Chapter One
England, 1365.
“Dead?”
“Quite dead.”
“But how?”
“Fell off his mount. Snapped his neck.”
Gytha blinked, then stared closely at her father. She saw no sign of lying in his round, plain face, although he did look strangely uncomfortable. She waited to feel grief for the loss of her betrothed, the handsome and gallant baron, William Saitun. A pang came and went. She had seen little of him, after all. What puzzled her now was why the wedding preparations continued. If William was dead, then surely the wedding could not go on? A moment later her mother revealed that her thoughts had followed the same path.
“But what of the wedding? The feast is being prepared even now.” Bertha’s ever-rounding figure trembled as she grew increasingly upset. “The guests are arriving. Should I turn them away?”
“No need to do that, Bertha, loving.”
“Papa, I cannot marry a dead man.”
“Of course you cannot, dearling.” John Raouille briefly covered his daughter’s delicate hand with his thick, calloused one.
“Then the preparations must be halted.” Gytha frowned in confusion when her father still did nothing.
“Now, my sweet child, the agreement made with my good friend, Baron Saitun, God bless his soul, was that you would marry the heir to Saitun Manor.”
“And that was William.”
“True, true, but there are other heirs. The one following William was Thayer.”
“Then, are you saying I am now to marry Thayer?” She was not sure she understood the arrangement her father spoke of.
“Alas, nay. He died in France.”
Either she was cursed or the Saituns were an ill-fated lot, she mused. “Am I to be wed or not, Papa?”
“You are. The third heir is Robert. He is the one you will wed on the morrow. I believe you have met the fellow.”
Her memory was something many admired her for. It was quick and very exact, even the smallest details clear and precise. She put it to good use now, but what was called forth left her feeling little joy. If she had not been gifted with such an acute memory, she knew Robert Saitun would not have lingered in her mind. He had been William’s shadow and had spent most of his time trying to avoid being kicked or cuffed by William or his own uncle, a rather unpleasant man who had exerted complete control over Robert.
“Aye, I did. Is it not—well, disrespectful to William to wed another man so soon?”
“Er—William died a while back. He was far afield, so you could not be called to his side.”
Ortold,she mused. “As was the second heir? This Thayer I have never met?”
“I told you, daughter, he died in France. I do not mean to be unkind, but mayhaps ’tis just as well. He was not the man for you, Gytha.”
Removing the woman’s hand from where it rested in the mat of flame red curls adorning his broad chest, Thayer Saitun sat up. “Morning is here, woman. Time for you to be on your way.”
Taking his purse out from beneath his pillow, he extracted a few coins and tossed them at her. She caught them with ease. His smile was tainted with cynicism as he watched her weigh them in her hand before smiling at him. It had ever been so. He was weighted with honor, his name respected—even feared—by men, but women needed to see the glint of his coin before they showed any interest.
Flopping onto his back and crossing his arms beneath his head, he idly watched her dress. He grew weary of nameless whores, but at least there was an honesty about them, and they could not afford to show any displeasure with his size, his plain looks, or—he grimaced as he glanced down at himself—his redness. While his skin had none of the ruddy hue that often cursed redheads, he knew few people really noticed that. Flame-red hair and freckles too often hid the color of his skin. Even his large size worked against him, for it simply provided a greater area for the wretched flame color to display itself. The sound of the door opening pulled him from his self-denigration.
“Do you mean to spend the day abed?” drawled Roger, his right-hand man, as he let Thayer’s night’s entertainment slip out of the room before shutting the door.
“Nay.” Thayer sprang to his feet, then moved to wash up. “A revel awaits us.”
Roger settled his slender frame on the rumpled bed. “Your position as heir will soon end.”
