“True but, as, you can see, I do not work alone.”
“And this is all, is it?”
“Aye, this and ensuring there is food aplenty for the men at day’s end. ’Tis not so much, Thayer. Truly. And I enjoy it.”
“Just be certain you do not enjoy it to the depth of weariness you suffered last night.”
“I promise. Oh, and Thayer?” she called as he started to move away. “Could you ask someone to bring us a load of manure?”
“Manure?” He paused to stare at her in slight disbelief. “What for?”
“To spread upon the garden. These poor neglected plants have a great need of it.”
“Spread it, hmmmm? I will send someone to do that for you,” he added in a tone of command as he strode away.
Gytha openly admired his form as he walked away. He was as enjoyable to watch, she mused, as the finest stallion, holding that same grace and strength. The beauty lacking in his face was more than compensated for in his form. Glancing at Margaret, she caught her cousin eyeing her strangely, a deep blush upon her face.
“Is something wrong, Margaret?”
“Oh, nay. Well—’tis the way you look at him, Gytha. Why, ’tis a—a hungry look. Aye, hungry.
“And wanton, no doubt. Well, so I feel when I watch him.”
“Truly?”
“Truly. Ah, cousin—I know he is not fair of face despite having a very fine pair of eyes. Yet, in form he nears perfection. ’Tis true, some would claim him too hirsute or too red for their liking. But he holds the power, the grace, of a prize stallion. I saw that from the beginning. Of course, now that I know what occurs within the marriage bed…” Gytha shrugged as she yanked a weed and tossed it aside.
“He is a good lover as well, cousin. Aye, I know I have naught to compare him with. Howbeit, I cannot believe any other could delight me so in the night.” Her brief grin was impish. “Or the morning.”
Shocked, Margaret stared at Gytha, the weed she had just pulled still dangling from her hand. “Morning?”
Taking the weed from Margaret, Gytha tossed it aside. “Aye—morning. A maid is told so little. I expected only an acceptable duty, mayhap pain or at best a simple pleasure, the latter found mostly in the knowledge that he enjoyed himself. Well, I found far, far more than that. More than words can ever describe.”
“’Tis fine, is it?” Margaret’s voice was soft, revealing her shyness with the topic.
“Aye, which may be why we are told so little.” She exchanged a brief grin with Margaret. “With Thayer ’tis so fine I think I must love the man. Indeed, how could it be otherwise? Yet, then I recall that he also thinks it fine. Does that mean that he loves me?” She shook her head. “I think not. A man’s passion need not come from his heart. So, mayhap neither does a woman’s.”
“And such thinking brings you full circle—back to confusion.”
“Aye. I know so little about passion. What can it signify or not signify? How deep can it run? Yet, I do have a deep sense of rightness about this marriage. Neither doubt nor confusion changes that. I am content to muddle along.”
“’Tis all you can do, really.”
Gytha nodded. “You have it easier. Passion does not cloud your thoughts or hide your feelings.” She smiled at Margaret. “I think ’tis there.” She laughed softly when Margaret blushed. “So I thought. Howbeit, though Roger courts you, woos you, plays all the games lovers do—he is not your lover.
“Thayer was a stranger to me and I to him. Then suddenly, we are man and wife. ’Tis the way of things, but I begin to think it wrong. I do not really know this man who holds me in the night. There are so many duties we must tend to during the day. When is there time for us to learn about each other? At night we talk some as we hold each other in the dark. Yet, the passion that flares between us often makes those talks short, little really being learned. Sometimes I fear the passion will wane. Then all I shall be left with is the stranger. We will know each other’s bodies, mayhap share a child, yet not truly know each other.”
“Oh, nay, Gytha.” Margaret briefly clasped Gytha’s arm in a gesture of comfort then tried vainly to brush away the dirt her touch left behind. “Nay. I cannot see that happening. I think that, if you really thought on it, you would find you know a great deal about Thayer. True, you may not know his deepest feelings—his fears, his hopes or all that lies in his past. Howbeit, you do know something, and that will increase as you live and work together, for you do indeed talk to each other. I have seen it.”
For a moment, Gytha thought on that, then nodded. “You are right, Margaret. We do talk to each other, not merely indulge in polite conversation and empty courtesies. In those talks lies the knowledge I seek about Thayer. I need to look for it, to think more on all that is said and done and that I have already seen. I will take the time to think hard on what I do know, what I feel sure about. Mayhap the rest will come easier. At least I will gain some idea of what I still need to discover.”
The conversation was ended by the arrival of a man with the manure Gytha had asked for. She promised herself not to forget what she and Margaret had talked about. Much of it was worthy of note. She also promised herself she would really think on all she had or had not learned about Thayer and on what she needed to know.
It was not until she was preparing for bed that she found the time needed to fulfill that promise to herself. As soon as Edna left, Gytha made herself comfortable in bed. It would be several minutes before Thayer joined her. She intended to make full use of the time. Lying on her back she crossed her arms beneath her head. First she would look at the obvious, all that was directly before her eyes and which she was sure of.
Thayer was strong, a skilled fighter who had won many an accolade. She could be glad that Thayer was skilled in the art. It meant that she and their children could feel certain of protection.
Honor, she mused, was a large part of his character. Thayer was honorable and fair. Coin had never been his only consideration when pledging his sword to a man. The cause had to be honorable, had to be a just one.
