I’m delighted to welcome Amy Maroney and her new book, The Pirate’s Physician, a thrilling companion novella to the Sea and Stone Chronicles, to the blog.
Blurb
When her world shatters, she dares to trust a pirate. Will she survive what comes next?
The Pirate’s Physician is the story of Giuliana Rinaldi, a student at Salerno’s famed medieval medical school, whose lifelong dream of becoming a physician crumbles when her uncle and mentor dies suddenly.
Faced with an unwanted marriage to a ruthless merchant, Giuliana enlists the help of a Basque pirate and flees home for the dangers of the open sea.
Will she make it to Genoa, where her only remaining relative awaits? Or will this impulsive decision seal her own doom?
A delightful seafaring adventure packed with romance and intrigue, The Pirate’s Physician is a companion novella to the award-winning Sea and Stone Chronicles series of historical novels by Amy Maroney: Island of Gold, Sea of Shadows, and The Queen’s Scribe.
Amy Maroney lives in the Pacific Northwest with her family, and spent many years as a writer and editor of nonfiction before turning her hand to historical fiction.
Amy is the author of the Miramonde Series, a trilogy about a Renaissance-era female artist and the modern-day scholar on her trail. Amy’s new series, Sea and Stone Chronicles, features strong, talented women seeking their fortunes in the medieval Mediterranean.
To receive a free prequel novella to the Miramonde Series, join Amy Maroney’s readers’ group at http://www.amymaroney.com.
I’m delighted to welcome Heather Miller and her new book, ‘Tho I Be Mute, a prequel to Yellow Bird’s Song, to the blog with an excerpt.
Excerpt
Chapter 26, “The Cave,” Sarah Northrup Ridge
The Man in the Hat belched and laughed, passing the bottle back and forth to Whitmore and the Pan Man. If the squatters kept drinking at this pace, they might not notice if I was missing from the end of the rope. I smeared dripping blood from one wrist onto the other, wriggling my still-bound hand free. With a spontaneous decision, I released the rope and dashed to slide, feet first, then wiggling into the hole to follow the roots underground.
The drop was further than I expected, and I toppled to my knees, propelled forward when my feet splashed in yesterday’s rain. I had not thought about the drop. I had not thought about the fall. I had not thought about the dark. My bleeding hands stopped my fall. I soaked them in the pool of water at my knees and pulled the bloody handkerchief from my pocket to bind the torn skin of one wrist. My knees bled from scrapes and my stockings were bloody to my shins. Inside, the air was like frozen frost. The numb tips of my fingers could still reach the cave’s opening, but the last day’s light was insufficient to light my path any further than a few steps. My hand grazed the rock behind my back. I sat among the puddles, mute, expecting the dreaded eyes and otherworldly voice of Man with the Hat. Silent tears spilled down my cheeks. But for now, I was hidden beyond his reach. Not only cold but wet, I might freeze to death before anyone found me.
The longer the upper hole was quiet, the more I relaxed. I cupped the cold water from the puddle and patted it on my face, down my neck to counter the fever I felt. The longer I remained invisible to my captors, the faster my witness rejoined me. I became whole again. I listened outside this pit of earth. A whippoorwill called the sundown. An owl hooted with melancholy and offered his tender empathies. Their sounds echoed off the rock walls. I warmed from their companionship.
But while I became invisible to the Man in the Hat, I was also invisible to Arch who would be at least a day’s travel behind me. That was the best I could hope for. The worst I could imagine was snowfall, to leave me starving and freezing alone. No. There was a worse outcome—raped, abandoned, found dead. My hands and feet tingled. My breath was too loud. I prayed, Jesus, please light my way for this innocent baby. In that moment of faith, the child inside me spread a hand to mirror mine resting atop my belly. I kept my eyes closed and asked forgiveness for burying us alive in this cave. But I had no choice.
Leaves fell through the opening and feet darted above me. I wriggled, pushing my back against the cavern wall, pulling my feet close to my chest. The Man with the Hat never asked my name, and I never offered it. He had nothing to call, nothing to yell. Recognizing his oversight, he kicked leaves around the cave opening where I hid. I preferred starvation, frozen into a block of ice, than answering his call.
He shouted. “Red . . . You’ll show when you get hungry enough. We’ll camp right here. I ain’t going no further.”
His volume varied, as if he walked in circles, sending his snide voice in differing directions. As he spoke, the tone and bustle above me continued. Men’s voices and horse whinnies became more distinct while they searched for me. I smelled salt pork slung on an iron pan, the same one that clanked in front of me. I salivated while listening to their exchange.
“She ain’t gone far. She just hiding,” The Man in the Hat said.
“I can’t find her. Can you?” Whitmore gave his sarcastic reply as the Pan Man laughed.
“I will.” The Man in the Hat spoke, then he swore after. Leaves crunched under his boots near the bluff’s opening. His legs blocked their firelight. Then, his hand came through the void. I covered my mouth to block the sound of my rapid breathing.
“We still got the extra horse,” Whitmore said, “even if she’s up and climbed a tree.”
The Man in the Hat walked away and said, “She’s pregnant. She couldn’t fit in that hole, and she ain’t up no tree, you drunk bastard.” The Man in the Hat cursed me, knowing that my absence guaranteed the trio’s empty bottles and empty pockets.
Blurb
Clarinda faces a moment of profound reality—a rattlesnake bite, a harbinger of her imminent mortality—and undertakes an introspective journey. In her final days, she immortalizes not only her own story but that of her parents—a narrative steeped in her family’s insights into Cherokee heritage during the tumultuous years preceding the forced removal of Native communities.
In 1818, Clarinda’s father, Cherokee John Ridge, embarks on a quest for a young man’s education at the Foreign Mission School in Cornwall, Connecticut. Amidst sickness, he finds solace and love with Sarah, the steward’s quiet daughter. Despite enduring two years of separation, defamatory editorials, and societal upheaval due to their interracial love affair, the resilient couple weds in 1824. This marks the inception of a journey for Sarah as she delves into a world both cherished and feared—Cherokee Territory. As John Ridge advocates for the preservation of his people’s land and that of his Muskogee Creek neighbors against encroaching Georgia settlers and unscrupulous governmental officials, the stakes are high. His success or failure hinges on his ability to balance his proud Cherokee convictions with an intricate understanding of American law. Justice remains uncertain.
Grounded in a true story, ‘Tho I Be Mute resonates with a compelling historical narrative, giving an intimate voice to those heard, those ignored, those speechless, urging readers to not only hear but to truly listen.
History is better than fiction. We all leave a legacy.
As an English educator, Heather Miller has spent twenty-four years teaching her students the author’s craft. Now, she’s writing it herself, hearing voices from the past. Heather earned her MFA in creative writing in 2022 and is teaching high school as well as college composition courses.
Miller’s foundation began in the theatre, through performance storytelling. She can tap dance, stage-slap someone, and sing every note from Les Miserables. But by far, her favorite role has been as a fireman’s wife and mom to three: a trumpet player, a future civil engineer, and a RN. Alas, there’s only one English major in her house.
Heather continues writing the Ridge Family Saga. Her current work-in-progress, Stands, concludes the Ridge Family Saga.
I’m delighted to welcome A.M.Swink and her new book, Venator from the Roman Equestrian Series, to the blog with an excerpt.
Excerpt
Excerpt 5:
‘There we are.’ Julianus Titianus pushed Livius away as soon as he’d poured the wine. He lifted his glass at Decimus. ‘Your health, Centurion.’
Decimus begrudgingly sipped his drink. With a grunt, he leant forward and slammed his beaker back on the tribune’s marble table. ‘What do you want, Titianus?’
‘My, my! So very direct!’ The tribune chuckled, narrowing his beady eyes at the centurion over the rim of his glass. ‘Not even a word of thanks for your gracious host?’
‘I’m not fond of lies. They tend to stick in my throat.’ Decimus scowled.
He glanced around uncomfortably at his surroundings. Though as primus pilus he’d spent long hours in the war room discussing campaign strategies with the legate, Decimus had never felt entirely at ease within the ornate praetorium. The high, vaulted ceilings, painted walls, and mosaic floors seemed far too excessive for his tastes. Did all men of such high rank have to make their homes in opulent palaces?
He shuddered. Perhaps he wasn’t cut out for belonging to the equestrian class.
Across the table, Titianus sat before a mural depicting Pluto leading Proserpina into Hades; the mouth of the cave to the underworld loomed directly behind the tribune’s head. ‘Words were never your strong suit, were they, Maximus?’ Titianus smirked. ‘You’ve always been a man of action.’
‘Get to your point!’ Decimus barked, sitting on the edge of his chair.
‘So impatient!’ Titianus reclined against the back of his seat and tutted softly. ‘I do hope you aren’t considering the mercantile trade when you leave the army, old boy. You’re a pretty poor negotiator.’
‘Luckily enough, Tribune, I have no plans of the sort.’
‘Oh, really?’ Titianus coolly pulled out a tool to begin picking at imagined flecks of dirt beneath his spotless fingernails. ‘I thought I’d been reliably informed you plan to spend your retirement in the capital.’
Decimus shifted in his seat uncomfortably. ‘And why is it any of your concern?’
‘Just wondering if our paths shall cross again.’ Titianus smirked. ‘I’ll be heading back to pursue a quaestorship come spring. And my promotion is assured. I don’t have to bother telling you who my connections are. Let’s just say that I would be quite the valuable ally or quite the powerful enemy.’
‘Your connections are too rich for my blood; I think I’ll remain neutral.’
‘I hardly think you can value neutrality when it comes to me, Centurion.’
Decimus impatiently drummed his fingers on the table. ‘You know nothing about the business that interests me,’ he said at last.
‘Hmm…’ Titianus pretended to mull over Decimus’s words. ‘I don’t know about that. I do know that if you want to breed nags for the imperial army, you’re going to need a contract. One taken out with the palace.’
Decimus abruptly stopped drumming his fingers. He eyed the tribune suspiciously. ‘And?’
‘Well, I’m hardly one to brag, but…I do have friends in high places.’ Titianus shrugged. ‘Ones that have the ability to push for or against the success of such a petition.’
Decimus felt a cool chill from the smile Titianus gave him. He forced himself to bark out a laugh. ‘You’re bluffing.’
Titianus picked up his beaker and idly swirled its contents. ‘Find out at your peril, Centurion.’
‘I value my time, Tribune. And you are wasting it.’ Decimus pushed his chair back and stood.
‘Hold on!’ A note of alarm entered Titianus’s voice. He lifted a hand in protest. ‘Aren’t you curious as to what I’ve got to say?’
‘No.’ Decimus picked his helmet off the table and turned to leave. ‘I’ve played in this little farce for long enough!’
‘It concerns the princess.’
Decimus froze. His tongue darted out to wet his dry lips. ‘What about her?’
Titianus gestured to the vacant seat. He smiled as the centurion reluctantly sat back down. ‘Good, good. Now, let’s discuss this properly.’ He linked his fingers together on the tabletop, twiddling his soft, doughy thumbs. ‘I understand from our quartermaster that you purchased the princess from the legion two months ago for the sum of five hundred denarii. Is that correct?’
Decimus curtly nodded.
Titianus met the centurion’s gaze. He paused for a long moment, leaning over the table. ‘I’ll give you a thousand denarii for her.’
‘I’m sorry, Tribune.’ Decimus quickly stood again. ‘My slave is not for sale.’
‘Twelve hundred denarii!’
‘Not for that price. Not for any price.’ He clapped his helmet back on his head and began making his way towards the door.
Titianus stood and followed him down the hall. ‘Fifteen hundred denarii!’
‘At any price, Tribune!’ Decimus called warningly, refusing to break stride.
‘All right, all right!’ Titianus grabbed at the centurion’s shoulder. Decimus halted and whirled around to face him with a snarl. The tribune backed away, holding his hands up defensively. ‘Eighteen hundred denarii for one night. Just one night with her. Otherwise, she’s yours. Eighteen hundred denarii. One night. My final offer.’
Decimus’s face darkened. He loomed over the cowering tribune and grabbed hold of his neckerchief. ‘Do I look like a pimp to you?’
‘I…I just…’ Titianus choked.
‘Do I look like a pimp to you?!’ Decimus shook Titianus, lifting him onto his toes. With a contemptuous grunt, he tossed him onto the tiled floor. The man skidded roughly against the tesserae before slowing to a halt before his gilded lararium.
‘Stay away from my property, Tribune. Consider this your final warning.’ Decimus turned and stalked out the door.
Livius materialised in the hall and hastened to his master’s side.
‘Get off!’ Titianus kicked at Livius when the slave stooped to help him up. He panted, lifting his head to watch the centurion march away towards the barracks. Hate glistened in his beady dark eyes.
Blurb
Britannia, AD 59. Decimus is a long-serving senior centurion who dreams of retirement in Rome. Luciana is a Cornovii princess devoted to the freedom and survival of her tribe. Connected only by a passion for horsemanship, the pair could not be more ill-matched. After a deadly conflict thrusts these enemies together, each is determined to fight their desires and triumph over the other. Who will ultimately control the other’s heart?
But Decimus and Luciana are not the only ones on the hunt for supremacy; a desperate struggle over the province is beginning to simmer to a boil. There are whispers of mysterious Druids fomenting unrest among the western British tribes, whose inter-tribal divisions threaten to subsume them. The future of the Roman legions in the province is suddenly thrown into doubt as casualties begin to mount. Decimus and Luciana find themselves entangled within a web of characters, Briton and Roman, playing with Britannia’s destiny to serve their own ends.
The hunt for power is on, where only one side can emerge triumphant. But just who among these hunters will end up hunted?
A native of Dayton, Ohio, A.M. Swink grew up obsessed with two things: books and horses. After a childhood of reading, writing, showing, and riding, she moved to Lexington, Kentucky to complete a degree in equine science and management and a degree in English literary studies. She now works in Lexington as a college professor of reading and writing. In her spare time, she has travelled extensively around the UK and Ireland, exploring ancient sites and artefacts, as well as tracing her own ancestry. She is proud to be descended from County Cork’s Callaghan clan.
When not writing, she can be found collecting and showing model horses or enjoying her favourite British comedy programmes.
I’m delighted to welcome Stella Riley and her new book, A Splendid Defiance, a Roundheads & Cavaliers book, to the blog with an excerpt from Chapter 2: Bargaining with the enemy.
Chapter 2: Bargaining with the enemy
Jonas did not know if he was irritated or relieved to hear that Captain Ambrose awaited him in the shop. He loathed the garrison but a review of the last quarter’s figures had revealed a far from satisfactory state of affairs which meant he needed the Captain’s business. This, however, did not make him any less uncivil than usual and he said, ‘I begin to find your persistence annoying.’
‘I’m sure,’ agreed Justin. ‘But the remedy is in your own hands. And you won’t be the first to sacrifice your principles in exchange for hard cash.’
Jonas’s gaze sharpened.
‘Is that how you would pay? No promissory notes?’
‘No. We have the money. What we don’t have is endless time to discuss the matter. If the men are to have decent coats this winter, we need the cloth – and sooner rather than later. If you won’t supply it, I’ll apply to Oxford. Your choice … but if you can’t make it, then I must. Well?’
Jonas stared at the worldly elegance before him and longed for the satisfaction of refusing. Bitter rage burned in his breast and his frustration channelled itself into hatred for the man in front of him.
‘Very well. Broadcloth or worsted?’
The Captain expressed a preference for broadcloth. Jonas named his price and the Captain laughed.
‘Oh no, Mr. Radford. I realise that the damage done to your finer feelings will require compensation – but I’m not willing to be robbed. Try again.’
‘Robbed?’ echoed Jonas. ‘Do you think I can’t guess where you get the ‘hard cash’ you boast of?’
‘On the contrary, I’m very sure that you can. But I am equally sure that you will find our transaction less painful if you avoid thinking of it.’
Jonas’s answer was a diatribe against Cavalier lawlessness and vice. Captain Ambrose waited until he paused for breath and then said, ‘This is war, Mr. Radford. The Parliament attacks our convoys and we theirs. It is unfortunate but necessary. I doubt any of us takes any pleasure in it.’
‘Pleasure is all your kind ever think about!’ spat Jonas. ‘But God sees all and is not deceived. And you might remember that, if war makes thieves –’
‘Peace hangs them. Quite.’ Bored grey eyes met smouldering black ones. ‘But I’m not here to justify either myself or my cause – and I don’t have all day to waste while you preach. Fifteen shillings the yard and not a farthing more.’
Here’s the blurb
For two years England has been in the grip of Civil War. In Banbury, Oxfordshire, the Cavaliers hold the Castle, the Roundheads want it back and the town is full of zealous Puritans.
Consequently, the gulf between Captain Justin Ambrose and Abigail Radford, the sister of a fanatically religious shopkeeper, ought to be unbridgeable.
The key to both the fate of the Castle and that of Justin and Abigail lies in defiance. But will it be enough?
A Splendid Defiance is a dramatic and enchanting story of forbidden love, set against the turmoil and anguish of the English Civil War.
She is fascinated by the English Civil Wars and has written six books set in that period. These, like the 7 book Rockliffe series, the Brandon Brothers trilogy and, most recently The Shadow Earl, are all available in audio, performed by Alex Wyndham.
Stella enjoys travel, reading, theatre, Baroque music and playing the harpsichord. She also has a fondness for men with long hair – hence her 17th and 18th century heroes.
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.
I’m sharing a snippet from Susan E Sage’s new novel, Dancing in the Ring.
Catherine stared at an oak tree outside the classroom window without seeing the young man on the branch staring back in at her.
That humid early September afternoon, she was preoccupied with the fact that in less than a year, at age twenty-five, she’d be one of only four women in her graduating class. That is, if she passed all her remaining classes at the Detroit College of Law. She’d done well until this point, but anything could happen. Her single hope: to someday soon wear the cap and gown.
Then Catherine noticed the most handsome man she’d ever seen smiling at her from a tree branch. The oak tree was right outside the window, so she could see his brown wavy hair, the cleft in his chin, and even a dimple on his cheek. He wore a straw boater hat and tipped it her way when he caught her noticing him. She knew he was a fellow student as she’d noticed him before in the hallways, and at a few lectures.
He almost took her breath away, not because he was there on the branch, but because he was so darn handsome. “Only Valentino could compare,” she’d later confide to Molly, her sister. She fanned her face when he persisted to stare at her. Throughout college, she’d prided herself on not having been much distracted by young men, but now she’d become a silly schoolgirl.
Somehow she knew he expected her to avoid his stare. Instead, she returned it. Five minutes left of class, so why not have a little fun? It was also the last day of classes for the term.
As Catherine predicted, he found it unnerving. He imitated an ape and began scratching his underarm. At this, she nudged a friend sitting next to her. “Joan, get a load of what’s outside on the tree branch!” Enjoying even more attention, he began making loud ape-like noises. Then he almost lost his footing.
Here’s the blurb:
Detroit in the 1920s proved to be the Paris of the West for many – including Catherine McIntosh and Robert Sage. These two law school students become as passionate about each other as they are their dreams.
From a poor family in the Detroit neighborhood of Corktown, Catherine learned early on, the necessity of being resilient. She becomes one of the first women in Detroit to obtain a law degree. Bob, the ‘battling barrister,’ boxes in order to pay for law school. Despite his gruff and tough-boy personality, my great uncle Bob was a friend to all: judges, cops, and even a couple members of the notorious Purple Gang. The couple becomes legendary in legal circles for their commitment to social justice causes – as well as notorious in the local speakeasies and dancehalls.
At first, their optimism seems boundless, as it had for so many following an era of trauma and challenges that include the 1918 flu pandemic. It isn’t long before their passionate courtship turns into a tempestuous marriage. Then the Great Depression hits and their lives are forever changed.
Buy Links:
This title is available to read on #KindleUnlimited.
Susan Sage has published three novels: Insominy (2015), A Mentor and Her Muse (2017), and Dancing in the Ring (2023). Her writing has appeared in various literary magazines and journals. She received her English degree from Wayne State University where she was a recipient of the Tompkins Award in creative writing.
Although a Detroit native, she has resided most of her adult life in Flushing, Michigan with her husband and two cats.
The inspiration for More Precious Than Gold came through several different channels. At first, I planned to write a sequel to my first book in the Hearts of Gold series, The Test of Gold. I wanted to continue the saga of Lindy’s family with her daughter, Kitty.
That put me roughly into the time period of 1918.
I also had several readers comment on the original character of Vera Lindenmayer, Kitty’s grandmother, whom I based on the real-life person of Alva Vanderbilt. The same Alva Vanderbilt who forced her daughter to marry the Duke of Marlborough at age 18. They wanted Vera to get her comeuppance!
When I started researching, I came across so much information about WWI and the Pandemic Flu of 1918 that I started thinking of a way my character could get involved. I spent approximately two years researching the pandemic flu.
Many things have changed in the last 100 years of nursing, but some things never change and it was great fun to write about Kitty’s adventures as a student nurse before things get grim as the pandemic flu hit New York City.
At times the writing was difficult, as I got to the pandemic flu part. Then, as now, we all know someone who had COVID or had it ourselves. But the flu of 1918 disproportionately affected people in the 20 to 40 age range―people in the prime of their lives, as opposed to the elderly and very young whom the flu usually affects. In New York City alone, over 100,000 children were left orphans.
So I had to choose which characters in the story would die of the flu. To be realistic, I couldn’t let them all survive. And I had grown so attached to them that I didn’t want any of them to perish. But it had to be done.
I finished the manuscript for this story in 2017, two years before COVID hit. No one was more surprised than me to find myself in the middle of a modern pandemic.
Wow. Thank you so much for sharing your inspiration. Isn’t it strange how you spent so long researching the book, and then Covid came along? Good luck with your new release.
Here’s the blurb:
A young woman refuses to become a pawn in her grandmother’s revenge scheme and forgoes a life of wealth and royalty to pursue a nursing career as America enters WWI and the Pandemic Flu of 1918 wreaks havoc in New York City.
Renee Yancy is a history and archaeology nut who works as an RN when she isn’t writing historical fiction or traveling the world to see the exotic places her characters have lived.
A voracious reader as a young girl, she now writes the kind of books she loves to read—stories filled with historical and archaeological detail interwoven with strong characters facing big conflicts. Her goal is to take you on a journey into the past so fascinating that you can’t put the story down.
When she isn’t writing, Renee can be found in the wilds of Kentucky with her husband and a rescue mutt named Ellie. She loves flea markets and collecting pottery and glass and most anything mid-century modern.
MJ Porter 