Blythe Gifford - The Harlot’s Daughter

At his touch, her fingers seemed to dissolve. For that moment, there was no separation between them.

He ripped his hand away, refusing not with the good-natured, temporary reluctance of the rest, but with stubborn belligerence.

She made the mistake of looking up.

Beneath the heavy brows, she saw no doubt in his eyes. It was Justin. And he knew her.

She turned, reaching with both hands to draw in two courtiers next to him, trying to escape. As the real and the pretend court merged, the King applauded and some of the disguisers lifted their masks.

Ducking behind the pretend throne, Solay fled into the hall. The man in the King’s garb left, too, mask still in place, turning in the opposite direction.

She had almost reached the stairs when Justin’s voice licked her back.

‘You do not raise your hood with the rest, Lady Solay.’

‘You mistake me.’ She climbed the first two stairs, back to him. Perhaps a carefully rolled r would fool him. ‘I am a white hart, pious and pure.’

‘You are neither pious nor pure and your accent sounds nothing like the Lady Agnes.’

She lowered her eyes, her lashes scraping the linen hood, still hoping to deny who she was.

Too late. He pulled off the hood, letting the fake antlers skitter down the stairs, and took her chin in his hand, forcing her to look into his eyes, dark with anger, and something more.

His breath touched her cheek. ‘And her eyes are not the colour of royalty.’

Her lips parted and she struggled to catch a breath that did not smell of him.

He swayed nearer, his lips dangerously close to hers. One more breath, and they would touch.

He let her go and held out the hood. ‘No, I see you are nothing like a hart.’

She snatched it back, her breath still coming fast. What good would she be to Lady Agnes now? ‘Did you not think I played the part well?’

He dusted his palms, to brush off her touch. ‘It seems all of life is a disguising to you, a deception for amusement.’

‘’Tis not true,’ she said, though the idea gave her pause. She had mirrored the others in the play, just as she did every day, playing a part to please the watcher.

‘Where is Lady Agnes this evening?’ he asked, ignoring her answer.

‘She was taken ill. She did not want to disappoint their Majesties.’

‘So you lie for others as well as for yourself.’

‘Why do you assume I lie?’ Not only did the man demand truth, he had an uncanny knack of discerning it.

‘Because I saw Lady Agnes just after the feast. She was laughing and excited about her part in the disguising. Where is she?’

‘She was taken to her bed suddenly,’ she said, hoping still to hide Agnes’s sin.

‘I’m certain she was, but not by illness and not alone.’ His strong brows furrowed with disapproval.

‘I told you, she didn’t feel well.’ Her tongue ran away with her, trying to make him believe. ‘She must have eaten too much of the noodles and saffron.’

‘You are the only one who thinks that Hibernia’s trysts with Lady Agnes are a secret.’

Her cheeks went cold. ‘I am newly come to court.’ Where ignorance of such secrets was dangerous. No wonder the page’s livery looked familiar. The Duke was the King’s dearest companion. Poor, foolish Agnes. ‘And if that is so, there’s nothing to be gained by speaking of tonight.’

‘You seem to have nothing but secrets, Lady Solay. Don’t expect me to keep them for ever.’

‘I denied you a kiss last night.’ She had been told a woman’s body could enslave a man, though she knew little of how. She leaned close to him, feeling her breasts soft against his hard chest, fighting her traitorous body as it weakened next to his. ‘Perhaps you want it now?’

He raised his arms. She waited, wanting him to take her.

Instead, his hands curved into fists. Nothing else moved except the truth of his response, pounding below his waist.

Then, he pushed her away. ‘You are just like your mother.’ He spat the words like a curse.

She gripped his sleeve, fighting her anger. She had tried to tell him about her mother, but this implacable man had no compassion. And now, her foolish move had only strengthened his mistrust.

She swallowed her emotions and tried to think clearly. ‘What do you want? What can I give you?’

The harsh planes of his face held no more feeling than a stone. ‘Nothing. The Council will not be swayed by kisses, Lady Solay.’ He uncurled her fingers from their grip on his sleeve. ‘And neither will I.’

Shaking, Solay watched him leave, fear drowning both her want and her anger. She knew how to charm men. She had even cajoled the King, but this man, this man could resist everything she offered. This man could ruin it all.

She slipped the hood over her head and hurried back to her room, knocking cautiously before entering.

She opened the door to the scent of lovemaking. The smell tugged at her. What would that be like, to share such closeness?

She shut the door behind her. Dangerous. It would be dangerous.

Agnes sprawled under the covers, tears streaking her rounded cheeks.

Had Agnes’s sad lesson come so soon? ‘What’s the matter?’

‘His wife comes tomorrow.’

She had wondered where the Duchess was while all the King’s favourites were gathered at Windsor. Perhaps she had stayed home to avoid humiliation. ‘She travels on Christmas day?’ The rumours must have driven her to protect herself. No wonder the urgency to bed him one more time. Surely, Agnes would see him no more after his wife arrived.

Agnes shrugged her answer, speechless in the face of disaster. She folded a little white piece of cloth and blew her nose.

Solay sat on the side of the bed and patted her arm. ‘It’s all right. Everything will work out,’ she said, without sincerity. Such naïveté could only lead to pain. What had the silly goose expected? That he would leave his wife for his mistress?

Agnes sat up in bed, sniffing back the tears. ‘I know. You’re right. I must be patient.’ She squeezed Solay’s hands. ‘Thank you. You’re a true friend.’

She blinked. She had known few women and never one who had called her friend. Women did not like her, as a rule.

Agnes blew her nose again and tried to smile. ‘Now, tell me—how was the disguising? It was beautiful, no?’

‘Oh, yes. The King clapped loudly.’

‘No one recognised you?’

She turned away as she folded the wrinkled linen hood and slipped out of the shift. ‘Nothing has changed.’ Based on what Justin had said, the Duke and Agnes had no secrets left. ‘Tell me, Agnes. What do you know of Lord Justin Lamont?’

Agnes’s smile slipped into a frown. ‘He’s a terrible man. He’s the one who led Parliament to impeach the King’s Chancellor.’

Solay shuddered. Worse than a man of law, worse than a Council member. He was a man who would manoeuvre Parliament to destroy those closest to the King, just as her mother’s enemies had done. ‘So he truly is the King’s foe.’

Agnes leaned forward. ‘They want to attack my dear Duke as well,’ she whispered, as if afraid someone might hear, ‘but they do not dare. He is the King’s right arm.’

Agnes had let slip her lover’s identity. The poor girl truly believed he was safe, but in times such as these, no one was safe. Still, if Agnes trusted her, perhaps Solay could glean something useful. ‘Lord Justin does the Council’s legal work?’

Agnes snuggled back under the covers with a pout. ‘I suppose. Who knows how any man spends his time when not with a woman? Documents, diplomacy, bookkeeping.’ She shrugged, as if it were unimportant.

Solay stared, stunned. Her mother had taught her that the work of the King was the work of the world. While feminine arts gave them diversion, money and power, law and war ruled the earth. How could Agnes not care about those things?