The Harlot’s Daughter. Blythe Gifford
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Название: The Harlot’s Daughter
Автор: Blythe Gifford
Издательство: HarperCollins
Жанр: Историческая литература
Серия: Mills & Boon Historical
isbn: 9781408961186
isbn:
‘How do you know?’
‘Because I am a man.’
‘Well, the Earl of Redmon is.’ Behind the lilt in her voice he heard the edge of anger.
‘Did the stars tell you so?’
‘He was born under the sign of the goat. We should get along well enough.’
‘Did the stars also tell you that he is old and rich with wealth and sons and three dead wives? All he needs is someone to grace his bed. That should not be difficult for you.’
She gasped, but instead of satisfaction, he felt remorse. ‘You fault me for failing some standard of your own devising. What do you expect of me, Lord Justin?’
‘Only what I expect of anyone. To be what you are.’
She dropped the smile and let him see her anger. ‘No, you expect me to be what you think my mother is.’ She turned to leave.
‘So each of us judges the other wrongly, is that what you think?’ He grabbed her hand, stopping her as if he had the right.
The shock was almost as great as touching her lips.
Both of them stared down at their clasped hands, her hand, cool in his, his large, blunt fingers, covering her pale skin.
And something alive moved through him, the feeling of kissing her all over again. Then, he had been in his cups. Easy to explain being set afire by a beautiful woman. But this…He had simply touched her hand and now stood transfixed, unable to—
‘Lord Justin, please.’
He looked up. This time, her slow, sultry smile was for him.
He dropped her hand. As she walked across the room to Redmon, he could swear she put an extra sway in her hips.
He smothered his body’s quick response. He was finished with this dangerous woman. Whether she married or not was none of his affair as long as she did not dip her hand into the King’s purse.
Justin and Gloucester approached the King’s solar shortly before noon on the last day of the Yuletide festivities. Their visit would be short and unpleasant, but at least Solay should be gone at the end of it.
‘Lamont? Did you hear me?’ Gloucester’s voice interrupted his thoughts.
‘Sorry,’ he answered. ‘What did you say?’
‘I’m going to throw this list in his face.’
Justin gathered his thoughts. It would fall to him to keep things civil when the royal tempers slipped loose.
As they entered, King Richard extended his hand, imperially as if it held a sceptre. ‘The list. Give it to me.’
Justin held out the list of grants to be enrolled on the Patent Rolls ‘with the assent of the Council’. ‘The Council has approved these four.’
The King glanced at the list. ‘Where are the rest? Where is Hibernia? Where is the woman?’
‘They have not been allowed,’ Justin said.
‘Not been allowed? It is the King who allows!’
‘Allowed?’ Now it was Gloucester who yelled. ‘You’ve allowed France to seize our lands instead of defending them!’ he snapped, sounding more like an uncle than a subject.
Richard reached for his dagger. ‘You impugn the power of the throne? I’ll have you hanged.’
They lunged towards each other, tempers flaring, while the guards hung back, uncertain whether to protect the King or Gloucester.
Justin stepped between them. ‘Please, Your Majesty, Gloucester.’ Each stepped away, glowering.
Richard gritted his teeth. ‘I will see all these grants allowed, including…’ he looked at Gloucester, hate glowing in his eyes ‘…the one for the harlot’s daughter.’
‘You’ll see none of them,’ Gloucester said. ‘Least of all that one!’ He stomped out of the room without asking for leave.
Richard stood rigid with shock. Or anger.
Justin repressed his resentment. The King cared nothing for Solay except as a pawn to infuriate his uncle and the Council. ‘Your Majesty, the Council has finished its review. There will be no more grants.’
Richard turned to Justin, his entire face pinched with rage. ‘Be careful, Lord Justin.’ His voice quavered with anger. ‘Your Council may have power now, but I was born a King. Nothing can change that, especially not you and your puny law.’
A shiver slithered down Justin’s back. When this man returned to power, he would grab what he wanted without a care for justice or the law. And Justin had been very, very much in the way of what he wanted.
On the afternoon of the twelfth day of Christmas, Solay was ushered into the King’s private solar to present her reading. The King dismissed everyone but the Queen and Hibernia, an indication that he was taking her reading very seriously.
Solay’s fingers shook as she smoothed the parchment with her new drawing. Her family’s fate lay on its surface.
‘Your Majesty,’ she began, ‘was born under the sign of the goat on the day three kings were in attendance on the babe in the manger. Surely this is auspicious. In addition—’
‘This is all well known,’ Hibernia scoffed. ‘Can you tell us nothing new?’
She put aside the chart. Hibernia had tolerated her for Agnes’s sake, but after what the last astrologer had said about him, he had no love of the art.
‘Well, I believe there may be.’ Her breath was shallow. Now. Now she must risk it. ‘Is Your Majesty sure you were born near the third hour after sunrise?’
Silence shimmered. How could one doubt the King?
‘Of course I’m sure. My mother told me.’
Next to him, Anne put a gentle hand on his arm and gave Solay a look that was hard to decipher. ‘Why do you ask?’
Solay swallowed. ‘My calculations suggest the hour was closer to nones.’ That would have meant the middle of the afternoon.
‘Impossible,’ said the King.
QueenAnne stared at Solay, then turned to her husband and whispered. The King’s eyes widened and they both stared at her.
She swallowed in the lengthening silence.
‘Who told you this?’ the King said.
‘No one. I was simply trying to read the planets. Of course, I am no expert and could easily be wrong.’
‘But you could not easily be right.’
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