I'm so excited! We have Book Two in the Gothic Gwyn Mysteries series! I can hardly wait to read Let No Clan Put Asunder by the talented Judith Sterling. In the meantime, I thought you'd enjoy a look at this new cozy mystery. This time around, there's a Scottish vibe to the story. Really, what more could we ask for? “It was no small thing to marry into the Donnachaidh clan, and there was nowhere to hide from its past. So states the tagline of the gothic mystery Gwyneth Camm discovers out of place—not once, but twice—inside her newly inherited Salem home. Her deceased Aunt Ethel seems determined she read the book, and once again, Gwyn finds herself sucked into a gothic romance, inhabiting the body of its heroine. This time, she’s a young bride in 1970 on her way to a clifftop castle that harbors secrets, Scottish legacies, hidden malice, and…a vampire? Only by learning the truth can she return to her own life, where yet another puzzle awaits. Excerpt Just before midnight, I tiptoed across the darkened drawing room. Anyone might be hiding in the shadows, including the black obscurities high on the vaulted ceiling. Those in particular could cloak something inhuman. A shiver trickled down my spine, and I paused. Do I really want to do this? The bottom line: I had to if I wanted to further the plot and solve the mystery of Alistair’s disappearance. I continued to the chapel. Once inside, I reached for the brass light switch on the wall to my right—the same switch Fiona used while playing tour guide—and flicked it. Nothing happened. Darkness reigned supreme, apart from two small flames in a votive candle stand near the altar. Had the lightbulbs burned out? Did the circuit breaker trip? No. Someone planned it. Not a comforting thought. I dared not dwell on it, or I’d lose my nerve. Determined, I hurried to the arched portal that led to the crypt and tried the light switch Garrett had used earlier. It, too, refused to work. An unbridled shudder ran through me. There was something creepy about a church at night, especially one flooded by darkness. Donnachaidh’s chapel was no exception. The absence of light seemed to twist the sacred into the profane and awaken primal fears. What manner of evil, arcane and unseen, slithered along the stone and woodwork of this lonely place? All right. That’s enough. I squared my shoulders. The lights don’t work? Fine. I’ll use a candle. I hastened to the votive stand. I wouldn’t take either of the lit candles; not only did they represent someone’s prayers, but the glass vessels were likely too hot to hold. I grabbed a fresh candle, held the wick to one of the flames, and put it into an unused vessel. Light in hand, I returned to the archway and padded down the spiral stairs. I hesitated at the bottom. Beyond the limited scope of my candle, the crypt was pitch-black. The air was charged with an ominous silence. Nerves aflutter, I cleared my throat. The sound seemed as loud as an avalanche. “Is anyone here?” A silly question, really. If someone were there, they’d let me know it. Unless they wanted to scare me. Or harm me. I swallowed hard and crept forward. David Robertson’s tomb. The thought popped into my head and wouldn’t be denied. Intuition or something more? Whatever the case, I obeyed, veering to the right. As I neared the tomb, I halted. The black bouquet was still there, but someone had altered it. Every last petal had been plucked and strewn around the base of the sarcophagus. I inched closer. No, not plucked. Torn from the stems and ripped to shreds. About the Author Judith Sterling is an award-winning author whose love of history and passion for the paranormal infuse everything she writes. Through gothic cozy mystery (The Gothic Gwyn Mysteries), medieval/time travel romance (The Novels of Ravenwood), and young adult paranormal fantasy (the Guardians of Erin series), she loves to whisk readers away from their troubles and remind them of the hidden magic all around us. Her nonfiction books, written under Judith Marshall, have been translated into multiple languages. She has an MA in linguistics and a BA in history, with a minor in British Studies. Born in that sauna called Florida, she craved cooler climes, and once the travel bug bit, she lived in England, Scotland, Sweden, Wisconsin, Virginia, and on the island of Nantucket. She currently lives in Salem, Massachusetts with her husband and their identical twin sons. FYI: The first book of the Gothic Gwyn Mysteries series Trip the Light Phantasmic (so good) is on sale at moment! 99 cents! Both books are available on KU. Don't miss! Buy Links -- Trip the Light Phantasmic Amazon Amazon UK Amazon CA Amazon AU Goodreads BookBub
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And Patrick went forth to the summit of the mountain, over Crochan Aigli, and he stayed there forty days and forty nights. And mighty birds were around him, so that he could not see the face of the sky or earth or sea. For God had said to all the saints of Ireland (past, present, and to come): Go up, o' ye saints, above the mountain which towers and is higher than all the mountains that are towards the setting of the sun. Go up to bless the peoples of Ireland. -- from the Collectanea of Tirechán, c. 600s It was just one of those random wanderings down a medieval lane. I was reading the introduction to a version of St. Patrick's Confessio and was impressed by the drama and beauty of the passage. As noted, it was not written by Saint Patrick, but about him, and in reference to the beloved pilgrimage site now called Croagh-Patrick in County Mayo, Ireland. Every year since medieval times, pilgrims have climbed to the summit the last Sunday of July in honor of Saint Patrick, and masses are held in the chapel. Who wrote the passage? An Irish monk by the name of Tirechán penned it in Latin in the mid to late 600's, in a book entitled Collectanea. It's the only book we have from him. Interestingly, the full work is included in another medieval book, The Book of Armagh, which is on display at Trinity College in Dublin. Talk about rabbit holes! One moment I was reading Saint Patrick's memoirs and the next I was learning about a holy mountain and becoming acquainted with medieval manuscripts I hadn't known existed. I will leave you with a quote from Saint Patrick's Lorica (a hymn). Personally, I find it a great way to start the day. I arise today In the might of Heaven, Brightness of Sun, Brilliance of Moon, Splendour of Fire Speed of Lightening, Swiftness of Wind, Depth of Sea, Stability of Earth, Firmness of Rock. |
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