“Aye.” She loosened the swaddling on their child. “Look at your son.”
“Bek will be pleased,” he murmured, smiling faintly when she gave a soft laugh.
Gytha watched him as he bent to examine their child, his big, calloused hands gentle as he lovingly touched the baby. As he silently assured himself that the boy had all he should have, she found it strangely moving to watch him. There was no need to ask him if he was pleased. The answer shone in his face.
Lurking beneath her delight, however, was a lingering anger and hurt. She had told her mother about the argument preceding the birth. Her mother had been a little shocked, but had tried to make her see that there was good reason for Thayer to have thought as he did. Gytha realized that good reasoning was not enough to soothe her. She wanted some indication from Thayer that he would have been at least reluctant to hand her over to William. He had seemed painfully complacent.
“He is a fine, handsome son, Gytha.” Thayer kissed her, wishing he could find a more satisfactory way to express the depth of the feelings assailing him. “The name is still to be Everard? After my father?”
“Aye, I have not changed my mind on that. ’Tis a fine name. I but wondered if you had thought to hand that duty to William as well.”
Inwardly sighing, Thayer sat down on the stool someone had placed by the bed. He ran a hand through his hair as he warily eyed Gytha. While he had forgotten their confrontation, it was clear she had not. He wished she had, for he was not sure he would better his cause by trying to explain himself.
“Gytha, you must understand about such contracts,” he began, thinking it a poor start even as he spoke.
“Oh, that has been explained. It seems mad to me, but then I have noticed how such bonds and legalities often do not seem to be concerned with the people they affect.”
“Then why are you still angry? When William came back, I was honor-bound to at least offer to return all I had gained through his reported death—Saitun Manor, the title, and you.”
She almost swore. There she was listed with the manor again, as if she were part of the furnishings. It infuriated her. She suspected it was that anger that kept her from giving in to the exhaustion weighting her body.
“I see. What if, when William appeared, I had turned to you and said, ‘well, Thayer, my true husband has returned, so I will leave you now?’ Would that have been acceptable to you?”
He blinked. The sense of having a revelation came over him. She said she understood about the marriage contract and about how William’s being alive had to raise a question about which man she should be married to. However, Gytha was feeling, not thinking. She saw that he was ready to give her to William, but she could not know the turmoil that had caused him. She had seen callousness instead of fiercely enforced calm. He had unintentionally inflicted hurt, even insult. Sighing, he leaned forward to take her hand into his.
“Gytha, dearling, if I led you to believe I wanted to give you to William, I beg your pardon.”
Frowning, she wondered if, in trying to explain himself, he was going to say things that might inadvertantly hurt her. She knew he did not mean to be cruel; that was not his way.
Unfortunately, loving him as she did, a simple lack of emotion or mention of such on his part was enough to hurt her.
“It sounded very much as if you did,” she murmured.
“I can see that now, loving.” He brushed a kiss over the back of her hand. “You are right. At times, I can be a wooden-headed fool. I could claim the shock of finding William was alive dulled my wits, and there was indeed a little of that.”
“I can understand that. Seeing him certainly scattered my wits for a moment.”
“When he reminded me that I must give back all I had gained, I naturally included you. I found myself torn between what honor demanded of me and what I wished to do. Saitun Manor and the title mattered little. If, by putting you together with those, I made you feel you mattered little, I can only say I never intended to. Even as I spoke the words, I knew I could never hand you back to William as I did the land and the title. And the babe. Did I fail somehow in showing you my pleasure over the child you carried? Failed so that you could think I could so easily give him up?”
“Nay. I did know—do know—that you are very pleased with our child.”
“No man could have been as relieved as I felt when William said he had wed another. It meant I did not need to stand against him.”
“You would have done that?”
“Aye. Once my head cleared I knew I could not return you to what should have been. The contract did not matter. You aremywife. This isourson. All else I would return to William willingly, but not you. There was one other thing.”
“What other thing?” she pressed when he fell silent, staring at her hand.
“I wished to allow you the chance to choose. Since there was a chance for you to go with William, I did not wish to hold you where you might not wish to be.” He grimaced when she gave him a look heavily tainted with disgust.
It was just as she had suspected. Though not surprised, she was hurt, something she struggled to hide. She also felt deeply discouraged. Nothing she had said or done had really reached him. How could she tell such a man she loved him? He would never believe it. Not when he could even consider her leaving him for another man, following where the title and land led her. While he did believe she would not cuckold him, he clearly did not trust in the strength of their marriage. A part of him still thought she could not want him as her husband forever. She did not know how to overcome that.
“Thayer, have I not always been honest with you?” She ignored the little voice in her head that reminded her she still held a secret, still kept one truth from him.
“Aye. Painfully so at times.”
“Well, then, if I had wanted to go with William, would I not have simply let it happen? Perhaps said so, plain and clean? I probably would have mentioned the marriage contract myself.” With the lessening of her anger, her weariness came to the fore and she yawned, unable to hide it from Thayer.
