The Harlot’s Daughter. Blythe Gifford
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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