“Very hard.”
Setting her brush down upon the small dressing table she sat before, she turned to look directly at him. “Yet you made Janet do it a second time in two days.”
“I know.” He stared down at his feet for a moment before meeting her gaze again. “That was wrong.”
“Being able to see that is the first step to being the best knight in all of England.” She met his grin with one of her own, then grew serious again. “’Tis not as it was in my father’s time. It was still right to treat your people well, of course, but now, since the plague took so many, it is even more important. We are fortunate that there are enough people at Riverfall to do the work needed.” She frowned. “I may not be explaining this well. I do not want you thinking that you should be considerate simply to keep people working.”
“I know. It should be done because it is right. I was mean to Janet, making her do so much work, and being mean is not good. But I was angry.”
“So I saw. Everyone gets angry, Bek. You have seen your father get into a rage.”
“But he never does anything mean.”
“Not that I have seen, and that is one thing that has gained him so much respect. And you, Bek, have just shown me that you hold the same quality.” She hid a smile at the way he brightened, his thin chest expanding with pride.
“I am going to be as great a knight as Papa.”
“Oh, I have no doubt of that. You will probably be as big as he is as well.” When he straightened to his full height, she did smile, for he actually was tall for his age.
“Do you really think so?”
“Well,” she drawled, “you will certainly be taller than me.”
She was relieved when he recognized her teasing and laughed with her. To her delighted surprise, he sat down next to her on the little bench. Perhaps the battle was already over.
He began to pummel her with questions. Why was her hair so long? Did she like it that way? Did she always brush it so much? Gytha unhesitatingly answered every question to the best of her ability. She suddenly realized that Bek had had little association with women. There had undoubtedly been camp followers or the like, but Thayer had obviously kept the boy away from them. She also took it as a good sign that the child showed some interest in her. And, she mused, if anything could keep her from worrying over what the king’s messenger wanted, it was the chance to come to know Thayer’s son better.
Thayer scowled and took a deep drink of ale, glancing darkly towards the king’s messenger, who sat at the far end of the hall with several men-at-arms. The king was in the Western Marches ready to bring to heel all troublemakers and rebels. To Thayer’s annoyance the king requested his presence at court. And, Thayer thought crossly, at any battlefield that was formed. He still owed the king his forty days of service. It was clear that the debt was being called due.
“Come,” urged Roger, “no need to look so dark.”
“I have my own troubles to sort out. ’Tis a poor time to be called to sort out our liege’s difficulties.”
“Mayhaps not.”
“Oh? And what are you thinking?”
“Well, I doubt Robert and his uncle would dare strike at you while you are at court.”
“But he could make good use of my time away to strike at Gytha.”
Roger frowned. “You do not intend to take her with you? Would it not be safest to keep her by you?”
Sighing, Thayer ran a hand through his hair. “Would it? You know what the king’s court is like, wherever it is set.”
“Aha—Elizabeth would be there.”
“There is that to consider, although she was not what I referred to. I meant all those courtiers, all those finely dressed, pretty peacocks that flit from bed to bed.”
Swearing softly, Roger shook his head. “And of course they will flit into your bed. And of a certain, Gytha will allow it. Indeed, you being the petty obstacle you are, why should she not?”
“Roger,” Thayer growled, stung by his friend’s sarcasm.
“You continue to blacken her name without cause. Well, mark my words, my friend. Gytha is no fool. She will soon guess your thoughts, if she has not done so already. When she realizes how little you think of her, how little you trust her, she may well do exactly what you fear. Since you condemn her with no cause, she may see fit to give you one.”
“Oh, I see. It will be my own fault? I shall plant the cuckold’s horns on my own brow?”
“Aye, Thayer, if you keep waiting for it, it will come.” Roger gulped the rest of his ale and abruptly left the hall.
