For a while.Robert heard the words as clearly as if his uncle had said them aloud. He tried to tell himself he was being foolish. There was no gain in killing Gytha. Yet, he could not shake the feeling that Pickney did not intend Gytha to live a very long life.
There were a great many holes in Pickney’s plans that he could see no way of closing. Did the man think Thayer’s men would tuck tail and run when Thayer was killed? Did he really think Gytha’s family would raise no cry? They would be surrounded by enemies, powerful enemies. His uncle did not seem to be thinking very far ahead.
Swept by a feeling of heavy defeat, Robert refilled his tankard and drank heavily of the ale. Getting drunk would solve nothing, but it would free his mind of doubts, fears, and confusion. For just a little while he would find peace and not have to face the weakling he was.
Sitting up in bed, Gytha hugged her knees to her chest and watched Thayer get ready for bed. In the morning they would leave to join the king’s court. She firmly told herself it did not mean she would lose Thayer or see her marriage become a sham, but the fear lingered. Trying to set it aside, she turned her thoughts to the problems Robert and his uncle presented.
“Did you make any plans about Robert and Pickney?” she asked Thayer.
“Nothing firm. We talked over a great many, but there are a lot of possibilities. We have to choose carefully.”
“Of course. Will you speak to the king about it?”
He smiled crookedly at her before drying off. “Another thing we talked over but could not decide upon.”
“Why would you not want to tell him? Pickney commits a crime. Should the king not be told about that? If naught else, you can gain his seal upon whatever action you are forced to take.”
“There is that to consider. It would save me having to explain matters later. Howbeit, ’tis a family matter. ’Tis a battle between blood relations. I feel reluctant to reveal all that. It seems it ought to remain a private battle. Can you understand that?”
“Oh, aye. But they are not my blood relations, so I can also see benefits and problems that you may not.”
“So can Roger and Merlion.” He sighed as he moved to douse all the lights save the one by their bed. “They push for telling all to the king.” Wearily, he climbed into bed, then gently tugged Gytha into his arms.
“You cannot care what ill might befall Pickney. So is it Robert you think about?”
“Aye. I find it hard to believe he is fully behind all this. He was always weak, easily led, but never cruel. Murder was not in his blood. God’s beard, he dreaded even training for battle. He had no stomach for it.”
“But he is not wielding the sword himself. He and Pickney send others to do their killing.”
“True.” He moved his hand up and down her arm in an idle caress. “I may confuse the child I remember with the man Robert has become. A man molded and honed by Charles Pickney.”
“Poor Robert.”
“Poor Robert?” He chuckled. “I am the one with all the sword points aimed at me.”
“I know.” She hugged him and kissed his chin. “Still, I cannot help but feel sorry for Robert.”
“Sorry for him?”
“Aye. I did not know him really, yet I have this feeling he is caught up in something he neither wants nor can stop. This is so wrong, yet I never sensed any—well, evil in Robert. Try as I might I cannot envision him behind all this.”
“Which is what I feel. But part of me warns I am just being weak, letting blood ties blind me to the truth. It leaves me doubting and that is not a welcome feeling for any man facing battle.”
“And you do not wish to have Robert’s blood on your hands.”
He released a heavy sigh. “Nay, I do not.”
“Is there no way you can be spared that? If he still lives when Pickney is gone, must you kill him?”
“Mayhap not. Still, would I be leaving a dagger poised at my back? I know Robert would never face me directly, sword to sword. I cannot be sure, however, that he has not gained the stomach to creep up behind me. That is a doubt I have no wish to live with.” He did not add that that dagger could be aimed at her as well, although he knew she suspected it.
“Would it not be wonderful if Robert gained the strength to leave his uncle’s hold, to come to your side?”
“Aye. If he did, I might feel he could then be trusted.”
When he fell silent she held on to him, trying to silently convey her sympathy. She wished she could find a solution that would leave them both safe and happy with the results. Thayer had so few kin. It seemed unfair that he would have to lessen that meager number even more by his own hand. She prayed God would grant Robert the strength to turn his back on his uncle, to make his peace with Thayer and stop tearing apart what little family they had.
Thayer stared at the ceiling lost in his thoughts. He could see Robert as a child—a pale, constantly frightened child. Despite all his and William’s efforts they had never been able to take the fear from Robert’s eyes. He realized now that Charles Pickney had already begun to tighten his grip on Robert. Few chains were as strong as those forged by fear. Thayer doubted Robert had ever known anything else.
