The Harlot’s Daughter. Blythe Gifford

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      The King’s summons bode ill, Justin thought, as he entered Richard’s chamber with a brief bow to what looked like twin kings.

      Solay stood before the King and Hibernia. She touched her lips when he entered and his blood surged as he remembered the taste of them.

      The King’s fury of two hours ago had been replaced with his dangerous, calculating look. ‘It seems the Lady Solay would marry.’

      Startled, he ignored the twist in his stomach. Was this not exactly what he had suggested? ‘Most women do.’ He should be grateful the King had backed down from a confrontation with the Council over the woman. Belatedly, the amount she needed seemed minor.

      ‘You seemed to enjoy her kiss.’

      No reason to deny the truth. ‘What man would not?’ He felt a flare of envy for the one who would be her husband and have the right.

      ‘So, then, you will be pleased to have her as your wife.’

      Lust surged through him from staff to fingertips, drowning logic. To be able to bed her, to take her, seemed the only yes in the world.

      He saw a flash of fear in her eyes, but she blinked and it was wiped away. Lips slightly parted, she looked up through her lashes as if she were at once trying to seduce him and play the innocent.

      He was sure, and the thought brought him pain, that she was not.

      His mind regained control over his body. The woman had neither honour nor honesty in her. ‘She is not what she seems,’ he said, the words shaken up through a rusty throat. It was long past time for truth. ‘She does not share a birth date with Your Majesty.’

      She flinched and he fought the feeling that he had somehow betrayed her.

      ‘So she told me,’ the King said. ‘She was misinformed about her birth.’ He smiled. ‘As was I. Lady Solay seems to have some talent as a reader of the stars.’

      ‘Or so she has convinced you. Did she also confess that her flattering verse was borrowed?’

      Her eyes widened in surprise. Justin smiled, grimly. Had she expected he would keep her secrets for ever?

      The King frowned, shifting on his chair. ‘So you already know what a clever woman she is.’

      ‘I would prefer an honest wife to a clever one.’ It was not only the King he must dissuade. It was himself.

      ‘You have difficult requirements, Lamont,’ the King continued. ‘You’ve already turned down two honest heiresses most younger sons would have embraced with fervour.’

      He met Solay’s eyes again, full of fresh pain. Just as that first time when she entered the Great Hall, he could not break away from the force that flowed between them.

      ‘Speak.’ The King’s voice seemed to come across a great distance. ‘Will you have her?’

      What would the King do if he said ‘no’? Give her to Redmon? The man likely pushed his last wife down the stairs when she became quarrelsome over his dalliances.

      Solay mouthed the word ‘please’. Her pleading, desperate eyes held echoes of another woman, another time. He had not been able to save that one.

      For a moment, nothing else mattered.

      ‘Yes,’ he said, his gaze never leaving Solay.

      The word stood between them, a pillar of fire. She released a breath and a smile trembled on her lips.

      Having broken the spell, he found a kernel of sense left in his brain. This time he would not sacrifice his happiness for a woman he could not trust. This time he would be sure there was an escape.

      He faced the King. ‘But I have a condition.’

      The King frowned. ‘Condition?’

      ‘I must be convinced that she loves me.’

      She gasped and he smiled at her. It was an unusual demand, and, in this case, an impossible one. Yet he had seen the disaster of a marriage forced. He would not brook it again.

      The King dismissed him with a wave. ‘I never thought you a man who believed the love poems, Lamont. Love can come later as my dear wife and I discovered.’

      Having planned his escape, he found he could breathe again. ‘Nevertheless, the Church requires we both consent freely. If I have stated a condition that is not met, the marriage will not be valid.’

      He and Richard glared at each other. Even the King could not deny the power of the Church.

      Solay glanced at the King. ‘Allow us a word, Your Majesty.’

      They stepped out of earshot of the King. As she touched his arm, he struggled to keep his mind in control.

      ‘I know you care nothing for my life, but have you no care for your own? You are angering the King beyond reason.’

      ‘I told you not to let him force you. And I won’t be forced either.’

      ‘There is fire between us, Justin,’ she whispered, but her fingers choked his arm. ‘I am willing and I shall learn to love you.’

      He steeled himself against the fear in her voice. ‘If I believe a word of love you say, I’ll be sadly deluded. I have bought you some time to find a man you really want to marry. Perhaps you can convince some other fool of your love.’

      He stepped away from her to face the King again, relieved to be removed from her touch. ‘I stand by my word.’

      ‘Nevertheless,’ the King said, smiling, ‘I shall have the first banns read next Sunday.’

      Sunday. The reality of what he had done pressed on his shoulders like a stone.

      ‘So soon?’ she asked. ‘We cannot wed until Lent is over.’

      Hibernia cut in. ‘There’s time enough for you to marry before Lent begins.’

      ‘We won’t be married at all unless I am convinced of her love,’ Justin said.

      The King shrugged. ‘Very well. Lady Solay, you have until the end of Lent to convince him of your love.’ His look turned menacing. ‘And, Lamont, you have until the end of Lent to be convinced.’