“Mayhap I was wrong. I should not worry on it.”
Grasping her cousin by the arms, Gytha shook Margaret. “Repeat what you said, Margaret. Very clearly. Thayer said he went to fight the Scots because the king asked him to.”
“Only after Thayer asked the king if there was anything that needed to be done.”
“Thayer asked to be sent to fight?” Gytha spoke the words in a flat voice, trying to fully understand what she was being told.
“Aye. The king has long hinted that Thayer was past due some reward more than accolades and honor. Thayer asked to fight for that reward, for title and land. He had to get it for you, to give back what had to be returned to William.”
“And he said I asked him to do this? He told Roger I had asked for it?”
“Well, nay, no one said that exactly.” Margaret sighed, slumping against the parapets. “No one said it. ’Tis the way Roger told me. I could not believe Thayer would ride off to battle, put himself and all the rest at risk, for a reward he did not need. He had the land he had once sought. So I could only think that you had asked him for it or led him to believe you wanted it. Gytha, if I was wrong…”
“Of course you were wrong. Margaret,” Gytha suddenly realized she was nearly screaming, drawing the curious interest of the guards, and lowered her voice. “Margaret, you know how I feel about Thayer. No matter what the prize, do you think I would risk him to gain it?”
“Nay, yet it seemed the only answer. He returned land and title to William without any sign of rancor. And if you did not press him for this, why should he go?”
“I have no idea, but I shall be sure to ask the fool, if I do not kill him first.”
Seeing how furious Gytha was, Margaret sought to calm her. “He does it for you.”
“I did not ask it, nor do I want it.”
“Pride may push him. He may feel he needs to have such things or it will look as if he wed you for gain.”
“That is the reason most marriages are arranged.” She waved her hand to halt what Margaret was about to say. “Aye, pride may be a part of it.” A sense of defeat stole some of the strength from her anger. “There is another reason. I know it. ’Tis what I have fought for months but cannot seem to conquer. I begin to see no hope of changing it.”
“What is that?”
“I cannot seem to make him believe he is the man I want.”
“But when you did not even try to go with William, he must have seen that.”
“You would think so.” Gytha shrugged. “Mayhap Thayer thought I but held to my vows.”
“How can he doubt it when he knows you love him.” Margaret frowned. “You have told him, have you not?”
“Nay, I have not. Do not scold me. I truly feel he would not believe me. I have tried everything I can to make him see that I want him, that I am content with him. Yet, and this nonsense proves it, he still feels that I must suffer some lack, as if I made some sacrifice in wedding him. As regards me and our marriage, he has no faith in his worth, and I do not know how to give it to him.”
“Just love him, Gytha. That must reach him soon. He cannot remain blind to it forever.”
Gytha had the sinking feeling that he could. “Sweet God, I wish he was home. I pray for it every night.”
“As I do.”
“Good. Perhaps our combined prayers will bear fruit and he, and Roger too, will ride back to Riverfall hale and whole. Then, I shall walk up to that great, stupid man I am married to and strangle him.”
With his hand over his mount’s nose to silence the animal, Thayer stared into the darkness. The Scots were out there. He could almost smell them. Some might slip by him or his men, but not all. Any other time he would simply let them run, for a great deal of their plunder had been retrieved. However, the king wanted blood, wanted the Scots to pay a high price for their raiding. Thayer felt enough had died, but his orders were to kill any he found on English soil, to search them out until none remained in England.
So, he thought crossly, he stood in the moist darkness listening for the enemy he could not see. The Scots were swift and stealthy, slipping from one place to another like spirits. He admired that skill even though he hated it. An acre fight, where armies faced each other across an open field in daylight, was much more to his liking.
What would be even more to his liking, he thought with a sigh, would be going home. He missed Gytha so much it was painful. He missed little Everard, watching him change daily as small babies did. It amused him a little, but he also missed Riverfall. What other men found mundane, tedious, in the day-to-day managing of a demesne he found interesting and comforting. He knew his days as a man who lived from battle to battle were over.
Deciding he had skulked in the dark long enough, he turned to mount. At that instant, a man charged from the shadows. Thayer barely managed to raise his sword in time to block the man’s lethal strike. He staggered under the unanticipated force of the blow. Recovering slightly, he struck back.
As he fought, he cursed the noise they made. Every crash of swords, every grunt, every softly hissed curse echoed like some clarion call in the night. It marked his position to anyone who cared to listen. In an area creeping with foes, that was the last thing he wanted.
Killing the man brought him no real sense of victory. What little there was faded quickly when he heard a sound from behind. Even as he turned to meet what he knew was a second threat, an agonizing pain in the back of his left leg sent him tumbling to the ground. As swiftly as he could, he turned to meet his enemy even though he could not stand. His sword did not immediately respond to his pull on it so he was forced to meet the man’s dagger attack with his left hand. Another swift shock of pain tore through him as the dagger blade cut into his fingers. He was, however, able to swing his sword up in time to stop the man’s sword thrust, killing him with one clean strike.
