Pity stirred inside of him for that child, but he struggled against it. Pity could weaken him at a dangerous moment. He would be fair. He would not refuse Robert any chance to make amends. What he would not do, could not do, was let emotion of any sort interfere with what had to be done.
Gytha shifted slightly in his hold, breaking into his dark thoughts, and he looked down at her. “I have just thought—I have told your family none of this.”
“Do you think it is necessary?”
He shrugged. “At the moment I have no need of whatever added strength they might offer.”
“Then it might be best not to say anything. It would only worry them.” Rubbing her hand over the tightly curled hair on his chest, she added in a quiet voice, “Keep your trouble to yourself a while longer if you wish.”
“I do wish. Pride makes me reluctant to tell them my own kin seeks my death. Aye, and yours.”
After kissing him slowly, she murmured, “You need to set aside these troubling thoughts.”
“That would please me.” He smiled faintly as he tightened his hold on her, tugging her on top of him.
“As your wife, ’tis my place to see that you are ever and always pleased.” She traced the life-giving vein in his throat with her tongue.
“Aye, it is.” Cupping her face in his hands, he tugged her mouth back to his.
Teasing his mouth with short, nibbling kisses, she said, “So I shall make you forget all about Robert.”
“Robert who?” he muttered as, his hand on the back of her head, he pressed her mouth more firmly against his.
Staggering into the cottage, Robert spared barely a glance for his uncle before collapsing on his rough bed. He had drunk ale until he felt ill, yet the peace he sought eluded him. Images and thoughts still plagued him, but now they swirled through his head in a drunken, discordant manner. It was enough to make him dizzy, to add to his queasiness. He lay on his back, eyes closed, hoping his uncle and his two men would soon climb to the loft, leaving him alone.
“Why do you keep the drunken fool around?”
“Because, Thomas, he is the rightful heir to all I seek.” Charles cast a disgusted look at his drunken nephew. “It has always been his sole use to me. Do you think I would keep such a weight chained to me if there was any choice?”
“Is there no way you could gain hold without him?” Bertrand asked as he leaned back a little to scratch at his softening belly.
“Not that I have found as yet. I held all through him after his parents died. When he weds the fair Gytha and begets a child, I will then hold all through that child. Then I will have no use for this cursed nephew of mine.”
Thomas shook his head. “’Tis hard to believe such a weak sop came from the same family as you.
“My sister was weak. And I made sure the boy never gained the spirit to defy me. You need to start them young, to bend them to your will from the time they are suckling babes. That is why he still grovels to my command when, in truth, he has full right to all I rule. I will rear his seedling in the same manner.”
“And hold all until you die.”
“Exactly.” Charles rose and started towards the loft. “Time to seek our beds. There is a lot we must begin on the morrow.”
After their footsteps had faded, after all sounds of movement in the loft ended, Robert opened his eyes and stared into the darkness. All he had just overheard, all they had said as they thought him deaf with drunkenness, repeated itself over and over in his mind. For one brief moment, he felt the thrill of strength, a strength born of fury. He wanted to kill Charles Pickney. He almost wept at the knowledge that he was too drunk to take advantage of his sudden will.
With a return of his weakness came doubt. He was very drunk. It was possible he had not heard what he thought he had. Then he thought of Gytha—sweet, beautiful Gytha. She was the one thing he had ever truly wanted in his life. She was why he followed his uncle’s plans. Wrong as they were, they would give him Gytha. She would keep the nightmares away. She would give him strength, make him a man. He would wait until he held Gytha before he looked too closely at his uncle, thought too much on what had been said. As the blackness he sought flooded over him, he smiled. Gytha would help him break free of Charles Pickney.
Chapter Nine
Sighing, Gytha made a final adjustment to her headdress. They had been at court for one week. She felt it was a week too long. The court was little more than a nest of immoral vipers. The sole pastime of the courtiers appeared to be the theft of each other’s wives, husbands, or lovers. Only one thing diverted them from that sport—a chance to lessen another’s position at the court, thus raising their own. She found it impossible to untangle all the plots and schemes. It was, she mused, surprising that more people were not tripped up by their own knot of lies.
And then,she thought, scowling at her image in the looking glass,there was Lady Elizabeth.Her hands curled up slightly as she savored the thought of scratching the woman’s eyes out. Thayer’s first reaction to the woman had been a cold one, but the delight she had felt over that had soon faded. She feared he now warmed to his old lover. Courtesy required him not to rebuff such a highly placed lady too brutally—but was that all it was? Despite all her efforts not to, she feared the woman’s wiles and beauty. She feared Lady Elizabeth was again working her charm on Thayer’s heart, a heart that may never have ceased to love her.
“You look beautiful, wife.” Thayer moved to stand behind her. “No need to frown so.”
“Are you certain I look presentable?”
“Much more than presentable. Ready?”
“Aye.” She grimaced faintly, then turned to face him.
