A Moment in Time

Chapter 1

Wynne of Gwernach stared down at her father's grave. A month had passed since Owain ap Llywelyn had met his death in a freak accident. The grass was already beginning to grow and thicken upon the burial mound which would soon look like her mother's grave. As if it had been there for a hundred centuries. As if there was nothing beneath the mound at all but the earth itself. She felt a tear begin to slide down her cheek and impatiently brushed it away. She had not cried at her father's demise. Tears were for weaklings, and she could not be weak like other women. Other women did not have the responsibility of a large, productive estate that must be kept safe for its boy heir. Other women did not have the liability for the safety of that little brother or three sisters.

"Father," Wynne said aloud. " 'Tis a hard task you have left me," and then she sighed deeply.

Owain ap Llywelyn had been a tall, handsome man in the prime of his life. Although he held one of the richest estates in all of Morgannwg, there was none who begrudged him it, even the king, Gruffydd ap Llywelyn, his distant cousin. In warlike Wales he was regarded as a man of peace, although Owain ap Llywelyn had been known to pick up his sword when the occasion merited it. Still, he preferred his lands and his cattle; his wife and his family, above all else; and he would do nought to jeopardize those things.

For his entire life Owain ap Llywelyn had been considered fortunate in all things. At the age of twenty-two he had taken to wife a girl considered the greatest beauty in all of Wales; Margiad, called the Pearl. She had given him four daughters and a son before dying in childbirth; but even so, Owain ap Llywelyn was still thought to be a lucky man. His children were all healthy, and he could certainly marry again. He was considered a prime catch; but Owain did not remarry. He had loved his wife greatly, and mourned her loss deeply. Those who knew Owain ap Llywelyn best noticed that he did not laugh quite as easily, or as frequently after Margiad's death. He named the daughter she had died birthing Mair, which meant sorrow in the ancient Cymri language. He loved the baby no less than he had loved her siblings, for he was not a cruel man, but he was never again the same man; the man that he had been before Margiad the Pearl 's death. Now he drove himself relentlessly, as if seeking to escape the reality of his widowhood.

Never an overly prideful man, he thought nothing of picking up a scythe and working in the fields with his serfs and his slaves. Indeed, on the day that Owain ap Llywelyn had died, he had suddenly decided to help in the rethatching of his barn. The spring rains would be upon them, and the winter had taken its toll of that vital structure's roof. A load of thatch upon his broad shoulder, he had lost his footing and fallen from the roof into a pile of hay below. A pitchfork, left carelessly in the hay, had pierced Owain ap Llywelyn's heart, killing him instantly.

The heir to Gwernach was ten years old and, although technically the estate was his, he was much too young to manage it. That task had fallen to his eldest sister, Wynne, who was fifteen, there being no male kin available. Fortunately the orphans of Gwernach had their paternal grandmother, Enid, to look after the management of the household, leaving Wynne free to oversee her little brother's large inheritance. There were other things that needed settling, though, and Wynne feared she was not capable of doing these things.

As the lord of Gwernach, her little brother was a valuable marital catch; but Wynne was not certain it was wise to betroth Dewi ap Owain to a wife until he was considerably older. It was not unusual for boys of ten to be married; but the truth of the matter was that should Dewi not survive his childhood, a child wife's family could place a claim on the rich lands of Gwernach in the widow's name. Then what would happen to the rest of them? Standing by her father's grave, Wynne frowned, for she knew the answer to her question. She, her sisters, and their grandmother would find themselves displaced and penniless. It was all so complicated. Husbands had to be found for Caitlin, Dilys, and Mair. How was she to go about that? She didn't even have a husband herself.

Caw! Caw!

Wynne turned at the sound of the harsh voice and the noisy flapping of the wings that accompanied it. A great black raven stood eyeing her from a nearby tree. He cocked his head almost as if to ask what the problem was that kept her here on this bleak hilltop in a rough wind that smelt most distinctly of rain. A small smile touched Wynne's lips. The raven was an old friend. He seemed ageless, having been about her whole life. Her father had always teased her that the bird must certainly be the oldest living raven, for ravens, he said, were not particularly long-lived; but Wynne knew that this bird now looking at her was the same bird she had always known.

"Hello, Dhu!" she called, feeling strangely comforted by his presence. "I've no bread on me to share with you today. Sorry."

The bird looked aggrieved at her words and made a small crackling sound in the back of his throat.

"Ohh," Wynne said gently, "I've hurt your feelings, haven't I? You didn't come for bread at all, but to comfort me, old Dhu. Well, my problems are surely bigger than yours today." Then she laughed softly. "And wouldn't the world think me mad or a witch to be talking to a raven? And yet we're old friends, aren't we?"

The raven appeared to bob his head.

Wynne chuckled, amused. "Well, I'd best be off, old Dhu. I'll not solve my difficulties standing here chattering to you. Take care of yourself and don't steal too much seed when we plant next week." Then she was off down the hill from the grave site, while behind her the raven continued to watch her, perched comfortably on his tree; but then as the first drop of rain began, the bird flew off, grumbling, to seek shelter.

Wynne pulled her woolen shawl up over her head as she hurried down the hill. Spring rains could be treacherously deceptive, and she didn't need a chill. At least the house would be warm. It was strange, but despite its proximity to the river, it was always comfortable. As a child she had wondered about the ancestor who had built their house upon a promontory overlooking the river. As she grew in wisdom she understood that by doing so the house was only vulnerable on one side; and that side was surrounded by a thick stone wall allowing entry only through heavy ironbound oak gates which were closed and barred at sunset and in times of danger.

Within those walls were the estate's main dwelling; main barn; blacksmith's forge; cook house; stables, kennels, dovecote; well; and kitchen gardens. The house, which was constructed of both stone and timber, had a thatched roof with several smoke holes for the fire pits which indicated that it was a wealthy man's home. Inside, the main floor consisted of a hall that extended almost the entire length of the building and soared two stories high. Above the portion of the hall that was single-storied was a second floor consisting of a solar and a single small chamber which had been Owain ap Llywelyn's private sleeping place for himself and his wife. This, in itself, was unique, for generally the lord and his family slept in the same room, curtains drawn about each bed being the only privacy available.

Wynne dashed through the gates of her home as the skies opened in earnest, gaining the house with a gusty sigh of relief. She shook the droplets from the heavy fabric of her shawl, rendering it almost fully dry, and wrapping it about herself, moved into the hall. The two fire pits were both blazing merrily, and as usual, the place was snug and dry. Her green eyes skimmed over the room, taking in her grandmother, Enid, as she instructed the servants bringing in the evening meal; to her brother, Dewi, who was happily rolling about in the rushes with the latest litter of puppies and their baby sister, Mair; to her next two sisters, Caitlin and Dilys, who sat idly gossiping as usual. Seeing her entry, Dilys jumped up and ran to her elder sister.

"Where were you?" she whined. "We were afraid! We've had word Irish slavers are raiding our coast again. What if you had been taken? What would happen to us?" Her pretty mouth had a petulant cast to it.

Caitlin joined them and said in superior tones, "She was at the grave again, weren't you, Wynne? Why you go there is beyond me. There is nothing there. Father is long gone; but Dilys is right. The Irish are raiding. It would behoove you to be more prudent in your wanderings."

"Thank you for your concern, dear sister," Wynne said dryly, "and how do you know about the Irish? There's nought to fear from them. We are too far from the coast for the Irish to bother with us."

"A messenger came!" Dilys burst out. "While you were gone!"

"Was I gone so far that you could not have sent for me?" Wynne answered sharply. "I was, after all, in sight of the house. I saw no rider."

"You saw no rider because you were probably daydreaming again," Caitlin replied. "The rider came, and he departed as quickly, for he was ordered by his master to return immediately. Rhys of St. Bride's needs every man he has until the danger is over, I would think."

"Rhys of St. Bride's sent to us to tell of Irish slavers?" Wynne was puzzled. " 'Twas kind of him, but quite unnecessary, I believe."

"No! No!" Dilys giggled inanely, dancing about her eldest sister, her golden-brown braids swinging madly.

"Be silent, you silly wretch!" Caitlin ordered her sibling. "I will tell Wynne the message." She turned to her elder. "Rhys of St. Bride's would come to visit us. He would speak to you on a matter of some importance," Caitlin said loftily, "which can only mean he wants to marry you! I told the messenger to tell his master that you would be pleased and honored to receive him at his convenience. If you wed Rhys of St. Bride's, then we will be able to find rich husbands too! What an opportunity for us all! Are you not pleased, Wynne?"

Wynne, however, looked at first astounded by her sister's news and then disturbed. "No," she finally said, choosing her words carefully. "No, I am not pleased at all by the prospect of being courted by Rhys of St. Bride's. I shall have to refuse him should he ask, and refusing him while keeping his friendship will not be an easy thing, Caitlin."

"Refuse him? Why would you refuse him?" Caitlin shrieked. "You will ruin us all, you selfish creature, before you are through!"

Wynne sighed. "Caitlin, think a moment. Why would a powerful warlord with a great castle want me to wife? Oh, my dowry is good, but our name is not great. Rhys of St. Bride's can have both in a wife, so why would he want me?"

"Who cares why he wants you?" Caitlin said petulantly. "Don't you understand anything, Wynne? With Rhys for a brother-in-law, and our comfortable dowries, we shall have our pick of good husbands. Besides, we are related to the king."

"Our connection to Gruffydd ap Llywelyn is so slender as to be almost invisible," Wynne said matter-of-factly. "If Rhys of St. Bride's is to come courting me, it is because of our brother."

"What has Dewi got to do with it?" Dilys asked, her pretty forehead wrinkling with her puzzlement.

"Our brother is young. Should anything happen to him before he is grown, wed, and a father, Gwernach would be mine. We are fortunate we have no close male relations else they threaten Dewi for his inheritance. You can be certain that that is what is in the back of Rhys of St. Bride's mind as he comes courting me. Dewi's possible demise. I should not put it past him to hurry our brother into the next life that he might gain Gwernach through me. The line of descent in the matter of Gwernach is quite clear. It is first through the male line to the third degree, and then through the female line beginning with the eldest daughter. Rhys of St. Bride's has never even seen me. I might be bald and snaggle-toothed, but he would have me to have Gwernach."

"You're mad!" Caitlin said, but she could not look at her sister as she spoke.

"Nay," their grandmother said, joining them and entering into the conversation. "She's probably right, and yet I do not feel we should judge Rhys of St. Bride's harshly until we have heard him out. Perhaps his offer will be a genuine one. Wynne is a practical girl. She clearly sees her main attraction for a powerful lord is the fact that, though Dewi is Gwernach's lord, she is Gwernach's heiress until Dewi has fathered a son of his own. Still, my girl," Enid said, putting a comforting arm about her eldest grandchild, "Caitlin did the correct thing when she told the messenger that you will receive the lord of St. Bride's."

"Let us hope the Irish keep him busy for several months," Wynne muttered. "The last thing I need about Gwernach right now is a suitor. The corn and the hay must be planted if I am to feed the cattle next winter. It is hard enough, as you well know, to wrest grain from this soil."

"Four more cows calved today," Dewi said coming up to his sisters. "Old Blodwen had twins again, and one of them is a wee bull, Wynne."

She smiled down at him, pulling the straw from his. black hair and ruffling it affectionately. "A wee bull," she repeated. "Well, if he's half the stud his sire is, he'll prove valuable to us."

Dewi grinned, pleased, but Caitlin glowered darkly.

"Cows and bulls!" she said irritably. "Is that all you can think about, Wynne?"

"One of us must think about such things if this estate is to survive- if your dowry is to survive-until I can marry you and Dilys off," Wynne told her.

"My dowry is my dowry," Caitlin said firmly.

"Your dowry," her sister replied, "is part of this estate, and Gwernach comes first."

"And there's another reason that you should marry Rhys of St. Bride's if he asks you," Caitlin insisted stubbornly. "No woman is competent to manage an estate. I don't even understand why you won't do it. Better you wed and let Rhys handle Gwernach before you lose everything for us!"

"Wynne doesn't have to marry anyone she doesn't want to, you selfish cow!" Dewi told his older sister, his blue eyes flashing at Caitlin in his defense of Wynne. "I am lord of Gwernach, and I have spoken!"

"Lord of Gwernach! Lord of Gwernach!" mocked Dilys, for she and Caitlin were close. "You're nought but a little runt!"

"I'm as big as you are," Dewi replied spiritedly, reaching out to yank at one of Dilys's long braids and grinning with satisfaction at her shriek of pain.

Caitlin smacked at her brother in an effort to defend Dilys, but he eluded her hard hand and aimed a well-placed kick at her shin. Caitlin howled with outrage as his foot successfully met its mark.

"Missed me! Missed me!" he laughed at her, capering about Caitlin who was bending to rub her sore leg.

Wynne grasped her little brother by the scruff of his neck and held him fast. "Apologize to your sisters," she said sternly to the wiggling boy.

"I'm sorry," Dewi said in sugary, repentant tones, but his eyes were dancing devilishly. If Wynne could not see his look, Caitlin and Dilys could.

Caitlin's cold blue eyes warned her little brother that he would fare badly should she catch him alone in the near future. Caitlin respected but two things: gold and power. As far as she was concerned, Dewi had neither of these at this point and, consequently, was vulnerable to her vengeance. Dewi, however, could count on Dilys's forgetful nature. Though selfish and self-absorbed, Dilys rarely held a grudge, unlike Caitlin.

Outside the wind was beginning to pick up and the rain was beating strongly against the shuttered windows. A gust blew down the chimney hole, sending a shower of sparks into the air, but they fell harmlessly back into the round stone fire pit.

"Come," Enid said firmly, "the evening meal is getting cold while we stand here arguing a matter about which we have not all the facts. Perhaps Rhys of St. Bride's but wishes to purchase cattle from us."

"It is well known that we do not sell our cattle," Caitlin said impatiently.

At the table, Father Drew sat patiently awaiting the family. He was a gentle little man with twinkling brown eyes who was their only near male relation, but as a man of the cloth, he was exempted from inheriting Gwernach. He had lived there his entire life but for the years he spent in an English monastery, returning several months after Wynne was born, when Gwernach's former priest, another cousin, had died. His stomach rumbled hungrily, but he held his peace until his relations had seated themselves. Then he quickly mumbled a blessing upon the bounty they were about to receive, reaching for his cup even as the "Amen" died upon the others' lips.

Enid restrained a chuckle, nodding to the servants to serve the meal. No one, she knew, appreciated his food like Drew, and yet he was but a wisp of a man. A stew of mutton, onions, carrots, and cabbage was ladled onto the individual trenchers of bread. It was a tasty dish, well-flavored with sea salt and peppercorns, for Enid, in charge of the kitchens, had a sophisticated palate and disliked bland food. The sea salt was easily obtainable, but the peppercorns were a luxury imported from some far place, she knew not where. There was cheese and bread baked this morning upon the table as well as a pitcher of ale, the sides of the vessel frosted.

The room was quiet as they ate, Wynne silently admonishing Dewi with a severe waggle of her eyebrows to use his spoon and not his fingers. Though there was more than enough to eat for everyone in the household, it was a simple meal, for they were but country folk. When they had at last finished and the servants had cleared away the last remnants of their supper, a bowl of wizened apples was brought. In cold storage all winter long, these last of the past year's harvest had seen better days.

"Take them away," Enid commanded, "and stew them for our breakfast."

"Do not forget to sweeten them," Caitlin called after the departing servant.

"If she ate all the honey in the world it wouldn't help her disposition," Dewi muttered beneath his breath.

Wynne shot her brother a warning look, but she was unable to restrain her mouth from turning up slightly at the corners, and he grinned mischievously back at her.

"What did he say?" Caitlin demanded.

"Nothing that concerns you," Wynne said with finality, firmly blocking the avenue to additional discord.

"I wonder when Rhys of St. Bride's will come courting Wynne," Dilys said.

"Must we speak of the lord of St. Bride's?" Wynne replied irritably.

"What is the matter with you?" Caitlin snapped at her eldest sister. "You act as if the devil himself is coming to woo you. Rhys of St. Bride's is said to be a fine figure of a man, not much past thirty. He's still young and vigorous. He's only had one wife, and there are no children from that marriage. It would be your son who would inherit St. Bride's! A rich and powerful man is coming to pay you suit, Wynne! By the blessed Christ, I wish it were me he were coming to see!"

"So do I," Wynne said quietly. "I have no wish for a husband at this time."

"Then you're a fool!" Caitlin raged at her. "You're fifteen, sister, and not getting any younger!"

"If you feel that strongly," Wynne replied, "I shall suggest a match between you and Rhys of St. Bride's, if it is indeed a wife that he comes seeking here."

"He won't have me," Caitlin said matter-of-factly and sounding extremely irritated by her own honest assessment of the situation.

"Nay, he will not," her sister answered, "and we both know why, don't we, Caitlin? It is for that reason that I will not wed any man until Dewi is grown and a father himself."

"But what about us?" Caitlin wailed. "Are we to be condemned to be old maids because you choose that path for yourself? That is selfish!"

"Enough!" Enid interjected sternly. "For shame, Caitlin! When have you ever known Wynne to be selfish? You are the selfish one in this family, and selfish enough for all of us, I might add. Between us, Wynne and myself, and our fine young lord of Gwernach, you and Dilys shall have good husbands."

"I do not want a good husband," Caitlin told her grandmother stubbornly. "I want a rich and powerful one!"

Wynne burst out laughing. "By the blessed rood, Caitlin, you are blunt."

"Good men are usually dull," Caitlin noted.

"But if he were a rich, good man," Wynne teased her, "would it make him more palatable for you?"

"She'd probably drive him to an early grave," Dewi noted sagely.

"Ahhh," Wynne chuckled, "then she would be a rich widow and could do just what she pleased. Would that not make you happy, Caitlin?"

"Only if I might take a lover," Caitlin said.

"What?!" Enid looked shocked. "What talk is this, granddaughter? What mischief have you been up to, my girl?"

"Oh, Grandmother, do not fret," Caitlin replied in bored tones. "I shall not throw my virginity away for a mere moment's passion when I can sell it to the highest bidder. Nonetheless, I am certain I shall very much appreciate the carnal relationship enjoyed by a husband and a wife. So much so that if I am widowed I shall not want to do without it. I am not like Wynne. All cool and distant. I am a creature of fire!"

"You are a bold baggage," Enid said, and she slapped Caitlin sharply on her cheek, but the girl just laughed mockingly at her grandmother as she rubbed the sting from her pretty, petulant face.

Dilys giggled foolishly at the exchange and was also slapped for her trouble. Her great blue eyes filled with tears that spilled down her pink cheeks.

"Go to your beds," Enid said wearily to the two girls. "You also, my precious boy," she told Dewi.

Without another word Caitlin arose and stalked proudly from the hall, Dilys hurrying in her wake. Dewi, however, arose from his place and kissed his eldest sister and his grandmother lovingly before taking his departure.

"She will come to a bad end," Enid predicted darkly of Caitlin.

"Nay, Grandmother," Wynne said gently. "It is just that she has suddenly discovered she has a woman's feelings within her. She wants to be her own mistress in her own home."

"But you do not," Enid said. "Why is that, my child?"

Wynne shook her head. "I dare not marry lest I endanger my brother," she said.

"You may fool the others with that tale," Enid said, "but you do not fool me. What is it? What is it that keeps you from seeking a husband, Wynne? I will not deny you that Rhys of St. Bride's motives in courting you are perhaps not as honest as we would have them; but there are others who would wed you for yourself and not Gwernach. Before my son died in that foolish accident, there were two who sought your hand in marriage, yet you would not have them. Why?"

Wynne sighed deeply, her long fingers worrying at the fabric of her tunic dress. "Am I a fool, Grandmother, to believe in true love in a world that makes marriage contracts based on rank, and wealth and expediency?" she said softly. "I cannot, it seems, be comfortable with the idea of giving myself to a man I do not love or respect; and yet that is not how things are done in our world, is it? Caitlin chides me with good reason, but I cannot change how I feel, and I do not believe I should have to, for marriage is a sacrament between God and man. It should be taken seriously, but how can I take it seriously if I marry simply to marry, and I am unhappy in my decision?"

Enid nodded understandingly. "I have had two husbands. The first one my father chose. Your grandfather was a wonderful man and I loved him. When he died I thought my world had ended. I remarried that your own father and mother not be burdened by me. That marriage was a mistake, and had Howel ap Merredydd not died of natural causes, I think I would have hastened his departure from this earth. He was a cruel man. You will get no argument from me, my child. If you would wed but for love alone, then follow your heart, say I!"

Wynne slipped from her chair to hug her grandmother, and the old woman stroked her hair lovingly. "You always understand me, Grandmother. You always have. Better than anyone else. Why is that?"

Enid chuckled. "You are like me, child. I see myself in you each day in so many ways." A small bubble of laughter escaped her. "You but see me as a white-haired old lady, but once I was young as you are young; and filled with the same fiery juices that you are filled with, though you are not yet aware of such things."

"Caitlin is, though she be younger than me," Wynne noted.

Enid made an impatient little noise. "Hummmph," she said. "Caitlin was born all-knowing. There are some women like that though they be few in number. They seem to understand certain things without even being told. Do not change! You, my child, are a true innocent and pure of heart."

Her grandmother's wise words pleased Wynne, although she did not really understand why. Still, they comforted her in the following weeks when the unceasing rains made it almost impossible to plant the grain; and then washed the first planting away entirely, making it necessary to replant.

"You see," Caitlin carped. "We need a man to run Gwernach."

"Do you think a man could force the rains to stop?" Wynne mocked her sister. "Do not be a fool! If you would be helpful, Caitlin, I suggest that you pray that the good weather holds until the grain has grown enough to withstand a heavy downpour."

Caitlin sent her sister a scathing look. "Better I pray that Rhys of St. Bride's makes his appearance soon," she retorted.

"Perhaps we should pray he doesn't find a more suitable bride," Dilys said fatuously.

"Or that he breaks his bloody neck before he can come to bother our sister," Dewi said wickedly, and Wynne burst out laughing.

"You stupid little toad," Caitlin said angrily, "can you not understand the value to us if Rhys of St. Bride's weds our eldest sister?"

"I understand the value to you," Dewi replied, "but if Rhys gains Wynne, there is no certainty that he will help you or Dilys. There is no need for our sister to marry if she does not choose to marry. I will not force her to it, and I will not allow you to do so, Caitlin."

"What if she falls in love with him?" Caitlin demanded.

"Then she will have my blessing," the boy answered. "I would have my sisters happy in their marriages."

"I shall be happy with a rich and powerful husband only," Caitlin told them.

"So you have said, my sister, on numerous occasions," Dewi returned. "I should not say it too loud, however, Caitlin, for a man would be desired, I think, for more than his name, his rank, or his wealth."

"Even as a woman would," Wynne replied.

"What a pair of fools you both are," Caitlin said. "A man seeks many things from a woman. More gold to fill his coffers. More power for his family. Sons. He cares not if a woman loves him if he has these things. We have little gold and no power to speak of, but we have beauty, which has a certain value, and our mother was a good breeder, which also has value. Couple this with a sister wed to a powerful coastal lord…" Her blue eyes glittered with pleasure at the thoughts she no longer voiced.

Dewi shook his head. Though he was young, he understood Caitlin far better than she would have imagined, or even liked; and he knew as he had always known that he did not like her. He pitied the man that she would eventually entrap and marry. Caitlin had a heart of stone, if indeed she had any heart at all. There was nothing in her for anyone but herself. She was cold. "A man would be loved, Caitlin," he told her, knowing even as he said it that Caitlin was incapable of loving anyone, perhaps even herself.

"I repeat, little brother, you are a fool!" came the harsh retort. "Men care not if women love them. Power! Gold! Those are their only goals. You will see that I am right one day when you grow up and stop believing in the fairy tales our grandmother and eldest sister so love telling."

"I will marry for love alone, Caitlin," the boy told her quietly. "What good is a fat dowry in a house that is riven with discord between its master and its mistress? What kind of children do such poor souls breed? Gold can never ease a sore heart."

Before Caitlin might argue with her brother further, Wynne held up her hand. "There can be no agreement between you on this subject," she said, "and so I would bid you both to cease your childish bickering. When Rhys of St. Bride's finally arrives, we will listen to him with courtesy, whatever he may have to say."

The siblings nodded their agreement of Wynne's words, though each thought separate thoughts from hers. Caitlin believed that when Rhys of St. Bride's offered their sister a proposal of marriage, she would prevail upon Wynne to accept him, thus ensuring golden futures for herself and Dilys. She smiled a most smug smile at them all.

Dewi's eyes narrowed almost imperceptibly as he regarded her distastefully. Caitlin reminded him of a nasty cat eyeing a helpless mouse. She would not have her way if he had anything to say about it, and he would. His rights as the master of Gwernach would be upheld. He might be young, but Dewi knew if he did not begin to exert his influence now, he would have a hard time making those around him take him seriously later on in life. He would not exhibit any weakness, if only for Wynne's future happiness.

"For your sake, sweet sister," Dewi told Wynne, and touched her cheek lovingly with his small hand.

Caitlin glowered. She did not miss the significance of either his gesture or his words, but she held her peace. In the end it would be her words that prevailed in the matter and not some unfledged boy's.

The weather improved, and within a short period of time the fields were green with new growth. Wynne, with Dewi at her side, rode out daily to inspect the estate. They were a familiar sight to the serfs and slaves belonging to Gwernach, the young master upon his fat dappled grey pony; his sister upon her gentle black mare. Though it frightened them to have a boy for a master, the people of Gwernach trusted the lady Wynne to make certain that all would be well. In the years before the old master had died so suddenly, the lady Wynne would accompany him upon his daily rounds. Even as a child they had known that there was something special about her, and indeed, as she grew, their collective instinct had been proven correct. Wynne of Gwernach was a healer, but it was not just her knowledge of medicines, herbs, potions, and poultices that made her so special. It was her healer's touch, a rare ability granted to few. So they trusted the young master's sister to keep them safe.

It was a good spring. The cattle grew fat in meadows grown to lushness from the early rains. They lost no calves either in the birthing, or to illness, or to predators. The demand for their cheese was greater than ever before, not simply for its quality, but due to the fact they could only produce a certain amount which in turn drove up the price, filling Gwernach's coffers with new gold. As she rode over the estate early one afternoon with her brother, Wynne thought their life perfect.

"Caitlin no longer complains that we need a man to run the estate," Dewi noted. "Allowing her her fill of cloth and small treasures from that passing peddler seems to have soothed her fretfulness." He chuckled.

"Caitlin is merely distracted by her new acquisitions," Wynne told him wisely. "She considers everything she was permitted to purchase her rightful due."

Dewi laughed aloud, and then he grew serious. "We have heard no more from Rhys of St. Bride's, my sister, but having said he will come, I have no doubt that he will. What shall you do if, indeed, he does bring you an offer of marriage?"

"I shall refuse him, Dewi. I have told you that I will not leave Gwernach until you are grown and wed. Our parents would, God assoil their good souls, want it that way. As soon as it is possible, we will arrange marriages for Caitlin and Dilys, although Dilys alone is a harmless and simple soul. Caitlin, however, needs a husband. Her spirit is a restless one, and she sows discord in our house because of it. It will not be so when she has her own hall to rule."

"She would not like it that you know her so well, sister," Dewi said.

"Then we shall not tell her, little brother," Wynne replied with a smile, "but your instinct is as sharp as mine, is it not?"

"I think you may be too wise a woman, sister," the boy said mischievously, but then his eye was distracted and he cried, reaching for his slingshot, "Look! It is that black beggar who steals the seed!" Delving into his pouch for a stone, he fitted it quickly into the sling and launched it even as Wynne cried out.

"No, Dewi! 'Tis my raven! Do not shoot him!"

His aim, usually true, was not this time, or perhaps the raven was simply quicker. With an indignant squawk it flew direcdy above them, scolding angrily.

Wynne laughed. "One does not need to speak the raven's tongue to know that he is cursing you quite heartily, little brother," she teased the boy.

"Mistress! Mistress!" The voice called across the hillside and they were quickly joined by Einion, a house slave. He was a large man, so tall that his legs practically touched the ground as he rode his horse. Broad of shoulder, with sinewy arms and legs, a leonine head of fiery red hair that fell to his shoulders, he was an impressive and fearful sight. Off his horse, however, Einion limped badly, and it was that injury that had resulted in his enslavement. He had been captured after a battle with the Irish and sold by them into slavery. He was, he had told Owain ap Llywelyn, a Norseman from the far north country of Norway. Though his gait was ungainly and awkward due to his injury, Einion had incredible strength in his upper body. Owain ap Llywelyn had liked the man immediately and trusted him instinctively. Removing the slave collar from Einion, though he did not release him from bondage to the family, Owain had assigned him to protect his children, who, at the time of Einion's arrival into the household, had consisted of an infant girl called Wynne.

"The lady Caitlin sent me for you," Einion said. "The lord of St. Bride's is near and requests your permission to stop at Gwernach."

"Permission our sister undoubtedly sent," Dewi said irritably.

Einion grinned. "Yes, master," he said, and then he added, "she would not have even given the poor messenger so much as a drink of water, in such a hurry was she, but that your grandmother spoke up.

"What a pity we cannot match Caitlin with Rhys of St. Bride's," muttered the boy. " 'Twould serve him right!"

"Dewi!" Wynne laughed. "You will not shame us with bad manners, my young lord of Gwernach. Rhys of St. Bride's must be welcomed and treated with courtesy, no matter that I will refuse of his suit."

"What if you love him?" the boy said.

"I would still not accept an offer of marriage that would endanger you," Wynne told her brother quietly. "Not for the love of a man, Dewi. For love, sworn to most passionately, can turn and change until it disappears entirely. Nay, dear one, I shall never base any important decision I make in life upon love."

The boy nodded, content. All he understood of Wynne's words was that she would not leave him or place his existence in jeopardy; but Einion's brown eyes were troubled. The lady Wynne was much too young to have so acute a knowledge of life, particularly as she lacked the awareness of men and women. It was not the first time she had spoken thusly, and each time she did, he peered at her curiously, seeing someone else. Yet it was she and no other who always stood before him. He shook his great head, puzzled, and kicked his horse to follow along after them.

They arrived back at Gwernach to find Rhys of St. Bride's there just ahead of them, his troop of men and horses milling about in the courtyard as the stable serfs struggled to gain control of the situation. Their relief was almost palpable as Wynne arrived; the chief amongst them ran to take her horse's bridle.

"See to our guests," Wynne gently instructed him. "I am capable of managing my own mount."

As the serf backed off, his place was taken by a man of medium height, richly dressed. "I shall not have to kill those who have told me that Wynne of Gwernach is a beautiful girl," he said, "but perhaps I should, for they did not praise your beauty enough, lady."

"And I had not heard it said that Rhys of St. Bride's was a flatterer, my lord," Wynne answered, looking down upon him.

The face that looked up at her was pure Celt. The head was large and oval. The face from forehead to cheekbones, broad, narrowing slightly as it moved downward to the well-barbered, dark, short beard and moustache that encircled a sensuous mouth. The nose was straight and the eyes now engaging hers light grey. The physique was battlehard as evidenced in the thick, bull-like neck. His close-cropped hair was a rich, deep brown.

Wynne did not lower her gaze from his. To do so would have given evidence of weakness on her part. Wynne did not think it wise to allow Rhys of St. Bride's to believe she could be manipulated or bullied.

"Let me help you from your horse, lady," he said, and without waiting for an answer, lifted her down, his strong fingers firmly grasping her about the waist, loosening slightly as her feet made contact with the ground.

Wynne stepped away, brushing the dust from her clothing, casually shaking an imaginary wrinkle from her yellow tunic dress. "Thank you, my lord," she said. "Will you come into the hall for refreshment?" Turning, she moved away from him.

For a moment Rhys was nonplused. He had been told that Wynne of Gwernach was an untried and innocent maid. Yet this girl seemed quite strong and confident. Though his experience with young girls was not great, he did not somehow feel her behavior was correct. Still, he had no choice but to follow after her, which he did.

Wynne's heart was beating perhaps a bit more rapidly than normal. So this was Rhys of St. Bride's, she thought, attempting to marshal her thoughts logically. He didn't look like an easy man, but neither did he look cruel. Rather, he appeared to have a look to him that reminded her of the tenacity of a hunting dog. If he wanted Gwernach, she was going to have a battle keeping it from him, but keep it from him she would. Gwernach belonged to Dewi ap Owain, and Wynne intended that her brother grow to manhood, marry, and pass Gwernach on to his descendants.

They entered the hall and Caitlin and Dilys came forward, simpering their welcome to the lord of St. Bride's as Wynne introduced him. Each girl was wearing her second-best tunic dress. Caitlin's was rose-colored with silver and black thread embroidery which complemented her fair skin. Dilys's was a pale blue with darker blue and pink thread embroidery. They giggled and lowered their eyes modestly as Rhys's frank gaze swept over them.

"Your sisters are fair," he said bluntly.

"They are young yet, my lord," Wynne replied, signaling a house slave to bring wine.

"We are both certainly old enough to marry!" Caitlin said boldly.

"Sister!" Wynne spoke sharply. "What will my lord of St. Bride's think of such impudence? Please to be seated, my lord. It is an honor to have you stop at Gwernach."

"I did not just stop, lady, and well you know it. Did I not send to you weeks ago a message saying that I would come? Your sister speaks a truth. She is old enough to wed, as are you, and hence, the purpose of my visit."

Wynne turned to Caitlin and Dilys. "Leave the hall," she told them, "and send our grandmother to me." She turned her back to Rhys of St. Bride's. "I beg you bridle your tongue, my lord, until my sisters are gone and the lady Enid come to us."

He nodded, well pleased. She had manners, and more important, she was discreet. Beauty, manners, discretion. A man could do worse, and it soothed his uneasiness over her forward manner.

Caitlin and Dilys left the hall. Disappointment was written all over their faces, even as Wynne smiled briefly and said, "They would gossip, my lord, and our business must, I think, remain private."

"Not for long," he told her confidently.

Wynne held her peace for the moment and set about being the good hostess; offering her guest more wine, freshly baked bread and some of their own Gwernach's Gold cheese, over which he smacked his lips appreciatively.

Enid came into the hall to join them. Her greying hair was braided into a coronet atop her head, which added to her height, giving her stature. Her under tunic was red; her outer tunic dress was a rich indigo blue embroidered with silver threads on the sleeves. A square of sheer fabric sewn with silver threads and anchored by a gold headband served as a headdress. She had garnets of an excellent quality in her ears, and an enameled cross worked with garnets and pearls hung from a heavy gold chain upon her breast.

"My granddaughter has seen well to your comfort, my lord of St. Bride's," Enid said by way of greeting. "I am the lady Enid of Gwernach and I bid you welcome to our home."

He had arisen from the high board at her approach, and now he kissed her hand before seating her. "The lady Wynne seems to know well the duties of a good chatelaine." He sat next to her, between grandmother and granddaughter. "Her good reputation and the fame of her beauty have reached me at St. Bride's. Such attributes in a woman please a man in search of a wife."

Wynne colored, saying nothing, but Enid said calmly, "You are in need of a wife, my lord?"

"I am," he said bluntly. "I'm widowed several years now, and it is time I took myself another bride. A man of my stature needs legitimate sons to follow him."

"You have illegitimate sons?" Wynne said quietly.

He was startled by her bluntness, assuming a young girl of good family would not know of such things. "Aye," he said slowly. "I have several sons. The eldest is seventeen. They cannot inherit, however, as you must surely know."

"Your honesty is commendable, my lord," Enid said, and she lifted her cup to her lips to hide her smile. How typical of Wynne to disconcert this great coastal battle lord. The girl's appearance was so deceptive. Her smooth-skinned, pale, serene face gave an appearance of meekness. Until she opened her mouth to speak, Enid thought wryly, placing her cup back upon the high board. "Why have you come to Gwernach, my lord?" she asked him. Best to get back to the business at hand.

Rhys of St. Bride's cleared his throat noisily, and then taking a deep breath, said in a resonant voice that rumbled up from his chest, "Lady, I wish to have your granddaughter for my wife."

"You refer, of course, to Wynne," Enid replied calmly. "Not Caitlin or Dilys."

"It is the eldest one I seek," was the reply.

"We are honored, of course," Enid began, only to be interrupted by the proposed bride.

"I thank you, my lord of St. Bride's, for the great honor you do me, but I cannot be your wife," Wynne said plainly.

"Cannot? Whyever for, lady? Are you already promised? Or perhaps it is the church for which you have a calling?" Rhys demanded.

"Nay, my lord, I have no wish to cloister myself, but I do have a duty to my family. To my brother, Dewi ap Owain, who is Gwernach's lord, though he be too young; and to my parents, may God assoil their good souls, who would expect me to stand by Dewi until he is grown and capable of managing on his own. I cannot leave Gwernach until my duty to my family is done, which will be many years hence. So, my lord, I thank you again for your most kind offer, but I think it best you seek a wife elsewhere," Wynne concluded politely.

"It is not another I want, lady. It is you," Rhys said gruffly.

"My lord! You do not know me. My family is slight compared to yours, and my dowry, though adequate, not at all what your great name could expect."

"You have nought to be ashamed of, lady," he told her. "Are you not the heiress to this estate? Gwernach is famed far and wide for its herbs and cheese. It is a goodly inheritance and one that is worthy of my wife."

"I shall never inherit Gwernach, my lord," Wynne said firmly.

"You cannot be certain, lady," he told her bluntly. "Your brother is young. It will be many years before he comes to manhood and sires sons of his own. Anything could happen before then."

"It will not as long as I am here at Gwernach to defend and protect him, and I will be, my lord. That I promise you," Wynne told Rhys of St. Bride's.

"And what of your younger sisters, lady? Will you keep them at Gwernach too? Do they not deserve to be wed?"

"All of my granddaughters will be wed to proper husbands in time, my lord," Enid said.

"If you will be my wife, Wynne of Gwernach," Rhys replied, "I will see your sisters married to men of wealth and stature. I have two cousins seeking wives. They are young and each has a fine estate. You cannot possibly find husbands of such stature for your sisters as I can. The weddings can be celebrated even before you wed me. An act of good faith on my part, if you will."

"I have a younger sister as well," Wynne said, wondering what his answer to that would be. "Her name is Mair and she is six."

"The child who killed your mother with her birthing? She should be settled in a convent after our marriage that she may spend the rest of her days atoning for her sin," he answered.

"Never!" Wynne gasped, furious. "That my mother died in giving life to Mair is unfortunate, but surely no sin of the child's. I shall never incarcerate her in a convent, unless, of course, she wished to go to one. If those be your plans for Mair, I shudder to imagine what plans you have for Dewi."

"The boy would be raised at St. Bride's," Rhys said. "I have several fosterlings in my charge. He could learn his battle skills with them. They are a fine, rough and tumble troop of lads."

"Dewi's place is here at Gwernach, learning how to manage his lands and care for his people; not at St. Bride's learning how to kill people!" Wynne told her suitor indignantly.

He looked at her and his eyes narrowed as if he were reconsidering her worth as an opponent. Then he said, "Lady, you are obviously overwrought by the magnitude of my offer. I could go to our king, Gryffydd ap Llywelyn, who is the head of your family, and request your hand in marriage and the fostership of your brother and his lands. What do you think his answer would be, lady? When I explained to him the seriousness of the situation, do you think he would leave Gwernach and its little lord in the hands of an unfledged girl?

"I should prefer, however, that you accept my offer of your own free will. I shall be a good husband to you, and I shall look after all of your interests with care, that you may feel free to concentrate on bearing me legitimate sons who will, in time, inherit my own holdings. What say you, lady?"

"I must have time to think," Wynne told him. "What you say has merit, my lord, but I must still rest easy in my mind that I am doing the right thing. I know you will understand my feelings, though I be but a mere girl."

Rhys of St. Bride's smiled, showing a row of short, even white teeth, "Tonight is the first night of the new moon," he told her. "When the moon is full again, I will come for your answer, lady mine."

"You will stay the night?" Wynne asked, hoping he would refuse her, but he did not.

Instead he nodded. "Aye, I will bide here tonight that we may get to know one another better."

"Grandmother," Wynne said, "I must see to the evening meal. Will you entertain our guest?"

"You have taught her well, lady," the lord of St. Bride's said approvingly. "Does she know the duties of a wife as well as she knows those of a chatelaine?"

"She will upon her wedding day," Enid said, her tones slightly tart. "Such knowledge is best saved, my lord, lest a maiden become too curious before the proper time."

"Aye," he agreed, and he smiled broadly. "Teach her well, lady, for I am a man of vast appetite where female flesh is concerned. I will accept girlish modesty upon our wedding night, but after that I will have no coyness or disobedience. Be sure your granddaughter understands that. I will mate with her often, and not just to get a child upon her, but because I enjoy the act."

Enid was astounded by his frankness. "I hope," she told him as directly, "that you will be as honest with your wife as you have been with me, my lord."

He laughed. A rich, deep sound that filled the hall. "Aye, I will, lady. I am not such a fool that I believe all women to be alike. Weak, helpless creatures without a thought beyond their halls and children. Most are so, but some, like the lady Wynne, are not. Your granddaughter is intelligent, I can see. I will not hold it against her, for it is an asset to me. It means that should I have to go to war, I can entrust the safety of my castle and my lands to her. She will not steal from me as would one of my male relations."

Now it was Enid 's turn to laugh. Rhys of St. Bride's reasoning was, to her amusement, both astute and sound. She understood Wynne's reluctance to marry anyone at this time, but certainly her grandchild could do worse than to have Rhys of St. Bride's for a husband. Though she would not put it above him to dispose of Dewi ap Owain should the opportunity present itself, she did not believe he was a truly wicked man. "I shall not oppose your suit for Wynne's hand," she told him.

"Thank you, lady," he answered.

Dewi now came into the hall, and Enid was pleased to see he had changed his clothing. He was wearing a red-orange tunic decorated at the neck with gold embroidery, and his hose, which was yellow, was cross gartered. His father's heavy gold chain hung from his neck. He strode up to the high board, joining them and saying as he did so, "As lord of Gwernach, I welcome you to my home, Rhys of St. Bride's."

Rhys noted that a well-trained house slave placed a goblet almost immediately in the boy's hand. His elder sister obviously saw that the lad was deferred to by their people. "Thank you, Dewi ap Owain," he said. "You will undoubtedly want to know the purpose of my visit."

The boy nodded.

"I wish your sister, Wynne's, hand in marriage. Will you give me your permission to wed with her?"

"The decision must be my sister's and hers alone," Dewi said. "Marriage, my lord, is a serious step for a woman to take. Should she be permitted to choose well, she gains a lifetime of happiness. Should she be forced to it, she faces many years of bitterness and sorrow. I love Wynne too well that I would force her to any marriage but one she chose herself."

"If your sister wed with me, Dewi ap Owain, you should come to St. Bride's castle with us and learn all the skills of a knight. Would you not like that?" Rhys tempted.

"A lord of Gwernach's place is at Gwernach," Dewi replied, "not at St. Bride's. I have no burning desire to be a warrior, my lord," and then seeing his grandmother's stern look, he amended, "but I thank you for your offer."

Caitlin and Dilys reentered the hall and hurried to join the others.

"Do not be such a baby, Dewi," Caitlin said, her sharp ears having overheard her bother's remark. "The lord of St. Bride's has offered you a fabulous opportunity, and not one that is offered to just any lad. I have heard it said, my lord, that you do not accent all the boys whose families would have you foster them. That you choose only the bravest and the strongest. Is it true?"

"Aye," he said shortly, still somewhat put out by Dewi's answer. What kind of a boy didn't want to be a warrior?

"Will we live at St. Bride's too when you wed with our sister?" Caitlin asked coyly.

Her question penetrated his conscious and he smiled slightly. This was an opportunistic wench, he thought, but she would be an excellent match for his weak-kneed cousin, the lord of Coed. There had been too much inbreeding in that particular branch of the family. This girl would take his cousin in tow and bear strong sons for that line. "If your sister, the lady Wynne, will marry me," he told Caitlin, "I will give you my cousin, the lord of Coed, to be your husband."

"And my sisters?" Caitlin demanded.

"The child, Mair, is too young to marry, but I have another cousin, the lord of Llyn, who will do for the lady Dilys. Both these men are young with rich estates. Would that please you, my lady Caitlin? My lady Dilys?"

"Aye!" Caitlin said. " 'Twould please me mightily, my lord! We will plead your cause with our sister, I assure you."

Dilys giggled vacuously.

The house slaves now began to bring the table service to the high board, laying well-polished pewter plates before each diner, and matching goblets. Trenchers of bread were placed on the plates. Frosty pitchers of ale and crocks of sweet butter; a small round of Gwernach's Gold upon its own board were set forth upon the table.

Wynne joined them, saying, "I apologize, my lord, for the simplicity of our meal. Alas, we did not have enough notice of your coming."

She signaled the servants, who began to place upon the table serving dishes of all sizes. There was a platter of broiled rabbit, and others containing trout, capons, and venison. There were two pies filled with game birds cut into chunks and swimming in a rich gravy of red wine. There were bowls of carrots, braised lettuce, and one of spring peas, as well as loaves of bread fresh from the ovens and warm enough yet that the butter melted upon it.

"You have directed your cook well in the seasoning," Rhys of St. Bride's noted. "Are you capable of instructing your kitchen churls in more intricate fare, my lady Wynne?"

"Indeed she is," Enid said quickly. "Wynne is skilled in all manner of household arts including the making of medicines, poultices, and potions. Caitlin makes fine fragrances and soaps. The best I have ever known."

"And the lady Dilys?" he asked.

"Her nature is sweet, my lord, but we have yet to find a skill at which she excels," Enid admitted honestly.

When the last course, a cake soaked in sweet wine, covered with clotted cream and dotted with small wild strawberries, was served and eaten, Rhys of St. Bride's sat back, a smile of contentment upon his face. "Lady," he said, looking at Wynne. "I will enjoy your simple meals when you reign at St. Bride's as my wife."

"My lord," she reproved him gently. "I have not yet said that I would accept your suit."

"You are a woman who understands the meaning of the word duty, lady. You will do your duty to Gwernach and to your brother; to your sisters, Caitlin and Dilys. To your little sister, Mair," Rhys said, "whom I suppose I can find a suitable husband for one day."

"We are to be promised to the lords of Coed and Llyn," Caitlin told Wynne. "They are young and rich!"

Rhys's laughter rumbled through the hall. "Surely, lady, you will not disappoint this greedy wench who is your sister," he teased her gently.

Wynne fixed him with her green gaze. "You do not play fair, my lord of St. Bride's," she said disapprovingly.

He grinned at her mockingly. "Love, lady, is as much a battle to be won as is war."

"I was not aware, sir, that love would have anything to do with a marriage between us," Wynne said sharply.

"It can," he said, suddenly serious, "if you will but allow it, lady."

"Love, my lord, is an illusion, I fear, ofttimes confused with passion or lust. Once they have fled a marriage, love goes as well," Wynne told him.

"My sister does not believe in love," Dewi told Rhys of St. Bride's.

"But I do," he answered quietly.

"You surprise me, my lord, for I would not have thought so fierce a man capable of such foolishness," and Wynne arose from the high board. "My grandmother will show you to your sleeping place, my lord. You must excuse me, however, for I am weary. I will be up in time to bid you farewell come the morrow." Curtsying to him, Wynne walked from the hall.

"She is far wiser than a maiden should be," Rhys of St. Bride's noted suspiciously, suddenly wondering what man had soured the girl's outlook on love; wondering if she were indeed a virgin. His wife must be a virgin. He wanted no man to have traveled the path before him. He wanted no doubts about his son's paternity.

Before Enid might defend Wynne's good name, however, the heretofore silent Dilys spoke up brightly. "Wynne has always been like that, my lord. When we were children and our mother would tell us fairy stories, Wynne would not believe. She said our father and mother were unique in their love for one another."

"Did she?" Dilys was obviously so innocent that Rhys could not help but believe her.

"Aye," Dilys answered him simply.

"And what of you, my lady Caitlin?" Rhys asked. "Do you believe in love, or like your elder sister, do you think it an illusion?"

"Will your cousin, the lord of Coed, be good to me?" Caitlin countered his query with her own.

Rhys looked at the pretty girl before him with her silky, dark brown hair and her bright blue eyes. "Aye," he told her. "He'll no doubt make a fool of himself over you, lady."

"Then I, shall love him well and long," she answered.

Rhys laughed again. "You are honest, lady, though I have not a doubt it surprises you as much as it surprises me." He stood and said to Enid, "Show me where I may rest, my lady Enid. I must leave for St. Bride's at first light."

She led him to a large, deep bed space set within the stone walls of the hall that was nearest to the largest fire pit. A straw mattress covered by a featherbed, which was in its turn piled with furs, was offered him.

"You should be quite comfortable here, my lord," Enid said politely. "Shall I send a woman to you?"

"My thanks, lady, but nay. Methinks I will forgo my own pleasure tonight that I not offend your granddaughter," he told her.

"As you will, my lord," Enid said. "I will bid you a good night then. Einion will help you with your lorica." She hurried away, and Rhys noticed the giant of a man he had previously seen with Wynne and young Dewi standing by his side.

"You wear no slave collar," Rhys said. "Are you a serf, or are you a freed man?"

"I am a slave, my lord, but Owain ap Llywelyn removed my collar from me the day I came to Gwernach. My chief duty over the years has been to guard the children. It is a task yet unfinished, but allow me, my lord, to help you." Einion's supple fingers moved to undo the straps holding Rhys's lorica, a cuirasslike garment of leather and gilded scales of bronze, together. "There, my lord,'' Einion said, removing the lorica. He then pulled Rhys's boots from his feet, placing them with the lorica by the bed space. "Good night, my lord," he said, and departed.

Rhys watched the large slave go, and then shrugging, removed his full-skirted outer tunic. He would be warm enough in his under tunic and sherte beneath the furs of the bed space. Climbing into it, he found himself most comfortable. There seemed to be no lice or fleas in the bed space. Wynne was obviously a good housekeeper.

The hall had grown quiet. He dozed, coming alert as he heard a footfall within the hall. Turning his head, he saw Wynne. He smiled to himself. Like the good chatelaine she was, she was checking to be certain that everything was as it should be for the night; that fires were banked. He watched through slitted eyes as Einion joined her. They spoke in voices too low to hear. Then the big slave bowed, and both he and Wynne departed the hall.

Rhys of St. Bride's felt his body beginning to relax, a state he rarely allowed himself to enter. There was peace and comfort to be had here at Gwernach. These things were Wynne's doing. He looked forward to the day when she would bring the same peace and comfort to his great castle at St. Bride's, and she would. She really had no choice in the matter. A smile of pleasure upon his face, Rhys began to snore most contentedly.

Chapter 2

Wynne of Gwernach watched with palpable relief as Rhys of St. Bride's departed her home. Although she did not sense cruelty in the man, he had a personality that could best be described as forceful, and it irritated her. He was determined that she would be his wife, but Wynne, for all her delicate appearance, was equally determined she would not. She did not choose to marry. At least not at this moment in time. Yet how was she to refuse Rhys without offending him? And what if he did go to the king? The great Llywelyn would hardly object to such a match between an unimportant relation and a powerful coastal lord. He would, as Rhys had so bluntly put it, prefer a man to hold Gwernach in trust for Dewi ap Owain than to allow a girl such as herself to carry on those duties.

"A pox on all men!" Wynne muttered as she kicked at a pebble irritably, and then seeing Rhys turn in his saddle to wave a final farewell, she returned his salute unsmiling. Above the lord of St. Bride's the waning moon hung in the dawn skies, reminding Wynne that she had but a few weeks in which to find a solution to her conundrum, if indeed there was another resolution to her problem.

She needed to work. She needed the benefit of hard, physical labor to help clear her brain, and, like her late father, Wynne was no stranger to the kind of work that sent her sisters into fits of hysteria. She followed a wagon into the meadow, and when it stopped, she grasped a pitchfork and began filling a hayrack with hay, for there was not yet enough new grass to satisfy the cows. She worked steadily and rhythmically, trailing in the wake of the wagon as it made its way from hayrack to hayrack across the field. When the wagon was empty, she rode back to the barns with the driver and, climbing into the high loft, began to pitch down a second load of dried grass. The armpits of her tunic dress were now stained damp with the evidence of her effort, and she hiked her skirts up, baring her legs in an attempt to facilitate her labor. Descending from the hayloft, she followed the wagon back out into the fields.

For the next few days Wynne worked from dawn to past dusk in the company of Gwernach's serfs. Still she could find no answer to her problem, and it did not help that her sisters chattered incessantly in the hall each evening about their bright futures as wives to Rhys of St. Bride's cousins. Caitlin and Dilys were so self-involved that they did not notice their elder sibling's distress; but Dewi did, and their grandmother did.

"You do not have to marry him, Wynne, if you do not choose to," the boy told her earnestly one evening. "Have I not said it before, and am I not master here?" But his voice was low, that his other two sisters did not hear him and begin to harp at Wynne again.

"I seem to have no other choice," Wynne admitted reluctantly. "He will go to Llywelyn if I refuse him. I know it. No man of honor wants a bride who must be dragged to the altar. Will he not resent me if I shame him like that? If I must wed him, I would hope to make him like me, brother."

Enid nodded. "You are wise, child. It is not good to antagonize a husband who will have the power of life and death over you. You must reconcile yourself to your fate before Rhys comes again, that you might greet him next time with a smile."

Wynne sighed deeply. "I do not want to marry," she said. "I hold no grudge against Rhys, for all I suspect his motives at wanting me to wife. Though he might dream of possessing Gwernach some day, I think, Grandmother, that you and I are clever enough to outwit him in his desires. I do not sense him to be a wicked man, and yet if the choice were really mine, I should refuse him."

Enid had often heard her eldest grandchild voice her objections to marriage, but it had never occurred to her until now to ask Wynne why she did not wish to wed. "What is it that frightens you, child?" she inquired gently. "Would it make it easier if I explained the mysteries of the marriage bed to you now? Marriage is a good and natural state for a woman. There has always been marriage between men and women since time began. Does not the Church teach us that?"

"It is not the marriage bed I fear, Grandmother," Wynne answered honestly. If the truth be known, she thought wryly, that was the one aspect of marriage of which she was most curious to learn about from personal experience.

"What is it then?" Enid asked, unable to understand why Wynne would want to refuse Rhys's offer if she didn't dislike him, wasn't afraid of the physical aspects of marriage, or didn't have a religious calling.

Wynne considered for a long moment, and then she spoke slowly, as if she were carefully evaluating each word individually. "I do not wish my fate to be in anyone else's hands but my own, Grandmother. Since Father died I have been free to control my own life with no man to gainsay me. Would Rhys of St. Bride's understand my feelings? I do not think so. He would be shocked with such a wife and beat her into submission, or at least try to force her to his will. Oh, Grandmother! That is not the kind of life I want to live! Perhaps someday I will find a man who will understand these feelings within me and love me in spite of them, but until then, I would prefer not to marry."

The two women sat by the fire, Dewi now virtually forgotten. Enid leaned forward and took Wynne's hands in hers, squeezing them sympathetically. "My poor child," she said, and her eyes were damp with her emotion. "What you want is a virtual impossibility. Women do not live as you suggest. They wed with either a man or the Christ. To that fate you must resign yourself. There will be nothing else for you, Wynne, and you must face it."

The girl said nothing, and so Enid continued. "Rhys is a rough fellow, but I sense kindness in him as well. An impatient man would not have given you these weeks in which to accept your future. This man will love you if you will but give him the opportunity. Not that love is necessary to a marriage, but it does make a marriage better. By plighting your troth to Rhys, you will provide for at least two of your sisters. This is no small thing, child."

"And Dewi?" Wynne said quietly.

Enid chuckled. "You are deep, child, but in this instance you must be clever as well. Rhys will be happy if you willingly betroth yourself to him, but you need not wed him for at least a year. Tell him you wish to marry on Beltaine next. He will be satisfied. Then we will petition Llywelyn for his permission to the match, and at the same time Dewi will request he not be forced against his will to leave his lands when the lord of St. Bride's holds his fosterage. Dewi will go with Father Drew himself to the king to plead his own case. The king has a soft spot for his own kin, no matter how distant. Dewi's determination coupled with his passion for Gwernach will impress Llywelyn, and Rhys will not be there to make a case for himself. The king will certainly grant Dewi's request. Rhys dare not dispute him, I suspect, lest his motives for doing so appear questionable."

Wynne nodded. "It is a good plan, Grandmother, but I still cannot bring myself to accept this fate." As each day passed, she felt more and more like a beetle in a trap. Helpless and unable to find a way out.

"You must, child," the older woman said. "What other choice do you have? For almost two weeks now you have worked as if you yourself were a serf. No other answer has come to you but this one. There is, however, one last thing you might try. Go to the forest tomorrow and free your mind of all its turmoil. The forest has always been your favorite place. Wander about it and enjoy the wonders of this new springtime. Perhaps another solution to your problem will come to you there. I know not what else to advise you."

"Yes," Wynne said thoughtfully. "I will go to the forest! I will take my herb basket along. Einion says the streams are already, growing cress. I could use some capers if I can find them. I am low on toothache remedy and need them to make more. We seem to have more toothaches this spring than in past years."

Just before the dawn on the following morning, Wynne crept from the house barefooted and dressed in an almost outgrown green tunic dress. The dew on her feet was cool and, as she slipped into the nearby forest, her cleverly chosen costume rendered her almost invisible but for the natural-colored under tunic showing beneath the green. The birds were just now beginning to awaken, calling to one another despite the fact the sun had not yet penetrated the wood. This was the time she loved best of all. Those brief minutes before sunrise.

Following an almost imperceptible track, she made her way through the soaring oak and beech trees to a small glen where a lacelike waterfall tumbled down from a height of rocks into a clear, sandy-bottomed pool. With a smile Wynne put her basket down, shed her garments, and stepped into the water, shivering at its first touch, then quickly diving beneath it only to resurface almost as quickly, sputtering and laughing. She swam slowly about the pool, her long dark hair floating behind her, fully awake and quite clear-headed. Despite her dilemma, she felt more at peace now than she had in days.

Paddling into the shallows, she stood spotlighted in a single shaft of sunlight that had worked its way into the forest and wrung her hair free of excess water. A light breeze springing up raised a faint pattern over her fair body, and the nipples of her small, young breasts were puckered with the chill. Naked, Wynne sat upon the mossy bank allowing her skin and her hair time to dry. She sat very still, barely breathing, willing herself to become one with the woodland. Soon a family grouping of red deer stepping from the trees on the other side of the pond and drinking their fill departed. A fox appeared to take his morning drink and, seeing Wynne across the water, sat observing her curiously for a few minutes before going on his way.

Suddenly Wynne felt as if she were being observed, and looking quickly about, she discovered a raven in the tree near her. "Is that you, old Dhu?" and she laughed. "For shame! Fie! Spying upon a lady in her bath!" Wynne sprang up and shook her finger at the raven in admonishment. The bird cocked his head and eyed her with such an admiring look, or in her confusion so it appeared, that Wynne blushed and reached for her chemise, feeling quite foolish even as she did so. Still she felt somehow uncomfortable and redressed herself quickly before hurrying off, her basket in her hand.

The bird kept her company throughout the day, occasionally flying off upon his own business, but always returning to her side as she made her way. Wynne loved the forest near Gwernach, but if you had asked her precisely why, she could not have given an answer that made any real sense. To Wynne the forest felt familiar, as if it were home. There was nothing about it that she found threatening, or a cause for fear; even in the fiercest weather or the dark of night. There were those who avoided the forest at certain times, calling upon old legends and stories about the woods to substantiate their fears and superstitions about spells, and pixies, and the Fair Folk, a magical people said to have inhabited the forests of ancient Wales long ago in another time.

She found a patch of tender young capers and gathered them quickly, for they were best picked in the morning before the dew was dried upon them. The trees began to thin out, opening finally into a sunny meadow in full bloom. Wynne gathered the pale lavender and white blossoms of the yarrow. Yarrow flowers made a fine spring tonic as well as an excellent ointment for wounds. There were those who said it could also be used in magical potions, but Wynne knew nothing of that. She saw some pink comfrey and dug it up by the roots. Comfrey root was good for the kidneys, and its flowers, when properly distilled, made a wonderful lotion for the skin. Further on she spied dandelion and dug up several of these plants as well. The young leaves were good for eating, the flowers made a pleasant wine, and the root a tonic that toned the liver.

As Wynne moved back into the forest she stopped to pick a large bunch of violets. Candied, the flowers made a delicious treat. Boiled, the distillation was good for headaches and choleric humors. Even just smelling them was supposed to make you feel better, but she did not feel better. Following a narrow path, she hurried along until she came to a small stream that tumbled merrily over a jumble of lichen-covered rocks. There was watercress growing in the stream, but Wynne decided not to pick it until she had eaten the bread and cheese she had brought with her. She sat down, an oak at her back, and, digging down into her basket, removed a carefully folded napkin. Opening it, she spread the bread and cheese wrapped in it out upon the cloth.

The raven, perched upon a nearby tree limb, eyed the food expectantly and made soft noises in the back of his throat.

Wynne chuckled. "So, old Dhu, you're hungry too, are you? Well, you've kept me good company this morning, and I'm willing to share my meal with you. Here!" She tossed a piece of the bread in the large black bird's direction.

Flying down to the ground, the raven picked up the bread and then returned to his tree to enjoy it.

Wynne sighed, her mood suddenly solemn. "Oh, what am I to do?" she cried. She looked to her companion as if he might supply her with another answer than the one she already had. Indeed, in moments of whimsy she had contemplated the possibility that the raven was a shape-changer. One of those magical beings spoken of in hushed whispers that had existed amongst her people since the earliest of times. Oh, the Church forbade such teachings, but these things went deeper than the Church. "If you are a shape-changer, old Dhu… if indeed you are a magical being… please! Oh, please help me now! Rhys of St. Bride's is not an evil man, but he is hard and he will have me to wife whether I will or no! I don't want to marry him! I don't! If only you could help me!" She put her head into her hands and sobbed.

The raven observed her curiously and, catching the pathos of her mood, cawed softly as if in sympathy.

Wynne felt its eyes upon her, and looking up, saw just a large, black bird, its head cocked to one side. She laughed aloud, but the sound held no mirth. Rather it echoed the despair in her heart. "Poor Dhu," she said. "How can you possibly understand? You are nought but a bird. Birds fly free as I would do. They choose their own mates as I would do." She sighed again. "There is no other road open to me. I must marry Rhys of St. Bride's though I love him not. I must wed him that my sisters Caitlin and Dilys may obtain rich husbands. So my brother and grandmother may live in peace and safety while I hold Rhys at bay. That little Mair may someday be provided for in a more generous manner than I can provide for her."

Then Wynne began to weep bitter tears. "How will I bear it? Oh, how will I bear it?" she sobbed. "Yet I have no other choice. I do not believe the religious life is for me, and if I fled Rhys to a convent, who would care for my brother and sisters? Who would keep Gwernach safe for Dewi? Not Caitlin or Dilys! I must marry the lord of St. Bride's. And, I must learn to accept my fate before he comes again. The moon already waxes, and in another few days it will be full. He will come for his answer, even knowing what it must be, and I dare not greet him with tears, but rather with smiles."

Wynne brushed her tears away and reached for a piece of cheese. What good were her tears? Tears accomplished nothing. Mechanically she chewed on the cheese and a small piece of her bread. The food was tasteless and stuck momentarily in her throat before finally sliding down into her stomach, where it seemed to lay in a sodden and undigested lump. She crumbled the remaining bread and cheese and spread it beneath the tree for the birds and small animals to have, for she had no appetite of her own left. She felt exhausted, almost drained of all emotion, and before she realized it, she was dozing beneath her tree by the rushing stream.

From the vantage point of his perch the raven watched her silently. She dreamed. The same confused dream she had always had from earliest childhood. Colors and images, none of them distinct, surrounded and enveloped her, yet they did not threaten her. Rather there was a feeling of great and deep sadness. A melancholy despondency so deep that when she inevitably awoke, sensing the sound of a name she could not quite distinguish being frantically called, her face was always wet with tears. Wynne's eyes flew open and for a moment she thought a large, dark man stood before her, but then as she focused she could see it was just the tree facing her, and her friend, old Dhu, patiently waiting in its branches.

With a shaky little laugh, she scrambled to her feet, noting by the position of the sun that it was late afternoon. Then remembering the watercress, she knelt by the stream and picked a fat bunch which she added to her basket before arising and moving off through the forest. Despite her nap, she did not feel rested, nor was she really comfortable with her decision, but she could see no other way out of her dilemma than to marry the lord of St. Bride's. She would spend the next few days before the full moon adjusting herself to that hard fact. Rhys's motives for wanting her as his wife might not be as flattering as a man in love's might have been; but he would have no cause to feel cheated by his choice. She would be a good wife to him even if she did intend seeing her brother grow safely to manhood that Rhys not inherit Gwernach through her.

Stepping from the forest, she saw her home and a soft smile lit her features. It was not a castle, but she loved it with all her heart. The old stone and worn timbers with its green ivy mantle spoke to her of the love and fidelity of several generations. It had always been a happy house upon which the sun showed no hesitation about shining. That she would miss it she had not a doubt, but she had always known in that part of her brain which was sensible that she would one day leave Gwernach. As long as her brother lived to father another generation, she would be content to do so.

She had paused to consider it all a final moment, and looking for Dhu, she found him now sitting amid the tangle of a nearby bush. "Well, old friend, as I have no choice but to accept the lord of St. Bride's offer of marriage, I will," she told him.

"Caw!" answered the bird.

"I know, I know!" Wynne smiled ruefully. "But you have no other answer to give me, my friend. I would wed for love of a man, but it is not the way of the world in which I live. How my sisters mock me for my beliefs, and who is to say they are not right? I should be selfish to refuse Rhys. He will see to my sisters' well-being, and I think Grandmother and I are clever enough to keep Dewi safe from Rhys's greed. And if we are not, I still have not the luxury of a choice; but oh, if I did! I should refuse Rhys of St. Bride's! I would!"

"Caw!" the raven replied, and then he flew off, circling the house once before heading into the nearby hills.

"Farewell, Dhu!" Wynne called after him, and feeling a bit sad that he had forsaken her company, she entered the house, handing her basket to a house serf as she did.

"Where have you been?" demanded Caidin, her pale cheeks flushed with her irritation. "You have been gone the whole day long!" She glared at Wynne from her place near the fire pit, even as she combed her long dark brown hair with an ivory comb.

"Did you have need of me then?" was Wynne's reply. "I was in the forest. Grandmother knew."

"How can you bear to wander about those dank and dreadful woods?" Caitlin shuddered delicately and, putting her comb aside, braided her hair in two neat plaits.

"Someone must gather the herbs for the poultices, the tonics, and the medicines needed here," Wynne told her sister. "You will be expected to do such things in your husband's house, Caitlin. I have tried to teach you, but you show no interest. A good chatelaine knows how to care for her people."

"My husband will be rich," Caitlin replied. "I will have serfs to gather the herbs and serfs to make these concoctions you are always babbling about."

"I will too!" Dilys piped up.

Wynne sighed. There was no arguing with either of her sisters. Their thoughts did not extend beyond their own needs.

"Have you made up your mind then to accept Rhys's generous offer and cease behaving like a fool?" Caitlin asked. "Not that he will not have you if he wishes it; but if you fight with him, he may not give us our husbands."

"I will accept the lord of St. Bride's with as good a grace as possible, Caitlin, though if I had another choice, I should take it," Wynne told her sister bluntly. Caitlin's preoccupation with herself was particularly irritating today.

"Then perhaps, my child, that is the answer you sought for," said Enid, overhearing Wynne as she entered the hall.

"There seems to be no other," Wynne agreed, "but I had hoped to marry for love, Grandmother."

"You are incorrigible," Caitlin told her elder sister, and her tone was decidedly unsympathetic. "You do have, however, a saving grace in that you are sensible to a fault in the end. Now that you have finally come to terms with yourself, having given us all a most difficult time, be certain that you gain the marriage contracts for Dilys and for me from Rhys before you wed him, lest he try to cheat us out of our due."

"Yes, Wynne," Dilys added. "You must not sell yourself cheaply, but gain the best price for us all from Rhys."

"I will do better than you desire," Wynne told her sisters. "I will insist you are both wed first and well-established in your husbands' households before I marry Rhys. Does that not please you?" she said, and her tone was slightly mocking, but Caitlin and Dilys did not notice it.

"Aye!" Caitlin smiled broadly at her eldest sibling. "That is most practical of you, sister!"

"Aye!" Dilys echoed.

"Will I have a husband one day, sister?" little Mair, who had been listening to their exchange unnoticed, asked.

"Aye!" Wynne smiled at the youngest of them all. "You shall have a fine young lordling who will ride into Gwernach and sweep you away to be his bonny bride."

"What nonsense!" muttered Caitlin.

"I want lots and lots of babies," Mair announced.

"And you shall have them, my lambkin, if that is your desire." Wynne laughed, ruffling Mair's light brown hair with its pretty golden lights.

"See!" Mair stuck her tongue out at Caitlin, who was in too good a mood now to be bothered by the child.

"You have come to your decision just in time," she told Wynne. "Rhys will certainly be here tomorrow."

"Nay," Wynne answered. "He will not come until the full moon."

"Tomorrow," Caitlin replied. "You have lost count of the days, sister."

For a moment Wynne had a sinking feeling, but then she drew upon her deep well of courage and laughed weakly. "If tomorrow night is the full moon, Caitlin, then I have indeed lost track of my time."

"Well, I have not," Caitlin said tartly. "I long for the day when I may be married to Rhys's rich cousin and leave Gwernach for my own home. That time cannot come quickly enough for me."

"And me," echoed Dilys.

Wynne shook her head sadly. She could think of nothing harder for her than having to leave Gwernach behind, and yet her sisters were eager to do so.

"Do not think badly of them, my child," her grandmother said quietly as Caitlin and Dilys turned back to their own pursuits. "You are the eldest and it is only natural that you love Gwernach better than they do. They know that it is unlikely that either of them will ever inherit these lands. It, therefore, has no hold on them, and they are anxious to have a place that they may call their own."

"But I will not inherit Gwernach either," Wynne noted, "and yet I love it."

"With God's blessing, child, you will not inherit, but there is always that chance that Dewi may not reach his manhood, or not produce heirs. If that should happen, then you will be Gwernach's mistress. That is a possibility, but the chance of both you and Dewi dying and leaving Gwernach to Caitlin is slight. Your sister is no fool. A shrew, perhaps, but no fool."

"And speaking of that scamp brother of mine," Wynne said, "I have not seen him since my return from the forest. Where can he have gotten to, Grandmother?"

"He said he was going birding this afternoon," Enid answered.

"Did Einion accompany him?"

"Nay, child, it was not necessary. Dewi would have been deeply insulted by such a gesture. You are overprotective of your brother, Wynne. He may yet be a boy, but he is lord of Gwernach nonetheless and should be treated as such. Besides, Einion was giving Mair her riding lesson, and the child would have been heartbroken had she not been able to have it. She loves that fat pony of hers greatly," Enid finished with a smile. Her youngest grandchild was her admitted pet.

Wynne glanced through a window in the hall and frowned. It had become overcast and, although she could see no sunset, the sky was already darkening with impending night. "Einion," she called to the big man as he entered the hall. "Have you seen my brother?"

"Nay, lady, not since he departed, but I shall go into the courtyard and ask. He may be in the stables." Einion returned the way he had come.

"I know it is foolish of me, Grandmother, and I realize I am oversolicitous of Dewi's well-being, but he is my responsibility! If anything should happen to him before he reached his manhood, I should feel that I had failed my parents in my duty to Gwernach. I cannot bear the thought that I should profit at my brother's expense. Can you understand that?" Wynne's usually serene features were distorted with her distress.

"I do understand, my child," Enid assured her granddaughter, but in her heart she was angry at the unkind fate that had burdened this young girl with so much accountability at so young an age. And she was angry at her late son, God assoil him, for Wynne had been his favorite and he had instilled in her a passion for Gwernach that could never be satisfied. It was a hard world in which they lived, and children died easily. That Owain and Margiad had produced healthy children was both a blessing and a miracle; but Dewi and Mair were yet young and vulnerable. If accident or disease took them before their maturity, Wynne could not hold herself responsible, and Enid told her so, squeezing her granddaughter's hand as she spoke to reassure her, but she could see in Wynne's foresty green eyes that although the girl nodded her agreement, she did not really accept Enid 's attempt to set her mind at rest.

Einion returned, saying, "The young lord is not yet back, lady."

Wynne paled and, looking again to the window, said worriedly, "Night has fallen. What if something has happened to Dewi? What if he is lying injured and frightened? We must send out a search party to seek him immediately!"

“Lady,'' Einion told her gently,'' the night is dark and thick with clouds. Were it not so, the young lord could walk home himself once the moon had risen, and should the overcast be dispelled in the next few hours, he may very well do so. I do not believe him injured, for he is a careful lad when climbing, though you may not think it so, knowing him otherwise."

"But he is so little," Wynne fretted. "He is alone and in the dark. We must find him!"

"Einion is right, my child," Enid said matter-of-factly, but in her secret heart she worried too. Still, it would do Wynne no good to know that. Enid signaled the servants to begin serving the evening meal, and shepherded her family to the high board.

Caitlin and Dilys chattered endlessly on as the food was served.

"Do you think," Dilys ventured, "that the lord of Llyn is a handsome fellow? Oh, I hope he is handsome! I cannot bear that which is ugly."

"What difference does it make?" Caitlin snapped. "If his purse is full, if he is generous to you, and if his lance is mighty and he gives you pleasure, what care you if he is handsome? In your marriage bed in the dark it will make no difference, you silly goose."

"But if he is disfavored, sister, even in the dark I will know it," Dilys persisted.

"Then you are a greater fool than I ever believed possible, Dilys," Caitlin said unkindly, not even noticing the hurt tears that sprang into Dilys's soft blue eyes. "I care not if my lord of Coed is as plain as mud, or has the wit of a flea, as long as his purse is endless and he denies me nought."

"How can you say such a thing, Caitlin?" Wynne said angrily. "Our mother, God assoil her sweet soul, and our grandmother have certainly not taught you so."

"Margiad's mother, your other grandmother," Enid said dryly, "was even more selfish than Caitlin is. I remember her well. She bore her husband three sons and two daughters, both of whom were sweet-natured by some miracle. Dilys is very much like your mother's sister, for whom she is named. She died at eleven. That Dilys was also a younger sister who lacked intellect, but the sister she followed was a better influence than Caitlin is to Dilys."

"Your words cannot distress me, Grandmother," Caitlin said. "I will be shortly wed and gone from here."

"How can you think of yourself at such a time?!" Wynne raged at Caitlin. "Do you not care that Dewi is missing? What if he is injured or dead?"

"The deed is already done, whatever it is," Caitlin said bluntly. "My chatter cannot change anything, Wynne. You fret too much. Dewi has been caught by the dark and is sheltering somewhere. That is all there is to it, as you will see in the morning."

She arose from the table. "Come, Dilys. We must get our beauty sleep. I would not want Rhys of St. Bride's to regret his decision when he comes."

Wynne put her hand over her mouth to keep herself from shrieking as her younger sisters traipsed from the hall. If marrying the lord of St. Bride's meant getting free of Caitlin and Dilys, then perhaps it was not such a bad bargain she was making. Little Mair, wide-eyed, was unable to refrain from giggling as she eyed her eldest sibling, and Wynne, her hand dropping away from her mouth, grinned at the child, ruffling her hair affectionately. "They make me so angry," she said.

"They are very mean," Mair noted. "I know I should love them, but I do not." She glanced half fearfully at Father Drew. "Will God send me to burn in Hell's fires for that, Father? I know it is sin not to love Caitlin and Dilys, but I just can't!"

The priest swallowed hard, his own feelings warring with his conscience. "It is wrong to hate, Mair," he told her, "but I do not think God will condemn you to damnation because you do not like your sisters, Caitlin and Dilys. Our lord understands feelings like that." He patted the child's head reassuringly and then muttered softly beneath his breath, "Besides, it would take a saint to love those two."

"Time for bed, Mair," Enid said, rising from her place, her voice quavering with her need to laugh, for she had overheard the priest's remark. Taking her little granddaughter's hand, she led her from the hall.

"Are other priests as human as you are, Father Drew?" Wynne asked him. She too had overheard, and her eyes were dancing with merriment.

The priest's own brown eyes twinkled back at her. "It has been so long since I've been with other priests, Wynne, I cannot remember," he said honestly. "My world is Gwernach, and I am its only priest. My many years in the monastery were spent in study, preparing myself for the priesthood that I might return one day to Gwernach and, in serving my God, serve it and its people as well. My memories of that time are no longer clear. I can but recall two things. Study and prayer."

"No friends?"

"One," the priest said slowly. "Like myself, destined to eventually return to his family's lands to care for the spiritual well-being of his people. What was his name? Aelfric, I think. He was a Saxon from somewhere near Winchester."

"And what do you remember about him?" Wynne inquired.

Father Drew's brow furrowed a moment as he thought, and then he smiled. "I remember, my dear, that Aelfric loved to laugh, and even our harsh life in the monastery could not change that in him. We were both called home at the same time. I have not seen him since."

"You rarely speak of yourself," Wynne said, "and yet I find your tales interesting when you do."

"It is not my duty as a priest, Wynne, to speak of myself. Besides, what is there to say about Drew ap Daffyd? I am the only child of your father's youngest uncle, who is long deceased. You know that."

"I think there is more to you than you would admit," Wynne teased him, and then she sobered. "I am doing the right thing in marrying Rhys, aren't I?"

"Your grandmother and I will keep your brother safe, Wynne, never fear. I realize that is your greatest concern in this matter. Rhys of St. Bride's will get a better wife than he undoubtedly deserves, but he will not get Gwernach, I promise you," Father Drew told her. Then he chuckled. "And we will be rid of Caitlin and Dilys too!"

Wynne smiled at him, but then as she looked to the windows she frowned. "The moon should long be up, Father, but the overcast is still thick and it does not break through. Poor Dewi! I pray he is safe."

"Go to bed, my child," the cleric advised her. "You cannot help Dewi with all your concern. If the lad does not return home first thing in the morning, then I will lead the search party myself. We will leave at first light."

"I will not sleep a wink!" Wynne vowed, but she was tired. Her day in the forest as well as the strain she had been under these last few weeks were taking their toll now that she had finally reached her decision. She made her usual rounds, checking to be certain that all was secure for the night, and then she climbed the stairs to the family solar. Softly she tiptoed across the floor to her own bed. Caitlin and Dilys shared a bed, and their snores from behind the drawn curtains were loud. Wynne smiled to herself thinking how horrified they would be to be told that they snored.

Mair slept on the trundle of their grandmother's bed. Wynne smiled down at the youngest of them, her little cheeks flushed with her good health, the tendrils of soft brown hair curling about her face, the little thumb that was half in, half out of Mair's tiny rosebud mouth. Then turning away, she began to undress, carefully folding her under tunic and tunic dress away in her chest; drawing out the garments she would wear on the morrow and laying them out neatly over the chest. Sitting down upon her bed, she drew off her soft boots and set them aside. Reaching for her brush which was beneath her pillow, she slowly brushed her long, dark black hair free of its one thick braid. Then with a sigh she drew the bed curtains shut and slipped beneath the coverlet.

For some time she lay awake, her mind a jumble of mixed thoughts that would not be silenced. Then firmly, but not without difficulty, she pushed her thoughts away, clearing her head of everything but her prayers. As they came to an end, Wynne found herself slipping into a relaxed sleep. Dewi would be all right. Her initial panic over, she allowed her instincts to guide her and she felt no threat to her little brother. Indeed, she sensed now that he was quite safe. And not alone.

Wynne sat up, suddenly fully awake. Why had she thought that? Yanking the curtains open, she discovered that the dawn was already beginning to lighten the edges of the sky beyond the windows. It was near to morning, and she had obviously been sleeping for several hours, although it did not feel as if she had. What had awakened her? She could not remember, and lay very still listening for the sound that had surely stirred her to consciousness; but everything was quite still. Caitlin, Dilys, and her grandmother were all snoring now. Mair continued to sleep peacefully on her trundle bed. There was no sound from the hall below. Even the birds had not yet begun their early song.

It was obvious that she was not going to go back to sleep, and so Wynne arose quietly, shivering in the cool air, for she wore only her sheer, soft linen chemise. She walked across the solar to a small stone alcove that held an earthenware basin and a pitcher of water. In the winter the water often froze overnight, but in late spring it was simply icy cold. Pouring some of the contents of the pitcher into the basin, she washed her face and hands, and scrubbed her teeth with a piece of rough cloth, dipping the cloth in a mixture of pumice and mint she kept for the purpose. Rinsing both her mouth and the cloth, she opened the small window in the alcove and threw the dirty water away. The day looked to be fair, though there was a mist right now.

Moving back to the trunk at the foot of her bed, she began to dress. First an under tunic of indigo-blue with long, close-fitting sleeves that fell to her ankles, and then a shorter knee-length overtunic of bright green with long sleeves embroidered in pretty bands of gold thread on the wide cuffs which ended at her narrow wrists. It was her best gown, and Wynne girded the overtunic with a belt of gilded leather with a silver-gilt buckle set with a particularly fine piece of crystal that had just the faintest blush to it. Opening her trunk, she took out a pair of soft leather shoes made to follow the shape of her narrow foot. Today she would do Rhys of St. Bride's honor by looking her best when he came for the answer she knew she must give him.

Digging deeper into the trunk, Wynne drew forth a small carved box and, opening it, removed a pair of pear-shaped crystal earrings which she affixed in her ears. Sitting herself upon her bed, she brushed the tangles from her hair and carefully braided it into the single, thick braid she favored, tying the end with a small piece of green ribbon. It was custom that young girls wore their hair loose and flowing, restrained only by a ribbon band until marriage; but Wynne had taken to braiding her hair in an effort to appear older when she found herself responsible for her family and having to do business with strangers. She was proud of her thick, long hair which, when loosened from its woven confinement, blossomed about her like a night cloud. It was, she was certain, her best feature; and she was relieved that the unpleasant custom of cutting one's hair short immediately after a first marriage to show servitude to the bridegroom had finally been discontinued. Cut her beautiful tresses? Never!

She removed a final item of jewelry from her little box. It was a particularly beautiful circular gold pendant, enameled in greens and blues and attached to a heavy red-gold chain. The design was Celtic. Both the chain and pendant had come from Ireland. Her father had received it in exchange for a large shipment of cheeses many years before, when Wynne was but a child. The pendant had fascinated her, and, even though it had been an extremely valuable piece, Owain ap Llywelyn had gifted his eldest child with it simply because she loved it. It was rare, he noted to Margiad, that Wynne desired anything of earthly value. The girl treasured the pendant, but even more now that her father was gone. She always felt that Owain was with her when she wore it, but more, she had always felt the pendant belonged to her from the first moment she had seen it.

Ready to face her day, Wynne departed the solar. Below in the hall a few household serfs were bestirring themselves and lighting the fires in the fire pits. Through the open door of the house she could see smoke rising from the bakehouse chimney and nodded, pleased. Rhys would have to be asked to dinner, and judging from his last visit, he was a big man with a bigger appetite. They would need all the breads and cakes her baker could produce this day.

Einion spoke at her elbow. "It will be a fair day, lady, and as the young lord has not yet returned, the holy father and I will gather together a party of men that we may seek him out and bring him home."

Wynne felt a momentary surge of guilt. She had completely forgotten Dewi! "Aye, and I shall beat him well for this," she told Einion firmly. "Lord of Gwernach or no, he is still a lad of ten and under my rule. He has shown a deplorable lack of feeling for us all with this prank! Tell him to expect to feel my hazel switch on his bottom once Rhys of St. Bride's is gone. I will not embarrass the lord of Gwernach before another, but he will be punished."

"Who will be punished?" Dewi ap Owain stood just within the doorway of the hall.

"Dewi!" Wynne shrieked, and racing across the floor, gathered her little brother into her arms, hugging him soundly until he fought his way free of her embrace. "Thank God, and His blessed Mother, and our own St. David, that you are alive and well!" Wynne half sobbed.

"Who will be punished?" Dewi repeated, shaking himself like a puppy.

"You! You thoughtless scamp!" his eldest sister told him. "You have given us a terrible fright and a worse night worrying about you. How could you go off like that, Dewi! I was terrified!"

"I went birding," Dewi told her calmly. "I have been going birding by myself since I was six. There's a merlin's nest nearby, and I've been watching it, for I intend taking one of the hatchlings to train for you as a wedding gift."

"Oh, Dewi!" Wynne's eyes grew teary, but then she said heatedly, "But why did you not come home last night?"

"Because I was so fascinated watching the merlin's hatch-lings that the night overtook me," he said somewhat irritably, sounding as if she might have certainly figured it out by herself without him to tell her. "Do you think I enjoyed my night in the damp and chill, sister? If it had not been for Madoc I should have gone hungry as well."

"Madoc?" Wynne sounded puzzled, and then she realized that a man stood next to her brother. As her startled gaze met the stranger's, Wynne felt her body suffused by a fiery heat, and for the longest moment she could not seem to draw a breath.

It mattered not, however, for all attention was drawn away from her by Enid, who hurried down the stairs from the family solar, her saffron and violet robes billowing about her as she came. "Dewi! My child! Praise God and St. David you are back safely."

"Good morrow, Grandmother," the boy said. "May I introduce my friend, Madoc of Powys. We met last night," the boy said wryly.

Enid hugged her grandson and then she looked up at his companion, studying him carefully for a long moment. "You are Madoc of Powys Wenwynwyn, my lord, are you not?" she said finally.

"I am, lady."

"I thank you for seeing to the safety of my grandson, and I welcome you to Gwernach, my lord prince, even as my granddaughter, Wynne, would have done."

"Prince?" Wynne had regained her ability to breathe and to speak, and her eyes again met those of Madoc's; but this time he refused to allow her to look away.

He had wonderful eyes, oval-shaped and a deep blue with black, bushy eyebrows, and thick black eyelashes that any woman would have envied, but yet there was nothing feminine about them. For a moment she felt as if she were drowning in the depths of those blue eyes. She could not look away, and, finally in desperation, she closed her own eyes, feeling faint, her heart hammering violently even as her legs began to give way beneath her.

"Wynne!"

She heard her grandmother's voice from a long distance, and then she was lifted up and her head fell against a hard shoulder. For a moment she floated in a nothingness, and then as she began to regain use of her body and her senses once more, she realized she was seated on a bench near the main fire pit. Opening her eyes, she saw a man's hand attached to an arm, gently, but firmly, girding her waist. Wynne gasped, and almost immediately strength flowed into her limbs.

"Are you all right, lady?" she heard a voice inquire.

"Poor child!" Wynne heard her grandmother say. "She has been so worried about the lad and his wee adventure." Enid knelt before her granddaughter. "Are you all right now, my dearie?"

Wynne's senses and mind began to function normally now. "Aye," she replied slowly. "I cannot imagine what happened to me, Grandmother. I am not a maid given to swooning as a rule." She glanced nervously again at the arm about her and immediately it was removed. Was he reading her mind, Wynne thought uneasily, remembering that it was Madoc's piercing gaze that had tumbled her into a faint. She arose from the bench and was amazed to find that her legs were functional once more. It made her nervous to think she must face him squarely again, but she had no other choice.

"My lord," she began, carefully keeping her eyes lowered modestly, "I thank you with all my heart for keeping the lord of Gwernach safe last night. Had I but known of his good fortune in finding so protective a companion, I should not have fretted so. Will you break your fast with us after the mass?"

"Gladly, lady," came the reply. The voice was deep, yet there was no roughness about it. Indeed, it was almost musical.

"So!" a voice interrupted them, "the brat is back!" Caitlin, in her best gown, a scarlet silk tunic embroidered with gold, a dark blue under tunic beneath it, came down the stairs from the solar. Behind her Dilys, also in her best, a pink and silver brocade tunic over an under tunic of deep rose, and Mair in her everyday sky blue, followed.

"Dewi is safe, Caitlin," Wynne said sweetly, but there was a faint sharpness to her tone. "Why are you both attired in your very best, I would ask?"

"Did you think we would not do Rhys of St. Bride's honor when he comes to claim you? Besides, we do not want him to forget that he has promised us husbands as well, sister." Her glance turned to Madoc, whom she eyed thoroughly, taking in the full-skirted tunic of blue-green silk brocade he wore which, although edged in a rich brown marten, was decorated simply at its neck and on its long sleeves. Still, the fine leather belt encircling his narrow waist, with its beautifully worked gold buckle richly decorated with amber, indicated a man of certain stature. "And who is this, pray?" Caitlin asked archly.

"My lord, these are my younger sisters, Caitlin and Dilys," Wynne said. "Sisters, I would present to you Madoc, a prince of Powys. He found our brother last night and sheltered him until this morning."

"Have you business at Gwernach, my lord, or are you just passing through our lands?" Caitlin demanded, asking what no one else had thought to ask.

Madoc of Powys smiled slowly, recognizing in Caitlin a possible adversary. "I have business here, lady, but not with you," he answered.

Wynne wanted to laugh, for Caitlin looked extremely put out. Instead she said, "It is time for the mass, and we have much to be thankful for this day. Our brother, Gwernach's lord, has been returned to us safely."

"And," Caitlin put in, "the lord of St, Bride's comes to claim you for his wife and give us rich husbands. Aye, I thank God for that!"

Madoc of Powys looked toward Wynne and saw that her lovely face darkened when Rhys of St. Bride's was mentioned. He smiled, almost to himself, and then followed the family from the hall to the church which was outside the walls encircling the house. Father Drew, a brown-eyed elf of a man, smiled broadly seeing Dewi, and sang the mass particularly well, to Madoc's pleasure, for the prince loved music. He complimented the priest afterward on the church porch as they were introduced, and smiled to see the old man's flush of pleasure at his words.

Wynne looked at Madoc less fearfully now, pleased by his kindness to Father Drew. He smiled back at her, and she wondered why she had had such a strange reaction to him earlier. She still had to admit that this prince made her flesh burn with an unaccustomed fire, her heart beat faster, her toes and the soles of her feet tingle mysteriously. She had never before felt this way, and she wondered why Madoc had such an odd effect upon her. Still, he did not seem like a wicked man.

"Come," she said, remembering her duties as mistress of Gwernach, "let us return to the hall and break our fast."

"Right gladly, sister," Dewi said. "Remember that I had no supper last night and I am.famished!"

"Serves you right," Caitlin said meanly. "You frightened us badly."

"What?" Dewi mocked her. "Do not tell me that you gave me a moment's thought, Caitlin, for I will not believe you. You think of no one but yourself, and if you did by chance think of me, it was merely that my premature death would put you in mourning, forcing you to wait to make a rich marriage."

Briefly, Caitlin looked outraged, but then to her credit, she laughed. "Aye," she said. "You are probably right, brother."

"I prayed to St. David for you, Dewi," Mair lisped softly.

"So 'twas you who kept me safe, my little dearling," Dewi said generously, ruffling his smallest sister's soft hair. "God always hears the prayers of the good."

"But I prayed to St. David!" Mair said firmly.

"And St. David prays to God," Father Drew replied, settling the matter for the child.

"Ohh," Mair answered, her eyes wide.

They were all so enchanted by the child as they walked toward the house that they did not hear the sound of approaching horses until the beasts were practically upon them.

“ 'Tis Rhys of St. Bride's!" Caitlin whispered excitedly. "Blessed Mother, he is eager for your answer, though he knows what it must be! Do you think the lord of Coed and the lord of Llyn are with him? How do I look, Dilys? Is my hair neat? My gown graceful?"

"In the name of heaven, Caitlin, try not to simper at the man this time," Dewi said, and then turning, he said loudly, "Welcome back to Gwernach, my lord of St. Bride's. You are just in time to join us at our morning meal."

"Having undoubtedly timed his arrival for just that purpose," murmured Wynne softly. "Pray God the baker has enough loaves to satisfy my lord's monstrous appetite."

Dilys and Mair giggled and Enid forced back a smile.

Rhys of St. Bride's, however, had eyes only for Wynne. His grey gaze took her in hungrily as he stopped his great black horse next to her and looked down. His beard and moustache were newly barbered and had been perfumed with a scented oil that hung in the damp morning air. The fragrance of damask rose emanating from the facial hair of this rough warrior was almost humorous, had anyone dared to laugh.

"I have come for my answer, lady," he began bluntly, "even as I promised you I would. It is the first day of the full moon. I now ask you a final time. Will you be my wife?" Rhys's stallion danced nervously at the sound of his voice, and the horses behind him carrying his men-at-arms moved as restlessly.

Wynne took a deep breath, and then the voice of Madoc, Prince of Powys, spoke in her stead.

"Wynne of Gwernach cannot be your wife, my lord of St. Bride's, for she is promised to me and has been since her birth."

Rhys leapt from his horse to face his rival and growled angrily, "And who might you be… my lord?"

"I am Madoc of Powys," the prince said quietly, and yet Wynne felt there was a faint threat to his words.

Rhys's slate-colored eyes widened imperceptibly. "The lord of Wenwynwyn?" he said slowly, and Wynne instinctively felt that her suitor was hoping that Madoc would deny his heritage.

"Aye," the prince said, his mouth, which was long and narrow but for a slightly wider underlip, twitching faintly in his effort to restrain his amusement.

Why, wondered Wynne, was Rhys fearful and Madoc close to laughter? And more important, what did Madoc mean when he told Rhys that she was betrothed to him and had been since her infancy? This was the first she had heard of such a thing! Then to her great surprise, Rhys, whom she had believed fearless, began to babble hysterically.

"My lord prince! I meant no disrespect! I meant no offense to you! The maid did not tell me she was betrothed to another! She did not tell me she was betrothed to so great a lord!" He turned to Wynne. "Tell him you did not tell me, lady! Tell him!"

"Of course I did not tell you, my lord," Wynne answered him. "How could I tell you what I did not know myself?"

"What?" Rhys's small eyes narrowed suspiciously, giving him the appearance of an angry boar contemplating a charge.

"Might we discuss this matter in the hall?" the prince said reasonably, looking down to find several chickens scratching about his booted feet.

"Aye," Wynne said before her duties as chatelaine of Gwernach took over completely. "I think we must certainly discuss this matter, and now; but we must also break our fast. Serious matters are best settled on a full belly. Come, my lords!"

They followed her into the hall of the house, where the servants had lain out the first meal of the day upon the high board. Wynne noted with satisfaction that her house serfs had set enough trenchers of new bread upon the table for her guests. Without asking, a hot barley cereal was ladled into the hollowed-out trenchers. Wynne sent a smile of approval at Dee, the chief house serf in the hall, as the good silver spoons with their polished bone handles were placed by the cereal-filled trenchers. Pitchers of fresh, golden cream, dishes containing newly churned butter, pots of honey, several fresh cottage loaves, and a bowl of hard-cooked eggs followed. Brown ale was poured into fine silver goblets. Madoc, Rhys, and Dewi began to eat hungrily.

"What is going on?" Caitlin hissed at her elder sister. "Have you destroyed our chances for rich husbands? I will never forgive you!"

"Be quiet!" Wynne snapped. "I do not know what is going on, but I intend to find out once our guests have satisfied their appetites. Would you have me violate the laws of hospitality to pacify your greed?"

"Are you not hungry, lady?" Madoc murmured softly so that only she might hear his words.

Wynne sent him a fierce, quelling look. "Eat your fill, my lord, but do it quickly. I would not seem inhospitable, but since you have dared to set my life upside down, I would have an explanation of you, and quickly!"

He grinned engagingly at her, and pulling a piece of the nearest cottage loaf, buttered it lavishly, and slathered it with honey before popping it in his mouth. The tip of his tongue swirled swiftly about his lips, recapturing errant crumbs and several beads of clear gold honey as he chewed and swallowed the bread. Once again Wynne found herself growing briefly light-headed as she found herself staring at him, fascinated. She was unable to understand her behavior.

Dragging herself back to reality, she found him holding out a similarly prepared morsel to her, but when she accepted it, his fingers would not release her fingers even as she raised them to her mouth. Awkwardly Wynne pushed the bread between her lips, fearful of making a scene, yet conscious of her lips touching his skin. She tried to pull free from Madoc, but with a knowing smile that reached all the way to his blue eyes, he drew her hand to his own mouth and licked the honey from her fingers, sucking slowly upon each digit before releasing it.

Once again she was being consumed by a terrible heat that sought out every crevice of her body and burned with an unrelenting fire. She was aware of feelings sweeping over her she couldn't even comprehend, for she had never had them before. They were the only two people on the face of the earth.

"I like the taste of you," Wynne heard him say low.

"Let go of my hand," she heard herself reply in equally low tones, although where she had gotten the courage to defy him she did not know. He did not argue with her. Looking guiltily about, Wynne saw Rhys and her family eating busily, not the least conscious of what had just transpired between herself and Madoc. Indeed. What had transpired? She wasn't even certain herself, and, reaching for her goblet, swallowed her ale greedily, finding herself almost painfully thirsty.

Rhys of St. Bride's, having devoured his cereal, trencher and all, gobbled down four eggs and finished off a cottage loaf by himself. The house serfs refilled his goblet at least three times. Now belching appreciatively, he pushed himself slightly back from the high board and fixed his gaze on Madoc. "I would respectfully request an explanation of you, my lord," he said in softly placating tones. "I seek the hand in marriage of Wynne of Gwernach. You claim to be her betrothed husband, yet she claims no knowledge of this fact. You will certainly understand my confusion." His gaze benign, Rhys picked several crumbs off his black and gold brocade tunic front and then smiled as engagingly as he knew how at Madoc.

"Indeed, my lord, I should myself appreciate being enlightened as to how I became, without my consent, betrothed to a man I have never before in my life laid eyes upon," Wynne said sharply. She was strangely irritated by this turn of events, even though the unexpected but timely arrival of this prince was obviously going to save her from a marriage with Rhys. Better a devil one knows than a devil one doesn't know. The thought popped uninvited into her head.

"You are not the priest who was here when Wynne was born," Madoc began by addressing Father Drew. "Where is he?"

"Long dead, my lord," Father Drew said, "may God assoil his good soul."

"His name was Father David, was it not?" Madoc asked the priest. "And he was a fat little man with a bald head, but for a small fringe of white hair about his pate, and the bluest eyes I have ever seen, which were particularly startling on one so old. He had a deep, booming voice that almost bounced off the walls of this hall, did he not? And a large pink mole the size of a pea upon his left cheekbone."

"You have described my predecessor exactly!" Father Drew said excitedly. "He was my cousin, and it was because I loved him so well I became a priest, that I might be like him."

"When the lady Wynne was born," Madoc continued, "I came to Owain ap Llywelyn and asked for his child's hand in marriage. I was newly come into my inheritance then. My mother had been twice widowed and I did not feel I could marry until I had raised my sister, Nesta. I sought a maid of good family, but one who would not be ready for marriage for many years. It was Father David who drew up the betrothal agreement." Madoc drew a tightly rolled parchment from beneath his tunic and handed it to Father Drew.

The priest carefully unrolled the document, smoothing it flat, and scanned it carefully. Finally he looked up at them and said, "It is all in order, my lady, and the hand is that of Father David. I know it well."

"But why was I not told of such an arrangement?" Wynne demanded.

Madoc smiled at her. "You were not to be told for several reasons, lady. I wanted no child wife, but a girl grown who could oversee my house and bear my sons. I wanted a maid I might lovingly court, not one unwilling and perhaps in love with another. It was agreed that I should come to Gwernach the summer of your sixteenth year to woo you and hopefully to wed you. If you found another before then, you were to be told of this betrothal, but allowed the final choice in the matter. I only recently learned of your father's untimely death and, knowing that he had probably not informed you of this arrangement else you would have sent for me, I came to Gwernach to tell you myself."

"And found yourself amidst a love triangle," Enid said quietly.

"If it is Rhys of St. Bride's you love, lady, then I will step aside," Madoc said. "I would not have you unhappy."

"No!" Wynne said in a strangled voice, and then she blushed to the roots of her hair, turning to Rhys and saying, "I mean you no offense, my lord, but if my father, God assoil him, arranged this match for me, I feel I must honor his wishes, even as I have honored them in caring for Gwernach and my family."

"You have showed us your copy of the betrothal agreement," Rhys said a trifle sourly, and not quite willing yet to give up the rich plum that Wynne represented. "Surely Owain ap Llywelyn also had a copy of this agreement. I would see it before I release my claim on this lady." He could have almost bitten his tongue off even as the words poured forth from his mouth. Was he mad, Rhys wondered? He knew full well the reputation enjoyed by Madoc of Powys. The princes of Wenwynwyn were a race of sorcerers whose power it was said was a gift from the great Merlin. Rhys silently cursed himself for a fool. If Madoc took offense, and sorcerers were notoriously short-tempered it was said, his own race could end now when Madoc turned him into a beetle to be squashed beneath his foot!

Madoc, however, smiled as his eyes met the openly nervous ones of Rhys. The smile seemed to say, I understand and I will be merciful. "An excellent idea," the prince replied to Rhys's request. "I know that Owain ap Llywelyn had a copy of the betrothal papers because I remember signing two copies." He turned to Wynne. "Tell me, lady, would you know where your father would have kept such a document?"

"He had a locked box in his bedchamber," Wynne said slowly, "which I removed after his death. I have the key, but I have not yet opened the box. He kept the estate records and copies of all his transactions regarding the sales of Gwernach's excess cattle and cheese. I have not had time to go through it all."

"I'll get the box," Dewi said eagerly. "I know where it is!"

He raced off up the stairs before anyone might gainsay him and was quickly back, almost tottering beneath the weight of a carved oak box. Dewi set it upon the high board with a thump and looked to his eldest sister.

Reaching for a ring of keys that hung from her belt, Wynne found the one she sought and, inserting it in the lock of the box, opened it. She raised the lid even as Rhys tried to shove her aside.

"You do not know how to read," he said. "I will find the document."

Angrily Wynne shoved him away. "Indeed, my lord of St. Bride's, I most certainly do read! And I write a fine hand as well. How do you expect I have been able to keep the estate's accounts since my father's death?" She began to rifle through the papers carefully.

"You read, and write, and keep documents?" He almost moaned the words. This was a treasure of a woman he was losing. He could have profitably spent all his time at war with his weaker neighbors knowing that his wife, whose interests would of course be his own, was at St. Bride's overseeing everything. With Wynne as his mate he could have added considerably to his own holdings. The pain of that loss was almost too much.

Wynne's fingers quickly sifted through the parchments, and finally, at the bottom of the box, she found what she sought. Drawing it forth, she compared it to Madoc's copy and then, looking up at the assembled group, she said quietly, "It is identical. My father did indeed betroth me to Madoc of Powys when I was but six weeks old. There can be no question now of a marriage between Rhys of St. Bride's and myself."

Rhys groaned low, one fist clenching and unclenching in his disappointment and frustration.

"I cannot allow you to depart Gwernach my enemy, my lord," Madoc said, to Rhys's surprise.

"Your enemy?" Who was he to make an enemy of a sorcerer, Rhys thought bitterly. Was the prince mocking him? But he could see he was not.

"You need a wife," Madoc said quietly, "but not just any woman will do, for the mother of your heirs must be, like my Wynne, a rare pearl. You did not know that this maid was promised to me, but by my timely arrival I have, in a sense, stolen a bride from you. Let me replace that bride with my own sister, Nesta, who is as fair a girl as any you might find, and well-tutored in the arts of housewifery."

"Your sister?" Rhys knew he must appear an utter fool at this moment, repeating everything the prince said, but he did not care. Nesta of Powys was famed for her beauty! It was rumored that she had more than a passing acquaintance with magical arts. He would be allied by marriage to Madoc! What did it matter that he had lost Gwernach! He would have Nesta of Powys and her powerful family for relations! Rhys almost shouted with his joy.

"My sister is seventeen," Madoc continued, "and has told me she is ready to wed. She has placed her welfare in my hands. If you will have her to wife, then I will feel that I have settled this matter between us to everyone's satisfaction. What say you, my lord of St. Bride's?"

"I say aye!" Rhys answered him enthusiastically, a pleased grin splitting his face.

"But what of us?!" Caitlin burst out, unable to contain herself any longer. Wynne was to have a prince, and the prince's sister was to have Rhys. What of her? And Dilys? "What of the husbands you promised my sister and me, my lord?" Caitlin demanded.

"This changes nothing, lady," Rhys said, feeling expansive in his own good fortune. "We will be related by marriage, no matter that I wed another woman, and my cousins of Coed and Llyn need pretty, young wives to keep them warm and happy this winter, and always. I have promised you husbands, my ladies, and rich, young husbands you shall have of me!"

"And when will we be wed?" Caitlin was not entirely certain she should trust Rhys now.

The lord of St. Bride's turned to Madoc. "I must defer to you in this matter, my lord," Rhys said politely. "Gwernach is now your responsibility."

Dewi ap Owain leapt upon the table and glared angrily down at the two men. "Nay, gentlemen, I must protest," he said fiercely. "I am Gwernach's lord, though I be yet a boy. Gwernach is my responsibility and no other's!" He stood, legs apart, his hands balled into fists and set upon his hips, his dark blue eyes flashing with his youthful outrage.

"My young brother-in-law is absolutely correct," Madoc said in kindly tones. "You and I, Rhys, have been guilty of a serious breach of good manners." Madoc looked up at Dewi and smiled. "Come down, my lord. You have gained our attention now. If we do not settle the matter of your sister's wedding day, however, I fear the lady Caitlin may be driven to violence." He held out his hand and helped Dewi down. "What say you to the sixth day of September after the harvest, my lord of Gwernach?"

"Not before?" Dewi sounded disappointed.

"I believe your sisters will need the summer months to finish preparing their dowries. Then too," Madoc said, "there' is my sister to consider. I thought I would bring Nesta to Gwernach to meet her intended husband when the ladies Caitlin and Dilys wed. With your permission, of course."

"Aye, my lord, it is a good plan!" Dewi agreed, although secretly he had hoped to rid himself of Caitlin and Dilys sooner.

"I will not meet the lady Nesta before September?" Rhys said, sounding almost like a young boy with his first love.

"The betrothal papers must first be drawn up and my sister's dowry settled between us," Madoc said. "Our late mother had always wanted Nesta to have Pendragon, her ancestral home, of which she was its last heiress in the direct line. I will, of course, honor my mother's wishes in that matter; but then too there is the gold I would settle upon my sister, and she will need time to prepare her trousseau. I think we might set the wedding date at the Winter Solstice, my lord, if that suits you. Send me a priest to see to the legalities of the matter as soon as you can."

Rhys of St. Bride's head was reeling with the good fortune that had just been heaped upon his shoulders. Gwernach's loss was easily and quickly forgotten in the light of his acquisition of Pendragon, a small but most strategically placed castle on the coast near him. He had always coveted Pendragon, which was impregnable to attack. Like his neighbors, he had been forced to ignore it, believing there was no other sensible choice open to him. With Pendragon, his holdings would be more than doubled, for though the castle was insignificant in size, the lands belonging to it were vast and quite rich. With his marriage to Nesta of Powys, he would certainly become the most powerful of the coastal lords. He was exchanging a slight possibility for an absolute certainty. Rhys pulled a gold signet ring from his little finger.

"Give this to your sister, my lord," he said gravely. "It is my token and pledge to her."

"Your thoughtfulness will please Nesta," Madoc told him. "She is a girl with a gentle heart who appreciates elegant gestures. You will win much favor with her by the giving of this ring."

Rhys flushed, quite pleased by Madoc's words. His simple courtesy would delight Nesta. How different a maid she must be from this cold girl of Gwernach he had almost allied himself with in his effort to protect these lands from marauders who might otherwise have tried to steal them from young Dewi ap Owain.

He stood. "I will return to St. Bride's then," he told them all. "You will hear from me soon, my lord prince!" Rhys signaled to his men, who had been stuffing themselves with Gwernach's freshly baked bread, famous cheese, and nut-brown ale. "To horse!" he commanded, and they all clumped noisily from the hall behind him.

"Well," Caitlin said shrewishly, her blue eyes narrowing suspiciously, "I only hope he will keep his word and not try to trick us in this matter of his cousins. I should be happier were my marriage day coming sooner."

"There will be no delay in your wedding, my lady," the prince assured her. "Remember, Rhys cannot wed with my sister until you and the lady Dilys are safely wed to his cousins. There is no malice in Rhys's heart. You need have no fears. Now, with your brother's permission, I would ask you and your younger sisters to leave the hall as I have business with Gwernach's lord that does not concern you."

With a swish of her skirts and, surprisingly, not another word, Caitlin left the hall followed by Dilys, who led Mair by the hand.

"Would you have us gone also, my lord?" Enid asked politely.

"Nay, lady," he answered her with a warm smile. "This business that Gwernach's lord and I must discuss concerns the lady Wynne. I think she should be here. You as well, for you are wise by virtue of your years, and I believe your grandchildren respect your opinion."

Enid returned his smile, thinking as she did that he was a most charming man for all his family's reputation. She looked to her eldest granddaughter, but Wynne's serene face gave no hint of what she was thinking, which Enid knew was not a good sign. "Well, my child," she said in an effort to elicit something from the girl, "you prayed to be saved from Rhys, and so you have been."

"Indeed, Grandmother, I have been saved from Rhys, but to what end?" Wynne burst out. "Why did you not tell me of this betrothal?"

"Because, my child, I did not know," Enid replied honestly. "Remember, I did not return to Gwernach until you were almost a year old. When my second husband died, I had no wish to remain in his house, a helpless widow to be ordered about like a common serf by Howel's brutal son and his vicious wife. I preferred to return to Gwernach to help your mother with her growing family, and Margiad welcomed my return. There was a babe started and as quickly lost between you and Caitlin. Margiad was happy for my company and my experience. Never did your father mention any betrothal, but such reticence was like him. He rarely discussed anything of importance with your mother, or with me, unless it directly concerned us and was imminent. He was no different with you, dear child. As his death was an accident and he was a relatively young man in good health not expecting to die, it is most unlikely he would have mentioned this betrothal to any of us until your sixteenth birthday. If you had fallen in love with another, you would have, according to the terms of the betrothal, been expected to make your own choice. We are fortunate that Madoc heard of Owain's death before you wed with Rhys." She paled. "Such a marriage would have been bigamous in the eyes of the Church, and the children born of it, bastards."

"Do not fret, good lady," Madoc soothed her. "All is well now."

"When will you marry my sister, Wynne?" Dewi asked bluntly.

"On Beltaine next, if it suits her, and if she will have me," the prince said quietly.

"I have no wish to marry now," Wynne replied, wondering where she got the strength to say it when she was suddenly feeling weak and helpless with the relief of her narrow escape from Rhys.

"Are you of a mind to join your life with that of the Church, lady?" Madoc asked her, and when Wynne shook her head, he continued, "Then eventually you must wed. Since I am your betrothed husband and no other suits you, then you must wed with me." Reaching out, he took her slender hand in his and, startled, she could feel the strength flow from him directly into her body. "Do I displease you so then, lady?" he said gently, his marvelous eyes searching her face.

"How can you displease me, my lord, when I do not even know you?" Wynne said, carefully averting her eyes from his.

"That is precisely why I have affixed our wedding day almost a year from now, dearling," he told her, and what his look had been unable to accomplish, the sweet sobriquet he gave her did. Heat began once more to race through her body.

"It is more than fair," Dewi said, much to his sister's surprise. "It is most generous. Since you have no passion for the Church, then you must honor this betrothal our father made and wed Prince Madoc, Wynne."

"Did you not swear to me that the choice would be mine?" she insisted almost angrily.

"Aye, and I will not go back on my word, sister, but if not Madoc of Powys, who ? You will be sixteen in December, and you have already refused several suitors of good family and reputation. You are not in love with anyone to my knowledge, and now we learn you are betrothed to this man. I know I need not fear for my life with this husband of yours, as I felt I must fear Rhys of St. Bride's. Madoc does not seek to have my lands. Indeed, his family's reputation will keep me safe from those who might otherwise dare to wrest Gwernach from me."

Wynne was astounded by her younger brother's knowledge and firm grasp of the situation. Yesterday he had been but a naughty boy gone birding. Now he spoke with mature dignity and logic. She did not know how to fight him under these circumstances. Everything he said was true, even if he was but a child. "And if in getting to know you, my lord," she addressed Madoc, "I find we do not suit… you will set me free?"

He nodded slowly. "I want no unwilling woman to wife, lady. After the harvest and your sisters' marriages, I will take you with me to my home at Raven's Rock. You will keep my sister Nesta company until the Solstice, when we celebrate her marriage to Rhys. In that time we will get to know one another. Come the long winter when we are alone, we shall truly see if we are suited. Will that please you, Wynne of Gwernach?"

"But to leave Gwernach!" she protested.

"Come, sister!" Dewi said a trifle impatiently. "Surely you cannot expect the prince of Wenwynwyn to remain here courting you. You will go to Raven's Rock Castle with him after the harvest and begin to familiarize yourself with your new domain. And now that that is settled, I would change my clothes. I am still damp to the bone from my adventures." He arose from the table. "Come and help me, Grandmother."

"Your eyes have the look of a netted bird," Madoc noted as they watched Dewi and Enid depart the hall.

Wynne turned, startled, surprised that he could read her so easily. "My brother likes you," she said, avoiding his reference, "and because he does he will see that our marriage takes place whether I want it or not, no matter he tells me the choice is mine. For the first time since our father's death he is behaving like a true lord of Gwernach despite his youth and inexperience.

"You have taught him well, lady, but have no fears. My pride is not so overweening that should you refuse me I will suffer, or Gwernach will suffer. The choice is truly yours. I swear it!"

"Why can no one understand that I simply do not wish to wed?" Wynne said despairingly.

"Why do you not wish to marry, lady?" he inquired gently. "Have you some dislike for men?"

"I do not think so, my lord," Wynne said. "No! I do like men."

"Then what is it that makes you struggle like an animal in a trap against the inevitable, lady?" he probed.

"I would be free!" she said. "No man's possession! My own mistress!"

"And so you shall be when you are my wife, Wynne of Gwernach. Far more free than you are now, dearling, for now you are caught in a snare of your own making. You have woven it tightly using fear and ignorance, but you shall escape this pitfall soon, dearling, for I shall give you the greatest weapon of all with which to fight your own fears."

"What is it?" she almost whispered, his words sending a small thrill through her veins.

"Love," was the simple answer. "Love is the greatest weapon known to man, Wynne. You will see, my dearling. You will soon see!"

Chapter 3

The harvest was adequate. Husbanded carefully, there would be enough to feed both Gwernach's cattle and Gwernach's people in the coming winter. The summer had been wet, but not as wet as previous years. There had been enough sunshine to ripen the grain and dry the hay. The growing season over, the weather had become sunny and mild. The grass was thick and lush on the wooded hillsides where Gwernach's milk cows grazed peacefully. The apples hung in the orchards, growing plumper and sweeter with each passing day.

In the hall, Wynne, Enid, and little Mair oversaw the many preparations for the double wedding to be celebrated in three days' time. Dewi and Einion had gone hunting a final time in an effort to add to their larder. The bridegrooms, accompanied by Rhys, would not arrive until the night before the nuptials. Madoc and his sister, however, were expected tomorrow.

He stayed at Gwernach but one night those three months ago, and he had not come since. He had written to her-some letters sweet, some of a more practical nature-several times over the past weeks. He had sent her gifts that had had Caitlin pea-green with envy, for her betrothed had sent but one item, an ill-fashioned necklace that even Wynne had to agree was ugly. There was an ivory box that had contained half-a-dozen beautiful gold hairpins set with creamy pearls. A fine chain of Irish red-gold. A necklace of garnet and one of amethyst, each with matching earrings. A willow cage containing a pale green finch who sang more sweetly than any Wynne had known had arrived one day. Soft-hearted, she had attempted to free the little creature, but though it flew about the hall and the gardens, each night it returned to its cage, where it tucked its tiny head beneath its wing to sleep most soundly until first light.

A month after Madoc had left them, his messenger had arrived with several bolts of fabric: brocade, silk, fine soft wools, sheer delicate linens, and jeweled ribbons in every hue of the rainbow.

"With my lord's compliments," the young page had said as his men-at-arms brought this sudden and unexpected bounty into the hall. "He suggests that perhaps you might find amongst his offerings something that would please your sisters to wear upon their wedding day."

With a single and unabashed shriek of delight, Caitlin and Dilys fell upon the fabric and were instantly embroiled in a violent quarrel over who should have which.

"Please thank my lord Madoc for his kind thoughtfulness," Wynne replied, offering refreshments to the page and his men before they left. She then turned her attention to her sisters. "Cease your bickering immediately," she threatened them, "or you shall have nothing. I would remind you that the fabrics are mine to do with as I please. Grandmother shall have the first pick, then Dewi and Mair. Only then will I allow you your choice."

"That's not fair!" Caitlin protested. "We are the brides! We should choose first!"

"Argue further with me," Wynne said darkly in a threatening tone, "and you shall find yourself wed in your shift, your hair cut to show the lord of Coed your true spousal servitude."

"I am content to wait my turn," Dilys said quickly, dropping her grip upon a swatch of brocade, her hand going to her long brown-gold hair as if to assure herself it was still there. It was her best attribute, for she was a bony girl with sharp features, whose bosom was only just beginning to soften her shape.

"You would not dare," Caitlin hissed menacingly, clutching a bolt of silk she particularly fancied to her breasts and glaring defiantly at Wynne.

"Nothing, sister mine, would give me greater pleasure," Wynne softy assured Caitlin, "but remember that first impressions are important. If you hope to rule your husband, and I know that you do, Caitlin, then you must bind him to you in those first moments. Can you do that if I shear your head like Einion shears the sheep?"

The bolt of silk slid from Caitlin's grasp and she pushed it away irritably. "The color did not suit me anyway," she said sourly.

Wynne smiled. "I would not know, but perhaps you are right. Your taste in these matters is always good."

In the end Caitlin had had her first choice. Enid had chosen for herself a fine indigo-blue fabric that complemented her silvery-white hair and a rose-colored silk. Dewi had taken a yellow and black brocade, leaving a coppery-colored and black silk brocade for Caitlin, who found it unusual and elegant. Dilys had chosen her favorite, a pale blue silk that matched her eyes and was embroidered with tiny silver stars. Enid had insisted that the rest of the fabrics belonged to Wynne, and had several fine new tunic dresses and under tunics made for her eldest grandchild. Still, there had been enough fabric left over for her sisters to make additional gowns.

"I do not know why you insisted on having so many things made for me," Wynne protested to Enid. "I already have enough to wear. More than enough!"

"Child, you have never been away from Gwernach," Enid counseled her. "Although I have never been to Raven's Rock Castle, I know it to be a place such as you cannot imagine. Madoc has done you a great kindness in sending these fabrics that you might make a new wardrobe for yourself. You will need it and more once you are his wife. Wait and see! I am right, for I have lived away from Gwernach. I know."

Her grandmother's words had touched a chord within Wynne, but she did not know why. How provincial would she seem to those who lived at Raven's Rock? What if they did not like her? She had always been liked by all who knew her, but all who knew her were of Gwernach, not strangers with strange ways in a strange place. The thought had nagged her ever since. Now tomorrow was upon her. Madoc and his sister would be here. In just a few days time she would be leaving the only home she had ever had. The only place she ever loved.

Wynne was angry at herself for what she deemed her own cowardice. Madoc, for what little she knew of him, was a kind man. Surely his people would be kind. If she was inexperienced in the ways of living in a fine castle, she would quickly learn new ways and correct any deficiencies in her knowledge. She would make friends. She had never had a friend. Only her sisters. No, that was not right. Einion was her friend, but he must remain behind to protect Dewi and Mair. And Madoc's sister would soon be leaving Raven's Rock for St. Bride's. Perhaps that singular similarity between them would make Nesta her friend, but would there be others? She felt uneasy in her heart, but as she was not a girl to dwell on what she considered foolishness, Wynne put these disturbing thoughts from her mind.

"There is nothing left to clean," Enid said, her voice replete with self-satisfaction. "There isn't a thing in this hall that hasn't been scrubbed twice over and polished within an inch of its life." She looked about her, smiling as she saw the relief etched into the faces about her. They had worked hard, and they had worked the house slaves equally as hard.

"If the bridegrooms ask," little Mair said mischievously, "shall we swear this is all Caitlin and Dilys's doing?"

Her grandmother and elder sister chuckled aloud.

"Fortunately," Wynne said, "the bridegrooms are young, Mair, and their first interest will be in the beauty of their brides. As our sisters are pretty girls, I think we may safely say our new relations will not be disappointed."

"Caitlin and Dilys have done nothing these past weeks but perfume themselves and rub their bodies with that wonderful cream you make from rendered lamb's fat and rose water," Mair said.

"There is more to my cream than that," Wynne laughed. "I had better teach you how to make it before I go, else I not have the chance again."

"Aye," Mair agreed, "you had better, sister, for Caitlin and Dilys have secreted all the jars of cream that you stored up in their chests and there is none left!"

Enid shook her head. "What will they do when it is no more, I wonder, since they were not interested in learning how to make it," she said.

"They will send to me at Raven's Rock," laughed Wynne, "demanding a supply instantaneously." Then she looked down at her little sister. "I have some of my cream hidden away where neither Caitlin or Dilys knows, and tomorrow we will make more!"

"But not for Caitlin and Dilys!" Mair said firmly.

"No," Wynne responded. "Not for Caitlin or Dilys."

And the following day when she was looking, she was certain, her absolute worst, Madoc and his sister arrived early. Wynne was in her pharmacea with Mair in her oldest tunic dress, a garment well-faded, not quite long enough, and with stains beneath the armpits, when Dewi came to get her. There was no way to the solar but through the hall. No way, therefore, of escaping the scrutiny of the prince and his sister, a dainty fairy of a girl whose eyes widened at her first sight of the barefooted Wynne of Gwernach.

"Could you not have sent a messenger ahead with a warning of your coming?" Wynne said irritably in greeting.

"But you knew we were expected today," Madoc replied, confused.

"But not when!" Wynne answered spiritedly. "I was in my pharmacea teaching Mair how to make my special body and face cream, for Caitlin and Dilys have depleted my stock entirely. What must your sister think of me to greet you both so and looking as I do?!"

Nesta of Powys burst out laughing. "Ohh," she said, gasping with her mirth. "I am so pleased you are not in awe of Madoc! I was so fearful of leaving him with some meek and mindless little thing who would jump with his every breath. If that cream of yours is responsible for your marvelous complexion, then I want to know how to make it too! Can we go back to your pharmacea now, sister? My brother is quite capable of fending for himself."

Sister. Nesta of Powys had called her sister as easily as if they had known each other their whole lives. Wynne felt a prickle of tears behind her eyes and swallowed hard, a smile creasing her lovely face as Madoc's sister slipped her arm through hers. They were going to be friends.

"You need not fear that my sister is docile and retiring," teased Dewi. "She is afraid of no man… or so she assures me. I have not, however, gained my full growth yet."

"Scamp!" Wynne chuckled, swatting affectionately at the lad.

She then led Nesta to her pharmacea, where Mair was carefully adding rose water to the creamy mixture. Introducing Madoc's sister to her own, Wynne set about to instruct both girls in the fine art of making her beauty cream. With three pairs of hands, her little stone crocks were soon filled, sealed carefully with beeswax covered with linen, and set upon a high back shelf where neither Caitlin nor Dilys would be apt to find them. Mair then ran off while Wynne and Nesta remained to restore order to the pharmacea.

"Tell me about Rhys of St. Bride's," Nesta said. "He was your suitor, wasn't he?" She washed the mortar and pestle Wynne had been using.

"An unwanted one," Wynne replied as she slowly dried the utensils.

"Why?" Nesta's light gold eyes were curious. "Do you find him physically repugnant?"

"An unwanted suitor only because I do not desire to wed at this time," Wynne explained to Nesta. "As for his features, I believe you could call them attractive. Rhys is of medium height and every inch of him is a warrior. I sense that his physique is a hard one. There seems to be no softness about him. His neck is bull-like. He exudes fierceness." Wynne wiped the stone counters clean.

"Yet you were not fearful of him," Nesta noted.

"I did not show my fear, but aye, I was fearful. Perhaps not so much of him as that he might take me away from Gwernach, that he might be a danger to Dewi. His motives in seeking me out for a wife were not of a romantic nature. My brother is young and not yet grown to manhood. If he dies, then I am next in line to inherit this land. I think my attraction for Rhys was Gwernach. He is an ambitious man."

"There is nothing wrong with ambition," Nesta said thoughtfully, "but I can understand your fears for your little brother; and you are wise to follow your voice within, sister. Tell me more of Rhys. What color are his eyes? His hair? He is quite faceless to me."

"Are you not afraid?" Wynne asked. "Your brother has promised you to someone you don't even know if you will like."

Nesta smiled. "I feel no calling to the Church. Therefore, I must, of necessity, wed. There is no one whom I love. I trust Madoc to choose wisely for me, and I believe he has. My mother's home, Pendragon, is my inheritance from her. I cannot have it without a husband. Had Madoc chosen a man with holdings inland, what good would Pendragon be to him or to me? Rhys's castle is quite near my own- But tell me more of the man!" Nesta removed the apron Wynne had given her to cover her gown.

"He is a Celt in face. His eyes are light grey, almost silvery, and his hair is a rich dark brown. He has a beard, and it is, I think, his one vanity, for it is beautifully barbered, with a moustache that encircles his mouth running into the beard. His mouth is large, and his lips are thick and sensuous. Yes, he is an attractive man. I do not think he will disappoint you, but as to his character, I know little except that he is stubborn."

Nesta laughed her tinkling laugh again. "In other words, you could not frighten him off," she said.

Wynne shook her head ruefully. "I could not. Had your brother not appeared when he did, I do not know what would have happened to me."

"Madoc is clever that way," Nesta replied. "He always appears when you need him the most."

"Is it true what is said about your family?" Wynne queried Nesta, curious, and yet almost afraid of what the girl would answer.

Nesta smiled. "Aye," she answered simply, "but some are more skilled than others."

"Madoc?"

Nesta nodded. "He is a clever man, Wynne, but I have never known him to use his powers unfairly or with malice. If the truth be known, I do not even know the extent of his wisdom."

"And your skills? Are they as great? Forgive me, but I need to learn what it is I must face at Raven's Rock. I have never known any world but Gwernach. I must sound so childish to you," Wynne finished as she gave the stone counter a final wipe.

"Nay, you are not childish. Your concerns are natural ones, sister." Nesta put her arm through Wynne's once again. "My skills are little more than yours. You see, I am Madoc's half sister. Our fathers are different, and the lords of Wenwynwyn inherit their powers through the male line, not the female. Most people do not know that and assume otherwise. Madoc and I have another brother, Brys, who shares a father with me. Brys allows people to believe that he too has powers, although he really does not."

"I did not know you had another brother!" Wynne said.

"Brys is estranged from us. He has his own holding at Cai," Nesta said shortly. "You need not concern yourself with him. Now tell me. When will Rhys arrive? I am most anxious to meet him."

"He will not come until the night before the weddings," Wynne told her as they made their way back to the hall. "He escorts the two bridegrooms who are his cousins. I have invited him to remain for several days after the celebration, however, for I thought that you would want the time to get acquainted."

"Perhaps we will even allow him to return to Raven's Rock with us. I do not know what St. Bride's Castle is like, but I think it only fair that Rhys know my home is an elegant place, that he may have time to prepare for my coming after our marriage," Nesta said proudly.

Wynne nodded. "Aye, you are wise, sister." She flushed with her use of the word, but already she felt quite close to Nesta, who was so easy to talk with, and who was so candid in her opinions. "Rhys has been a bachelor for a long time, with no wife or mother to rule his hall. If he is like most men, it is probably a pigsty!"

In the hall, Madoc was comfortably settled talking to Enid. Wynne noted that her grandmother looked happier and more at ease than she had in many months. It was obvious that she liked the prince. If only I could be certain, Wynne thought, then blushed as Madoc looked up, gazing directly at her as if she had spoken aloud instead of within her mind.

"Do not do that!" she told him angrily. "You have not the right."

He had the good grace to flush guiltily, and said, "I beg your pardon, dearling. I am so attuned to you that it is hard not to hear."

"Then you must teach me how you do it that I may have the equal advantage," Wynne said, mollified slightly.

"What is it?" Enid asked, confused by their words.

"Nothing that should fret you, Grandmother," Wynne told her.

"Take your betrothed for a walk in the garden overlooking the river," Enid instructed her granddaughter. "He has spent all his time entertaining an old woman this afternoon while you toiled in your pharmacea. Did you replenish your supply of cream?"

"Aye, and I've hidden it where Caitlin and Dilys will not find the jars. It was thoughtless and greedy of them to take all of the cream without asking first," Wynne said.

"But so like your sisters," Enid replied. "Go with Madoc, child. I will take Nesta to the solar that she may refresh herself. She will share your bed with you while she is here."

"Tell me of this garden overlooking the river," Madoc said, taking Wynne's hand as they departed the hall into the sunny afternoon.

"It is little but a patch of ground," Wynne said, smiling. "My mother and my grandmother insisted upon planting it and tending it. The house is built, as you will see, on a high promontory that juts out into the river below, and it is well walled. It is impossible to gain access to the rear of the house but from the house itself, for the walls prevent it on two sides, and the cliff is much too sheer to climb up from the river."

She waved her hand gracefully. "So here is our wee garden, my lord. There is no great deal to it, but grandmother loves it."

"And so do you," he noted, and she nodded.

"Aye, I do. I like to sit here on our one little bench and look to the hills beyond. It is peaceful. As you can see, there is little need for a wall where our garden thrusts out over the river, but mother planted roses there that no one might come too near the edge and fall."

"Rosa Damacena," he said knowledgeably. "I love their fragrance."

"You know the Rose of Damascus?" Wynne was surprised.

"There are beautiful gardens at Raven's Rock, dearling, and they eagerly await your gentle and clever touch," Madoc told her. "They have been somewhat neglected since my mother's death two years ago. You would have liked my mother. Nesta is very much like her."

"Nesta tells me that you have a brother too," Wynne said.

A shadow passed over Madoc's face. "Brys of Cai. Aye, but we are not close. I regret it, of course, but Brys has a restless and troubled spirit. He could be dangerous if I would let him, but I will not. You grow sweet herbs in your garden, I see," Madoc noted, deftly changing the subject. It was obviously one upon which he chose not to dwell.

Curious, but respectful of his wishes in the matter, Wynne plucked a piece of lavender and, crushing it between her fingers, put it beneath his nose. "My lavender is a special one I have bred as one might breed a cow. I think it more fragrant than other lavenders, and I shall bring seeds with me to Raven's Rock to plant."

He sniffed appreciatively, and then taking her fingers, kissed them. "Sweet," he said.

Her heartbeat quickened momentarily. "The lavender or my hand?" she said. "You seem to have a penchant for fingers, my lord," and though her look was grave, her green eyes twinkled.

Releasing her hand, he said, "You are a puzzle to me, Wynne of Gwernach. I am not certain how to behave with you lest I frighten you or offend you by my actions. One moment you're as prickly as a sea urchin, the next as shy as a doe. Yet I cannot help myself and I act on instinct alone with you. What else am I to do?"

"What is it you want of me, my lord?" Wynne asked him bluntly. "It is more, I sense, than just my hand in marriage."

"For now, dearling, I would simply have your love," Madoc answered, evading her cleverly, for the truth was too potent a brew for her to drink at this moment in time.

"I do not know if I can give you love, my lord. I love my bother, and Mair, and my grandmother. I think I may even harbor a small tender emotion for Caitlin and Dilys. I loved my parents, and I love Einion, who has watched over me since I was an infant. I even have an affection for a large raven I call old Dhu, but what I feel for these good souls is not what you would have me feel for you, I sense. Having never felt that particular elusive emotion, Madoc of Powys, I do not even know if I am capable of it. Besides, is that emotion we call love real?

"It seems a dangerous thing to me to entrust one's heart and being to another. Circumstances change as life passes, and what was certainty yesterday may not be tomorrow. To love, I think, means you must have certitude and faith in another. You must rely totally upon them. I do not know if I dare allow myself the luxury of what you call love."

"You tell me you have never loved a man, dearling, and yet you speak as a woman of experience who has been deeply hurt by another," he replied.

"Do I?" Wynne look genuinely surprised. "How strange," she told him, "yet I have told you the truth, and I have felt this way from my earliest years."

"Perhaps in another time and place," he said casually, "you gained this sad knowledge that has lingered on to plague you in this time and this place."

She nodded slowly. "Perhaps," she agreed.

Madoc found it interesting that she did not discount his words, and he wondered if she understood the theory of reincarnation. It was a wisdom as old as time itself; understood and believed by their Celtic ancestors, and once even taught by the Christian faith. It was a simple doctrine, and the sacrifice of the Christ had made it even clearer to those who believed.

The immortal soul, a gift from the Creator, would be reborn again and again in human form as it struggled to purify itself. The human soul, like an uncut gemstone in its earliest stage, constantly working to cut and polish itself to perfection that one day it might move on to the next plane of spiritual existence. The Church had ceased teaching reincarnation many centuries before. The early mass of the faithful were simple people who misunderstood the doctrine. For them reincarnation was an excuse to indulge their vices with the reassurance that they would return to repent those sins in another life. As this was not the purpose intended, the Church simply ceased the teaching of higher spiritual attainment; but the knowledge constituted an integral part of many other faiths.

Madoc was a Celt in his heart and soul. He knew that Wynne's reluctance to wed stemmed from another life. It certainly had not come from anything that she encountered in this time and place, but he knew from where it did come. It was a problem that she must work out for herself. He could do nothing to help her. He could love her and he could reassure her. Perhaps in time she would be content. Or perhaps she would remember. Though he welcomed that possibility, he also feared it.

"When your sisters are wed," he told her, "we will return to Raven's Rock. There we will come to know one another. Mayhap you will even learn to love me. Come Beltaine next I will take you for my wife, Wynne of Gwernach."

"Will you learn to love me, Madoc?" she asked him.

"I think I already do, dearling. Do not forget that I have known you since your infancy."

"How is that possible, my lord? I but became cognizant of you three months ago! Are you a flatterer then?"

"In time," he promised her, "you will know everything, Wynne, but much of it you will have to learn for yourself. I shall only tell you part, and then only when the moment is right."

She laughed. "You speak in riddles, my lord of Powys, but at least you are not pompous or dull."

Madoc plucked a late-blooming damask rose from its hedge and tucked it in Wynne's thick, dark braid. "Am I so transparent then, dearling, that you see through me?" he teased her, smiling.

"I am not sure I see the real you at all, my lord," she replied wisely.

He chuckled. "It is an advantage I shall savor for now, my dearling, for it is not an advantage a man is able to keep on longer acquaintance with the lady of his heart."

Wynne burst out laughing. "Why, my lord, I would almost feel pity for you, did I not know better."

"I shall have no mercy from you, lady, I can see that," he said.

"None," she cheerfully agreed, surprised that she was beginning to like this man.

Caitlin and Dilys did not appear at the evening meal, sending word that they needed their beauty rest before the exhausting festivities of their wedding.

"I should understand better," muttered Enid, "had they accepted any responsibility for the preparations involved in these weddings, but they have not. They have spent hours soaking themselves in the oak tub and creaming themselves until they must surely be as slippery as eels."

"Come, Grandmother," Dewi said, his blue eyes twinkling devilishly, "would you really want Caitlin and Dilys helping you? We have all been far better off without them. I for one am grateful for their absence."

"Dewi!" Wynne chided him. "What will the prince and the lady Nesta think of you that you show such lack of filial love for your sisters?"

"There are some siblings," Nesta said quietly, "who are not easy, nay, they are impossible to love. We cannot love a relation simply because he or she is a relation, I fear."

"You see!" Dewi crowed. "The lady Nesta understands even if you do not, Wynne."

"What I see is that the lady Nesta has better manners than the lord of Gwernach, brother. She puts you at your ease, but you make us all uncomfortable."

Dewi quickly understood his elder and, with a blush, he said, "Your pardon, my lord and my ladies."

The next two days passed quickly, and Gwernach was in a fair uproar with preparations for the weddings. Dewi had declared a holiday in honor of the two brides, and his serfs would be excused from the fields that day, although the cows must be milked twice daily no matter the festivities. It was hoped the day would be fair, as the celebration was planned for outdoors. Although they had no family left and few near neighbors, for Gwernach's lands were vast, Rhys would travel with his great troop of men, and the bridegrooms would certainly bring some relations with them, but no word was received from Rhys until he and his party were but an hour's ride from Gwernach.

Wynne scanned the missive. "The lords of Coed and Llyn bring their widowed mothers, and there is at least one sister in the group, although Rhys does not say whose."

"There are beds stored in the cow barn nearest the house," Enid remembered. "I'll send some men to fetch them, and we will set them up in the solar." She turned on Caitlin and Dilys, who were creaming each other's hands. "There are hangings and mattresses stored in the trunks in the nook at the end of the hall. Fetch them and make up the beds for our guests."

"But we will ruin our hands," whined Dilys.

"If you do not do it," their grandmother said, "it will not get done. Do you think the mothers of these men will let you wed them if you cannot even be bothered to make them comfortable? But if you prefer to remain here, old maids, I will not stop you."

Without another word of protest, Caitlin and Dilys arose from their place and hurried off to do her bidding. Enid smiled archly.

Rhys and his party arrived, and when finally the horses had been stabled and everyone brought into the hall, the introductions were made between all parties.

Arthwr of Coed was a lanky man with a large Adam's apple. His stringy hair was nondescript in color, and his eyes, which peered intently, a pale shade Wynne could not put color to, try though she did. He grinned, pleased, showing bad teeth, when presented to Caitlin, grabbing her and placing a wet, noisy kiss upon her perfect cheek.

"By the rood, cousin," he said to Rhys as if Caitlin were not even there, "this is a pretty pigeon you've placed in my nest! Right gladly will I fill her belly with my seed." His arm was tight about Caitlin's waist, and he did not look as if he would soon release her.

Caitlin flushed, an angry look springing into her eyes, but before she might vent her outrage, her husband-to-be was introducing her to an enormously large woman whose tiny eyes were almost lost in the folds of fat that made up her face. This was his mother, the lady Blodwen. Wynne flashed a warning look at Dewi lest he blurt out that one of their prize cows was named Blodwen.

"What a pretty child you are," the lady Blodwen said in a honied voice. "I am so glad my son is to have you for a wife and that you will come to Coed to look after me. I am of a most delicate constitution, as you must surely know."

Before Caitlin might say a word, Rhys was dragging forth his other cousin, Howel of Llyn, to introduce him to Dilys. He was a most beautiful young man with fair skin, dark brown eyes, and bright blond hair. He peered at Dilys critically and then whined, "She is not as pretty as the other, Rhys. Why should Arthwr have the prettier one? What do you think, Mother?" He addressed his last question to a woman who might have been his twin. She did not look like a mother.

"She will do quite nicely, Howel. Not everyone can be as fair as you are, my darling boy. She is pretty enough that you may take your pleasure of her without disgust, but not so beautiful that another man will covet her. With this one you will be certain that your sons are your own. Kiss her now, Howel, lest the lady think I have taught you no manners."

Dilys was, despite their words, ecstatic. Howel of Llyn was the most handsome man she had ever seen. "Ohhh," she whispered softly, "how beautiful you are, my lord!"

Pleased by her homage, Howel kissed her and, standing back, smiled at Dilys. "I will give you beautiful sons, lady," he told her.

The lady Gladys, for that was the name of Howel's mother, then introduced her daughter, Gwenda, a proud girl of eleven. She had brought the child along when she had heard that Gwernach's lord was not yet promised to any maid. Gwenda was as fair as her parent and her sibling, but her personality reminded Dewi too much of his sister Caitlin to attract his serious interest, but as the lady Gladys was not aware of that, her hopes were high. Though she deemed Dilys unimportant, she did not want to remain at Llyn forever. Gwernach would be a fine place to end her days, and the old grandmother could not live forever.

The betrothed couples moved off in tandem. Enid offered wine to the mothers and made them comfortable by the fire, thinking as she did how attractive Madoc and Wynne looked standing together. Rhys shuffled his feet nervously and tried not to look about too obviously.

"You will find my sister Nesta in the garden beyond the hall," Madoc told him. "She did not want to take away from Caitlin's and Dilys's excitement." He smiled, and Wynne did too. "Go to her, my lord."

Rhys made a mighty effort not to appear too eager, but he could scarce keep himself from running. As he entered the small garden his mouth fell open in wonder. The most ravishing girl he had ever seen in his entire life, surely the most exquisite girl in the entire world, stood awaiting him, her hands outstretched in welcome. This, he realized, shocked as the thought penetrated his consciousness, was the woman he had been waiting for his whole life long; and until his first glimpse of her, he hadn't realized it. Behind her a hedge of pink damask roses bloomed their last, a wild and tangled background for her dark red hair with its coppery lights that seemed to float all about her almost like a garnet mist.

The girl's face was a perfect heart with a straight, little nose, a rosebud of a mouth on either side of which were deep, single dimples, and the most beautiful gold eyes Rhys had ever seen. She was garbed in a blue-green and gold brocade tunic dress with a blue-green silk under tunic. A narrow gold band encircled her forehead, just barely containing her wonderful hair. In its center was a moonstone.

"Welcome, my dear lord of St. Bride's," Nesta of Powys said in her clear, musical voice, and she stepped forth to greet him.

Rhys of St. Bride's fell to his knees and kissed the petite girl's tiny hands. This wonderful creature was his! He felt suddenly humble, and almost shouted with his joy were he not so close to weeping. What had he, a great, rough man, ever done to deserve such a perfect treasure of a wife? "Lady," he finally managed to say, the fact he must appear the fool not distressing him in the least.

Her fingers closing about his, she urged him to his feet and said admiringly when he stood again, "You are so big! I do not think I have ever known so big a man; but you are gentle too, I can tell though you would hide it lest some think you weak." She stood as tall as she might upon her tiptoes and, drawing his head down, kissed his mouth warmly.

To his surprise, Rhys felt a single tear slide down his bearded cheek.

Nesta smiled full into his face and with one finger, she brushed the tear away. "It will be all right now, my dear lord," she told him. "We have found each other and nothing will ever part us." Then she kissed him again. Rhys shuddered, closing his strong arms about her, fearful that he might unwittingly hurt her, for she was so delicate a little creature.

Wynne, watching with Madoc, shook her head in wonder. "She is not in the least afraid of him, yet I was. I do not understand it."

"He was not the man for you, my dearling," Madoc said.

"And you are?" she answered, smiling slightly.

"Aye, I am," he responded quietly, his arm tightening about her. Then his fingers gently took her chin in their grasp and, turning her head just slightly, he put his lips briefly upon hers.

Wynne's green eyes widened in surprise as she felt the warmth of the contact.

Madoc smiled down into her eyes. "You do not know how to kiss," he remarked, surprised.

Hearing amusement in his voice, she said sharply, "Of course I do not know how to kiss! I have never done it before. Surely you would not have a wanton wife!" Then she stamped her foot at him. "You will teach me to kiss properly, Madoc. There must be great pleasure in kissing, for people seem to enjoy doing it, I have noted."

"I shall gladly teach you, my darling, and I will give you as much pleasure as you desire, I swear it!" he promised.

"Good! We shall begin tonight after the meal, when my duties are concluded for the day. Though we be pledged to one another, you must court me if you are to win me. Kissing is part of courting, is it not, my lord?" Her cheeks, he noted, were flushed pink.

"Aye, very much a part of courting," he told her.

Hand in hand they turned back into the hall. Wynne would not allow her own curiosity to override her province as Gwernach's mistress. She did not find either of Rhys's cousins to her liking, but her sisters had no complaints at all. After her initial shock of being treated like a brood mare had subsided, Caitlin had skillfully set about to win over both Arthwr and the lady Blodwen. Her betrothed husband would respond, she concluded, to flattery regarding his masculinity, and so she had immediately set about adulating him, allowing him outrageously bold liberties that included passionate kisses and naughty fondlings in the shadows of the hall where none could see.

"Ohhh," Caitlin cried softly as Arthwr squeezed one of her plump breasts hotly. "You set me aflame, my lord! I am a virgin, but I sense you will be a mighty lover. I shall never want another but you!" She pushed herself against him, her lips wet and parted, her hand reaching out to fondle him daringly. She almost laughed at the glazed look upon his face, seeing she had easily enslaved him, and now certain as she received his wet kisses that she would have her own way in their marriage.

As for that fat old cow, the lady Blodwen, Caitlin was swift to realize that all her new mother-in-law would desire to be content was flattery, an unending supply of sweetmeats, and the leisure to pursue absolutely nothing. She hoped that Coed had a competent staff of house slaves. If they were not competent, Caitlin would soon see they were, for she knew her home must run smoothly, although she preferred not to be involved herself. She had learned a great deal watching her eldest sister. Because she didn't choose to lift her hand to menial tasks did not mean she wasn't aware of how something should be done properly. Caitlin was well-satisfied with her bridegroom.

As was Dilys. Dilys was not clever like Caitlin, but instant and innocent adoration of Howel of Llyn won her his immediate favor. The handsome Howel was vain beyond most men, a condition encouraged his whole life by his mother. Dilys was obviously not going to change anything in their lives. She would, like the lady Gladys, heap praise upon her beautiful spouse. She was immediately welcomed into her new family. Her mother-in-law was particularly tender toward Dilys, for she hoped to cajole the girl into influencing Dewi to look favorably upon her daughter Gwenda, not realizing that Dilys had no leverage at all with the young lord of Gwernach.

After the evening meal the women departed for the solar. The twin marriages would be celebrated with the first mass of the new day. Then the brides and their grooms would be feted until the noon hour, when they would depart. Gwernach had not the facilities for two simultaneous bridal nights. The newlyweds would have to return to their own separate homes in order to consummate their marriages. Wynne personally saw to the comfort of her female guests. Two additional beds had been set up to house the mothers-in-law. Gwenda would sleep with her mother, and the two serving wenches who had accompanied these ladies would sleep upon trundles belonging to the beds. There was plenty of water for washing.

In the hall below, Enid saw to the comfort of the gentlemen, assigning bed spaces, making certain that there were enough coverlets, that the fires were banked, the men-at-arms settled in the stables, the doors bolted securely. Noticing Madoc glancing toward the staircase, Enid said quietly, "She must get her rest, my lord. All of tomorrow's preparations rest upon her shoulders."

"We had planned a tryst, lady," he admitted.

Enid shook her head. "Not this night, I think."

He bowed politely. "As you will, lady. Will you tender my regrets to Wynne?"

"I will," Enid promised, and patted his cheek. "There will be plenty of time to get to know my granddaughter after tomorrow."

He smiled at her and said, "I can see from where it is Wynne gets her strength of will, lady."

Enid chuckled. "Perhaps," she agreed, "but Wynne is also very much herself, my lord. Never forget it."

"I suspect she will not allow me to, lady," was his response, and Enid nodded even as she turned to ascend the staircase to the solar. There she found Wynne, free now of her obligations, preparing to descend.

"No child," she told her granddaughter. "I have told Madoc that you must have your rest this night. Tomorrow will be a fiercely busy day for us all, but most of the obligation will fall upon you. I am simply too old for it."

Wynne was disappointed, but she knew that her grandmother was correct. Besides, she was eager to hear what Nesta had to say about Rhys. Curious as to how Madoc's petite sister had so easily enslaved the big man, for it had been obvious from the moment the two had returned to the hall in the late afternoon that Rhys of St. Bride's was touchingly in love with the radiant Nesta of Powys. Removing her clothing but for her chemise, Wynne washed herself, as was her custom, and then climbed into her bed.

"I thought you were to meet Madoc," Nesta said, surprised.

"Grandmother said I must get to bed, for tomorrow will be busy," Wynne answered. "Tell me about Rhys? You must certainly possess some sort of magic to have so easily tamed so fierce a man."

Nesta's laughter tinkled softly. "There is no magic involved, Wynne, I swear it!" She rolled upon her side and looked into Wynne's beautiful face. "Ever since I was a tiny child I have dreamed of marrying a man like Rhys. A great bear of a man with a heart as tender as an egg."

"Rhys? Tender-hearted?" Wynne whispered unbelievingly.

Again Nesta laughed. "Aye," she said. "Tender-hearted! I vow it is true, Wynne, but of course he dare not show such a face to the world. You can understand that, can't you?"

Wynne nodded. "Do you love him?" she said.

"Not now," Nesta said honestly, "but I am going to once I get to know him better." She smiled. "When your sisters are wed and gone, we will have such a good time! We will take bread, your fine cheeses, sweet wine, and we will picnic in the hills near Gwernach."

"If the weather holds," Wynne answered practically.

"It will," said Nesta with a deep certainty, "but go to sleep, sister, for the lady Enid is right. You do need your rest."

It was the best night's sleep that she had had in many weeks, and when the head house slave, Dee, touched her shoulder to awaken her in the hour before the dawn, Wynne rose refreshed. It was too early for her to dress in her fine garments, but she pulled an ancient, well-worn tunic from her trunk and, belting it, hurried downstairs barefooted. She was pleased to see that the fires had already been rebuilt from their embers and were blazing merrily. Unbolting the door to the hall, Wynne hurried to the bakehouse to find the baker was even now removing a second baking of fresh breads from the ovens. With a smile of approval and a wave, she moved on to the dairy to find the cows being milked and the cheeses to be eaten at today's feast set upon the stone counters, awaiting transportation to the hall.

In the cook house, Gwyr, the cook, his spoon badge of office waving, directed his minions in a number of duties both inside and outside the building. Outside spits had been set up for the two great sides of venison, the two sides of beef, and the four young lambs that were now turning over open fires. Inside, the cook fires roasted capons, ducks, and a young boar. Wynne almost collided with a lad carrying a tray of game pies to the bakehouse to be baked.

Gwyr, a fussy fellow, shrieked aloud. "Drop those pies, you clumsy oaf," he threatened, "and I'll mince you up to take their place!"

The boy tossed the cook a saucy grin, not in the least fearful of the threat. "You'll have to catch me first, Da!" he laughed.

"Is there to be fish?" Wynne asked.

"Aye, my lady! Sea trout stuffed with mullet stuffed with oysters. It's to be steamed in wine and herbs and served with carved lemons on a bed of fresh watercress."

"You are an artist," Wynne told him. "Are the sweets made?"

"Aye! Harry, the baker, has made a sugar cake for our brides, and we have molded rose jellies and candied violets as well as an apple tart."

"You have all done your work so well, there is little left for me to do," Wynne complimented Gwyr and his staff.

"You must make yourself beautiful for your prince," Gwyr said with a sly smile.

Wynne laughed. "I shall have no time for my lord Madoc until I have seen to the safe departure of my sisters."

Gwyr said nothing, but a voice from somewhere in the cook house said quite distinctly, "Which cannot come too soon, lady!"

"For shame!" Wynne answered, shaking her finger at the unseen culprit, but she was hard-pressed to contain her laughter. Neither Caitlin nor Dilys had ever been popular with the servants, and with good cause. They were both demanding girls who were never content with the service rendered them.

Wynne next hurried to the church to find Father Drew directing several young girls who had just arrived bearing fresh flowers, still wet with the dew, and branches of greens, newly picked, with which to decorate the church. Unlocking a long, narrow box in the vestibule, Wynne drew out fresh beeswax candles and gave them to the priest. Moving on back to the hall, she found the men already stirring and, catching Einion's attention, said, "Make certain that the lords of Coed and Llyn bathe before they wed. I suspect neither has seen water in several weeks, for I noted that both were rank yesterday when they came. Perhaps, though, it was just the hot ride."

"I'll bathe them myself, lady," Einion said, a grin upon his face, "not that your sisters deserve the kindness I do them. The prince will help me. He's a man who likes his water."

"Take them to the river and then see the oak tub is filled as quickly as possible so the ladies may wash."

The large oak tub used for bathing was quickly set up in an alcove of the solar and filled with hot water. Wynne woke her guests first, but both the ladies Blodwen and Gladys looked horrified at her suggestion they might like to bathe.

"I shall be chilled to the bone if I bathe," Blodwen protested in weak tones. "I would surely catch my death of cold and be abed for months… if I survived."

"I only bathe in my own tub," the lady Gladys said loftily, "and I did so last month. I certainly do not need another bath yet."

"Mother! Do I have to?" Gwenda whined petulantly.

"Of course not, my treasure," Gladys told her daughter.

"As you will, my ladies," Wynne said politely, and woke her sisters.

Seeing the large tub set up, Caitlin and Dilys began to argue as to who should bathe first.

"Caitlin is the eldest," Wynne said, settling the argument.

"You are the eldest," Mair piped up.

"I will go last, as any good hostess would," Wynne said. "Let our brides wash themselves before the rest of us; and Caitlin is the eldest of the brides."

Several maidservants came up to the solar to help with the preparations, and to Wynne's amazement, they were all ready in the few minutes before the first mass of the morning was to begin. Wynne silently blessed Madoc's generosity, for she, her grandmother, Dewi, and her sisters looked wonderful. They had no need to feel ashamed before their guests.

Caitlin was elegant and almost beautiful in her copper and black brocade tunic dress with its under tunic of shiny copper silk. The outer tunic was girded with a belt of hammered copper circles enameled with a black design. Caitlin's shoes were a soft brown leather that followed the shape of her foot, and about her neck she wore a long strand of pearls, while from each of her ears dangled a large, fat pearl earring. Her long, dark brown hair, the color of ripe acorns, flowed unbound down her back, contained by a gold band decorated with small pearls.

Pretty Dilys wore equally lovely wedding garb. Over her pale blue silk under tunic she had a sky blue silk tunic dress embroidered with dainty silver stars and belted with a twisted silver rope. Upon her feet were silver kid slippers, and about her neck she wore a long strand of pearls similar to her sister's. Her earrings, however, were aquamarine drops set in silver, which matched the oval aquamarine centered in the headband restraining her brown-gold hair, which, like Caitlin's, was unbound.

"Your sisters are remarkably well-dressed," the lady Gladys noted sharply, feeling slightly put in the shade by the youthful loveliness of the two brides. "I would not have believed it possible, for you are simple, country people."

"Gwernach is not a poor place, lady," Wynne said softly. "My sisters are well-dowered and well-dressed, as befits the sisters of the lord of Gwernach."

"What fine pearls they wear," noted the lady Blodwen, peering intently at Caitlin's strand.

"My late son gifted his wife with a strand of pearls with each daughter she bore him," Enid replied. "I thought it appropriate that when their daughters wed, they each have one of those strands."

"Father Drew will wonder where we are," Wynne told them. "Let us go to the church so our families may be united at last." She stood graciously back, allowing their guests to go ahead, but Nesta hung back.

"Warn your sisters not to be intimidated by either of those two harpies," she said. "They covet the pearls, but if Caitlin and Dilys remain firm in their intent to keep them, those witches will eventually cease in their efforts to obtain them."

"You need not worry about Caitlin," Wynne replied. "The lady Blodwen will not get anything of hers no matter how hard she tries. In fact, I suspect that good lady's days at Coed are numbered. I can tell from what she has said that she thinks to have a daughter-in-law who will wait upon her hand and foot. She will quickly learn that Caitlin's sole concern is for herself. Dilys, however, is a different matter. I will see my brother makes certain that the lady Gladys does not impose upon poor Dilys. If he can manage to contain his dislike of her daughter Gwenda long enough for Dilys to work her way into her husband's affections, I think it will be all right. Away from Caitlin, Dilys is not quite so bad. She is not a quick girl, but she does have a sweetness about her."

"I think we are far more fortunate in our mates," Nesta said, and Enid smiled to herself, overhearing.

As much as Enid liked Madoc, she also liked his sister, who appeared to be the same sensible sort of girl that Wynne was. Nesta even had Rhys eating out of her hand, something Enid had never thought to see. She smoothed the fabric of her tunic dress, pleased with the richness of the indigo blue silk brocade which was shot through with silver threads. Aye, Rhys had turned from a lion to a lamb before their very eyes, and Nesta of Powys was entirely responsible. If that wasn't magic, she'd like to know what was.

Enid breathed deep of the warm late summer air, feeling a deep contentment envelop her as she did. If six months ago you had told her that everything at Gwernach would be so good by autumn, she would have considered the teller mad. She looked to the hillside where her son was buried. Ahh, Owain! she thought. The fates have dealt kindly with us indeed. Caitlin and Dilys are marrying well today and will be gone from here. Wynne's betrothed husband has come for her and will protect Dewi's rights. We need not fear his motives as we might have feared others. I believe we are safe, though I should not have thought it so without you, my son. If only Wynne were happier about her own impending marriage, but ahh, 'tis just maidenly concerns. Some have them and others do not. It will be well. I know it will be well.

The old woman stood smiling in the little church at Gwernach as Father Drew united in the holy sacrament of marriage her granddaughter Caitlin to Arthwr of Coed, and her granddaughter Dilys to Howel of Llyn. She nodded, pleased, as she saw Madoc of Powys reach out to take Wynne's hand in his, and Wynne not frown or pull away. Ah love! Ah youth! And yet, she thought wisely, there was a great deal to be said for age. Far more than youth could ever know. With age came acceptance, and sometimes, as in her case, peace. It was good to arise in the morning despite one's aches and pains, secure in the knowledge that one had survived to live another day. It was equally good to lie in one's featherbed at the end of a long day, warm and safe, and allow sleep to overtake one's thoughts. Enid smiled once more. If God would but allow her the time to see the others safe, she thought; and then little Mair was tugging at her hand.

"Come, Grandmother! The mass is over," she said brightly. "It is time to celebrate!"

"Aye," Enid responded. "It is certainly time to celebrate!"

Chapter 4

She was in the woods, and about her a faint mauve mist blew through the trees like pieces of shredded silk gauze. The world was frozen in time, yet above her a raven cried.

Remember!

She sensed the word rather than truly heard it, and she struggled to comprehend its meaning.

Remember! The word was whispered softly, urgently, in her ear.

Once more the raven sounded its harsh, raucous cry.

Remember? Remember what? She didn't know what. Then as always a terrible sadness began to wash over her. She heard the name being called, but she could absolutely not make out that name. Stirring restlessly, Wynne suddenly awoke. She was drenched in perspiration. As she came to herself, she was grateful that Nesta was now sleeping in the bed that had once been Caitlin's and Dilys's. The recurring dream was not something she wanted to share with anyone. It confused her and it frightened her.

Pushing the bed curtains back, she slipped from her sleeping place. Outside the window she could see light beginning to creep up the horizon. In the dark blue sky above, the morning star blazed brightly like a perfect crystal. Opening the chest at the foot of her bed, Wynne drew out her favorite old green tunic dress and slipped it on, not bothering to belt it. Then splashing some cold water on her face, she moved softly down the stairs, across the hall to the entry. Drawing the bolt back as silently as she could, she opened the door and stepped outside.

She padded barefooted across the courtyard, nodding at the sleepy sentry who opened the gates for her. At Gwernach they were used to the young mistress's early morning wanderings. Halfway across the field opposite the gates, Wynne stopped suddenly as a great fifteen-point buck stepped daintily and silently from the forest. Wynne pulled a handful of green grass and held it out to the buck. Her heart was beating wildly in her excitement, but drawing several deep, slow breaths she managed to quiet it, thereby lowering the tempo of her life force so that she would not seem hostile to the big deer.

The beast eyed her curiously for what seemed like several very long minutes. Then he snorted softly, tossed his head and pawed the ground gently, all the while watching her to see what effect his actions would have upon this human. When Wynne giggled low, the deer stepped nervously back a pace or two.

"Shame on you," she said in a soft voice.

The deer's ears pricked at the sound of her words, a definitely nonhostile sound.

"Why you're twice my size," Wynne continued, "and you're afraid of me? Don't be silly! Come and take this fine meadow grass I've picked for you. 'Tis sweet and the dew's yet on it."

As if he understood her words, the buck came slowly forward, curious and lured by the delicious scent of the grass. He stretched his neck out as far as he could, reaching for the greenery, yet hoping to keep a goodly distance between himself and this human. Wynne leaned forward a tiny bit to facilitate the animal, who now began to chew upon her offering and, thus distracted, did not notice the slender girl moving forward just slightly toward him.

An arm sliding about her waist would have startled her terribly had not Madoc's voice whispered in her ear, " 'Tis only me, dearling. I see you have tamed Hearn to your hand."

"How can you be certain it is Hearn?" she demanded of him.

"How can you be certain it is not?" he replied. Reaching out, he rubbed the muzzle of the big buck with the knuckles of his hand.

The great deer, finished eating, raised his head to stare directly at them both. Then turning gracefully, he moved off slowly across the meadow, browsing casually on choice tidbits here and there as he went.

Madoc turned Wynne about so that she was facing him and smiled down at her. "You are clever that you can entice the beasts of the forest to your side."

"There is no trick to it, my lord. I merely concentrate on not being threatening to them," Wynne told him, and she shifted nervously in his arms. It was happening again. She could feel the heat beginning to pound through her veins. Why did he have this odd effect upon her?

Madoc could plainly see her discomfort, but he appeared in no hurry to release her, and Wynne would not ask him to do so. "I believe I was to give you a lesson in kissing the other night," he said quietly. "As we were not able to meet then, I think now as good a time as any." He tipped her face up to his. "Open your lips slightly."

"What?" She found the request startling.

"To kiss properly you must part your lips," he explained seriously, struggling very hard with himself not to laugh. Teaching a maid to kiss seemed a strange occupation. Most girls appeared to come by it quite naturally.

"Like this?" Wynne, obviously very intent on getting it just right, pursed her lips adorably.

"Close your eyes," he said.

"Why?" she demanded.

"I believe it's considered more conducive to kissing to close one's eyes," he told her.

Her beautiful green eyes shut obediently, the thick, dark lashes fanning across her pale skin like smudges of black dirt. For a brief moment Madoc stared down at her in rapt awe. She was really incredibly beautiful. Who would have guessed that the pudgy infant he betrothed himself to those long years ago would have turned out to be so fair? Then he smiled to himself. He had always known. His mouth closed over hers without further delay, savoring the sweetness of her, the tenderness of her flesh.

Had her soul left her body? For a brief moment Wynne was entirely certain, for she seemed to soar, but then the heat consumed her as never before. Her stomach seemed to clench and unclench over and over again. Her heart beat a wild tattoo, and as passion, that hitherto unknown sensation, caught Wynne in its firm grasp, she became intoxicated with the intensity of her feelings. She was kissing him back, suddenly knowledgeable, a student no longer. She pressed herself against Madoc with an eagerness that caused him to gasp with surprise. She could not possibly understand the cravings she now felt; nor even those she engendered in him. All Wynne knew was that kissing was a most marvelous pastime, and she was filled to overflowing with her enthusiasm.

Madoc, however, knew that if he did not stop her now they would shortly be rolling about in the sweet green grass of the meadow, consummating their union in a manner Wynne could not possibly even imagine. Not that he could not teach her to enjoy that too, but it was far too soon for such revelations. He broke off the kiss and set her firmly back from him, smiling to show her that he was not displeased. "Dearling, you are as apt a pupil as any man could want," he assured her.

"Again!" she said, launching herself at him, lips at the ready. "I like kissing you!"

Swiftly he brushed her lips with his and then said, laughing, "And I like kissing you, dearling, but there is more to love than just kissing. It is too soon for us to explore other things, and I would enjoy courting you slowly, that we may first be friends."

"Is it possible for a man and a woman to be friends, my lord?"

"Aye, and the best of friends, Wynne, make the best lovers, I promise you," he told her.

"Kiss me," she wheedled him. "I feel there is a storm within me and only your kisses can calm the tumult."

"But your kisses awaken the turmoil within me, dearling," he returned. "Trust me and let us go slowly that our first union be all the better for the waiting."

Her cheeks grew rosy with his words, and she was suddenly shy of him again. "What must you think of me, my lord? I have been most bold with you." She turned away from him.

"Look at me, Wynne," he begged her, tipping her face back up to him. "I adore your boldness; but there are so many degrees of passion that I would have you experience first. Let me guide you in this as in other things. Do you not understand that I want you to love me?"

Wynne looked distressed. "Ohh, my lord, I have told you that I do not believe I am capable of such an emotion. I dare not be owned!"

"To love is indeed a possession of sorts, Wynne," he admitted, "but when one truly loves, it sets you free. I want you to love me, but if you do not believe you can, then I will be content to have you for my wife and my friend. Now you must call me by my name, for I will not have you sounding like a stranger or a servant."

"Who are you, Madoc of Powys," she asked him, "that you are so patient with me? I do not think Rhys of St. Bride's would have been so considerate of my feelings."

"Rhys was not meant for you. He did not love you."

"Nesta, however, is another matter," Wynne said with a smile. "Oh, Madoc, I want to laugh when I see him with her! He is like a great bear trying too hard to be gentle and tender of your sister. She says she has no magic about her, but I do not believe it so!"

"She has certainly bewitched him," Madoc agreed, "but it is love with which she has ensorceled Rhys. Nothing more, I vow."

"And you, Madoc," Wynne said boldly. "What sort of magic do you use? Your family's reputation precedes you. I admit to being curious. Most curious!"

"But not afraid," he noted, amused. "Well, dearling, I shall tell you all you need to know once we have returned to Raven's Rock, but for now I am ravenous for my breakfast! Since I will not allow myself the pleasure of feasting upon your sweet flesh, we must return to the house for more conventional fare."

"You are wicked!" she accused him, blushing scarlet at his words.

"Nay, good!" he told her with implied meaning. "Only good, I swear it, Wynne!"

"I dare not think otherwise, Madoc," she answered him, and taking his hand, led him back to the hall.

The next few days were probably the most idyllic Wynne could ever remember. The weather remained warm and fair. The two pairs of lovers strolled the meadows, the hills, and the forest, happy to be in each other's company. They picnicked by swiftly flowing woodland streams and sat upon the benches by the main fire pit in the evening, taking turns singing while one or another of them played upon a small stringed instrument.

Wynne, who had adored Nesta from the first moment they had met, now found herself looking at Rhys through different eyes. To her surprise she found she liked him. He was a bluff, honest man with a strong sense of morality in him; and he had a most marvelous sense of humor which delighted her. Wynne always believed you could trust a man with a sense of humor. Obviously and hopelessly enamored of Nesta, he now treated Wynne with the gentle courtesy of an older brother. She wondered had they wed if she would have found the true man within him, but thought not. Gwernach would have always stood like a wall between them.

She considered how incredible her own luck had been to send Madoc to Gwernach just in time to prevent her from pledging herself to Rhys. Madoc. Wynne smiled dreamily to herself. There had been many lessons in kissing since the morning in the meadow, although both of them acknowledged that Wynne needed no more lessons in that art, especially after Madoc had shown her just how sweetly two tongues could cavort. She had never imagined that a tongue could play a part in lovemaking, but he assured her it was so.

Now Wynne faced the moment of her departure from Gwernach, and she was overwhelmed with a plethora of mixed feelings. How could she leave the home she loved so deeply? How could she leave her aged grandmother, Mair, and especially Dewi? How would they survive without her to look after them?

"Must I go with you now?" Wynne asked Madoc for the hundredth time. "We know each other now, and I do not resist at the idea of becoming your wife any longer. They need me here!"

"We do not!" Enid contradicted her quickly and bluntly. "You think a few kisses have shown you the merit of this man, my child? Ohh, how much you have to learn about him. If you are wed a thousand years to him you will not learn the entirety of it."

"Do not fear for your family, dearling," Madoc reassured her gently. "Among my people is a man called David. He was once a bailiff for one of my family's estates. He has been unhappy ever since the heir came into his own and sent him back to me. I have already arranged to send him here to Gwernach to guide Dewi in his responsibilities. He is a kind and wise man. He will teach your brother well."

"Begone, sister!" Dewi half teased her. "I weary of hanging onto your pretty skirts! I would truly be master in my own house, and I cannot be until you are no longer here."

"You will remember all I have taught you?" she persisted. "You will treat our grandmother and Mair with love and courtesy? You will defend them? You will administer justice with a blind eye and a firm hand among our people? You will oversee them with loving kindness?"

"Aye! Aye! And again aye!" he said wearily.

"I will miss you all," Wynne said tearily.

"It is Gwernach that is your first love," Dewi said intuitively. "As a final gift from me, I am sending Einion with you to keep you safe from all harm."

"But Einion must stay with you to protect you and Mair!" Wynne protested, growing teary. "Father chose him to watch over the children."

"He goes with you, sister," the lord of Gwernach said firmly. "I am the lord here now and I will look after Mair. My brother of Powys can have no objection, can you, Madoc?"

"Nay, Dewi ap Owain, I have no objection to this gift you would make your sister, but do you not think me capable of defending my own?"

"As I am defending my own," the boy replied, much to the prince's amusement.

Madoc bowed elegantly, acknowledging that the subject was closed. Taking Wynne by the hand, he led her outside to where Nesta and Rhys already awaited them. He lifted her onto her horse, a gentle white mare he had given her.

A brief panicked look entered Wynne's eyes for a moment, but Enid, coming to her side, patted her hand comfortingly. "We will be fine, my child. Write to me when you can, and remember that I got on quite well in the world before you entered it! I imagine I will continue to survive quite nicely even though I be here and you there."

Her grandmother's pithy remarks were enough to ease Wynne's tension and she laughed. "It is an adventure, Grandmother, isn't it?"

"Aye, my child, and every young girl should have some adventures before she settles down to the dull business of being a wife and a mother! It is the natural order of life for women, having been given the gift of life bearing, to organize their homes and bear children; but such a life is not always the most interesting."

Father Drew stepped forward to bless them and to bless their journey. As he made the sign of the cross over them, Wynne felt the tears she was unable to contain finally slipping down her cheeks. It wasn't that she was unhappy. She wasn't. But she was sad to be leaving Gwernach. As the horses moved away, the sight of her grandmother and little Mair etched itself in her heart, even as her brother, with a cursory wave in her direction, quickly disappeared around the corner of the manor house, intent on his own business. Suddenly the sadness drained from her.

"Dewi is certainly eager to be rid of me," she noted with a watery chuckle.

"He is anxious to be his own man," Rhys said wisely. "You cannot fault the lad, Wynne. With good further guidance he will do well for Gwernach. We'll have to put our minds to finding him a good wife in a few years, but not my cousin Gwenda of Llyn. I could see he took a right dislike to the wench, although her mother entertains high hopes, I doubt not."

"She reminds him of Caitlin in her manner," Wynne replied. "Dewi has never liked Caitlin."

"We know many lovely young girls who would make your brother a perfect wife," Nesta said.

Madoc laughed at them. "Give the boy time," he counseled. "He is only just free of his eldest sister, and he needs to first grow up a bit and then to sow himself a few wild oats."

"Ahh, wild oats!" Rhys grinned appreciatively.

"And have you sown many, my dear lord?" Nesta asked sweetly, her lovely face deceptively bland, her gold eyes twinkling devilishly.

"Enough, I believe, that you will not find me wanting in our bedchamber," he responded boldly.

Nesta, taken by surprise at his answer, blushed prettily.

Rhys chortled, satisfied. "You've bewitched me, my fair Nesta," he admitted, "but always remember that I am the man!"

"I shall never again forget," Nesta replied promptly, but even as she spoke, Wynne felt she meant something far different than her words implied to her besotted lover.

The distance between Gwernach and Madoc's home at Raven's Rock Castle was one of several long days' duration. They were not always fortunate enough to find shelter in a convent or a monastery guest house; or with some noble family, or well-to-do manor farmer willing to put up with so many mouths to feed. Two nights they camped out in the forest, keeping fires going to frighten away the wild animals and a strong watch posted to keep away the violent robbers that preyed upon careless travelers and were far more savage than the beasts of the wood.

Rhys escorted them but part of their way, for he could not be away from St. Bride's too long a time lest some unwise fool challenge his authority. Early one morning a large party of armed men approached them shouting the prince's name. Madoc rode forth to meet them, smiling and waving a greeting.

"I will leave you now, lady mine," Rhys told Nesta, "and return with my men to St. Bride's that I may make it perfect for your coming."

"The time away from you will seem an eternity," Nesta told him. Tears sprang into her golden eyes as she leaned from her mare to catch his hand and press it to her cheek.

Wynne was forced to turn away, for the look on Rhys's face was heartbreaking. It was so obvious he could hardly bear to leave Nesta, nor she him. To love like that, Wynne thought, and on such short acquaintance. It was as if they had known each other their entire lives instead of just having met so short a time ago. Why could she not feel at least half of the love for Madoc that Nesta felt for her betrothed husband? Nesta's feelings for Rhys of St. Bride's were far different than what she felt for Madoc. Wynne was wise enough to recognize it. Not that her passion for the prince was an unpleasant thing, but Wynne instinctively felt that there should be more. She remembered her parents behaving as Nesta and Rhys behaved. Would these other feelings eventually come?

She was startled from her reverie by Rhys's voice saying, "I bid you fond farewell, Wynne of Gwernach."

"And I you, my lord. May God and St. David keep you safe until we meet again," she replied. He smiled at her, and Wynne realized that he was a handsome man. "I thank you for giving my two sisters such fine husbands, my lord."

Rhys's laughter rumbled in his barrel chest. "I think we have both done well by that transaction, Wynne. Do you not think so also?"

"Aye," she admitted, beginning to laugh, realizing that he had been as eager to get his less than admirable relatives wives as she had been to get the shrewish Caitlin and the foolish Dilys husbands.

"And we shall rarely, if ever, have to see them." Rhys chuckled.

"If that be the case, my lord, then I shall indeed owe you a favor," Wynne told him, giggling.

"You are both dreadful!" Nesta scolded them, but her own mouth was turned up in a smile.

Madoc rejoined them and offered his hand to Rhys in parting. "Come two days before the Solstice, brother, to claim your bride. She will be awaiting you. You had best bring a large troop of men with you, for her dowry and all her possessions are great. Be warned, Rhys. This woman never disposes of anything that comes into her grasp. She still has clothing from her childhood."

"Which I have carefully stored away, and which will serve nicely for my daughters," Nesta said primly. "I do not believe in waste, Madoc. I have not your resources."

"Why, wench, you will carry away half of Raven's Rock, I vow!" he teased her.

"I deserve it all for putting up with you these many years," she teased back spiritedly.

Rhys grinned at Madoc and shook his hand. He saluted Wynne politely. Then leaning forward, he kissed Nesta heartily, leaving her rosy and breathless. "Farewell, lady mine. Magic the time between us away, my love. Until we meet again!" He turned his horse and called out a command to his men to follow.

Madoc's party sat on their horses a minute watching Rhys and his men go, and then, at Madoc's signal, they moved off in the opposite direction. Wynne was silent for most of the rest of their journey. Having never been more than a mile or two from Gwernach, she was awed and fascinated by their travels. There was such a variety of countryside. They moved through dark forests, across wide, meadowlike plains edged in marshes, over hills both gentle and steep; and always the mountains rose before them, beckoning them onward.

Madoc's castle of Raven 's Rock, or Bran's Craig as it was called in the Celtic Welsh tongue, was located in the Black Mountains of Powys. When she first saw it, Wynne thought she must be dreaming, for never before had she seen anything like that which arose before her now. It seemed to spring from the mountainside itself. Indeed, it appeared to be not just a part of the mountain, but one with it.

"It is a magical place," she said softly upon her first sight of her new home.

"Is it?" he said.

"Do not toy with me, my lord," Wynne said sharply. "Your family's power is said to stem from Merlin himself. Did not Merlin help Arthwr to fashion Camelot? How else could you carve a castle from the mountainside?"

"Raven's Rock merely looks as if it is one and the same with the mountain. That is because it is built of the same granite the mountains are made of, dearling. My ancestor thought it a good camouflage."

"I admit to being ignorant where castles are concerned, but I have never seen a place such as Raven's Rock," Wynne said. "It looks almost foreign in its design."

"It is," he told her. "It is a mixture of styles not yet common to this island of Britain upon which we live. My ancestor brought back his ideas from his travels. He spent many years traveling the world. The original part of the building is a round tower."

"There are four towers," Wynne noted.

"Look closely," he told her as their horses carefully traversed the steep trail across the gorge from Raven's Rock. "Two towers are round and two square. It is the tower on the west that is the original one."

"Where are your gardens?" she asked.

"The open areas that are walled upon the edges of the cliffs are called terraces, Wynne. There my gardens are set, and they are most fair to the eye. I have already sent word ahead that my gardener open a place for you to plant your herb cuttings. That way they will settle themselves into the earth before the winter comes. It will be good to have a woman's touch in the gardens again. They have not been quite the same since my mother's death. The earth responds well to a woman's touch. My sister Nesta could not bring herself to plant in our mother's garden. She said it made her sad."

"Women understand the earth, my lord, for the earth gives life even as women are capable of giving life."

The trail that they followed wound down into the gorge which was traversed by a swiftly flowing small river. A sturdily built stone bridge spanned the river. They crossed it to the other side, where they followed another narrow road up the mountain to the castle gates. Raven's Rock had no moat. It needed none, for the road to it was but one horse in width. It was truly impregnable to anyone foolish enough to seek to attack it.

"It appears a mighty and terrifying place approaching it for the first time," Madoc said to Wynne, "but once you have passed beneath the portcullis, you will find yourself in a gracious and beautiful world."

"It appears so black and so fierce as we grow nearer," Wynne told him, gazing up at the dark soaring towers and sharply etched parapets of the castle.

"To frighten our enemies," he answered.

"Do you have enemies, my lord?"

"Few men are without them, I fear, my dearling," he said, but no more.

A loud cry arose from the men at arms upon the walls of Raven's Rock. They shouted the prince's name over and over again by way of greeting him. "Madoc! Madoc! Madoc!"

"Do they love him so?" Wynne inquired of Nesta.

"Aye, they do," Nesta said. "There is something about the princes of Wenwynwyn that binds men in loyalty to them. They say Madoc's father, Prince Gwalchmal, was very much like him."

"What happened to Madoc's father?" Wynne asked. "I know so little of this family into which I am expected to wed."

"No one really knows," Nesta said. "Prince Gwalchmal was found at the foot of the mountain one early spring day, his neck broken. It is believed he fell, although no one knows how or why it happened. He was a man in his prime, which made it all the more confusing. Madoc was seven at the time. Our mother, Gwenhwyvar, remarried with a haste that some might have thought indecent; but she felt she needed to protect Madoc. He was a child incapable of protecting himself. She took for her second husband the twin of her first husband, Cynbel of Cai. Madoc's father had died in March. Gwenhwyvar wed Cynbel in May of that same year. Our brother, Brys, was born the following February."

"A twin brother!" Wynne said, amazed. "At Gwernach a serf woman gave birth to two daughters at the same time. No one could ever tell them apart, for they were that alike."

"Madoc's father and mine, although born at the same time, did not look at all alike," Nesta told Wynne. "Madoc is said to be his father's image; dark hair, fair skin, and those wonderful blue eyes. Gwalchmal looked like all princes of Powys-Wenwynwyn do; but my father, Cynbel of Cai, favored our grandmother's family, who are fair of hair."

"Then your father raised Madoc?"

"Aye," Nesta said shortly, and when Wynne looked questioningly, she continued in a low voice. "My brother Brys is just like our father. Beautiful to the eye and charming beyond all, but wicked! It is said that Gwalchmal and Cynbel almost killed their mother at their birthing, for each was determined to be the first into the world that he might inherit Raven's Rock. It is said that when Gwalchmal, the firstborn, pushed forth from his mother's womb, Cynbel's fist was grasping his ankle tightly as if to hold him back."

Wynne's eyes widened in shock.

"The twin brothers fought constantly throughout their childhood and youth," Nesta continued. "They were always in competition with one another. There was nothing that Gwalchmal did that Cynbel did not try to outdo. When our maternal great-grandfather died, he had no surviving male heirs. His castle at Cai was inherited by Gwalchmal and Cynbel's mother. Cynbel was sent to Castle Cai in order to separate him from Gwalchmal. It was feared that they would kill each other, leaving the line of the princes of Powys-Wenwynwyn, extinct. The strain of birthing her sons had been too great for my grandmother. She had no other children. Nonetheless, she lived to a great old age."

"Stop a moment," Wynne said. "You told me you had no powers, Nesta, for the powers of Wenwynwyn are inherited through the male line and you and Madoc had different fathers. Now I learn that your father and Madoc's were twin brothers. How can it be that he has powers and you do not? And what of your brother, Brys of Cai?"

"My grandfather, Caradoc, when he saw the wickedness of his son, Cynbel, cast a mighty spell upon him, removing the powers he might otherwise have gained when he grew to maturity. That spell also included Cynbel's descendants, a thousand generations hence. I usually find it easier when I am in a position to have to explain my situation to simply say Madoc and I have different fathers and the gift comes from Madoc's father's line."

"Why are you closer to Madoc than your brother, Brys?" Wynne asked.

"Is it so obvious?" Nesta looked distressed. Then she explained, "Brys is three and a half years older than I am. When I was not quite six years of age, Brys attempted to use me as a man would use a woman. I fought him, for I knew what he desired of me was wrong. Our father came upon us, and I ran weeping to him, for protection. Instead of punishing Brys, our father laughed. He was pleased with his son's burgeoning manhood and he said to him, 'Nay, lad, you are doing it wrong. No wonder you have not succeeded in your attempts. I will show you how.' Then he reached for me. He was quite drunk at the time.

"And indeed he would have committed the sin of incest with me had not Madoc arrived on the scene. One look told him the deviltry my father and my brother were up to, and his anger was awesome to behold. He caught me up in his arms, thus protecting me. My father had never been truly kind to Madoc, but he was never allowed the opportunity to harm him, for the castle servants were vigilant and Madoc was clever. Still, my father hated the fact that it was Madoc who was the prince of Wenwynwyn and not he. My father shouted at Madoc that he had no rights in this matter. I was his daughter to do with as he pleased. Madoc, who was now virtually grown, replied that it was he, Cynbel, who had no rights at Raven's Rock. He forthwith banished him and Brys to Cai. The castle servants were more than happy to obey Madoc and eject my father and brother from Raven's Rock. Father died two years later. He is said to have fallen into a vat of new wine."

"And your mother? Did she not go to Cai with him?"

"No. Mother was relieved to have Cynbel gone. She was not a woman of great personal strength, I fear. She was a gentle woman who disliked controversy and was afraid of much in life about her. She wanted peace, and she wanted protection from the world at any price. My father really forced her into their marriage by making her believe Madoc's life was in danger and telling her she needed a strong man to hold Raven's Rock. He was very handsome in his youth, before he began to live on wine and ale. His beauty, however, was a mask. He was a cruel and wicked man who grew more cruel and wicked by the day. Only my grandmother's strong presence kept him from serious violence toward Madoc. I believe she was the one person living whom my father truly feared. She died almost immediately after my father drowned. It was as if she didn't dare leave us until he was dead and gone," Nesta said.

"And your mother? She is but recently dead?"

"A little over a year ago," Nesta replied.

"Has Brys lived at Cai alone all these years? I'm surprised that your mother did not go to him after your father's death," Wynne noted.

"She offered to, but Brys did not want it, nor would he return to Raven's Rock, for Madoc invited him back for mother's sake. When he refused to come, Madoc sent a strong and trusted bailiff to oversee Brys. The day Brys turned eighteen, he returned David to Madoc saying he no longer had a need of him and inquiring after my mother's health."

"You have not seen him recently?" Wynne was frankly curious.

"Not since that dreadful day he attempted to rape me. I do not want to, and Madoc did not want me to see him."

"Now I understand why you and Madoc are estranged from your brother," Wynne said. "I shall hope for a more peaceful life."

"And no twin sons," Nesta said with a small smile. "Ahh, we are home!"

And indeed they had passed beneath the portcullis of Raven's Rock Castle. Wynne's eyes widened in surprise. They were in a huge courtyard that bustled with activity. She could see stables, a farmyard, an armory, and a water supply with just one quick glance. Servants ran to take their horses, their faces friendly, their gazes frankly curious. Einion was immediately at her side. Gently he lifted her down from her mount, setting her firmly on her feet.

The big man glanced around curiously. " 'Tis bigger than Gwernach, that's for sure," he said, "but I see no unfriendly faces, lady."

Wynne smiled upon him. "There are never unfriendly faces where you are concerned, my Einion. How many broken hearts did you leave behind at Gwernach? Already I see several wenches casting their eyes in your direction."

Einion grinned. "A woman is part of a man's life, lady. 'Tis the natural order of things."

"Come," Nesta said, taking Wynne by the hand. "I will show you where we live." She led Wynne up a small flight of six steps and through a stone archway.

"Ohh, my!" Wynne gazed around her, totally surprised. Before her stretched a garden planted upon several levels, and directly ahead of her at the far end of the gardens was a landscape of mountains. She ran down several steps, across a stretch of garden, down several more steps. She scarcely knew where to look next, for it was all so beautiful. Finally she ascended three wide marble steps to a terrace that extended the width of the gardenscape. Beyond the balustrade was a sheer drop into a wooded mountain glen below. The view was wild, and wonderful, and totally breathtaking. Raven's Rock, Wynne now realized, sat upon the spine of a mountain dividing two valleys.

Wynne turned to find Nesta smiling at her. "I must seem a fool to you," she said, "but never before in my life have I seen anything so… so… so magnificent!"

"I'm so glad you like it," Nesta said, "but I will tell you a secret, sister. Although I have lived with this beauty my whole life, it still has the power to enchant and overawe me too. There is no place in the world like Raven's Rock."

In the blue sky above them there was a sudden cry of a bird and both girls looked up.

“ 'Tis old Dhu!" Wynne cried. "I am certain of it! He has followed me here!"

"Old Dhu?" Nesta looked surprised.

"My raven." Wynne laughed. "He has been at Gwernach my whole life and he is my friend! Ohh, I cannot believe it! It is an omen. A good omen! He was not at Gwernach when we left, you know. I looked and looked for him in the days before we left, but old Dhu was nowhere to be found."

"We have many ravens here at Raven's Rock," Nesta said with calm logic. "How can you be certain that this is the same bird?"

"I just know," Wynne replied with absolute certainty. Nesta laughed. "Another Celtic mystic," she said with good humor. "You and my brother will get on very well, I think. Come. Let us go indoors. I am beginning to feel a chill in the air as the afternoon wanes."

It was as Nesta spoke that Wynne realized the beautiful gardens in which she stood were surrounded on three sides by the castle itself. The living quarters of Raven's Rock were totally separated from the bustling courtyard. The only way into this area was through the archway. Closed off, the residents of the castle were not simply impregnable, they were totally and utterly impregnable. Wynne followed Nesta back across the gardens. To the right of the archway where they had come in was a gracious set of six steps leading up to the main entrance of the living quarters.

Inside, servants hurried forward to take their cloaks, and Wynne followed in Nesta's wake. They entered the Great Hall built of stone and timbers. Silk banners hung from the rafters. There were four large fire pits, and yet they were not fire pits, for they were set into the walls like bed spaces. Still, fires blazed merrily in them and they did not smoke. Behind the high board was a large, tall arched window that looked out on the mountains, offering a similar view as Wynne had seen in the garden. There were smaller arched windows set high on the east and west walls.

"What do you think of our Great Hall?" Nesta asked Wynne.

"It's wonderful," came the answer. "I have never seen anything like it before. How do you get rid of the smoke from your fire pits, Nesta? I've never seen any like them."

"We call them fireplaces, Wynne. Instead of the smoke going up and out a smoke hole in the roof, there is a tunnel in the walls for the smoke to escape up. It is called a chimney."

"I do not think you will find such wonderful luxuries at St. Bride's," Wynne said honestly. "How can you bear to leave Raven's Rock?"

"When Rhys sees how we live here," Nesta laughed, "I do not think I will have any difficulty in persuading him to make some little improvements for me. Come along now and I will show you to your own quarters. I stink of horse and long for a hot bath."

They exited the hall the way they had come and hurried up a wide flight of stairs. The stairs were stone, Wynne noted, and not wooden as at Gwernach. At the top of the staircase they turned right into a hallway lit by many torches.

"This is the darkest part of the house," Nesta told Wynne. "That wall," she waved her left hand carelessly, "is the courtyard wall, and as such, has no windows for safety's sake. The rooms on this side"-Nesta waved her right hand-"overlook the gardens."

They came to the end of the hallway, and Nesta turned right once more and opened a carved oak door. "These are the family apartments," she told Wynne. "My chamber is here and yours will be in the prince's quarters there." She pointed.

"We each have a single room to ourselves?" Wynne was amazed, for at Gwernach only the lord and his lady had had such privacy. Then she blushed. "I cannot sleep in Madoc's room, Nesta. We are betrothed, but we are not wed yet."

Nesta laughed her tinkling laugh. "My brother's apartments have more than one room, Wynne. Come and look!" She opened another set of doors and led Wynne through. "Madoc has a room for sitting by the fire and reading. Another for bathing. One for sleeping. Of course, there is the chamber of the prince's wife, not to mention rooms for clothing and servants. As you are to be Madoc's wife, it is only fitting you have the proper room."

"I have only come to Raven's Rock to see if Madoc and I can like one another," Wynne protested nervously. "I am not to be held to the betrothal if I do not choose to be."

"Oh, Wynne, if you do not wed with my brother, what will happen to you?" Nesta asked her, distressed.

Before Wynne might answer Madoc's sister, however, the door to the chamber of the prince's wife opened and a pretty girl came forth. She had nut-brown hair and warm brown eyes, and she wore a simple tunic dress of pale blue. "Welcome to Raven's Rock, lady. I am Megan, and I am to serve you," she said in a sweetly melodious voice.

"Well," Nesta said, sounding slightly relieved, "I will leave you in good hands if Megan is to be your servant, dear sister. I am off to have my bath."

"You will find Gwyn has already drawn it, my lady Nesta," said Megan.

Nesta hurried out without so much as a backward glance.

"I have taken the liberty of arranging a bath for you also, my lady Wynne," the servant girl said. "Let me help you with your garments. You must be weary after your long ride from Gwernach."

Wynne allowed herself to be led into another room, where a great oak tub bound with large bands of polished brass sat steaming with the evidence of its hot water. Megan swiftly aided her new mistress to remove her clothing and then helped her into the tub.

"Ohhh," Wynne said as the warm water touched her skin. "That's wonderful! Thank you, Megan, for being so thoughtful."

"You will find a stool to sit upon, my lady, and while you enjoy the water I will take your clothing to the laundress."

Only when she had hurried out did Wynne realize that for the first time in days she was totally and completely alone. It was quite a lovely feeling. She glanced about the room. A bathing room. It was a most novel and yet practical idea. The tub obviously remained in it all the time and did not have to be put out of sight in some cabinet. Where did the water come from? Wynne wondered. Then as she looked about her, her eye fell upon what she had at first thought to be a stone sink. It was not, however, for about it hung a bucket. This bathing room had its own well for water! The idea was simple and yet so obvious. And, of course, the water was heated in the large fireplace that took up almost an entire wall of the room, for there was a large cauldron hanging to one side away from the flame now. And the fireplace heated the bathing room as well! There was even a window through which she could see those wonderful mountains. It was all most marvelous!

The gardens. A bathing room. The mountains. It wasn't going to be very difficult to be happy here at Raven's Rock. It was, of course, much larger than the manor house at Gwernach had been. She hadn't seen the cook house yet, or the bakery, or met any of the servants, but there was plenty of time for that. It amazed her that the castle was in such good order, considering that Madoc's mother had been dead for several years. Nesta must be an excellent chatelaine, and she had but three months to learn from her all she needed to know about the domestic arrangements if she were to do as well.

Wynne's thoughts came to a screeching halt. What on earth was she thinking? She didn't want to marry, yet here she was considering all she would need to know regarding the concerns of Madoc's home. She was in a trap, and the trap was slowly closing about her. She was being wooed by Madoc's charm and patience, and now by his wonderful castle. It wasn't fair. Everything was conspiring against her, and yet… She stemmed the tide of her anger. She must be coolly logical about this situation in which she found herself. What exactly was wrong with it? Why had she been so determined all her life not to marry?

She reviewed the facts in her mind. Her father had betrothed her to Madoc. She was to be free to refuse the marriage if she chose. Madoc had agreed to it. Her father would not have made the match if Madoc were not a good man. Owain ap Llywelyn was not a man to be swayed by wealth and prestige. Madoc was attractive, albeit in a mysterious way. He was kind, thoughtful, and patient. He said he was in love with her and that he wanted her to love him. He offered her a life of comfort and happiness. Logically, she could find nothing wrong with any of this.

Even she, in her sheltered life at Gwernach, had heard of a woman for whom a man's touch was unpleasant. Such was not the case with her. Indeed, she found Madoc's kisses most delightful; and she was quite curious to learn more of passion between a man and a woman. They were long past the time when the Celtic tribes roamed the earth and her people considered physical love between men and women a natural thing to be enjoyed with whomever and whenever the spirit moved one. In these times people were not quite as enthusiastic or open with one another; but passion was not an emotion of which Wynne was afraid. Certainly a woman was free to enjoy the physical aspects of love with her betrothed husband.

A time long past. The words slid unbidden into her consciousness. The ancient Celts had believed in reincarnation. It was not a teaching of the Church, and yet Wynne had often wondered why the Church did not teach it. There was nothing in reincarnation, as the Celts had believed it, that was at odds with Christ's teachings. Reincarnation. It was not talked about a great deal, and yet many still believed. Did she? Was that the reason behind her unexplained antipathy to marriage? And if it was, why?

Had Wynne of Gwernach and Madoc of Powys known each other in another time and another place? And if they had, what had happened that she was so opposed to marriage? She was certainly not opposed to Madoc. Indeed, she was increasingly attracted to him, but it did not seem to be enough. What unfinished business lay between them? Or was she being a fool? Was her aversion to marriage actually fear of the unknown, and was she placing greater importance upon it than it deserved? She determined to put it all, her worries, her curiosity, from her mind. She would concentrate upon accepting her marriage instead of struggling so futilely against what was in reality a most pleasant fate.

The door to the bathing room opened and Megan hurried in, chattering as she came. "I apologize, my lady, for taking so long a time with the laundress." She picked up soap and a cloth and began to wash her new mistress. "Well, actually it wasn't the laundress that kept me. It was that big handsome fellow with the game leg who is your servant. Insisted upon knowing precisely where you were. He's most protective of you."

Wynne laughed. " 'Tis his task, Megan, to watch over me. He has ever since I was a baby. My brother sent him with me to Raven's Rock; but you'd best beware of Einion. He's a merry rascal who loves a pretty wench. All pretty wenches for that matter."

"Oh, I could see he has a roving eye," Megan said, her brown eyes twinkling, "but I've a roving eye myself. Now, let's get that beautiful hair of yours washed, my lady. It is filled with the dust of the road!"

Einion, Wynne thought as Megan washed her long hair, had possibly met his match. It would not be a bad thing, for as Einion was to remain at Raven's Rock for the remainder of his days, it was probably time for him to find a wife and settle down. Wynne smiled to herself, wondering what her beloved protector would think of her thoughts, and knowing, even as she began to chuckle over it.

Chapter 5

Her intellect had decided one thing. The voice within disagreed; but Wynne would not listen. She thrust her instinct as far away from her conscious mind as she could and concentrated upon resigning herself to a life at Raven's Rock as Madoc's wife. She began that first night, entering the hall garbed in a beautiful tunic dress of violet silk brocade embroidered with silver flowers. Going directly to Madoc, she had knelt before him, publicly subjugating herself to her lord's will.

The prince, more attuned to Wynne than she could have imagined, quickly raised her up and presented her to his assembled retainers and servants. "I submit to you Wynne of Gwernach, the future princess of Powys. Those of you within her domain will do her bidding without question, and all will render their respect," Madoc said in a strong voice.

"Wynne! Wynne! Wynne!" came the cry from a hundred throats as she looked out, smiling over the hall.

"You will never kneel to me again, dearling," he told her. "As my wife you are my female equal, my other half." Then he put a goblet of wine in her hand, kissing it as he did so.

They sat at the high board and Wynne said, "There are so many men, my lord. Are there no women here at Raven's Rock but Nesta and the servants?"

"None," he replied. "My mother had no liking for strangers. As she and Nesta were content, I was content. If it displeases you, however, you may invite the daughters of other houses to keep you company."

"When Nesta goes to St. Bride's I shall be alone, my lord. Perhaps my brother will allow my little sister, Mair, to come to us."

"Your grandmother will be lonely without Mair. I can see she quite dotes upon the child," Madoc remarked.

"My mother died quite unexpectedly giving birth to Mair," Wynne told him. "Grandmother has raised Mair, and she is more a daughter to her than a grandchild."

"Your grandmother could come to Raven's Rock if you desired it, my dearling," Madoc offered.

"Grandmother must remain with Dewi," Wynne reminded him. "My brother cannot oversee Gwernach without guidance."

"I promised you that I would send someone to aid the boy, Wynne. Tomorrow you will speak with the man I have chosen to be your brother's bailiff. His name is David. He is a loyal and clever man. When my brother Brys went to Castle Cai, I sent David to be the bailiff. My stepfather was incapable of managing his estate, and Brys was too young and inexperienced. He was, in fact, just Dewi's age. David tells me that they got on quite well. If your instincts warn you otherwise though, you must tell me and I will choose another. If David and Dewi do well together, I think your grandmother would enjoy coming to Raven's Rock. We could offer her great comforts in her old age, and in our house Mair could aspire to a more important family from which to choose a husband than she could at Gwernach. What say you, lady?"

"You are so good, my lord," Wynne answered him ingenuously. "You seem to have a care for my feelings at every turn. I do not know if I shall ever be able to match your solicitude. Yes, I should like to have my grandmother and sister here with me at Raven's Rock if I could be certain my brother was safe."

"David, with your permission, will go to Gwernach shortly; and if all is well with the arrangement, then the lady Enid and Mair will come to live at Gwernach after our marriage," he told her.

"Not before?" Her disappointment was quite evident. "Nesta will be wed at the Solstice. I shall be alone the whole winter long."

He smiled. "I want that time for us, dearling, that we may truly learn to know one another with no other distractions. You will not want for entertainment, I promise you," he said, and his look was suddenly smoldering.

She felt her bones turning to jelly in an all now familiar pattern, and she knew that he knew it. Her breathing was suddenly quick and her tongue flicked out to moisten her lips, which had gone dry. "What is this magic you do, my lord?" she said low.

He smiled a slow smile and, leaning forward, kissed her lips in a leisurely fashion. Wynne found she could not pull away. She wasn't even certain that she wanted to pull away.

"I think the time has come for us to progress past kissing," he told her softly.

"When?" she asked breathlessly, and then blushed, wondering what he must think of such unmaidenly, such unseemly eagerness.

"Very soon," he promised.

"What comes after kissing?" she inquired.

"Caressing," he told her.

"Who caresses whom?"

He chuckled. "I caress you, dearling, and you caress me."

"How do I caress you?" she demanded.

"I will instruct you most thoroughly in the art, you charmingly shameless wench," he said, laughing now.

"Oh, Madoc," she said, and his heart quickened, for she so rarely used his name, "is it wrong for me to be curious and eager? I truly am and I cannot help it. When you kiss me I find I am beset by feelings I do not understand, but I also find I want to go forward that I may learn what follows. I have had no mother to teach me, and Grandmother has said little regarding the relations between men and women."

"Ahh, dearling," he said, and his voice was tight with his own emotions, "I am glad you have feelings for me, even if you do not understand them. They are not wrong, and I am glad you do not fear me."

"Madoc, my brother," said Nesta, breaking into their conversation, "I think it is time that Wynne and I retired. We have not slept in a decent bed in several days, and she must be as exhausted as I am."

Wynne arose from the high board and, seeing her do so, Gwyn and Megan left their places at the table, below the salt, to follow their two mistresses from the hall.

The two girls kissed each other good night, and Nesta, yawning copiously, entered her own sleeping chamber gratefully. Wynne had not paid a great deal of attention to her own chamber earlier. Not in the least sleepy, she looked with interest about the room. There was a fine fireplace in which a good blaze now burned, and the room was quite warm and toasty. Beautiful tapestries woven in soft roses, blues, greens, and a natural cream color showed gentle landscapes filled with flowers, birds, and butterflies. They hung from ceiling to floor, covering much of the cold stone walls. Wynne had never seen anything like them.

Her windows opened onto a.mountain and garden view. There were three fine-carved chests for her belongings, a table, a chair with a woven seat and a cushion, and a large, beautiful bed with pale rose curtains that appeared to have been spun from a spider's web, although actually it was simply a delicate sheer wool. Wynne was enchanted by them, for she realized they would keep her bed quite draft-free and yet they were exquisite. The bed was piled high with a featherbed and the most beautiful fluffy white furs she had ever seen.

Megan helped her from her elegant garments, taking even her chemise, to Wynne's surprise; but she quickly replaced it with a loose-fitting garment with long, billowing sleeves. The gown was of the finest sheer linen. "Your sleeping robe, my lady," Megan said as she laced it shut with silken ribbons that ran from navel to neck.

"I've never had one," Wynne admitted. "It's lovely."

"You'll find many things here that exist nowhere else in our land," Megan told her. "Our lord prince has traveled as far as Byzantium." She then walked over to a small door set in the wall and opened it. "Your necessary, my lady," she explained.

Peering in, Wynne saw a small stone bench set between the walls with a neat round hole carved in it. On a shelf above it a bronze oil lamp burned. Next to the seat a pile of neatly folded cloths had been placed. "This is truly amazing," Wynne said.

" 'Tis but one of a thousand things that will astound you, my lady. Raven's Rock is truly like no other place." She shut the door to the necessary and said briskly, "Let me brush out your beautiful hair and then I'll help you into bed, my lady. You must be exhausted with all your travel." She undid the single, heavy braid Wynne favored, untangling it with supple fingers, brushing the hair until it shone like a swatch of black silk, then pinning it up so her mistress could sleep more comfortably.

"There's a bed space for me in the little chamber where I hang your garments, my lady. Your Einion will have his bed space with the prince's body servant, Barris, in our lord's dressing chamber."

"But are you warm enough? Surely the hall would be warmer for you."

Megan was touched by Wynne's concern. "Do not fret, my lady Wynne. The fireplace from my lord's reading chamber backs up against the bed spaces. We are all quite comfortable. The prince would have it no other way. He is a good master and there is none better!"

Wynne had seen this loyalty all day long since their arrival at Raven's Rock; Megan's easy assurances and her obvious devotion to Madoc were all such good signs, Wynne thought after the servant had left her alone. Everything was going to be fine once she accepted it and stopped fretting at every turn.

Wynne tried to sleep, but she couldn't. She was simply too excited by her arrival here and all the wonderful things she had seen this day. Impatiently she arose from her bed, throwing back the lavender-scented sheets and the warm furs. Walking over to her windows, she gazed out. There was a wide crescent moon hanging in the heavens, but it was not so bright that she could not see the myriad stars scattered so generously by the celestial hand across the dark night skies. It was all so beautiful and so magical that she sighed with the pure pleasure of just viewing it. An arm slipped about her waist, and Wynne leaned back against the man who held her in his tender embrace.

"You are not surprised that I am here," Madoc said, and it was a statement more than a question.

"Nay," she answered him quietly, "for I knew that you were as eager for the caressing as I was, my lord."

He laughed low. "Do you always say exactly what you think, Wynne?"

"Aye, the truth is best, I have been taught."

"Are you not curious as to how I came into your chamber, my dearling?" He bent to kiss her shoulder.

"There are three doors within this chamber, my lord," she told him. "One leads into your reading chamber. One to the necessary. The other, I assume, leads to your sleeping chamber. This is the room of the prince's wife. Logic dictates there would be a way from your chamber to mine."

"You are quite observant," he noted, his fingers skillfully unlacing her sleeping robe, even as he planted little kisses along the column of her neck.

"What are you doing?" Her voice sounded high in her own ears, and her heart was beginning to flutter quite rapidly.

"Does not logic tell you that to caress you properly I must undo your robe?" he teased her.

"Can you not caress me through the cloth?" she asked him, catching at his hands.

"I could," he agreed, "but it would not be half as pleasurable for either of us, dearling." He gently pushed her hands away and concluded his task.

Wynne's sleeping robe fell open from belly to throat. Madoc gently slipped the gown over her shoulders and it slid quickly to the floor, leaving her quite naked. "Ohh," she cried, surprised, for she had not expected him to bare her. It was the first of several shocks, for as he drew her back against him, she realized that he too was without a garment. "Ohhhh!" she said a second time. And "Ohhhhhhh!" a third time, as his hands slipped beneath her small breasts to cup them gently within the palms of his hands.

"Don't be afraid, sweeting," he murmured, kissing her ear as he spoke and then nibbling on it gently.

"I'm not," she replied somewhat breathlessly, "I just did not expect this. Not so soon." She drew a deep breath and, releasing it, sighed luxuriously. "I like your hands, my lord."

He fondled her flesh with a light touch, his thumbs softly teasing at her nipples, which contracted themselves into taut little buds. She murmured her approval, unconsciously pressing herself back against him. Madoc drew a sudden sharp breath, for he found his betrothed wife far more delicious than he knew he should at this point in their relationship. Bending, he kissed the point where her neck and her shoulder met, savoring the sweet, clean fragrance of her.

Wynne's eyes had closed, seemingly of their own volition, at the onset of his caress. She relaxed, thoroughly enjoying his touch and the delightful feelings engendered by his skillful hands. Her arms lay limp by her sides; her head lay back against his shoulder. It was lovely, and she almost purred, catlike.

Madoc released one of her breasts, and his hands swirled downward, brushing in circles over the flesh of her torso and belly. Wynne gasped softly and stiffened beneath his touch now. "Nay, dearling," he crooned low, "I'll not hurt you."

His fingers were sending rather sharp darts of excitement through her veins. "When," Wynne said, her voice slightly shaky, "when, my lord, do I learn to caress y-you?"

In answer he turned her about so that they were facing one another, and his mouth swooped down to find hers in a deep, burning kiss. "Now!" he almost groaned against her lips.

With trembling fingers she ran her hands over his muscular shoulders as he continued to kiss her, softly now, nibbling on her lower lip until, confused, she half whispered, "Stop, I beg you, my lord!"

He instantly ceased and stood silent.

Half shyly, half boldly, Wynne slid her hands over his smooth skin. Her touch was like a wave flirting with a beach. It came and then it fled back, unsure, never venturing farther than his waist. Madoc cupped her buttocks in his hands, and Wynne then followed his lead, her small hands fondling him with now daring abandon. "Does it pleasure you, my lord?"

"Perhaps too much so, dearling," came the answer, and he released his hold on her bottom, sliding his arms about her waist to draw her even closer to him.

She could feel his male organ pressing against her leg. She had not dared to gaze upon it yet, but it seemed quite hard and very big. Her palms flattened themselves against his smooth chest and she moved them with growing assurance in small circles over his skin. "I should like another kiss, Madoc," she told him, and he most eagerly complied, sending new flashes of heat racing through her body. "Ahhhhh, my lord," she said, "kissing and caressing together gives one even greater pleasure! Is it the same for you?"

The blood was thundering in his ears. What in the name of all common sense had ever made him think he could do this without wanting to make total love to her? Was he receiving pleasure as she was? Dear God, aye! But it was all he could do to refrain from taking her here and now. He forced himself to answer her. "How could I not receive pleasure from so soft a hand and such sweet lips, Wynne?" Releasing her, he bent and, slipping her sleeping gown back over her delightful little body, laced it with shaking fingers.

When he had stepped back she had seen his state and, reaching down, she took him in her hand.

Madoc groaned as if in dire pain.

Another woman might have drawn away, but she did not. Instead she caressed him gently, saying as she did so, "How strong and mighty is this lance of yours, Madoc of Powys. Why do you cry out? Does my touch hurt you?"

"I ache to possess you, dearling," he told her. "There is no fault in you."

"I am not ready yet to give myself totally to you," she replied.

To which he answered, "I know. I thought I might teach you of pleasure tonight, but I find I cannot touch you, Wynne, without wanting you."

"I desire you also, Madoc," was the surprising answer, "but again I say I am not quite ready to allow you possession of my body and my soul." She withdrew her curious hand.

"No one can ever possess another's soul, dearling," he said.

"Yet there is a meeting of souls when two lovers truly love one another, isn't there, my lord?"

He nodded slowly, again surprised by her intuitiveness.

"We have been lovers in another time and another place," Wynne said. "Have we not?"

"Aye."

"Tell me, for you know, I am certain of it!" Wynne said.

"I cannot, dearling. You must remember. It is part of our fate that you do. I can tell you nothing that you do not learn for yourself." He put his arms about her and drew her close.

There was a scent to him, Wynne realized, as she pressed her cheek against his shoulder. Unable to help herself, she kissed the skin beneath her lips. "Since my earliest memory, I have had a dream, Madoc," she began. "I have never understood this dream, but now I think it may have something to do with us."

"Tell me," he begged.

She rubbed her face against him. "There is little to tell. It is always the same and there is no sense to it."

"Tell me!" His plea was urgent now.

"I am in mist. There is much sadness. I can feel it all about me. It permeates the very air. I hear a voice calling, and above me a raven soars, crying the word, Remember. Then I awaken weeping. It is always the same."

"What does the voice say to you, Wynne?" he asked her gently.

"It calls out a name," she answered him, "but I cannot make out the name, Madoc, try as I will."

He held her tightly and said, "It is a start."

"Do you understand my dream?" she asked, drawing away and looking up at him.

"Aye, I do." His face was sad.

"But you cannot tell me," Wynne said.

He shook his head. "You must learn for yourself, dearling."

"How?" she demanded.

"I am not certain yet, but perhaps there is a way to unlock your memory, Wynne. Helping you to learn what you must know is not, I believe, like telling you. I must think on it else we find ourselves at an impasse, and that I cannot allow." Their talk had cooled his passions, and he kissed her upon her forehead. "You really must rest, my darling. These last few days have been tiring for you." He picked her up and, carrying her across the chamber, settled her gently in her bed.

"It is a very large bed," she noted. "Lie by me for a while, Madoc."

"Nay, my love, for if I do, I will finish what I so foolishly started tonight. You must trust me when I tell you that the time is not yet right." Then before she might protest, he was gone from the room through the door into his own chamber.

For several minutes Wynne lay silently in the dark. It was so confusing, and yet it was also fascinating. And passion. She smiled to herself. The more she learned of passion, the better she liked it. Madoc's touch had been a revelation. Shyly she touched herself, feeling her nipples grow tight, and yet it wasn't the same. Pleasurable, but not the same. Suddenly she found herself most sleepy. There was so much to see and to learn here at Raven's Rock. She sighed and was asleep.

In the days that followed, Wynne learned all she needed to know about the functioning of Raven's Rock Castle from Nesta. There were many innovations here that she would have never dreamed of, although she found them most practical. There was no cook house. The kitchens were instead located within the castle itself on a lower level. There was a kitchen garden within the main gardens set comfortably against a castle wall. They grew lettuce, peas, carrots, beets, marrows, and parsnips, Nesta told her, as well as simple kitchen herbs like parsley, rosemary, sage, and thyme. There was a small orchard with apple, peach, and cherry trees.

The servants were pleasant souls, eager to please her. From the morning after her arrival, she found she was expected to give the cook the menus for the day. He was a large, jolly man who shared his kitchens with his younger brother, who was the castle's baker. When Wynne admitted she was unused to so large a home, both the cook and the baker told her, smiling, that she would soon be used to it all. In the meantime they would help her to cope.

"You'll have no difficulties," Nesta assured Wynne. "You ran Gwernach quite well. Raven's Rock is only a matter of getting used to the greater number of people to care for, and I will help you."

"Where does Madoc's wealth come from?" Wynne asked Nesta one day.

"There are several sources," Nesta said, "for our family has always thought it unwise to put all one's hopes on one thing. The glens below us open out into a large single valley. It is ours. We graze our cattle there. There was a period after my father died that Madoc left Raven's Rock and traveled to Byzantium. Our family has always been involved in trading."

"But Raven's Rock is not near the sea," Wynne said.

"It doesn't have to be," Nesta replied. "Here is where the princes of Powys-Wenwynwyn live; but our trading houses are located in the cities along the coast of our own Wales, of England and in Ireland as well. We have factors in the land of the Franks and in cities along an ancient sea that one sails to get to Byzantium; and we have a great trading house in Byzantium itself. Then, too, my brother makes investments in other trading ventures. Caravans that travel to Jerusalem and beyond. It is all quite complicated. I don't really understand half of it, but if you are curious, ask Madoc. He loves to speak on his own cleverness, and will go on for hours if you allow him."

Wynne laughed. "I do not think that is kind, sister," she said. "I think Madoc must be very clever to be so rich."

The autumn months waned as the hills grew golden with passing time, finally fading into December. Now the only colors to be seen were the green of the pines and the grays, blacks, and browns of the winter hillsides. The Solstice was upon them, and with it, Nesta and Rhys's wedding.

Rhys arrived at Raven's Rock as Madoc had instructed him, two days before the marriage was to be celebrated. He came with a party of a hundred men; and accompanied by his cousins, the lords of Coed and Llyn; their wives; the young lord of Gwernach, his grandmother, and his sister. Madoc had sent David the bailiff to Gwernach several weeks after Wynne had come to Raven's Rock. She had interviewed the man and found him to be everything that Madoc had said he was.

"I realize my brother is young," Wynne had told David, "but unless you are absolutely certain that he is wrong, you must defer to him in all things. He will not learn otherwise, and his pride is great."

"Not unlike the pride of most men, my lady," David replied, a twinkle in his eyes, and Wynne liked him even more for it.

With David overseeing Gwernach, Dewi ap Owain was free to come to Raven's Rock to attend Nesta's wedding to Rhys. His eyes widened at the wonders he saw, but as impressed as he was with Raven's Rock, he could not help but say most bluntly, "I still prefer Gwernach."

"And so you should," Wynne agreed. "It is your home."

"A fool never changes," Caitlin muttered to her brother. "This place is paradise, and you prefer that dung heap from which we sprang forth? I'd sell my soul to Satan himself to have all this!" And she gestured broadly about the hall with her hand.

"Are you not content at Coed then?" Wynne questioned her sister.

“ 'Tis a fair enough place, but much like Gwernach, to be honest with you," Caitlin replied. "I've had more than enough to do to put it in order to suit me, but now that I've gotten the lady Blodwen out of the house, 'twill be easier. There is much I see here that I can adapt to a smaller home, but perhaps I shall just enlarge it instead." She looked thoughtful.

"What has happened to the lady Blodwen?" Wynne asked, more than curious to learn how Caitlin had rid herself of her mother-in-law.

"Oh, she's gone to St. Frideswide's Convent, where she will end her days. She's quite comfortable, but she is out of my hair at last," Caitlin said in a pleased tone.

"And just how did you get her to leave?" Wynne demanded. "The truth, Caitlin!"

Caitlin laughed smugly and then lowered her voice. "I would not want Arthwr to hear, for I promised the fat old cow I would keep her secret from her son in return for her voluntary departure." Caitlin's voice dipped lower. "I caught my dear mother-in-law in the bakehouse, her skirts bunched up about her waist, bent over a table stuffing her face with cakes and sweetmeats while the baker, his rough hands grasping her fleshy hips, pumped her full of his own cream. It was not the first time I had seen her thus, but I waited to expose her until I was certain it was a regular occurrence. Old Blodwen is lewd beyond all, although to look at her one would not guess it. She visited the bakehouse at least four times a week, and at her age too!" Caitlin finished, sounding just the tiniest bit aggrieved.

"So you forced her from her home and into a convent?" Wynne exclaimed. "Was that not harsh, sister?"

"I cannot have such a creature about to debauch my children with her shamelessness," Caitlin said primly, her hands touching her belly for the briefest moment. "Her behavior was inexcusable, and she would not have changed it had I allowed her to remain. Really, Wynne! A discreet lover of our own class I could have forgiven, but sister, she was swiving the baker!

"And what happened to the baker?" Enid asked, curious.

"I told Arthwr that he had offended me, and I had him well flogged. He got off lightly, Grandmother, and the baker is no fool. He took his whipping and went back to his ovens. I could have had his life."

"But to do that," Wynne noted, "you would have had to expose the lady Blodwen, and then you would not have had such a good bargaining chip. Perhaps she would not have gone willingly at all."

Caitlin nodded. "Do not frown so at me, Wynne. Blodwen is as comfortable at St. Frideswide's as she was at Coed. Arthwr has seen to that, for he loves her well. She will have an unending supply of sweetmeats."

"And just what excuse did you give your husband for shipping his mother to a convent?" Enid said.

"Well," said Caitlin, sounding smug again, "the old cow was forever going on about the delicate state of her health, and so she told Arthwr that being in the house with a squalling infant would be more than she could bear, even if the infant was her grandchild."

"You are expecting a baby?" Wynne looked closely at her sister.

"Of course!" Caitlin replied. "Can you not tell? Arthwr says I bloom more beauteously every day his son grows within me."

"My child," Enid scolded her, "you might have told me! When is your baby due?"

"In the month of June," Caitlin answered her grandmother. "I conceived my son when we returned to Coed, immediately after our marriage. Arthwr is a lusty lover."

"I conceived my son on my wedding night." Dilys spoke up quite suddenly. "Howel is most pleased with me. He says I have all the earmarks of being a good breeder," she finished proudly.

Enid shook her head in wonder. "And when is your child due to enter the world, Dilys?" she asked dryly.

"Certainly before Caitlin's," was the self-satisfied reply. "It is I, dear grandmother, who will give you your very first great-grandson."

Wynne looked to Nesta, who was as near to laughter as she herself was. Distance had made the pettiness engendered by her sisters seem quite funny. Like her brother, Wynne could not like her next two siblings, try as she might. The entire time they were at Raven's Rock they were never still. They prowled about inspecting every intimate detail of the castle, its possessions, its workings. They were openly envious of their elder sister, jealous of Wynne's good fortune, which each assured all who would listen really belonged to her.

Wynne was too busy, however, to pay a great deal of attention to her sisters, as the burden of Nesta's wedding had fallen upon her. The wedding feast would be one that was worthy of the sister of a prince of Powys. There would be over three hundred people, retainers included, to be fed, but Wynne was now confident in her ability to provide enough food. There were to be twelve tubs of oysters that had been brought from the coast set in tubs of cracked ice and snow off the nearby mountains. Four sides of beef packed in rock salt were to be roasted in the great spits in the kitchens. There would be a whole ox and two roe deer, as well as hams, geese, ducks; rabbit stew flavored with onions, parsley, and carrots; partridge pies; platters of quail roasted to a golden turn; and a peacock stuffed with dried fruit, which would be presented with all of its beautiful feathers intact upon a silver salver. There was trout that had been caught in the local streams, to be broiled in butter and lemon; salmon upon cress; and cod prepared in cream and sweet wine. There would be tiny green peas, little boiled beets, and new lettuce steamed in white wine with leeks and capers.

The bakers had worked overtime to produce all the fine white bread that Wynne demanded of them, to be eaten by those served above the salt. For those below there would be cottage loaves and good brown bread. There was butter and honey in abundance, as well as several different cheeses, among them six wheels of Gwernach Gold brought by Dewi ap Owain. There were sugar wafers, and both candied angelica and violets as well as several large apple tarts that would be served with heavy cream. A bridal cake of spun sugar and marzipan was to be the final delight to be enjoyed by all the guests; and all the tables would contain bowls of apples and pears.

To drink, there would be beer and October ale and several varieties of wine. Madoc's cellars were deep, and Wynne made certain that no one would go thirsty. As a special treat she had arranged for those at the high board to have mead, a festive and most deceptively potent drink made from honey. Mead was known to make the blood flow hotly and was said to be a great stimulus to an eager bridegroom.

On that account Rhys of St. Bride's certainly qualified, for his three months' absence from Nesta of Powys had only served to increase his ardor for her. It was a passion that Nesta fully reciprocated. To see them together was to understand the meaning of the word love. It was unfortunate, Wynne thought sadly, that seeing it, she could not herself feel the same emotion. Nesta and Rhys seemed to be bound by some slim and invisible thread. They could scarce wait for their wedding day, for they longed to be united in marriage.

Madoc had calculated the very moment of the Winter Solstice, and it was at exactly that moment that the bridal couple were formally united in marriage. Nesta, as radiant as the winter sun itself, was garbed in gold, a fitting background for her dark red hair and her creamy skin. Her tunic dress was made of gold silk, sewn all over with pearls and gold thread. Both the hem and the wide sleeves were edged in rich brown marten. Her under tunic was of cream-colored silk, the material having been woven with narrow bands of pure beaten gold. The tunic dress was belted with a loose-fitting rope of twisted gold with pearl tassels. A gold torque enameled in green and blue was fastened about Nesta's slender neck and sat upon her neckbones above her rounded neckline. She wore pearls in her ears, and a gold and pearl band encircled her head, holding her long, flowing hair in place. Upon her feet were dainty gold kid slippers.

Rhys was as resplendent as his beautiful bride. He was garbed in a full-skirted kirtle of red and gold brocade, the open neck of which was decorated with garnets and pearls. The tunic was belted with links of gold. As his kirtle was long, only his boots showed, but they were boots such as the guests had never seen. Of red leather! The bridegroom carried no sword. To come armed into his own wedding would have been considered an insult of the highest order.

They were a handsome couple, and when the priest had pronounced them man and wife, Rhys kissed Nesta heartily to the cheers of all the guests. The music began almost immediately. There would be dancing after the feasting was over. An ancient minstrel entertained them, singing in a voice that was incredibly sure and sweet for one so old. Once the minstrel had roamed the world singing his songs, but now he lived out his years in comfortable retirement at Raven's Rock. The knowledge of the minstrel's history had endeared Madoc to Wynne a small bit. She appreciated this new evidence of Madoc's kindness to others.

"You have done well," Madoc complimented her as the evening progressed. "I can find nothing that has been overlooked. You have more than honored my sister and her husband. I am grateful, dearling."

Wynne flushed with pleasure at his words. Never before had she overseen so large a gathering, and toward the end, as her wedding day approached, Nesta, attacked by bridal nerves, had been virtually useless. "It is good, my lord," she agreed. "All our guests seem to be enjoying themselves. The mark of my great success is that not once has my sister Caitlin complained this evening. She seems satisfied with her place at the high board, the food, the music, everything! Do you think that impending motherhood is mellowing her?"

"More likely she is at a loss for words," Madoc replied, and then he murmured low so that only she could hear, "how beautiful you look tonight, Wynne. Green and gold are surely your colors. How I wish that this were our wedding feast, but alas, we must wait until Beltaine."

His words set her heart to racing. Madoc of Powys was a very romantic man, as she was beginning to learn. She found that she was anxious to be alone with him. She would be very glad when all her guests had departed to their own homes. He had been correct when he said that they needed time together. They did. She wanted to know him better. Wanted to learn what it was that bound them together, yet made her fearful of linking her life with his once again. She suddenly knew that she wanted to overcome whatever barrier it was that lay between them.

Wynne looked up at her betrothed husband and saw that he was smiling. "Villain!" she accused, rapping his hand lightly. "You have been intruding upon my thoughts again." She sighed deeply. "Madoc, you are incorrigible!"

"I love you," he said simply, as if that should excuse him.

Wynne laughed. "What am I to do with you, Madoc of Powys?"

"Love me, dearling," he told her. " 'Tis all I desire of you."

"No," she answered him, suddenly serious. "There is more, but it will come, I know. I feel myself changing here at Raven's Rock."

The bride and groom were put to bed with much good-natured teasing and ribaldry. The guests all found their own assigned sleeping spaces. In the morning, from the window of Nesta's chamber, a crimson-stained sheet was hung, bloodied proof of her virgin state and of Rhys of St. Bride's masculine prowess. The guests, well-breakfasted, began to depart. Wynne, returning to her bedchamber to change her shoes, for the ones she wore chafed her, was surprised to hear Nesta's voice coming from Madoc's chamber. Curious, she moved across the room, not really meaning to eavesdrop, but unable to help herself.

"You are happy?" she heard Madoc say.

"Aye," Nesta replied, "I am very happy, but I fear for you, my brother. Brys came yesterday, I know it. Did you think you could keep it from me?"

"He got only as far as the bridge that spans the river before I sent him away. He will not bother you again, Nesta."

"Oh, Madoc, 'tis not me he seeks to hurt, but you! He feels for you the same hate our father felt for your father, Gwalchmal. The same bitterness. The same envy. It seems to breed deep within him. It a terrible curse, my brother. Black and evil."

"He cannot hurt me, Nesta," Madoc reassured his sister. "He knows the extent of my powers."

"He knows that despite your powers you are a softhearted soul. A man loath to destroy any living thing. If Brys had your powers, he would willingly and eagerly destroy you, and he would take pleasure in it. Perhaps you yourself are not vulnerable, Madoc, but you are vulnerable now through your love for Wynne."

"Brys knows nothing of Wynne."

"He knows!" Nesta said positively. "Oh, perhaps he did not know that you betrothed yourself to an infant those long years ago, but you may be certain that he now knows your betrothed wife resides within this castle! He is a part of it, Madoc! An important part of it! Has Wynne had no glimpse of memory yet?"

"She has had a dream since childhood," Madoc said, and then he related her dream to Nesta, "but there has been nothing else."

"She has to know the truth, Madoc. Particularly lest Brys try to destroy your happiness once more," Nesta said firmly.

"I cannot tell her, Nesta, and you know it. She must remember herself," Madoc told his sister.

"You can help her, Madoc, without telling her, and well you know that!" Nesta responded hotly.

Wynne was absolutely fascinated by the conversation between brother and sister. What did it all mean? She hoped against hope that no one would come into the prince's apartments and discover her listening. She wanted to hear more.

"I had hoped," she heard Madoc answer, "that being here with me at Raven's Rock, she would begin to remember on her own."

"You have little time left, brother. Your marriage is scheduled for the first of May. Help her! I cannot go to St. Bride's and be content, knowing of the dangers you both face from Brys, unless this matter between us is resolved once and for all. I love Wynne, Madoc. As she once was, she is again, the sweetest of souls," Nesta said, her voice filled with emotion.

"I will take your advice, sister," Madoc answered, "but now you must find your husband and depart, for I am eager to be alone with my own fair lady."

Wynne fled swiftly into her room, hearing his words. She would have been very embarrassed to have been caught listening to what had been a very private conversation. Changing her shoes, she returned to the Great Hall just in time to bid Nesta and Rhys a fond farewell; escorting them along with Madoc out into the main courtyard of Raven's Rock Castle, where their horses and their men awaited them.

Nesta, radiant with her own happiness, hugged Wynne warmly. "I shall come for your wedding in the spring," she promised.

"I wish you did not have to leave so soon," Wynne said.

"There is a storm coming," Nesta predicted, "and we would be wise to be well out of the mountains before it strikes."

"But the Christ's Mass is in just a few days," Wynne fretted. "You will still be on the road."

"Then we will celebrate it on the road." Nesta laughed. "I long to be in my own home. From the look of Rhys when he first arrived, I shall have much to do to make St. Bride's Castle habitable." She hugged Wynne a final time and kissed her upon the cheek. "Take care of Madoc, Wynne, and should you meet our brother Brys, beware of him. He has the look of the angels, but he is the devil's spawn."

"Wife!" roared Rhys, looking mightily pleased with himself and quite happy, "will you linger all day gossiping with our sister in the courtyard? To horse, I say!"

"Aye, my lord," Nesta answered meekly with a small wink at Wynne, and he lifted her into her saddle, putting her reins in her hands.

Madoc put his arm about Wynne. Together they waved the lord and lady of St. Bride's off, standing at the entrance to Raven's Rock until their guests disappeared from sight around a bend in the road. "And now, dearling, we are alone," he said, smiling into her face.

"I am content with that, Madoc," Wynne replied serenely, and she smiled back as they turned to reenter the castle.

Chapter 6

Nesta, who Wynne had learned was weather sensitive, had been correct about the coming storm. Late the following afternoon after a still, grey day, the snow began to fall. It fell throughout the night. Delicate little crystallized flakes that clung to whatever they touched, until the castle and the land about them was frosted entirely in white. The windows were rimmed in icy patterns of beautiful design. And the storm had brought with it a deep stillness that penetrated even into the castle.

They were alone in the Great Hall, and it seemed so large with the servants gone to their beds. Fires crackled in the four big fireplaces, sparks occasionally shooting from the burning logs with a noisy pop that invariably startled. They had ridden the previous afternoon, after the last of their guests departed. Madoc agreed with his sister about the coming storm and said they should take the opportunity to get out while they still could. Today Wynne had overseen the servants as they restored Raven's Rock to normality following the celebration.

They sat most companionably together, enjoying a rich, sweet wine, and for a time Madoc played upon a small reed instrument. Suddenly he put it down and, looking directly at her, said, "What is it that frets you, Wynne? I can feel your distress."

"It came to me," she replied, "that I had not seen old Dhu, my raven, in several days. I had not thought to look for him, with all the last minute preparations for Nesta's wedding. We rode all yesterday afternoon and he did not appear. Now with the storm upon us, I worry that he is all right. He is quite old for a bird, Madoc."

"And does this ugly black creature mean so much to you, Wynne, that it would trouble your slumber?"

"He is not ugly!" Wynne defended the bird. "I consider him most handsome for a raven."

Madoc laughed. "Why does this beastie mean so much to you, dearling, that you would safeguard him against even me?"

"Old Dhu has been my friend my whole life," Wynne said softly. "I believe that he keeps me safe from harm, even though I know such a thing is not possible."

"Perhaps it is," he told her.

"I do not understand you, Madoc."

"Close your eyes but a moment, dearling," he said quietly.

She trusted him enough by now that her green eyes closed most obediently, and it was then she heard the flap of wings. Wynne's eyes flew open and she was hard-pressed to believe what it was she saw. Soaring about the room was old Dhu, who swooped amid the rafters of the Great Hall, cawing triumphantly.

Wynne burst out laughing and clapped her hands together gleefully. "I knew it! I suspected it all along! I just didn't know it was you," she cried. "You're a shape-changer, Madoc!"

The great black raven flew directly toward her, and in the second that Wynne blinked, Madoc stood before her. "You are not afraid?" he said.

"No! I want to learn how to do it! Will you teach me? Ohhh, Madoc! It was you all those years watching out over me. It was you to whom I poured out all my secrets. It was you!"

"Aye, Wynne, it was me. I never meant to intrude upon your privacy, dearling. At first I was merely curious as to how you were growing. I wanted to make certain that you were healthy and happy. Then it became more. I needed, it seemed, to be near you. I could not be happy unless I was. There were times when my own concerns kept me from you for days and weeks on end, and I would grow irritable with my need for the sight of you. And the year I went to Byzantium! It was torture! After several months I was so desperate for the sight of you that I feigned illness in order that I might have the time and the solitude to cast a powerful spell enabling me to see you for a few brief minutes."

"There was a year in which the raven was missing," Wynne said thoughtfully. "I was eight, I think." She looked at him. "Has this always been a part of you? The magic, I mean. In other times?"

"Nay," he said. "Only in this time and place."

"But how did you learn it? You were only a child when your father died." She took his hand and led him to a bench before the fire.

As they sat down he said, "My father was murdered, Wynne. It was his brother's hand that struck him down, no accident. My uncle was seen perpetrating the foul deed. The witness was my grandmother, but my grandmother was only a woman. She could do nothing, and so she told several trusted servants and swore them to secrecy. Then she spent the rest of her life protecting me from Cynbel.

"I had the knowledge to destroy when I was seven, but my father had taught me that life is sacred to the Mother and the Father. I had gone with him into his pharmacea from the time I could toddle. When he died I taught myself from his secret books which were hidden from my uncle, who would have taken them for himself, even though they would have done him no good. He always believed if he could find those books he could change the fate his own father had ordained for him and for those of his descendants who followed him."

Madoc sighed. "My uncle was such a warped soul, Wynne. He married my mother in order to have Raven's Rock, but he could not. After Brys was born, his madness-for it was madness-grew even worse. He was determined his son should have what was mine. He taught Brys early how to hate. The envy and jealousy that oozed out of him was absorbed into Brys's very pores. Of course, with my grandmother and the servants watching over me, my uncle had no chance of harming me. He turned my brother against me for nought, but once the deed was done, there was no changing it. Brys attempted his rape of Nesta because he knew how very much I loved our sister. In his warped mind her violation was to be a mortal blow at me."

"But once again he failed," Wynne said softly, "and in failing, found himself exiled from Raven's Rock, which but increased his bitterness and his anger toward you."

Madoc nodded sadly. "After that there was no real hope of a reconciliation between us, although I did try for our mother's sake that once when Brys's father died."

"Has he married?" Wynne asked, curious.

Madoc laughed harshly. "Nay! He has found what he believes to be the perfect avenue of revenge. The Church. Brys took orders several years ago, and then when the old bishop of Cai died two years ago, my brother shamelessly bought his office. He is one of the youngest bishops in the Church. He attempts to destroy me by claiming my powers come from the devil. There are some fools in King Gruffydd's court who fear my influence and would like to believe it so."

"Then your marriage to me cannot fail but be an advantage, as I am related to the king," Wynne said thoughtfully.

“ 'Tis not why I betrothed myself to you, dearling," he replied.

"I know that," she answered him. "I have no fear of your motive, Madoc. I trust you, but enough of your brother! I want to become a shape-changer as you are."

He chuckled and said, "Why, I believe that you love me for my knowledge of magical arts, Wynne. I am not sure I should not be offended."

"I am not certain why I love you, Madoc," and the words out of her mouth, Wynne looked even more astounded than the man by her side did. "Ohhhh!" she said, her green eyes wide with her own surprise.

"You love me?" His voice was slightly strangled.

"I seem to have said so, haven't I." Wynne bit her lower lip in vexation and then continued carefully, "I suppose I do love you, Madoc. I should not have said it otherwise, but I was certainly not aware of it until the words popped unbidden from my mouth. When could such a thing have happened? I acknowledge that I desire you, for I surely do, but love you? Well, I have said it, and I seem to feel no great desire to deny it, so it must be. It does not change, however, whatever it is between us from that other time and place which must be concluded. Perhaps now, though, we will be able to settje our past difference, as my heart obviously has a tendre for you."

For the first time in his life Madoc of Powys found himself at a loss for words. He knew he should say something, but he feared if he did, whatever it was he said would drive her away again. Wynne quickly solved the problem for him.

"Now that we have agreed on that, my lord, tell me when you will begin to teach me how I may learn to change my shape as you do."

Somehow he managed to find his voice. "It is a simple matter, Wynne, but it can be dangerous. The world in which you and I live is no longer the world of our Celtic ancestors. I am called a sorcerer by many, though my reputation exceeds my actual deeds. Yet the knowledge I possess was once greatly respected and appreciated by our people. There is no evil to it except in the hands of evil men, but that has ever been so. Now, however, that knowledge I possess is said to spring from the devil. So I must conceal what I know for the most part from those around us, lest I be considered the devil's disciple. Still, my reputation persists because of the history of the princes of Powys-Wenwynwyn. A history forever being reinvented and embroidered upon by my brother, Brys, for the delectation of the ignorant, the foolish, and the superstitious."

"The knowledge you have must be passed on, my dear lord," Wynne told him quietly. "It is a part of who we are. Not just yesterday, but today and tomorrow."

"Perhaps today, but I am not certain about the morrow, dearling. Nonetheless, I will endeavor to teach you what I know. However, before I teach you the secret of changing one's shape, you must learn other things. You had a small pharmacea at Gwernach. I have one here within the castle. Tomorrow we will adjourn there together. I will see how far you have gotten with your potions, and then I will teach you what you must know. We will have to work very hard, Wynne, and I warn you I am not an easy taskmaster."

"Nor I one to be satisfied with poor work, Madoc," she told him.

He smiled at her pride and, taking her hand, drew her to her feet. "It is late, dearling. Past time that we sought our beds." Then he kissed her mouth lightly.

In the morning, when Wynne had arisen and washed herself, Megan came to her with a tray upon which was a freshly baked cottage loaf, a bowl of hot barley cereal, a slice of ham, a crock of sweet butter, a honeycomb, and a goblet of sweet, watered wine. "When you are ready, my lady, I am instructed to take you to the prince."

As excited as she was, Wynne ate slowly, and she ate everything upon the tray. She did not know how long they would remain in Madoc's pharmacea this day, or when she would have the opportunity to eat again. When she had finished, Megan brought her a basin of scented water that she might wash her hands and face again. Then she held out a garment of grass-green to her mistress.

"What is this?" Wynne asked, for the gown was quite foreign to her.

"The master asks that you wear it to please him," Megan responded.

Wynne put it on and found the garment to be a floor-length gown of silk with a simple round neckline that followed the shape of her body. It had fitted sleeves to the wrists. Over it she added a grass-green brocade robe with three-quarter-length sleeves that ended just below her elbow. The robe lay open from neck to hem. A three-inch band of gold embroidery done in a swirl of Celtic design descended from the top of the garment to its bottom, around its neckline edges, hem, and sleeve cuffs.

"If you will sit, my lady," Megan said, "I will do your hair."

Wynne sat upon a stool while Megan carefully removed the sleep snarls from her long black hair, brushed the ankle-length tresses until they shone, and then braided her mistress's thick hair into the single braid that Wynne favored. When she had finished, she placed a plain, narrow circlet of Irish red-gold about Wynne's forehead and, kneeling, slipped soft felt slippers upon Wynne's feet.

"You are ready, my lady. If you will follow me, I will take you to Prince Madoc." Megan arose and moved with fluid grace across the room and through the door.

Wynne followed her maidservant as they moved swiftly through the castle, down the corridor lit by flickering torches, and up a flight of stone steps into a tower. At the top of the staircase was a door, and Megan stopped before it.

"Knock once and enter, my lady," she said.

"You come no farther?" queried Wynne.

"Nay, my lady. No one in the castle but the prince is allowed into this room. It is a special place, sacred to the old ways of our people. For someone such as I to violate that chamber's sanctity would be a great sacrilege. You, however, are one of the special ones like the prince. We all know it, else he would not have chosen you for his wife."

For a long moment Wynne stood silently before the oak door listening to Megan's footsteps as they echoed and retreated down the narrow staircase. Finally raising her fist, she knocked once. His voice came quite clearly through the thick wood, bidding her to enter, which she did.

"Good morning, dearling," he said to her as she stepped into the room. "I trust you are ready to work hard." He smiled.

He was garbed even as she was, but that his costume was violet. About his neck he wore a heavy silver chain from which hung a silver pendant in which was imbedded the largest moonstone she could ever remember seeing. It was fully as big as one of the small apricots Madoc had sent her as a treat the previous summer. The silver diadem that restrained his unruly dark hair was studded with moonstones of a smaller size. He somehow seemed larger than life in this place, and Wynne suddenly considered that she should possibly be just a little afraid of him.

She bowed politely to him, never revealing that thought and hoping he had not read it. "I am ready to learn all you would teach me, Madoc, if in the end you will teach me how to change my shape as you do."

"In time, dearling. Do not be impatient with me," he told her.

Wynne looked about her with frank interest. "Where are we?" she asked him.

"This is the east tower of Raven 's Rock," came the reply.

"It is one of the round towers," Wynne returned. "The original tower of the keep, I would venture." She looked about her. In the curve of the wall was a small fireplace in the shape of an inverted U. A peat fire burned brightly upon its hearth. There was a large L-shaped, slate-topped table and a similar table formed like a T within the room. Set on each table was a stone mortar and a pestle.

There were shelves hollowed from one wall, and upon them were an assortment of vials, bowls, and beakers of various sizes, shapes, and colors, as well as glass and stone jars holding quivering liquids, pastes, and other dried substances whose origins she could not fathom at this point. There were several charcoal burners set upon each of the tables, and from the walls of the room hung bunches and sheaves of all manner of herbs, roots, and dried flowers.

It was actually very much like her own little pharmacea at Gwernach, where she had mixed her own medicines and salves to help doctor her people. The room was very well-lit by small torches affixed in their iron holders which were set into the wall. They were quite necessary, as through the tower window she could see the day was grey and overcast. Set upon a tall, three-footed stand beneath the window was a thick manuscript.

"This is a wonderful room," she said with sincerity.

"You will note," he said with his dry humor, "there are no small horned demons lurking in the corners ready to do my evil bidding; nor is there a single cat, black or otherwise, that I use as my familiar. I am afraid I should greatly disappoint those who consider my arts to be those of the devil. I seem to lack all the necessary accoutrements."

"I suspect that if such things were really necessary to your talents, Madoc, that they would not be readily in evidence for all to see," she mocked him. "It is a strange world in which we live that denies such a wonderful part of our heritage. Still, I understand the need for caution and will act accordingly."

He nodded. "It is sad, Wynne, that we who were once the lords of this earth have had to learn the fine art of compromise. Compromise is confining and stifles the fires of talent. Still, we must survive within this new and righteous world in which we find ourselves… But enough of this idle chatter, dearling. You have come to learn, and I will teach you. First, however, I must ascertain just how much you actually know. Use the L-shaped table and show me how you would make a love potion. You do know how to make a love potion?"

Wynne raised her eyebrows at him. "I would not be much of a healer if I did not know how to make a love potion, Madoc." Then she turned to face the storage shelves and, seeking carefully amongst the jars and beakers, removed precisely the ingredients she needed, placing everything neatly upon the table. Skillfully she measured out amounts of each substance, placing the ingredient first into the mortar, where she ground it to the desired fineness before adding it to a larger bowl, into which she would finally combine the mixture. When she had finished, Wynne looked expectantly toward Madoc. "Well?" she demanded.

"How do you administer it?" he asked her, neither approving nor disapproving her work.

"A pinch in a goblet of wine usually does the trick," she said.

"It would do even better if you added…" He paused, his dark blue eyes flickering quickly over the shelves until, finding what he sought, he drew it forth. "Three violet flowers ground medium-fine. Remember, 'tis the flowers, not the leaves you want; and a pinch of orris root. The potion is far more binding and, therefore, more effective with these two elements added. Made like this, you can also infuse the entire potion into red wine. It should be heated just to the boiling point, but never beyond," he cautioned, "for it loses its strength then. The treated wine can then be stored safely for some months in a stone bottle and not lose any of its potency. Just one small spoonful mixed into a goblet of cool wine or into a cup of ale will work quite well.

"Come, we will grind your ingredients into a fine powder. Then I will show you just how much wine to use and demonstrate how to heat the mixture properly. Once you have done it successfully, you will not forget it."

"Can I trust you with so potent a potion, Madoc?" Wynne teased him.

"I need no love potion to bind me to you, dearling. My devotion is one that has endured through the centuries. Soon, I hope, you will remember that."

Wynne grew pink with the compliment, but said nothing more. Instead she set to work pestling the mix she had made into a smooth powder; while Madoc lit one of the small charcoal burners and set it near him on the slate-topped table. They worked together, side by side, for some time; he, requesting one compound after another; Wynne, showing him what she knew, and her knowledge was vast for a girl so young. She had gained her learning early from her own mother, a skilled healer. When Margiad had died, Enid had completed Wynne's education. Wisely, Wynne had never been loath to listen to the remedies offered by some of the old women at Gwernach. The elderly had a vast fund of wisdom and it was foolish to discount it.

Now as she worked with Madoc she realized how much more she could learn. It was another bond she hoped would tie them together and perhaps even help her to remember the past that had separated them. Sometimes, as with the love potion, he improved upon her own mixture. Other formulas he left alone, nodding quickly in approval of her methods before disposing of some of the mixtures and storing others.

The hours sped by quickly and the day waned. Finally Madoc called a halt to their labors, saying, "This table and this room are open to you whenever you desire to come here to make medicines and salves for our people."

She nodded and then said, "Tell me why, of all the beautiful birds in the world, you chose to become a raven?"

A slow smile altered his serious features. "It is true that I might have been something else, but think, Wynne. The raven is a plain and common bird. People pay little, if any, attention to it. In flight it has no enemies, for the birds of prey will not bother a raven who minds his own business. The raven is like an ordinary face in a crowd of people. One is very much like another. On the whole it is a safe bird to be. When I alter my own shape, it is not to put my life in danger."

"What is the secret to changing?" she begged him.

"Not yet, dearling. You have more to learn, and as I would not put myself at risk, I will certainly not put you at risk. Eventually I will teach you magic, but not yet."

She sighed but wisely accepted his decision.

"Are you tired?" he asked her solicitously as they returned to their apartments.

"Aye," she nodded, sighing.

"There are but the two of us, dearling. Let us bathe and rest and then have our supper here in my reading room before the fire. Would it please you?"

"Aye, I should like a bath and the informality of our chambers," she admitted. "Have the meal brought and set by the fire to keep warm. Then dismiss the servants, for we do not need them. I will serve you, my lord."

Megan, as efficient as ever, had already drawn Wynne's bath. She undid Wynne's braid, brushed it free and then, wrapping hanks of her mistress's hair about her hand, pinned the loops atop Wynne's head with her golden hairpins. Disrobing her lady and helping her into the great oak tub, Megan was surprised to find herself dismissed for the evening.

"I can wash myself," Wynne told her. "Spend your free time driving my Einion to distraction, as you seem to have been doing of late. It is a most humbling experience, and actually quite good for him I believe." Wynne chuckled. "He quite has his own way with the ladies as a rule."

"Well, he'll not with me, my lady," Megan said pertly with a grin. "I'm not one of those kiss-me-quick lasses he's used to pursuing." She curtsied prettily. "If you're certain it's all right to leave you, my lady, then I'll bid you good night."

"Run along," Wynne told her, smiling as Megan almost flew out the door. There was a definite romance brewing between Einion and Megan. She snuggled down into the big round tub, murmuring with pleasure as the hot water soothed her tired shoulder and neck muscles, which were sore from bending over her work all day. Fragrant wildflower steam arose from the water, perfuming the room. The fire crackled comfortably while outside the winter winds howled and sighed about the castle. Wynne closed her eyes and relaxed. Suddenly from behind her closed eyelids she sensed she was not alone.

"Do you wish to join me, my lord?" she asked, not even bothering to open her eyes.

"It would not distress you?" he queried her.

Now Wynne did open her green eyes, and she looked direcdy at him. He was naked and he was beautiful. She had never seen a grown man naked, and yet she was neither surprised nor distressed by the sight. His body matched his fiercely handsome face. It was all bone and muscle. His legs were hairy, but the rest of his body was smooth, except for the thickly tangled thatch of dark curls springing from his groin where his manhood lay framed.

Wynne swung her look back up to his face. "Our ancestors saw nothing wrong in intimacy, Madoc. You are my betrothed husband. I am your betrothed wife." She smiled encouragingly at him. "Come, the water is delightful. Bring the brush and I will scrub your back."

"Once again you surprise me, dearling," he told her, and she laughed.

"Our marriage will be celebrated on the first day of May, my lord. I have been at Raven's Rock over three months. Yet although I find my desire for you grows daily, and I have indeed grown to love you, it is not enough. I must remember that which was between us before we marry. You admit that we were once lovers. Perhaps if we are lovers again, my memory of those times past will be returned to me and we may complete what is uncompleted between us before formally rejoining our lives once more."

"Wynne," he began, "do you know what it is you are saying?"

"Deny me not in this, Madoc," she replied seriously. "I am not afraid to become a woman. Does it displease you that I would be one?" He had entered the tub, and she now moved to face him, winding her arms about his neck provocatively. "Tell me you are not angry with me, Madoc." Her small, firm breasts pressed against his chest.

Lost. He was totally and completely lost in the depths of her forest-green eyes. Her mouth shimmered before him, coral-pink, berry-sweet, and ripe for kissing. They called him sorcerer, and yet it was Wynne, Wynne in her innocence and ancient instinct, who was a sorceress, beguiling aned enchanting him until he could no longer resist. Madoc knew he had the power to renew the deep, secret memories of their past which she had repressed within her heart and mind; but right now all he wanted to do was to make love to her. She lured him on. He could feel her hand against the back of his neck, drawing him down to her deliciously tempting mouth.

"I won't be able to stop," he whispered desperately against her mouth in a final attempt at sanity.

"I would not start this if I expected you to stop, Madoc, my love," she murmured back, nibbling at his lower lip. "I am no coy maid to tease a man onward only to cry off at the crucial moment. I am yours!"

With a groan he surrendered. His mouth took hers in a hard, almost brutal kiss. The power of victory sang in his ears. She was his!

Wynne returned his passion kiss for kiss. The time for maidenly modestly was long past. Her own blood ran hot with her desire to be possessed completely by this man. To learn how to possess him in return. In this aspect of their relationship everything was perfect. She parted her lips as he had taught her and tasted his tongue mingling with hers. Her lithe body pressed against him as their mouths mashed together frantically and wetly.

Jesu! He had to regain control of the situation before he took her right here in their tub. She was a virgin. She deserved better than that her first time. He pulled his head away from her and drew several breaths to clear his senses before setting her firmly back from him. The hurt in her eyes astounded him.

"What is wrong?" Wynne begged.

He smiled to reassure her and then said, "There will be times, my love, when I may make love to you here in our bath; but not this time. Tonight it must be perfect for you. At least as perfect as I can make it. It is every woman's right when she gives up her virginity, and I will not take that from you. Now scrub my back, Wynne, and we will adjourn to my bedchamber, where I will endeavor to give you the sweet pleasure all women should have."

With trembling hands Wynne scrubbed him, rinsing him off with a soft cloth; and then to her surprise he did the same for her. "You speak of pleasing me, Madoc," she said low, "but I would learn how to please you."

"I will teach you, my dearling, but tonight, Wynne, I alone will be the master of our pleasure, for to give you joy, my love, is to receive it myself. You cannot quite understand that at this moment, but within a short time you will." He kissed her softly, stroking her jaw lightly with the back of his hand. Then stepping from their deep oak tub, he lifted her out, setting her upon the warm stones of the floor. Madoc reached for a piece of rough toweling and began to slowly rub her dry.

"You will catch cold," Wynne said softly, taking another piece of toweling and imitating his actions.

"I'll be hot soon enough," he teased gently, sliding to his knees before her, rubbing, rubbing, rubbing.

Trembling just faintly, Wynne bent slightly over to dry his broad shoulders, gasping with surprise as, reaching up, Madoc caught one of her breasts in his hand and, fastening his lips about the nipple, began to suckle her. "Ohhh!" Her little cry was almost a squeak. "Ohhh!" It came again as the prince transferred his attentions from the first small breast to the second. The sensations generated by the actions of his mouth were delicious, she thought, but why did she also have a tingling sensation in the secret place between her thighs?

Madoc stood up, putting his arms about her as he did, and drew her close against him. Wynne looked up unafraid into his face, her hand reaching up to stroke his cheek; a single finger moving softly over his fleshy underlip. Gently he bit that finger, his deep blue eyes holding her green eyes captive now, daring her onward. She lay her cheek against his shoulder, rubbing it softly with her head; and Madoc, in answer to her unspoken words, bent down to lift her up into his arms. He carried her from their bathing room to his own bedchamber, setting her down upon her feet for a moment while he poured them two goblets of rich, red wine which he placed upon a low table near the fire.

Wynne looked quickly about the room, for she had never been in it before. It was large and spacious, with a great fireplace which burned brightly, warming the room most comfortably. A great bed was set upon a raised dais. It was covered in a deep blue silk coverlet with a wide hem embroidered with gold thread and small jewels. Behind the bed, hanging from the ceiling to the floor, was a large, colorful tapestry depicting purple mountains and green forests filled with animals, both real and fabled, as well as birds that fluttered and flew about the scene. Windows looked out onto the mountains; she could tell by their direction, although those mountains were now obscured by both the night and the storm. There were beautifully carved chairs, and tables and chests of warm golden oak set about the room, which for all its elegance was simple.

Madoc took Wynne by the hand now and led her to a large white sheepskin rug which lay on the floor before the fireplace. Gently he drew her down so that they knelt facing one another. Taking her face into his hands, he kissed her mouth, gently at first, than a bit more fiercely as his ardor rose. Her arms had been quiet at her side. Now she lifted them and, palms smoothing slowly up his chest, she slid them tightly about his neck, drawing him down with her as she lay back upon the soft sheepskin. His lips never left her all the while, and he thought that she was wonderfully brave in her innocence.

He was careful not to put himself atop her lest he frighten her. Instead he slid himself sinuously down alongside of her. Kneeling back on his haunches, he took one of her slender feet into his hands. He kissed the top of her foot, nibbling playfully at her dainty toes, cradling the foot in his warm palms, massaging it gently before paying equal court to its mate. Wynne could not help but giggle, for the sensation against her skin was deliciously tickly.

"First you would gnaw on my fingers," she whispered, "and now my toes. Do all men love their ladies so, Madoc?" Then she gave a little squeal, for his tongue was licking the arch of her foot and the feeling was most sensuous.

"A wise man," he said, nuzzling her ankle, "loves a woman from the soles of her pretty feet to the top of her head, Wynne. To do less would be tragic. A woman is more than simple surcease for a man's randy cock." He fondled her calves with strong, warm fingers.

This was something she had most certainly not known, Wynne thought. His hands were so skilled, and they sent such wonderful little shivers of pure pleasure throughout her body. It was quite a delightful revelation. She stretched and purred her contentment of his continued actions, then giggled again as he kissed her rounded knees. "You are mad, my lord!" she half laughed.

He kissed them again, murmuring, "Poor little knees. They tell me that they have never been kissed before, but they quite like it." Then to her great surprise, he turned her quickly over onto her stomach and began caressing her buttocks with soft hands that pressed gently into her flesh and fingers that teased her skin with feathery touches.

She felt his mouth on her, kissing. His tongue, warm and stroking. A shiver raced through Wynne. This was different. Very, very different from the previous teasing caresses. Kisses were being placed all along her backbone to be slowly followed by the wet warmth of his stroking tongue. She squirmed nervously against the soft sheepskin rug as she felt him lay half atop her. His teeth nipped gently at her ear, and he murmured hotly into it, causing her to shiver again.

"Don't be frightened of me, dearling. I love you," he reassured her. "Remember, there is nothing for you to do this night but enjoy my attentions. Later on I will teach you how to pleasure me even as I now pleasure you." His lips found the soft sensitive back of her neck, and when he had paid it the homage he felt it deserved, he rolled Wynne over again onto her back. "Tell me."

She knew at once to what he alluded, and answered, "I am assailed by a plethora of emotions that buffet at me like the winds in a storm buffet this castle."

"You do not say if they are pleasant or unpleasant, dearling."

"More pleasant, I think. What unnerves me is what I find unfamiliar," she replied thoughtfully.

He caught her hand and, turning it over, kissed the palm passionately. "Are you brave enough now to continue on without further explanation, trusting that I will not harm you, my love?" he asked her. The look he gave her was a tender one, yet she could see the banked fires in his eyes. I

My love. How those two simple words thrilled her. Her own wisdom told her that when the dawn came she would once again begin to wonder exactly what it was that really bound them together in time; but for now she did not care. "I would be your wife, Madoc, in every sense of the word. Rid me of my dreaded virginity that we may explore new worlds together," Wynne told him. Then she pulled his head down to her and kissed him fiercely.

She was forever surprising him, he thought briefly as he began to return her kisses; drinking greedily from her mouth; scoring the straining flesh of her throat with his burning lips; his own lips and his hands finding her sweet young breasts. Tenderly he caressed her, his mouth fastening over each sentient little bud, drawing upon it sensuously until her nipples were sore with an undefined longing.

Wynne sighed deeply and arched her body up to meet his mouth, aching all over with the pure pleasure he was giving her. She protested when his lips began to once again move away from her swollen, tender breasts and wander down her torso. Still, his kisses and the gentle tonguing he employed were beginning to send her senses reeling. The tip of his tongue teased at her navel. She murmured nervously again as his head brushed against her closed thighs, which had instinctively pressed themselves tightly together.

"No, dearling," he scolded her gently. "You must open yourself to me. I would prepare you fully for our joining."

Wynne forced herself to relax. Her slim thighs fell apart even as he rubbed his cheek against her belly. She started edgily as his fingers grazed her nether lips, then gasped as they penetrated gently between them. "Madoc!"

"It's all right, Wynne," he reassured her. "Trust me, dearling."

A finger touched that most particularly sensitive nub of her and she gasped again. Never before in her life had she felt anything akin to the sensations now beginning to build up in her. That single finger began to move in a tiny circle of flesh and she shuddered hard. Madoc moved himself between her trembling thighs. His mouth was, to her great shock, where that teasing finger had been but a moment before. She felt his tongue snake out to touch her and was unable to stop the soft moan that seemed to well up from the deepest part of her. His lips closed over that tiny bit of flesh and he began to gently suckle on her. Waves of heat suffused her body leaving her weak with a want she couldn't quite understand.

"I do not think I can bear this!" she cried out to him, but instead of ceasing the sweet torture, Madoc seemed to redouble his efforts. "Ohh, please!" she half sobbed, realizing with blinding clarity even as she pleaded with him that she did not want him to stop, and he knew it. She was wracked by a series of distinctly pleasurable bursts. Then suddenly he was astride her. It would have been so simple to simply drift off at that moment, but instead Wynne opened her eyes and, looking up at Madoc, reached forth to guide his lance into her well-prepared sheath. "Do not delay," she begged him, her gaze one of intoxicated passion. "I would be yours!"

With a groan he sank into her, and she was as sweet as a split peach. When he encountered her maidenhead and stopped a moment in his intent, Wynne thrust her young body up hard, encasing him fully within her ripeness. He kissed the silent tears upon her cheeks away. And then certain the initial pain of Wynne's deflowering had eased, Madoc began to move on her, pressing forward slowly, withdrawing as lingeringly to ensure her a full measure of pleasure.

The pain of his initial entry had exploded blindingly before her eyes and, unable to refrain from her cowardice, Wynne closed them. Then, as suddenly, the sting and the burning she had felt were gone. Wynne began to relax, deciding that Madoc's movements were really quite delicious. He had told her that she need do nothing but enjoy his attentions. Now free of her previous fears, she did. Whimpering with a need she still did not quite understand, her fingers kneaded at his shoulders, digging into his flesh more sharply and with greater urgency as she felt a rising tide of ecstasy sweeping up to overwhelm her.

Every new sensation assaulting her was an acute one. She could actually feel his manhood, warm and pulsing with life, within her own body. Each stroke of it seem to push her further and further away from reality. Yet his hungry possession of her body was the greatest reality of all. Like a song bird she glided higher and higher, seeking a pinnacle she had never known. Then as suddenly she found it. Great shudders racked her from the deepest chasms of her body, even as rainbows of light burst wildly upon her from behind her eyelids. Wynne opened her mouth gasping for air, and having gulped some, expelled it almost immediately before fainting dead away, her last sensation being that of being flooded with total warmth.

Madoc groaned with satisfaction as his own passions burst forth at precisely the right moment. He rolled half off her as he shuddered a final discharge of ecstasy. For the first time in his life he was transported himself into a semiconscious state. Never before had he known such bliss with a woman as he did with this woman. Nothing had changed in that respect, he thought hazily. Then he allowed himself to float free for a few minutes, reveling in the sweet sensations that assailed him like an afterglow. As his mind grew clearer he began to realize that Wynne, an untried virgin, had galloped the entire course of passion in her first attempt. She was amazing and obviously had an incredible capacity for loving. This shadow between them had to be dissolved.

She began to stir beside him, and pulling himself up into a seated position, Madoc gathered his betrothed wife into his arms. He cradled her gently, smoothing her wonderful long black hair away from her face, for it had come undone and tangled with their love play. It was such beautiful hair, he thought. Soft, smelling of white heather and silky beneath his fingers.

Wynne opened her eyes and studied the fierce features, suddenly gentle with his open adoration for her. "Will it always be as wild between us, my lord?" she asked softly. "Will I die a little death each time you pleasure me with your skillful lance? Will you show me how I may pleasure you as greatly, for having opened such a wonderful world to me, Madoc, I now find I am in your debt."

"Your pleasure is my pleasure," he told her sincerely. "There is nothing more."

"No ways in which I may offer equal bliss?" she pressed him. "Did you not say you would teach me? Do not deny me the right to give you the same pleasure that you gave me!"

He smiled ^reassuringly into her distressed face. "I will teach you how to give delight with touches and kisses, Wynne, but my greatest pleasure does indeed come with your own pleasure. I swear it!"

"But I want to see your happiness even as you saw mine!" she protested.

"That is possible, for sometimes one lover may move more quickly than the other. Then, too, it is also possible to give and take multiple delights in a bout of passion," he told her.

"Oh, yes! Teach me that, my lord!" She almost wriggled with her excitement, very much like an eager young puppy.

Madoc laughed, charmed with her enthusiasm, which, in all his years of watching over her, he could have never guessed. Perhaps, however, he should have and would have had he not been so entranced with her. Wynne had a great capacity for life and for living. Then he sobered. This experiment in passion had been performed for the express purpose of jogging her memory. "Tell me, dearling," he questioned her, "have you remembered anything of times past now?"

Wynne considered and then shook her head. "It matters not," she said, dismissing his query airily. "I love you, Madoc, and that is what is important to me. What was between us is a time long gone. It is now that I care about."

"Nay," he said. "You must remember, Wynne. If you love me, you must remember for my sake, if not your own."

"Then help me, Madoc! Help me to remember what I must for both our sakes! For the sakes of the children I will surely bear you!" Then she smiled. "Perhaps we just need a little more time, Madoc. After all, this is the first time we have made love, at least in this life." She smiled mischievously at him. "I think we need to make love again and probably yet again before I will begin to remember."

He laughed. "You are a vixen, I vow, my adorable dearling! You may be correct though." He cupped a small breast within the palm of his hand and fondled it teasingly.

"I will do whatever my lord commands," she replied in dulcet tones, and turned her face up to his for a kiss.