Gytha clung tightly to her goblet when Thayer tried to take it away. She eyed him and his large hand alternately. A voice in her head told her she had indeed had more than enough wine, but a louder voice cried out for more. She had no intention of giving up her wine. It made her feel good, easing the sting of her bridegroom’s insulting attitude.
Seeing the way Gytha eyed Thayer’s hand, Margaret quickly handed Roger a sweetmeat. “When she opens her mouth, stuff this into it.”
“But why?” Roger was not sure he ought to obey the strange request.
“There is no time to explain. There she goes. Do it—quickly.”
Just as Gytha was about to give into the urge to sink her teeth into Thayer’s hand she found her mouth full of sweetmeat. She crossed her eyes in her attempt to look at the unrequested food resting half in, half out of her mouth. When she heard Margaret’s gentle laughter mix with Roger’s more hearty guffaw, she knew her cousin was behind her inability to inflict any damage upon Thayer. Watching Thayer closely, she slowly ate the sweetmeat.
It was hard, but Thayer swallowed his amusement. He felt it best to hide the grin threatening to turn up the corners of his mouth. The one thing he ought to ask of his wife was obedience. He felt it necessary to let his bride know that from the very beginning. Gytha’s father, however, stole the opportunity.
“Gytha, my child, why not show Sir Thayer the gardens?” John Raouille looked at Thayer, thinking the man too grim for his daughter but hoping that, if the pair had some time alone, matters would improve. “My wife insisted upon them. Their only purpose is to please the eye. I thought it foolish at first, but I have grown quite fond of them.”
Sensing the man’s intentions, Thayer murmured, “It might be better done in the daytime.”
“No need to wait. The gardens are well lit by both torch and moonlight.”
Even in her wine-fogged state, Gytha had no difficulty in guessing what her father intended. She was just about to tell him that she felt no immediate need to get to know her sulking bridegroom when she saw Thayer send Roger a pleading glance. Roger sighed but stood up as Thayer did. As Thayer helped her stand, Gytha signaled Margaret. If Thayer insisted upon company, so would she. With a reluctance equal to Roger’s, Margaret stood up.
“I thought t’would be but the two of you,” muttered John, frowning at his daughter.
“But, Papa,” Gytha said, “my betrothed chose to bring a chaperon, so I thought it best to do the same.”
Feeling himself flush, Thayer grasped his bride by the arm and hurried her away. He noted a little crossly that she had her goblet of wine as well as a good supply to keep it filled. A brief glance over his shoulder told him that Roger and Margaret followed. That helped him regain some of his lost calm.
Once outside he understood what Gytha’s father had been saying. Bushes, trees, and flowers were arranged so that one could stroll amongst their beauty in peace and privacy. It must have seemed a frivolous waste of space to the man at first. Although Thayer had seen such gardens in several European manors, he knew the style was still new to England. Here gardens were simply wild tangles or utilitarian vegetable patches. John was also right in thinking it an excellent place for romance.
Thayer grimaced as he thought on the last word—romance. The girl did deserve a little wooing. He could not bring himself to deny the truth of that. She was not to blame for the situation nor for the beauty which unsettled him so. Unfortunately, the art of wooing was a lost one to him. Watching her stroll ahead of him and a silent Roger, he searched his mind for something, anything, to say.
Ignoring Margaret’s murmured disapproval, Gytha refilled her and Margaret’s goblets. She then handed Roger the wine. Anger gnawed at her no matter how she tried to shake its hold. Come the new day, she would be married to the man who stomped along behind her. In a place conducive to romance, he kept his distance, scowling at her back. Suddenly she had an urge to speak directly, with full honesty. She needed to discover exactly why he seemed so loathe to marry her. Stopping abruptly, she whirled about to face him.
Still deep in thought, groping for words with an increasing desperation, Thayer did not see her stop and walked right into her, sending her sprawling in the grass at his feet. Roger moved at the same time he did to help her stand and they almost bumped heads. Margaret hurried to lend a hand as well.
“You should have told me you were stopping,” he snapped as he watched Gytha and Margaret brush off the skirts of her gown.
“I was intending to have a word with you, sir,” she snapped back, glaring at him.
“Aye? So what do you have to say?”
Staring up at him, Gytha decided it was an extremely awkward position. With all that whirled in her head, all that demanded saying, she felt she could get a severe crick in her neck before she was done. Glancing around, she espied a low bench. Grabbing his hand, she towed her startled bridegroom over to it. She then stood upon the bench and stared at him.
“Just what is it that you so abhor about our coming wedding?” she demanded.
“Gytha,” Margaret began in soft protest.
“’Tis a reasonable question, cousin. Well, sir? Do you perchance prefer darker ladies?”
“Nay.” He could not tell her of his fears, of how he dreaded a future filled with pain and the shame of being cuckolded.
“Then mayhap I am too short for your tastes?”
“Well, ’tis true that if you were much smaller, I might have trouble finding you.”
“Ah, I see. You wish me to be taller?” She frowned when he shook his head. “Thinner? Fatter?”
Despite his efforts to resist, his gaze moved over her figure. He could find no fault there. High, full breasts, a tiny waist and gently rounded hips stirred only intense interest. His body quickly revealed its eagerness to begin married life with Gytha.
“None of those. Child, I had a shock. I came here expecting to attend William’s wedding. Instead, I find that William is dead and myself proclaimed so. I came intending to meet William’s bride. Instead, I meet my own. ’Tis a situation that would set any man reeling.”
