“Mayhap. Simply muttering vows before a priest, despite how one might honor those vows, does not mean one must immediately give another trust and love. I am most fortunate. My trust has never been abused. His has—badly so. I can give trust with more ease than he can.” She smiled at Margaret. “So, what haveyoudecided about my husband?”
“I have not really decided anything. Not completely. S’truth, he can make me very uncertain at times.”
“Aye, when he roars his anger.” Gytha laughed softly when a light flush colored Margaret’s face. “There is naught to fear in that, cousin.”
“You sound very sure of that.”
“I am. Trust me. There is naught to fear in Thayer’s anger save that he might deafen you. Look to those fists he waves about, cousin. Aye, they might smash things such as that stable door last week. Rarely do they touch a person’s flesh. He knows his own strength well—knows his hot temper too. Oh, aye, he bellows, he curses, he flails—but I have yet to see him hurt anyone while seized so.”
“The stablemaster should have liked to know that. He feared for his life.”
“And well he should have. His carelessness nearly maimed Thayer’s finest stallion. Many another would have cut him down on the spot. Instead the man still lives. The fool may still hold the position of stablemaster if he does not err so badly again.”
“Of course. I will try to recall such things next time Thayer sets the walls to trembling,” Margaret drawled, causing them both to laugh.
“Is this basil?” Gytha frowned at the cluster of stunted plants before her.
Margaret carefully studied them. “Well, I think the three in the middle are.”
After pausing to vigorously scratch her nose, Gytha began to thin out the growth around the herbs. “I shall probably pull the basil and leave the weeds.”
Margaret giggled, then grew serious again. “I feel torn two ways about your confusion. I understand, yet I had hoped for some answers, some knowledge. Mayhap some revelations.”
“Revelations? About what?”
“Love,” Margaret murmured, then blushed.
“Oh ho—Roger.”
“Aye, Roger. I think. ’Tis hard to be certain, not only of my own feelings but his. He has a flirtatious manner. I often fear I see more in his pretty words and soft smiles than may be there. I thought you could help me sort out my own confusion. Mayhap make me see more clearly, understand such matters better.”
“Yet you find me as confused as you.” Gytha edged along to the next snarled pocket of green. “I am sorry, Margaret. There is this. I have never seen Roger try to beguile any of the maids hereabouts. Neither does he travel to the village as the other men sometimes do.”
“I can see that as well. Yet, then I fear I see only what I wish to. If you say you have noted it as well, then it must be true. And, if it is true, mayhap he is sincere.”
“Do you wish to know what I would do?”
“Aye. It might help.” After tossing a weed on the growing pile, Margaret edged up next to Gytha.
“I should trust Roger until he gives me cause not to. I should believe he is sincere and act accordingly. My thinking is that, if I were too wary, I might lose all I truly want. True, I would be risking hurt if he proved insincere, but the prize that could be gained is well worth the risk.
“Thayer is my husband, so I must endure his wariness. Roger need not tolerate yours. He is free to look elsewhere, to seek one who will not weigh his every word or act for its sincerity.”
Margaret nodded slowly. “You are right. I hope I can heed your advice and be brave enough to take the risk.”
Returning their full attention to putting some order into the herb garden, they fell silent again. The afternoon sun warmed Gytha’s back so that she was quickly aware of the moment that warmth left her. Next, she got the distinct feeling that someone was watching her—closely.
“Oh my, have the clouds come up then?” Margaret shivered faintly, then frowned up at the clear sky.
Glancing over her shoulder, Gytha murmured, “Just one. A big red one.” She smiled faintly at her frowning husband. “Is there something wrong, Thayer?”
“I thought we had agreed that you would not work too hard.”
Thayer found it hard to maintain his stern expression. Gytha was very dirty. She looked more like some urchin than the lady of the manor. He found it oddly endearing to see her so.
“This is the only chore I have set for myself today.”
“’Tis no easy chore by the looks of it.”
