Wednesday, November 16, 2011

Call for Manuscripts

Knox Robinson Publishing (2010) is unique in that we are an international, independent publisher specializing in historical fiction, historical romance and medieval fantasy. We are keen to sign authors who write in these areas. We welcome the submission of well-written, original and engaging manuscripts in the areas in which we specialize. Unagented manuscripts direct from the author are accepted.

As an international company based in London with a presence in New York, we currently publish writers from five countries. We have enjoyed international success with our books, and we are looking for promising new writers to join us. Click here for submission guidelines.

Call For Reviewers
Are you an avid reader? Would you like to receive free books?

We are looking for reviewers of our upcoming novels. If you have an interest in our books and you have an active blog or if you are a regular reviewer on sites such as Amazon and Barnes & Noble, we will provide free copies of our upcoming novels in ePub (iBooks and Nook), Mobi (Kindle), or PDF format. Hardcovers and paperbacks are available if essential.

To apply to become a reviewer, email us at Please provide us with links to your online reviews.

Free eBooks

Medieval Fantasy

In Torquemada's Spain during the Inquisition, scholar and manuscript hunter Richard Longmoor knows that everything is not always as it seems...Read more

Historical Fiction

Geoffrey Hotspur is one of the most talented squires in the hall of John of Gaunt; but his place rests on the good will of the lady of the hall and she does not suffer fools gladly.... Read more

Historical Romance

Escaping a brutal father, Briony runs to James, the man she loves. With his family's blessing, they marry and prepare for a new life in a new country – America....Read more

Upcoming Books

ISBN - 978-1-9084830-3-4
Hardcover - 8 December
Paperback & eBook - 6 September 2012

Podcast with the author available

Easter Monday, 1809: Kirkley Hall manor house is mysteriously burgled. When suspicion falls on Jamie Charlton... Read more

ISBN - 978-0-9567901-1-8
Hardcover - 8 December
Paperback & eBook - 6 September 2012

A Viking saga that begins with a fateful kidnapping in Brittany, on to intrigue in Constantinople and ends on a battlefield in England in 1066... Read more

ISBN - 978-1-9084830-6-5
Hardcover - 8 December
Paperback & eBook - 6 September 2012

Podcast with the author available

1494 Barcelona. As Torquemada lights the fires of religious fervor, accused heretics are not the only victims..Read more


The Hermetica of Elysium
1498, Spain

Nadira awoke long before dawn when she felt Marcus roll onto her, his elbow digging into her ribs. He apologized before he got up from his bedding, pulling her to her feet with a strong arm. He passed his hands chastely up and down the sides of her body from her shoulders to her hips.

“Did I crush anything?” His voice was soft and low, a hint of a smile beneath the black beard.

Nadira shook her head, pulling bits of dry grass from her dark braid. He bent double, rolled his bedding with hers. "I spend days keeping you from harm only to squash you myself," he joked, his

blue eyes twinkling.The others were moving about as well, gathering the horses and loading them with bedding and tools. The two boys worked the pack animals while Garreth, already mounted, rode alone up the trail in front of them. Nadira waited until Marcus was ready with his horse, but instead of hauling her up beside him as he had always done before, he led her to one of the packhorses.... Read more

Literally Dead
Chicago, 1935

Ernest Hemingway and I met in the spring of 1935. "April is the cruelest month," a fellow expatriate of his wrote. Hemingway's train from New York was three hours late. Chill rain was falling in Chicago on its arrival. America was in its sixth year of Depression. All that and, to be blunt, the man considered by many as the greatest living prose stylist was just plain pissed about just plain everything.

I recognized him immediately. Broad, large head, bushy mustache, high forehead, and immense eyes were right off the dust jackets of his books. But his mouth was different. I had seen it

photographed clenched as he typed. Crinkled with private irony in pictures from the Twenties. Even smiling over a kudu carcass he'd bagged on safari. On the platform of Union Station that mouth was curled in the most malevolent sneer I ever encountered. Despite being forewarned about his volatile moods, I had a duty to perform...Read more

The House of Women
Leeds, England 1870

Montgomery Woodruff scowled at the low, dirty clouds as though they had appeared just to torment him. He tugged at his lapels, jerking his greatcoat close as the wind tried its best to wrestle a way into his inner garments. The end of January had been unrelenting with blizzards, storms and freezing temperatures. Woodruff entered his carriage and yanked at the folded blanket on the seat, his impatience sending it sliding to the floor.

With a muttered oath, he arranged the blanket to better suit his needs, ignoring his clerk who stood dithering in the elements waiting for last minute instructions.

Woodruff sent him a withering glare before a curt command from his driver, Sykes, sent the showy black horses away from the three-storey Georgian building to merge with the traffic in the bustling streets of the great Yorkshire town. Sighing heavily, Woodruff stretched his neck from the starched collar, trying to relax as they traversed around pedestrians and vehicles. Winter gloom and the cold sent most people hurrying home, shop keepers were packing up, women scolded children towards their own hearths while business men headed for the warmth and smoky atmosphere of expensive clubs... Read more

Harald Hardrada: The Last Viking
Coast of Brittany, 1031

The men from the sea sank for cover in the trees on the far side of the clearing, waiting for the scout to return. Across the glade they grouped together. No word was spoken by any, but a longer shaft of light from the moon lit up bearded faces both tense with expectation and alight with the anticipation of what was to come. Here and there a tongue moistened dry lips, while broken-nailed fingers flexed on the shafts of swords, axes and spears.

At length, the scout returned and spoke in a low murmur to one of the crouching men, one whose face in the moonlight was incongruous in its youthfulness, his only flaw an arm hideously scarred

by a crudely administered cauterization.

"Nothing moves, leder. No lights, no sound. What now?" Harald looked about him, gestured to another shadowy form and pointed wide and to the right. "Skallagrim - your party to cut the road."
“Aye, Harald."

Ten men rose and moved off at a trot in the direction given. The main body moved carefully and slowly through the trees until they thinned, revealing the outlines of several buildings clustered about a small, whitewashed church with a bell tower at its seaward end. Harald whistled softly, and two men turned to him.

“Thorkill and Sweyn - to the church,” he said. “That bell must not ring. Go."Read more

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