The Coffee Pot Blog Tour is pleased to host: Raleigh – Tudor Adventurer (The Elizabethan Series, Book 3) by Tony Riches

 

Book Title: Raleigh – Tudor Adventurer

Series: The Elizabethan Series, Book 3

Author: Tony Riches

Publication Date: 1st May 2022

Publisher: Preseli Press

Page Length: 332 Pages

Genre: Historical Fiction

Tour Schedule Page: 

Raleigh – Tudor Adventurer

(The Elizabethan Series, Book 3)

By Tony Riches

Tudor adventurer, courtier, explorer and poet, Sir Walter Raleigh has been called the last true Elizabethan.

He didn’t dance or joust, didn’t come from a noble family, or marry into one. So how did an impoverished law student become a favourite of the queen, and Captain of the Guard?

The story which began with the best-selling Tudor trilogy follows Walter Raleigh from his first days at the Elizabethan Court to the end of the Tudor dynasty.

Read an Excerpt from Raleigh – Tudor Adventurer, by Tony Riches

Durham House, London, May 1583

I could list a dozen reasons not to fall for Elizabeth Knollys, Lady Leighton. As a gentlewoman of the privy chamber, under the judgemental glare of the queen, her conduct had to be exemplary. Lady Leighton was also married – to Sir Thomas Leighton, Governor of Guernsey – and was a cousin, once removed, of the queen.

With a jolt, I realised why I couldn’t deny my feelings for her. Elizabeth Leighton was the embodiment of Queen Elizabeth as she could have been at my own age. Her lustrous golden-red hair was her own, her pale skin smooth and perfect. Her eyes regarded me not with fierce power, but with what I hoped was admiration, even longing.

‘You don’t dance, Master Raleigh?’ She’d found me watching the capering courtiers at the May Day celebrations at Greenwich Palace. The musicians played loudly, and she moved so close I could breathe in the scent of her perfume, delicate and sensual. Intoxicating.

‘I never learned to dance, my lady, and have no regrets.’ I sensed her gentle warmth as our thighs touched, and was filled with half-forgotten feelings. 

She smiled, revealing perfect teeth. ‘No regrets?’ She turned to watch the laughing dancers, most of whom looked as if they’d enjoyed a little too much wine. ‘How I wish I could say the same.’

The unexpected sadness in her voice surprised me. ‘I was only talking about not learning to dance, my lady. I regret many things. I’ve passed thirty, and have no wife or children. I don’t even have a proper title.’

‘I regret marrying a man I rarely see, nineteen years my senior.’ Her hand brushed my thigh as if by accident, sending a frisson of arousal through my body. ‘My greatest regret is having no time for my two daughters, who barely know me.’

We were breaking the strictest rules of court, in such a public place. I’d not forgotten Alice’s warning about the ladies of the queen’s bedchamber. Be wary of them, Captain Raleigh, lest they harm you with their gossip. I’d been lonely since she’d left, and longed to take Lady Elizabeth Leighton in my arms.

If destiny brought us together most days in the privy chamber, it was adventure that drove my reckless feelings. I missed the sense of ever-present danger in Ireland, and had almost forgotten the rebellious man I’d been in my youth.

I lay awake at night dreaming of her, reliving every moment with her at the May dance. I heard the unmistakeable invitation in her words, and saw the glint of promise in her amber eyes. It would be madness to pursue her, a great risk to my reputation – and hers – yet I couldn’t put her from my mind.

She’d worn a jewelled pendant at her breast, in the form of a dove and serpent. I knew them as the emblems of mildness and prudence, yet in my daydreams I wondered if she was a dove, and I the snake who threatened our futures with temptation to taste the forbidden fruit.

I rose at first light to capture the lines of the verse that kept me restless in my bed. I shivered in my nightshirt as I sat close to the window overlooking the grey river, changing and crossing out words until I was satisfied.

Lady, farewell, whom I in silence serve.

Would God thou knewst the depth of my desire,

Then might I hope, though naught I can deserve,

Some drop of grace would quench my scorching fire.

But as to love unknown I have decreed,

So spare to speak doth often spare to speed.

Yet better ’twere that I in woe should waste

Than sue for grace and pity in despite,

And though I see in thee such pleasure placed

That feeds my joy and breeds my chief delight,

Withal I see a chaste consent disdain

Their suits which seek to win thy will again.

Then, farewell! Hope and help to each man’s harm!

I read my words aloud, sure no servants would hear my voice so early in the day. I had to say farewell, as there could be no future for us in this world. My intent was honourable – to end our liaison before it began. Yet some faint glimmer of hope and longing made me add a final verse.

The wind of woe hath torn my tree of trust,

Care quenched the coals which did my fancy warm,

And all my help lies buried in the dust.

But yet, amongst those cares which cross my rest,

This comfort grows, I think I love thee best.

Available on #KindleUnlimited.

mybook.to/Raleigh

Tony Riches is a full-time UK author of best-selling historical fiction. He lives in Pembrokeshire, West Wales and is a specialist in the lives of the Tudors. He also runs the popular ‘Stories of the Tudors’ podcast, and posts book reviews, author interviews and guest posts at his blog, The Writing Desk. For more information about Tony’s books please visit his website tonyriches.com and find him on Facebook and Twitter @tonyriches

Blog: Website:  Podcast:  Twitter:  Facebook:  Instagram:  Amazon Author Page: 

The Coffee Pot Blog Tours present; The Wistful and the Good by G. M. Baker

 

Book Title: The Wistful and the Good

Series: Cuthbert’s People

Author: G. M. Baker

Publication Date: 4th April 2022

Publisher: Stories All the Way Down

Page Length: 341 Pages

Genre: Historical Fiction

Tour Schedule Page: 

The Wistful and the Good 

(Cuthbert’s People, Book 1)

By G. M. Baker

The mighty are undone by pride, the bold by folly, and the good by wistfulness. 

 Elswyth's mother was a slave, but her father is a thegn, and Drefan, the man she is to marry, is an ealdorman's son. But though Elswyth is content with the match, and waits only for Drefan to notice that she has come to womanhood, still she finds herself gazing seaward, full of wistful longing.

From the sea come Norse traders, bringing wealth, friendship, and tales of distant lands. But in this year of grace 793 the sea has brought a great Viking raid that has devastated the rich monastery of Lindisfarne. Norse are suddenly not welcome in Northumbria, and when Elswyth spots a Norse ship approaching the beach in her village of Twyford, her father fears a Viking raid.

But the ship brings trouble of a different kind. Leif has visited Twyford many times as a boy, accompanying his father on his voyages. But now he returns in command of his father's ship and desperate to raise his father's ransom by selling a cargo of Christian holy books. Elswyth is fascinated by the books and the pictures they contain of warm and distant lands. 

But when Drefan arrives, investigating reports of the sighting of a Norse ship, Elswyth must try to keep the peace between Drefan and Leif, and tame the wistfulness of her restless heart.  

 Read an Excerpt from The Wistful and the Good

Granny Hunith, was an elderly woman. Edith had been her last child and she was well past her sixtieth year, though no one seemed to remember when she was born, and if she knew herself, she was not telling. Hunith and Kendra had disputed for several years over which of them was the elder, for it was some distinction to be the oldest woman in the village. Kendra’s impending death would secure Hunith her supremacy, an event she looked on with a mixture of triumph and regret. 

She was sitting on a bench outside her hut, a spindle busy in her hands while she watched several small children—offspring of Elswyth’s Welisc cousins—playing in the dirt at her feet. She was dressed in rough-spun brown like a slave, though underneath she wore fine-spun linen, so as not to itch from the wool. She had the face of an aging well-tanned cherub, framed with long grey hair that her various daughters and granddaughters, noble and slave alike, kept immaculately combed for her. 

The children leapt up and ran to attach themselves to Elswyth’s skirts when they saw her coming, begging for the nuts or apples that Elswyth usually had with her when she came to visit Granny. But today she had forgotten to bring anything, so she kissed each of them on the cheek and sent them away. 

“Hello, Granny,” she said as they approached. She and Leif were hand in hand, though neither had consciously offered a hand to the other. 

“So you’ve brought your swain to see me at last, Elsy,” Hunith said. 

“No, Granny, this is Leif.”

“Help me up, young man,” Hunith said. 

Leif offered her his hand and she pulled herself to her feet. She did not let go of his hand, however, but held him with one hand while she inspected him with the other, testing the muscle in his arm and forcing open his mouth so she could inspect his teeth. She lifted the corner of his bandage and made him bend over so that she could smell the wound.

“It’s fresh, Granny,” Elswyth said. “It wouldn’t smell yet. I bound it with honey so it would not fester.”

Hunith nodded. “Well, he’s fit,” she said, when she had completed her inspection. “Very tall. Tall men are good in battle, but it can be hard work birthing their babies. Big babies could get stuck inside a wee thing like you.”

“I’m not having his babies, Granny.”

“Waiting till the wedding, then? You are taking her on faith, young man? Don’t worry, we’re a fertile lot, and we birth easy.”

“I’m not marrying him, Granny. I’m marrying Drefan. Don’t you remember? This is Leif, the captain of the Norsk ship on the beach.”

“Norsk? You still remember the old gods, young man?”

“We honor Odin, Thor, and Ran.”

“And what of the Christ, then?”

“I will give no offence to your Christ, in his own country.”

“Good lad. Will you be taking Elsy back to Norway, when you marry?”

“I am not marrying your granddaughter, Lady.”

“Lady? You’re not in the hall now, young man. I’m not an Anglish lady, and I won’t hear it said. You heed me?”

“Yes…”

“You should call me Granny, since you are marrying Elsy.”

“He’s not marrying me, Granny. I’m marrying Drefan. You would have met him several times already, if only you would come to the hall when he visits.”

“I’ll not go to the hall, and Drefan of Bamburgh will not come down to the slave huts to visit me. But this young jarl of yours, he comes to see me when you ask him to. He regards the whole of you, not the half. He will make you a good husband.”

“But I’m not marrying him, Granny. Stop being dense. I know you’re not really.”

“She has a temper, this one,” Hunith said, still holding on to Leif’s hand. “But she has a good heart. Do not beat her. She will disobey you sometimes, but she will be sorry for it. She has a good heart, and beating would only turn her sour.”

“I would never beat her,” Leif said.

“You will be a good husband. She will be a good wife. She can’t sew, but she will entertain your guests and take good care of your children.”

“Granny…”

“You may tell your mother I approve the match,” Hunith said, dropping Leif’s hand and taking both of Elswyth’s hands in her own. Then she pulled Elswyth close and whispered. “Come to me before your wedding night. I have a salve that will make things easy for you, and herbs to put in his food, and a charm for under the pillow.”

“I’m sorry, Leif,” Elswyth said. “Sometimes she’s lucid as a bishop and sometimes she’s just dotty. This must be a dotty day. Let’s go and see if the monk has finished his prayers.

Elswyth kissed her grandmother goodbye. Leif bowed to her and thanked her for receiving him. They turned and walked back toward the hall, her hand falling into his again, without either of them noticing. 

Hunith sat back on her bench, picked up her spindle, and watched them go, a contented smile on her face. She could always tell when the weather was changing, long before other people noticed the sun come out or the clouds roll in.

Universal Link:  Barnes and Noble:  Kobo: Apple Books: Laterpress: 

G. M. Baker has been a newspaper reporter, managing editor, freelance writer, magazine contributor, PhD candidate, seminarian, teacher, desktop publisher, programmer, technical writer, department manager, communications director, non-fiction author, speaker, consult-ant, and grandfather. He has published stories in The Atlantic Advocate, Fantasy Book, New England’s Coastal Journal, Our Family, Storyteller, Solander, and Dappled Things. There was nothing much left to do but become a novelist. 

Website:  Twitter:  Facebook: LinkedIn:  Amazon Author Page: Goodreads:  Substack Newsletter: 

The Coffee Pot Blog Tour presents: The Accursed King (The Plantagenet Legacy Book 4) by Mercedes Rochelle

Book Title: The Accursed King

Series: The Plantagenet Legacy

Author: Mercedes Rochelle

Publication Date: 18th April 2022

Publisher: Sergeant Press

Page Length: 282 Pages

Genre: Historical Fiction

Tour Schedule Page: 

The Accursed King 

(The Plantagenet Legacy Book 4)

By Mercedes Rochelle

What happens when a king loses his prowess? The day Henry IV could finally declare he had vanquished his enemies, he threw it all away with an infamous deed. No English king had executed an archbishop before. And divine judgment was quick to follow. Many thought he was struck with leprosy—God's greatest punishment for sinners. From that point on, Henry's health was cursed and he fought doggedly on as his body continued to betray him—reducing this once great warrior to an invalid. Fortunately for England, his heir was ready and eager to take over. But Henry wasn't willing to relinquish what he had worked so hard to preserve. No one was going to take away his royal prerogative—not even Prince Hal. But Henry didn't count on Hal's dauntless nature, which threatened to tear the royal family apart. 

This book is free to read with #KindleUnlimited subscription

A King Under Siege (Book 1) The King’s Retribution (Book 2) The Usurper King (Book 3) 

The Accursed King (Book 4)

Amazon UK:  Amazon US:  Amazon CA:  Amazon AU: 

Mercedes Rochelle is an ardent lover of medieval history, and has channeled this interest into fiction writing. Her first four books cover eleventh-century Britain and events sur-rounding the Norman Conquest of England. The next series is called The Plantagenet Lega-cy about the struggles and abdication of Richard II, leading to the troubled reigns of the Lancastrian Kings. She also writes a blog: HistoricalBritainBlog.com to explore the history behind the story. Born in St. Louis, MO, she received by BA in Literature at the Univ. of Missouri St.Louis in 1979 then moved to New York in 1982 while in her mid-20s to “see the world”. The search hasn’t ended! Today she lives in Sergeantsville, NJ with her husband in a log home they had built themselves.

Website: Twitter:  Facebook: BookBub: Amazon Author Page: Goodreads: 

Coffee Pot Blog Tours present: Muskets and Minuets by Lindsey S. Fera

Book Title: Muskets and Minuets 

Author: Lindsey S. Fera

Publication Date: 19th October 2021

Publisher: Zenith Publishing (imprint of GenZ Publishing) 

Page Length: 486 Pages

Genre: Historical Fiction 

Tour Schedule Page: 

Muskets and Minuets 

 Lindsey S. Fera

Love. Politics. War.

Amidst mounting tensions between the British crown and the American colonists of Boston, Annalisa Howlett struggles with her identity and purpose as a woman. Rather than concern herself with proper womanly duties, like learning to dance a minuet or chasing after the eli-gible and charming Jack Perkins, Annalisa prefers the company of her brother, George, and her beloved musket, Bixby. She intends to join the rebellion, but as complications in her personal life intensify, and the colonies inch closer to war with England, everything Annali-sa thought about her world and womanhood are transformed forever.

Join Annalisa on her journey to discover what it truly means to be a woman in the 18th cen-tury, all set against the backdrop of some of the most pivotal moments in American history.

Trigger Warnings: Violence and battle scenes, sexual assault, mild sexual content, and profanity.

Read an Excerpt 

The dirt road curved upward, and Annalisa followed until she reached the top. Beneath the hazy dawn before her, the Charlestown peninsula stretched across shimmering waters, southeast toward Boston. She squinted at the faintly visible slopes of Dorchester Heights far to the south. Steep, green islands were not the only things to speckle the harbor. Three-masted warships littered the inlet with billowing ivory sails, each one crowned with the blue, red, and white flag of Britain. 

She shivered. Far nearer, and more visible through the summer smog, sat a large fortification atop one of Charlestown’s hills. The king’s warships pointed their guns at the rising land—land a thousand minutemen had worked all night to secure. 

George and Jack must be there now. 

Her throat tightened as she imagined Jack and George clutching muskets behind those ramparts. A thunderclap of artillery shattered the morning calm. At last, she was direct witness to the hostilities. Sweat trickled between her breasts bound in linen, but the fabric wicked all moisture, as did the menses apron between her legs.

I should face no troubles today as I did in Portsmouth. 

But the threat of her womanhood in disguise loomed.

A half-mile from Charlestown Neck, Annalisa lingered beneath a wide maple. The cacophony of cannonade washed over her with bitter resonance. Without her militia, she must find a way to safely cross the narrow strip of land. 

The clank of metal mixed with a scuffle of marching shoes, and two regiments of what appeared to be provincial militia, gathered across the road. The gentlemen in command, addressed as Colonels Reed and Stark by their subordinates, appeared sullen and stiff. Colonel Stark, a thin, older man who must be in his middle-forties, stood tall and imposing. He wore his cocked hat low over squinted eyes. With a scowl upon his sunken mouth, he held himself in readiness, and lifted his cutlass into the air. 

“Gentlemen.” Stark’s craggy voice severed the eerie silence between cannon fire. “Ready yourselves. We march across the neck.” 

This was her chance. She gripped her musket. The regiment marched passed at a deliberate pace, and she slipped in. 

“Watch yourself.” An older man scrutinized her as she stepped on his foot. 

Panicked, she lowered her hat, and fell in with the march. She must take extra care to blend in and keep her identity hidden, no matter the cost. 

When they reached Charlestown Neck, water glimmered on either side of the narrow strip. Gunboats and warships blasted artillery across, turning the ground to crumbled wasteland. A blazing cannon screamed forth and lodged itself into the earth mere feet from her. The ground quaked and Annalisa lost her footing. She tumbled and fell, the moist soil inches from her nose. A minuteman from behind scooped her up and continued the march, scarcely wasting a step. Shaken, she advanced across the neck. 

Bunker Hill rose before them. It was probably thirty feet high. Beyond it, a valley, then a smaller rise, Breed’s Hill, she’d heard them call it. There, atop the shorter mount, minutemen gathered behind six-foot high dirt walls and ram-shackled rail fences. 

Perspiration gathered on her brows and dripped down her back. Hand trembling, Annalisa wiped her forehead. The regiment stopped after they descended Bunker Hill. To her left, the grassy land sloped down toward the banks of the Mystick River. Colonel Stark crossed in front of the regiment with another officer. 

“My boys.” He gestured to the river. “Low tide opened up this beach. You are to secure it with stones to form a breastwork to the water’s edge. Three ranks of men will flank you from behind.”

Before she could sneak away, Annalisa fell in with a group descending the bank. They scurried over the edge and set to building a stone wall that would meet the brackish river waters.

A young, bright-eyed boy handed her a large stone. “This is madness, is it not?” 

She grabbed the heavy rock from him, and her knees buckled. Annalisa bit her tongue, unwilling to speak. The timbre of her voice over cannonade would surely give away her secret—the one secret she had left.

“Stack the stone, lad,” an older man barked. 

She placed the large rock atop the first row. 

“I daresay, we’re lucky to have made it this far.” The young man handed her another small boulder. 

“Nathaniel.” She gasped. 

He tipped his hat out of habit, then his brows lifted. “Ben Cavendish.”

They embraced for only a moment and Annalisa pulled away, her anxiety pulsating. Will he ask why I abandoned our militia at Concord? 

Hesitantly, she asked, “What are you doing here? Is Captain Foster here with the militia?” 

“No, I left the militia shortly before Concord. My family moved to Exeter in New Hampshire. I enlisted with Colonel Stark’s first New Hampshire regiment only a fortnight ago.”

Annalisa exhaled, relieved. He didn’t know she’d been detained in Topsfield that fateful day Ebenezer fell at Concord. 

“Here we are, Cav. Everything we believe in we get to fight for.” Nathaniel clapped her back, and his palpable vigor set her at ease—an old friend from her militia beside her in this fight. 

Amazon UK:  Amazon US: Amazon CA: Amazon AU:

A born and bred New Englander, Lindsey hails from the North Shore of Boston. A member of the Topsfield Historical Society and the Historical Novel Society, she forged her love for writing with her intrigue for colonial America by writing her debut novel, Muskets and Minuets. When she's not attending historical reenactments or spouting off facts about Bos-ton, she's nursing patients back to health in the ICU.

Website:  Twitter: Facebook:  Instagram: 

Amazon Author Page: Goodreads: