The Dragon’s Dove Chronicles Book 1
Genre: Historical Fantasy
Publisher: Lucky Bat Books
Publication Date: February 25, 2013
What if King Arthur’s queen was every bit as heroic as he was? Find out by immersing yourself in this epic story of the power couple whose courage and conviction would shape the destiny of a nation.
Gyan is a Caledonian chieftainess by birth, a warrior and leader of warriors by training, and she is betrothed to Urien, a son of her clan’s deadliest enemy, by right of Arthur the Pendragon’s conquest of her people. For the sake of peace, Gyan is willing to sacrifice everything…perhaps even her very life, if her foreboding about Urien proves true.
Roman by his father, Brytoni by his mother, and denied hereditary rulership of his mother’s clan because of his mixed blood, Arthur has followed his father’s path to become Dux Britanniarum, the Pendragon: supreme commander of the northern Brytoni army. The Caledonians, Scots, Saxons, and Angles keep him too busy to dwell upon his loneliness…most of the time.
When Gyan and Arthur meet, each recognize within the other their soul’s mate. The treaty has preserved Gyan’s ancient right to marry any man, providing he is a Brytoni nobleman—but Arthur does not qualify. And the ambitious Urien, Arthur’s greatest political rival, shall not be so easily denied. If Gyan and Arthur cannot prevent Urien from plunging the Caledonians and Brytons back into war, their love will be doomed to remain unfulfilled forever.
But there is an even greater threat looming. The Laird of the Scots wants their land and will kill all who stand in his way. Gyan, Arthur, and Urien must unite to defeat this merciless enemy who threatens everyone they hold dear.Â
https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/22371012-dawnflightÂ
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Arthur said, “I advise caution.”
“Caution, indeed.” Urien’s look adopted a hard edge as he ground fist to palm. “I don’t trust these Picts. In fact, I don’t understand why you didn’t obliterate them with Caledfwlch when I”—he stabbed a thumb at his chest—“gave you the chance.”
With effort, Arthur resisted the impulse to touch his sword’s ruby-pommeled hilt, the smith’s inspiration for naming it Caleberyllus, Latin for “Burning Jewel.” After Abar-Gleann, Cai had coined a Brytoni name for Wyllan’s finest creation: Caledfwlch, “Caledonia’s Bane.” It was perfectly apt, and it had almost caused a diplomatic disaster.
He spared a glance for his friends and was thankful they were too far away—and too engrossed with flirting with two more serving women—to have overheard the exchange. Two months was enough time to heal flesh wounds but not enough time to salve Cai’s pride for having to endure Arthur’s public rebuke in order to preserve the fragile peace. He returned his attention to Urien. “Do not forget that your charge was carried out under my orders.”
Urien glared but let the remark pass. “The Picts have been a menace to our borders for time out of mind. Why didn’t you—”
“The same can be said about the Saxons, Angles, and Scots.” These last two Arthur spat like the curses they were to him. The Angli had killed his father. And the Scots… he banished a grisly memory with a long blink. “None of them have demonstrated a willingness to negotiate with us for peace. The Caledonians were willing, and Brydein will be getting a much stronger cavalry as a result.” Arthur grinned. “You should thank them for your promotion.” Â
Video Trailer:Â https://youtu.be/mHOESkv-R_c
The Dragon’s Dove Chronicles Book 2
Publisher: Lucky Bat BooksÂ
Publication Date: June 11, 2013
“Magnificent.” ~ Kathleen Foley, author of the Faith in Uniform series
In a violent age when enemies besiege Brydein and alliances shift as swiftly as the wind, stand two remarkable leaders: the Caledonian warrior-queen Gyanhumara and her consort, Arthur the Pendragon. Their fiery love is tempered only by their conviction to forge unity between their disparate peoples. Arthur and Gyan must create an impenetrable front to protect Brydein and Caledonia from land-lusting Saxons and the marauding Angli raiders who may be massing forces in the east, near Arthur’s sister and those he has sworn to protect.
But their biggest threat is an enemy within: Urien, Arthur’s rival and the man Gyan was treaty-bound to marry until she broke that promise for Arthur’s love. When Urien becomes chieftain of his clan, his increase in wealth and power is matched only by the magnitude of his hatred of Arthur and Gyan—and his threat to their infant son.
Morning’s Journey, sequel to the critically acclaimed Dawnflight, propels the reader from the heights of triumph to the depths of despair, through the struggles of some of the most fascinating characters in all of Arthurian literature. Those struggles are exacerbated by the characters’ own flawed choices. Gyan and Arthur must learn that while extending forgiveness to others may be difficult, forgiveness of self is the most excruciating—yet ultimately the most healing—step of the entire journey.Â
https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/23885583-morning-s-journeyÂ
THE CLASH OF arms resounds in the torchlit corridor. Blood oozes where leather has yielded to the bite of steel, yet both sweating, panting warriors refuse to relent.
Her heart thundering, Gyan grips her sword’s hilt, desperate to help the man she loves. Caledonach law forbids it.
Urien makes a low lunge. As Arthur tries to whirl clear, the blade tears a gash in his shield-side thigh. The injured leg collapses, and Arthur drops to one knee. Crowing triumphantly, Urien raises his sword for the deathblow.
Gyan springs to block the stroke. Its force jars her arms and twists the hilt in her grasp. She barely holds on through the searing pain.
Urien slips past her guard to slice at her brooch. The gold dragon clatters to the floor. Her cloak slithers to her ankles, fouling her stance. As she tries to kick free, Urien grabs her braid, jerks up her head, and kisses her, hard. Shock loosens her grip. Her sword falls. She thrashes and writhes, but he holds her fast, smirking lewdly.
“You are mine, Pictish whore.”
Urien’s breath reeks of ale and evil promises. She spits in his face. He slaps her. She reels backward, her cheek burning. He grabs her forearms and yanks her close.
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The Dragon’s Dove Chronicles Book 3
Publisher: Pendragon Cove Press
Publication Date: March 11, 2019
Outcast, clanless, and but a junior officer in Arthur the Pendragon’s army, Angusel struggles to rebuild the life stolen from him through betrayal by the person he had held most dear. His legion allegiance thrusts him onto the campaign trail as one of Arthur’s forward scouts, stalking Angli troops and being among the first to clash with these vicious enemies at every turn. But the odds loom high against him and his sword-brothers, and they will need a miracle just to survive.
Pressured to make the best choice to ensure her clan’s future leadership, Eileann struggles with her feelings for Angusel, whose outcast status makes him forbidden to her as a mate. When Angli treachery threatens everyone she loves, she vows to thwart their violent plan to conquer her clan. But she is no warrior, she has no soldiers to command, and she will need a miracle just to survive.
How can one soldier make a difference? How can one woman save her kin and clan? In the crucible of combat, Angusel must surrender to the will of the gods, and Eileann must invoke divine power to forge the most dangerous warrior the world has ever known.Â
Goodreads: https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/43730715-raging-seaÂ
“Where is the brush?” Eileann asked, as much to forestall the inevitable as to seek an answer.
A heartbeat later, she chided her fear. Outcast or not, Clan Tarsuinn needed him.
“No brush. The anointing is as much about the connection between the anointer and the anointed as it is about the connection between the anointed and the gods. Use your finger, like this.”
Neoinean dipped Eileann’s index finger into the dye, tapped the excess on the rim, and guided it to sketch the shape of a salmon on Angusel’s forehead, near the hairline. Eileann felt a wee tingle as she completed the fish. His surprised expression told her he had felt it too.
“Now state to the anointed the god-mark you have drawn and its purpose.” Neoinean stepped away and regarded Eileann, cocking an eyebrow as the silence stretched.
Eileann cleared her throat and gazed at Angusel. “The salmon of Clota. For wisdom.” She wasn’t sure how a warrior fighting in the throes of battle frenzy could exercise wisdom, but she was not going to cast doubt upon her teacher’s example or the purpose the goddess had revealed.
Angusel bobbed his head, his curly black hair obscuring the fish.
Palms angled upward, Fioruisge changed the chant to echo Eileann’s words and embellish them, begging for the goddess’s gift to be bestowed upon the anointed.
“Use what you know of the gods and their abilities, my lady,” said Neoinean, “to draw their marks upon the anointed where you believe those divine gifts will benefit him the most.”
“Please draw the god-marks so that my armor hides them.” Angusel glanced at Neoinean, uncertainty creasing the salmon. “Does the anointing permit this?”
“It does,” stated the apothecary.
“They are meant to be seen!” Eileann itched to shake sense into him, but touching the anointed was forbidden save to craft the god-marks. “How will the gods find you if you hide the marks?”
“The anointed does not wish to offend those who have rejected him, and that is a worthy consideration.” Her teacher, apparently exempt from the touching stricture, patted Eileann’s shoulder. To her surprise, Fioruisge wove Neoinean’s words into the chant. “Fear not, child. The gods will see the marks as you draw them, and they shall not forget. Priests and warriors may choose to make their god-marks permanent, but the rite does not require it.”
Eileann inclined her head at Angusel. “As you will, then.”
Behind shuttered eyelids, she cast about for an image to draw and received a double blessing. Upon opening her eyes, she asked Angusel to lift his arms so she could anoint his biceps. The sketches looked crude, childish, and incomplete. She prayed for them to work; she hoped that the longer and stronger tingling was a sign that they would. “The bull of Lugh on your sword arm for strength, and the stag of Cernunnos on your shield arm for cunning.”
Fioruisge added Eileann’s pronouncements, raising her arms higher with each new verse.
Whatever concoction Neoinean had given Eileann must have taken full effect. In swift succession she drew the spear and rod of Nemetona on Angusel’s right thigh for fierceness, the mare of Epona on his left thigh for speed, and the sun of Lord Annaomh over his heart.
“For hope,” she told him about the sun, and wondered at the word choice the god had inspired. The sun of Annaomh represented justice, leadership, and truth. Lord Annaomh was revered for those traits, as were the warriors who honored him. And yet hope was appropriate, since the strengthening sun delivered salvation from winter’s grip, and the Lord of Light embodied salvation from the eternal ravages of his twin brother, Annà m, and the evil Samhraidhean.
Angusel beamed without touching her, as was proper for this phase of an tùs. The time for their touching would come, but not soon enough for Eileann’s liking.
The final image burned into her brain and killed her swelling excitement.
She gasped, fist to mouth.
“What is it, child?” asked Neoinean.
“A mark I dare not draw upon the anointed,” Eileann whispered. That the image was unlike any she had seen for this god represented the least of her worries. “I fear what it may do to him—to us both.”Â
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Kim Headlee lives on a farm in southwestern Virginia with her family, cats, goats, Great Pyrenees goat guards, and assorted wildlife. People and creatures come and go, but the cave and the 250-year-old house ruins–the latter having been occupied as recently as the mid-twentieth century–seem to be sticking around for a while yet.
Kim has been a published novelist since 1999 with the first edition of Dawnflight (Sonnet Books, Simon & Schuster) and has been studying the Arthurian legends for nigh on half a century.Â
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