‘Hugh, what are you doing?’ She thumped her fist on his chest, scandalised. Hugh liked baiting her, but this was ridiculous.
A large hand reached for her, it whispered across her cheek. Her hood was pushed back. They were kneeling facing each other. On her bed. Because of her lack of height Hugh had to stoop his head, and it brought his lips very close to hers.
Despite the poor light, everything snapped into sharp focus. Hugh’s eyes were very dark, his expression arrested.
‘Hugh?’
She could hear their breathing; she could hear the mutter of voices in the hall and the soft hiss of rain in the mud outside. Time seemed to slow.
His hand slid round the back of her neck and carefully, eyes never leaving hers, he brought her closer.
‘Hugh, you really should not have climbed in here.’ Aude’s thoughts raced. She was an unmarried lady and her reputation here in England was unsullied. It simply was not done for a lady to have a man in her bed—even though he was her brother’s friend and it was perfectly innocent.
Hugh smiled.
Author Note
Crèvecoeur Château in Normandy still exists, although in the eleventh century it would have looked very different. There would have been wooden buildings and a motte and bailey—a defensive mound and a yard within a palisade.
A little before the year this novel begins, the real Lord of Crèvecoeur was banished; he spent many years in exile. This is not his story. The characters in these pages are entirely fictitious, although the themes of disgrace and injustice proved rich sources of inspiration.
On marriage rites: in the early Middle Ages many marriages were solemnised by a church blessing—but a church blessing, although desirable, was not yet mandatory. In the eleventh century a marriage simply had to be declared before witnesses to be considered binding.
During the course of the eleventh and twelfth centuries the Church began to regularise the varying traditions. The need for clear inheritance laws helped speed this process along, and over time more and more weddings took place under the auspices of the Church.
To my brother David,with particular thanks for all the photos,And to Dad for so many happy memoriesof the Yorkshire Dales.
Her Banished Lord
Carol Townend
Carol Townend has been making up stories since she was a child. Whenever she comes across a tumbledown building, be it castle or cottage, she can’t help conjuring up the lives of the people who once lived there. Her Yorkshire forebears were friendly with the Brontë sisters. Perhaps their influence lingers…
Carol’s love of ancient and medieval history took her to London University, where she read History, and her first novel (published by Mills & Boon®) won the Romantic Novelists’ Association’s New Writers’ Award. Currently she lives near Kew Gardens, with her husband and daughter. Visit her website at www.caroltownend.co.uk
Recent novels by the same author:
THE NOVICE BRIDE
AN HONOURABLE ROGUE
HIS CAPTIVE LADY
RUNAWAY LADY, CONQUERING LORD
Praise for Carol Townend
THE NOVICE BRIDE
‘THE NOVICE BRIDE is sweet, tantalising, frustrating, seductively all-consuming, deliciously provocative…I can’t go on enough about this story’s virtues. Read this book.
You’ll fall in love a hundred times over.’
—Romance Junkies
‘From the very first words, this story snatches the reader from present day, willingly pulling hearts and minds back to the time of the Norman conquest. Culture clash, merciless invaders, innocence lost and freedom captured—all wonderfully highlighted in this mesmerising novel.’
—Romance Reader at Heart
AN HONOURABLE ROGUE
‘Ms Townend’s impeccable attention to detail and lush, vivid images bring this time period to life.’
—Romance Reader at Heart
‘Anyone who wants to read a very satisfying and heart-warming historical romance will not go wrong with AN HONOURABLE ROGUE by Carol Townend.’
—Cataromance
HIS CAPTIVE LADY
‘Ms Townend does an excellent job of drawing readers into the world of the Saxons and Normans with clever dialogue and descriptions of settings and emotions. I give this book a very high recommendation!’
—Romance Junkies
Chapter One
The river port of Jumièges, Normandy
Lady Aude de Crèvecoeur eyed her brother in some dismay. It was early morning and she and Edouard, Count of Corbeil, had left their lodgings at the Abbey and were walking along the quays. Judging by the set of her brother’s face, Aude feared that he had already discovered what she had done. Why else would he be steering her to that particular jetty?
Edouard’s squire, Raoul, was following a discreet distance behind them. Aude had the lowering feeling that Raoul might be under orders to catch her should she make a run for it.
Oh, Lord. She had been planning to confess the whole today in any case, but perhaps she should have been honest with Edouard from the first. A light breeze was playing with her veil, teasing a strand of copper-coloured hair from its plait. Behind them the Matins bells rang out from the Abbey towers.
Her mind raced. What best to do?
Edouard loathed it when people kept things from him. And that of course, was exactly what Aude had done. She had been too cowardly to tell him that she was not ready to fall in with his plans for her.
Under an immaculate summer sky, the port was coming to life. Bales of English fleeces were being offloaded from one of the barges. They skirted round them. She had long been dreading this moment, but Edouard must be made to realise that she was serious about leaving Normandy. She had booked passage to Honfleur, and from there—England!
Did he know? She would not rush to confession until she was more certain of his mood. They walked on, towards the very barge on which she had booked her passage. Lord. Edouard must know. It was obvious something was bothering him.
The port was relatively peaceful. The water was at a very low ebb—at the mouth of the Seine, near Honfleur, the tide must be out. On the opposite bank a small ferry was making ready to cast off and cross the shrunken river. Behind the ferry, white cliffs reared heavenwards, blinding in the morning sun. It had always struck Aude as odd that here in the port the bank was so low, while on the other side, there were those tall white cliffs.
Face set, looking neither to right nor left, Edouard came to a halt next to the river barge that was bound for Honfleur, the very one on which Aude had reserved her place. She braced herself. ‘Edouard, I have a confession to make…’
But Edouard’s attention had been caught by a sudden burst of activity on the barge so he hadn’t heard her. Guilt tightened Aude’s stomach. Edouard would be furious, he had plans for