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My Latest Books

Books

The first book in my latest series has just been released. Allow me to take you back to the late 13th century, where Edward I is getting ready to once and for all crush the Welsh princes. With Edward is his loyal captain, Robert FitzStephan. Robert was twelve when he saw his first battle, has accompanied Edward to the Holy Land and back. His loyalty to the king is absolute—until his new wife places him in a position where it is either betraying her or the king. What will Robert do?

She is dragged back through time to a new life, a new and frightening world. And a new man…
Love. Drama. Heartbreaking loss & heady adventure. Welcome to The Graham Saga!

My best-selling series! Winner of the HNS Indie Book of the Year 2015, plus several other awards!

Welcome to 14th century England, to the world of an inept king, a rebellious baron and an adulterous queen. Welcome to the life of Adam de Guirande, an honourable knight torn apart by his loyalties.

Sometimes, I step out of my historical settings. Like in my new WIP which is a dark, edgy romance. 

I return to the world of time-travelling. Join Duncan and Erin as they leap through time! 

Don’t forget to visit my BLOG

– that’s where I hang out the most 🙂

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Anna Belfrage, Author

Award winning author of Historical Fiction and Time Travel. Her stories will transport you to another time and place.

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So, I have put the first draft of Her Castilian Heart to bed – well, I’ve left it to marinate. Robert no longer sports a dagger in his thigh, but remarkably, he’s not exactly grateful that I’ve relieved him off it, harping on and on about having left him for all those weeks with it in his thigh. I try to explain I had to think about how to that scene was to develop and he scoffs, muttering that i probably have a sadistic streak. Who? Me????Anyway: I have now plunged into my next project, and now we’re in 1718 and we’re in Pennsylvania. At least for now. It’s back to Erin and Duncan – and Lettie graham, who is having a hard time. (Maybe I AM a sadist…) Anyway: here are the opening paragraphs of the Tides of Time.Had someone told the young Lettie Graham that one day she’d stand cowering before a man, she’d have laughed. Not her, not when Lettie was the strongest and fastest of all the Graham cousins, the best marksman—whether with musket or bow and arrow—the best rider, the best swimmer. No, that Lettie would never have allowed a man to terrorise her. That Lettie dreamed of becoming an Amazon, one of those ancient female warriors her grandmother told stories about—brave women who defended the weak and fearlessly rode into battle. But that was then, before Emrick, before days of being belittled and hurt, of being disciplined by her husband for any infraction. A wife must be dutiful. She must be obedient. Emrick whipped that message into her back and thighs, leaving purple marks that never quite faded away. No Amazon, just a frightened woman who begged the man she’d promised to love, honour and obey not to hurt her anymore. But he did, and she tried to stop herself from crying out, because it made Emrick angry if she didn’t take her punishment in silence. He slapped her. “You are a useless wife, incapable of keeping a clean house, of cooking a good meal.”Not true. She kept their home spotless and from the Dutch oven came the smell of the baking meat pie, but it didn’t matter that she scurried like a frightened mouse from the moment she woke to the moment she fell into exhausted sleep. Emrick always found fault with something.He hit her again.“Please,” she begged, and shame thronged her throat. She shouldn’t beg, she should fight back. Her younger self would have done so, but these last few years with Emrick had eroded her courage, left her an insipid and weak woman who likely deserved his ire. She should do better: clean more, cook tastier meals, sew him nicer clothes. “Please?” He laughed nastily. “You are a barren shrew, Lettie Graham, and I’ll regret wedding you ‘til the day I die.” He smiled, but his eyes were like jagged shards of glass. Once, she’d thought his green eyes beautiful. Now, they made her shiver with anticipated pain. “Or you die,” he added and swung again.His fist caught her full in the belly. He hit, she cried out. He hit and hit and hit, and only when she was lying on the floor did he stop. “Clean up the mess,” he ordered, before making for the door. “If that floor isn’t as good as new when I get back, I’ll teach you another lesson.”It took her a long time to get off the floor. Tentatively, she stretched her limbs, wincing at the sudden spurts of pain. She rose to her feet and gasped when her entire midriff protested. Nothing to worry about, no bones broken, only bruises, she told herself before finding a bucket and a clean rag with which to scrub off the blood that dotted the floor. Emrick did not return home that night. He rarely did when he’d punished her as thoroughly as he’d done today. No, instead he’d be at one of the nearby inns, laughing with his friends before accompanying a whore upstairs. She wondered bitterly if she ever hit them as he hit her. Likely not: the madam would demand payment for any damage done to one of her girls. The morning after was always the worst. Every movement hurt, from crouching over the chamber pot to staggering out to the kitchen, there to start a bright new day. A tear landed on the worn wood of the table. Another, and she hid her face in her arms and wept. That is how her neighbour found her. Not that it was the first time Mrs Vincent had seen her like this, but it shamed Lettie none the less. The older woman studied her bruised face with evident concern.“Not good,” she said bluntly. “Unless you leave him, he will kill you. Men like that, they do not stop.” She crossed herself, blushed vividly when she realised Lettie was watching her. Papists were barely tolerated in most of the colonies—not that Lettie cared, what with one of her aunts having voluntarily embraced the beliefs of the Holy Church, this despite having been raised to be a good Presbyterian.Lettie sighed. They’d had this conversation before. “And where would I go?” She rubbed a finger over a stain on the wood. “I am his wife. As such, he can always demand I return to him.”“Only if he finds you,” Mrs Vincent said. Unfortunately, Emrick knew there was only one place for her to run to: home. And while both her father and her uncles would do their best to protect her, they would risk serious fines should they attempt to keep her away from her husband. And Emrick had friends in high places, starting with that despicable Nicholas Farrell, as much of a bully and abuser as Emrick himself. See MoreSee Less
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Anna Belfrage Author
For the last three weeks, poor Robert FitzStephan has been frozen in a scene involving a dagger buried in his thigh."Three bloody weeks," he grumbles. "How could you?"It’s not as if he complains when i leave him and Noor happily embraced in their bed for that long, but I suppose he’s entitled to some complaining. Three weeks with a piece of Toledo steel in you is pretty painful.So, I’ve freed him from the dagger but have instead left him agonising about teh fate of his wife. I am thinking that three weeks of agonising is a tad too harsh, so I’ll let him know what happens in a few day."A few days?" he explodes. "This is Noor, you’re talking about! My Noor!"One could argue Noor is more mine than his, but the look he gives me has me biting back on that comment. "If she dies…" he begins, and there’s so much anguish in his voice I am tempted to reassure him. After all, my protagonists rarely die. But they do suffer! mwahahaha See MoreSee Less
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2 months ago

Anna Belfrage Author
My latest newsletter is out! mailchi.mp/telia/no-news-are-good-news See MoreSee Less
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