Mary Morgan's Blog, page 25

Friday Feast | Irish Cream Cake for a Birthday

Welcome back to Friday Feast in Mary's Tavern! Not only was it Lughnasadh last weekend but my hubby's (aka the Knight) birthday. We haven't been able to travel anywhere this year, unless you count the times to the grocery stores. Ahem! Those trips do not count at all. So, we managed to go out near the Sacramento River and have lunch. The weather was perfect--light breeze and lots of boats on the river.

Yet dessert was this scrumptious cake made with two of my favorite ingredients: Guinness and Bailey's Irish Cream. Either are great by themselves. However, when you combine them... oh, my heavenly goodness! As always, feel free to tweak the ingredients to suit your taste.

Sláinte mhaith!

IRISH CREAM CAKE

Ingredients

Cake

3⁄4 cup Guinness Draught Stout (or your favorite Irish beer)

1-1/4 cups sugar

1⁄2 cup vegetable oil

1 teaspoon vanilla extract

3⁄4 teaspoon salt

2 large eggs

2⁄3 cup unsweetened cocoa powder

1 cup all-purpose flour

Frosting

2 (8-ounce) packages cream cheese, softened

1 & 1/4 cups heavy cream

1⁄3 cup Baileys Irish Cream (or your favorite Irish cream)

1⁄2 cup sugar

1/2 teaspoon salt

Cocoa powder, for garnish

Directions

Preheat oven to 350ºF.

Prepare an 13x9-inch pan with cooking spray and line with parchment paper.

In a large bowl, whisk together Guinness Draught Stout, sugar, vegetable oil, vanilla extract, and salt.

Whisk in eggs one at a time. Then whisk in cocoa powder and flour.

Pour in cake batter and bake for 20 minutes.

Remove from oven and let cool completely.

Frosting: Use a hand mixer to beat the cream cheese on high.

Pour in heavy cream and Baileys Irish Cream and beat.

Add sugar and salt, then beat until everything is smooth.

Pour frosting over cooled cake.

Refrigerate overnight. Garnish with cocoa powder.

Scavenger Hunt Winner!

Thank you to everyone who entered the Scavenger Hunt! I was impressed with some of your responses. Yet there can only be one winner and she is...

Congratulations, Sharon Frizell!

Scavenger Hunt Questions and Answers

1. What is the name of Ragna's sparrowhawk? Oda

2. What colors are the eyes of Magnar and Rorik's wolves? (Hint: Both wolves have the same colors) Black with silver etched within.

3. In Magnar, what is the name of Elspeth's nephew? Erik

4. What is one of Magnar and Rorik's favorite drink? If you answered ale or mead, then you're correct. These men enjoyed both.

5. Who is the Pirate Wolf? Steinar

6. Give me the name of the Scottish king in both of these stories. King William

7. Who is Declan the Brave? Rorik's uncle

Friday Feast | Welcome Lughnasadh

Happy Lughnasadh (loo-nuh-suh), my friends. Aye, I'm a few days early, yet it’s Friday Feast here in the Tavern, so I thought to kick-off the celebrations today. This harvest festival is named after the Celtic God Lugh who was a great warrior. According to the Ulster Cycle (or known as the Red Branch) of Irish mythology, he fathered the legendary Cúchulainn.

Lughnasadh is Irish Gaelic and means “the násad” (games or assembly) of the hero, Lugh. Lughnasadh is also called Lammas Day, from the Anglo-Saxon hlaef-mass, meaning "loafmass." In the Anglo-Saxon Chronicle of 921 A.D., it states as "the feast of first fruits." It marked the first harvest when the grain was gathered, ground, and baked into a loaf. In the Celtic wheel of the year, Lughnasadh marks the first day of autumn.

If you are able, spend some time outdoors and notice the shifting of the sun.

Lammas Cookies

Ingredients

1 cup butter, softened (I like to use Kerrygold butter)

1 cup sugar

3 eggs

2 cups flour

¼ cup Irish Whiskey

2 tablespoons grated lemon peel

1/2 cup raisins

¼ cup almonds or pecans, chopped

Directions

Preheat oven to 375 degrees.

Cream together the butter and sugar.

Beat in eggs, one at a time, until blended.

Add flour and Irish Whiskey and beat until smooth. Add raisins, lemon peel, and nuts. Mix well.

Drop dough from a tablespoon onto a greased cookie sheet or Silpat

Bake for 6 to 8 minutes.

Remove from sheet while cookies are still warm.

Makes 5 dozen.

Perfect with a glass of cool lemonade or a wee dram of whiskey.

Medieval Monday Scavenger Hunt

Let's play a game, my friends! In celebration of RORIK, The Wolves of Clan Sutherland, Book 2, I've decided to host a scavenger hunt for a fabulous prize package. Though be warned, you'll have to take a journey into the pages of Magnar and Rorik. This should be an easy task, aye? Let's take a peek...

A signed print copy of Rorik . Viking jeweled bookmark and postcard. T-shirt of a quote from the Order of the Dragon Knights series--generously created and made by a lovely lass on my Street Team/Readers Group: Morgan's Warriors. $10 Amazon gift card.

Scavenger Hunt Questions

1. What is the name of Ragna's sparrowhawk

2. What colors are the eyes of Magnar and Rorik's wolves? (Hint: Both wolves have the same colors)

3. In Magnar, what is the name of Elspeth's nephew?

4. What is one of Magnar and Rorik's favorite drink?

5. Who is the Pirate Wolf?

6. Give me the name of the Scottish king in both of these stories.

7. Who is Declan the Brave?

***Important note: Send me your answers to moirarose415@yahoo.com by Friday, July 30th, 12:00pm (Pacific). Do not post a comment in this post. It will NOT count.

Winner to be announced on Monday, August 2nd.

And here's another chance to enter a phenomenal giveaway! Silver Dagger Book Tours is hosting my virtual blog tour for Rorik. Come follow along and check out some of the blogs I'll be visiting.

Check it out ,HERE, or click on the link below:

https://www.silverdaggertours.com/sdsxx-tours/rorik-book-tour-and-giveaway

Friday Feast | 'Tis Christmas in July!

Calling all holiday-themed readers! It’s more than evergreens and twinkly lights at N. N. Light’s Book Heaven’s fifth annual Christmas in July Fête. 44 Christmas, Hanukkah and holiday-themed books featured plus a chance to win a $75 Amazon (US) gift card.

I’m thrilled to be a part of this event. My book, A Magical Highland Solstice and To Weave a Highland Tapestry, will be featured on July 5th (you can still check out the first post via the link) and 22nd . Wait until you read what I love most about the holidays. You won’t want to miss it.

Bookmark this event and tell your friends:

https://www.nnlightsbookheaven.com/christmas-in-july-fete

As a special treat, I'm featuring one of my character's recipe. If you recall, Eve Brannigan from A Magical Highland Solstice won a baking contest with her delicious Eggnog Scones. Since it's July, eggnog is difficult to find. However, Eve has graciously offered to share another one of her recipes. It's yummy anytime of the year.

EVE BRANNIGAN’S PUMPKIN GRANOLA

Ingredients

3 cups old-fashioned rolled oats

½ cup sliced almonds

½ cup pecan pieces

1 ½ teaspoons ground cinnamon

¼ teaspoon ground ginger

¼ teaspoon ground nutmeg

¼ teaspoon ground cloves

¼ teaspoon salt

1/3 cup plain pumpkin puree

½ cup maple syrup

3 tablespoons melted butter

1 teaspoon vanilla extract

Directions

Preheat oven to 300 degrees. Line a baking sheet pan with parchment paper or coat the pan with your choice of non-stick spray.

Place oats, almonds, pecans, cinnamon, ginger, nutmeg, cloves, and salt in a large bowl. Stir to mix.

Combine pumpkin puree, maple syrup, butter, and vanilla. Stir well.

Add pumpkin mixture to oat mixture and combine well. Spread in prepared baking pan.

Bake 45 minutes, stirring every 15 minutes.

Continue to bake for 10 more minutes but be careful mixture doesn’t burn. Remove from oven and cool completely.

Friday Feast | A Return to a Favorite Viking Site

With the new release of the second book in The Wolves of Clan Sutherland, RORIK, I've returned to one of my favorite research sites on the internet. ,The Ribe VikingeCenter is one of my 'go-to' places for information. It's a treasure trove for writing my Viking/Scottish stories. I shared this site a year ago on my blog ,here (August 2020).

Each time I enter the site, I'm transported back to the Viking era. It's a fascinating place which I hope to visit one day.

One of their recipes I've tried is the Fresh Cream Cheese with Herbs. I've experimented with a sweet (I used honey) and savory version of this recipe. Unfortunately, I'm unable to post the recipe here, but I've included the link for you to peruse.

Recipe for Fresh Cream Cheese with Herbs: ,https://ribevikingecenter.dk/en/learn-more/viking-slow-food/recipes/fresh-cream-cheese-with-herbs.aspx

Click ,HERE for The Ribe VikingeCenter.

Psst, do you have your copy of RORIK? Did you know it's available in digital and print?

Grab your copy today!

Click on the ,Universal Buy Link.

Spotlight Cover Reveal "Undercover in Venice Beach" by Melody DeBlois

I'm delighted to host my friend and lovely sister Rose from the Wild Rose Press, Melody DeBlois! We're celebrating her stunning cover and book trailer for her upcoming release Undercover in Venice Beach! I can hardly wait to dive into this story. It sounds like a perfect summertime read.

The Tavern is serving champagne, so grab a glass and lets take a peek into Melody's story, and her gorgeous book trailer!

By trading places with her twin, Audrey Powell has the opportunity she’s always wanted, running her late mother’s teahouse. When she fails to create food that delights the palate, she hires Liam James—a sexy as sin Brit with a flair for cooking. He tries to seduce her with titillating dishes and his charm, but she’s vowed to steer clear of romance.

Working undercover, Liam’s mission is to keep an eye on the teahouse. He poses as a chef to catch the traitor who is leaking UK security secrets. The last thing he wants to do is fall for a suspect, but when sparks fly, the romance starts to feel all too real.

Sneak preview from Undercover in Venice Beach

Liam pointed to the recipe, and when she reluctantly did as instructed, he said, “Add the wet butter and milk to the mix and beat until you get rid of the lumps.”

“Too bad I can’t rid myself of the lumps in my so-called life.”

“You’ll get them smoothed out.” He slid in back of her and took her hand, demonstrating the motion, tempting her to nestle against his chest. His Iron Man chest. “Just keep trying, luv.”

His being so near was torture. “Do I add the fruit now?”

“Aye, the cranberries. You can spot a bad one from the others because it shows a wrinkle.” He picked out a specimen, displaying it to her on his palm. “See, not unlike the line you get between your brows when you’re deep in thought.”

She rubbed the bridge of her nose. “I do?”

He sent her an all-male grin. “Captivating, actually.”

He wiped flour from her face with a dishrag and plopped some cranberries in her mouth. She bit down, the tangy sweetness thrilling her taste buds, the sexy man challenging her vow to stay clear of him. But the very act of his helping her spoon the batter into tins pulled her deeper into his center, a universe composed of his culinary magic and kindness. His large hands and strong arms made her feel fragile and protected from the outside world. She remained there, a participant in sensations, till the bells over the entrance clanged together like dropped silverware.

Preorder your copy today!

,AMAZON | ,BARNES & NOBLE | ,GOODREADS | ,BOOKBUB

Meet the Author

Melody lives in Sacramento (the City of Trees). She writes romance novels. She’s partial to poetry, sun, rain, strong coffee, and her writing room surrounded by books. Besides California, she and her late husband lived part-time in a condo in Oregon overlooking the Pacific. That gave her a love for beach towns and whale-watching and sunsets—all the things that inspire the Love is a Beach series. The writing process fascinates her, the alchemy of layering and developing characters, the tinkering with language. There’s so much to treasure in the world: family, friends, and those random, everyday moments that make life grand. She hopes to give her readers all of that.

Connect with Melody here

,Facebook | ,Twitter | ,Pinterest | ,Instagram

I'm delighted to announce that I've teamed up with the fabulous N.N. Light's Book Heaven on Melody DeBlois’ Trailer Reveal Day. Please take a moment and check out the post ,HERE!

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=47aRUo3IqNg

Friday Feast | A Summer Solstice Pasta Salad

With the Summer Solstice a few days away, I'm getting ready to dance with the faeries. The scorching heat has arrived, so I'm planning a light fare for this weekend. Yet Sunday is also Father's Day, and my knight likes his traditional steak on this day. We do love a good green salad, but I'm thinking grilled Anaheim peppers with onions, and a cucumber, radish, and feta salad. For dessert? Root beer floats!

This pasta salad (photo above) was perfect with a side of grilled chicken and leeks a few days ago. And I had all the ingredients (big shock)!

Whatever your plans, remember to have fun and embrace the summertime energy. Play, sing, laugh, dance, and don't forget to celebrate all those fathers out there as well!

“I know a bank where the wild thyme blows,

Where oxlips and the nodding violet grows,

Quite over-canopied with luscious woodbine,

With sweet musk-roses and with eglantine.”

~ A Midsummer Night’s Dream, William Shakespeare

Summer Solstice Pasta Salad

Ingredients

1 package of cheese tortellini

1 cup chopped marinated artichoke hearts

1 each yellow and red bell pepper, chopped or sliced

½ cup of frozen peas, thawed

1 or 2 green onions, chopped

½ cup sliced Kalamata olives

1 cup shredded Parmesan and Asiago cheese

¼ - ½ cup Italian Dressing (I like the Olive Garden brand)

Salt and Pepper

Directions

Cook cheese tortellini to directions on package. Drain into a colander and rinse tortellini under cold water to cool. Place in large bowl.

Toss into the cooled tortellini the marinated artichoke hearts, bell peppers, peas, green onions, olives, and cheese. Then add your Italian dressing and mix thoroughly throughout.

Season with salt and pepper, if desired.

Place pasta salad in fridge for at least 2 hours or overnight.

**Note: I’ve been known to swap out the Parmesan and Asiago cheese for Feta.

Friday Feast | A Cheer for MAGNAR

The Tavern is definitely celebrating! I'm delighted to announce that MAGNAR has made it to the finals for the prestigious RONE Award from InD'tale Magazine! I'm blowing kisses to each and every one of you who voted for my story. Honestly, I didn't think I'd make it. There were so many amazing authors in my category. Now it's up to the judges. The winners will be announced at a banquet on board a cruise this October. I had planned on attending, but sadly, my knight will still be recovering from major surgery.

Thank you all! I'm beyond thrilled that this first book in a brand new series is doing phenomenal! And don't forget, the second book, RORIK, is out in less than three weeks. The Dark Seducer was a complex and tortured hero to write. I hope you've preordered your copy. It's available in print and digital ,here.

In keeping with my theme of Vikings and Highlanders, I was drawn to one of my favorite summertime meals for breakfast: Faerie Porridge. Did you hear Magnar and Rorik groan? I'm sure they have their own thoughts about porridge--from adding meat, crushed barley, and/or nuts. Yet I'm thinking Midsummer, and the recipe below is one with strawberries.

If you're curious about a true Viking Age porridge, check out this book called, An Early Meal: A Viking Age Cookbook & Culinary Odyssey ,here. The history is fabulous along with the recipes!

Skål (Cheers)

FAERIE PORRIDGE

Ingredients

4 cups of heavy cream

1 cup flour

¾ cup of whole milk

1 teaspoon cinnamon

1/4 teaspoon of sugar

Pinch of salt (to taste)

Strawberries

Sliced Almonds (optional)

Directions

Bring cream to a full boil, stirring continuously, until foam is gone.

Gradually add flour to make a thick mush. Stir until butter appears. Remove butter and set aside.

In a separate pot, bring milk to a boil. Gradually add milk to the mush. Simmer 10-20 minutes, stirring frequently, until mixture thickens.

Add sugar, cinnamon, and salt.

Serve with sliced strawberries, almonds, and melted butter.

The Coffee Pot Book Club Presents "Sigurd's Swords" by Eric Schumacher

Please welcome to the Tavern Eric Schumacher! We're celebrating his upcoming historical novel, Sigurd's Swords, (Olaf’s Saga, Book 2). I'm eager to find out more (obviously, since this is a Viking novel), so grab a cup of mead and let's take a peek into Eric's intriguing story...

From best-selling historical fiction novelist, Eric Schumacher, comes the second volume in Olaf’s Saga: the adrenaline-charged story of Olaf Tryggvason and his adventures in the kingdom of the Rus.

AD 968. It has been ten summers since the noble sons of the North, Olaf and Torgil, were driven from their homeland by the treachery of the Norse king, Harald Eriksson. Having then escaped the horrors of slavery in Estland, they now fight among the Rus in the company of Olaf’s uncle, Sigurd.

It will be some of the bloodiest years in Rus history. The Grand Prince, Sviatoslav, is hungry for land, riches, and power, but his unending campaigns are leaving the corpses of thousands in their wakes. From the siege of Konugard to the battlefields of ancient Bulgaria, Olaf and Torgil struggle to stay alive in Sigurd’s Swords, the riveting sequel to Forged by Iron.

Pre-order your copy today! Release date 6.28.21

,AMAZON

Sneak preview from Sigurd's Swords

Chapter 1

Konugard, Gardariki, Late Summer, AD 968

Fall was coming. I could feel it in the cold wind that whipped down the Nepr River to the east of us. I could see it, too, in the clouds forming in the north. Thick and gray they were, carrying rain that I welcomed. Anything to slake my thirst and give the vile nomads who encircled our city — the Pechenegs — something to make their siege a little less pleasant.

The Pechenegs had been our friends once, or so I was told. But they had turned on us while our leader, Grand Prince Sviatoslav, was away to the south, fighting the Bolgars. Now they camped by the thousands beyond our walls. Of those nomadic people I can say little, save how much I despised them. I hated their swarthy looks, their equine stench, and the damn drums they beat each night. I hated their black felt hats and the food they cooked beneath our noses as we starved on the walls of Konugard. But mostly I hated them for their arrows and how they killed us from afar, like cowards.

The siege was entering its third month. In the first week of the siege they had overrun the neighboring land, driving our army back to the ramparts that stood inside the city’s moat. Those high wooden walls had been our home ever since.

I looked at Olaf. My friend and charge stood next to me, fiddling with his seax. We had been nobles once but had fled our homes when the sons of Erik had killed Olaf’s father. Our flight had led to our capture by Estland Vikings, who had sold us into slavery. For seven long summers, as thralls, we prodded the Estland bogs for pebbles of iron that our master smelted and sold in the market for profit. That had been a living version of Hel. I had vowed upon my escape never to be captured again, and yet here I was, caged in the city of Konugard and surrounded by death. At least here there was a glimmer of hope. We had sent messages to Grand Prince Sviatoslav early in the siege, begging him to return. If he did so before winter, we stood a chance. I glanced at the clouds yet again, as if I could divine the answer in their gray billows. They rolled on indifferently.

“Torgil!” called Lord Sigurd from his seat beneath the arrow-riddled parapet. I turned to find him regarding me wearily, his cerulean eyes dark-rimmed. He was a man in his prime — tall, muscular, his red hair unfaded — but I could hear the fatigue in his voice. Strewn across the fighting platform near him were the members of his household retinue, his hird. Roughly forty of us remained, representing all manner of people. Most of us were Rus, which is to say Swedes, Danes, and Northmen, though there were also many Slavs: Ilmen, Chuds, Krivichi, and other tribes whose names I did not know. We differed greatly from one another in looks, but we were all bound by one oath — to serve Lord Sigurd — and one language, if you could call our jumble of Slavic and Norse a language at all.

“Lord?” I replied.

“Mind your helmet,” he warned.

I reached up and straightened the conical helm on my head, then swiped my black bangs from my eyes with my grimy hand and turned back to the view.

Sigurd was the maternal uncle of Olaf and one of the lords of General Dobrynya, a prominent officer in the army of Grand Prince Sviatoslav. It had been Sigurd who had discovered Olaf in a marketplace when he was a thrall and he also who had come to rescue me and my fellow thralls from the Estland cesspit where we were being held. He had seen our sorry state and had brought us back to his hall near Holmgard, offering us a roof and food and rest, a kindness I promised to repay with my service to him. When I was sufficiently healed of my external wounds, he allowed me to train with Olaf and his men, for I had been taught in the way of weapons by my own father before my enslavement. Under Sigurd’s steady and patient tutelage, my body mended and my skills improved until that fateful day when he had offered me a place in his hird alongside Olaf. My service was for five summers, and I accepted it gladly.

Not a week later we received news that we were going to the great walled city the Slavs call Kyiv — Konugard to we Northmen — to protect Grand Prince Sviatoslav’s mother, Queen Olga, and his sons Yaropolk, Oleg, and Vladimir while he campaigned in the south. Sigurd had said it would be an easy assignment — a summer in a beautiful city surrounded by beautiful women. I bristled at the memory, for the Pechenegs had come not long after we arrived and quickly overran the area. Since then we had known nothing but misery.

“How do you think Turid would like this?” I asked Olaf, thinking of our mutual friend who served in Sigurd’s household. She had wanted to be a warrior — indeed, she had the skill for it — but Sigurd had forbidden it. He believed it would cause too much strife among his men. Mayhap he was right. Turid was a striking redhead with glacial eyes and freckled skin whose beauty had captivated me since we were children. It was not difficult to see how men might fight for her attention.

Olaf smirked through his short amber beard. “Truth be told, I think she would enjoy it. Not the suffering, but the fighting. That, she would like.”

I smiled at the truth in Olaf’s words. She had been a fellow thrall with us and had shown her fighting prowess during our escape. “Aye. She would. We should bring it up again to Sigurd if we return from this place.”

“When we return,” Olaf corrected. Unlike me, he did not see the dark side of reality. He still believed the rubbish his father had fed him when we were small: that he was destined for greatness.

I rolled my eyes but knew there was no sense in arguing.

“You should marry her, you know,” he offered quietly. “Neither of you is getting any younger and it would be good for you to have a son.”

I glanced at my friend, who was taller than me by half a head, though he was four winters my junior. It was true what he said — I was in my twentieth fall and Turid was older than me by a winter. I knew she was fond of me, but our friendship had never gone past a peck on the cheek. Olaf’s comment was not far off the mark, but I refused to let him know that. Any advantage given him was an advantage he would take. If not now, then later. So instead I furrowed my brows and gave him my most puzzled look. “What makes you think I want to marry her? Or want a child?”

“Oh, come. You have always had feelings for her. Ever since we were young whelps. And what man does not want a son to carry on his name and his memory?”

“What about you?” I countered. “You could easily marry her.”

He snorted. “I could never marry her.” He moved closer to me and his blue eyes swung to and fro as he checked for listeners. “I am a prince. If I marry, it will be for gain and she cannot offer me that. Though,” he raised a finger, “I would not mind discovering what other gifts she has to offer.”

When she had flowered, the son of our Estland slave master had taken Turid as his concubine. It was a wound from which she would never heal, and a wound on which Olaf had just trodden. My temper flared and I punched him hard in the shoulder.

“What did you do that for?” His eyes flashed as he straightened from the blow, genuinely shocked at my response.

“To remind you to watch your tongue,” I growled. “You know how sensitive she is about that.”

“But she is not here, is she?” Olaf snarled at me and slid down the wall to a spot near my feet. I did not care. His callous comment poked at wounds he had no business poking.

I was about to say something more when a horn rang out from the watchtower and turned my attention back to the enemy.

“What is happening out there?” Sigurd asked.

I peered more closely at the Pecheneg encampment. “There is some movement.”

“My dead mother could give a better report than that, Bog-Breath! Why is the watchman blowing a horn?” asked Sigurd’s second-in-command, a brute named Ulrik, who lounged near Sigurd with his eyes closed. He’d had the honor of serving as Sigurd’s second-in-command for multiple summers and had the scars to prove it. At some point in our journey to Konugard, he had decided I needed a byname and so had started calling me Bog-Breath because of my time as a thrall in the Estland bogs. I hated the name.

“What kind of movement?” Sigurd asked more patiently.

A small number of men had climbed onto their stocky steeds and were heading off to the west. “Looks like a foraging party,” I surmised.

“That is what you said the last time they attacked,” mumbled Olaf.

“Piss off,” I replied and kicked him.

“If you kick me again, Torgil, I will break your ankle,” Olaf growled.

“Try it,” I hissed.

“Torgil!” Sigurd snapped. “The enemy is that way.” He pointed over the wall. Near him, Ulrik snorted.

With a muffled curse, I turned my eyes back to the vast army before me. It was, in truth, jaw-dropping. I was the son of a Northern noble who had been a friend to Olaf’s father, a Northern king — men who could gather hundreds of spearmen to their banners in mere days. As a youth, I had been so impressed by that. And yet it paled in comparison to the thousands that had gathered beyond our walls and now covered the plain like an undulating blanket of humanity. Though I stood on the walls of the largest city I had ever known, I felt like a pimple on the arse of their might.

“Where is Sviatoslav?” I wondered aloud, giving voice to my unease.

“Probably screwing some Bolgar wench,” replied a bald, blue-eyed Dane named Orm. His name meant worm and I thought it fit him well. He had a long yellow beard, long limbs, and a long body capped by a round head that was red with his latest sunburn, the skin peeling as if he were molting. Orm’s sarcasm spilled from his mouth as surely as his skin flaked from his scalp.

The men chuckled at Orm’s words, for it was known that Grand Prince Sviatoslav liked his women as much as he liked his campaigns.

“Worry not, Torgil,” added Sigurd as if reading my thoughts. “His mother has sent messengers. If there is anyone he heeds, it is her. Besides, we have been in worse binds before, as have you and Olaf, I think.”

And just as his words reached my ears, the Pecheneg arrows struck.

Meet the Author

Eric Schumacher (1968 - ) is an American historical novelist who currently resides in Santa Barbara, California, with his wife and two children. He was born and raised in Los Angeles and attended college at the University of San Diego.At a very early age, Schumacher discovered his love for writing and medieval European history, as well as authors like J.R.R. Tolkien and C.S. Lewis. Those discoveries continue to fuel his imagination and influence the stories he tells. His first novel, God's Hammer, was published in 2005.

Connect with Eric here ~

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,Amazon Author Page | ,Goodreads