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The first book in my latest series The Locket Series.

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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 🙂

Historical People
Anne Ricciardi

From mushrooms to purported murders

After several weeks of radio silence – I took a much-needed break from everything this summer—I am now suffering from severe “post-writing abstinence”. This is

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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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Anna Belfrage Author
My upcoming release, The Castilian Pomegranate, myBook.to/POMEGRANATE has led to a lot of research as I’ve deep-dived into the history of Aragon and Castile. One of the more impressive ladies I encountered was Maria de Molina, Queen of Castile. And yes, she plays a prominent role in my story! www.annabelfrage.com/2017/08/08/the-rule-of-a-woman-of-maria-de-molina-the-wise-queen-of-castile/ See MoreSee Less
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Temporary exile in medieval Spain is no vacation – in fact, it will be something of a miracle if my protagonists escape unharmed… #histfic #historicalromance available for PREORDER myBook.to/POMEGRANATE See MoreSee Less
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Anna Belfrage Author
So: I have done the final edits, I have prepped the MS and soon, very soon, The Castilian Pomegranate will be ready to order. So I thought a little excerpt woud be nice, right?Noor sighed inwardly when her husband’s gaze lingered on the dark-haired child, happily plopping pebbles into a small puddle. Every day, she spent hours in silent prayer, asking God for guidance in this convoluted matter. Every day, she waited in vain for a divine message, and so she was left to sort the matter on her own. One thing she knew for certain: she could not abandon a child—especially not a child who had no one else in the world but them. In Lionel’s world, Robert was his father and she his mother—time enough later to clarify they were but his foster parents. Lionel’s real name was Gruffydd, and he had been entrusted into Noor’s care by none other than his real father, Dafydd ap Gruffydd, last Prince of Wales.Not only was Gruffydd the son of King Edward’s most hated enemy, he was also true-born, a child birthed by a mother who was so exhausted by the time her ordeal was over she never noticed when the newborn lad was replaced by a maid babe. These days, that unfortunate little maid child lived out her days behind the walls of a convent in Lincolnshire while Prince Dafydd’s two older sons were kept under lock and key in Bristol Castle. And should King Edward ever find out that Robert and Noor were knowingly harbouring Dafydd’s last-born son . . . She swallowed. God help them! He would likely hang Robert—if he was feeling merciful. If not, her husband would suffer the tortuous fate of not only being hanged but also drawn and quartered. Just the thought had Noor’s guts cramping, and she threw a look at her husband, presently laughing at something John was saying. His head tilted back—it always did when he laughed—his long, dark hair sweeping his shoulders. He’d dispensed with a coif—as had all his companions, even if Harry insisted on wearing a large hat, complaining that this southern sun was too hot for his poor head. Despite the heat, Robert was wearing the old leather surcoat his grandsire had given him more than a decade ago—a garment so patched and mended Noor teased her husband there was nothing left of the original. Unusually, Robert was sporting a beard—something he insisted would come off at the first decent bathhouse they passed. She agreed: it was a shame to hide his features under all that hair. Especially his mouth. At present, it tickled when he kissed her—which he did frequently. Robert laughed again. For an instant, their gazes met, his light eyes crinkling at the corners as he blew her a kiss. Her man, so full of life, and just the thought of him being tortured to death . . . No one knew, she told herself shakily—she did that often. Except that Queen Eleanor had added two and two together and harboured strong suspicions as to Lionel’s real identity, and then there was that Welshman Rhys, who had accompanied Dafydd to Orton Manor that day when he’d placed his son in Noor’s care. Only the fact that Queen Eleanor feared for her royal husband’s immortal soul had stopped her from sharing her suspicions with him. Aghast at having lost yet another son, her beloved Prince Alphonso, convinced that this was divine retribution for what Edward had done to Dafydd’s children, Eleanor had instead ordered Noor and Robert to leave England with the child, saying that as long as she was alive they were forbidden to return with the boy. “Get rid of him,” she’d said. “Leave him behind at a monastery somewhere and you are welcome to return.” Without conscious thought, Noor had steered her mare back to the litter and dismounted to hug Lionel. “Never,” she whispered into his hair. “I will never abandon you.” So instead she prayed for divine guidance and—God forgive her—for Queen Eleanor’s death. Far too often, she woke angry, silently cursing the woman who’d obliged her and her husband, their foster son and their little daughter, Isabel, to leave their home for a long and hazardous voyage. See MoreSee Less
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