Please leave feedback on what you thought of the story! I am working on book 17 right now and your thoughts and comments help me become a better writer! Thank you :).
Here are the novels in this series. While they do have an 'order' in sense of the sword being passed from heroine to heroine, they can be read in any order. Each has its own set of characters and is set in its own location. All are available on Amazon.
Knowing Yourself
Finding Peace
Believing Your Eyes
A Sense of Duty
Trusting in Faith
Creating Memories
Sworn Loyalty
Lady in Red
In A Glance
Badge of Honor
Seeking the Truth
Looking Back
Seeing a Ghost
Wearing a Mask
Being Aware
Becoming Whole
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Dedication
To my mom, dad, siblings, and family members who encouraged me to indulge myself in medieval fantasies. I spent many long car rides creating epic tales of sword-wielding heroines and the strong men who stood by their sides. Jenn, Uncle Blake, and Dad were awesome proofers.
To Peter and Elizabeth May, who patiently toured me around England, Scotland, and France on three separate occasions. Elizabeth offered valuable tips on creating authentic scenes. Visiting the Berkhamsted motte and bailey was priceless.
To Jody, Leslie, Liz, Sarah, and Jenny, my friends who enjoy my eclectic ways and provide great suggestions. Becky was my first ever web-fan and her enthusiasm kept me going!
To the editors at BellaOnline, who inspire me daily to reach for my dreams and to aim for the stars. Lisa, Cheryll, Jeanne, Lizzie, Moe, Terrie, Ian, and Jilly provided insightful feedback to help my polishing efforts.
To the Massachusetts Mensa Writing Group for their feedback and enthusiastic support. Lynn, Tom, Ruth, Carmen, Al, and Dean all offered detailed, helpful advice!
To the Geek Girls, with their unflagging support for my expanding list of projects and enterprises. Debi's design talents are amazing. I simply adore the covers she created for me.
To the Academy of Knightly Arts for several years of in-depth training and combat experience with medieval swords and knives. I loved sparring with Nikki and Jo-Ann!
To B&R Stables who renewed my love of horseback riding and quiet forest trails.
To my son, James, whose insights into psychology help ground my characters in authentic behavior.
To Bob See, my partner in love for over 16 years and counting. He enthusiastically supports all of my new projects.
Glossary
Ale - A style of beer which is made from barley and does not use hops. Ale was the common drink in medieval days. In the 1300s, 92% of brewers were female, and the women were known as "alewives". It was common for a tavern to be run by a widow and her children.
Blade - The metal slicing part of the sword.
Chemise - In medieval days, most people had only a few outfits. They would not want to wash their heavy main dress every time they wore it, just as in modern times we don't wash our jackets after each wearing. In order to keep the sweaty skin away from the dress, women wore a light, white under-dress which could then be washed more regularly. This was often slept in as well.
Drinking - In general, medieval sanitation was not great. People who drank milk had to drink it "raw" - pasteurization was not well known before the 1700s. Water was often unsafe to drink. For these reasons, all ages of medieval folk drank liquid with alcohol in it. The alcohol served as a natural sanitizer. This was even true as recently as colonial American times.
God's Teeth / God's Blood – Common oaths in the middle ages.
Grip - The part of the sword one holds, usually wrapped in leather or another substance to keep it firmly in the wielder's hand.
Guard - The crossed top of the sword's hilt which keeps the enemy's sword from sliding down and chopping off the wielder's fingers.
Hilt - The entire handle part of the sword; everything that is not blade.
Mead - A fermented beverage made from honey. Mead has been enjoyed for thousands of years and is mentioned in Beowulf.
Pommel - The bottom end of the sword, where the hilt ends.
Tip - The very end of the sword
Wolf's Head – a term for a bandit. The Latin legal term caput gerat lupinum meant they could be hunted and killed as legally as any dangerous wolf or wild animal that threatened the area.
Parts of a Sword
About Medieval Life
When many of us think of medieval times, we bring to mind a drab reality-documentary image. We imagine people scrounging around in the mud, eating dirt. The people were under five feet tall and barely survived to age thirty. These poor, unfortunate souls had rotted teeth and never bathed.
Then you have the opposite, Hollywood Technicolor extreme. In the romantic version of medieval times, men were always strong and chivalrous. Women were dainty and sat around staring out the window all day, waiting for their knight to come riding in. Everybody wore purple robes or green tights.
The truth, of course, lies somewhere in the middle.
Living in Medieval Times
The years in the early medieval ages held a warm, pleasant climate. Crops grew exceedingly well, and there was plenty of food. As a result, their average height was on par with modern times. It's amazing how much nutrition influences our health!
The abundance of food also had an effect on the longevity of people. Chaucer (born 1340) lived to be 60. Petrarch (born 1304) died a day shy of 70. Eleanor of Aquitaine (born 1122) was 82 when she died. People could and did lead long lives. The average age of someone who survived childhood was 65.
What about their living conditions? The Romans adored baths and set up many in Britain. When they left, the natives could not keep them going, and it is true they then bathed less. However, by the middle ages, with the crusades and interaction with the Muslims, there was a renewed interest both in hygiene and medicine. Returning soldiers and those who took pilgrimages brought back with them an interest in regular bathing and cleanliness. This spread across the culture.
While people during other periods of English history ate poorly, often due to war conditions or climatic changes, the middle ages were a time of relative bounty. Villagers would grow fresh fruit and vegetables behind their homes, and had an array of herbs for seasoning. The local baker would bake bread for the village - most homes did not hold an oven, only an open fire. Villagers had easy access to fish, chicken, geese, and eggs. Pork was enjoyed at special meals like Easter.
Upper classes of course had a much wider range of foods - all game animals (rabbits, deer, and so on) belonged to them. The wealthy ate peacocks, veal, lamb, and even bear. Meals for all classes could be flavorful and well enjoyed.
Medieval Marriage
Marriage choices were critical for both sons and daughters. Wealthy families would absolutely arrange for "proper" marriages for their children. This was about the transfer of land far more than a love match. Parents wanted to ensure their land went to a family worthy of ownership, one with the resources to defend it from attack. It was not only their own family members they were concerned with. Each block of land had on it both free men and serfs. These people all depended on the nobles – with their skill, connections, and soldiers – to keep them safe from bandits and harm.
Yes, villagers sometimes married for love. Even a few nobles would run off and follow their hearts. Even so, they would have first seriously considered the potentially catastrophic risks which could result from their actions.
Here is a modern example. Imagine you took over the family business which employed a hundred loyal workers. Those workers depend on your careful guidance of the company to ensure the income for their families. You might dream about running off to Bermuda and drinking martinis. But would you just sell your company to any random investor who came along? Would you risk all of those peoples' lives, people who had served you loyally for decades, to satisfy a whim of pleasure?
Medieval Women
In pagan days women held many rights and responsibilities. During the crusades, especially, with many men off at war, women ran the taverns, made the ale, and ran the government. However, as men returned home and Christianity rose in power women were relegated to a more subservient role.
Still, women in medieval times were not meek and mild. That stereotype came in with the Victorian era, many centuries later. Back in medieval days, women had to be hearty and hard working. There were fields to tend, homes to maintain, and children to raise!
Women strove to be as healthy as they could because they faced a serious threat - a fifth of all women died during or just after childbirth. The church said that childbirth was the "pain of Eve" and instructed women to bear it without medicine or follow-up care. Of course, midwives did their best to skirt these rules, but childbirth still took an immense toll.
Childhood was rough in the middle ages – only 40% of children survived the gauntlet of illnesses to adulthood. A woman who reached her marriageable years was a sturdy woman indeed.
To summarize, in medieval days a person could live a long, happy life, even into their 80s – as long as they were of the sturdy stock that made it through the challenges of childhood. This was very much a time of 'survival of the fittest'. Medieval life quickly weeded out the weak and frail.
So medieval women were strong - very strong. They had to be. Still, would they fight?
Women and Weapons
Queen Boudicia, from Norwalk, was born around AD60 and personally led her troops against the Roman Empire, quite successfully. She had been flogged - and her daughters raped - spurring her to revenge. She was extremely intelligent and quite strategic. Her daughters rode in her chariot at her side.
Eleanor of Aquitaine, born in 1122, was brilliant and married first to a King of France and then to a King of England. She went on the Second Crusades as the leader of her troops - reportedly riding bare-breasted as an Amazon. At times she marched with her troops far ahead of her husband. When she divorced the King of France, she immediately married Henry II, who she passionately adored. He was eleven years her junior. When things went sour, Eleanor separated from him and actively led revolts against him.
Many historical accounts talk of women taking up arms to defend their villages and towns. Women would not passively let their children be slain or their homes burned. They were able and strong bodied from their daily work. They were well skilled with farm implements and knives, and used them with great talent against invaders.
Many of these defenses were successful, and the victories were celebrated as brave and proper, rather than dismissed as an unusual act for a woman. A mother was expected to defend her brood and to keep her home safe, just as a wolf mother protects her cubs.
Numerous women took their martial skills to a higher level. In 1301 a group of Italian women joined up to fight the crusade against the Turks. In 1348 at a tournament there were at least thirty women who participated, dressed as men.
This is not as unusual as you might think. In medieval times, all adults carried a knife at their belt for daily use in eating, chores, and defense. All knew how to use it. Being strong and safe was a necessary part of daily life.
Here is an interesting comparison. In modern times most women know how to drive, but few choose to invest themselves in the time and training to become race car drivers. In medieval times, most women knew how to defend themselves with a weapon. They had to. Few, though, actively sought the training to be swordswomen. Still, these women did exist, and did thrive as valued members of their communities.
So women in medieval times were far from shrinking violets. They were not mud-encrusted wretches huddling in straw huts. They were strong, sturdy, and well versed in the use of knives. Many ran taverns, and most handled the brewing of ale. Those who made it through childhood and childbirth could expect to enjoy long, rich lives.
I hope you enjoy my tales of authentic, inspiring heroines!
About the Author
Lisa Shea is a fervent fan of honor, loyalty, and chivalry. She brings to life worlds where men and women stand shoulder to shoulder, steady in their desire to make the world a better place for all. While her heroines often wield a sword, they equally value the skilled use of their intelligence, wisdom, courage, and compassion.
Lisa has studied medieval swordfighting for several years. She studied medieval dance and music with the SCA. She has been to England numerous times and loves exploring old castles and churches.
Please visit Lisa at LisaShea.com to learn more about her background and interests. Feedback is always appreciated!
Lisa Shea's library of medieval romance novels:
Seeking the Truth
Knowing Yourself
A Sense of Duty
Creating Memories
Looking Back
Badge of Honor
Lady in Red
Finding Peace
Believing your Eyes
Trusting in Faith
Sworn Loyalty
In A Glance
Each novel is a stand-alone story set in medieval England. These novels can be read in any order and have entirely separate casts of characters.
Lisa's cozy modern-day murder mystery romance series:
Aspen Allegations – A Sutton Massachusetts Mystery
Birch Blackguards – A Sutton Massachusetts Mystery
Cedar Conundrums – A Sutton Massachusetts Mystery
Lisa's sci-fi romance series:
Aquarian Awakenings
Betelgeuse Beguiling
Centauri Chaos
Lisa's dystopian series:
Into the Wasteland – A Dystopian Journey
All proceeds from sales of these novels benefit battered women's shelters.
A few of Lisa's non-fiction titles:
Secrets to Falling Asleep –
Get Better Sleep to Improve Health and Reduce Stress
Lucid Dreaming Guide –
Foster Creativity in a Lucid Dream State
Dream Symbol Encyclopedia –
Interpretation and Meaning of Dream Symbols
Journaling Basics – Journal Writing for Beginners
Conquering your Fear of Spiders
All proceeds from these books benefit battered women's shelters.
Lisa's Full Library of Books
As a special treat, as a warm thank-you for buying this book and supporting the cause of battered women, here's a sneak peek at the first chapter of Creating Memories.
Creating Memories - Chapter 1
England, 1211
Laura spun smoothly through her counter-block, swinging her short sword in a high arc, relishing the bone-jarring frisson of contact as her opponent's weapon skittered down the length of her own and barely missed her left shoulder. She lunged forward at once, pressing her advantage to lay a hail of blows that her opponent, a lanky, brown-haired teen, blocked with effort. The echoes of the strikes reverberated hollowly on his worn wooden shield. The lad grinned as he stepped back, and she flashed a smile in return as she swung again, immersed in bliss from the exertions of the autumn afternoon.
The blue skies seemed a cavernous dome above them, traces of white clouds dancing with the sounds of training which rang out from all sides. Laura breathed in the crisp air, taking in the scents of her well-oiled leather gear, the freshly turned dirt beneath their feet, and the musky stables nearby. She pursued her attack for a few more minutes, testing his weaknesses, smiling in appreciation as he reacted to her twists and jabs. Satisfied, she eased off, allowing him to take the lead.
Her opponent sensed the shift and dove in with vigor, using his greater strength to his advantage. Still, his blows rarely found their mark. Laura deftly twisted under one sweep, then jumped nimbly to dodge a move aimed at her ankle.
A church bell rang out strong and clear from the chapel down the hill, the sound echoing around the courtyard. Laura drew to a stop, and the teen lowered his own sword, resting it point down in the deeply churned dirt.
"Stuart, that was excellent," praised Laura with a smile, looking up fondly at the lad before her. He might be a few years younger than her, but this past year's sunshine had exuberantly shot him up several inches over her height.
"Your shield skills are improving at an impressive rate. We can pick this up again tomorrow, after -"
She glanced behind her as a scrawny, eggshell-blond boy of twelve dashed through the pairs of fighting men, wending his way deftly to her side. In a raspy voice which spoke of approaching manhood he called out in sharp staccato, "Your father demands your presence immediately. See to him."
Laura slid her sword into her scabbard, pushing the escaped strands of auburn hair from her face with a distracted grimace. Her eyes automatically went to the large, three story stone keep which lined one side of the courtyard, to the bank of windows on the second floor which gave a commanding view of the bustling activity below. The warm afternoon sun came from behind it, leaving the courtyard in the shadow of the keep. The windows were dark, unfathomable depths, but she knew he was there. Watching. Judging.
She took in a deep breath to marshal her energies, then turned to follow the lad toward the heavy, wooden doors banded with iron strips. As she strode across the courtyard, a few of the men she passed gave her a fortifying look, their knowing gazes helping to steel her for whatever new punishment her father might have in store. She acknowledged their concern with a nod, but her step never faltered. She had faced his rages and tempers before and had survived. One more would do no worse.
The messenger abandoned her when she reached the main doors; her footsteps echoed hollowly as she crossed the deserted central hall alone. Reaching the narrow spiral staircase at the far end, Laura took the stone steps two at a time. She had just reached the top when the door to her father's study burst open and a slim, red-haired girl came racing down the hall toward her, tears streaming from her swollen eyes. Laura's heart dropped. Sally had been a sweet maid, friendly and helpful, and now undoubtedly her father had used and discarded her as one more casualty in his line of conquests. The girl did not slow as she passed Laura, racing down the stairs and out of sight.
Laura let out a long breath. So it was going to be one of those days. She ran her left thumb idly along the silver circle which had been on her ring finger since she hit puberty. The blue enameled forget-me-nots were half worn away from her constant rubbing, but she did not need to see them to know what they signified to her. She had vowed to herself, having watched her father work his way through every female within reach, that she would never give herself to a man until the night of her wedding. She would not allow herself to end up in the heartbroken, miserable state she had seen far too often. Life held enough pain without inviting more.
She forced herself into motion, taking the length of the hall in a few strides, resisting the urge to slow as she stepped through the open doorway and into the shadowed room beyond.
Like most of her father's chambers the room was a precise combination of Spartan efficiency and high quality craftsmanship. She glanced around at the plain stone walls, at the one sword which hung on the back wall, encrusted with rubies. The desk at the center of the room was intricately carved out of oak and ebony. The rug beneath had been imported from Persia.
Laura knew her father was a man of intriguing contrasts. The youngest son of an impoverished noble family, it had been something of a local scandal when her well-to-do mother had consented to marry him. Since their union, he had poured most of the family's money and resources into expanding his properties.
Her eyes scanned the room, but she knew where he would be. Her father was standing by the windows, looking out over the soldiers training in the courtyard. He was a muscular, stocky man, handsome in a bullish sort of way. His dark hair was short cropped and starting to fade to grey on the sides. His sense of simplicity did not extend to his own dress; today's outfit was an ornate tunic with red and gold embroidery.
He turned as she entered the room, then nodded at the two guards who stood by the door. In a moment they closed the door behind her with a soft click. A shiver ran down her spine at the familiar sound, but she steeled herself so no flicker of emotion showed on her face. She walked forward to stand at parade rest before the desk.
Her father ran a steady eye up and down her frame as she stood before him. Laura glanced down at herself self-consciously. She was wearing doe-brown leather armor and pants with high leather boots, the uniform worn by all of his guards. The outfit was in good repair and only slightly dusty from the afternoon's activities.
She brought her eyes back up to her father, meeting his gaze with a steady look. He would hardly be upset at her gear. He had treated her more as a guard-in-training than a daughter for as long as she could remember.
He nodded. "You have done well for yourself," he commented frankly, done with his perusal. "The regimen agrees with you."
Laura shrugged. "It was the path you set me on as a child," she responded evenly, reciting her words as if by rote. "If I was going to wield a sword, I might as well learn to do it well."
A smile creased her father's face, and he chuckled quietly as he stepped forward. "Indeed you did. Barely twenty-one, and you are one of our lieutenants. The men respect your talents." His grin widened. "You may not be strong, but you certainly are quick."
Laura shrugged, watching her father with a sharp eye. She felt a nagging suspicion at his unusual praise. He was manipulating her for some reason ... but why?
She had little patience for games. Despite her control, she found herself snapping at his unusual posturing.
"What is it you want?"
He frowned slightly, then strode to loom in front of her.
"You are going to marry James Falcon."
Laura's composure threatened to burst; waves of shock and appalled fury overtook her. She had been prepared for blows and insults, but this? A defensive strength infused her muscles, her hackles rose in alert, her spine shimmered into steel. She had complied with her father's every wish, had endured grueling labor for years. This was the final straw.
"No!" she shot back, resistance flaming within her. She relished the sound of the challenge in her own voice.
Her father's face roiled like a thunderstorm preparing to unleash hellish torrents. "You dare to countermand me?" he raged, his face flushing crimson, his jaw clenching.
In the next moment, his hand shot out in a well-aimed punch at her chin. Even though Laura knew it was coming, a part of her marveled at how quickly he moved. Her years of training served her well. She automatically ducked beneath the blow, rolling to the right and coming up in a defensive crouch.
The nearby guards, men she had sparred and drank with for many years, watched the activity with a neutral gaze. She would find no assistance there. She might be a valued comrade in arms, but her father was lord of the land and not to be gainsaid.
Her father took another step toward her, and Laura tensed for action. If he thought she was going to go down without a fight ...
Apparently her father had no desire to injure goods which he was preparing for sale. A tic at the side of his jaw twitched subtly as he reined himself in, staring down at his daughter. Without turning, he barked an order to his guards. "Take her to her room. Now."
The two men rolled off of the wall, complying instantly. Laura did not resist as they each took an arm and led her from the study. Within moments they had hauled her up the stone stairs to her room, gently but firmly tossing her within. It was her father who then personally slammed the door on her. The solid thwak of the bar driving home was clearly audible in the silence.
Her father's voice thundered through the thick door, his anger resonating through the oaken beams. "You will stay in there until you are prepared to comply with my wishes!" There was a pause, and then his footsteps echoed as they retreated down the stairs.
Laura stared at the door for a few moments, taking in long, shuddering, deep breaths. To force her to marry that monster! She was deluged by the temptation to rail, to scream, to cry in exasperated futility. The power of her frustrations threatened to overwhelm her.
She closed her eyes and focused on her breathing. With a control built on years of experience, she let her emotions flow through her and away. Slowly, ever so slowly, her shoulders eased of their tension. Her father had finally crossed a line which her sense of self-preservation utterly refused to accept. She found to her surprise that rather than fear, she felt only a growing sense of peace.
He had a right to choose her husband, of course. Had it been any other man, she would have fought down dislike and disdain to do her duty.
But not James Falcon.
She would not – she could not – allow herself to be partnered with that ruthless barbarian. That her father would even suggest such a match was the final proof that he cared little if she lived or died.
Opening her eyes again, she took a long look around her. Her room's only item of decoration was a small, carved oak chest, about two feet long. Within were her most prized possessions. There was the periwinkle-blue shawl of her mother's. Next to it lay a small codex of poetry from her maternal grandmother; she had memorized the contents long ago. Finally, there was a sapphire fronted locket. Her mother had given the necklace to her when she was young, to adorn her on her wedding day.
It would be too risky to carry those items with her now and chance losing them in the woods. Her father would storm and rage once she had gone, but then he would settle down to practicalities. It was a pattern she knew all too well. In a few weeks she would come back and reason with him. Together they would find another husband who suited both of their needs.
Her thumb went to her ring, spinning it gently on her finger, and her breathing eased. She would find a husband she could tolerate, and life would flow on.
Laura sat patiently on her meager bed, pulling aside the thick curtains by the lone window and waiting for the sun to set. The hours came and went in steady progression. Laura maintained her vigil patiently, gathering her strength. The rosy orb slipped lower, sliding down to meet the horizon, and darkness spread across the realm.
It was time.
She stood and turned, pulling hard on the lumpy mattress to bring it away from the wall. Lifting a loose floor board in one corner, she pulled out a small wooden token. She reset the room to its proper state.
Carefully tucking the coin into the leather belt at her waist, she gave one last glance at her small cell before swinging her legs over the window ledge. She steadied herself for a moment before beginning the three story descent to the ground below.
Inch by inch she worked her way down the outer stone wall, her strong fingers and leather boots finding the ledges and nooks to ease her way. She had learned the handholds and footholds of that wall over many years of nighttime escapades.
Once on the ground, she breathed a sigh of relief. The hardest part of the escape was behind her. She worked her way through the shadows to reach the stables. She slipped through the main door slowly, careful to lift as she pushed to avoid the squeaky hinge's usual protests. She took her time in coaxing her favorite mount out of his stall as quietly as she could. Her thick cloak was hanging, as always, on a peg by the door.
No stable boy or servant stirred as she made her way through the courtyard to the main gates.
Once she reached the guards, she showed her wooden token without a word, keeping her face hidden in the shadows. The guards barely glanced at her cloaked form before allowing her to pass. Lord Walker was infamous for his after-hours traffic; horses were often coming in and out of the compound at odd hours. As long as the bearer carried a token, they were passed through without comment. Laura had learned that trick long ago, and had made good use of the knowledge many times.
And then ... freedom.
Here's where to learn what happened next!
Creating Memories
http://www.amazon.com/Creating-Memories-Medieval-Romance-ebook/dp/B00791A3DW/
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