As she approached the armourer, Thayer left the man. She met his smile of greeting with one of her own, although she suspected it was somewhat weak. It was proving impossible to still her fears. Going to the king’s court should have felt exciting, like an adventure. Instead, she could only view it as a threat to her marriage and her happiness.
Briefly, she wondered if she should confess her love for Thayer. It could give him reason to stay at her side, strength to continue to avoid Lady Elizabeth. Then she shook the thought away. It was no good if she sought to bind him. If he did not return her love, the bonds would be those of guilt and obligation. That was not what she wanted. Pride was there as well. If he did not know how much he meant to her, he could not know how deeply he hurt her if he went to Elizabeth.
“All is ready for us to leave,” Thayer said as he draped his arm around her shoulders and started towards the keep.
“All?” She tried to act as if that was welcome news and suspected she failed.
“Aye—all. We will leave to join the king’s court at dawn’s first light.”
“How long will the journey take?”
“A few days. No more. It will not be as arduous as the others.”
“How long will we stay there?” she asked as they entered the hall, pausing to instruct a maid to bring drink, bread, and cheese for a light repast.
“I fear it might be the full forty days,” Thayer replied as they sat at the table at the head of the hall.
“All of it? You did not say a war was in the making.”
“Well, war has not been declared. ’Tis thieves and rebels the king seeks. He wants to end the constant nipping and snarling. To hunt down such as those takes time. They do not gracefully come to an open fight but flit through the hills and woods, strike, then melt away into the shadows again.”
“Do you really think he can put an end to all such trouble?”
“Nay, but the king is determined. A strong, continued offense will quiet matters for a while. The king will think he has won, then return to the south. Once he is gone, the troubles will start again.”
“A dismal picture.”
Thayer shrugged. “We are the strangers here, taking land by might of sword. Keeping the conquered docile is never easy.” He smiled faintly. “The Welsh do not take kindly to watching the English squat on their lands. I can only respect them for that. I should prefer compromise, but for now the king wishes to display strength and I am honor-bound to obey.”
She nodded, then turned to serving him the drink and food the maid brought. Just as she was about to broach the subject of fighting for the king again, Roger and Merlion arrived. Since they had been hunting down Robert’s mercenaries, her interest quickly turned towards them. After seeing they were supplied with drink and food, she waited a little impatiently for their report.
In a way, she could not help but feel sorry for Robert. He was a weak man, controlled by Charles Pickney. Robert had probably been pushed and dragged into many a plot, yet gained nothing from any success. This time, however, Robert’s uncle was putting Robert at the pointed end of a sword. By threatening Thayer’s life, Charles had signed his and Robert’s death warrant. A part of her hoped that Charles would die first, allowing Robert to make amends. Robert’s only real crime was his spinelessness, and she wanted Thayer spared the pain of having to cut own his own blood kin.
“We found the other three,” Roger announced after a few moments.
“And?” Thayer signaled a page to refill the men’s goblets.
“They chose to fight us. Howbeit, we were able to gain some knowledge of Pickney’s plans before they died.”
When Roger paused to eat something, Merlion continued, “He wants you dead.”
“That much we had guessed,” Thayer drawled.
Merlion briefly grinned. “Something they said leads us to believe Pickney had something to do with William’s death. And that he has been seeking yours for far longer than we may have thought.”
“That too occurred to me. Thinking back, I could recall a few incidents that had the mark of being a murder attempt rather than accident or simple fight.”
“Aye.” Roger nodded. “I could think of some too.”
“You mean”—Gytha’s shock made her voice weak—“Charles Pickney has plotted to make Robert lord of Saitun Manor from the very start? He did not just come upon the plan because Robert was so close, then lost it?”
“Nay,” Thayer replied, then shrugged. “We cannot be sure, however. And does it really matter? We know for certain he acts to murder me now. Puzzling over past crimes is a waste of time.”
“I suppose it is. Still, if he murdered William…”
“He will pay.”
There was a cold finality in his voice that made her inwardly shudder. She knew it was deserved, however. There could be no mercy for a man who plotted Thayer’s murder. If a little cold-bloodedness was needed to keep Thayer alive, she fully supported it. She knew in her heart that if it came to it—if Thayer’s life was at stake—she could kill the man herself.
