Главная страница | Современная зарубежная литература | The Harlot’s Daughter

The Harlot’s Daughter
Blythe Gifford


Her vulnerability made her dangerous…Lady Solay's eyes met those of a hard-edged man. His implacable gaze sliched through her and, for an instant, she forgot everything else. A mistake. She had no time for emotion when so much depended on her finding favor at court.Lord Justin Lamont couldn't look away from the late king's scandalous–illegitimate–daughter. Head held high, she walked as if the court adored her. No matter the pain in her eyes, Justin resolutely snuffed out a spark of sympathy. He must guard against her bewitching charms…









The Harlot’s Daughter

Blythe Gifford













www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)


For my mother, a trailblazer.

And with great thanks to Pat White,

who kept me going.




Contents


Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Twenty

Chapter Twenty-One

Chapter Twenty-Two

Chapter Twenty-Three

Chapter Twenty-Four

Chapter Twenty-Five

Chapter Twenty-Six

Chapter Twenty-Seven

Chapter Twenty-Eight

Chapter Twenty-Nine

Chapter Thirty

Epilogue

Author’s Afterword




Chapter One


Windsor Castle,

Yuletide, 1386

The shameless doxy dragged the rings right off his fingers before the King’s body was cold.

They used to whisper that and then look sideways at her, thinking that a ten-year-old was too young to understand they slandered her mother.

Joan had understood even then. It was all too clear the night the old King died and her mother, his mistress of thirteen years, gathered their two daughters and fled into the darkness.

Now, ten years after her father’s death, Joan stood poised to be announced at the court of a new King. Her mother hoped Joan might find a place there, even a husband.

Foolish dreams of an ageing woman.

Waiting to be announced, she peeked into the Great Hall, surprised she did not look more outdated wearing her mother’s made-over dress. It was the men’s garb, colourful and garish, that looked unfamiliar. Decked in blues and reds, gold chains and furs, they looked gaudy as flapping tournament flags.

Except for one.

Standing to the left of the throne turned away from her, he wore a simple, deep blue tunic. She could not see his face fully, but the set of his jaw and the hollow edge of his cheek said one thing: unyielding.

For a moment, she envied that strength. This was a man whose daily bread did not depend on pleasing people.

Hers did. And so did her mother’s and sister’s.

She pulled her gaze away and smoothed her velvet skirt. Please the King she must, or there would be no food in the larder by Eastertide.

As the herald entered the Hall to announce her, she heard the rustling skirts of the ladies lining the room. They whispered still.

Here she comes. The harlot’s daughter. No more shame than her mother had.

She lifted her head. It was time.

Amid the whispers, Lady Joan, twenty summers, illegitimate daughter of the late King and his notorious mistress and the most unmarriageable woman in England, stepped forward to be presented to King Richard II.



Lord Justin Lamont avoided Richard’s court whenever possible. He had braved the crowded throne room only because he had urgent news for the Duke of Gloucester.

Last month, Parliament had compelled the reckless young King to accept the oversight of a Council headed by his uncle, Gloucester. Since then, Justin had been enmeshed in the business of government. He was only beginning to uncover the mess young Richard and his intimates had made of the Treasury.

Thrust upon the throne as a boy when his grandfather died, Richard had inherited the old King’s good looks without his strength, judgement or sense. Instead of spending taxes to fight the French, he’d drained the royal purse with grants for his favourites.

When he demanded more tax money, Parliament had finally balked, installing the Council to gainsay the King’s outrageous spending.

Now, the King had put forth another of his endless lists of favours for his friends, expecting the new Council’s unquestioning approval.

He would not get it.

‘Your Grace,’ Justin said to Gloucester, ‘the King has a new list of gifts he wants to announce on Christmas Day. The Council cannot possibly approve this.’

Distracted, the Duke motioned to the door. ‘Here she comes. The doxy’s daughter.’

Justin gritted his teeth, refusing to turn. The mother’s meddling had near ruined the realm before Parliament had stepped in to save a senile King from his own foolishness. This new King needed no more misguidance. He was getting that aplenty from his current favourites. ‘What do they call her?’

‘Lady Joan of Weston,’ Gloucester answered. ‘Joan the Elder.’

Calling her a Weston was a pleasant fiction, though the old King’s mistress had passed herself off as Sir William’s wife while she bore the King’s children. ‘The Elder?’

Gloucester smirked. ‘There were two daughters. Like bitch pups. Call “Joan” and one will come running.’

Wincing at the cruelty, Justin reluctantly turned, with the rest of the court, to see whether the daughter carried the stain of her mother’s sin.

He looked, and then could not look away.

Her mother’s carnality stamped a body that swayed as if it had no bones and her raven hair carried no hint of the old King’s sun-tinged glory. ‘She looks nothing like him,’ he murmured.

Gloucester whispered back, ‘Maybe the whore simply whelped the children and called them the King’s.’

Justin shook his head. ‘She moves like royalty.’

Head high, she stared at a point above the King’s crown, walking as if the crowd adored instead of loathed her.

But then, just for a moment, she glanced around the room. Her eyes, violet, brimming with pain, met his.

They stopped his breath.

Wide-eyed, still looking at him, she did not complete her step. Tangled in her gaze, he forgot to breathe.

Then she gathered herself, lifted her skirt and approached the throne.

He shook off her spell and looked around. No one had noticed that her eyes had held his for an eternity.

She dipped before the King, head held high. Justin thought of the lad on the throne as a boy, though, at twenty, he had been King for half his life. Yet he still played at kingly ceremony, instead of grappling with the hard work of governing.

‘Lower your gaze,’ the King said to the woman before him.

A flash of fury stiffened her spine. Then, she bent her neck ever so slightly.

‘Kneel.’

She dropped gracefully to her knees as if she had practised.

Justin took a breath. Then another. Still the King did not say ‘rise’. A smothered cough in the crowd breached the silence.

Her hands hung quietly at her sides, but her fingers twitched against the folds of her deep red skirt.

He squashed a spark of sympathy. The woman’s glance had been enough to warn him. Her mother had bewitched a King. He would be on guard.

He had been deceived by a woman’s eyes once—long ago.



Joan had known the King would test her. Kneel. So she did. Her mother had taught her well. Read his needs and satisfy them. That is our only salvation. This one needed deference, that was obvious. She would give him that and whatever else he asked if he would grant them a living from the royal purse.

At least there was one thing he would not ask. The blood of the old King flowed through both their veins. She would not have to please a King as her mother had.

She heard no whispers now. Silent, the court watched as the King left her on aching knees long enough that she could have said an extra Paternoster for her mother’s sins.

Eyes lowered, she looked toward the edge of the wide-planked floor. The men’s long-toed shoes curled like a finger crooked in invitation. She stifled a smile. Men and their vanities. Apparently, they thought the longer the toes, the longer the tool.

Yet when her eyes had met those of the hard-edged man at the fringes of the crowd, she had nearly stumbled. His severe dress and implacable gaze sliced through the peacocks around the throne sharply as a blade. For that instant, she forgot everything else. Even the King.

A thoughtless mistake. She had no time for emotion. Only for necessity.

Finally, the King’s high-pitched voice called a reprieve. ‘Lady Joan, daughter of Sir William of Weston, rise and bow.’

With no one’s hand to lean on, she wobbled as she stood. Forcing her shaking knees to support her, she curtsied, then dared lift her eyes.

Tall, thin, and delicately blond, King Richard perched on the throne overlooking the hall. A golden crown graced his curls. An ermine-trimmed cloak shielded him from the draughts. She wondered whether his cheeks were clean shaven from choice or because the beard had not yet taken hold.

His slope-shouldered wife sat beside him. Her plaited brown hair hung down her back, a strange affectation for a married queen. Of course, Joan’s mother had whispered, after six years of childless marriage, she wondered how much of a wife the Queen was.

‘We hope you enjoy this festive time with us, Lady Joan,’ she said. Her eyes held a gentleness that was missing from the King’s.

Joan, silent, looked to the King for permission.

He waved his hand. ‘You may speak.’

‘Thank you, your Grace.’

He sat straighter and lifted his head. ‘Address us as Your Majesty.’

‘Forgive me, Your Majesty.’ She bowed again. A new title, then. ‘Your Grace’ had served the old King, but that was no longer adequate. This King needed more than deference. He needed exaltation.

The Queen’s soft voice soothed like that of a calm mother after a child’s tantrum. ‘I hope you will not miss Christmas at Weston Castle too much, Lady Joan.’

She suppressed a laugh. A Weston in name only, she had never even visited the family estate. It was her mother and sister she would be thinking of during the Cristes-maesse, but no word of them would be spoken aloud. ‘Your invitation honours me, Your Majesty.’

Queen Anne said, ‘Perhaps you might pen a short poem for our entertainment.’

‘Poem, Your Majesty?’

‘Not in French, only in English. If you feel capable.’

She swallowed the subtle insult. The Queen’s words denigrated not only her mother, but Joan’s ten years spent away from Windsor’s glories. Still, as a daughter of the King, she had been taught both English and French. ‘Your Majesty, if my humble verse might amuse, I would be honoured.’

The King spoke. ‘Of course you would, Lady…What was your name?’

‘Joan, Your Majesty.’

He frowned. ‘I do not like that name. Have you another?’

‘Another name, Your Majesty?’ Odd, she thought, then she remembered. The King’s mother had been called Joan. And his mother had been a bitter enemy of hers. Of course she could not be called by the name of his beloved mother. ‘Yes, Your Majesty, I do.’ It would not be the Mary or Elizabeth or Catherine he expected. ‘My mother also calls me Solay.’

‘Soleil?’ he said, with the French inflection. ‘The sun?’

‘Yes.’

‘Why would she give you such a name?’

She hesitated, fearing to speak the truth and unable to think of a way to dissemble. ‘She said I was the daughter of the sun.’

Whispers ricocheted around the floor. I was the Lady of the Sun once, her mother had said. The Sun who was King Edward.

The King dismissed her with a wave. ‘Your name matters little. You will not be here long.’

Fear twisted her stomach. She must cajole him out of anger and gain time to win his favour.

‘Your use of the name honours me,’ she said quickly, ‘as much as the honour of knowing I share the exalted day of your birth under the sign of Capricorn.’ She knew no such thing, but no one cared when she had come into the world. Even her mother was not sure of the day.

He sat straighter and peered at her. ‘You study the stars, Lady Solay?’

She knew little more of the stars than a candle maker, if the truth be told, but if the stars intrigued him, flattery and a few choice phrases should suffice. ‘Although I am but a student, I hear they say great things of Your Majesty.’

He looked at her sharply. ‘What do they say?’ he said, leaning forward.

What did he want to hear? She must tread carefully. Too much knowledge would be dangerous. ‘I have never read yours, of course, Your Majesty.’ To do so without his consent could have meant death. She thought quickly. The King’s birthday was on the twelfth day of Christmas. That should give her enough time. ‘However, with your permission, I could present a reading in honour of your birthday.’

‘It would take so long?’

She smiled and nodded. ‘To prepare a reading worthy of a King, oh, yes, Your Majesty.’

The King smiled, settling back into the throne. ‘A reading for my birthday, then.’ He turned to the tall, dark-haired man on his right. ‘Hibernia, see that she has what she needs.’

She released a breath. Now if she could only concoct a reading that would direct him to grant her mother an income for life. ‘I will do my humble best and be honoured to serve Your Majesty in any way.’

A small smile touched his lips. ‘I imprisoned the last astrologer for predicting ill omens. I shall be interested in what you say.’

She swallowed. This King was not as naïve as he looked.

Done with her, he rose, took the Queen’s hand and spoke to the Hall. ‘Come. Let there be carolling before vespers.’

Solay curtsied, muttering, ‘Thanks to Your Majesty’, like a Hail Mary and backed away.

A hand, warm, touched her shoulder.

She turned to see the same brown eyes that had made her stumble. Up close, they seemed to probe all she needed to hide.

The man was all hardness and power. A perpetual frown furrowed his brow. ‘Lady Joan, or shall I say Lady Solay?’

She slapped on a smile to hide the trembling of her lips. ‘A turn in the carolling ring? Of course.’

He did not return her smile. ‘No. A private word.’

His eyes, large, heavy lidded, turned down at the corners, as if weighed with sorrow.

Or distrust.

‘If you wish,’ she said, uneasy. As he guided her into the passageway outside the Great Hall, she turned her attention to him, ready to discover who he was, what he wanted and how she might please him.

God had blessed her with a pleasing visage. Most men were content to bask in the glow of her interest, never asking what she might think or feel.

And if they had asked, she would not have known what to say. She had forgotten.

Yet this man, silent, stared down at her as though he knew her thoughts and despised them. Behind him, the caroller’s call echoed off the rafters of the Great Hall and the singers responded in kind. She smiled, trying to lift his scowl. ‘It’s a merry group.’

No gentle curve sculpted the lips that formed an angry slash in his face. ‘They sound as if they had forgotten we might have been singing beside the French today.’

She shivered. Only God’s grace had kept the French fleet off their shores this summer. ‘Perhaps people want to forget the war for a while.’

‘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.

But he suspected that Lady Solay was. Nothing about her rang true, including her convenient birth day. As he and Gloucester returned to the hall, Justin wondered whether one of the old King’s servants might remember something of her.

If she believed she was going to tap the King’s dwindling purse with honeyed kisses, she would be sorely disappointed.

He would make sure of that.




Chapter Two


In the hour after sunset, Justin strode towards the King’s chamber, dreading this meeting. The King expected an answer on his list of grants. He wasn’t going to like the one he would hear.

But Justin would deliver it, and quickly. He had another mission to accomplish before the lighting of the Yule Log.

Entering the solar, Justin saw Richard on his knees, hands clasped. He paused, thinking the King at prayer, but when Richard dropped his pose and waved him in, Justin saw an artist, squinting over his parchment, sketching.

As Justin forced a shallow bow, the artist left the room, handing his drawings to the King.

‘Aren’t these magnificent, Lamont?’ The man had drawn Richard kneeling before a group of angels. ‘The gold of heaven will surround me here and my sainted great-grandfather will stand behind me.’

Only young Richard would call the man a saint. ‘Your great-grandfather died impaled on a poker for incompetence in government.’ And sixty years ago, most had cheered at his death.

The King narrowed his eyes. ‘He was deposed by ruffians who had no respect for their King. Do you?’

Justin clenched his fingers, his sergeant-at-law ring digging into his fist. ‘I respect the King who respects his realm and the advice of his barons.’

Years ago, Justin had respected this King. Then, the young boy bravely faced rebellious peasants and promised them justice. That promise, like so many others, had been broken many times over.

Frowning, the King put down the sketches. ‘It’s abominable, having to go to the Council every time I need the Great Seal. Give me the list.’

‘The Council has said no.’

The King, stunned, merely stared at him. Only the crackle of the fire broke the silence.

‘Even to Hibernia?’ he asked, finally.

‘Especially to Hibernia. The man tarries at court with his mistress while his wife waits at home in embarrassment.’

‘You go too far!’ The King shook his fist. His voice rose to a squeak. ‘That’s not the Council’s concern. These are my personal gifts, not governmental ones.’

Obviously, the King did not understand the new order. ‘They affect the Treasury, so they come under the Council’s purview.’ There might be a legitimate grant or two on the list, but in the end, he suspected, he would be serving summons to the lot of them. ‘Until we complete a full review of the household expenses, there will be no new grants.’

‘Is this the legal advice you gave the Council?’ The King spat ‘Council’ as if he hated the very word.

‘Parliament made the law, Your Majesty.’

‘And by that law a Council can rule a King?’

‘For the next year, yes.’

The King narrowed his eyes. ‘You tell your Council that by Twelfth Night I want the seal affixed to this list. The entire list.’ A wicked smile touched his lips. ‘And add a grant of five pounds for the Weston woman.’

Justin clenched his jaw. The amount would barely keep a squire for a year, but the woman had done nothing to earn it. The King was simply trying to flaunt his power. ‘I will convey your message,’ he said. ‘I do not expect them to change their minds, particularly for the woman.’

Barely suppressed fury contorted the King’s face. ‘Remember, Lamont, according to your precious law, by this time next year, I will be King again.’

The King’s very softness of speech caused him to shiver. This was a man who never forgot wrongs.

Well, that was something they had in common.

As Justin left the room, laughter laced the halls as the court gathered for the lighting of the Yule Log. He did not slow his steps. The Lady Solay had to be stopped. Quickly.



Scolding herself for speaking harshly to Lamont, Solay took her small bag of belongings to the room she was assigned to share with one of the Queen’s ladies-in-waiting, wondering whether the choice was an omen of the King’s favour or a sign that he wanted her watched.

She unpacked quickly as Lady Agnes, small, round, and fair, hovered in the doorway. ‘Lady Solay, hurry. We mustn’t miss the celebration.’

Shivering in her outgrown, threadbare cloak, Solay crossed the ward with Lady Agnes, who had not stopped talking since they left the room.

‘The Christmas tableaux for his Majesty tomorrow will be so beautiful. I am to play a white deer, his Majesty’s favourite creature.’ Agnes had come to England from Bohemia with Queen Anne and still trilled her rs. ‘And for the dinner, the cook is fixing noodles smothered in cheese and cinnamon and saffron. It’s my very favourite.’

Solay’s mouth watered at the thought. Her tongue had not touched such extravagant sweetness in years. As they entered the hall, Solay looked around the room, relieved when she did not see Lord Justin.

All her life, she had ignored the prejudice of strangers, yet, unlike all the others, his condemnation had unearthed her long-banked anger, exposed it to the air where it threatened to burst into flame, stirring her to fight battles long lost.

Worse, he had touched something even more dangerous. Close to this man, she felt want. The unruly emotion threatened the control she needed if she were to control those around her. And her ability to influence others was her family’s only hope.

Lady Agnes left to attend the Queen, who was touching the brand to the kindling beneath the Yule Log. Solay looked for another woman companion, but each one she approached drifted out of reach.

The men were not so reticent. One by one they came to study her face and let their eyes wander her body. Feeling not a speck of desire, she turned the glow of her smile on each one, circling each as the sun did the earth.

She learned, as she smiled, that the King had bestowed a new title, Duke of Hibernia, on his favourite courtier.

The men did not smile as they told her.

‘Congratulations, Lady Solay.’ Justin’s words came from behind her. ‘The King has put your name on his list already.’

Only when she heard his voice did she realise she’d been listening for it. Yet surely the excitement she felt was for the news he brought and not for him. ‘His Majesty is gracious.’ She wondered how gracious an amount he’d given.

‘The Council is not. It will not be allowed. The Council cares not that you pick a birth date to please the King.’

Her cheeks went cold. ‘What do you know of my birth?’ Few had known or cared when she came on to this earth. The deception had been harmless. Or would be unless the King found out.

‘One of the laundresses served your mother twenty years ago. She remembers the night of your birth very clearly. It was the summer solstice and all the castle was awake to hear your mother’s moans.’

She bit her lower lip to hold back a smile of delight. Her birthday. She finally knew her birthday.

But she must cling to the tale she’d told. ‘She must have mis-remembered. It was many years ago.’

‘She was quite sure she was right. And so am I.’

Fear swallowed her reason. If the King were to believe her reading, he must have no doubts about her veracity. ‘Would you take the word of a laundress over that of a King’s daughter?’

‘The laundress has no reason to lie. The King’s daughter apparently does.’

She raised her eyes to Justin’s, forgetting to shield her desperation. ‘You haven’t told the King?’

‘No.’

Relief left her hands shaking. ‘He need not know.’ Surely a few light words and a kiss would cajole this man to silence. She touched his arm and leaned into him, pleading with her eyes. Her lips parted of their own accord. ‘It was harmless, really. I thought only to flatter him.’

The angry set of his lips did not change as he stepped away. ‘When next you think to flatter the King, remember that, for the next year, the power belongs to the Council.’

Fear smothered her joy. Now that he knew the truth, he held a weapon and could strike whenever he pleased. This man, so able to resist a woman’s persuasion, must want something else.

She had a moment’s regret. She had thought he might be different. ‘I see. What is it you want for your silence?’

He raised his brows. ‘Don’t confuse my character with yours, Lady Solay. I do not play favourites.’

‘So you will hold your tongue and then call the favour I owe you when it’s needed.’

Seemingly surprised, he studied her face. ‘Do you trust no one?’

‘Myself, Lord Justin. I trust myself.’

‘Surely someone has given you something without expecting anything in return?’

Her thoughts drifted to memory. All those courtiers who had fawned over her mother while the King lived disappeared the night he died. All their kindnesses, even to a little girl, had only one purpose—access to his power. ‘Not that I remember.’

‘Then I am sorry for you.’

She saw a trace of sadness in his eyes, and steeled herself against it. ‘I don’t want your pity. You’ll want something some day, Lord Justin. They all do.’

‘You are the one who wants something, Lady Solay. Not I.’ He turned his back and left her standing alone in a crowded room.

She shrugged as the next man approached. What Lord Justin said did not matter. His actions would tell the tale.



Justin strode down the stairs and out into the upper ward, glad to be free of her. The dark, her nearness, went to his head like mulled wine.

He should go to the King immediately with her deception, he thought, rubbing his thumb across the engraved words on his ring. Omnia vincit veritas. Truth conquers all. Just tell the king she had lied and she would be gone.

But all around him, the court was surging across the ward towards the chapel for midnight mass. It was hardly the time to interrupt one’s monarch to say…what? That the Lady Solay had lied about her birthday? What lady had not? The King, never too careful of his own word, might either take it as a compliment or as an affront.

Justin’s footsteps slowed. He could imagine the look on Richard’s face. After the King digested the fact, the cunning would creep into his eyes. Then, just as she predicted, he would hold the knowledge as a weapon, waiting to use it until she was most vulnerable. And despite everything, Justin knew that the Lady Solay was vulnerable. When her violet eyes pleaded with him, they reminded him of another woman’s. A woman so desperate she—

He blocked the painful memory as he walked by the Round Tower, looming in the centre of the castle’s inner ward. There was no need to reveal Solay’s secret tonight. The threat alone would give her pause. Besides, the Council would never approve her grant, so what did it matter?

But as he entered the chapel and bowed before the altar, the knowledge of her lie, and the desperation that caused it, lay in his gut like an undigested meal.

Right next to the admission that, for once in his life, he was holding back the truth.



Beside Lady Agnes, Solay walked out of the midnight mass with a stiff neck from craning to watch the King. She knelt when the King knelt, rose when the King rose, following his movements as closely as his shadow.

At least she did until Lord Justin blocked her view. He moved to his own rhythm, never glancing at the King, or at anyone else, except once, when he caught her eyes with an expression that seemed to say, ‘Can’t you even be yourself before God?’

Who was he to judge her? she thought, shivering beneath her thin cloak. He did not know her life.

But he already knew a secret that threatened her. And her clumsy attempt to kiss him had made matters worse.

Everyone wanted something. If she could learn what he wanted, perhaps she could help him get it in exchange for his silence.

Agnes must know something. ‘Lady Agnes,’ she began, ‘what do you—?’

‘I need the room to myself tonight,’ Lady Agnes whispered back, not looking at her.

Craving the few hours of rest between the Christmas Eve and Christmas dawn Masses, Solay opened her mouth to protest, then stopped. This was why Agnes had offered to share a room with her. Agnes needed someone to cover for her when she had a rendezvous.

Lady Agnes had chosen wisely. Solay murmured her assent.

As the crowd fanned out across the inner ward toward the residential apartments, she wondered where she might pass the night. Lagging behind the others, she slipped around the Round Tower and over to the twin-towered gate her father had built before she was born. Perhaps it would shelter her tonight.

She slipped inside and started up the stairs, but, halfway up, she heard a noise in the darkness below. She climbed faster. Another set of footsteps echoed hers.

Who could it be? Even the guards had been given a Christmas respite.

The man was gaining on her.

Holding her skirts out of the way, she tried to run, but he was faster. As the scent of cedar touched her, her heart beat faster, the fear replaced with something even more dangerous.

‘Lady Solay, you must be lost.’

She turned, holding back a laugh at the very idea. ‘I cannot be lost, Lord Justin. I was born here.’ The castle had been her playground when she was near a princess. At the memory, her chest ached with loss long suppressed.

‘Born here, yet you can’t seem to remember the day and you don’t know the difference between the gate tower and the residential wing.’ He took her arm. ‘I’ll take you to your room.’

‘No!’ She pulled her arm free, and turned gingerly on the narrow stair. He was still too close. ‘Sleep is difficult for me,’ she said. That, strangely, was true. She wondered why she had shared it with him.

‘So you wander the castle like a spectre?’

She grabbed an excuse. ‘I was going to study the stars to prepare for the King’s reading.’ He would not know that a horoscope came from charts and not from the sky.

He moved closer. ‘Then I will accompany you.’

She released a breath, not caring whether he believed her. At least Agnes was safe.

Their steps found the same rhythm as they climbed to the top of the Tower. Cold air rushed into her lungs as they emerged from the dark stairway on to the battlements. After the darkness of the Tower, the night, lit by stars, seemed almost bright, although the half-moon shed only enough light to polish the strong curve of his jaw.

He waved his hand towards the sky, a gesture as much of dismissal as of presentation. ‘So, milady, look out on the stars and make what sense of them you will.’

She looked up and her heart soared, as it always did. How many sleepless nights had she spent trying to discern their secrets? Now, like familiar friends, their patterns kept her company when sleep would not come.

She hugged herself, trying to warm her upper arms. He moved behind her, his broad back cutting the wind, suddenly making her feel sheltered, though his voice turned cold. ‘Strange method of study. In the dark. Without notes or instruments.’

‘I only need to watch them to learn their meaning.’

He snorted. ‘Then all soldiers should be experts on the stars.’ Behind her, he took her by the shoulders, his breath intimate as he whispered in her ear, ‘Do you know any more of the stars than you do of your birth date?’

She swallowed. Was it his question or his nearness that caused her to tremble? ‘I know more than most.’

Yet of the stars, like many things, she knew only the surface. By memorising the list of ascendants in her mother’s Book of Hours, she had gleaned enough to impress most people, but only enough to tantalise herself.

Thankfully, he let her go and leaned against the wall next to her. ‘You could not know what takes the University men years to learn.’

His dismissal rankled. ‘I had years.’ Years after they left court and her mother was busy with suits and counter-suits.

His dark eyes, lost in shadow, gave her no clue to his thoughts. ‘And did the stars give you the answers you sought?’

His question surprised her. She had studied the heavens because she had nothing else to do. She had studied hoping they might explain her life and give her hope for the future. ‘I am still searching for my answers, Lord Justin. Did you find yours in the law?’

He turned away from her question, so silent she could hear the lap of the river out of sight below the walls.

‘I was looking for justice,’ he said, finally.

‘On earth?’ She felt a moment’s sympathy for him. How disappointing his life must be. ‘You’d do better to look to the stars.’ The stars surely had given her this time alone with him. She should be speaking of light, charming things that might turn him into an ally. ‘Let me read yours. When were you born, Lord Justin?’

He frowned. ‘Do you think your feeble learning can discover the truth about me?’

She touched his unyielding arm with a playful hand. ‘My learning is good enough for the King.’

Her fingers burned on his sleeve. She swayed towards him.

He picked up her hand. All the heat between them flowed from his fingers and into her core. He held her a moment too long, then dropped her hand away from his arm.

‘The King cares more for flattery than truth.’ His voice was rough. ‘I would not believe a word you say.’

She waved her hand in the air, as if she had not wanted to touch him at all. As if his dismissal had not hurt her. ‘Yet you believe in justice on earth.’

‘Of course. That’s what the law is for.’

Was anyone so naïve? ‘And when the judges are wrong? What then?’

‘The condemned always claim they’ve been unjustly convicted.’

Fury warmed her blood. Parliament had given her mother no justice. ‘Even if the judgement is right, is there never forgiveness? Is there never mercy?’

‘Those are for God to dispense.’

‘Oh, so justice lives on earth, mercy in Heaven, and you happily sit in judgement confident that you are never wrong.’ She laughed without mirth.

‘You believe your mother should be exonerated.’

Surprised he recognised a meaning she had missed, she was silent. Better not to even acknowledge such a hope. Better not to picture her mother back at court and revered for the good she had done. ‘She was brought back to court before the year was out.’ Restored to her position beside the King for his last, painful year.

‘Not by Parliament.’

‘No, by the King himself. The Commons never had the right to judge her. And neither do you.’

‘It is you I judge. You’ve lied about your birth date. I suspect you are lying about why you are not abed. It seems truth means nothing to you.’

‘Truth?’ He talked of truth as if it were more valuable than bread. She held her tongue. She had already been too candid. If she angered him further, he would never keep her secret. ‘Perhaps each of us knows a different truth.’

‘There is only one truth, Lady Solay, but should you ever choose to speak it, I would scarce recognise it.’ His voice brimmed with disgust.

‘You do not recognise it now. My mother was a great helpmate to the King.’

He shook his head. ‘Even you can’t believe that.’ A yawn overtook him. ‘I’m going to bed. I leave you to your stars and your lies.’

‘Some day when I tell you the truth, you will believe it,’ she whispered to his fading footsteps.

Shivering and alone under a sky that seemed darker than before, she crossed her arms to keep from reaching for him as he descended the stairs.




Chapter Three


Solay snatched only an hour of sleep after Mass, then spent the feast day watching Justin and wondering whether he planned to expose her lie. Finally, exhausted, she escaped for a nap as soon as the King left the Christmas feast.

Her respite was brief. Before dark, Lady Agnes bustled into the room, carrying a white robe and two bare branches. ‘Here’s my costume for the disguising.’ She held up the simple off-white shift and waved the branches over her head. ‘Will I not look like a hart?’

A knock relieved Solay of responding. Agnes would resemble a horned angel more than a white stag.

At the door, a page, garbed in a vaguely familiar livery of three gold crowns on a blue background, handed Agnes a note and ran. She read it, then, smiling, closed the door.

‘I need you to take my part in the disguising,’ she whispered.

‘I would be honoured,’ Solay told her, trying to place the page’s livery. How bold to ignore the King’s entertainment for a private tryst. Did lusting make one so mad?

‘Quick. We haven’t much time.’ Agnes helped Solay into the undyed gown, slipped a linen hood over her face, and tied the branches around her head.

‘Tell me what I must do.’ Beneath the hood, she squinted, trying to see out of the eye holes.

‘Just watch the others in white. Do as they do and at the end, curl up at the feet of the one who plays the King.’ Agnes stopped tugging on the robe and peered through the slits in the hood to meet Solay’s gaze. ‘They must think you are me.’

Behind the hood, Solay laughed. ‘I’m disguised and I’ve just come to court. Who will recognise me?’

‘Everyone saw you yesterday.’

Everyone watched in glee as the King humiliated her, Agnes meant. And then, of course, the men had come for a closer look.

But only Justin had really seen her.

Agnes squeezed Solay’s fingers. ‘Please. Do not remove your hood, no matter what. Too many know what part I was to take.’ Agnes opened the door a crack, looked both ways, then pushed Solay into the hall. ‘And thank you,’ she whispered, her round blue eyes full of gratitude.

Solay crept down the stairs to the Great Hall, fingers touching the cool stone wall for balance. The branches wobbled uncertainly at the back of her head. Anonymous beneath her white hood, she felt strangely free as she entered the Hall.

Until she saw Justin.

Head down, he huddled with three other men. He was not costumed, of course. This man refused to disguise himself or his feelings.

As she walked towards the masked group gathering at the end of the Hall, his gaze drifted from the conversation to follow her. Knowing he was watching, she realised that Agnes’s costume exposed her ankles and hung slack around her hips. She turned her back on him and touched her hood to make sure her hair was covered. A stray dark lock would betray her.

The King’s herald called for silence and she pulled her attention back to the tableau. Like a mirror, the scene reflected the King who observed it. A pretend King sat on a mock throne. Heavenly beings in blue surrounded him. Beasts of the field came to lie at his feet.

As she moved to her place, the court seemed as much of a façade as the play, beautiful on the surface, but concealing each player’s true nature. When she lay at the foot of the false throne and heard the applause, she wondered which player had donned Agnes’s lover’s garb.

‘Up. Now,’ someone behind her whispered.

Around her, players moved into the audience, pulling them into the scene. As she rose to follow, she glimpsed a deep blue robe through the slits in her hood. All around them, laughing men and women joined the pretty scene, posing like statues. Afraid to look up, she saw a hand, grasped it and pulled.

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?

‘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?’




Chapter Four


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.

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.’

As his footsteps faded, the image he had suggested tantalised her like the dawn at the edge of the day. Marriage. Someone to take care of her.

She pulled her cloak tighter and let the wind blow the fantasy away. Better to focus on pleasing the King with a pleasant poem and a pretty future.

But Justin’s suggestion tugged at her. Perhaps he had deliberately shown her the path to circumvent the Council.

If the King had no power to grant her family a living, he might find an alliance for her with a family that would not allow hers to starve.

And if the King were gracious enough to find her a husband, she would take whomever he gave, even if the man’s kisses did not make her burn.




Chapter Five


As the sun rose to its pale peak on the last day of the year, Solay set aside the astrology tables in despair. She read no Latin, so she could understand none of the text. In a week, the Yuletide guests would be gone, and she with them unless she could create a story from the stars to please a King.

Before she wove a fiction, she had tried to decipher the truth, but the symbols in the chart the old astrologer had drawn blurred before her eyes.

She trusted no one for help except Agnes. When she had asked what ill omens the old astrologer had seen, Agnes’s already pale face turned white.

‘He said the King must give up his friendship with the Duke of Hibernia or the realm would be in danger.’

No wonder the man had been jailed.

Idly, she flipped through the tables of planets, wondering when Lord Justin Lamont had been born. He had the stubbornness of the Bull, but his blunt speech reminded her of the Archer. Perhaps one of them was the ascendant and the other…

Foolishness. She put the tables aside and turned to her real work. Her future lay in the hands of the King, not in the kisses of Justin Lamont.

She studied the King’s birth chart again. Some aspects didn’t match the temperament of the King she knew. Aggressive Aries was shown as his ascendant, yet he seemed the least warlike of kings.

The eleventh house was that of friends; the twelfth of enemies. Surely just a slight shift could move the Duke from one to the other.

A different time of birth would do it.

She turned pages with new energy. She would populate the chart as she wished and suggest it had changed because she used a different time of birth.

Smiling, she began to draw.



By late afternoon, she derived a chart that suited her purpose, and, it seemed, the King much better. A square formed the centre of the chart, Capricorn, his sun sign. Four triangles surrounded it, forming the four cardinal points as triangles from each side. Then, the additional eight houses formed another square around the first.

The shift clustered more planets in the house of friends, but it also described his character more accurately. From this one, she could spin a happy future for the King and, she hoped, for her family.

She hesitated. If it were dangerous to change her own time of birth, what would she risk to change the King’s?

Yet it was the only answer she had. At least she was sensible enough to tell him no bad news. No one was likely to know enough to dispute her conclusions and, if anyone did, she would laugh and say she was only a woman and not a real astrologer.



Justin’s mind wandered as the Court wasted the afternoon listening to bad verse penned by courtiers playing poet. The words flowed around him unheard. He had spent the last week telling himself that he was relieved that the kiss had meant nothing to Solay, though it galled him that she could swoon in his arms like a lover and then laugh. He should have expected nothing less. Even the woman’s body lied.

Across the room, she was fawning over Redmon again. Since he had told her to seek a husband, Justin judged every man she spoke to for the role. She would have few choices. The man must have money, not need it, for she would bring no dowry. He must be acceptable to the King, but not too important, for if he were, he would get a better bride.

She gave the Earl a dazzling smile as it came her turn to present. Then, she licked her full, lower lip, cleared her throat, glanced at Justin and started to read.



They call them men of law, an empty boast

They claim that law means justice

But justice comes quickest to him that pays the most.



His cheeks burned. Though no one looked his way as they laughed, he knew her words were directed towards him. Her poem told an amusing tale of a dishonest lawyer, brought to justice by a benevolent and pure King. The verse lacked polish, but it showed promise. The words were clever.

More than clever. Something about them seemed very familiar.

After the King applauded heartily and the afternoon’s entertainment ended, Justin sought her out. Her small triumph had touched her lips with an easy smile.

‘A pretty poem, Lady Solay,’ he said. ‘Did you suggest the subject to John Gower?’

Solay’s smile stiffened. ‘What makes you ask that?’

He did not dignify her lack of denial with an answer. ‘I did not think him a man to be swayed by kisses.’

She did not blush, which made him think she had not tried physical persuasion of the King’s favourite poet. Odd, he felt relieved.

‘The idea was his, not mine. He told me he was trying something new and if the King did not like the poem, Gower would put it aside. Since the King liked it very much, I dare say he will finish it and then tell the King and they will both think it a good joke.’

‘So now I must keep secrets for John Gower’s sake, not yours?’

Behind the pleading look in her eyes he saw the shadow of resentment. It must gall her to beg his co-operation. ‘You wouldn’t spoil the surprise, would you, just because the verse doesn’t flatter you?’

Shocked, he realised he had never even considered it. ‘It is Gower you wronged, not me. You sling borrowed barbs about lawyers, but you know nothing about me at all.’

‘I know you helped Parliament impeach the King’s Chancellor on imaginary charges.’

‘The charges were real.’

‘Not real enough, I see.’ She nodded towards the Earl of Suffolk, laughing with the King. ‘The man is with us today.’

He gritted his teeth. ‘The King released him. Not Parliament.’ Richard had imprisoned the man for a few weeks, then, as soon as Parliament had gone home, set him free as if Parliament had never ruled. As if the law meant nothing.

She lowered her voice to whisper. ‘You say you care about truth, but others say you care more about destroying those closest to the King.’

‘And you let others decide what you think.’

She didn’t answer, but turned to smile at Redmon across the room. The man smiled back, broadly, and she started to leave.

‘I hope you are not thinking of him as a husband.’

She kept searching the room, not meeting his eyes to answer. ‘When you suggested marriage you did not request approval of the choice. In fact, you told me only the King could decide.’

One of the young pups across the room winked at her, elbowing his companion, and she gave him a slow smile.

The boy’s grin grated on him. ‘That one is not looking on you as a wife,’ he growled.

‘How do you know?’

‘Because I am a man.’

‘Well, the Earl of Redmon is.’ Behind the lilt in her voice he heard the edge of anger.

‘Did the stars tell you so?’

‘He was born under the sign of the goat. We should get along well enough.’

‘Did the stars also tell you that he is old and rich with wealth and sons and three dead wives? All he needs is someone to grace his bed. That should not be difficult for you.’

She gasped, but instead of satisfaction, he felt remorse. ‘You fault me for failing some standard of your own devising. What do you expect of me, Lord Justin?’

‘Only what I expect of anyone. To be what you are.’

She dropped the smile and let him see her anger. ‘No, you expect me to be what you think my mother is.’ She turned to leave.

‘So each of us judges the other wrongly, is that what you think?’ He grabbed her hand, stopping her as if he had the right.

The shock was almost as great as touching her lips.

Both of them stared down at their clasped hands, her hand, cool in his, his large, blunt fingers, covering her pale skin.

And something alive moved through him, the feeling of kissing her all over again. Then, he had been in his cups. Easy to explain being set afire by a beautiful woman. But this…He had simply touched her hand and now stood transfixed, unable to—

‘Lord Justin, please.’

He looked up. This time, her slow, sultry smile was for him.

He dropped her hand. As she walked across the room to Redmon, he could swear she put an extra sway in her hips.

He smothered his body’s quick response. He was finished with this dangerous woman. Whether she married or not was none of his affair as long as she did not dip her hand into the King’s purse.



Justin and Gloucester approached the King’s solar shortly before noon on the last day of the Yuletide festivities. Their visit would be short and unpleasant, but at least Solay should be gone at the end of it.

‘Lamont? Did you hear me?’ Gloucester’s voice interrupted his thoughts.

‘Sorry,’ he answered. ‘What did you say?’

‘I’m going to throw this list in his face.’

Justin gathered his thoughts. It would fall to him to keep things civil when the royal tempers slipped loose.

As they entered, King Richard extended his hand, imperially as if it held a sceptre. ‘The list. Give it to me.’

Justin held out the list of grants to be enrolled on the Patent Rolls ‘with the assent of the Council’. ‘The Council has approved these four.’

The King glanced at the list. ‘Where are the rest? Where is Hibernia? Where is the woman?’

‘They have not been allowed,’ Justin said.

‘Not been allowed? It is the King who allows!’

‘Allowed?’ Now it was Gloucester who yelled. ‘You’ve allowed France to seize our lands instead of defending them!’ he snapped, sounding more like an uncle than a subject.

Richard reached for his dagger. ‘You impugn the power of the throne? I’ll have you hanged.’

They lunged towards each other, tempers flaring, while the guards hung back, uncertain whether to protect the King or Gloucester.

Justin stepped between them. ‘Please, Your Majesty, Gloucester.’ Each stepped away, glowering.

Richard gritted his teeth. ‘I will see all these grants allowed, including…’ he looked at Gloucester, hate glowing in his eyes ‘…the one for the harlot’s daughter.’

‘You’ll see none of them,’ Gloucester said. ‘Least of all that one!’ He stomped out of the room without asking for leave.

Richard stood rigid with shock. Or anger.

Justin repressed his resentment. The King cared nothing for Solay except as a pawn to infuriate his uncle and the Council. ‘Your Majesty, the Council has finished its review. There will be no more grants.’

Richard turned to Justin, his entire face pinched with rage. ‘Be careful, Lord Justin.’ His voice quavered with anger. ‘Your Council may have power now, but I was born a King. Nothing can change that, especially not you and your puny law.’

A shiver slithered down Justin’s back. When this man returned to power, he would grab what he wanted without a care for justice or the law. And Justin had been very, very much in the way of what he wanted.



On the afternoon of the twelfth day of Christmas, Solay was ushered into the King’s private solar to present her reading. The King dismissed everyone but the Queen and Hibernia, an indication that he was taking her reading very seriously.

Solay’s fingers shook as she smoothed the parchment with her new drawing. Her family’s fate lay on its surface.

‘Your Majesty,’ she began, ‘was born under the sign of the goat on the day three kings were in attendance on the babe in the manger. Surely this is auspicious. In addition—’

‘This is all well known,’ Hibernia scoffed. ‘Can you tell us nothing new?’

She put aside the chart. Hibernia had tolerated her for Agnes’s sake, but after what the last astrologer had said about him, he had no love of the art.

‘Well, I believe there may be.’ Her breath was shallow. Now. Now she must risk it. ‘Is Your Majesty sure you were born near the third hour after sunrise?’

Silence shimmered. How could one doubt the King?

‘Of course I’m sure. My mother told me.’

Next to him, Anne put a gentle hand on his arm and gave Solay a look that was hard to decipher. ‘Why do you ask?’

Solay swallowed. ‘My calculations suggest the hour was closer to nones.’ That would have meant the middle of the afternoon.

‘Impossible,’ said the King.

QueenAnne stared at Solay, then turned to her husband and whispered. The King’s eyes widened and they both stared at her.

She swallowed in the lengthening silence.

‘Who told you this?’ the King said.

‘No one. I was simply trying to read the planets. Of course, I am no expert and could easily be wrong.’

‘But you could not easily be right.’

She looked from one to another. ‘Am I right?’

The Queen spoke with her customary calm. ‘Richard’s mother once told me she had put out a false time of birth so as not to give the astrologers too much power.’

Her body burned with a heat that did not come from the hearth. Power. The unfamiliar fire of power. The truth of her startling prediction had given her something she had never before possessed.

Power enough for him to fear.

The King leaned forward, pinning Solay with eyes that held an uneasy mixture of apprehension and curiosity. ‘What new knowledge does that give you?’

She looked down at her chart, trying to think. Too much knowledge would be dangerous. ‘There are differences in the two ascendants. Yours is now Gemini and your moon is in Aries.’

‘But what does that mean?’

Flattery first. Then the request.

‘Your people revere you, Your Majesty. You are a singular man among men, whose wisdom surpasses ordinary understanding.’ She swallowed and continued. ‘And you are exceedingly generous to faithful friends and those of your blood.’

‘Such as you?’ His smile was hard to decipher.

She should have known that a King had heard all the ways to say ‘please’. ‘And so many others.’

His mouth twisted in derision, but fear still haunted his eyes. ‘What does it tell you,’ he whispered, ‘of my death?’

She took a deep breath. If she predicted long life incorrectly, they would only think her a poor astrologer. If she predicted death correctly, she could be accused of causing it.

‘I see a long and happy reign for Your Majesty.’ Actually, some darkness hovered over his eighth house, but this was no time to mention it. ‘All your subjects will bless your name when you leave us for Heaven.’

He leaned forward, his teeth tugging at his lips. ‘And when will that be, Lady Solay?’

She swallowed. ‘Oh, I am but a student and cannot determine such a thing.’

‘You were skilful enough to deduce the correct time of my birth. I’m surprised you could not be so precise with my life’s end.’

She lowered her eyes, hoping she showed proper deference. She had stumbled into a dangerous position. It would take all her talent to balance the King’s belief in her with his fear. ‘Forgive me for my ignorance, Your Majesty.’

He leaned back in his chair, peering at her over steepled fingers. ‘And are some of these things also true of you, since we share a birth day?’

Trapped by her lie, she decided the truth might serve her well. ‘It is interesting that you ask, Your Majesty. Since I have come to court, I found that I, too, was misinformed about the time of my birth. I was not born on the same day as Your Majesty.’

He smiled, pleased, and did not ask when she was born.

Hibernia pinched the bridge of his nose and shook his head. ‘You can hardly take this seriously, Your Majesty.’

He would be wise to say so. The old astrologer was right. Hibernia was bad for the King. She simply chose not to say so.

‘Of course I don’t,’ the King said, chuckling, as if relieved to be given an excuse. He rose and nodded at Solay. ‘You shall have a new, fur-trimmed cloak for your work.’

‘Thank you, Your Majesty.’ She sank to her knees in what she hoped was an appropriate level of deference for an extravagant gift.

‘And Lady Solay. You shall not read the stars again.’ The faintest sheen of sweat broke the skin between his nose and his lips. ‘For me, or for anyone.’

She nodded, murmuring assent. Her work as a faux astrologer had accomplished its purpose. Her uncanny prediction had raised the least bit of fear in the King. Useful, if managed carefully.

Deadly, if not.

She must make it useful in finding a husband.

The King had turned back to Hibernia, whispering, leaving her again on her knees.

‘Safe journey home,’ the Queen said as she left the room.

This could not be the end. ‘I had hoped—’ she began.

The two of them turned to see her kneeling, as if surprised she was still there.

‘I had hoped,’ she continued, ‘that Your Majesty might take an interest in my family.’

The King exchanged a glance with Hibernia. ‘Ah, yes. “Generous to those of your blood,” you said. What kind of interest?’

You’ll get no money, Lamont had said. Better to ask for a husband.

She cleared her throat. ‘In my marriage, Your Majesty.’

Hibernia smirked. ‘Marriage? To whom?’

She let a cat’s smile curve her lips. Would it be too bold to suggest the Earl? ‘Any man would be honoured to be recognised by his Majesty.’

The King eyed her warily, indecision in his frown.

The Duke leaned towards the King, chuckling. ‘She seemed to enjoy kissing Lamont. Marry the two of them.’

She felt as if a bird were trapped in her throat, desperately beating its wings. ‘Oh, no, Your Majesty, that was just under the Lord of Misrule. Meaningless as the Duke’s kiss of Agnes.’ A kiss, she belatedly remembered, that was not meaningless at all.

But the King was not listening. ‘Marriage to Lamont. A very interesting idea.’

Her damnable want warred with her family’s need. She wanted no marriage to an enemy of the King, yet she dare not criticise the Duke’s suggestion. ‘How kind of the Duke of Hibernia to suggest it, but I’m sure Your Majesty was thinking of someone else.’

‘You wanted a husband. If I choose to provide this one, are you ungrateful?’

Still kneeling, she looked down at the floor, hoping her deference would mitigate his anger at her small show of defiance. ‘Of course not, Your Majesty. It would be just the expression of your generous ascendant planet to bring Lord Justin so close to the throne.’

She looked up through her lashes to see him frown at her subtle reminder that he was elevating an enemy.

A light flared in his blue eyes. ‘And for my magnificent generosity, I ask only one thing of you.’

‘Anything, of course, Your Majesty.’

‘You will keep me informed of his actions for the Council.’

Suddenly, his purpose was clear. This marriage was to be for the King’s benefit, not hers. She should never have thought otherwise. ‘Do you not think they will be in constant contact with Your Majesty as well as Lord Justin?’

‘That’s what you are to discover.’

She bowed her head in defeat. ‘Of course, Your Majesty.’

‘Do your part and perhaps I will provide a grant for your family next year.’

Next year, when the Council’s charter expired and she would still be married to a man who hated her. ‘Your Majesty is ever generous.’

King Richard waved to a page standing outside the door. ‘Summon Lord Justin.’



The King’s summons bode ill, Justin thought, as he entered Richard’s chamber with a brief bow to what looked like twin kings.

Solay stood before the King and Hibernia. She touched her lips when he entered and his blood surged as he remembered the taste of them.

The King’s fury of two hours ago had been replaced with his dangerous, calculating look. ‘It seems the Lady Solay would marry.’

Startled, he ignored the twist in his stomach. Was this not exactly what he had suggested? ‘Most women do.’ He should be grateful the King had backed down from a confrontation with the Council over the woman. Belatedly, the amount she needed seemed minor.

‘You seemed to enjoy her kiss.’

No reason to deny the truth. ‘What man would not?’ He felt a flare of envy for the one who would be her husband and have the right.

‘So, then, you will be pleased to have her as your wife.’

Lust surged through him from staff to fingertips, drowning logic. To be able to bed her, to take her, seemed the only yes in the world.

He saw a flash of fear in her eyes, but she blinked and it was wiped away. Lips slightly parted, she looked up through her lashes as if she were at once trying to seduce him and play the innocent.

He was sure, and the thought brought him pain, that she was not.

His mind regained control over his body. The woman had neither honour nor honesty in her. ‘She is not what she seems,’ he said, the words shaken up through a rusty throat. It was long past time for truth. ‘She does not share a birth date with Your Majesty.’

She flinched and he fought the feeling that he had somehow betrayed her.

‘So she told me,’ the King said. ‘She was misinformed about her birth.’ He smiled. ‘As was I. Lady Solay seems to have some talent as a reader of the stars.’

‘Or so she has convinced you. Did she also confess that her flattering verse was borrowed?’

Her eyes widened in surprise. Justin smiled, grimly. Had she expected he would keep her secrets for ever?

The King frowned, shifting on his chair. ‘So you already know what a clever woman she is.’

‘I would prefer an honest wife to a clever one.’ It was not only the King he must dissuade. It was himself.

‘You have difficult requirements, Lamont,’ the King continued. ‘You’ve already turned down two honest heiresses most younger sons would have embraced with fervour.’

He met Solay’s eyes again, full of fresh pain. Just as that first time when she entered the Great Hall, he could not break away from the force that flowed between them.

‘Speak.’ The King’s voice seemed to come across a great distance. ‘Will you have her?’

What would the King do if he said ‘no’? Give her to Redmon? The man likely pushed his last wife down the stairs when she became quarrelsome over his dalliances.

Solay mouthed the word ‘please’. Her pleading, desperate eyes held echoes of another woman, another time. He had not been able to save that one.

For a moment, nothing else mattered.

‘Yes,’ he said, his gaze never leaving Solay.

The word stood between them, a pillar of fire. She released a breath and a smile trembled on her lips.

Having broken the spell, he found a kernel of sense left in his brain. This time he would not sacrifice his happiness for a woman he could not trust. This time he would be sure there was an escape.

He faced the King. ‘But I have a condition.’

The King frowned. ‘Condition?’

‘I must be convinced that she loves me.’

She gasped and he smiled at her. It was an unusual demand, and, in this case, an impossible one. Yet he had seen the disaster of a marriage forced. He would not brook it again.

The King dismissed him with a wave. ‘I never thought you a man who believed the love poems, Lamont. Love can come later as my dear wife and I discovered.’

Having planned his escape, he found he could breathe again. ‘Nevertheless, the Church requires we both consent freely. If I have stated a condition that is not met, the marriage will not be valid.’

He and Richard glared at each other. Even the King could not deny the power of the Church.

Solay glanced at the King. ‘Allow us a word, Your Majesty.’

They stepped out of earshot of the King. As she touched his arm, he struggled to keep his mind in control.

‘I know you care nothing for my life, but have you no care for your own? You are angering the King beyond reason.’

‘I told you not to let him force you. And I won’t be forced either.’

‘There is fire between us, Justin,’ she whispered, but her fingers choked his arm. ‘I am willing and I shall learn to love you.’

He steeled himself against the fear in her voice. ‘If I believe a word of love you say, I’ll be sadly deluded. I have bought you some time to find a man you really want to marry. Perhaps you can convince some other fool of your love.’

He stepped away from her to face the King again, relieved to be removed from her touch. ‘I stand by my word.’

‘Nevertheless,’ the King said, smiling, ‘I shall have the first banns read next Sunday.’

Sunday. The reality of what he had done pressed on his shoulders like a stone.

‘So soon?’ she asked. ‘We cannot wed until Lent is over.’

Hibernia cut in. ‘There’s time enough for you to marry before Lent begins.’

‘We won’t be married at all unless I am convinced of her love,’ Justin said.

The King shrugged. ‘Very well. Lady Solay, you have until the end of Lent to convince him of your love.’ His look turned menacing. ‘And, Lamont, you have until the end of Lent to be convinced.’




Chapter Six


Solay ran after Justin as he left the King’s solar, determined to begin her campaign to convince him she would be a loving and pliable mate.

She touched his arm to stop him before he reached the end of the hallway.

‘I shall ask the King’s permission to visit my mother and inform her of the impending marriage,’ she began. ‘Would you accompany me?’

‘No.’

‘Later, then. I would not interfere with your work—’

‘Solay, stop. This is folly.’

‘You were the one who suggested I marry.’

‘I did not mean to me.’

‘Then why did you agree?’ Surely her whispered ‘please’ could not have convinced him. ‘You care nothing for the King’s approval.’

He met her eyes with that cold honesty she had come to know, yet a hint of caring shadowed his gaze. ‘I did not want him to force you.’

‘I was not forced. I want this marriage.’ If she said the words more loudly, would they sound more convincing?

‘You want a marriage, not a marriage to me.’

I don’t have a choice! The thought screamed in her head. Without this marriage, she would return home empty-handed.

She tried to calm her mind. Fighting him would get her no closer to learning the Council’s secrets.

She leaned against his chest. All those courtiers who had fawned over her mother for the King’s sake, what words did they use? ‘I think the King suggested we marry because he could see how much I already love you.’

He undraped her like an unwanted blanket. ‘For someone with so much practice, you’re a poor liar.’

No one else had ever thought so. ‘Why can you not believe me? You feel the attraction between us.’

His eyes burned into hers. ‘Lust, yes. I would lie if I denied that.’

She could feel his breath on her cheek, feel the tingle starting again deep inside her. He moved nearer and she closed her eyes, lifting her chin. Now. Now he would kiss her.

Suddenly the air was empty of him. She opened her eyes to see him standing out of reach, arms crossed. ‘But lust is not love.’

She forced her eyelashes to flutter. ‘But it can be a start, can it not?’

He shook his head. ‘I am not a senile King looking for someone to warm my bed. I demand more than your body.’

What else did a woman have? ‘The King lusted after many women who shared his bed. My mother shared much more.’

‘Let me tell you why you said “yes”.’ He held a finger to her lips to stop her from interrupting. ‘You agreed to please the King. And I assure you, whatever reasons he had for this marriage are for his benefit, not yours.’

She said a silent prayer that he never discovered the real reason. ‘Perhaps they were for your benefit. Isn’t it high time you took a wife?’

‘I have no interest in a wife. And if I did, I would not want a viper in my bed. Do you think if we are married I will change my mind about the living you want from the Crown?’

Any ordinary man would. She held her tongue.

He did not wait for her to answer. ‘If you think to share my life, then you will be wasting your time long past Lent. I agreed so you could have time to pursue one of those men who has stared at you moon-eyed. By the end of Lent, you could have a willing husband. One you want, or at least one who wants you.’

‘If we are betrothed, I hardly think others will see me as a potential bride.’

‘Marriage itself doesn’t stop most men,’ he muttered.

She shook his stubborn sleeve. The King had given her a husband. She would have no second chance. ‘But I want this marriage!’

‘Then you will be very disappointed come Eastertide. Nothing you say or do will convince me that you are capable of love for anyone, particularly me.’

As he walked away, she realised that instead of merely pleasing the King, she now had to convince a man who hated her that he should be tied to her for the rest of his life.

Given the task, the forty days of Lent seemed no longer than a flicker.



Within days, Solay left Windsor, riding in solitary splendour in a cart driven by one of the King’s men, to inform her family of the impending marriage.

She rubbed her nose in the fur trim of her new cloak, rehearsing the smile she would wear when she told her mother she was to be wed. She knew not how to explain that she had failed to secure the grant her mother was expecting. Alys of Weston had been away from court too long. She would never understand that a Council might gainsay a King.

Despite her worries, peace melted her bones as the two-storey dower house with the six chimneys came into view. Pretending to be a castle, it was surrounded by a small moat. The whitewash had yellowed and the thatch needed patching, but it was all the home she’d had for the last ten years and more dear now than Windsor’s corridors.

Jane ran out to meet her while her mother looked down from her upstairs window, smiling. Her fair-haired sister, clad in tunic and chausses, seemed to have grown in the weeks Solay had been away. Her boy’s garb could no longer disguise her womanhood.

As they gathered in her mother’s chambers, her mother’s blue-veined hands stroked Solay’s heavy cloak with reverence. ‘The King has given you a magnificent gift. You must have pleased him.’




Конец ознакомительного фрагмента.


Текст предоставлен ООО «ЛитРес».

Прочитайте эту книгу целиком, купив полную легальную версию (https://www.litres.ru/blythe-gifford/the-harlot-s-daughter/) на ЛитРес.

Безопасно оплатить книгу можно банковской картой Visa, MasterCard, Maestro, со счета мобильного телефона, с платежного терминала, в салоне МТС или Связной, через PayPal, WebMoney, Яндекс.Деньги, QIWI Кошелек, бонусными картами или другим удобным Вам способом.