Series: Welsh Blades #1
Published by Createspace Independent Publishing Platform on 9th August 2015
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Ranulf Ombrier’s fame throughout England for his skill at swordplay is rivaled only by his notoriety as King Edward I’s favorite killer. Ranulf's actions have gained him lands, title, and a lasting reputation as a hired butcher. But after years of doing his king's bidding, he begins to fear for his mortal soul and follows his conscience away from Edward, all the way to the wilds of Wales.
Gwenllian of Ruardean, Welsh daughter of a powerful Marcher lord, has every reason to leave Ranulf for dead when one of her men nearly kills him. As a girl she was married by proxy to a man Ranulf murdered, only to become a widow before she ever met her groom. In the years since, she has shunned the life of a lady, instead studying warfare and combat at her mother’s behest. But she has also studied healing and this, with her sense of duty to knightly virtues, leads her to tend to Ranulf’s wounds.
Saving her enemy’s life comes with consequences, and Gwenllian and Ranulf are soon caught up in dangerous intrigue. Forced together by political machinations, they discover a kinship of spirit and a surprising, intense desire. But even hard-won love cannot thrive when loyalties are divided and the winds of rebellion sweep the land.
‘The King’s Man’ is in short, a mesmerising read. More so because I can’t even remember the last time I’d dipped a toe in one that’s past the 18th or 19th century. But undoubtedly, this is also a hard review to write, torn as I am between the superb writing and a lacklustre romance that sputtered out before it even began.
That Elizabeth Kingston managed to frame the story within the confines of 13th century Britain yet pull the smallest parallels to modern life makes this story heart-wrenchingly contemporary and frankly, impressive, at least in the way Gwenllian struggled with giving up her identity as swordswoman and a commander of the men in her keep the moment she was made to marry Morency.
In Gwenllian, we get a multifaceted and complexly drawn portrayal of an unusual woman of that time, with such wondrous strength of character and ferocious adaptability that it puts—or should put—many to shame. Forced into a role that put her squarely in a round hole of running the keep as a newly-married lady, and torn between warring factions and political intrigue, her ultimate decision to leave her former self and devote her life to being a lady felt like a bittersweet decision that is admittedly hard for a 21st century reader to swallow—a reminder perhaps, that such sacrifices in some form or other, still exist today even as strong women fight just as hard to have it all.
Kingstons’s characterisation draws no complaint from me, though the pairing left me more than a little wanting: there’s heat at nights, and muted remoteness between the protagonists by day, in a connection that never quite sparked given the lack of communication for most of it and for the repetitive lines of how much Gwenllian felt drawn to Morency and to her obedience to duty. And if I loved her spunk in the beginning, that merely flared as bright and as briefly as a shooting star before she’d determinedly shed her armour in a displacement that drew all the feels. In short it was a sacrifice I’d hoped never to read in the story, only to have it dug even more deeply by the time it ended.
I thought Kingston glossed over the fluidity of the concept of beauty despite the refreshing idea that not only beautiful women in romantic literature deserves a happy ending. Even for 13th century sensibilities about supposedly immutable gender roles, the unforgivable insults that Morency hurled at Gwellian in the early days merely made him a cruel and arrogant prick who never quite redeemed himself by the end of the book. I’d not seen enough of his vulnerability or his devotion to Gwenllian—nor of any active encouragement for her to be who she needed to be—to believe that he’d truly loved her and to this extent, ‘The King’s Man’ felt like a massive let down.