The Harlot’s Daughter. Blythe Gifford

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СКАЧАТЬ 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? СКАЧАТЬ