Tostig brightened, thanked the monk, and left, walking through the meadow where the bees let him pass in peace amongst them.
“I have no reason to be here,” Thomas murmured.
Turning from the place where Oseberne had died, Thomas walked back to the path that led from mill gate to the monks’ quarters. Sorrow lashed at him. His friendship with Brother Gwydo had begun but a short time ago when he first heard the lay brother sing, but he had found a rare comfort in the man’s company from the beginning. Not only would he miss one who was good even to God’s small creatures, but he grieved that he could never know such a man better.
When tears once again stung his eyes, Thomas did not stop them from flowing down his cheeks.
34
Ralf rubbed his bristled chin and glared at the table. Today’s gifts included a jug of fresh ale from Tostig, a parsley-dotted mushroom pie with sweet onions from Sister Matilda, and a dish of berries plucked by his daughter. He did not disdain the bounty, but his spirit was too heavy to enjoy them. The berries he would force himself to eat. The rest he would give to others. Normally a man of hearty appetite, he had lost weight.
“My lord?”
“Yes,” he snapped with sharp annoyance. He hated to be called that. As a third son he owned no title. His knighting on the battlefield years ago was an honor he kept so secret that even his eldest brother did not know of it. His reasons for doing so may have been founded in an old yet raw bitterness, but he was also a contrary man. The only title he allowed himself was that of crowner.
“You have a visitor from the priory.” The voice was muffled.
The woman did not even stick her head around the corner. Did she fear he sat here stark naked? “Tell Brother Thomas that I am not able to enjoy his company,” he growled and almost added that the woman was safe from him except, perhaps, on nights with a full moon when he might grow a tail and acquire hooves.
“Then I shall relay your message,” a voice said, now quite clear.
As if lightning had just struck him, every muscle in his body turned numb.
Gytha walked through the door and put her basket down on the table. “I heard that you refused to let the lay brother shave you, and from the look of you, you haven’t changed your clothes since Brother Thomas came upon us in the forest.” She wrinkled her nose. “A bath would not be amiss. I understand that even our king does not find the practice offensive.”
He grunted and would not meet her eyes.
“Sister Anne sent me with fresh bindings and newly picked herbs for your wound.” She tilted her head to one side and studied him. “Or would you rather rot?”
“Rot.”
“Sibely needs her father.”
“I am here for her.”
“The father she loves? Nay, rather a thing that looks like a wild boar and acts like a lumbering bear. You must frighten the child.”
“I am unworthy of her love.”
“And which man is not from time to time? But you are not without some merit. If I remember correctly, you would not be sitting there with that gash in your back if you hadn’t tried to save my life.”
He looked away and scratched at his beard.
“Very well, then, choke on your black bile. In the meantime, whether you want it or not, I have come to change your dressings. Sit on that bench. I refuse to stand on a stool to do this.”
He obeyed, eased the clothes off his back, and muttered something that might have been a phrase of gratitude. Somewhere outside, he heard bright voices and recognized his child’s laugh. Did he truly scare her?
“The wound is healing well,” Gytha said, tossing the old binding aside and examining the deep cut. “No thanks to the care you have taken of it.” She pushed him forward and poured wine into the injury without warning.
He yelped.
“Have you considered the possibility that God must have meant you to live for some purpose? Had the knife entered here rather than here, you would be dead.” She reached over to get something out of the basket. Her arm brushed against his.
The soft touch was more than he could bear. Ralf bit his lip.
Gytha rebound the wound in silence.
Suddenly, a little girl flew through the door, ran up to Gytha, and threw her arms around the young woman’s legs. “You have come back!” she squealed. “Da! Mistress Gytha is back! Tell her she must stay now. You missed her too. You said so.”
Gytha reached down and lifted Sibely into her arms, covering the child with kisses. Then she put her down and the two of them danced in a circle, the little one giggling and Gytha singing a familiar song.
From the doorway, the child’s nurse peeked around the corner, laughed in delight, and then quickly disappeared.
Stopping to catch a breath, Gytha bent down to place another kiss on the child’s head. Sibley refused to release her hand and pointed with the other to the red berries still in the dish. “You haven’t eaten them, Da. Did you not like them?” A worried frown creased her smooth brow.
Ralf could not bear to see the innocence of her face marred with any worry. “I was about to ask Mistress Gytha to bring them to me.” He looked at the maid with a sheepish expression. “If she would, that is?”
Gently releasing her hand, Gytha smiled at Sibley and reached for the dish. “Your father has been resting, as he was told he must by Sister Anne. I am sure he just awoke and not seen your gift ’til now.” She shot the crowner a playful look, then handed him the glistening plump fruit. “He shall love the taste. These are just what he should have to regain the strength needed to lift you to the heavens as he was wont to do. Did you and your nurse pick these?”
Sibley nodded vigorously and proceeded to tell Gytha just where and when the fruit had been found, then how it had been picked, berry by berry.
As he watched, Ralf wanted to both laugh and weep. These two were the ones he loved most on this earth. In truth, he would die before he let anyone hurt either, and yet he had caused great pain to the one who now knelt in front of his daughter and asked for even more details about all she had done to harvest the fruit.
Finally, Gytha stood, then bent again and kissed the little girl’s cheek.
Sibely grabbed her hand. “Stay,” she whispered. “I did not like it when you did not come every day.” Then she turned to her father. “Please tell her not to leave again like she did?”
Ralf swallowed hard. “Go find your nurse,” he said gently, “and I shall speak with Mistress Gytha in private.”
As if summoned by some invisible messenger, the nurse slipped through the entrance, knelt, and held out her hands to the child.
Sibely hesitated, still looking at Gytha.
“I must speak with your father, but I shall come soon for a kiss.”
Dutifully, but with evident reluctance, the child went to her nurse, and the pair disappeared. There were no sounds of laughter outside.
Ralf put the berries down and cleared his throat. “Whatever quarrel you have with me, will you not visit my child? She is an innocent in all that has happened between us and loves you dearly.”
Gytha bowed her head. “You ask something that I would be most willing to do.” Then she looked back at him with sadness. “But I must ask if you think it wise to expose her to one whom you find contemptible.”
Ralf slammed his fist on the table, then cried out in pain.
Gytha reached out and grabbed his arm. “You will reopen the wound!”
Tears were rolling down his cheeks, and he stretched out his hand. “In answer to your question, I pose this one to you: why care whether I live or die, a man who insulted you with no cause and cast dishonor on you, a woman whom he holds in the greatest respect?”
She moved away from him. “It is my Christian duty to pardon those who injure me, but I would lie if I claimed to be strong enough in faith. I do not forgive easily.”