The Whirlpools of Time by Anna Belfrage
He hoped for a wife. He found a companion through time and beyond.
It is 1715 and for Duncan Melville something fundamental is missing from his life. Despite a flourishing legal practice and several close friends, he is lonely, even more so after the recent death of his father. He needs a wife—a companion through life, someone to hold and be held by. What he wasn’t expecting was to be torn away from everything he knew and find said woman in 2016…
Erin Barnes has a lot of stuff going on in her life. She doesn’t need the additional twist of a stranger in weird outdated clothes, but when he risks his life to save hers, she feels obligated to return the favour. Besides, whoever Duncan may be, she can’t exactly deny the immediate attraction.
The complications in Erin’s life explode. Events are set in motion and to Erin’s horror she and Duncan are thrown back to 1715. Not only does Erin have to cope with a different and intimidating world, soon enough she and Duncan are embroiled in a dangerous quest for Duncan’s uncle, a quest that may very well cost them their lives as they travel through a Scotland poised on the brink of rebellion.
Will they find Duncan’s uncle in time? And is the door to the future permanently closed, or will Erin find a way back?
Amazon
About the Author
More recently, Anna has published The Wanderer, a fast-paced contemporary romantic suspense trilogy with paranormal and time-slip ingredients. While she loved stepping out of her comfort zone (and will likely do so again ) she is delighted to be back in medieval times in her September 2020 release, His Castilian Hawk. Set against the complications of Edward I’s invasion of Wales, His Castilian Hawk is a story of loyalty, integrity—and love.
Find out more about Anna on her website or on her Amazon page. You can also follow her on Facebook or Twitter.
Be sure to scroll to the bottom to enter Giveaway!
Excerpt:
Erin Barnes leaned
forward to crank up the volume, squinting at the road before her. Her wipers
swished back and forth like a couple of high-speed metronomes, but with the
rain coming down in torrents they did little to improve visibility.
She took a right and lowered her speed as she approached the old
crossroads. In weather such as this, the old gravel roads became water-logged,
and she definitely didn’t need the complication of an accident. Not after this
shitty day. Her hands tightened on the steering wheel. She threw a look at the
rear-view mirror: no headlights following her. Idiot, she told herself, they
wouldn’t dare.
“No, of course they wouldn’t,” she said out loud but the knot of tension
that lived in her stomach remained where it was, an uncomfortable weight that
had her glancing back the way she’d come over and over again. Steve might. He’d
looked ready to throttle her earlier and he had a damned short temper.
Had her grandmother Emily been alive, she’d have told Erin that some
crusades were best left alone—unless one was willing to pay the price. Crusade?
Erin snorted. This was no crusade, this was her sinking her teeth into a story
that would make her career as a journalist and avenge Emily’s death.
Well, unless the story got her killed first.
She’d spent months getting an in on it, swallowing down the desire to
throw up that afflicted her whenever Steve kissed her or pawed at her body. And
now…She tightened her hold on the wheel, recalling just how quickly Josephine
Wilkes’ expression had changed, from mildly interested to icy rage when she
studied the pics in Erin’s phone. Okay, so she’d done a lot of illegal snooping
to take those pics, using the hot romance between Steve and herself as a cover
to access his family home on several occasions. Too bad Mama Josephine wasn’t
as dense as her youngest son—but then, if she’d been that dumb she would not be
heading the racketeering business she’d inherited from her husband years ago.
So here she was, driving madly for the safety of her home, south of the
air field. Safety? Please! But now that they had her phone, now that they’d
slapped her around a bit, maybe they thought she’d do the smart thing and just
keep her head down. Huh. When she’d squeezed out of the narrow bathroom window
and sprinted for her car, Erin had been as determined as ever to bring the
Wilkes family down. Even more, actually, given that now it was personal, her
face swollen and puffy after the repeated “love pats” from dear ex-boyfriend
Steve.
From outside came a loud
howl. It made her jump. Definitely a human voice and with a deep sigh Erin
concluded her day had just gone from bad to worse. She’d just hit some poor
idiot, although to be fair, it was just as much his fault as hers. What sort of
moron would just lie on the middle of the road? An injured one, her brain told
her, one that is even more injured now that you’ve run him over.
There was a gun in the
glove compartment, and she tucked it into the waist of her jeans before getting
out. One never knew, this could be one of Steve’s more subtle attempts at
getting his hands on her, but the moment she thought it she dismissed it as
ridiculous. Steve had little finesse, was way more into brutal intimidation.
She shivered, uncertain if it was the rain or the thought of Steve that chilled
her to the bone. The pile on the road groaned.
A man, she concluded some
moments later. Dark hair plastered to his forehead, something that resembled a
linen shirt stuck to his torso and long legs encased in weird pants and
knee-high boots. Erin rolled her eyes. One of those Renaissance Fair types, she
thought, placing a careful hand on his back to make sure he was still
breathing.
“Hey,” she said, wiping at
her face. “Are you okay?” Stupid, stupid question. The man’s eyes fluttered
open.
“Hi,” she said, trying
out a little smile.
“Hi?” He scooted out of
reach and sat up, groaning loudly. He looked at her. His eyes widened. He
blinked and looked again.
“Can you stand?” she
asked him, wondering if it would be totally uncharitable to help him to the
side and then drive off.
“Aye.”
Aye? And what an odd
accent. He sounded British, somehow.
The man lurched to his
feet, took a step and promptly fell to his knees.
“Are you drunk?” she
demanded. He clutched at his left leg and she was suffused with guilt. She’d
broken his leg or something, and here she was accusing him of being drunk.
He looked at her. “I wish
I was,” he said. “It would explain my hallucinations.”
“Hallucinations?”
“Aye.” His eyes narrowed.
“Or are you real?” Once again, he stood, favouring his left leg. He was tall,
well over six feet, and that shirt of his displayed an impressively broad
chest. He was also bleeding from a gash on his forehead, his right sleeve was
badly burned as was the forearm and hand, and he grimaced when he put weight on
his left foot.
“Of course I’m real.” She
grabbed hold of him when he swayed. He yelped and shied away, landing yet again
on the ground.
“God’s fish!” he exclaimed.
“You are real!”
What was the matter with
him? She took a couple of steps away from him, uncomfortable by how he stared
at her, as if she were some sort of apparition. Sort of rich, seeing as he was
the one wearing weird clothes, not her.
“Where’s Lewis?” He
filled his lungs. “Lewis!” he yelled. “Damn it man, where are you?”
“Not here,” Erin told
him.
“But he was right behind
me when…” He broke off, stared down at the crossroads and shuffled hastily to
the side. “Where’s my horse?”
Erin shook her head. No
horse. And who in their right mind would go riding in this weather? Some people
took all that re-enactment stuff way too far.
“Who…” he began, but
whatever he was about to say drowned in the sound of a large, revving engine. A
huge van skidded to a stop and Erin hurled herself towards her car. Too
late, and here came Steve, with that oaf
Johnny and his dear cousin Marco. Johnny had hold of her before she reached the
car. A twist, and he had her arm high up on her back, making her scream with
pain.
“Let me go!” She kicked
and fought.
Johnny just laughed.
“Don’t think so. You’re coming with us.” He pulled her in the direction of the
van.
“What, you thought we
were done?” Steve asked. He glanced at the stranger, who was swaying on his
feet. “Who’s he?”
“No idea. Let me go, you
bastard!”
“Now, now: you know what
we want. You give it to us and we’ll let you go. You don’t, and…” Whatever else
Steve had planned on saying she’d never know—not that it took that much
imagination to fill in the blanks. Instead, Steve was staggering back, staring
at the stranger. An arm flew out, a fist connected with Steve’s face and he
toppled backwards. The stranger turned her way.
“The lady said to let her
go,” this oddly dressed apparition said. He pulled his sword as he advanced on
Johnny.
“Seriously?” Johnny said
with a sneer, pulling his gun. Erin took the opportunity offered, stomped down
on his toes and pulled free, fumbling for her gun. Steve was back on his feet,
stalking towards them.
“Watch out!” she yelled.
The stranger swirled. His blade sliced through the air, Steve yelped. He
wheeled again and his blade rapped down sharply on Johnny’s hand, sending the
gun flying.
And then there was Marco,
bringing down a cudgel on the stranger’s head. The stranger stumbled, regained
his balance, ducked the next blow and punched Marco in the gut. With a growl,
Johnny threw himself forward. Steve joined the fray. The stranger disappeared in a flurry of arms.
Three against one was impossible odds—especially against someone like Johnny.
But the stranger held his own for a while, giving as good as he got. At one
point Steve screeched. The cudgel came whistling through the air and the
stranger collapsed.
“Bastard!” Steve snarled,
kicking at the poor man. “Who do you think you are, some sort of fucking
Zorro?”
A number of dull thuds, booted feet lifted to stomp and Erin raised her
gun and shot. Once. “Get away,” she yelled. “Back off or I’ll shoot you.”
Johnny laughed. “I’d like to see you try.”
“What? You don’t believe me?” She squeezed the trigger. Johnny
collapsed, clutching at his thigh. She aimed at Steve. “You’re next,” she
warned. “But this time I’ll aim for the head.”
“Let’s go, man.” Marco had hold of Johnny, was dragging him backwards.
“We can always come and find her later.”
Erin shifted her aim and squeezed the trigger again. The bullet whizzed
by Steve, close enough to make him yelp, nowhere close to actually hitting him.
“I see you anywhere close to me again and I’ll shoot first, ask
questions later,” she said, trying to sound cool and unconcerned. She slid the
stranger a look. He was lying very still on the ground. Was he dead?
“You’ll pay,” Steve said, retreating towards the van. “For Johnny, for fucking
spying on us!”
“Yeah? Maybe I should tell dear Mama Josephine just how sloppy you are,
leaving all sorts of information lying around.”
Even in the dark she
could see him stumble. “Bitch!” he hissed. “You’ll regret this. And you’ll
definitely regret not killing me when you had the chance.” He hauled himself
into the van. The engine roared, gravel spitting every which way as the van
sped off.
Blog Tour Schedule
Monday, August 23Guest Post at Novels Alive
Tuesday, August 24
Review at Pursuing Stacie
Review + Excerpt at Books & Benches
Thursday, August 26
Review at Reader_ceygo
Friday, August 27
Review at Novels Alive
Monday, August 30
Review at With A Book In Our Hands
Wednesday, September 1
Review at The Book Review Crew
Friday, September 3
Excerpt at Historical Fiction with Spirit
Monday, September 6
Review at Chicks, Rogues, and Scandals
Wednesday, September 8
Review at 100 Pages a Day
Friday, September 10
Review at Rajiv's Reviews
Monday, September 13
Guest Post at Hoover Book Reviews
Wednesday, September 15
Review at Books, Writings, and More
Friday, September 17
Excerpt at Reading is My Remedy
Monday, September 20
Review at Amy's Booket List
Tuesday, September 21
Review at Anna’s Book Blog
Wednesday, September 22
Excerpt at The Cozy Book Blog
Friday, September 24
Review at Passages to the Past
Monday, September 27
Excerpt at Cross My Heart Writing & Reviews
Wednesday, September 29
Review at Coffee and Ink
Giveaway
Enter to win a copy of The Whirlpools of Time by Anna Belfrage! Two copies are up for grabs!The giveaway is open internationally and ends on September 29th. You must be 18 or older to enter.
Whirlpools of Time
2 comments:
Thanks so much for hosting The Whirlpools of Time tour!
Amy
HF Virtual Book Tours
You're most welcome! I loved being a part of it.
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