From History to You

From Medieval Poem to Medieval Romance: How Le Fresne Inspired Born in Deception

I never expected a 12th-century French poem to become the foundation for my first novel. But there I was, an undergraduate studying medieval women and literature, when I encountered Marie de France’s Le Fresne – and something just clicked.

The story haunted me. A baby girl, abandoned under an ash tree because of her mother’s own vicious slander. A young woman raised in an abbey, knowing only that the precious brocade and ring left with her suggest noble birth – but never knowing who she truly is. And then, the impossible situation: she falls in love with a lord who cannot marry her because she has no name, no lineage, no proof of who she is in a world where bloodline is everything.

That last part – the way identity and legitimacy shaped every aspect of medieval life – fascinated me most. In our modern world, we can reinvent ourselves, create new identities, move to new places and start fresh. But in 12th century England? Your lineage was your identity. Without it, you were nobody. You couldn’t inherit, couldn’t marry into the nobility, couldn’t claim your place in society. You were trapped in a kind of limbo, forever outside the structures that governed everyone’s lives.

The Ash Tree’s Daughter

Marie de France named her heroine Le Fresne – literally “the ash tree” – after the place where she was found. It’s such a poignant detail. The girl’s entire identity becomes bound up in the circumstances of her abandonment. She’s not defined by family, by parents, by ancestry. She’s defined by a tree.

When I started writing Born in Deception, I knew I wanted to honor that symbolism. My heroine, Isabeau, is found under an ancient ash tree in the orchard of St. Leonard’s Abbey in Northumbria. The tree becomes her sanctuary throughout the story – the place she goes when she needs to feel grounded, safe, connected to something larger than herself. And when she’s given a name for her marriage contract, she becomes Isabeau de la Frêne. The ash tree’s daughter.

But here’s where I diverged from Marie de France: I wanted to explore what happens when that precarious, nameless identity becomes weaponized against you.

Deception Upon Deception

In the original lay, Le Fresne’s nobility shines through in her selfless nature. Everyone loves her. She’s good and kind and patient, even when the man she loves is forced to marry another woman (who turns out to be her twin sister, though nobody knows it yet). Her virtue is eventually rewarded when her true identity is revealed.

I loved the sweetness of that story, but I wanted something darker, more complex. What if the heroine’s unknown origins made her vulnerable not just to social exclusion, but to active predation? What if someone with power – say, a corrupt bishop – saw her nameless state as an opportunity?

That’s where Born in Deception begins. Isabeau has been raised by her aunt, the Abbess of St. Leonard’s, and presented to the world as her niece. It’s a comfortable fiction that’s protected her for years. But when Bishop Hexham sets his sights on her, Isabeau realizes that without proof of her lineage, without the protection of family or name, she’s utterly defenseless. The church itself – which should be her sanctuary – becomes her prison.

The only way out? A marriage that, by church law, she’s forbidden to enter. Because how can a woman with no known parentage marry a nobleman?

The deception of her name – pretending to be the abbess’s niece when she’s really a foundling – becomes the very thing that might save her. Or destroy her.

Why Medieval Readers Loved This Story

When Marie de France was writing in the late 1100s, stories about abandoned children reclaiming their noble heritage were enormously popular. There’s something deeply satisfying about the pattern: hidden identity, years of suffering or obscurity, and then the triumphant revelation that restores the protagonist to their rightful place.

But I think there’s something deeper at work too. These stories let medieval audiences imagine a world where true nobility wasn’t about bloodline – it was about character. Le Fresne is noble because of her virtue, her generosity, her selflessness. The brocade and ring confirm what everyone already knows in their hearts: this woman was born to nobility, and not just in the social sense.

That tension between inherited status and earned worth runs through all of medieval literature, and it’s something I wanted to explore in Born in Deception. Is Isabeau noble because of the ruby ring and precious brocade left with her as a baby? Or is she noble because of the choices she makes, the courage she shows, the people she protects?

I’ll leave you to read the book to find out. But I will say this: that ash tree, and the mystery of Isabeau’s origins, weaves through every chapter. And just like in Marie de France’s lay, the truth about who she really is changes everything.

From Medieval France to Medieval England

One of the joys of adapting Le Fresne was transplanting the story from its original Breton setting to 12th century Northumbria. I set Born in Deception in 1155, during the early years of Henry II’s reign, when the north of England was still a contested, dangerous place. The Scottish border was volatile, noble families were jockeying for power, and the church wielded enormous influence over people’s lives.

It was the perfect setting for a story about a woman with no name trying to survive in a world where identity is everything.

And that ancient ash tree in the abbey orchard? It’s still standing in my imagination, its branches sweeping the ground, offering sanctuary to anyone who needs it. Just like it did for a baby girl, centuries ago, who would grow up to become Isabeau de la Frêne.

Born in Deception is the first book in the Brides of Northumbria series, and is available now on all major retail stores. If you’d like to read Marie de France’s original lay, you can find excellent translations in most collections of medieval romance literature.

Sending hugs 🌺❤️

Cate