Dark September by Brendan Gerad O'Brien

DARK SEPTEMBER
Brendan Gerad O'Brien
ISBN: 9781311269966
ASIN: B00OBJIZ6C
Length: Novel
Genre: Alternative Historical Fiction
Price: $4.99

Buy here - Tirgearr Publishing

Germany invades mainland Britain. Irishman Danny O’Shea’s house is bombed and his wife killed. His young son Adam has learning difficulties. Terrified of what the Nazis will do to him, O’Shea decides to take him to neutral Ireland.

Penniless and desperate, they head for Fishguard. But on an isolated Welsh road they witness an attack on a German convoy carrying the blueprints for an awesome new weapon that was discovered in a secret laboratory near Brecon.

German Captain Eric Weiss, responsible for the blueprint’s safe transfer to Berlin, knows his job, even his life, depends on getting it back.

But, following a major disagreement amongst the insurgents, the blueprint disappears. Then O’Shea goes to the aid of a dying woman - and both the Germans and the insurgents believe she’s told him where the blueprints are.

Suddenly O’Shea is separated from his son and catapulted into a world of betrayal and brutal double-cross. Pursued by both the Germans and the insurgents, his only concern is to find Adam and get him to safety.

• • •

‘Did you hear the latest rumour, Danny?’ he asked. His eyes were disturbed, wide and anxious, as they darted from O’Shea to the newspaper and back to O’Shea again.

‘Do you mean about …’ O’Shea felt his throat tighten as he struggled to find the words. He really didn’t want to think about it, but at the same time he desperately wanted to know what was really going on. Leaning over, he rubbed a hole in the condensation on the steamed up window. Outside, the lights from the tram flickered on the curtain of rain that came in waves along the pavement. ‘I heard something on the wireless before I came out about him being …you know?’ he eventually managed to say. ‘But I’m not sure what I believe on the radio anymore.’

‘Well, there’s nothing in the paper about it.’ Elwyn rattled the wet pages as he tried to separate them but they only stuck together more and started to tear. ‘They’d have to put in the papers, wouldn’t they? What d’you think, Danny? Wouldn’t they have to put it in the papers if there was any truth in it? Or do you think it’s just another pack of lies from that lunatic Lord what’s-his-name? D’you think it’s just another one of his tricks to upset us, like? Make us panic?’

O’Shea gave a furtive look around at the other passengers. The tram was full as usual and the steam from their wet clothes misted up the windows.

He recognised most of the men. Practically all of them worked down in the dockyards. The few women on board were heading for the nice warm tax office. It was obvious from the way they held their hands tightly across their bodies that they’d heard the rumour too. So they’d be only too aware of the dreadful consequences if it turned out to be true. But nobody spoke. Today there was no idle chatter, no swapping gossip behind gloved hands. Everyone felt the tension that hung like a fine mist in the air, so they just sat there in silence and looked out of the windows, their faces blank and their mouths drawn into thin, anxious lines.

A deep, desperate sigh rippled up from O’Shea’s chest and he couldn’t swallow it in time so he tried to block it with his hand. What in God’s name was he doing, going to work at a time like this? If the omens were so obviously terrifying, why wasn’t he at home with his wife and child? They’d still be lying in bed, sound asleep and unaware of the drama unfolding around them.

• • •

Brendan Gerad O’Brien was born in Tralee, on the west coast of Ireland and now lives in Wales with his wife Jennifer and daughters Shelly and Sarah.

As a child he spent his summer holidays in Listowel, Co Kerry, where his uncle Moss Scanlon had a harness maker’s shop, which, sadly, is long gone now. The shop was a magnet for all sorts of colourful characters. It was there that Brendan’s love of words was kindled by the stories of John B. Keane and Bryan MacMahon, who often wandered in for a chat and bit of jovial banter. Most of the ideas for the stories in the collection Dreamin’ Dreams originated there, and some are based on actual real character - though Brendan would never admit it, simply because he couldn’t afford the ensuing litigation.

Find Brendand Online

Website - http://www.bgobrien.com
Facebook - https://www.facebook.com/brendangerad.obrien
Twitter - http://www.twitter.com/obgowan
LinkedIn - https://www.linkedin.com/profile/view?id=62841458
Tirgearr Publishing - http://www.tirgearrpublishing.com/authors/OBrien_BrendanG

Awakening by Scarlette Valentine

AWAKENING
The ABCs of S-E-X: Love by the Letter, #1
Scarlett Valentine
ISBN: 9781465986122
ASIN: B005TYXJ6E
Length: Novella
Genre: Historical Erotic Romance
Price: $2.99

Buy here: Tirgearr Publishing

Ysbail of Ellesmere is a pawn in her guardian's war. For decades there has been unrest between the marcher lords and Owain Gwynedd ap Gruffydd, King of Gwynedd. The most recent war had been the bloodiest she could remember in her eighteen years. Madog ap Maredudd, Prince of Powys, and his allies lost untold numbers of men at the hands of Owain's soldiers. When a settlement of truce is presented to Madog, it's at Ysbail's expense. She is to marry Bedwyr ap Owain, one of King Owain’s bastard sons, and his most notorious henchman. If all the rumors and stories she's heard are true, she knows her marriage will be rife with horror and fear.

Since proving himself worthy with his sword, Bedwyr fights at his king's side. He's shed oceans of blood and sent untold numbers of men to their graves. He's become what his name foretold—the grave-knower. He's afraid of nothing, least of all death. All men fear him, including those who fight at his side, and sometimes even his own king. Terror of him lives within women's hearts; only the bravest of whores accept him into their beds. And children weave their own tales of the monster they hear him to be, embellishing the details to their own gruesome degrees.

When King Owain informs Bedwyr that he's to marry Ysbail of Ellesmere as part of a peace settlement with Madog, Bedwyr is furious. A man such as Bedwyr can only survive on the battlefield. For without love, hatred will send a man like him to the edge of insanity. Then push him over. But when Bedwyr sees Ysbail for the first time, blood-thirst turns to blood-lust, and he vows to show her that she should have no fear of him.

• • •

Rhyd Ddu, mountains of Eryri, Cymru — 1149

“Take it off, Ysbail.”

She stood her ground, shoulders back, gazing into her husband’s black eyes, daring him to make her.

Their marriage was still fresh in her mind, as was the humiliating bedding that followed. He had granted her some respect in the task by ushering would-be witnesses from the chamber, but he had done no more than that before laying her on the bed, lifting her gown, and taking her most precious possession. While he had apologized for what must be done, she still had not liked it. His taking of her had been swift and every bit as horrible as she had heard it would be.

Her father, Alun ap Wnffre of Ellesmere, had been the governor and close friend of Madog ap Maredudd, Prince of Powys. Her mother had died in childbirth, and Ysbail had barely been out of swaddling when her father was killed fifteen years previously during one of the frequent border wars. Madog had promised to raise her until she was of marriageable age. With the rapidity of the event, she felt Madog could not wait to be free from his responsibility. So afraid she might bolt, he had waited until her arrival in Oswestry from her home at Ellesmere to tell her of her betrothal.

He was right to worry, for she was to marry Bedwyr ap Owain, one of King Owain Gwynedd’s bastard sons, and his most notorious henchman. Legends preceded Bedwyr. She grew up hearing tales of his bloodlust and the carnage left in his wake. He was what his name foretold, for Bedwyr meant grave-knower.

“Take it off, Ysbail. I would see you now.”

She inhaled sharply at his repeated command, his gaze piercing through the chamber’s heavy shadows. The only light came from the small fire in the hearth, which only served to enhance her husband’s fearsome visage.
Bedwyr was not unpleasant to look upon. Had she not already known of his reputation, and despite the scar crossing his left brow, she might have called him handsome. Dark, unruly waves hung about his shoulders. More often than not, they also shielded his eyes and hid high cheekbones. Belying his shaggy and unkempt appearance, he preferred a shaven face, which accented his ever-present scowl and served to deepen his features. His smile, if it could be called such, looked more like a snarl—the white of his teeth being the only brightness about him.

Just the size of her husband should have frightened her, never mind his looks. But in the time it took to travel from Oswestry to Bedwyr’s keep high in the mountains, he had been nothing but considerate and thoughtful. He had not tried to bed her again during their journey, but she knew once they arrived he would waste no time forcing himself upon her. He was a man after all. At least he had given her a pair of weeks to adjust to her new home before making it clear he would come to her. Earlier in the day, he had ordered she and her meager belongings be moved into his chamber. The lustful look she saw on his face told her in no uncertain terms that he would take her again this night.

She knit her brows together, hoping to emphasize her scowl and displeasure at what was to come. When she made no effort to yield to him, he reached up and pulled free the laces at the top of her gown. He slipped a single finger under the edge of the fabric, letting the back of it brush one of her nipples. She gasped at the sensation.

“Remove it or I will do it for you.” His voice was deep in timbre yet low in volume, yet spoke of his determined insistence. Stranger or no, she knew she would do his bidding or suffer his wrath.

She felt her nostrils flare as she breathed deeply, trying to control her racing heart.

With trembling fingers, she loosened the ties and pulled the gown over her head, letting it fall to the floor beside her. The fabric of her shift rasped her breasts. She knew without looking down that her heaving bosom was well in evidence, for the look on her husband’s face told her.
“The shift as well.”

She swallowed hard while continuing to gaze at him. She kept her spine stiff, refusing to cower before him. She would not let him see her apprehension.

Removing the final barrier between them, she let it slip from her fingers onto the pooled gown.

It was her wifely duty to give her husband what he wanted without their private chamber, and within. Her only solace was that if the task went as quickly as before, she could endure it. Just.

“Ysbail,” he murmured, gauping at her and unmoving. Was there a hint of surprise in his voice?

Perhaps he had changed his mind about bedding her once he saw her petite form and the smallness of her breasts. Now that he was seeing her fully for the first time it was very possible she repulsed him.

Not so, she found.

• • •

Scarlett Valentine was born and raised in Northern California in an area known as America's Salad Bowl. It was home to many authors, including John Steinbeck, and for a while Jack London and Robert Louis Stevenson.

In 1997, Scarlett had the opportunity to travel to Ireland on an extended holiday. She met a man and stayed. Celebrating more than fourteen years in Ireland, she has traveled the country extensively and has lived in Dublin, Cork, Wicklow and Kildare, loving every minute of it.

Scarlett has always enjoyed writing. Her professional writing life began as a book reviewer in 1995 and has published travel articles since 1998.

She's an avid castle hunter and photographer so it's no wonder castles show up in most of her stories. She loves travel and research, both of which give Scarlett ideas for her stories.

If all this sounds familiar, it's because Scarlett is the erotica alter ego of romance novelist, Kemberlee Shortland.

Tirgearr Publishing is the proud home of Scarlett's unique erotica series, The ABCs of S-E-X: Love by the Letter. Her first title, Awakening, was released October 2011 (Night Owl Reviews Top Pick Award), and we anticipate two titles per year.

Check out Scarlett's website to learn more about this series.

Find Scarlett Online

Website - http://www.scarlett-valentine.com
Facebook - http://www.facebook.com/scarlettvalentine
Twitter - http://www.twitter.com/theabcsofsex
Tirgearr Publishing - http://www.tirgearrpublishing.com/authors/Valentine_Scarlett

Interview with Author MARY GILLGANNON

Mary Gillgannon in Wales.

When I released my historical fantasy The Silver Wheel, I sub-titled it “A Novel of Celtic Britain”. Since then, I’ve had several people comment that they never thought of Britain as being Celtic. To them, Celtic refers to only the fringes of the British islands: Ireland, Scotland and Wales. But the fact is, before the Romans arrived, the whole of the British Isles was inhabited by native tribal groups who shared a culture most people today would recognize as "Celtic". They wore vividly-dyed garments of checked, plaid and patterned wool (which would eventually evolve into the tartan). They adorned themselves with jewelry in complex curvilinear patterns, often in animal motifs. They wore their hair long and often braided. The men were generally unshaven, although some tribes shaved their chins and had long mustaches. They lived in round dwellings in fortified settlements that were often on built on hilltops. They worshiped a variety of male and female deities that were strongly connected with animals and the natural world. Their religious leaders were an educated class who transferred their knowledge orally.


These religious leaders are often called druids, which probably means “from the oak”, and they held their ceremonies in oak groves. They possessed a strong belief in an afterlife and otherworld. They were also reputed to practice human sacrifice. In fact, the initial story idea for my book came from reading about a bog body found near Lindow, England. The body was of a healthy, aristocratic young man (his hands showed he'd done very little manual labor and was healthy and well-nourished). The man had been strangled, had his throat cut and been bludgeoned (the triple death) and was then pushed into the bog. Because the body dates from the time of the Roman conquest of Britain in the early first century A.D., some researchers have surmised that this man was offered as a sacrifice to petition the Celtic deities to aid the British in their struggle against the invading Romans. We know for certain the Celtic Britons made sacrifices of weapons, jewelry and even chariots, as caches of these items have been found in lakes and springs throughout the British Isles.

The Romans characterized the Celts as warlike, boastful and ostentatious, and described them as utterly fearless in battle. The Celts were also known for their love of music and poetry, feasting, drinking, and for constantly fighting among themselves. Throughout history, invading peoples used this Celtic propensity for tribal conflict to their advantage. It can be argued that if the Celts had put up a united front, none of the successive waves of invaders—Romans, Anglo-Saxons, Norse, Normans or English—would ever have been able to establish any control over this region. At the end of The Silver Wheel, when the Roman victory seems inevitable, my priestess heroine sets a spell on the highlands of Wales, calling upon the gods to protect her people from Roman influence and keep their Celtic spirit strong. If you visit Wales today, you will find little evidence of the Romans, while Celtic aspects are everywhere. They still speak Welsh, a Celtic language, and use Celtic patterns in their art and design. They retain a love of music, a strong independent spirit, a mystical connection to the land and a fondness for tales and storytelling, all things that were characteristic of their Celtic ancestors.



Based on that, I think you can say my heroine’s spell was successful!



For more information about her books, visit Mary’s website http://www.marygillgannon.com.

She can also be found on Facebook http://www.facebook.com/mary.gillgannon