Freely Given

By Jan Scarbrough

Take a step back in time when marriage choices were nearly non-existent for women. Noble marriages were arranged by king and family, not for love. What happened if the woman's consent was not freely given?

The Troubadour
Courtly love, as sung by troubadours, was often a refuge for Medieval wives. Yet, its basis was fantasy, a far cry from the harsh realities of everyday life. Will an unwilling bride find courtly love and satisfy the longings of her romantic heart?

The Novice
Can a Medieval woman who doubts her vocation to the Church find true love in an arranged marriage?

The Betrothed
Marriage based on love was foreign to the Medieval mind. Yet consent had to be freely given for a marriage to be valid. Can a reluctant bride dare refuse her betrothed without suffering the consequences?

The Duke
A trip to the British museum in London catapults a modern exchange student back in time to a tragic life shrouded in secrecy, lust, and true love.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Saddle Horse Press, LLC
• Release date: Feb 14, 2014
• ISBN: 9780989873017

Jan Scarbrough

Whether it is the Bluegrass of Kentucky, the mountains of Montana, or Medieval England, Jan Scarbrough brings you home with romances from the heart. Jan Scarbrough is the author of two popular Bluegrass series, writing heartwarming contemporary romances about home and family, single moms and children. Living in the horse country of Kentucky makes it easy for Jan to add small town, Southern charm to her books and the excitement of a Bluegrass horse race or a competitive horse show. Leaving her contemporary voice behind, Jan has written paranormal gothic romances: Tangled Memories, a Romance Writers of America (RWA) Golden Heart finalist, and Timeless. Her medieval romance, My Lord Raven is a story of honor and betrayal. A member of Novelist, Inc., Jan self-publishes her books with the help of her husband. She has published 26 romances. Jan lives in Louisville, Kentucky, with one rescued dog, one rescued cat, and a husband she rescued 23 years ago. When she isn't writing, she loves to ride American Saddlebred horses, drive grandchildren to activities, and volunteer with Alley Cat Advocates. There is nothing she enjoys more than curling up with a good book. Subscribe to Jan’s monthly newsletter and receive a free eBook.https://janscarbrough.com/contact/

Book preview

Freely Given

FREELY GIVEN

JAN SCARBROUGH

SADDLE HORSE PRESS, LLC

CONTENTS

Title Page

Copyright

Introduction

The Troubadour

The Novice - Chapter One

The Novice - Chapter Two

The Novice - Chapter Three

The Novice - Chapter Four

The Novice - Chapter Four

The Novice - Epilogue

The Betrothed

The Duke

To My Readers

Also by Jan Scarbrough

My Lord Raven - Chapter One

About the Author

Thank you!

Freely Given

by

Jan Scarbrough

Medieval Romances

Copyright © 2014, Jan Scarbrough

Freely Given

Media > Books > Fiction > Romance Novels

Kindle Store > Kindle eBooks > Romance > Historical Romance > Collections & Anthologies

Category/Tags: historical romance England, Medieval romance, marriage of convenience, short story collection, virgin bride, royal fiction, love in Medieval times

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Digital ISBN: 978-0-9898730-1-7

Digital release: January 2014

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Edited by Karen Block

Cover Design by Calliope-Designs.com

All rights reserved. The unauthorized reproduction or distribution of this copyrighted work, in whole or part, by any electronic, mechanical, or other means, is illegal and forbidden.

This is a work of fiction. Characters, settings, names, and occurrences are a product of the author’s imagination and bear no resemblance to any actual person, living or dead, places or settings, and/or occurrences. Any incidences of resemblance are purely coincidental.

This edition is published by agreement with Saddle Horse Press, LLC, PO Box 221543, Louisville, KY 40252.

INTRODUCTION

Freely Given

Freely Given is a series of four, short romances depicting the lack of control a Medieval woman experienced in choosing her marriage partner. Noble marriages were arranged by king and family. What happened if the woman did not freely give consent?

The Troubadour

Courtly love, as sung by troubadours, was often a refuge for Medieval wives. Yet, its basis was fantasy, a far cry from the harsh realities of everyday life. Will an unwilling bride find courtly love and satisfy the longings of her romantic heart?

The Novice

Can a Medieval woman who doubts her vocation to the Church find true love in an arranged marriage?

The Betrothed

Marriage based on love was foreign to the Medieval mind. Yet consent had to be freely given for a marriage to be valid. Can a reluctant bride dare refuse her betrothed without suffering the consequences?

The Duke

A trip to the British museum in London catapults a modern exchange student back in time to a tragic life shrouded in secrecy, lust, and true love.

THE TROUBADOUR

Barbrooke Castle

The Great Hall

 I will not marry Robert Fitz Geoffrey, minister of the king’s council—he with the beak-like nose, the beady eyes, and breath like a farmer’s pig sty. I will not marry him. No matter the sharp looks my father gives. No matter the sighs from my mother. I will not marry such a man, when my heart belongs to another.

Robert, my betrothed, sits beside me at the head table during our midday meal, and we share a trencher. He takes my hand in his clammy one, leans over, and pinches my cheek with the other. I stiffen at the affront and grit my teeth.

Be nice to the servant of the king, my mother has warned, for we need his influence at court. We need the connection and power he can bring to our family. But they think nothing of me. What I want. What I need.

Men prefer younger women, my mother says. At eighteen they think me too old to make a better match. This is the best they can do for me, even though I have begged for another, lesser knight. They turned down John, Baron of Dunstan, when he asked for my hand. Not wealthy enough. Not powerful enough. They mock my folly. Yet I love him.

What does love matter in the game of matrimony? Marriage decisions are too important to entrust to the participants alone. I understand the way of the world. That does not mean I like it.

When the midday meal ends, the after-dinner delights continue—servants bringing plates filled with rich pastries topped by white sugar, marzipan frosted cakes with almonds, plus a variety of costly figs, pomegranates and dates from foreign lands. Robert plucks a sugar-coated date from the plate and offers it to me. If I decline I will insult him. Yet the intimate act of eating from his fingertips nauseates me. I do it anyway. What choice do I have? The date is sweet and chewy. I eat it slowly so not to gag.

Bring out the troubadour! My father barks the order. Sated by drink, his belly full, my father is ready for entertainment. He casts a lewd glance at a serving wench, and I can read his mind for it is not far from the expression of lust on his face.

Adultery is not accepted in a wife, but expected of high-ranking men. I glance at my betrothed and see his shameless eyes wander as well. So much for his devotion to me. All fake. All phony. I glance at my long-suffering mother. She sits with stony face and clasped hands. My heart sighs for I know what my destiny portends.

Unless I change it.

The troubadour is a young man, clean shaven and lean. His eyes twinkle with merriment. He winks at me. I feel he understands what is happening.

Plucking the strings of his gittern, the young man sings in Norman French: When I glimpsed her breasts / I wanted to cup them in my hands / Play with each nipple in turn. / Thus I fantasized our lovemaking / My cheeks flushed red with shame. / Desire urged me to kiss her mouth, / To kiss her, kiss her, to kiss her / Delighting to mark her as my own.

I cannot shift my gaze from the eyes of the singing youth. In his clear voice, he expresses the desire I feel for my beloved. Although pent up—hidden—that desire burns brightly in my heart.

My nipples harden and my face sizzles. I long for John, Baron of Dunstan.

Robert and my father laugh at the troubadour’s bawdy words. Robert leans against my shoulder, goblet in hand, and drinks again. He places his cup on the table and kisses me full on my mouth, wine dribbling down his chin. I hate the taste of him. The smell of him. I hate his sharp fingers as they clutch at the bodice of my gown. To think, in a week I must legally accept this man’s hands upon my breasts, his fingers touching the most intimate parts of my body. It kills my soul. I cringe, not knowing how I am expected to suffer it.

Drawing away, Robert takes another drink. I sit back and try to wipe the grimace from my mouth. Chin high, I twist the gold ring set with a cut sapphire that I wear on the little finger of my left hand. John, Baron of Dunstan, gave it to me as pledge of his love. I hide the stone on the inside of my hand. No one knows of our pledge.

The troubadour winks again at me as a plan forms in my mind. I will escape Barbrooke Castle and my certain destiny. Yon troubadour will be my way out.

My lady, I cannot help you, the troubadour says, alarm darkening his pretty blue eyes.

Under the guise of learning to play a new lay, I sit beside the youth in front of the central hearth. The day wanes. Our heads bow together as we use plectrums to pluck the strings of our curved-back gitterns. He has shown me how to better tune my instrument with the wooden pegs.

Turning away, he sings softly so I will catch the words, his voice high and sweet. Beloved, your absence / Makes me feel the pains / Of secret love, / For my heart is yours / Entirely.

The troubadour’s song expresses the agony of my love for John. Laying the gittern on my lap, I press my fingernails into my palms. I cannot abide my future. I cannot marry the noble boor my parents have picked.

Take me. ‘Twill work, I say quietly, endeavoring to hide my desperation. "Dressed as a boy, no one will suspect me. I play well enough to be your jongleur, your assistant."

He shakes his head, looking up from the gittern. I cannot take you from your home.

"I will give you silver coins enough to buy your passage to France where you can ply your trade with other great traveling trouvères."

His eyes glint at the offer, but again he shakes his head and sets his jaw stubbornly.

I puff out a sigh of disgust. "You sing of courtly love, l'amour courtois, of damsels in distress rescued by knights in white armor. I am such a lady. Be my white knight. Take me from this death in life that awaits me."

He looks at me with new consideration. I see calculation in his eyes. You have enough coin for the voyage?

I nod. I know where my father keeps his money.

You must be sure this is what you want, he whispers. Once committed, there is no turning back.

A knife-like pain thrusts in my