I am pleased to announce that Jennifer Wilck (who is also a romance author) is one of winners of the Summer 2019 Bad Guys and Villains edition of Medieval Monday. She wins an e-copy of Lady of Steel.
And for those who missed it, here is the full excerpt where my hero, Fawkes de Cressy wreaks vengeance on sick, creepy villain, Mortimer:
“God’s teeth! Look at
that!” Reynard called.
Alarm prickled along
Fawkes’s spine as he saw knights pouring out through the castle’s portcullis.
He slowed his mount and motioned for the men behind him to do the same.
“Jesu,” he breathed.
“Have they been warned? Did they know we were coming?”
“It would seem so,”
Reynard responded. “The information we had when we were in London
The knight leading
the force wore a green surcote emblazoned with a gold lion rampant. The
familiar device aroused Fawkes’s fury and hatred. This was his enemy. The man
had who tried to kill him. The man who had humiliated and abused Nicola. Mixed
with the fury was a grim satisfaction. How shocked Mortimer would be when he
discovered King Richard had given Mordeaux Castle
“What should we do?”
Reynard sounded panicky. “Do we charge? Or wait for them to come to us?”
“We wait,” Fawkes
said. “Mortimer hasn’t fought a battle in years, perhaps never. He’ll want to
negotiate.”
Fawkes’s prediction
was confirmed when the troop of knights halted a few paces away and their
leader raised his helm. Although he immediately recognized the hated face,
Fawkes knew a moment of shock. Mortimer’s face was puffy and red, and his eyes
appeared as mere slits in the bloated flesh. He looked little like the youthful
and vigorous man Fawkes recalled.
“It’s you!” Mortimer
bellowed. His eyes were wide with shock.
“Yea, it is I, Fawkes
de Cressy. Your assassin failed. I left his body to rot beneath the walls of Acre .” He took a step
forward and drew his sword. “Now I have returned to repay you for your
treachery.”
Mortimer made a
hoarse, derisive sound. “You’re naught but a puling squire, a stable boy.
You’re not worth the effort of killing.”
Fawkes fought the
urge to forget the rules of combat and rush forward for the kill. He forced
himself to speak with calm. “I’m a knight now, exalted by the King of England
himself. Richard also gave me the writ to Mordeaux. I challenge you to a fight
to the death. For Mordeaux and Valmar, and for the lady who rightfully
possesses the two castles.”
“You’re still mooning
over my bitch of a wife?” Mortimer’s smile widened, giving his face a
grotesque, toad-like appearance. “The slut hardly recalls you with fondness.
She’s the one who warned me of your arrival.”
For a moment, Fawkes
stood stunned, disbelieving the words he’d heard. Then reason returned. He smiled
back. “Nay. She wouldn’t. Even if she cares naught for me, she hates you enough
that she would never try to save you.”
“You think not? Do
these words sound familiar?” Mortimer clasped his hands and quoted in a gleeful
falsetto, “My dearest lady. At last I’ve come to save you. My forces will reach
Mordeaux Castle
Fawkes’s gut wrenched
as his own words rang out mockingly. No.
She wouldn’t. It was a trick. Somehow Mortimer had found the missive. He
might have intercepted it before it even reached Nicola.
“Ah, it’s gratifying
to see the poisonous viper strike another victim.” Mortimer’s voice rang out,
rich and mocking. “For too long she has reserved her torments solely for me. I
vow, my wife is the devil’s handmaiden, an evil, cunning Eve, a witch from
hell. I would give her to you gladly, with my blessing, but unfortunately, the
lands are hers. To maintain my claim, I must endure her foul presence in my
household.” Mortimer straightened. “I accept your challenge. I will kill you
and carry your heart back to my wife. Perhaps the sight of it will please her,
heathen sorceress that she is.”
Fawkes sought to
recover himself. It was a trick. The bastard meant to demoralize him. He would
not succumb.
They both dismounted
and handed off their horses, and then drew their swords. Mortimer moved toward
Fawkes with a stealth and ease that belied his corpulent form. They circled and
parried, assessing. Fawkes felt the battle fever surge through him. He’d waited
nearly four years for this moment. Every man he’d killed, every opponent he’d
struck down, had worn Mortimer’s ugly visage.
Now, at last, he
faced his true enemy. Mortimer had tried to murder him. He’d humiliated him and
mocked him. Even worse, this man had hurt and debased Nicola.
He lunged. His blade
caught Mortimer’s arm. Mortimer retreated and parried the next blow. Again and
again, cold steel grated against cold steel. Fawkes felt no fatigue, no fear,
nothing but exhilaration. His body, honed in a dozen battles, sang with speed
and strength. His legs easily carried him out of reach of Mortimer’s blade,
and his sword arm struck out with deadly precision.
His opponent was
weakening, the movements of his bulky body growing sluggish. Mortimer’s breath
came in harsh rasps. As if watching it from far away, Fawkes observed his blade
striking nearer and nearer to Mortimer’s mail-clad body. Blood dripped from a
wound on Mortimer’s left arm and another at his hip. Any moment he would falter
and Fawkes would land the killing blow. Victory was so near he could almost
taste it.
“Is she worth it, you
fool?” Mortimer panted. “If you kill me, you’ll have to face Richard someday
and tell him why. Do you think he’ll be pleased you took my life over a woman,
and a perfidious, scheming slut at that?”
“She was never a
slut, you bastard!” Fawkes pressed his advantage, feeling his hatred grow
fiercer and more consuming. "You sent me to her! You used her like a
piece of livestock!”
Mortimer lost his
balance and fell. Fawkes loomed over him, panting in rage. “Whatever she’s
done, you’ll never defame or degrade her again.” With a savage thrust he drove
his sword into Mortimer’s neck.
Mortimer’s blue eyes
bore a look of surprise as the wound spouted blood. Watching the red liquid
flow out, Fawkes was reminded of other deaths, so many deaths. He felt vaguely
queasy. He leaned over and cleaned the blade of his sword on the grass. Behind
him he could hear his soldiers cheering. He had waited for this moment for so
long, but now that it was here, it didn’t seem real.
Someone clapped him
on back. Reynard spoke, “It’s over, Fawkes. You’ve done it. Now all that is
left is to claim everything that was Mortimer’s. First, Mordeaux, then Valmar
and your new wife. How does it feel, my friend? You’re a wealthy man now. A
real lord. Mordeaux appears prosperous, and Valmar was always a rich demesne.
You’ll have to pay some sort of fine to the king, I’m guessing. That is, if
Richard ever makes it back to England
Fawkes pulled off his
helm and looked down at his blood-spattered hands. “I need to wash. There must
be a well in the castle.” He started off.
Buy links:
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Join us for the next edition of Medieval Monday coming soon. In the meantime, here's a video recap of the great books featured in this summer's edition:
https://video214.com/play/Mwpu4IcsSPeMc8TQn6XIQg/s/dark
