As Valentine’s Day rolls around, Martha Miller finds herself unusually melancholy at the state of her own love life. With husband Stan still missing and with her growing feelings for Vicar Luke still shrouded in secrecy, there’s only one place Martha can go – famous local beauty spot, Lovers’ Leap.
Legend has it that those with a broken heart throw themselves off the bridge that spans the river, but Martha is certainly not about to do such a thing! But it looks like someone else has had other ideas…. Because there in the river, Martha finds a body. But is this misadventure, a moment of lovesick madness, or is foul play afoot? Martha knows one thing…the villagers of Westleham have another crime to solve! Let the investigation commence! Find out if Martha and Luke can catch the killer in a brand new Martha Miller mystery from bestselling author Catherine Coles.
My Review
Death at Lovers’ Leap is a welcome return to the village of Westleham and Martha Miller (and her trusty dog). An innocent walk quickly turns to tragedy for Martha, as she ends up, not only coated in mud from head to toe, but discovering the body of one of the local young men.
As ever, Martha is determined to discover the culprit, and with the aid of the vicar, Luke, and her two trusty nosy neighbours, she begins to do just that, uncovering a web of deceit which extends even to the grave.
Death at Lover’s Leap is another really well thought out cosy mystery, where a cup of tea is never far from the lips of our characters, and where the privations of post-war Britain are kept firmly in mind.
A delightful mystery. I’ve been reading Catherine Coles books for a good few years now. Martha is a great creation, and this is another really good addition to the series. Fans of cosy crime will really enjoy the mystery.
Catherine Coles writes bestselling cosy mysteries set in the English countryside. Her extremely popular Tommy & Evelyn Christie series is based in North Yorkshire in the 1920’s and Catherine herself lives in Hull with her family and two spoiled dogs.
Helen Bygrove, manageress of the Beach Hotel since her bullying husband was conscripted, is called to the foyer on the arrival of Detective Inspector Toshack. There’s recently been some libellous letters sent, and accusations have been flying around as to who’s been sending them.
In the foyer, Helen was alarmed to see that Sergeant Gardener was with him. Standing behind him were WPC Amanda Lovelock, who used to be her bookkeeper, and Constable Twort, who’d retired originally a few years before the war. A feeling of dread crept up her body and she had a bitter taste in her mouth. Surely they hadn’t concluded that someone from the hotel had written the letters. Could it be one of the new chambermaids, as Edie had suggested? Did Miss Harvey know something, and that’s why she’d turned up at the carol concert?
‘Inspector,’ she greeted him. ‘How may I help you today?’
The inspector opened his mouth to respond but was cut short by both front doors being pushed open. Lady Blackmore was fussing as she entered, along with around a dozen people Helen recognised from the businesses in Beach Town. Cecelia was nowhere in sight. The looks on their faces suggested they weren’t here for pleasure.
Lady Blackmore opened with, ‘Well, that decides it. The hotel crest was on my latest letter. Now try and tell me the letters did not originate from this hotel.’
‘And on mine!’ cried Norah Johnson, who as Norah Daniels had once been a chambermaid at the hotel. Before the dairy farmer’s son had made her pregnant and they’d had to marry. ‘Just because I used to work ’ere and had to marry my Jim, don’t give you no permission to send me letters calling me names like trollop.’
‘That’s what I was about to tell you,’ Toshack told Helen. ‘More letters have been received, but this time on hotel notepaper.’
‘And what have I ever done to you?’ said Mrs Riddles, the postmistress from Norfolk Road. ‘Calling me a stinking cow of a liar, just because I took my last letter to the police station.’ She pointed towards Helen.
‘I’ve never done any such thing,’ said Helen, feeling a weight in her chest. ‘And why on earth would I send anonymous letters on hotel paper.’
‘But they’re not anonymous,’ said the landlord of the New Inn, also on Norfolk Road. ‘They’re signed H.B. That’s you innit?’
‘That’s even less likely then,’ said Edie, coming forward.
‘No, it’s to double bluff people, Miss Harvey here reckons,’ said Norah Johnson. ‘And it makes sense. It’d be the best defence in a courtroom.’
‘That’s enough of that now,’ said Inspector Toshack. ‘If you’d all kindly leave me to carry out my job – ’
‘We want to make sure you do carry out your job,’ said Miss Harvey. ‘Not like last time.’
‘I used to think you were a decent sort,’ said Norah, ‘when I worked for you. Thought it was ya ’usband what was the silly bugger. I guess now ’e’s gone away you’ve taken over his meanness too.’
‘That’s enough of that, young woman,’ Sergeant Gardner warned.
‘And this accusation about her ladyship,’ said the landlord. ‘What proof have you got that her companion is her daughter.’
‘We don’t need to mention the details,’ Lady Blackmore whimpered, her hands covering her cheeks.
‘Mine had that ridiculous claim too,’ said Mrs Riddles. ‘I can quote it exactly, I can. ‘Lady Millicent Blackmore can’t keep her vile secret any more, it said. We can all see the likeness between her and Cecelia, and we know that she’s really her bastard child, born out of wedlock.’
Lady Blackmore let out a strangled cry of anguish. ‘Of course that’s not true! I am only ten years older than Cecelia. How could she be my daughter? Whoever heard of anything so absurd?’
‘I agree,’ said Helen. ‘And I would never say such a thing.’
‘Not to our faces,’ said Norah. ‘Makes me wonder what you said be’ind our backs when I was working ’ere.’
‘I’m warning you,’ said the sergeant.
‘What, only me?’ said Norah. ‘What, ’cause I’m the trollop ’ere, eh?
It seemed to Helen that the scene before her was diminishing, and the sound fading. She had an acid taste at the back of her throat. Was she still in bed, dreaming?
The gathering mob started to talk over each other, provoking both Sergeant Gardner and Inspector Toshack to censure them. The sergeant went with, ‘Quiet now!’ while the inspector went with the more polite, ‘Would you all calm down now.’
The double instruction had the desired effect and the incensed chatter ceased immediately.
‘Now, unless you want to be arrested for disturbance of the peace, I suggest you all vacate the hotel,’ said the inspector, stretching up to his full height. ‘And if I receive any reports that you’ve returned to cause trouble, I will spare no time in sending one of my officers to your abodes. Is that clear?’
There were several mumbles of assent, before each of them turned to exit. Lady Blackmore charged out of the door first, almost knocking Norah Johnson over. The rest followed on, subdued, apart from Miss Harvey. She stood, defiant, for several seconds, glaring at Helen. She was the last of them to leave.
Helen was grateful that nobody had emerged from either dining room during this scene, though she had no doubt that the throng that had gathered today would soon pass around news of the latest letters.
‘Mrs Bygrove,’ said Toshack. ‘Mrs Bygrove?’
‘Hm?’ She came to. ‘Sorry, what did you say?’
‘I said, could we go somewhere more private.’
‘Of… of course. Edie, I’m leaving you in charge.’
‘Yes, madam.’
Helen took a deep breath, determined to pull herself together. But she was badly shaken. ‘Come this way.’ She led the four police officers to the staff area, stopping in the corridor. ‘We’ll go to my office.’
‘No, this will suffice,’ said the inspector. ‘WPC Lovelock, you know the building. Show Sergeant Gardner the way.’
‘Yes sir,’ she said with little enthusiasm. She opened the door to the stairs, that led to the staff living quarters.
‘What are they doing?’ said Helen.
‘Carrying out a search.’
Here’s the blurb
Can Helen save the hotel… and her reputation?
Helen Bygrove is managing the hotel, now that her husband has been conscripted. Against all expectations, Helen and her team are doing marvellously, despite the shortages brought by war. Even the exacting Lady Blackmore agrees. But then the calm is shattered when poison pen letters are sent to prominent townsfolk and Helen finds herself the target of a police investigation. Is someone trying to ruin Helen, and the Beach Hotel? And can she rely on the handsome but taciturn Inspector Toshack to help her? When her husband, Douglas, is invalided out of the war he is determined to take back control of the hotel and things go from bad to worse.
How can she ever escape his bullying? Is she a fool to hope that she may have a second chance at love?
Francesca has enjoyed writing since she was a child, largely influenced by a Welsh mother who was good at improvised story telling.
Writing under both her maiden name, Francesca Capaldi, and her married name, Francesca Burgess, she is the author of historical novels, short stories and several pocket novels. She is a member of the Romantic Novelists’ Association and the Society of Women Writers and Journalists.
The first novel in the Wartime in the Valleys series, Heartbreak in the Valleys, was shortlisted for the Romantic Novelists’ Association Historical Award 2021. Both the Valleys series and the Beach Hotel series are published by Hera Books.
Francesca was born and brought up on the Sussex coast, but currently lives in Kent with her family and a cat called Lando Calrission.
Happy book birthday to the wonderful Son of Mercia, the first book telling the story of young Icel in early ninth-century Mercia (fans of The Last King will have met Icel before, but it’s not necessary to have read the later series to enjoy Son of Mercia).
The series is now a massive six books long, and I’m busy working on book 7, which doesn’t have a title just yet (or does it?)
I thought today would be a great day to shine a light on all six books featuring young Icel. He’s endured a lot. He’s grown into a young man, but it’s good to remember how we first met Icel – scared, hungry and desperate to evade Lady Cynehild. How times have changed for him.
I love writing the stories of young Icel. He’s a fabulous character, and indeed, the more I write him, the better he becomes. And those with ‘eagle’ eyes (did you see what I did there), will have started to notice more and more Icel appearing in the later, The Last King books.
Tamworth, Mercia AD825.
The once-mighty kingdom of Mercia is in perilous danger.
Their King, Beornwulf lies dead and years of bitter in-fighting between the nobles, and cross border wars have left Mercia exposed to her enemies.
King Ecgberht of Wessex senses now is the time for his warriors to strike and exact his long-awaited bloody revenge on Mercia.
King Wiglaf, has claimed his right to rule Mercia, but can he unite a disparate Kingdom against the might of Wessex who are braying for blood and land?
Can King Wiglaf keep the dragons at bay or is Mercia doomed to disappear beneath the wings of the Wessex wyvern?
Icel is becoming a warrior of Mercia, but King Ecgberht of Wessex still holds the Mercian settlement of Londonia and its valuable mint.
King Wiglaf of Mercia is determined that the last bulwark be reclaimed from his sworn enemy to complete his rehabilitation as Mercia’s rightful ruler.
In the heart of the shield wall, Icel suddenly finds himself on the wrong side of the battle and thrust into the retreating enemy stronghold where he must take on the pretence of a Wessex warrior to survive and exact a cunning plan to bring down the Wessex force cowering behind the ancient walls.
His allegiances are tested and the temptation to make new allies is overwhelming but Icel must succeed if he’s ever to see Tamworth again and bring about King Wiglaf’s victory, or will he be forced to join the enemy?
Oath sworn to Wiglaf, King of Mercia and acknowledged as a member of Ealdorman Ælfstan’s warrior band, Icel continues to forge his own destiny on the path to becoming the Warrior of Mercia.
With King Ecgberht of Wessex defeated and Londonium back under Mercian control, the Wessex invasion of Mercia is over.
But the Wessex king was never Mercia’s only enemy. An unknown danger lurks in the form of merciless Viking raiders, who set their sights on infiltrating the waterways of the traitorous breakaway kingdom of the East Angles, within touching distance of Mercia’s eastern borders.
Icel must journey to the kingdom of the East Angles and unite against a common enemy to ensure Mercia’s hard-won freedom prevails.
A mercy mission in the heart of Wessex is beset with deadly, bloody dangers.
Tamworth AD831
Icel’s profile continues to rise. Lord of Budworth and warrior of Mercia, he’s acknowledged by King Wiglaf and his comrades to keep Mercia safe from the ravages of Wessex, the king-slayer of the East Angles, and the Viking raiders. But, danger looms. Alongside Spring’s arrival comes the almost certain threat of the Viking raiders return.
When Lord Coenwulf of Kingsholm is apprehended by a Viking and held captive on the Isle of Sheppey in Wessex held Kent, Icel is implored by Lady Cynehild to rescue her husband.
To rescue Lord Coenwulf, Icel and his fellow warriors must risk themselves twice over, for not only must they overpower the Viking raiders, they must also counter the threat of Mercia’s ancient enemy, the kingdom of Wessex as they travel through their lands.
Far from home and threatened on all sides, have Icel and his fellow warriors sworn to carry out an impossible duty
A deathbed oath leaves the lives of two infants hanging in the balance… Tamworth AD833
After successfully rescuing her husband Lord Coenwulf from the Isle of Sheppey, Icel hears the deathbed confession of Lady Cynehild which leaves him questioning what he knows about his past, as well as his future.
In the unenviable position of being oath sworn to protect their two atheling sons when Lord Coenwulf is banished for his treason against the Mercian ruler, King Wiglaf, Icel is once more torn between his oaths and the life changing secret he now knows.
When the two children are kidnapped, Icel, good to his word, and fearing for their safety, pursues their abductors into the dangerous Northern lands.
He fears whose powerful and deadly royal gamesmanship is behind the audacious attempt on their young and innocent lives.
Alone in the Northern lands, Icel finds himself facing his worse fears.
Can he rescue the children from their captor, or will he fail and lose his own life in the process?
A King’s command. A warrior’s quest for the truth… Tamworth AD835
Following Icel’s epic rescue of Lord Coenwulf’s children from their almost certain death, King Wiglaf is forced to call upon Icel’s loyal services once more.
Furious that the conspirators behind the audacious move to snatch the children have yet to face justice, he despatches Icel to hunt down the enemy of Mercia and discover who seeks to conspire against the throne.
The dangerous mission will take Icel into the heartland of enemy-held Wessex to Winchester and onto Canterbury. As the web of lies and deceit grows, Icel must battle to discover the truth whilst keeping himself and his allies safe.
But those who conspire against the King have much to lose and will stop at nothing to prevent Icel discovering the truth. Once more, Icel’s life is endangered as he tries to protect Mercia from her enemies who threaten Mercia’s kingly line.
Set in the troubled years at the end of the Mercian supremacy, with the advent of the true First Viking Age just around the corner, The Eagle of Mercia Chronicles allow me to explore the kingdoms of Saxon England at the time, while ensuring my focus remains on Mercia, the kingdom in the’Midlands’ of England, with which I’m quite obsessed.
And choosing to write about a very strong character from my The Last King series, also allows me to play with my readers expectations. Icel is a fabulous creation, and one I’m incredibly proud of and pleased that my readers love so much.
Yes, these are bloody and brutal tales, but at the heart of them is a ‘coming of age’ story as young Icel learns about himself, as well as the truth of his heritage and birth.
If you’ve not yet tried The Eagle of Mercia Chronicles, then now is the perfect opportunity. Enjoy.
I’m delighted to welcome David Fitz-Gerald, and his new book, A Grave Every Mile, with an excerpt.
Excerpt from Chapter 3
First day on the trail, April 15, 1850
Our three teams of oxen, led by Hardtack and Scrapple, stand ready to do their job. It takes a while before it’s our turn to begin pulling, with fifteen wagons ahead of us. When the wheels of the wagon before us begin to turn, Larkin cracks the bullwhip and shouts, “Hi-yah!” He snaps the whip again, and the poor beasts lumber forward.
The broody hen squawks in her box. Straps hold the cage in place on a shelf on the wagon’s exterior. Ridge, the devil-eyed goat, blats in protest as the rope that ties her to the back left corner of the wagon drags her along. I can’t see Blizzard, tied to the other corner of the wagon. The children and I begin on foot, following closely behind Larkin.
I hate it when people are cruel to animals. I should hold my tongue, but I cannot. “Must you snap that whip so sharply? It’s barbaric. We should thank the oxen, not whip them.”
“Don’t be ridiculous, Dorcas. I’m not whipping them. I’m whipping the air above them. You know that. We can’t get to Oregon if the oxen don’t move. Don’t carry on like a child.”
Of course, he’s right. Somehow, dressing a deer doesn’t phase me. I can snap a chicken’s neck and pluck its feathers, but the idea of hurting beasts of burden saddens me. “Couldn’t you just tap them lightly on the rump rather than scare the poor creatures?”
“Look, see, we’re already falling behind. We need to drive the oxen faster if we want to get to Oregon before winter.”
“But…”
“That’s enough, Dorcas. Don’t pester me anymore.”
My molars tighten against each other. I know a woman shouldn’t bicker, argue, or nag. Usually, Larkin doesn’t complain about having a garrulous wife. Still, it rankles when he tells me not to pester him.
After walking alongside for half an hour, Dahlia Jane says she is tired. One mile down, one thousand, nine-hundred and ninety-nine miles to go. I lift the child into the wagon. Fortunately, she is content to play quietly by herself.
I walk for a while beside Blizzard. He always seems to listen and understand me when I share my troubles, worries, and complaints. His coat is sleek beneath the palm of my hand. I can never resist stroking his neck. “We’ll take a ride together soon. I promise.”
Dahlia Jane hasn’t moved from her nest in the back of the wagon, so I return to walk with the other children. I’m surprised to find Christopher where Larkin was. Larkin is missing. I glance about and don’t see him anywhere. Andrew smiles and says, “Nature calls.” Rose slaps her forehead and looks at her hand to see if she squashed a bug. Christopher seems to have mastered snapping the bullwhip above the oxen, and it makes me cringe even more than when Larkin does it.
After half an hour, Larkin tells Rose it’s her turn. She had been complaining about boredom and appears to have come alive as Larkin calls out her name. “Alright, Rose. Here is the whip. Hold it high and flick it hard with your wrist so that it snaps in the air above the kine.”
Rose asks, “What if I accidentally hit them with it?”
Larkin answers, “Don’t worry. It will not hurt them. They have thick skin and dull nerves.”
I can’t help but say, “Larkin, how do you know how they feel? Please don’t beat our animals.”
Larkin replies, “We’ll try, but the children must learn how to drive them. If you can’t bear to watch, may I suggest you visit our neighbors?”
“Very well, then.” It doesn’t make it any better knowing they whip the beasts while I’m gone, but I pluck Dahlia Jane from her burrow and wander back to the next wagon.
Here’s the blurb
Embark on a harrowing trek across the rugged American frontier in 1850. Your wagon awaits, and the untamed wilderness calls. This epic western adventure will test the mettle of even the bravest souls.
Dorcas Moon and her family set forth in search of opportunity and a brighter future. Yet, what awaits them is a relentless gauntlet of life-threatening challenges: miserable weather, ravenous insects, scorching sunburns, and unforgiving terrain. It’s not merely a battle for survival but a test of their unity and sanity.
Amidst the chaos, Dorcas faces ceaseless trials: her husband’s unending bickering, her daughter’s descent into madness, and the ever-present danger of lethal rattlesnakes, intensifying the peril with each step. The specter of death looms large, with diseases spreading and the eerie howls of rabid wolves piercing the night. Will the haunting image of wolves desecrating a grave push Dorcas over the edge?
With each mile, the migration poses a haunting question: Who will endure the relentless quest to cross the continent, and who will leave their bones to rest beside the trail? The pathway is bordered by graves, a chilling reminder of the steep cost of dreams.
A Grave Every Mile marks the commencement of an unforgettable saga. Start reading Ghosts Along the Oregon Trail now to immerse yourself in an expedition where every decision carries the weight of life, death, and the pursuit of a brighter future along the Oregon Trail.
David Fitz-Gerald writes westerns and historical fiction. He is the author of twelve books, including the brand-new series, Ghosts Along the Oregon Trail set in 1850. Dave is a multiple Laramie Award, first place, best in category winner; a Blue Ribbon Chanticleerian; a member of Western Writers of America; and a member of the Historical Novel Society.
Alpine landscapes and flashy horses always catch Dave’s eye and turn his head. He is also an Adirondack 46-er, which means that he has hiked to the summit of the range’s highest peaks. As a mountaineer, he’s happiest at an elevation of over four thousand feet above sea level.
Dave is a lifelong fan of western fiction, landscapes, movies, and music. It should be no surprise that Dave delights in placing memorable characters on treacherous trails, mountain tops, and on the backs of wild horses.
I’m delighted to welcome Michael Dunn, and his new book, Anywhere But Schuylkill to the blog, with What’s Love Got To Do With It?
What’s Love Got To Do With It?
As most readers know, a little romance always spices up a story, regardless of the genre. So, for my guest post today, I thought I’d write something about love and romance, in honor of Valentine’s Day.
In my recent historical novel, Anywhere But Schuylkill, my protagonist, Mike Doyle, is in love with a girl named Hannah, who happens to be his sister Tara’s best friend. This is troubling enough for him, since he cares deeply for his sister and doesn’t want to harm her friendship with Hannah. But Mike also works for Hannah’s father, who happens to be a gangster, and he has told Mike to keep his hands off his daughter. And to complicate matters further, Hannah’s mother is incredibly hot, and she likes to flirt with Mike when her husband isn’t around. At the same time, Tara is in love with Mike’s friend Johnny Morris, who their Uncle Sean thinks is a ne’er-do-well. And Uncle Sean is not someone you want to anger.
As a writer, I found these romantic minefields a lot of fun to create. But I also had to do a lot of research, because courtship rituals in the 1870s were so different than today. We’re talking about a small town, rural, and very traditional. There was, of course, a common trick I could exploit that transcends time period: Hannah could sneak away from her protective parents to be with Mike by pretending she was visiting her best friend, Tara. And Tara could sneak away from Uncle Sean, pretending to visit Hannah, but actually run off to meet with Johnny Morris.
This trick will only get you so far as a teen (the adults are usually sharp enough to catch on and will eventually tighten the reins). Likewise, it will only get me so far as a writer, since you modern readers are even sharper than a gilded-age parent. So, let’s talk about the research that helped me make these romances seem more authentic, and true to the era and setting.
One of the first things to consider is that none of these kids went to school. They were too poor and either had to stay home and help with the chores or go out and work for someone else to help support their families. Mike and Johnny Morris worked at the colliery. Tara and her mother worked for a neighborhood washer woman. And Hannah took care of her younger siblings, so her mother could help at the tavern. This left Sunday church as one of the only times and places where teens with strict parents could regularly meet, free of their usual burdens. While there wasn’t much courting that could occur in church, kids could chat before and after mass, and there were plenty of opportunities for lusty thoughts and teen imaginations to run wild.
There were also holidays, and community events, where teens might be able to sneak away from parents and chaperones long enough for a dance, or perhaps something a bit more illicit. Bonfire Night was one such holiday. Celebrated on the evening of June 23, Bonfire Night was historically connected to St. John’s Night, but, like many religious holidays, was likely an appropriation of an older pagan ritual. This would explain the date’s proximity to the summer solstice, and its May Day-like rituals, such as bonfires, which are lit at sunset, and kept going until long after midnight. Typically, there is food, alcohol, song and dance, creating a socially acceptable milieu for courtship. However, it is also a family-friendly event. The pious take embers home to ward off disease and evil spirits. Parents tell stories about the fairies, and kids get to stay up as late as they want because, if they fall asleep on Bonfire Night, the devil is sure to take them. Younger kids beat drums and blow tin whistles. They light sticks on fire and throw them into the air, while teens and young men challenge each other to leap across the fire. The flicker and spark of the flames tell whether they’ve been naughty, particularly in the romance department, and this can be a great source of amusement, or embarrassment.
Another popular holiday for young folks was Halloween. But an Irish-American Halloween in the 1870s was quite different than what most of us have experienced, particularly in terms of romance. The holiday often involved food, games and rituals to divine the future, particularly with regards to matrimony. For example, a traditional (and yummy) Halloween dish was colcannon, a casserole of mashed potatoes, milk, onion and kale, served with lots of butter, if one could afford it. The cook would hide prizes in the colcannon. The person who found a ring hidden in their serving was supposedly the next to get married. Alternatively, they might scoop the first and last spoonful of colcannon into a girl’s stocking, and hang that from a nail in the door, and her future husband would be the next person to enter through that door.
Another Halloween treat was barmbrack, a sweetbread filled with fruit, and sometimes hidden prizes. In this case, finding a hidden ring foretold of an impending romance, whereas a thimble meant you would never get married.
Supposedly, if a girl ate an apple while combing her hair in front of a mirror at midnight on All Hallows Eve, she would see her future husband gazing back at her. If she walked out into the night, blindfolded, and was led to a cabbage patch, she could predict the size and shape of her future husband by the size and shape of the first cabbage she picked. And if she peeled an apple and let the shavings fall to the ground, she might be able to discern her sweetheart’s initials.
Mumming, or guising, was another tradition that the Irish brought to the U.S., and that continues to be practiced in parts of Pennsylvania. Mumming involves dressing in costume and marching from door to door, performing rhyming plays, usually humorous, and often in exchange for food, treats, or even booze. It may have been the origin of the contemporary tradition of trick-or-treating. It was also common for mummers to dress in drag. One typical character was the darling Miss Funny, generally a man in drag, who demanded kisses or treats from audience members. And, instead of pumpkin Jack-o-lanterns, mummers carried hollowed out turnips, carved into grotesque faces, with lumps of burning coal inside to illuminate their way. For a fascinating history of Irish mumming, check out Henry Glassie’s, All Silver and No Brass (1975).
There are other kinds of love that are important in stories, too. For example, the desire to be loved, or the fear of being unlovable, can help explain a character’s motivations and actions. It can even help liven up a character that hasn’t been fully fleshed out yet, that feels too one-dimensional. This was initially the case with my villain, Uncle Sean, who felt like the epitome of a cruel, abusive parent. Indeed, Mike’s little brother, Bill, even says that the only two emotions Uncle Sean can feel are anger and rage. But when I added back story about Sean’s adoration of Aunt Mary, and his belief that she was the only one who could love him, “tetters and all,” he started to seem more like a real person, someone who felt pain and longing, and who struggled with his own insecurities.
This brings us back to my original premise, that a little love or romance helps spice up a story. Obviously, there is the salacious angle, like Hannah’s mom flirting with Mike. But much more important to the craft of writing is how love and romance can be exploited to enrich the side plots and add dimension to the characters. But what I find most interesting of all, is how both reading and writing about fictional love and romance can help us better understand our own real-life relationships with these emotions. What kinds of choices do we make in life to find love? To maintain love? To avoid being jilted or abandoned? And how do these choices affect our ongoing relationships with those we love, like friends and family members?
Here’s the blurb
In 1877, twenty Irish coal miners hanged for a terrorist conspiracy that never occurred. Anywhere But Schuylkill is the story of one who escaped, Mike Doyle, a teenager trying to keep his family alive during the worst depression the nation has ever faced. Banks and railroads are going under. Children are dying of hunger. The Reading Railroad has slashed wages and hired Pinkerton spies to infiltrate the miners’ union. And there is a sectarian war between rival gangs. But none of this compares with the threat at home.
Michael Dunn writes Working-Class Fiction from the Not So Gilded Age. Anywhere But Schuylkill is the first in his Great Upheaval trilogy. A lifelong union activist, he has always been drawn to stories of the past, particularly those of regular working people, struggling to make a better life for themselves and their families.
Stories most people do not know, or have forgotten, because history is written by the victors, the robber barons and plutocrats, not the workers and immigrants. Yet their stories are among the most compelling in America. They resonate today because they are the stories of our own ancestors, because their passions and desires, struggles and tragedies, were so similar to our own.
When Michael Dunn is not writing historical fiction, he teaches high school, and writes about labor history and culture.
Thank you so very much for celebrating the release of, The King She Shouldn’t Crave, with me, on your lovely blog! ❤️
Introduction: In this scene, Natalia finds an inner strength to confront the king. Her husband. It was a pleasure to watch this scene unfold, and to watch Natalia finally demand to be seen, and heard.
Extract:
Angelo’s pen halted mid-swipe, held between long fingers, balanced by a thick wrist cuffed in black. His eyes rose from the paper in front of him.
Lashes, full and long, captured a sunset of liquid gold.
A hypnotising swirl of heat locked on to her. A warmth spread through her fingers, through her arms, her chest, to pump into her stomach. Lower.
Everything stopped—including time.
He stared at her.
She swallowed.
Natalia didn’t want to recognise him as a man. With this heat in her gut. Because whatever this womanly response was, she didn’t like it. It had no purpose here. In this room. With him.
‘I need to speak with you,’ she said huskily, before her training could stop her. Before it demanded she stand silent and continue to live her life like a puppet. Her strings pulled by men. By tradition. By the rules that only served the King. Not the people. Not her.
Angelo lowered his gaze. ‘Then make an appointment.’ His olive fingers flicked over the white paper. Dismissing her.
‘Your Majesty…’ The aide she’d forgotten swept into the room. ‘I apologise—’
‘Leave us,’ he said, his eyes settling back on Natalia, and his look was as blatant as his actions since their wedding. He didn’t want her here.
The door closed. Leaving them alone for the very first time.
‘Why are you here, Principessa?’ Honey-brown eyes latched on to hers. Her breath hitched. The words—all the words she’d held back—swarmed and clumped in her throat.
She’d demanded his attention and here he was, giving it to her.
He was waiting for her to respond.
What was she waiting for?
Her training told her she shouldn’t say a word. Should apologise for interrupting him and leave. Speak only when spoken to. But her obedience had been a facade. The long game. A cover-up.
Uninvited, she reached for the chair opposite him and sat down. Placed her hands in her lap and straightened her back.
Her fingers curled into her palms, her nails biting into her skin. This was the moment. Her moment. And it would hurt to let her underbelly show. To loosen her armour. But what choice did she have other than to tell the truth? To make this an unguarded moment of honesty?
She couldn’t do this alone. The gates were still locked against her, and the shackles of tradition were too tight for her to free them by herself.
She swallowed, pushing down the instinct not to speak. Not to tell him the truth. But she had nothing to lose and everything to gain.
‘I need your help.’
Her armour cracked. And it hurt. The confession in her mouth was heavy, but she made herself push it out. Set it free.
Natalia reached into her pocket and withdrew her coronation speech. She unfolded it with careful precision, leaned forward and placed it before him.
‘And I’m not leaving until I get it.’
Curious? Here are all the details.
Here’s the blurb
Will the king finally surrender to their tantalizing chemistry? Find out in the latest royalty romance by Lela May Wight!
Their royal marriage: Separate beds but shared temptation…
Two months have passed since the world watched Natalia La Morte marry King Angelo Dizieno. But Natalia hasn’t seen or heard from him since their startlingly scorching kiss at the altar…
Promoted from spare to heir after tragedy struck, Angelo can’t be distracted from his duty. Being within touching distance of the woman he has always craved—his brother’s intended queen—has him on the precipice of self-destruction. The last thing he needs is for Natalia to recognize their dangerous attraction. If she does, there’s nothing to stop it from becoming all-consuming…
From Harlequin Presents: Escape to exotic locations where passion knows no bounds.
Lela May Wight grew up with seven brothers and sisters. Yes, it was noisy, and she often found escape in romance books. She still does, but now she gets to write them too! She hopes to offer readers the same escapism when the world is a little too loud.
Lela May lives in the UK with her sons and her very own hero, who never complains about her book addiction – he buys her more books! Check out what she’s up to at lelamaywight.com.
Reviews are starting to come in, and I’d like to thank all the reviewers for taking the time to have a look at The Royal Women Who Made England. You can check out the reviews over on the Pen and Sword website.
In the meantime, don’t forget to enter the combined competition between my two publishers for signed copies of The Royal Women and King of Kings (UK only. Closing date 6th Feb 2024). You can find the details here.
And, I have another little video to share with you below about one of the later Anglo-Norman sources I made use of while researching the book.
War is creeping back into the land. As silent as snowfall, as inevitable as winter. They’ve had sixteen years of peace, but all things must end.
Tribune Sixtus Victorinus has grown old, complacent. Blind to the truth that stares him in the face, he contents himself with what he has. He runs errands for the Dux Britanniarum Flavius Maximus and watches with joy as his boys grow to become men.
It is his friend, Prefect Gaius Felicius, who first spots the signs. Once more, the Caledonian tribes are rearing their heads in the north, but the greatest danger does not lie with them.
For there is a new pretender to the throne of the West. Another man who seeks to drape himself in purple. Caught up in a scheme they cannot comprehend, Victorinus and Felicius must navigate their way through both a war in the depths of winter, and a treasonous plot that will shake the Roman Empire to its core.
A new age dawns on the men of Britannia. For Victorinus, he must fight for the right to see the sun rise over it.
I’ve just been checking my review for book 1 in this series, and I see I also gave it five stars. Adam is a lucky author because I’m always told that I don’t often hand out a 5-star review. (Check out my review for Valentia here).
And he’ll be pleased to know he’s done it again with Usurper.
I will say that this era – the coming end of Roman Britain fascinates me. Adam’s recreation of it speaks to me. We know what’s coming. The people in these books do not, although perhaps they suspect it.
Usurper continues the story from Valentia, but we move forward 16 years. Our two main characters remain Tribune Sixtus Victorinus and Felicius. Felicius is still a career Roman. Sixtus is not. They are both older, perhaps wiser, and contending with the results of their decisions as younger men.
Sixtus has finally given up the drink, but he is beset with heartache at the breakdown of his marriage and the long-ago death of his small son, which he missed because he was away fighting. Sixtus is a man trying to do his best in a world where the Roman influence of his younger days seems to have bled away. He’s still a friend and ally of Theodosius, the younger emperor, and indeed, they remain in contact via letter – a fabulous device ensuring the reader knows what’s happening beyond the shores of Britannia.
With all that said, this is an action-packed novel. There is barely a chapter that goes by without one fight or another. As we travel from Londinium to many locations on the Wall and even further north, Sixtus gets an absolute beating. Drost makes a welcome reappearance, and conspiracies abound. The set-up for book 3 in this trilogy is impeccably well-paced – I didn’t know how the book would end – although I had some suspicions. It didn’t do what I thought it would, and now I can’t wait for the concluding volume in the trilogy.
It is a fabulous Roman-era action and adventure story that rings with conviction and conspiracy, which readers of the genre will devour.
Meet the author
Adam has for many years held a passion for the ancient world. As a teenager he picked up Gates of Rome by Conn Iggulden, and has been obsessed with all things Rome ever since.
After ten years of immersing himself in stories of the Roman world, he decided to have a go at writing one for himself, and hasn’t stopped since. Check out the books on the website, or follow Adam on Social Media for regular updates.
Follow Adam on Twitter: @AdamPLofthouse Find him on Facebook: facebook.com/AdamPLofthouse Instagram: adamplofthouse
My fabulous publishers are working together and offering a hardback edition of King of Kings and The Royal Women Who Made England (UK only). To enter you will need to access one of the original posts from Boldwood on Twitter, Facebook or Instagram. I will add links here. (Closing date 6th Feb 2024. T &Cs apply).
Check out the Brunanburh Series page on my blog for my information about my fiction.
And, because I never tire of making a slight fool of myself, here’s me talking about some more of the research I undertook for the book and trying to explain the family tree of Otto I, King of the East Franks. Who knows how successful I’ve been.
I’m delighted to welcome Katherine Kayne and her new book, Bound in Roses, to the blog.
Here’s the blurb
A red-hot Hawaiian romance blooms for a buttoned-up botanist who must learn to let go and embrace the ancient voice within her.
After a failed engagement to a high-society suitor in San Francisco, Lokelani “Lucky” Letwin returns home to Hawaii, leaving her beloved rosebushes behind. She’s desperate to establish a life of her own-a daunting task for any unmarried female in the early twentieth century but particularly for one passionate about the science of plants. A stubborn, song-filled girl now grown into an accomplished woman Lokelani is haunted by a family tragedy. She is as reluctant to acknowledge her past as she is to accept the supernatural force building inside her, strong and inevitable. She is a mākāhā, a Gate, ever connected to the power of the islands . . . if only she will admit it.
In her quest to retrieve her roses, Lokelani is reunited with Artemus Chang, a childhood friend, who’s now a handsome and successful lawyer. As the spark between them grows, Artemus agrees to help her recover her roses, only to discover her kisses leave him literally breathless. When a mystical teacher enters her life, Lokelani’s embrace of the voice of ancient power bubbling up within her takes on new urgency and new apprehensions.
Will Lokelani continue to be bound by guilt and fear? Or will she learn to reconcile her gifts – as both a practical botanist and a mystical Gate – to sing once more and claim her love?
Buy Link:
This title is also available to read on #KindleUnlimited
Award winning author Katherine Kayne writes deeply romantic historical fantasy set in old Hawaii. Her critically acclaimed debut novel BOUND IN FLAME delivers myth, magic and all the sparks promised by the title. The next installment in her Hawaiian Ladies’ Riding Society series, BOUND IN ROSES, is available for preorder now.
Katherine’s novels are filled with horses and history and happily ever after . . . and heroes strong enough to follow their heroine’s lead. She spends a part of each year on Hawaii Island immersing herself in Hawaii’s past. Aided of course by the occasional mai tai. Katherine created the world of the Hawaiian Ladies Riding Society to tell the stories of the fearless horsewomen of the islands’ ranches. Because who doesn’t love a suffragist on horseback? With a bullwhip? Wearing flowers?
If you come along for the ride, be prepared for almost anything to happen. Katherine can promise you fiery kisses, charming cowboys, women who ride like the rainbow to save the day, and that rarest of beasts-handsome men who like to dance.
MJ Porter 