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.

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.

The Bastard by Anne Ireland Published by Leap of Faith A sage of love, passion and betrayal Enjoy the excerpt

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

Lady of Shadows

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 Shadows

Hi everyone

This 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 Linda

Because He needs Me

Because He needs Me/ Lynn Granville

A new book from a new young company

Leap of Faith publishes Because He needs me by Lynn Granville.
A story of love and faith in the man she loves.

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!
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?
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.
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.
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.
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.
“So what happens to us?” Janni had asked, feeling bewildered by Mark’s sudden about turn.
“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.”
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!
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?
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.
“They look happy don’t they?” Nick said glancing at the bride and groom. “Peter and Alice. “
Janni took a deep breath. There was no escaping it! She smiled and nodded. “Yes, I was just thinking the same thing.”
“Peter had been through a rough time before he met Alice – but you know that, of course. You introduced them, didn’t you?”
“Yes, I can claim the credit for that, but they did all the rest themselves.”
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?”
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.”
“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.”
Janni's heart did a quick tango but she suppressed her foolishness.
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.
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.”
“Yes, I imagine he would,” Janni replied with a wry look. “Alice told me Peter has to have everything just so.”
“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.”
“I see Alice has been telling tales out of school.” Janni frowned.
“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.
“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!
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.”
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.
“Keep your hands off, he’s mine,” Alice Lennox teased. “Have you heard anything more from Mark?”
“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.”
“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.”
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.
“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.”
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.
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.
“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.”
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.
“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.”
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.
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.
“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.”
“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.”
Janni didn’t particularly want to give up her job, nor did she want to move back home and commute every day.
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.
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.
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!
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.



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!
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.
“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.”
“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!

Echoes Of Splendour

Here is a taster of my book on sale at amazon in kindle.

It is on special offer at the moment so now is the time to grab a copy if you'd like one.

Enjoy!

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?


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.


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.


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.


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.


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.


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.


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.


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.

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…

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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.