I am absolutely thrilled to be bringing you an extract from this book today. Lady of Lincoln by Rachel Elwiss Joyce is a novel of Nicola de la Haye, the medieval heroine history tried to forget.
The Blurb
A true story. A forgotten heroine. In a time when women were told to stay silent, could she become the saviour her people need?
12th-century England. Nicola de la Haye wants to do her duty. But though she’s taught a female cannot lead alone, the young noblewoman bristles at the marriage her father has arranged to secure her inheritance. And when an unexpected death leaves her unguided, the impetuous girl shuns the king’s blessing and weds a handsome-but-landless knight.
Harshly fined by Henry II for her unsanctioned union, Nicola struggles to salvage her estates while dealing with devastating betrayals from her husband… and his choice to join rebels in a brewing civil war. Yet after averting a tragedy and gaining the castle garrison’s respect, she still must face the might of powerful men determined to crush her under their will.
Can she survive love, threats, and violent ambition to prove she’s worthy of authority?
In this carefully researched and vividly human series debut, Rachel Elwiss Joyce showcases the complex themes of honour, responsibility, and freedom in the story of a remarkable heroine who men tried to erase from history. And as readers dive into a world defined by violence and turmoil, they’ll be stunned by this courageous young woman’s journey toward greatness.
Lady of Lincoln is the gritty first book in the Nicola de la Haye Series historical fiction saga. If you like richly textured female heroes, courtly drama, and fast-paced intrigue, then you’ll adore Rachel Elwiss Joyce’s gripping true-life tale.
The Extract
Lincoln Castle, May 1168
Nicola stood atop the western battlements under a duck-egg sky, her frozen fingers clutching the cold crossbow, her skirts snapping in the wind as she waited for Edwin—and humiliation. What was she doing here? And what had possessed her to think she could master a soldier’s weapon? Papa had laughed. Julia had just rolled her eyes.
She pulled her woollen cloak tighter against the biting wind, ignoring the guards further down the wall who studiously avoided her gaze. The longer she waited, the more foolish she felt.
Still, this wasn’t her greatest worry. Papa was determined she marry some nameless, greying nobleman. She didn’t want to dishonour her family, but what was the rush? Papa wasn’t dying. Surely there was a handsome, gallant knight out there who might win her heart, and guard her lands. She just had to find him.
She drew a breath and scanned the horizon, thrilling at the view. Lincoln Castle crowned a steep escarpment, towering over the Upper City. Below, mist uncoiled from the river valley, pierced by golden shafts of morning sun. She loved the castle, yet the stone walls, symbols of her family’s power, were starting to feel like a gaol.
Boot-steps echoed behind her. She turned.
Edwin, the grizzled garrison commander, climbed the last stair to the curtain wall. Thickset, bearded, his leather armour worn smooth with use, he gave her a sardonic smile. “There you are. The castle’s very own shield maiden.”
Nicola flushed. He clearly thought this was a farce.
She lifted her chin. “A fine morning to you, too.”
Edwin chuckled and moved beside her, reeking of leather and stale ale. “I’ve set up some targets.”
She shifted uneasily. Was she about to make a fool of herself?
“See there,” he said, pointing across the ditch towards the steaming Lawn. “I was a green squire, firing bolts from this very wall during the Battle of Lincoln. Never been so scared in my life.”
“Papa never speaks of it. He’s never forgiven Uncle Ralph for the disgrace.”
“I don’t know how his mother forgave Ralph after he cheated her out of the castle then switched sides like that.” Edwin spat over the wall. “But then he’d always been jealous.”
“Of what?”
“Your grandfather was raised from minor lord to royal constable. That honour was meant to pass to your father, the eldest, but Ralph, always arrogant, hated that.”
Nicola’s jaw tightened. Of course. Papa’s obsession with honour had begun with Ralph’s betrayal. If he hadn’t turned traitor, maybe Papa wouldn’t be so desperate to bind her future to a husband he deemed trustworthy enough to honour the family name.
“Thousands dead in the field,” Edwin muttered, crossing himself. “Good men; good horses. The grass ran red. I saw King Stephen captured. Then I had to serve Ralph.” He scowled. “That man changed sides so often, we never knew who the enemy was.”
A gust slapped Nicola’s braid across her cheek. She turned into it, breathing the sharp, clean air. Over the gate, the Haye red sun banner snapped in salute. Beyond, geese flapped over Brayford Pool. She envied them. Free. While she, despite the commanding view, was little more than a prisoner in her own castle.
She hefted the crossbow. “Shall we begin?”
Edwin took it from her. “Lady Nicola, if you’ll pardon me—this is nonsense. If there’s a battle, you’ll be in the tower, not fighting on the walls.”
Her cheeks burned; half ashamed, half angry. “I will be constable one day.”
“Your husband will. You’ll never be a knight.” He snorted. “Or a crossbowman.”
Her fists clenched. “If that’s what you think, Edwin, I’ve better things to do.” She turned to go.
He caught her arm. “Forgive me. I just...” He hesitated. “When the castle last fell under siege, the town was attacked. The women...” His jaw tightened. “You’re like a daughter to me. If the worst comes, I want you safe in the Lucy Tower. I’ll teach you to use a dagger—but not this.”
Her jaw tensed. She liked and admired him, but he wasn’t her father. He’d no right to tell her what she could or couldn’t be. “Mayhap I’ll surprise you,” she snapped.
He blinked, as though seeing her for the first time.
She folded her arms.
He sighed. “Very well. Strap this on.” He handed her a thick belt with a large iron hook.
She cinched it around her waist.
“Tight,” he said. He passed her the crossbow.
A laugh echoed from the bailey. Three guardsmen stood shielding their eyes, staring up. Her cheeks flamed. One of them had laughed, but which? She couldn’t see.
She lifted her chin. Let them stare. She was a Haye.
“Hitch up your gown,” Edwin said.
She pulled at the fabric, revealing her ankles and goatskin shoes.
Edwin frowned. “You’ll never manage in those. You need boots... really, you need chausses.”
“You should have told me. I’d have worn my riding boots.”
“Next time.” He took the belt back, buckled it on, placed a boot in the stirrup, caught the whipcord with the hook, and bent his knees. “You have to use your body. It’s got more power than your legs or arms.” Slowly, he rose, the hooked belt moving with him, dragging the cord until it clicked into place.
Nicola stared. What had she been thinking? She’d never manage that.
He fitted a bolt. “Here.” He handed the weapon to her.
The crossbow felt heavier than before. She’d watched men do this hundreds of times; but it was her turn now.
“Hold it to your shoulder, like so.” He positioned the crossbow. “Set the butt firmly. It keeps the weapon steady.” He moved her fingers into position.
Another laugh ripped through the air.
“Now,” Edwin said, “look straight down the length of the stock, using the tip of the bolt as your guide, and align it with the target. For most shots, this’ll be enough. I can teach you how to adjust for range another time.”
If there was a next time.
“Steady breath. Exhale. Then squeeze. Let the crossbow do the work.”
She braced and fired.
The weapon jolted.
The bolt vanished.
“God’s Knucklebones!” Edwin said, eyes wide. “Only an arm span from the target. We might make a constable of you yet.”
An unexpected surge of pride swept through her, followed by a rush of uncertainty. Was he mocking her? “Did you mean that?”
He didn’t answer. His eyes were fixed on the horizon. “Visitors. Ricard du Hommet, I think. And another knight, but I can’t see the emblem.”
Nicola followed his gaze. Four riders galloped from the woods across the Lawn. Two bore the Hommet lilies. The others rode beneath a banner of bright blue with white lions passant. She didn’t recognise the arms.
A cold knot formed in her gut. She had a bad feeling one of the men with the lion emblem was the man Papa would make her marry.
The riders clattered through the barbican.
Her knees buckled. She gripped the parapet.
“Are you alright?” Edwin asked.
“Of course,” she said, forcing a smile. “Just silly women’s concerns.”
Book Details
ISBN: 978 1919337906
Publisher: Hedgehog Books
Formats: e-book, audio and paperback (currently available on Kindle Unlimited) )
No. of Pages: 462 (paperback)
Series: Book 1 in the Nicola de la Haye series
Purchase Links
About the Author
After a rewarding career in the sciences, Rachel returned to her first love—history and the art of storytelling. Fascinated by the women history neglected, or tried to forget, she creates meticulously researched, emotionally resonant fiction that brings her characters’ stories vividly to life.
Her fascination with the past began early. At six years old, she was already inventing tales about medieval women in castles, inspired by her treasured Ladybird books and other picture-rich stories that transported her to another time. By the time she discovered Katherine by Anya Seton as a teenager, she knew the joy and escape that only great historical fiction can bring.
Rachel’s two grown-up children still tease her (fondly) about childhoods spent being “dragged” around castles, archaeological sites, and historical re-enactments. For Rachel, history and imagination have always gone hand in hand.
There was, however, a long gap between the stories of her childhood and her decision to write her own novel. The spark came when she discovered the remarkable true story of Nicola de la Haye—the first female sheriff of England, who defended Lincoln Castle against a French invasion and became known as “the woman who saved England,” Rachel knew she had found her heroine, and a story she was destined to tell.
Rachel lives in the UK, where she continues to explore the lives of women who shaped history but were left out of its pages.
You can also find Rachel at:
(media courtesy of The Coffee Pot Book Club)
(all opinions are my own)
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