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:
As Justin forced a shallow bow, the artist left the room, handing his drawings to the King.
‘Aren’t these magnificent, Lamont?’ The man had drawn Richard kneeling before a group of angels. ‘The gold of heaven will surround me here and my sainted great-grandfather will stand behind me.’
Only young Richard would call the man a saint. ‘Your great-grandfather died impaled on a poker for incompetence in government.’ And sixty years ago, most had cheered at his death.
The King narrowed his eyes. ‘He was deposed by ruffians who had no respect for their King. Do you?’
Justin clenched his fingers, his sergeant-at-law ring digging into his fist. ‘I respect the King who respects his realm and the advice of his barons.’
Years ago, Justin had respected this King. Then, the young boy bravely faced rebellious peasants and promised them justice. That promise, like so many others, had been broken many times over.
Frowning, the King put down the sketches. ‘It’s abominable, having to go to the Council every time I need the Great Seal. Give me the list.’
‘The Council has said no.’
The King, stunned, merely stared at him. Only the crackle of the fire broke the silence.
‘Even to Hibernia?’ he asked, finally.
‘Especially to Hibernia. The man tarries at court with his mistress while his wife waits at home in embarrassment.’
‘You go too far!’ The King shook his fist. His voice rose to a squeak. ‘That’s not the Council’s concern. These are my personal gifts, not governmental ones.’
Obviously, the King did not understand the new order. ‘They affect the Treasury, so they come under the Council’s purview.’ There might be a legitimate grant or two on the list, but in the end, he suspected, he would be serving summons to the lot of them. ‘Until we complete a full review of the household expenses, there will be no new grants.’
‘Is this the legal advice you gave the Council?’ The King spat ‘Council’ as if he hated the very word.
‘Parliament made the law, Your Majesty.’
‘And by that law a Council can rule a King?’
‘For the next year, yes.’
The King narrowed his eyes. ‘You tell your Council that by Twelfth Night I want the seal affixed to this list. The entire list.’ A wicked smile touched his lips. ‘And add a grant of five pounds for the Weston woman.’
Justin clenched his jaw. The amount would barely keep a squire for a year, but the woman had done nothing to earn it. The King was simply trying to flaunt his power. ‘I will convey your message,’ he said. ‘I do not expect them to change their minds, particularly for the woman.’
Barely suppressed fury contorted the King’s face. ‘Remember, Lamont, according to your precious law, by this time next year, I will be King again.’
The King’s very softness of speech caused him to shiver. This was a man who never forgot wrongs.
Well, that was something they had in common.
As Justin left the room, laughter laced the halls as the court gathered for the lighting of the Yule Log. He did not slow his steps. The Lady Solay had to be stopped. Quickly.
Scolding herself for speaking harshly to Lamont, Solay took her small bag of belongings to the room she was assigned to share with one of the Queen’s ladies-in-waiting, wondering whether the choice was an omen of the King’s favour or a sign that he wanted her watched.
She unpacked quickly as Lady Agnes, small, round, and fair, hovered in the doorway. ‘Lady Solay, hurry. We mustn’t miss the celebration.’
Shivering in her outgrown, threadbare cloak, Solay crossed the ward with Lady Agnes, who had not stopped talking since they left the room.
‘The Christmas tableaux for his Majesty tomorrow will be so beautiful. I am to play a white deer, his Majesty’s favourite creature.’ Agnes had come to England from Bohemia with Queen Anne and still trilled her rs. ‘And for the dinner, the cook is fixing noodles smothered in cheese and cinnamon and saffron. It’s my very favourite.’
Solay’s mouth watered at the thought. Her tongue had not touched such extravagant sweetness in years. As they entered the hall, Solay looked around the room, relieved when she did not see Lord Justin.
All her life, she had ignored the prejudice of strangers, yet, unlike all the others, his condemnation had unearthed her long-banked anger, exposed it to the air where it threatened to burst into flame, stirring her to fight battles long lost.
Worse, he had touched something even more dangerous. Close to this man, she felt want. The unruly emotion threatened the control she needed if she were to control those around her. And her ability to influence others was her family’s only hope.
Lady Agnes left to attend the Queen, who was touching the brand to the kindling beneath the Yule Log. Solay looked for another woman companion, but each one she approached drifted out of reach.
The men were not so reticent. One by one they came to study her face and let their eyes wander her body. Feeling not a speck of desire, she turned the glow of her smile on each one, circling each as the sun did the earth.
She learned, as she smiled, that the King had bestowed a new title, Duke of Hibernia, on his favourite courtier.
The men did not smile as they told her.
‘Congratulations, Lady Solay.’ Justin’s words came from behind her. ‘The King has put your name on his list already.’
Only when she heard his voice did she realise she’d been listening for it. Yet surely the excitement she felt was for the news he brought and not for him. ‘His Majesty is gracious.’ She wondered how gracious an amount he’d given.
‘The Council is not. It will not be allowed. The Council cares not that you pick a birth date to please the King.’
Her cheeks went cold. ‘What do you know of my birth?’ Few had known or cared when she came on to this earth. The deception had been harmless. Or would be unless the King found out.
‘One of the laundresses served your mother twenty years ago. She remembers the night of your birth very clearly. It was the summer solstice and all the castle was awake to hear your mother’s moans.’
She bit her lower lip to hold back a smile of delight. Her birthday. She finally knew her birthday.
But she must cling to the tale she’d told. ‘She must have mis-remembered. It was many years ago.’
‘She was quite sure she was right. And so am I.’
Fear swallowed her reason. If the King were to believe her reading, he must have no doubts about her veracity. ‘Would you take the word of a laundress over that of a King’s daughter?’
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