She was not the sort of rare beauty like Linnet who made men stop and stare and forget where they were, but she was pretty, with very fair skin and dark, soulful eyes.
“Sir James.” She gave no smile as she dipped her curtsy.
“Of course, the real prize is my lands,” Stafford said. “She is just the bonus, eh?”
Good God, how could a man speak about his daughter that way? No wonder the girl did not smile.
“You look like a strapping young man who can give me grandsons! That’s what I want from this, I don’t mind telling you—a grandson to take over the Stafford lands one day.”
Stafford appeared unaware that a prospective bridegroom might be offended by his happy anticipation of his future son-in-law’s death.
Jamie’s plan to make himself so unpleasant that Stafford would lose interest faded as the wretched man spewed on. He glanced at the girl, feeling more sorry for her by the moment. What must it be like for a young girl to have such an oaf for a father?
“I only got the girl, you see,” Stafford said. He shook his head. “There is no greater disappointment to a man in this life.”
This had gone on long enough.
“My parents have both sons and daughters,” Jamie said before Stafford could hurl another insult at his daughter, “and, I can tell you, they greatly prefer the girls.”
“They do?” Stafford asked, pinching his face as if he were tasting something foul.
“They say daughters are like the sun, bringing warmth and happiness to their home, while sons are like the winter storms, bringing chaos and trouble.”
Jamie was making this up out of whole cloth, but he felt compelled to compensate for Stafford’s churlish—nay, malicious—disregard for his daughter’s feelings.
When Stafford opened his mouth to argue, Jamie said, “The second barge is here. Let us board quickly so your daughter will have a seat near the brazier.”
Eleanor Cobham was bringing such a large entourage to Windsor that several of her ladies and servants, along with a good many trunks, had been left behind to share the second barge with Jamie and the Staffords.
Stafford’s head spun around to where the barge had just pulled up. “ ’Tis damp on the river. I must have the seat nearest the brazier for my gout.”
While Stafford elbowed his way ahead of the others waiting on the wharf, Jamie held his arm out to the girl. She took it without offering him a word or a smile. After a short time with her father, Jamie no longer wondered at her dour expression.
There were two braziers on the barge. Seeing her father settled in the choicest seat by the first, Jamie found a seat for the girl near the second brazier. The boatmen worked quickly to batten down the heavy cloth cover that served to protect the passengers from wind and rain and keep the heat from the braziers within.
For some time after the boatmen eased the barge away from the wharf, Jamie and Lady Agnes sat in silence. She was such a tiny thing that he felt huge beside her.
The girl worked a kerchief in her hands. She seemed so desperately unhappy that he felt an urge to rescue her. Another man, however, would have to save her from her father. Still, he wished there was some way he could ease her misery.
The girl did not appear to have the skill most women had of filling awkward silences. Jamie was trying to think of something to say to her when she suddenly turned her dark eyes on him and asked him a question as if everything depended upon it.
“How many demons would you say are in hell?” Jamie thought he must have misheard her. “What did you ask?”
This time she spoke slowly, as if she suspected he might be slow-witted. “How many of the angels turned against God to take their place with Lucifer?”
He blinked at her, trying to think of how to respond to such an unusual question.
“Most of the holy men agree,” she said, her dark eyes intent on his, “that one in three angels fell from grace.”
“Then it should be a simple calculation,” Jamie said, feeling rather proud of himself, “provided you know how many angels there were to start with.”
“That is just the difficulty,” she said. “ ’Tis most distressing, but there is some dispute as to the precise number of angels at the time of Lucifer’s revolt.”
“So long as the good angels outnumber the demons two-to-one, what does it matter how many demons there are?” Oddly, Jamie was starting to enjoy himself.
“That is a soldier’s answer,” she said with a smile that quite transformed her face. “But you could as well ask why the ratio should matter at all when the good angels have the power of God on their side.”
“ ’Twas your question to begin with,” Jamie said, giving her an answering smile. “Tell me, why do you care how many fallen angels there are?”
