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Rumours At Court
Blythe Gifford
Wed by royal command!Widow Valerie of Florham wants nothing more than to forget her abusive marriage and live peacefully at the mercy of no man. She’d never have dreamed of a liaison with handsome Sir Gil Wolford, but then comes a royal decree…they must wed!Gil craves military conquest in Castile, far from his haunted past. Marriage to Lady Valerie is the last thing he should want, yet both have truths to hide from the rumour-mongers at court. They have no choice…and, once wed, the marriage bed changes everything!
Wed by royal command!
Widow Valerie of Florham wants nothing more than to forget her abusive marriage and live peacefully at the mercy of no man. She’d never have dreamed of a liaison with handsome Sir Gil Wolford, but then comes a royal decree—they must wed!
Gil craves military conquest in Castile, far from his haunted past. Marriage to Lady Valerie is the last thing he should want, yet both have truths to hide from the rumormongers at court. They have no choice...and, once wed, the marriage bed changes everything!
You are cordially invited to Blythe Gifford’s
Royal Weddings (#ud565c655-ca1a-5814-a746-2679c8be72e1)
A hint of scandal this way comes!
Anne of Stamford, Lady Cecily and Lady Valerie serve the highest ladies in the land. And with their close proximity to the royal family they are privy to some of the greatest scandals the royal court has ever known!
As Anne, Cecily and Valerie’s worlds threaten to come crashing down three men enter their lives—dashing, gorgeous, and bringing with them more danger than ever before. Suddenly these three strong women must face a new challenge: resisting the power of seduction!
Follow Anne of Stamford’s story in
Secrets at Court
Read Cecily, Countess of Losford’s story in
Whispers at Court
Discover Lady Valerie of Florham’s story in
Rumours at Court
All available now!
Author Note (#ud565c655-ca1a-5814-a746-2679c8be72e1)
The monarchies of medieval Europe were a small, elite society. Kings and their families were expected to marry partners of similar stature, and such royal marriages were not expected to be love matches. They were arranged, like most medieval marriages, for reasons dynastic or financial, as heartless as a business transaction.
Even when countries were at war a marriage between royal families could create alliances, cement peace, or allow another ruler’s family the right to a distant throne.
But love has a way of interfering with such logical plans—for royals and for their subjects…
Rumours at Court
Blythe Gifford
www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
After many years in public relations, advertising and marketing, award-winning author BLYTHE GIFFORD started writing seriously after a corporate lay-off. Ten years later she became an overnight success when she sold her Romance Writers of America Golden Heart® finalist manuscript to Mills & Boon. Her books, set primarily in medieval England or early-Tudor Scotland, usually incorporate real historical events and characters. The Chicago Tribune has called her work ‘the perfect balance between history and romance’.
She loves to have visitors at blythegifford.com (http://www.blythegifford.com), facebook.com/BlytheGifford (https://facebook.com/BlytheGifford) and Tweets at twitter.com/BlytheGifford (https://twitter.com/BlytheGifford).
Books by Blythe Gifford
Mills & Boon Historical Romance
Royal Weddings
Secrets at Court
Whispers at Court
Rumours at Court
The Brunson Clan
Return of the Border Warrior
Captive of the Border Lord
Taken by the Border Rebel
Linked by Character
A Yuletide Invitation ‘The Harlot’s Daughter’ In the Master’s Bed
Stand-Alone Novels
The Knave and the Maiden
Innocence Unveiled
His Border Bride
Visit the Author Profile page at millsandboon.co.uk (http://millsandboon.co.uk).
For my editor, Linda Fildew, whose constant patience and support has made this journey possible.
Acknowledgement (#ud565c655-ca1a-5814-a746-2679c8be72e1)
Many, many thanks to author Deborah Kinnard, who dropped everything to double-check my Spanish translations.
I owe you, friend!
Contents
Cover (#u427bdd76-ba5c-530c-8225-0c9319ce3216)
Back Cover Text (#u36098d04-a643-54c8-a6ac-ebd5497a5b94)
Royal Weddings (#ud66b35ca-a262-5e74-90b6-b1f048fbe1d8)
Author Note (#uff6d189c-5184-5c0f-93b8-4f5217130796)
Title Page (#ufea56548-8d20-5c4b-8305-a371fae9aa71)
About the Author (#ua7fdc3e3-6b2d-5d81-ab21-e65a02a2ee27)
Dedication (#u3d502da2-eda0-5d6f-b683-f8a3a5acdbee)
Acknowledgment (#u24ade9d3-debf-53fd-96b3-36285902073e)
Chapter One (#u88a8b2ea-c0f6-53d4-9b4e-0ac145b334ab)
Chapter Two (#u1d2460ef-c13c-5471-a5ae-98ba188c0167)
Chapter Three (#udf40d982-1fea-5062-8fef-3a1eff4d6828)
Chapter Four (#u8c30c4fe-d446-5745-a5f3-574d20d5592c)
Chapter Five (#uf6369144-6896-56e2-a931-ecb374a10121)
Chapter Six (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Seven (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Eight (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Nine (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Ten (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Eleven (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Twelve (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Thirteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Fourteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Fifteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Sixteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Seventeen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Eighteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Nineteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Epilogue (#litres_trial_promo)
Author’s Afterword (#litres_trial_promo)
Extract (#litres_trial_promo)
Copyright (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter One (#ud565c655-ca1a-5814-a746-2679c8be72e1)
London—February 9th, 1372
Despite the cold, it seemed all of London had turned out to gawk at the Queen and to see the Duke of Lancaster, or ‘My Lord of Spain’ as he now preferred, stand before them for the first time as King of Castile.
Sir Gilbert Wolford stood beside the man as he prepared to welcome his new wife, the titular Queen of Castile, to his grand palace on the Thames. A sense of unease threatened the triumph of the day. This was a celebration, yes, but of a battle far from won.
The English Parliament had accepted Lancaster, the son of England’s King, as the rightful Lord of Castile. Many Castilians, including the current King, disagreed.
But some day, Gil would return to the Iberian plains at Lancaster’s side. This time, he would not stop until they stood, triumphant, in the Palace of Alcázar. The token he had carried since their first attempt weighed heavily in his pocket—his promise to himself.
Gil spared a glance for the ladies gathered to greet the Queen. Lady Valerie, Scargill’s widow, stood among them. She had just come to court and they had not met, but she had been pointed out to him from afar, easy to find in her widow’s wimple, covered as completely as a nun.
He had a last duty to perform for her dead husband.
One he would rather avoid.
In Castile, Gil had been known by the enemy as El Lobo, The Wolf, because he would kill to protect his men. But no man could save them all. Not in war. He had not been able to save Scargill and now the man’s widow must bear the price.
The procession stopped before the palace. The event had been arranged as if the Queen were newly come, as if she and her husband had never met. In truth, they had married on the Continent months before so as to lose no time in creating an heir.
A son.
Gil resisted regret. At thirty, he had no wife, no son and no prospect of either. Nor would he until he could leave this island and his family’s past well and truly behind. El Lobo was a byname more flattering than the ones they called his family here in England.
The Queen’s litter was carried up the stairs, lurching from side to side until it reached the landing where the Duke stood. Then it was lowered and Constanza, the Queen, stepped out to approach her husband.
Accustomed to the heat of the Spanish plains, neither the Queen nor her retinue had arrived with cloaks to fight the British cold. Wearing borrowed mantles, unmatched and ill fitting, they looked every bit the court in exile.
Yet the Queen without a kingdom did not act humbled. Her husband John of Gaunt might be Duke of Lancaster and son of the English King, but he could call himself King of Castile only because she was his wife. It was her father, her blood that carried the right to rule.
Now, within sight of her husband, she nodded to an attendant who removed the cloak.
Behind him, the women of the household gasped.
The Queen’s red-velvet gown, bright as blood, drew every eye. She stepped towards her husband, slowly, with only slight deference. A mere inclination of the head. Barely a bend to the knee. Proud, young. At seventeen, little more than half her husband’s age.
Comely enough, Gil supposed. But no woman would ever replace the man’s dead Duchess. With her, he had found not only a dynastic partner, he had found love of the kind the troubadours celebrated. Could a man expect that twice?
Gil did not expect it at all.
