My historical novel, The Gentle Wind's Caress, has been released in paperback and in digital formats. Yay!
The Blurb:Halifax, 1876. On the death of her mother and sister, Isabelle Gibson is left to fend for herself and her brother in a privately-run workhouse. After the matron's son attempts to rape her, Isabelle decides to escape him and a life of drudgery by agreeing to marry a moorland farmer she has never met. But this man, Farrell, is a drunkard and a bully in constant feud with his landlord, Ethan Harrington. When Farrell bungles a robbery and deserts her, Isabelle and Ethan are thrown together as she struggles to save the farm. Both are married and must hide their growing love. But despite the secrecy, Isabelle draws strength from Ethan as faces from the past return to haunt her and a tragedy is set to strike that will change all of their lives forever.
The except:‘He’ll be here soon.’
Hughie sat by the fire darning a sock. ‘The snow has likely held him up.’
‘What keeps him out night
after night?’ She stamped her foot in frustration. ‘He drinks more than a
sailor does on his first day back at port!’
Hughie grinned.The sound of scratching
made Isabelle frown. The snowstorm grew in intensity. She could no longer see
the outbuildings. The scratching sounded again. ‘What is that?’
Hughie shrugged. ‘The
trees on the window upstairs?’
Isabelle stepped away
from the window, nibbling her fingertips. There would be no market day today.
She went to walk into the scullery when a thump hit the back door. She opened
it and cried out as Farrell landed at her feet.
Hughie dashed to her side
and together they stared at her husband’s bloody form.‘Heaven’s above!’ Isabelle
bent to touch him. He stirred and moaned. ‘Help me bring him inside, Hughie.’
They grabbed him under
the arms and dragged him down the step and onto the kitchen floor. His coat was
missing and his wet woollen vest cloaked him like another skin.
Farrell opened and closed
his eyes. ‘Isabelle…’
‘What happened to you?’
She took a dishcloth from the table and knelt to wipe the blood oozing from a
cut in his forehead. She gestured to Hughie. ‘Get me some blankets off the bed
and a pillow too. He’s too heavy to lift, so I’ll have to make a bed in here
’As Hughie ran to do as
she bid, Isabelle quickly made him a cup of sweet tea and held his head up to
pour a little into his mouth. Next, she rubbed Farrell’s cold hands between her
own. Hughie ran into the room with the items she asked for, and Isabelle placed
the pillow under Farrell’s head. ‘Heat a warming pan, Hughie.’
Farrell’s eyes fluttered,
he moaned between blue lips.
Isabelle ran into the
scullery and found an old pair of gloves. She returned and tugged them onto his
icy hands. ‘Lord, what have you done to yourself?’
He murmured and opened
his eyes. She tucked the blanket around him more securely. ‘Lie still.’
‘No…’She put the cup to his
lips again. ‘Drink this now. You need to get warm.’
He slowly eased himself
up onto one elbow. ‘Got to hide.’ He wheezed and then coughed. His split lip
began to bleed freely again.
‘Hide?’ She frowned. ‘Why?’
‘They’ll find me here!’
He tried to get up, but she pushed him back down.
‘Had to run…’
Hughie knelt down beside
them. ‘Has he lost his mind?’
‘Heaven knows, silly man.
It’d be hardly surprising if he has, being out in this weather all night.’ She
made Farrell drink again. ‘Take his boots off, Hughie.’
‘No!’ Farrell reared up. ‘I
must hide.’ He gripped Isabelle’s arms until they hurt. His eyes were wide and
frightened. ‘I can’t hide here. They’ll find me.’
In a panic, Isabelle
glanced up at the door as though the riders from Hell would burst through it
any moment. She flung away his hands, alarmed. ‘What have you done?’ Her voice
sounded high to her ears.
‘They nearly caught me.
Had to run.’ Farrell panted, throwing off the blanket, struggling to sit up. ‘They
saw my face. I must go!’
Isabelle stood and hugged
herself, fighting rising terror. ‘Tell me,’ she whispered.
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