I’m excited to share this long-awaited extra taste of what’s coming in Orange. Below you’ll find the second preview of the opening chapters of Half an Orange in Gretna Green. (You can find the first preview HERE if you missed it)

Spoiler Warning

If you have not completed Spilling the Tea, please don’t even consider reading this.

Specifically, you must have read The Valkyries Are Flying which is the final, ridiculously long ‘novella’ in the Tea Collection.
Otherwise, this includes HUGE spoilers for any reader who hasn’t completed the whole of (or doesn’t remember) the multiple long novellas in Spilling the Tea in Gretna Green which all take place between Market Forces and Orange.

If you haven’t read Spilling the Tea yet, you can read it in Kindle Unlimited (as always) or buy it as an ebook or paperback from Amazon here.

Provided you have, maybe grab a cuppa because here comes the second part of the preview 🥳
My editor has not yet had her magical fingers on it, so please forgive any errors.

Half an Orange in Gretna Green
Chapter Two

Monday, 3rd May, 2021, Gateway Cottage, Gretna Green, Scotland

This was not a good start to my special day.

My morning meetings with Dola were usually one of the best parts of my new life, but since Cassie’s birth she’d sometimes behaved eccentrically.
Eccentric was a polite way to describe a coffee mug with a graphic of crawling worms, wasn’t it?

I had plans for today. Those plans did not include worms.
Even Tilly, at her most revolting, didn’t mess with worms.
Well, apart from any contained in the various samples of animal crap she rolled in. I pushed that disgusting thought away firmly and reconsidered my mug.

The worms framed a quote, “Gilded tombs do worms infold …” — William Shakespeare. It made no sense to my caffeine-deprived brain. So I ignored it for now, drank some coffee with my eyes closed and asked. “Dola, was there a reply overnight?”

We’d emailed the emperor. 

He hadn’t responded. 

Which wasn’t exactly a shock. But concern was replacing my anger. Alphonse had been so much more positive and responsive after his lessons with Aysha and then Fi at the Gateway Exhibition. His recent emails had been cheerful. Although he and Sabby had been missing from some recent events, like Caitlin’s twenty-fifth birthday celebrations.

Dola’s voice was patient as she replied. “I understand this is a problem but I shall inform you the moment the emperor responds.”

The Gretna Green Gateway’s calendar was full later this week, but I’d planned a couple of days to get ahead of the game. My Stuff To Do list would be comprehensively and efficiently dealt with. I would have time to clear email, do thorough research into Galicia and onboard Peter properly once he was back.

The forthcoming arbitration, which began tomorrow, was exciting. Dola had scheduled a discovery session between a mining company and the petitioner, a Galician resident, Señor Pereiro—look at the new me remembering his name!
His home was being damaged by unhappy goats and subsidence. Doing my actual job as the Recorder was always satisfying. But to do it well, I needed to learn about Galicia. 

My overfull STD list included being properly prepared just for once instead of playing catch-up. 

The Book had answered several questions for me during the weekend as I thought of them. But apart from telling me it had no evidence that any member of the Galician church had, or even could have, stolen or blocked Alphonse’s regnal power, I’d discovered nothing new. 
I’d pushed, of course, you know me by now, right? I’d pointed out that people had messed with another realm’s regnal power several times to my certain knowledge.

The Book told me that the entities who’d been able to affect regnal power weren’t ordinary people. They were demi-gods like Prince Dai, or using the power of witches. 

Seeing Dai described as a demi-god stopped me for a minute. “Would that mean Rhiannon is also part-deity?” I asked.

Rhiannon ap Modron’s most important rank is Queen of the Dragons.

Which didn’t quite answer my question, but other than making a note to let Breanna know that Elliot’s family, the Canmores, might have employed witchcraft, I’d moved on. I couldn’t see any kind of church—however different the Galician one seemed to be—using witches. In my admittedly limited experience, churches and witchcraft didn’t go together. 

But I still didn’t know why Alphonse hadn’t supported the Recorder at the challenge. 

My intentions for today included waking this morning feeling competent and in charge, exactly as I’d always imagined an all-powerful woman would feel. 

Because today was the day. 

According to my journal app, today was the one hundredth day since I’d returned to Gretna Green, set foot in Gateway Cottage as an adult, and reconnected with the power.

A 100-day freaking crash course in being the Recorder and finding my spine. The new me began today, and she planned to use her authority.

But when I took another long draught of coffee and re-read the mug, I pinched myself.

“Ouch!” OK, you’re judging me, aren’t you? 

But I’ve had some strange and disturbing dreams recently, and Dola giving me worms and quoting Shakespeare at me before my eyes were fully open suggested I might still be dreaming.

My calm day ahead should have been a blessing from the Goddess Tranquillitas. So why was I allowing a coffee mug to disturb me?

Settling at my favourite table in the world, I stroked my fingers happily over the gnome and the cat who lived in the grain of the wood. I didn’t think I could call it my kitchen table anymore, given it now lived in our private breakfast room. But I loved it, and usually it grounded me. So why wasn’t I happy yet?

“I wonder how old this table is?” I mused.

I’d only been thinking aloud, but Dola answered me, “I did not create it, so I am uncertain. It dates back to Morag’s time as the Recorder, I think. It might be Elinor’s or even someone earlier. But it must be mine now because I can resize it when necessary.”

Even the knowledge that my favourite battered wooden table was an antique couldn’t move my brain away from the idea that I might have cheated in that challenge. That did not fit my new goals.

When Rollo and I had both defeated Leif at the opening of the Viking parliament, everyone except me was delighted. No-one with a functioning brain would waste time pretending to be surprised that my handsome, physically fit, bond mate with his phenomenal knife skills would defeat Leif.

But me? I was about as far from a warrior woman as it was possible to get, as Caitlin reminded me frequently.

But as my gran often commented, there was more than one way to skin a cat.

The goddess disguised as a cat, who perched on the adjoining chair at my breakfast table, gave me a glare out of glowing green eyes that suggested she’d read my mind.

I met her eyes defiantly. “I didn’t say it. If you go delving in my mind you can deal with what you find there.”

She sneezed and looked away.

One down … 

But then she turned her gaze back to me and, in a tone that brooked no argument, said, “You are being ridiculous Recorder.”

Was I? “How so?”

“Your thoughts suggest you think you cheated to win against Leif. You did not. You took advantage of his lack of foresight and arrogance but that is no crime and certainly not cheating. Why do so many people especially modern women, believe that using their knowledge or their intelligence is cheating? Men would call it a clever strategy and take the credit.”

I’d always wanted to become one of those kick-ass women I loved to read about. And what was more kick-ass than winning a challenge against a Viking? But I hadn’t really won on my own. I’d only managed it because almost all the leaders of the realms backed me.

She wasn’t done with me. “You did not cheat. You used a loophole created by Leif’s lamentably pedestrian mindset, inadequate number of brain cells and dearth of research. Remember, in choosing to challenge you he was himself trying to use a loophole against Rollo. He followed advice from the supporters of the man you brought down. They hoped to strike a fatal blow against the Recorder’s Office. Viking should not allow a challenge against one person to be transferred to their partner. I shall be unsurprised if one of the laws Inge plans to pass this week specifically outlaws that option.”

“I hope she does because if Leif had challenged Niki instead of the Recorder, I’d probably be dead now. Because I couldn’t have used the obligation the realms have to the Gateway and the Recorder to get myself out of that awful mess.”

“We would nottt have permittted thattt ttto happen.” I hadn’t known you could hiss using T instead of S, but HRH managed it as she spat the words precisely through her teeth. Then she stood, stretched, and in a softer tone added, “The royals did not assist you only because of their contractual obligations to the Gateway but because you have assisted almost all of them. They were repaying favours.”

I thought about it. She might be right. In my first hundred days, I’d helped Breanna, Lis and Mags, Mabon and Rhiannon, Rollo, and even Ad’Rian, but not Alphonse. Was that why he hadn’t deployed the orange regnal power?
Until I could ask him, I wouldn’t know for sure. “That doesn’t make me feel better. It still means I couldn’t defend myself. That’s not building my personal confidence however much everyone else thinks I was some kind of genius, really I was just lucky that Leif wasn’t very smart.”

“Have you shared this concern that you cheated with Rollo?”

“No, of course not. He’s thrilled and celebrating. He needs a break from all the politics. Working on a game this week will do him good.” 

Our potential separation worried me because, when we couldn’t see each other, our new bond stretched too thin and made us both itchy and me bitchy.

The healthy habits we’d formed of eating together at least once a day and sleeping together whenever we could calmed the bond’s energy into something deeper and more supportive. Our trip last week to see the northern lights had powered up our connection, and I didn’t yet know if that would make the separation easier or harder.

His busy week meant I’d sensibly planned a quiet Gateway-based one, so I could do admin tasks and pop up to Edinburgh instead of it always falling to him to fit around the Recorder’s necessities. The stress-testing on Metal Maven’s latest game was this week. Thanks to all the changes in the Viking realm, he was behind with his work. Now the company in which he was a major shareholder wanted its Game Optimiser and Developer back. I’d wondered how they’d managed without him while he was stuck in Viking before we dealt with Troels. But when I asked, he simply said, “I can work from anywhere, but it’s great to be closer to the team now I don’t have to pacify Troels. If I left the realm he wasn’t above taking his anger with me out on people I care about.”

During the last hundred days, various royals had told me to work out what kind of Recorder I wanted to be. I’d been doing pretty well. The Recorder had created a few serious wins, but me, as an individual? I wasn’t so sure.

So for my next hundred days, I’d decided to figure out who I wanted Niki to grow up into. One thing was for certain: it wouldn’t be a person who cheated or one who thought that edged weapons were a valid answer to a problem. Perhaps I was being arrogant, but what was the point of having the power if I didn’t use it to make life better for people?

The cat watched me with interest, obviously following my thoughts, but I didn’t mind. She hadn’t been any real part of my problems—other than when she nearly screwed up by not telling me clearly to summon Rollo. But then she’d healed him and served justice on his behalf against his attackers, so I couldn’t hold a grudge.

I asked, “Do you have an opinion?”

The look she gave me could have boiled the worms adorning my mug. I shuddered and drank more coffee so I could get rid of it.

“I am rarely short of opinions. In this instance, however, I find myself mildly impressed. One hundred rotations is an unexpectedly brief span in which to grasp even the outline of such advanced truths.”
I didn’t gape because my mouth was full of coffee, but I swallowed in a hurry.

I understood advanced truths? Only by freaking accident.

“Erm, which advanced truths do you think I’m beginning to understand?” I expected one of her scathing comments or even a view of her rear end as she left, but no—she surprised me again.

“That a title possesses no true authority beyond that of the one who bears it. Improve yourself, and the authority increases. Attempt to elevate the title first …” Her tail flicked once. “Consider your ancestors. That has been tried. Repeatedly. The results were uniformly disappointing.”

Damn, she wasn’t wrong. Did greater wisdom come with age, or was that just another fallacy?

“How old are you?” I didn’t for one minute think she’d answer me, but I’d decided to start asking clearer questions. If that made people uncomfortable, it was their problem. Because if they wouldn’t give me any straightforward answers, why should I take their advice? Ad’Rian, Mabon, Rhiannon, Alphonse, Sabella, and even Agnes’ annoying answers in the Book were all so damn evasive, and I was tired of it. It was time I started saying, I’m the Recorder. Just tell me what I need to know, and now would be a good time to do that. And meaning it.

“I may have seen more than five millennia.” HRH watched me with interest. 

“Well crap, I didn’t think you’d answer me. You’re five thousand years old!” Even the kings weren’t that old.

The cat stared at me. “I shall offer you a free piece of advice Recorder or even given your current goal, I shall offer it to Niki if you prefer?”

When I nodded, she said, “If you plan to ask more complex questions you must learn to listen harder to the answers. Now let us discuss breakfast.”

Chapter Three

But I couldn’t face breakfast yet, because the worms were still making me queasy.

“I don’t understand my mug, Dola.” I finished my coffee.

“I have been researching Galicia as you requested.”

“Oh OK. Great.” Was it like Australia and full of strange and terrifying creepy-crawlies? “Do they have an unusual amount of worms there?”

My mug refilled itself.

But it didn’t change, aargh!

I could have sworn the worms on it were multiplying. They probably weren’t, but they gave me chills.

Damn it, now I had that stupidly catchy song from Grease swirling around in my mind.

Rollo sent, “Morning Boo. You’re definitely The One That I Want. Have a great day. See you tonight.”

I blew him a mental kiss as Dola reassured me. “I do not believe they have excess worms, no.”

Phew! I sipped my fresh coffee and hoped for inspiration. “Then why are they spoiling my mug?”

“The quote is from a Shakespeare play, the Merchant of Venice.”

HRH purred, “It was one of his more problematic efforts, but I see the similarities with Galicia.”

I half-remembered it; we’d done it at school. “The one with the pound of flesh in it?”

Dola said, “Yes, but this is from the earlier part of the story where Portia is trying to choose a suitor and her late father left her with a challenge to assist her.”

That rang a vague, distant bell and helped me not at all.

Dola continued, “He gave her three caskets to help her to choose the right husband.”

“Okaaay?” I had a hazy memory but absolutely no idea what it had to do with worms. “And how, exactly, does this connect to your research into Galicia?”

“When the golden casket is opened there is a scroll inside it which rejects her first potential beau.
It says:

All that glisters is not gold—
Often have you heard that told.
Many a man his life hath sold
But my outside to behold.
Gilded tombs do worms infold.
Had you been as wise as bold,
Young in limbs, in judgment old,
Your answer had not been inscrolled.
Fare you well; your suit is cold.”

Dola recited it well—far better than I could have done—but it still didn’t explain my worm-adorned mug.
Shakespeare mostly made me feel inadequate. How often had I understood every word he used and still been baffled by what the man was actually getting at?

“Sorry Dola, but why—” I cut myself off, not sure how to finish my sentence without a bald question about exactly why we were discussing long-ago literature and invertebrates before breakfast? Then I debated whether invertebrates was the word I actually meant, gave in and googled it. Yep, soft-bodied creatures lacking a backbone. A bark of laughter escaped before I could stop it as my thoughts returned to Alphonse.

Happily, Dola was unaware of my distraction and continued. “The Prince of Morocco chose the gold casket because he believed a valuable woman like Portia deserved only the finest. He fell for the sparkling exterior illusion. The message highlights one of the play’s themes that true worth lies inside, not on the surface.”

Yeah, I knew that, right?

Course I did.

My left shoulder pinged.

Dola was clearly fascinated by her discoveries, so I paid attention. “It began when you asked me to look into how the Galician realm functions in the modern day. They do not have a modern day to function in, but I looked into the orange realm anyway. Everything is extremely traditional there and I may have become distracted by the value they place on prestigious entombment caskets. They love their ‘gilded tombs’ and have a variety of sarcophagi, crypts, jewelled sepulchres, vaults and even a charnel house. Ossuaries are used extensively. They also believe worms are sent by their god to work for them.”

I could find nothing polite to say about that because the differences between the types of coffins eluded me. Instead, I asked, “And this is important to their church guys?”

“We should discuss your erroneous conclusion later but unusually for Sancta Abundancia they do not object to images of their tombs appearing. Beautiful paintings, sculptures and more recently even photos of them are available. There appears to be considerable national pride in them.”

She paused as though that explained everything. But it didn’t. “Okaaay, what’s the Sancta whateveryousaid? Oh and what is it you think I should learn from this?”

“The Sancta Abundancia is what you call the Galician church. In researching their varied burial options I came across Shakespeare, and Portia’s choice. That led me to the emperor when he wanted Natalia to marry Miguel, with whom she had no bond. Unlike Portia Natalia rejected her father’s choice.

“Huh.” This still didn’t feel like it satisfactorily explained my worm-riddled morning caffeine. Maybe a house didn’t find worms as creepy as I did? “I know I’m a wimp Dola, but these worms are putting me off even the idea of breakfast. Now I’ve seen the quote may we change the mug?”

My mug changed to a gorgeous deep green one adorned with a man in a classic Roman toga.
The words on it, stacked vertically, confused me even more, but at least they weren’t wriggling.

Educare
Vs
Educere

“Is that Latin?”

Seriously? Become the Recorder … deal with an English literature class, worms, a cat goddess, Shakespeare, and a sentient house spouting Latin before breakfast.

A hundred days ago, I wouldn’t have believed my life could change so much. But I wasn’t complaining. Every day with Dola was a holiday compared to eighteen years of working for my ex-boss, Janet.

“Yes, Niki. I researched their education policies to brief you before your inspection of the Galician school.”

I frowned at the mug. “So what difference does the A or the E in the middle make?”

“I am unsure whether you mean the spelling or the principle, but educare focuses on instruction. Whereas educere emphasises fostering critical thinking and inner capabilities. The first forces knowledge into children. The second allows a student to develop by drawing out their innate skills. Galicia focuses only on turning out well-educated replicas.

“Replicas of what?”

“Of their instructors who have to be fully-paid up members of the Sancta Abundancia”

That was a strange way to phrase it.
I drank more coffee. “When did they reschedule the visit to? And why is it now an inspection?”

I knew we should have gone last Friday. But Autumn’s birthday and the opening of the Viking parliament were enough for one day. I’d asked Dola to move it.

“The school is expecting you this morning.”

So much for my research and clearing my STD list. Today wasn’t going as I’d hoped. But the worms were gone, and HRH and I decided on our old favourite comfort food. Tilly was always ready for scrambled eggs, and I asked for extra wholemeal toast.

The sense of power, authority, and dedication to getting essential jobs done that I’d got up with was dissipating too quickly for my liking. A few carbs might help me retrieve it. And if not, then well-buttered toast was always a small win, and Dola served excellent toast.

We ate in silence. I refreshed my email, sighed and thought about my options. I needed to know if Alphonse had chosen not to use the orange power to support me or if he wasn’t able to, because those were two quite distinct problems. If he wouldn’t answer me and the power didn’t want me to summon him, maybe I should visit the empress. She’d issued many invitations. Perhaps I’d accept one of them today on the way back from this school. Damn, I hadn’t asked the power if I could summon her, had I?

Eventually, dragging me out of my reverie, HRH said, “My thanks for the breakfast.”
There was a pause before she continued. “Recorder, it is always a pleasure to eat smashed eggs and salmon with you. I shall permit you to get on with your day.”

Had she thanked me, Dola, or both of us? I was trying to avoid doing or saying the wrong thing about the detente that seemed to be in progress. I tucked it away to think about and put several spare pieces of salmon from my plate onto her empty dish. Tilly gave me her dejected expression, so I snuck her a tiny piece of my toast with the last of my egg and attempted to pick HRH’s brain before I lost her attention. “I’m researching Galicia this week. What do you know?”

“I don’t believe I know anything that would interest you. The quote mentioned was intriguing.” Her tail pointed at my now-inoffensive coffee mug. “They are trapped in what Ad’Rian might call a Shakespearean comedy of errors with dark undertones.”

At my confused glance, she added, “Or perhaps because he is a man of culture, the Fae king might more correctly say they are living in a Greek tragedy.”

I shook my head. Shakespeare, twice before my day had even started? The damn cat could be as oblique as the bard.

But happily for me, she added, “Galicians like the Greeks bring no comic relief to their dramas. Mabon might tell you they were stuck in a 1980s movie.”
At least I stood a good chance of understanding a movie. “Which 1980s movie?”
“Any of the many from that decade where money is the dominant theme or driving force in someone’s world. Ask Mabon, he may host you a watch party. He has time now the rugby match is behind him and he has paid his bar bill.”

“I’ll check in with him.” The cat looked smug which inspired me to ask, “Is he all right, did he collect his winnings from you in the end?”

“That is none of your business, Recorder.”

She might be right, but something had niggled at me when I’d overheard their conversation on Friday night about Mabon still owing her something. “I didn’t realise you’d renege on a bet.”

The anger on her face was apparent, as her fur fluffed out. “The use of necromancy should have been declared in advance.”

“I don’t think it was necromancy exactly. Didn’t he just use his boyos’ ancestors love of the game to encourage this year’s rugby team, thanks to the boundaries thinning on the eve of May Day?”

“I see you are on the king’s side as usual. I shall take my leave of you before we quarrel.”

I may have misjudged that; she sounded sincerely aggrieved. I’d better ask Mabon. But I needed to establish what, if anything, she knew that might help me with the arbitration or the emperor. “I’d be grateful for anything that might help me with Galicia.”

As she assessed me, her coat smoothed to sleekness, and her tail wrapped itself tidily around her paws. “What have you learnt thus far?”

“Erm … not much.”

“Then return when you have more interesting questions. That realm is none of my concern. I owe them nothing. But Recorder do not forget how much they owe you.”

With that, she disappeared under the table.

I still know OK?

That wasn’t enough either … right?

But it’s now less than 100 days before Half an Orange in Gretna Green is released!

Which really isn’t too much longer to wait – and you have summer to enjoy in the meantime.

The fantastic news is that now that you’ve read the first three chapters, there’s still another EIGHTY to go in the final book 😁

The obligatory promo follows … but remember I adore my KU readers and don’t care whether you use it (as I often do myself) or buy the book.
BUT if you plan to read it in KU, I would be immensely grateful if you would please add it to one of your Amazon wish lists.
Any wish list will do it. In any country.
(It helps Amazon to notice that readers are excited about it and they do a little more promotion on my behalf, which really helps to pay my editor 😀)

Half an Orange in Gretna Green
will release on the 30th October 2026.

It will be available to read in Kindle Unlimited, ebook and paperback.

You can preorder or add it to your wishlist now.

Preorder if you want the ebook, but if you intend to read in KU or buy the paperback (Note: I can’t do preorders for paperbacks), please add it to your wish list so you will be notified as soon as it is available. It helps boost my Amazon ratings, even if you just add it to your wish list. Thank you very much ❤️

Half an Orange in Gretna Green on Amazon

Want to read the description of Half an Orange on my site instead? Click Here

Want to see how the cover design came about? Readers say it’s funny (what do I know?)
Snippets from the many conversations with my fabulous cover designer here.