“Aye, but I wished to be sure you felt the same. And Robert?”
“Poor Robert. Pickney made him what he is. Who knows what sort of man he could have been had Pickney not twisted him into such a weakling. But for a moment, Robert fought his uncle. Of course, he lacked the strength and the skill. Pickney saw to that.”
Brushing a kiss over her forehead, he murmured, “I know that. In the end, when it mattered, Robert did what was right. I have no stomach for killing one of my own blood. Also, Robert did not truly know that William was murdered.”
She frowned. “But he knew you were to be murdered.”
“That he ignored for a reason many men would consider a good one—he wanted you. I believe he has fully given up that dream. Do you know, I begin to think John and Henry have taken him under their wings. Mayhap the best thing to do is to find something the three can do together that will bring them some measure of profit and keep them out of trouble.”
Quickly putting a hand over her mouth, she yawned. “And what of Pickney’s men?”
“All dead.”
“All of them?”
“Aye. The men we set free from the dungeons suffered a hard blow to their honor. They were mayhap a little too eager to avenge that.” Standing up, he urged her to lie down and tucked her in. “You need to rest. You have suffered a long ordeal and need to treat yourself gently for a while.”
After he slowly, softly kissed her, he started to pull away, but Gytha grasped his hand, holding him at her bedside. She did not want to be left alone. Even though she knew she was now safe, her fear lingered. She knew it would be a while before the fear Pickney had bred in her fully disappeared.
“I know I sound a foolish child, but will you stay with me? At least until I fall asleep?”
“Aye, and you do not sound foolish.” Still holding her hand, he sat on the edge of the bed. “You were badly frightened. That does not always fade simply because the danger has passed. The memory of it must dim a little too.”
She smiled faintly in gratitude for his understanding. Slowly, she closed her eyes, feeling the weight of sleep already creeping over her. His nearness not only eased her lingering fears, but reassured her that he was indeed alive, that Pickney’s murderous plan had really failed.
“Gytha?” Thayer called in a soft voice after several moments.
“Mmmm?”
“Would you really have jumped from that window?”
So close to sleep, it was hard to answer clearly, but she tried. “I do not know. Part of me saw no reason not to, yet part of me recoiled from the mere thought of it. If Pickney had stepped any closer, mayhap. I was more terrified of him and what he meant to do to me than of dying or God’s punishment.” She felt his grip on her hand tighten almost painfully as she gave into the pull of sleep.
Long after she fell asleep, Thayer stayed at her side, holding her hand in his. He had come too close to losing her, her and their child. It was going to be very hard not to lock her away from the world, from any other possible danger. He wondered if he was doomed to spend the rest of his days in fear for her life.
Chapter Sixteen
Thayer grunted and slapped at the hand gripping his shoulder. The last thing he wished to do was wake up. He still felt a little drunk. The celebration of Roger’s and Margaret’s wedding had been a hearty one. If one of the guests needed him, he could go away and wait until a more reasonable hour. In an effort to get away from that irritating presence, he curled up closer to Gytha, carefully slipping his arms around her in a way that would put no weight on her rather large belly. The way she shifted in his hold told him she was already awake. He grew even more annoyed at the intruder, who shook him again.
“If I were some enemy, I could have slit your throat from ear to ear by now.”
There was something very familiar about that deep, rich voice, but Thayer fought to ignore it, to return to sleeping peacefully.
“Jesu,” cried Fulke.
Good,Thayer thought with satisfaction. The intruder had managed to rouse Gytha’s brothers, who slept on pallets in their chambers. The three Raouilles would soon show the man out.
“We were told you were dead,” John muttered. “How is it you are here?”
“Because I am not dead?” came the softly amused reply. “Wake up, you redheaded sot.”
Impertinent too,Thayer grumbled to himself. He broke from his cozy place by Gytha long enough to swing a fist at the intruder. That drew a soft “oof,” then a laugh—a laugh that was disturbingly familiar. An incredible thought entered Thayer’s head. He swore, then shook it away. The drink was still muddling his thinking. He wondered sleepily why Gytha felt so tense.
Gytha felt torn between screaming and fainting. She wanted to pummel her groggy husband awakeandlet him sleep through what had to be some strange, unreal vision. William Saitun was supposed to be dead. He was not supposed to be standing by their bed in Riverfall looking hale and handsome, grinning beatifically.
“From the drunken bodies I have seen, there must have been some wild revel here last eve.”
“Roger married my cousin Margaret,” she answered, wondering wildly if one was supposed to be able to converse with a vision.
