Moving to the side of the bed, he bent to kiss her. “I know. ’Tis gone now and can be kept away with, for the most part, simple supervision. Take care now. That is a command,” he added with a warning shake of his finger before leaving.
She made no protest. It was a command she could easily obey. There were many things she could live without, but not cleanliness. She had been unable to endure the filth that had inhabited every corner of the place. That was gone now. She would be perfectly content to go more slowly. There would be plenty of time to make the keep as lovely as she knew it could be. She would take it one step at a time. It was not long before she began to wonder if even one step at a time would prove to be too much.
Glaring at the garden, Gytha muttered, “’Tis hard to see the herbs for the weeds.”
“Aye.” Margaret sighed. “’Tis clear those fools cared naught for medicines.”
“Nor for pleasing scents.”
“That was easily seen.”
Pulling up her sleeves, Gytha knelt in the dirt. “Well, we have sore need of both. We will seek out what useful plants still thrive amongst this tangle. They may have been weakened by neglect. Howbeit, I think there is still time in the season for them to recover.”
“Aye. And thrive.” Kneeling beside Gytha as she also tugged up her sleeves, Margaret looked over the garden. “I believe I can see a few good things peeping out.”
A companionable silence fell as Gytha worked side by side with Margaret. She liked to work in the garden. Work in either the utilitarian kind or a garden planted solely for its beauty pleased her. Hard though the work was, it gave her a sense of contentment.
“Gytha? Are you happy?”
Startled by the abrupt question, Gytha stared at her cousin for a moment before answering. “Aye. Did you fear I was not?”
“Well, nay. Yet you have said little about it.”
“There is little to say. I think one finds words far easier to come by when things go wrong.”
“Aye, sometimes. Do you love Thayer then?”
“Ah me, that question.”
“Aye. That one. Do you?”
“I fear I am not sure. ’Tis not as easy to know as I thought it would be. There is but one thing I am sure of—I care. But is that caring—aye, and the passion—what makes love? I believe you can care deeply for someone yet not love them. Well, not as we mean. ’Tis a puzzle.” She shook her head.
“Does he love you?”
“Who can know? We ne’er speak of it. ’Tis likely that silence that keeps me uncertain.”
“Oh. He cares for you. I know it.”
“Cares for me—aye. But is it a caring that will lead to love or simply the caring a man might have for the one who shares his bed and will bear his children? See what I mean? There are too many answers to each question. Too many questions. It could be love. It could be so much else with him and with me. Mayhap if we would talk about it, such confusions would be cleared away. But we never touch upon the subject.”
“You must give him time.”
“Mayhap, but I am not certain Thayer is a man who could speak of such things. Some men cannot.”
“True. Then, there are some who speak of it freely, too freely, and lie.”
“I believe I prefer silence to lies.”
“’Tis much better. Mayhap there is one thing that adds to the confusion—something that, if cleared away, would reveal the answers to many questions?”
“Well, there is one thing.” She shrugged. “I am not certain clearing it away would settle anything. Thayer does not trust me.”
“Nay, Gytha. You imagine things.”
“I fear not. I am everything he has learned to be wary of. There is definitely a wariness in him. I can sense it, although I am not certain how deep it runs. Sadly, I am not sure of how I can rid him of it. ’Tis a barrier to all we might feel towards each other.”
“It certainly is. Gytha, I think all you can do is exactly what you have been doing. If any woman can be trusted, you can. He must soon see that, see that his wariness is foolishness. Time only is needed. After all, though wed, you are still veritable strangers. You each have so much to learn about the other. While this learning takes place, there is bound to be some wariness.”
