She pursed her lips and gazed off into the distance, her expression intent once again. After a long moment, she said, “When I pray for the strength to resist demons, I would like to use the number.”
“But surely God already knows how many there are.” She turned her large dark eyes on him again. “You are right, of course. Mother Therese—she is the abbess at Saint Mary of the Woods near my home—tells me I devote too much time to the contemplation of the small points of faith.”
Jamie did his best to hide his smile. Mother Therese sounded like a wise woman to him.
“But when it comes to God,” the girl said, “how can one say any point is small? Saint Paul himself said in his Epistle to the…”
As penance for his sins, Jamie spent the rest of the afternoon discussing the meaning of various biblical verses. He did not mind it so much, and it seemed to please her. Well, it did not please her, precisely, for she grew quite agitated as she made her points.
Truly, they should let the poor girl go to the convent.
One of the women, a commoner by her dress, shot dark glances at them each time Lady Agnes’s voice rose. Eventually, the woman gathered her skirts and left the shelter, apparently preferring the drizzle and the conversation of the boatmen outside to their theological discussion.
Lady Agnes’s eyes followed the other woman out. “That woman walks with the devil,” she said in a low voice.
Jamie turned to stare at her. Truly, this young lady was a constant surprise.
“I advise you to wear a cross and say your prayers,” Lady Agnes said. “For that one had her eyes on you, and it cannot be to good purpose.”
“And I thought she was watching you,” he said, trying to make light of it by teasing her.
“Aye, she was, but for a different reason.” Agnes nodded, her face earnest. “I make her uneasy, for she knows Satan can gain no purchase with me.”
Apparently Agnes did not think the same could be said of him.
Chapter Nineteen
Windsor Castle was filling up with guests, although none of the royals had arrived yet—if you did not count the queen, which no one did. Linnet stood looking out the narrow window of her bedchamber, wondering what could be keeping Jamie in London.
She never thought she could miss him so much. Why had she not gone with him when he asked her? Their angry parting left her with an uneasy feeling in the pit of her stomach. She was anxious to see him and make things right between them.
A movement caught her eye, and she turned her gaze eastward to find a line of barges coming up the river. Knowing Jamie would return by horse, she was only mildly interested in these new arrivals.
Her interest grew, however, when she saw that one flew the royal banner, the Lancaster lion and French fleur-de-lis. The first man off was Gloucester, his ermine-trimmed cloak and brilliant crimson, gold, and blue tunic proclaiming his royal status. The woman on his arm with her hood pulled up against the cold was likely his mistress, Eleanor Cobham.
Linnet was about to go down to join the formal greeting party when the second barge pulled up to the wharf. Because she was not eager to see either Gloucester or his mistress, she paused to see who would emerge from the other barge.
Her heart did a flip as a tall figure jumped to the dock before the boatman tied the boat. The winter sun glistened on the almost black hair blowing across his face. At last, Jamie was here. She picked up her skirts to hurry down, when she saw Jamie turn back toward the barge and raise his arms.
Linnet stood stock-still, skirts clenched in her hands, as Jamie put his hands around a petite woman’s waist and lifted her off the barge. That was unnecessary; there were steps the lady could have taken. Then, in a protective gesture that sliced Linnet’s heart, Jamie tucked the lady’s hand into his arm. As the two crossed the dock, Jamie bent his head down to her as if intent on catching her every word.
Linnet dropped onto the stool next to her and pressed her hand to her chest, trying to breathe. Surely, she was reading too much into what she had seen. These were simple gestures of courtesy that any knight would show a lady in his company.
Yet, she felt so light-headed she had to lean forward and rest her head on her knees. What would she do if she lost Jamie again? In building her trade and plotting her revenge, she planned years ahead, anticipating each move as if it were a complex game of chess. Yet, when it came to Jamie, she lived day to day, moment to moment. Why?
She knew damned well why. Neither she nor her plans fit into the kind of life Jamie wanted. That was as true now as it was five years ago. She could never be the sort of wife he wanted: a woman who always behaved as she should, bowed to his “greater wisdom,” and caused him no trouble.
And yet, she did not know how she could survive losing him again.
In her mind’s eye, she saw Jamie hovering over the young woman on the dock. Had he given up on her already? Nay, he had no hopes to give up this time. Although he was drawn by the passion that burned between them, he no longer saw her as a woman he would want as his wife. And Jamie wanted a wife.
Her shortcomings seemed many and large. She swallowed back the tears that stung at her eyes. Feeling sorry for herself was not one of her usual failings. She stood up and snapped her fingertips against the skirt of her gown to straighten it.
She needed to decide what she wanted, and then she could go about getting it, as she always did.
But what did she want? She wanted Jamie. But she also wanted her boot on her enemy’s neck until he begged for mercy. And that was the problem. Would Jamie wait for her while she settled her obligations from the past?
She would find this last man, the shadowy figure who was behind the scheme against her grandfather, and punish him. Once that was done, she would figure out what to do about Jamie.
