Isabella's Desire by Monica M. Martin

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Orphaned--Lady Isabella of Sheffield has spent almost nineteen years confined at Godstow Abbey, and at King Henry's behest, was betrothed to the Holy Roman Emperor's illegitimate grandson--the Count of Regensberg--at the age of fifteen. She had fully intended to marry God and rebels from that moment on! Under the guise of a simple knight, the Count von Regensberg stops by the abbey to arrange his betrothed's departure one week hence. Upon seeing him, Bella is more than fascinated and he is equally infatuated with her. In the habit of absconding, Karl saves Bella--known to him as Agnes--from ruin twice. On Beltane, they become intimate. The following day he goes to the abbey, asks for her hand, and finds that 'Agnes' doesn't exist. Feeling betrayed and frustrated, he departs for Sheffield at once. Unwilling to marry her betrothed, Bella trades places with Claire--her dearest friend--and departs for Sheffield as her companion. She falls ill on the journey and awakens from the peculiar malady to discover that Claire has married her treasured Sir Karl. Read on to learn more about this passionate and intense pairing, and the deceitful fiends in their midst!

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April, 1193

Godstow Abbey

Oxfordshire, England

Bella leaned against the roughened stonework, her large blue eyes as big as saucers. "You kissed him?" she gasped. "You have barely known him two days and you kissed him!"

Claire nodded at Bella, her normally pale cheeks aflame. She quickly glanced around her, making certain that none of the sisters were within earshot. "He placed his tongue in my mouth, Bella," she whispered, pulling at one of her coppery braids.

Bella's pert nose crinkled. "I can't imagine such a thing," she said aloud, but thought otherwise, for Isabella's desire was to choose her own lover ... a partner for life. "Did you retch?"

"No, 'twas not so bad and he bore no rotting teeth." Her hazel eyes had a dreamy look and her freckled face flushed with excitement. "I'm meeting him come the eve of Beltane," she gushed. "Come with me."

"I certainly will not! Maying is a pagan ritual and the blacksmith--"

"His name is Robert!"

"You're going to get yourself with child if you aren't careful. What will the abbess do with you then? Have you thought of that?"

"You've been cloistered far too long, Isabella of Sheffield, and you're beginning to sound like Sister Margaret. Mayhap you should rethink donning a wimple and habit, you prudish woman!" Claire retorted, then turned and stomped away, her gray bliaut clenched tightly in her balled fists, her white underskirts on display.