Castles, Knights, and Chivalry: 4 Medieval Romance Novels

by Ruth Kaufman

  His smile grew. “I must admit to looking forward to making ye my wife tomorrow.” He reached up and pushed back the hood of his cloak himself.

  Lia took a breath to reply, but Aidan stepped next to them. “And ye shall break the hearts of every lassie of marrying age from here to Stirling.” He looked at Lia and winked at her. “But I shall do my best to console as many as I can.”

  Ronan chuckled. “Until ye find a bird who sings a song ye canna resist.” He playfully shoved his brother. “Every dog has his day, and I’m sure yers will soon arrive.”

  Aidan shoved him back. “The only dog here is ye.”

  “Will you two cease?” Lia asked, fighting down her laughter.

  Ronan ducked his head and whispered in her ear. “Forgive me, lassie. I dinna mean to vex ye so, but there be too much happiness in my heart to contain.”

  She gazed up at him, suddenly remembering the eve when she first met him.

  He inclined his head, gazing at her curiously. “What?”

  “I was just remembering the eve when I first arrived. You were in so much pain. ’Tis good to see you happy now and to hear your laugh.”

  He cupped her cheek in his hand, a wealth of emotion in his eyes. “My sweet, bonny lass,” he whispered. “Thank ye. Thank ye for healing the heart of the Demon Laird. It belongs to ye, now and forevermore.”

  Author’s Note

  The series of Legacy of the Mist Clans started with Mist Warrior and the story of Branan MacTavish. As I researched the clan, I learned that MacTavish was one of what had come to be known as the “Mist Clans,” meaning that at one point in history, the clan name and everything associated with it was deemed illegal. This resulted in histories being destroyed, people hiding their true names and, therefore, their clans, and dark periods spanning several generations. While this can wreak havoc with research for the purposes of writing, it also inspires the imagination.

  As I began work on another Highland tale and started my research on a totally different clan, MacGregor (MacGrigor is simply a variant spelling), I was surprised to learn that it too was a “Mist Clan.” The more research I did, the more it appeared to me that MacGregor and MacTavish had quite a bit in common. That, in turn, opened the door to expand my ideas for the series.

  It is not known exactly when the MacGregors came to Glen Gyle, but they were there in the 1500s. I chose to set this novel in Glen Gyle because I located a map dated to approximately the fifteenth century delineating Scottish clan holdings, which had the clan located there, and also because Glen Gyle is reasonably close to Stirling Castle, especially when one starts speaking in terms of medieval warfare and siege tactics. As far as my research has shown, there was never a castle in Glen Gyle, but there is a home there built by a famous MacGregor, Rob Roy.

  While writing in this time period and this genre demands the author use artistic license here and there, I always make great effort to research and use as much factual history as possible. I work to present characters and situations within a window of history using a premise with a strong enough foundation that it not only entertains but presents to the reader a possibility that it might have actually happened.

  Ronan’s illness, the falling-down sickness, consisting of attacks we now call seizures (some are epileptic, others are not), can display in a variety of ways. As a child, he displayed “absence seizures”. These “cause a short loss of consciousness (just a few seconds) with few or no symptoms. The patient, most often a child, typically interrupts an activity and stares blankly. These seizures begin and end abruptly . . . (The patient) may be aware of ‘losing time.’” (WebMD.com)

  After le March tortures him, Ronan’s illness manifests itself in a different form: “The most common and dramatic, and therefore the most well-known, is the generalized convulsion, also called the grand-mal seizure. In this type of seizure, the patient loses consciousness and usually collapses. The loss of consciousness is followed by generalized body stiffening (called the ‘tonic’ phase of the seizure) . . . then by violent jerking (the ‘clonic’ phase) . . . after which the patient goes into a deep sleep (the ‘postictal’ or after-seizure phase). During grand-mal seizures, injuries and accidents may occur . . . ” (WebMD.com)

  The falling-down sickness was often misunderstood during this time period and many did believe it a sign of possession. Common folk were not typically educated and often fell prey to superstition, yet on the other end of the spectrum, nobles, while educated, were just as human as the next man, and superstition can have a powerful impact.

  Yet the illness was known and had been diagnosed. Hemlock, although a potent poison, was indeed used to treat the falling-down sickness, and it was also considered an accepted treatment for palsy, mania, and dropsy.

  The story opens with young Ronan and Aidan discovering a void that leads under the foundation of the keep and curtain wall built over the “footprint” of ancient ruins.

  Sapping was a common strategy in medieval siege warfare and the combination of the discovery and siege tactics at the time leads to Ronan’s idea to tunnel out.

  For medieval castles, tunnels and secret passages or escape routes are popular points of intrigue and hundreds of legends abound. Unfortunately, historians have only been able to confirm the actual existence of a select few secret passages. Some of the most popular in historical fact are the tunnels of Valkenburg Castle in the Netherlands. History has documented the tales of the Ghost Knights, who would mysteriously appear behind the enemy laying siege to the castle and attack. The tunnels were also used to bring supplies in, thereby rending the point of siege warfare useless.

  Longshanks’s trebuchet, Lupus Guerrae, the War Wolf, was indeed the reason why Stirling Castle fell in 1304. The besieged Scots watched for five months without hope of rescue while Longshanks constructed the massive engine (as well as assembled the smaller ones he had brought with him). When close to completion, the Scots attempted to surrender to Longshanks, but he refused, sending them back into the castle just so he could see what the trebuchet could do. Documented to be 300-400 feet long, it is said that one blow from the engine destroyed an entire curtain wall, but some historians believe it was actually the original gatehouse (barbican) of Stirling Castle that the War Wolf obliterated.

  I believe it an important point to mention that historians debate whether Stirling Castle actually had an “original” gatehouse during this time period. If it did exist—and again considering the period, it should have had one—War Wolf destroyed it so totally that historians can’t decide if it was really a part of the original construction or if the gatehouse was added years later.

  I hope you enjoyed reading Demon Laird, for creating these characters and situations has been a delightful adventure for me and has developed to such a point that it has expanded the Legacy of the Mist Clans series potential dramatically. Ronan’s brother, Aidan, will definitely get his own story.

  To those readers of Mist Warrior who hoped to see sequels for Gavin de Reigny and Tristan of Greystoke, worry not, those are still planned, and as the series expands and develops, I hope to weave the threads of each into a vibrant tapestry, similar to the one Ronan brings to mind in the close of Demon Laird.

  Thank you again, and happy reading!

  Special Announcement

  As this special edition box set heads into production at the end of May 2015, Demon Laird is preparing to make its debut as an audiobook on Audible, Amazon, and iTunes. Unfortunately, at the time of preparing these files, I do not have an exact release date nor do I have any links. The fastest way to get updates is to follow me on Twitter @kathrynloch. I’m discovering that’s the easiest for me to make announcements, especially with various deadlines looming.

  The next best way is to check my blog for updates and announcements www.kathryn-loch.com. But I’ll fire off a tweet a lot faster and easier than a blog post. Although, I will be making several more announcements in the near future. ACX also awarded stipends to Mist Warrior and Heart’s Ransom. Th
ose books will be headed into production right when Demon Laird is hitting e-tailers’ stores as a solo audiobook - the last week of May or the first week of June 2015.

  There will also be announcements on a special live stream series I will be kicking off on YouTube and Twitch.tv, not to mention other announcements with new book releases, and of course, other announcements.

  I would also like to take a quick moment to ask everyone who has read any of my novels to please take a few minutes to leave a review on Amazon. I am discovering reviews are a key factor in these stipend awards and that funding is a deciding factor on how quickly the novel makes it to audiobook.

  ACX uses an algorithm to flag stipend qualified projects It takes into account past sales numbers, best seller rankings, and the average review score on the book, it also looks at the number of reviews - plus a few other things.

  Shadowed Hawk outsold Demon Laird upon release, and for a long time, stayed well in the top 20 on Amazon’s Medieval and Scottish best seller list. But it was not awarded a stipend like Demon Laird.

  Although there is no way for me to be certain, I strongly believe the reason it algorithm bypassed it was because it only had 38 reviews at the time. The average review score was 4.7 so that was very good. Heart’s Ransom, on the other hand, has enjoyed excellent sales numbers, but not as high as Shadowed Hawk. It however received a stipend award even though it only has 56 reviews, but it has a 4.7 rating average as well.

  I always appreciate readers to take the time to leave well-thought out reviews, even if some of them might be rather critical. I always try to consider points, good and bad, in reviews in order to improve my writing. Constructive critiques in reviews have even inspired me to re-write a few novels and make the suggested corrections. Haunted Heart is one example and soon, I hope to release a new version of Blind Impulse, following some reviewers suggestions there as well.

  Never before in this rapidly changing industry has the reader’s voice carried such weight that it can now profoundly impact the future incarnations that a novel might take. Honestly, as a reader myself, I think this change has been long in coming. The success or failure of a novel, and ultimately that of an author, has always resided with the reader, not corporations, or PR firms with their marketing ploys and focus groups.

  So if you have not yet done so, please consider leaving a review not only for this box set, and Demon Laird, but for any of my other novels you might have read. Your voice definitely makes a difference.

  Thank you for your time, and thank you for reading Demon Laird and Castles, Knights, and Chivalry.

  Cheers,

  Kathryn Loch

  Kathryn’s Amazon Author Page

  Demon Laird Audio Book on Audible.com

  The Lady and the Falconer Copyright

  The Lady and the Falconer

  Copyright © 2011 by Laurel O'Donnell

  www.laurel-odonnell.com

  ODONNELL BOOKS

  ISBN# 978-0-9848895-0-1

  Cover design by Kimberly Killion

  All rights reserved. No part of this romance ebook may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means including information storage and retrieval systems – except in the case of brief quotations in critical articles or reviews – without permission in writing from its author, Laurel O'Donnell.

  The characters and events portrayed in this historical romance novel are fictitious or are used fictitiously. Apart from well-known historical figures, any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental and not intended by the author.

  THE LADY AND THE FALCONER

  A Medieval Romance

  Laurel O'Donnell

  Prologue

  England, 1373

  “Ready or not, here I come!” a young girl's voice cried out in the distance.

  Solace Farindale pressed a hand over her mouth and giggled, scrunching lower behind three bales of hay. She didn't know where her friend Gwen was hiding because as soon as Helen had begun counting, she'd run into the barn and dove behind the hay. Lillian, her maidservant, would no doubt be angry she had dirtied her new velvet dress, but Solace couldn't resist such a perfect hiding place. The sweet smell of straw filled her nose, and several strands tickled her back as she settled into her spot. She loved coming to visit Helen on her farm. She and Gwen had begged their fathers to let them go, just for the afternoon, and after much pleading the men had reluctantly agreed. It was half a morning's ride from Gwen's home, but well worth it.

  Finally, after a brief moment of expectant waiting, Solace peeked through a slit between the hay bales. The barn was empty. Several stalls that used to house horses now stood vacant. Solace knew Helen's parents had to sell the beasts off because their crops had yielded a poor harvest last year. Solace scanned the narrow area of the barn that she could see through the opening, but there was still no sign of Helen. She shrugged and settled back to wait.

  Then she heard the barn door creak open. Her eyes widened and again she placed a hand over her mouth as she slid lower behind the hay, afraid her giggles would give her away. But there was no scurry of searching feet, no calls of her name.

  Solace shifted and peered through the slit between the hay bales. She glimpsed a woman grabbing a rusty bucket from the ground and carrying it to an empty stall across from her. It was only Helen's mother, Anne. Solace's gaze flew to the door. Where is Helen? she wondered.

  Anne placed the bucket on the ground next to a small pile of seeds. She scooped up a handful with her cupped palm and dumped them into the bucket.

  “Good afternoon, Anne,” a man called out. His deep, guttural voice gave the greeting a harshness that belied the innocence of his words.

  Solace heard Anne gasp and she tilted her head, leaning closer to the narrow opening between the bales. She saw two men dressed in chain mail lurking near the door and one man standing inside the barn. She nervously twirled a strand of dark hair around her finger as a feeling of fear engulfed her. The tall man wasn't a good man. She could sense the evil in him, as if a dark cloud belonged over his head. His hair was immaculate, styled in a fashionable bowl-cut, black as the night. The red velvet of his jupon was tailored to his chest and arms, padded somewhat at the chest and shoulders to accent their broadness. The collar reached all the way to his neck. He had the coldest blue stare she had ever seen.

  “Lord Randol,” Anne greeted with a slight bow.

  Randol sauntered closer to her. “Looks like you've kept the barn in good order.”

  “It's our living, m'lord. We take good care of our things.”

  “Perhaps you should take as good care of your lord,” he grumbled. “Where's your husband?”

  “In the fields, of course, m'lord,” she replied.

  Solace watched lord Randol nod as if he already knew what Anne would say. “I'm here for my taxes, Anne.”

  “M'lord, my husband explained to you that the rains and the flooding have washed out most of the crops.”

  “You're three months behind in your payments, Anne,” Randol interjected.

  Solace saw Anne wring her hands and she sensed something terrible was coming, but she didn't know what to do.

  “I realize that, m'lord,” Anne said. “But we have nothing to pay you with. You have all our animals. We have no coin, no –”

  “Coin is not what I'm asking for.” He reached out and ran a finger along the bare skin at her throat.

  Solace watched with growing fear as Anne's eyes widened in outrage and her slender fingers slapped lord Randol's large hand aside.

  “You go too far this time,” Anne retorted. “You've taxed us until we've become unable to pay. You've taken everything from us. I will not give you myself, too!”

  “You have little choice, Anne,” Randol said, stepping closer. “With nothing else to give, it's either that or your house.”

  Anne stepped away from him. “Sleeping in a field is preferable to your touch,” she spat.

  “You won't think that come win
ter,” he murmured, but loud enough for Solace to hear. Again Randol reached out to Anne, this time grabbing hold of her dress and yanking it from her shoulder.

  Solace wanted to flee, wanted to escape the horrible man, but she dared not move. The two men lurking in the doorway would surely see her.

  Anne bolted for the door. Randol caught her in his arms, pulling her hard against his chest. “Such a willing wench,” he whispered, licking her ear.

  Anne whirled, striking out at her attacker, raking her nails down his face.

  Lord Randol howled his disbelief and rage, and pushed her to the ground. He raised his fingers to his gashed cheek. “Bitch,” he snarled, studying the blood on his hand. He undid his belt and let his breeches fall to the ground.

  “No!” Anne screamed, struggling uselessly as Randol dropped to his knees.

  The hay bales blocked Solace's view of Anne. All she could see was lord Randol's face, the ugly grimace that twisted his features. She had never seen anything more vicious in her life, the way his lips sneered like a snarling animal's, the way his cold eyes stared like a venomous serpent's at Anne. She heard Anne screaming and sobbing, saw her hands come up to push Randol away. He ignored her flailing fists and continued to violently thrust himself at her.

  Tears came to Solace's eyes. She didn't know what was happening, but she knew that Anne was being hurt. She pressed her hands to her ears, trying to block out the sounds of Anne's cries.

  Finally, lord Randol rose to his feet and wiped an arm across his slashed cheek. Without a word, he turned away.

  Hot tears ran down Solace's cheeks. She was trembling all over. She fought to choke back her sobs, terrified of what the man would do to her if he found her.

  Anne's moans filled the air. Solace watched lord Randol take a menacing step toward the woman, and a bright flash of silver flared across her vision, arcing toward Anne.