For a long moment, Thayer simply gaped after Gytha. Then he became aware of a low murmur of voices and realized that everyone in the crowded hall was watching him and discussing what they had witnessed. His lovely wife had just confessed to loving him before everyone at Riverfall. He could only partly suppress a wide grin. Such words should be private, but he could feel no regret over her rather loud confession before so many. If he ever doubted what he had heard there would be a great many witnesses he could ask for reassuring confirmation. Pride also made it hard to regret having so many know that he—plain, red Thayer Saitun—had won the heart of such a beautiful woman.
“Well?” pressed Roger, who sprawled comfortably in the seat at Thayer’s side.
Looking at Roger and briefly noticing the wide-eyed Margaret at his friend’s side, Thayer murmured, “Well what?”
“Are you not going to go after her?”
Glancing down at the food on the table, Thayer said, “Can I not eat first?” He grinned when Margaret gasped and Roger laughed. “I suppose I should go and scold her once again for being so disrespectful as to call her lawful husband stupid.”
“Oh, aye, that is important. If you do not get going, there are one or two here who may start to agree with her appallingly impertinent remark.”
Since Margaret was beginning to look as if she wanted to strike one or both of them, Thayer started on his way. Going up the stairs showed him, yet again, that his left leg was awkwardly stiff, but for once he did not care. His Gytha had given him far too much to feel joyous about.
As he opened the door to their chambers, he heard her weeping. She wept as if her heart would break and it very nearly had him weeping as well. Closing the door, he moved towards the bed where she lay sprawled on her stomach, her face pressed into the pillow. Sitting on the edge of the bed, he pried open the fingers of her clenched hand and pressed his handkerchief into it. He wanted to take her into his arms, but after so many months of deprivation, he suspected he would not long think of simply consoling her.
“Gytha…” He smoothed his hand over her hair. “Please do not weep so. I cannot bear it. Better that you rail at me or treat me as some guest as you did before. For all I hate that, it tears at me far less than this does.”
She could hear the truth of those soft words in his voice. Rolling onto her back, she used his handkerchief to clean her face, vainly struggling to stop her tears. Although it had tired her, her weeping had eased the turmoil within her a little. She just wished she was not left with such a feeling of loss, of failure.
Sighing, Thayer ran a hand through his hair. “Gytha, I say I went after those rewards for you, but ’tis becauseIwanted to.Iwanted these things for you. The reason I did not tell you the full truth was because I knew you would not want me to fight for such things and would try and stop me.”
“Aye, I would have. I did not because I thought t’was a matter of honor and loyalty.”
“Instead, t’was pride. Little else. I wished to have what was returned to William. In my heart I knew you did not care, butIdid. I did not want you to have lost anything by remaining wed to me. That had more importance to me than I wished to admit. I faced the truth of it as I was healing from my wounds.”
“Which you told me nothing of. You should have sent for me.”
Reaching out, he gently brushed a few stray wisps of hair from her face. “Nay. The journey there was long and dangerous. The town and all about it was also dangerous. There was a very skilled old woman who tended me, as did Roger. He and I have had many years of tending each other’s wounds. We are not without some skill ourselves.” He realized he was now stroking her face.
Gytha felt the need in his touch, read it in his dark eyes, and responded to it. “Just how badly were you wounded? You could have been near death, and I would have known nothing of it until too late.”
“Oh, nay, I was not near death.” He found it impossible to keep his gaze from her breasts or her slim legs, revealed up to the knee by her tangled skirts.
“You are a poor liar.” When he slid his hand up her leg to her thigh, she shuddered and knew that they would have to feed the hunger that gnawed at them before they could have any real, sensible discussion.
“Tsk. First you call me stupid, now a liar,” he murmured and bent to place a kiss upon the rapid pulse in her throat. “Gytha.”
She sighed as her whole being responded to the aching want in his voice. “I know.” She consoled the part of her that felt she was giving in too easily by telling herself that he had adequately explained his reasons for going to fight the Scots.
His whole body taut with need, even though he had barely touched her, he sat up and gave her a crooked smile. “How fast can you remove that gown?”
“I shall be ready ere you are.”
It did not really surprise her to lose that challenge. If there was anything Thayer could do with greater speed than any other, it was shed his clothes, she mused happily as her now naked husband turned to help her discard her chemise and hose. He then fell upon her with a hunger she welcomed, clearing all thought from her mind save that of giving and getting pleasure. Their loving was fierce and swift, leaving them both weak with satisfaction and short of breath.
It took Gytha a moment before she realized that Thayer had held on to enough sanity to press her to speak during the height of their somewhat frantic coupling. Another moment or two passed as she fought to recall what he had been saying and, more important, what she had replied. When the memory became clear, she nearly struck him.
He had pried a declaration of love from her. Clearly, her admission in the hall had not gone unnoticed as she had hoped it would. Catching her at a weak moment, he had gotten her to admit it again yet had offered no declaration of his own. That both hurt and annoyed her. If he thought to have her repeat it at his convenience to stroke his vanity, he would have to think again. She briefly thought of pushing him off her but told herself she was too tired. She ignored the inner voice that whispered she was a liar, that she held him close because she craved the unity of their bodies, needed it badly after being so long apart from him.
When Thayer finally found the strength to ease the intimacy of their embrace, he cursed the stiffness in his leg which caused his movements to be slightly awkward. He quickly moved to pull the coverlet over them but was not quick enough. Gytha grasped his wrist to stop him, her gaze fixed upon the ragged new scar on his leg. He sighed when she slowly grew very pale.
“I know, ’tis an ugly thing….” he began.
“That is not what pains me, though aye, ’tis not pretty.” She stared at him, fighting to shake the fear-soaked horror that gripped her so tightly. “God’s beard, Thayer, the man nearly cut your leg clean off at the knee.”
“’Tis not quite that bad,” he murmured as he tugged her into his arms and pulled the coverlet over them. “T’was a deep cut, but not enough to make me lose my leg unless infection set in. Which,” he said, kissing her frowning mouth, “it did not. I had a fever for a while but fought it off. It took me a long time to return here, for I was stubborn. I wished to be fully returned to health, to walk without aid or too much awkwardness.”
“You have done that well enough.” She knew he smoothed over the truth of his illness, but decided not to press him on the matter.
