A knight for the defiant.., p.1
A Knight for the Defiant Lady, page 1
Allis released a fluttering breath. “Is he dead?” she asked, dread in her eyes.
Leon dropped to his knees, saw the pulse beating in Sir Philippe’s neck and the gentle rise and fall of his chest.
“He’s alive.”
More’s the pity.
Allis let out a sob, dropped the prayer book and ran toward him.
Leon wasn’t aware of rising, but he must have, for he found himself on his feet with his arms about her. She was trembling from head to foot. Her veil was gone, and her blue eyes were swimming with tears.
“Thank you, Leon, thank you!”
Wholly absorbed by the feel of her fast in his arms—temptation beyond temptation—it took him a moment to realize that her arms had crept up around his neck. Her fingers slid into his hair. He groaned and she tugged his head down.
“Kiss me. For pity’s sake, Leon, kiss me.”
Author Note
Warning: be careful what you wish to write about!
My imagination is usually sparked by visits to intriguing places. In 2019, after some research, I booked a longed-for trip to Avignon. TGV through France. Car rental. Hotel. Then COVID-19 struck.
There are two stories in the Convent Brides miniseries, and with the first one begun, I had blithely shut away my feisty heroine, Lady Allisende, and her shy sister Lady Bernadette behind the walls of a convent. Now we were as cloistered as my characters.
So fourteenth-century Avignon just had to be imagined...
CAROL TOWNEND
A Knight for the
Defiant Lady
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 nonfiction, Carol lives in London with her husband and daughter. Visit her website at caroltownend.co.uk.
Books by Carol Townend
Harlequin Historical
Convent Brides
A Knight for the Defiant Lady
Princesses of the Alhambra
The Knight’s Forbidden Princess
The Princess’s Secret Longing
The Warrior’s Princess Prize
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
Visit the Author Profile page
at Harlequin.com for more titles.
To the Harlequin editors for their patience in waiting for the first draft of this novel, which was lost in the ether for six months! Particular thanks are due to Linda, who has now retired, Bryony, Carly, Julia and my new editor, Soraya.
Contents
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
Chapter Seventeen
Epilogue
Excerpt from Alliance with His Stolen Heiress by Lydia San Andres
Chapter One
Castle Galard, Provence, France—1341
Lady Allisende lifted the latch and went into the solar. Her mouth was dry with nerves. A shiver ran through her as she braced herself for what was likely to be the most challenging conversation of her life.
Supper had ended and her father and stepmother had retired from the great hall. As was their habit, they were sitting on a cushioned settle. Since it was high summer, the hearth in front of them was empty.
Her father, Lord Michel Galard, Count of Arles, was a formidable-looking man in a lightweight green surcoat embroidered with gold thread. His hair and beard were streaked with grey. Next to him, Allis’s diminutive stepmother, Lady Sybille, looked tiny.
Lady Sybille’s forehead was creased with worry lines. Briefly, Allis closed her eyes. It was horrible knowing that she was responsible for her stepmother’s anxiety. Indeed, she felt so guilty about it that she was amazed when her father gave her a welcoming smile.
‘We were just talking about you.’ Her father’s signet ring flashed as he waved her in. ‘Sybille tells me you have taken her in dislike. Tell her it is not so.’
Allis was certainly unhappy, but Lady Sybille was a dear, she couldn’t be blamed for Allis’s woes. Allis crossed to Sybille and took her hand. ‘My lady, I could not wish for a better stepmother. All our hearts are in your keeping.’
Sybille searched Allis’s face and the lines on her brow eased.
‘There, Sybille,’ Lord Michel said, stroking his beard. ‘I said you were mistaken.’
Releasing her stepmother, Allis went to the settle opposite and tried to find the right words. Her father was the most stubborn of men and even though she had reassured Sybille, Allis was expecting anger. This was her last chance to get him to understand. She could not marry Claude. Swallowing, she opened her mouth only for Sybille to beat her to it.
‘Allis, dear, I was under the impression that we had agreed to discuss which gown you’ll be wearing on your wedding day. I’d like you to have a posy and I need to know which flowers will match it. Yet when I came to join you in your bedchamber, you were not to be found. And then there’s the wedding feast. The hall is at its best with flowers on the tables and we only have a few days to make the final arrangements.’
Allis grimaced. ‘Sybille, I am sorry if you don’t understand, but I’ve been speaking very plainly. I will not marry Claude. It’s not my fault that no one is listening.’
Sybille closed her eyes and let out a faint moan.
‘By the Rood, Allis, not this again.’ Her father scowled. ‘You are the most stubborn young woman. Always harping on the same note.’
‘If I must, Papa, I will repeat myself until the message gets through.’ Allis stiffened her spine. ‘The wedding cannot take place.’
Sir Claude Vaucluse of Carpentras was her father’s godson. Carpentras was roughly forty miles away and despite the distance between Carpentras and Castle Galard, her father regularly invited Claude to stay at Galard. Allis held in a sigh. Papa was the least subtle man on earth. Long ago, she had realised that her father issued these invitations in the hope that Claude and Allis would grow fond of each other. Well, Allis liked Claude well enough, but she could never marry him. Never. The fact that he was the son of Lord Robert Vaucluse, Count of Carpentras and her father’s close friend, was irrelevant. Claude was not for Allis.
‘Be reasonable, Allis.’ Her father’s nostrils flared. ‘It is too late to back out. The match was agreed years ago.’
‘I never agreed to it.’
Lord Michel clenched his fist. ‘You are impertinent, Daughter.’
‘Papa, I am truly sorry to cross you. I would love to marry according to your wishes, but I can’t.’ Allis took a sustaining breath. ‘I will not marry Claude. I’ve been telling you for months.’
That was no lie. Allis had told her father as much many, many times. The last time had been the previous evening.
Lord Michel regarded her through eyes turned to slits. ‘That is your final word?’
Throat tight, for Allis loved her father and hated disappointing him, she nodded. ‘I refuse to marry him.’
Lord Michel rose from the settle and came to stand over her. Or rather, he towered. He was a tall man. Allis had inherited her height from him. And, she thought ruefully, her stubborn temperament. Her fair hair and blue eyes she had from her mother. When his gaze shifted to a glass lamp on the side table, he looked as though he was miles away. She ached to reach him. What was he thinking?
‘Please, Papa, tell me you understand.’
‘I understand.’
That distant look had not gone, and Allis felt a pang of doubt. Sometimes, her father looked so sad. Was he thinking of her mother? She knew he loved Sybille, but Sybille was his second wife, and everyone knew that the Count of Arles had been devastated when his first wife had died after Bernadette’s birth. That had been seventeen years ago. Since then, Allis had been told many times that she bore a strong resemblance to her mother.
‘Papa?’
A large hand came out to touch her cheek. ‘Allis,’ he said quietly. ‘Dear Allis. Be assured that I hear you. I shall take your views into account.’
‘You’ll write to Lord Robert?’
‘Certainly.’
Delighted by this unexpected capitulation, Allis sprang to her feet. ‘Thank you, Papa! Thank you.’
Her father gave her a tired, abstracted smile. ‘Goodnight, my dear. May the angels guard your sleep.’
May the angels guard your sleep. From as far back as Allis could remember, that had be
‘Goodnight, Papa. May the angels guard you too.’
Giving him a last searching glance, for he really did look weary, Allis gave Sybille a quick curtsy and left the solar.
* * *
Several days later, Allis stood on the castle steps with her maid and stared in disbelief at the grand cavalcade—it looked more like an army—snaking over the drawbridge and into the castle bailey. Knights’ pennons fluttered. Hoofs clattered. Harness clinked.
Her gaze went straight to the banner in the centre and her heart dropped like a stone. It was the banner of Lord Robert Vaucluse, Count of Carpentras.
How could this be? Thoroughly bewildered, Allis put her hand to her forehead. She was beginning to doubt her own memory. Father had agreed to write to Lord Robert. He’d promised to explain that she could not marry Claude. Had the letter not arrived?
It was well known that Lord Robert had long wished to unite their two families. Had he decided to ignore Papa’s letter? Was he trying to shame her into marrying his son? If so, Lord Robert would soon discover that Allis would not be shamed into anything.
The procession was winding in past the gatehouse. It looked exactly like a wedding procession, and that was because it was a wedding procession.
‘Unbelievable,’ she muttered. ‘Unbelievable!’
As her mind worked, her anger built. Her first reaction had to be wrong. This might not be Lord Robert’s doing. She had known him for years and she doubted very much he would insist the wedding took place if her father had made it plain that he had changed his mind about the marriage alliance. Her father on the other hand...
She turned to her maid and spoke through gritted teeth. ‘Estelle, did you know this was going to happen today?’
Estelle looked away, which told its own story. ‘Lord Michel is set on this match, my lady.’
Allis clenched her fists and swore under her breath. ‘I’ll kill him,’ she muttered. ‘This time I will actually kill him.’
She stormed back into the keep, so angry that she was through the great hall and up the winding stairs in no time. When she reached the landing outside the solar, she paused, reaching for calm. Behind her, Estelle was muttering and moaning as she rounded the last turn of the stairs.
‘My lady, please be sensible. You cannot fight your father. Remember he loves you. He’s doing this for your own good.’
No, he’s not, Allis thought. Outrage burned in every vein. Her father was doing this because he and Lord Robert had made an absurd agreement when Claude was born. And her wishes were completely irrelevant. Her father had pretended to listen to her—and now this. It felt like betrayal. It was betrayal.
She snatched at the latch and shoved back the door. Her father and his Countess were peering through the window overlooking the bailey, watching the procession. As the door thumped against the wall, her father turned. With a smile, he beckoned Allis forward.
‘Come and look. This is in your honour.’
Allis seethed. Typical. Papa was acting as though he had never made that promise to take her views into account. That conversation, and the dozens that had preceded it, might never have happened. Truly, he was the most pig-headed man in creation.
Sybille was biting her lip—she knew that Allis was beyond angry. Sybille was waiting for Allis to explode.
Sybille gave an almost imperceptible headshake and something extraordinary happened. Allis’s anger didn’t leave her, but she understood, very clearly, that the best way to get her message across was to speak calmly. Sybille often employed this tactic with her father, and it often met with success. It wasn’t infallible, but it was worth a try.
Calm, Allis. Calm.
She moved to the window and began counting to ten. By the time she’d got to four, she’d spotted her so-called betrothed in the chaos below. Claude was mounted on a vividly caparisoned horse that he seemed to be having difficulty controlling. Claude had a tendency to favour horses he couldn’t control. If Allis hadn’t felt so desperate, she might have smiled.
Calm, Allis.
She gestured at the cavalcade milling about in the bailey. ‘This is in my honour? Papa, I don’t understand. When we spoke the other night, you said that you would take my wishes into account.’
Her father took her hand and enfolded it in his.
‘So I did. I still do. Allis, be realistic. Tomorrow is your wedding day. It’s been planned for months. I could hardly put a stop to it at this late stage.’
Swallowing, Allis took a sustaining breath. ‘You said you’d write to Lord Robert.’
‘I wrote to confirm the date.’
‘You deceived me! You allowed me to think you respected my wishes. I thought you were writing to put an end to the betrothal.’
‘I am sorry if you put that interpretation on my words. As you are aware, it is a daughter’s duty to obey her father.’
Allis felt as though the walls of the solar were closing in on her. ‘Papa, you do know that Claude doesn’t want to marry me any more than I want to marry him?’
Her father drew himself to his full height and his face seemed to freeze. Allis had seen that look many times before. She was looking at Lord Michel Galard, Count of Arles, an illustrious descendent of Merovingian kings. Her father had vanished.
‘Papa, please—’
‘Enough! Allisende, you and my godson will marry. Tomorrow.’
Allis’s heart started jumping about in her breast. ‘Papa, I can’t.’ She backed away, shaking her head. ‘I will not. Papa, I am sorry if this causes the family embarrassment, but I have made it plain. This marriage cannot take place.’
Her father’s face reddened. Veins bulged at his temple. He stalked to a side table and reached for the hand bell.
‘Daughter, you are overwrought.’
‘I am not overwrought. All things considered, I am extremely calm.’
The Count—Allis could see little of her father in him now—rang the bell. ‘I am giving you one last chance,’ he said coldly. ‘Will you greet the wedding guests tonight?’
‘No, my lord, I will not.’
Footsteps in the stairwell announced the arrival of Sir Hugo Albret, one of the household knights. Allis released a quiet sigh of relief. Hugo had been fostered at Galard, and he and Allis had played together as children. Hugo was an ally, the brother she had never had. As was Claude. Of the two of them Allis felt closer to Hugo, their friendship was strong as steel.
‘You rang, my lord?’
‘Sir, Lady Allisende is feeling unwell. She will not be greeting her guests tonight.’
‘I am sorry to hear it, my lord.’
‘No need to look stricken, Hugo, it’s merely wedding nerves. Be so good as to escort my daughter to her bedchamber and ensure she stays there. She must look her best tomorrow.’
‘Very good, sir.’
‘And Hugo?’
‘My lord?’
‘Make certain the kitchen understands my daughter is feeling queasy. She is to have bread and water tonight, nothing more.’
* * *
Allis hung on to her temper as she, Estelle and Hugo traipsed up to her bedchamber. She remained calm even when Hugo looked apologetically at her and produced a key.
‘My lady, do you recognise this?’ he asked.
Her jaw tightened. ‘It’s the key to my bedchamber.’
The key hadn’t been used since Allis had been a young girl. After her mother, Lady Genevieve, had died, Lord Michel had often confined his eldest daughter to her bedchamber as a means of disciplining her. Happily for Allis, these periods of confinement never lasted—she was invariably released the next day.
The bread and water penance was another of her father’s favourites, and that didn’t worry her either. Allis had learned her way around that one years ago. Judging by the sympathy in Hugo’s eyes, it wasn’t going to present a problem today either. Hugo was her most loyal friend. They hadn’t just been playmates. Allis had kissed him once behind the stables. It had been a first kiss for both of them and it had been short and sweet and rather clumsy. Afterwards they had agreed that it had felt all wrong.
