“How does he fare?” he asked Margaret in a low voice as he moved to stand beside the bed.
“Better, m’lord.” Margaret, with Roger at her side and his arm draped about her shoulders, moved to stand next to Thayer. “I gave him a gentle potion to ease the ache in his head.” She sighed. “But little will ease the hurt in the poor child’s heart.”
“I know. Instead of seeing some good in his mother, false as it might have been, he saw only the evil yet again. And he has lost Gytha. I know she was becoming important to him.”
“Aye, my cousin has a way with children. They all love her, and she loves all of them. Gytha seems to know how they see things.”
“I saw how he could speak to her freely.”
“You will bring her home safely, m’lord. I know it.”
A quick look at Margaret’s face told him she did not really believe her words, not enough to still all her worry, but she sorely wanted to. “I pray you are right. Will you tend to sending word of this trouble to Gytha’s family?”
“I will, m’lord. I will try to word it—well, gently.”
“That would serve. My thanks. Roger, we had best set out.” Thayer smiled coldly. “We would not want to keep Charles Pickney waiting.”
“Nay, of course not.” Lifting Margaret’s hand to his lips, Roger pressed a kiss to the back of it. “When I return, my heart.” He started towards the door behind Thayer.
“Papa.”
Bek’s soft call brought Thayer back to his bedside. “I thought you were asleep, son.” He gently brushed the hair back from Bek’s forehead. “How do you feel?”
“Better. Mistress Margaret gave me something. Are you going to get Gytha?”
“Aye, son. We mean to try. I will make no promises. You know I will do all I am able to.”
“I know that, Papa. Why is my mother so mean to Gytha? She never did anything bad to my mother.”
“That is a question I have no answer for. Your mother wanted to strike at me, Bek, and she found my weakest point. I will say this—I believe she did not know Pickney meant murder. She thought only of ransom and coin.”
“You need not defend her to me, Papa. Where is she now?”
“Torr set her in the dungeons. If naught else, we cannot risk her trying to further aid Pickney.”
“Should I visit her?”
“Only if that is what you wish to do. I have to leave now, Bek.”
“I know. God go with you, Papa. And with Gytha.”
As he strode out of the room, Roger right behind him, Thayer muttered, “We shall sorely need God’s help.” He hurried towards the great hall, where his leading men-at-arms would be waiting to make final plans before heading out.
“You have no plan yet?”
“Nay, nothing. My wits have gone abegging. I can only think of Gytha, of what harm might come to her.”
Stepping ahead of Thayer, Roger opened the heavy door to the great hall. “That will surprise no one.”
Nodding to his men as he went to the head table, Thayer grumbled, “I am expected to lead. A man with addled wits and not even the simplest of cursed plans cannot lead other men.”
“We shall think it up as we go along, old friend. We have done it before.”
Thayer sat down even as the servants finished laying out food for the men, hearty if plain fare to enjoy as they conferred and to give them strength for what might lie ahead. Roger’s words had been intended to be uplifting, but his food still tasted like ashes in his mouth. A plan made in the saddle did not seem good enough when so much was at stake.
“Mayhap we should have run them down,” he murmured, pushing aside his half-full trencher.
“In what direction, friend?” Roger asked. “The trail was unclear. They could have gone in ten different directions. We would have wasted time and worn out men and horses. Better to prepare well and go straight to Saitun Manor. You know that.”
