The Harlot’s Daughter. Blythe Gifford
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Название: The Harlot’s Daughter
Автор: Blythe Gifford
Издательство: HarperCollins
Жанр: Историческая литература
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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.’
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