Summer Romance on Main Street available for preorder now!
I’m excited to announce the upcoming release of volume 1 of Summer Romance on Main Street, with my novella Once Upon A Vet School #6: Fifty Miles at a Breath as one of six stories of summertime love! It’ll be released on 15 June! USD 99c is terrific value for more than 150,000 words, so grab it now. Click on my novella title or for buy links and my blurb, or read on for an excerpt.
Here’s a summer romance excerpt!
WARNING: HORSEY!
We were about to pack up and head for the third vet check when Jared, one of the other P & R team members, tapped me on the shoulder.
Once Upon a Vet School 6: Fifty Miles now in AoMS Summer Romance on Main Street Boxed Set.
“Lena,” he said, as I looked up, “number 79 is due to come back to be checked and hasn’t shown. Should I send someone to look for them?”
“Yes, thanks.” I turned back to the horse I’d just clamped a stethoscope on. “60/18”, I reported. Kim noted it down as I thanked the rider while checking the skin turgor and refill, then wished her well with a wave.
“I found number 79,” Jared said, beside my ear. “I think you need to check him. He doesn’t look so good and his rider says his pulse isn’t coming down.”
“Okay, Jared. Can you take over here please?” I waved goodbye to him and Kim, throwing back over my shoulder, “there aren’t any vets at this check anymore, are there?”
Jared shook his head with a grimace. “Doc Latimer had to go on, but he said to find you if there were any horses needing to be checked.”
“I’ll go see the horse. Call if you need me.” I pulled out my radio. “Vet Three to Vet One, come in Vet One.”
“Vet One,” Dr. Latimer’s voice crackled over the speaker. “What’ve you got?”
I told him.
“Okay, let me know. I’m ten minutes away, out.”
“Out.”
The bay Morgan gelding drooped, his head hanging low, and he didn’t even glance up as I approached. His eyes were dull and incurious, as if he didn’t care what was happening around him.
I introduced myself to the middle-aged female rider. “How has he been going?”
“He was fine until an hour ago, then he seemed tired all of a sudden.”
“Are you his rider?”
“Yes.” Shortly.
Photo Credit to Hughes Photography
“Has he done this before? In your training rides?”
“Ummm… haven’t had much time to trail him lately,” she said, her eyes everywhere but my face.
I gulped and tried to unclench my jaws. Unfit and still racing, on a 104-degree day? I forced myself to stay calm.
“Is he drinking? Eating?” I looked around the area to see an untouched hay net and no water bucket in sight.
She stared at me. “What is this, 20 Questions?
‘’I’m trying to ascertain the condition of your horse,” I placed the stethoscope on the horse’s chest and shut my eyes, “and anything you can tell me would help.”
“You’re a vet?”
“Vet student.”
“Get away from my horse,” she squeaked.
I blinked and stepped back. “Dr. Latimer asked me to evaluate your horse and let him know what I find. He’s at the next vet check, ten minutes away.”
She eyed me sideways. “Okay, check him. He didn’t want any water at the last stop, so my crew didn’t get him any this time.”
I tried not to shriek as I moved back to the horse’s girth. His heart rate was way too high, 72 beats per minute. Fast and thready.
“He can’t be dehydrated,” she snapped. “He stopped sweating miles back.”
My heart stopped in its tracks. It didn’t get much worse. I tented the skin over the horse’s shoulder and the skin took several seconds to slide back. I swallowed hard. Moving my stethoscope to his flank, I listened in vain for gut sounds, but the regular, progressive gurgling sounds of borborygmus were absent and his capillary refill time was three seconds. I’d seen better CRTs in a nearly-dead horse. This one was in trouble. I slid the thermometer into his backside and waited, while I stroked his dull coat with my other hand. When I pulled it out, I blinked. 39 degrees. Off scale.
“He’s not looking so good,” I said to the woman. “I’m going to radio Dr. Latimer. Can you see if he’ll drink some electrolyte water, please? How much electrolyte water has he had today?
No answer.
“Yesterday?” I was close to pleading, now. “Salt block?”
“I don’t use any of those things. Look, what’s the matter with the lazy sod?”
“I’ll let the vet speak with you about this, if you don’t mind,” I said, trying not to growl at her. Ignorance was no excuse in this game, and I didn’t trust myself to not deck her for abusing and neglecting this horse.
“Vet Three to Vet One, come in,” I barked as I walked away. I had to get far, far away from the rider.
“Vet One here. How’s the horse?”
“Any worse, and he’d be dead,” I muttered as soon as I was out of hearing range of the rider. “Heart rate 72, depressed, dehydrated, no gut sounds, not eating or drinking at last check, so didn’t offer it at this one. I’ve sent a girl for water, but his eyes are glazed and he’s past caring. His temp’s 39 degrees.” We need you back here, Doc. You have fluids?”
“Yes. On my way,” he said. A truck door slammed and an engine revved as he signed off.
“Dr. Latimer’s on his way,” I said to the woman and spun to borrow a bucket and sponge. This horse needed a cool-down.
So did I.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
I hope you enjoyed the excerpt! Read more in OAVS #6: Fifty Miles at a Glance, coming soon in Summer Romance on Main Street! Preorder now here!
It’ll initially be released as part of the Authors of Main Street’s summer boxed set!
Hi all! The Authors of Main Street and I can’t wait for our Summertime Romance on Main Street Boxed set to be released this month, including seven great new novellas by Authors of Main Street authors! It’ll feature my Once Upon a Vet School #6: Fifth Miles at a Breath! (Yes, you noticed… I’m going backwards… LOL)
Well… mine’s sort of a novella… I seem to have this little problem with “writing short“. It’s come out at 59K… when it was meant to be… much less. :/ I hope you enjoy it!
Like horses? Things veterinary? You’ll love Fifty Miles at a Breath!
Here’s the first chapter from Fifty Miles at a Breath:
Southern California, 1986
“You’ll regret you refused me,” Gareth Barnett-Payne menaced, reaching for me, but I spun and ran until my legs—
“Lena… Lena” Raywyn, the head veterinary technician, waved her hand before my eyes.
I blinked, shaking my head and willing my heart to stop pounding in my chest.
“Are you okay?” Her brows knitted together.
I gripped the edge of the desk before me. “Yes, fine,” I mumbled, wondering how anyone could be so vicious. “So,” I swallowed hard and dragged myself back to today, “what’s the surgery schedule for tomorrow, Ray?”
She looked at me sideways, then turned to the schedule before her.
I took a deep breath and let it out slowly, trying to release the tension stacked up from three weeks of flea allergy dermatitis, hotspots, anal glands and catfight abscesses. Through those stinking hot Santa Barbara summer days, I yearned for the touch of a velvet nose, the solid muscle and bone, and the scent of a horse. Any horse. It wouldn’t be much longer before I could go home to my own roan. I bit my lip and scanned the small animal clinic, my eyes and nose running as freely as they’d been since the moment I first walked in through the practice doorway. Cat allergy in a vet—great. Thank god I was going to be an equine vet.
“Let’s see,” Ray’s finger ran down the page, “two dogs spays, a cruciate surgery, four cat neuters, and… hmmm… I can’t read it. I’ll need to ask Dr. Franco.” She flashed a grin at me. “With your handwriting, you should make a fantastic veterinarian, too. I can’t read a thing you write.”
“I really do try,” I said, with a rueful grin.
“Could have fooled me.”
“Not too many cats for tomorrow, then,” I sighed, “that’s a good thing.”
“We don’t have many appointments, so Dr. Franco will be free to supervise and you should be able to do most of the surgeries.”
“I’m pretty lucky,” I nodded, “I get to do so much surgery here. I’ve been speaking with some of my classmates. They just don’t get the opportunities I’ve been handed. I’ll be forever grateful to you and Dr. Franco for that. I’m going to be a horse vet, but I’m sure there’ll still be other animals in my life.”
Ray looked at me, brows narrowed, until I began to squirm, with an overwhelming urge to cover myself. “What?”
“It’s a man, isn’t it?”
I gritted my teeth and held my breath. “Maybe.”
“No maybe about it. Who is he?”
“Some creep with a control fetish.”
Ray blinked and shook her head. “Tell me he isn’t your problem anymore.”
“He’s not my problem anymore.”
“Truth?”
I nodded. “Never was, much, though he encouraged the idea… rather forcefully.”
“You need to come out with us to a few clubs tomorrow night. Just the girls.”
“I’d rather stay away from men, but thanks all the same.”
Ray’s smile faded. “It’ll be fun, Lena. It’s a group of women. We’ll dance, have a blast, and go home. Alone. Can you think about it?” Her smile was hopeful.
“I’ll think about it,” I said, biting my lip. “Can I tell you tomorrow?”
“Sure, but we’d love to have you along.”
“I don’t know… I’m truly over men,” I swallowed hard. “They’re just not worth the angst.”
“All you have to do is come out with us. You don’t even need to dance with them. You can dance with the rest of the girls.”
I was far from certain, but I had no other plans for my hot Friday night. “Okay,” I finally said.
✶´`´*★ ☆ ~~~~ ☆ ★.¸¸,.✶
The electronic music throbbing across the dance floor jangled in my head. It was so loud, my heart thumped in shock along with the beat. With a deep breath, I forced my butt to stay on the barstool. And tried to smile. And look pleasant. Hard when everything about the place made me want to run screaming out the door. The men either plastic and young in their shiny, synthetic shi—
“Aren’t you glad you came with us, now?” Ray’s voice cut into my thoughts during a momentary lull in the noise,
I bit my cheek and nodded. No use wrecking her night, too. There certainly wasn’t anyone here with whom I’d want to wake up, much less spend the rest of my life. Maybe I was just too serious.
“That guy,” Ray nodded her chin, “the one who looks like he never leaves the beach, has been eyeing you up for the past half hour. Why don’t you go put him out of his misery?”
I rolled my eyes as the music started pounding again. “Come on, Ray, you know I can’t shoot guys in here,” I shouted over the music and smirked. “Someone might object.”
Ray closed her eyes and shook her head. “You really are a tough case, aren’t you?” she yelled back.
“Okay, I’ll go. I don’t imagine he knows how to dance Western Swing,” I said into her ear as I hopped from my perch.
“You go girl!” Ray barked, her eyes twinkling.
Mr. Lifeguard may have been eyeing me up, but he looked ready to bolt at my approach.
“Hi, my friend thought I should come ask you to dance.”
“Hello,” he said, with a heavy accent and I blinked.
“A Danish hello?” A smile cracked my visage.
This could be interesting.
His rabbit-in-the-headlights look dissolved and he laughed.
“Hvordan har du de?” he said, in my mother’s native language.
“Fint tak,” I replied. That made me smile. My mother would be pleased,
He started off on a stream of rapid-fire dansk, and with a laugh, I put a hand on his arm to stop him.
“Whoa there. You’ve already heard most of my Danish. From my mom, I learned hello, thank you, you’re welcome, and stand up. Baby words.”
His smile melted, and he bit his lip.
“It’s okay,” I smiled. “Want to dance?”
“Tak, thank you. That, I would love,” he said, as he put a hand on the small of my back and guided me to the crowded dance floor.
“You wouldn’t know how to dance properly, would you?”
With a smile that lit the whole room, he took my hand and whirled me around the floor. The man could dance—and I was thankful once again for my many years of Latin and ballroom lessons. I never knew when they’d come in handy, like now.
“What are you doing so far from home?” I asked, after we’d been dancing for what seemed like hours.
“I’ve been at University here, studying marine biology.”
“Really?” So, the lifeguard guess was close. “I almost did that. I love to dive—I started when I was an undergraduate here,” I shouted, “but I’m in veterinary school up north now. Maybe we could go for a dive before I have to go home.”
“I would love to,” he bit his lip, his brow furrowed, “but I fly back to Danmark tomorrow morning. I wish we’d met sooner.” He genuinely looked wistful and my heart twinged at the thought of the friendship we might have had.
“Believe me when I say I’m gutted to hear you’re leaving.” That’d be right. I finally meet someone with the same interests… and he’s heading halfway around the world the next day.
“Gutted?”
“Sorry, very sorry.” My mouth twisted.
“Me too,” said the Viking. He took my hand and made a little bow over it, then he kissed it. I had to take a deep breath and lock my knees to keep from melting. I love Europeans.
“It seems your friends are ready to leave.” He nodded at Ray’s table full of women. They looked at us over their empty glasses, purses slung over their shoulders. “Mange tusind tak, and goodbye for now,” he said, as he turned away toward his own friends.
Many thousand thanks…
My heart sinking, I rejoined Ray and her friends as they walked out the door.
Outside on the street, Ray and I split from her friends and turned toward our apartment over the clinic. Ray stared at the retreating back of the blonde Viking as he and his friends headed away from us and tripped over a crack in the pavement. She recovered and turned back to me. Her mouth twitched in the light of the streetlamp. “Well, you’ve certainly found yourself a live one,” she said, with a wink. “When will you see him again?”
I snorted. “Probably never. He flies home to Denmark tomorrow.”
Ray’s face fell. “You can’t be serious.”
“Story of my life.” I nodded. “Told you it’s not worth it,” I couldn’t repress a smile, “but the dancing was spectacular.”
“You two were awesome out there.”
“It was all him. I just followed.”
“Could have fooled me,” Ray muttered.
“Truth be told, it’s easier, or safer, anyway, than dancing Western Swing, where the only rules are to try to stay on your feet while they fling you around. It’s fun, but Jesper’s dancing was… so much more subtle. It was easy, like… like… dancing.” I beamed at my friend. “Thank you for dragging me along. I really enjoyed myself.”
“You at least have each other’s contacts, right?”
My mouth dropped open and nothing came out.
“I can see,” Ray sighed, “I’ll need to take you under my wing. You clearly lack training.”
We both laughed, but mine was a bit self-conscious.
“I’ll be okay.” I gave her a half smile. “My focus needs to be veterinary school now. I really don’t have the time or the energy for anything other than that. The next two years are going to be hard enough just taking care of me and my animals, without worrying about the ups and downs of a relationship.”
“I see,” Ray said, though she looked like she did no such thing.
“It’s really true,” I said firmly, wrapped an arm around Ray’s shoulders, and gave her a squeeze. “I have friends like you. What more could a vet student want?”
“I guess you’re right, and you have your precious horse waiting for you back at home.” Ray stopped dead and stared at me. “Oh my god, horse.…” she slapped her palm to her forehead and jerked her head toward me. “How could I forget about you?”
“Pardon?”
“A vet tech friend of mine asked me last week if I knew anyone who could help at an endurance ride next weekend.”
“Like a horse endurance ride?” I goggled at her.
“No, you goof, they’re racing penguins. Of course, it’s a horse endurance ride.” Ray’s eyes sparkled. She’d grown up with horses, but with her head tech position at the clinic, she didn’t have time for them now.
“Where do I sign?”
“Have you ever helped at an endurance ride?”
“I’ve been on the ‘P & R Team’ at the vet school and my family’s done endurance since before I was born—I’ve been on my family’s Tevis Cup crew since before I could walk.”
“Boy, am I glad to hear that.” Ray let out a breath and shook her head. “Sarah’s desperate for some helpers.” She turned to me, brow furrowed. “What’s a P & R team?”
“P for pulse, R for respiration. It’s a team of vet students that helps at local endurance rides by taking heart rates and respiratory rates on the horses before they go on to the vets at the control checks. It frees the vets up to focus on lameness and metabolic problems.”
“Oh, of course.”
“Where is it?” A tingle of excitement ran up my back.
“It’s at Los Lomitos, about an hour and a half from here. I’ll make you a deal: if you go help Sarah, you can leave on Friday at noon and needn’t be back at work until Tuesday morning—you can take some time for yourself up there.”
The weight, the tension sliding from my shoulders made me want to dance the rest of the way home. I was grateful for the opportunity offered by this summer preceptorship, but I wasn’t sure if I’d survive a whole two months down here, away from home and my animals, with only patient dogs and cats for company. Ray was offering me not only respite, but horses, too.
“Sweeten the deal,” Ray said, at my continued silence, “I’ll send you with my tent, sleeping bag and everything you’ll need to camp in luxury. Including poison oak medication.”
I laughed, afraid my cheeks might split from smiling so widely. “I’m in. You had me at hello.”
✶´`´*★ ☆ ~~~~ ☆ ★.¸¸,.✶
It was still early afternoon on Friday when I arrived at the endurance race campground and found Ray’s friend Sarah, the ride manager.
I’d beamed at myself in the rearview mirror for most of the drive. Four days of horses, camping, and outdoor life after the desert of life in a city. I’d owe Ray forever.
The somewhat frazzled Sarah managed a welcoming smile for me. “There’s nothing you need to do until later, Lena,” she said, handing me a lanyard and passes. “Ray told me your history, and I can’t say how glad I am to have a volunteer of your experience and training.”
“Happy to help,” I said. “I just want to touch some horses.”
“Plenty of opportunity for that.” Sarah’s eyes twinkled. “The P & R team briefing starts at 7 p.m. and there’s another session afterward to practice taking pulse and respiratory rates. You wouldn’t want to help with that, would you?”
“Of course,” I said. “I’m at your disposal.”
“I’d hoped you’d say that. Most of the team are experienced horse people, but only a few have taken vitals before.”
“I’d be happy to help them.” I smiled.
“Thanks so much.” Sarah’s eyes glinted. “Go ahead and set up your camp. There’s a nice swimming hole in the creek, just down there,” she pointed, “if you feel so inclined. I need to run,” she said, as a man wearing an OFFICIAL badge touched her on the shoulder, an expectant look on his face. “I’ll see you at dinner.” Sarah and the man headed off at a trot.
As my meals were supplied by the ride management, setting up camp took only minutes and I was soon free to enjoy my afternoon.
A luxury I haven’t had in long months,
Inside Ray’s tent, I dropped my jeans and slipped into my shorts and bikini top, grabbed a towel, and headed for the proffered swimming hole. I hadn’t gotten far when the throaty rumble of an Arabian caught my attention. He stared at me intently from his wooden tie stall and I approached him, looking around for someone connected to this magnificent creature, but no one was near. His blood bay coat gleamed over a faultlessly muscled body. He whickered again as I neared him. With his body carriage, he had to be a stallion, so I peeked under his belly. Yep, a stallion.
I reached out a hand to him and he lipped gently at my palm.
“Ooh, aren’t you the most handsome man?” I murmured.
I jumped when he answered.
“Why, thank you,” came a deep voice, tinged with humor.
I chuckled into the laughing gaze of the man who raised himself from the ground behind the short wall at the stallion’s feet. “I thought he answered me, for a moment.”
The man’s face creased into deep laugh lines around his gorgeous blue eyes. He was as handsome as the horse, to be sure.
“He talks, this boy,” he said, as he slid one arm over the bay’s back and gave him a scratch on his withers, then stuck out his other hand. “Blake, Blake Sagan. Pleased to meet you.”
I smiled and introduced myself. “Just admiring your stallion. He’s a beaut.”
“Thanks. He’s pretty special. His name’s Prince. Prince Witeż, after his grandfather. My pride and joy. Are you racing tomorrow?”
“Not this time. I’m here to help, P & R team.”
“Ever been to an endurance ride before?” He looked sideways at me while he waited for my answer.
“Oh, a few. My grandfather’s done the Tevis Cup numerous times, my mom and stepdad a few more, and I’ve done some shorter rides plus ride & ties. I usually get to crew, though.”
“Ah,” his eyes glinted, “you must be the vet student from Santa Barbara.”.
I blinked. News traveled fast.
“I knew Sarah was looking for helpers.” He smiled. “Thanks for coming along.”
“Glad to help. I was in serious need of a horse fix. I’ve been working in a small animal clinic this summer.”
“Not keen on the smallies?”
“I love them, but my heart’s with the horses.”
“You off for a swim?” He nodded at my towel.
“Sure am. Sarah told me to go down by the bridge.”
“It’s a nice spot, but there’s an even better one a little way upstream. I’m taking Prince down there for a swim shortly.”
“I’ll see you down there, then.”
“Be there soon,” he said, and waved at me as I walked away.
Blake’s gaze—there was more light in that man’s sparkling eyes then I’d seen in ages. I wondered what he did besides ride horses—with that quick, intelligent spark, it must be something special.
What can I be thinking?
The next two years are not about more devastating relationships. It’s time to finish my doctorate and establish my career.
I cannot go there.
I simply cannot.
Want to read more? Keep an eye out for Fifty Miles at a Breath in Summertime Romance on Main Street!
Coming in June 2018!
✶´`´*★ ☆ ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ ☆ ★.¸¸,.✶
✶´`´*★ ☆ ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ ☆ ★.¸¸,.✶
Sign up for my mailing list to keep up on new releases and special offers!
Hi all! Submitted Once Upon a Vet School #6: Fifty Miles at a Breath yesterday and today, I’m stuck into Somewhere Called Home, a novella about the early life of Scotty from A Long Trail Rolling in the Highlands of Scotland that I’ve already researched. It’s due… next week. Thankfully it’s meant to be short… but if you know me, you know what trouble I have with that concept. 🙂
REMEMBER, this is a first draft. I just wrote it tonight. Things may change before publishing.
Rob’s just survived Quatre Bras in Belgium and the fighting has stopped for the darkness… but the rain doesn’t. How like his Highland home.
Have a read… Enjoy.
Bored witless, Rob looked up from carving his third newt from the stick he’d picked up from the muddy road on their march toward Ostend, Belgium.
There would be some child needing a toy in this mess.
A woman, her kerchief and apron somehow white, walked from soldier to soldier, a basket of books on her arm.
“Voulez-vous un livre à lire?” she asked a Scot nearby.
“I don’t speak French, sorry, lass,” he mumbled, with a wince. “Now if you had one in Gaelic, I might manage, at a pinch.” He smiled at her and nodded his thanks, and she went on to the next man.
“J’aimerais un livre s’il vous plait,” Rob called out and she turned, her whole face lighting as she hurried toward him. She placed the basket before him as if it contained the holy grail, which at that moment seemed pretty close. To someone used to peaceful solitude, being part of the 93,000-odd soldiers assembled to fight Bony, losing himself in a book for a few hours until darkness fell, even in French, sounded like heaven on earth. She pointed out book after book, and he chose two that looked relatively easy to read. “Merci beaucoup,” he said.
“De rien,” she said, and moved on to the next man.
“Soldier,” a voice barked in his ear and Rob flinched, then glanced up to see an officer. He jumped to his feet as his eyes flicked to the officer’s insignia, but he didn’t recognize it.
“Sir,” he said, snapping the back of his fingers to his forehead.
“Is that a book I see in your hands, soldier?”
“It is, sir.”
“In French?”
Rob gulped. The last thing he wanted was to be taken in for a spy, but lying wouldn’t get him anywhere. “Yes, sir.”
“Come with me,” he barked, and led off at a trot.
The men around him stared. Rob shrugged at them, hoisted his pack to his back, and followed, hopping over resting soldiers, mess kits, and their packs while he struggled to keep up with the unladen officer, heart pounding in his chest at what awaited him.
After what seemed a mile, the officer stopped outside the Quartermaster’s tent and called for admittance. At a shout from inside, he glanced at me. “Stay right there,” he said, and disappeared behind the tent flap. Raised voices came from inside, then the flap was pulled aside. “Come in, soldier,” he said.
Three men sat at two desks, covered with paper covered in figures, receipts, journals, inkwells, nibs and blotters. They all froze as he entered the tent. “Do you speak French?” The biggest man asked.
“Oui, je parle français,” Rob said, “though with a terrible Scots accent, I was told by my tutor,” he said, and tried not to smile.
The rest of the men had no such compunction and looked at each other, wide grins growing on each of their faces as they turned back to me.
“What else do you do?”
“What do you need? My father was grooming me to be tacksman for the laird, so I learned French, German, mathematics, accounting, swordsmanship, and even a little English, on top of my Gaelic.”
“Why don’t these recruiters find people like you?” one of the men said. “We need you in here. We’ve lost our assistant Quartermaster and I’d like you to take his place.”
Rob blinked and shook his head, his thoughts whirling. “Of—of course,” he stuttered. The only thought was of thanks to his father for the education.
Life changed dramatically after that. I was assistant to the highest non commissioned officer in our regiment . I was given a decent place to sleep and supped with the clerks and Quartermaster, usually while we worked. And work, we did, as we moved through Ghent and on to Brussels. Supplying such a number of men, billeted throughout the city with not only their daily essentials, but with campaign necessaries of four days’ bread, camp-kettles, bill-hooks, and whatever else they might need was a full-time job for more than the men we had in the office. The inhabitants of Brussels treated our Highlanders with kindness and they often told me, in French, of their fondness for the well-behaved Scots when we were out requisitioning foodstuffs and bedding for the men.
One day, Colonel Cameron was invested with the Order of the Bath and fêted at a ball given by the Duke of Wellington that evening—when the alarm came. The men, billeted as they were on adjoining streets, were in their column in half an hour, with Cameron at their head.
The night and next day were a blur in Rob’s head. They marched at daybreak, but the requisitioning and orders didn’t stop just because they were on the road. Their journals and orders could be completed while sitting on boards across a supply wagon as it rumbled inexorably toward where Cameron’s army had heard Bony was massing his men.
In the early afternoon, we were fired upon, near the crossing of two main roads. The 92nd formed up in front of a big farmhouse and the Duke of Wellington and his staff dismounted in ahead of Rob’s wagon, near the center of the regiment. Rob and the Quartermaster somehow kept track of the ammunition and gear they handed out at top speed, as the enemy fire came closer and closer, then the ground shook with the hooves of a hundred cavalry horses, Rob wasn’t sure if they were French or Scottish, the shouting and the explosions on all sides rang in his head, then above it all, the duke calling out, “92nd, you must charge these fellows,” and the men bolted over the ditch and straight into the fleeing French. They kept at it, hotly engaging them until darkness stopped the fighting. The men returned, some shouting and joking that they’d shown those Frogs… until they heard of the loss of the brave Colonel Cameron.
Hi all, we’re having a serious problem with M. bovis, or Mycoplasma bovis in NZ. It is not yet endemic here, as it in many other places.
Many people locally have been getting increasingly frustrated at the lack of information they’ve been able to find and asked for more specifics. People told me they want more information than they’re getting from the media.
I put something together for those of you who are interested on my veterinary website.
Four hours ago I created and shared the below page on only four FB pages and in that time, that new webpage has taken almost 500 hits.
I’m just a horse vet, but I can at least try to decipher some vet language for you and let you get the info… straight from the horse’s mouth, as it were.
Just wanted to let you know Jude Knight Author’s newest book in The Golden Redpennings series, The Realm of Silence, is now available… before its release on major e-retailers!
Jude is one of the Bluestocking Belles, too, and writes historical romance, but you’ll find her stories are just that little bit different from the standard. I love them, and I think you will, too!
She’s just made her books available from her own website for the first time.
Have a look — you’ll be glad you did!
Excerpt from The Realm of Silence
Here’s an excerpt from The Realm of Silence, Book 3 in the Golden Redpennings series!
Lyons was too ill to continue, so Susan arranged lodgings and nursing, which meant it was ten of the clock before she and Gil were crossing the stableyard to the readied carriage.
“I feel guilty about abandoning him,” Susan said, as they pulled out into the road.
Gil didn’t take his eyes from the horses, which were fresh and inclined to take offence at swaying bushes and innocuous puddles. “You have left him well cared for. You have no need to feel guilty.”
He had his own reasons for not wanting to leave Lyons behind. Handing Susan down from the carriage yesterday was torture enough. Riding in the cabriolet-phaeton with her was a mix of Heaven and Hell beyond anything he could have imagined.
Even when she sat decorous inches away, every particle of his body stood to attention. And when she leaned into him as they took a corner, her shoulder brushing his arm, he went rigid with the effort of keeping that arm on its appointed job, and not wrapping it around the appetising bundle beside him.
His arm was not the only part of him that was rigid. Only the fact she never gave him the least encouragement allowed him to maintain a facade of gentlemanly behaviour.
From the corner of his eye he could see Susan turn towards him, saying nothing, examining him for so long that Gil had to quell the urge to shift under her inspection. “I thought you were going to demand I let you go on alone,” she admitted, after a very long silence.
“I need you for when we catch up with Miss Grahame and your daughter.” Young Amy hadn’t seen him in four years, and Miss Grahame didn’t know him at all.
Gil didn’t want to imagine the fuss the two girls or the woman with them might make if they objected to his attempt at a rescue.
“I cannot make sense of it, Rutledge,” Susan complained. “Why did they join forces with Miss Cornillac? And who is the young man?”
“If it is Miss Cornillac,” Gil cautioned. “We know only that she is French and bound for Doncaster. A pity no one observed the first meeting between her and our two runaways.”
All the inn could confirm was that the two parties—one a French lady calling herself Madame Duval and the other a very young couple who claimed to be brother and sister—had arrived in separate post chaises and commissioned separate rooms, but had breakfasted together and left in a single post chaise.
And yes, the mysterious pursuer had put in an appearance the day before yesterday, notable only for his questions about his French cousin, who was travelling north alone.
The Goddess worried at the few threads they had as they passed Burghley Park and trudged up the steep rise to North Witham. Gil listened with half an ear while planning their stops on the day’s journey. The horses were still stepping out well enough, and from here the road was easier through to Grantham. They’d change at the Angel; fresh horses and something to eat and drink. They’d make Grantham to Newark the next post and lunch at the Saracen’s Head. Gamston or Bawtry for the next stop, arriving in Doncaster late afternoon or early evening. With luck, they’d find Miss Cornillac and her brother tonight. With more luck, the two girls would be with them.
The Realm of Silence
(Book 3 in the Golden Redepennings series)
Rescue her daughter, destroy her dragons, defeat his demons, go back to his lonely life. How hard can it be?
“I like not only to be loved, but also to be told I am loved… the realm of silence is large enough beyond the grave.” George Eliot
When Susan Cunningham’s daughter disappears from school, her pleasant life as a fashionable, dashing, and respectable widow is shattered. Amy is reported to be chasing a French spy up the Great North Road, and when Susan sets out in pursuit she is forced to accept help from the last person she wants: her childhood friend and adult nemesis, Gil Rutledge.
Gil Rutledge has loved Susan since she was ten and he a boy of twelve. He is determined to oblige her by rescuing her daughter. And if close proximity allows them to rekindle their old friendship, even better. He has no right to ask for more.
Gil and Susan must overcome danger, mystery, ghosts from the past, and their own pride before their journey is complete.
Be one of the first to read it!
Be one of the first to read The Realm of Silence, before it goes public!
Click on any of the other buy links to preorder from major e-retailers. It will be released on 22 May.
Meet Jude Knight, author of Realm of Silence
Jude Knight’s writing goal is to transport readers to another time, another place, where they can enjoy adventure and romance, thrill to trials and challenges, uncover secrets and solve mysteries, delight in a happy ending, and return from their virtual holiday refreshed and ready for anything.
She writes historical novels, novellas, and short stories, mostly set in the early 19th Century. She writes strong determined heroines, heroes who can appreciate a clever capable woman, villains you’ll love to loathe, and all with a leavening of humour.
There comes a time in one’s life when one decides to quit faffing around and get serious.
Whether it’s to actually get paid for writing, to make a living selling your product, whatever it is, or promote your business to your profession (all three of which I’m doing right now…) or to just declare yourself and make that dream of yours happen.
When one fully recognizes that the social media publicity one has built has a finite life… like, only as long as their algorithms work in your favour… like, only as long as they’re still on the web… like, maybe they’ll just not send your posts to anyone but your close friends… I could go on, but I think you get my drift.
It bothered me. I was feeling powerless at the idea that all these years of work: writing, editing, building portable horse stocks, a vet practice, being a mum, (you name it, I’ve spent a lot of time doing it all, as a solo mum with two boys from 18 mos and five years old…), could end in nothing if I depended on what’ I’ve been building.
I could whine, I could rant, but what’s the point? I had to face it. I’d rather swim than sink. I had to think of something different, look outside the square.
SO what can you do about it? What am I doing about it?
It’s a big side-hustle for some of us, I’d say probably most of us. There is the partner, then there are the kids, the dogs, the horses, the farm… and oh, I almost forgot, the day job.
What’s a little day job? Insignificant? Well, it’s still needed to pay the bills until this empire is built. Whatever empire that is.
And now I’m about to tell you to take more time.
Nuts, eh?
Well, it depends upon what you see as your potential outcome.
How big you’re prepared to dream.
SO, a friend of Matt’s, and now mine, was here a little over a year ago. He’s a very spiritual fencing master (Medieval and otherwise) from the UK, Finland, and, I suspect, a lot of other places.
He’s also been writing books about his hobby–NO, his JOB… The hobby he’s turned into a profession. And done a darn good job of it. Here’s his latest book…
And he didn’t create it by just sitting around when he wasn’t teaching a class.
He’s been writing, researching, and writing some more.
Oh, and he’s just completed a PhD as well, with two littlies and a wife… and traveling around the world teaching.
He’s taught himself what he needed to know about building an empire where he is in control of who-buys-what.
I wanted to know how.
I was lucky he was willing to tell me.
I wrote it all down (yes, in my abysmal handwriting),
bit the bullet,
and got started.
It’s taken me a while, but in the process, I’ve…
1-built a decent website, (well, as I usually overdo things, that first one was four websites in one, but don’t go there. I’ve just split off two of them and built a new website for https://equistillstocks.com and https://bmevc.co.nz this past week), all with the help of a free 5-day website challenge. It’s free, but I’d suggest you get the $19.00 upgrade, it’s worth it on all kinds of levels.
Shannon the Optimistic Teacher of Web Development! Thanks Shannon!
Our websites are Bluehost-hosted , WordPress.org sites, (not WordPress.com, which are too limiting) as recommended by the 5-day challenge. The plan we bought includes 24/7 phone tech support. Brilliant.
2-swallowed my panic at the $30/month price tag on ConvertKit, the email management for creators program I now love… and that make it so easy. Seriously easy, once you figure out how to do their forms. The 5-day challenge walks you through it, too. This lets you create good looking messages to your people, doesn’t duplicate your mailing list members, and lets you use the same single list with tags to attribute them to your different groups. You can you run all of your businesses through one place, and is amazing. And this month they’re letting you try it for FREE for a month! Good time to give it a go!
Next, I …
3-subscribed to Gumroad, which I’ll use to sell books on my website… It’s next on the agenda. I’ll tell you about it after I’ve used it for awhile! There are even some other helpful companies listed in my Resources tab here.
4-And, it’s all happening! So where does this leave you? Are you ready to jump? Dip in a toe? Nothing?
It’s your life, but for those who want to get stuck in, I’ve made it simple.
The Free 5-Day Challenge, Bluehost, ConvertKit, etc., etc. They’re all in there. Some are affiliate links, which mean if you buy them, I get paid a little for advertising for them. I’d rather we little people get something out of their advertising budget than some big conglomerate.
Especially when I love the product.
And that’s the only time I’ll promote one. Those of you who know me understand this. In my vet life as well as my writing and promo life.
So go on, get that toe wet, and maybe, just maybe, you’ll soon dive in! Come on in, the water’s fine!
So now it’s your turn! What have you found that’s making a difference to your reaching for or attaining your goals?
Hello all, and welcome to Lizzi Tremayne’s portion of the Authors in Bloom Blog Hop.
I write historical romantic fiction and veterinary school contemporary stories, all with a horsey flair.
I’m so glad you could join us today! Be sure to read through to the end to find out how to enter my contest as well as the contest for the Grand Prizes!
xx
Lizzi
First is my recipe~
This recipe is in my first novel, A Long Trail Rolling. Aleksandra, my heroine, is of Polish descent, where the winters are harsh and unforgiving. This hearty stew, typical of the ‘sour’ soups common and beloved by many Eastern Europeans, captured my heart on our visit to Poland a few years ago. I’ve modified several versions… again, and again, until I managed to get it just right. Many of the Poles I asked for recipes just looked at me sideways.
“It comes from a packet. We just add water,” said one, with a frown. The others just shook their heads. I mustn’t have asked the right people!
photo credit and thanks to http://memocreo.com/
One cannot simply buyŻurek here in New Zealand, but it’s well worth the time it takes to make it. Thank you to the Glinkowski family, third generation owners of Glinkowski Carriages, for sharing with us their love of Poland and Żurek. After leaving them, we tasted different versions of it in every town we visited around Polska.
3-4 cupswater, boiled and cooled to room temperature
2 cloves garlic, thinly sliced
Crusts of a piece of Polish rye bread (remove after 2-3 days to prevent mold) or a few tablespoons of sourdough starter
Mix in a nonreactive vessel (glass, stainless steel, stoneware) and leave in warm place (70-80 F / 20-27 C) to ferment for 2-5 days until bubbly and as sour as you wish, then use it to make żurek.
The resulting culture: After I use some to make żurek, I refresh the rest by ‘feeding it’ more kibbled/cracked rye or rye flour and water, as Aleksandra’s mother did in the story. Leave out, covered, to ferment overnight then refrigerate. When it hasn’t been used for a while, liquid will accumulate on top and be less active. Stir it and replenish as above. With this starter, I can make żurek whenever I want and also use it as a starter in sourdough rye bread recipes.
Żurek or zur orbiały barszcz (“ZHOO-rek”,”BYAH-wih BARSHCH”)
White Borscht or Sour Rye Soup
Serves 6
1-2 onions, minced
fat or oil for frying
1 lb bacon, chopped (450 g)
1-2 lb Polish kielbasa sausage (pork/beef) in ½ – 1 inch slices (450-900 g)
Spices: 1 T marjoram, 2 whole allspices, 6 peppercorns, 1 bay leaf
6 cups boiling water or stock
2 cups zakwas
½ cup cultured sour cream
vegetables (carrots, peas, mushrooms, parsnips) in small pieces, if desired
salt and pepper to taste.
To serve:
5-6 eggs, boiled and cut into wedges or quarters
4-5 potatoes, boiled and hot, cut into quarters or cubes
rye bread or trenchers
In large soup pot, brown chopped onion till translucent, then add bacon and cut up sausage. Stir-fry until browned (some prefer to prick sausages and cook them whole in the liquid soup, then cut up later). Add spices and boiling water or stock. Add zakwas, while whisking. This will thicken the soup. If you used oat flakes, you may wish to strain the zakwas but I don’t strain it, as I also use kibbled rye in my starter. They cook down.
Bring to a boil and simmer for 10-15 minutes. If it has thickened enough, add the sour cream. If not, stir one tablespoon flour into the sour cream before adding, then bring to boil again and simmer for another 10-15 minutes. I make (at least) a double recipe, as it is better the next day or after freezing.
To serve, ladle soup over potatoes and eggs placed into the bottom of individual bowls or make bread trenchers to use in their place! Cheat by horizontally cutting the top off of a large bun to create a lid (or cut a hole out of the top as you would a Jack O’Lantern pumpkin). Hollow the bread out and ladle the soup into it.
Serve with rye bread.
(What else?)
I hope you love Żurek!
Second, here is my Authors in Bloom Giveaway!
What would a blog hop be without a giveaway?
I’m giving away one digital copy of A Long Trail Rolling and one digital copy of Once Upon a Vet School #7: Lena Takes a Foal to lucky entrants! There will be one book given away for every forty commenters! This is available anywhere in the world!
Just leave…
1) a comment about the recipe or one of my books (see them all here)
AND
2) your email address, so we can contact you to let you know you’ve won!
PLUS:
3) if you add me on any social media sites, be sure to add that to your comment for one extra prize draw entry per site added!
As long as you visit each of the 43 authors’ blog posts on this hop, commenting and leaving your email will also put you into the draw for the Grand Prize of a Kindle Fire or Nook (winner’s choice) along with a 2nd prize of $25 gift card.
If you follow me on any social media platforms (icons in right column and bottom of each webpage) note which ones in your comment and you’ll get an extra entry for each one!
Well, all, thanks for stopping by and I hope you’ve enjoyed your visit! You have until Friday 27 April at 11:59 EST to get all of your entries in! Remember that your social media adds will get you extra entries if you post that you’ve joined them in your comments!
Looking forward to hearing from you! I’d be happy to answer any questions you leave in your comments!
I’ll be stopping in on Dianne Venetta’s Facebook Party that’s running for the WHOLE TEN DAYS!
It’s been a crazy week, but today there’s a First Kiss Friday over at Sherry Ewing’s blog featuring Lena and Kit from Once Upon a Vet School #7, Lena Takes a Foal!
Welcome! Thanks for coming along to my website!
This weekend is the big CyCon event…
To find more about Brain to Books, its authors, genres, and the blog tours for this upcoming wonderful weekend at our Cyber Convention and Book Expo, visit the links below! Make sure you drop in to Brackify to vote on our Cover Wars; there are some great Western and Historical Fiction covers over there. Thanks for stopping by.
I have four books in the Cover Wars, if you want to go in and vote for your fav’s!
Reader Links
Author Links
More Western and Historical Fiction, Wait…..What!!
The other theme of this blog hop is True Life Inspirations, which pleases me, as there are one, or two, as the case may be, in my first novel. My True Life Inspiration story is about a horse named “What?”, and his Pony Express Rider, George Scovell. It’s part ofA Long Trail Rolling, Book One of The Long Trails series.
“What?” I hear you say.
Yes, “What?”It’s a horse’s name. A real Pony Express mount… and his awesome rider.
Prior warning:Aleks is a bit of a stroppy chick… Can’t imagine where I got the inspiration for her… LOL.
Excerpt from A Long Trail Rolling:
“—and this,” Xavier handed her a leather sheet with two slots in it, “is your mochila. It—”
“It fits over—” Aleksandra blurted out.
Again. Dios mío! He adored this chica, but she was driving him mad with her impatience and dogged determination about everything. “—it fits over the saddle,” he resumed, glaring at her.
She looked down at the ground. “Sorry,” she muttered, sounding anything but. Scowling, she stood with arms crossed, her fingernails digging into the sides of her buckskin shirt.
“Aleks, there is a list I need to cover with you before you ride. I still have serious doubts about letting you go, but if you’ll listen, you might survive just that little bit longer.”
She stared down at the toe of her boot tapping the ground, then lifted her eyes to his. He could swear she rolled her eyes.
His own narrowed. “You can ride this portion of the trail because it’s safer out here. All the Indian trouble is more than a hundred miles west of here. You’ll be right out of it.”
Raising an eyebrow at him, she smirked and seemed about to make some comment, but held her peace.
I wonder what I’m missing here.
“Look, Aleksandra, you seem to think this is a joke. Station keepers have been dying out there.”
Her face fell. “Yes,” she said, with a little less certainty.
“I haven’t told you about “What?” yet, have I?”
“What?” She frowned, but uncrossed her arms and left off wringing her buckskins to listen, raising one eyebrow and looking at him from beneath her lashes, jaw tensed.
“You don’t seem to understand my concern,” he spoke slowly, word by word.
“What is a “what”?” She still looked annoyed, but curiosity got the better of her.
He held his breath for a moment.
“Young George Scovell, an Express rider, nearly died a few weeks ago in an ambush,” he growled. “What? was an Express Mustang named for his question mark-shaped blaze. Going through the aspen bottoms west of Chokup Pass, What? was uneasy, flicking his ears back and forth, when swarms of arrows flew out of the brush beside them. They were chased by more than thirty Indian braves for over three miles into Diamond Springs Station. They got there, despite two arrows in Scovell’s leg and poor What? full of eleven more.”
“Oh.” Aleksandra’s attitude and scowl melted, her eyes pooling tears.
“That pony delivered Scovell safely, then collapsed. When they got rid of the Indians, Scovell put him out of his pain with a shot to the forehead and buried that pony, right next to the station.”
“He buried him,” she whispered. Eyes glowing through wet lashes, she gave him a crooked grin.
“That was his last ride for the Pony. Dead horses are usually left for scavengers, but young George felt pretty strongly about What?. On his way back East, George showed me his journal entry for the day, complete with a photo of the good horse that saved his life.
Aleksandra’s brow furrowed. “How did they protect themselves from the Indians?”
“Willie, the station keeper, dragged George into the station and defended it from the gun ports until the Indians left. Luckily the cedar post stockade and stone station house were difficult to set alight, so they survived.
“Now do you understand why I want you to listen?” He pulled her into his arms and tugged on her braid. “It would be nice to keep your hair, no?”
Aleksandra looked down at the ground, finally still. “I am ready to listen.” Xavier had to lean down to hear her whisper. “I apologize for making this difficult when you are only trying to keep me safe.”
“It’s okay,” Xavier held her tightly. “Shall we continue?” He raised an eyebrow at her and released her.
“I’m all ears,” she said, turning to face him.
The series:
The historical fiction sagas follow Aleksandra and Xavier from the wilderness of 1860 Utah to Colonial New Zealand.
In A LONG TRAIL ROLLING (Book 1), Aleksandra is alone and running to prevent her father’s killer from discovering their family secret.Disguised as a Pony Express rider in 1860’s Utah, she winds up in even deeper trouble when she rides full speed into the the Paiute Indian War. Can she and Xavier, her Californio boss, escape the Indians on the warpath, and evade the man who’s already killed Aleksandra’s father—and set his sights on her?
THE HILLS OF GOLD UNCHANGING (Book 2) follows Aleksandra and Xavier through the mining camps of 1860s’ Nevada and California, the Sacramento floods and San Fran to Xavier’s Rancho de las Pulgas. As the Civil War rages, secessionists menace California. Embroiled in the Confederates’ fight to drag the new state from the Union and make it their own, can Aleks and Xavier survive? The secessionists mean business. No one will stand in their way—and live.
In A SEA OF GREEN UNFOLDING (Book 3), tragedy strikes in Aleksandra and Xavier’s newly-found paradise in California. Their friend, von Tempsky, invites them on a journey to adventure and a new life in peaceful 1862 New Zealand, but change is in the wind. They reach Aotearoa, only to discover the place is a turbulent wilderness—where the land wars between the European settlers and the local Māori have only just begun.
In TATIANA (Book 4), stableman’s daughter Tatiana rises to glamorous heights by her equestrienne abilities—but the tsar’s glittering attention isn’t always gold. She and Vladimir are pawns in the emperor’s pursuit of a secret weapon. Vladimir must find it—or lose Tatiana and their son, arrested and held as surety against his success. As the odds mount against them, can they find each other again—half a world apart? Coming soon!
Author Bio:
Lizzi Tremayne writes about the Old West, Russia, and Colonial New Zealand, as well as veterinary fiction and non-fiction—all with a horsey flair.
She also now writes contemporary horsey veterinary fiction! Did you ever want to be a vet? Once Upon a Vet School is a new series of contemporary vet fiction. Share Lena’s escapades from the time she decides to become a veterinarian, through her education and practice time in the USA, to her career as a rural equine and sometimes zoo-dentistry veterinarian in New Zealand.
She grew up riding wild in the Santa Cruz Mountain redwoods, became an equine veterinarian at UC Davis School of Veterinary Medicine, and practiced in the California Pony Express and Gold Country before emigrating to New Zealand.
Lizzi has two wonderful, grown-up boys and an awesome partner in this sea of green. When she’s not writing, she’s swinging a rapier or shooting a bow in medieval garb, riding, driving a carriage or playing on her hobby farm, singing, or working as an equine veterinarian or science teacher. She’s multiply published and awarded in fiction, special interest magazines and veterinary periodicals.
In our world, the next blog hopper really needs no introduction, but I’ll give it my best shot!
It gives me great pleasure to introduce the next author, (or author-actor!) on our blog hop, the incomparable Ken Farmer!
Ken is a best-selling novelist, famous actor and rancher from Texas.With his Marine Corps service to boot, he has a huge background for storytelling. This self-proclaimed bull—-t artist uses all his skills to write not only about outlaws and peace officers, but about PEOPLE in general.
In addition to Ken’s love for writing fiction, he likes to teach acting, voice-over and writing workshops. His favorite expression is: “Just tell the damn story.”
To find more Brain to Books authors, genres, and more blog tours for this upcoming wonderful weekend at our Cyber Convention and Book Expo, visit the links below! Make sure you drop in to Brackify to vote on our Cover Wars; there are some great Western and Historical Fiction covers over there. Thanks for stopping by.
Reader Links
Author Links
More Western and Historical Fiction, Wait…..What!!
The number of historical rabbit holes I can find down which to lose myself seems to be in direct proportion to the lack of time I currently have to do it. I find myself with three stiff deadlines in my writing world, and that’s without the non-fiction books I have planned!
For instance, today I’m researching how fast Moskva, or as we know it, Moscow, was rebuilt after the French Invasion of Russia by Napoleon, or the Russian Patriotic War of 1812, depending upon your frame of reference. The dark bits are the part of Moskva that ended up burned. It was mostly wood, but the rebuild was a bit more permanent.
Of course, that leads to researching about the invasion itself, and the debacle of the French retreat–the staggering home (or not) of the remnants of the French army.
The French supply caches through the friendly countries they needed to traverse, Poland and Prussia, were well planned and executed. However, the supply trains accompanying the army, although fit for travel over central Europe’s good roads, were no match for the Russian dirt tracks, especially when rain turned them into deep mires… and the supply wagons were left far behind.
Worse, the foraging to which his armies were accustomed in the more densely populated, farmed countryside of Europe was not possible in Russia.
Add Russia’s scorched earth policy, and things get a little testy… especially when you take into account the fact that Napoleon planned to finish this war on the frontier, or by Smolensk, at the latest, and return home long before summer ended.
The Russian retreat, deeper and deeper into their own country, forced the French to follow in an attempt to engage their armies. Unfortunately, the French forces were dressed for summer… not a Russian winter…
Check out the temperatures on the early infographic below…
The width of the brown panel is indicative of the size of Napoleon’s forces heading toward Moscow. The width of the black lines shows the size of forces upon their return. At the bottom is shown the temperatures on the return “march”.
The food Napoleon expected to find in Moskva… well, it was torched too… and the city evacuated ahead of them.
Not only were numbers in Napoleon’s army lost due to fighting. Starvation, desertion, typhus and suicide took their toll as well.
The Cossacks didn’t help much either. Used to the cold, and dressed for it, they harassed the French flanks, supply lines, and lagging bits of the retreating French army.
I don’t think any of the highly trained French cavalry or wagon horses got out alive, except maybe Napoleon’s… but who knows? He rode out in a sleigh, in the end. The army didn’t have the ability to make caulked shoes that would’ve let their horses get traction in the snow and ice and there was nothing, zip, nada, for them to eat. Starved and depleted as the horses were, they were rewarded by providing food for the dying French troops.
All in all, a recipe for an incredible loss of life.
But where were we… oh yes, the rebuilding of Moskva after the fires set when the Muscovites evacuated before the French arrived, taking all supplies with them… leaving nothing for Napoleon’s armies… not even a victory…
Arggghh! Lost again.
Those rabbit holes. Watch out for them!
xx
Enjoy,
Lizzi
About the Book:
Tatiana will be the fourth story in The Long Trails series of historical fiction.
When he tsar holds the reins, nothing is certain—even life itself.
Stableman’s daughter Tatiana and Vladimir rise to glamorous heights by their equestrian abilities—but the tsar’s glittering attention is not always gold.
Pawns in the emperor’s pursuit of a coveted weapon, Tatiana and Vladimir’s infant son remain under house arrest in Russia while Vladimir recovers the weapon—or loses his wife and son.
With the odds mounting against them, can they find each other again—half a world away?
Coming this year!
Join my mailing list here to be kept informed of news and special offers for newsletter subscribers. Get a free gift of a sampler of the first chapters of the existing books in The Long Trails series, just for subscribing!
