The Harlot’s Daughter. Blythe Gifford
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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