Blythe Gifford - The Harlot’s Daughter

‘They shouldn’t.’ His tone brooked no dissent. ‘Now tell me, Lady Solay, why have you come to court?’

She touched a finger to her lips, taking time to think. She must not speak without knowing whose ear listened. ‘Sir, you know who I am, but I do not even know your name. Pray, tell me.’

‘Lord Justin Lamont.’

His simple answer told her nothing she needed to know. Was he the King’s man or not? ‘Are you also a visitor at Court?’

‘I serve the Duke of Gloucester.’

She clasped her fingers in front of her so they would not shake. Gloucester had near the power of a king these days. Richard could make few moves without his uncle’s approval, a galling situation for a proud and profligate Plantagenet.

She widened her eyes, tilted her head and smiled. ‘How do you serve the Duke?’

‘I was trained at the Inns of Court.’

She struggled to keep her smile from crumbling. ‘A man of the law?’ A craven vulture who never kept his word, who would speak for you one day and against you the next, who could take away your possessions, your freedom, your very life.

‘You dislike the law, Lady Solay?’ A twist of a smile relaxed the harsh edges of his face. For the first time, she noticed a cleft in his chin, the only softness she’d seen in him.

‘Wouldn’t you, if it had done to you what it did to my mother?’ Shame, shame. Do not let the anger show. It was over and done. She must move on. She must survive.

‘It was your mother who did damage to the law.’

His bluntness shocked her. True, her mother had shared the judges’ bench on occasion, but only to insure that the King’s will was done. Most judges could not be trusted to render a verdict without an eye on their pockets.

Solay kept her brow smooth, her eyes wide and her voice low. ‘My mother served the Queen and then the King faithfully. She was ill served in the end for her faithful care.’

‘She used the law to steal untold wealth. It was the realm that was ill served.’

Most only whispered their hatred. This man spoke it aloud. She gritted her teeth. ‘You must have been ill informed. All her possessions were freely given by the King or purchased with her own funds.’

‘Ah! So you are here to get them back.’

She cleared her throat, unsettled that he suspected her plan so soon. ‘The King honoured me with an invitation. I was pleased to accept.’

‘Why would he invite you?’

Because my mother begged everyone who would still listen to ask him. ‘Who can know the mind of a King?’

‘Your mother did.’

‘A King does as he wills.’

A spark of understanding lit his eyes. ‘Parliament turned down her last petition for redress so she has sent you to beg money directly from the King.’

‘We do not beg for what is rightfully ours.’ She lowered her eyes to hide her anger. Parliament had impeached one of the King’s key advisers last autumn, then given the five Lords of the Council unwelcome oversight of the King. It was an uneasy time to appear at court. She had no friends and could afford no enemies. ‘Please, do not let me detain you. My affairs need not be your concern. You must have many friends to see.’

‘I’m not sure that anyone has many friends these days, Lady Solay. You asked about my work. Among my duties is to see that the King wastes no more money on flatterers. If you try to entice him into raiding the Exchequer on your behalf, your affairs will become my concern.’

The import of his words sank in. She risked angering a man who had power over the very purse strings she needed to loosen.

‘I only ask that you deal fairly.’ A vain hope. She had given up on justice years ago.

She stepped back, wanting to leave, but he touched her sleeve and moved closer, until she had to tip her head back to see his eyes. He was tall and lean and in the flickering torch fire, his brown hair, carelessly falling from a centre parting, glimmered with a hint of gold.

And above his head hung a kissing bough.

He looked up and then back at her, his eyes dark. She couldn’t, didn’t want to look away. His scent, cedar and ink, tantalised her.

Let them look. Make them want, her mother had warned her, but never, never want yourself. Yet this breathless ache—surely this was want.

He leaned closer, his lips hovering over hers. All she could think of was his burning eyes and the harsh rise and fall of his chest. She closed her eyes and her lips parted.

‘Do you think to sway me as your mother swayed a King, Lady Solay?’

She pushed him away, relieved the corridor was still empty, and forced her lips into a coy smile. ‘You make me forget myself.’

‘Or perhaps I help you remember who you really are.’

Her smile pinched. ‘Or who you think I am.’

‘I know who you are. You are an awkward remnant of a great King’s waning years and glory lost because of a deceitful woman.’

Gall choked her. ‘You blame my mother for the King’s decline, not caring how hard she worked to keep order when he could not tell sun from moon.’

When he did not know, or care to know, the daughter he had spawned.

‘I, Lady Solay, can tell day from night. Your mother’s tricks will not work on me.’

Then I must try some others, she thought, frantic.

What others did she know?

He had made her forget herself. She had been too blunt. Next time, she must use only honeyed words. ‘I would never try to trick you, Lord Justin. You are too wise to be fooled.’

Muttering a farewell, she turned her back and walked away from this man who lured her into anger she could ill afford.

Shaken, Justin watched her hips sway as she walked, nay, floated away. He had nearly kissed her. He had barely been able to keep his arms at his side.

He had been taken in once by a woman’s lies. Never again.

Still, it had taken every ounce of stubborn strength he could muster not to pull her into his arms and plunder her mouth.

Well, nothing magical in responding to eyes the colour of purple clouds at sunset and breasts round and soft. He would not be a man if he did not feel something.

‘There you are.’ Gloucester was at his elbow. ‘What possessed you, Lamont, to whisper secrets to the harlot’s daughter?’

Gloucester’s harsh words grated, although Justin had thought near the same. ‘Such a little difference, between one side of the blanket and the other,’ he said, turning to look at the Duke. ‘You share a father. You might call her sister.’

Gloucester scowled. ‘You are ever too outspoken.’

‘I’m just not afraid to tell the truth.’ But about this, he was. The truth was that he had no idea what possessed him to nearly take her in his arms and he did not want to dwell on the question. ‘The woman sought to tempt me as her mother did the old King.’

‘You looked as if you were about to succumb.’

‘I simply warned her that she would not be permitted to play with King Richard’s purse.’

Gloucester snorted with disgust. ‘My nephew is a sorry excuse for a ruler. The French steal my father’s land and all the boy does is read poetry and wave a little white flag to wipe his nose. As if a sleeve were not good enough.’ Gloucester sighed. ‘Now, what was it you wanted to tell me?’

Justin brought his mind back to the King’s list. ‘He wants to give the Duke of Hibernia more property.’

‘And what of my request?’

Justin shook his head.

Gloucester exploded. ‘First he gives the man a Duke’s title that none but a King’s son has ever held. Then he gives him a coat of arms adorned with crowns. Now he gives him land and leaves me at the mercy of the Exchequer? Never!’

‘I’ll tell him, your Grace. Right after vespers.’ To Justin had fallen the task of delivering bad news. He was not a man to hide the truth. Even from the King.