“Aye, I think I but wanted my decision agreed with. Fear for Gytha eats at my confidence. I doubt myself and wonder if I have already stepped wrong and should have done something else.”
“You are a man of battle. Go with what that part of you says. Listen to what gained you the name Red Devil. He has kept us alive. He will help keep Gytha alive. Have faith in him, Thayer.”
“If I can find him,” Thayer muttered silently. The man who had led and lived through so many battles had apparently deserted him, pushed aside by worry and fear. Love, he thought furiously, could make a man a coward.
He stared blankly at his men as that last thought pounded through his mind. Despite his efforts to keep it at bay, he loved Gytha. That was the emotion that stirred up so much fear now that she was in danger. It was why he was filled with a desperate need to get her back safely, why he saw failure as his death when it did not have to be that way. That he loved her explained a lot of things—things he had done, said, or felt. He had found what a man needs to be fully alive. It was no wonder his wits were scattered when faced with the chance of losing that.
Having some explanation helped him regain a little composure, icy and forced though it was. He concentrated on the plans now being suggested by his men. That composure wavered a little as each plan proved faulty. Torr’s was the one that held the most hope. It was one he had briefly thought of and cast aside in one of his few sane moments since Gytha’s abduction. Sadly, Torr had no solution for its one glaring weakness. How did they get into Saitun Manor unseen? None of them who had spent any length of time at the manor could recall any entrance one could use yet remain unseen. If Saitun Manor had a bolt hole, only the immediate family had known of it and William had taken the secret to his grave.
Regretfully agreeing that a plan would have to be devised on the spot, Thayer ordered their departure for Saitun Manor. He paused a moment when, with Merlion and Roger flanking him, he prepared to mount. His pride winced at revealing a weakness, yet he knew he owed it to the two men.
“Roger, keep a close watch on me,” he said in a low voice as he checked the cinch on his saddle.
“Have I not always watched your back?”
“I do not speak of my back butme.Watch me closely. You too, Merlion.”
Roger frowned, looking intently at Thayer. “I am not sure I understand.”
“I am but a breath away from recklessness, from madness.”
“You seem calm enough,” murmured Merlion as he mounted. “And you have reason enough to be of a strange humor.”
“Reason enough or not, watch me. What churns inside of me is what can get men killed. What little calm I hold is tenuous. ’Tis no time to be led by emotion, but that is so strong within me it could easily take command. I give you leave to wrest command from me if I act with disregard to the lives I take into the field. Swear to me you will not blindly go where I lead, for God alone knows where that might be this time. A man needs cool blood and a clear head to lead others in battle. I possess neither this time. Swear,” he urged them as he mounted.
“I swear it,” said Roger as he mounted, and Merlion did the same. “But I pray it does not come to that.”
“So do I, my friends.” Thayer took a deep breath, then smiled grimly. “There is one more thing you can do for me.”
“Aye?” Roger and Merlion spoke as one.
“As we ride to Saitun Manor, search your memories for a way to slip inside the cursed place. I believe there lies our best chance of coming away from this true victors.”
Chapter Thirteen
Gytha fought consciousness, for with it came pain. A sharp throbbing tore at her head, inside and out. Voices, deep and rough, intruded upon the haze she tried to cling to. She grew aware of movement, each sway and bump bringing more pain.
Cautiously she opened her eyes, finally accepting the unwelcome fact that sweet oblivion would not return. At first, the light only added to the pain in her head, clouding her vision. When she could see clearly, she glanced around and found herself tied hand and foot. She was in a wagon amongst an odd selection of sacks and barrels. There was no need to see how the sky flew by over her head to know the wagon was going at a fast pace. The jolts she was suffering told her that.
Forcing herself not to think too much on her pain, she wriggled about until she was wedged more securely amongst the sacks, which helped protect her body from some of the jolting. The rough movement was not, she believed, good for her child. It was said that once a child was well secured in the womb, as hers was, it took a lot to shake it free. No one had said exactly what constituted a lot, however, and she was not about to take any chances.
The lessening of the roughness of the ride also helped ease some of the throbbing in her head. She viciously cursed Lady Elizabeth. It had all been a trap, and she had walked into it like a blind fool. Consigning the devious Lady Elizabeth to the deepest, fieriest pits of hell did not seem punishment enough. She wished she could think of something worse. She also wished there could be some result from all her curses.
As a clear complete memory of that brief moment in the inn overcame the aching in her head, Gytha remembered Bek. Worry and horror swept over her as she recalled the boy’s state just before she too had been clubbed from behind. Lady Elizabeth had let someone strike her own child so hard that it brought blood and unconsciousness. Knowing that, Gytha doubted the woman did anything to help the child afterwards. Elizabeth would have fled the inn as quickly as possible to avoid being caught.
Twisting her head, she looked to the front of the wagon. Staring at the broad backs of the two men driving the wagon, she wondered if she should ask them about Bek. Then one glanced over his shoulder at her.
“So, you have awakened,” he murmured.
“The boy?” she asked, finding her throat so dry it hurt a little to speak.
“Left him behind. Had no need of him.”
“How was he?” she pressed.
The man shrugged. “Who can know? I had no time to look. Neither did that fine lady. Stepped right over him and fled as fast as could be. Why stay? She did what she said she would.”
“Aye—handed me over to Pickney.”
