A Moment in Time

Chapter 11

Wynne quickly found that there was to be no easy escape for her from Ruari Ban, the Irish slaver. They reached his encampment, and she found herself chained to a tree with just enough length of links to move about comfortably, but that was all.

She was fed well and, in general, well-treated. The little Irishman did not believe in mistreating the slaves in his possession, for he was an astute businessman before all else. They remained the night. Then Ruari Ban's party, which consisted of close to thirty slaves and at least five other men to help with them, moved out along the roads leading across the hills from Wales to the Mercian town of Worcester.

Despite his threat to walk her, Ruari Ban seemed to have a soft heart where Wynne was concerned. Each day he took her up upon his horse, which did not particularly endear her to the other captives. Wynne did not care. Her mind was far too busy considering her situation and contemplating how she would escape. Ruari Ban, however, chattered away as they rode, telling her bits of history regarding the area through which they were passing.

When they had crossed over Offa's Dyke into Mercia he explained that the Mercian king, Offa, had built the earthworks to clearly mark his territory from that of Powys.

"But he built it on land belonging to Powys," Wynne noted.

Ruari Ban chuckled. "So he did, wench. So he did. Still, the lords of Powys allowed it, and the Mercian towns nearer the border have.been the better for it. Both Hereford and Worcester have prospered mightily."

"Why are you taking me to Worcester?" Wynne asked.

"I have a buyer in mind for you, wench. The eldest son of a wealthy thegn called Eadwine Aethelhard. His sons are Caddaric Aethelmaere and Baldhere Armstrang."

"I do not understand these Anglo-Saxon surnames," Wynne said.

"It's not so difficult," Ruari Ban told her. "A man must earn his surname here in England. Aethelhard means noble and brave. Hence, Eadwine, the noble and the brave. He is descended from Offa and is known to be a very courageous warrior. As for his sons, Caddaric Aethelmaere is equally famed for his bravery, hence his surname, noble and famous; and the younger son, Baldhere Armstrang, gained his surname for a powerful and unflagging arm which is equally facile at throwing a spear accurately and using a broadsword to its greatest advantage.

"The sons are but a year apart and have spent their lives in constant competition. A competition at which the elder, Caddaric, held the edge until they married. Caddaric's wife, Eadgyth Crookback, has borne him no children in their eight years of marriage. Neither have any of his lesser women. Baldhere, however, has three daughters and a son by his wife Aeldra Swanneck; two little daughters by one of his lesser women; and his other lesser woman is, I am told, expecting her first child.

"Caddaric will inherit from his father, but unless he can father children, it is Baldhere's son who will inherit from him. Caddaric, you will understand, is desperate to have a child of his own. He is furious with his wife and his women for their failure to produce his children. It is to his great misfortune to have contracted the alliances he has with so many barren women. You, my pretty wench, are obviously a fruitful lass. I intend selling you to Caddaric so that he may get children on you once you have delivered of the babe you now carry. You will bring me a fine profit, wench!"

"Has anyone stopped to consider that perhaps this Caddaric is the barren one?" Wynne demanded. "How many lesser women does he possess, Ruari Ban?"

"Four, and a tasty lot of beauties they are," came the reply.

"This Mercian stallion plays the stud to five mares and he cannot get one of them in foal?" Wynne exclaimed. "I think you expect the impossible; from me or any other woman, Ruari Ban."

The slaver chuckled. "Eadwine Aethelhard used up a few wives before he got his two boys. Caddaric is like his da. Slow to start, but he'll be quick to finish with a hot-blooded, wild Welsh girl like you in his bed!"

Wynne shook her head in despair. This was all she needed. To be introduced into a household of jealous women, most of whom were barren, and one of whom expected her only son to inherit a rich estate, providing her brother-in-law had no sons. Madoc! She reached out to him with her mind as she had done ever since Brys's perfidy. Madoc! I am not dead! Help me! Find me! There was nothing. Could she ever reach him? She had to reach him! She didn't know what else to do.

Ruari Ban decided not to go to Worcester first, for he did not want to put Wynne up for public sale. If she was indeed who she said she was, word could easily filter back to Madoc of Powys. Ruari Ban would find himself with two powerful enemies to contend with. Madoc, because he had in effect kidnapped his wife; and Brys of Cai, for having failed the bishop. Instead he sent his people and his merchandise ahead to the market town of Hereford, where he would eventually catch up with them. Wynne he took directly to Aelfdene, the estate belonging to Eadwine Aethelhard.

They arrived close to nightfall, just as the gates were closing on the estate's courtyard. Ruari Ban and Wynne were shown into the hall, where the fire pits were blazing merrily, taking the chill off the autumn evening. The slaver had been wise enough to exchange Wynne's filthy and worn under tunic for a clean one of soft lavender silk which was belted simply with a twisted rope belt of darker violet. He had given her time to wash her hair in a nearby stream and rebraid it neatly. Indeed, Wynne had taken the opportunity to bathe her entire body, ignoring Ruari Ban, who had watched her most licentiously. Her gold chain and her wedding band were securely hidden in the pocket of her clean gown.

Wynne looked curiously up at the high board as they approached it. A huge Saxon with the obvious look of a warrior sat in the place of honor. He had a large leonine head. His hair was a fine ash brown, his beard of the same hue, well-barbered. His blue eyes were frankly curious. On either side of him sat a young man, obviously his sons from the look of them. Which was which? she wondered. Then Wynne noted that next to the sullen young man who had dark blond hair was a pinch-faced young woman with one shoulder slightly higher than the other. This then would be Caddaric and his wife, Eadgyth Crookback. To Eadwine's left was a darker-haired son with his wife, a pouty-mouthed girl with thick flaxen braids and a prideful look. Baldhere and Aeldra Swanneck, Wynne thought.

"Welcome to Aelfdene, Ruari Ban!" came the deep booming voice of Eadwine Aethelhard. "We have not seen you here in many months. I am told you travel only with this young girl."

"I have brought her for your son, Caddaric, my lord," replied Ruari Ban. "This beauteous Welsh wench is the answer to all his problems."

"Each time that my son has introduced another woman into my house, he has claimed her the answer to his difficulty, Ruari Ban. Why do you think this girl can succeed where the others have failed?" Eadwine Aethelhard looked curiously at Wynne.

"I have proof of this girl's fertility, my lord. She is with child by her former master. An odd sort who decided he wanted neither the woman nor the child she carried." Ruari Ban lowered his voice and spoke in a confidential tone. "He is a churchman of some prominence, my lord. You see the difficulty."

The thegn nodded and said, "Well, let's see her, my friend. I can tell little about her while she is clothed." He stood up and came down from the dais.

Ruari Ban quickly unlaced the neckline of Wynne's tunic. Pulling it off her, he allowed the gown to slip to the floor about her ankles. Wynne wasn't certain that she was even breathing. This was horrendous! To be exposed before a single stranger would have been bad enough, but to be presented naked before this Saxon's entire hall was almost more than she could bear. She had never before seriously considered the plight of a slave, for her family had always treated their slaves with kindness. Still, kindness was not enough if one could be manipulated against one's will. When I am back at Raven's Rock, she thought, I must tell Madoc of this. We will keep no more slaves!

Eadwine Aethelhard walked slowly about the naked girl, his eyes taking in every nuance of her. He lifted up one of her arms, running his hand along it, examining the palm. Kneeling, he ran his hands over the backs of her legs. Standing, he looked into her face. It was a beautiful face, but her eyes were deliberately unfocused, as if she had detached herself from the entire proceeding.

"Open your mouth," he commanded her. The eyes widened, startled, but she obeyed him. Her breath was sweet, her teeth sound, he noted. The thegn was no fool. This girl was obviously a captive and not slaveborn. Captives could be difficult. He cupped one of the girl's breasts in his palm, and her startled gaze immediately made contact with his. She blushed, the color staining her milk-white skin, but she said nothing and her green eyes again grew blank. He stood back from her now and saw the faint rounding of her belly, but was not surprised. Ruari Ban was an honest man and would not have lied about the girl's condition.

"I want her!" His son, Caddaric, was leaning across the high board, his eyes filled with lust. Next to Caddaric his daughter-in-law was looking dejected as usual. Eadwine Aethelhard wasn't surprised that Caddaric could not get a child on poor Eadgyth. She was a frail creature, but she had come to them with a dowry consisting of two and a half hides of land, and whether she lived or died, the land now belonged to them. Caddaric, however, had four strapping other women he used with vigorous regularity. So much so that the thegn had recently overheard them complaining of their lord's constant attentions. If his son were capable of fathering a child, something Eadwine had only recently begun to doubt, surely one of these other lasses could have given Caddaric a son or daughter.

"I want her, Father!" Caddaric's hoarse voice repeated. "Buy her for me!"

"You have too many women and can seem to do nothing with any of them," Baldhere teased his brother. "Now I have but two lesser women. I think father should buy this one for me."

"I do not intend buying her for either of you," Eadwine Aethelhard answered his sons. "I am going to buy her for me!"

"What?" Caddaric and Baldhere chorused in unison, and both of his daughters-in-law came to life, staring at him as if he had gone mad.

"Father," ventured Aeldra Swanneck nervously, "do you not think you are too old for a woman?"

"I am forty-three, Aeldra," Eadwine told her, amused. "I use the slave women and the female serfs belonging to this estate with great regularity."

"You do?" Aeldra Swanneck looked quite surprised. "I did not know."

"Well, daughter, now you do. I have had no woman in my life since my good Mildraed died three years ago. I want one, and this wench will suit me quite nicely," he concluded. He now turned his attention to Ruari Ban. "How much?"

"Five silver pennies, my lord. She's a rare beauty, and she will take good care of you in your old age," came the reply.

"Two silver pennies," countered Eadwine Aethelhard. "I am not so old yet, you Irish robber, that I could not get another son on this wench!"

"My lord Eadwine, you will beggar me, and after I have gone to all the trouble to bring this girl to you."

"You brought her to me, Ruari Ban, because you were afraid to sell her on the open market. This is no slaveborn girl, and I am no fool. She has the hands and feet of a well-born woman. I will ask you no questions, for I want her, but do not trifle with me. Two silver pennies!" the thegn said.

"Three, my lord, I beg you! Three! You are getting two slaves for the price of one," Ruari Ban wheedled pleadingly.

"The girl could die in childbed and I would lose them both. Three silver pennies make it a bad investment. Two and no more, or you can take her to Hereford."

"I will pay you three!" Caddaric shouted from the high board.

His father sent him a withering look. "You have nought but what I give you, Caddaric. Do not be a bigger fool than you already are, my son." He looked at Ruari Ban. "Well, slaver? What is your decision?"

Ruari Ban sighed dramatically. "You drive a hard bargain, my lord," he complained, "but I will accept. I can see the wench is taken with you already and would remain at Aelf-dene."

Eadwine Aethelhard's deep laughter boomed through his hall. "The girl would rather be anywhere but where she is at this moment, you old robber!" Chuckling, he delved into his purse which hung from the wide leather belt girding his tunic and drew out two silver coins. "Here, and you are welcome to stay the night, Ruari Ban. Tell me, does my new slave speak our tongue?"

"She does, my lord," replied the slaver, hefting the coins within his palm to ascertain their weight.

"The weight is true." Eadwine Aethelhard chuckled, and turning to Wynne, said gently, "Reclothe yourself, lass, and tell me your name."

"My name is Wynne, my lord." She bent and drew her gown back up, fastening it neatly at the neckline, retying the rope belt about her waist.

"Are you hungry?" he asked.

"Aye, my lord. I have not eaten since morning," Wynne said quietly, and then she looked him full in the face.

"You won't go hungry here, Wynne," he told her. Then he looked about the hall and, finding what he sought, he called, "Ealdraed, to me."

An elderly woman hobbled across the hall. "Aye, my lord?"

"This is Wynne. Take her and feed her. Then bring her to the Great Chamber," Eadwine directed.

The old lady nodded and, smiling a toothless smile at Wynne, said, "Come girl. From the look of you I can see you need feeding up."

Ruari Ban took himself below the salt, accepting a plate of hot food and a goblet of ale from a servant. Eadwine Aethelhard was a hospitable man, and he'd sleep warm in his hall this night. His host rejoined his family at the high board and the conversation that followed was a heated one. The last thing Ruari Ban had expected when he had brought Wynne to Aelf-dene was that the thegn himself would desire the wench. He shrugged and patted at the new weight in his purse. It was a fine profit! Brys of Cai had certainly done him a very good turn.

At the high board Caddaric Aethelmaere was working himself into a fine rage. He wanted to have the Welsh slave, and as it was rare that he had been denied anything in his life; he was not accepting his father's decision in the matter with ease or good grace. "You took her because you knew I wanted her," he grumbled half to himself.

"I took her because she is the first woman since your mother to genuinely stir my loins," the thegn told his eldest son. "I am not so old that a woman cannot arouse me. This one did it with a look. It is rare I want anything for myself, Caddaric. Something I cannot say for you or your women. I do not need to explain myself to you or to your brother. My will is law at Aelfdene, and it will be until I am dead. I expect to live a very long time, my sons, particularly now that I have such a toothsome playmate to amuse me."

Baldhere Armstrang burst out laughing. "You have surprised me, Father," he said. "I shall never again consider you predictable in your habits."

Eadwine chuckled. "You are wiser than your brother," he said.

"I know," came the reply.

"You may jest if you choose," Caddaric snarled, "but what if Father gets this slave with child? What then, Baldhere the Wise?"

"Why then, my dear Caddaric, we shall have a little sister or brother to amuse us. I find the prospect most delightful," Baldhere mocked his elder.

Caddaric arose from the high board and stamped angrily from the hall, his wife, Eadgyth Crookback, scurrying in his wake.

"Poor Eadgyth," said Baldhere. "She will have a hard night of it."

"Not Eadgyth," said Aeldra Swanneck in superior tones. "He will abuse the others in her stead. For reasons I do not understand, he respects Eadgyth. I am glad, nonetheless, Father, that you have given us each our own small hall. Haesel is particularly noisy when Caddaric beats her. At least the children will not be awakened."

"You have given your sons their own halls?" the slaver asked, surprised. "That is very generous of you, my lord."

"Generosity be damned, my friend," the thegn said, laughing. "Caddaric has a wife and four contentious lesser women. Baldhere has a wife, two lesser women, and six noisy little children, only one of them a boy. One of his women is pregnant with another child. They are welcome in my house during the day, but when the night falls, Ruari Ban, I have reached an age when I want my quiet. My grandchildren run about the hall shrieking. They are small, and so they fall frequently and then set up a howling that would wake the heroes in Valhalla. They poke at the dogs and pull at their ears and tails. When they are bitten for their pains, their mothers come whining to me about my hounds. I gave my sons and their families each a small hall of their own because it suited me to do so. There are some who call me foolish for it, and others who think I do not love my family, but I do. I simply want some peace and quiet of an evening."

"Yours is not a problem I have ever had to face, my lord, being that I have no real home and family. I am not sure if I envy you or not," the slaver replied.

"Get yourself a house, Ruari Ban, and find a good young woman to keep you content in your old age," Eadwine Aethelhard advised. "It is not such a bad life. And now I shall bid you good night." He arose from the high board and, walking across the hall, climbed up the stairs to the Great Chamber of the manor house.

The Great Chamber was the place where the family could retire from the hall for privacy in the manor house. Eadwine Aethelhard's home was somewhat more luxurious than many of his neighbors in that it was constructed entirely of stone but for its thatched roof. The Great Chamber extended over only about half of the hall below. It had once contained the sleeping spaces for the thegn, his late wife Mildraed, their sons, and later their sons' wives. The sleeping spaces were set into the stone walls, leaving the floor space free for table, chests, and benches.

Mildraed had even kept her loom here. He had given it to Eadgyth Crookback when she had died. By that time he had moved his sons out of his manor house and into their own halls. His desire for privacy was considered quite odd by most of his neighbors.

Ealdraed was waiting for him as he entered the chamber. "I put the girl in your sleeping space, my lord. You did not say to do otherwise."

He nodded, and she began to help him undress. "I want you to look after Wynne," he told the old woman. "She is not, I think, slaveborn. Put her to simple tasks during the day."

"Aye, my lord."

"Did she eat well?"

"Aye, my lord. Poor girl was very hungry, and her with child too. Most ladylike she was too, my lord, despite her hunger. Dainty with her food, unlike those women of your sons."

"Aye, you nosy old witch," he told her in response to her sly unasked question. "I'm taking this girl for my woman. Does that tell you what you want to know?" He chuckled.

"And about time too, my lord," she snapped pertly back at him, and then she eyed his naked figure boldly. "Yer still a young man, my lord. You should have your own woman and not have to go about tumbling serfs beneath the hedges."

"Is there nothing that goes on at Aelfdene that you do not know about, Ealdraed?" he demanded in mock outrage.

The elderly lady cackled merrily. "I do not think so, my lord. I do not think so," she told him. "What else is there for a woman of my many years to do but put her nose in everyone else's business?" She gathered up his clothes and began to fold them. "There is water in the basin, my lord."

He quickly washed his hands and splashed the water upon his face, brushing the droplets from his beard. "Good night, Ealdraed," he called, hearing her footsteps as she hobbled down the stairs. Then, turning, he walked across the room and climbed into his bed space.

Wynne lay as far away from him as she could, her back to him, next to the wall. He could tell from her breathing that she was not asleep though she attempted to feign it. He held the coverlet back admiring the graceful line of her back as it moved downward into her prettily rounded buttocks. She shivered suddenly and, softly chiding himself for his thoughtlessness, he drew the coverlet over them both.

"You are not asleep," he said.

"No, I am not," she answered honestly.

He moved himself next to her, rolling onto his side, reaching out to draw her into the curve of his body. His big hands cupped her breasts in a tender embrace. "Tell me," he said quietly. "You are not slave born. I would know who you are and how you came to me."

Wynne told him. She didn't know what else to do, even though she was uncomfortable in her present position. Eadwine Aethelhard seemed a kind man. When she had finished, she said, "Will you return me to my husband, my lord?"

"No," he told her, and when she stiffened in his arms, he continued, "this is the way of the world, Wynne. There are always captives who are sold into slavery. Perhaps the story you have told me is entirely true and perhaps it is not. I cannot trek you across the countryside ascertaining the truth of the matter. You have been sold to me as a slave, and I have paid for your purchase. You will be safe with me, Wynne, and your child too. I have not taken a woman since my wife's death. You will have a place of honor in my household, and if after you have borne the child you carry you give me a child, so much the better. I should not be unhappy to have another child."

"You cannot mean to couple with me," she said, shocked.

"Do you dislike the act then?" he asked gently.

"No," she replied, "but I am a married woman!"

"No longer," he answered. "Whatever you once were, you are no longer, Wynne. You are my wild Welsh girl, and I mean to love you. What fine breasts you have," he noted, and he fondled them.

With an agility that surprised even herself, Wynne squirmed about so that she was facing him. "Eadwine Aethelhard," she began, "if I must be your slave, I will be your slave. I will do your bidding in all things, but please, I beg of you, do not force me to couple with you. There must be other slave women and serf girls who would be honored by your attentions, but I am a married woman."

"Slave women do not wed," he said patiently. "You are my slave, Wynne, and you must accept it. A woman with child should not fret herself so as you are doing."

"I will run away," she said defiantly.

"You will not be allowed the opportunity," he said with a small chuckle.

"I will find the right moment," she persisted.

"Having found you, my wild Welsh girl, I will never let you go," Eadwine Aethelhard told her. Then he leaned forward and kissed her.

She realized his intent just a fraction of a second too late. His mouth closed over hers warmly, pressing firmly, gently coaxing a response from her though she strove to deny that impression. How could she feel anything toward this Anglo-Saxon when she loved Madoc? Madoc. Why could she not reach out to him? During the weeks she had traveled from her home over the mountains and the hills into England, she had not once seen a raven, let alone old Dhu. Did he really believe her dead?

Eadwine Aethelhard sensed her sudden distance from him. He pressed the woman in his arms back into the mattress and allowed his passions somewhat freer rein. This girl set his blood to boiling as no woman ever had. Not even his late wife, he thought guiltily. He knew as he kissed her that he wanted far more from Wynne than she was able to give him at this moment in time, but eventually she would give him everything he desired from her. For now, however, he must impress upon her the need for change, because whatever her life had been, it was now changed. In order to be happy she must adjust to that change. He wanted her to be happy.

She was not made of stone, Wynne thought, shamed as his lips traced a trail of kisses across her face and down the straining column of her throat. "Don't, " she pleaded with him, and she shivered. "Please don't."

"Your skin is so fine," he murmured against the throbbing pulse at the base of her neck. "It is like silk cloth." He tasted the flesh he praised with his tongue and his lips. "You smell of fresh air and the sun, my wild Welsh girl."

She wanted to fight him, but she feared his reaction should she seriously defy him. She had her child to consider. She had heard of warriors like this one going berserk in the heat of battle, and this really was a battle between them. As his hot kisses and his sensual caresses increased in ardor, Wynne was suddenly very aware of his big naked body pressing against her nude form. She had been so concerned with trying to divert him from his intentions, she hadn't even considered their mutual state. Now she was very aware of it and increasingly mindful of her own rising passions.

She had never expected to feel passion for any man other than Madoc, but she knew from her grandmother and from the women's chatter she had overheard in her childhood at Gwernach that such a passion was possible. A woman's body was a delicate and frail thing. It could be played upon like a lute, and in the hands of a skillful lover, it would respond. There was no doubt in her mind that Eadwine Aethelhard was just such a talented lover. If her heart and mind could not respond to him, her body surely could.

"My babe," she protested softly, hoping against hope to elude him.

His big hand delicately caressed the gentle, barely discernable mound of her belly, which was only beginning to swell with her child. "You are still able," he said softly, "and I will not hurt either you or your son." The hand slipped lower and pushed between her tightly clenched thighs.

"H-How can you be certain I carry a son?" she asked, and felt his fingers exploring the wetness of her. Her cheeks grew warm with her embarrassment.

"Because a woman like you would sire a son first," he said, and then he kissed her once more.

Her lips parted slightly beneath his. She simply couldn't help it. He was arousing her passions in a most masterful fashion. She felt his tongue move into her mouth and his breath was sweet. Finding her tongue, he caressed it adroitly, and Wynne could not contain the little moan that welled up in the back of her throat. The taut nipples of her breasts were tingling painfully; and all the while his fingers continued to play with the sentient flesh between her thighs. The heat of her desire was almost suffocating her, and she pulled her head away from his, gasping for breath.

"Look at me," he commanded her.

Wynne raised her eyes to him, surprised that in such an intense juxtaposition she should feel shy of this man with whom she was so intimately entwined. The pink in her cheeks, however, entranced him greatly. "Many men," he said softly, "will take a woman with no care for her own pleasure. I have found greater pleasure, however, in the knowledge that my lover is as well satisfied as I am. I know you fear for the child, Wynne. I am a large man and I could crush so delicate a creature as yourself if we did not take a care. I do not want you to be afraid." Then to her great surprise he turned her over onto her stomach and continued, "Draw your legs up, Wynne, and trust that I will not hurt you."

To her own surprise, she obeyed him, silently shocked by knowing that she wanted him. His clever ministrations had seen to her full arousal, and she shuddered as she felt his hands closed firmly over her hips. She bit back a cry as he carefully slipped between her thighs, and her back arched slightly as, finding her woman's passage, he pressed his manhood home, sliding deep into the dark warmth of her. She felt engorged by him as he delved and probed into the secret depths of her. Her face was hot with her shame as she felt the throb of his male organ, and then he began to move upon her; his fingers marking her white skin as he held her tightly in his grasp; his great lance thrusting and withdrawing, thrusting and withdrawing, until she could no longer contain her cries, and her own body plunged up and back with frantic impetus to meet his downward drive. Her head whirled in confusion at this assault upon her most tender senses. She tried desperately to block his final victory over her, but she could not stem the tide of pleasure that was beginning to wash over her.

He was groaning with intensity. The sound of a man close to his own crisis and well-pleased with his efforts, and yet he held back. She could feel it and realized that he needed the knowledge of her own pleasure to release his own satisfied passions.

"No! No!" she sobbed.

"Yes!" he countered fiercely and ground into her, immersing himself in her sweet flesh. "Yesss, my wild Welsh girl!" he shouted, triumphant as her despairing cry of defeat filled his ears, and he poured his hot love juices into her eager sheath.

Wynne burst into tears and found herself swiftly turned about and cradled in Eadwine Aethelhard's strong arms. "There, my sweeting," he crooned low to her. "There, my wild Welsh girl. Now you know to whom you belong. Do not weep, Wynne. Do not weep!"

But she could not stop at first. "I… I… I want to go home!" she sobbed.

"You are home, my sweeting, and I will keep you safe so that you need never be frightened or in danger again. This Madoc did not care for you well," the thegn said, and there was disapproval in his voice. "I will allow no harm to come to you, Wynne. You and your child will be safe with me." His blue eyes looked down upon her, and she saw the determination in them to do precisely what he said he would do. This was a strong man.

"My babe!" she said, and her hands flew to her belly.

"He is safe," Eadwine said with assurance. "In another few weeks I must leave you in peace for the child's sake, but for a short time we may enjoy one another." He caressed her dark hair. "You have hair the color of a raven's wing," he said. "It is so different from our yellow-haired Saxon women." Then he smiled down at her arid she saw that his teeth were quite good. He was a handsome man.

"You are not a bad man, I think," Wynne told him.

The smile broadened. "No," he answered her. "I am not a bad man."

"You are a determined man, however," she said, and he chuckled. "I am a determined woman," Wynne told him.

"Then we are most admirably suited to one another, aren't we, my wild Welsh girl?" He kissed her mouth with a hard, quick kiss. "You make me feel like a stripling again, Wynne. I want to begin anew! I am sick unto death of my old life and all that comes with it. I want a new life, and I want you to be the centerpiece of that new life."

"What of your family?" she asked him. "Can you so easily cast them off, for that is, I suspect, what you desire to do."

"Caddaric and his women," grumbled the thegn. "Pah! They make me sick! My eldest son is a good fighter but a bad man, and I do not know how he got that way except perhaps my late wife, God assoil her soul, was too soft with him. Still, Mildraed was a good woman, and I cannot hold her responsible for the lad. My grandfather was very much like Caddaric. A hard, cruel man. Perhaps it is just as well he can whelp no pups."

"And Baldhere, my lord?" Wynne inquired.

"He will inherit his father-in-law's estates, although Aeldra casts eyes upon Aelfdene as well. Baldhere's wife is a greedy woman. How it would please me to get a son on you, my wild Welsh girl! A son of your body could inherit if I so desired it," Eadwine Aethelhard said. "Such a decision on my part could cause Caddaric to suffocate on his own choler, although Baldhere could find the entire thing amusing. He is basically a simple man with little ambition, although, like his elder brother, he too is a good soldier. He became one in order to survive his childhood with Caddaric." Eadwine chuckled.

Wynne giggled. She simply could not help it.

"Now there's a nice sound," the thegn said.

"It does not mean that I forgive you for forcing me," Wynne told him. "How could you? We don't even know one another."

Eadwine's eyes grew serious. "I wanted you," he said. "From the moment I set eyes on you, I wanted you. For now, I know that your heart and your mind resist me, Wynne. Your lovely, ripening body, however, does not. That will not always be enough for me, my sweeting, but for now I am satisfied. We will come to care for one another as the months pass, I promise you. And after you have borne your child, I will take you for my wife and free you from your slavery."

Wynne shook her head sadly. "As long as Madoc of Powys lives, Eadwine Aethelhard, I can never be your wife, for I am his wife. This is a Christian land, my lord, and your sons have married their wives in the Holy Church despite the lesser women that they keep in the manner of the old ways. I cannot in good conscience wed anyone, for I am already wed. I have been kidnapped from my husband and my home, to be sold into slavery, but that cannot change the fact that I am a married woman. You may take my body, and you may arouse my passions, but I am still Madoc's wife."

"Yet he thinks you dead, you tell me," Eadwine countered.

"No, Brys of Cai has conspired to make Madoc believe that I am dead, but Madoc loves me. We are bound together through time and space. He will know that I yet live. He will seek me and our child out, and eventually he will find us," Wynne told the thegn in a firm and determined voice.

"He will never find you, my wild Welsh girl. You delude yourself if you believe that he senses you live," Eadwine told her. "If it comforts you to believe that now, then believe it; but in the end you will come to realize that I am right. Your prince will grieve greatly for you. That I understand, but he will eventually take another woman to wife, for he dare not allow his ancient line to die out lest the ghosts of his illustrious ancestors rise up and curse him. You are lost to Madoc of Powys, and he is lost to you forever."

"If it comforts you to believe that, Eadwine Aethelhard," Wynne replied, "then believe it, but in the end you will see that I am right."

He fell asleep quickly, his arm possessively about her. Wynne, however, despite her long and tiring day, lay awake. She was more than well aware of how fortunate she was in having been purchased by Eadwine Aethelhard. Another man would certainly have been less kind. A slave. No, whatever her legal position was in this land, she was not a slave in either her mind or her heart. She did not intend behaving like one either, or allowing anyone to make her feel less than that which she had always been. She was Wynne of Gwernach, wife to Madoc of Powys. She was a freeborn woman, and she would behave as one no matter her position in this household.

Time. She needed time to assess her surroundings. To discover just where she was and how she might escape back to her own land. It was already November, and the winter would be upon them very soon. Did she have time to make her way home now, or should she wait until spring? But come the spring, her child would be born. It would be harder to travel with a baby than to travel with the baby unborn. Unborn, the child was safely sheltered within her body. She did not know what to do. For the first time in her life she was faced with a situation to which there seemed to be no right answer.

Sleep. She needed to sleep. Her exhaustion was making her fearful and indecisive. These were qualities she dare not indulge if she was to survive; if her child was to survive. Madoc! Her heart called out to him in the silence of the night. Madoc! Why could he not hear her? They had loved one another from the first moment of their first meeting somewhere back in the dim mists of another time and place. He had pursued her through the other times and places that had followed in order to gain her forgiveness, to regain her love. He had both those things now, but fate had separated them once more. Still she struggled to reach out to him. Why was he not reaching out to her? He could not believe her dead! No matter what Brys of Cai had plotted and planned! No matter what Eadwine Aethelhard had said. Madoc could not believe her dead!

Could he? And as if in answer to her question, Wynne felt her child moving within her for the first time. No, little one, she thought, her graceful hands protectively cupping her belly. Your father does not believe us dead. He will find us one day. He will!

Chapter 12

When Ealdraed woke her the following morning, it was, to Wynne's embarrassment, well past sunrise. "The lord wanted you to be well-rested," the old woman assured her. "I was told to leave you until now." She helped Wynne to wash and dress, giving her a dark green tunic dress to wear over her lavender under tunic. "The lord said you were to have it. It belonged to his late wife," Ealdraed said, and then took her downstairs into the hall.

There was no one at the high board when Wynne calmly seated herself to the left of the thegn's place.

"Yer a bold wench for a slave," Ealdraed noted.

"I am not a slave," Wynne said firmly, "though I have been stolen from my home and forced into this servitude. I will not behave as a slave."

Ealdraed cackled and hurried off, to return shortly with a trencher of freshly baked bread filled with a steaming barley cereal and a goblet of brown ale. "Eat," she said. "The lord has told me I am to show you Aelfdene and then set you to light tasks."

Light tasks? Wynne almost giggled, but she did not wish to hurt Ealdraed's feelings. Instead she ate her meal, thinking as she did that the cereal lacked flavor and the bread was tough. The ale, however, was excellent. When she had finished, she followed Ealdraed from the hall and out into the courtyard of Aelfdene.

"The lord has eighteen hides of land," the old lady told Wynne. "He is a very wealthy man."

"My husband has a castle and ten times as much land," Wynne replied, but Ealdraed looked disbelieving.

"Look back at the house, lass. Is it not a fine one? And stone too, not timber like so many of our neighbors'," Ealdraed bragged. "Did you see the posts supporting the roof, and the roof beams in the hall? Painted with designs, they are! And three fire pits as well! ‘Tis as snug and safe a house as any could want." She grinned a toothless grin at Wynne. "And see the walls about the manor house? And the iron-bound oaken doors and gates? There's none that could overcome us if they tried." Ealdraed was very proud of Aelfdene.

" 'Tis a fine house," Wynne agreed. "It is much like my girlhood home at Gwernach."

"The lord has a church," Ealdraed informed Wynne. "And a kitchenIbakehouse; and a bell tower to warn the countryside in case of danger!"

A church! "Is there a priest here for the church?" Wynne asked.

"Nay," came the disconcerting reply. "We had one once, but he died of a spring flux of the bowels some years back. There has been none since, and just as well, say I," Ealdraed muttered. "The old ways are strong here, for all the priests' teachings. Even Harold Godwinson keeps a Danish wife. Her children are honored among all, though the king disapproves. He is too saintly a man, King Edward."

"I would not know," replied Wynne. "My king is Gruf-fydd ap Llywelyn. My father was kin to Gruffydd."

"There are the halls the lord had built for his sons," Ealdraed said, ignoring Wynne's remark. "They are timber."

"You do not approve of Eadwine Aethelhard's sons, do you?" Wynne gently queried.

"No, I do not, though I be but a serf and should have no opinions," replied Ealdraed. "Baldhere, the younger, is not a bad sort, though his wife is overproud. Caddaric, however, now there is a wicked 'un." She lowered her voice. "I do not think he will ever get a child on any woman, and just as well!"

"I was told Eadwine Aethelhard had several wives before he fathered his sons," Wynne answered her.

"The lord was betrothed in the cradle and widowed at the age of five," Ealdraed told Wynne. "He was betrothed and widowed again before he was nine. 'Twas then the old master decided to wait until he was more of an age to consummate a marriage. The lord was a father first at seventeen and again at eighteen. After that the lady Mildraed miscarried five other children. Poor lady. She was a good soul. The lord, however, had no trouble getting his two sons on her. It is not so with his son, Caddaric. Now, the poor lady Eadgyth is too frail, as any can see, to bear children, but look you there, Wynne. There are Caddaric's four women now. The tallest one is Berangari. The plump one is Dagian. Aelf is the wench with the long blond braids, and Haesel is the youngest. None is weak or fragile, yet he cannot get children on any of them. Men are wont to blame a woman for their lack of son, but think you those four strong-backed girls incapable of mothering children?"

"Nay," Wynne replied. "They seem fit enough, and you are right that it seems odd none can conceive."

Caddaric's four women, walking together, now came deliberately abreast of Wynne and Ealdraed. The one called Berangari spoke boldly.

"So, Ealdraed, this is the slave woman that our lord Caddaric would have. A wild Welsh girl," she sneered. "And fertile as a cow too, I see. You are fortunate, wench, that the lord took you for himself, else I should have scratched your eyes out myself."

"Have you tried a lotion of arum and bryony for the spots on your face, Berangari," Wynne said sweetly. "If you have none, I shall make it for you. You will not hold Caddaric Aethelmaere's favor with a face as pocked as a worm-eaten apple."

Berangari gasped and her face grew red with her fury. The women accompanying her drew back nervously. "H-H-How dare you speak to me in such a fashion!" the Saxon woman shrieked. "You are a slave! A slave! You have no right to speak to me at all unless I give you my permission! I will go to the lord! I will see that you are beaten!"

Unafraid, Wynne stepped forward so that she was directly in front of Berangari. "You may believe what you like, Berangari, and you may call me whatever you desire. You cannot, however, change the fact that I am not a slave, nor a slave born, nor will I behave in a servile manner. I am Wynne of Gwernach, wife to Madoc, prince of Powys… My blood and that of my child is far better than any here! I will give my respect to Eadwine Aethelhard, for he is the lord of Aelfdene, and a good lord too, I can see. I will give my friendship to those who would have it, but I will not be anyone's slave. If you ever address me again, do it with courtesy, or do it not at all." Then Wynne turned her back on the four women and said to Ealdraed, "What are these light tasks that my lord would have me perform?"

"Wait!" It was Berangari. "Can you really make me a lotion that would remove the spots from my face?"

Wynne turned back to her. "If I could gain admission to the pharmacea here, aye, I could."

"There is no pharmacea at Aelfdene," Berangari said.

"There should be," Wynne replied. "I will speak to Eadwine Aethelhard. Who makes your medicines and salves?"

"There is no one," Berangari replied. "There was an old woman once, but she died."

"Was not the lady Mildraed skilled in these things?"

"The lady Mildraed spent most of her time weaving and resting," Berangari said. "She was frail in her later years."

"And if someone is injured?" Wynne probed.

"Someone binds up their wounds and we hope for the best," Berangari answered.

"This will not do," Wynne told them. "Ealdraed, where is Eadwine Aethelhard? I must speak to him immediately! Light tasks can be accomplished by any hands, but I am a healer, and if there is none here at Aelfdene to heal, then that must be my task."

"The lord is in the fields. It is the day set aside for the gleaners," Ealdraed said.

"Take me to my lord," Wynne said firmly. "There is no time to waste."

Chortling to herself, Ealdraed led Wynne through the open gates of Aelfdene and down the road to the fields. There they found Eadwine Aethelhard, who sat upon his horse watching benevolently as the women and children belonging to his estate carefully gleaned through the mown stalks of previously harvested grain for the remaining kernels of oats, rye, and barley that could be salvaged. Whatever they found was theirs to keep and add to the winter allotment made them by their master. Successful gleaning could mean the difference between a comfortable winter or a lean, hard one.

As they approached him, Wynne studied Eadwine Aethelhard, for she scarce had time the previous night. He was very tall. At least as tall and as big as Einion. He sat his horse easily. The handsome face had a relaxed and pleasant look to it. There were laugh lines about his eyes and mouth. It was a sensuous mouth, big, to match the rest of his body. She remembered the possessive kisses that mouth had pressed upon her the previous night and felt suddenly warm. She forced herself to concentrate solely upon his physical traits. His nose had an almost regal air to it, long and perfectly straight. Her eyes strayed to the hands resting upon his reins. Although large and in keeping with his frame, they were slender hands with long, graceful fingers.

"Good morrow, my lord Eadwine," Wynne greeted him politely as she came to stand by his right stirrup.

The grey-blue eyes were instantly alert, and he looked down at her, smiling. "Good morrow, my wild Welsh girl. Did you sleep well?"

"I did, and I thank you for the rest, my lord, but it has come to my attention that you don't have a healer at Aelfdene. Is this so?" Wynne asked him.

"It is so. Why do you ask? Are you ill?" He was instantly all concern for her.

Wynne shook her head. "I am in excellent health, my lord Eadwine. I ask because I am a healer. While I remain at Aelfdene I would be the manor's healer. Berangari tells me you have no pharmacea, or medicine salves or ointment stored. If a serious sickness were to strike Aelfdene, you would be at a great loss."

Before he might reply, a shriek rent the air and a serf woman set up a great hue and cry. The thegn turned his horse into the fields, and Wynne hurried behind him to see what the difficulty was. A sobbing woman knelt upon the ground in midfield, clutching a small girl to her bosom.

"What has happened?" demanded Eadwine Aethelhard.

"My child, lord!" the woman wept. "My child has been injured. I cannot stop the bleeding!"

Wynne reached the little cluster of women and children and pushed her way through to kneel by the frightened mother. "I am a healer," she said quietly, her musical voice authoritative and comforting. "Let me see the child's hand."

Fearfully the mother released her hold on her daughter's hand and blood gushed forth, causing her to shriek once more.

"Be silent!" Wynne commanded her fiercely as she reached beneath her skirts and tore a strip from her chemise. "You are but frightening your daughter." She began to carefully and tightly wrap the little girl's hand to stem the flow of the bleeding. "Will you take her to the hall, my lord?" she asked Eadwine Aethelhard. "I must prepare a medicinal paste for this wound." She turned to the mother. "Give your child to the lord, woman, and then follow along."

The thegn took the little girl from her weeping mother and turned his horse toward the manor house. Behind him Wynne and the other women followed.

"Ealdraed, I will need onions, salt, vinegar, rue, and honey, as well as a mortar and pestle," Wynne told the old woman. "Can you find these things for me? And clean cloth cut into strips, and a basin, and a kettle of boiling water as well."

Ealdraed nodded, all business, and said, "Aye, lady! At once." Then she began to run ahead of them on surprisingly agile legs for one of her advanced years.

When they had reached the manor house and entered into the hall, Ealdraed had already marshaled the house serfs into action. They scurried to and fro seeking the items she had asked them to obtain.

"Place the child on the bench by the fire pit," Wynne told Eadwine Aethelhard as he set the child gently down, standing back to watch her. "Comfort your daughter, woman," she told the serf mother. "You will make my job easier for me if you do."

"Will she die?" quavered the frightened woman.

"No, we have stopped the bleeding," Wynne told her quietly. "The salve I make will prevent infection and bad humors from setting into the wound." Wynne moved over to the high board, where Ealdraed was setting out all the ingredients necessary. "Peel the onions," she told a young house serf, "and then cut them fine." She quickly assembled the rest of what she would need.

The hall was quiet as, wide-eyed, the serfs watched Wynne pound the onions into a thick paste, which she then mixed with course, ground salt and a splash of vinegar. "Get me another mortar," she commanded. It was quickly brought to her. Wynne took the leaves of the summer rue plant and ground them into a fine powder. Next she added honey and carefully blended the mixture. When she was satisfied that the rue and the honey were well-mixed, Wynne added it to the onions, salt, and vinegar, combining all the elements of her salve neatly. Satisfied, she asked that the child be brought up to the high board.

Gently she unwrapped her improvised bandage from the little hand, saying as she did so, "I am going to wash your hand, child, and then flush away all the evil humors with a bit of wine. 'Twill sting, but you will be brave, I know." Then Wynne smiled at the small girl and, as carefully as she could, cleansed her injured hand, cooing sympathetically when the little one winced. When the hand was cleaned to her satisfaction, Wynne said, "You were very brave, my dearie. Now I will put my good healing salve on your wound and bandage you with a clean cloth." She worked quickly as she spoke. "Come to me tomorrow morning, and I will check to see how your injury is faring. There," she noted, finishing the bandaging. "You are done. Go back to your mother and tell her that I am well pleased with you."

The little girl ran quickly back to her parent, and the mother approached Wynne as she stepped down from the high board, falling to her knees. "Lady," she said. "I thank you for healing my daughter. May God bless you!" Then scrambling to her feet, she departed the hall with her child, the other serfs following behind her.

"Ealdraed, find me a stone jar and store the rest of that salve. I will need it tomorrow," Wynne told the servant.

"Aye, lady!" came the reply.

"You are indeed a healer," Eadwine Aethelhard said quietly, "and you know how to keep a cool head in a crisis. I think old Ruari Ban has done me a greater favor than he knew. You may have whatever you need to make your medicines, Wynne. There is a small room off the hall that has been used for storage. Ealdraed knows the place. You may have that as your pharmacea, and whatever you want to stock it."

"Thank you, my lord," she answered him coolly.

He turned about and went out again into the fields.

Wynne spent the remainder of the day cleaning out the little room that the thegn had given her for her pharmacea. The house serfs brought her a wooden table and a bench to furnish the room. Wynne, old Ealdraed by her side, sought out jars, bowls, and pitchers for the pharmacea.

"Where did you get the rue?" Wynne asked her companion.

"From the cook," came the reply.

They hurried to the cook house, where Wynne found that the child whose hand she had tended that morning was the cook's granddaughter, and the apple of his eye.

"I've herbs and spices aplenty, lady. Take what you need. I am grateful to have a healer at Aelfdene," he said.

Ealdraed shook her head in wonderment. "That old Heall is usually a bad-tempered creature. I held little hope of your getting what you needed easily."

"I will need far more than these few things," Wynne told her. "We will go out tomorrow, and I will see what I can gather myself. Though it is November, the weather is still fair, and the plants I need have not yet died back."

The dinner hour approached and Ealdraed said, "Come, lady. You must return to the Great Chamber to repair yourself," and when they had entered the room, she brought a basin of water that Wynne might wash her face and hands. Then she began to undo Wynne's thick, heavy braid.

"I have no brush or comb," Wynne said.

"The lord said you were to use those which belonged to lady Mildraed," was the reply, and Ealdraed began to brush out Wynne's long black hair, saying as she did so, "The lord has also had fabric brought from the storeroom, that you may choose several for your gowns. I will help you with the sewing." Then her gnarled old fingers began to rebraid Wynne's hair, cleverly weaving a bit of colored wool into the plait as she worked. When she had finished, she said, "We will return to the hall now. The dinner hour is upon us."

When they reached the hall again, Wynne saw that Eadwine Aethelhard and his family were already seated at the high board. She stood silently at the opposite end of the hall waiting, and finally the thegn, an amused look in his eyes, called to her. "Come, Wynne, and sit by me. Baldhere, give up your place and move down that Wynne may sit next to me."

"You would seat a slave at our table, Father? Have you gone mad?" demanded Caddaric angrily of his parent, his eyes all the while undressing Wynne as she came toward them.

"It is my table, my son," Eadwine Aethelhard said quietly, "and, aye, I would seat Wynne by my side. She has found favor in my eyes."

"By spreading her legs for you?" Caddaric replied insultingly. "Any whore would do that for you, Father."

Before the thegn might answer his son, Wynne said sweetly, "If I had spread my legs for you, Caddaric Aethelmaere, would that have made it all quite different? In future you will speak to me with respect. I have done nothing to merit your disrespect. You will also speak to your father with respect, for he is the lord of Aelfdene, and a good lord." With a swish of her skirts she seated herself at the high board.

"What is happening here?" Caddaric's voice was tight with his inability to wield any authority. "This woman has been here but a day, and you not only seat her at our table, I have heard that you have given her a place of her own. This Welsh witch has ensorceled you, Father!"

The thegn's booming laughter rang out, filling the hall with his merriment. "Caddaric, Caddaric! Your fears are groundless. As I have previously said, I bought Wynne because for the first time in many years I was stirred by a woman's beauty and I felt desire. If that is bewitchment, then surely all men have succumbed to such bewitchment at one time or another. As for the place your gossips have told you that I gave her, it is the small storeroom at the end of the hall. Wynne is a healer, and this afternoon I saw evidence of her skill when she tended to an injured serf child. We have not had a healer at Aelfdene in many years. I am. grateful for her skill, which will be of value to the manor. A healer needs a place in which to have a pharmacea. Even you, my son, must understand that Wynne's skills may prove useless unless she can prepare and store her medicines, ointments, and lotions."

"I still think you set this slave above her station," grumbled Caddaric.

"And I think, my son, that you presume too much in my hall," his father replied with a warning tone. "Wynne is here because I wish her here. If you cannot treat her with respect, Caddaric, then you will no longer be welcome at my board."

For a time there was an uncomfortable silence. Aeldra Swanneck had a slightly disapproving twitch about her mouth, but she remained silent. Although she hoped that Aelfdene would one day belong to her infant son, Boc, she and Baldhere would eventually inherit her father's manor and leave here. For now this business with the new slave woman did not concern her. Eadgyth Crookback's eyes remained upon her plate, although she but picked at her food. Caddaric had been virtually unapproachable since yesterday when he had first seen the Welsh woman. He had been positively vicious with his four women last night in his frustration over losing the new slave to his father. Eadgyth had never seen him so filled with lust, and the knowledge that the object of his lust was now in his father's bed proved almost too much for him.

Eadgyth Crookback knew her husband well. He was a good warrior but a weak man. When they had wed, she knew that he took her only for her dowry of two and a half hides of land. Her father, no fool, had known his daughter's attraction was in her possessions. He had, in an effort to protect her further, promised that when he died, Eadgyth would inherit an additional two and a half hides of land. This bequest could only be effected if Eadgyth still lived. If she had predeceased him, then everything would go to his eldest son. With an additional two and a half hides of land, Caddaric Aethelmaere could attain the status of thegn in his own right. She knew how desperately he desired to be his own man. As her father was elderly, there was hope that Caddaric would attain his heart's desire sooner than he would inherit from his own father, who was in excellent health.

Eadgyth Crookback was by nature a sweet woman, but like her father, she was no fool. She had made her husband feel so comfortable with her that he had, to his own surprise, become her friend, and friends they remained even after ten years of marriage. Knowing her own physical weaknesses, she had encouraged him to take other women, even helping him to choose them, that her household not be unduly upset. As Caddaric gave her his respect and affection, so did his four lesser women, for it was impossible not to like Eadgyth Crookback. The Welsh girl, Wynne, had changed everything, however. She had never seen Caddaric so driven, and as she feared for him, so she feared for them all.

When the meal was finished, the women gathered about one of the fire pits gossiping, and Aeldra said to Wynne, "My daughter Willa has a cough. Can you give me something for her? If I cannot stop it, she will pass it on to her sisters, Beadu and Goda, and then the baby will get it. He is only six months old." She tried to keep the fear from her voice.

"Are there any cherry trees in the vicinity?" Wynne asked.

"Aye," replied Aeldra Swanneck. "Ealdraed can show you."

"Then I will be able to prepare something for your children, but it will take several days until it is at full strength and will do any good," Wynne told her. "Try and keep your daughter Willa from the others."

Aeldra nodded. "I will," she said.

"What about the lotion for my skin?" Berangari demanded.

"First I must set up my pharmacea," Wynne told her, "and gather all the ingredients that I will need. I have not half enough yet. Be patient," and she smiled at Berangari. "I will not forget you."

A pretty young girl with flaxen braids asked shyly, "Can you give me something so that my bowels will flow again? Between the child I carry and that, I am bloated and most uncomfortable.

Wynne looked at the girl. "What is your name?" she said.

"I am Denu, Baldhere Armstrong's lesser woman," came the reply.

"When is your child due?"

"In May, I believe," Denu answered.

"I can give you something," Wynne told her, thinking that Denu was already overlarge for a girl only a few months gone with child. Still, Denu looked healthy.

"I think it is a fortunate thing that you have come among us, Wynne," Eadgyth Crookback said quietly. "Not anyone can be a healer, I know. It is a rare and special talent."

"My mother and my grandmother taught me," Wynne told them. "My husband, Madoc, is a healer, and," she added wickedly, "a sorcerer of some renown. If I can find one amongst you who shows an ability toward the healing arts, I will teach her, that you are not without a healer when I leave.

The women about her looked distinctly uncomfortable at her words. The Welsh woman was a slave, and yet she neither behaved nor spoke like a slave. It was not unusual for captives who had been born free to become slaves. They had never heard of a slave, freeborn or otherwise, who would not accept his lot in life. The women of Aelfdene were so sheltered that it did not occur to them that such a fate could easily be theirs. They were basically simple women whose lives revolved entirely about their men and their home life. Having said what they wanted to say to Wynne, the wives and lesser women drifted nervously away into another part of the hall, leaving Wynne alone.

"You frighten them," Baldhere Armstrang said as he moved to her side. "You frighten them, and you intrigue both my father and my elder brother."

"And you?" Wynne replied. "I know I neither intrigue nor frighten you."

He smiled, and she thought he looked rather more like his father than did Caddaric. "Nay, I am neither intrigued nor frightened. I am fascinated. There is magic about you, lady. Who are you really?"

"There is no magic to me, Baldhere Armstrang, for if there was, I should not be here at this moment. I should be home at Raven's Rock with my husband."

"What is Raven's Rock?" he asked her. "Is it a manor like Aelfdene?"

"Raven's Rock is a castle. It sits upon the spine of a dark mountain between two valleys. It is the ancestral home of the princes of Powys-Wenwynwyn, who currently owe their fealty to Gruffydd ap Llywelyn, our king, who was my father's cousin," Wynne told him quietly. "Those princes of Powys are famed for their magic."

"If your husband is a man of magic, lady, then why has he not found you before now?" Baldhere Armstrang asked her most disconcertingly.

Before she might consider the answer to that question, Aeldra Swanneck was by her husband's side.

"I would return to our hall," she said sharply. "It is late, and I am tired." She did not deign to acknowledge Wynne now. The woman was a slave, whatever her manner, and besides, she did not need her at this moment. The elixir had been promised and that was enough.

"Good night, Baldhere Armstrang," Wynne told him, responding in kind, for she would not allow Aeldra Swanneck the upper hand. The woman had all the indications of being a bully, and Wynne did not intend to allow herself to be bullied by any of them. Turning away from the couple, she moved up the staircase to the privacy of the Great Chamber. There she found old Ealdraed awaiting her. "I want a bath," Wynne said.

"Are you mad?" Ealdraed replied. " Tis November, and it is night as well!"

"I am not used to being unwashed for so long a period of time," Wynne told her. "It is my custom to bathe almost every day. Since my abduction, I have only had one bath, in an icy stream."

"Foolishness! Foolishness!" grumbled Ealdraed.

"Have you a tub that could be brought up to this chamber?" Wynne persisted. "And I will need some hot water as well."

Ealdraed's brown eyes rolled in her head but, though she muttered balefully beneath her breath, she disappeared back down the staircase from the Great Chamber into the hall. Smiling to herself, Wynne began to look through the bolts of fabric that had been brought from Eadwine Aethelhard's storeroom that she might select some materials for her gowns. There were linens and silks and wools and brocatelles; all of good quality and in many colors. Eadwine Aethelhard obviously did not stint himself or his family.

Three additional gowns would be enough, she decided, to take her through the winter and into the spring, when her child would be born. Under tunics of yellow, red-orange, and deep green. Tunic dresses of indigo-blue, green-blue, and purple. All the under tunics and tunic dresses would be interchangeable with each other and with the gown she was now wearing. The under tunics would be silk; the purple and indigo-blue tunic dresses a soft, light wool; the green-blue tunic dress would be of an elegant brocatelle, upon which she would embroider gold thread and beads. Wynne also appropriated a small bolt of soft, natural-colored linen with which she could make her chemises and gowns for her newborn child.

Ealdraed returned grumbling, followed by several young boys, two of whom struggled beneath the bulky weight of a large oak tub; they were trailed by several others, each carrying steaming buckets of water.

"Well?" Ealdraed demanded irritably. "Where do you want it?"

"I think," Wynne said thoughtfully, "that we should set it down where it is to remain. There," she pointed, "in that corner."

"It's to remain?" Ealdraed sounded scandalized.

"Of course," Wynne replied calmly. "Why should the boys have to drag that awkward thing up the stairs each day when there is more than enough room here for it? Now only the water need be brought and afterward removed."

"Put it there!" Ealdraed snapped at the grinning lads. "Then dump yer buckets and get you gone!"

Wynne smiled sweetly at the old lady and said, "I have chosen the materials from which to make my gowns. We can begin tomorrow after I have returned from searching for herbs for my pharmacea. Have you brought me some soap?"

"Aye, I've brought you soap," Ealdraed said, and shooed the remaining boys down the stairs. "Noisy scamps," she groused.

Wynne swiftly removed her clothing and pinned up her braid, saying as she did, "This chemise is torn, for I took a strip from it to bandage the child's hand. I will use the material to make clothing for my son." She stepped into the tub and quickly seated herself. "Ahhhh!" she sighed gustily. "How good that warm water feels! Give me the soap and leave the toweling. I am capable of bathing myself."

"Then I'll find my own bed," Ealdraed said with a small smile at Wynne. "Bathing at night, and in November too!" She hurried off down the stairs.

As she departed, Wynne heard Eadwine Aethelhard's step upon the staircase, and he entered the Great Chamber. "Ealdraed told me you wanted a bath. I will join you." He began to remove his clothing. "She professes to be very shocked by the knowledge that you bathe almost each day."

"Do not the Saxons bathe regularly, my lord?" Wynne asked him. She was not certain that she should not be embarrassed, but the fact that on the briefest of acquaintance he had taken her the previous night seemed to abrogate any modesty on her part. She was a married woman. She knew what a man looked like.

"I suppose it depends on the Saxon," he answered her. "Some bathe with regularity, and others do not."

"Do you?" She raised her eyes to his.

"Aye," he said, and stepped into the tub, seating himself opposite her. "I find the strong scent of an unwashed body most repellent." His gaze, calmly meeting hers, was filled with amusement.

"Is there something that you find humorous, my lord?" she said tartly.

"Aye," he said, and a chuckle escaped him.

"What?" she demanded.

"You are a very bad slave," he told her. "In fact you are a terrible slave," he said, and another chuckle eluded him.

"I am not a slave!" she cried, her anger spilling over.

"You may not have been born a slave, Wynne, but at this moment you are legally a slave. My slave. And yet you behave more like a wife than a slave. You have taken my household in a firm grip, and the servants call you 'lady' I have noted. Even my younger son and the other women are respectful of you as they would be a wife."

"That, my lord Eadwine, is because I am a wife. I am Madoc of Powys's wife, and I am in your house against my will. Say what you want, and do what you want, you cannot change that, for it is the truth. I will never submit willingly to you. While I am in your house, however, you shall have my respect, for you are, as I told your elder son this evening, a good lord."

He ignored her emotional outburst and said in a matter-of-fact tone, "Wash me, sweeting. The water grows cold, and we will both catch a chill shortly." He turned himself about so that his back was to her.

Men, Wynne thought irritably. They would only accept what they wanted to accept, but it mattered not. She was not a slave! His or anyone else's! Still, she could not help but wonder as she washed him why Madoc had not found her yet. She had not forgotten Baldhere Armstrang's remark in the hall earlier this evening. That Madoc and his ancestors were men of magic and sorcery she had never doubted. Why then had he not come to her? Why was she caught in this benevolent cage, imprisoned by a man to whom she was, to her own surprise, finding herself increasingly attracted even upon their short acquaintance?

"Gently, sweeting," he cautioned her. "You are rubbing the skin from my shoulders."

Madness! It was all madness, Wynne reflected angrily to herself. How could this have happened to her? She had been happy and content as Madoc's wife. To suddenly find herself the slave of this charming man was… was… was infuriating! Why? Why? She splashed water over the soapy areas of Eadwine Aethelhard's shoulders and back. There was no point in her anger. She had brought this upon herself by refusing to accept Madoc's judgment in the matter of Brys of Cai; and she was certainly suffering for her insistence that she could reunite Madoc's family.

Suddenly the thegn turned himself about in the tub and took the cloth from her. "I will remember in future never to allow an angry woman possession of my person," he said humorously, his grey-blue eyes twinkling. "Why are you angry, and at whom are you angry, Wynne?"

"I am angry at myself," she replied, "for not believing Madoc when he told me that his brother was a totally evil man. If I had listened to my husband, I should not be here with you now. I should be safe at Raven's Rock." Then, unbidden, the tears began to slip down her cheeks.

Eadwine Aethelhard swallowed hard, when in truth he wanted to laugh. It had suddenly occurred to him how humorous their situation was, and then he sobered, for it was tragic too. Naked in a bath with a man other than her husband, Wynne wept for her past when the reality was her present and her future. He was that reality, and it astounded him that this girl should have such a grip on his heart. What did he really know of her? "You are tired," he told her, "and breeding women are given to fits of unexpected and irrational weeping. So it was with my Mildraed."

"I am not your Mildraed," she sniffled.

"Nay," he said, "you most certainly are not. You are my wild Welsh girl. I think, Wynne, if you will release your hold on the past, you will find your future a pleasant and happy one."

She pulled away from him and, standing up, stepped from their tub to towel herself dry. Eadwine caught his breath as his eyes beheld the lush beauty of her. Last night in their bed he had not been able to really see her, but now he could scarce take his eyes from her. His inspection of her in the hall had been to ascertain her general health, to be certain if he purchased her she would not die. He had seen she was lovely, but not how lovely. Never in all his life had he beheld a woman so fair. Her limbs were graceful. Her tall, slender body only beginning to ripen with the child she carried. He felt himself growing hot with his desire for her as, raising her arms, she undid her braid from atop her head where it had been pinned. Her breasts rose and thrust forward with the movement. He stepped from the tub and his aroused state was instantly apparent. Their eyes met, and Wynne turned quickly away from him, a flush upon her cheeks.

"I am cold," she said, and walking across the room, slipped beneath the coverlet of the sleeping space.

I will win her over, Eadwine Aethelhard thought to himself. I must win her over, for I am falling in love with her, and I cannot bear the thought that she might hate me. Slowly he dried himself, and then he joined her in their bed, slipping his arms about her and kissing the back of her neck softly. She lay perfectly still against him, and he was suddenly angry. "I want you," he growled at her.

"As you wish, my lord," she answered listlessly. "I am your slave, and you have the right."

"Aye!" he said furiously. "I am your master, and I have the right. I could have you killed if I so desired, Wynne!"

"Then do so," she cried, "for perhaps death is preferable to this bondage!"

His fury crumbled in the face of her pain. "Nay, sweeting, I want no harm to come to you or the child." He turned her about so that she was forced to face him. "Look at me, Wynne," he said gently. "You must accept what cannot be changed. If you do not, you will destroy yourself and perhaps the child as well."

"But life can change, my lord," she insisted. "A month ago I was the cherished wife of a prince of Powys; yet this night I lay in another man's bed, his slave. Who is to say that that cannot eventually change?"

Her eyes were green, he thought. He hadn't realized it until this moment, but her eyes were green. And her mouth was incredibly kissable; ripe and moist, the lips slightly parted in her fervor. His lips gently touched hers, and he murmured against them, "Aye, anything can change, sweeting, but for now can you not be content with me?" He could feel the blood roaring in his ears; the insistent throb of his manhood.

Wynne saw the desire in his eyes, and a mixture of sadness and despair overcame her. The child stirred within her, and she knew that for the baby's sake she must survive. Still, she could be no less than honest with him. "I do not know, Eadwine Aethelhard," she said, "if I shall ever be content without Madoc of Powys," and then she smiled slightly at him, "but I will try." It was the best she could do, she thought, and the words, spoken reluctantly, were half believed by them both. Wynne rolled onto her belly and carefully drew her legs up. "If you do not soon satisfy that lust of yours, my lord, you will do yourself an injury, I fear," she said.

He moved behind her and gently inserted his length within her woman's passage. "Some day you will welcome me," he said quietly.

Never, she thought, but she said nothing as he began to move upon her. His gentle, but firm attentions offered her a measure of satisfaction despite her resolve to remain unmoved. When he finally lay sleeping by her side, Wynne reached out as she had each night since her abduction and called Madoc. There had always been such a strong link between them, and yet now she felt that link blocked somehow. Still, she could not give up, nor would she ever stop trying.

Her plans for escape were never far from her mind. It had taken almost three weeks to travel the distance between Brys of Cai's castle and Aelfdene manor. Although she had ridden behind Ruari Ban, the pace had been a slow one because of the party of slaves the Irish slaver possessed. Therefore, Wynne concluded, she had to assume that it would take just as long if not longer for her to return to Raven's Rock. She wasn't even certain of the direction in which she should travel, but she would eventually gain that needed information.

She had to go soon. Before the snows came; while she was still able to travel. She would steal a horse! She could still ride, and if she dare not gallop her mount, at least she would walk it. A few days' time was all she needed. A few days in which to gather the knowledge she would need to make her escape successful. She had to be successful, for instinct told her there would be no second chance. The thought that she could soon be gone from Aelfdene comforted her, and Wynne finally slept.

In the morning the skies were grey and lowering. The day, however, was yet warm, and, encouraged, Wynne took a basket, setting forth with old Ealdraed to find what plants she could use for her pharmacea. They first visited the orchards, where Wynne removed some bark from the cherry trees, being careful not to injure the trees. They moved on out into the countryside, where they were delighted to find some bog myrtle. The bark could be used for dye; the leaves for flavoring ale; and the catkins when boiled yielded a fragrant wax that made particularly sweet-smelling candles.

Because there had not yet been a frost, there was much to be had from the fields and nearby marsh. There was wonderfully aromatic sweet flag, its yellow-green sword-shaped leaves rising from its root stock, which could be used in perfumes, for flavoring, and medicinally. Wynne found capers growing amid the stone ruins of some earlier structure, and an excellent supply of both acorns and chestnuts that had not yet been devoured by animals, nor were they riddled with worms. The acorns had a variety of uses. Pounded, they could be made into a paste by the simple addition of lamb fat. The paste was then used to cure inflammations. Finely ground, the acorns could be used in a vaginal pessary; and acorn tea was used to stop dysentery. Honey, however, was a necessary addition to the tea, for acorns were known to cause headaches. Chestnuts boiled in water and then eaten were an excellent stimulus for passion in a reluctant lover.

Much to Wynne's surprise, she found a goodly supply of pinecones that had escaped the birds. They stopped to hull the pinecones where they found them, for tiny worms were known to live beneath the scales. It was useless to take home such cones only to have to throw them out. The seeds in the cones were good for bladder and kidney difficulties, and no pharmacea should be without them.

As they walked on they found Betony and Hoarhound, and both field and marsh mint as well as pudding grass, which was excellent for repelling fleas. Wynne stopped suddenly and knelt down. Then she began to dig out several plants that were still quite actively growing. The plants were large, almost three feet in height, and the leaves quite hairy.

"What's that ugly thing?" demanded Ealdraed.

"Cheese rennet," Wynne told her, "though some call it lady's bedstraw. Although there are no flowers right now, the plant itself helps the sheep and goat's milk to thicken. I can get a yellow dye to color the cheese from the stem and the leaves, and a red dye which adheres particularly well to wool from the roots."

"I never heard of such a thing," Ealdraed told her bluntly.

"My family has been famous for their cheeses for many, many generations," Wynne said. "Our cheese is called Gwer-nach's Gold, and the traders from Cornwall, Devon, and Ireland come to Gwernach regularly to get it."

They came upon a patch of chamomile and another of wormwood which had not yet died back. The latter was good for worming, and the former made a tea which was a cure for sleeplessness.

"Here's some elecampane for you," Ealdraed called, and dug it out. Dried and powdered, the elecampane root was mixed with honey and vinegar to make a tonic.

As they skirted about the other side of the little marsh where they had found the bog myrtle and the marsh mint, Wynne spotted some late-blooming wake-robin and hurried to gather it up. "If only I could find some bryony," she muttered to herself.

"There's some on the path back toward the manor house," her companion replied.

"I thought you knew little of herbs," Wynne teased her.

"I know bryony," Ealdraed said. "What is it for?"

"I'm going to make Berangari a skin lotion with the root of the bryony, this wake-robin, and some goat's milk. Lemon too, if I can get some."

" 'Tis a waste of time if you ask me," Ealdraed said. "Her face could be as smooth as a baby's bottom and Caddaric still wouldn't be able to get a child on her or any of the others. I've heard that he renders his women sore with his striving, for all the good it's done him."

"Perhaps Berangari wants smooth skin to please herself," Wynne suggested.

The day had suddenly grown cold, and the wind that had been gently blowing from the east was coming in stronger gusts now from the northeast. The grey clouds were darker, and Ealdraed announced, "There's snow coming. 'Tis been too warm for too long, and when it's like this in this valley, and the weather turns quickly, then it means snow."

"Please, God, no!" Wynne whispered.

"Put it out of your mind, dearie," the old woman said gently.

"What?" Wynne replied defiantly.

"Escape," Ealdraed said. "Be sensible, my lady Wynne. You are many days from your Raven's Rock, and you are with child. The winter is almost upon us. If you try and flee Aelfdene, you will be caught. If you are not caught, what chance has a woman alone of traveling all those miles? If you will not think of yourself, think of your child."

"I am thinking of my child," Wynne told her. "My son is a prince of Powys, conceived legitimately and lawfully, condemned to be born into slavery! How can I let this happen while there is breath in my body, Ealdraed? How can I allow my son never to know his heritage or his father, who mourns his loss? I cannot! Your master is a good man, and I am fortunate to be safe in his care; but I can already see that he cares more for me than he should. Despite his knowledge of my past, he takes me into his bed each night and forces himself upon me. He is a lonely man, and he would have a woman to love and be loved in return. I cannot love Eadwine Aethelhard, for I love Madoc of Powys, and I always will!"

"My lady Wynne," Ealdraed said patiently, "you must accept the fate that the good God has visited upon you. We are women, and what other choice do we have? I am a serf. You are a slave. It is God's will."

"And yet you address me as any of my own servants would, my good Ealdraed," Wynne told her. "There are other slaves in Eadwine Aethelhard's house, but you do not address them so. You do not think of me as a slave, any more than I think of myself as a slave."

"It is beginning to rain," Ealdraed said evasively. "Let us hurry home, lady," and she began to walk doggedly ahead.

Wynne smiled behind the old lady's back and followed after her.

When they reached the manor house Wynne gave Ealdraed her basket and, taking another, went off to the kitchen garden to gather what she could of the household herbs. If snow was indeed coming, there would be a frost and the plants would be useless thereafter, until spring, when they grew anew. Ignoring the light rain, she gathered sage for the nerves; fennel to aid with fever; mint for stomach ailments; and rue. The garden contained lettuce, parsnips, beets, and spinach, all of which could be eaten, but all of which were also medicinal in use as well. Lettuce for sleeplessness, parsnips for quickening desire, spinach for coughs and chest ailments. There were onions and leeks, which had many uses. Cabbages, marrows, and cucumbers. Wynne was astounded that no one in Eadwine Aethelhard's house understood the many uses and advantages of even the kitchen garden. Kneeling, she clipped dill, parsley, and caraway, whose seeds were also of value. She found plantings of sweet basil, rosemary, and marjoram as well as some garden heliotrope and yarrow, which were growing wild by the garden wall.

Heall, the cook, came out from his kitchens and said in a friendly tone, "I've lemons, should you need them, lady, and a good supply of apples and a few figs stored away."

Wynne rose to her feet, picking her basket up as she did so. "I cannot find any lavender," she replied. "I cannot imagine a proper household that does not grow lavender. It cannot have died back yet."

"Look behind the manor house," Heall told her. "The lady Mildraed had a small garden of herbs and roses. You will find your lavender there, lady."

Wynne thanked him and hurried off. She found the lavender exactly where he had said she would. The little garden was badly overgrown and had certainly gone unattended since the lady Mildraed's death. Obviously no one cared. The little garden had been allowed to run wild. There was plenty of lavender to be harvested. When she had finished cutting the fragrant stems, Wynne realized that she was beginning to feel quite tired, and she was very hungry as well. Her child was moving about quite actively, as if in protest, so she returned indoors.

Ealdraed had food for her, knowing Wynne hadn't eaten since early morning and it was now afternoon. There was cheese, fresh bread, crisp apples, and sweet wine that had been watered to render it less potent.

"You do not take care of yourself," grumbled Ealdraed. "Why do you not take better care of yourself? You have that babe to think about now, my lady."

"If I took good care of myself," Wynne teased her, "what would there be for you to do?" She sliced off a chunk of cheese and a slice of bread and began to eat hungrily.

"Heh! Heh! Heh!" the old lady cackled, well-pleased to be so appreciated. "When you have eaten, lady, we will get to our sewing," she said.

It snowed that night, as Ealdraed had predicted. Large, wet flakes that were half melted before they even hit the ground, where they melted completely, for the earth was still warm. It was a reminder to Wynne, however, that she dare not linger too long. She could learn nothing from the serfs or the other slaves as to the direction, for they did not know, such things not being of particular interest to them. She knew the dark hills to the west separated England from Powys, but there were no roads directly over them. If only, she thought wryly, Madoc had taught her the secret to changing one's shape, she could have turned herself into a bird long since and flown back home to Raven's Rock. She spent as much time out of doors as she could, wandering the fields in search of useful plants, searching the skies for the sight of old Dhu, for the certain knowledge that he had found her and would come to rescue her.

Eadwine Aethelhard watched her restlessness, easily divining some of her thoughts; knowing that she but sought a means of escape; and realizing that he must make her hate him if he was to save her from herself and the dangerous path she would take. In time she would come to see that he was right, and then perhaps she would not hate him. When Wynne had been at Aelfdene three weeks, he called her to him as he sat alone in the hall one evening, his family at long last departed.

"I have a gift for you," he said quietly, and unwrapped a cloth that lay on the table before him.

"What is it?" she asked, curious, but distressed that he would give her a gift.

He lifted the object from the cloth, and Wynne visibly paled.

"No!" she said, her heart thudding at the sight of the pale gold circle.

"Put it on, Wynne," he said. "It has been made especially for you and you alone. A mark of my high regard."

"It is a slave collar, " she managed to gasp. "1 will not wear a slave collar!" She felt near to tears and struggled to maintain her composure.

He arose and stood over her, the collar in his hands. "Look at it," he said. "It is of the finest gold and decorated with green agates that match your wonderful eyes." His hand reached out and stroked her slender neck. "I would not allow such a lovely neck to be encircled by an iron or leather slave collar."

"It will chafe me," she whispered desperately. "Surely you would not mark my skin?"

"It will rest upon your neck bone easily, and if it indeed chafes you, sweeting, then I will have it lined in lamb's wool." He gently slipped the gold collar about her neck, closing it and locking it with a small key as she sat frozen in shock, unable to move or to resist him. His lips kissed the back of her neck and he said softly in her ear, "Now, Wynne, you cannot escape me. Did you think I did not know of your plans to flee? Oh, sweeting, how far do you think you would have gotten? And if you had escaped me, do you think you could have escaped the other predators, both two-legged and four-legged, awaiting you along your long road home?" He knelt by her side, his arm slipping about her thickening waist. "I'm in love with you, Wynne, and I have been since the moment I first laid eyes on you. I would not be cruel to you, but I must protect you from your own foolishness. With this slave collar about your graceful neck, you cannot escape me. You are marked as a slave for all to see."

"I will never forgive you this," she said stonily.

"In time you will," he said with certainty, "and that collar will not remain upon your neck forever, Wynne. The day you become my wife, I shall remove it from your neck even as I have put it there."

"I cannot marry you," she cried desperately, leaping to her feet. "Why can you not understand? I am Wynne of Gwernach, wife to Madoc, prince of Powys!"

"Nay," he said. "You are Wynne, a Welsh slave belonging to Eadwine Aethelhard, the thegn of Aelfdene manor." Then he arose and looked down upon her. "You are Wynne, the most beloved woman of Eadwine Aethelhard."

"Call me whatever you will, my lord," she said proudly, "You cannot make me that which I am not, even by putting a slave collar about my neck. I will never be your wife." Then she turned and walked from the hall up the stairs into the Great Chamber.

She will love me in time, Eadwine Aethelhard thought stubbornly. She will love me. She must, for I cannot live without her now!

Chapter 13

Madoc of Powys had returned home from the valley below his castle to find his servants hysterical with fear and grief.

"She went out riding early yesterday morning unescorted," Einion told him bluntly.

"Why weren't you with her?" the prince demanded, struggling to stem the violent beating of his heart. "Where is my wife?"

"I wasn't with her because I had no idea she intended to ride, my lord," Einion told him. "Had I known, I would have been with her. Have I not kept her safe from harm her entire life? She told the stablemen and the men-at-arms that she meant to go no farther than the bridge. They let her go believing her safe. Then everyone became involved in his daily routine, and no one thought to ask if my lady Wynne had returned until her horse reappeared riderless."

"You sent out search parties?" Madoc demanded, knowing the answer even before Einion gave it. Wynne! he cried in his heart. Where are you, dearling?

"I headed the search myself, my lord, but it was almost nightfall. The following morning we left at first light. We did not find my lady, but we did find her tunic dress and her chemise. They were torn and bloodied as if some wild beast had… had…" Einion could not go on.

"She is not dead!" the prince shouted angrily. How could this have happened? How?

"We did not find a body," Einion, now recovering himself, admitted. "Not even parts of a body. No shoes, no jewelry. Nothing but those two pieces of clothing. It is almost as if…"

"Someone were attempting to make us believe that Wynne is dead." Madoc finished the thought for Einion, his mind already filled with possibilities and troubled thoughts.

"But, my lord," said Einion, "you have no enemies. Who would do such a cruel thing?"

Madoc shook his head. "I do not know, my friend, but I intend finding out."

During the next few days the forest was carefully combed for the merest sign of Wynne, but none was found. There was no body. No bones. There was absolutely no trace of the lady of Raven's Rock at all. It was as if the earth had opened and swallowed her. Madoc then commanded that it be made known throughout all of Powys that his young pregnant wife was missing and feared abducted. The similarity between their previous life together and now did not escape Madoc. A reward was offered to anyone who could supply the prince with information leading to his wife's recovery.

His next move was to go to Cai, for he could still hear Wynne's voice importuning him to make his peace with his brother. Had she defied his authority and gone to see Brys? He would not have believed her so foolish, and yet, though old and wise in many ways, Wynne was yet a child in others.

"Why do you find it necessary to visit me with so many soldiers at your back, dear brother," Brys greeted his elder sibling. "Do you not trust me?"

"No," Madoc replied, "I do not. My wife is missing, Brys. Would you know where she is?"

"Do sit down, Madoc. Will you have some wine?" Brys inquired. "Your insistence in getting immediately to the point is really quite unnerving and most uncivilized, brother dear."

"And your evasiveness, Brys, is typical. Do you know where Wynne is?" Madoc demanded, his piercing gaze causing Brys a certain amount of uneasiness.

"Why would I know where Wynne is, Madoc? I am sorry that you cannot keep a better watch over your wife, especially as she is expecting your heir. Breeding women are fanciful creatures, I am told. Is it possible that she has gone to Gwernach? Have you sent your riders to her brother to inquire if she is there?" The bishop of Cai languidly lifted his onyx-studded silver goblet to his lips and sipped at his wine. Then setting the cup down, he smiled at Madoc and said, "If I knew where your wife was, brother dear, I should not tell you. Your obvious suffering is really quite delicious. I would have never thought your weakness would be a woman, Madoc. How pedestrian and common you have become."

Madoc of Powys's dark blue eyes narrowed dangerously. "Do not tempt me to rashness, Brys," he warned.

Brys of Cai laughed scornfully. "You will not harm me, Madoc. It goes against your kindly nature. You have always used your powers for good. Besides, I am your brother."

Madoc shook his head. "You are right, Brys. I cannot seem to destroy you. I will not jeopardize my immortal soul even for the moment of supreme pleasure that killing you would give me. Not now. Not at this moment in time. But there will come a day, Brys, when the Celtic warrior in me will rise up, and I will finally kill you, even if I be damned for it."

"That is where we are so different, brother dear, for I could kill you right now," Brys replied, smiling.

"Where is Wynne?" Madoc repeated.

"I do not know," Brys said, and he smiled again; but Madoc also knew that Brys would accept death rather than divulge what he did know.

The prince of Powys turned and left his younger brother's presence. In the courtyard of Castle Cai his men and their horses milled about restlessly.

"Well?" demanded Einion.

"I believe he knows where Wynne is, but he will not tell me," Madoc said.

"Give me a few moments with him, my lord," Einion begged. "He will tell me!"

"Nay, he will not," Madoc said. "He would die first," and the prince leaned against his horse wearily. "She was here, Einion. I can feel it!"

"Do you think she's still here, my lord?" Einion asked. "Perhaps he has her hidden away. We should search Castle Cai!"

"Nay, she is gone," Madoc said. "I sense it. We must go too, my friend." He mounted his horse, giving the signal to his men to do likewise.

They headed out along the road back to Raven's Rock. They had gone not much farther than a mile or two and were reentering the forest when they heard a voice calling from somewhere amid the trees.

"Let the prince of Powys dismount and come into the woodland alone. I will tell him of his wife."

"It is a trick of your brother's," Einion said grimly.

"Nay," Madoc said, sliding off his horse. "It is the voice of good fortune, I think," and he walked forward into the trees until the voice bade him stop. "Who are you?" he asked.

"Who I am matters not, my lord," the voice said. It was a man's voice. "I know of your wife's fate, and I would tell you."

"Why? How can I trust you? If you know what has happened to Wynne and to our unborn child, then you are certainly connected with my brother, who has hatched this plot and wishes me nothing good," Madoc said.

"That is so, my lord," the voice agreed, "but though I am in service of your brother, he has wronged me and my family greatly. I dare not defy him openly, for I am powerless before him, but I can be avenged upon him in this matter without his ever knowing. Your brother wantonly killed my younger sister. He beat her to death, for she tried to escape him after he had forced her into an evil, carnal bondage of a sort I need not describe to you, my lord. Your good wife attempted to save my sister, and when she could not, she held Gwladys in her own arms and prayed with her until she died. But for her, my sister would have died alone and afraid. For that great kindness I owe your wife a debt, and I am not a man to avoid my debts."

"Where is my lady?" Madoc inquired gently. How like Wynne to have tried to aid one of Brys's victims even to her own detriment.

"Your brother sent for a man named Ruari Ban, an Irish slaver. He sold your wife to this man, who I know went to England with her. I do not know where in England, my lord. I am sorry."

"You are certain of what you tell me?" Madoc said.

"I am certain, my lord. I was in the hall when the wicked business was done. Your wife was forced into silence by your brother by means of threats against your child. Your brother has dealt with Ruari Ban in the past. He is, strange to say, an honest sort for a slaver. If you seek for him along the roads into England, someone should know where he can be found, my lord."

"I would reward you, my friend," Madoc said.

"Nay, my lord. I have, I hope, but returned the kindness that your wife rendered to my sister."

"Surely there is something I can do for you," Madoc insisted, but there was silence now, and the prince realized that his informant was gone. Hurrying back to his own men, he remounted his horse and cried, "To Raven's Rock!" and while they rode, he told Einion of what the faceless voice had told him.

"You believe him?" Einion asked. "You are certain that this is no trick?"

"I am certain!" Madoc said grimly. "It is just the sort of evil that Brys would attempt."

"What will you do now, my lord?"

"I must think on this carefully, Einion. My decisions will affect Wynne's fate and that of our child."

When they had returned to Raven's Rock, Madoc locked himself in his tower room, considering the best course of action to take. One thing he was certain of, he had to speak with Nesta, for she was a part of this too. Flinging open the tower window, he said, "Codam is ainm dom. Codam is ainm dom. Te se Codam!" In his mind's eye he pictured a raven, old Dhu. Then he felt his wings flapping smoothly as they raised him up, and he flew through the window, catching the spiral of the wind as he headed southwest toward St. Bride's.

The day was waning quickly, and Madoc knew that he must reach St. Bride's before sunset or he would be forced to spend the night in the open, for it was the dark of the moontime. He flew over Gwernach and was pleased to see it so prosperous, its herds of fat cows grazing on the lush hillsides, sharing their territory with the deer. He could smell the salt of the sea long before he saw it, but when he did, the sun was fast sinking into a bright scarlet horizon. Then the turrets and towers of St. Bride's appeared, and the great black raven landed itself upon a fanciful stone balcony overlooking the dark sea.

"Madoc is ainm dom. Madoc is ainm dom. Te se Madoc!" he said, and was once again restored to his human form. The prince looked out over the sea, which was placid at the moment. He concentrated and called out in his mind to Nesta.

She came, joining him suddenly upon the balcony, her loose gown billowing gently about her, her swollen belly quite distinct. "Madoc! What is it? You would not have come were it not serious. Is Wynne all right?" She kissed his cheek.

"Wynne has been abducted and sold into slavery," he began without preamble.

"Brys!" Nesta said. "This is Brys's doing, isn't it?"

"Aye, it is. The time is drawing near, Nesta, when I must kill him. There is no other way."

"God will find a way, Madoc, but in the meantime, what of Wynne? Do you know where she is?" Nesta looked very troubled. "Poor girl!"

"We had argued the past weeks over Brys," Madoc said. "She could not believe he was so evil that he could not be redeemed. She wanted us to forgive him, that our family be reunited. She wanted that for her child and for yours, my sister. All I have been able to learn of her whereabouts is that she has been taken to England by an Irish slaver called Ruari Ban. I must trace him first before I can find my wife. I wanted you to know, Nesta, for I must begin my search immediately. I will most likely not be at Raven's Rock when your child is born."

"Does Wynne's family know of her abduction, brother? You cannot keep it from them. Her grandmother, the lady Enid, is coming to St. Bride's in a few days' time to help me when my child is born. I would be most uncomfortable, Madoc, keeping such news from her."

"You may tell her for me, Nesta," he said. "And tell her not to worry, for I will retrieve Wynne and get her safely home."

"Have you reached out for her?" Nesta asked.

"Aye," he said, "but it is as if I am shouting down a hollow tree. There is nothing, yet I know she is not dead. Death has a very different feeling to it."

"Perhaps it is the child, Madoc. Perhaps the child blocks your path to Wynne," Nesta suggested.

"You heard me," he replied.

"Aye," she nodded slowly, smiling, "but you and I have been together my entire lifetime, brother. Besides, you called me from within my own castle. You are trying to reach out to Wynne over a distance of many miles. She is undoubtedly frightened and very concerned for your child. Believe me, that fear for her baby is consuming her, and she cannot hear you, for she can think of nothing but the safety and the survival of her babe. All her energies are trained upon that, I know, for mine would be, Madoc."

"Surely you are right, sister, and I can certainly think of no other reason I am unable to reach Wynne," Madoc admitted. "It is so difficult, Nesta! I want to reach out and comfort my dearling, and I cannot."

"What of Brys?" Nesta asked. "What will you do about Brys?"

"Nothing for the moment, sister. All my efforts must be on finding Wynne. On finding Ruari Ban. I cannot be bothered with Brys."

"You cannot underestimate Brys, Madoc," Nesta warned him. "Though you know how evil he can be, you have always allowed him to take advantage of you. Why did you not set a watch on Wynne when you knew that her kind heart was determined to reunite us all?"

Madoc shook his head and sighed deeply. "Sister," he told her, "not for one moment did I ever believe that Wynne would actually seek Brys out. How could I have anticipated such goodness of heart?"

"You have never really known her, have you, Madoc? Heaven help you both! In that other time and that other place, she possessed the same loving kindness that she does in this time and place. You should have recognized that in her, but you did not," Nesta chided him.

"Nay, I did not," he agreed with her, "and once more my blindness has cost us dearly; but at least I have my own powers in this time and place. I will use them to their fullest to find her, Nesta! I will bring Wynne home, that we may at long last live out our lives together as we were meant to live them."

Nesta hugged him. "You must come into the castle and stay the night, brother," she said.

"What will you tell Rhys?" he said, smiling.

"That my brother has arrived unexpectedly," she answered him with a small twinkle. "Rhys is still much in awe of our family, Madoc, and will not require a detailed explanation of us."

Nesta was quite correct in her assessment. Rhys of St. Bride's was more than delighted to have his brother-in-law's company for the evening and offered whatever help Madoc would have of him in finding Wynne. If he was curious as to how his brother-in-law had arrived so suddenly and without a horse or an escort, he kept his inquisitiveness to himself. And even in the morning, when Rhys awoke to find Madoc already gone, he did not evince any strong curiosity. It was not his business, and his relations with his wife's kinfolk were one of mutual trust.

Madoc returned to Raven's Rock and, within the privacy of his tower room, he began to weave spells that might bring him a glimpse of Wynne, an inkling of where she might be found; but to his great surprise, his magic was useless in this matter. He sent riders into England to seek out the slaver known as Ruari Ban, who was traced first to Hereford and next to Worcester, where the trail grew cold, for no one knew of where the little Irishman was next headed, although the innkeeper with whom he had lodged had heard a mention of Brittany, or was it Byzantium? He was not sure. One thing was certain. No one remembered seeing a slave of Wynne's description amongst those belonging to Ruari Ban.

"He may have had a buyer in mind for her all along," Einion said, "and that will make it difficult for us, my lord. There is no direct road from here or from Cai to England. Ruari Ban would have had to go south first and then back north to Hereford and Worcester. We will have to travel the entire route that he took, and we will have to travel it slowly in order to investigate the surrounding countryside for an English thegn wealthy enough to have bought an expensive slave."

"How do you know he did not sell her to just anyone, Einion?" the prince asked his wife's servant.

Einion bared his teeth in a fierce smile. "I remember my own experience at the hands of slavers, my lord. My lady Wynne is a beautiful woman. In any land or culture, beautiful women bring a high price. Not only that, she was with child, proving her fertility and offering her buyer an extra dividend, Whoever he is, he would have to be a man of substance, and we will have to find him first before we can find my lady Wynne."

"We will leave in the morning," Madoc said impetuously.

Einion shook his head. "Nay, my lord. You and I cannot gain the information that we need to obtain. I am too imposing, and you, my lord, too regal. Simple people are afraid of men like us. Send out others who will blend into a crowd and quickly be forgotten should someone become curious as to their questions. You must divide the territory to be searched into sections, and into each section send one man."

"Who," said Madoc, quickly seeing the wisdom of Ein-ion's idea, "will travel as a peddler; but not one man into each section, Einion, two. A peddler and his helper. They will travel the width and the length of their assigned section, learning which of the Saxons within that territory has the means to buy and own a prized slave woman. And when my wife is located, Einion, then one of those men can ride quickly back to Raven's Rock with the news."

"And then, my lord," Einion finished, "we can ride out ourselves to bring my lady and your child safely home."

"A map!" Madoc cried. "We must have a map! Go to the monastery in the valley, for they will have the maps we need. Tell my head shepherd he is to give the monks six young sheep as a gift from the lord of Raven's Rock."

"Shall I tell the monks why we need the maps, my lord?"

"Nay, I do not want my brother knowing what we do. Nesta is always warning me that I underestimate Brys, and she is right. We need eyes and ears within Castle Cai. The faceless voice who told me of Wynne's fate is a man-at-arms whose young sister was beaten to death by Brys after he had raped her. Find me that man and convince him to aid us, Einion."

"What shall I offer him, my lord? We cannot give him gold, for he would surely be found out," Einion said wisely.

"Tell him I would have him serve me here at Raven's Rock, and I will give shelter to his family as well," Madoc replied. "Should he believe himself in danger at any time before this is over, Einion, then tell him he is to come to me with his kin immediately. I want no innocent blood on my hands, but I need to know what Brys is doing before he knows it himself."

"Very good, my lord," Einion said, and bowing, he left the prince.

Madoc climbed to his tower sanctuary and peered out into the late afternoon twilight. It was beginning to snow. He felt a wave of frustration spilling over him. Winter. Winter was upon them, and it would be difficult with the bad weather to mount his search as quickly as he wanted. Somewhere over the mountains on the English side of Offa's Dyke was his wife. Was she afraid? Was she safe? Did she know in her heart that 'he longed for her and was even now seeking her? The thought that unless he was given a miracle, Wynne would undoubtedly bear their child alone, pained him. What if she died in childbirth? What would happen to their son? He angrily pushed the gloomy thoughts away.

Patience. It was a virtue of which he was not particularly fond, but one he had cultivated clown through the centuries out of necessity. Had he not learned patience, he could not have survived. Once again he knew he would have to be patient. When he had the maps, he would divide the vast territory separating him from his wife into small sections. Each section must be combed carefully for any sign of Wynne. It would take patience. It would take time. It would take luck. Wynne was brave, and she must know that he would not desert her. She would know he would not believe Brys's shallow ruse. She would know that he sought her; would find her and restore her to her rightful place by his side. Wynne must cultivate patience too. She must understand the difficulties involved.

Time. Why was it that time passed so quickly when life was sweet, and so slowly when you wanted it to hurry? Wynne stared out the narrow window in the Great Chamber, watching the heavy grey downpour. It had been five months since her abduction, and yet she felt as if she had been gone from Raven's Rock for years. The winter had been cold and forever, and now on this long-awaited day of the Spring equinox, the rain came in discouraging torrents. She turned away from the window, a tear sliding down her cheek. Where was Madoc? Why had he not found her by now? Certainly he didn't believe her dead. He wouldn't! How could he have left her to bear their child alone?

She had been in labor since early morning, but she had said nothing to those about her. If Wynne could not have her husband by her side, she wanted no one else near her. Since the day Eadwine Aethelhard had put the gold slave collar about her neck, Wynne felt as if it were an enchantment of sorts to keep Madoc from her. There was no way in which she could remove the hated collar. Eadwine had set it about her neck, locked it, and carried the key himself. At first it had taken all the courage she possessed not to go mad, for the collar not only openly labeled her, but it was indeed the successful deterrent he had said it would be. She could go nowhere without being marked for a slave, which meant there was no escape from Aelfdene for her.

In the beginning she had raged against her fate, but then she realized that since Eadwine was the only person who could free her, she would have to convince him that she was content. Wynne knew how very much he wanted her to be his wife. After her child was born, she would agree to his proposal. There was no priest at Aelfdene, and therefore they could not be formally married until a priest could be brought to them. Her status would only change in the sense that he would legally free her. When she told the priest of her predicament, he would, of course, forbid any marriage between them. Eadwine would have no choice but to let her go home. In her desperation and naivete, Wynne was convinced that the scenario could be successful, for although Eadwine Aethelhard was a stubborn man, he was also a very honorable man.

So over the past few months she had been sweet-tempered toward them all, despite the gold slave collar she wore about her neck. She never forgot that she was Wynne of Gwernach, wife to Madoc, prince of Powys. "Madoc!" she half whispered, and a hard pain gripped her, causing her to gasp aloud and double over. When the pain had passed, she straightened up and moved slowly across the Great Chamber to where the birthing chair with its open center had already been set up in anticipation of her child's birth. Wynne stripped off her yellow tunic dress and her indigo-blue under tunic, folding them carefully and putting them away in the large, carved chest that Eadwine had given her for her possessions.

Within the chest were the things she needed for the birth. She carefully lifted them out, spreading several thicknesses of cloth beneath the chair first and then laying out the baby's little gown, a cap, and the swaddling cloth, toweling, and finally a small flask of rendered lamb fat for gently cleaning her child free of the birthing blood. Another pain tore through her, and Wynne groaned loudly. The pressure was almost too much to bear. She seated herself in the birthing chair, legs spread, drawing her chemise up about her waist, and as she did so, a great gush of water issued forth from between her thighs. With a mutter of irritation, Wynne arose slowly from her chair and, kneeling down, removed the cloth beneath it, replacing it with fresh cloths. The soaking-wet fabric she lay carefully aside to be washed. Waste was an anathema to her, and, like most women of her time, she was frugal by nature. She returned to her chair.

Pain. And more pain overcame her. She gripped the arms of the birthing chair, struggling not to cry out too loudly. Eadwine, she knew, was surveying the rain-soaked fields, for the barley had been planted earlier in the week. His sons and their families kept to their own halls during the day, and Wynne had cleverly sent Ealdraed to the cook house to discuss with Heall her plans for the kitchen gardens this season. The cook had asked her to take charge of that small part of his domain. "That you may have all you need for your pharmacea, lady," he had said.

Her pains were coming quickly now, and the feeling of strong pressure was completely unbearable. She could not help herself, and with a great groan she pushed down once, twice, and a third time. For a dizzying moment she was free of pain. Then the agony and the straining began again. She was quite powerless to stop it now, for the birth was imminent. Unable to contain herself, Wynne cried out aloud, pushing down again as she did so. She found herself panting wildly. She could actually feel the child being born, but now she suddenly wondered if she could indeed birth Madoc's son without help. A shriek was torn forth from her again, and then, to her relief, she heard familiar footsteps upon the staircase.

Eadwine Aethelhard practically leapt into the Great Chamber and, hurrying to her side, knelt down, his hands sliding beneath the birthing chair. "The child is half born, my wild Welsh girl," he said.

"I don't want you here," she gasped unreasonably as another spasm gripped her vitals and she bore down once more. "I… I want Madoc!" Still, she was glad to see him, even if she couldn't admit it.

"Push again, and once again," he calmly instructed her, ignoring her sham anger.

"I hate you!" she cried out to him, but obeyed. Suddenly she realized that her travail was nearly over. From beneath the chair, she heard a small whimper which was almost immediately followed by a tiny bellow of outrage. Gasping and still overcome with small pains as she expelled the afterbirthing, Wynne watched in amazement as Eadwine tenderly cleaned the child off. Expertly he put the tiny gown on the infant, gently fit the tiny cap on the tiny head, swaddled it most efficiently, and handed it to her.

"You have a fine son, my wild Welsh girl!" he said approvingly. "What is his name to be?"

Wynne looked down at her son and tears sprang into her eyes. How much like Madoc he was, she thought sadly. They had planned to call a son Anwyl after that long-ago child from another time and another place; but she knew the circumstances of this baby's birth would not allow her to call him Anwyl. Someday they would be free, but she never wanted to forget Brys of Cai's wickedness, and so looking up at Eadwine Aethelhard, she replied softly, "His name is Arvel ap Madoc. Arvel means wept over, for this son of Madoc, the prince of Powys, is far from his heritage, and is to be wept over by all until he can be restored to it. By his mother, who has brought him into this slavery; and by his father, who has so longed for his coming and has lost him before he even knew him." She handed the baby back to the thegn. "Take him, my lord, and place him gently in his cradle while I attend myself."

"If you will wed with me, Wynne," Eadwine Aethelhard said, laying the infant in his cot, "I will raise your child as if he were my very own child."

"He will not be considered a slave?" she asked as she cleaned herself free of the traces of Arvel's birth. The heir to Powys-Wenwynwyn must not be a slave!

"Nay! From this moment of his birth he is free, and so I will affirm to all, my wild Welsh girl!" declared Eadwine Aethelhard passionately.

Wynne drew forth a clean chemise from her chest and put it on, adding her old garment to the pile of bloodied laundry. Slowly she crawled into their bed space. She was aching and suddenly very tired. "I am not certain that it is right, my lord, but I will be your wife," she promised, "if a priest, knowing of my history, will marry us."

He nodded. "We have no priest at Aelfdene now, and although I have applied to the diocese at Worcester for one, they have not yet granted us this blessing. Until such time as a priest is sent to us, Wynne, you will live with me openly as my wife. I will make it publicly known to all that I intend to wed with you; that you are to be treated with honor as the mistress of this manor; that all of your children are my children. There is nothing unusual in such an arrangement for a second marriage among our people. Rest now, my wild Welsh girl. You have done well this day. I will send Ealdraed to watch over Arvel, and you need have no fears for his safety." He bent down and kissed her gently, his crisp beard tickling her cheek. Then he left her.

She had done the right thing, Wynne thought sleepily. Arvel would never be a slave, no matter what happened. She would see that Eadwine fulfilled all his promises to her. As mistress of Aelfdene she would have even greater respect than she now had as Wynne, the healer. She was feeling giddy with happiness and filled with relief at having come through the perils of childbirth unscathed; of having a beautiful and apparently healthy son. Despite the rain, spring was here. Madoc would find them. It was the winter that had undoubtedly impeded his search. Now that spring was here, he would find them. Certainly before her six-week healing period was over, but if not before then, surely soon thereafter. Even if Eadwine was able to enforce his husbandly rights over her, it was a well-known fact that nursing women did not conceive. Everything would be all right. Madoc would soon find them and, in the meantime, her new status would protect her son.

And, indeed, Eadwine Aethelhard was true to his word. Several days after Arvel's birth he escorted Wynne into the hall. She was wearing a cream-colored tunic dress of brocatelle which had been embroidered with dainty gold thread butterflies. Beneath it was an under tunic of bright yellow silk. Eadwine had gifted her with it the day after Arvel's arrival, having instructed that it be secretly made for her. Upon her right shoulder Wynne had pinned a round gold brooch decorated with green agates. Another gift from this new husband she seemed to have acquired.

Eadwine Aethelhard had assembled his entire family, his servants, his freed men, and as many of his serfs as he could crowd into the hall. Wynne had to admit to herself that he was certainly a most attractive man in his scarlet kirtle. To celebrate the festive occasion, he had even perfumed his rich brown beard, and his brown hair curled gracefully just above his broad shoulders. Aye, he was a very handsome man with a commanding presence.

He led her to a high-backed chair that had been set before the dais at the end of the hall. Wynne sat as she knew she was expected to, and Eadwine Aethelhard stood by her side. "Today," he said, "I have freed this woman and her son from the bonds of slavery." He bent and unlocked the delicate gold slave collar from about her neck and put it in her lap. "It is yours to do what you will, my wild Welsh girl."

"I will send it to St. Frideswide's nunnery and ask that masses be said for the soul of your sons' mother, the lady Mildraed," Wynne told the assemblage.

A murmur of approval greeted her words, but Caddaric Aethelmaere glowered at Wynne, and she could feel his deep hatred.

"Today I have freed this woman and her son from slavery," Eadwine Aethelhard repeated, "and now I declare before all that I have taken her for my wife. When a priest is sent to us, we will formally seal this union; but you here know that in accordance with the old ways, I am within my rights to make the lady Wynne my wife by announcing it publicly before you all. Her infant son, Arvel, I adopt as my own child. Come now and pledge your fealty to the new lady of Aelfdene Manor."

"You would set this… this Welsh slave in our mother's place?" shouted Caddaric Aethelmaere. "How can you?" His fury caused him to redden unattractively.

"Wynne was a captive, Caddaric. She is of good birth," his father told him.

"How can you know that? Because she has told you so? I do not believe it for a minute! You are an old fool, my father! You have been ensorceled by this Welsh witch! You have already sampled her wares as is your right. Why must you wed her?" Caddaric demanded.

"Because I love her," Eadwine Aethelhard replied, his blue eyes hardening. "Because I am master here, and I choose to wed her. Now kneel before my lady and give your fealty, Caddaric, or I will disinherit you this day!"

For a moment it appeared that Caddaric Aethelmaere would defy his father, but Eadgyth Crookback gently tugged upon her husband's sleeve. Without even looking at her, Eadwine Aethelhard's eldest son fell to his knees before Wynne and hastily mumbled the required words of loyalty. Finishing, he looked up at her, and Wynne knew that Caddaric would never forgive her for this day. As he arose, Baldhere Arm-strang took his place and, with a wink at her, swore his oath of loyalty to Wynne.

Rising, he asked mischievously, "Shall I call you Mother, lady?"

"Not if you wish to become an old man," Wynne replied sweetly.

Her humor broke the tension within the hall, and the others in the crowded room knelt, pledging their fealty in unison to the new mistress of the manor. Ale was passed about, and a toast drunk to the newlyweds' health. The hall then emptied of all but family. Eadwine picked Wynne up and returned her to her bed in the Great Chamber, for she was not yet fully recovered from Arvel's birth. Ealdraed followed behind.

"I am so happy for you, lady," she half wept as she helped her mistress to disrobe and return to her sleeping space. "I never thought to see the master happy again, but since the day of your arrival he is a young man once more! You will not be unhappy with him, and it will be good to have babies about this hall as in the past."

Wynne said nothing in reply, for she was distressed over the fact that her milk had not come in despite her own remedies to encourage it. She had reluctantly agreed to allow Ealdraed's granddaughter, who had given birth to a stillborn child the day of Arvel's birth, to wet-nurse her son.

"I know how disappointed you are, lady," Ealdraed had told her, "but the child must be fed to survive; and my poor Gytha must have a reason to survive also. Her child is dead and so is her man. She is young, healthy, and free of pox. Her milk is rich, for it began to flow a week before her child was born."

Wynne had had no choice but to allow the unfortunate Gytha to wet-nurse her son. The girl, younger than Wynne by two years, was pitifully grateful for having been given a reason to go on living. She cradled Arvel lovingly, and Wynne was ashamed to feel herself being strongly overwhelmed by jealousy. Gytha would have a sleeping space in the Great Chamber, the only servant in the house so honored, for Wynne would not allow her son from her sight.

Summer was near, and Wynne eagerly waited for Madoc to come, but he did not. She tried to be patient, for she understood that he must seek for her as one would seek for the very first flower of the spring. Not an easy task. Beltaine came, the anniversary of their wedding day, and Wynne went out into the fields just before sunrise to gather flowers before the dew was off them. She washed her face in dew, for it held magical properties. Her tears flowed silently, and she looked to the brightening skies above for a sign of old Dhu, but there was none. There were robins, and larks, and sparrows and cuckoos calling back and forth to one another, but there was no harsh, raucous cry of a raven. She tried to reach out to him in her mind, but she could not seem to concentrate.

His face. Madoc's fierce and handsome face was becoming harder and harder for her to focus upon. It seemed so long since she had seen him, and yet it was but seven months. So much had happened since they had been parted. She was beginning to wonder if she would ever see him again. It was becoming more difficult to resist Eadwine Aethelhard's persistent wooing. She had reached the point where she was not even certain she wanted to resist him. She was still not fully recovered from the ordeal of her son's birth, and susceptible to the Saxon thegn's loving kindness. There was no doubt in her mind that he loved her, and he treated Arvel as if the baby were of his own blood. Indeed she had come upon him in the Great Chamber the previous evening, Arvel cradled in his bearlike grasp, singing a lullaby to her son.

It was not fair! Wynne thought. Madoc should be the one holding his son, singing to him, but Madoc, prince of Powys, was nowhere to be found. Would he ever find her? How would she deal with the problem of Arvel's heritage as he grew? Would she tell him, or would she let him believe that a kindly Saxon thegn was his father? No, Caddaric would see that Arvel knew Eadwine Aethelhard was only his adoptive father. Wynne sighed deeply. She had thought that when she remembered that distant past and came to grips with it, they would all live happily ever after, but obviously that was not to be. Why must she and Madoc be so torn apart just at the moment when they had begun to live their greatest happiness?

"I am going to have to come to terms with my life as it now is," Wynne said to herself aloud. "I cannot go on like this forever! How long do I wait for Madoc to come? Why has he not come by now? Is he coming? She sighed again and then bent down to gather up the sheaf of flowers she had set down when she had washed her face with the dew. Straightening up, she saw Eadwine Aethelhard coming across the field toward her.

"I awoke and you were gone," he called, waving.

She walked toward him. " 'Tis May morn," she said, not needing to offer any further explanation.

Reaching her, he gathered her into his arms and kissed her. "I missed you, sweeting," he said.

"Did you think I had run away, Eadwine?" she half teased him.

"You would not leave Arvel behind," he replied bluntly. "You are a good mother, Wynne. We should have more children."

She stiffened in his embrace, knowing what was about to come.

"Your healing period is over," he continued, "and I ache for you. I will wait no more!" His hand gently massaged her back in an attempt to relax her. "You are my wife, Wynne. I have said it before my sons, my family, my servants, and my serfs. None have denied you your rightful place at Aelfdene. Not even Caddaric. Now it is time for you to be my wife in the fullest sense."

There was no escape, she thought, her emotions mixed and confused. Looking up at him, she said, "Of course, my lord, it is your right. You are good to me, and I will deny you nothing." What else could she do?

"You deny me your heart," he said wisely, his blue eyes said.

Wynne nodded. "Aye, I do, Eadwine, but perhaps it will not always be that way. I must have time. You have given me everything but that. Mayhap I will never love you, I do not know, but I will care for you, and I will respect you."

"I want a child by you, Wynne," he told her.

"If God will it, my lord," she answered quietly.

"But in your heart you hope he will not, for then you would have to release your hold on your memories," Eadwine said half angrily.

"I will never forget what has been, Eadwine Aethelhard, and you do not have the right to ask that I do. Arvel is part of those memories. Would you have me deny him and his father, that your conscience be clear? You could return me to Powys and to Madoc if you chose to do so, but you do not. Yet you know I speak the truth of my past life, for all your denial to the contrary.

" Mercia and Powys are allies. My king's wife is Earl Aelfgar's daughter. You would not suffer in any way should you return me and my son to our own people, but you will not. You recognize my small status by your actions, my lord. You have honored me by declaring to all that I am your wife, but I wonder if the Church would agree and marry us within their sacred precincts.

"You but desire a child to bind me further," Wynne said shrewdly. "What if Madoc comes after I have had that child you so desperately want? What if he comes before, and I am heavy with that babe? I will be torn apart by the two of you, and it is not fair! God, I wish I were back at Gwernach and an innocent girl once again!" She angrily pulled out of his embrace and, pushing past him, fled toward the manor house.

Eadwine Aethelhard watched her go, sadness and frustration overwhelming him. She was right. It wasn't fair, but the chances of Madoc of Powys ever finding her were slim. There was too much distance between their lands. He had purchased her honorably. Even if every word she had told him since her arrival at Aelfdene was the truth, he was not legally bound to return her to Powys. He loved her, and to do so would break his heart. Wynne was his wife now. He was not yet forty-four. She made him feel like a young man. A young man with a fertile young wife. There would be children! He was dissatisfied with his two sons. He wanted other children for Aelfdene, and he would have them!

Chapter 14

There was no trace of Wynne of Gwernach in England, or so those sent out to seek her reluctantly reported to their lord, the prince of Powys-Wenwynwyn.

"She's in England," Madoc said stubbornly. "I know it!"

" England is a large land, my lord," Einion replied. "Our people have traveled the entire countryside along the border, following the exact route of the Irish slaver, Ruari Ban, as his passing is always noted by those who live there, for he is unlike most slavers, being a kind and merry soul. He sold no slaves until he came to Worcester. In Worcester there are many to attest to his coming. It is said of him that his merchandise is always good, his slaves healthy and obedient. Ruari Ban is always welcomed in Worcester."

"And no one remembers a woman of my wife's description among his slaves?" Madoc was beginning to look distraught.

"No, my lord, no one remembers a lady to match my lady's description," Einion answered, "but that does not mean she was not amongst Ruari Ban's slaves. He may have kept her hidden because he felt he could obtain a higher price in a larger town. Such practice is common among slavers with an eye to a good profit. Ruari Ban may be a decent fellow, but 'tis said of him that he strikes a hard bargain. Or he may have sold her privately along his route, as we had previously discussed. There would be nothing unusual in his doing that. It may be harder to trace her under those circumstances."

"Why have we not found her?!" Madoc cried angrily.

Einion cast his lord a look of pity which he masked lest he offend Madoc. "My lord, it will take time. Each Saxon man who can amass for himself five hides of land upon which he builds a fortified house, a chapel, a bakehouse and a little bell tower with a bell, is elevated to the rank of thegn. In some parts of England a hide is equal to one hundred and twenty acres, but in others 'tis only forty acres. There are many thegns now, my lord. Any of them with enough silver could have possession of my lady Wynne."

"And our child!" Madoc burst forth. "My child has surely been born by now, and I know not if I have a son or a daughter. I know not if my wife has survived the rigors of childbirth or if the child was stillborn from the shock of their abduction! I am Madoc of Powys! A prince of the great family of Wenwynwyn, but for all my magic I cannot find my wife or my child! What good are these powers I possess if they cannot return to me that which I treasure the most in this life?"

"All is not lost, my lord," Einion told Madoc. "You must have patience. Your destiny will not play itself out any quicker for your impatience."

Madoc stared at the big man, and then he laughed. "Einion, Einion! How is it you are so wise? I am a man used to having what he wants when he wants it, for I am the prince of Powys-Wenwynwyn; but in this instance I seem to be no better off than a common peasant laboring in my fields."

"Perhaps there is a lesson to be learned here, my lord," Einion said, smiling back at the prince.

"Perhaps," Madoc agreed thoughtfully.

"We will continue our search, my lord," Einion said.

"Send more men out," Madoc told him.

"I would not advise it, my lord, lest anyone become unduly suspicious of our activities," Einion replied. "Although King Gruffydd's wife is English, the Saxons are not really our friends. England is not a stable place at this moment. Edward may be king, but Earl Harold has gobbled up most of the land, if not for himself, then for his equally greedy brothers. Only Mercia remains out of his grasp, although he has bitten off that chunk of it called Herefordshire. His only bishop, Ealdred of Worcester, has been consecrated Archbishop of York; although that wily cleric is being forced to give up his bishopric in Worcester to Wolfstan, Ealdred still remains the lord of Oswaldstow. He is the most important landholder in southwest Mercia, and he is Earl Harold's man, having given his sacred oath."

"Bishop Wulfstan is also," Madoc answered, "though his first loyalty is to his God, but you are right, my good Einion. Harold Godwinson has no love for the Welsh, and King Gruf-fydd in particular. Should he learn that Gruffydd's cousin is a slave prisoner in England, Wynne and our child could be in even greater danger. We must proceed with caution, as hard as that is for us all. If I am eager to find my wife and bring her home, then too must Wynne be as eager to come home." He thought a moment and then said, "Has the slaver's route been traced past Worcester yet, Einion?"

"Aye, my lord. He traveled onward to the coast, where he took passage with about twenty slaves for Brittany."

"Send someone to follow in his path asking after my lady. If they cannot obtain any information," said Madoc, "then they are to continue on over the water to Brittany. Find Ruari Ban and question him. Bring him back to Raven's Rock if necessary, but find him! In the meantime we will continue combing the countryside on the other side of Offa's Dyke for Wynne and our child."

Madoc turned away from Einion, and knowing that he had been dismissed, the big man hurried off to carry out his lord's new orders. Although Madoc could not know it, Einion understood his pain. Megan had recently given birth to their first child, a daughter, whom they had named Gwynedd, meaning blessed one. Einion knew that if his wife and daughter had been lost to him, he would find it difficult if not impossible to go on with his life. He admired Madoc, whom he knew loved Wynne totally and to the exclusion of all women. He realized what strength of will his prince must be imposing upon himself in order to remain calm in the face of this crisis. Like Madoc, Einion knew in his heart that Wynne was not dead; but he questioned whether they would find her again. And if they did, Einion considered, could these lovers be successfully reunited? Having suffered enslavement, Einion knew the fate of a beautiful woman far better than did his lord. Time was very much of the essence.

The year deepened, and England, for centuries wetter and colder than most places upon the earth, had begun to enjoy a period of sunny, warm summers. The fields were lush with ripening grain hurrying toward the harvest. Aelfdene was a prosperous estate with a good master who was canny enough to keep adding land to his holdings as it became available to him. Technically, Eadwine Aethelhard could not claim unconditional possession of his lands. He held lands at the pleasure of his lord, who in this case was the Mercian earl, Edwin. Aelfdene and its original land grant had been in his family since the days of the great Mercian king, Offa. Local legend said that it had been Eadwine Aethelhard's ancestor who had given King Offa the idea for his famous dyke and earthworks, which stretched for seventy miles along the border between his kingdom and the Welsh kingdoms, notably Powys. The original grant had been seven hides of land. By the time he had inherited Aelfdene and been confirmed in his inheritance by the previous earl, Aelfgar, the estate had grown to twelve hides of land. Eadwine Aethelhard had industriously added an additional six.

There was a distinct social order at Aelfdene, as there was all over England in the year 1062. Slaves and serfs were the lowest order. Slaves possessed nothing and owed their very lives to their masters. Serfs were only slightly better off, owing everything to their lord's bounty and bound to his land from birth to death. They, however, might accumulate a few possessions. There were few slaves at Aelfdene, and those who came as slaves were usually quickly elevated to the rank of serf if their behavior merited it. Troublesome slaves were as quickly sold off, for no thegn tolerated sedition upon his own lands.

Above the serfs were the cottars. Most of the cottars at Aelfdene were craftsmen. Among them was a blacksmith, a potter, a miller, two sawyers, and a tinker. Each was given a cottage by the thegn as well as a few acres to farm plus the tools and equipment with which to practice his craft. They owed Eadwine Aethelhard in return one day's work each week, and an additional three days a week during the harvest, when they were expected to go into the fields to reap the grain. Still in all, they were free men, and if they found themselves unhappy, they were able to move on to another village or another estate.

Every cottar aspired to become a gebura. Geburas could hold twenty acres of land from their lord. In general a man raised up to such a rank was given a good start by the lord in the form of livestock, tools, seed, and even some furniture for his home. A gebura was hardworking and reliable, a man upon whom his lord could totally depend. When a gebura died, his possessions, of course, reverted to the lord, but they were usually given back to the gebura's heir provided he was as reliable as his predecessor.

In exchange for his status, the gebura gave his lord two days of work each week as well as an additional three days a week during both the spring planting and the harvest seasons. He had to help with the plowing of the common land. He owed his lord tenpence at Michaelmas; two sacks of grain and two hens at Martinmas; a lamb at Easter; and one pig each year in exchange for the right to keep his pigs in the lord's forest, where they fed on whatever they could find. It was a great responsibility, and most geburas had large families to help them with all of their duties.

Eadwine Aethelhard was relatively free from agricultural duties, thanks to his cottars and his geburas. As thegn of Aelfdene he had other, more important duties. It was up to him to feed, protect, and escort any of Earl Edwin's messengers passing through his lands. Had the earl himself come his way, it would have been up to the thegn of Aelfdene to offer generous hospitality to Edwin and any who traveled with him. The thegn had not seen Earl Edwin since he was a very small child, when Earl Aelfgar had come with his son to see Eadwine Aethelhard. Aelfdene was not as easily accessible as other manors, nor was it on any heavily traveled track.

But nevertheless, Eadwine Aethelhard took his duties to his earl most seriously. He looked after the earl's hunting rights, hunted down and most vigorously prosecuted any poachers he could find, and saw that fences were built and maintained where they were needed. There was one stone bridge on Aelfdene lands that crossed a stream and led to a narrow track that ran down the hills to a main road. The thegn kept that bridge in good repair.

Once each month the thegn of Aelfdene sat in judgment with two other thegns in the local hundred court, where petty crimes and minor disputes were settled. Twice a year it was his duty to sit upon the bench in the shire court in Worcester, which heard more serious crimes and meted out judgments in the name of the king. Eadwine Aethelhard never shirked these duties, for he was a man of honor.

The most important duty of a thegn, however, was his military service. For two months of each year Eadwine Aethelhard was on call to Earl Edwin and to King Edward. His sons were on call as well. Men like these were the backbone of the fyrd, which was the army that the king or his earls could call upon to defend England. In times of strife the thegns would raise small troops of armed men to bring to the aid of their overlord. They provisioned them and supplied their men with everything they needed. Once each month the men at Aelfdene would have weapons practice upon their village green. Offa's Dyke did not always prevent the Welsh from cattle raids and general mayhem.

Usually, however, one year passed another without the people of Aelfdene ever seeing a stranger but for the king's tax collector, who always arrived regularly to collect the two hundred seventy shillings owed by Eadwine Aethelhard to the crown. Each hide of his lands was assessed at fifteen shillings. He raised the monies for his taxes from his rents, the sale of his extra produce and livestock, and from his mill, which for a fee ground grain belonging to some of his smaller neighbors without mills.

Aelfdene was, like all English manors, fairly self-reliant. They grew their own food, raised their own livestock, spun their own wool, brewed their own beer, made their own butter and cheese. It was not a very different life than Wynne had lived at Gwernach, and she had not lived at Raven's Rock long enough to become used to its luxuries. It was not difficult for her to find herself becoming more and more comfortable as each day passed.

When she had first come to Aelfdene, she had thought of Madoc constantly. Now she found that her mind was full of Arvel, and Eadwine, and her duties as Aelfdene's mistress. Madoc, who had followed her through time and space to make his peace with her, could not seem to find her on the other side of Offa's Dyke. Perhaps he did not want to, or perhaps it was their destiny to be separated now that they had resolved the past. She could not seem to reach out to him, nor he to her. Wynne did not understand why, but she knew that life would go on nonetheless. She owed Eadwine some measure of happiness for the love he was lavishing upon her and upon Arvel.

He was a most passionate man, and it constantly astounded her that a man in his forties could be so intensely amorous. And he was thoughtful as well. On Beltaine, when he had told her most firmly that her healing period was now past and that he intended to exert his rights over her, she had been hesitant for a number of reasons, but she had told him she would comply with his wishes. There had been no one else but them at the high board that evening, to her puzzlement. The meal was a surprisingly delicate one and not at all what she had instructed Heall to prepare.

A basket of raw oysters had been served to Eadwine along with a goblet of heavy, rich-spiced wine. At her place, however, had been set a dainty breast of capon poached in white wine, as well as a goblet of the spiced wine. With a broad grin Ealdraed placed a platter of boiled asparagus and a dish of chestnuts which had been cooked with a single leaf of mint. Wynne flushed, embarrassed. The menu before them was one intended to arouse their passions and increase their sexual activity. She could barely nibble at the food, although Eadwine ate with gusto.

"I must bathe," she said finally when she could sit no more. "I have spent the day out of doors and am rank with my own sweat."

"The tub awaits you, my lady," Ealdraed cackled.

From the corner of her eye Wynne saw Gytha, Arvel in her arms, slipping from the hall. "Gytha!" she called sharply. "Where are you going with my son? It is much too late for Arvel to be out."

"I am taking him to the cottage that my lord Eadwine has given me," Gytha said brightly. "Oh, lady! Tis such a fine cottage, with its own fire pit and a sleeping shelf with a featherbed!"

"I want no one else privy to our privacy, Wynne," the thegn said firmly before she could protest. "I would not put Arvel in any danger." Then he turned and smiled at the young wet nurse. "You may take our son and go, Gytha," he told her.

With a smile the girl curtsied and departed the hall. Ealdraed, too, seemed to have suddenly disappeared. Angrily Wynne arose and ran up the stairs to the Great Chamber. How dare he separate her from Arvel? Then entering the room, she saw it. A bed! A great, large bed with brass rings and brocade hangings! A bed with a mattress, and a featherbed, bolster pillows, and a down coverlet!

"Ohh, " she gasped, surprised, and felt the tears springing to her eyes. "Oh."

"You have spoken of a bed ever since your arrival here," he said, and she was surprised again, for she had not heard him come. "I know that you are uncomfortable with our simple sleeping spaces."

"But where did you find this?" Wynne asked him, touched that he cared for her that much, yet angry that his kindness made her own ire seem petty by comparison.

"I have traveled a bit in my life and knew what a bed was," he told her. "One of my sawyers is particularly clever at making furniture. I explained to him what it was I wanted, and together I think we have managed to get it right. The springs are deerhide for strength. They will not break beneath our combined weights. The mattress has been stuffed with a mixture of hay, straw, rose petals, and lavender. The featherbed and the coverlet will keep us comfortable, I promise you."

"And the pillows? Where did you obtain pillows?" she asked him.

"In Worcester when I went to serve in the shire court last month," he said with a grin. "I have surprised you, haven't I, Wynne?"

"You have indeed surprised me, Eadwine," she admitted.

"There will be other changes to come too," he promised her. "Two days' journey from Aelfdene is the manor of Aelfleah, whose lord is my distant cousin, Aldwine Athelsbeorn. His home has always been thought odd by all, for where the Great Chamber should be, Aldwine has instead built several rooms for privacy's sake. We will journey there one day soon and see exactly how he has done this. Then we will do it here at Aelfdene. Would that please you, Wynne?"

She nodded. "Aye, it would."

"Good! Now let us bathe, sweeting. I am anxious to try out our new bed. I have sent our nosy old Ealdraed off" to spend her night with Gytha, so if you need help, it is I who will maid you."

The big tub stood awaiting them in its corner. Wynne undressed quickly, pinning her hair atop her head, and stepped into the warm water. Over the winter she had made several cakes of a fine soap which she had scented with lavender, that being the only dried herb she had that appealed to her in her pregnant state. She washed her face and was lathered and rinsed when he finally entered their tub.

Taking the soap from her, he turned her about and said, "Let me wash you, my love," and his lips nibbled lightly against the back of her damp neck.

He pulled her back against him, and immediately she could feel his persistent maleness against her. He was already engorged with his passion. His big hands, well-soaped, cupped her breasts and began to fondle them. His rough thumbs rubbed sensuously against her very sensitive nipples, even as bending over her his tongue licked about the shell of her ear.

"Do you know how much I desire you, Wynne?" he whispered softly to her.

"Aye," she said low. Oh, why were his hands so gentle and yet so provocative against her skin?

"I want you to desire me," he told her, and his tongue pushed into her ear to tickle it.

"No," she replied, but there was little conviction in her voice.

"Yes," he murmured, and while one hand grasped one of her breasts, the other slid lingeringly down her torso, his touch fiery and intimate. His lips kissed the side of her neck while a single finger slipped between her nether lips to find that sentient little pearl of her sex. Slowly, insistently, the tip of his finger stroked her, setting wildfires ablaze throughout her whole body.

Her upper teeth gnawed at her lower lip as she strove to maintain a control over herself; but her hips began to rotate seemingly of themselves, and she could not prevent a small groan from escaping from between her lips. She could feel him, hard and demanding, against her buttocks. "We will never finish our bathing," she managed to protest faintly, "and the water grows cold."

"Then wash me," he growled low, and turning her about, he kissed her with a hard kiss. "All of me!"

He held her in a light grip, an arm about her waist, as she began to soap him. Her breath was coming in short pants, for although she wanted to deny it, she was greatly aroused by this man who called himself her husband. Her breasts just touched his muscled, furred chest, and she blushed to see how thrusting and pointed her nipples were. "I cannot wash you properly if you do not release your hold on me, my lord," she finally said in an effort to regain some measure of self-control, and he instantly did.

"I do not want to impede you in your wifely duties," he teased, and chuckled at the pink flooding her cheeks.

Wynne tried to work with some sort of order. Unsmiling, she washed his chest and his arms, his shoulders and his neck. Taking her cloth, she washed his face and his ears, scolding him roundly as she did so. "Men! You are no better than little boys! Look at these ears, my lord! When on earth was the last time you washed them? Ears must be washed along with everything else!"

He chuckled at her, and his eyes were warm as he gazed down on her. This was what he had needed in his life. A young wife who scolded him, and whose passion-for despite her denials to the contrary, she was passionate-would keep him warm of a winter's night. He snatched the cloth playfully from her. "Let me see your ears, my lady wife! Ahh, yes, they are most perfect." He nipped at an earlobe and she shrieked.

"My lord Eadwine! You must behave yourself or I shall never get this done. The water is practically icy! Turn about that I may wash your back."

"Be gentle this time, lady," he begged her, remembering the last time she had washed his back.

Because this was a tub in which one could stand, and it had just been filled full, Wynne could not wash his legs and feet, and told him so. "You must do your own," she said, but he caught her hand in his and drew it down to his manhood.

"Will you not wash this randy piece of me, lady?" he pleaded softly, but did not release his hold upon her, even as with burning cheeks she dragged her cloth across his flesh. He held her gaze in his, willing her to touch him in a more intimate fashion. His lips brushed hers teasingly and, finally unable to help himself, he begged her with a single word, "Please!"

"Ahhh," she sighed, moved, unable to resist his plea, "you are cruel, my lord," and then her fingers closed over the great shaft of his manhood, fondling it gently, then stroking it until he thought he would expire of the simple pleasure she was offering.

"Tonight," he half groaned, "I will look into your face when I take you, my sweet wife. Do you know how very much I want to see your passion?" His arms wrapped about her and he kissed her hungrily, his lips almost tasting hers as he communicated his desire for her.

Wynne's arms slipped up and wound themselves about his neck. She sighed deeply as her breasts pressed hard against his chest. She was unable to help herself. She was eighteen years old and filled with the joy of life. Whether Madoc came or did not come, she could not deter this marvelous man in his intent. She didn't want to deter him. She wanted him to make love to her, and she wanted to make love to him in return.

"Not here," she whispered to him. "We cannot allow that wonderful bed to go to waste, Eadwine, my lord."

He climbed from the tub and, turning about, lifted her out, setting her upon the floor. He would have hurried, but Wynne would not allow it, explaining that if the bed were to get wet, it would take much effort to properly dry it. They dried each other carefully, and then Eadwine set her back that he might admire her natural beauty. Blushing, Wynne returned the compliment, her green eyes widening just slightly at the sight of his manhood, for he was certainly well-favored.

His hand reached out to caress her skin. "You are so fair," he said, his voice tender and filled with love. "I never knew a woman could be so fair." Reaching up, he loosed her long hair and it fell about her like a silken mantle. "It is as black as the night and as soft as satin," he observed. "Arvel has your hair."

"His father is also dark," Wynne said softly.

"I am his father," Eadwine Aethelhard told her. "Arvel is as much mine as he from whose seed he sprang. You cannot know, for not wanting to frighten you, I did not tell you, but when Arvel entered the world, the cord was wrapped about his neck. His color was good, however, but 'twas I who freed him and cleared his throat of mucus. 'Twas I who breathed the life into him."

Wynne stared at him, shocked. Her passion dissolved for the moment. "He might have died," she whispered, horrified not simply by his disclosure, but by the fact her stubborn determination to deliver her child alone might have cost him his life had Eadwine Aethelhard not come into the Great Chamber when he did.

"I was there to see him safely through the danger," Eadwine told her, correctly divining her thoughts. "I loved the boy from the moment I saw him. He will grow to be a strong and good man here at Aelfdene."

"Pray God he grows to be like you, my lord," Wynne answered him. "I could wish for no more than that." She put her arms about his neck and kissed his tenderly. "Thank you Eadwine, for seeing that my son lived when you could have as easily allowed him to die."

"I could never have allowed him to die, my wild Welsh girl," he told her. "Not when I love his mother so deeply. I will never make you unhappy, Wynne. Never."

"Say it not, my lord," she told him. " 'Tis too great a promise to make."

He lifted her up in his arms and walked slowly toward their bed. "I will make you happier than you have ever been, my beautiful wife," he replied, setting her gently upon the coverlet, pressing her back amid the pillows, kissing her until she was dizzy with pleasure.

Happier than she had ever been. Was such a thing possible now? Once, oh it seemed so long ago, she had believed herself happier than any woman had a right to be. Once, long ago; but that long-ago time was gone; and she was beginning to realize, unlikely ever to come back. She caressed the back of his neck and felt his flesh prickle beneath her touch. Her fingers twined themselves through his thick ash-brown hair as once again his lips began to rain kisses upon her. His mouth was warm and just a little moist as he half kissed, half nibbled down the slender column of her throat.

She set his senses aflame. Her skin was like living silk beneath his touch, and perfumed with lavender. Her raven's-black hair was equally fragrant and soft. He could feel the blood coursing throughout her body wherever his lips passed. He moved to suckle upon her nipples, which seemed to push themselves at him, and he was selfishly glad her mother's milk had not come in, that he not be denied this pleasure.

His mouth upon her breasts all but destroyed her. Wynne could never remember her body being this sensitive, this attuned to a man; but perhaps it had just been so long, she reasoned guiltily with herself. She tingled all over with each tug of his lips, and a dull ache began to permeate her lower belly. She moaned low, and by the subtle slight movements of her body, urged him onward, but the thegn was not to be rushed. He had desired her from the first moment he had ever seen her, and their earlier couplings, when she had been pregnant with Arvel, had but whetted his carnal appetites.

Drawing himself level with her once more, they began to kiss and caress each other simultaneously. Her lips were bruised with his kisses, but she did not want him to cease. Her fingers found battle wounds upon his skin as they passed teasingly over his flesh. She twisted from his embrace and kissed each roughened patch of skin, and he shivered at her touch. He rolled upon his back and lifted her atop him.

"You do not fear passion, do you?" he said, smiling up into her flushed face.

"Nay, not even from the beginning," she told him honestly, and leaned forward to nibble upon his lower lip, her breasts brushing the wiry hair upon his chest in a provocative fashion.

Unable to restrain himself, he stroked them, saying, "I want to prolong this time with you, my wild Welsh girl, but my own desires are near to bursting. Let me but have you once, and then I shall spend an eternity giving you pleasure!"

Wynne smiled down at him. "You are extravagant in your avowals of love, my lord," she teased him. "I, too, am eager to consummate this union!" Then to his great surprise she moved back just slightly, her green eyes half closed and glittering; and with a deep sigh she sheathed him languidly within her eager body. "You wanted to see my face when we mated this night," she said softly, looking down into his eyes. "Does this please you, my lord?"

"Nay," he told her, and then he quickly reversed their positions so that she now lay beneath him, "but this does! A wife should submit beneath her husband, my wild Welsh girl!"

Wynne laughed up into his face. "Why?" she demanded.

"Because a man is master of his household," came the answer, and he began to move upon her slowly.

"There will never be any peace between us, my lord, unless you learn that I am your equal within the privacy of our chamber," Wynne told him, and she forced herself to remain perfectly still.

"My equal?" He began to thrust with sharp, little movements of his hips and buttocks.

"In our bed," she replied, gasping softly, and then, pulling his head down to hers, she kissed him, her tongue pushing into his mouth to taunt him.

"My wild Welsh witch!" he groaned, and her tongue licked at his throat, her teeth nipped at his earlobe. His movements became faster.

"Your equal!" she persisted. She didn't know how much longer she could keep this up.

"Aye!" he half sobbed, and beneath him she returned his passion so that they moved in tandem, their bellies crushing at one another, their buttocks straining, their thighs slippery with their efforts.

Wynne felt the delicious remembered feelings of high passion beginning to catch at her. Releasing her grip on her self-control, she began to soar, following after the pleasure as it moved from plateau to plateau in search of perfect fulfillment. She could hear her own heart thumping wildly in her ears as the crisis neared for them both. Eadwine's handsome face was contorted with his raging desires and, as his passion burst, he howled a warrior's cry of victory, collapsing atop her.

Now Wynne could feel his own heart against hers. The sensation of his love juices flooding her was acute. She was but a moment behind him in ecstasy, sliding into a semiconscious state as satisfaction and delighted contentment overwhelmed her, rendering her weak with pleasure. For a long minute they lay together, and Wynne realized that she liked the weight of him upon her. There was something comforting about him; and even though this tumultuous coming together of theirs had occurred on the first anniversary of her marriage to Madoc of Powys, Wynne could feel nothing but happiness. Madoc was gone from her life as mysteriously as he had appeared in it; but in his place was a man who loved her.

She kissed the top of his head, and, looking up at her, he smiled. Wynne could not help but smile back, and in the many nights of passion that followed that first one, she came to realize that she loved him. Not with the same desperation or wild ardor as she loved Madoc, but with a quieter and deeper feeling. The autumn came and it was with joy that Wynne realized she was once again with child. Eadwine Aethelhard's child.

Her husband, for indeed she had grown to think of him as her husband, was delighted. Baldhere made wickedly bawdy remarks about his father's sexual prowess. The other women of the family were pleased for her, for it made Wynne truly one of them. Only Caddaric Aethelmaere was displeased and bitter.

"Are you certain she whelps your cub?" he demanded rudely of his father one October evening. "These Welsh wenches are said to be loose in their ways. You spawned but two children with my mother. Why should this woman now be ripening with your seed? It could be the bastard of some stableman or cowherd, and you in your dotage, Father, preen and prance about the hall like some young stallion trumpeting an accomplishment of which you are probably not capable."

Wynne, seated at her loom by the main fire pit, rose to her feet and moved to her husband's side. Her small hand snaked out to hit her stepson with a fierce blow. "How dare you?" she said to him. "How dare you insult your father so? And me as well? You do not have the right, Caddaric Aethelmaere. Your father, my husband, is more man at forty-three than you will ever be for all your women! Your mother, my God assoil her kind soul, was incapable of bearing children successfully after you and your brother were born. It happens sometimes with women. That is no reflection upon your father, who remained always faithful to her in her lifetime, else you should see familiar faces amongst the younger serfs.

"But she is dead now, and your father has taken me to be his wife. I am young, and I am fertile. I will give your father as many children as he will give me, Caddaric Aethelmaere! If you cannot keep a civil tongue in your head in future, then you may not come into our hall. I will not be insulted, nor will I allow your father to be," Wynne finished, and then she returned to her loom.

"She is overproud, your Danish wife," Caddaric Aethelmaere said, rubbing his cheek, amazed by the strength of her blow, which had come close to staggering him; but only, he reassured himself, because she had taken him by surprise. If he had her under him between his strong thighs, he would have had her screaming for mercy.

"Danish wife or no," replied Eadwine, "Wynne is my wife, and the child she carries my child, and the son she bore last spring mine by right of adoption."

The term Danish wife that his son had used referred to the fact that their union had not yet been blessed by the clergy. It was a common practice in England among many Saxons for the men of wealth to have two or more wives at a single time if they so chose, despite the reality of the Christian religion which was now dominant in the land. The old ways died hard, and there were many reasons other than children for a man to take a wife. Powerful men married for wealth and more power, rich men for more riches; but there was always love to consider. The Danish wife was the woman a man took sometimes for the sake of love. A wife taken under canon law was usually wed for more practical purposes. The children of a Danish wife, or indeed any of a man's concubines, were considered as legitimate as the children of the wife a man wed only for the sake of power and gold. Concubines, however, had not the prestige and status of a wife or a Danish wife. A Danish wife was as respected and as honored as any other wife.

From that night on, Caddaric Aethelmaere kept a guard on his tongue where his father's marriage and his father's wife were concerned. It was not that he felt any less bitter, but Eadgyth Crookback warned him that he endangered his own inheritance with his loose tongue.

"You are now legally entitled to inherit Aelfdene Manor as your father's eldest son," she warned him, "but if you continue to offend Eadwine Aethelhard, it is his right to divide his lands amongst whomever he chooses, or even disinherit you entirely. He has already adopted Wynne's son, Arvel, and your stepmother will give your father a child in the spring. It could be another male child. You call your father old, but he is not. Once we women teased Wynne about her elderly husband, and she blushingly confided to us that he is a vigorous lover. He uses her each night, and sometimes more than once, my husband! He could get half-a-dozen children on her before he tires of passion, Caddaric! Continue to offend Wynne and your father and you could find yourself without a manor house and but five hides of land only when my father dies."

So following his wife's advice, for Caddaric Aethelmaere had always respected Eadgyth Crookback's opinion, the thegn's eldest son ceased his attacks on Wynne and his father. The two men were at constant sword points, nonetheless, over the politics of the day. King Edward was more saint than ruler. The son of Emma of Normandy and Aethelred, called the "Unready," he had been raised in his mother's country and come to the throne only upon the death of two half brothers who numbered among his several predecessors. His wife was the daughter of the late Earl Godwin, also called Eadgyth; but the marriage was in name only, for Edward was a deeply religious man who would have entered a monastery had he not been prevented from it, being in the direct line of descent.

His celibacy, however, meant there would be no children of his union with Godwin's daughter. Edward had chosen as his heir his cousin, William the Bastard, duke of Normandy. Godwin did not approve the choice, but Godwin was now dead, and his son, Harold, took up where his father had left off. Edward was the last of Cedric's line. He would be the final king of the blood of Wessex. Royal blood did not run in Harold Godwinson's veins, and yet he aspired to Edward's throne once it became vacant.

Men like Caddaric Aethelmaere supported Harold. He was Saxon English, and the fact that royal blood did not run in his veins did not matter to them. Eadwine Aethelhard, on the other hand, believed that King Edward's choice must be honored. Besides, Eadwine had told Wynne, he did not believe that Harold could stem the tide of any invasion from the Viking north. William could. Harold would plunge England into one war or another, for men like Harold liked war. It was their business. William, on the other hand, preferred peace, although he was an excellent soldier. War cost a man his gold. Peace made a man more gold. So father and son argued back and forth nightly in a battle that neither could resolve.

Wynne enjoyed their disputes to a point, for she was learning all about English politics. She found it interesting, and wondered when Duke William claimed his inheritance someday whether he would be content to remain on the English side of Offa's Dyke, or whether he would come with his knights to invade Wales. Would Gwernach be in danger? Or St. Bride's? She often wondered how her family was getting on and hoped that one day Eadwine would allow her to go back to Gwernach for a visit. Would Enid still be alive?

She sighed, and then her hand went to her belly as the child moved. Two children in two years. She wanted to give Eadwine more babies, but she didn't want to become enceinte for at least another two years after this child was born. It was very wearing on her, for all her youth and vigor. To that end she was secretly making and storing vaginal pessary. Men were so silly about things like that.

Martinmas came. The cottars and geburas arrived to bring the thegn his rents. They celebrated with roast goose and baked apples. Arvel already had several teeth and gnawed happily upon a leg bone. He was a beautiful baby, with his father's blue eyes and dark hair. He was also a happy and secure child who made his needs easily known by shouting "Ba!" and pointing to whatever it was he desired. To Eadwine's delight, the baby would always call out "Da!" whenever he appeared within the infant's view. Arvel loved everyone with the exception of Caddaric Aethelmaere. He grew strangely quiet in his presence, as if sensing an enemy.

At Christ's Mass Wynne thought of Nesta, of whom she had given little thought over the past months. Nesta's baby would be a year old now. She missed Madoc's merry sister and wondered if Nesta ever thought of her. It was another lifetime, Wynne considered, for just the briefest moment saddened. She had been abducted more than a year ago, and yet despite the beautiful summer and the mild winter they were now experiencing, Madoc had never come for her. Sometimes she wondered if he were yet alive, or had he died of a broken heart as the wicked Brys of Cia had predicted. It didn't matter anymore. She was Eadwine's wife. Soon she would bear his child. She loved him.

Chapter 15

On the fifth day of the month of April in the year 1063, two days after her nineteenth birthday, the thegn of Aelfdene's wife gave birth to a daughter. Eadwine Aethelhard was as delighted as Wynne.

“ 'Twill save us difficulty," she said. "For all his silence, Caddaric remains jealous. He will not think of his half sister as a threat."

"I have a gift for you to honor this occasion," Eadwine told her. "I have built a new cottage and raised to the rank of gebura one of my cottars. He is, it seems, clever with bees, and we need a beekeeper at Aelfdene. The rents from the land the beekeeper hold of me are to be yours, my love. When our daughter marries one day, they will serve as part of her dowry."

"How wonderful!" Wynne said, and then she laughed. " 'Tis a sweet gift you have given me, my lord."

"Have you thought of a name for her?" he asked, looking down dotingly upon the baby who had his ash-brown hair and eyes he suspected would turn as green as her mother's. She was not all delicate like Wynne either, but a large baby, more a Saxon child.

"Averel," Wynne told him. "I want to name her Averel for the month in which she was born. 'Tis a pretty name, and she will be a pretty girl one day, for all her sturdiness. She is certainly your daughter, Eadwine. See! She has your nose and mouth, and her hands are very like yours."

He chuckled, pleased. "Averel Aethelhardsdatter. Aye, I like it too, my wild Welsh girl!"

"Da!" Arvel tugged at Eadwine's kirtle insistently. He was thirteen months old now and wise enough to know that another center of attention was taking this big man he adored away from him.

With a smile Eadwine lifted the boy up into his lap. "Look, Arvel, my son. You have a baby sister. Her name is Averel and it will be your duty to protect her always, until she is wed one day and safe within another man's house."

Arvel leaned forward and peered at the swaddled infant. He found her singularly uninteresting, so, putting his thumb in his mouth, he cuddled back against his foster father. "Da," he sighed happily, content in the warmth of Eadwine's arms.

Baldhere Armstrang took in this most loving and domestic picture as he entered into the Great Chamber. "Old Ealdraed tells me I have a baby sister," he said, smiling at his father and stepmother. Bending, he looked down at the baby and then he chuckled. "She's got your stamp on her, Father," he said. "What is her name?"

"Averel," came the reply.

" 'Tis pretty. I'm sorry I won't get to see her grow up, but a messenger has just come to say that Aeldra's father is near death. We must leave Aelfdene as soon as possible. She and I will go this very day. The others will pack our belongings and follow with the children."

"Have you told your brother?" Eadwine asked.

Baldhere made a grimace. "I did, and what do you think he said to me? That Eadgyth's father persisted in living on, thereby robbing him of his rightful inheritance and the rank of thegn, while I, his junior, would now rank above him. How my good fortune irritates him." What Baldhere did not say to his father was that his elder brother had concluded that he would probably come into his inheritance of Aelfdene sooner than he would gain the remainder of Eadgyth's dowry, for Eadwine would surely wear himself out futtering his young wife, while his father-in-law cared for himself as assiduously as one would care for a newborn infant king.

"Come and bid us a final farewell before you leave," Eadwine said to his younger son. "I did well when I matched you with Aeldra Swanneck, Baldhere. She's a good breeder as well as a good wife. Remember what I have taught you about husbanding the land, and follow the wise example of our antecedents. Keep adding to your estate whenever you get the opportunity. That is the best advice I can give you."

"I will not forget, Father." Baldhere arose and departed the Great Chamber.

"I will miss Baldhere and his women," Wynne said, "but then all of the women at Aelfdene are pleasant to be with, my lord. That is what I missed the most at Raven's Rock. I had only my maidservant, Megan, for company. At Gwernach I had my grandmother and my sisters. Although Caitlin and Dilys are difficult at best to get along with, my younger sister, Mair, was not." She yawned.

He could see how heavy her eyelids were, and said, "You are tired, sweeting. Birthing a babe is hard work, I know. Rest now." Rising, he lifted Arvel up into his arms.

"Aye, birthing is difficult work," she replied, "and well you know it, for you have been with me through both my labors, Eadwine." She smiled up at him, feeling a strong burst of affection for this man. She was certainly beginning to really accept him as her husband, although the Church still had not sent a priest to Aelfdene to look after the spiritual well-being of its people and to bless their union. It was really up to her to press the issue. Yet she had not. What would ecclesiastical opinion be on her status?

She was not fearful for Averel, for Eadwine claimed their daughter for his own child, and legally adopted Arvel. Although she was making peace with her situation, in the deepest recesses of her heart she still longed for Madoc and for their magical home at Raven's Rock. It saddened her that the prince did not know of his son. Oh, why had he not come to find her?

Eadwine bent down and kissed her brow, holding onto Arvel as the tiny boy leaned forward to hug her, planting a wet kiss upon her cheek at the same time.

"Maaa," Arvel said. He was such a happy, contented child.

"Sleep well, my love," the thegn told her, and took her son off.

She listened to his footsteps as they descended the stairs, Arvel's little voice chattering his baby babble which, to her amusement, Eadwine seemed to completely understand. Wynne smiled to herself, thinking how fortunate she and her son were to have fallen into Eadwine Aethelhard's hands. As for Averel, she was the thegn's daughter. Wynne looked down at the new baby. She was amazingly pretty for a newborn, with a head full of dark brown curls and healthy, rosy cheeks.

"What a lucky little girl you are, Averel Aethelhardsdat-ter," she told the baby. "You are your father's only daughter, and he will spoil you totally, I have not a doubt, for he is a kind man."

She heard footsteps upon the stairs and looked up as Caddaric Aethelmaere entered the Great Chamber scowling.

"So you've whelped the brat at last, have you?" was his greeting to her.

"You have a sister, Caddaric," Wynne told him in even tones, but her temper was close to flaring.

"Well, let's have a look at her," he said condescendingly, and Wynne lifted the edge of the blanket that protected her daughter's face. Caddaric stared down at the baby. "What's her name?" he demanded.

"Averel," was the short reply.

"She looks like Father," he noted dryly.

"Aye," Wynne answered in dulcet tones, but she was pleased. It was the closest Caddaric would ever come to acknowledging his half sister's legitimacy, but having done so, Wynne knew he would never deny Averel, for Caddaric possessed a strange sense of honor and a strong sense of blood ties.

"She should have been my child," he growled at her.

"You would not have wanted a daughter, Caddaric," Wynne said quietly.

"I would have given you a son," he said bitterly. "My father is old, and his seed is weak. I would have spawned a son on you had my father not stolen you away from me."

"When will you remember that it is your father who is lord here and not you, Caddaric? Your father did not steal me from you, for you never had me to begin with, and you know it to be so. Why do you persist in this fantasy?"

"I could get sons on you, Welsh woman," he said stubbornly. "My father did not need more children. He has two healthy sons and a host of grandchildren, thanks to my brother. He did not need a young wife and additional children. I, however, need sons, and the useless creatures I have shackled and surrounded myself with cannot produce even a feeble daughter! I need you! You are magic!"

She doubted that her stepson would ever like her, but Wynne realized that she had to make him face the reality of his situation, and now was as good a time as any. "Caddaric, answer me a question," she probed gently. "Have you ever in your life been seriously ill?"

He thought long, his broad brow puckering with his concentration, and then he said, "Once. Only once."

"Tell me about it," she pressed him.

"The year before I married Eadgyth," he said, "my cheeks became all swollen and ached. I looked like a frog when he courts his lady. I ran a great fever for several days. Afterward it was said that my mother feared for my life." He chuckled with his memory. "My cock became all swollen too, and God knows I have been more than well-endowed. Better than many, I am assured, but it was twice its size during my illness. I quite admit to being disappointed when it returned to normal," Caddaric finished with a leer.

"It is unlikely that you will ever produce children," Wynne told him bluntly.

"What?"

"I am a healer, Caddaric, as was my grandmother and my mother before me. The illness you have described to me is the swelling sickness. When.a child becomes ill of it, there is little difficulty. The same is true of a young girl or young boy; but a man or an older boy can suffer greatly from the swelling sickness, especially if it affects their male organs, as the illness obviously did yours. The sickness burns the life from the male seed. I know this, for it is part of my healer's wisdom."

"You lie, Welsh witch!" he raged at her. His cheeks were scarlet above his beard.

"Nay, Caddaric, I do not lie, nor do I mean to be cruel to you," Wynne told him sympathetically. She could almost feel sorry for him, and she could certainly feel his pain. "It is a well-known fact among healers that the seed of men and young men is rendered virtually lifeless by the swelling sickness. It has always been thus, though we know not why."

"My childlessness cannot be my fault," he said stubbornly. "It is Eadgyth's fault, for she is frail and unable to conceive; but that loss is as much hers as mine. I do not blame Eadgyth. She is a good wife."

"What of the others?" Wynne asked him. "What of Berangari, Dagian, Aelf, and little Haesel? They are strong and healthy girls, yet they do not conceive, Caddaric. The fault lies with you, and yet it is not really a fault but a cruel mischance of fate that sent the swelling sickness to afflict you when it did. You are unlikely to give a child to any woman, even me."

"You are a healer, Welsh woman," he said grimly. "Can you concoct no potion or brew that would help me, if indeed you are correct in your assumptions?"

"There is nothing," Wynne told him bluntly. It was long past time someone was honest with this man. He had to make peace with himself for all their sakes.

"Nothing? I think you lie! No man with my appetite for female flesh could possess lifeless seed! It is the women who are responsible for my lack! It cannot be me!" Yet behind the open anger in his voice, Wynne could see the desperation and fear lurking in his eyes.

"Rarely, but only rarely," she told him, not wanting to arouse any hope in his heart, "a man who has suffered the swelling sickness does conceive a child. Perhaps some remedies that I know of for arousing the senses can help you to achieve the impossible, Caddaric. When I have recovered from Averel's birth, I will put my mind to it. I will dose your women as well; but now leave me. I am weary and would sleep."

He departed the Great Chamber without another word or even a backward glance at her or her baby. Wynne sighed deeply, feeling both sorrow and irritation toward Caddaric Aethelmaere. Men like Caddaric always measured their manhood by the number of men they killed; women they raped or seduced; and children, sons in particular, that they spawned. Caddaric's reputation was strong where killing, raping, and seduction were concerned. His complete inability to produce children of either sex was a glaring public failure that left, at least in his eyes, his personal stature in grave question. Still, she would see what she could do to help him, despite all his virulent unkindness to her. They would never be friends, but she knew it would please Eadwine if his wife and his elder son were not enemies.

Aye, she thought, sleepily. She did want to please Eadwine. He strove to make her happy. Did she truly love him? Aye, not as she had loved Madoc, but then she doubted that she would ever love anyone as she had loved her prince. Madoc, she wondered as she slid into sleep, why have you not come?

Wynne. She was never out of his thoughts. It had been a year and a half since she had disappeared. Sometimes in moments of dark discouragement he wondered if she was even still alive. If she had ever really existed. Wynne of Gwernach, with her long, black hair and her green, green eyes. It was as if the earth had opened up and swallowed her.

For over a year they had combed the countryside back and forth, over and over again seeking any word of her. Madoc had finally decided that his wife could not possibly be in England. Ruari Ban had obviously hidden her from public sight and taken her with him into Brittany. He called his men home and went about the painful business of waiting for Einion, who had personally followed after the Irish slaver, to return home to Raven's Rock. When he did, his news was discouraging.

"I followed Ruari Ban, my lord, first to Brittany, then to Italy, where I finally caught up with him about to take passage with his cargo of slaves to Byzantium."

"Did he tell you where Wynne was?" Madoc demanded eagerly. He had grown thin in the months that Einion had been away.

"She is not with him, my lord," Einion said gently. "At first he pretended to not even know what I was talking about. He would accept no bribe from me. It was only when I pressed the matter more strongly in a, ah, physical way, that he would admit to having had possession of my lady."

"Where is she?" There were great purple circles beneath Madoc's dark blue eyes. He hardly slept at all now.

"There was nothing I could do to make him tell me where, my lord. He lives in utter, total terror of your brother, Brys of Cai. He believes that should he betray him, the bishop can reach out and find him wherever he may be. He believes that your brother will kill him should he dare to break faith with him. I could have torn this Ruari Ban apart limb by limb and he still would not tell me what I wished to know. His fear is that complete, my lord.

"I did, however, in a roundabout way, discover one thing that will be of help to us. There was a young boy among Ruari Ban's slaves that the Irishman intended for some nobleman in Byzantium. The slave is, as his reputation has said, kind-hearted. The boy was allowed a certain measure of freedom. Overhearing my conversation with Ruari Ban, the boy came to me when I left him. He told me he had been with his master for many months as the slaver made his way eastward. He said if I would buy his freedom and help him to return to his home in Ireland, he would aid me in my quest."

"And did he?" the prince asked.

"Aye, my lord, he did indeed. His purchase cost me dearly, but 'twas well worth it. When they landed in Wales from Ireland, Ruari Ban left his men and his cargo about ten miles from Castle Cai. He had received a message to go there to see the bishop. When he rejoined them several days later, he had a beautiful dark-haired woman in his possession whom he treated with much care. The boy remembers this distinctly because Ruari Ban allowed the woman to ride behind him on his horse instead of walking her with the other slaves. Shortly before they were scheduled to arrive at Worcester, Ruari Ban departed his troop again, taking the woman with him. When he met them in Worcester, she was no longer with him. It is obvious to me, my lord, that the lady Wynne never left England!" Einion concluded triumphantly.

"But we have been unable to find her," Madoc answered him despairingly. "Where can she possibly be, unless, of course, the slaver murdered her and buried her body." He grew pale at the thought, hating his helplessness in the matter.

"My lord, she is here," Einion said firmly. "Our men have obviously missed her, for the territory in which they sought the lady Wynne is a vast one. Now we have narrowed it down to somewhere near Worcester. You and I will go together visiting each thegn in the area until we have found her."

The prince nodded slowly, a small bit of hope springing back into his heart. "We will consider Worcester the center of the circle," he said, "and we will work outward from the town. First to the north, then to the east, then to the west, and lastly to the south. We must start soon, Einion, for Earl Harold and Gruffydd, our king, have been skirmishing with each other like two stags fighting over a doe.

"Harold seeks to impress his own king, Edward, in hopes that Edward will change his will and name Harold his heir instead of Duke William of Normandy. Gruffydd will soon call out his liegemen; but if I am not here, I cannot answer that call. I care not for this battle of power between the mighty! I want only to find Wynne again; to bring her and our child home in safety."

"Will not Gruffydd ap Llywelyn be angry with you for ignoring his call to arms?" Einion queried.

"When I have my wife and child home again, I will explain to him why I could not be here for him. He will understand. Wynne is his kinswoman, however distant. Besides, why should we waste the summer playing these war games when it will all come to nothing in the end, as it always does? Why the Saxons feel that in their boredom they must harry the Welsh, I do not know," Madoc concluded.

"Perhaps," Einion answered him, "because we in our boredom harry the Saxons and steal their cattle, my lord." The big man's eyes were twinkling.

"The Saxons do indeed have fine cattle," Madoc agreed with a small smile, "but I will not let myself get swept up in this power struggle. Though my family and title be old, this small mountainous realm of Powys-Wenwynwyn is of little account to the mighty. Gruffydd will certainly survive without me."

In this conjecture, however, Madoc was wrong. The news was always slow in getting to Raven's Rock. The prince did not know that in early winter England 's most powerful earl, Harold Godwinson, had raided into Wales, burning Rhuddlan, Gruffydd's estate. The king and his family had barely escaped with their lives, and Gruffydd was furious.

Gruffydd ap Llywelyn was the son of Llywelyn ap Seisyll, the king of Gwyndd, and Angharad, daughter of Deheu-barth's king. As a boy he was not thought of as an impressive leader by those around him; but as a young man he grew into a great warrior, drawing men by the score to his banner, much to everyone's surprise. Gruffydd ap Llywelyn, the man, had a charm and magnetism about him no boy could have ever possessed.

He had been forced to fight for his inheritance of Gwyndd. In the same year he won it, he conquered Powys as well and defeated the Mercians in a decisive battle when they had dared to intrude on his territory. He then allied himself with Earl Aelfgar of Mercia, sealing their treaty by marrying Aelfgar's daughter, Edith. Gruffydd then went on to conquer Deheubarth, his mother's homeland; but all the while he maintained a fierce hatred of the Saxon earls of Wessex. First Godwin, who had sought Edith of Mercia for his own son, and now the son, Harold, who boasted that when he killed Gruffydd one day, he would take Edith for a wife.

With the coming of spring, Harold came into Wales again, traveling this time beneath a banner of truce; making peace and exchanging hostages with all who would meet with him. This had the effect of weakening Gruffydd's position, for the majority of Welsh lords did not want to fight. They wanted peace. Harold was offering peace even as Gruffydd sent out his messengers calling his liegemen to him for yet another assault on the Saxon men of Wessex.

Gruffydd realized immediately that Harold was attempting to take the threat of the Welsh from his flank, allowing him to concentrate totally on holding England against the Norman duke, William. When the time came, William would be swift to claim his rightful inheritance. Gruffydd did not know William of Normandy, but by his reputation as a great warrior. He knew, however, that William would have all he could manage, holding England against Harold and his ilk, to be bothered with the Welsh, and there were the Norse to consider as well. If the Welsh helped William by harrying Harold, Gruffydd knew there could even be something of value in it for them.

Harold, however, knew this too. He didn't want to have to fight the Normans and the Welsh at the same time. It would be a losing game. Gruffydd ap Llywelyn controlled most of Wales. By destroying him, Harold would take from the Welsh the only man capable of leading them as a nation. To this end Earl Harold went about his business of undermining Gruffydd's support among his jealous and petty nobles. He succeeded far better than even he had anticipated.

Madoc was not aware of this, for his holding was too remote for Harold to even be bothered about. The prince was wending his way into England even as Harold was coming to Wales. While Madoc spent the spring and summer of the year carefully combing the English countryside in a twenty-mile radius leading out from the town of Worcester, the Welsh king was fighting for his very life. It was a battle he lost in early August, when he was assassinated by several of his own men suspected of being in Harold's pay. The murderers did not live long enough to enjoy their ill-gotten gains. Gruffydd's sons, took swift retribution. Harold capped his triumph by announcing that he was taking Gruffydd's widow, Edith of Mercia, as his wife.

Edith's younger brother, now Mercia 's earl, was not strong enough to protest this breach of good taste, or even resist Wessex 's earl. Harold's Danish wife, also an Edith, and the mother of his three sons, accepted the situation as one of necessity. Now Harold had virtually all of England beneath his control, after the king of course. All that was left was for Edward to die.

At Aelfdene, Eadwine and Caddaric quarreled even more virulently about the political situation. Eadwine continued to support the king's decision to name the Norman duke his heir. Caddaric continued to believe Harold should be king. As the summer days shortened and moved toward the autumn, there was hardly a meal that was not disturbed by the two men arguing the situation.

"Harold is a common Saxon berserker," Eadwine insisted one evening as the dispute broke out anew.

"He has the people's support," Caddaric returned.

"Humph," his father snorted. "The people. The people do not rule, and their support can be bought with a ha'penny's worth of ale, you fool! Harold cannot hold England against the Norse! They seem to believe that they have a claim on this land too. Do you think they will politely step aside when the day comes and support Harold? 'Tis an idiot's belief! Only William of Normandy can hold England. His reputation as a war lord is both fearful and to be feared. Once William is in firm control, the Norse will not dare to oppose him."

"The Norman duke is a foreigner!" Caddaric exploded. "You would support a foreigner over Harold? 'Tis treasonous, I tell you!"

"Treasonous?" Eadwine leapt to his feet. "You dare to call me treasonous, you ungrateful whelp?" The thegn reached for the dagger at his waist, but Wynne stayed his hand.

"Caddaric," she said angrily, "leave the hall and the board this instant! You are not to return until you have apologized to your father. I will not have this constant bickering at my table any longer!"

Caddaric opened his mouth to protest, but his wife hissed furiously in his ear, "Wynne is right, my lord! Come now!" Eadgyth then threw Wynne a look of support and, with the other women, hurried Caddaric from the hall.

Eadwine slumped to his seat, and Wynne refilled his goblet with strong red wine, which he quickly drank down. "I want another son," he said in a determined tone.

"You have Baldhere, and Baldhere has two sons now," Wynne told him gently. "If Caddaric displeases you, then name Baldhere as your heir. It is his sons who will eventually possess Aelfdene at any rate, my dear lord."

"Nay," he replied. "I want a son of your loins for my heir!" He stood and grasped her tightly by the wrist. "Come, my wild Welsh girl. I am hot to fuck you and make a new son for Aelfdene!" He pulled her toward the stairs leading to the Great Chamber.

It was no good arguing with him when he got like this, Wynne knew. More and more, Caddaric Aethelmaere was getting on Eadwine's nerves. If only Eadgyth's father would die, that Caddaric might have his own lands and attain the rank of thegn in his own right. Then he would take his women and depart, leaving them in peace. The constant arguing wasn't good for Eadwine.

In the Great Chamber she twisted out of his grasp, laughing softly, one hand outstretched to fend him off. "Nay, my lord stallion," she said playfully, "you will not tear my gown as you have done in the past."

"My storeroom is filled with beautiful rich cloth," he replied. "I give it all to you, sweeting. You can make a hundred new gowns." He reached for her again.

Wynne danced out of his way. "Nay!" she said in the firm voice one would use with a recalcitrant child. "I have better things to do with my days than to sew meekly by the fire. Besides, you know I abhor waste. Let me disrobe for you, and then I will undress you, Eadwine." Her voice was now seductive and soft. She smiled enticingly at him, removed the gold circlet and the prim white linen veil from her dark head and laid them aside.

"Very well," he agreed, slouching back into an armed chair, a half smile upon his face. She knew well how to handle him, Eadwine thought, amused. He did not resent it, however, for everything she did, he realized, was for him and for the children. There was no selfishness in her. She was a truly amazing woman.

Wynne could see that the anger had now drained out of him, and she was relieved. She slipped off her red tunic dress, laying it aside; her yellow under tunic and linen chemise followed. She wore no footwear within the house. Wynne raised her arms to unfasten her ear bobs, putting them with her clothing. Slowly she undid her single, thick braid, combing her black hair free of tangles with her fingers.

"Put your hands behind your head," he ordered her softly, and then, sitting back, took in the lush beauty of her. Her firm young breasts had grown fuller with childbirth, and their nipples had darkened from coral pink to a deeper coral. Her belly was flat, and yet there was a roundness to it that was most pleasing to his eye. Her limbs were well-fleshed, but certainly not fat. He would never tire of looking at her, he decided as, sensing his thoughts, Wynne lowered her arms and came forward to stand before him.

Gently she pulled him to his feet and began to undress him. First his kirtle with its decorated neck opening. Then his under tunic and sherte. He kicked his house shoes off as, kneeling, Wynne began to unfasten the cross-gartering on his braccos and roll them down off his feet. Her hands teased at his thighs and legs, sending shivers of hot anticipation through him; but when she grasped his half-roused manhood in her hand and brought it to her lips, he could not restrain the groan that burst from his throat.

She held him firmly, her pointed little tongue encircling the sensitive tip of his member. Her other hand reached beneath him to cup and fondle his pouch. Then she took him into the warm cavern of her mouth, suckling upon him strongly, even as he began to shudder with the fierce passion she was arousing in him. His hands reached down, fingers tangling amid the raven's-dark floss of her hair, kneading her scalp with more urgent motion until finally he managed to cry out to her, "Enough!" As she loosed her grip on him, he dragged her to her feet, his mouth finding hers in a scalding kiss.

Wynne slipped her arms about his neck, her naked body pressing against his naked body, feeling the hard length of him beating insistently against her thigh. He pressed her back onto their bed, spreading her legs, which lay over the edge, wide; kneeling before her to lean forward, that he might love her in the same manner in which she had just loved him. Her love juices flowed almost instantly and she gasped, squirming beneath his tongue, which was never quiet; moving here and there with skilled delicacy until she was half mad with the pleasure he offered and she so greedily took. He pushed himself even farther forward, his artful tongue pressing into her very passage to stroke and tease her until she was whimpering with a desire that could, not be assuaged.

"Please!" she begged him.

His tongue licked the warm flesh of her inner thighs, and he murmured, "Not yet, my wild Welsh girl."

She almost screamed as his tongue moved over her mound, over her belly, tickled at her navel and swept up toward her breasts. His own hard body followed, pushing her down into the mattress and the featherbed with his big-boned weight. "You're killing me," she half sobbed, and he laughed low.

"I want to consume you completely," he growled in her ear, kissing it, and then his mouth was on hers again, drinking in her kisses, tasting her, tasting himself on her tongue and lips. He forced her arms over her head, jockeying her between his two thick thighs, his free hand guiding his raging manhood to the mark.

With a sob Wynne thrust herself up to meet his plunging weapon, encasing him eagerly within her sheath, tearing her hands free of his grip that she might embrace him. Fiercely he plumbed her depths, and with each stroke Wynne felt herself whirling out of control. It had never been as wild between them before. Her nails raked his back, but he didn't even seem to notice as he thrust and withdrew, thrust and withdrew, his buttocks tight with his efforts. The passion between them was quite equal.

"A son!" he groaned in her ear. "I want a son of you, my wild and sweet Welsh wife!"

Wynne heard him and she understood his words, but her own desire was so great at this moment that she could but concentrate upon it. Her body began to respond violently to his loving, great racking shudders tearing through her even as she felt his own passion breaking, flooding her secret garden with his rich seed. It was sweet! Too sweet, and she was going to die of it she thought as she fell into the endless darkness; falling, falling, falling until there was nothing left of her, but then her eyes opened. She was alive. A marvelously satisfying feeling permeated her from the tingling soles of her feet to the top of her head. Eadwine lay sprawled by her side, panting. Reaching out, she took his hand in hers and, squeezing it first, raised it to her lips and kissed his fingers.

"I adore you, Wynne," he said quietly in response, and she heard the deep love in his voice.

"And I love you, Eadwine," she responded, knowing even as she said it that it was very true. How could she not love this kind and good man who had been so patient with her? How could she not love her daughter's father? It did not mean that she did not love her son's father, but it was almost two years now since she had been abducted from Wales; and in all that time Madoc had never come nor even sent a message to let her know he would come. She could not wait forever. She had made peace with herself at long last. Raising herself on an elbow, she looked down into Eadwine Aethelhard's bearded face. "Aye, my lord," she said softly, "I love you well," and her forest-green eyes were wet with tears; but she did not know if her tears were of happiness or sorrow.

"Wynne!" He cried her name joyfully, his whole face alight with his happiness at her words. "Ahhh, my wild Welsh girl, I will never make you unhappy, and I will love you forever! I swear it!"

Forever, Wynne thought as their lips met in a sweet kiss. Was there really such a thing as forever? Nay. There was but a moment in time, and those who were wise lived each moment to its fullest, for a moment gone could never come again. "And I will love you for as long as we live, my dear lord," she promised him, knowing how very much he needed to hear such words from her.

In the weeks that followed, all at Aelfdene remarked that they had never seen Eadwine Aethelhard so happy, and his happiness was infectious. Everyone but Caddaric seemed touched by it.

"She has woven a witch's spell about him," the thegn's eldest son complained to his wife.

"He loves her," Eadgyth Crookback patiently explained to her husband. "There is no magic in that."

"He never behaved that way with my mother," Caddaric grumbled.

"Your mother and father were of an age, my lord, and they wed for expediency's sake, as we all do," Eadgyth replied, feeling pain for her husband, who had probably never loved anything in his life, including her. Caddaric was and always had been filled with bitterness and jealousy, though she could not say why. "Your father is in his late middle years. He skirts along the borders of old age. He did not expect to find love at this time in his life. Not only has he found it, but he has found it with a beautiful and kind young woman who has given him another child. Wynne will probably give him other children as well. You had best face the situation for what it is, husband, and make your peace with it," Eadgyth counseled wisely. "Wynne is not your enemy."

"She has said I will not father any children," Caddaric told his wife.

"I expect she is right," Eadgyth answered him quietly.

"She is wrong!" he shouted back at her. "I could get sons on her! I know it!" His look grew moody, and then Caddaric Aethelmaere told his wife darkly, "One day Aelfdene will be mine, and Wynne will be mine too! She will bear sons for me whether she wants to or not; or I will destroy her!"