“I thank you for that.”
“There is no need to. And…you are not an ugly brute.”
“I am not handsome, Gytha,” he muttered, thinking she would now try to gull him with empty flattery. “I am no William. Nay, nor a Robert or a Roger.”
“I did not say you were handsome.” She sent him an impish grin. “S’truth, if you continue to allow your face to be knocked about so, you could well become ugly.” She grew serious again. “Aye, you are large and very red. But you are also strong and healthy. You hold all the grace that fate can bestow. Your build is large but you are well proportioned. Nothing is too large, too long, or too short. Your face may not be fair, but it holds strength and inspires trust. Your voice and the way you laugh are more than passingly fine. When you smile, ’tis not to gull one or to hide a lie. ’Tis lovely.” She reached up to touch the corners of his eyes. “You have lovely eyes. That deep, soft brown brings to mind gentle things.”
“Lovely eyes?”
“Aye. I have thought so from the first.”
He held her close to him. Instinct told him she spoke the truth, said exactly what she felt. She had seen and praised what few favorable points he had. Suddenly he was desperate to make love to her, but he fought that need. After the events of the day, she was in need of her rest.
“Enough, woman. You shall put me to the blush and I am red enough.” He smiled when she giggled. “Go to sleep, wife. ’Tis the surest cure for an aching head.”
As she snuggled up against him, the evidence of his arousal pressed impudently against her belly. “What aching head?” she inquired pertly.
Laughing, he rolled so that she was sprawled beneath him, then set about heartily accepting her implied invitation.
Chapter Five
“My cousin and that swine who rules him cared little for this place.”
Struggling to keep up with her husband’s swift strides, Gytha made no reply. She shared Thayer’s fury as they walked through Saitun Manor. What beauty it might have had was well hidden by neglect—neglect and filth. The rich, beautiful Saitun Manor she had heard so much about was barely fit for the swine that ran so freely through its halls.
She fought to subdue her anger. It served no purpose. The damage was done. Work and lots of it was needed now, not a fruitless raging at the absent perpetrators.
“I cannot believe William let it get like this,” Thayer muttered.
“Nay.” Gytha was so out of breath that she found it very difficult to speak. “He appeared to appreciate cleanliness.”
Hearing her breathlessness, Thayer paused to scoop her up into his arms. He idly noted that she was a dainty, light bundle. Not so idly he also noted the way her full breasts rose and fell as she strove to catch her breath. It was an effort to turn his gaze to her flushed face. Anger still gripped him, however. He began to walk again. Fury made it necessary to move. Stepping outside the manor did nothing to ease his fury. Things were as bad outside as in.
“So much work to do,” he mumbled.
“Cleaning mostly.” She settled herself more comfortably in his arms.
“Aye, of every stone, every corner. Are there enough hands to do the work?”
Slipping an arm around his neck, she kissed his cheek. “If not, we can bring in more from the village.”
After a quick check to be sure the ground beneath a tree was clean, Thayer sat down. He smiled faintly when Gytha made no move to leave his arms. She simply arranged herself more comfortably. He had quickly seen that she was very open with her affection. It gave him a pleasant feeling, one he knew could prove dangerous. It could weaken his resolve to stay aloof, to protect his much-abused heart. He had to return her smile, however. That was something he was not strong enough to resist.
“You are taking this very well, Gytha.”
“Well, I must admit to being less than pleased to find so much work awaiting me. Still, ’tis work that can be easily done if enough hands are set to the doing of it. There will be reward for the work as well. Beneath the neglect and filth lies a worthy place.”
In the days that followed, Gytha found it hard work to prove her words—hard work for both men and women. She hired a few more helpers but did so cautiously, recalling all her training to be careful with her coin. Since the plague had devastated the population, she knew she could no longer count on the unpaid, plentiful labor of serfs. Her father had quickly learned the arts of wage-paying and hiring, and she was soon very glad he had taken the time to teach her the skills. Thayer left it all in her hands, having never had to concern himself with such matters before.
Her first decision was to clean everything. She was certain that, once that was done, she could more easily see what needed replacing or mending. For one solid week, she pushed herself to work alongside the others. By the time she deemed the place clean enough, she was exhausted.
Looking around at week’s end, Gytha realized she was simply too tired to appreciate the hard-won cleanliness just yet. Dismissing the hired workers, she dined, then collapsed into her bed. She stirred, roused only slightly from her sleep, when Thayer joined her. For once she was too tired to even wish him a good sleep.
Smiling a little, Thayer tugged his groggy wife into his arms, hungering for the passion they could share. He knew how exhausted Gytha was, however. She murmured his name but barely moved, her slim body limp. He would have to set his needs aside this time. It was clear that no amount of skill would stir her interest now. As she drowsily curled up closer to him, he twitched his nose, his thoughts abruptly veering from his frustration.
“What is that smell?”
“I fear ’tis me, Thayer.” Gytha yawned as she spoke, her words slightly slurred.
