Gytha halted her mad dash within sight of her home. It took her and Margaret a moment or two to catch their breath. In silent accord they struggled to put some order into their tossled appearance. Gytha noted idly that Margaret needed far less tidying up than she did, and by the time she had cleaned herself up as much as she could, she was able to watch the arrival of the knights they had briefly met.
“He looks nothing like William or Robert.” Gytha sighed as she watched the large redhead dismount with an easy grace. “Such lovely eyes.
“I know.” Margaret sighed as she watched the knight who rode beside the big red-headed man. “Like grass, fresh and newly freed of the earth.”
Frowning at her cousin, Gytha muttered, “Green? How could you think his eyes green?” As she realized whom Margaret meant, her eyes widened and she started to giggle. “Oh ho! So that is where your gaze rested.”
“Hush. They could hear us. Who had lovely eyes then?”
“Why, the large red man of course.”
“The large red man? You jest.”
Gytha felt a real need to defend the man against Margaret’s open-mouthed astonishment, yet she was not sure why. “Nay. He had lovely eyes. A beautiful color. Such a soft, sweet brown.”
“Sweet? You cannot call a color sweet.”
Margaret felt sunk in confusion touched with not just a little amazement. Some of the fairest knights in the land had wooed Gytha but never moved her. One brief meeting with a large, very red, and somewhat battered knight, and the girl raved about the man’s eyes.
“I am not quite sure, really,” Gytha answered. “Still, sweet is the word that comes to mind.” With a sigh Gytha started towards the rear of the manor. “Ah, well, back to Robert.”
Quickly following her cousin, Margaret asked, “What did you think of the young knight with the green eyes then?”
It took Gytha a moment to recall the man Margaret referred to. “He was well-favored.”
The words echoed in Margaret’s mind again and again as she had what she decided was a revelation. Since she and Gytha had to creep through the back ways of the manor to get to their chambers unseen, her startled silence went unnoticed, much to her relief. When Gytha said a man was well-favored, she was merely being polite. It meant nothing. To pick out a feature and praise it was Gytha’s true form of accolade. After being surrounded by some of the fairest men in England, Gytha chose to give that rare accolade to a large redheaded man with a battle-hardened face. As they stepped into Gytha’s room and Margaret shut the door, she stared at her lovely cousin in bemusement.
“Ah,” Gytha sat on her bed, “safe and—best of all—unseen. Mama would be upset if I were caught out in this state.”
“We are not in too disreputable a state.”
“I have mud upon the hem of my gown.”
“Oh. Aye, that would set aunt in a twirl. What do we do with the flowers?” Margaret set her flowers next to Gytha’s on the bed. “A circlet for our hair?”
“What a good idea. I will wear mine tonight while they are still fresh and sweet. If there are any left, we can have the maid set them in the bridal chamber. They will sweeten the air in there very nicely.” Gytha began to choose the flowers she wanted.
Sitting down on the bed and doing likewise, Margaret asked, “What do you like about that huge red knight?”
“What does it matter? I marry Robert on the morrow.” Gytha was unable to keep her sudden sadness from tainting her voice.
“It puzzles me, if you must know. You have had many fair young men lay their hearts at your feet….”
“I doubt they truly did, although they would beleaguer me with bad poetry.”
“Let us say they flirted with you then. All you ever said about them, if you said anything at all, was that they were well-favored. Then, up rides a man who is not well-favored at all. In truth, next to William that red knight is near to ugly.”
“Depending on when poor William died, he could be beautiful next to him by now.”
“Gytha.” Margaret could not fully suppress her amusement nor the twinge of annoyance over Gytha’s evasive replies.
“Have you never looked at someone and felt like smiling for what seems to be little or no reason?”
“Aye, babes mostly. There is something about a babe that brings out a happy tenderness in me.”
“That is how I felt when I looked upon that man. I wanted to take care of him, to make him smile.”
“Men take care of women,” Margaret mumbled, feeling somewhat stunned. “Women cannot take care of men.”
