u/Competitive-Yam5126

From the late 80s to the mid-90s, medieval romance was everywhere. The Middle Ages are a treasure trove for romance writers: nice and thick stone walls for maximum forced proximity, a smorgasbord of arranged marriage options, FMCs whose choices were ‘marry this guy’ or ‘get abducted by that guy.’ Or why not both, and in that order, and maybe fall in love with both of them!

Western culture has a history of turning to the Middle Ages whenever real life gets to be a little too much. The Victorians did it to escape industrialisation, and the hippies in the 60s did it to reimagine new ways of living. Whomst among us hasn’t fantasized about a simpler time when the world feels a bit too complicated. Reaching back to an imagined past reveals a longing for the kind of moral clarity only a knight on a quest can offer. Judging by how things are going, it feels like the conditions are right for another Medieval Market Boom.

If you’d like to join this informal quest, just pick up a medieval romance. 80s, 90s, 00s, new release, doesn’t matter! Even the 70s, if you’re feeling brave. Write a review or just show us the cover!

Anyway, enough blathering, let's look at some stepbacks.

{The Rose of Blacksword by Rexanne Becnel} - Art by Robert Sabin. Yes, bring that knight to his knees, sis! I also like the nosey horse and knight in the background.

{For My Lady’s Heart by Laura Kinsale} - Art by Gregg Gulbronson. This may seem understated at first glance, but this is actually the most beautiful stepback ever made. The orange haze over the castle in the background! The hawk! Her emerald green dress with tiny embroidered dragonflies! Were backless dresses a thing in the Middle Ages? Who cares!

{Charming the Prince by Teresa Medeiros} Art by Lynn Sanders. - The model here is Cherif Fortin and he was Lynn Sanders muse. She actually found him working at a Medieval Times, which is so appropriate.

{Keeper of the Dream by Penelope Williamson} Art by Elaine Duillo.

{Lady and the Wolf by Julie Beard} - Art by Victor Gadino. Every strand of hair, every crinkle in the shirt, and every thread of embroidery is all getting equal attention. I’ve included a close-up so you can soak it all in.

{The Knight of Rosecliffe by Rexanne Becnel} Art by Robert Sabin.

{Where Magic Dwells by Rexanne Becnel} Art by Robert Sabin.

{Wild by Jill Barnett} Art by Steve Assel.

{Wonderful by Jill Barnett} Art by Steve Assel. - This one makes me laugh because of the super nonchalant double rider side saddle horse jump.

{Wicked by Jill Barnett} Art by Steve Assel.

{A Kingdom of Dreams by Judith McNaught} Art by Morgan Kane.

{Shadows and Lace by Teresa Medeiros} Art by Elaine Duillo.

In 1576, Tycho Brahe, Denmark’s resident astronomer and all-around chaos goblin, was gifted an entire island by the king. He used it to build an underground observatory called Stjärneborg (Star Castle). Tycho also sported a gold prosthetic nose, the result of a math-fueled duel gone wrong, and kept a pet elk who, in a tragic turn of events, got absolutely sloshed at a banquet, tumbled down the stairs, and died. Pour one out for Tycho’s elk.

Seaflame, a 1980 Golden Age of Piracy romance by Janice Young Brooks and Jean Brooks-Janowiak, a sister-in-law team writing as Valerie Vayle, is dedicated to Tycho Brahe. “Why not?” the dedication reads.

Now that I’ve read it, I can definitely confirm that the dedication is not a non-sequitur. This book has the energy of a drunk elk falling down the stairs. It’s chaotic, weirdly majestic, and a little tragic

At its core, Seaflame is about women who take up space with the kind of joyful, reckless abandon that makes men nervous and me delighted. We’ve got Genevieve, her pirate-captain sister Evonne, and their infamous mother Sabelle. These ladies are not here to be rescued… they’re too busy dodging the hangman, captaining pirate ships, and negotiating ransoms while also sneaking off for secret trysts with a horse-thieving lawyer who moonlights as an English spy. The men are largely along for the ride, and frankly, they’re lucky to be invited.

Let’s get into it. Spoilers off the port bow!

We meet Genevieve Faunton as a young widow on a ship bound for England. She has, so far, lived a sad, grey little life. She’s spent her life as the Fauntons’ charity case, a fact they remind her of at every opportunity. Her late husband (their son) married her over her objections, and was the sort of man who thought prayer was appropriate for both foreplay and aftercare. Then he promptly died of measles before either situation could be remedied. RIP, I guess.

Genevieve doesn’t remember much about where she came from. She has dim memories of a tent incongruously filled with jeweled pitchers and silks and fist-sized rubies being used as paperweights. There are flashes of a dark-haired, buxom woman and a frightening, fiery night. She was five when she was discovered by the Fauntons in a slave market in Jamaica, and she has been grateful and biddable and lesser-than ever since.

Buckle up Gen, because the good ship Matriarchy (fine, it’s technically called the Black Angel) is here to blow your sad little life up into glorious, chaotic pieces!

This ship has black sails and at its prow is a figurehead of a woman with black wings and a rocket bod. The figurehead is modeled after its captain.

>Boots. Red knee-high boots of rich Moroccan leather, laced up the inside. Cavalier boots encasing a well-shaped ankle and calf. Diamond buckles at the knees of too-well-worn trousers of dusty, indeterminate hue hugged slim, well-muscled thighs. And the heavy linen shirt with its faded blood and powder stains, lace dripping from the cuffs—it did not fit properly, there was a pronounced swell beneath it.

>Genevieve stared straight up and found her astonished gaze pooled in the glittering black eyes of a wholly beautiful, wholly dangerous woman!

Her name is Evonne, and she is Genevieve’s long-lost sister. Evonne lived a much rougher, more daring life after their family separation, but worked her way up to captain of her own ship. No notes, Evonne, you absolute fucking legend.

Gen is overwhelmed and hopefully suggests they should go in search of their lost mother, Sabelle.

>“Do you think she’s still alive?”
“Possible. What difference would it make? She wouldn’t remember us either.”
“Yes, she would! Oh, yes, she would. She loved us, she wouldn’t have forgotten.”
“Love!” Evonne sneered. “You lily-livered sap. That’s something in stories.”

Evonne doesn’t do feelings, as you can see. She also has other plans. You see also aboard Gen’s ship, and now Evonne’s as a prisoner, is Robert St. Justine, a charming rake who was flirting hard with Gen but now happily hops into bed with his new hot lady pirate captor. He’s adaptable.

Evonne plans to ransom Robert back to his enormously wealthy aunt for the absurd amount of one hundred thousand pounds. Given that this is set sometime in the 1690s, I think that’s a bit like asking for eleventy bajillion dollars. Anyway, a negotiator is needed, someone respectable enough to deal with the aunt and unknown enough not to be arrested on sight on English soil. Someone like a biddable young widow who just discovered she has a pirate sister.

This is also a good point to introduce Xantha. She’s the gunner’s mate aboard the Black Angel, and she’s a Black woman. A Black woman, with a name and an occupation, in my 1980s Romance Novel? I nearly fell out of my chair. Seaflame actually represents the world as multiracial, which was genuinely surprising. There’s even a Black doctor and a handful of other characters with actual ethnic diversity. Of course, this comes with a few asterisks. Sure, they cleared the bar, but the bar for vintage romances on this front is so low it’s in hell. Also, while Xantha is a real, fleshed-out character, her dialogue is written in such heavy Patois it sometimes tips over into parody. The intentions are good even if the execution faceplants.

So Gen and Xantha hit London, with Gen posing as the sister of another captive, and negotiate with the magnificently unflappable Dowager St. Justine.

>“That’s utter nonsense! Young lady, you can tell those unspeakable villains that I won’t pay a farthing over ten thousand,” the Dowager said in a slightly lower tone.

>Dear God, I had no idea it would be like this. We might as well be haggling over the price of a pumpkin, Genevieve thought wildly.

At the St. Justine’s house, she meets the lawyer handling Robert’s affairs, the dashing young Jean-Michael Clermont. Clermont was recently involved in breaking the infamous Sabelle out of an English prison, he’s also a spy for the English crown, and he’s possessed of an apparently uncontrollable compulsion to steal horses. He steals at least five over the course of this novel. He clocks Gen’s deception immediately, but finds it more amusing than anything. After a bit of verbal sparring, Gen takes a page from Evonne’s book and tumbles into bed with him.

Michael uses some of those spy skills and finds out his friend Robert is being held by a black-haired lady pirate whose description sounds a lot like his friend Sabelle, “a hard-boiled, black-haired bitch with a tongue could flay an elephant from across the road.”

Michael breaks on to the Black Angel, intending to rescue Robert, but instead finds him quite content to stay and have sex with the hot lady pirate, thank you very much.

>“I have a fantasy wherein both sisters—”
“I’m writing you out of my will,” Michael announced, hand on the doorknob.

Michael and Genevieve continue their liaison, until the Dowager St Justine gets wind of the fact that Gen is actually working for the pirates. The constables arrive to arrest her, while she’s in bed in Michael’s arms. There’s a mad dash through the streets of London, with Gen and Xantha believing that Michael betrayed them. Michael gets sent to France to continue his spying mission, so he and Gen think they’ve seen the last of each other.

Evonne has grown tired of Robert and is ready to ditch him back on shore, but he sneaks back on board as a stowaway. He convinces her that what she actually needs is a bit of accounting help. He makes himself useful by cataloguing all her pirate booty, and by having contacts in the Americas who are willing to buy. Gen has discovered a talent for reading maps and navigating, so she and Robert are spending time together as the resident pirate indoor kids. Gen decides to take a page from Evonne’s book and sleeps with Robert too. Good for her, and good for him too really. (Evonne cares not a fig and has already cycled through several other lovers of her own at this point.)

At Vigo Bay, where a Spanish treasure fleet meets its real historical end in 1702, Evonne and Gen swoop in on the aftermath and emerge wealthy women. Evonne retires to a private island, her pirating urges satisfied for now. Gen goes to France to continue to look for their mother, only to discover Sabelle has married a French nobleman and may have died in an Alpine avalanche.

Gen and Michael cross paths again in bawdy, decadent, and hedonistic Versailles. Michael is undercover as a lesser French nobleman, sneaking whatever information he can glean to England. Michael maintains a careful distance that reads to Gen as rejection.

Gen, heartbroken and confused by Michael’s behavior, marries a cold and distant Count named André. She quietly shrinks back into herself, and it’s a real bummer.

>“I am courageous—no, I was courageous once. I won’t need to be anymore. André will save me from the necessity.”

André takes Gen to Gibraltar and promptly leaves her there, just in time for Michael to alert the crown that the tactically important town is largely undefended. The English attack, the soldiers turn mutinous, and Gen understands immediately the the women and children are being set up for rape and slaughter.

Gen remembers that she’s her mother’s daughter, and her sister’s sister. She barricades the women in a chapel and tells them to fight.

>Women in gore-splashed gowns of dainty muslin and satin raised empty muskets to swing as clubs. Swords of dead husbands, sons and fathers glinted in pink-nailed, plump little hands that had never raised anything more dangerous than tweezers. Genevieve felt a swell of hopeless pride choke her. They were beautiful, her doomed, delicate Amazons.

Gen climbs into the rafters and cuts the church bells loose, sending them crashing into the crowd of bloodlust filled men.

>Bells sang and bellowed as they fell, exploding through stone, timber, and flesh.

This is what the matriarchal thread running through Seaflame is really about. Evonne learned early that the world would not protect her, and that this was not a reason to despair, but to act. Gen had it educated and married out of her, and this book is her journey back to it.

It seems all hope is lost and the women will be overwhelmed when she hears a voice call for the men to fall back. Michael cuts his way through the crowd.

>She put her back to his, heart laughing and crying. Together they fought the foe, minds and bodies working as one. She did not know what made her sure of his heart, she only felt the emotion so strong between them, there could be no question.

They emerge victorious and immediately have sex on the blood soaked grass of Gibraltar. Romantic and unsanitary! Their triumphant love is short-lived, though, as Gen is shipped back to France and André, and Michael is hustled into hiding with his cover blown.

The plot mechanics grind through their final moments: André turns from cold to cruel, Michael gets arrested and nearly hanged, Sabelle is resurrected from the Alpine avalanche, André gets murdered, and there’s a daring escape onto Sabelle’s ship the Nightbird. Gen, for some reason, thinks she’ll never see Michael again. “Oh, hell, I run into that boy every few years,” says Sabelle. I don’t know if you noticed, Gen, but so do you!

Finally, Gen, Sabelle, and Evonne all reunite in the Caribbean.

>“My beauties, my treasures,” Sabelle murmured thickly. “I’m rich past all proper due now. Ah, my treasures!”

Sabelle and Evonne, cut from the same cloth and constitutionally incapable of leaving well enough alone, go out on one last raid. It all goes to shit, and Evonne catches a cannon blast. She dies in Gen’s arms.

>“No regrets, Gen. Oh, Gen, I’m so happy!”
“Happy, you fool?” Whatever for?” Genevieve asked brokenly, unable to stop the tears now. Evonne’s face was growing peaceful, their combined tears and the rain rinsing away dirt and blood.
“I’m happy because I’ve had everything. I controlled my own fate. I mastered a crew and a ship. I had adventures and riches… I had so much. I was rich and wild and carefree—and I had love, so much love!”
Genevieve held her closer, kissed her sister’s cheek. It was cool now, cool and translucent as fine marble. “Love, Evonne? Tell me about your love,” she soothed, imagining some tall, dashing sailor.
“Oh Gen—it was the purest, noblest thing I ever knew—it was brave and true and asked nothing in return—oh, Gen! It was you!”

I’m not at all embarrassed to say that I sobbed.

And yes, we do get our happily ever after for Gen and Michael. They earn it, and it’s lovely. But honestly, the heart of Seaflame isn’t their love story, it’s about three women trying to find their way back to each other across oceans and through absolute chaos. This book is wild, messy, and so alive it has no business being this good. I think Tycho’s drunk elk would give it a standing ovation.

{Seaflame by Valerie Vayle}

A Very Regency Library Book Sale Haul

This is actually what my makeup looks like after a night of vigorous fireside lovemaking in a Medieval castle too.

A Medieval May gift from the library book sale shelf! Never Cross A Highlander by Lisa Rayne