Medieval Monday with Ashley York

It’s Medieval Monday. I hope you all had a great weekend. Today my guest is Ashley York with an excerpt from The Seventh Son. In this passage, Tisa is pulled from her betrothed and given to another by her father.

 Excerpt from The Seventh Son

What sounded like a bellow of rage brought immediate silence to all in the hall.

“Never!”

It was her father. She started toward the antechamber where the men had gone but Fergus held her fast. “Ye best not interfere.”

The men who had appeared deeply inebriated suddenly sobered, drawing their weapons, clearly unsure of where the danger lay. Doors slammed in the distance. Loud voices came closer. It was the Meic Lochlainn, not her father.

Fergus began to draw his sword but he was too late. The huge man closing in on her sank his dagger into the man’s chest without missing a step. The captain dropped to her feet.

“We need to see this consummated.” Aodh Meic Lochlainn replaced the bloodied blade and grabbed her by the arm, dragging her to the stairs.

Tisa looked behind her at Fergus, his blood spreading beneath him. She couldn’t speak. She couldn’t breathe. Her father came out of the anteroom. Darragh stood beside him.

“Father?” was all she could get out as she was dragged toward the stairs.

The crowd of strange men followed behind. She strained to find her father in the sea of heads but he was lost behind her.

“Nae. Stop. Where are ye taking me?” She pulled against the hurtful grip on her arm.

Darragh appeared on the other side of her and faced his father. “I will see to this, Father.”

“Are ye sure ye’re able to?” His words dripped with derision.

Tisa didn’t understand this interplay.

“Please,” she said. “My father.”

They continued moving to the top of the stairs.

“Release my wife!”

Darragh’s commanding tone brought a look of surprise from his father. They paused to face each other. His expression of surprise changed to one of respect. Tipping his head, he released his hold and raised his hand, palm out. Tisa rubbed at her arm.

“As ye will, my son. See to it then.” His jaw tightened, he moved in close, his eyes widened in warning. “Let. There. Be. No. Doubt!”

“None.”

 Back Cover Copy for The Seventh Son

Drogheda, Ireland 1076

The sixth son bears a curse as certain as the seventh son bears a blessing. When Tadhg MacNaughton’s betrothed is ripped from his arms and married to another, he believes the legend is true.

Tisa O'Brien's life slams into a downward spiral at the news she is no longer betrothed to the love of her life but to the tanist of a warring, prideful clan with dangerous political aspirations, the Meic Lochlainn. She faces her destiny with all the strength and dignity of her Irish heritage despite dealing with a husband who resents her, fighting off the lustful advances of her father-in-law, Aodh, and longing for the husband of her heart.

Tadhg MacNaughton makes a deal with the devil to ensure the survival of his clan as he is commanded to fight for Aodh who envisions himself the new Brian Boru, High King of Eire. Up close and personal, Tadhg must witness his true love's marriage and remain silent even as it rips him apart. When a sinister plot to over throw King William of England led by the exiled Leofrid Godwin and Clan Meic Lochlainn comes to light, Tadhg is faced with saving his clan or endangering his sister and her Norman husband.

An Irish beauty and a warrior betrayed, doomed in love from the start or does fate have something else in store for them?

Buy Link for The Seventh Son: Amazon

Books, Chocolate and Wine with Beppie Harrison

 Irish Roads

We were in Ireland, my husband and I, and I saw this stretch of empty road ahead of us, so I pounded on his shoulder and said, “Do take a picture here, please!” And because he is a most obliging man he didn’t even sigh. He pulled over to the side of the road and took this picture.

I was working then on a book about an Irish rebel named Diarmaid MacGuinness. He and a young Donegal girl he’d taken along with him (mostly because he didn’t like leaving her in danger at the hands of her drunken father) had to get from the Inishowen peninsula in Donegal—which is as far north and west as you can get in Ireland—to Galway, where the rebel group he was planning conspiracies with were centered. It was a long distance, close to 300 miles, and this was 200 years ago, at the beginning of the 19^th century.

Medieval Monday with Ashley York

What is Medieval Monday? Fall in love with new stories and find new authors. Each Monday for the next 12 weeks another author will share the cover and excerpt from their story. Today it's Ashley York’s turn.

The Gentle Knight by Ashley York

A medieval soldier returns home to find his lover died in childbirth just as his own mother had. Believing he is cursed, Peter of Normandy turns from love. When he must give escort to an Irish princess more noble than many knights, he struggles with his decision to live a solitary life. Can he take the chance that his love won’t be a death sentence and possibly make them stronger?

Padraig MacNaughton’s death bed decree rips his daughter, Brighit, from the shelter of her protective clan in Ireland. Forced to take vows at a Priory in England, she finds herself in the hands of lecherous mercenaries with their own agendas. Dare she trust the Norman knight to see her safely to her new life as a nun? Even when she finds in him the fulfillment of all she’s ever wanted?

Or will honor and duty eclipse their one chance for happiness?

Excerpt:

She had dreamed of him! All at once it came to her. He had taken her into his strong arms and held her tight against that hard body. Every muscle pressing into her. Then the touch of his warm lips sliding along her cheek to meet her mouth with a hungry kiss. Brighit had actually felt his lips on hers and that same heat swirled through her now.

She sighed. Yes. It was a very nice dream.

The shock of cold air accompanied with the sound of the curtain being dragged back had her eyes flying open. There in front of her was the man from the lake... the one in her very real dream. In the flash of a second, his eyes changed from wide with shock to a look she’d swear spoke of pleasure.

“And what is this?” He tipped his chin toward her, a knowing smile gracing his pleasing face.

Brighit covered herself. One arm across her breasts and one hand over her private parts. She felt like Eve posing in the Garden of Eden.

The sudden silence stole her breath away. She refused to confirm it but knew all eyes were on her.

“Do you mind?” Ivan’s voice cut through the awkward moment as he stood next to the carriage. He yanked the curtain from the fine-looking man’s hand, dropping it back in place. Brighit was again cocooned in darkness.

“Yours?” The man’s voice was low, resonating through her core. It was as appealing as his body.

She took a steadying breath, trying to calm her nerves enough to cover herself. She couldn’t have done a better job of calling attention to herself if she’d tried.

Just how many men were out there? How many men had seen her without so much as a stitch of clothing? She yanked the chemise down but it refused to cooperate. The sopping material bunched at her hips. She grabbed at her gown, her hands shaking with the rage coursing inside her.

That now familiar sound of fist-against-flesh cut through the silence.

An unfamiliar laugh. His laugh. A slight tremor responded through her insides.

“Mort,” the handsome man called to someone.

The indistinct image of a shorter man with a gaping mouth came to mind. “Yes, my lord?”

“I believe this man was about to take a terrible misstep with his fist. Does it seem to you these men have a certain…lack of knowledge?” he asked.

What arrogance!

Ivan’s angry face came to mind. She shivered. The handsome man did not know who he was dealing with.

“I would say that it does.” The shorter man was closer now.

“Mayhap some learning is required?”

“Do you believe it’s possible, my lord? Are they trainable?”

“They have a naked woman in a carriage while they fight out here over who will get her.”

She gasped, a soundless intake of air. Like a standard being dropped, the men talked at once. Tears threatened and a few leaked down her cheek. She wiped them away. She was only trying to clean herself not be fought over. Who was he to say such cruel things about her?

The morning had started out so promising. They’d had a nice time breaking their fast with very little interaction at all. Cole’s offer of extra water had come as a surprise but not one she wanted to miss.

Sudden silence. Brighit held her breath.

“And what would your name be?”

“I am called Ivan.”

“And this…young lady?”

This was just getting worse and worse. His words fairly dripped derision.

“Brighit.” She answered for herself albeit through a clenched jaw from within the carriage.

“Ireland? You’ve taken her from Ireland?”

Brighit was surprised at his ability to name where she’d come from. She wished she were still there... any place but here. This was infuriating. She could not go out there now. They may have imagined her naked and their occasional lustful glances assured her that they did. But to have them actually see her was beyond embarrassment. Embarrassment only increased by the fact that at least two of them weren’t even known to her.

“That I have.” Ivan’s smug voice drifted to her.

Whoreson!

“Please clothe yourself forthwith.”

He must be facing her now for he sounded very close. A warmth tingled up her spine. No! His voice may be low and quiet but there was nothing intimate about this situation. She struggled with the ties up the front of her dress.

“It’s what I’ve been trying to do.” Her irritation came through in her tone of voice. Good!

“And I wonder why you have not been successful thus far.” He had the nerve to sound irritated? “Just do it... and be quick about it.”

Arrogance oozed from the man!

“Yes, my lord.” She clipped her words, struggling with her wimple, and hoped her sarcasm carried through the curtain.

“Hurry up.”

“I am hurrying!” Her thick hair refused to cooperate but she was not about to go out there with so much as a single strand visible.

The man cleared his throat. Brighit would like to take a knife to it. He may be pleasant to look at but his manners lacked even the slightest courtesy.

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