As carefully as she could, she got down, but before she could savor the feeling of being on firm ground, her legs began to give way beneath her. Slowly, she buckled to the floor. She felt weak and light-headed. Inching along, she got herself in a safe spot against the wall, out of the way of the fight about to begin. Wrapping her arms about herself, she tried to stop the shaking that gripped her.
Assured that Gytha was all right, Thayer turned his full attention to Pickney. The bruises and the torn condition of Gytha’s clothes confirmed what Robert had said. Thayer ached to kill Pickney little by little, to prolong the man’s pain and obvious fear. He was not surprised when Pickney drew his sword but then pushed his man Thomas in front of him. It was just like Pickney to be too cowardly to face him squarely.
“Cease cowering behind your minions and fight me as a man should,” he hissed at Pickney. “’Tis more than you offered me.”
“Kill him!” screamed Pickney, moving further behind Thomas and Bertrand. “Kill him, you fools.”
For a moment, Gytha feared Thayer would be facing two, perhaps three, swords. Thayer was a skilled swordsman, but no man could watch all sides at once. Then Roger stepped forward. Merlion edged into the room, ready to act if needed. She briefly closed her eyes in relief, then opened them quickly as she felt someone lightly nudge her. It was hard not to gape when she saw Robert, Henry, and John crouched round her like a shield.
“What are you doing?” she asked, poking Robert in the back.
“Making sure my uncle does not try to use you as his shield.”
“Well, at least leave me a space,” she hissed as she nudged Robert’s and Henry’s shoulders apart a little. “I wish to see.”
“I am not sure a lady should watch such a thing.”
“Do be quiet, Robert.” She ignored the way Henry and John snickered, earning a glare from Robert.
Even though the violence horrified her, she felt an odd shiver of excitement in watching her husband skillfully wield his sword. She did, however, briefly turn away from the battle when Thayer slew Thomas. Despite her intense dislike for Pickney’s minion, the bloody ending of his life was not something she wished to observe too closely. Knowing Thayer would now face Pickney, she looked back, grimacing when she caught a glimpse of Bertrand’s last moments facing Roger.
“Nay, Roger,” Thayer said as Roger moved to stand by his side. “He is mine.”
“’T’was all Robert’s doing,” Pickney cried as Thayer advanced upon him. “T’was his idea. Tell him, Robert. Tell him how I was but a minion, forced by you to play this game.”
Robert’s reply was a suggestion so coarse that Gytha stared at him in open-mouthed surprise. Then the clash of swords drew her attention back to Thayer. For all his cowardice, Pickney proved a good fighter. Gytha felt her trembling begin again. She had full confidence in Thayer’s skill, and knew he could defeat Pickney in a fair fight. What she had no faith in was Pickney’s intention to fight fair.
After a few minutes, she realized that Thayer was playing with Pickney, inflicting small but painful wounds, yet withholding the death blow. Although she knew Pickney deserved whatever punishment was dealt him, she turned away, unable to watch the lingering killing.
Suddenly Pickney cried out, and she knew it was over. Since she had anticipated that the swordplay would continue for quite a while longer, she was almost surprised into looking. She held firm, however, feeling she had seen as much death as she could bear.
Her three guardians moved away. Thayer crouched beside her even as she turned to see why she had been left alone. When he pulled her into his arms, she sagged against him. It was a little hard to believe that their ordeal was over, that they were safe.
“Are you hurt, Gytha?” he asked in a soft voice, afraid he had indeed been too late.
“Nay. Bruised, my clothes torn, but naught else.”
“Thank God. I am sorry you had to see such cruelty.”
She shook her head. “You were not cruel. Considering the punishment you could have dealt out for his crimes, you were most merciful.”
“Merciful? Aye, mayhap, after I recalled that you were watching. Only then did I end it cleanly and quickly. What I wished to do, was trying to do, was to cut him into little pieces.”
“You cannot be blamed for that. I had some most bloodthirsty thoughts on how to end his miserable life myself.”
“Are you sure you are not hurt? You are trembling.”
“’Tis weariness, I think. ’Tis very tiring to act brave when one is terrified. Oh, sweet Jesu.” She clutched at Thayer’s arms and looked up at him. “Bek. How is Bek? The last I saw of him—”
He lightly kissed her. “He is fine. He’s got a bad crack on the head, but nothing serious. I believe those two men eased the strength of the blow. If they had struck Bek hard enough to fell a grown man, they would have killed the boy.”
She briefly closed her eyes in relief, then smiled weakly. “Henry and John told me they know how to knock heads. Thayer, about Henry and John—aye, and Robert too…”
“Hush. First we will have one of the women look at you to be sure you are not hurt. Then you shall be bathed and dressed in a fresh gown. After that we can talk.” Even as he stood up, picking her up in his arms, Thayer began to bark out orders.
Gytha wanted to say something in favor of Henry, John, and Robert. She wanted to hear how Thayer had arrived in time to save her. All she was able to do was answer continuous inquiries as to how she felt.
The room was quickly cleared of all signs of the deaths that had occurred there. All sounds of fighting had ceased by the time two women arrived to help her. She was thoroughly looked over, her small injuries tended to, bathed, dressed, and settled back on her bed with a multitude of pillows. Then a huge tray, heavily laden with every delicacy available in Saitun Manor, was set before her. She did manage to gain some details of how Thayer had come to rescue her, but she was relieved when Thayer returned from inspecting the manor and shooed the women out of the room.
