “Enheduanna’s Song From The Sands.” I would like to thank The Coffee Pot Book Club and Ellen Rachlin for allowing me to participate in this blog tour. 

Eight years ago, I was bitten by a desire that I can’t forget. I was seven and with my mother in Azupiranu, the City of Saffron, and Father’s birthplace. We were at the Temple when I had a vision of my paternal grandmother, the former High Priestess, whom I’d never met. Ever since she revealed herself to me, I’ve wanted to be a high priestess too. 

Even my father had no memory of her. Only rarely did my parents speak of her. And I never received a good answer to how a high priestess could give birth to a mortal son. High priestesses are married to gods. They aren’t supposed to have children. 

I assume that’s why she gave father away. She tried to protect him by sending him downriver alone in a sealed basket. Akki, the royal gardener of Kish, found Father at the riverbank and raised him. When Mother brought me to Azupiranu on holiday, I believe she was looking for him. She’d lead me along a sloped embankment to the Euphrates riverbank where Father’s journey to Kish began. 

On that long-ago trip to Azupiranu, when I was steeped in grief, my grandmother appeared to me. It was on the day before Mother’s, and I was to return home to Agade. A cooling breeze from the East set in as we arrived at grandmother’s old Temple. She lived in the giparu where usually only the High Priestess and priestesses can enter. But on this day, Mother and I were permitted inside. She tugged my hand, and I followed her across the sacred courtyard, stepping lightly on my toes with my head tilted upwards, taking in the tops of the carved stone archways. 

The current High Priestess received us in her golden throne room and invited us to spend the night. Mother was allowed to climb to the mountain house, the highest point of the Temple, to spend the night. It’s the room closest to the gods, at the meeting place of Heaven and Earth. Mother left me all alone below in the care of the priestesses. 

As she ascended all three of the mountain house’s sacred platforms, she slipped away from me, becoming smaller and smaller. I stood at the base, and tears escaped my eyes. She told me that she was going to pray to Ninurta, the god of farming and healing. 

For several hours, I barely spoke to the priestesses. They chattered at me as they led me through the temple rooms and grand kitchens. All I could think of was that Mother didn’t allow me to go with her to touch the Heavens. I vowed that one day I would serve as high priestess at a temple with a grand mountain house. Then I would decide who was permitted to enter it. But that same night, the Heavens came to me. I saw a woman who looked as familiar to me as my own face. But she was more beautiful with a narrower nose and fuller bottom lip than mine; her dark almond-shaped eyes were the same. She sat on a small curved throne, enveloped in brilliantly colored woven fabrics. One shawl, the color of the morning sun, covered her head, grazed her shoulders, and flowed down her back. She called me to 

her. I could sense her breath. I moved closer, just close enough to stare at her curiously familiar face. 

Perhaps because she was speaking to a child, her words were slow and cautious. It took some moments for me to take them in, so I don’t recall her first words. But their meaning I understood—it was a warning that women are doomed to be forgotten and that I should take advantage of my blessed birthright, tell my story, and defend the beliefs of our people. I remember her asking me, “Do you understand me?” 

Maybe because I dreamed of being a high priestess as Father intended, serving Inanna, I remember her exact words that followed: “Great men have epics pressed into tablets and live on as the gods do. High priestesses who commit their lives to the gods are forgotten. Gilgamesh and your father remembered—you and I forgotten.” 

When she spoke about the legendary king, Gilgamesh, and Father, and the scores of tablets that tell their stories, her words seemed true. Her voice became louder, more insistent, “Study history. Learn how to write so you can tell your story and achieve immortality like great men and gods.” 

I’ve told no one, not even Mother, about this. At first, I wanted something all my own that night when Mother wouldn’t let me join her. Then, I put the vision aside, but not my desire to become a high priestess and climb the mountain house whenever I wished. 

Until recently, I had almost forgotten about that vision of my grandmother. 

Blurb: 

Discover the untold story of Enheduanna, the world’s first named author, as she navigates power, betrayal, and divine destiny in ancient Mesopotamia. A mesmerizing fusion of history, myth, and female leadership that challenges how we see the past—and ourselves.

A high priestess dethroned. A rebel with a dangerous plan. One empire hanging by a thread.

When Enheduanna is named High Priestess of Ur, her connection to the gods makes her a target. Lugalanne’s coup strips her of robes, power, and home, casting her into the perilous underworld. There, amid forests of shadows and treacherous trials, she discovers that divine favor alone won’t save her—only cunning, courage, and a willingness to embrace the ruthlessness of her enemies can restore her.

Drawing on history and myth, Enheduanna’s Song From the Sands follows the world’s first named author as she fights to reclaim her voice and her destiny. Political intrigue, betrayal, and divine tests collide as Enheduanna must decide whether to forgive, to fight, or to harness the power that could shake the foundations of an empire. For readers who love The Song of Achilles’s intimate heroism, Circe’s mythic depth, or The Daughters of Sparta’s fierce women, this is a mesmerizing dive into ancient Mesopotamia where courage and cunning are the only paths to survival. 

Buy Link: 

Universal Buy Link: https://books2read.com/u/472x5R  

Author Bio

Ellen Rachlin’s poetry has appeared in American Poetry Review, Comstock Review, Granta, Court Green, Literary Imagination, and various anthologies.  She has published two collections of her poems, Until Crazy Catches Me (Antrim House, 2008) and Permeable Divide (Antrim House, 2017), winner of the 2018 IBPA Benjamin Franklin Silver Award.   

She has a historical fiction novel, Enheduanna’s Song From the Sands, based on the life of Enheduanna, the Akkadian high priestess and world’s first-named author, forthcoming from Histria Books, and a collection of poems, At the Big Bang Resort, forthcoming from Red Hen Press. 

She is also the author of two chapbooks, Waiting for Here (Finishing Line Press, 2004), a finalist in the New Women’s Voices series, and Captive to Residue (Flarestack Publishing, 2009).  She received her MFA from Antioch University.  She serves as Treasurer of The Poetry Society of America and is a partner at Blue Leaf Ventures.  

Other writing genres include numerous textbooks and journal articles on the subject of finance and investing with various publishers, including Wiley. 

Author Links: 

Website: https://www.ellenrachlin.com/  

Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/people/Ellen-Rachlin-author/61583923434907/  

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

Amazon Author Page: https://www.amazon.com/stores/Ellen-Rachlin/author/B002LFQWRM  

Goodreads: https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/8068457.Ellen_Rachlin  

~~~ 

Praise for Enheduanna’s Song From The Sands (optional): 

In finely detailed prose, Ellen Rachlin brings Enheduanna, daughter of Sargon, to life, as well as the mythic figures of Inanna and Ereshkigal of the Underworld. Enheduanna’s Song From the Sands is filled with conflict and intensity, each quest, not only a matter of achieving power, but of life and death.” 

~Regina McBride, author of Stranger from Across the Sea 

Ellen Rachlin’s sumptuously detailed debut novel Enheduanna’s Song From the Sands tells the remarkable true story of the ancient high priestess Enheduanna. Rachlin guides us through the intrigues, secrets, spies and wars of Enheduanna’s times, bringing this gifted woman and the goddess she served to life.  What’s so singular about this heroine?  Daughter of a king, a spiritual leader, and a poet, she signs her hymns with her own name.  In Enheduanna’s Song From the Sands, the first known author in Western recorded history is a gutsy woman!  Thanks to Rachlin’s imagination and rich research, I fell in love with Enheduanna and relished her anguished and opulent story.”  

~ Molly Peacock, Author of The Paper Garden: Mrs. Delany Begins Her Life’s Work at 72 

Enheduanna’s hymns to the goddess Inanna are the first known literary works to name an author. Rachlin brings her to life in this novel set in 2300 BCE, a novel of sex, war, love, a baby in a basket, and a woman creating a new order of being. It’s historical fiction writing that reminds the reader of Hilary Mantel; you can’t put it down.  You want to follow the priestess to bed, to rise, to her last fighting breath. Rachlin won’t let you put this book down.” 

~Kate Gale, author of Under a Neon Sun and Swimming the Milky Way 

I could not put this book down! As a history buff, I always love reading historical fiction, and this book was so amazing. Reading Enheduanna’s struggle and overcoming hardships as a high priestess were so inspiring and intriguing to read about. If you loved books like The Song of Achilles than you would love this book as well.”
– Elda Rastoder Net Galley Reviewer 

I’m OBSESSED. This is a rich and beautiful story of stepping into power and making hard decisions, told with a wonderful, brilliant voice perfect for its historical setting. The blend of intense drama, action, and conflict/reflection with oneself and the world around was executed so well. I really liked the addition of the footnotes and references because they tied this fantasy story in with real history; that was a smart addition. I fell in love with Enheduanna and the ancient high priestess’ intricate story, and I simply could not put this book down. I’d recommend this book to anyone who loves ancient history and feminist retellings of true stories.” 

~ Seeta Net Galley Reviewer 

A historical fiction about an almost forgotten but formidable high priestess in Ancient Mesopotamia. Enheduanna is the daughter of the king Sargon, and has been destined to become high priestess since receiving visions of a goddess from a young age. After a brutal SA on her journey, her desire for power turns hungry from wanting revenge. She experiences isolation, punishing rebels, and mastering her intimidation. Learning that seeking divine power is not the way, she begins to once more find alignment with values and creation, which led her to become high priestess in the first place. Tracing the course of Enheduanna’s rise to power, many important aspects of Mesopotamia 2300 BCE mythology and Enheduanna’s life are explored. Enheduanna was such a powerful FMC in this book and woman in real life, I’m truly so grateful to have learned about her. Ellen Rachlin’s writing captures the powerful and divine moments of Enheduanna’s life and suspends them before you so you may be there right alongside.” 

~ Morgan ARC reader 

Enheduanna’s Song from the Sands is a historical fantasy surrounding the life and actions of Enheduanna, the daughter of Sargon the Great and High Priestess of Ur, a powerful religious and business leader who lived approximately two thousand years before Virgil. Ellen Rachlin entwines her history with myth in a novel about the world’s first named author, who finds herself the focal point of conflict, transformation, and choices surrounding an extraordinary power rising in ancient Mesopotamia. 

From the start, the first-person story builds an evocative, compelling scenario that draws readers with passion and insight: 

Inanna, supreme in Heaven and Earth, ruler over all gods, I beg of you: restore me to my temple, bring me home! In the ancient city of Ur, I no longer breathe the salty air, lift myself from the sacred bed, or unravel Ningal’s dreams for my followers. The southern stars have slipped away from me; Now I walk the thorny brush of the northern mountainside. As I sing your blessed song, I am dying. 

A host of equally memorable characters enter Enheduanna’s life and chambers, from Darda, the son of Purushanda’s former king, to her mother and father, Sargon and Tashlultum, Uanna and Nidintu, women who are part of a core circle Enheduanna thinks she can trust, and others from different sides of an evolving rebellion. 

Enheduanna tries to fulfill her destiny, but often winds up feeling isolated and uncertain: 

…in this forest of knowledge, the faces of some of my closest friends are becoming increasingly obscured.” 

As Enheduanna faces riots, rebels, and intrigue, her world comes to life with a host of social, political, and personal issues; all of which she navigates with authority and, sometimes, uncertainty: “I fear we’re losing real ground to our enemy.” 

Suffused with rage, she then documents the history of her world in vivid detail that readers will find engrossing and realistic. 

Librarians and readers seeking a story of ancient history come to life will find Enheduanna’s Song from the Sands rich with detail, personalized by the protagonist’s reflections as she steps into her power and makes difficult choices. 

Filled with dramatic action and confrontations with self as well as the outside world, Enheduanna’s Song from the Sands will appeal both to leisure readers and scholarly students of ancient times. The former will appreciate the high drama and personal touches; the latter the footnotes and references which cement events and fantasy in a layer of real history. 

An important footnote by the author clarifies why this novel should be in any serious collection of women’s history, as well as in fantasy and historical fiction holdings: 

I stumbled across Enheduanna while researching Sargon the Great. No one I knew, including poets, had ever heard of her or her hymns. When I began to uncover what was more broadly known about Enheduanna, it astounded me that the first-named author in history was not only a virtual unknown, but a woman who lived in a male-dominated culture.” 

~ Diane Donovan, Midwest Review, on recommended reading list

Guest Post: “Excerpt from ‘Infidel-The Daughters of Aragon’ by Nicola Harris”

I am pleased to welcome Nicola Harris to my blog today to share an excerpt from her novel, “Infidel-The Daughters of Aragon.” I would like to thank Nicola Harris and Yarde Book Promotions for allowing me to participate in this blog tour.

Excerpt

Juana:

The shade beneath the lemon tree was cool, and Maria sat cross-legged, fists clenched, watching Juan with a hawk-like intensity. He was twelve now and fancied himself a man. Today, he was pretending to be the High Inquisitor.

Two page boys knelt before him, wrists bound with garden twine. Juan strutted before them, robes billowing, although it was only a velvet curtain stolen from the nursery, pinned together with Isabel’s sewing pins. He raised a stick like a sceptre and proclaimed their heresy with theatrical solemnity.

Catalina dozed in my lap, her breath warm against my arm, fingers curled into my bodice. Beside me, Isabel’s needle hovered mid-stitch.

‘I wonder,’ she murmured, ‘if Alfonso and I will still like each other now we’re grown.’

I brushed a curl from Catalina’s brow. ‘You speak perfect Portuguese, and you were fond of each other as children. By the time you’re Queen of Portugal, you’ll know your place, what your duties are, and your husband. That’s more than most brides can say.’

Isabel smiled faintly. ‘I know. But I’d rather not spend my life with someone dull. He used to laugh at my jokes.’

‘He will,’ I said. ‘You’re more mature now, but still amusing. That’s rare.’

She laughed softly. ‘Rare, but not romantic.’

‘Do your nightmares still wake you in the night, Isabel?’

‘Sometimes,’ She said, ‘but the fear of childbirth is natural for a new bride. Don’t you think?’

A cry split the air. One of the page boys gasped, face drained of colour. Juan had looped the twine around his neck and was pulling, not in play, but with grim, frightening fury.

I lurched to my feet, jolting Catalina awake. She wailed. ‘Maria! Fetch Mother!’

Dropping to my knees, I prised Juan’s hands from the boy’s throat. He resisted, flushed with triumph. The boy collapsed, coughing, tears streaming down his cheeks.

Juan sneered. ‘He is a false converso. He deserves it.’

‘He is a child!’ I spat, clutching Catalina to my chest. ‘What are you doing, Juan? Have you run mad? The boy is a servant and in your household. It’s.’

Maria sprinted across the scorched lawn. Moments later, Queen Isabella swept in, skirts flying, rosary clutched in her hand. She entered like a thunderclap.

‘Juan! Stop this at once!’

He dropped the twine but stood tall. ‘I was only doing what they do in the real trials.’

‘My angel,’ she said, voice trembling, ‘you mustn’t hurt people. Sometimes you are such a child, and the next so adult.’

Rage surged through me. ‘Do you think making children watch burnings will make us kind mother? Children turn the horror they see into games to try to make sense of it. Don’t you know that?’

Her eyes snapped to mine. Before I could brace, her hand struck my cheek. The sound rang through the garden like a bell.

I staggered. Catalina woke suddenly and screamed in my arms. Isabel dropped her embroidery.

‘You teach us cruelty, Mother, and call it justice,’ I said, voice shaking. ‘And now you’re surprised when it takes root in your son?’

Isabel slipped away before the storm could break. Juan sulked beneath the lemon tree, proud and silent. Catalina’s sobs softened into hiccups against my shoulder. My cheek burned, but the fire in my chest was fiercer. 

The page boy had been carried off, pale and trembling. Only the Queen stood rigid, fury barely contained, rosary clenched in her shaking hands.

‘You taught him this,’ I said, low but steady. ‘And now you’re shocked when he acts it out. I’m surprised you still have shackles enough for all the so-called heretics you have burned.’

She stepped closer, voice trembling. ‘We must protect Christians from conversos who cling to their old ways. They light candles on the Sabbath, refuse pork, and bury their dead with straight arms. They mock our faith.’

I shifted Catalina to my hip. ‘You do know Jesus was a Jew, don’t you? He will not approve of you garroting his people.’

She ignored me, pacing. ‘The Jews turn their beds to the wall before death. They bury their dead in Christian soil but follow Jewish rites. It is heresy. Defiance.’

‘Is that why you dig up the dead? To burn their bones? Do you hear how mad that sounds? People will think you are as insane as Grandmother.’

Her hand twitched but did not strike. ‘Your grandmother is not insane. Her stepson betrayed her. She withdrew from the world because she was wise. And the conversos, they are Judaizers. They spread their beliefs among good Christians.’

I shook my head. ‘Most noble families in Castile and Aragon have Jewish blood. Judges, priests and even notaries were once Jews. Perhaps some cling to old customs. But so do the uneducated masses. You must stop the radical priests who whip up hatred. Your people are turning on each other.’

She lifted her chin. The Church deals with heresy through inquisitions. It always has.’

I looked at her, my mother, my queen, and I felt the distance between us stretch like a chasm. Catalina stirred, and I held her tighter.

‘You were seen, Juana,’ she said. Spitting out the host. The body of Christ. In front of the priest, before God.’

I turned slowly. ‘Yes. I spat it out.’

She gasped. ‘You desecrated the sacrament. You insulted the Church.’

‘I refuse to lie,’ I said. ‘I do not believe in your God who demonises the Jews. My Jesus is different from yours.’

Her shoulders tensed. ‘Why do you defend God’s enemies?’

‘Because it’s the truth.’

Her eyes narrowed. ‘You speak as if you know better than the Church.’

‘I speak as someone who has seen greed cloaked in a cassock,’ I snapped. ‘You know how it is, a woman covets her neighbour’s silver, so she calls her neighbour a heretic, and then she can take all the silver and her neighbour’s house too. Conversos denounce their own brothers and sisters because they are poor and desperate. They cry “Judaiser!” and watch the men of the Inquisition drag them away. That is your justice, Mother!’

She stepped forward, voice trembling. ‘They betray Christ. They cling to old rites. They mock our sacraments, and all the time they pretend to be one of us.’

‘No,’ I said. ‘They have to pretend to survive, and you have let poverty become a weapon. You let envy masquerade as piety. You let the Church burn the innocent because someone wanted a gold cup or their debts forgiven.’

Her hand twitched again.

‘You think you’re clever,’ she said. ‘You think you know everything, but you are just young and naive.’

‘I have seen enough,’ I said. ‘Enough to know fear and greed do more harm than any secret prayers.’

She turned away, swinging her rosary like a flail. ‘You will go to your rooms. You will stay there until you are ready to kneel, confess, and take communion.’

I laughed a long, bitter, and hollow laugh.

Her face darkened, ‘This is not a joke.’

‘No,’ I said. ‘It is a tragedy. You torture your people in public squares and burn children at the stake. You arrest the richest Jews, seize their property, and call it holy. And now you want me to swallow a wafer and call it God. I won’t. I will not kneel. Not for fear. Not for show.’

She pointed toward my apartments, then turned and left without another word.

And I stood in the silence, knowing I had made an enemy of my own blood.

Blurb:

Born in the glittering courts of Castile and Aragon and forged in the shadow of war, Catalina de Aragón grows up surrounded by queens, rebels, and explorers. She is her mother’s last daughter, the final jewel of a dynasty built on conquest and faith, and the one child Isabella of Castile cannot bear to lose.

 

But destiny has already claimed Catalina.

 

Promised to Prince Arthur of England since childhood, she is raised to bind kingdoms, soothe old wounds, and carry the hopes of an empire across the sea. Yet, Spain fractures under rebellion, grief, and the ruthless zeal of its own rulers.

 

From the burning streets of Granada to the storm-lashed Bay of Biscay, Catalina and her sisters must navigate a treacherous path shaped by ambition, betrayal, and the dangerous love of men who fear the power of queens. She learns to read cyphers, to read hearts, and to stand unbroken even as her childhood is stripped from her piece by piece.

 

And when she finally sails for England armed with her mother’s lessons, her father’s steel, and the ghosts of the Alhambra at her back, Catalina steps into her fate not as a girl, but as a force.

 

A princess.

A survivor.

A daughter of Aragon.

Infidel is the story of a young woman raised for greatness and destined to reshape the fate of nations. This is Catalina, as she has never been seen before. She is fierce, vulnerable, and unforgettable.

A sweeping, intimate portrait of sisterhood, survival, and the making of a dynasty, Infidel reveals the hidden lives of a woman whose courage shaped the Tudor world.

Buy Link:

Universal Buy Link 

https://books2read.com/u/4AZDEJ

 Read with #KindleUnlimited

Author Bio:

 

Nicola Harris

 

I’ve always been a writer, but it was only when illness forced me to stop everything that I finally had the time to write a novel. After decades of misdiagnosis, I learned I was born with a serious genetic condition, not rare, but profoundly misunderstood. The clues were there from birth, and suddenly, a lifetime of struggle made sense.

 

Writing became my lifeline: a way to step beyond my pain, to shape my experience into a story, and to find meaning where there had once been only endurance.

 

I have a lifelong love of children, Counselling, and Psychotherapy Theory and history.

 

Social Media Links:

 

Website: https://nicolaharrisauthor.com/

Instagram: https://instagram.com/@nicola_harris_author

Twitter / X: https://x.com/@harris_nic59544

Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/people/Nicola-Harris-Author/61580352386417/

Bluesky: https://bsky.app/profile/nicolaharrisauthor.bsky.social

 

Pinterest: pinterest.com/NicolaHarrisAuthor

Amazon Author Page: https://www.amazon.co.uk/stores/Nicola-Harris/author/B0FQ39YKGF

Goodreads: https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/59955210.Nicola_Harris

 

Guest Post: “Excerpt from ‘Love Lost in Time’ by Cathie Dunn”

Today, I am pleased to welcome Cathie Dunn to my blog to share an excerpt from her novel, “Love Lost in Time.” I would like to thank Yarde Book Promotion and Cathie Dunn for allowing me to participate in this blog tour.

 

Excerpt:

From Chapter 2:

The feast of Easter, AD 777

Carisiacum, Neustria, Kingdom of the Franks 

Shaking off her thoughts, her gaze drifted to her father, a close adviser to the king. Although older than Charles by a score years, Milo, count of Vaulun, could hold his own, looking resplendent in a fine silk tunic, a simple, yet beautifully carved leather belt, and his aristocratic face with a slightly long nose and dark-blue eyes. 

Bursting with pride, Hilda regarded her father, now talking at ease with a young man of a darker hue, clearly of Visigoth heritage, with his black hair falling over strong shoulders, bright eyes, and a moustache reaching to his chin. There was something uncivilised about him. Shivers ran down her spine when he laughed at something her father said and patted him on the back. They raised their cups and took deep draughts of wine. Her father’s complexion reddened as the spirit took effect. She smiled.

“Lady…”

Rolling her eyes in mock annoyance, Hilda jumped out of the maid’s way again. This time, the girl carried a tray bearing two large bowls and several loaves of freshly baked bread, which she deposited in front of King Charles and other strategic places on the grand table, before she rushed back past Hilda with an apologetic smile.

“Nanthild! Daughter!” Father’s voice reached her. He waved her over. Disappointment hit her briefly, as she had enjoyed watching the preparations from the side. Hilda did not crave the attention that other girls here present cherished.

As she crossed the room to join him, the eyes of the young man by her father’s side never left her. It unnerved her a little – she was unused to male attention – and her heart beat a solid drum in her ears. 

“My dear daughter, come,” her father said affectionately, his eyes full of joy, as he bid her sit on a stool beside him. Turning to the young man who was on Hilda’s other side, he added, “I will be lost without her. She has been looking after me well since my wife, her mother, passed away.” 

A frown shrouded his features briefly at the memory, and she wanted to reach out to him, but refrained. Eight years earlier, her mother had died giving birth to her only brother, who himself had only survived for a sennight. Both Hilda and her father had felt their loss strongly, and the count had thrown himself even more into diplomacy and warfare for the king.

“I’m sorry to hear,” the young man responded solemnly, his voice a low hum. “We have seen so much death and sadness, too, including the loss of my parents last summer.”

Nodding, Hilda kept staring at the table, uncertain how to react.

“Here, let me…” The stranger filled a goblet with wine and handed it to her. 

She looked at him from under her lashes. “I thank you, lord.” She raised it and took a small sip. The pungent scent of berries and grapes blurred her senses, and the full taste of even the one sip made her head spin. 

“’Tis strong, this wine they brought up from Septimania.” Her father laughed. “But you will get used to it, daughter.”

She carefully placed the goblet onto the table, trying not to reveal her trembling hand, and pulled her brows together before risking a glance at him. What did he mean? Father was overly cheerful, his demeanour jovial. She saw contentment in his features as he gazed at her. And relief. 

Her heart froze. Had he not said earlier he ‘would be lost’ without her? 

Blurb:

A reluctant daughter. A dutiful wife. A mystery of the ages.

Languedoc, France, 2018

Historian Madeleine Winters would rather research her next project than rehash the strained relationship she had with her late mother. However, to claim her inheritance, she reluctantly agrees to stay the one year required in her late mother’s French home and begins renovations. But when she’s haunted by a female voice inside the house and tremors emanating from beneath her kitchen floorboards, she’s shocked to discover ancient human bones.

The Mediterranean coast, AD 777

Seventeen-year-old Nanthild is wise enough to know her place. Hiding her Pagan wisdom and dutifully accepting her political marriage, she’s surprised when she falls for her Christian husband, the Count of Carcassonne. But she struggles to keep her forbidden religious beliefs and her healing skills secret while her spouse goes off to fight in a terrible, bloody war.

As Maddie settles into her rustic village life, she becomes obsessed with unraveling the mysterious history buried in her new home. And when Nanthild is caught in the snare of an envious man, she’s terrified she’ll never embrace her beloved again.

Can two women torn apart by centuries help each other finally find peace?

Love Lost in Time is a vivid standalone historical fiction novel for fans of epoch-spanning enigmas. If you like dark mysteries, romantic connections, and hints of the paranormal, then you’ll adore Cathie Dunn’s tale of redemption and self-discovery. 

Praise

“From the richness of Charlemagne’s court and the regret of a daughter, as she stands over her mother’s grave, to the realisation of an enemy and a skeleton under the kitchen floor, Love Lost in Time: A Tale of Love, Death and Redemption by Cathie Dunn is the unforgettable story that traverses two very different times.”

The Coffee Pot Book Club, 5* Editorial Review

“The narrative is ripe with emotions as two independent women are pulled in unexpected directions… Both landscapes are beautifully penned for readers to easily get lost in. Additionally, the storylines are engaging, and each helped bring a satisfying conclusion to the other. An enjoyable tale about love, sacrifice, and self-discovery.”

Historical Novel Society

“The historical details are beautiful, and a book which could easily feel oppressively sad is cleverly lightened with the use of romance and a satisfying ending. Well written and easy to read, the historical side may be a little more compelling, but the contemporary details add a layer that cannot be ignored!”

In’DTale Magazine

“In Love Lost in Time, Ms Dunn creates a fascinating balance between a tragic love story set in the Visigoth empire of the eighth century, and a very modern historian on a quest to find her own personal history in picturesque Languedoc…

Thoroughly researched and beautifully told, both stories complement each other in narrative power and colourful scene-setting; and in the dual narrative, the main characters are compelling – each a product of destiny and following their fate, regardless of the cost.
Fans of Kate Mosse will relish this book…”

Discovering Diamonds Reviews

Buy Link:

Universal Buy Link: https://books2read.com/u/mq7DM9

https://mybook.to/LoveLostTime 

This book is available on #KindleUnlimited.

Author Bio:

Cathie Dunn

Cathie is an Amazon-bestselling author of historical fiction, dual-timeline, mystery, and romance. She loves to infuse her stories with a strong sense of place and time, combined with a dark secret or mystery – and a touch of romance. Often, you can find her deep down the rabbit hole of historical research…

In addition, she is also a historical fiction book promoter with The Coffee Pot Book Club, a novel-writing tutor, and a keen reviewer on her blog, Ruins & Reading.

After having lived in Scotland for almost two decades, Cathie is now enjoying the sunshine in the south of France with her husband, and her rescued pets, Ellie Dog & Charlie Cat. 

She is a member of the Historical Novel Society, the Richard III Society, the Alliance of Independent Authors, and the Romantic Novelists’ Association.

Social Media Links:

Website: https://www.cathiedunn.com

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

Twitter / X: https://x.com/cathiedunn

Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/cathie.dunn1

Bluesky: https://bsky.app/profile/cathiedunn.bsky.social

BookBub: https://www.bookbub.com/authors/cathie-dunn

Amazon Author Page: https://www.amazon.com/stores/Cathie-Dunn/author/B005IHAXH0

Goodreads: https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/5066224.Cathie_Dunn

Guest Post: “Excerpt from ‘The Witch of Godstow Abbey’ by Lady Harriet & Dr. Peter Stephenson”

 

I am pleased to welcome Lady Harriet and Dr. Peter Stephenson to my blog to share an excerpt from their novel, The Witch of Godstow Abbey. I would like to thank Lady Harriet, Dr. Peter Stephenson, and The Coffee Pot Book Club for allowing me participate in this blog tour.

Excerpt

From Chapter 2 – A Garden’s Secret

The abbess sat in her chambers, reviewing the abbey’s ledgers. Sister Agnes entered without waiting for the novice outside to announce her.

“My child! What urgency drives you to burst in so?”

“I must tell you what I’ve found, Mother. It is deeply troubling.”

“Then speak, Sister.”

“The piglets did not die by the blade alone. They were prepared first with a potion—I suspect monkshood, judging by the blue tint of their lips and tongues. Before death took them, the executioner drew their vital essence through a small puncture wound near one of the great vessels. Finally, he cut their throats — not as a killing blow, but to bleed them wholly, leaving not a drop of life-humour behind.”

“A sacrifice to the Devil, then?”

“Yes, Mother. I believe that this is the work of those who serve the Enemy.”

Blurb:

A widowed academic investigating strange historical practices gets drawn back in time and into the year 1299 in Oxford. Join a cast of compelling characters-nuns, novices, and outsiders-as they battle the forces of darkness. Enter their struggle against evil, clandestine organizations. Join their life-threatening fight to protect each other, be willing to die for each other, and occasionally fall in love.

Will heroic love and righteous pursuit of justice triumph? Will the horror-inducing villain be found out and overthrown? Or will the courageous troop of those fighting for what is good be overpowered and taken captive?

Set in Oxford, England, in the year 1299, a struggle takes place between the sisters of the local convent and a strange, terrifying local evil society. They discover a secret organization of men who perform unspeakable deeds. The lives of several sisters are in danger.

Join Mother Alice, Sister Agnes, and Isabel, along with Lady Beatrix and Lady Harriet, as they confront and do battle with an evil, secret society intent on attacking them, taking over the convent, and sacrificing a young woman.

If you love stories that keep you turning pages while imparting fascinating accounts of the past, this latest mystery in the “Murders in the Abbey” series will tingle your spine.

Praise for The Witch of Godstow Abbey:

‘Richly atmospheric and quietly gripping, “The Witch of Godstow Abbey” is a worthy addition to your bookshelf.’
~ Yarde Book Promotion, 5* Editorial Review

Buy Link:

Universal Buy Link: https://books2read.com/u/3ylMyB

Author Bios:

Lady Harriet holds the legal title “Lady of the Manor,” as defined under English law, and traces her ancestry to Charlemagne’s royal line.

A lifelong reader and devoted genealogist for nearly fifty years, Harriet has always had a passion for stories, whether they are buried in the past or found in the pages of a good book. She is the co-author of We Are Manx, a self-published family saga that explores her Manx heritage and the history of the Isle of Man in rich detail.

She’s also a photographer who prefers being behind the lens, a word lover addicted to word games, and a fan of wooden jigsaw puzzles. She has traveled extensively, with a deep appreciation for history, diverse cultures, and the unexpected joys that can be found away from home. Her career spanned volunteerism, real estate, and systems administration, but now she happily devotes her time to more creative pursuits.

As she puts it: “I’m old enough for Medicare, but not quite old enough to get a birthday card from King Charles—were I a Brit.”

The Witch of Godstow Abbey, written in partnership with Dr. Peter Stephenson, marks her first (but certainly not last) foray into historical fiction. With photography, she creates books of images; with storytelling, she creates images made of words.

Dr. Peter Stephenson has written or contributed to over twenty books, all but one of which are non-fiction technical books. He has published over 1,000 papers in technical journals, technical trade journals, and peer-reviewed legal journals. One of his peer-reviewed papers has over 15,400 downloads.

In addition to writing, Dr. Stephenson has been playing blues and Americana music for 70 years. It is through that performing, and after earning a PhD from Oxford Brookes University, that he was given the appellation “Doc” by the owner of one of his performance venues.

Having visited Oxford several times and being employed by a UK company in nearby Malvern, it was only natural that he would set his tales in Oxfordshire. His academic experience in Oxford town sealed the deal and resulted in his first historical novel, The Whispering Dead of Rewley Abbey—Book 1 in the “Murders in the Abbey” series—which reached the Amazon Kindle bestseller list and won a Pencraft award for literary excellence in the winter of 2025. He now writes with his collaborator and writing partner, Lady Harriet.

Dr. Stephenson lives with two Savannah cats on a pond in Auburn Hills, Michigan. Starting a “new” career at the age of 80, Doc reckons that he has only about the next 20 years to finish the series and retire – again – perhaps this time to Oxford.

Author Links:

Website: https://murdercanbefun.net/
Historium Press author pages:
Lady Harriet https://www.historiumpress.com/lady-harriet
Dr. Peter Stephenson https://www.historiumpress.com/peter-stephenson
Facebook: The Lady and The Doc https://www.facebook.com/profile.php?id=61577829971728
Instagram: https://www.instagram.com/theladyandthedoc/
Amazon Author Page: Lady Harriet: https://www.amazon.com/stores/Lady-Harriet/author/B0FVTKJ8D2
Dr. Peter Stephenson: https://www.amazon.com/stores/Peter-Stephenson/author/B0B5LXPG15
Goodreads: https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/52609869.Peter_Stephenson

 

Guest Post: “Excerpt from ‘Therein Lies the Pearl’ by Catherine Hughes”

I am pleased to welcome Catherine Hughes to my blog today to share an excerpt from her latest novel, “Therein Lies the Pearl.” I would like to thank The Coffee Pot Book Club and Catherine Hughes for allowing me to participate in this blog tour. 

Excerpt

Her voice lifted in confusion. “Father?” 

Margaret had been breathing in the musky smell of the woodlands and the flowering anemone that lined their path when she saw her father’s body, as it was positioned in the saddle, tilt further and further toward the side. 

That morning, the family had left the inn and began traveling toward Favreshant, following a path made fragrant by the flowers and plants newly opened for spring. The weather did much to improve Margaret’s spirits as the sun shone brightly upon them from a clear, blue-domed sky. An occasional puffy cloud floated across the heavens, but never did it linger long enough to diminish the warmth that embraced her. Walking with a bemused smile upon her face, Margaret surrendered to the charms of the countryside, relishing in the way the light accentuated the many shades of green that colored the leaves, the bushes, and the flower stems. A random look toward the front of the cavalcade snapped her pleasant daydream when she noticed the rider near the head of the train—her father—was about to fall. 

Abandoning her usual sauntering walk, she broke into enormous strides, trying to close the gap between her father and herself. The rapid turnover of her feet upon the soil alarmed the flock of yellowhammers who had been flitting about the blossoms. To escape the disruption, they rose higher and hovered above, waiting for the 

tumult to settle. 

“Father!” 

Her shout coincided with the loud thud of his body landing on solid ground, his head coming to rest in a patch of wildflowers. 

Before Margaret reached him, she could see Gerhard was already there. He had carefully removed young Edgar from the saddle and then ran toward Edward, dropping to his knees for closer inspection. 

Margaret skidded to a halt and took the same posture on the other side of her father’s fallen body. Hesitantly, she repeated again, “Father…?” 

His lips parted, but no sound issued forth. 

After a quick glance in her direction, Gerhard moved closer to Edward, placing one hand beneath his master’s neck and bringing his own closer. “Edward! Edward, can you hear me?” Nothing. “Blink your eyes if you can hear me.” Gerhard’s voice cracked with worry, his usual composure gone. Because Gerhard had leaned so closely over her father’s head, Margaret had to slide further up toward his shoulder to be able to see whether or not her father had comprehended Gerhard’s words. 

To her relief, she saw his eyelashes flutter—he understood! He was still there, he was still with them! 

Gerhard continued. “Can you move your legs, my lord? Your arms? Just blink to let me know if you still have some control over your limbs.” 

The words hung in the air as other people soon gathered around the group of three upon the ground. Margaret heard Edgar sniffling somewhere outside the circle and felt Harold, the priest, and his two brothers glaring down upon them from their seats. None of them had dismounted; instead, they surrounded the trio like a band of 

highwaymen waiting to pounce on an unsuspecting victim. To Margaret’s dismay, her father’s eyelids did not flicker. 

She studied Gerhard and watched the changing color of emotion move across his face—from confusion to concern, from fear to speculation, from suspicion to anger. When they both noticed the parting of her father’s lips, their hopes lifted. Together, she and Gerhard leaned in closer. 

Her father’s eyes remained open but unfocused, and he whispered gently, more so to the air than to them. “No … feeling …my legs. My feet… cannot feel them… cannot move them… nothing there.” 

Gerhard was about to respond, but stopped when he saw Edward gather his breath once more. Unable to inhale deeply, he spoke in shallow exchanges. “Dizzy … since morn…could not get… legs…to keep hold … of the horse… chest feels … full… crushed.” He paused here for a lengthier break.  

Margaret could feel her eyes welling up, her lashes wet with moisture.  

“Cannot… take …. in … air.” With his gaze still focused at some point in the far distance, he whispered in a hushed tone, “Twas… foul… play.” Silence, and he moved no more. 

Margaret felt tears stinging her eyes. They burned her skin as they tumbled down her face until they left small, individual droplets of water on her father’s tunic. She watched as Gerhard placed his hand over Edward’s face, his fingers gently extending to close each eyelid. 

Tiny bright-blue flowers with yellow centers formed a soft, decorative pillow where his sleeping head lay. Reminded of Jesus’ promise when he created these delicate blossoms, Margaret trusted that the Blessed Virgin would watch over her father’s soul. And she also knew that her father—like the flower itself—was urging her to “forget-me-not.”

Blurb: 

Normandy, 1064   

Celia Campion, a girl of humble background, finds herself caught in a web of intrigue when Duke William commands her to work as his spy, holding her younger sister hostage. Her mission: to sail across the sea to Wilton Abbey and convince Margaret, daughter of Edward the Exile, to take final vows rather than form a marriage alliance with the newly crowned king to the North, Malcolm III of Scotland. Preventing a union between the Saxons and Scots is critical to the success of the Duke’s plan to take England, and more importantly for Celia, it is the only way to keep her sister alive.   

In this sweeping epic that spans the years before and after the Conquest, two women from opposite sides of the English Channel whisper across the chasm of time to tell their story of the tumultuous days that eventually changed the course of history.  As they struggle to survive in a world marked by danger, loss, and betrayal, their lives intersect, and they soon come to realize they are both searching for the same thing–someone they can trust amidst the treachery that surrounds them.   

Together, their voices form a narrative never before told.  

Buy Link: 

Universal Buy Link: https://books2read.com/u/bolgZa  

Author Bio

Award-winning writer Catherine Hughes is a first-time author who, from her earliest years, immersed herself in reading. Historical fiction is her genre of choice, and her bookshelves are stocked with selections from ancient, Medieval, and Renaissance Europe as well as those involving New England settlements and pioneer life in America. After double-majoring in English and business management on the undergraduate level, Catherine completed her Master’s degree in British literature at Drew University and then entered the classroom, where she has been teaching American, British, and World Literature at the high school level for the last thirty years. 

 

Aside from teaching and reading, Catherine can often be found outdoors, drawing beauty and inspiration from the world of nature. Taking the words of Thoreau to heart, “It is the marriage of the soul with nature that makes the intellect fruitful,” Catherine sets aside time every day to lace up her sneakers and run with her dog in pre-dawn or late afternoon hours on the beaches of Long Island. When her furry companion isn’t busy chasing seagulls or digging up remnants of dead fish, she soaks in the tranquility of the ocean setting, freeing her mind to tap into its deepest recesses where creativity and imagination preside. 

 

In Silence Cries the Heart, Hughes’s first book, received the Gold Medal in Romance for the Feathered Quill 2024 Book of the Year contest, the Gold Medal for Fiction in the 2024 Literary Titan competition, and the 2024 International Impact Book Award for Historical Fiction. In addition, the Historical Fiction Company gave it a five-star rating and a Silver Medal in the category of Historical Fiction Romance. The book was also featured in the February 2024 Issue 31 of the Historical Times magazine and was listed as one of the Best Historical Fiction Books of 2024 by the History Bards Podcast. Therein Lies the Pearl is her second venture into the world of historical fiction. 

 

Author Links

Website: www.catherinehughesauthor.com  

Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/cathy.hughes.5036 

Instagram: https://www.instagram.com/cathyhughes22/  

Amazon Author Page:    

https://www.amazon.com/stores/Catherine-Hughes/author/B0CJT8MXR6  

Goodreads: 

https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/49501263.Catherine_Hughes 

Guest Post: “Excerpt from ‘The Will of God’ by Julian de la Motte”

I am pleased to welcome Julian de la Motte to my blog to share an excerpt from his novel, “The Will of God.” I would like to thank The Coffee Pot Book Club and Julian de la Motte for allowing me to be part of this blog tour.

Excerpt:

And so there had been, far more than a ‘little something’ in fact. Grandesmil was carrying in his panniers documents that entitled him to vast swathes of new lands in the Cotentin, and he was carrying in his head visions of the likely reaction to William’s death of certain of his more immediate family. And thus, to Robert, his eldest son: The boy had been with the King of France for four years now. Kept on a short leash and harboured by William’s greatest enemy, a boy caught in rebellion and open defiance of his father. To Robert, then, full pardon and restitution and the bestowing of the Duchy of Normandy for himself, but no Crown of England.

And thus, to Odo, his half-brother. A man so steeped in sin and villainy and treachery that he could no longer personally enjoy his former high estate. While he languished under close but comfortable confinement for his unchurchly crimes, the bounty of Kent, his bishopric of Bayeux, and a score of other properties and estates had gone, untasted by him and savoured by others. To Odo, then, forgiveness and a return of all his former glories and previous estate. To his problematic and scandalous second son William, called Rufus for his red hair and high complexion, the great prize of the Kingdom of England itself and all that it brought, good and bad. To Henry, his youngest and avaricious son, the sum of the weight of five thousand pounds of silver, to make of it what he would.

It was ever the fate of younger sons to make of themselves what they could. That, after all, was what the wild lands of Spain, of Italy, and Sicily and the possessions of the Byzantines were for, so that determined men with horses and swords could take and make of them what they could. But the strange and cold and calculating boy would not embark upon the world empty-handed.

Blurb: 

“Deus Lo Vult!” 

Gilles is the natural son of the Earl Waltheof, executed by William the Conqueror for supposed treachery. Raised in Normandy by Queen Matilda of England, Gilles is a young servant of Robert, Duke of Normandy, when the first call for a Holy War against the infidel and the liberation of Jerusalem is raised in Christendom. Along with thousands of others, inspired by a variety of motives, intense piety mixed with a sense of adventure and the prospects of richness, Gilles becomes a key and respected follower of the Duke of Normandy and travels through France and into Italy to the point of embarkation for Constantinople and the land of the Greeks. 

In this epic first phase of a long and gruelling journey, Gilles begins to discover a sense of his strengths and weaknesses, encounters for the first time the full might and strength of the Norman war machine and achieves his much coveted aim of knighthood, as well as a sense of responsibility to the men that he must now lead into battle. 

The Will of God is the literal translation of the Latin phrase “Deus Lo Vult,” a ubiquitous war cry and a commonly offered explanation of all the horrors and iniquities unleashed by the First Crusade of 1096 to 1099, when thousands of Europeans made the dangerous and terrifying journey to the Holy Land and the liberation of Jerusalem. It is the first of two books on the subject. 

Praise for The Will of God: 

“De la Motte has superpowers as a writer of historical fiction; he’s a warhorse of a writer bred to stun and trample the literary senses. You won’t stop turning the pages of The Will of God.”  

~ Charles McNair, Pulitzer Prize nominee and author of Land O’Goshen 

Buy Link: 

Universal Buy Link:  https://geni.us/uXe6u  

Author Bio

Julian de la Motte is a Londoner. He graduated from the University of Wales with a degree in Medieval History. He was further awarded a Master of Arts qualification in Medieval English Art from the University of York.  

 

He studied and taught in Italy for nearly four years before returning to the U.K. and a career as a teacher, teacher trainer, and materials designer before taking up a new role as the Director of Foreign Languages and of English as a Foreign Language. 

 

Married and with two grown-up children, He is now extensively involved in review writing and historical research, primarily on medieval history. 

 

The Will of God” [the first of two books on the subject of the First Crusade] is his third novel. 

Author Links

Website: www.historiumpress.com/julian-de-la-motte  

Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/julian.delamotteharrison.3  

Amazon Author Page: https://www.amazon.com/stores/author/B08XWMRPYK  

Goodreads: https://www.goodreads.com/author/list/20873400.julian_de_la_Motte  

 

 

Guest Post: “Excerpt from ‘ Try Before You Trust: To All Gentlewomen and Other Maids in Love’” by Constance Briones

I am pleased to welcome Constance Briones to my blog today to share an excerpt from her novel, “Try Before You Trust: To All Gentlewomen and Other Maids in Love.” I would like to thank Constance Briones and The Coffee Pot Book Club for allowing me to be part of this blog tour.

Excerpt:

On a brisk September morn in the ninth year of Queen Elizabeth’s reign, I arrived at the Bramwell House, the London estate of Lady Bramwell, a widowed baroness and my new mistress. The fiery hue of the red brick facade made the house seem indestructible as it stood bold and vibrant in the late morning sunlight on the bank of the Thames. I counted eight chimney stacks and forty mullioned windows with diamond-shaped glass and mused whether I would find friend or foe within. 

 

As I gazed at the gables and corner turrets, my sisters’ sweet laughter reverberated in the cool breeze that swept across my cheeks. How they twirled and giggled with delight when my mother promised that, like me, when they reach the age of eighteen, they too will venture from home to work for a grand lady, acquiring superior housewifery skills that would help them snag a well-bred gentleman. 

 

Blurb: 

What if Taylor Swift found herself penning songs about love in Elizabethan England when women were required to be chaste, obedient, and silent? 

Isabella Whitney, an ambitious and daring eighteen-year-old maidservant turned poet, sets out to do just that. Having risked reputation and virtue by allowing her passions for her employer’s aristocratic nephew to get the better of her, Isabella Whitney enters the fray of the pamphlet wars, a scurrilous debate on the merits of women. 

 

She’s determined to make her mark by becoming the first woman to write a poem defending women in love, highlighting the deceptive practices of the men who woo them. Her journey to publication is fraught with challenges as she navigates through the male-dominated literary world and the harsh realities of life in sixteenth-century London for a single woman. 

Loosely based on the life of Elizabethan poet Isabella Whitney, this is a compelling tale of a young woman’s resilience and determination to challenge the status quo and leave her mark in a world that was not ready for her. 

Buy Link: 

Universal Buy Link: https://books2read.com/u/3Jly0J  

Author Bio: 

Constance Briones has a Master’s in Woman’s History, which informs her writing. 

She first learned about the subject of her debut historical fiction novel, the sixteenth-century English poet Isabella Whitney, while doing research for her thesis on literacy and women in Tudor England. Isabella Whitney’s gusty personality to defy the conventions of her day, both in her thinking and actions, impressed Constance enough to imagine that she would make a very engaging literary heroine. 

As a writer, Constance is interested in highlighting the little-known stories of women in history. She is a contributing writer to Historical Times, an online magazine. When not writing, she lends her time as an educational docent for her town’s historical society. 

She contently lives in Connecticut with her husband and Maine coon sibling cats, Thor and Percy. 

Author Links

Facebook: www.facebook.com/constancebrionesauthor  

LinkedIn: www.linkedin.com/in/constance-briones-a55a9168 

Pinterest: www.pinterest.com/constancebrionesauthor  

Amazon Author Page: www.amazon.com/stores/author/B0CPX8T7CB/about 

Guest Post: “Excerpt from ‘The Agincourt King’ by Mercedes Rochelle”

PWIzRwyKI am pleased to welcome Mercedes Rochelle back to my blog to share an excerpt from her novel, “The Agincourt King.” I would like to thank Mercedes Rochelle and The Coffee Pot Book Club for allowing me to be part of this blog tour.

THE CABOCHIEN REVOLT IN PARIS 

There was no doubt that France was in turmoil. King Henry IV of England wasn’t even cold in his grave at Canterbury Cathedral when a fierce rebellion broke out in Paris. As usual, King Charles VI had sunk into insensibility and the city simmered uneasily, agitated by John the Fearless, the Duke of Burgundy. Private and public accusations were aimed against the king’s ministers, and the most threatened among them started to leave town for the safety of the provinces. But another consideration had arisen to complicate matters. Louis the Dauphin had reached his sixteenth year and was poised to take on the regency while his father was incapacitated. Already he was chafing under Burgundy’s authority… 

Although today Burgundy was in charge, he was concerned about Louis the Dauphin. To control the heir to the throne, he had arranged a marriage between Louis and his daughter Margaret. Unfortunately, the union was not working out. The lad showed a disturbing independence and tended to reject his wife whenever possible. It was time to teach him a good lesson.  

It didn’t take long to devise a plan. Duke John secretly conversed with Governor Jacqueville (who happened to be the chamberlain) and others of his household. As he conveniently withdrew, the citizens worked themselves into another frenzy under the urging of their governor. Jacqueville mounted a platform and held up his hands for attention. 

“I have a list of traitors the Dauphin harbours under his protection,” he shouted. “They seek to strip you of your rights and privileges. We must take them prisoner! See here, the Duke of Bar is your enemy, and the Dauphin’s chancellor Jehan de Vailly. We must arrest the queen’s brother Duke Louis of Bavaria, members of her household, and her ladies in waiting. I have the list here!”  

Jacqueville waved a paper over his head. He was about to say more when a burly citizen mounted the platform. The crowd cheered and he recognized this man, a well-known mischief-maker who was popular with the people. He was dressed as a common workman, with a swarthy face and hair that stuck up like a brush. He strutted across the platform like he owned the place. 

“I am Simon Caboche, to those who do not know me,” the newcomer called out to much laughter. “I am a skinner of the ParisBoucherie and leader of our butcher’s guild. Follow me to the Hôtel de Guyenne, where we will have a parley with the Dauphin.” He pulled out a white hood—chaperon—from under his belt. “All those who are with me, here is our badge!” And to the governor’s amazement, most of the Parisians had a white hood, too. Who was playing into whose hand?   

Giving Jacqueville a meaningful look, Caboche took charge and led a shouting mob to the Dauphin’s hôtel. By the time they reached the Rue St. Antoine, they were six thousand strong and growing. The men guarding the door didn’t even try to interfere. While the Parisians surrounded the hôtel, the leaders pushed their way inside.  

“Where is he?” bellowed Caboche at the first servant he saw. The man backed against the wall. “Where is the Dauphin?” 

The poor servant blubbered in terror, and Caboche growled at him before continuing down the hall. Two old women carrying linens were just coming out a door when the butcher pointed at them. “Take us to the Dauphin!” he demanded. Looking at each other, the servants froze. 

“Come, friends,” he said more gently. “We won’t hurt you. We need to speak to the Dauphin.” 

One of the women pursed her lips and then gave her bundle to her companion. Jerking her head, she led the intruders to the Dauphin’s private apartment. Nodding his thanks, Caboche shoved open the door with a slam, surprising Louis while he was conversing with the Duke of Bar. 

Louis sprang awkwardly to his feet. “What is the meaning of this?” he cried in an unsteady voice. Unfortunately, the Dauphin did not inspire confidence and he knew it. His short frame was overweight, heavy, and slow. He was already known for keeping late hours and general laziness. Fond of excessive jewellery and rich clothing, he relied on the trappings of royalty to sustain his fragile dignity.  

Caboche stepped forward, flanked by his closest associates. He did not remove his white hood. “Our most redoubted lord,” he said, his voice barely respectful, “I have come with my fellow Parisians, who require, for your welfare and your father’s, that you deliver up certain traitors who are now in your hôtel.”  

Recovering his nerve, the Dauphin was filled with anger. “This is absurd. What you demand is impossible. There are no traitors in this hôtel.”  

“That is not true. I see them right before me.” Caboche nodded toward his victims and some of his men leapt across the room, grabbing the Duke of Bar by the arm; others seized the Dauphin’s chancellor. While Louis turned around in apprehension, his wife screamed. She had thrown her arm around one of his valets, trying to hold him back from two of the butchers who yanked him loose. Another servant was thrown to the floor.  

“Stop this!” cried Louis.  

Caboche gave him a sideways grin. “If you are willing to give them up,” he said, “well and good. Otherwise, we will take them right before your face and punish them as they deserve.” 

“I command you to let them go!” shouted the Dauphin. “My affairs are none of yours.” 

Jacqueville stepped up beside the butcher. “Monseigneur, this is very much our business. You have been badly misled, and your behaviour is that of a spoiled young man. You are sorely in need of correction.” 

“Get out of my sight!” cried the Dauphin. “Guards, help me! Guards!” 

Alerted by the shouting, several of the Dauphin’s men rushed into the room and threw themselves onto the intruders, who enthusiastically fought back. But no sooner had the scuffle begun when the Duke of Burgundy pushed his way into the room, shouting for order. His own men bore halberds and quickly interceded, pushing the antagonists apart. The Cabochiens, as they already called themselves, grouped together, still hanging onto their prisoners.  

Louis whirled around, pointing at his father-in-law. “This is your doing,” he growled. “These are your men. One day you will regret this. I won’t always be under your thumb.” 

LgQJ75mEBlurb:  

From the day he was crowned, Henry V was determined to prove the legitimacy of his house. His father’s usurpation weighed heavily on his mind. Only a grand gesture would capture the respect of his own countrymen and the rest of Europe. He would follow in his great-grandfather Edward III’s footsteps, and recover lost territory in France. 

Better yet, why not go for the crown? Poor, deranged Charles VI couldn’t manage his own barons. The civil war between the Burgundians and Armagnacs was more of a threat to his country than the English, even after Henry laid siege to Harfleur. But once Harfleur had fallen, the French came to their senses and determined to block his path to Calais and destroy him. 

By the time the English reached Agincourt, they were starving, exhausted, and easy pickings. Or so the French thought. Little did they reckon on Henry’s leadership and the stout-hearted English archers who proved, once again, that numbers didn’t matter when God was on their side. 

Buy Links: 

This title is available to read on #KindleUnlimited. 

Universal Buy Link: https://books2read.com/u/mq70Ze  

0S8YcxEYAuthor Bio:  

Mercedes Rochelle is an ardent lover of medieval history and has channeled this interest into fiction writing. Her first four books cover eleventh-century Britain and events surrounding the Norman Conquest of England. The next series is called “The Plantagenet Legacy” and begins with the reign of Richard II.  

She also writes a blog: www.HistoricalBritainBlog.com to explore the history behind the story. Born in St. Louis, MO, she received by BA in Literature at the Univ. of Missouri St.Louis in 1979 then moved to New York in 1982 while in her mid-20s to “see the world”. The search hasn’t ended! 

Today she lives in Sergeantsville, NJ with her husband in a log home they had built themselves. 

Author Links

Website: https://mercedesrochelle.com/  

Blog:  https://historicalbritainblog.com/  

Twitter / X: https://x.com/authorrochelle  

Facebook:  https://www.facebook.com/mercedesrochelle.net  

Book Bub: https://www.bookbub.com/authors/mercedes-rochelle  

Amazon Author Page:  https://www.amazon.com/stores/Mercedes-Rochelle/author/B001KMG5P6  

Goodreads: https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/1696491.Mercedes_Rochelle