tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-26594621706862926002024-03-14T01:44:26.454-07:00Books & More BooksUnknownnoreply@blogger.comBlogger116125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2659462170686292600.post-85915142860359316432014-05-18T03:08:00.002-07:002014-05-18T03:08:28.121-07:00The Downstairs Maid<br />
Hi, I just popped in to tell you about my new book from Ebury Publishing.<br />
<br />
The Downstairs Maid/ Rosie Clarke<br />
<br />
The story of a young girl growin up at the beginning of the twentieth centrury, happy on her father's smallholding despite being poor until she is sent to work at the Manor as a skivvy. Can Emily rise above her situation and shoot for the stars? She finds love as the First World War rages around her but can she take her happiness?<br />
<br />
Enjoy!<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhIlkfaeZve6IDhgiZHJETG9l69ogJIjIrfHUX6O3dy2oSf6Ilo3O4GBvVM2FYeWV_gIPzmmRzVaLvbE-mDlqhru1LcFI_wcu1-FE-1uo5pR-BRxcjwafH6n4TQTeHJpnvnHDmrPC3gLDF0/s1600/519Zh5pIL3L__AA160_.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" closure_lm_383361="null" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhIlkfaeZve6IDhgiZHJETG9l69ogJIjIrfHUX6O3dy2oSf6Ilo3O4GBvVM2FYeWV_gIPzmmRzVaLvbE-mDlqhru1LcFI_wcu1-FE-1uo5pR-BRxcjwafH6n4TQTeHJpnvnHDmrPC3gLDF0/s1600/519Zh5pIL3L__AA160_.jpg" yta="true" /></a></div>
<br />
<br />
<br />
Emily could hear the row going on downstairs and she stuck her fingers in her ears, burying her head under the pillows to shut out the angry words. It was warm in her bed, because she had two wool blankets and a thick eiderdown filled with duck feathers, and the sheets smelled of lavender. At night when it was cold out, she liked to burrow right down into her soft mattress, pull the covers over her head and disappear into her own world. In Emily’s secret world she could be whatever she wanted to be – a princess living in a castle with jelly and cake for tea every day. Or a lady in a fine house with a big diamond ring like Miss Concenii had – or…there Emily’s imagination ran out, because she knew so little of the world. The Vicar spoke of foreign lands sometimes, but the stories he told didn’t seem real but more like the fairytales in the old books Pa sometimes brought home for her to read. Pa was always bringing some treasure home for Emily. Usually, the bits of glass and china were chipped or cracked.<br />
<br />
<br />
‘I can’t sell them like that, Em’ lass,’ he would tell her, taking her on his knee to explain that the latest find was Derby or Coalport or Worcester porcelain and the glass cranberry or Bristol Blue or perhaps a very early Georgian wineglass with a spiral stem. ‘If they were perfect they would be worth money – this scent bottle has a silver top, see – look at the hallmarks; that little lion means it’s proper English silver and the leopard’s head means it was made in London and that one is the date letter. See those four letters; they’re the maker’s marks but they’re a bit worn and I can’t see, but there’s a feel to this piece. That was made by a good silversmith that was and I’m not going to scrap it even if it would bring in a couple of bob. If this was perfect it would be worth at least two pounds, perhaps more – but the cap is dented, the stopper is broken and the glass is chipped. I wouldn’t get more than a shilling.’<br />
<br />
‘I don’t mind,’ Emily said and hugged him. ‘I love it, because it is pretty and I don’t care that it’s damaged.’<br />
<br />
She thought she would like to learn all the silver hallmarks but Pa didn’t know them all. He needed a reference book, so he’d told her. Emily decided that one day, when she had lots of money, she would buy him one, to say thank you for all he gave her<br />
<br />
Pa nodded and kissed the top of her head. ‘That’s right, lass. Always remember when you buy something to buy quality. If it’s damaged it will come cheap and that way you can afford things you’d never otherwise be able to own.’<br />
<br />
In Emily’s eyes the fact that her father had given her the treasure and took the time to explain what it was, where it was made and what it was for, meant more than the item itself. She liked to be close to Pa, to smell his own particular smell and feel safe in his arms. Emily knew her father loved her. She wasn’t sure if her mother even liked her, though sometimes she would smile and tell her to fetch out the biscuits or cakes, though she more often received a smack on the legs than a kiss.<br />
<br />
The row seemed to go on for longer than usual that night. Driven at last by a kind of desperate curiosity, she crept down the uncarpeted wooden stairs, avoiding the one that creaked, to stand behind the door that closed the stairs off from the kitchen. Because it wasn’t shut properly, Emily could hear what her parents were saying.<br />
<br />
‘But you’re his only relative,’ Ma said and she sounded almost tearful. ‘It isn’t fair that he should leave everything to that woman.’<br />
<br />
Pa’s tone was calm and reasonable, the same as always. ‘Miss Concenii has been with him for years and nursed him devotedly this last year. The lawyer said he changed his will two months ago. I was the main beneficiary in the first one – most of the money and the house and contents…but then he changed it.’<br />
<br />
‘And we know who’s behind that, don’t we?’ Ma said in a sullen tone. ‘She must have guided his hand. I told you to go and see him. I would have had him here and looked after him myself if you’d bothered to do something about it - but you're always the same. You just leave things and now we’ve been cheated out of a fortune.’<br />
<br />
‘You don’t know that,’ Pa said. ‘He probably thought she deserved the house and money for putting up with him all those years.’<br />
<br />
‘She guided his hand that’s what she did. You should go to court and get your share.’<br />
<br />
‘He left me fifty pounds, a set of chessmen in ivory and ebony, a mantel clock and a Bible – and he left Em a ring. I’ve got it in my pocket…’<br />
<br />
‘She can’t have that, it’s too valuable,’ Ma said. ‘Give it to me. I’ll look after it for her until she’s older.’<br />
<br />
Emily wanted to call out that the ring was hers. She was frightened her mother would take it and sell it, but her father was speaking again.<br />
<br />
‘I’ll just keep it for her. Albert left you this, Stella…’<br />
<br />
Emily heard her mother give a squeak of pleasure. Obviously, the bequest had pleased her. Emily craned forward to peep round the door and look. She could see something on the kitchen table. It flashed in the light and she thought it must be diamonds, though there were blue stones too.<br />
<br />
‘That’s sapphire and diamond that is,’ Pa said. ‘It’s a brooch, Stella – and worth a few bob.’<br />
<br />
‘I can see that but it’s not worth as much as a house – and three hundred pounds. Think what we could have done with all that, Joe. You’ve been cheated of your fortune but you haven’t the sense to see it.’<br />
<br />
‘Even if I have there’s no proof,’ Pa said. ‘She made sure of that – the doctor signed to say Albert was in his right mind when he made his last will…’<br />
<br />
‘And what did he get out of it I wonder!’<br />
<br />
Ma was in a right temper. Emily turned and went back up to her bedroom. She ran across the stained boards and jumped into bed. Her feet had turned cold standing on the stairs listening to her parents and her mind was full of pictures that troubled her. What had Miss Concenii done to poor Uncle Albert to make him sign his house and most of his money and possessions over to her?<br />
<br />
Emily’s eyes stung with tears that trickled down her cheeks. She didn’t mind much that they wouldn’t be rich. Fifty pounds sounded a lot to her and she was curious about the ring Pa was keeping for her – but she hoped Uncle Albert hadn’t been made unhappy when he was ill. She felt sad for him having his hand guided and she felt sad for her father, because he’d lost his fortune.<br />
<br />
Joe Carter worked hard from early in the morning to late at night, mucking out the horses and the cows, milking and watering and feeding the stock. His was only a small farm and he eked out a scarce living from his pigs, cows, ducks and chickens. He had one ten acre field put down to arable, which he alternated between barley, rye, wheat and potatoes, with a patch for vegetables for the house. He worked alone most of the time, though there was a lad of sixteen who came to help with the jobs he couldn’t manage alone. Bert was a little slow in his head but strong and a good worker. No one else would employ him, because he couldn’t be left to do a job alone, but Pa gave him a shilling now and then and he was always hanging around the yard, grinning at nothing in particular and eager to help. Because he was harmless and would do anything, Ma tolerated him and if there was nothing else for him to do she asked him to chop the logs for her.<br />
<br />
When Pa had nothing much to do on the land he went out buying the things other people threw away. He had a barn filled almost to the rafters with old furniture. Ma said it was all junk, but Emily had seen some things she thought looked nice.<br />
<br />
Pa had shown her some chairs with turned legs and a wide carved splat at the back, which he said were Georgian. He’d told her they were quality when new, but he’d only got five of a set of six and two of them had broken legs. One day he hoped to mend the legs but he was always looking for a single chair that would match the set – because a set of six was worth a lot more than five.<br />
<br />
Best of all Emily liked the selection of silver bits, china and glass that Pa kept in a cabinet in the barn. She liked the delicate silver jug with a shaped foot Pa said was Georgian, the little enamelled snuff or pill boxes with pictures on the lids – and the silver box that opened to reveal a singing bird. That was lovely and Emily would have loved to own it, but Pa had to sell his nice things because there wasn’t enough money coming in from the land. He’d talked of having a shop in Ely one day, but Ma told him he was daft because he could never afford to pay the rent.<br />
<br />
If Pa had got Uncle Albert’s house and money he could have bought a shop. Perhaps then Ma and Emily wouldn’t have had to hide from the tallyman ever again.<br />
<br />
Hope you enjoyed the excerpt!<br />
<br />
Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2659462170686292600.post-28186062950279063692013-11-12T06:03:00.001-08:002013-11-12T06:03:38.949-08:00New Regency<br />
<br />
A small taste of my new short Regency<br />
A Bride for the Wicked Earl/Linda Sole<br />
enjoy!<br />
On sale at kindle 97p<br />
<br />
<br />
‘Damn him to hell!’ Julian, newly created Earl of Larchester on his father’s death, swore softly as he heard the terms of the late earl’s will. ‘It’s where he deserves to burn for eternity for this.’<br />
<br />
<br />
The young woman sitting just behind him, in the large drawing room, drew her breath sharply, causing Julian to turn and look at her, a mocking gaze in his cool blue eyes. He was a handsome devil, spoiled from birth by his doting mother and accustomed to having his own way, his dark hair softly waving back from a patrician forehead, his mouth deceptively soft and generous, but above all sensuous.<br />
<br />
‘Don’t worry, Cressy,’ he drawled. ‘I have no intention of bowing to this iniquitous document. It cannot be legal. I am heir to Larchester and all that it entails, and even my father cannot stop me inheriting both the title and the estate.’<br />
<br />
The elderly lawyer cleared his throat and looked uncomfortable as he peered over his gold-framed spectacles. ‘Forgive me, my lord,’ he said in a voice that trembled slightly. ‘The terms of your late father’s will apply to his personal fortune – and that he is at liberty to withhold if you refuse his last request.’ <br />
<br />
Julian scowled at the lawyer, his mouth becoming a thin line of anger. ‘How can this be? Are you telling me that all the money was his personal fortune? His fortune must have come from the estate. He has no right to withhold it from his heir.’<br />
<br />
‘Forgive me, my lord,’ Mr Bartlet said. ‘I begged him to reconsider what he was doing but he would not. He said that you had defied him in life but would not do so in death. His money came from…I hate having to disclose this to you, my lord – but your father invested heavily in…textile mills in the north of the country, and that is where he made his money…’<br />
<br />
‘He must have used money from the estate to begin the business and thus in law, the mills must form part of the estate…’<br />
<br />
‘No, my lord. Your father more than repaid to the estate any money he may have used to set up his business empire – but he told me that it came from the prize money he received when he left the army after your grandfather’s death. As you may know, the estate was then on the brink of collapse; it was your father’s hard work that rescued it and due entirely to his efforts that you still have…’ Mr Bartlet’s words died on his lips as the new earl gave him a slaying look. ‘Forgive me. I know this is hard to accept, but you must marry within six months or your father’s personal fortune goes to his ward, Miss Cressida Harding.’<br />
<br />
‘What if I refuse to accept it, or choose to give it to Julian?’ Cressy asked from behind him.<br />
<br />
‘If you refuse the bequest it passes to a distant cousin of the late earl. You cannot pass the money to Lord Julian…unless you become his wife within the six months, of course.’<br />
<br />
Julian cursed, stood up and moved to look out of the window. Without turning his head, he said, ‘That isn’t going to happen. Cressy wouldn’t have me – it would be a match made in hell for both of us. This is iniquitous!’ He turned to glare at the unfortunate lawyer. ‘Is there no way this can be broken, sir?’<br />
<br />
‘I regret, none.’<br />
<br />
‘Damn him to hell!’<br />
<br />
Julian sent one of his father’s favourite Chinese porcelain vases smashing to the floor in his rage. How dare his father make such an outrageous will? They had quarrelled frequently in the years before Julian had left home to take up a life in the army. The late earl had cancelled his allowance, forcing him to manage on his pay as an officer and the competence left to him by his maternal grandfather. The late Lord Henry Larchester had vowed that he would bring his heir to heel, after Julian’s scandalous affair with the young wife of the late earl’s friend.<br />
<br />
He could recall the mocking look in his father’s eyes the day they had parted.<br />
<br />
‘You will be sorry for the disrespectful way you have behaved to me, Julian. Lord Brock was my oldest and dearest friend. You knew that – and yet you seduced his wife and made him look a fool…’<br />
<br />
‘He managed that all by himself,’ Julian had drawled in reply.<br />
<br />
He had not even tried to tell his father of the young bride’s despair at being forced into marriage with a man old enough to be her grandfather…of the unkindness she’d received at her husband’s hands, or the way she had cast herself into his arms in tears. None of it would have mattered or been listened to by the man who thought himself so righteous that only his opinion was worth consideration. No, Julian would not bend to a man who had caused such misery to the mother he’d adored…the woman who had died when Julian was no more than ten of a broken heart. The late Lord Henry was a cold bitter man, and Julian would have none of him when he reached the age where his maternal grandfather’s legacy made him independent.<br />
<br />
Casting aside the painful memories, Julian turned to look at the lawyer, who was shuffling his papers.<br />
<br />
‘Forgive me, sir,’ he said in the cool polite tones the world expected of him. ‘I should not have inflicted my temper on you and the present company…’ His servants had melted away after hearing of their own small bequests, leaving only the three of them. ‘Cressy, my apologies.’<br />
<br />
‘I do not blame you,’ she said, her soft brown eyes looking at him with sympathy. ‘I would give you the money if I could, Julian.’<br />
<br />
‘No, why should you?’ he said, a wintry smile flitting across his face. ‘Would you mind leaving us alone for a while? I must discover just how I stand.’<br />
<br />
‘Certainly. Will you come to me in the parlour later, Julian? I should like to speak to you too.’<br />
<br />
‘Of course.’ He inclined his head, watching as she left the room, her rich silk gown swaying as she moved gracefully, her head held proudly. Cressy was no beauty, but he’d always liked her, thinking of her as the sister he’d never had. ‘Now, sir…’ Julian turned to Mr Bartlet. ‘Please explain to me how I stand exactly…’<br />
<br />
‘The house and estate are both yours,’ the lawyer said. ‘Your father took out a mortgage of ten thousand pounds last year, but with interest it has accrued to nearer twelve. He made no attempt to either pay the interest or repay the loan…’<br />
<br />
‘No doubt deliberately,’ Julian frowned. ‘Can I not reclaim that sum from his private fortune?’<br />
<br />
‘I fear not, my lord. The loan was made to the estate – it was to buy some one thousand acres of land…’ Mr Bartlet cleared his throat. ‘It is not arable land, my lord, or indeed much use for grazing. It lies up north somewhere in the region of your father’s mills. I do not know what he planned for it. My investigations appear to show that it is a wasteland of gorse and unfit for anything as far as I can see. I cannot see what possessed him to borrow money to buy it…’<br />
<br />
‘Can you not?’ Julian’s mouth hardened, his eyes like chips of ice. ‘I see his reasoning perfectly. ‘Had the estate not been encumbered by debt I might have easily managed to turn things around here, despite his deliberate neglect of the past ten years or more.’<br />
<br />
‘My lord, I must protest…’ Mr Bartlet’s eyes fell under Julian’s angry stare. ‘If such a thing could be proved in law…deliberate malice against his own heir…what kind of man would do such a thing?’<br />
<br />
‘My father,’ Julian said, a cool smile on his mouth. ‘He hated me, sir. My father thought me evil, a vain spendthrift who would waste his fortune – a hardened rake who seduces innocent young women…’<br />
<br />
‘Surely, my lord…’ the lawyer could not meet his eyes. ‘I do not believe his lordship hated you.’<br />
<br />
‘Do you not, sir?’ Julian laughed softly. ‘Have you not heard the stories? I am sure Society abounds with them. I am a gambler and a rake – and I break hearts. Come, surely you have heard the stories.’<br />
<br />
‘Well, yes, my lord. I have heard them but I do not…I have never truly believed them, for I remembered you as a kind and generous young man.’<br />
<br />
‘That was before I changed,’ Julian murmured. ‘Before I quarrelled with my father and understood just why he hated me so much…’<br />
<br />
‘I do not understand, sir – why did your father hate you? What had you done that was so terrible?’<br />
<br />
‘I was born,’ Julian drawled. ‘I think that was sin enough for my father.’<br />
<br />
Turning away, Julian thought about that last quarrel with his father – the revelation that had made him vow never to set foot in this house until the late earl was dead. The dreadful words that had passed between them, the wicked accusation made about his mother, would never leave him, nor would the burning hatred those words had instilled in him be forgotten.<br />
<br />
‘I hardly think…’ Mr Bartlet faltered unable to continue. ‘This is terrible for you, sir. I wish I might help you – but a rich bride is all I can suggest…’<br />
<br />
‘Marry an innocent woman for her money, as my father did?’ Julian’s eyes flashed with temper. ‘Lord Henry took my mother’s inheritance and used it for this estate – and that is the only reason I want it, because her son is owed…if it were not for that I would let it be sold to the first buyer…’<br />
<br />
‘Sir…it is usual for a woman’s fortune to pass to her husband…’<br />
<br />
‘Be that as it may, for him to claim that his fortune was founded on prize money is a lie. I’ve known about the mills for years – my mother knew about them and she told me before she died that he had used most of her fortune to buy the first two, though after that he did indeed make his fortune. He has no right to deny to me what my mother’s fortune brought him. Had it not been so I should simply have walked away from this damned house and all it stands for…’<br />
<br />
‘Can you prove this, sir?’<br />
<br />
‘He made sure that I could not. All records of how her fortune was spent were destroyed long since. There is no proof – no, the money must go to Cressy, as the late earl’s will provides. I hope there is an income for her in the meantime?’<br />
<br />
‘Yes, my lord. I mentioned that if you complied with the terms of the will, Miss Cressida will receive only the income from a trust fund, which is two thousand pounds a year.’<br />
<br />
‘Had he no decency?’ Julian demanded. ‘A paltry two thousand a year after all she did for him! Had she not cared for him during his illness, he would surely have died in distress for left to the mercy of servants…’ He tossed his head. ‘The man was a fool and a wretch to dangle a fortune before her and then serve her such a turn. If the money were mine I should have made sure she lived in the comfort she is accustomed to.’<br />
<br />
‘Could you not bring yourself to…?’ Mr Bartlet’s breath left him as he saw the storm in Julian’s eyes. ‘What will you do, sir?’<br />
<br />
‘At the moment I have no idea,’ Julian confessed. ‘I must speak to the bank, inquire if they will allow the mortgage to run for a while…but how I am to repay it I have not thought as yet.’<br />
<br />
‘I am certain the loan will be extended for at least the next six months,’ the lawyer said, ‘though after that…if you still refuse to accept…’<br />
<br />
‘Yes, I see.’ Julian looked murderous. ‘No doubt they are acquainted with this iniquitous document. Well, I must try to bring my fortunes about somehow – perhaps this land in the north is not as worthless as you believe it. Could it be that my father had a purpose for it?’<br />
<br />
‘None that I know of,’ Mr Bartlet said on a sigh. ‘It seems to me that it is good for nothing…yet perhaps it would fetch something, if not all that it cost.’<br />
<br />
‘Cut my losses and move on?’ Julian frowned. ‘I should then spend years of my life paying off the mortgage – even if the bank was prepared to allow it. No, I think it must be all or nothing, sir. Indeed, I care little for this house or its heritage. Had I the choice, I would live within my means on the estate my maternal grandfather left me – and make a career of raising horses.’<br />
<br />
‘Is that what you had hoped to do here?’<br />
<br />
Julian looked at him thoughtfully. ‘I expected him to live a few years yet. I had considered selling my commission, buying more land and setting up a racing stable in Newmarket, which is where my own estate lies. This house holds memories of my mother, and, as I told you, her fortune went into restoring it to what it now is – for that reason alone I would keep it if I could. Yet there are memories here that I would prefer to forget.’<br />
<br />
‘You might sell it all, my lord,’ the lawyer told him unexpectedly. ‘I had an offer for the estate only last week, after your father’s death was announced. You were away and did not return in time for the funeral – and I have not yet answered the gentleman’s inquiry.’<br />
<br />
‘Would the price offered cover the mortgage?’<br />
<br />
‘Yes, my lord. It was generous – and would give you a surplus of perhaps ten thousand pounds.’<br />
<br />
‘Indeed?’ Julian frowned. ‘I should not have thought it worth so much. Who was the offer from?’<br />
<br />
‘A gentleman who prefers to remain anonymous for the moment,’ Mr Bartlet replied. ‘I understand that he is a nabob, recently returned from India with a fortune made from trading. He wants to set up a home for his family here.’<br />
<br />
‘I might wish him joy of it yet,’ Julian said. ‘Will you write to him, Mr Bartlet? Ask him to give me two months in which to make up my mind.’<br />
<br />
‘Would you truly consider selling, my lord?’<br />
<br />
‘In truth it means little to me personally,’ Julian said. He turned back to the window, looking out at the green lawns, beautifully kept borders and the fields stretching as far as the eye could see. ‘If it were not for the memories of my mother…’<br />
<br />
A sigh left him, for he could almost see the lovely woman and the eager young boy he had been at her side, playing games on those immaculate lawns. He had been happy then, before his mother died…before he learned to hate the man who had taken all she had to give and destroyed her with his coldness.<br />
<br />
‘I think I shall go to London in the morning,’ Julian said. ‘I have business to take care of – and then…then I shall journey north to see this land my father squandered his money on…’<br />
<br />
‘I shall speak to the prospective buyer,’ Mr Bartlet replied. ‘I could make discreet inquiries, sir, for I dare say others might be interested in a house like this…especially with such a good acreage…’<br />
<br />
‘Do whatever you think necessary,’ Julian said. ‘And now I should go and speak to Cressy before she gives up on me…’<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjvNl5w96f08cjNNXWVsDg7YjnG0XKSOIfpznpzCNdAf65FYgUjbUtGPnRUy4VNtUyyyht0Q1wcIYq3ecAyyNaIYanU-E-WYR9eOzMABPjry-JDnj4pUjfkj6cTpUFuRKfAwi7nmIX5tgtd/s1600/A+bride.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" closure_lm_759878="null" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjvNl5w96f08cjNNXWVsDg7YjnG0XKSOIfpznpzCNdAf65FYgUjbUtGPnRUy4VNtUyyyht0Q1wcIYq3ecAyyNaIYanU-E-WYR9eOzMABPjry-JDnj4pUjfkj6cTpUFuRKfAwi7nmIX5tgtd/s320/A+bride.jpg" width="256" zsa="true" /></a></div>
Hope you enjoyed the excerpt. Several more short Regency stories available from kindleUnknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2659462170686292600.post-39385661423477649712013-07-07T02:41:00.001-07:002013-07-07T02:41:55.108-07:00new books<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg8skGV0o7Oc-IeuCJoSfM9vdW-X0ECqLqMyPQTKTgLhVlKkXeqK6YJ_VtZqZlqbtfur3O3ETgREyZn44jradGZguwbVl20JA72yimt1RhW580lz4uLAJREjGiOETPd8HjyCFwn8eX8m21V/s1600/hAVERS.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" oya="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg8skGV0o7Oc-IeuCJoSfM9vdW-X0ECqLqMyPQTKTgLhVlKkXeqK6YJ_VtZqZlqbtfur3O3ETgREyZn44jradGZguwbVl20JA72yimt1RhW580lz4uLAJREjGiOETPd8HjyCFwn8eX8m21V/s320/hAVERS.jpg" width="240" /></a></div>
Captain Havers is the fourth in a series of Regency Romps, short books for a very small price on sale at amazon. It has been in the top 100 for about 2 months and sold well. I have now published the fifth in the series, Ash's Secret.<br />
<br />
Here is a short excerpt.<br />
Miranda was just thinking she might go upstairs now, for there was only one set of dances to come and she could be forgiven for not wishing to sit them out.<br />
<br />
<br />
‘Not leaving us?’ a voice said at her elbow and she turned to see Lord Ashton. She was in that moment torn between anger that he had ignored her all evening and relief that he had at last approached her.<br />
<br />
‘I had thought I might as well, for I have watched sufficient dances this evening, sir. I am not as fortunate as my sister in being universally popular.’<br />
<br />
‘Do I detect a note of reproach?’ Ash asked as he took a firm grip on her arm and led her towards the groups forming for the last set of dances. ‘You think that I should have secured a dance earlier?’<br />
<br />
‘I am sure it is not for me to say what you should do when a guest at a ball, where there are possibly more young ladies than gentlemen – at least youngish gentlemen.’ There were in fact two more gentlemen than ladies, but as some of the older ones did not dance, it meant that some ladies did not always find a partner.<br />
<br />
‘But you would like to tell me I am rag-mannered, would you not, Miss Thurston?’ His eyes danced with amusement in a way that set off butterflies in her stomach. Miranda counted to five before she answered.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgw7iMJvNZbgWiTDQKoOpB4EVMpY3CW-YOyBvx_IPNPDJRzqeBhUiH4EEdi-9Gh8KzAmiQOOuq41x4_Mz6eogrhcPGF7oVcZTOSs1z-Z2GxRKh0Y5Tm65Fl29aV9YWFhMLgs0jmid2RcDDx/s1600/Ash%2527s+Secret.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" oya="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgw7iMJvNZbgWiTDQKoOpB4EVMpY3CW-YOyBvx_IPNPDJRzqeBhUiH4EEdi-9Gh8KzAmiQOOuq41x4_Mz6eogrhcPGF7oVcZTOSs1z-Z2GxRKh0Y5Tm65Fl29aV9YWFhMLgs0jmid2RcDDx/s320/Ash%2527s+Secret.jpg" width="213" /></a></div>
<br />
This image was purchased from Dreamstime. I did the cover for Captain Havers myself with a photograph i took. I think I needed to make the title larger in both cases, but especially in Captain Havers. Covers are fun to do but I am a mere amateur, though I think of the two I actually prefer CH.<br />
<br />
I thoroughly enjoy writing the short Regencies but they are for fun. At the moment I am writing what I hope will be the sequel to my Rosie Clarke saga for Ebury. The first book will come out with them next year.<br />
<br />
Love to my readers, Linda<br />
<br />
<br />
Unknownnoreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2659462170686292600.post-68934169057698560092013-06-08T09:21:00.000-07:002013-06-08T09:21:14.510-07:00Been watching the VoiceI think the show was excellent last night. I agreed with all the choices except one so 7 out of 8 is pretty good. I hope that whoever wins does well in his or her career afterwards.<br />
<br />
Personally, I'm in a good place with my books. I am working - nearly finished - the revisions for my big saga coming out with Ebury books next year. This is so exciting for me, to be back in mainstream again and I feel both lucky and privileged, despite having worked hard for three years before producing a book that was good enough to be accepted. One editor wanted to publish two big Medieval stories but her money team didn't go with her. However, my readers can buy one of the books in digital at amazon - A King's Betrayal/Linda Sole.<br />
<br />
My short Regencies have done very well, and Captain Havers & the Abandoned Bride is now at 16 in the top 100. Mary's Sacrifice was in the top 100 for nearly two months.<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgNQntBXkFQcL68bBL07dPBoa_eSiHB0vPTJ7PHi5gowxZDz_ampwqd6i2z-yRCMyNF6JCMOnHaNSoRxpfx4QiQX_t-129uvkDA4h6Mr7IWeFsB_bi6O89Zb7AWATK072Etr3I675iMxuzl/s1600/wed2.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgNQntBXkFQcL68bBL07dPBoa_eSiHB0vPTJ7PHi5gowxZDz_ampwqd6i2z-yRCMyNF6JCMOnHaNSoRxpfx4QiQX_t-129uvkDA4h6Mr7IWeFsB_bi6O89Zb7AWATK072Etr3I675iMxuzl/s320/wed2.JPG" width="240" yya="true" /></a></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
Love to all my readers.</div>
Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2659462170686292600.post-57363652522973521952013-06-04T02:39:00.001-07:002013-06-04T02:39:32.719-07:00A Link to the new Rosie Clarke Blog<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
/<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjv8PlXQiRk6QX8Buo_iqQC2graVw4GZYP3l4-N86-WI5f3kMuhuunFEgg4NkkSRML3b9n9cn8zRtpVyNF0nLlfeltwsoL6aV6z4VHOTkyn4TjHYzhNu3SWq_JIwUl28M8TL5G_ZWryqfzb/s1600/g1.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjv8PlXQiRk6QX8Buo_iqQC2graVw4GZYP3l4-N86-WI5f3kMuhuunFEgg4NkkSRML3b9n9cn8zRtpVyNF0nLlfeltwsoL6aV6z4VHOTkyn4TjHYzhNu3SWq_JIwUl28M8TL5G_ZWryqfzb/s320/g1.JPG" width="240" yya="true" /></a></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://rosieauthor.blogspot.com.es/">http://rosieauthor.blogspot.com.es/</a></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
This is the link to the new Rosie Clarke website, where you will find articles about various subjects, as well as news about the book. I am very excited about this books, as I believe it is possibly the best I've written and it is going to be so exciting to be in mainstream again.</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2659462170686292600.post-18334878117354203702013-06-04T02:32:00.001-07:002013-06-04T02:32:30.081-07:00New Books<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjOIzlfwyFJw1cz_FdsH3PeH8VVuKbdeSTIhRxMLSVwfA9d-Ep9Dqd80dP8lPVmRq2VfzGy4I36SDo1fFEDCsswrRvfljRXs6gd9CFUXc6LHdeAd7akcyT-_103fmbG1aPr9-QHoAQnnd-R/s1600/hAVERS.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjOIzlfwyFJw1cz_FdsH3PeH8VVuKbdeSTIhRxMLSVwfA9d-Ep9Dqd80dP8lPVmRq2VfzGy4I36SDo1fFEDCsswrRvfljRXs6gd9CFUXc6LHdeAd7akcyT-_103fmbG1aPr9-QHoAQnnd-R/s320/hAVERS.jpg" width="240" yya="true" /></a></div>
I popped in to tell my readers about the series of Regency Novellas I am writing. I started with Happy Christmas Mr Jones, then Annabel's Christmas surprise. The next to be published was Mary's Sacrifice and now Captain Havers and the Abandoned Bride. All the books did well, but Mary's Sacrifice was the first to go into the top one hundred. It went up as far as 19, but Captain Havers has beaten it, coming in at 12 for a while this morning. It will go up and down, as they all do but it is fun to watch the charts and very exciting.<br />
<br />
These are just little fun books sold very cheaply but they are what readers like to take to bed for a pleasant read and my readers seem to enjoy them. I would like to thank my readers for supporting me, not just now but since I began writing.<br />
<br />
As well as these little fun books I have some wonderful news about my new saga. People who know me will know that I've been working on a big book for a long time, trying to get my sagas back into mainstream. Well, now I can say that I have been lucky. Ebury has accepted my latest big saga and I am now working on some revisions. I am thrilled to have been given this chance and will be announcing more on the Rosie Clarke blog.<br />
<br />
More news soon.<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhAdDluI_zTyhyphenhyphenPgy_qhZVUv7Mj_BQmriStk5DjyBdj1Bhwqg3z8diEAaEkFIiSIgVXxMAqAvFqciyXqxzd3Z4onWDBCZCyhkLr5MQWIlY43rD_8JZPguv8sDMZCvXBNr3j6V-3v3J3zou3/s1600/Mary+2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhAdDluI_zTyhyphenhyphenPgy_qhZVUv7Mj_BQmriStk5DjyBdj1Bhwqg3z8diEAaEkFIiSIgVXxMAqAvFqciyXqxzd3Z4onWDBCZCyhkLr5MQWIlY43rD_8JZPguv8sDMZCvXBNr3j6V-3v3J3zou3/s320/Mary+2.jpg" width="240" yya="true" /></a></div>
Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2659462170686292600.post-53297634659570987522012-12-11T02:06:00.000-08:002012-12-11T02:11:10.806-08:00new books<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjreVSIdanaRnLyLWRl1cBPpT1E9-DW18TURO8bNm7IQCygqSvxjmEtaFylqPpOT32qknWI9bMWcsERpqi_AwCt7HHL4iKDXGyvePy8_E4Ppi4SsTqtbgCOLSD-LMyjGuDOhV522iALvnF8/s1600/9780727880888.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left:1em; margin-right:1em"><img border="0" height="320" width="205" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjreVSIdanaRnLyLWRl1cBPpT1E9-DW18TURO8bNm7IQCygqSvxjmEtaFylqPpOT32qknWI9bMWcsERpqi_AwCt7HHL4iKDXGyvePy8_E4Ppi4SsTqtbgCOLSD-LMyjGuDOhV522iALvnF8/s320/9780727880888.jpg" /></a></div>
This is my most recent book at Severn House. However, you can find several more at amzon in ebook. there are two short Regency Romps, one of which is on free Saturday 16 th December.
I also have a new big medieval
A King's Betrayal.
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiOU8HOL55xanFqUShpuGjywqhNTqsiTz5ENg8Rtx4XHfYF-Bif1OgVp3tab_I3dcPBHLeDxT5N0u5UTCGPKohfWLbBQh4Keq_iUE4GITmsjre51Ua3gLENQJncsL5fP0tuiqamjFSvMiiA/s1600/51MBNRwPcBL__AA160_.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left:1em; margin-right:1em"><img border="0" height="160" width="160" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiOU8HOL55xanFqUShpuGjywqhNTqsiTz5ENg8Rtx4XHfYF-Bif1OgVp3tab_I3dcPBHLeDxT5N0u5UTCGPKohfWLbBQh4Keq_iUE4GITmsjre51Ua3gLENQJncsL5fP0tuiqamjFSvMiiA/s320/51MBNRwPcBL__AA160_.jpg" /></a></div>
Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2659462170686292600.post-70083241241097952092012-09-08T11:15:00.001-07:002012-09-08T11:15:46.611-07:00
I am giving away two copies of Lady of Shadows. To be in with a chance of winning please email me through the website
www.lindasole.co.uk
using contact.
the winners will be picked out by chance.
Good luck.
Enjoy the excerpt.
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjci7jNLNpyRtW4BZ4JUReyyQHU3_pn3EJTA0C9ezrbSCvKlhCYy3QmWlmAJhOtm9Qgt13cDUe6Pim-v-F6cbPCPIi-oJjJJ_ph5IUo0aZYGGmWV5FjQb8-3lq9qm-A22VqRT695vFkAyGT/s1600/Lady+of+Shadows+2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left:1em; margin-right:1em"><img border="0" height="320" width="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjci7jNLNpyRtW4BZ4JUReyyQHU3_pn3EJTA0C9ezrbSCvKlhCYy3QmWlmAJhOtm9Qgt13cDUe6Pim-v-F6cbPCPIi-oJjJJ_ph5IUo0aZYGGmWV5FjQb8-3lq9qm-A22VqRT695vFkAyGT/s320/Lady+of+Shadows+2.jpg" /></a></div>
Drenched to the skin with the rain that had soaked through her threadbare gown, near to starving and sick to the heart, the woman looked down at the face of her dead babe and a howl of primeval grief and anger issued from her lips.
‘I curse you, Lady of Penrith. I curse you and your child with my last breath, with all the pain I have suffered and the death of my babe. I curse you and I call upon the old gods to witness my curse. Blood calls for blood. Not until the debt is paid will my curse be lifted.’
The woman stepped closer to the edge of the ravine. Below her the rock fell sheer to the gorge below, treacherous and terrifying. She looked down into the abyss and then turned her head to glance back at the living child, who was huddled on the ground, sick and slowly starving to death. She smiled and held out her hand.
‘Come to me. It is the end, my daughter. One step and the suffering will be no more.’
The girl shrank back, hugging her knees and shaking with fright.
‘You choose life,’ her mother said sadly. ‘I shall not compel you to come with me. In death you might have found peace, but if you will live then you must suffer - and you must avenge us. Remember my words, daughter, for if you do not I shall haunt you. Avenge your mother and sister. Blood must be paid with blood.’
Clutching her dead babe to her withered breast, the woman leaped into the ravine. Her scream was terrible. So terrible that the child huddled on the ground held her hands to her ears to stop the sound, but it echoed round and round in her head until her eyes closed and the darkness claimed her.
It was then that the man came. Scooping her up into his arms, he strode away from the ravine.
The Storyteller
Wales, a land of myths and stories.
Huddling in the shelter of monastery walls, the people shivered and crept closer to their fires. The monks had closed the gates against them, leaving them to face the bitter night. The winter had been long and hard after a summer during which pestilence and starvation had haunted the land. Too many were forced to beg at the gates and the monks could not take them all in. Instead, they sent down food and water in baskets and gave permission for fuel to be taken from their woods for fires, but the gates remained securely locked despite the pitiful cries of those outside.
It was a child who first noticed the newcomer. She stood a little apart from them, seeming to stare longingly at their fires. Dressed in grey homespun that had worn thin and hung about her emaciated form, she hovered, as if afraid to approach.
‘Come and sit with us, granny,’ the child said and tugged at her father’s sleeve. ‘We have food and you can share our fire. Tell her to sit with us, father.’
The woman approached, slowly, her face in shadow as the smoke of the fire mingled with the frosty air to form a thick fog and hasten the darkness.
‘If you wish, I can tell you a story for my supper.’
‘Sit with us, lady,’ the child’s father stood and cleared a place for her on the bedding they had made from coarse cloth and straw. ‘We have little enough, but there is bread, cheese and water.’
‘Have my blanket,’ the little girl said and smiled at the woman as she took her place beside the fire.
‘We will share it, if your father permits?’ At a nod from the man, she put out a hand and brought the child in close to her body so that the blanket protected them both against the chill.
When the woman had finished her meal, she looked up and saw that others had left their own fires to gather round, drawn by the promise of a story. Storytellers were welcomed for their skill and for a time at least those who listened might forget their own misery.
‘Gather close, my friends,’ the storyteller said and her voice had a rich deep resonance that was surprising in one so old and frail. ‘My story is such that you will never forget for I am one of the Sisters of the Ring.’
One of her listeners gasped for she had heard of the Sisters but many had not and they sat expectant, intent, already forgetting the winter night.
‘There was once a time when people turned against the Sisters and hunted them as evil creatures. Women were tortured and put to death for using their arts to help the sick. Those who did not understand feared them.’
The child leaned nearer, tugging at her sleeve. ‘Who are the sisters? Please tell me. I had sisters but they died of a fever this winter.’
The storyteller looked into her face and smiled. ‘I think perhaps one day you will know them very well, but for now I shall tell you that they are many and their purpose is to help the sick and the poor, but sometimes people believe they are witches and because of that they are persecuted.’
‘You are not a witch,’ the child said and nestled her head against the old woman’s arm. ‘I believe you are kind and good.’
‘Perhaps.’ Sadness touched the woman’s face. ‘I have lived too many years and seen many things. There was a time when I was not as I am now, but the night is cold and long. Gather near and listen well, my friends. Tonight I shall tell you the story of Rhianna, lady of shadows. This is her story as it was told to me…’
ONE
The Castle of Penrith 1393
‘No, Mama, no.’ My terrified cries echoed from the stone walls of my mother’s chamber as Wenna tried to prise me free of her skirts. ‘Please do not make me go...’
From outside came the sounds of shouting, the roll of heavy wheels as they brought the great engines of war close to the castle walls, and the clash of wood thudding against the gates. Every now and then there was a fearsome roar as the attackers made a fresh assault on our walls, sending their fireballs into our courtyards, and then screams as our defenders poured burning oil down on their heads.
‘Go with Morwenna, child.’ Her voice calmed me as always. She stroked my hair, which was so like hers, flame-red and wild, with a will of its own. ‘You know that I do not wish to part from you, Rhianna, but I must stay for without me the men would not stand. I am the lady of Penrith and here I shall live or die.’
‘No, Mama. Let me stay with you. Please, do not send me away.’
She knelt down then, this mother I adored, this woman who was my rock and my world, and looked into my face.
‘You will go because I ask it of you, Rhianna, and because you must bear witness. You must remember what happened here and one day – one day you will take revenge for us all.’
Suddenly I could not hear the sounds of war; there was only silence and a soft warm breeze that swirled about us, holding us two alone in all the world.
‘Keep these for me, dearest,’ she said and drew over her head the necklace she always wore. Made of gold and heavy, it had a round medallion with strange markings. She placed it about my neck and it felt warm where it had lain against her breast. Into my hand she pressed a small journal. ‘These things are important, Rhianna, and one day you will know why.’
‘Please let me stay with you.’
My pleading was in vain. Her eyes held that proud stubborn expression that meant she would yield to no one. My mother was the lady of Penrith. Her word was law and her people obeyed her. To me she was the most powerful person in the world and I adored her.
‘You will go as I bid you. Tonight is the night of the crimson moon. If you see it you will know that we shall not meet again in this life. It is not given to everyone to see such a terrible sight but I have seen it and so will you. One day you will take my place here and you will know all the things I should have taught you had I been granted time. You will know that sometimes we must all do things we would not wish because it is our duty.’
I tried to cling to her once more but she pushed me back and stood up.
‘Whenever you see a crimson moon it means that something evil has taken place. Remember that, my daughter. Remember that you are the child of Rowena Morgan and that the power will be yours when the time is right.’
What did she mean? Others spoke of my mother having the sight or the power of healing, but what did that mean? I was but eleven years of age and to me Lady Rowena Penrith was the most powerful person in the world. Her beauty was fabled and her voice had the lilt of the valleys.
‘Yes, Mama. One day I shall take revenge for what has happened here. One day I shall kill the Earl D’Auvergne.’
Her laughter was soft and delicious like thick warm honey. ‘If you were a man I should tell you to kill him, to take a life for a life – but you will be a woman and a beautiful one. Always remember that a woman has other weapons, and sometimes a smile can be sharper than the thrust of a sword.’
‘I shall remember everything you have told me. I love you...’
Wenna’s tore me from my mother’s side and held me firmly clasped against her.
‘We must go or it will be too late. They have started to break through.’
‘Take her and protect her with your life, I beg you. My father is dead but my brother is a decent man and he will take her in for my sake.
‘I shall protect her but I wish you would come with us, my lady.’
‘I must stay for as long as I am needed, to give courage to my people. I am theirs and they are mine but I would have my daughter safe. Sir James Morgan will take my child and perhaps one day her father will return to claim her.’
‘He should never have deserted you to fight foreign wars.’ Morwenna scowled. ‘I do not know why you stayed with him these many years.’
‘Because I loved him, as I love my land and my people – and my child.’
Wenna took me then, dragging me from the tower room down the twisting stair that led to the great hall. The huge room with its vaulted wood roof was usually a hive of activity, filled with servants busy about their work or my mother’s ladies, visiting knights and pilgrims who stopped here on their way to some shrine or a great church. Today it was empty, stripped of the weapons that hung upon the walls
Everyone was outside, up on the walls or at the foot of ladders, helping to send cauldrons of boiling pitch up to the battlements so that it could be hurled down on the enemy.
The enemy was the English. Led by the Earl D’Auvergne they had demanded that my mother hand over the castle to them but she had refused and now they were intent on breaking down our defences. My mother had taught me that the Welsh had fought for years to drive the English from our lands. She had told me of stirring battles and victories, of a time when the great English King Henry 111 had been sent scurrying back to London with his tail between his legs.
‘Why do kings have tails, Mama?’ I asked in my innocence.
Mama laughed and said that one day I would understand what she meant. She had taught me about the struggle that had gone on for many years between our two nations. The people of Wales had ever been of a rebellious spirit. Even the Romans had found it difficult to subdue our people and in the end there had been a kind of truce between us, a respect for an unquenchable spirit.
Always, she had made me wish to learn and my earliest memories were of standing at her knee as she told stories. I learned of great battles won in Wales and much more.
‘You must learn everything, Rhianna,’ she told me. ‘One day you will need your knowledge to help others.’
‘As you do, Mama?’
‘Yes, child.’ She stroked my hair. ‘Now listen for this is important. Some years after those far off victories against the great King Henry 111, a time of darkness fell over England.’
‘Darkness, Mama? Did the sun not shine?
‘It was a great shadow stretching over the whole of Europe and beyond to far and unimaginable places. The plague or the Black Death, as it was often known, killed thousands of people. It first visited England in 1348 after wreaking havoc in the Low Countries, Italy and France, visiting first in Bristol and then spread throughout the land. Whole families died of the foul disease, sometimes everyone in the village. It changed the way people lived, bringing the beginning of the end of the old feudal system that had existed since the Normans first conquered England.’
My eyes widened in wonder.
‘What happened then, Mama?
‘The plague has visited less frequently of late they say, though people still fear it. In 1349 it came here to Wales, but in the valleys, we have never suffered from it as much as the English in their towns and cities.’
‘Why is that, Mama?’
‘The English are ungodly. The plague is sent by God to punish sinners, as is leprosy – though ‘tis not often we see a leper these days. Once there were lazar houses everywhere but in England they have turned them into infirmaries for the sick.’
‘If the English are so wicked, why does Father fight for the English king?’
‘Your father is not a rich man, Rhianna. He must answer to his overlord. The Earl of Pendraga makes the alliance for his own ends. He is my husband’s father and a great man, a loyal servant of the King. These things are not always as simple as they would seem, my love. For the moment the Welsh lords must bend the knee but one day a prince will come and then we shall see great events. For a time at least a Welsh prince shall rule in Wales.’
‘How do you know, Mama?’
‘I know because it has been sung of in the hills and valleys. Merlin foretold it long ago.’
What was she thinking? What had brought that secret, intimate smile to her lips?
‘Who is Merlin, Mama?
‘The Merlin of legend was the greatest sorcerer of all time. He lived when King Arthur and his knights sat in Camelot and the world was a magical place.’
Again the smile was there.
Mama was the fount of all knowledge, my teacher and my protector. Without her my world would crumble into dust.
As Wenna hurried me to the chapel, I wished that Merlin would come and save us. If I had the power Mama had spoken of I should be able to conjure him up and drive the English from our walls, but nothing happened, though I called to him with my heart.
Why did he not help me? I wanted to stay in the castle with my mother. She had said that if there was a crimson moon I would never see her again in this life. I prayed with all the passion that was within me that there would be no moon that night.
Shouting and screaming was all around us, the stink of burning wood in the air, making me gag as Wenna thrust me before her into the chapel. Gargoyles and grotesques looked down on us as we approached the altar. I dare not look for I knew there was a terrible painting of the Dance of Death, which was meant to warn sinners of their likely fate. The priests preached of the torments of Hell and I feared the devil would take my soul and cast me into his fiery pit. Mama’s stories of the struggle between good and evil and of magic had become muddled in my mind with Heaven and Hell. With her I had always been safe and protected but alone I should be at the mercy of demons.
‘The passage is here somewhere,’ Wenna told me, running her hands over the altar as she searched for and found what she needed beneath the tall silver cross. The heavy stone altar swung out to reveal a dark cavern behind it. As I caught the damp musty odour, I hung back. Surely, it was the mouth of Hell?
‘It is dark and there will be spiders. I want to stay with Mama.’
Wenna had lit one of the candles from the small flame that was always kept burning on the altar. She held it in her left hand as she reached for me with her right. Her face looked pale in the yellow light and for the first time I realised that she too was afraid.
‘We must go now, child. Your mother wants you to live. Remember that one day you must take revenge for what happens here this night.’
Her hand caught and held mine. I screamed as she dragged me inside that dark stinking cavern. Her grip tightened and though I tugged at her she would not let go. I screamed again twice as she pressed a lever and the heavy altar swung back into place, shutting us in.
Terror swept over me. We must be in the caverns of Hell. I screamed hysterically.
‘Stop that!’ Wenna slapped me hard. ‘I doubt you will be heard but there’s no time for tantrums. We must go. If the enemy break through terrible things may happen. We should not be here.’
Tears trickled down my cheeks. It was very cold and dark here. Why could I not have stayed safe in my mother’s arms?
Wenna’s grip on my hand loosened. She held the candle aloft so that it lit the dark corners and we could see a narrow passage.
‘That is the way we must go,’ she said. ‘Be brave, Rhianna. You are the daughter of a lord and the granddaughter of an earl. Lady Rowena Penrith is your mother. She may have married your father unwisely but she remains one of our people – the Morgan family - though your father be English.’
‘What am I, Wenna? My mother is from the valleys like you – but my father is a Marcher lord on the English side. Where does my allegiance lie?’
‘You can ask that? Has your mother taught you nothing? She is Welsh and so you are too. You must not forget what the English have done this day.’ She moved towards the tunnel, then looked back at me. ‘I shall lead and you must follow.’
I was reluctant to leave the castle and all that I knew but Wenna was leaving me, taking the light. I hurried after her, catching her cloak.
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi2wWTAPffQk4eLEL-Nj28cTEdziSgKwXUVtLDOFcbIsGVbEeB3fFQKcgV-mxr91KwS8YoYzq1234f88_r9O5FzHKlcdqPYlItK89DwzizRL5wbb_alfEuwgnIs8Qzhpm1K4zZZYhENPn0O/s1600/Lady+of+Shadows+200x300+dpi.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left:1em; margin-right:1em"><img border="0" height="300" width="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi2wWTAPffQk4eLEL-Nj28cTEdziSgKwXUVtLDOFcbIsGVbEeB3fFQKcgV-mxr91KwS8YoYzq1234f88_r9O5FzHKlcdqPYlItK89DwzizRL5wbb_alfEuwgnIs8Qzhpm1K4zZZYhENPn0O/s320/Lady+of+Shadows+200x300+dpi.jpg" /></a></div>
Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2659462170686292600.post-66643671320672087592012-08-22T11:40:00.000-07:002012-08-22T11:40:03.772-07:00
The Bastard by Anne Ireland
Published by Leap of Faith
A sage of love, passion and betrayal
Enjoy the excerpt<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi0v1AbU2Nd9_Pv1TtilEEoSxWgJ6LeNJ_4GlQuYRRmRqwb8adyZEPTx0Wcxyw8u1UmLHPxlH197qOPoJ5PV3SS2nPHdxkMFlZHjCMX-LSFTFGEWbEw5CS4bNIbCiLTeedlY3_Gi5E9lB63/s1600/The+Bastard+by+Anne+Ireland+Cover.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left:1em; margin-right:1em"><img border="0" height="320" width="220" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi0v1AbU2Nd9_Pv1TtilEEoSxWgJ6LeNJ_4GlQuYRRmRqwb8adyZEPTx0Wcxyw8u1UmLHPxlH197qOPoJ5PV3SS2nPHdxkMFlZHjCMX-LSFTFGEWbEw5CS4bNIbCiLTeedlY3_Gi5E9lB63/s320/The+Bastard+by+Anne+Ireland+Cover.jpg" /></a></div>
There are moments when my mind travels back to that warm summer day when I was just a child and I remember. All at once I am torn by regret and remorse for what I have done - and for what I did not do. Were I a better person none of it need ever have happened. Yet even if I had known what was to come, could I have prevented it? There were other forces at work, stronger wills than mine, and I was carried along by the momentum, swept up like a leaf in a gale.
No, that is the excuse of a weak woman begging for the blame to be lifted from her shoulders, for forgiveness. I was never weak. Even when we were children it was always I who led and Michael who followed, for all that he was older and stronger.
But I have learned that there are different strengths - strength of purpose, strength of body and strength of mind.
As I stand now looking out of my window at gardens, which were once beautiful but have now fallen into neglect, I know that much of what happened here was my fault. The grief and pain I feel cannot be avoided; they are mine and I accept them. I must bear them until the day comes when I can forgive myself.
By way of atonement I have decided to set it all down just as it happened, so that others can read the truth. In doing so I may come to understand myself, and perhaps with understanding will come an easing of my grief.
I pray that God at least will judge me mercifully
Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2659462170686292600.post-20465173445902803312012-05-27T10:19:00.001-07:002012-05-27T10:21:38.862-07:00Lady of Shadows<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhfr0sQ7jYyEG-_yzLLVd7sUuqLtUIJaMfS1FiUFTZ2LJrOr1SmXzvh7qraUr8HKcf7Jxz4_5YxprQcUPi0Pir_j5SuLsuRJNgRQNA3esEgMS4bUjWOdeQx71Lx6O6obh0nTnF2DCI9-iPe/s1600/Lady+of+Shadows+200x300+dpi.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left:1em; margin-right:1em"><img border="0" height="300" width="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhfr0sQ7jYyEG-_yzLLVd7sUuqLtUIJaMfS1FiUFTZ2LJrOr1SmXzvh7qraUr8HKcf7Jxz4_5YxprQcUPi0Pir_j5SuLsuRJNgRQNA3esEgMS4bUjWOdeQx71Lx6O6obh0nTnF2DCI9-iPe/s320/Lady+of+Shadows+200x300+dpi.jpg" /></a></div>
Managed to get the cover on this time. It didn't come up for several tries. Never mind, this is the cover I wanted to show you. this is a lovely big book in 2 volumes - and Medieval.
Coming from Museitup next month.
Anne Ireland/ Lady of ShadowsUnknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2659462170686292600.post-61552137692276556392012-05-27T10:13:00.001-07:002012-05-27T10:20:51.311-07:00Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2659462170686292600.post-3437855765345671912012-05-27T10:10:00.000-07:002012-05-27T10:14:53.857-07:00Hi everyoneThis is a cover for my new book coming from Museitup soon. It is the first in a series of books - Sisters of the Ring and Medieval. I am really thrilled about this new book and looking forward to its publication.
I'm not sure whether the cover is coming up but fingers crossed.
Love from LindaUnknownnoreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2659462170686292600.post-17135057342936697972011-07-11T11:53:00.000-07:002011-07-11T11:55:55.397-07:00Because He needs Me<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjS4RamiocRCNSnFfkguclkWV3WrxXSI-5i3KfNVyzx7fXu_Ts0-kz1rYbV8nWUQ5YlLBMrKQ-3PdahbjvKY_-_gxOjkyIuq8bJ-5d6xlsJX5YJHkemclhlzDlXq-2oXC6HPfy0Jn8kTA1J/s1600/Because+He+Needs+Me+Cover+2+lower+rez.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 220px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjS4RamiocRCNSnFfkguclkWV3WrxXSI-5i3KfNVyzx7fXu_Ts0-kz1rYbV8nWUQ5YlLBMrKQ-3PdahbjvKY_-_gxOjkyIuq8bJ-5d6xlsJX5YJHkemclhlzDlXq-2oXC6HPfy0Jn8kTA1J/s320/Because+He+Needs+Me+Cover+2+lower+rez.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5628170158007796194" /></a><br /><br /><br /><br />Because He needs Me/ Lynn Granville<br /><br />A new book from a new young company<br /><br />Leap of Faith publishes Because He needs me by Lynn Granville.<br />A story of love and faith in the man she loves.<br /><br />Oh, God, she hoped he wouldn’t come over! Janni had recognized the one man she hadn’t wanted to see at this wedding. It was ages since she’d been in the same room with Nick Hamilton, and she really hadn’t given the idea that he might be here a thought, though she should have done. It couldn’t matter, of course. Whatever there had been between her and Nick had been over years ago – when he married. Not that it had ever been very much even then!<br /> Janni had been through several love affairs since then, the latest of which had recently ended in tears and recriminations. What was wrong with her for goodness sake? Why couldn’t she find someone who really cared, someone who would give her a home and family, and love – most importantly love?<br /> Nick was glancing her way again, obviously deciding whether or not he ought to come over and say hello. Where was his wife? Janni hadn’t noticed her – and you couldn’t miss a woman like that! Sarah was gorgeous, so it was no wonder that Nick had fallen for her hook line and sinker.<br />Janni glanced across the hotel’s crowded reception room at the bride and groom; she felt a pang of envy despite her satisfaction at Alice’s obvious happiness. Sheer delight seemed to shine out of her friend’s eyes, testifying to her state of mind. Janni didn’t grudge that happiness one little bit, but couldn’t help wishing that her own life was a little more settled.<br /> Alice and Peter were the perfect pair, and Janni had introduced them nine months ago. Her own lovelife had been blossoming then, but for the past few weeks she had been nursing a bruised ego. Fortunately, it seemed that her heart was pretty resilient, which it would need to be after the way Mark had treated her recently.<br /> Perhaps it was a combination of seeing Nick unexpectedly, and her friend’s shining happiness that made Janni feel so dejected all of a sudden. Damn Mark! He really wasn’t worth getting upset over. One day he’d been eagerly talking about buying a house together, almost the next he was announcing that he was off to America on a three-year research project.<br /> “So what happens to us?” Janni had asked, feeling bewildered by Mark’s sudden about turn.<br /> “It was never going to be more than a temporary arrangement,” he’d said, taking her breath away. “Nothing is forever, Janni. Besides, this is a chance I can’t miss.”<br /> He hadn’t asked her to keep in touch, or whether she would consider giving up her job at the local hospital to go with him. She had sensed his excitement and known he wanted to be free – and that had hurt! <br />The sharp pain had gone now, but she was still feeling bruised. So much so that when she saw the undeniably attractive man walking towards her, she immediately hoisted her shield into place. Why had he of all people had to be here? And why must he bother to come over and say hello?<br />She’d had a thing for Doctor Nick Hamilton once, when they were both working at a London teaching hospital, but he’d hardly noticed her. He had fallen in love with and married a very beautiful woman, and they’d lost touch when he moved. Until now, Janni hadn’t seen him for years, but he was a friend of Peter’s, and had been invited for the wedding. It was natural, of course, and she would have realized it if she had thought about it earlier.<br /> “They look happy don’t they?” Nick said glancing at the bride and groom. “Peter and Alice. “<br /> Janni took a deep breath. There was no escaping it! She smiled and nodded. “Yes, I was just thinking the same thing.”<br /> “Peter had been through a rough time before he met Alice – but you know that, of course. You introduced them, didn’t you?”<br />“Yes, I can claim the credit for that, but they did all the rest themselves.”<br />He seemed amused at her quip, and hesitated for a second or two. “I know this isn’t the right time to talk shop, but Alice tells me you are thinking of changing your job – going for something new. I wondered if you might consider working for us at the surgery as a practice nurse?”<br /> Janni was startled. He had taken her completely by surprise and she gave no thought to her answer before replying negatively. “I am flattered that you asked,” she said. “But I am happy where I am – and I’ve never considered anything but hospital work.”<br /> “The nurses I need never have,” Nick replied and grinned. “If they had, they probably wouldn’t be what I was looking for. Don’t make that a final no, Janni. Think about it please. If you are truly happy where you are then that’s all there is to it – but if there’s even a chance you might consider coming to us, if only for a few months, I should like to hear from you.” He took a card from his pocket and handed it to her. “I think you would be pleasantly surprised if you paid us a visit. We have all the latest equipment at the surgery. Peter has made sure of that, believe me.”<br />Janni's heart did a quick tango but she suppressed her foolishness.<br /> Peter and Nick were partners in the country practice as well as friends, and Alice had burned Janni’s ears with stories of how beautiful the village was – and the surrounding countryside.<br /> Alice had been a Theatre Sister before her marriage, but she planned on having a family almost at once. “Before my biological clock runs out,” she’d told Janni laughingly. “I’ve done my stint for the NHS – and I can always go back part time when the children are at school.”<br /> “Yes, I imagine he would,” Janni replied with a wry look. “Alice told me Peter has to have everything just so.”<br /> “We’re in agreement as far as that goes – which is why we both want you, Janni. Why don’t you think about it? Alice is your best friend, isn’t she? It would mean you were able to see her more often, and I understand you are having difficulties at the moment.”<br /> “I see Alice has been telling tales out of school.” Janni frowned.<br /> “She just told me things hadn’t gone well for you, and that you were thinking of making a change. Nothing personal,” Nick assured her. He glanced at his watch and frowned. “Anyway, it was nice speaking to you again, Janni. I must have a word with Alice and Peter before they leave. Give me a call if you are interested, won’t you?” He handed her his card.<br /> “Yes, if I’m interested,” Janni replied, tucking his card into her pocket as he walked away. Her foolish heart was still misbehaving itself. Nick was as attractive as ever, she thought, dressed in a stylish, collarless dark blue suit that showed only a flash of white at the neck and looked as if it might be Armani. It was the kind of suit that was good on young, athletic men and she recalled that he had been keen on sport when she’d known him before. His hair was dark blond and a little longer than she normally liked on a man – but why was she letting herself think about him at all? He was married and she had no intention of getting involved again for a long, long time. Especially with a married man!<br /> She waited until he had moved away from the bride and groom before going over. “I’ve just come to say goodbye,” she said, kissing Alice’s cheek. “You look gorgeous, love – and so does Peter.”<br /> Alice’s white lace and tulle dress was very traditional, but she had worn flowers in her hair rather than a veil, and looked sensational. Once again, Janni felt a pang of regret. She’d been so certain she and Mark would be planning their wedding soon – but perhaps what had happened was for the best. Otherwise, they might have ended up getting a divorce before long.<br /> “Keep your hands off, he’s mine,” Alice Lennox teased. “Have you heard anything more from Mark?”<br /> “No, not since he walked out on me,” Janni said, avoiding Alice’s eyes. “He promised to keep paying his share of the rent until I could find a new flatmate, but I doubt if he’ll bother once he gets to the States.” <br /> “Well, I think that’s rotten,” Alice said and her eyes flashed with anger on behalf of Janni. “He could at least have stumped up the rent until you got things settled.”<br /> Janni pulled a wry face. She couldn’t help noticing that Nick Hamilton was no longer in the room. She wasn’t sure why, but all of a sudden Mark’s desertion no longer seemed to matter.<br />“Well, it just goes to show that Mum was right all along. She warned me not to move in with him. I should’ve listened.”<br /> Alice nodded, then turned to listen to something her new husband was saying. Janni gave them both a little wave and left, keeping her smile in place until she was in the taxi taking her to catch the train back to London.<br /> She hardly knew why she was feeling so down. She wasn’t still missing Mark, for goodness sake! And her mother had warned her at the beginning that it would end in tears.<br /> “Move in with him and he will lose respect for you,” Mrs Ross had warned. “Yes, I know you think I’m old-fashioned and perhaps I am – but I don’t trust Mark Hatton and I never shall.”<br /> In her heart Janni had wanted a white wedding and all the trimmings, but Mark had been adamant. He couldn’t afford to get married and he didn’t see what all the fuss was about anyway.<br /> “Look around you,” he’d said over and over again. “How many of our friends get married these days? Most of them just move in together – and look at Jenny and Paul. They lived together for four years, perfectly happy, then she wanted to get married so Paul agreed – ten months later they’ve split.”<br /> Janni hadn’t been able to disagree with his logic and she had thought herself in love with Mark then … but now she wasn’t sure whether it was Mark she’d loved or the man she had thought he was deep down. <br /> Janni’s mother agreed with Alice that she ought to make a complete break, find herself a new job and a new place to live.<br /> “It’s the only way, love,” Mrs Ross had told her. “Either that or move back home with me and take the train into work every day. And you were moaning about the high rent even when you and Mark were still together.”<br /> “I certainly can’t afford it unless I find someone to share – and the lease comes up for renewal next month, so I shall soon have to decide whether to give the flat up or not.”<br /> Janni didn’t particularly want to give up her job, nor did she want to move back home and commute every day.<br />She loved her work, enjoying every moment she spent with her patients on the postoperative ward, and counting herself privileged. People took medicine for granted these days, demanding more and more of their doctors, but Janni had never ceased to feel exhilarated and thrilled at the skill of the surgeons who performed near miracles day after day.<br /> Yet recently the strain of working long hours, combined with a stressful home life, had begun to get her down a little. Perhaps she ought to have thought before refusing Nick Hamilton’s offer.<br /> She remembered how attractive Nick had looked that afternoon. His smile had been warm and generous, and she had reacted instinctively out of a need to protect herself. She didn’t want to go through all that again!<br /> Nick had been the first man to break her heart when he married someone else. Perhaps that was why Mark’s desertion had bruised her ego more than her heart – having had it broken once she was incapable of ever truly loving again.<br /><br /><br /><br />The flat seemed so empty when Janni got in that evening. She frowned, disliking both the silence and her surroundings. The décor was too minimal and hard for her comfort, but she had never been encouraged to change things. Mark had liked his flat the way it was – and it had always been his. He had made that plain from the start. Janni contributed her share of the bills and housekeeping, but Mark paid the rent. When she thought about it, she realized the lease was in his name, so there was no guarantee she would be granted a new one if she wanted it! <br />Was it only five months since Mark had asked her to move in? Janni felt it was much longer. What had gone wrong between them? Was it her fault? Mark had told her she wasn’t really in love with him before he left, flinging it at her as if seeking to transfer the blame for their break up.<br />“You never wanted me,” he had said bitterly as the quarrel flared between them. “Don’t look at me as if I’m committing some kind of a crime, Janni – if you were honest you would admit I was doing you a favour by walking out.”<br />“If that’s the way you feel, perhaps you are,” she had flung after him. Now she realized that perhaps he had been right – they weren’t made for each other. She had enjoyed their relationship in the beginning, but she hadn’t truly been in love with him – and if seeing Nick Hamilton that afternoon had made her see that, she had better stay well clear of him or she might end up in more trouble!Unknownnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2659462170686292600.post-53392429870838897052011-06-29T23:20:00.000-07:002011-06-29T23:28:39.810-07:00Echoes Of Splendour<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjg0XNo62i75KHYAQYJEqYk_hOqbHqySNmvpaNDaeAAa4p2wywhD5j4WqF6B-m-1XvMEExIpKGUm3TtUYsrTUc_7p5vgF4Vcc6oJFydz9FV9ZS8AkXc5LuN0nuC-XMCURxLDCLA9ZOE1NT9/s1600/Echoes+of+Splendour+Cover+Final.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 218px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjg0XNo62i75KHYAQYJEqYk_hOqbHqySNmvpaNDaeAAa4p2wywhD5j4WqF6B-m-1XvMEExIpKGUm3TtUYsrTUc_7p5vgF4Vcc6oJFydz9FV9ZS8AkXc5LuN0nuC-XMCURxLDCLA9ZOE1NT9/s320/Echoes+of+Splendour+Cover+Final.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5623894616097827842" /></a><br /><br />Here is a taster of my book on sale at amazon in kindle.<br /><br />It is on special offer at the moment so now is the time to grab a copy if you'd like one.<br /><br />Enjoy!<br /><br />I remember those days in old Russia as if they were only yesterday. It was a very different place then, for I was there before the beginning of the first revolution in 1905, and the world I saw was filled with bright colours, gaiety and laughter. Of course there was a different face to St. Petersburg from the one I knew, but I was not aware of it. My father and Johan kept me from such knowledge. How could I have dreamed of the appalling poverty and hardship in the country when I lived protected and spoiled in the house of Prince Paul Vronski, the indulged daughter of a man who was privileged to be tutor to the prince’s son?<br /><br /><br /> We lived in a palace set in beautiful grounds. There were trees, flowerbeds, formal walks and a small lake where Ivan and I played sometimes with his model yacht. His father had a real one, and sometimes as a treat I was taken on the sea, and both Ivan and I wore sailor suits – mine had a skirt of course - and the crew let us help them steer the ship. Oh yes, we were fortunate in those days, the son of Prince Paul and I.<br /><br /><br /> Sometimes we were both taken to the Winter Palace, where we met the Tsar’s daughters, who were polite and kind to us. The Tsarena Olga was always particularly kind to me. She once gave me a set of little wooden dolls that were graduated in size and fitted one inside the other. We never saw the Tsarevich Alexi however. There were unkind rumours in circulation amongst the people; it was said he was kept hidden away for all kinds of reasons and I only heard the truth of his terrible affliction, which had been passed down to him through his mother’s line, long after I had left Russia.<br /><br /><br /> We lived in Russia for three years, Papa and I. Before that, when Maman was alive, home was a beautiful but crumbling chateau in the south of France. Mama was wholly French, and she too was very beautiful and her laughter could make my heart sing for joy. Papa was an Englishman. Everyone said he was clever, and I believe he was generally admired in Prince Vronski’s circle. To me he often seemed stern and distant, as though he was preoccupied with more important matters and had no time to notice his only child.<br /><br /><br /> It was to Johan Radzinsky that I clung in those days. My dear, kind protector who watched over me and remembered all the things that Papa forgot.<br /><br /><br /> Papa was always so busy. Besides being tutor to Prince Vronski’s son, he lectured occasionally at the University in Moscow. Sometimes he stayed away for several days, and there were evenings when he had long, involved meetings with serious looking men who frightened me. They all ignored me, speaking over my head in a language I could not understand.<br /><br /><br /> Ivan and I spoke in French or English. I knew very few words of Russian; just enough to ask the servants for something to eat and thank them, though Ivan did his best to teach me. I was at this time inclined to be lazy. I did not wish to learn particularly and no one cared enough to teach me. I was just that pretty little girl who ran and played about the palace, of no real importance in the scheme of things. Until the day I suddenly became of use to Papa.<br /><br /><br /> I could read, write and calculate. Papa had seen to my early schooling, and of course I was fluent in both French and English. Papa believed I would educate myself from his books, and in time I came to learn the treasures that lay within their covers. But at this time I was fourteen years old and interested only in amusement.<br /><br /><br /> How soon my world was to turn upside down. I would be given a sharp lesson in reality, one that would change and shape my whole life. I have long wanted to tell my story for I was born to a time of great changes, of terrible tragedy and violence. The world is very different now to the one I knew then, though who can say whether those changes were for good or evil? At the time I thought them cruel and wicked.<br /><br /> Sometimes, when the voices crowd in on me I feel as if I am being crushed by a great weight, and the darkness is all about me. I hear their voices echoing down the years and I remember how it was…<br /><br />Buy this at amazon, send me proof of purchase - through contact at the website<br />linda@lindasole.co.uk<br />and I'll send you another of my Anne Ireland ebooks free<br /><br />This is a romance/mystery about a girl who flees from the revolution in Russia. Parted from her friend she does nto see him until they ar older and begin to fall in love.Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2659462170686292600.post-47617721172628757622011-06-16T09:59:00.000-07:002011-06-16T10:02:11.823-07:00Briar Patch By Linda Sole<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhPGDSP_uz48gM96PxXCfc2P5KHDRdIih8S5uemNAR5vRqZoyufNoMn3RLPXZuEOnTW39ftXdmHJhNTho2u-ahISqibLJhEvdMs4XPklRZVsqavy0EoMcjFNsmZKnCFkiKkX-kRkpvh-9lh/s1600/9780727880888.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 205px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhPGDSP_uz48gM96PxXCfc2P5KHDRdIih8S5uemNAR5vRqZoyufNoMn3RLPXZuEOnTW39ftXdmHJhNTho2u-ahISqibLJhEvdMs4XPklRZVsqavy0EoMcjFNsmZKnCFkiKkX-kRkpvh-9lh/s320/9780727880888.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5618863658157697122" /></a><br /><br />I just love this cover for my new book from Severn House. Published in hardback in August I think my readers will love it.<br /><br />Here is a dramatic opening for you to enjoy. <br /><br /><br />‘Something is wrong with our Carrie.’ Ellen Blake shaded her eyes as she stood at the kitchen window. ‘I told you to keep an eye on her, Dick. You know she isn’t safe out on her own.’<br /> ‘I can’t watch her and do my work,’ Dick muttered. ‘Pa sent me down to the bottom field with the cows. Carrie followed. I sent her home but you know what she is – it’s not my fault if she wanders off in a daydream. The girl is soft in the head and it’s no use denying it, Ma.’<br /> ‘Our Carrie isn’t like other girls. I wish the Good Lord had made her ugly for then her foolishness wouldn’t matter so much – but she is beautiful and the lads stare at her. She hasn’t the sense to know what they’re after.’<br /> ‘You worry too much, Ma.’<br /> Dick was at the deep stone sink pumping water to wash when his mother opened the back door.<br /> ‘Come away in, Carrie,’ she scolded; then, on a different note, ‘What’s wrong, love?’<br /> ‘He hurt me, Ma,’ Carrie’s sobs brought Dick’s head round sharply. He grumbled about having to watch out for her when he was at his work, but in his heart he loved her. She was vulnerable and a little lacking up top but her beauty and her sweetness of character made her a favourite with everyone. ‘I didn’t want to do it – but he forced me.’<br /> ‘Forced you to do what, Carrie?’ Dick saw the tear to her bodice and the mud on her long skirts. Moving swiftly towards his sister, he grabbed her wrist. ‘Who was the bastard that hurt you – and what did he do to you?’<br /> Carrie yelped in fright. She was sixteen; a lovely girl with hair the colour of ripe corn in sunlight and wide, greenish blue eyes that always held an expression of wonder or bewilderment. She had no reason to be frightened of her eldest brother, though at seven and twenty he was tall, broad-shouldered and powerful.<br /> ‘The squire.’ Carrie’s face was streaked with dirt and tears but Dick could see the red mark on her cheek. ‘He was riding his horse through the wild meadow. I asked him why he was there, because that’s pa’s land. He dismounted and pushed me down on the grass and then he did it...’<br /> ‘What did he do?’<br /> ‘Ma...Don’t let our Dick hurt me. I didn’t mean to let him...’ Her eyes widened as she stared at her mother. ‘Will I have a baby, Ma? Da will kill me if I bring shame on him – he said so.’<br /> ‘The filthy bastard.’ Dick took Carrie by the shoulders, shaking her until she started sobbing. ‘What did he do to you, girl? Did he rape you? By God, I’ll kill him for what he’s done.’<br /> ‘You sound like your pa. Sit down and have your meal, Dick. Whatever is done is done. You can’t change it and who would take Carrie’s word against Squire Thornton?’<br /> ‘Everyone knows what he is. He gets away with it time and again. No one stands up to him – but this time he has gone too far.’<br /> ‘You don’t know what he did.’ Ellen caught hold of her son’s arm as he started for the door. ‘Where are you going? You can’t touch him, Dick. Squire is too powerful. He has men working for him who think they rule this county.’<br /> Dick met her eyes defiantly. ‘I’m going to kill him, Ma – and damn the consequences.’<br /> ‘Violence never helped anyone. If you do this you’ll have to run and where does that leave me? You know what your pa is like and Tom can’t stand up to him the way you do.’<br /> ‘I’m going after him, Ma, and you can’t stop me – this time the bastard is going to pay.’<br /> ‘Dick, please think. Mebbe nothing happened. Carrie’s all right, just a bit frightened. Come back. Please don’t leave us alone with your pa.’<br /> Dick wasn’t listening. The anger had been smouldering inside him for a long time; anger at his sister for being the way she was, anger at the world for the injustice he saw around him every day, and anger at himself for bowing his head to his pa.<br /> In the yard outside, Dick saw the long handled axe he had earlier used for chopping wood and picked it up. His face was grim as he set off across the low-lying fields, which lay between Thornton’s land and his father’s farm. The squire coveted their land because of its access to the fast flowing stream that ran through it and bordered the wild meadow. It petered out to a thin trickle by the time it reached the Squire’s land, which meant that all the water for the stock and much of what was needed elsewhere had to be pumped from various wells Thornton had sunk. During the previous hot summer some of his wells had run dry. The stream on their land had kept flowing, even though it had been sluggish during the drought.<br /> ‘Sell to me, John Blake,’ Thornton had made a generous bid for the land. ‘You have barely enough acres to support your family, man. With the offer I’ve made, you could settle elsewhere – perhaps buy an inn or more land. Send your eldest boy to me and I’ll give him a cottage and a job in the stables.’<br /> Dick’s frown deepened as he recalled his father’s reply. John Blake's curses had made even Dick blush and he was used to his father’s foul language. Since then they had heard nothing, but Thornton was not a man to take such insults lying down.<br /> ‘Damn him for a coward and a rogue!’<br /> What kind of a man took his revenge on a defenceless girl? Everyone knew that Carrie was a little slow in her mind. The doctor said it was because she’d been too long in coming when Ma gave birth. <br /> ‘I’ll kill him. I'll kill the bastard if I swing for it.’<br /> Dick’s anger festered as he strode through the fields, most of which were pasture for the squire’s herd of prime Herefords. He was trespassing but he didn’t care. What kind of a man would take advantage of a girl like Carrie?<br /> Anger carried Dick swiftly towards the large sprawling manor house that had belonged to Squire Thornton’s family for more than three hundred years. Added to over the centuries, it was a hotchpotch of styles ranging from Jacobean to the Georgian façade that the squire’s grandfather had built. As he saw the grey stone walls rising ahead of him, Dick hesitated and for a moment his mother’s words came back to his mind.<br /> ‘Don’t leave me alone with your pa.’<br /> It would be hard for her but it couldn't be helped. He took a firmer grip on the handle of the axe and strode on. When he reached the front courtyard, Dick saw a group of gentlemen were standing outside. The squire was one of them. They were all laughing in the wintry sunshine – Thornton as carefree as the rest. The rogue hadn’t an ounce of conscience. <br />‘Damn your black soul to hell, Thornton!’<br /> Dick raised the axe above his head and charged towards the men. At first they seemed unaware but then they turned to look at him. He saw their stunned expressions and the fear in their faces as they scattered. For the first time in his life he felt powerful. He had always been a labouring man, forced to bow his head and obey orders. These rich men rode by on their horses and splashed mud over him, hardly seeing him; he was nothing, dirt beneath their hooves - but they were seeing him now. Their fear amused him, making him laugh out loud.<br /> He heard the screams and shouts but his mind was focused on only one thing. Thornton must die. The Squire had turned to look at him, incredulity in his eyes. He alone of them all stood his ground. Once, Dick would have admired that but the red mist in his brain shut everything out but the desire to kill.<br /> ‘What do you want, Blake?’<br /> ‘Revenge for my sister,’ Dick said and smashed the blade of the axe against his head. Thornton went down like a stone, blood spraying everywhere. Dick knew a moment of triumph before the shot made him crumple to his knees and then fall flat in the dirt beside the body of the man he had killed.Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2659462170686292600.post-50553492040746573372010-11-10T01:06:00.000-08:002010-11-10T01:09:45.137-08:00The Witch Child<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgcOmKwIqkDGSE6x260O6YJWmXqFK8_4VPx6SYQ4ZBHN47uXYGUDTC2rNPV5wslHrOsVz02VM0HNC5TNNAq6qFkIUW3e4McK4WJdjvVAWpotwfhoo4gsy2tdMA5pdI2ZM9Ko7c_iVYpPazV/s1600/8889800133.jpg"><img style="float:right; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 302px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgcOmKwIqkDGSE6x260O6YJWmXqFK8_4VPx6SYQ4ZBHN47uXYGUDTC2rNPV5wslHrOsVz02VM0HNC5TNNAq6qFkIUW3e4McK4WJdjvVAWpotwfhoo4gsy2tdMA5pdI2ZM9Ko7c_iVYpPazV/s320/8889800133.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5537845457136791954" /></a><br /><br />The Witch Child is published in Kindle uk<br /><br />This book was my first published book. It was brought to life by Robert Hale publishers of London but I've had the rights for years. I have now put it into Kindle. It is up at Uk kindle under Linda Sole.<br /><br /><br />She was beautiful, she was wicked, she was wanton and she drove men mad with desire, but to love her was to suffer pain. She was the Witch Child.<br /><br /><br /><br /><br />I was but eleven years old when they first named me for a witch. That terrible day is burned so deeply into my memory that even now, years later, there are times when I wake from some nightmarish dream, shaking with fear. Yet it was important, for it brought Justin to me and so sealed my destiny. But perhaps I should start at the beginning . . .<br />I must have looked a pathetic sight as I stood just inside the door of Granny Fisher’s cottage, soaked to the skin by the driving rain, which persisted as my companion and I walked the last half mile to the cottage in its lonely isolation at the top of the cliffs. A child of eight, slight and small for my age, my green eyes must have been stark with the misery I felt as I stared at the old woman. Meeting her bleak, unsmiling eyes, I shivered, for her lined face showed no trace of warmth or pity.<br />My heart sank and I clutched at Mr. Jackson’s hand, waiting for her to speak. He glanced down at me with sympathy, then pushed me forward. My heart beat wildly. I was terrified of this silent, old woman and longed for the comfort of my mother’s arms, though I knew I should never feel them about me again. Nor would my father toss me into the air, laughing as I screamed in childish delight. They were both dead and I was alone in the world, except for this woman whom I had never seen before today.<br />“You say Beth’s dead?” she spoke at last. “And her husband, too?”<br />“Yes, Mrs. Fisher,” replied my companion. “Your daughter died of the pox. It was her last wish that I should bring the girl to you.”<br />In the ensuing silence I swallowed nervously, trying to hold back my shameful tears. Granny looked at me suspiciously, her eyes hawklike in the wrinkled face. My instincts told me that she did not want me.<br />“If she died of the pox—why did the child not take it from her?”<br />Mr. Jackson shrugged his shoulders. “I don’t rightly know, ma’am—some say ‘tis a miracle.” He shuffled his feet awk-wardly, then handed her a purse. “This is what was left after the debts were paid. ‘Tis not much, there are few folk as will buy goods from a house where the pox has visited.”<br />She took the purse unwillingly. “Is there no one else to care for her? Times are hard and ‘tis work enough to keep the flesh on these bones of mine, without a growing child to feed.”<br />He shook his head. “ Nay. I’d have took her meself but my wife’s dead set against it. I’m damned if I know why. She’s a good little thing and she’ll be no bother to you.”<br />“Ha!—that’s all you know. Children are always a bother whether they mean to be or not. Beth was ever a thoughtless lass. It would not occur to her that I might not want the girl. Not a word from her since she ran off, now she sends me her girl. Well, come here, child, and let me look at you!”<br />I shook my head, wrapping my arms about Mr. Jackson’s knees. He looked down at me with pity and I think he might have taken me back with him had he not feared his wife’s temper. Mrs. Jackson was a shrew and she had vowed she would have none of me. He wrestled with his conscience briefly, but he lived in fear of her tongue and he dare not return with me in tow. He untangled my clinging limbs and pushed me firmly into the cottage.<br />Granny grasped me with her clawlike hands, peering into my face for a long time, a strange expression in her eyes. She sighed. “You’re Beth’s girl all right. What was that fool name she gave you ?”<br />I took a deep breath. “ My name is Jalinda and it is a pretty name. My mother liked it.”<br />“ Ha! So you can talk after all. Well, come in, lass. I didn’t ask you to come and I dare say as you’d rather be elsewhere—but it seems we’ve neither of us any choice.”<br />She took my bundle from me and laid it down, then she turned to Mr. Jackson. “Be off with you,” she said. “What arc you waiting for ?”<br />He was surprised by the suddenness of her attack. He stared at her, then he nodded his head. Abandoning me to my fate, he hurried back down the cliffs the way we had come. I tried not to think harshly of him; it had been a long journey and he had brought me himself. It was more than most would have done.<br />I stood in the middle of that floor—which was nothing but compounded earth, covered by a layer of filthy rushes— and glanced about me. In one corner was a pile of dried grass, which I was later to discover, served as Granny Fisher’s bed. Apart from a three-legged stool, a coffer, her table and a heavy cooking-pot suspended over the fire I could see only a few bowls and platters.<br />I recalled the table my father had made, which my mother polished until she could see her face in its gleaming surface. I remembered the stools, the panelled linen-chests, the dresser with its bulbous legs and the special chair, which had a high, carved back. It was in this chair that my father sat of an evening, intent on carving the intricate patterns which were his trademark; and taking the same care whether it was something for a valued customer or a little wooden horse for me. The memory of him brought tears to my eyes and they spilled over in noisy sobs.<br />Granny Fisher stared at me, a semblance of pity in her eyes. For a moment I thought she would take me in her arms to comfort me, but she had lost the art of loving. Her life had been too hard and she was too old to begin now.<br />“Now then, lass, dry your eyes. ‘Tis no use in grieving for them as is gone. It won’t bring them back and we must think of ourselves. No doubt you’re hungry; I never yet knew a child who wasn’t.”<br />At this I stopped crying and looked up expectantly. It seemed a long while since I had eaten and my stomach rumbled emptily.<br />She gave a crow of triumph, her thin lips parting in a toothless grin. “ That’s it, girl, ‘tis time to look to the future. Take off those wet things and come to the fire whilst I make you something to eat. We’ll manage, you’ll see. It will be hard at first but you’ll learn. Oh, yes, you’ll learn all right!”<br /><br />* * * *<br /><br />And learn I did !<br />I learned what it was to be cold and hungry in the long winter, which followed. I learned to go searching for driftwood on the beach when it was freezing cold and a biting wind blew in from the sea; to come home to the cottage soaked to the skin and to a stewpot containing only a few vegetables— unless we were lucky enough to catch a rabbit. That was seldom enough, for Granny rarely caught anything in her snares—it had been a hard winter for the rabbits, too.<br />I do not know how I survived that first year. I had been gently reared, and according to the laws of nature I should have sickened and died. Instead, I thrived. I grew thin but it was a tough, wiry leanness.<br />It was a hard life, so different from the one I had known. Often I would take out the little wooden horse, stroking its smooth surface lovingly. Then I would ache for the sound of my father’s voice, or the touch of my mother’s hands as she tucked me up in my cot at night. If only someone had shown me a little love, but there was no one but Granny, and she had forgotten how.<br />Sometimes we huddled together in front of the fire, listening to the howling wind. It tore at the cottage walls with a vindictive fury, and the waves lashed at the foot of the cliffs, sending spray high into the air. On certain nights, when the power of the storm was at its height, I sometimes thought I could hear the souls of drowning men, screaming in the darkness.<br />“The sea be terrible cruel,” Granny said once. “I lost a man and two sons out there on just such a night as this. Aye, she be a wicked mistress, the sea ...”<br />Looking at her then I began to understand what had made her the way she was. Loneliness and suffering will make granite of the softest heart in time, and I guessed that her life had been lonely. I drew closer to her, realising that she hated the howling wind as much as I. Somehow that knowledge robbed the storm of some of its power to frighten me and I no longer felt quite so alone.<br /><br />* * * *<br /><br />I had been at the cottage for six months when I first saw the house, or, rather, I saw the gates leading to the estate. Huge iron spikes, flanked by stone pillars topped with a pair of eagles. They perched with beaks menacingly open, their wings unfurled as though ready to attack the unwary intruder. So real were they that I almost believed them the guardians they appeared to be.<br />“Where does that lead?” I asked Granny, pointing to the path, which wound into the trees.<br />“‘Tis Sir Ralph Frome’s land. He lives in the house beyond the woods.”Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2659462170686292600.post-48801195633940999582010-09-03T07:15:00.000-07:002010-09-03T07:25:32.131-07:00Hi EveryoneIt is an age since I posted here. I'm just catching up with a few new books that are out. I think the best way is to put up a series of pictures. I have a new saga from Severn House in November and lots more coming from Mills & Boon.<br /><br /><br /><br />The first picture is a new ebook for amira press.<br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi1Stiey7Zbcq8KPJJ-_Mj7wi9E2JBeg_TqSrg6rgKhWcH9nSo1rnnC2WC33PkfBD11lH5jf-LBx0WcKgJJhBR3w_s400UdJ7VAb-y25qMDY1qOviv6k3GkcFmSKE-G4QnoeGWmEUY_m6-Q/s1600/thecurseofbeauty_original.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 213px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi1Stiey7Zbcq8KPJJ-_Mj7wi9E2JBeg_TqSrg6rgKhWcH9nSo1rnnC2WC33PkfBD11lH5jf-LBx0WcKgJJhBR3w_s400UdJ7VAb-y25qMDY1qOviv6k3GkcFmSKE-G4QnoeGWmEUY_m6-Q/s320/thecurseofbeauty_original.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5512692715939046082" /></a><br /><br />This is the second in the Family Feud series from Severn House. It is out now in paperback as well as hardback. <br /><br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgSWWDoDy4sV21TM-zVm9M8fPp8oAsteQ84fUmm1Mu2EIN5QDLDdj2KLmEpzeStCCRVM_8RDbt-MvHSxeKJEQANaUMyvz9W4_od4jZFTkYFS9pmN7PQLI5x0HjiIep_p1zchBEaCRPgeWIY/s1600/9780727867728.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 206px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgSWWDoDy4sV21TM-zVm9M8fPp8oAsteQ84fUmm1Mu2EIN5QDLDdj2KLmEpzeStCCRVM_8RDbt-MvHSxeKJEQANaUMyvz9W4_od4jZFTkYFS9pmN7PQLI5x0HjiIep_p1zchBEaCRPgeWIY/s320/9780727867728.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5512692251051616050" /></a><br /><br />This was out earlier in the year - a part of the Melford Dynasty<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhW6zwExttqWXgm5NRkQ1sU0YrEuuydpL3OzTcSLlMZklfM5mpLrE80ObVYUgbHzmUSIumbOsg313-9JzS00gZqsf3zIbHmsCC3TYySyvbBx3zOTcCHj7Bqs7lo3FSe7BNJrKzXPdz_2Yg9/s1600/9781408916247_Outside_Front_Cover_00000000-145-231-24-jpeg.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 145px; height: 231px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhW6zwExttqWXgm5NRkQ1sU0YrEuuydpL3OzTcSLlMZklfM5mpLrE80ObVYUgbHzmUSIumbOsg313-9JzS00gZqsf3zIbHmsCC3TYySyvbBx3zOTcCHj7Bqs7lo3FSe7BNJrKzXPdz_2Yg9/s320/9781408916247_Outside_Front_Cover_00000000-145-231-24-jpeg.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5512692026379102354" /></a><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEghpKSSLOS5KryhcN4jSTO33S_K_wZHGA1xp6C_ikU3O0BcdaaGumFr91QgVESQOhpCLFCnf8SABDPDy98H7n8JySszXxKygCffy3pEvpNOyd7HWPe8YggBvHJlKG-L0FTTX8uJR3DmMwzP/s1600/978-0-263-87605-5.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 202px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEghpKSSLOS5KryhcN4jSTO33S_K_wZHGA1xp6C_ikU3O0BcdaaGumFr91QgVESQOhpCLFCnf8SABDPDy98H7n8JySszXxKygCffy3pEvpNOyd7HWPe8YggBvHJlKG-L0FTTX8uJR3DmMwzP/s320/978-0-263-87605-5.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5512691772262776962" /></a><br /><br />This is my new one from M&B in England, though it came out first in USA<br /><br /><br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgJth2OaDRkRFg_kLp_CbBnMQbZFFhdQfq4bwwdUmalC6S5Hey6V1v6ZdgoA1zpB5TihyphenhyphenI-lH1aIM9EwU98ob_cV3DWZWm1oLghl4hxfOG_m4Kr8TUZt1IHUpuwxBAykIJobHbCR2vfJExY/s1600/51pDFZAZJZL__SL500_AA300_.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 300px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgJth2OaDRkRFg_kLp_CbBnMQbZFFhdQfq4bwwdUmalC6S5Hey6V1v6ZdgoA1zpB5TihyphenhyphenI-lH1aIM9EwU98ob_cV3DWZWm1oLghl4hxfOG_m4Kr8TUZt1IHUpuwxBAykIJobHbCR2vfJExY/s320/51pDFZAZJZL__SL500_AA300_.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5512691411901638178" /></a><br /><br /><br /><br /><br />Such a lot of books since I posted here last.<br /><br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgb7EkFYuBRmgUp8QG7wW56pYjDi1Xki7rnHgKhIef6VI9WEWXJa8k7lzn8VTIXf7FYmhvnBaWc3PC_KJPIiysFWMyLdBceXz7kljnENbmPbJw5GWwbYxCqlMvZkk8r1YbXtFRHr71Ut6e7/s1600/51rVR1viydL__SL500_SL135_.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 85px; height: 135px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgb7EkFYuBRmgUp8QG7wW56pYjDi1Xki7rnHgKhIef6VI9WEWXJa8k7lzn8VTIXf7FYmhvnBaWc3PC_KJPIiysFWMyLdBceXz7kljnENbmPbJw5GWwbYxCqlMvZkk8r1YbXtFRHr71Ut6e7/s320/51rVR1viydL__SL500_SL135_.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5512691217641251618" /></a>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2659462170686292600.post-1204909762780112862010-03-27T00:47:00.000-07:002010-03-27T00:56:27.640-07:00Latest Books<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiBnccNrUBAdmechnMeFh8aGj22kwuMmrqvAA2lpHqM5YT6VuIyd7HjuPKSWDGLP0OROtafNWjG7-4ekoIxDWgZEldvN1XdrODdNWXMH6rI2H139I65dIigpI25fTOWOf9ykulmpLQsAFa1/s1600/51sTTWUm8YL__SS500_.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiBnccNrUBAdmechnMeFh8aGj22kwuMmrqvAA2lpHqM5YT6VuIyd7HjuPKSWDGLP0OROtafNWjG7-4ekoIxDWgZEldvN1XdrODdNWXMH6rI2H139I65dIigpI25fTOWOf9ykulmpLQsAFa1/s320/51sTTWUm8YL__SS500_.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5453217364762538610" /></a><br /><br />The cover above is my last published novel with Severn House. It is the third in the Family Feud series and the first of those books was The Lie, which received very good reviews.<br /><br />My new book coming in May is a new saga set in the London docklands entitled All My Sins.<br /><br />I think this one is perhaps the best saga I've written since Lovers & Sinners.Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2659462170686292600.post-50195351170515294762009-11-04T01:09:00.000-08:002009-11-04T01:13:01.434-08:00A new blog<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj5hQdSD06hb8jfHFBCiE3lJNtvTtcd7ROoBXcuLzCK0yQLr5u195v39K7S3ERn8cPav_OUCI_wJpFhe8M0PQhOZFl0dpkXkG-4qDnKB2wSsjbwrHm1JlYIHekGE3WoVkVUR_hfIB0E7tQ7/s1600-h/51C4ZfjViQL__SL500_AA240_.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 240px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj5hQdSD06hb8jfHFBCiE3lJNtvTtcd7ROoBXcuLzCK0yQLr5u195v39K7S3ERn8cPav_OUCI_wJpFhe8M0PQhOZFl0dpkXkG-4qDnKB2wSsjbwrHm1JlYIHekGE3WoVkVUR_hfIB0E7tQ7/s320/51C4ZfjViQL__SL500_AA240_.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5400173373103797458" /></a><br />I have a new blog for Anne Herries fans<br /><br />http://anneherriesregency.blogspot.com<br /><br />This blog will have excerpts, stories and competitionsUnknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2659462170686292600.post-83433502968034233072009-09-20T05:00:00.000-07:002009-09-20T05:03:36.447-07:00Dangerous To Know & Other New Books<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjkab_fgbgTNE62xJHI1JaFSrnl4qVguIrnUpgKn2AzI-9Vdjx-bkHkNlGJqITP_REuEgcwwT-4xjN5uyHKYeO4XL00UTTcaqys5mxAGCX-DYxkhlUzALevZtlSTdvIb_quRGYXe5owwpbb/s1600-h/DaddyLovesBelinda-200x300.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 200px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjkab_fgbgTNE62xJHI1JaFSrnl4qVguIrnUpgKn2AzI-9Vdjx-bkHkNlGJqITP_REuEgcwwT-4xjN5uyHKYeO4XL00UTTcaqys5mxAGCX-DYxkhlUzALevZtlSTdvIb_quRGYXe5owwpbb/s320/DaddyLovesBelinda-200x300.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5383519064105791474" /></a><br />Hi. I just wanted to tell anyone who still looks in that I have some new books coming out at Red Rose Publishing.<br /><br />Dangerous To Know/Anne Ireland/Red Rose Publishing<br />Coming October 8th in ebook<br /><br />Daddy Loves Belinda/Anne Ireland/Red Rose Publishing<br />Coming soon<br /><br />Ryan's Son/Anne Ireland/Red Rose Publishing<br />Coming soonUnknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2659462170686292600.post-13825099521789510032009-04-19T23:56:00.000-07:002009-04-20T00:06:01.277-07:00New books and picsHi everyone. I haven't been here much for a while because I am working very hard on a series of books, but I popped in today to load some pics of new and recent books. I just want to thank all the people who support me by buying and enjoying my books. Love to you all.<br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhBCT71rajXD8xqDzDfmSGjSYTklwSz_PvNG9Bi2IGCNUU6YPx0Gs-KwPfsj562lc7DOgTJj6ooqGbsJOBCmlima9Bke6mCrGStcfPQgPzoFdVlp1Zke9roSs7gjA6x3FMTYSjoVnERsfDe/s1600-h/SanctuaryMoon1-ThePrincessandtheWolf.jpg"><img style="float:right; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 214px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhBCT71rajXD8xqDzDfmSGjSYTklwSz_PvNG9Bi2IGCNUU6YPx0Gs-KwPfsj562lc7DOgTJj6ooqGbsJOBCmlima9Bke6mCrGStcfPQgPzoFdVlp1Zke9roSs7gjA6x3FMTYSjoVnERsfDe/s320/SanctuaryMoon1-ThePrincessandtheWolf.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5326665551896018562" /></a><br /><br />This is a shorty story I wrote for the Wolf Sanctuary. Someone is trying to save the wolves in a special sanctuary and needs funds so a group of Red Rose Publishing authors got together to write short stories and they are giving their royalties to the sanctuary. I hope we do well for the wolves.<br /><br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjtwJ0y3WDyKMRQw2TqOjrFHICRvRo6AbFXgSt9UXHnwHDHcdwiKOOaLzn4v-p9bNeQgHnoq-e_n9YYwbOo2EbdBNnxXhbr0uyd1D_GVUWUulFtuFhWSojt9OI6CHNeZRWizttt4X5xd6Vq/s1600-h/darkancientqueen_original.jpg"><img style="float:right; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 214px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjtwJ0y3WDyKMRQw2TqOjrFHICRvRo6AbFXgSt9UXHnwHDHcdwiKOOaLzn4v-p9bNeQgHnoq-e_n9YYwbOo2EbdBNnxXhbr0uyd1D_GVUWUulFtuFhWSojt9OI6CHNeZRWizttt4X5xd6Vq/s320/darkancientqueen_original.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5326665033721353618" /></a><br />This is a new ebook coming soon to Amira Press<br /><br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg5n5S0V-2yZ1vCu9g5YhuzrwTYBaoPY5WRJVggLLkmnOzD3Z4o9BVftNsj1U_UbGh56vVmpUcJULjF7ySbCMAoKhTuCcgsSU_AlypZ_fpdCcKnm4r8NZdkLYqlWvl2-HsJU6s-S2xlcE4l/s1600-h/9780727867117.jpg"><img style="float:right; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 204px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg5n5S0V-2yZ1vCu9g5YhuzrwTYBaoPY5WRJVggLLkmnOzD3Z4o9BVftNsj1U_UbGh56vVmpUcJULjF7ySbCMAoKhTuCcgsSU_AlypZ_fpdCcKnm4r8NZdkLYqlWvl2-HsJU6s-S2xlcE4l/s320/9780727867117.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5326664329967785730" /></a><br />This is the cover for the first Family Feud book. This had a wonderful review from The Historical Novel magazine. they didn't like the cover, thought it drab. It isn't one of the best, though it fits with the period.<br /><br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgtd-3U1kxqg0s13eYwIAk5O4ZRulfYalFq4ERXA0JSr7-CeS9UQNDl_XHSVfAJpmKXwn3zilp8hV2Y5n3ZK_fyZnXUGRRy8XVzVmnKoNzY2xgM8CuPWMKqHVM3UBpjbib1niEx4EMos6Zu/s1600-h/9780727867728.jpg"><img style="float:right; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 206px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgtd-3U1kxqg0s13eYwIAk5O4ZRulfYalFq4ERXA0JSr7-CeS9UQNDl_XHSVfAJpmKXwn3zilp8hV2Y5n3ZK_fyZnXUGRRy8XVzVmnKoNzY2xgM8CuPWMKqHVM3UBpjbib1niEx4EMos6Zu/s320/9780727867728.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5326664107228677362" /></a><br />This is the cover for the second family Feud book. I like this one.Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2659462170686292600.post-89708268711794635012009-02-28T01:48:00.000-08:002009-02-28T01:55:57.192-08:00the Melford Dynasty<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiBFu0jzVcurCmxwKYq4IfQ393-gB7YOx35mqHSieDQzXeJm-JKKkFk5ihQpN_ESzJpXJ_WvnewsdVxtSTRdOicmubTxcZuV68Kpn4E3ZXkGgEKXVM0QZD1dNUmI0_KtFgIe-5NXKHSoa3C/s1600-h/Herries-LFBride-drm.jpg"><img style="float:right; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 123px; height: 185px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiBFu0jzVcurCmxwKYq4IfQ393-gB7YOx35mqHSieDQzXeJm-JKKkFk5ihQpN_ESzJpXJ_WvnewsdVxtSTRdOicmubTxcZuV68Kpn4E3ZXkGgEKXVM0QZD1dNUmI0_KtFgIe-5NXKHSoa3C/s320/Herries-LFBride-drm.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5307784794684651922" /></a><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhf5IWbGSvp66t6gXAssgT7zB68E9RWISeHY-UWPyVNsQOtR81Cj0A3OT_I1cWJViPBvs75JoUKUn53UibGEfkao76KSJCe655Fka7fMH74qgU0XiZjggJTL0VZuyN1ISuN2mB3rbEmm6Ec/s1600-h/Herries-HDLord-drm.jpg"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 123px; height: 185px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhf5IWbGSvp66t6gXAssgT7zB68E9RWISeHY-UWPyVNsQOtR81Cj0A3OT_I1cWJViPBvs75JoUKUn53UibGEfkao76KSJCe655Fka7fMH74qgU0XiZjggJTL0VZuyN1ISuN2mB3rbEmm6Ec/s320/Herries-HDLord-drm.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5307784643332207506" /></a><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgdqA3fzFg3ZJbmFy9UTzvAhUSupuVhchaqexX0FOyxpJkHNyAQ-ItLB4AmL-C3IfnHoxO-phIHO9xvFbkptIxr4yNoo8x0DsftOv204HgwHEtD3MLs1aRD4ZdAYRJHrUWHxhPh6BzmG79B/s1600-h/41ldKjD%252BiML__SL500_AA240_.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 240px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgdqA3fzFg3ZJbmFy9UTzvAhUSupuVhchaqexX0FOyxpJkHNyAQ-ItLB4AmL-C3IfnHoxO-phIHO9xvFbkptIxr4yNoo8x0DsftOv204HgwHEtD3MLs1aRD4ZdAYRJHrUWHxhPh6BzmG79B/s320/41ldKjD%252BiML__SL500_AA240_.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5307784459327961698" /></a><br />Some Readers have written to me concerning books from the Melford Dynasty. This is going to be a big series of books coming down from the War of The Roses through the ages to the early twentieth century. Three of these books have been published in America. They are Forbidden Lady/Anne Herries, The Lord's Forced Bride/ Anne Herries and Her Dark and Dangerous Lord/Anne Herries. All are published by Harlequin Mills & Boon.<br /><br />The first was only in paperback but the others are also in ebook and still available from www.fictionwise.com and amazon.com. This means that Forbidden Lady is now very hard to find, though there are a few secondhand copies available on the web. The series should come out in the UK at some time but I do not yet know when. Forbidden Lady is in an Australian three in one paperback, which may be available through amazon.co.uk. It is there somewhere but I am not sure if it is possible to buy. Readers have bought the ebooks and are upset because they cannot get number one. I apologise for this and very much hope they will come out here soon. Love to you all LindaUnknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2659462170686292600.post-11354051057562886552008-12-13T02:48:00.000-08:002008-12-13T02:50:11.787-08:00The White Dress<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjcCn3dV7QsO6GoQLmQZwj612A9Wa_xdCfUbsM2TxjwetQi9Q0VFQaKvkYj1k-y9OfndXnFDC8TGI40n8VCZh4UgX4W5sJ_fVMrHV7CP4sL4dxyaxOAFgiARN1wdYs4gu2SmqRdIXAHnwx3/s1600-h/thewhitedress200x300dpi72.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 200px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjcCn3dV7QsO6GoQLmQZwj612A9Wa_xdCfUbsM2TxjwetQi9Q0VFQaKvkYj1k-y9OfndXnFDC8TGI40n8VCZh4UgX4W5sJ_fVMrHV7CP4sL4dxyaxOAFgiARN1wdYs4gu2SmqRdIXAHnwx3/s320/thewhitedress200x300dpi72.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5279225129663959618" /></a><br /><br /><br />My new book coming soon from eternal PressUnknownnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2659462170686292600.post-89317816600749088992008-12-10T00:34:00.001-08:002008-12-10T00:38:09.801-08:00Pictures taken at a family party<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgA0udl4ed0nz3HbrNgZRfb29HwnZpn5Hm307nnz71jQytUqOCOkDUVeimE4eqWxmRZeYbt8zKEdyM6gIw-dYTArhzKphlB6z6oj4p5t-sTTXNAvlS9WwCFHu3i2o1gIBllS9a26Hb47Uz4/s1600-h/Christmas+2008004.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgA0udl4ed0nz3HbrNgZRfb29HwnZpn5Hm307nnz71jQytUqOCOkDUVeimE4eqWxmRZeYbt8zKEdyM6gIw-dYTArhzKphlB6z6oj4p5t-sTTXNAvlS9WwCFHu3i2o1gIBllS9a26Hb47Uz4/s320/Christmas+2008004.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5278077932339682562" /></a><br /><br /><br /><br />Pictures this Christmas. Why only the men, Juliet?<br /><br /><br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiyrrS-_DkednczIaVtxkGO4dcC6-Q5Ayc0fHCzDnWvzcsWxiy-9P04Oq1ubXSXt7EvNmhhxSCJhJwpl7yHUqUS-6X3kSzBoQmRjc4XepBw9Cqo0GL397OmVdljebFPglIKISrgpFfuEQpf/s1600-h/Christmas+2008002.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiyrrS-_DkednczIaVtxkGO4dcC6-Q5Ayc0fHCzDnWvzcsWxiy-9P04Oq1ubXSXt7EvNmhhxSCJhJwpl7yHUqUS-6X3kSzBoQmRjc4XepBw9Cqo0GL397OmVdljebFPglIKISrgpFfuEQpf/s320/Christmas+2008002.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5278077357348602354" /></a>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2659462170686292600.post-4630381748930653952008-12-09T01:07:00.000-08:002008-12-09T01:22:05.171-08:00NewsIt is almost Christmas.<br /><br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiRnQgaLefQ1JdMpwDAMs4HHe4pRrYKXxABO7qb422QL31gjE-olSfgTRmlesfY3h5gpyIiEaAnJlmUaRxJSqcCG53zyii-tfHWfbASFzMVNZILwaeLuZ3UcDEAVZgG3NtaDLfvbkQ9IPMY/s1600-h/ani_santas004.gif"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 104px; height: 121px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiRnQgaLefQ1JdMpwDAMs4HHe4pRrYKXxABO7qb422QL31gjE-olSfgTRmlesfY3h5gpyIiEaAnJlmUaRxJSqcCG53zyii-tfHWfbASFzMVNZILwaeLuZ3UcDEAVZgG3NtaDLfvbkQ9IPMY/s320/ani_santas004.gif" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5277717582817904130" /></a><br /><br /><br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhaAk70YojTfoY-SsfxxMhTB3O2tmycYEJc1_JK9wlW8NaDLHmeoycGJmlUmQEzNG1fbgZYbDc5DUkWY4qI0HZz_TLWic1-zqT471lPxZv6aeOWgVb6lYOfUkF2xUSqFz8xiGwl3SHr69zt/s1600-h/patsC2002.gif"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 102px; height: 52px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhaAk70YojTfoY-SsfxxMhTB3O2tmycYEJc1_JK9wlW8NaDLHmeoycGJmlUmQEzNG1fbgZYbDc5DUkWY4qI0HZz_TLWic1-zqT471lPxZv6aeOWgVb6lYOfUkF2xUSqFz8xiGwl3SHr69zt/s320/patsC2002.gif" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5277717294002156978" /></a><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiRLA78xeZ6Tc9zEQZvJ6MZqyWbFH3zxuFsbEozQEx_FaricsMQGiWrE3I_5QxmfQRZezo4dL9UkaYdpgTDcyolJ6zQpi19IRFtlRv3zZNVZ2aYKBN9v51hpEIaMOAhfsp_yz3BAuMjlfGB/s1600-h/9780727867117.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 204px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiRLA78xeZ6Tc9zEQZvJ6MZqyWbFH3zxuFsbEozQEx_FaricsMQGiWrE3I_5QxmfQRZezo4dL9UkaYdpgTDcyolJ6zQpi19IRFtlRv3zZNVZ2aYKBN9v51hpEIaMOAhfsp_yz3BAuMjlfGB/s320/9780727867117.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5277715993070641634" /></a><br /><br />My latest Linda Sole saga from Severn House.<br /><br /><br /><br /><br />I will be putting some Christmas stories up on my story blog, which you can access at storiesfromlindasole.blogspot.com. I still have lots of competitions running, one at my website and others on various groups.<br /><br />Happy Christmas to all my readers.<br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEglj8ujT8fnKVV0VeYzhRUgqW-vX5pODwu3lspEVSzinC54IJJEd-chKVfUzkGtJivC6UagnQV50Wm0doxEFVjpH2njWTYc5EqjpBbRpBsYmBnRiY8YouCatMbHbQXUgqAygxjeVftibdci/s1600-h/cookiesman.gif"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 137px; height: 180px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEglj8ujT8fnKVV0VeYzhRUgqW-vX5pODwu3lspEVSzinC54IJJEd-chKVfUzkGtJivC6UagnQV50Wm0doxEFVjpH2njWTYc5EqjpBbRpBsYmBnRiY8YouCatMbHbQXUgqAygxjeVftibdci/s320/cookiesman.gif" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5277715433607777986" /></a><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br />Cassie's Sheikh has been in the top ten list under Desert Sheikhs for a couple of weeks. The Rake's Rebellious Lady/Anne Herries/HMB has been number two in the Harlequin Historical list at amazon, and Her Dark and Dangerous Lord has been at number seven in the HH list at Harlequin so all the new books are doign well<br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhwI7UwbBFcYvik-wBWBegpmJ83AobWcLp2UqmDTFwmowAnNp_sJ6lUdm-xhXGPTzjpecD4mvdlGtjvgGuatQgj96fc3a6CEG72maeN_YsO29IY1pulMq59TxPpNAXhx8UiU8S-TzmWRW1N/s1600-h/ani_snowmen006.gif"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 100px; height: 119px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhwI7UwbBFcYvik-wBWBegpmJ83AobWcLp2UqmDTFwmowAnNp_sJ6lUdm-xhXGPTzjpecD4mvdlGtjvgGuatQgj96fc3a6CEG72maeN_YsO29IY1pulMq59TxPpNAXhx8UiU8S-TzmWRW1N/s320/ani_snowmen006.gif" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5277714810285406770" /></a><br /><br /><br /><br /><br />Three of my Red Rose Publishing books are coming out in print soon. Chateau Despair is the first to be published and this should be before Christmas. I am very pleased that this book will be in print. It is already available in ebook at several places on the web but a lot of people who enjoy my books want it in print. It won't be long before they can buy it at amazon.com and it is usually available at amazon.co.uk too once it is up and running. I recently bouth some copies of A shameful Secret/Anne Ireland, which is already in print.<br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi6Zg87Wv4ewRV8o5FU-InKieloCU4FClQfwMSzciEpxikytj2hscwHX8z4fPOwl9OL8AGMtZbAB8B0btwodEWcou3a-kMl3m7sXnvC8EE6oUxzx1x6fT-oR-1QRQsFDKF7h5WGgLTKSBak/s1600-h/ani_angel005.gif"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 150px; height: 163px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi6Zg87Wv4ewRV8o5FU-InKieloCU4FClQfwMSzciEpxikytj2hscwHX8z4fPOwl9OL8AGMtZbAB8B0btwodEWcou3a-kMl3m7sXnvC8EE6oUxzx1x6fT-oR-1QRQsFDKF7h5WGgLTKSBak/s320/ani_angel005.gif" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5277714654181325554" /></a><br /><br />all the grahics have been credited somewhere on the blog. They are yuleloveit.com or Pat's GraphicsUnknownnoreply@blogger.com0