"My God, how awful for the men of Europe! How many thousand are we talking about?"
"Over ten thousand, I believe."
"That probably resulted in dynastic illegitimacies in the thousands."
"Whatever do you mean by that?"
"Well, a man wants to marry a virgin. When she is with his first child, he can be fairly certain that it is his, that his heir carries his blood and not another man's. With the destruction of so many innocents, men would have to make do with what was left. I would imagine that a lot of cuckolding went on."
"Perhaps you're really not Lord Saint Leven, after all!"
"Hopefully things straightened out in the centuries following the maidens' demise."
She was silent a long moment, and he could easily imagine her agile mind working quickly. "You know, that is another reason why I don't wish to marry you."
"Oh?" He drew out the single word, aware of anticipation.
"Indeed. I have remarked upon your antecedents before. Perhaps because of St. Ursula and the demise of all the virgins, you are truly a bastard. I shouldn't like my children's blood tainted."
He laughed. "An excellent shot, for a female."
"Good night, Lyon."
"Sleep well, Diana." He was grinning into the darkness some minutes later. She was right. This was most odd.
And at least for the moment, quite enjoyable.
12
Men are but children of a larger growth.
—JOHN DRYDEN
Lyon was impossible, and she wouldn't think about him. He was a cad, a bounderNo, she wouldn't think about him.
She breathed in the clean morning air. There was a stiff breeze and the Seawitch was slicing through the water, her graceful bow falling and rising in even cadence. Even during her long voyage to England, she hadn't accustomed herself to the endless stretch of ocean. No small islands, barren, lush, flat, or hilly, anywhere in sight, not like at home. It made her feel unbearably alone and quite insignificant. She was standing on the poop deck next to Rollo, who had the wheel. She said, "Is your home port in St. Thomas?"
"No, Montego Bay, Jamaica."
"Then why are we sailing to St. Thomas?"
Rollo looked briefly uncomfortable. "The captain has business there. Actually, well, yes, business, my lady."
Most odd, she thought, seeing his discomfort.
"Please, Rollo, call me Diana."
"Well, yes, Diana. I say, his lordship seems quite recovered now."
Too recovered, she thought, but just nodded. Damned man! They'd been at sea for nearly a week now and the night she'd finally asked Lyon to take his turn on the floor, he'd grabbed his head and begun to moan dramatically.
"That's quite enough," she'd said sharply, frowning at his performance.
He weaved a bit where he stood, then collapsed on the bunk, arms flopping over his head.
"Perhaps I should call Blick. He could dose you with a bottle of laudanum."
He cocked an eye open. "Ah, no, I am a stoic."