Shannon C.’s review of Innocence Unveiled by Blythe Gifford
Historical romance released by Harlequin 1 Jun 08

I haven’t particularly been interested in reading too many medieval romances. I don’t know the history, and my poor opinko liberal agnostic heart simply can’t deal too much with religion being a totally accepted part of everyone’s life. But I’m always glad to try new things, and Blythe Gifford is an author I’d heard good things about. Plus, the story is about a decidedly middle class heroine, which struck me as exciting.

Katrine is an unmarried woman living in Flanders in the 14th century. Flanders is chafing under an oil embargo imposed by English King Edward II in his war with France. Wool is important to Katrine, a weaver. She meets and negotiates with Renard, a man she thinks is merely a wool smuggler, for the precious wool. But Renard, the bastard son of a duchess, is in Flanders for reasons of his own as he tries to win people over to King Edward’s cause. Betrayal, passion and deceit loom large for these two. Can they sort out the various misunderstandings they develop and find happiness?

This was a very engaging and quick read, with characters I immediately connected with. I particularly liked Katrine, who is constrained by the times in which she lives. I thought that Ms. Gifford did a fabulous job making it clear just how subjugated the women of that time were by the whims of their men. There were times that I was really genuinely afraid for Katrine as I read, which is a sign the author did something right.

Renard is less likeable. I thought he was a bit too stand-offish, and kind of a hypocrite because he seems to think it’s perfectly OK to lie to Katrine about who he is and what he’s doing, but he seems to view Katrine as a lying, manipulative whore. Over and over again, right to the end. The fact that he really should have known better after a while just made him seem too immature for my taste. And, while I understood his desire not to be controlled by passions and not to produce a bastard, his angst didn’t entirely ring true for me.

The villains in the piece, on one hand, worked for me because I really felt they posed a danger to Katrine. But they also tended toward the one-demensional psycho and the silly hypocrite variety. But some of the other secondary characters, like Katrine’s servant, Merkin, and Edward’s wife, Queen Philippa, were great fun to read about.

I loved the setting Ms. Gifford brings to life. I especially enjoyed the fact that she did delve into the consequences of war for the common people. I never felt I was reading a lecture, and while I’m not sure I’d have wanted to live in those times, the picture I got was very vivid.

I love books with compelling characters, and particularly books with heroines I like. This book definitely has both, and I would recommend it to fans of medieval romance.

Grade: B

Summary:
When a mysterious, seductive trader arrives at her door, noblewoman Katrine de Gravere reluctantly agrees to give him shelter. The payment–enough wool to keep her precious looms filled.

Sleeping under the same roof, tempted every minute to let his fingers linger on this flame-haired, reserved innocent, Renard wonders if she suspects his real reasons for being there. In a town where no one feels safe, Katrine makes him yearn for things long forbidden, but can he trust her not to betray him?

You can read an excerpt here and our Harlequin spotlight guest post with Ms. Gifford here

by Blythe Gifford

I confess.  I’ve been unfaithful.

Oh, I still love medieval England and its history. But despite a lifelong love affair with the country and its royal family, I’ve been tempted to stray, to dabble on other shores, with other stories, in other settings.

And so I had a fling.

With Flanders.

You heard me right. Innocence Unveiled, my June book, is set in the city of Ghent, in medieval Flanders.

I can hear your shocked protestations. Didn’t she love England? I thought what she had with the 14th century England was something special. And, most of all:

Where the heck is Flanders?

We’ll start with that last question. During the Middle Ages, there were a handful of duchies clustered where Belgium and the Netherlands now stand. Referred to as the Low Countries, their connections to England were close. Edward III’s wife, Queen Philippa, was from one of them, and trade ties were strong.

But these are excuses. The truth is that I strayed across the channel to follow a story. One that couldn’t take place any where else.

This book was sparked by a true incident, reported by the chroniclers. As King Edward III was trying to gain support for his claim to the throne of France, he sent an “embassy,” or diplomatic mission, to the Continent to recruit allies. Along with the diplomats traveled a number of “bachelor” knights, each wearing an eye patch and swearing not to speak until he had performed some deed of arms in France. My hero is one of those knights, but instead of staying with the group, he rides off alone.

Of course I had to follow him.

So I invite you to come along and explore the charms of unknown shores. You’ll find much that’s familiar: My hero is the bastard son of an English princess and the English king and queen even make an appearance.

So I’m not really unfaithful. I’m just being true to my English royal bastards and following where they lead me. (My next book takes me back to the sceptred isle. Honest!)

So give in to temptation. Enjoy a slight indiscretion and discover how much fun a little fling can be.

Are you ever tempted to stray from a genre or setting you’re loyal to? When you do, how do you “cheat”?

You might be familiar with Blythe Gifford from her last Harlequin Historical, The Harlot’s Daughter. As you can tell from Alicia Thomas’ review she loved it. Blythe followed it up June 1st with Innocence Unveiled.  Read on for the summary and an excerpt…

Blythe Gifford’s INNOCENCE UNVEILED

A Man of Secrets.
He shares a king’s blood, but his mother’s shame means he’ll never claim his birthright. Now, disguised as a smuggler, he must know: Will the weavers support his king?

A Woman of Lies. She hides her hair under the veil of a married woman to protect her father’s weaving business. Desperate for the banned wool, she opens her home to the alluring smuggler.

Sleeping under the same roof they fight temptation at every turn, but to trust is to risk betrayal—and death.

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 lifeblood, this city of clothmakers was starving. So when a stranger claimed he could find fleece for her looms, she 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 tautly warped 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 heard her. “I was born in Brabant,” he said, finally.

His answer seemed safe enough. The neighboring 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 the Tintern Abbey, though I will accept Yorkshire fleece.”

“Accept?” Amusement colored 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 the fullers, cleaning and beating the cloth to finish it could thicken the final product.

She had no tricks left.

She had begged her unsympathetic uncle for help, but she feared unless she trusted this mysterious stranger, there would be no business left if—no, when—her father returned.

At least the stranger’s hands, large, with long, strong fingers, looked reliable, even familiar.

“How much can you get?” she asked.

“Maybe one sack.”

“A weaver will use that in a week,” Katrine scoffed, to cover her disappointment.

He did not move from his comfortable slouch. “One sack is one sack more than you have at the moment.”

She squeezed prayerful fingers. “What is your price? If I agree.”

“Twenty five gold livres per sack. In advance.”

“Fifteen.” With good negotiation, the pouch of gold her father left might pay for three sacks. “On delivery.” She gritted her teeth behind a stone saint smile.

“Twenty eight.”

Her smile shattered. “You said twenty five before.”

“I’ll say thirty tomorrow, if I please. Don’t try to bargain with me, mistress. You have nothing to bargain with.”

The sunlight shifted and revealed his eyes for the first time, the dusky blue of indigo dyed over gray wool. One eye hovered on the edge of a wink.

“Or maybe,” he said, softly, “you do.”

Something more than fear burned her cheeks and chilled her fingers. Something that had to do with him.

Stifling her body’s betrayal, she folded her arms, mimicking his stance. “I bargain only with gold. I want the wool, but I have another source.” She trusted her uncle little more than this stranger, but she would not give him the power of that knowledge. The man already had the advantage. “If your offer is better, I will take three sacks and pay twenty each—ten in advance, the rest on delivery. If you want more . . . ,” she hesitated. “If you want more money than that, find one of your other willing buyers.”

“It does not matter what you say. It is your husband who will decide.”

Her hand flew to the wimple hiding her red hair. The married woman’s headdress was one of the little lies of her life, so much a part of her she had forgotten it would signal a husband who ruled her every action. “I have been given authority in this matter.”

In her father’s absence, the draper’s guild had allowed her to conduct his affairs, but she was reaching the limits of their regulations. And their patience.

She waited for him to turn away, as had so many who refused to deal with a woman. Yet when the smuggler spoke, respect tinged his words. “You bargain like a man, mistress. I suspect you run your business well.”

“I do.” She willed her tongue to silence, waiting for his answer. Outside, the sign painted with the trademark of the Four-Petaled Daisy creaked in the breeze.

He barely moved his chin to nod. “We are agreed.”

Her sigh of relief slipped out without disguise. “Agreed if my other source does not better your offer.” Now, she had an option if her uncle failed her. “You will have my answer by the end of the day.”

“See that I do.” The respect, if she had heard it, had fled his voice. “I will not wait on your whim when there are others eager to buy.”

“If I tell you yes, when will I see my wool?”

He shrugged. “I will stay here while I make arrangements.”

“Here?” She had been mad to deal with a stranger. Already he was changing the bargain.

“Unless you want our business on the Council’s agenda. Any hosteler will be glad to collect their coin for reporting my every move.”

She could not argue. England and France were near war. The town was swarming with suspicion. An innkeeper would notice a tall, blue-eyed man speaking accented Flemish. “I am paying you twenty livres for the wool. What will you pay me for the lodging?”

No shadow of surprise crossed the deep blue moat of his eyes. “Are you reopening negotiations?”

“You were the one who did that.” Her tart words made her feel in control again. “If you stay, your room will cost you five pence a week and I’ll provide no board. Take a pallet on the third floor,” she said, vaguely uneasy at the thought of him sleeping under her roof.

He frowned. “With the apprentices?”

“They left months ago.” No need to lie. He’d learn that soon enough.

“No apprentices? How do you operate a draper business?” He spoke as though he already knew her answer.

She sighed. “Without wool, there has been little business.” Instead of being stacked with red, green, and blue woolen cloth bearing the mark of the Four-Petaled Daisy, Katrine’s shelves were bare.

Leaning over, he lifted his sack and slung it over his shoulder without effort. Strong arms, then, and a light load. “So, what will you make with this wool of yours?”

Anything will sell these days, but deep blue would fetch a good price. Indigo dyed over gray wool . . .

He watched her with a half smile. The thread of her thoughts unraveled. His glance seemed to expose her secrets while sharing none of his own.

“Indigo dyed worsted,” she said crisply. “The market hasn’t seen its like since before Christmas and it should fetch at least fifty florins. If, that is, you bring me wool worth weaving.”

“Whatever I bring, you’ll pay for.”

She bridled. “Of course. I’m an honest woman.”

“So you say.” Walking past her toward the stairs, he paused beside the loom. His fingers stumbled as he plucked the threads, the first awkward gesture he had made. “This is important to you, isn’t it?” he said, not looking up.

I leave it in your hands, daughter. Guard it well.

“It is my life.”

He scrutinized her wordlessly, as if gauging what kind of a life it was. She forced herself to remain still, hoping he saw a trustworthy guild wife. He must not suspect who she really was.
_______________________________________________________________

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Alicia’s review of The Harlot’s Daughter by Blythe Gifford
Historical romance released 1 Oct 07 from Harlequin

I love early medievals, so The Harlot’s Daughter, set in 1386 looked like a good choice. I was also pulled in by the choice of story. The major events happened and a lot of the characters were actually real people. I just love historicals like that.  Though I was slow to get into it at first, I liked the poetic style and the metaphors and symbolism. It was done well but I didn’t see the characters all that clearly and started thinking the book would be shallow. I was wrong. It was just starting.

Lady Joan, called Solay, the eldest daughter of Alys Piers, mistress to the late King Edward III, shows up at court hoping to gain some support for her mother and sister. Through the unfair dealings of the legal system they have lost everything but the house they live in and have been selling their belongings in order to eat. Solay has been raised to mistrust everyone but particularly men and especially men of the law.

Lord Justin Lamont is a sergeant-at-law. He is part of a council set up by Parliament to straighten out the financial mess King Richard has made. He’s not a favorite of the king, of course, but he has the law and truth on his side. He has become the man who tells the king bad news, because he’s not afraid to do it.

This book explores, rather well, the question of whether law and truth can be counted on to win in an arena where the very authorities are corrupt. Both Justin and Solay have to face, over and over, their own belief systems. Gifford doesn’t go for the simple answers. These are complex characters in complex situations.

A big plus for me, this heroine is a totally different kind of person. I don’t think she’s much like any other heroine I’ve ever read. She’s smart, but she has been raised to be very cynical and will do what it takes to provide for her mother and sister. She’s not selfish or greedy but it’s not surprising she comes across that way. Her loyalty is to the only two people she’s ever been able to trust. Anyone else is fair game for serious manipulation. I was reminded, time and again, of the senator/president’s wife in the first season of 24. But Solay grows through her relationship with Justin and is an excellent heroine.

Unexpectedly, Justin grows a lot, as well. I would have assumed the guy with the high moral values and faith in truth and right would simply have to be patient and soon he would waltz right on in to his HEA. But his world was just too black and white and he comes through his own trials a different man.

The author had me in tears for the characters within the first third of the book, which isn’t easy to do. I don’t buy cheap plays for emotion. Ms. Gifford earned every tear.

Grade: B+

From the back cover:

Betrothed to a man she must betray. She is the illegitimate daughter of a dead king, trying to regain a place at court. He is the powerful lord determined to stop her. And around every corner lurks treason that could threaten them both.

Read an excerpt.