Guess what! At long last, it’s release day for Let No Clan Put Asunder, the second of The Gothic Gwyn Mysteries. Here, in a nutshell, is the story:

“It was no small thing to marry into the Donnachaidh clan, and there was nowhere to hide from its past.”

So states the tagline of the gothic mystery Gwyneth Camm discovers out of place—not once, but twice—inside her newly inherited Salem home. Her deceased Aunt Ethel seems determined she read the book, and once again, Gwyn finds herself sucked into a gothic romance, inhabiting the body of its heroine.

This time, she’s a young bride in 1970 on her way to a clifftop castle that harbors secrets, Scottish legacies, hidden malice, and…a vampire? Only by learning the truth can she return to her own life, where yet another puzzle awaits.

And here’s a peek between the pages:

            Just before midnight, I tiptoed across the darkened drawing room. Anyone might be hiding in the shadows, including the black obscurities high on the vaulted ceiling. Those in particular could cloak something inhuman.

            A shiver trickled down my spine, and I paused. Do I really want to do this? The bottom line: I had to if I wanted to further the plot and solve the mystery of Alistair’s disappearance.

            I continued to the chapel. Once inside, I reached for the brass light switch on the wall to my right—the same switch Fiona used while playing tour guide—and flicked it. Nothing happened. Darkness reigned supreme, apart from two small flames in a votive candle stand near the altar.

            Had the lightbulbs burned out? Did the circuit breaker trip?

            No. Someone planned it.

            Not a comforting thought. I dared not dwell on it, or I’d lose my nerve. Determined, I hurried to the arched portal that led to the crypt and tried the light switch Garrett had used earlier. It, too, refused to work.

            An unbridled shudder ran through me. There was something creepy about a church at night, especially one flooded by darkness. Donnachaidh’s chapel was no exception. The absence of light seemed to twist the sacred into the profane and awaken primal fears. What manner of evil, arcane and unseen, slithered along the stone and woodwork of this lonely place?

            All right. That’s enough. I squared my shoulders. The lights don’t work? Fine. I’ll use a candle.

            I hastened to the votive stand. I wouldn’t take either of the lit candles; not only did they represent someone’s prayers, but the glass vessels were likely too hot to hold. I grabbed a fresh candle, held the wick to one of the flames, and put it into an unused vessel. Light in hand, I returned to the archway and padded down the spiral stairs.

            I hesitated at the bottom. Beyond the limited scope of my candle, the crypt was pitch-black. The air was charged with an ominous silence.

            Nerves aflutter, I cleared my throat. The sound seemed as loud as an avalanche. “Is anyone here?”

            A silly question, really. If someone were there, they’d let me know it. Unless they wanted to scare me.

            Or harm me. I swallowed hard and crept forward.

            David Robertson’s tomb. The thought popped into my head and wouldn’t be denied. Intuition or something more? Whatever the case, I obeyed, veering to the right. As I neared the tomb, I halted. The black bouquet was still there, but someone had altered it. Every last petal had been plucked and strewn around the base of the sarcophagus. I inched closer.

            No, not plucked. Torn from the stems and ripped to shreds.

Buy the book:

Amazon | Amazon UK | Amazon CA | Amazon AU | Goodreads | BookBub

The first book in the series, Trip the Light Phantasmic, is currently on sale for 99 cents, so there’s never been a better time to dive into the story. Both books are also FREE in Kindle Unlimited.

Thank you for your interest and support. Have a wonderful day! 🙂