Arisaig, CSOE, Czech Memorial Arisaig, Glencoe, Glencoe Corbetts, Morar, Operation Anthropoid, Prague, Scotland, SOE ww2 Training Arisaig, The Brecklet Trail, The Duror Trail, The Silver Sands, writing, Writing tips, WW2 SOE
Destiny fought the images of barrels that bobbed into her head, not to finger the back of her neck either. Why did Lyon want to put her on the spot as if he knew damn fine who put these barrels there and that person was not Divers O’Roarke? She had thought there would be nothing to this. She had thought wrongly. But if she swept out of here now, what if Lyon swept after her in order to sweep her to jail? She must be patient. Rome was not built in a day. By God it would have been had she been a builder. She sat forward.
“Well, if you’re not going to listen, I should at least like it noted that I came here in good faith, to save my skin should you discover that at the end of the day Divers—”
“I would need proof, Miss Rhodes.”
“Proof?” At least she hoped she was being patient. “Isn’t the fact these barrels were found in my summerhouse proof enough that you can hang him at the Penvellyn crossroads, a warning to any who cross the law here?”
“And let the crows peck his bones eh?” Lyon chuckled. Despite the fact the sound was not unlike these same rattling bones, she nodded.
“Yes. Why not if he broke the law and put these barrels there?”
“Oh, I’d like to hang the perpetrator, believe me.”
“Then why don’t you?”
“Well here’s the thing, Miss Rhodes. He said it was you.”
All right dudes, can we can it please? We are here today to show off Noelle Clark’s new cover.
Of her new book. in the Robinhill Farm series.
Noelle’s book isn’t out till June 30th but I am sure she won’t mind us having a sneak peek at her cover and blurb. And maybe she will come back with a wee Irish story for us.
James of the Glen? Well, James was a Scotsman famous for being wrongly accused and hung for the murder of The Red Fox.
The Red Fox, was of course a government factor of estates forfeited after the Battle of Culloden when the British government wanted to wipe the Highland people off the face of the earth by any means possible. He was shot dead by an unknown gunman while on his way to evict Glen Duror’s farming tenants. The Government demanded blood and who better to arrest than James Stewart, veteran of Culloden and organiser of the opposition to the Red Fox. The story was the inspiration behind the book Kidnapped by Robert Louis Stevenson. And the photos well above are of James’s actual birthplace in Glen Duror. It’s a very nice walk to the bothy. Quite the spot to camp in if you are into bothies.
AND there are other walks associated with what is known as the Appin Murder. There’s the Duror walk from Ballachulish to Glen Duror, if you fancy a nice long trek
and there’s the Brecklet Trail, if you’re not so sure about that.
I leave you with Noelle’s book.
HONOR’S PROMISE (Liam’s Journey) by Noelle Clark. Release Date 30 June 2015
Loyalty and love define Liam. But will obligations to family and farm get in the way of him finding true happiness?
Loyalty is high on Liam Cullen’s agenda, but lately he’s been feeling restless. He wants to run away from the endless routines of life on the family farm. He contemplates busting free of the sometimes suffocating confines of the close-knit family. He’d like to see the world. Maybe meet a few girls.
Riddled with guilt that he could even consider such a thing, the final blow comes when Liam’s abilities as a first rate farmer are questioned. He sees red and his quick temper is sorely stretched. He struggles inner demons and attempts to fight the inevitable – until he meets the girl with the blue-green eyes and the copper-colored hair.
Without knowing it, Aislin O’Neill sweeps Liam off his feet, and transports him to a place he’s only ever dreamed of. It’s soon apparent that Aislin has her own inner battles. Will she break her self-imposed vow to never get involved with anyone again?
A couple of hours later, Liam pulled up out the front of the home he shared with his mam and brother. The only home he’d ever known. He knew every square inch of the house, the gardens, all the outbuildings and sheds, and most likely every grain of soil as well. It was his home and he loved it. He loved his family. He turned the ignition key and cut the engine. But had he missed any of it while he’d been away in Cork?
The answer turned like a knife in his chest. If he’d been a married man, maybe even with children of his own, he would have been like Kevin and rushed off as soon as he could to get back home. To kiss his wife, hoist his children high up on his shoulders and give them some chocolates or other little treats he’d bought them in Cork. That night, he’d make passionate love to his wife and tell her how much he missed her and how much he loved her.
But here he was, thirty-five years old, and he had nothing. He had no one. Of course, his family loved him. He never questioned that at all. And he loved them back, maybe tenfold. He knew he had a massive capacity to love people, especially since little Rory and Dev had joined their family. Both now three years old, they never failed to warm his heart with their enthusiasm for life, their passion for learning new things, and their funny sense of humor.
He slowly opened the car door and grabbed his bag from the back seat. The door slammed shut harder than he had intended. With leaden feet, he plodded slowly to the kitchen door and let himself in.
Predictably, his mam was in the throes of boiling a kettle for a cup of tea and placed a still-warm apple tart on the table. The aroma made his mouth water.
“Heard you drive up.” His mother turned to him, a loving smile plastered across her face. She stood on tiptoes and threw her arms around his shoulders. “How are you, my love? I’ve missed you.”
As he always did, he picked his mother up like she weighed a feather and swung her around the kitchen, her feet swinging and her laugh ringing out. He kissed her head, loving the familiar scent of her shampoo, then gently set her back down on the floor just as the kettle on the gas hob whistled.
“I’ve missed you too, Mam.”
She threw some tea leaves into the pot, poured boiling water in, and replaced the lid of the teapot. Then she turned and surveyed her oldest boy from top to toe.
“Oh, Liam. You don’t half look like a very handsome man all kitted out in those clothes. You should wear them more often.”
“And where would I wear them, Mam? To the dairy? Eh? To milk the cows in them?”
He saw a light, a mere speckle, extinguish in his mother’s eyes, and kicked himself for being such a grump. He hadn’t been in a bad mood for a whole week, and here he was, home less than a minute, and he was already hurting the woman he loved most in the world. He strained to form a smile, managing one that he thought would probably convince her he was just joking. “’Course, I’d have all those doe-eyed cows trying to get me to breed with ’em if I did that, to be sure.”
He held his breath. Moira Cullen was no dill. She knew him better than he knew himself, of that he was certain.
She gave a brief nod. “Well, that’d make for front page news in the Tipp Times now, wouldn’t it?” She reached down and rotated the tea pot three times while it sat on a trivet on her kitchen table, then picked it up and poured two cups of tea. “I made yer favorite. Apple and cinnamon tart.”
“Aw thanks, Mam. Ye do spoil me. I’ve really missed your home cooking.”
And so, the following hour passed pleasantly, Liam’s mother eager to know every detail of his week in Cork. She was interested in the course, in the other farmers who went, and of course, in the teacher. He obliged her, telling her every detail he could remember. A pang of guilt made its presence known when it came to telling her too much about Aislin. His mam was at first surprised the teacher was a woman, then, after she asked how old, she was in deep shock.
“What are they thinking, having a bit of a girl like that teaching fully grown men? I’m sure Father Flynn wouldn’t approve of that at all. Disgraceful.”
And so, Mrs. Cullen never found out how beautiful Aislin was. He didn’t tell her about her beautiful green-blue eyes, and the way the sunlight glinted on her hair at about three every afternoon as it peeped in through the western window of the training room, reflecting copper-red highlights around the room and brightening his whole day. He didn’t bother to tell her how the cadence of Aislin’s words, the timbre of her voice, lulled him into a total trance as surely as if she’d hypnotized him. And he certainly didn’t tell his mam that he knew as sure as night follows day that he’d fallen in love with the beautiful Aislin O’Neill.
Noelle Clark is an Australian author of contemporary romance novels and historical fiction. Her books weave romance, intrigue, and adventure into colourful, exotic, and interesting locations around the world. Noelle infuses real life experience of places, culture, and people into her stories, giving the reader an authentic taste of the location. Her novels feature strong, mature heroines and heroes, who—often without knowing it—are ready for new beginnings. Noelle lives close to the sea in sunny Queensland, Australia, and shares her home with one cat and two dogs. She has two grown up children and four very small grandchildren. When Noelle’s not writing and travelling, she procrastinates a lot by thinking about travel and perfecting ways to get out of doing housework. Oh, and she babysits her grandchildren a lot.
All other online retailers from June 30, 2015.
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