07 Apr Virginia Crow The Year We Lived Coffee Pot Book Club Blog Tour #HistoricalFiction #TheYearWeLived #BlogTour #CoffeePotBookClub

FEATURED AUTHOR: VIRGINIA CROW

It is my pleasure to feature Virginia Crow as part of The Coffee Pot Book Club Blog Tour being held from April 5th – April 17th, 2021. Virginia Crow is the author of the historical fiction novel, The Year We Lived, which will be released by CrowvusPublisher on April 10, 2021 (350 pages).

Below are highlights of The Year We Lived, Virginia Crow’s author biography, and an excerpt from the book.

HIGHLIGHTS: THE YEAR WE LIVED

The Year We Lived

by Virginia Crow

It is 1074, 8 years after the fateful Battle of Hastings. Lord Henry De Bois is determined to find the secret community of Robert, an Anglo-Saxon thane. Despite his fervour, all his attempts are met with failure.

When he captures Robert’s young sister, Edith, events are set in motion, affecting everyone involved. Edith is forced into a terrible world of cruelty and deceit, but finds friendship there too.

Will Robert ever learn why Henry hates him so much? Will Edith’s new-found friendships be enough to save her from De Bois? And who is the mysterious stranger in the reedbed who can disappear at will?

A gripping historical fiction with an astonishing twist!

Order Links:

Amazon UK • Amazon US • Amazon CA • Amazon AU • Barnes and Noble • Waterstones • Kobo • Smashwords • Crowvus

Author Bio: Virginia Crow

Virginia grew up in Orkney, using the breath-taking scenery to fuel her imagination and the writing fire within her. Her favourite genres to write are fantasy and historical fiction, sometimes mixing the two together such as her newly-published book “Caledon”. She enjoys swashbuckling stories such as the Three Musketeers by Alexandre Dumas and is still waiting for a screen adaption that lives up to the book!

When she’s not writing, Virginia is usually to be found teaching music, and obtained her MLitt in “History of the Highlands and Islands” last year. She believes wholeheartedly in the power of music, especially as a tool of inspiration. She also helps out with the John O’Groats Book Festival which is celebrating its 3rd year this April.

She now lives in the far flung corner of Scotland, soaking in inspiration from the rugged cliffs and miles of sandy beaches. She loves cheese, music and films, but hates mushrooms.

Social Media Links:

Website • Twitter • Facebook • Instagram • Publisher • BookBub • Amazon Author Page • Goodreads

EXCERPT: THE YEAR WE LIVED

All around Robert was the half-light of dappled sunlight. The trees overhead reached high up to the sun, but the scrub of the lower branches obscured his line of vision. There was movement to his left, subtle and subdued, but it was enough to make him turn. He had left the paths hours ago. He only vaguely knew where he was going and how to return to the Hall on the lakeside. But there had been something which had beckoned him further into the forest. Sliding back the bowstring so it was both tense enough to grip and loose enough to avoid strain, he stalked in the direction of the gentle movement.

He had been hunting since he was six, accompanying his father on hunts before he led his own. He knew it was not yet time to be looking for food in the forest, but his heart would not accept such reason. He paused as the sound became louder, and he crouched down so that he was sitting on his haunches. High ferns covered his view, and he waited a moment: he had seen too many hunts lost by impatient huntsmen. Now, he ducked under the low, sprawling branch of an oak and rose to his feet slowly. The forest was thicker here. Dense leafy branches crisscrossed above him, and he took a moment to focus on his prey.

He felt his mouth fall open as his eyes rested on the milky hide of a deer. It did not appear to have noticed him, although its ears pointed forwards and then back at regular intervals. It was rooting through the debris of the forest floor, kicking its hoof to help it forage. It was crowned with elegant antlers and it lifted its head to sniff the air, more like a dog than a deer.

Robert pulled back the string of the bow.

He was about to release the arrow when the stag turned to face him. The large dark-eyed gaze looked alien and wrong in the pale creature and he took in a sharp breath at the peculiar feeling the animal was trying to communicate with him. Spellbound, he lowered the bow as he noticed a bloody scar on the creature’s front quarters. The stag straightened its neck before shaking its head, its ears twitching long after its head was stationary. It continued to hold his gaze before it gave a low, booming roar and trotted into the forest. The wound did not hinder it, and nor did the hunter.

For many seconds, which turned to minutes, Robert stared in the direction the creature had gone. In sixteen years of hunting, he had never seen such an animal. He returned the arrow to his quiver and lowered his bow while he straightened to his full height. Turning, he found he was no longer alone. Sweyn stood there, his expression as dumbfounded as Robert’s own.

“You let it go, Robert.”

“You saw it?” Robert asked, making his voice as clear as he could.

Sweyn nodded. “The creature of the king. Some would say the throne belonged to he who had it.”

“Then, if you saw it, you also let it go. There are times when the hunt will yield the most, though you may return empty-handed.”

Sweyn gave a slight smile and nodded. “You are growing more like your father with every day.”

“I try, Sweyn.” Robert returned his expression with a broad smile. “I will not see our people trampled and forgotten in the surge of Norman inhabitation. That was what drove him to Hastings. It was to protect us.”

“If you fight for the king,” Sweyn said softly, “then you fight for his people. You have never blamed me for his death, Robert, but I was sent to protect him.”

“You were his finest warrior, Sweyn,” Robert sighed, unstringing his bow in the certainty he would not be drawing it again on this hunt. “Now you are mine. But I’m afraid the Normans do not value such skills in combat. Our only way to protect ourselves and our people is to remain unseen and obscure.”

“Then you don’t mean to fight de Bois?” Sweyn asked in disbelief. “What you said to the changeling, I thought you meant to confront de Bois for what he has done to Liebling Edith.”

“I do,” Robert said, displaying none of his inner turmoil. “But it must be on my own lands, not his. I shall fight him from the shadows. I don’t expect you to join me, Sweyn, for it’s almost an assassin’s life.”

“I swore to your father-”

“I know,” Robert interrupted. They walked in silence for a moment before he continued. “Dunstan will help me, Sweyn. He has the skills for this, but not the heart. I have the heart for this but not the skills.”

“You have both, Robert. That I knew how to find you does not mean any Norman would. You do not need the son of a fairy to help you.”

“I trust him.”

There was no room in Robert’s tone for Sweyn to argue and they walked on in silence. They found their voices as they journey back towards the Hall, where it sat wrapped in the safety of forest and marsh, with the huge lake at the foot of the hill to the east. The lake fed the river and the marshes before they, in turn, fed into the mighty sea, across which both Robert’s mother and enemy had come. He walked most days down to the side of the lake and would stare out across its calm surface, seeking its depths as it reflected the heavens and wishing he knew the extents of these things, contemplating how they corresponded to himself. Was he always to skate the surface of the world, questioning what depths he could reach while he stared, dreaming of heaven?

With a renewed spring in his step, he left the Hall and collected his long fishing spear, walking out in the direction of the lake.

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