The Leech's Harvest at Blackthorn Farm
A Medieval Medical Thriller

About this book:

When the prized Flemish gelding and half the herd at Blackthorn Farm drop dead in a single night—bellies swollen, mouths foaming black—leech-woman Maren knows the murrain is a lie. The stench rising from the carcasses carries the sharp, mineral kiss of the apothecary's kettle: roasted lead, arsenic, and a dash of henbane. But the poison in the spring didn't stop at cattle. Lord William's heir lies dying in the great hall, his pupils blown wide, a slate-grey line tracing his gums, while the bailiff screams sorcery, the priest sprinkles holy water, and the lord's own knight smiles from the shadows.

Maren has twenty-eight years, corded forearms, jars of swamp leeches, and a mind that reads flesh like scripture. She also has a target on her back: in 14th-century England, a woman who cuts open dead horses, smells poison in the vomit, and contradicts the priest is one bad harvest from the stake. To save the boy—and her own neck—she must trace the killer's path through orchard ditches, alchemist's ledgers, and the twisted loyalties of a household where every servant has a motive and the lord's grief is a blade waiting to fall.

From the rotting pasture to the solar's locked chest, *The Leech's Harvest at Blackthorn Farm* is a medieval medical thriller where forensics fights superstition, and the cure is more dangerous than the disease. Maren doesn't need a sword—she needs the killer to make a mistake before the final bell tolls.