Blythe Gifford - Innocence Unveiled

Stop thinking of her. Protect yourself. You must find out how much she knows and why she lied.

Dizzy, gasping for breath, Katrine stumbled, nearly falling into him. He reached for her, finding through the shapeless wool where the curve of her hip melted into her waist. Steadying her, he pulled her close, until the wool of her dress flowed over his legs.

Desire catapulted through him.

She swayed with him, gently as a banner in the breeze, so slight beneath her shapeless sack that she might blow away.

Deceiver. Her slender form sheaths a will of iron .

And yet she made him yearn for things long forbidden.

Praise for Blythe Gifford

INNOCENCE UNVEILED‘…absolutely fascinating...enchantingly different… prepare to be transported to another time and place.’ — Cataromance

‘...[a] powerful tale of love and passion. Masterfully weaving in actual historical events with the fictional characters…Ms Gifford keeps the passion and adventure simmering with volatile human emotions.’

— Reviewers International Org

THE HARLOT’S DAUGHTER‘Blythe Gifford finds the perfect balance between history and romance in THE HARLOT’S DAUGHTER as she expertly blends a fascinating setting and beautifully nuanced characters into a captivating love story.’ — Chicago Tribune

‘Gifford has chosen a time period that is filled with kings, kingmakers and treachery. Although there is plenty of fodder for turbulence, the author uses that to move her hero and heroine together on a discovery of love. She proves that love through the ages doesn’t always run smoothly, be it between nobles or commoners.’

— Romantic Times BOOKreviews

‘A must-read for fans of medieval history… brings history to life complete with political intrigue and turbulent passions.’

— Reviewers International Org

THE KNAVE AND THE MAIDEN‘This debut novel by a new voice in medieval romance was for me...pure poetry!…the sweetness of the ending will have you running for your tissues. Oh, yes, this is a new star on the horizon and I certainly hope to see much more from her!’ — Historical Romance Writers

‘If you believe in love and miracles, you’ll adore this story. It’s a journey of awakening, renewal and heartfelt love. Delightful!’

— Old Book Barn Gazette

After a career in public relations, advertising and marketing, Blythe Giffordreturned to her first love—writing historical romance. Now her characters grapple with questions about love, work and the meaning of life, and always find the right answers. She strives to deliver intensely emotional, compelling stories set in a vivid, authentic world. She was a finalist in the Romance Writers of America’s Golden Heart (™) Award competition for her debut novel, THE KNAVE AND THE MAIDEN. She feeds her muse with music, art, history, walks and good friends. You can reach her via her website, www.BlytheGifford.com

Recent novels by the same author:

THE KNAVE AND THE MAIDEN

THE HARLOT’S DAUGHTER

Author Note

In the fourteenth century, before the great war between England and France that lasted one hundred years, an embassy was sent from England to the Low Countries to gain allies for the King. The chroniclers tell us the delegation included a group of knights who wore eye patches and refused to speak until they had performed some valiant deed of arms against the French.

I could see these fifty knights, riding their horses off the cogs and onto the beach, then gathering for their ceremonial entry into the city. But in my vision one of them took off his eye patch and rode away alone.

This is his story.

For Phyllis, a woman who has never lacked passion or courage.

To C. Dx4

And with thanks to Linda Fildew, who shared my vision for the story and made it better, and Lindsay Longford, who has liked it every time I’ve rewritten it.

Blythe Gifford

www.millsandboon.co.uk

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Chapter One

Flanders, The Low Countries—Spring 1337

Shadows hid the stranger’s face, but over the pounding of her heart, Katrine heard the threat in his voice, as casual as a shrug.

‘You decide,’ he said. ‘I can get you the wool you need, but if you let the opportunity pass…’ the slight lift of his shoulders blocked the morning sun streaming into her weaving room ‘…there are many other willing buyers.’

‘Every weaver in Ghent is willing.’ Katrine fought the tremble in her tongue.

It was no secret. Deprived of the wool that was its life-blood, this city of clothmakers was starving. So when a stranger had claimed he could find fleece for her looms, she had recklessly agreed to listen. He didn’t need her, but she needed his wool. Desperately.

Arms crossed, the smuggler leaned against the wall, filling the space as if he owned it. ‘Decide, mistress. Deal with me or go hungry.’

Backed against the loom, she felt the wooden upright press against her spine like a martyr’s stake. She stroked the taut warp threads for comfort. They quivered beneath her fingers. Looking up, she tried to read his eyes, but the sun cast him in darkness. She must not yield too easily, or she’d not be able to bargain at all.

‘Your voice does not carry the accent of Ghent.’ She knew nothing about the man. Not even his name. ‘Where is your home?’

A shaft of sunlight picked up a reddish strand in his chestnut hair. He did not speak at first, and she wondered whether he had heard her. ‘I was born in Brabant,’ he said, finally.

His answer seemed safe enough. The neighbouring duchy was one of half-a-dozen fiefdoms clustered near the channel between England and France. She should at least discover what goods he offered.

Fingers hidden in the folds of her skirt, she pinched the fabric, taking comfort in the even weave. ‘My mark appears on only the finest cloth. I buy with care. Is this wool of yours English or Spanish?’

‘English.’

‘Good.’ Clasping her fingers in front of her, she paced as if considering her choices. Best not to ask how he would come by it. The English king had embargoed all shipments to Flanders for the last nine months. ‘Where were the sheep raised? I prefer Cistercian-raised flocks from Tintern Abbey, though I will accept Yorkshire fleece.’

‘Accept?’ Amusement coloured his voice. ‘You will accept whatever I bring you. You have no choice.’

Sweet Saint Catherine, what shall I do?

She had bargained with the larger cloth houses for any fleece they would spare. She had scrambled for the poor stuff grown on the backs of Flemish sheep. She had even directed her weavers to make a looser weave, hoping that the fullers, cleaning and beating the cloth to finish it, could thicken the final product.