“I have one more question.” She hated to touch upon the subject of all that had happened at court, but she needed to know just one more thing. “You said Dennis is dead?”
“Aye. The fool returned to court just before I left. Since I had not chased him immediately, he thought himself safe. I challenged him. T’was a fair fight and he lost. Belated though it was, I avenged the insult to your honor. Does that trouble you?”
She sighed. “What troubles me is how stained honor requires blood shed to cleanse it.” She shrugged, “But ’tis the way of it.” She also thought Elizabeth the one most at fault, but suspected Thayer knew that also, so she said nothing.
“Enough talk. Go to sleep. You need your rest.”
Although she wanted to ease the fear she knew he held, she was too sleepy to do it right. “Do not fret about me.”
“Sleep. I will not fret,” he lied, hoping he could hide the fears that had replaced his joy over the coming child.
He stroked her hair as she fell asleep in his arms. It had been too long since she had been there, far too many days of wondering if she would ever be there again. For a little while, he kept his mind clear of all thought save for how good it felt.
Try as he would, though, he could not long hold back all thoughts of what could happen. The worry she urged him not to feel crept up on him and finally demanded to be recognized, refusing to be shoved aside any longer.
Emotions filled him at the thought of the child she carried. They contradicted each other, some more intense than others. He was enthralled, delighted, yet terrified. On the one hand, he thanked God for such a gift. On the other, he bemoaned the fruitfulness of their union. He could not wait to hold their child, yet wished it had never been conceived.
Death hung over the childbed. It was impossible to ignore that. The words ‘died in childbed’ were chiseled on too many crosses and tombs. It stole the life of too many women, loved and unloved, plain and beautiful. Even the strong and healthy could be taken. Even Gytha, he thought with a shudder, tightening his hold on her, then smiling faintly when she murmured his name in her sleep.
He wrapped his arms around her, cradling her against his body. It was as if he sought to protect her from the threat no sword could vanquish by the sheer force of his will, but he knew that was foolish. Yet, if the depth of a man’s want and need accounted for anything, then nothing existed strong enough to take her from him. That too was foolish, be told himself crossly. Rage and plead as he might, there was no changing God’s will. All he could do was wait to see what that will would be. However, the thought of a future without Gytha was one he knew would rob him of many a night’s sleep.
Chapter Twelve
“I feel as if I lead a procession,” Gytha muttered, glancing over her shoulder at the four heavily armed men at her heels.
Margaret laughed and winked at Bek, who was grinning widely. “Thayer says you will be protected.”
“And guarded I am. About the only place I am not followed is to the garderobe, and I would not be at all surprised to find one of them posted at the door soon.” Glancing around the village they walked through, Gytha sighed. “I think we frighten them with this show of force.”
“Nay. Make them wary, mayhap, but not truly frighten them.”
“They keep a goodly distance from us.”
“Well, they see you are well guarded and rightly feel there is some reason for it. I suspect they do not wish to make any move the men might see as dangerous. Making no move is safer than making the wrong one.”
“I know. I find fault because I grow tired of the whole matter. We have had no further trouble from Pickney.”
“So you think he has given up his schemes?”
“Who can say.”
“Until someone can for certain, you will be guarded.” Margaret tucked her arm through Gytha’s, then briefly hugged it to her side. “I doubt your lord would let you stroll about unguarded even if Pickney was no longer a threat.”
“And,” Bek added as he lightly swung his and Gytha’s clasped hands, “Papa says there are now two of you to protect.”
Smoothing her hand over her rounding abdomen, Gytha drawled, “I am not that large yet.”
Bek giggled, then stared at her stomach for a moment. “Do you think I shall have a brother?”
“Carrying this child has soured my nature some so, aye, I expect it will be a male child.” She winked at a giggling Margaret and smiled down at Bek. “You want a brother, do you?”
“Aye, but Papa said my prayers should be for a fine, healthy babe—boy or girl. So…” He frowned at a plump young woman who stood in front of the inn waving at them. “Who is that?”
“I have little idea,” Gytha murmured, then glanced at Merlion, who had suddenly moved in front of them as they had halted. “Do you or one of the men know the woman, Sir Merlion? She may be waving at one of you.”
“Nay, she is naught to do with us. I will see what she wants.” He strode towards the woman, who took a nervous step back.
Gytha frowned as she watched the woman talk with Merlion as Merlion’s expression turned slowly darker. There was something very familiar about the maid. For a moment, Gytha thought she had seen her at court, but she could not be sure. Not only had there been too many new faces there to remember all of them, but the woman had little about her that stood out. Gytha’s curiosity was high when Merlion walked back, yet she also felt an inexplicable uneasiness.
