LORD OF THE EYRIE (BOOK ONE)

Love, War, and the Price of Loyalty

Transylvania, Kingdom of Hungary, 1440:

Finally home after five years away, warrior-nobleman Sándor Szilágyi is met by a dying father, a resentful younger brother, his child-bride all grown up and the family estate raided by the Ottomans. As he struggles to adjust to life as a landlord, Sándor's authority is challenged by two strong-minded and fearless women: Margit, his faithful and righteous wife, determined to keep him on the straight and narrow; and Anna, his sister-in-law, a scheming temptress bent on ruining him in order to take his land.

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RETURN TO THE EYRIE (BOOK TWO)

Honour, revenge, and the quest for justice.​Belgrade, Kingdom of Hungary, 1470​Raised in exile, adolescent noblewoman Margit Szilágyi dreams of returning to her homeland of Transylvania to avenge her father's murder and reclaim her stolen legacy. To achieve this, she must break the constraints of her gender and social status and secretly train in combat. When the king offers her a chance at justice, she seizes it - even if it means disguising herself as a man to infiltrate the vultures' nest that now occupies her ancestral 'eyrie'. Plagued by childhood trauma and torn between two passionate loves, Margit faces brutal battles, her murderous kin's traps and inner demons on her quest for vengeance. Only by confronting the past can she reclaim her honour - if she can survive long enough to see it through. Return to the Eyrie is an epic coming-of-age tale of a young woman's unwavering pursuit of justice and destiny in 15th century Hungary.

BOOK EXCERPT
Margit dismounted and steadied her breath, pushing all distractions from her mind.
Settled at last, her hand loosed arrows with practised ease. Horses and men dropped to the ground. Within moments, her comrades charged down the slope, weapons drawn. Confusion spread among the enemy troops, now attacked from two sides.
Slowly stepping to the right, Margit kept releasing arrows that felled beasts and men alike. Though proud of her skill, pity pierced her heart. So much senseless agony and death.
Severed limbs, wretched screams of the wounded and dying, circling carrion birds. Blood soaked the earth. Merciless Death descended to claim those souls.
Tears of conscience blinked back, Margit steeled herself. She was a soldier now. This horror must not sway her.
Csillag’s sharp whinny snapped her concentration back. Heavy footsteps crunched behind her. Six Ottomans surrounded her, blades gleaming. One wielded a war hammer.
No chance of escape.
At least, save Csillag.
She slapped his rump. “Go!”
He took off, slamming into an enemy man and hurling him to the ground. His bones cracked as he fell.
Five left.
Margit dropped the bow and drew her sabre. The world closed in around her. She could not defeat them all. Was this the end?
God, forgive my sins. Her thirst for revenge and retribution had led to this lone moment. She would be gone and become nothing more than a memory. With the fury of the doomed, she countered the first, the second, the third strike, locked in a deadly dance of Fate.
Then hooves thundered, and a feral scream sent the birds flapping from the trees.
Her dark knight had come.
No time to watch as another blade sliced the air near Margit’s face. She lashed out, spraying blood while the knight also cut the Ottomans down.
“Behind you!” he shouted.
She barely turned halfway when a crushing force slammed her helmet. Pain shrieked through her skull; metal clanged in her ears. Time distorted as she fell.
The image of the knight galloping towards her, his Morgenstern raised high, flashed before her eyes.
A body crashed beside her.
Then darkness swept her away.Sometime later, when Margit briefly surfaced to consciousness, she found herself strapped against the knight’s chest as he rode at a reckless pace. Although barely two hands’ breadth away from his face, she could not make out his features. A dark cloud enveloped her and gradually turned the indistinct images into blackness.