Judith Arnopp's Blog

 

Name:  Stephanie Cowell

Book Title: The Man in the Stone Cottage: a novel of the Brontë sisters 

Series: N/a

Publication Date: September 16th, 2025

Publisher: Regal House Publishing

Pages: 258 

Genre: historical fiction

Any Triggers: no

Tour Schedule Page: https://thecoffeepotbookclub.blogspot.com/2025/08/blog-tour-the-man-in-the-stone-cottage-by-stephanie-cowell.html 

The Man in the Stone Cottage: a novel of the Brontë sisters

By Stephanie Cowell

Audiobook by Brilliance Audio

“A haunting and atmospheric historical novel.” – Library Journal

In 1846 Yorkshire, the Brontë sisters— Charlotte, Anne, and Emily— navigate precarious lives marked by heartbreak and struggle.

Charlotte faces rejection from the man she loves, while their blind father and troubled brother add to their burdens. Despite their immense talent, no one will publish their poetry or novels. 

Amidst this turmoil, Emily encounters a charming shepherd during her solitary walks on the moors, yet he remains unseen by anyone else. 

After Emily’ s untimely death, Charlotte— now a successful author with Jane Eyre— stumbles upon hidden letters and a mysterious map. As she stands on the brink of her own marriage, Charlotte is determined to uncover the truth about her sister’ s secret relationship. 

The Man in the Stone Cottage is a poignant exploration of sisterly bonds and the complexities of perception, asking whether what feels real to one person can truly be real to another.

Praise for The Man in the Stone Cottage:

“A mesmerizing and heartrending novel of sisterhood, love, and loss in Victorian England.” - Heather Webb, USA Today bestselling author of Queens of London

“Stephanie Cowell has written a masterpiece.” - Anne Easter Smith, author of This Son of York

“With The Man in the Stone Cottage, Stephanie Cowell asks what is real and what is imagined and then masterfully guides her readers on a journey of deciding for themselves.” - Cathy Marie Buchanan, author of The Painted Girls

“The Brontës come alive in this beautiful, poignant, elegant and so very readable tale. Just exquisite.” - NYT bestseller, M.J. Rose

“Cowell’s ability to take readers to time and place is truly wonderful and absorbing.” - Stephanie H. (Netgalley)

“Such a lovely, lovely book!” - Books by Dorothea (Netgalley)

Read an Excerpt

After having stayed away from the cottage on the moors for many months and the shepherd within who no one else has ever seen, Emily is suddenly worried he may have vanished. She has just begun to draft her first novel Wuthering Heights 

The rest of the winter brought awful weather. It was too cold to hang wash outside, so chemises and underdrawers and petticoats and shirts were draped on ropes stretched across the kitchen to dry, steaming slightly from the hot fire. Outside, snow covered the fences and the high grass while the sheep seemed like ghosts as they moved in the blizzards. 

When Emily raised her face from the pages of her story, she finally allowed herself to think of Jonathan MacConnell in his small cottage, likely half buried in snow. No, likely not for she recalled that he said he might leave before this winter. The stone cottage would be empty, as it had been when she first discovered it. She put her fingers to her lips which he had wanted to kiss. But perhaps he had packed but not yet gone. 

Emily pulled on her warmest cloak and laced her mother’s boots, which could hardly be mended anymore. Within minutes, she was through the moor gate and plunging into the icy snow. She was panting by the time she saw the familiar hill before her which she had first climbed as a girl. I am always too late for everything, she thought. How could I forget to come?

Breathless she made the hilltop. Her hood fell off, and the snow flew in her face. For a moment she could see nothing. She wiped it away with her glove, looked down. Below her, in the icy piles around its foundations, the stone cottage had returned to the ruins in which she first had found it so many years before. The roof was half gone, and the door torn away.

Then he’s left for certain, she told herself. I have missed him because I forgot.

She covered her face with her gloved hands.

But when she took away her hands, the house was whole again. The icy snow was dying down, blowing away. Making her way to the back of the house, she saw a ladder and Jonathan MacConnell standing on it. His face lit up at the sight of her and he called, happily, “Can it be you? I almost left, a few months ago before Christmas. How glad I am to see you!”

She picked up his fallen hat and when he came down, gave it to him. He brushed it off with his bare hand, leaving sparkles of ice in the strands. She could find no words to say but that she was very glad to find him, and she would not say that. Her throat swelled.

The snow had entirely ceased to fall.

Finding her voice, she asked him, “Why didn’t you go?”

“I almost did, but I wanted to see you first. I waited, willing you to come to me. One Sabbath between storms a few months ago, I rode my old mare to your church but remained in the back. You were with your sisters, singing hymns from the book. Three charming girls in bonnets.”

She said uncomfortably, “I wish you had spoken to me when you came to the village.”

“I know you a little and you didn’t want it. I’m your secret. I sensed it. It gets lonely being a secret, lass.”

“I think of us as friends.”

“Strange friends indeed. ‘I won’t come to you, and you may not come to me.’ ‘I’ll see you in a year, maybe not.’” He smiled, teasing. “Come inside where it’s warm,” he said. When she did not take the hand, he shrugged and opened the door to his cottage. 

Avoiding even brushing his coat sleeve, she passed him and sat down carefully on the wobbly chair near the burning logs. He took the other chair, removing his mufflers.

She said, “I did stay away a time. I’ve been writing a book. It so possesses me, I forget the world. I forgot everything. Even friends…you.”

His face softened. “Friends indeed then?”

“Why yes, of course.”

“A whole book! I cannot imagine writing so much.”

“I think my sisters write books, but they aren’t very successful. None of us are. Sometimes mine seems realer than my own world.”

“Can it do that?”

“Oh yes! It makes me forget things I can’t manage.”

“Do you mean your brother? I’ve been thinking of him. Last month after seeing you girls in church, I had a mug in the Haworth pub and heard talk that he fell in love with a married woman who’s widowed now and who’ll marry him soon and solve your family’s financial needs.”

“Is it the general talk?”

“It is and I see you don’t like it. I like the look of your father, very much the old prophet. What would he think of me, I wonder?”

“I don’t want him to know yet. He’s ill at the idea of us being hurt or taken in by a stranger.”

“Am I still a stranger?”

“Not anymore, but my family mightn’t understand, because you’re a married man run away from your wife from a place no one has ever heard of. And we met in such a strange way. And you may disappear from my life as abruptly as you came. With my knowing nothing of it.” 

“I won’t,” he said. “I’ll stay a time if you will continue to come to me.”

“I’ll always come,” Emily said. Rising, she walked around the table and bent down to press her lips against his. He touched the back of her head to bring her closer. His lips were warm and slightly chapped, and she lingered a time before springing away. All the way home, she ran over the sopping ground as fast as she could.

That night her novel woke her like something shaking her arm. She stumbled to the desk. She had some attempts to light the lamp. The words came from nowhere, rushing and pushing. The scenes were still coming out of order. She remembered how years ago, in the marketplace, she had seen a boy about five years old, staring after her.

The clock on the stairs chimed two in the morning.

She forgot everything but her book.

Emily wrote for a long time, trying to make her penmanship legible, catching the words as they came. It was not until dawn began, slowly lightening the sky, that she felt too tired to continue. She locked everything away and lay down again. The whole story was gray, like the light, but she felt its edges, its middle, its muddled endings, the many of them.

Emily pulled the pillow over her head against the strange people in her room and whispers from corners. We have always been here, they murmured. We are more real than you are. We are more real than he is, your man in his stone cottage, and he is dangerously real.

Live for us alone.

I know that ghosts have wandered on earth. Be with me always. Take any form, drive me mad, only do not leave me in this dark alone where I cannot find you. I cannot live without my life! I cannot die without my soul.

Universal Buy Link: https://books2read.com/u/mqLV2d 

***

Stephanie Cowell has been an opera singer, balladeer, founder of Strawberry Opera and other arts venues including a Renaissance festival in NYC.

She is the author of seven novels including Marrying Mozart, Claude & Camille: a novel of Monet, The Boy in the Rain and The Man in the Stone Cottage. Her work has been translated into several languages and adapted into an opera. Stephanie is the recipient of an American Book Award. 

Website: https://stephaniecowell.com 

Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/stephanie.cowell.14 

Instagram: https://www.instagram.com/cowell.stephanie/ 

Amazon Author Page: https://www.amazon.com/author/stephaniecowell 

Goodreads: https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/197596.Stephanie_Cowell 

Name: Wendy J. Dunn

Book Title: Shades of Yellow

Series: n/a 

Publication Date: September 7th, 2025

Publisher: Other Terrain Press

Pages: 350

Genre: Women’s Fiction / Literary Fiction / Dual-Timeline

Any Triggers: Adult themes and with a few well-deserved F words included.   

Tour Schedule Page: https://thecoffeepotbookclub.blogspot.com/2025/08/blog-tour-shades-of-yellow-by-wendy-j-dunn.html 

Shades of Yellow

By Wendy J. Dunn

During her battle with illness, Lucy Ellis found solace in writing a novel about the mysterious death of Amy Robsart, the first wife of Robert Dudley, the man who came close to marrying Elizabeth I. As Lucy delves into Amy’s story, she also navigates the aftermath of her own experience that brought her close to death and the collapse of her marriage. 

After taking leave from her teaching job to complete her novel, Lucy falls ill again. Fearing she will die before she finishes her book, she flees to England to solve the mystery of Amy Robsart’s death. 

Can she find the strength to confront her past, forgive the man who broke her heart, and take control of her own destiny?

Who better to write about a betrayed woman than a woman betrayed?

READ AN EXCERPT: 

When they found a spot at the Oxford carpark, Lucy inwardly sighed with relief. It was where they wanted to be, close to The White Horse pub, where they had booked for lunch at 12:30, and not too far from Saint Mary the Virgin, the site of Amy’s tomb. She checked her watch. Just a little after noon – plenty of time to walk to the pub.

 Before she had left for England, Max thought it hilarious that she wanted to go there, to this touristy pub. Until she explained it was because of her father. He had been a hard and fast fan of Inspector Morse. Before going to uni, thanks to all the times she had watched the series with her father and because of all the time Morse spent at The White Horse, she used to dream of that pub.  

 Besides that, it was a sixteenth-century pub. As a history-loving Australian, why wouldn’t she want to go there for lunch? It was also right next door to Blackwell’s. She had no desire to buy more research books to add to her luggage, but she could never resist popping into a good bookshop.

She slipped out of the passenger side of the car and opened the rear door to grab her small day backpack. Locking the door, she turned to Max. ‘Quarter past twelve. Just as you said last night. Even with the traffic, we still got here in time.’ 

 He shrugged. ‘I live in London. I always factor in getting held up by traffic. Best get on our way. We will have to move the car after lunch. Hopefully, we will find another parking spot nearby.’ He gestured towards the nearby lane. ‘Stick to the pavements, Lucy. The bike riders around here think they own the roads.’

Well-kept English gardens lined the streets. Creeping, flowering wisteria festooned their purple flowers against old sandy-coloured stone buildings. English singsong voices reminded her she was no longer in her own country. People edged past them on the narrow pavement. Footsteps drummed a determined march on the uneven pavement before they faded away. Hearing another good-mannered, poshly spoken ‘Excuse me,’ almost made her giggle. 

The siren of a police car screamed in the distance. There was no letup of the busy car traffic on the road. Bikes whizzed right next to the footpath. A gust of wind fluttered loose litter down the road. She hid a smile. Being a gentleman, Max walked on the side of the pavement closest to the traffic, keeping her safe from harm.  

Closer to their destination stood the Church of Saint Mary Magdalen. A few early cowslips flowered at the edges of the long, green, manicured lawn. 

Lucy took Max’s arm to stop him. She pointed to the bright yellow bells nodding in the breeze. ‘Good to see cowslips.’

‘Do you remember the stories your father told us about them?’

‘I remember him saying they once grew everywhere in England, but now only traces remain.’

‘He told us they once use them for decoration for maypoles. And don’t forget the fairies.’ 

Lucy laughed. ‘How can I forget the fairies? Do you remember the print of the cowslip fairy in my bedroom at home?’

‘The one using a cowslip as an umbrella?’

‘Yes – not like the stories Dad told us about the fairies seeking shelter in cowslips because of danger. Cowslips were regarded as quite magical.’  

‘I remember best his stories about how they used them to treat everything under the sun.’

‘Like Tudors used them. I can see Amy Robsart using them during her time of illness.’

Still thinking about cowslips, Lucy walked on beside Max.

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

This title is available to read on #KindleUnlimited.

WENDY J. DUNN is a multi-award-winning Australian writer fascinated by Tudor history – so much so she was not surprised to discover a family connection to the Tudors, not long after the publication of Dear Heart, How Like You This, her first Anne Boleyn novel, which narrated the Anne Boleyn story through the eyes of Sir Thomas Wyatt, the elder. 

Her family tree reveals the intriguing fact that one of her ancestral families – possibly over three generations – had purchased land from both the Boleyn and Wyatt families to build up their holdings. It seems very likely Wendy’s ancestors knew the Wyatts and Boleyns personally.

Wendy gained her PhD in 2014 and tutors in writing at Swinburne University of Technology, Australia. She loves walking in the footsteps of the historical people she gives voice to in her books. 

Website: http://www.wendyjdunn.com/

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Name: Nancy Jardine

Book Title: Tailored Truths

Series: Silver Sampler Series, Book 2

Publication Date: September 12th, 2025

Publisher: Nancy Jardine with Ocelot Press

Pages: 468

Genre: Historical Fiction; Family Saga; Women’s Fiction

Any Triggers: I don’t think so. (Deaths described but not murder.)

Tour Schedule Page: https://thecoffeepotbookclub.blogspot.com/2025/08/blog-tour-tailored-truths-by-nancy-jardine.html 

Tailored Truths

by Nancy Jardine

An engrossing Victorian Scotland Saga (Silver Sampler Series Book 2)

Is self-supporting success enough for Margaret Law or will her future also include an adoring husband and children? She might secretly yearn for that though how can she avoid a repeat of relationship deceptions that disenchanted her so much during her teenage years?

Employment as a lady’s maid, and then as a private tutor in Liverpool in the 1860s bring thrilling opportunities Margaret could never have envisaged. Though when those posts end, her educational aspirations must be shelved again. Reliance on her sewing skills is paramount for survival when she returns to Dundee.

Meeting Sandy Watson means love, marriage and starting a family - though not necessarily in that order – are a striking development though it entails a move north to Peterhead. Yet, how can Margaret shed her fear of commitment and her independence and take the plunge?

Jessie, her sister-at-heart, is settled in Glasgow. Frequent letters are a life-line between them but when it all goes horribly wrong, the contents of Margaret’s correspondence don’t necessarily mirror her awful day-to-day realities.

Tailored Truths 

Read an Excerpt :

Propositioned at the opera

A signal bell from the orchestra below, and the dimming of the gas lights that bordered the stage, heralded a noisy return of those who had left their seats. For a minute or two, it seemed to Margaret that the people who had been chatting were rushing their conversations to conclude them before the Second Act began. The buzz of expectancy around the auditorium was quite a palpable delight.

Margaret decided that attending a theatre performance truly was a brand new and tremendously exciting experience and being clad almost as beautifully as the women around her was a thrill in itself.

The second and third acts made more sense and Margaret found she was thoroughly enjoying the opera. They had had some refreshments during the longer second interval so when the shorter third one came, she expected a continuation of their dissection of the opera. She was quite unprepared for the corridor door to the box being rapped upon before it opened, obscuring her in behind it.

“Forgive my intrusion. I noticed your party and came across to pay my respects.”

Margaret gulped. The voice was definitely familiar. She didn’t need to lean forwards to know that it was the Earl of Sefton who stepped in past her to greet the others before he closed the door behind him.

The conversation which followed made clear that the Earl of Sefton had already met Mister and Mistress Grainger. The performance was briefly commented upon before the earl made to take his leave again after the signal for the end of the short interval rang clear and the gas lighting was dimmed.

Margaret opened the corridor door, shifting back a little to allow him more space to exit. She found that she was then the recipient of his attention, his focus on her alone. The expression in his gaze was akin to admiration but it veiled something else, something more expectant. His words were a whisper since the auditorium had quietened down, expectantly awaiting the orchestra to resume.

“You are looking particularly fetching tonight, Miss Law.”

Margaret stared at him, hoping her swallow wasn’t heard by the others, the flustering inside her not something she wanted to happen. How was she supposed to respond to a comment like that? Coming from an earl?

The almost smile that she’d detected on his face slipped away when he realised she wasn’t gushing her thanks, and wasn’t saying anything at all.

“But I digress. The school that I mentioned the other day?”

Margaret managed a brief nod. “My Lord, I do remember.”

“You may be pleased to know that my architect and I finally agreed on the last of the plans, yesterday. Building work will begin very soon.” There was a momentary pause before he continued, the intensity of his eyes illuminated by the nearest corridor lamplight. “I wondered if you would be interested in seeing the plans the day after tomorrow, when I have some free afternoon time, Miss Law? A fresh eye from one who has knowledge of the pupil being taught has to be a good thing at this stage.”

Disappointment warred with quite a degree of embarrassment at his words, but more from the renewed speculation in his expression. It took no more than an instant to decide to appear obtuse about any possible inference that he wasn’t just going to show plans to her.

“Oh, I would have loved to look at the architect’s drawings, My Lord,” she said. “I’d be very interested in seeing them, but unfortunately I won’t be here. Miss Marianne is returning to Dundee tomorrow.”

“Ah, in that case I will bid you goodbye, Miss Law.”

The door shut silently behind him leaving Margaret quite perplexed. His slight aloofness was much as it had been at Croxteth Hall, but as Marianne had mentioned days before there was more than a hint of something in the earl’s eyes that indicated an anticipation – about more than his building project.

An eagerness about anything more personal would have been a disaster, Margaret was sure of that. He was definitely a tempting morsel, a handsome man indeed who just might have been considering an illicit liaison with someone like her. Though perhaps she had just been reading him completely wrongly and it was just because he had made her pulse increase.

She was thankful that Marianne had heard none of the conversation as she slipped down onto her seat, the music restarting and the stage curtain fluttering upwards. She willed the twitching inside her stomach to settle down.

Universal Buy Link: https://mybook.to/TTsss  

This title is available to read on #KindleUnlimited.

Nancy Jardine writes historical adventure fiction, historical saga, time travel historical adventure and contemporary mysteries. Research, grandchildren, gardening fill up her day in the castle country of Aberdeenshire, Scotland, when not writing or promoting her writing. Interacting with readers is a joy at Book and Craft Fairs where she signs/sells paperback versions of her novels. She enjoys giving author presentations on her books and on Ancient Roman Scotland.

Memberships include: Historical Novel Society; Scottish Association of Writers, Federation of Writers Scotland, Romantic Novelists’ Association and the Alliance of Independent Authors. She’s self-published with Ocelot Press.

Website: https://www.nancyjardine.com/

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Name: Julia Ibbotson

Book Title: Daughter of Mercia

Series: Dr Anna Petersen Mysteries, book #1

Publication Date:  June 6th, 2025

Publisher:  Archbury Books

Pages:  301 ebk, 392 pbk

Genre:  medieval dual-time mystery romance

Any Triggers: n/a

Tour Schedule Page: https://thecoffeepotbookclub.blogspot.com/2025/08/blog-tour-daughter-of-mercia-by-julia-ibbotson.html 

Daughter of Mercia

by Julia Ibbotson

Echoes of the past resonate across the centuries as Dr Anna Petersen, a medievalist and runologist, is struggling with past trauma and allowing herself to trust again. When archaeologist (and Anna's old adversary) Professor Matt Beacham unearths a 6th century seax with a mysterious runic inscription, and reluctantly approaches Anna for help, a chain of events brings the past firmly back into her present. And why does the burial site also contain two sets of bones, one 6th century and the other modern? 

As the past and present intermingle alarmingly, Anna and Matt need to work together to solve the mystery of the seax runes and the seemingly impossible burial, and to discover the truth about the past. Tensions rise and sparks fly between Anna and Matt. But how is 6th century Lady Mildryth of Mercia connected to Anna? Can they both be the Daughter of Mercia?

For fans of Barbara Erskine, Elena Collins, Pamela Hartshorne, Susanna Kearsley and Christina Courtenay.

Read an Excerpt:

 

Inthe mead hall feasting where Lady Mildryth is entertaining the stranger,Theowulf

535AD

 She wasperfectly aware that there was speculation and that Theowulf was considered anintruder in their midst. She glanced sideways at him and saw his frowninghesitation as he stared at the food that the serving serfs offered him. Hecautiously took the venison pieces onto his wooden platter with the knife shehad given him, but he shook his head at the spicy sauce, his nose wrinkled upand his eyes narrowed. He was beginning to annoy her with his pickiness. Hemust surely be some great thegn to be so choosy. It seemed that he did notunderstand the quality of her table.

 “No, look,” shesaid, irritation rising in her voice. “This is good. It is to make the meattaste better at this time of year.” She showed him again how to eat with theknife, how to dip the meat in the communal sauce bowl, how to break the breadand mop up the juices. What was the matter with him that he looked as if he hadnever sat at the mead table before? Did the Saxons not have their evening meallike this, together in the hall. Surely they ate the same sort of food with thesame knives to eat with? Where in God’s truth did he come from? What manner ofsettlement was he raised in?

 Theowulf’s firstbite appeared to satisfy him and soon he was eating hungrily, salting hismutton and beef rather more generously than she would have liked, although shehad told him that salt was rare and he must be careful. Had he understood her?Maybe not. She signalled the table serf to remove the salt pot from his reach.

 The bowls ofnuts and berries from the hedgerows he must have recognised as he nodded andate with no hesitation. Mildryth was aware that he was drinking copiously fromhis mead-cup. The women cup-bearers were kept busy refilling his cup as theyscurried around with the thegns’ mead flagon and the communal ale-bowl. Out ofthe corner of her eye, Mildryth watched his strong hands with their longfingers reach for his mead-cup and lift it to his lips, sipping cautiously atfirst, then gulping thirstily as if he savoured a new taste. Did the Saxons nothave mead? Such a big muscular man and yet he ate and drank like a child. Shecould not help but smile at him and he grinned back at her, his piercing blueeyes searing into her soul. Her heart fluttered strangely and she turned downher mouth at the corners.

 “My lady.”Aelfric appeared before her, indicating that the ceorls were ready to light theflares to flame intheir sconces on the walls, and soon the hanging cressets were shedding an oilylight. The fire pit in the middle of the hall flaming up, licking towards theroof, black choking smoke clouding the air as it rose to the thatch. Her thegnsat the long trestle tables down each side of the hall took on a ghoulishappearance in the gloom but as the flames steadied the red sweaty faces cameinto focus.

 Clearly, a great deal of mead had been consumed and her drunken guestsrolled against each other, so that Mildryth thought that Theowulf must wonderif they were embracing or fighting. One swept his hand wildly across the table,knocking over his goblet and spilling golden liquid to drip onto theherb-strewn wooden floor. Another fell backwards from the bench and clutchedthe rich gold-embroidered wall tapestry hanging behind him in a desperateattempt to gain his balance. 

Lady Mildryth rose abruptly and raised her arms, the wide sleeves of hervelvet over-robe falling to her upper arms. “Enough!”

 The boisterous din gradually quietened, with only the odd inebriatedvoices from a few dazed thegns cutting across the hall to the benches opposite.The ladies at the benches turned to glare at their partners and slap theirbloated cheeks, remonstrating with them piously. All faces turned accusingly tothe miscreants, despite their owners having added to the raucous din a fewmoments before.

 Aelfric knocked his seax against the top table three times, and all fellsilent. Mildryth slowly shook her head. “My thegns, you are all well aware thatI do not allow drunkenness and foul behaviour in my mead hall at feasting. Anyguest from outside our settlement would think we are barbarians.”

 A murmur of denial growled across the hall. But as Lady Mildryth turnedbriefly to Theowulf, they seemed to grasp that their cūning mightperhaps be referring to the stranger sitting to her right. She saw their frownsand much shaking of heads. She knew exactly what they were thinking: who isthis newcomer, this outsider who narrowed his sharp blue eyes at them soarrogantly?

 But they kept their peace and bit their lips as their lady signalled toAelfric with a sweep of her hand to summon the .He arrived with an expansive spreading of his arms, his dark cloak falling likethe wings of some great bird, his long white hair and beard glowing in thefirelight. He stood in the centre of the hall turning around to acknowledge theapplause of the thegns and in response they banged the hilts of their seaxesagainst the trestles.

 Mildryth swivelled round at the sound beside her, and saw that Theowulfhad bent forwards over the table, his sleeves almost sopping up the remains ofthe cream and blackberry concoction before him. He was staring intently at the , eyes widened. How odd, she was sure that theSaxons had similar entertainment at their feasts, from what she had heard.Their practices were not so very different from their own, surely. Yet Theowulflooked … what could she say? … wondrous, fascinated, as though he had never seena poet story-teller before.

 The scōp bowed to Lady Mildryth as she asked him where he was from, aswas the custom, and how far he was travelling that moon-journey, and whetherthe chamber they had set aside for his rest that night was acceptable. With theformalities done, the poet embarked upon his tale, a saga of warriors’ heroismand of dragons, with the names of Mildryth and her father Cnebba of Mercia andof most of their cyth and cyn slipped in to the well-knownnarrative.

 Mildryth settled back to hear the tale, although in truth she had heardit many times before; yet it never ceased to fill her with the comfort ofknowing that it was her tradition, her family, her heritage. And all the time,throughout the whole heroic poem, although many of the thegns fell to sleep ina drunken stupor, their heads resting on the tables or propped up by theirladies, she was aware that Theowulf sat to attention, as if caught entranced byevery word that fell from the old man’s mouth.

 She watched him out of the corner of her eye and saw that his lips movedwith the scōp’s words, silently repeating them … and not always repeating them,but sometimes speaking them along with the poet. So he knew some of her Angelnwords! And, even more strangely, he seemed to know this poem. How could thatbe, if he were not Angeln? She remembered that he had spoken her name and rankwhen she first saw him in the lock-up, but hesitantly as though he was unsureof them or was trying them out aloud for sound.

 And so he had heard the story-teller before. Or at least he hadheard the same poem recited elsewhere. Maybe not by this scōp but by someoneelse at some other feast in some other mead hall in some other settlement. Howintriguing. If only he would speak to her so that she could understand hiswords. For those that fell from his lips were strange and the sounds he madewere incomprehensible.

   

 https://myBook.to/DOMercia

 This title is available to read on #KindleUnlimited.

Julia Ibbotson is fascinated by the medieval world and the concept of time. She is the author of historical mysteries with a frisson of romance. Her books are evocative of time and place, well-researched and uplifting page-turners. Her current series focuses on early medieval time-slip/dual-time mysteries.

Julia read English at Keele University, England, specialising in medieval language / literature / history, and has a PhD in socio-linguistics. After a turbulent time in Ghana, West Africa, she became a school teacher, then a university academic and researcher. Her break as an author came soon after she joined the RNA’s New Writers’ Scheme in 2015, with a three-book deal from Lume Books for a trilogy (Drumbeats) set in Ghana in the 1960s.

She has published five other books, including A Shape on the Air, an Anglo-Saxon timeslip mystery, and its two sequels The Dragon Tree and The Rune Stone. Her latest novel is the first of a new series of Anglo-Saxon dual-time mysteries, Daughter of Mercia, where echoes of the past resonate across the centuries.

Her books will appeal to fans of Barbara Erskine, Pamela Hartshorne, Susanna Kearsley, and Christina Courtenay. Her readers say: ‘Julia’s books captured my imagination’, ‘beautiful story-telling’, ‘evocative and well-paced storylines’, ‘brilliant and fascinating’ and ‘I just couldn’t put it down’.

Website: https://juliaibbotsonauthor.com

Twitter / X: https://twitter.com/@juliaibbotson

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

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Amazon Author Page: https://Author.to/JuliaIbbotsonauthor

Goodreads: https://goodreads.com/juliaibbotson

Book Title: The Herb Knot  

Series:  n/a

Author Name: Jane Loftus 

Publication Date: May 8th, 2025 

Publisher: HQ Digital 

Pages: 336 

Genre: Medieval Historical Fiction 

  Any Triggers: Domestic abuse / violence (not much, but two short depictions), implied sexual assault, attempted murder, actual murder.

  

Tour Schedule Page: https://thecoffeepotbookclub.blogspot.com/2025/07/blog-tour-the-herb-knot-by-jane-loftus.html 

  

The Herb Knot

By Jane Loftus

Audiobook Narrator: Matt Addis 

The Hundred Years' War comes to life in this spellbinding tale of love, betrayal and conspiracy … 

A quest born on the battlefield will change a young boy’s destiny… 

Rafi Dubois is five years old when his mother is murdered after the Battle of Crecy in 1346. Alone and lost, Rafi is given a token by the dying Englishman who tried to save his mother’s life: a half-broken family seal which he urges Rafi to return one day to Winchester. 

Years later, when Rafi saves a wealthy merchant’s wife from a brutal robbery, he is rewarded with the chance to travel to England, taking the seal with him. 

But when he reaches Winchester, Rafi finds himself in a turbulent world full of long-held allegiances, secrets and treachery. His path is fraught with danger and with powerful enemies working against him, Rafi falls in love with Edith, a market apothecary. But in doing so, Rafi unleashes a deadly chain of events which threatens to overwhelm them both… 

 The Herb Knot is a sweeping and passionate novel set in one of the most tumultuous times in English history, from a powerful new voice.

 Read an Excerpt 

The branches folded over them, crackling like a dog biting on chicken bones. Raphael and his mother wriggled beneath low shrubs and coils of fern. Even in moonlight they would be difficult to see, but it was not the place of safety his mother would have chosen. It was his mistake that had forced them to stop here.

His first mistake.

‘When did you last see Christophe?’ His mother pulled him close.

‘By the big oak.’

‘Tch!’

‘I’m sorry, Maman.’

The big oak was where they’d entered the forest. It was where enemy soldiers roamed, blood-soaked after a day of battle. There would be looting too, and worse. It was why a woman and two children had left a cottage that was no longer safe. And now one of the children was missing.

‘He told me not to wait. He said he’d catch up.’ Raphael’s tears could be heard in his voice. He’d ruined everything. He should never have let go of Christophe’s hand. Now, they had been forced to stop where Christophe might still find them. They should be further towards the heart of the forest, not here.

It was all his fault.

‘Don’t cry, mon petit. He’ll know where we are.’ Raphael’s mother, Marianne, reached for his hand. ‘I should have paid more heed.’

She’d been calling gently as they walked, to make sure the children were still following. Raphael had answered. But he’d spoken only for himself. Christophe had fallen behind long before she’d become aware of it. They were supposed to hold hands, but Christophe had kept stumbling, dragging Raphael down with him. In the end he’d told Raphael to go ahead, that he’d catch up.

I should have waited.

Christophe would surely find his way here. He had Raphael’s precious St Joseph scapular with him. Raphael wore it always, but Christophe had been afraid so Raphael had given it to him. It would guide him here; it had to.

Raphael and his mother lay for a while on their stomachs, the leaves above them gently shedding raindrops from the earlier storm. The damp earth smelled rich and strong and caught the back of Raphael’s throat. His ribs began to hurt and he tried to move, but there were footsteps now. Marianne pressed her fingers to his lips.

The footsteps came faster and louder. A man entered the clearing, his outline bulky as if he were wearing armour. There was a shadow of something in his hand, something that glinted for a brief moment as a dull beam of moonlight caught the edge of it. Raphael felt his mother’s hand tighten on his again.

Who was this man? A mercenary? Genoese? There was more moonlight now but it still wasn’t enough to see for sure.

‘Anglais,’ Marianne whispered.

When Christophe crashed into the clearing like a hunted deer, the mercenary had already begun to walk away. Had Christophe arrived but one minute later, his and Raphael’s lives would have taken different paths. But at the sight of the child, soiled and trembling, the mercenary turned on his heel. He had his arm wrapped around Christophe’s neck in an instant, pulling tight until his feet barely reached the ground. Christophe’s hands pulled at the mercenary’s arm but to no avail. Raphael wanted to cry.

  

Universal Buy Link:  https://books2read.com/u/bzN6Z2 

Jane Loftus gained a degree in 16th Century European and British history from Surrey before taking a postgraduate degree in modern political history. As a lone parent, she worked in Winchester Waterstones before returning to IT once her son was older.

Hugely passionate about the Middle Ages, she drew inspiration for this novel from the medieval layout of Winchester which has been painstakingly documented.

Jane is originally from London but has lived in Winchester for over twenty years. When not writing, she is usually out walking or watching costume dramas on Netflix - the more medieval the better. She also plays far too many rpgs.

  

Website: https://janeloftus.com/ 

Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/profile.php?id=61577760507961

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

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

Amazon Author Page: https://www.amazon.co.uk/stores/author/B0F3Q52X9Y 

Goodreads: https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/29357528.Jane_Loftus 

Name: Carolyn Niethammer

Book Title: Everything We Thought We Knew

Series: n/a

Publication Date: May 1st, 2025

Publisher: Booklocker

Pages: 254

Genre: Historical Fiction

Any Triggers: n/a

Tour Page: https://thecoffeepotbookclub.blogspot.com/2025/08/blog-tour-everything-we-thought-we-knew-by-carolyn-niethammer.html 

Everything We Thought We Knew 

by Carolyn Niethammer

In 1970, Christie left behind the comforts of L.A. and joined a New Age commune in rural Arizona. With the Vietnam War raging and the counterculture movement in full swing, she hoped to find a community to create a better society. But building a new culture is no easy task, especially when free love, psychedelics, and a war protest gone horribly wrong are thrown into the mix. Important secrets follow them beyond the commune.

Put on your tie-dyed shirt and come to Bella Vida as the friends try to change the rules of modern society, then face the repercussions of when middle age sets in. 

Universal Buy Link: https://books2read.com/u/3GZ6ra 

In the 1970s Carolyn Niethammer visited communes throughout the West and settled in an Arizona artists’ community for many years. Those years were important to who she became as she learned to gather wild foods and wrote several cookbooks centered on edible plants.

In “Everything We Thought We Knew” she hopes to shed light on an important part of American history where young people were advocating for peace in Vietnam War protests and fled to communes, seeking a lifestyle apart from the commercialism and isolation that had overtaken society. 

Website: www.cniethammer.com 

Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/carolyn.niethammer   https://www.facebook.com/CarolynNiethammerAuthor  

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

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

Amazon Author Page: https://www.amazon.com/stores/Carolyn-J.-Niethammer/author/B001H9XDNE

Goodreads: https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/265163.Carolyn_Niethammer 

 

Amazon Universal Link: http://mybook.to/ArthurWhitty 

This novella is the story of plain old Arthur Whitty, a man whose dreams are never dull and whose vivid imagination and sense of humour carries him through a series of sometimes challenging situations. Arthur has retired to a pair of slippers and jigsaw table in a quiet cul-de-sac in Berkshire, England. He walks his dog, Max, and lets his mind wander to a series of dreams in which he is more daring, skilful and adventurous that his real-life humdrum self. He is an irritant to his orderly wife, Emilia, and has succumbed to irksome cancer treatment following a run-in with skin cancer.

Once a date has been set for corrective surgery, Arthur sets his mind on organising a real-life adventure – a bucket list trip to Machu Picchu in Peru where he finds peace and a calming of the spirit. Arthur’s bullish nature carries him through a series of situations but there is little the retired couple can do about the onset of dementia. But Arthur is well supported by Emilia and their daughter, Holly, as the family rally round to make his declining years as comfortable as possible. And there’s always escape to his secret world of risk, responsibility and danger. In his dreams, Arthur always wins.

The author has drawn on personal experience and observations of elderly men in a support group he helps run for Men’s Matters charity in Windsor, Berkshire. Half of all royalties from the sales of this book will be donated to Men’s Matters, who support older men by encouraging social interaction and connecting them to health and wellbeing support services.

The Trials of Arthur Whitty by Tim Walker

Extract – Arthur at the Cancer Clinic

Arthur lifted a copy of Country Life magazine from the table and idly leafed through it. He held it up and furtively examined the row of six patients on the opposite side of the room over its top. All were waiting their turn for radiotherapy treatment. Arthur decided that out of the six, three looked worried, and perhaps were pessimistic about their chances of beating silent killer, the Big C. The worriers were fidgeting, their eyes searching the walls for meaning, or redemption. Perhaps they would have less chance of surviving, Arthur thought. In contrast, three appeared more robust, healthier, and seemed less concerned. Did he look unconcerned or did he seem nervous? Did he have the demeanour of a survivor?

"Mister Whitty" the nurse called, and all eyes were on Arthur as he put down the magazine and slowly rose to his feet.

...the last-minute reprieve had not come from the Governor's office, and Art Whitty's lawyer mopped the perspiration on his creased forehead with a red polka dot hankie whilst staring at a crushed cockroach on the concrete floor rather than meeting the hollow eyes of the client he had failed.

The plate from Art’s last meal of steak and chips was as empty as his soul; his time was up. It was the most popular choice the orderly had remarked, rather pointlessly, Art had thought, given the gravity of his situation. His tongue licked salt from cracked lips in a final connection of reflex to memory as the sound of metal studded boots echoed along the corridor.

"Add a final entry and take my diary to my publisher. Tell them to publish," Whitty drawled. "Maybe they'll find out who really killed Mary Lou Randall after I'm gone and the second edition will be a bestseller."

"Please remove your jacket and lie on the table, Mr Whitty," the nurse said, pointing to a paper-covered mortuary slab.

Arthur followed instructions and was soon staring up at what looked like a vintage hair dryer attached to a robotic arm. A technician in a white coat consulted his file and pointed the gun end of the device at the scar on Arthur's head where a cancerous lump had been surgically removed a month earlier.

"Lie still, Mr Whitty, it will flash and make a clicking noise."

The tech and nurse donned tinted goggles and scrambled behind a screen, crouching to avoid the radiation, as if members of Oppenheimer's team at Los Alamos. Arthur was left alone with the death ray gun pointing menacingly at his head. Ready, aim, fire. Then a beep, click and flash, and it was over. A short dose for the patient would hopefully eradicate all traces of the cancer, he had been told. Drastic perhaps, like a Medieval kill or cure remedy. But what residual damage would there be to his brain and cognitive function?” It was a question his radiologist had ducked.

“Only three more treatments,” the nurse said as she returned Arthur to the waiting room. He felt moved to give his fellow condemned a smile and thumbs-up. A nervous woman returned his smile, her eyes darting from his face to a ghastly health warning poster.

Emilia was waiting for him in reception, and they departed the sacred space in reverential silence, heads bowed, hoping for a sign.

“How did it go?” she asked over the roof of their car.

Arthur slid into the passenger seat and rubbed his scar. “Fine, dear. I’ll soon have enough radiation to open the garage door with nothing more than a hard stare.”

Tim Walker is an independent author living near Windsor in the UK. Born in Hong Kong in the Sixties, he grew up in Liverpool where he began his working life as a trainee reporter on a local newspaper. He went on to attain an honours degree in Communication Studies in South Wales before moving to London where he worked in the newspaper publishing industry for ten years.

In the mid-90s he opted to spend a couple of years doing voluntary work in Zambia through VSO, running an educational book publishing development programme. After this, he set up his own marketing and publishing business in Lusaka, Zambia’s capital, then managed a mineral exploration company before returning to the UK in 2009.

His creative writing journey began in earnest in 2014, as a therapeutic activity whilst recovering from cancer treatment. In addition to short stories, he researched and wrote a five-book historical fiction series, A Light in the Dark Ages. The series connects the end of Roman Britain to the story of Arthur in an imaginative narrative. It starts with Abandoned, then Ambrosius: Last of the Romans; Uther’s Destiny; Arthur Dux Bellorum and Arthur Rex Brittonum, the last two books charting the life of an imagined historical King Arthur.

More recently, he has written a dual timeline historical novel set at Hadrian’s Wall, Guardians at the Wall. His two books of short stories, Thames Valley Tales and London Tales combine contemporary and historical themes and are now available as audiobooks. Somewhere along the way, he co-authored a three-book children’s series with his daughter, Cathy, The Adventures of Charly Holmes.

Thank you for reading The Trials of Arthur Whitty. Please leave a star rating and review on Amazon and/or Goodreads so others can benefit from your experience.

Tim’s Amazon author page: www.author.to/TimWalkerWrites  

Goodreads: www.goodreads.com/author/show/678710.Tim_Walker 

Tim’s website: www.timwalker1666.wixsite.com/website

Facebook Page: www.facebook.com/TimWalkerWrites 

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Book Title: Unspoken

Series: The Dust Series

Author: Jann Alexander

Publication Date: July 3, 2025

Publisher: Black Rose Writing

Pages: 368

Genre: Historical Fiction

Any Triggers: Two deaths from dust pneumonia in first chapter, 1935; inhumane treatments in an asylum setting, pre-1950; maltreatment in a state home for children, pre-1945; a botched abortion where a woman nearly dies, 1940s

Book Trailer: https://youtu.be/_Caypmn4JBs 

Tour Schedule Page: https://thecoffeepotbookclub.blogspot.com/2025/06/blog-tour-unspoken-by-jann-alexander.html 

Unspoken: A Dust Novel 

by Jann Alexander

A farm devastated. A dream destroyed. A family scattered. 

And one Texas girl determined to salvage the wreckage.

Ruby Lee Becker can't breathe. It's 1935 in the heart of the Dust Bowl, and the Becker family has clung to its Texas Panhandle farm through six years of drought, dying crops, and dust storms. On Black Sunday, the biggest blackest storm of them all threatens ten-year-old Ruby with deadly dust pneumonia and requires a drastic choice —one her mother, Willa Mae, will forever regret.

To survive, Ruby is forced to leave the only place she's ever known. Far from home in Waco, and worried her mother has abandoned her, she's determined to get back.

Even after twelve years, Willa Mae still clings to memories of her daughter. Unable to reunite with Ruby, she's broken by their separation.

Through rollicking adventures and harrowing setbacks, the tenacious Ruby Lee embarks on her perilous quest for home —and faces her one unspoken fear.

Heart-wrenching and inspiring, the tale of Ruby Lee's dogged perseverance and Willa Mae's endless love for her daughter shines a light on women driven apart by disaster who bravely lean on one another, find comfort in remade families, and redefine what home means.

Universal Buy Link: https://books2read.com/u/mqP7ke 

Book Funnel Link: https://buy.bookfunnel.com/h3rt6fn7vd 

Author’s Website: https://www.jannalexander.com/buy-unspoken 

Jann Alexander writes characters who face down their fears. Her novels are as close-to-true as fiction can get.

Jann is the author of the historical novel, UNSPOKEN, set in the Texas Panhandle during the Dust Bowl and Great Depression eras, and her first book in The Dust Series. 

Jann writes on all things creative in her weekly blog, Pairings. She's a 20-year resident of central Texas and creator of the Vanishing Austin photography series. As a former art director for ad agencies and magazines in the D.C. area, and a painter, photographer, and art gallery owner, creativity is her practice and passion. 

Jann's  lifelong storytelling habit and her more recent zeal for Texas history merged to become the historical Dust Series. When she is not reading, writing, or creating, she bikes, hikes, skis, and kayaks. She lives in central Texas with her own personal Texan (and biggest fan), Karl, and their Texas mutt, Ruby. Jann always brakes for historical markers.

Website: https://www.jannalexander.com/

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

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

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Pinterest: https://www.pinterest.com/jannalextx/

Book Bub: https://www.bookbub.com/profile/2708203210

Book Bub for Unspoken: https://www.bookbub.com/books/unspoken-a-dust-novel-the-dust-series-book-1-by-jann-alexander

Amazon Author Page: https://www.amazon.com/author/jannalexander

Goodreads: https://www.goodreads.com/jann_alexander

Goodreads for Unspoken: https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/230163000-unspoken

Book Title: The Will of God

Series: n/a

Author: Julian de la Motte

Publication Date: May 13, 2025

Publisher: Historium Press

Pages: 292

Genre: Historical Fiction

Any Triggers: n/a

Tour Schedule Page: https://thecoffeepotbookclub.blogspot.com/2025/07/blog-tour-the-will-of-god-by-julian-de-la-motte.html 

The Will of God

Julian de la Motte

"Deus Lo Vult!"

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

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

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

Praise for The Will of God:

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

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

Read an Excerpt:

Matilda of Flanders, his companion, co-conspirator and help mate of many years, was a tiny doll like figure the size of a child. William, at one and the same time, both venerated and feared her. In his periodic audiences with her he would begin with unease and trepidation and conclude, exhausted, and with a fine collection of fresh and wise advice; as pungent and lingering as the scent of her store kept herbs. In all their years together, her shrewd and acute mind, sharp as a knife and full of useful filed and stored information, always seemed to be at least two full steps ahead of him; full of speculation and expert analysis, measuring the fine lines between possibility and attainment.

She was in full cry now in her roaring great chamber, a space seemingly made small by the vast impedimenta she had gathered and accrued over the years. She sat at the very centre of her world upon a once immaculate divan. Her nose was pinched and pointed and her hands, once long and slender, now all but crippled with arthritis. Her eyes glittered like diamonds packed in ice. It had been some months since his last visit. To William it seemed that his wife had grown yet smaller. Briefly, he smiled at her with a rare smile of genuine affection. Matilda was unmoved.

‘My fierce little mouse’ he thought fondly to himself. She was sharp as a weasel on a whetstone, a store of bulging information gathered in the recesses of her mind as her eyes sparkled with mischief and, possibly, malice. As ever, the old lady delighted in posing questions to which she already knew the answers, relishing the prospect of throwing a speculation into the air and then seeing where it might land and what might also come with it in its fall back to the earth, and then taking it from there. If, by chance, she did not fully know the answer to her own question then she had a rich store of information stored away in her fevered, busy brain to draw upon. Long ago, from the days of his tempestuous wooing, he had learned to treat her with respect and caution. Once in the early days of his exuberant courtship, back in her childhood home in Flanders and when an unseemly ardour had gripped him, she had actually stabbed him, quite severely, with a large darning needle. Or so it was reported. The story was commonly believed and reported, and indeed he could vouch for its truth but for the fact that it shamed him. The matter was never discussed within the hearing of the Duke and King. With Matilda, honesty was always the best policy. Do not presume to dissimulate and the treasure of her wisdom could be yours for the asking.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

 

Name: Julia Ibbotson

Book Title: A Shape on the Air

Series: Dr DuLac series, Book #1

Publication Date:  January 8th, 2022

Publisher: Archbury Books

Pages:  220 ebk, 366 pbk 

Genre:  Medieval Timeslip Mystery Romance

Any Triggers: n/a

Twitter Handles: @JuliaIbbotson @cathiedunn

Instagram Handles: @julia.ibbotson @thecoffeepotbookclub 

Hashtags: #Medieval #HistoricalFiction #AngloSaxon #TimeTravel #TimeSlip #Mystery #Romance #BlogTour #TheCoffeePotBookClub 

Tour Schedule Page: https://thecoffeepotbookclub.blogspot... 

A Shape on the Air

by Julia Ibbotson

Can echoes of the past threaten the present? They are 1500 years apart, but can they reach out to each other across the centuries? One woman faces a traumatic truth in the present day. The other is forced to marry the man she hates as the 'dark ages' unfold.

How can Dr Viv DuLac, medievalist and academic, unlock the secrets of the past? 

Traumatised by betrayal, she slips into 499 AD and into the body of Lady Vivianne, who is also battling treachery. Viv must uncover the mystery of the key that she unwittingly brings back with her to the present day, as echoes of the past resonate through time. But little does Viv realise just how much both their lives across the centuries will become so intertwined. And in the end, how can they help each other across the ages without changing the course of history?

For fans of Barbara Erskine, Pamela Hartshorne, Susanna Kearsley, Christina Courtenay.

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

 This title is available to read on #KindleUnlimited.

Julia Ibbotson is fascinated by the medieval world and the concept of time. She is the author of historical mysteries with a frisson of romance. Her books are evocative of time and place, well-researched and uplifting page-turners. Her current series focuses on early medieval time-slip/dual-time mysteries. 

Julia read English at Keele University, England, specialising in medieval language / literature / history, and has a PhD in socio-linguistics. After a turbulent time in Ghana, West Africa, she became a school teacher, then a university academic and researcher. Her break as an author came soon after she joined the RNA’s New Writers’ Scheme in 2015, with a three-book deal from Lume Books for a trilogy (Drumbeats) set in Ghana in the 1960s.

She has published five other books, including A Shape on the Air, an Anglo-Saxon timeslip mystery, and its two sequels The Dragon Tree and The Rune Stone. Her latest novel is the first of a new series of Anglo-Saxon dual-time mysteries, Daughter of Mercia, where echoes of the past resonate across the centuries. 

Her books will appeal to fans of Barbara Erskine, Pamela Hartshorne, Susanna Kearsley, and Christina Courtenay. Her readers say: ‘Julia’s books captured my imagination’, ‘beautiful story-telling’, ‘evocative and well-paced storylines’, ‘brilliant and fascinating’ and ‘I just couldn’t put it down’.

Website: https://juliaibbotsonauthor.com

Twitter / X: https://twitter.com/@juliaibbotson

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

Instagram: https://www.instagram.com/julia.ibbotson

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Pinterest: https://www.pinterest.co.uk/juliai1

Amazon Author Page: https://Author.to/JuliaIbbotsonauthor

Goodreads: https://goodreads.com/juliaibbotson