Blythe Gifford - The Harlot’s Daughter

‘But that’s not what you really want to know,’ Agnes continued, with a catlike smile. ‘I saw him watch you with hunger during the Christmas feast. You want to know what kind of man he is.’

‘He is the King’s enemy.’ And mine. ‘That is all I need to know.’

‘But not all you want to know. He’s handsome, isn’t he? Many women think so, but he has refused them all.’ Agnes tilted her head. ‘I heard he was to be wed, many years ago, and the girl died.’

‘So he mourns still?’ Somehow, he did not seem like a man who pined for a dead love.

‘He has no interest in marriage.’

‘His family allows it?’ He was certainly nine and twenty. The family must want an heir.

‘He is a second son. His brother has many children. But beware, Solay. He and the Lords Appellant would destroy the King.’

Should Justin demand more than kisses for his silence, how could she refuse? ‘He does not tempt me. I am only trying to learn who’s who.’

‘Good. I saw you with the Earl of Redmon. He might make a good husband. His wife died on Michaelmas and he has three children who need tending. He might not be too particular. I mean…’ A blush spread over her cheekbones. ‘I’m sorry.’

‘It’s all right.’ There would be no marriage for Solay. She had nothing to offer a husband but her body, unless the mere taste of royalty might titillate a man. ‘I am not thinking of a husband.’ Her hopes lay with a grant from the King, not with a group of lords with temporary power, and if she were to please the King, she must produce a horoscope and a poem.

‘Tell me, Agnes, who is the King’s favourite poet?’

As the Lord of Misrule pranced around the table two days after Christmas, Justin felt no Yuletide spirit.

Across the room, Solay laughed gaily at something John Gower the poet said.

Justin was not laughing.

He sank his teeth into the roast boar. At least the King had bowed to convention and put a whole pig on the spit for the Yule feasts. Usually, the meat at table was spiced, sugared, and so shredded you could eat it with a spoon.

Robert, Duke of Hibernia, had left the King’s side to wander the room and now stood laughing with Solay. That man alone was enough to make him scowl. He was so close to the King that he seemed to fancy that he, too, was royal.

And judging by her wide-eyed attention to him, Solay knew it as well.

He heard her husky laugh again.

Just like her mother, she would lie and cheat and use anyone to get what she wanted. He had avoided her for the past two days, but, mistrustful of her motives, had watched her from afar.

Be honest with yourself, Lamont. This has nothing to do with your distrust of her. You just can’t keep your eyes off the woman.

How had he let himself be gulled into holding her lies? Now her falsehoods tainted him, too, and, instead of thanks, she accused him of some subversive purpose. He should expose her and have her expelled from court.

But then he would remember the pain in her eyes.

He was ever the fool for a woman in pain.

More than a fool, for the pain he thought he saw was probably as false as her offered kisses.

Gloucester joined him, swilling wine from his goblet. ‘Your eyes are ever upon the Lady Solay.’

‘Her eyes have turned on every man in the room.’ Most had leered at her as long as she’d let them. ‘I even saw her talking to you.’

Gloucester smiled. ‘She has her mother’s talent for pleasing powerful men, but if she seeks a husband, she’ll be hard pressed to find one who will have her.’ He lifted his goblet in a parting toast and laughed, moving on down the hall.

Husband. Startled, Justin looked for her in the crowd. She was smiling at the Earl of Redmon, a recent widower as a result of his third wife’s fall down the stairs. Why had he never thought of marriage for her? A husband would do her more good than a grant, if he came with enough property and a willingness to take on Alys of Weston as a mother-in-law.

And the right husband would not require the Council’s approval. Only the King’s.

He looked to the dais. Despite the joy of the season, the King’s scowl matched Justin’s own. Since he had told the King that the Council refused his appointments, Richard had been in a foul mood.

Tonight, he sulked while the poor fool, the Lord of Misrule, tried to create merriment by ordering the most unlikely couples to embrace.

The Fool forced Hibernia into an embrace with Lady Agnes. Hibernia and Agnes seemed to be enjoying it mightily. The man’s wife did not.

Solay had assumed a bland smile. He wondered what it hid.

The thought deepened his frown, so when the Fool waved his crown before Justin’s eyes, blocking his vision of Solay, Justin only grunted.

The Fool would not be dissuaded. ‘Now here’s another man who needs to show more Yuletide cheer. Who would you like to kiss this evening?’

‘No one. Leave me be.’

‘Ah, but your eyes have been on the Lady Solay. Would you like to put your lips on her as well?’

Hearing her name, Solay turned to look.

His entire body surged to answer. He had refused her kisses before, but those she fawned over tonight might not. The wine had loosened his resistance. Surely, he, too, deserved a taste. ‘Yes,’ he answered. ‘I would kiss the daughter of the sun.’

Her eyes widened and her lips parted, as if she inhaled to speak, but no words came.

The diners next to him went silent. Was it because he dared kiss the daughter of a King? Or because no one wanted to be reminded of who she was?

The jester’s babbling broke the awkward silence. ‘The Lord of Misrule makes all things possible.’ He grabbed Justin’s hand and pulled him around the table, to face Solay.

Trapped in the jester’s grip, Justin watched her eyes darken with desire, and regretted his honesty. What would happen when he took her lips? He steeled himself against her. Nothing. She was a woman, nothing more.

The Lord of Misrule laughed merrily. ‘Your wish is my command. Kiss the lady!’

She was too close now, close enough that her scent engulfed him. She smelled of rose petals hidden in a golden box, sweet, yet protected by metal that only fire would melt.

He wanted to take her in his arms, crush her to him and ravish her lips with his. He wanted to possess her, yet something warned him that she would possess him instead.

Her lips parted, but her eyes did not droop with desire. They were open, wide with fear.

He put his hands on her arms, deliberately holding himself away from her body, leaned over and put his lips on hers.

Her lips were soft as he’d expected, but they lay cool and unyielding beneath his. When she did not respond, something burst within him. She had teased him for days. For all those other men, she supplicated and simpered.

He would have what she offered.

He pulled her close, feeling her breasts, soft, pressing against him. Suddenly, he did not care who she was or where they were. He wanted her kiss, yes, but whatever else she hid, he wanted that, too.

The kiss she had dangled before him for days blossomed and the impossible scent of roses made him dizzier than the wine. When she opened to him, he took her lips and thrust his tongue into her mouth, wanting to taste all of her. Her stiffness became softness and he tightened his arms, fearing she would fall if he let go.

And only the beat of the jester’s wand on his shoulder brought him to himself.

‘The man’s eaten nothing but oysters all night,’ the jester said.

Drunken laughter around them brought heat to his cheeks.

He pulled away, torn between desire and scorn, and glimpsed on her face the truth he’d sought.