Carol Townend - Mistaken For A Lady

Wearing his ring again...

When a shocking revelation reveals Francesca’s illegitimacy, she worries for her marriage to Tristan, Comte des Iles. Her heart in tatters, she awaits her husband’s return... Will he request an annulment or give their union a second chance?

Duty has kept Tristan from his beautiful wife’s side for far too long, but the memory of her touch is seared into his soul. Now, with malevolent forces working against them, it’s more important than ever for Tristan to show Francesca that he’ll never let her go!

Duty, Honor, Truth, Valor

The tenets of the Knights of Champagnewill be sorely tested in this exciting Medieval mini-series by

Carol Townend

The pounding of hooves, the cold snap of air, a knight’s colors flying high across the roaring crowd—nothing rivals a tourney. The chance to prove his worth is at the beating heart of any knight.

And tournaments bring other dangers too. Scoundrels, thieves, murderers and worse are all drawn toward a town bursting with deep pockets, flowing wine and wanton women.

Only these powerful knights stand in their way.

But what of the women who stand beside them?

Find out in

Carol Townend’s

Knights of Champagne

Powerful swordsmen for passionate ladies

Author Note

Arthurian myths and legends have been popular for hundreds of years. Dashing knights worship beautiful ladies, fight for honor—and sometimes lose honor! Some of the earliest versions of these stories were written in the twelfth century by an influential poet called Chrétien de Troyes. Troyes was the walled city in the county of Champagne where Chrétien lived and worked. His patron, Countess Marie of Champagne, was a princess—daughter of King Louis of France and the legendary Eleanor of Aquitaine. Countess Marie’s splendid artistic court in Troyes rivaled Queen Eleanor’s in Poitiers.

The books in my Knights of Champagne mini-series are not an attempt to rework the Arthurian myths and legends. They are original romances set around the Troyes court and the town of Provins, which is also in Champagne. I wanted to tell the stories of some of the lords and ladies who might have inspired Chrétien—and I was keen to give the ladies a more active role, since Chrétien’s ladies tend to be too passive for today’s reader.

Apart from brief glimpses of Count Henry and Countess Marie, my characters are all fictional. I have used the layout of the medieval cities to create Troyes and Provins in these books, but the stories are first and foremost fictional.

Mistaken for a Lady

Carol Townend

www.millsandboon.co.uk

CAROL TOWNEND was born in England and went to a convent school in the wilds of Yorkshire. Captivated by the medieval period, Carol read History at London University. She loves to travel, drawing inspiration for her novels from places as diverse as Winchester in England, Istanbul in Turkey and Troyes in France. A writer of both fiction and non-fiction, Carol lives in London with her husband and daughter. Visit her website at caroltownend.co.uk.

Books by Carol Townend

Mills & Boon Historical Romance

Knights of Champagne

Lady Isobel’s Champion

Unveiling Lady Clare

Lord Gawain’s Forbidden Mistress

Lady Rowena’s Ruin

Mistaken for a Lady

Palace Brides

Bound to the Barbarian

Chained to the Barbarian

Betrothed to the Barbarian

Wessex Weddings

The Novice Bride

An Honorable Rogue

His Captive Lady

Runaway Lady, Conquering Lord

Her Banished Lord

Visit the Author Profile page at millsandboon.co.uk.

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Contents

Cover

Back Cover Text

Introduction

Author Note

Title Page

About the Author

Dedication

Prologue

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Extract

Copyright

Prologue

October 1175—Paimpont Manor

in the County of Champagne

Francesca set her quill aside with a sigh. Her maid Mari was setting logs on the fire, muttering darkly under her breath. Mari had been with her for years and her familiar face was creased with lines. Despite the age gap between them, Francesca considered Mari her friend as well as her maid. ‘Mari?’

‘My lady?’

‘Will you hear what I have written?’

Mari stabbed at a log with the poker. ‘If I must.’

‘I would appreciate your views.’

Mari scowled and the poker clattered on to the hearth. ‘I don’t know why you want to read it to me, you will send it to Brittany whatever I say.’

‘Be that as it may, I value your opinion.’ Francesca’s gaze lingered on her signet ring, the ring Tristan had given her on their wedding day. A lump formed in her throat. Tristan’s features remained clear in her mind—the startling blue eyes; the thick, jet-black hair; that firm jaw. Tristan was the most handsome of men, so much so that he was often referred to as Tristan le Beau—Tristan the Handsome. Unfortunately for Francesca, his image hadn’t faded with time, she hadn’t been able to forget him.

The wrinkles about Mari’s mouth deepened as she came to the table and looked sourly at the vellum. ‘My lady, if you valued my opinion, you wouldn’t be writing that letter in the first place. It’s a waste of ink, the man’s not worth it.’

Francesca took a slow breath. ‘The man, as you call him, is Count Tristan des Iles. He is also presently my husband. I beg you to remember that.’ Mari muttered something that might or might not have been an apology and Francesca continued. ‘I am not asking you to give your opinion of Lord Tristan, Mari, you have already made your views very plain. I would like your opinion on the letter, not my husband.’

‘You want him back,’ Mari said. ‘My lady, he never replied to your other letters, what makes you think he will reply to this one?’

Foolish hope. Francesca ran her forefinger over the three cinquefoils stamped on the face of her ring, conscious of a sharp ache in her chest. It was depressing how fresh the pain was, even after almost two years. Tristan. She tried to forget him by day, but each night he returned. He came to her in her dreams, night after restless night. Dark-lashed blue eyes would be smiling deep into hers, strong arms would reach for her and those clever, wicked fingers would work at her lacings and slide her gown aside...

Hoping she wasn’t blushing, she looked at Mari. ‘What if my letters never reached him? It’s possible.’

Mari snorted. ‘One letter might go astray, but you wrote several, they can’t all have got lost.’

Francesca bit her lip. Mari was adamant that all she would hear from her husband was silence, yet Francesca had to make one last-ditch attempt to reach him. Yes, her marriage to Tristan had been an arranged marriage, but she was sure she hadn’t been the only one to have felt the shock of delight on their wedding day. Mari had never understood that.