Hannah Howell - Beauty and the Beast

I have never heard my father speak of any great trouble at Riverfall. Mayhap all will be well.

Mmmmm. Mayhap.

Gytha did not really need his distracted reply to tell her his interest was no longer on conversation. The way he stroked her with his hands as he removed her nightrail told her that. She smiled as she slid her arms around his neck. A faint shiver of delight rippled through her when he pressed her naked body against his.

Weary of chatter, Thayer? she murmured even as he teased her lips with soft nibbling kisses.

Aye. How clever of you to notice.

A good wife should know when to cease belaboring her husband with conversation. She tried to look righteous when he grinned at her and failed miserably.

We can talk later. He gently rubbed his loins against hers, her soft sounds of pleasure increasing the need he always had for her. My interest lies elsewhere.

Indeed. And where is that?

Pushing her onto her back, Thayer growled, I mean to show you, wife.

Her soft laugh was ended by his hungry kiss. As always, she was quickly lost to passion

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

England, 1365.

Dead?

Quite dead.

But how?

Fell off his mount. Snapped his neck.

Gytha blinked, then stared closely at her father. She saw no sign of lying in his round, plain face, although he did look strangely uncomfortable. She waited to feel grief for the loss of her betrothed, the handsome and gallant baron, William Saitun. A pang came and went. She had seen little of him, after all. What puzzled her now was why the wedding preparations continued. If William was dead, then surely the wedding could not go on? A moment later her mother revealed that her thoughts had followed the same path.

But what of the wedding? The feast is being prepared even now. Berthas ever-rounding figure trembled as she grew increasingly upset. The guests are arriving. Should I turn them away?

No need to do that, Bertha, loving.

Papa, I cannot marry a dead man.

Of course you cannot, dearling. John Raouille briefly covered his daughters delicate hand with his thick, calloused one.

Then the preparations must be halted. Gytha frowned in confusion when her father still did nothing.

Now, my sweet child, the agreement made with my good friend, Baron Saitun, God bless his soul, was that you would marry the heir to Saitun Manor.

And that was William.

True, true, but there are other heirs. The one following William was Thayer.

Then, are you saying I am now to marry Thayer? She was not sure she understood the arrangement her father spoke of.

Alas, nay. He died in France.

Either she was cursed or the Saituns were an ill-fated lot, she mused. Am I to be wed or not, Papa?

You are. The third heir is Robert. He is the one you will wed on the morrow. I believe you have met the fellow.

Her memory was something many admired her for. It was quick and very exact, even the smallest details clear and precise. She put it to good use now, but what was called forth left her feeling little joy. If she had not been gifted with such an acute memory, she knew Robert Saitun would not have lingered in her mind. He had been Williams shadow and had spent most of his time trying to avoid being kicked or cuffed by William or his own uncle, a rather unpleasant man who had exerted complete control over Robert.

Aye, I did. Is it notwell, disrespectful to William to wed another man so soon?

ErWilliam died a while back. He was far afield, so you could not be called to his side.

Or told, she mused. As was the second heir? This Thayer I have never met?

I told you, daughter, he died in France. I do not mean to be unkind, but mayhaps tis just as well. He was not the man for you, Gytha.

Removing the womans hand from where it rested in the mat of flame red curls adorning his broad chest, Thayer Saitun sat up. Morning is here, woman. Time for you to be on your way.

Taking his purse out from beneath his pillow, he extracted a few coins and tossed them at her. She caught them with ease. His smile was tainted with cynicism as he watched her weigh them in her hand before smiling at him. It had ever been so. He was weighted with honor, his name respectedeven fearedby men, but women needed to see the glint of his coin before they showed any interest.

Flopping onto his back and crossing his arms beneath his head, he idly watched her dress. He grew weary of nameless whores, but at least there was an honesty about them, and they could not afford to show any displeasure with his size, his plain looks, orhe grimaced as he glanced down at himselfhis redness. While his skin had none of the ruddy hue that often cursed redheads, he knew few people really noticed that. Flame-red hair and freckles too often hid the color of his skin. Even his large size worked against him, for it simply provided a greater area for the wretched flame color to display itself. The sound of the door opening pulled him from his self-denigration.

Do you mean to spend the day abed? drawled Roger, his right-hand man, as he let Thayers nights entertainment slip out of the room before shutting the door.

Nay. Thayer sprang to his feet, then moved to wash up. A revel awaits us.

Roger settled his slender frame on the rumpled bed. Your position as heir will soon end.

Aye. William will soon breed an heir. I have no doubt of that. He has proven his skill at that many times over.

You sound little concerned that you will remain a landless knight or become some lordlings castellean.

It troubles me little. Only a fool would think a man like William would never wed or sire an heir. Far better that the chore falls to him than to me. Tis a duty I would be hard set to fulfill.

You belittle your worth. I have never seen you lack for a wench to warm your bed.

They check the value of my coin first.

Thayer ignored Rogers cluck of disapproval over the bitterness he had been unable to fully hide. Roger did not see him as a woman did. He saw a valued fighting companion, a friend and someone who was like a brother to him. Roger found nothing wrong with the wealth of flame-red hair. In a mans eyes, the mat on his broad chest, the healthy tangle of curls around his loins, and the furring on his strong forearms and long, muscular legs were merely signs of manliness. Men also saw his large, robust frame as something to envy. Many a man would like to stand head and shoulders over other men. They did not understand that dwarfing many a pretty young lady inspired more fear than admiration.