his frail wife, murdering both, before I can determine who should actually hang.”
Cuthbert opened his mouth to protest further. Ralf snarled.
The sergeant reluctantly agreed.
As the crowner turned away, he realized that Cuthbert held the same opinion of this family as his neighbors did. Who better to blame for the death of an unpopular man than Jacob ben Asser?
Chapter Nine
Gytha slipped behind the pewterer’s stall and watched as Ralf left Cuthbert and went back inside the inn. If God were kind, the crowner would not have seen her.
“Are you ill, mistress?”
She shook her head and smiled at the youth, son of the master craftsman. He was a sweet lad with flaxen down on his cheeks. His brow, furrowed with concern, betrayed a kind heart as well as an ill-hidden attraction to the prioress’ maid. “It is the sun,” she replied. “I should have returned to the priory sooner.”
He glanced around him, hoping to see the apprentice return- ing from the errand he had run. “I could carry that heavy basket for you on the road back.”
“You are most considerate to suggest it, but your father needs you here for the customers.” Gytha kept her tone both gentle and firm. “I shall not trouble you further.”
He began to protest.
With a quick look toward the inn, she stepped away from the stall. “I am quite recovered,” she said, knowing it would not be kind to torment the lad just because she could not face meeting the crowner.
As Gytha walked away, she knew she did not imagine the deep sigh coming from behind the display of finely crafted plate and vessels. Her own heart ached as well but not for this merchant’s son.
When the crowner had asked if he might walk with her through the stalls on this market day, she had given a grave assent even though her heart urged a more passionate reply. When had she not loved the man?
As a child, she had run circles around him, giggling with joy when he visited her brother. Later, when she reached mar- riageable age, she began teasing him with a flirtatious edge. At first, she was embarrassed by the change in her feelings but soon understood that he enjoyed her jests, even when he blushed. She learned to take pleasure in their brief moments of bantering. Although many men had wanted her as wife, begging Tostig for permission, he had honored her refusals. Only Ralf the Crowner filled her with both comfort and excitement.
Yet he had never approached Tostig with a proposal even though she was quite convinced the failure was not from lack of interest. She knew of his past love for Sister Anne. The one marriage to a woman of rank and property was expected and she had accepted it. Despite her youth, Gytha had always owned a clear eye, but now matters were different. He was a widower with a daughter she adored.
His growing shyness, when she came to see his child, and the boyish color on his cheeks, when he asked to carry her basket on market day, proved he certainly liked her enough to bed. But he would never disgrace her or her brother by seeding a bastard in her so casually. For all his flaws, and she loved him in spite of many, Ralf owned an honorable heart.
So why had he not asked her to be his next wife? His rank might be above hers, but everyone in the village knew he had no love for a courtier’s life and had heard how he refused to marry another of Sir Fulke’s choosing. When he asked to accompany her this day, she did wonder if it was the time he might finally inquire if she were willing to share his life.
She felt tears sting her eyes. Then she had hoped for hap- piness. Now she felt only sorrow. How much had changed in such a short time.
“Mistress Gytha!”
Quickly rubbing the moisture from her cheeks, she turned to see the spice seller waving. His broad grin was a welcome distraction. Smiling in return, Gytha hurried to his stall.
“I have something special for Sister Matilda’s kitchen and mayhap for your
Cuthbert opened his mouth to protest further. Ralf snarled.
The sergeant reluctantly agreed.
As the crowner turned away, he realized that Cuthbert held the same opinion of this family as his neighbors did. Who better to blame for the death of an unpopular man than Jacob ben Asser?
Chapter Nine
Gytha slipped behind the pewterer’s stall and watched as Ralf left Cuthbert and went back inside the inn. If God were kind, the crowner would not have seen her.
“Are you ill, mistress?”
She shook her head and smiled at the youth, son of the master craftsman. He was a sweet lad with flaxen down on his cheeks. His brow, furrowed with concern, betrayed a kind heart as well as an ill-hidden attraction to the prioress’ maid. “It is the sun,” she replied. “I should have returned to the priory sooner.”
He glanced around him, hoping to see the apprentice return- ing from the errand he had run. “I could carry that heavy basket for you on the road back.”
“You are most considerate to suggest it, but your father needs you here for the customers.” Gytha kept her tone both gentle and firm. “I shall not trouble you further.”
He began to protest.
With a quick look toward the inn, she stepped away from the stall. “I am quite recovered,” she said, knowing it would not be kind to torment the lad just because she could not face meeting the crowner.
As Gytha walked away, she knew she did not imagine the deep sigh coming from behind the display of finely crafted plate and vessels. Her own heart ached as well but not for this merchant’s son.
When the crowner had asked if he might walk with her through the stalls on this market day, she had given a grave assent even though her heart urged a more passionate reply. When had she not loved the man?
As a child, she had run circles around him, giggling with joy when he visited her brother. Later, when she reached mar- riageable age, she began teasing him with a flirtatious edge. At first, she was embarrassed by the change in her feelings but soon understood that he enjoyed her jests, even when he blushed. She learned to take pleasure in their brief moments of bantering. Although many men had wanted her as wife, begging Tostig for permission, he had honored her refusals. Only Ralf the Crowner filled her with both comfort and excitement.
Yet he had never approached Tostig with a proposal even though she was quite convinced the failure was not from lack of interest. She knew of his past love for Sister Anne. The one marriage to a woman of rank and property was expected and she had accepted it. Despite her youth, Gytha had always owned a clear eye, but now matters were different. He was a widower with a daughter she adored.
His growing shyness, when she came to see his child, and the boyish color on his cheeks, when he asked to carry her basket on market day, proved he certainly liked her enough to bed. But he would never disgrace her or her brother by seeding a bastard in her so casually. For all his flaws, and she loved him in spite of many, Ralf owned an honorable heart.
So why had he not asked her to be his next wife? His rank might be above hers, but everyone in the village knew he had no love for a courtier’s life and had heard how he refused to marry another of Sir Fulke’s choosing. When he asked to accompany her this day, she did wonder if it was the time he might finally inquire if she were willing to share his life.
She felt tears sting her eyes. Then she had hoped for hap- piness. Now she felt only sorrow. How much had changed in such a short time.
“Mistress Gytha!”
Quickly rubbing the moisture from her cheeks, she turned to see the spice seller waving. His broad grin was a welcome distraction. Smiling in return, Gytha hurried to his stall.
“I have something special for Sister Matilda’s kitchen and mayhap for your
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