“Are you at all afraid of what is to come?” Margaret voiced the slightly timid question as they helped each other dress.
“A little. My greatest fear is that I shall loathe warming my husband’s bed.”
“A lady is not supposed to enjoy that.”
“So ’tis often said. Howbeit, if that is true, why is so much of it done? Why do women take lovers? I think we are told such things to keep us chaste.” She shrugged. “It matters little. Enjoyment is not necessarily what I seek. I simply do not want to be repulsed. If God grants me a long life, I will spend a great deal of it in my husband’s bed. Think of what a torture life would be if I found I could not abide it.”
“Exactly what do you think you might find repulsive?”
“I am not certain. I told you, Mama was not very precise.”
“Surely you gleaned some knowledge from her talk.”
“It has something to do with what rests between a man’s legs. He will do something to me with that. It also has to do with what lies between my legs. It was how the two are connected that I was unable to discern.” Gytha frowned, then stared at her maid when Edna burst into a poorly muffled fit of the giggles. “Mayhaps Edna can clear away the fog.”
Choking slightly as her laughter abruptly ended, Edna inched towards the door. “Oh, nay, mistress. ’Tis not my place.”
Moving quickly, Gytha barred the exit with her body. “Edna, would you send me to my marriage bed in ignorance? I will never tell that you spoke about it. Everyone will think Mother was more coherent than she was.”
“I fear I know only coarse words, not fit for your ears.”
“My ears will survive. Edna, it is best you speak. You will not leave this room until you do. Can you deny that ’tis best if I know, best for all concerned?”
After a moment Edna nodded. Despite a great deal of stuttering and blushing, she told Gytha exactly what would happen on her wedding night. When she was done, it was a moment before Gytha could find her voice. Finally, murmuring a quiet thanks, she let the little maid flee the room. After shutting the door behind Edna, Gytha slouched against the heavy wood.
“Well, I am ignorant no longer.”
“Do you fear it now?”
“I am not sure, Margaret. Mayhap that is for the best.” She sighed and shook her head. “I do feel better now that I know. There is one thing I do fear, now that I think on it.”
“And what is that?”
“That I will begin to think too much on how it will be with Robert.”
Chapter Two
“By the blood of Christ! I told you the Red Devil was too good a knight to have been taken down by a Frenchman.”
Brought to such an abrupt halt that she stumbled, Gytha softly cursed. She told herself it was her own fault. If she had not been staring so hard at the Red Devil, who had entered the hall but steps ahead of her, Robert, and Margaret, she would have noticed that her escort had halted. She winced as Robert’s grip tightened on her arm. She looked down, frowning at the white-knuckled hand on her arm. As she tried to loosen Robert’s pinching grip, she finally looked at him and frowned even more.
Robert had no color in his thin face. His hazel eyes were open so wide they bulged slightly. Small droplets of sweat began to bead on his forehead. Following his horrified gaze she realized that he was staring at the Red Devil. Since there was no threat coming from that quarter, she was puzzled as to why Robert looked ready to collapse from fear.
Thayer looked to the man who had spoken. He recognized him as one he had met a few times and fought beside once. Intent upon finding out what had prompted such a strange remark, he strode over to the man.
“You heard I was slain in France?” The man nodded. “Where did you hear such a tale?”
“Why, from our host—my cousin, Sir John Raouille.”
Looking to his host, who stared at him in evident shock, Thayer demanded, “Who told you of my death?”
“Your own kin.”
“William?”
“Nay, Sir Robert and his uncle.” John pointed towards Gytha and Robert, who lingered in the doorway.
Turning, Thayer eyed his trembling cousin with little affection. “You were premature. Why?”
