“Have you made Gytha mad again?” Bek asked as his father stepped into his bath.
“Aye, I fear so.”
“But you went to win rewards for her.”
“True, but I neglected to ask if she wanted those rewards. Can you scrub my back, son?”
Moving to do so, Bek frowned in thought “Is a wife not supposed to be pleased at all her husband does?”
It was not easy, but Thayer swallowed his impulse to laugh. “Bek, I will tell you two things about women. Heed me well, now, for you had best remember them. The first is—never do as I do. I fear your poor father knows very little. If I handled a sword as I do women, I should have been killed in my first battle.” He smiled faintly when Bek giggled. “Second—few men are true masters over their women. In truth, I would eye with suspicion any woman who acts as if that is the truth. Either she lies, or she is so dull-witted or weak-spirited that she will make you a tedious wife.”
“So you do not really mind that Gytha is angry with you.”
“I did not say that.” He grimaced. “T’will depend upon how angry she is and if there is any soothing her.”
He was still wondering about that as he entered the great hall. There was no sign of Gytha there either. It was beginning to embarrass him. He did not need to look at those gathered in the hall to know they were all trying to covertly watch him or catch some sight of his missing wife. Even as he sat down at the head table, he gave serious thought to finding her and dragging her down to the great hall. She could be as angry as she wished, but she should not make him look foolish before his people. He was just standing up to go and find her when she walked in. Thayer suddenly wished he was sitting down.
Gytha walked towards the head table, her step slowing as she looked closely at her husband. There was something not quite right about his stance. It took her a moment to understand what was different. She stopped by his seat and stared at his legs. He was holding the left one in a very stiff manner. It was now clear to her that he had received some serious wound.
Slowly, she looked him over, moving her gaze up from his leg. She felt her eyes widen with the shock she suffered when she saw his left hand. The tips were gone from two of his fingers. Clenching her hands into fists, she forced her gaze to continue upwards. She felt a brief flare of relief when she found no other signs of serious injury, but her relief did little to stem her rising anger.
He had sent her no word at all. She knew he had been seriously hurt, but no one had told her how seriously. For all she knew, he could have been near death. All her worries had been justified. When she met his gaze, she was not really surprised to find him eyeing her warily. She suspected she looked as furious as she felt, for she had no will to hide it.
“So, did you gain all you sought in battling these Scottish reivers?” she hissed.
“Aye. I am now a baron, Lord of Riverfall.” He did feel some pride in his title, but he could see it would be a while before Gytha shared that.
“What? No land?”
“A small demesne a few days’ ride south of here.”
“How fortuitous. You need not ride far and long to play the great liege.”
“Now, Gytha, I felt it necessary to do this for you.”
He knew that was the wrong thing to say the moment the words were out of his mouth but decided to stay with that argument. It was, in part, true. During his time of healing, he had come to realize that he had gone after those rewards for himself more than for her. Pride had spurred him. It was not something he felt inclined to admit before all those so avidly listening.
“For me? I did not ask for these things. I did not ask you to ride off and get yourself all cut up.”
“Nay, you did not ask it of me. I chose to do that. Howbeit, a woman of your high birth should be wed to better than a knight. So I went to gain a title.”
“Did you. And what happens when you decide that what you have now is not enough? To become a baron you gave your fingers. What shall you give for a—an earldom? An arm? Aye, mayhap you shall take it into your head to gain a long trail of titles as some men have. I may have to tow what is left of you about in a wee cart, but I can proudly say you are the lord of this, and the baron of that, and the earl of somewhere else. There will be a comfort for me.”
She was working herself into a fine state, Thayer mused. It did not surprise him to see his men staring at her in open-mouthed wonder. He felt inclined to do the same. She was far angrier than he could have imagined. He wanted to calm her, to soothe her, but he was not sure how. It was hard when he was not sure why she was as angry as she was.
Gytha felt as if she were being torn apart. She wished to weep over his wounds and scream at him for marring his fine body for what she felt were useless trappings. Although she wished to rail at him for his stupidity, she also wished to flee, to go somewhere to try and sort out her tormented feelings.
“Why do you do these things to me?” she asked him in a softer tone, helplessness tinging her voice. “What have I done to make you think I care about such things as titles and lands? What have I done to make you think I should value such things above your life? Everything I have done or said should have told you otherwise, but you are blind to it all.
“I do not care if you are a baron or a blacksmith. I do not care if you hold the finest demesne in all of England or live in a hovel. I want you—not riches.”
Thayer was deeply moved. There was a great deal of emotion behind her words. He wanted to see just how deep and rich those emotions were, but that was something better done in private. That there were so many listening avidly to this exchange made him all too aware of how personal it was becoming. He began to feel a little awkward.
“Well, that is very nice, Gytha.”
“Very nice?” She could not believe he would greet words that had spilled from her very soul so blandly. “Nice.” Briefly looking up as if to seek divine help, she held her hands out to her sides in a gesture displaying her confusion. “I may as well speak to the moon. T’will understand me as well as you do. My wits certainly have gone a-begging. ’Tis the only explanation for why I should love you more than my very life when you are the stupidest man in all of England.”
The astounded look on his face ended her tirade. She cursed, then lifting her skirts slightly, hurried out of the hall. Her emotions were in such a sad tangle that she was close to tears. The very last thing she wished to do was start weeping before Thayer and the others. As she raced towards the shelter of her chambers, she briefly wondered if he would follow her, but she was mostly concerned with getting out of sight before all the emotion boiling inside of her broke free in a display she had no wish to show anyone.
