In the Master's Bed. Blythe Gifford

      Praise for Blythe Gifford

       IN THE MASTER’S BED

      ‘…expertly crafted…fascinating historical details…give this sexy historical a richness and depth…’—Booklist

      ‘…seductive, subtly spellbinding…’—Romance Junkies

       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.’—RT Book Reviews

      ‘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

       Jane held out her hand and Duncan shook it. As it lay safely clasped in his, she felt a different kind of closeness.

      One only a woman might feel.

      

      Her hand trembled against his and she saw the same feeling touch his eyes. Then he leaned forward and took her lips, softly. She laced her fingers through the waves of his hair, clinging, wishing there was a way to be closer.

      

      As he cradled her head in his hands, pressed his lips to hers, explored her with a gentle tongue, she felt the elemental, unavoidable connection of a man and a woman. It went far beyond the feeble camaraderie that she had yearned for.

      

      He broke the kiss, but neither could break the gaze.

      

      ‘We mustn’t,’ she whispered. Unnecessary, futile words. ‘Ever.’

      

      ‘I know.’ But his answer did not erase the desire in his eyes, and his hands still lingered in her hair…

      In the Master’s Bed

      Blythe Gifford

      

       www.millsandboon.co.uk

      About the Author

      After a career in public relations, advertising and marketing, BLYTHE GIFFORD returned 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

      INNOCENCE UNVEILED

      

      Author Note

      Sometimes history sparks ideas. Other times you get an idea and discover only later that it is documented in history. When I began work on this book I knew the premise might stretch my readers’ credulity. How realistic is it to expect that a woman could live as a man undetected, particularly in the Middle Ages? There was no co-education, no trouser suit, no common ground for the two to meet.

      

      But sometimes history calls to us in mysterious ways. As I began my research I discovered a medieval woman who had done exactly that: attended the university in Krakow, disguised as a man. And she maintained this façade for two years. So as you embark on Jane’s journey, remember: it could have happened this way.

      Dedication

      To the boys in the locker room.

      Thanks for letting me in.

       You probably think this one is about you.

      Acknowledgements

      Phil Cushman for loaning the book; Lindsay Longford for persisting when I looked dazed; Beverly Long and Pat White for early reads; Anna Louise Lucia for finding the right pele tower, and Chris Hodak for the Olympic cheers at the finish line.

      

      O Swallow, Swallow by Alfred, Lord Tennyson

      ‘O tell her, Swallow, thou that knowest each, That bright and fierce and fickle is the South, And dark and true and tender is the North.’

      Chapter One

       England—late summer 1388

      The smell of the birthing room was smothering her.

      A crackling fire kept the water boiling, adding to the August morning’s heat. She pulled aside the dark curtain cloaking the castle window and grasped a breath of fresh air.

      She looked with longing at the sunshine. Perhaps later, she might borrow a horse and ride.

      ‘Jane!’

      She dropped the curtain. ‘Yes?’ Had her mother called before?

      ‘This pain has passed. Solay needs something to drink.’

      Jane walked to the basin in the corner and scooped cool water into a cup. She should have noticed her sister’s need and answered it. It was as if she lacked some inborn instinct that other women had, something that whispered to them and told them what to do.

      Her sister’s pet popinjay paced on his perch, green neck feathers stiff and ruffled. ‘Jane! Jane!’ His screech sounded like an accusation.

      She turned back to the bed where her sister lay, belly big as a mountain. The pain had come in waves all night and after each one, Solay had less time to recover. Her long, dark hair was tangled and matted, her deep violet eyes red-rimmed.

      Justin, Solay’s husband, pulled aside the curtain covering the door, but did not step in. ‘How is she? What can I do?’

      Solay opened her eyes and waved a hand she barely had the strength to lift. ‘Shoo. I’m not fit to be seen.’

      Her