The Harlot’s Daughter. Blythe Gifford

life. ‘I will do my humble best and be honoured to serve Your Majesty in any way.’

      A small smile touched his lips. ‘I imprisoned the last astrologer for predicting ill omens. I shall be interested in what you say.’

      She swallowed. This King was not as naïve as he looked.

      Done with her, he rose, took the Queen’s hand and spoke to the Hall. ‘Come. Let there be carolling before vespers.’

      Solay curtsied, muttering, ‘Thanks to Your Majesty’, like a Hail Mary and backed away.

      A hand, warm, touched her shoulder.

      She turned to see the same brown eyes that had made her stumble. Up close, they seemed to probe all she needed to hide.

      The man was all hardness and power. A perpetual frown furrowed his brow. ‘Lady Joan, or shall I say Lady Solay?’

      She slapped on a smile to hide the trembling of her lips. ‘A turn in the carolling ring? Of course.’

      He did not return her smile. ‘No. A private word.’

      His eyes, large, heavy lidded, turned down at the corners, as if weighed with sorrow.

      Or distrust.

      ‘If you wish,’ she said, uneasy. As he guided her into the passageway outside the Great Hall, she turned her attention to him, ready to discover who he was, what he wanted and how she might please him.

      God had blessed her with a pleasing visage. Most men were content to bask in the glow of her interest, never asking what she might think or feel.

      And if they had asked, she would not have known what to say. She had forgotten.

      Yet this man, silent, stared down at her as though he knew her thoughts and despised them. Behind him, the caroller’s call echoed off the rafters of the Great Hall and the singers responded in kind. She smiled, trying to lift his scowl. ‘It’s a merry group.’

      No gentle curve sculpted the lips that formed an angry slash in his face. ‘They sound as if they had forgotten we might have been singing beside the French today.’

      She shivered. Only God’s grace had kept the French fleet off their shores this summer. ‘Perhaps people want to forget the war for a while.’

      ‘They shouldn’t.’ His tone brooked no dissent. ‘Now tell me, Lady Solay, why have you come to court?’

      She touched a finger to her lips, taking time to think. She must not speak without knowing whose ear listened. ‘Sir, you know who I am, but I do not even know your name. Pray, tell me.’

      ‘Lord Justin Lamont.’

      His simple answer told her nothing she needed to know. Was he the King’s man or not? ‘Are you also a visitor at Court?’

      ‘I serve the Duke of Gloucester.’

      She clasped her fingers in front of her so they would not shake. Gloucester had near the power of a king these days. Richard could make few moves without his uncle’s approval, a galling situation for a proud and profligate Plantagenet.

      She widened her eyes, tilted her head and smiled. ‘How do you serve the Duke?’

      ‘I was trained at the Inns of Court.’

      She struggled to keep her smile from crumbling. ‘A man of the law?’ A craven vulture who never kept his word, who would speak for you one day and against you the next, who could take away your possessions, your freedom, your very life.

      ‘You dislike the law, Lady Solay?’ A twist of a smile relaxed the harsh edges of his face. For the first time, she noticed a cleft in his chin, the only softness she’d seen in him.

      ‘Wouldn’t you, if it had done to you what it did to my mother?’ Shame, shame. Do not let the anger show. It was over and done. She must move on. She must survive.

      ‘It was your mother who did damage to the law.’

      His bluntness shocked her. True, her mother had shared the judges’ bench on occasion, but only to insure that the King’s will was done. Most judges could not be trusted to render a verdict without an eye on their pockets.

      Solay kept her brow smooth, her eyes wide and her voice low. ‘My mother served the Queen and then the King faithfully. She was ill served in the end for her faithful care.’

      ‘She used the law to steal untold wealth. It was the realm that was ill served.’

      Most only whispered their hatred. This man spoke it aloud. She gritted her teeth. ‘You must have been ill informed. All her possessions were freely given by the King or purchased with her own funds.’

      ‘Ah! So you are here to get them back.’

      She cleared her throat, unsettled that he suspected her plan so soon. ‘The King honoured me with an invitation. I was pleased to accept.’

      ‘Why would he invite you?’

      Because my mother begged everyone who would still listen to ask him. ‘Who can know the mind of a King?’

      ‘Your mother did.’

      ‘A King does as he wills.’

      A spark of understanding lit his eyes. ‘Parliament turned down her last petition for redress so she has sent you to beg money directly from the King.’

      ‘We do not beg for what is rightfully ours.’ She lowered her eyes to hide her anger. Parliament had impeached one of the King’s key advisers last autumn, then given the five Lords of the Council unwelcome oversight of the King. It was an uneasy time to appear at court. She had no friends and could afford no enemies. ‘Please, do not let me detain you. My affairs need not be your concern. You must have many friends to see.’

      ‘I’m not sure that anyone has many friends these days, Lady Solay. You asked about my work. Among my duties is to see that the King wastes no more money on flatterers. If you try to entice him into raiding the Exchequer on your behalf, your affairs will become my concern.’

      The import of his words sank in. She risked angering a man who had power over the very purse strings she needed to loosen.

      ‘I only ask that you deal fairly.’ A vain hope. She had given up on justice years ago.

      She stepped back, wanting to leave, but he touched her sleeve and moved closer, until she had to tip her head back to see his eyes. He was tall and lean and in the flickering torch fire, his brown hair, carelessly falling from a centre parting, glimmered with a hint of gold.

      And above his head hung a kissing bough.

      He looked up and then back at her, his eyes dark. She couldn’t, didn’t want to look away. His scent, cedar and ink, tantalised her.

      Let them look. Make them want, her mother had warned her, but never, never want yourself. Yet this breathless ache—surely this was want.

      He leaned closer, his lips hovering over hers. All she could think of was his burning eyes and the harsh rise and fall of his chest. She closed her eyes and her lips parted.

      ‘Do you think to sway me as your mother swayed a King, Lady Solay?’

      She pushed him away, relieved the corridor was still empty, and forced her lips into a coy smile. ‘You make me forget myself.’

      ‘Or perhaps I help you remember who you really are.’

      Her smile pinched. ‘Or who you think I am.’

      ‘I know who you are. You are an awkward remnant of a great King’s waning years and glory lost because of a deceitful woman.’

      Gall choked her. ‘You blame my mother for the King’s decline, not caring how hard she worked to keep order when he could not tell sun from moon.’

      When he did not know, or care to know, the daughter he had spawned.

      ‘I,