Author bio from his own web site
My name is Steven A. McKay and I’m a writer from Old Kilpatrick, near Glasgow in Scotland, heavily influenced by the likes of Bernard Cornwell, Douglas Jackson, Simon Scarrow, Ben Kane et al.
My first book, Wolf’s Head, is set in medieval England and is a fast-paced, violent retelling of the Robin Hood legends. I think my take on the theme is quite different to anything that’s been done before. It hit the number 1 spot in the UK “War” chart, reached the overall Kindle top 20 bestsellers list and is available on Kindle and paperback from Amazon here: http://smarturl.it/2636 . The sequel, The Wolf and the Raven was also a “War” chart number 1 as well as hitting the top spot in the US “Medieval” chart.
The third book Rise of the Wolf is out now and, as I write this, at number 1 in the “Biographical Historical Fiction” Kindle chart…
Also look out for my spin-off novella, Knight of the Cross, featuring Sir Richard-at-Lee and his faithful sergeant-at-arms Stephen which is out now. I’ll be publishing another novella this Christmas (2015) starring Friar Tuck, called The Christmas Devil.
Thanks for reading!
December, 1323 AD
Holly and ivy decorate the houses while voices are raised in song, but the Christmas cheer is tempered by terror this festive season, as demons haunt a small English village.
Strange thefts; cloven hoof-prints in the snow; a house burned to the ground.
Something evil stalks the icy streets of Brandesburton and former mercenary Tuck must find out what, before it’s too late.
As he sets out to solve the mystery the friar prays his faith will protect him. His faith AND his great quarterstaff, for he knows full well – the Devil makes no deals…
This brand new novella from the best-selling author of the Forest Lord series will delight and entertain historical fiction fans looking to escape the madness of Christmas shopping for a little while. Grab a mince pie, warm some mulled wine, and join Friar Tuck on this snowy adventure!
Holy Mary, Mother of God. It’s him! The devil!
The man shrank back, too anxious to approach his own front door for fear of
what terrors he might find inside the thatch-roofed hovel he called ‘home’.
The snow had fallen sporadically for the past week or so and had been
particularly heavy that day, leaving a clean white covering on the land. The
roads around the village were, of course, muddy and sodden from travellers’
feet and the wheels of delivery wagons and the animals that pulled them but
here, outside the old peasant’s home, the snow was thick and fresh and
Or at least it should have been untouched, since no one ever came to visit
the man and, as his family had all died or grown-up and left to live
elsewhere, there was really no reason for anyone to have been near his front
So the sight of footprints leading towards the threshold had made the
peasant pause and then stare, wide-eyed and terror-stricken at the low
dwelling, which had begun to seem horribly sinister in the early-evening
gloom. For upon closer inspection the prints in the snow weren’t normal
human, or even animal prints – they appeared to have been made by some
bipedal beast with hoofs for feet. Cloven hoofs.
“The devil!” the peasant shouted in alarm, his strangled cry somewhat
muffled by the falling snow yet still loud enough to bring his neighbours to
their own doors. Their faces peered out, framed in the orange glow from
their cosy hearths.