“You are wallowing.”
Gytha looked at a grinning Roger. “Tell me, sir, what does one do at a revel?”
“Eat, drink, and be merry,” he replied, laughter filling his voice.
“Aha! I have eaten. Now I drink. And now I am merry. See, Margaret? There is naught to fret about.”
When Gytha turned away, Margaret tried to reach for her again, only to have Roger stop her. “Leave the child be, mistress. She does no more than all the rest.”
“Which is far more than she has ever done. Gytha drinks but a little wine with her meal. Never like this. I have no idea how such an indulgence will take her.”
“Straight to her bed, no doubt.”
Even as Margaret opened her mouth to reply, a familiar male voice cried, “Pardee! Have you left me naught to eat then?”
“Bayard,” screeched Gytha as she leapt from her seat to greet her brother, Margaret quickly doing likewise.
She raced towards the slender young man in the doorway, who easily caught her and Margaret up in his arms. They all laughed as she and Margaret peppered his face with kisses even as they belabored him with questions. She took a minute to smile over her brother’s broad shoulder at her burly uncle, Lord Edgar, who stood behind Bayard. Soon her mother and father joined them and, after a more restrained welcome, urged them all to sit down. Glancing around at the merry group momentarily gathered in the doorway, Gytha realized there was one thing about her wedding she could truly be thankful for. Her family would be together again.
Watching the happy reunion, Roger murmured, “’Tis a fine looking young man. John Raouille produces a fair crop, it seems.”
Thayer grunted his agreement. He could not help but wonder how two such nearly plain people as John and Bertha could have produced such stunning offspring. When he found himself wondering what his children would look like with such a beauty as Gytha for a mother, he inwardly cursed. To ponder future children was a sign of acceptance of his fate, nearly a hint of hope for the future. He had no real qualms about marriage itself. It was a natural step now that he was a man of property. However, he did not want such a beauty for a wife. The only future in that was one of trouble, deception, and pain.
“You have sorely bruised the girl’s feelings,” continued Roger.
“How so?” Thayer found that a little hard to believe.
“How so?” Roger shook his head in a gesture of amazement. “You can ask that when you have sat there acting as if you have been asked to clasp an adder to your bosom?”
“’Tis much the same when a man like me takes such a beautiful wife.” Thayer easily envisioned a future spent kicking men out of her bed.
“My friend, for once in your life you judge without knowledge, make assumptions without fact. Aye, the girl is lovely and fair sets a man’s blood afire. Yet, here I have sat, ready to exchange smiles and flirt. She has not made one effort to do so. I cannot feel the girl is the fickle sort.”
“She does not need to be. I shall still be tripping o’er lovesick men all my life. Ere she grows too old, she will succumb to one or more of a wooing throng.”
“Then harden your heart and merely let your body revel in the possession of such a comely wife.”
There was a sharpness to Roger’s tone that startled Thayer. However, he was not given the time to find out the reason for it. He was immediately caught up in a round of introductions to Bayard Raouille and Lord Edgar Raouille, his bride’s brother and uncle. A few subtle comments which passed amongst the family told him exactly who Margaret was. It also told him that she was the reason neither Edgar’s wife nor his children would attend the wedding. What few qualms were expressed over the situation concerned only the absence of Edgar’s children.
“Have John and Fulke not arrived yet?” Bayard asked.
“Nay,” replied his father. “They sent messages explaining their tardiness. We can only hope they arrive in time to attend the wedding.”
“I am sure they will.” Bayard grinned at Gytha. “Another change of grooms, I see.”
“It appears so. Robert was somewhat premature in placing himself as heir. The report of Sir Thayer’s demise was exaggerated.”
As Bayard chuckled, Thayer stared at his delicate bride. He was certain he detected sarcasm behind her words. Yet, she looked too sweet of face to possess a sharp tongue. The bland innocence in her gaze, however, made him decidedly suspicious. Inwardly shaking his head, he decided he would ponder that matter at some later time.
He let the conversation whirl around him, only half-listening as he again pondered the situation he found himself in and struggled to come to terms with what faced him. It was a moment, therefore, before he caught the import of Gytha’s response to Margaret’s mention of the wedding on the morrow.
“We shall see,” grumbled Gytha. “We may wake on the morrow to find the groom has taken to his heels.”
Turning to face her, Thayer gave her a stern look. “I will be here. ’Tis not my way to break a bond.”
“Pardee!” She placed a hand over her heart in an overly dramatic gesture. “Romance lies heavy in the air tonight.”
Roger choked on his drink. A giggling Margaret slapped him on the back. Thayer felt little amusement, however. He eyed the goblet of wine Gytha held. Her too-bright eyes and the high color in her cheeks told him she had imbibed too heavily. He reached out to retrieve her goblet only to discover that, along with a tendency to employ sarcasm, his bride could be obstinate.
