The Harlot’s Daughter. Blythe Gifford
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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