"The second installment in Debra Kemp’s House of Pendragon series, The Recruit continues the enthralling story of King Arthur’s young daughter, Lin. After surviving the horrors of slavery, the princess is thrown into another world nearly as repugnant when she meets her unloving mother, Queen Gwenhywfar. Self-doubt plagues Lin, but it also fuels her relentless determination not to bow to the snobbish queen’s demands. Instead, she takes on the insurmountable task she hopes will keep her close to the father she adores—the task of becoming one of his knights. Both an original twist on an old legend and a timeless reflection of the Arthurian era, The Recruit is a story that resonates with fresh vision and searing authenticity. A highly recommended read."—Kathleen Cunningham Guler, author of The Anvil Stone
"Are we doomed to repeat our past if something dramatic is not done to change our fate? Can each of us find the strength within to make a better life for ourselves? Debra Kemp gives us that hope through Lin, a strong but branded woman who struggles to embody the nobility that is possible in all of us."—Kate Chaplin, author of The Belief Test: Questions to ask Yourself on the Journey of Life
"4 1/2 Stars!...After finishing the first book in the series, I was looking forward to reading this sequel, which was even better than I could imagine. Once again, Debra A. Kemp has written a page turner. In [this book] we continue to follow Lin...Life has changed a lot for her but has it become any better?...Just read this book and find out for yourself. Debra A. Kemp has found a new fan in me."--Annick, Euro-Reviews
"The concept of King Arthur having a feisty daughter, a warrior, makes for an intriguing and highly entertaining twist...A highly-recommended read, not only for those who are historical fiction fans, but for all readers who enjoy suspense, adventure, and intrigue. A warrior princess full of spunk, a sense of righteousness, a sharp temper, and undying determination; a princess Camelot will embrace. Escaping her past, however, may turn out to be more than she bargained. Is she brave enough to prevail?"--Regan Windsor, Reader Views
“Does no one sit here, I wonder,” I said.
Dafydd glanced over my shoulder.
“No one dares,” he said. “For no living man may sit upon the Seat of Peril.”
“Indeed?”
I sensed a bloody grand tale.
“Why, pray, is it called the Seat of Peril?”
My brother, at his best, released me and swept an elegant bow.
“Have you not heard, my lady? Woe to anyone who tries, for only the eques destined to shall sit at the Pendragon’s side and live.”
“I shall be sure to warn the others next time we gather here.”
Startled, Dafydd and I spun to face the Seneschal. How long had he been watching? Listening?
“Couldn’t stay away, could you, lass?”
“We meant no harm, sir. I promise, we touched nothing,” I said, preparing to accept the consequences. “I had to see it. And no one forbade me from it.”
“Indeed,” Cai said. He opened a shutter and sunlight streamed in. At the Table’s centre was my father’s standard boldly painted—the gold dragon in the crimson background. “Better?”
“You aren’t angry?”
“Of course not. You’re young. And you’re Arthur’s daughter.” He spoke as though his last sentence explained everything. “Your da wanted to share this moment with you.”
“Truly?”
Cai nodded, then turned to leave. “Stay as long as you like.”
Of course as Camelot’s seneschal, he was a busy man.
“What happens in here, Cai?” I said.
“Mainly a lot of arguing, lass.”
His answer took me by surprise.
Cai grinned. “It’s true, lass. Whatever your idealistic visions might be,” he said, winking at Dafydd. “Men sit in these chairs at Beltane and Samhain. Oft times it’s a marvel that anything gets settled here. But your da has a way.”
“What is his magic?”
“Magic? My brother is as human as the rest.”
“But any man who can envision this”—my hand caressed the Table—“and make it a reality…”
“Exactly, lass. I never said he was not special. Any other questions?”
I had many, but did not wish to detain him from his work any longer.
I shook my head and thanked him.
“I am always at your service, lass. And Dafydd’s. Never hesitate to ask.”
We regarded each other for what seemed a long time. Then Cai’s gaze shifted to the Round Table behind me.
“Seat of Peril,” Cai said with a chuckle. “I dare say, you are a bard in the rough, lad.”
Dafydd’s cheeks reddened, as Cai patted his shoulder.
Still grinning, the Seneschal left, reminding us to close the shutter.
I turned to the Round Table again, extending my arms as though to embrace my father’s dream.
A wicked thought possessed me. I stroked the edge of the Table where the name would be.
“You said no living man would sit here, Dafydd. I’m not a man.”