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Gloucester scowled. ‘You are ever too outspoken.’
‘I’m just not afraid to tell the truth.’ But about this, he was. The truth was that he had no idea what possessed him to nearly take her in his arms and he did not want to dwell on the question. ‘The woman sought to tempt me as her mother did the old King.’
‘You looked as if you were about to succumb.’
‘I simply warned her that she would not be permitted to play with King Richard’s purse.’
Gloucester snorted with disgust. ‘My nephew is a sorry excuse for a ruler. The French steal my father’s land and all the boy does is read poetry and wave a little white flag to wipe his nose. As if a sleeve were not good enough.’ Gloucester sighed. ‘Now, what was it you wanted to tell me?’
Justin brought his mind back to the King’s list. ‘He wants to give the Duke of Hibernia more property.’
‘And what of my request?’
Justin shook his head.
Gloucester exploded. ‘First he gives the man a Duke’s title that none but a King’s son has ever held. Then he gives him a coat of arms adorned with crowns. Now he gives him land and leaves me at the mercy of the Exchequer? Never!’
‘I’ll tell him, your Grace. Right after vespers.’ To Justin had fallen the task of delivering bad news. He was not a man to hide the truth. Even from the King.
But he suspected that Lady Solay was. Nothing about her rang true, including her convenient birth day. As he and Gloucester returned to the hall, Justin wondered whether one of the old King’s servants might remember something of her.
If she believed she was going to tap the King’s dwindling purse with honeyed kisses, she would be sorely disappointed.
He would make sure of that.
Chapter Two
In the hour after sunset, Justin strode towards the King’s chamber, dreading this meeting. The King expected an answer on his list of grants. He wasn’t going to like the one he would hear.
But Justin would deliver it, and quickly. He had another mission to accomplish before the lighting of the Yule Log.
Entering the solar, Justin saw Richard on his knees, hands clasped. He paused, thinking the King at prayer, but when Richard dropped his pose and waved him in, Justin saw an artist, squinting over his parchment, sketching.
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?’
‘The laundress has no reason to lie. The King’s daughter apparently does.’
She raised her eyes to Justin’s, forgetting to shield her desperation. ‘You haven’t told the King?’
‘No.’
Relief left her hands shaking. ‘He need not know.’ Surely a few light words and a kiss would cajole this man to silence. She touched his arm and leaned into him, pleading with her eyes. Her lips parted of their own accord. ‘It was harmless, really. I thought only to flatter him.’
The angry set of his lips did not change as he stepped away. ‘When next you think to flatter the King, remember that, for the next year, the power belongs to the Council.’
Fear smothered her joy. Now that he knew the truth, he held 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.
