Blythe Gifford - The Harlot’s Daughter

She wanted him.

Her eyes were dark with desire, her mouth ripe with lust. Then she touched her lips and blinked the softness from her eyes, and for once he was grateful—her disguise protected them both.

The jester turned to Solay. ‘Since you have suffered this dullard’s embrace, you deserve a wish of your own. What boon can I grant the lady?’

She grabbed her goblet and lifted it toward the King’s table. ‘I desire to toast our gracious Majesties, King Richard and QueenAnne. Long life, health and defeat of all their enemies.’

Tapered fingers hugging the chalice, she lifted it to drink, but instead of looking at the King, her eyes met Justin’s.

He touched his goblet to his lips, wishing the wine could wash away her kiss.

Now that he had tasted her, he could no longer deny that her body tugged at his loins. Her eyes put him in mind of bedchambers and the pale skin of her inner wrist made him want to see the pale skin of her thighs.

All the better, then, if she took a husband, although none of the popinjays at court seemed right. As long as she kept out of the King’s Treasury, she was no concern of his.

Gloucester returned to his side. ‘How does she taste?’

Like no one else in the world. ‘’Twas but a Yuletide jest.’

‘You obviously enjoyed it,’ Gloucester said. ‘And you put her in her place.’

The words kindled his shame. She had succumbed, yes, but he had forced her. No matter that she had tried to tempt him earlier. He had let his desire overrun his sense, spoken his want aloud, then forced it upon her.

And he had promised himself never to force a woman. He knew too well the bitter results.

For that, she deserved an apology.

Unable to sleep, Solay looked out of the window at the last star fading in the blue dawn light. An insistent rooster heralded the coming day, yet beside her in the bed, Agnes slept undisturbed, her gentle, drunken snore ruffling the air.

Solay, too, felt drunk, perhaps from the wine or the sweetness of the almond cake.

Or perhaps from his kiss. It still burned her mouth and seared her mind, speaking of promises not to be hoped for, particularly from a man who hated her.

Wide awake, she rolled over. What boon does the lady want? the Fool had asked. She wanted such simple things. To be safe. To be looked at without scorn. To sleep through the night without worrying whether they would have food to meet the morrow. To see her mother smile and hear her sister laugh.

And tonight, God help her, she wanted him.

She crept from bed and grabbed her cape as Agnes snored on. Crossing the ward, she climbed again to the roof of the tower. As a child, she had loved to watch the sun rise. Each time, she could begin life anew. For those few moments when first light touched the world, she had had no one to please, no one to be but herself.

Here, as the winter wind quieted in anticipation of the life-giving ball of light, she could believe that the stars ruled people’s lives and that she was truly a daughter of the sun.

She recognised his steps, surprised that, after only a few days, she knew his gait. As he reached the ramparts, she composed her smile and turned, dizzy at the sight of him.

Impossible hopes danced in her heart. ‘Did the Lord of Misrule send you after me again?’

He held himself stiffly, his hands clenched as if to keep from reaching for her. ‘We must talk.’ The words seemed forced. ‘About the kiss.’

Kiss. The word lingered on lips that had moved soft and urgent over hers. The memory brought heat to her cheeks and to places deeper inside. ‘What is there to say?’

‘I should not have forced you.’

So. He regretted his passion now. Well, she would not reveal her weakness for him. He would only use it against her in the end. She shrugged. ‘It is Yuletide. It meant nothing.’

‘Really?’

His question trapped her. To admit he moved her would leave her with no defence. Oh, Mother, how do I protect myself against the wanting?

‘Of course not.’ She crafted a light and airy tone so he would not know she had dissolved at his kiss and no longer recognised the new form she found herself in. ‘You took no more than I had offered.’

‘Well, then…’ He nodded, finishing the sentence and the incident. His rigid muscles relaxed, but he did not move closer. ‘What brings you to the roof, Lady Solay? It is too late to see the stars.’

‘I come to watch the sun.’

She was grateful that the breeze quickened and blew his scent away from her. One more step and she might reach for his shelter.

‘The sun is near its lowest point, Lady Solay. It has withdrawn its light from the world.’

His words brought back her childhood fears. Sometimes, as her life had changed, she had watched for the sun to rise, uncertain that it really would. ‘Yet it was at this, the darkest hour upon earth, that the brightest son was born.’

‘Are you speaking of the Saviour or the King?’

She smiled. The analogy had not occurred to her, but it might make a flattering conceit for the King’s reading. ‘Both.’

‘The sun comes up every morning.’ He leaned on the battlements, facing her. ‘Why do you find it worthy of watching?’

‘Why? Just look.’

He turned.

In anticipation of sunrise, the sky erupted in colour—bruised purple at the horizon, then striped blue, and finally brilliant pink. ‘The heavens are more reliable than your justice. The sun comes up every morning.’ Her words came out in a whisper. ‘Even in our darkest hours.’

‘Have you had many of those?’

‘Enough.’ More than dark hours. Dark years after the death of the old King snuffed the life-giving sun from their sky.

‘But you survived.’ No compassion softened his words.

She blocked the memories. She had spoken too much of herself and her needs. ‘Has the world never been harsh to you?’

‘No more than to most.’ Pain gilded his answer, but whatever weakness had sent him to the roof in near-apology was gone when he looked at her. ‘Do not try to play on my sympathies. You will not change my mind about your grant.’

The memory of the kiss pulsed between them. Could an appeal to his sense of justice change his mind? ‘King Richard has given his clerks more than we would need.’

‘And the clerks didn’t deserve it either.’

‘Don’t deserve?’ Despite her resolution, harsh words leapt to her tongue. ‘The King is the judge of that, not you.’

‘Not according to Parliament.’

‘Parliament!’ She spat the word. ‘Those greedy buzzards stripped us of everything, not only what the King had freely given, but lands my mother acquired with her own means.’

‘Lands she took from others and did not need.’

‘She needed them to support us after his death.’

‘She had a husband to take care of her, more fool he. Better to ask for a husband to support you.’

‘Now you mock me.’ Husbands were for women with dowries and respected families. ‘No one would have me.’

‘If the King decreed, someone would.’

‘Then perhaps I shall ask him.’ The very idea left her giddy.

He grabbed her arms and forced her to look at him. Some special urgency burned behind his eyes. ‘Don’t let him force you. Only wed if it is someone you want.’

Her heart beat in her throat as she looked at him. That was why her mother had warned her against this feeling. If the King decreed, it would not matter whom she wanted.

She stepped back and he let his hands drop. ‘If someone weds me, be assured that I will want him.’

Disgust, or sadness, tinged his look. ‘And if you don’t, you’ll tell him you do.’ The brilliant colours of daybreak faded as the sun emerged. The sky had no colour; the sun, no warmth. ‘Here’s your sun, Lady Solay,’ he said, turning towards the stairs. ‘May it bring you a husband in the New Year.’