A Moment in Time

Chapter 16

The Feast of Christ's Mass was approaching, and a large wild boar had been seen in the woods belonging to Aelfdene. The thegn invited his eldest son to accompany him on the hunt.

"We'll have a fine boar's head on the table for the Yule," Eadwine promised Wynne, giving her a morning kiss, his hand sliding beneath her chemise to cup a plump breast.

"Stay abed awhile longer, my lord," she enticed him. "You'll have far better hunting here today than in the cold, dank woods." She pulled his head down for a longer, more leisurely kiss, her tongue licking most provocatively at the corners of his mouth.

With a deep sigh Eadwine buried his face in her perfumed hair for a long, sweet moment, but then he regretfully pulled away from her. "You, my wild Welsh witch, must await my pleasure. The boar, alas, will not," he said, half laughing. "If the creature goes beyond the boundaries of my holding, he will be someone else's prize."

"Are you so certain that I will await your pleasure?" she teased him mischievously.

"Aye," he said boldly, catching her back to him as, with a snort of pretended outrage, she leapt from their bed. He cuddled her in his lap for the briefest time and then, setting her on her feet, gave her bottom an affectionate spank. "See to my meal, wife!" he teased her back.

"We have house serfs to see to the meal," she told him loftily. "I think I shall go to my pharmacea and devise a potion that will keep you always by my side."

Instead, however, Wynne went to the cradle where their daughter was now very much awake and hungry. Quickly changing the baby's napkin, Wynne sat back down upon the bed and put the infant to her breast. Averel suckled greedily, and Eadwine had to look away. The sight of their child nursing at her mother's breast aroused him far more than he wanted Wynne to know. Even now he could not quite believe his good fortune in his young and fair wife.

The servants came into the Great Chamber bringing water for washing, and, finished feeding her daughter, Wynne handed her to the young serf girl whose duty it was to watch over Averel.

At eight months of age Averel was a beautiful and healthy baby. She was plump, with her father's ash-brown hair and features. Only her eyes, which had turned from blue to her mother's forest-green, indicated her maternal heritage. Usually a sunny-natured infant, Averel's sweetness could quickly turn to rage at the most unexpected moments.

"She has a Saxon berserker's temper," Wynne would tell Eadwine when their daughter would howl and roar with anger. In those rare moments only he could calm her, and Wynne would shake her head in mock despair, saying, "She has already wrapped you about her tiny finger, my lord. I fear you will spoil her," which he, of course, would deny.

They washed and quickly dressed for the day ahead. While Eadwine and Caddaric went hunting for the boar, Wynne and the other women planned to decorate the house for the celebration. They descended to the hall below to break their fast with freshly baked bread, a hot barley porridge, a hard, sharp cheese, and newly pressed cider. Arvel and his nurse, Gytha, were awaiting them. Wynne's son still slept with his wet nurse in her cottage, for he was not yet weaned, and grew jealous when he saw his mother nursing his little sister. The rest of the family hurried in, and for once Caddaric was in a pleasant mood. He and his father bantered back and forth over who would be the first to sight the boar and, of course, who would have the honor of killing it first.

Shortly outside the hall the dogs were heard yapping and barking as they were brought from the kennels by their handlers. They would be joined by some dozen serfs who were assigned to the task of beaters this day. It was their job to drive the boar from his lair, out of hiding and into the open, where the bowmen, who were of the gebura class, might have a shot at him. Although the bowmen would defer to their lord and his son, if danger became imminent they would not hesitate to shoot. True, the kill must go to Eadwine Aethelhard or his son, Caddaric Aethelmaere, but all the hunters enjoyed the sport of the hunt.

The thegn, being a big man, had a large bow. It was made of the best yew wood and strung with the finest cord. The tips of the bow were of polished bone set in silver. With his mother's encouragement, little Arvel toddled up to his foster father, struggling beneath the weight of Eadwine's bow case.

Eadwine chuckled as, bending, he took the bow case from the tiny boy. "Soon," he said, smiling at Arvel and ruffling his black hair, "I shall have to teach you how to shoot, my small son."

Arvel's deep blue eyes lit up with pleasure, for he totally comprehended the words. "Daa!" he said, nodding his head vigorously.

"Does he say nothing else but 'Da'?" Caddaric asked sourly.

"He says what any child his age says, which is little," Wynne remarked sharply, "but how could you know that, Caddaric? You have no children." She handed Eadwine a bracer for his left arm. "For you, my love," Wynne told him. "I sent to Worcester for it."

He took the arm guard from her, smiling, pleased; turning the bracer, which was made of polished bone and set in silver, even as his bow tips were, over in his hand. " 'Tis a fine piece, Wynne," he told her. "I thank you!"

"The sun will be up before we get started if you do not leave this woman, Father," grumbled Caddaric.

"He is right," Wynne quickly said, forestalling an argument between father and son. "The day does not look particularly promising, and I smell snow, my lord. If it grows wet, return home. I have no wish to nurse you through a sickness with the Yule and Christ's Mass celebrations upon us."

Eadwine Aethelhard put an arm about her supple waist and gave her a hard kiss. "I'll return at the first flake of snow or drop of rain, my wild Welsh girl. Just remember that you are to await my pleasure." He chuckled.

"Indeed, my lord, and I will," she said softly and, standing on tiptoe, bit his earlobe.

The thegn roared with laughter. "Oh, vixen," he promised her, "I will have a fine forfeit from you this night for your boldness!" Then he kissed her a final time and exited the hall chuckling.

"He loves you well," Eadgyth said, a trace of sadness in her voice.

"And I have come to love him," Wynne told her friend.

"Do you ever think of the other?" Eadgyth asked curiously.

"Aye," Wynne answered honestly. "How can I not when Arvel is his father's very image?"

"Do you still love him?"

"I do." Wynne smiled a small smile, as if mocking herself, and then continued, "I do not think I shall ever stop loving Madoc of Powys, but at the same time I love Eadwine as well. Do not ask me, Eadgyth, for I do not understand it myself."

"You are very fortunate to love and to be loved," Eadgyth told her.

"Caddaric loves you," Wynne said. "Oh, I know you do not think him capable of it, but he does."

"Nay," Eadgyth replied, and tears sprang into her soft blue eyes. "He but remembers that my father promised him an additional two and a half hides of land if he treated me well. He needs that land to attain the rank of thegn in his own right."

"Caddaric loves you," Wynne repeated firmly. "He has never been unkind to you that I know of, Eadgyth. He comes to you for advice, and values your opinion. He is, although he would be astounded to know it, your friend. He should be lost without you."

"Yet he takes other women to his bed, and not just his four concubines, Wynne. There is not a pretty girl, serf or gebura, who is safe from his roving eye."

"It is his desperate desire for children," Wynne told her. "You know that is all it amounts to, Eadgyth. He does not confide in the others as he does in you."

"Caddaric says that you told him he will not father any children. Why did you say that to him? Was it in anger, to revenge yourself upon him for his unkindness?" Eadgyth nervously twisted a piece of her tunic dress. She was older than Wynne by several years, yet she stood in awe of her father-in-law's young wife. After all, Wynne was a healer, and healers were to be respected.

"Caddaric had the swelling sickness as a young man, he tells me. It attacked not only his face and neck, but his genitals as well," Wynne said. "It is well-known among healers that when that happens, a man's seed is rendered virtually lifeless. Sometimes, but oh, very rarely, such a man may father a single child, but it is quite unlikely. All this I have told your husband, but he will not believe me, Eadgyth."

Eadgyth nodded with her understanding. "I have always believed myself incapable of having a child," she said slowly, "and frankly, Caddaric used me little before taking other women. Then Berangari came, and Dagian, Aelf, and finally Haesel. At first I was very jealous, but I hid it lest I displease Caddaric, for my lack was certainly not his fault. As each of these girls proved as barren as I did, we became friends. Like me, they would have moved heaven and earth for a child to call their own. I have suspected for some time now that the problem lay with my husband, and so, I believe, have his concubines; but none of us would dare to voice such a thing too loudly."

"Of course not," Wynne said. "Caddaric equates sons with his very manhood, as you well know."

"My poor husband," Eadgyth said, and Wynne could see she was near to weeping.

"The sun is up," she said briskly, pointing through the open door of the hall. "We must get our mantles and hurry outdoors to cut the pine, the rosemary, the holly, and the bay. These December days are so very short, Eadgyth. Where are the others? Surely they will not leave us to do all the work! Ealdraed, run and fetch the lord Caddaric's other women, who have so conveniently disappeared. We will meet them almost immediately where the bay grows."

"Aye, lady," Ealdraed replied. "I'll fetch the lazy sluts for you." She hobbled quickly off, muttering to herself beneath her breath.

"She grows old, yet is still feisty," Wynne said with a smile at Eadgyth, who had now managed to compose herself.

Fastening their mantles about them with elegant brooches of silver, the two women picked up woven baskets and hurried out of doors. On the nearby hill where the bay grew, the four other women awaited them. Their respect for Wynne was such that they had come at once when fetched by the ancient Ealdraed.

Wynne greeted them cheerfully and then said, "Haesel, you are the smallest. Gather the bayberries on the lower branches of the bushes, while Berangari, who is the tallest, will gather them from the topmost branches. When you have finished, cut some large and pretty branches for the hall. Aelf, you, I see, have been wise enough to wear a pair of mittens. Take your knife and cut the holly for us, as your hands will be protected. Dagian will come with Eadgyth and myself to cut the pine boughs."

"What of the rosemary?" asked Berangari.

"There is plenty in my kitchen garden," Wynne answered her. "We will pick it when we return."

The day had brightened somewhat, and there was little wind. In the woodlands beyond could be heard the occasional sound of the hunting horn and the barking dogs as they sought the wild boar. The women, however, hardly noticed. They were too much involved with their own tasks for the festivities. Their baskets were filled with bayberries which would add fragrance to the Yule candles. Their arms were ladened with branches of bay, holly, and pine with which they would decorate the house. Haesel ran back to the manor house to fetch several servants to help bring the branches back.

The greenery all cut and brought in, the women went to the kitchen house to begin making the holiday candles. Heall, the cook, grumbled and muttered at this invasion of his kitchens, but he sent his son for the tin molds the women needed. Sweet cakes drizzling honey and topped with poppy seeds mysteriously appeared atop a table next to a pitcher of cold, foaming cider. The bayberries were heated to free their fragrant wax, which was then poured off into another kettle already filled with rendered beeswax, for the Yule candles were always made of beeswax. The molds were neatly filled, the wick stands carefully placed over each row.

"I think they're the best candles we've ever made," declared Eadgyth. "I saw no bubbles at all to spoil the purity of our efforts."

" 'Twill be a merry holiday," Berangari replied, "and lucky too, thanks to the boar."

"Let us take our cakes and cider into the hall," Wynne said. "I think we deserve a respite before we begin decorating the house. The candles will not be set before tomorrow."

They adjourned to the hall and sat about the main fire pit eating and gossiping. Arvel toddled in and was roundly spoiled by them all. Now that Baldhere and his women had departed, he and Averel were the only children at Aelfdene whom they might indulge. Hungry for their own babies, Caddaric's wife and concubines could not help adoring Wynne's two children. Silently she watched them, actually feeling their pain, and wished it might be otherwise for them.

Finally, when they could delay no longer, the six women with the aid of Ealdraed and the serving women began to decorate the hall with branches. The room, normally plain and utilitarian, began to take on a bright and festive air. The fragrance of the pine was tangy and fresh. Finished at last, they stepped back to survey their efforts and smiled collectively.

"It is even better than last year," little Haesel said, clapping her hands enthusiastically, and the others laughed.

"She's right," Berangari agreed. "This will be the best Yule we have ever had! I just know it!"

The sun was beginning to sink in a tepid smear of washed-out color behind the western hills. In mid-December sunset came in what would have been mid-afternoon on a June day. Wynne looked anxiously through the hall door.

"The boar has obviously eluded them," Eadgyth said. "They will have to hunt again tomorrow."

"Wait," Berangari said, cocking her head. "I think I hear the dogs now."

"Aye," Eadgyth answered. "They are coming. Let us go out and see if they have caught the creature."

Wynne picked up her son and, with the others, hurried out of doors to greet the returning hunters. They could see them on the path leading to the manor house. But wait… There was but one horseman, and it was not Eadwine. Wynne thrust Arvel into Eadgyth's arms and began to run toward the men. It was then she saw behind Caddaric's horse the bearers with their burden. Her heart began to pump violently and she ran all the faster.

Reaching the hunters, she could quickly see that Eadwine lay injured upon his shield. "What happened?" she demanded fiercely of her stepson. "Tell me what happened, or as God is my witness, I will tear your heart from your chest with my bare hands!" Her face was a mask of unrestrained fury.

"Spoken like a… true… Saxon wife," Eadwine said feebly, a weak smile upon his lips. "I… will mend… sweeting."

"What happened?" Wynne repeated, glaring up at Caddaric, and then, before he could answer her, she was giving orders. "You!" A finger pointed at_a hunter. "Run as fast as you can into the hall and tell old Ealdraed to bring hot water, wine, and my herb kit. Bandages too! And clear the high board. I want my lord laid upon it that I may examine him." Her gaze swung to the bearers. "Can you move no faster? But do not jostle my lord lest you give him undue pain! Caddaric, I am waiting for your explanation!" Dear lord, how pale Eadwine was, she thought fearfully.

They had reached the manor house now. As Eadwine was carried in and carefully laid upon the high board, Caddaric Aethelmaere told his tale, surrounded by his women. Wynne, even as she listened, was busy cutting away Eadwine's clothes, that she might get a better look at his wounds.

"We tracked the boar most of the day," Caddaric began. "Several times we even caught a glimpse of him, but we never got close enough for a kill. Finally, as the afternoon wore on, the creature made his stand in a briar thicket in the deepest part of the wood. Eadgyth, give me some wine. I am parched."

His wife quickly placed a goblet by his side, and swilling it down, Caddaric wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. "The wood was very dark and gloomy," he continued. "The dogs, however, were eager for the kill. They yapped, and howled and charged directly into that thicket after the boar. The first few were killed or injured, but then the vast numbers of the pack overwhelmed our prey. He broke from his cover and charged directly at us.

"I had the clearest shot, Eadgyth, but my foot slipped upon a stone and I fell. The creature was coming directly at me. I could smell his foul breath upon me even as I struggled to get out of his path. Then Father leapt forward and drew his bow. The beast was much too close for his own safety, yet he killed it with a single shot. The animal, in its death throes, however, gored father badly. He saved my life," Caddaric finished. For a moment the look upon his face was that of a young boy, and Eadgyth's heart went out to her husband.

The hall grew unnaturally silent as Wynne worked grimly, cutting away Eadwine's clothing so she might fully see his wound. It seemed to be located somewhere in the groin area. The thegn's lower body was covered in blood, some of it already dried and blackening, some fresh and oozing its bright red color. He winced as she was forced to peel away fabric that had already adhered to his skin.

"I am sorry, my love," she said, her mouth setting itself in a hard line.

"I feel so… light-headed," he murmured weakly.

"Ealdraed! Feed the lord some herbed wine," Wynne commanded the old servant.

Finally she had the wounds exposed to her sight, and they were fearsome to behold. The boar might have died, but he had done Eadwine cruel damage prior to his demise. There were at least three major slashes in the thegn's upper thigh and groin area. All were deep, but at least two had ceased to bleed. The third wound, however, was the most serious, for the animal's tusk had made a small puncture in the artery running through the groin. It was not a great hole, but the bleeding had not ceased.

Wynne stared at it and bit her lip in vexation. She was no surgeon, and a surgeon was what was needed here. If the puncture had been larger and more open, she might have sewn it up herself, but it was not. To reach the artery and close it successfully, she needed to open the wound up farther, that she might work at it. She didn't dare, and her lack of skills in this area frustrated her greatly. If she tried and cut too deep, she could do far more damage than the boar had. Eadwine would die. Yet if she didn't stop the bleeding, Eadwine would die anyway. He saw her indecision.

"What… is it?" he demanded, pushing Ealdraed's gnarled hand with the goblet away.

She must not worry him, Wynne thought, and then said, "I am debating the best method of treatment, my lord."

He saw the worry in her eyes, quickly masked from him, but pressed her no further. She would do her best for him, and if it was God's will that he not survive, then no amount of praying and hoping would change this.

"Drink the wine, my love," she counseled him. "There are eggs and strengthening herbs beaten into it. I must reassure your son before I begin my work." Bending, Wynne kissed his brow and then moved from the dais down the hall to where Caddaric and Eadgyth stood.

"Will he live?" Caddaric asked bluntly.

"I do not know," Wynne answered honestly. "There are three wounds, two quite deep, but they at least have stopped bleeding. The third wound just pricked an artery. It is not open enough for me to sew up, and I have not the skill to open it farther, that I may sew it up. I will try to stop the bleeding another way."

"If you cannot," Caddaric said, "then he will die. Is that what you are saying, Welsh woman?"

"Aye," she answered, and her green eyes filled with tears.

"Then you will be mine," he answered her cruelly, and Eadgyth gasped, shocked by her husband's brutal words.

"Never!" Wynne answered fiercely, and turning away from them, went back to her patient.

"Oh, Caddaric," Eadgyth half wept, "how can you voice such thoughts aloud, and your father on his deathbed?"

He led her to a bench by the fire pit and together they sat down. Eadgyth's blue eyes were fraught with her concern, but her husband put gentle fingers to her lips to stay her further words.

"She can give me a child, Eadgyth," he said in low, desperate tones. "I know that she can! As long as my father lived, I had no choice but to accept her status as his wife, but soon my father will be dead. Wynne will be mine to do with as I please." His eyes glittered with his anticipation.

"If God wills that your father dies," Eadgyth said in equally low tones, and she pushed his hand from her lips, "Wynne will be his widow and should be honored as such. Is that how you would honor her? By forcing her to your will? Oh, Caddaric! Never would I have suspected such dishonor in you."

"The Welsh woman was brought as a slave into this house. As such, she is a part of my inheritance and mine to do with as I choose!" he answered fiercely.

"Your father freed Wynne from her slavery, publicly, in this hall before us all!" Eadgyth cried softly. "She is your stepmother, and what you suggest amounts to incest! 'Tis a sin of the worst sort, my husband. Do not do it, Caddaric, I beg of you! We will find you a new and beautiful young concubine from a family of proven breeders; but not Wynne!"

"I do not want any other," he said obdurately. "Only her!"

Eadgyth's look was one of pity mixed with repulsion. "I will pray for you, my husband," she said helplessly. "There is little else I can do to aid you if you persist upon this course."

Wynne would not allow Eadwine to be moved from the hall. The servants lifted him gently up to lay a pallet beneath him, that he might be more comfortable. Wynne bathed, cauterized, and treated his wounds with all of the skill at her command. The larger of the wounds, though ugly, would heal easily if she could keep them free of putrefaction. The smaller, more dangerous wound, however, she was having difficulty with, for she could not seem to stop the slow bleeding. Several times by means of pressure she managed to stem the flow of the blood, but once the pressure was removed, the wound opened seemingly of its own accord and began seeping Eadwine's life force away. Toward the middle of the night, Wynne crept into a dark corner of the hall and, for a few brief minutes, wept with desperation at the futility of her efforts. They needed a surgeon! She simply had not the skill to open the wound more fully and repair the damage done.

Eadwine Aethelhard drifted in and out of consciousness most of the night. Although he burned with fever, Wynne knew that it was just his body's way of fighting any infection attacking him. It was the loss of blood that was going to kill him. As the night ended, the thegn grew suddenly quite clearheaded for a brief time.

"Bring the family," he commanded Wynne, and she hurried about the hall waking them, for none had left them during the dark hours.

When they all stood about him, Eadwine said, "I am dying. I feel it. Caddaric, my son. You are my heir. Aelfdene is yours. I give you my blessing, but you must promise me this."

"Anything, Father!" Caddaric said, unable to conceal his eagerness to inherit.

A small bitter smile touched the thegn's mouth, and he continued, visibly weaker now. "Be good to Eadgyth. To your… women."

"I will, Father."

"Swear you will honor and protect your baby sister, Averel, my son."

"I swear it, Father! I will guard my sister with my life, and see she is well wed one day," Caddaric vowed, and in this he was quite sincere, for he had no malice toward the little girl.

"And Arvel too! I… have made him… mine."

"The boy will not suffer at my hands, Father," Caddaric said, perhaps a bit more evasively. No, Arvel would not suffer unless his mother proved uncooperative, which Caddaric knew she would not if the child's safety were in question. Wynne was above all else a good mother, and Arvel would be held hostage to his mother's behavior.

"Wynne!" Eadwine croaked, his voice beginning to grow weaker.

"I am here, my love," she said, bending to make it easier for him.

"I never loved any but… you, my wild… Welsh… girl," he told her. "No other. "

"Eadwine," she half moaned, "I cannot bear that this should be! I have been trained my life long to save lives, but I have not the skills of a surgeon. Forgive me!"

He smiled and nodded weakly. "I do."

"I love you," Wynne told him. "In the beginning I could not, but I came to it. How could I not love you? You are the kindest, the best man I have ever known!"

"Better than the… other?" he asked softly.

"Aye!" she answered quickly, and he smiled again, knowing she lied, but the very lie assuring him that she did indeed love him at least as well as she loved her prince.

The thegn spoke again. "Caddaric, my son!"

"Aye, Father?"

"Swear to me that you will honor, respect, and protect my wife and my widow. Swear you will watch over Wynne!" It took almost the last of his strength.

Caddaric Aethelmaere looked down at his dying father. The life was fading swiftly from his eyes. But a moment or two longer, he thought dispassionately.

A sudden and horrible realization sprang Onto the thegn's face. Reaching out with a surprisingly strong hand, he grasped his son by the arm. "Swear!" he croaked, trying to keep the desperation from his voice as his very life ebbed to a close. "Swear!"

"Caddaric, my husband, in the name of God, I beg you to swear," Eadgyth Crookback pleaded.

"My lord! My lord!" His four lesser women were clustering about him, clutching at his sleeves with irritating fingers. He shook them off.

"Swear!" Eadwine Aethelhard's voice had sunk to a whisper, but still they all heard the word plainly said.

Caddaric Aethelmaere's cold eyes met those of Wynne's even as the death rattle sounded in Eadwine Aethelhard's throat.

Eadgyth and the others fell to their knees and began praying as the thegn's grip loosened on his son's arm and fell away. The coals in the fire pits crackled eerily. Old Ealdraed shuffled slowly across the hall, opening the door to the morning. A broad ray of sun splashed across the floor as the portal swung wide. Beyond, the clear song of the lark was heard, and then, his gaze never leaving Wynne's, the new thegn of Aelfdene manor said in a hard, harsh voice, "Now, Welsh woman, you are mine!"

Chapter 17

Despite the bright December sunlight, the day was somber. Wynne moved away from Eadwine's body and over to Eadgyth.

"What are your customs for burying the dead?" she asked the kneeling woman. It was the day of the Winter Solstice, she thought. As good a day as any to die. Silent tears rolled down her beautiful face.

Drained, Eadgyth pulled herself to her feet. "In the old days," she began, "the custom amongst our people was cremation, although those to the south of us interred their dead in the earth with as many grave goods as the deceased was worthy of and could afford. Since the coming of the priests, we merely bury our dead. The cemetery is next to the little church."

"Will you help me prepare the body?" Wynne inquired. She was feeling tired, and she was shocked by Caddaric's words to her across poor Eadwine's fallen body. Her breasts ached terribly, and looking down, she could see the front of her tunic dress was stained with not only Eadwine's blood, but her milk as well.

"Of course I will help," Eadgyth said quickly, seeing Wynne's predicament, and she put a comforting arm about Wynne, "but first you should feed Averel."

"Do not begin without me," Wynne said grimly. "I owe Eadwine every consideration due a good lord by his wife." She moved away from Eadgyth's embrace and took her sleeping daughter from her nurse's lap. Wearily she climbed the stairs to the Great Chamber, where she changed Averel's napkin and then sat down, almost totally spent, to nurse her daughter. She cradled the baby protectively as the child suckled her vigorously. Slow, hot tears slid unchecked down Wynne's face as she considered her dangerous position at Aelfdene now.

Caddaric had made his position very clear, but she simply could not accept such a thing. Wynne knew she was in a far more difficult position than when she had first come to Aelfdene. Then she was simply carrying a child. Now she had two children born and dependent upon her for their very lives. If she fled, she could not possibly succeed with two children in tow. She therefore had no choice. She must remain at Aelfdene, but how she could remain and be safe from Caddaric's lust was another matter. She needed rest and time to think. Instinctively she knew that Eadgyth would help her.

She felt his eyes on her and looked up to see that Caddaric had entered the Great Chamber. How long he had been there she was not certain. He lounged arrogantly against the lintel of the door, and she longed to kill him where he stood. "What do you want?" she demanded in an icy voice that did nothing to hide her loathing and distaste for him. "It will distress your sister if you disturb her meal. Have you sent a messenger to your brother's hall yet?"

"If you are thinking of leaving Aelfdene," he said in a blustering tone, ignoring her question, "do not. It would displease me to have to brand you for a runaway slave."

"I am no slave, and you know it well," Wynne returned in angry but even tones. "I am your father's widow and the mother of his daughter. I would hardly be so flighty as to remove Averel from her home and the security of her brother's care. Remember that you promised your father on his deathbed to care for your sister and her half brother. I will never leave my children, Caddaric. Therefore, I will be here to be certain that you keep that promise to your father."

"You are not afraid of me, are you?" he said, coming next to her. He reached out and touched her head with his hand.

"Nay," Wynne said quietly. "I do not fear you, Caddaric. I despise you, for despite your name, you are a coward and a bully in my sight. If you should attempt to accost me in any manner, I will make every effort to kill you. I can be no plainer than that."

He laughed harshly, and his fingers gripped her braid tightly, forcing her face up, that he might look into her green eyes. "Despite our disagreements, Welsh woman, I admired my father, and I owe him a debt that I can never repay him, for he gave his life for mine. You may have a month in which to mourn my father properly, but then you will come to my bed. What sons you will give me, Welsh woman! I have waited all my life for a woman of fire and ice such as you. I care nothing that you will not love me, and I want nothing of you but children. Give them to me and I will treat you as a queen might be treated."

"And if I do not give you the children you so desperately desire, Caddaric Aethelmaere? What then?" Wynne demanded fiercely, and she raised her now sated daughter to her shoulder to burp her.

"You will, Welsh woman," he growled at her. "You will," and then he leaned down and ground his mouth on hers.

Startled, Wynne still had the presence of mind to bite down sharply on the lips that assaulted hers, and when, with a roar of outrage, he pulled away from her, she spat full in his face. "That is all you will ever get of me, Caddaric Aethelmaere," she said, rising to her feet. "Anger and scorn! Nothing more. Keep well clear of me, my lord!"

For a moment he looked as if he would attack her where she stood, so filled with violence was his ruddy face. Then the rage gripping him drained suddenly away and the new thegn of Aelfdene burst out laughing. "By God, Wynne," he said, using her name for the first time, "what a woman you are! What a woman!" Then turning about, he departed the Great Chamber, leaving her shaken and, if it was possible, even more tired and drained.

She sat back down again for a few minutes, cradling Averel, who, warm and dry and well-fed, was nodding sleepily. Looking into her daughter's little face, Wynne felt the tears beginning to come upon her once more. How like Eadwine the baby looked. How like Madoc Arvel looked. Was she to be haunted for the rest of her days by the bittersweet memories of these two wonderful men? What was to become of them? Averel's head lay heavily on her arm now, and so Wynne rose to tuck the little one into her cradle once more, and departing the Great Chamber, returned to the hall where the others waited.

"Willa," she said, addressing her daughter's nursemaid, "go up and sit by your little mistress." Then turning to the women, she said, "Let us prepare my lord Eadwine for his burial."

Eadwine Aethelhard's body was stripped of its clothing and tenderly bathed. The wound that had killed him had ceased draining and was now merely puckered and discolored. Ealdraed climbed the stairs to the Great Chamber and returned bearing the dead man's finest clothing. First they put red-orange braccos, cross-gartered in yellow, upon his feet and legs, to be followed by pointed, soft leather shoes. A sherte of natural-colored linen was topped by an under tunic of yellow and a full-skirted kirtle of indigo-blue and gold brocade which was belted in gilded leather. His ash-brown hair was brushed thoroughly. It turned itself up naturally, curling under just below his ears.

Wynne gently brushed Eadwine's fine beard, noting here and there silver hairs she had not noticed before. Her tears flowed once more. Sighing heavily, she placed Eadwine's favorite gold chain about his neck even as the wooden coffin was being carried into the hall. "Where are his weapons?" she asked of no one in particular.

"I have them," Caddaric answered.

The body was laid in the coffin, and Wynne rearranged the garments so that they were straight. The thegn's sword was buckled to his belt, his bow and his arrow case placed on either side of him. Eadwine's arms were then crossed over his chest, his shield lain over them so that it appeared he was grasping it. Wynne stepped back and looked down at Eadwine. He looked quite well, she thought sadly.

The coffin was carried to Aelfdene's little church and left before the altar, that the manor's serfs might pay their respects to their fallen master. The widow repaired to her chamber to wash and dress herself in clean clothing, as her garments were all bloodstained. Then Wynne returned to the church to keep a vigil before Eadwine's coffin until its burial later that afternoon. The candles flickered brightly in the little stone church as she knelt numbly by the coffin's side, barely aware of the weeping serfs and geburas who shuffled by in solemn procession.

"He must be in the ground before sunset," Caddaric said. "I'll not have him haunting Aelfdene."

"Eadwine may be dead, and you may bury him this day," Wynne said sharply, "but he still knows what is in your heart, Caddaric. It was the last thing he saw in your eyes before he died. Not sorrow or filial piety, but his son's unbridled lust for his wife. May your own death one day be even crueler."

All through the daylight hours of the December day the people of Aelfdene passed before Eadwine Aethelhard's coffin, viewing their lord a final time. When at last they had all gone, Gytha brought Arvel. Wynne arose from her kneeling position and, taking her son in her arms, showed him the dead man in his coffin.

"Da dead," Arvel said. "Gytha say." A tear rolled down his fat little cheek.

"Aye, my son. Da is dead and gone to heaven to be with our lord Jesus," Wynne replied. "We must pray for him." Then a tear slid down her cheek as well.

Arvel looked at his mother with Madoc's serious look, his face a miniature of his father's, and pronounced solemnly, "Ric is bad man. I no like! Want Da back, Mama!"

"Da cannot come back, Arvel," she patiently tried to explain, "and you must not anger the lord Caddaric in any way, my son. Da would not like it. Do you understand Mama?"

The little boy nodded his head, but Wynne could see that he did not easily comprehend the situation in which they now found themselves. Why should he? He was not quite three. She turned to Gytha.

"From this moment on, Gytha, you must keep an extra watch on Arvel. Do you understand me?" Wynne asked the girl.

"Aye, lady," Gytha replied. "I'll keep the wee laddie out of the new lord's way, never fear. We'll give him no excuse to claim displeasure of us."

They buried Eadwine Aethelhard before the early sunset came, lowering his plain wooden coffin into its grave, which had been dug next to the grave of his first wife, the lady Mildraed. Wynne had closed the coffin herself, bending over it first to give him a final kiss. His lips were cold and stiff now, totally unlike the warm and loving man she had known. Her quiet tears began to flow once again as she followed the coffin to its final resting place, watching as the rich dark dirt was shoveled over it.

"In olden times wives were sometimes buried alive with their husbands," Caddaric Aethelmaere remarked, to the horror of the others.

Wrapped in her grief, Wynne did not answer him; and when they had filled in the grave, she remained.

"Let her be!" Eadgyth hissed at her husband, whom she saw wanted to force the widow back to the hall.

"She will catch her death of cold," he protested. "I cannot have her doing herself a harm. You know I need her!"

"Wynne will do herself no hurt as long as she has Arvel and Averel to care for and love," Eadgyth told him wisely.

When Wynne finally did return to the hall, she was pale and obviously chilled. She did not stop by the fire pits to warm herself, but rather went directly to the Great Chamber, calling a house serf to follow after her. Several minutes later she reappeared, the servant in her wake, struggling with a heavy wooden chest.

"What are you doing?" Caddaric demanded.

"I am removing myself from the Great Chamber," Wynne told him. "It is now yours and Eadgyth's by right."

"You are to remain," he said.

"I will not," she told him obdurately, and turning to the servant, said, "Take my things to the pharmacea."

The servant stumbled off beneath the weight of the chest.

"You are to sleep in the Great Chamber," he repeated. "There is no room in the pharmacea for you, my sister, and her nursemaid."

"With your permission, my lord, your sister and Willa can remain in the Great Chamber. I, however, will not. I will sleep on a pallet in my pharmacea. I am the manor's healer, and it is my right to be there." She then turned, and walking across the hall, entered into the little chamber.

"She has not eaten all day nor last night either," Eadgyth fretted. "I will have Ealdraed take her a plate of food."

"If she would eat," he said coldly, "then let her come to the high board with the rest of us. She is my father's widow and has a place amongst us."

"Caddaric, I beg you," Eadgyth said gently, a pleading hand upon his arm, "let me coddle her this night only. Her grief is greater than you can imagine."

"Then you take the food to her," he said. "You must keep a strict eye upon her for me, Eadgyth, and see she remains in good health, for she will give me sons before the new year is out."

Eadgyth sadly shook her head at his words. Wynne was not like any woman that they had ever known. Neither she nor her husband's other women would have ever considered refusing Caddaric anything that he desired; but Wynne would. Eadgyth knew that the beautiful Welsh woman was probably correct in her assessment of Caddaric's sad condition. There would be no children, and when Caddaric tired of forcing himself on Wynne, what then? What would happen to her, for Eadgyth knew that being faced daily with this particular failure would be more than her husband could stand.

"God and His blessed Mother help us all," she whispered softly to herself.

In the days that followed, Eadgyth watched with growing distress as Caddaric's eyes followed Wynne whenever she came into his view. She had never seen her husband like this before, and neither had his other women. He was totally and completely obsessed by Wynne.

"What if she gives him a child?" Berangari posed the question that was in all their minds. "What will happen to us?"

"Wynne assures me that there will be no child," Eadgyth tried to reassure them. "She says that Caddaric's bout with the Swelling Sickness just before our marriage destroyed his seed."

"What if he falls in love with her in spite of it?" Dagian asked.

"Wynne despises him," little Aelf spoke up.

"Aye," Haesel agreed. "I think if it were not for her children, she would have killed herself upon the lord Eadwine's death; but she absolutely dotes upon her babies."

"He is obsessed with her no matter," Berangari said.

"We must help her until we can cure our husband of this sickness that eats at him," Eadgyth told them. "We owe her that courtesy. Wynne has never been unkind to any of us, even when lord Eadwine made her his wife. It is not her fault that Caddaric desires her. She has done nothing to encourage him. She would be content to live out her life as Eadwine's widow and the healer of Aelfdene manor, raising her children, in peace with us all."

"How can we help her, Eadgyth?" Berangari inquired.

"Let me speak to her," Eadgyth replied. "She will tell us what to do."

"He has given me the space of a single moon to mourn Eadwine," Wynne explained to Eadgyth. "Then he tells me I must come to his bed. That I will never do, Eadgyth!"

"But what will you do?"

Wynne shook her head. "I honestly do not know," she said, "but it is good to know I may rely upon you and the others in this time of my trouble."

Caddaric, however, was expecting his helpless victim to attempt to outwit him. With a cleverness she would not have believed him capable of, he waited until his women were in the bakehouse one winter's morning, exactly five weeks after his father's death. Wynne, preparing a remedy for a serf's aching head, was seized in her pharmacea and carried kicking and struggling to the Great Chamber. A gag had been stuffed into her mouth almost at once in order that her cries not be heard. Wynne was lain upon the bed that Eadwine had had made for her, her arms and legs pulled wide and fastened to the bedposts by means of hempen rope. There she was left.

When her rage had abated somewhat and her heart had ceased to hammer so violently, Wynne considered her position, which was certainly a dangerous one. Gingerly she tested the strength of the ropes, but they had been made quite fast and cut into her delicate ankles and wrists at the slightest movement. The gag, though preventing her from screaming, was not unduly uncomfortable. She could breathe and swallow. Shocked, she realized that there was nothing that she could do to help herself. She would simply have to wait for Caddaric to make the next move, more than aware of what it would be.

She lay still for some time, her anger rising once more in the face of her helplessness. She had, she thought, been held prisoner like this several hours when she heard his step upon the stairs. Sauntering into the Great Chamber, he walked over to the bed and stood for a long moment gazing down at her. Finally he reached out and pulled the gag from her mouth.

"Aren't you afraid that I will scream, Caddaric Aethelmaere?" she demanded sarcastically.

"You may scream all you desire, Wynne," he told her. "I have sent Eadgyth and the others back to my hall for the time being. There is no one here who will help you now."

"How clever you are, my lord, to have prepared this rape so skillfully," Wynne murmured sweetly.

He laughed, at ease with himself because of her helplessness. "You are foolish to fight me, Wynne," he said. "You know I mean to have my way with you. What can you do to prevent me? Nothing! Would it not be better to come to me willingly? I know my women have told you that I am a magnificent lover," he bragged, and, bending down, pushed her head aside that he might kiss her neck.

"You revolt me," she said icily. "There is nothing manly in forcing a woman to your will, my lord." The wet touch of his mouth on her skin was totally repellent.

"Hate me if you so desire, Wynne, I will still have children of you," he told her. " 'Tis all I really want from you, your fertile womb."

"There will be no children, Caddaric," Wynne said quietly. "Why do you refuse to comprehend that? How many women have you poked with that weapon of which you are so prideful? And none has given you a child. Not one. Not a miscarriage nor a stillbirth. There has been nothing from all your efforts before, nor will there be anything now. You will labor in vain, Caddaric, shaming me before everyone at Aelfdene, and shaming your father's memory in the process. You violate the laws of decency and morality by your lustful and incestuous conduct toward me. Are you not ashamed?"

His answer was to take his knife from his belt and begin cutting her clothing away. Wynne lay silent now, for she could do nothing. It was fortunate, the thought passed through her head, that the garments he so heedlessly sliced and ripped were her work clothes and well-worn. When he had rendered her completely naked, he stood staring down at her, an almost glazed expression upon his face. Wynne felt a tingling in her breasts and almost laughed aloud.

"Loose me, Caddaric," she said in a hard voice. "My milk is beginning to leak and your sister must be fed. Untie me this instant and fetch Averel to me! I can go nowhere without my clothes, and you have totally destroyed mine with your mindless violence."

The new thegn of Aelfdene shook his head as a large dog might do, and his eyes filled with comprehension. Bending, he undid the ropes that bound her, and then he said as he departed the Great Chamber, "I will fetch my sister to you."

Wynne rubbed her wrists and ankles to take the soreness from them and then, standing up, moved across the room to where the tub stood, seeking the chamber pot. Her bladder was near to bursting, and she had truly feared she would wet the bed through with her water had he not given her this small measure of freedom. Relieving herself, she walked back over to the bed and, climbing into it, drew the coverlet over her nudity even as he returned to the room carrying Averel.

"She is a fine strong girl, isn't she?" he said in pleased tones. It amazed Wynne that he seemed to have a weakness for his half sister. "Give me hearty children like this, Welsh woman, and there will be no difficulty between us, I promise you!" He handed Averel over to her mother, ruffling the baby's curls affectionately as he did so.

Wynne smiled down at her daughter, giving her a kiss before putting the child to her full breasts. "There will be no children, Caddaric," she said grimly. "Why will you not understand?"

He would not answer her, and when she had finished feeding her child, he drew back the coverlet and lashed her ankles once again to the bedposts before she might protest. "Cradle my sister with but one arm," he commanded her, and when, puzzled, she did, he made fast her other arm, effectively imprisoning her once more. Then taking Averel from her, he said, "I will return to you shortly," and left the Great Chamber carrying the baby.

Wynne considered what to do. There was no time to use her free hand to unfasten her bindings. She could hear Caddaric turning Averel over to Willa at the bottom of the stairs. She could not seem to convince him of the futility of what he planned to do, and she was helpless to prevent his rape of her. There was but one thing she might use against him, and she realized now that she had no other choice. Eadgyth had told her in confidence that Berangari and the others had recently complained that Caddaric could not seem to complete what he so enthusiastically started. Though he bragged of his mighty prowess, Eadgyth remarked, he had always been over-quick to spill his seed. Recently, however, even that had changed. His manhood, raging and at the ready, too often withered before he might fully act. Wynne knew the power of suggestion could be a dangerous weapon, and now she must use it if she was to have any chance to save herself.

Caddaric sauntered into the Great Chamber again, a nasty smile upon his face. When he sat next to her upon the bed, Wynne lashed out at him with her free hand, but, laughing, he caught it, securing it as firmly as the other. Fully clothed, he clambered atop her and then, sitting back upon his haunches, he ran his big hands over her shrinking torso.

"That first night," he said in a rough voice, "when Ruari Ban displayed your charms for us all to see, I wanted you. I grew hard beneath my kirtle, and I longed to take you right then and there in the hall before all the others." Reaching out he squeezed her breasts, and a single bead of milk appeared upon one of her nipples. Caddaric leaned forward to lick it off, and then he suckled hard upon her.

"You spineless bastard," Wynne told him. "You will not have me!" She narrowed her eyes until they were but glittering green slits and silently willed him to look into her face. "I have tried to turn you from your folly, Caddaric Aethelmaere, but now you leave me no choice but to resort to the craft of sorcery which my first husband, Prince Madoc, taught me. Force me, and I will place a curse upon your manhood so that it cannot even lift its ruby head to salute me!"

Startled by her threats, Caddaric Aethelmaere raised his head from her breasts and looked into her face. "You cannot stop me," he said, but his tone was not particularly convincing. Her virulent words had already caused doubts to spring up in his eyes.

Wynne opened her own eyes wide now and stared hard at him. "Can I not, my lord?" Then she laughed. "Already it begins. In your mind you desire me greatly, but there is no passion in your rod, is there, my lord?"

The look he gave her was one mixed with anger and fear.

"Your manhood lies soft and shriveled between your legs, my lord," Wynne taunted him. She pushed him away from her, and he fell back surprised. By some miracle the ropes binding her arms had become loosened, and she was able to slide her hands free, to his further shock.

"Magic!" he gasped and crossed himself quickly.

Wynne quickly slid her hands down to her mont and pulled apart her nether lips, exposing her sweet secrets to his now bulging eyes. Mockingly she fondled herself, saying as she did, "Even I, at my most lewd, cannot arouse your puny worm, Caddaric Aethelmaere! Oh! Ohhhh!" She shammed at a passion she was certainly not feeling, but it was enough to drive him away.

Leaping off of her, he groaned. "Witch! Witch! You have unmanned me! But though you be safe from me for the moment, I will return to you later. You will take my weapon within your reluctant sheath and beg me for more!"

Wynne laughed contemptuously at him. "Never, you fool! You will never have me! Never!"

Cursing violently, he bent to retie the ropes securing her, and this time Wynne knew they would not come unfastened, for they cut cruelly into her flesh. "Now, you Welsh witch, await my coming," he snarled, "and be prepared to service me well!" Caddaric stormed from the Great Chamber, his angry footsteps stamping angrily down the staircase.

Alone, Wynne began to shake uncontrollably. She had escaped him. But for how long she might play this game to keep him at bay she knew not. She was cold. So cold. The chamber was unheated, and the winter's day, though mild, was yet late January. She would not call out for help. She knew not if anyone would come, for they all lived in fear now of Caddaric's temper. Besides, she could not bear to be shamed before the serfs.

The day wore on, and in the hall below she began to hear the sounds of revelry. Listening carefully, she recognized Cad-daric's voice becoming more and more bellicose as time passed. She could make out two or three young female voices giggling and laughing at first; growing more fearful and sullen as the afternoon waned. Serfs, Wynne realized, and as helpless to the thegn's will as she was at this moment. The Great Chamber dimmed and finally grew dark as Wynne lay there shivering. Finally she heard his footsteps upon the stairs again and braced herself for this new encounter to come.

He lurched into the room, half dragging a young girl with him. Carrying a candle, he stumbled about the Great Chamber lighting the lamps, then positioned himself at the foot of the bed, where she could clearly see him. He was clad in his sherte and braccos, and now drawing the sherte off so that he was nude, he commanded the girl, "Do as I have taught you, wench!" He was a big man and quite hairy, but his body ran more to fat than his father's had.

The girl, who was wide-eyed at the sight of Wynne bound and naked, fell to her knees. Taking her master's flaccid manhood into her mouth, she began to suckle it. She did not look as if she were enjoying her task. Her eyes were squeezed tightly shut, and her mouth worked earnestly to arouse him, as if knowing a lack of success on her part could lead to punishment.

Caddaric stood impassively as she struggled to fulfill her duty. "Prepare yourself, Welsh woman. When I have finished with you, you will truly know who your master is. Did you do this to my father, eh? You will soon pleasure me in that way. Enough, wench!" He shoved the girl away. "Get out!" he roared at her as she scampered most willingly away. He turned toward Wynne, his hand cradling his manhood. "My father's rod was surely not as fine," he bragged with a leering grin.

"Your father was twice as thick as you, Caddaric Aethelmaere, and at least an inch or more in length longer," Wynne said wickedly, and then she laughed. "There is little damage you can do to me with that poor excuse for a rod."

"Bitch!" he snarled, and flung himself atop her. "I will show you precisely what I can do!"

Her heart hammering, Wynne forced herself to laugh all the harder. Then quite suddenly, ceasing her mirth, she said, "I will place a curse upon your puny, feeble manhood, Caddaric Aethelmaere. May it wither and shrink even as you attempt your assault of me. Look down at yourself! Already you have begun to soften and grow limp!" She felt his big body upon hers, his hand desperately trying to insert his useless weapon into her. She squirmed just enough to foil him and assure his defeat.

He began to moan with frustration as he realized he was losing control of himself. He wanted her! He had to have her! Only she could give him the children he so hungrily desired, but she would not! She would not! He was unmanned by this Welsh witch, and that which had so delighted all the women he had used since he was eleven now lay feeble and worthless against her thigh, a victim of her sorcery. Almost weeping, he leapt off her and fled the Great Chamber wearing nought but his braccos.

Wynne began to shake once again. She was chilled to the bone and weak with her relief. Eadwine had always claimed that his eldest son was superstitious, even as the lady Mildraed had been. She had used that weakness against him this day, but how long she could continue along this path she knew not. Dear God, she was so cold, and her breasts were beginning to ache again. How long would he leave her here, she wondered, and then she heard the sound of soft footfall upon the stairs.

A female figure was silhouetted in the door for a moment, and Eadgyth said anxiously as she hurried forward, "Are you all right, Wynne?" Without waiting for an answer, she bent and untied the bonds that held Wynne fast. "Caddaric came raging into the old hall. He wore nothing but his under tunic and braccos. He demanded that Berangari and the others service him. What happened? He could do nought but mutter about curses and witches. When I left them he was preparing to beat poor Haesel for some imagined affront. Blessed Mother, you are frozen!" She pulled a chemise from the chest at the foot of the bed and pulled it over Wynne. Then she added a woolen under tunic. "There is no one in the hall," she continued, "but the fires are high. Come and we will get you warm."

Together the two women descended the stairs into the hall, and Wynne sat down upon a bench by the main fire pit while Eadgyth poured her a goblet of wine.

"Here," the new thegn's wife said, handing the goblet to Wynne. "You will feel better when you drink this."

Wynne swallowed the wine and, looking up at Eadgyth, said, "Did you know he planned to seize me this morning?"

Eadgyth shook her head in the negative. "I should have warned you had I known," she replied sincerely. "He did not have his way with you, did he?"

"Nay," Wynne answered, smiling slightly, "he did not. I am sorry poor Haesel must suffer for me though."

"What did you do to enrage him so?" Eadgyth inquired. "I have never seen him so angry, Wynne."

"I told him I was putting a curse upon his manhood," Wynne responded. "I remembered what the others had said about Caddaric's difficulties of late, and I remembered that Eadwine had told me that Caddaric was superstitious. Under the circumstances, I thought that I might succeed in unnerving him if I pretended I was cursing him."

Eadgyth nodded. "Aye, Caddaric is superstitious and 'twas a good plan, but now I fear what will happen on the morrow. He is not a man to take defeat lightly or well. Once when a young horse threw him, he caught the beast, remounted it, and rode it until he broke its wind. It was barely good after that for even the cart. My husband is a cruel man. He will not forgive you, Wynne. You have struck him in his most vulnerable spot."

Wynne was warmer now, and the blood was flowing hotly through her veins once more. "Eadgyth," she said, looking directly at her friend, "I do not care if Caddaric will not forgive me. All I ask is that he leave me be, and that he keep his promise to Eadwine regarding Arvel and Averel."

"Oh, he will keep his promise," Eadgyth replied. "I will see to that, but it is your safety I fear for, Wynne. Caddaric will find a way to revenge himself upon you, you may be certain. It will not be pleasant. We can but wait."

"I am his father's widow," Wynne said. "He cannot treat me badly. Today he tried and he failed. There will be talk amongst our people, and Caddaric will not want to remain the butt of their jokes for long. His ego is great. He will want the incident forgotten, and the quickest way to attain that goal is to pretend it never happened. To ignore it. If he does not react, the jest will be quickly over."

"I pray it be so, Wynne," Eadgyth said anxiously, "but I fear it will not. Caddaric will not forget."

Wynne felt saddened on the following day to see that poor Haesel had a blackened eye and Dagian was covered in bruises. "Come to my pharmacea," she told them, "and I will treat your wounds."

"It is not fair that we should have to suffer for your behavior," Dagian complained as Wynne stroked a soothing lotion on her aching arms.

"Nay, it is not fair," Wynne agreed, "but I cannot give Caddaric children, and I will not allow him to rape me because of this obsession. I am sorry you have been beaten, but 'twas not I who beat you. It was Caddaric Aethelmaere. Blame him, not me!"

Dagian sighed bitterly. "I know," she said.

During the next few days an uneasy peace settled about Aelfdene. The women moved nervously and quietly as they performed their daily tasks. Caddaric Aethelmaere scarcely glanced at Wynne or the others, and then one evening as they all sat at the high board, the new thegn said,

"For Aelfdene to remain prosperous, we must all pull our weight and contribute to the manor." His cold grey gaze fastened upon Wynne. "You, lady, you and your children take much but give little."

"I am the manor's healer, my lord," she answered him softly, in an attempt not to arouse his ire. Caddaric was more volatile these days than ever before. This was leading somewhere, but she did not know where.

"What do you do in your capacity as our healer?" he asked her, and his tone was almost affable now.

"I gather and grow herbs in season. I dig for medicinal roots and seek barks which can be used for healing lotions. I prepare all potions and brews needed, treat injuries and wounds, and generally care for the sick," Wynne replied. "It takes a great deal of time, my lord, to do these things. There is no time of the year when I am not busy."

His brow furrowed in mock concentration, and then he said thoughtfully, "You cannot gather and grow herbs after the growing season is over, lady. Neither can you dig for roots or seek barks except in the warm seasons. Is your pharmacea well-stocked with the provisions you need right now, Welsh woman? Are you well-prepared for any emergency?"

"Aye, my lord, it is and I am. There are a host of remedies that I must have on hand, and others whose ingredients but wait to be mixed and blended," Wynne told him truthfully.

"I see." Caddaric almost purred the words, and suddenly all the women at the table were alert and wary of what was to come. The new thegn smiled toothily. "You do little, it appears to me, to pay for your keep and that of your children, lady. My half sister Averel is my responsibility, and one I shall not shirk; but your son, lady, is another matter. He takes the serf, Gytha, away from the fields, thus costing me her labor. How will you pay me for his keep and the loss of Gytha?"

Wynne was shocked by his question. What was she to say to him? She was his father's widow, and by all rights should not have to account for herself, or her children, or her use of the serfs.

"You refuse to cooperate with me in my efforts to sire a child on you, lady," he continued. "You curse my very vitality with your witchcraft. Is it possible if I wooed you more gently you would come to me of your own free will?"

"Never!" The word was out of her mouth before she might even think on it. She quickly attempted to soften the harshness of it with him. "Please, Caddaric Aethelmaere, please understand. I loved your father and, although I sympathize with your dilemma, to give myself to you would be a betrayal of Eadwine. I cannot betray a man who loved me, and who was so good to me, and whose daughter I bore."

"So be it," Caddaric said in a silky voice. "You have chosen your own fate, Welsh woman. If you will not be mine, then I shall make you the whore of the hall. You will pay for your keep and that of your son in this way." He smiled again, but his eyes were cold.

Eadgyth cried out as if she had been pierced with something sharp, and the others gasped, turning horrified eyes on Wynne. "Caddaric," his wife begged him, "do not do this thing, I beg of you."

"Be silent!" he told her, and then, turning back to Wynne, said, "Do you know who the whore of the hall is? She is the woman appointed by the lord to service his male visitors in whatever manner they so desire. There was no whore of the hall in my father's time, for he thought it a cruel practice to force a woman to such labor. I, however, see nothing wrong in offering my guests a full range of hospitality."

Wynne stood up and her voice was filled with distaste and loathing for the man. "I will do no such thing, Caddaric Aethelmaere. How dare you even suggest it? When I think that your father gave his precious life to save such as you, I grow ill with the memory of Eadwine's death."

"Disobey me and your brat will suffer for it," he told her dispassionately.

"Is this how you keep your sacred oath to your father to care for me and for our children, Caddaric Aethelmaere? You are dishonorable beyond the bounds of decency," Wynne told him furiously, her green eyes flashing.

"I did not promise my father that I should care for you, Welsh woman. I said I should look after my sister Averel, and that the boy would not suffer at my hands. He will not, but what is to prevent me from selling him to the first slaver I meet the next time I go to Worcester?" He laughed cruelly. "A pretty little boy like Arvel would fetch a handsome price and more than pay me back for my trouble. You will do what I tell you or I will take your son from you. How will you explain it to the boy's father when he comes someday to retrieve you both?" And the new thegn laughed again. "If indeed that story you told my father was truth, though I suspect it was not. How far will you go to protect your brat, Welsh woman? You are a good mother, aren't you?"

"I will take my children and leave Aelfdene," Wynne said quietly. "Somehow I will find my way back home."

Caddaric Aethelmaere rose to his feet shouting, "You will go nowhere, Welsh woman! You and your children will remain at Aelfdene, and you will whore for your son's keep! You might have been my woman, but since you find that so distasteful, you will be any man's woman. You will service the guests in my hall as the bitches in my kennels service the hounds. Do you understand me?" He grasped her upper arm, his fingers digging into the flesh hurtfully.

The rage boiling over in her, Wynne slapped him with her free hand, using every ounce of her strength. Then pulling away from him, she fled to the relative safety of her little chamber. It was there that Eadgyth found her, half tearful and frightened, yet angry and defiant. "I will kill him!" she said to her friend through gritted teeth. "I will cut his black heart from his hairy chest and eat it before his very eyes!"

"Do not fear," Eadgyth said calmly. "Caddaric may say what he wishes, but you will not be forced to whore for your living, Wynne. We will protect you. I promise you!"

"How?" Wynne demanded of Eadgyth. "You are all terrified of Caddaric. You will not defy him. I must leave here! There is no other way, and in that you can help me, for I will not leave my children behind."

"Caddaric need never know that we are helping you," Eadgyth explained patiently. "Calm yourself, Wynne, and think a moment. Few visitors pass through Aelfdene. When any do come and Caddaric offers you to them, we will see that the offer is not accepted. Trust us in this matter. We are your friends."

"How can you prevent a lustful man from his desires?" Wynne said. "And you cannot offer such a man another woman, for Caddaric would then wonder why his whore of the hall was not doing her duty. No, Eadgyth, it is impossible. I must flee Aelfdene!"

Eadgyth chuckled and replied, "Your fear is making you act irrationally. Think, I beg you! How did you stop my husband and keep him from his vile purpose, Wynne? You frightened him and made him believe you had cursed his manhood."

"But that was simple given the fact that Caddaric is known to be superstitious, and given the fact that he was already having some difficulty in performing his manly duties," Wynne said. "I had but to play on his weakness, but the men who pass through Aelfdene will be lusty fellows, filled with energy and pent-up passions, and eager to fuck a pretty woman. I will not be able to deter them in their intent," she finished. "No, Eadgyth, it is impossible!"

"You will not have to frighten these men away from you, Wynne," Eadgyth told her. "We will! Berangari, and Dagian, Haesel, and Aelf, and myself. We will convince any man coming into this hall and offered your services that you are a sorceress. That you have rendered our poor husband useless, and if they value their own manhoods, they will not go near you. If there is one brave enough to attempt to breach your walls, we will drug his wine before he has the chance. Caddaric need never know of our deception. No man would dare chance the loss of his manhood, but neither will he admit to fear, particularly fear of a mere woman. And what can Caddaric do about it? He cannot force his guests between your thighs, can he?" Eadgyth laughed aloud. "It is really quite a good plan, I think. Don't you?"

Wynne nodded slowly. It was a good plan! "Eadgyth," she said, "why is it you are constantly amazing me?" She hugged her companion and then continued, "Thank you, Eadgyth! And the others too. You are truly the best friends I have ever had."

The winter drained away and the days grew longer as the springtime approached. The women at Aelfdene went about their daily tasks in a calm and orderly manner. There were no visitors, but they all knew that come the warm months there would be. It was simply a matter of time. Then one day a thegn, whose holding was farther to the northwest, stopped overnight at Aelfdene on his way to Worcester.

"May I offer you the services of the whore of the hall?" Caddaric said jocularly to his guest as they sat sharing a jug of wine after the meal. "She's a particularly toothsome and spicy wench. Wynne! To me! We have a guest in need of pleasuring."

"She is not Saxon," the thegn, whose name was Wilfred, remarked.

"Nay, a Welsh wench. My father fancied her before his death," Caddaric replied, and then, looking up at Wynne, who now stood before the high board, he said, "Show our guest your breasts, Wynne."

It had been agreed amongst the women that Wynne would behave meekly in any situation like this where Caddaric was present, to allay any suspicions on his part when afterward he learned, if indeed he did learn, that she had not been used by a stranger. Expressionless, Wynne removed her tunic dress and then her under tunic before unlacing her chemise to bare her bosom.

"Are those not fine, big tits upon which to pillow your head?" Caddaric chortled, poking the half-drunk Wilfred, who, leaning forward, licked his lips with relish and leered suggestively at Wynne.

"Aye," he said, and his words were faintly slurred. "I would enjoy a tumble with your whore, Caddaric Aethelmaere. I dislike travel intensely, for I am a man who services all his women daily. When I am forced to travel, my energies become pent-up and I sicken. I have been on the road for three days now, with the prospect of another two days of riding before I reach my destination; not to mention the return trip. She looks like she'll be a juicy fuck."

"Wait at his bed space for our guest, Wynne," Caddaric ordered her with a pleased grin.

With a cold nod, Wynne restored her clothing to their proper mode and moved away from the high board. Berangari leaned over from her place at her husband's left and whispered something in his ear. Arising, he asked that his guest excuse him for a brief moment and moved off with his woman. Eadgyth slipped into her husband's place and said softly to Wilfred, "Do not use the woman Wynne, my lord."

"What?" Wilfred looked puzzled.

"She is a sorceress, my lord. My husband sought to have her after his father died. She cursed his manhood so that he has not functioned in a normal manner since. She has threatened to do so with any man who tries to mount her."

"This is truth, lady?" The thegn, Wilfred, looked distinctly worried regarding Eadgyth's revelations.

"Aye, my lord," Eadgyth said, nodding her head vigorously.

"Why does your husband offer such a woman to his guests then?" Wilfred contemplated aloud. "Why does he not just send her away?"

"He will not send her away because he promised his father to look after her. Wynne was the old thegn's favorite. She is our healer," Eadgyth explained logically. "My husband is a generous man, but somewhat shortsighted at times. He would be the best of hosts, you see, and foolishly offers the woman to you, hoping to please."

"You're certain the woman would curse me?" Wilfred asked, his eyes moving down the hall to where Wynne stood. She was a most toothsome female, and he was very reluctant to give her up.

"Did you see her smile, my lord? She never smiles. Ever. She had a soft spot for the old thegn, but she is a cold, hard woman with no heart. She wouldn't hesitate to hex you. I think she enjoys hurting men. Ahhh! The suffering she has caused us all!" Eadgyth sighed, her hand resting dramatically over her heart. "I would not wish such tragedy upon your wife and women. My poor Caddaric! He will never be the same again, although," and here Eadgyth lowered her voice so that the thegn, Wilfred, was forced to lean forward to hear her, "you must not tell him I told you of our mutual misfortune." And Eadgyth wiped a tear from her eye, or so at least the thegn, Wilfred, thought, sympathy rising in his breast for this gentle, good woman who but sought to save him.

"There, there," he sympathized with her, patting Eadgyth's hand. "Caddaric will not know that we have spoken on this matter, lady. As for the whore of the hall, tell her I have changed my mind. Caddaric need not know of that either."

The next morning the thegn, Wilfred, departed, promising to stop at Aelfdene on his way home, but he did not return. During the warm months of summer that year there were several visitors to Aelfdene, for Caddaric was foolishly involving himself in the politics of the day. King Edward was not well, and Harold Godwinson was lobbying hard for the English throne. None of these visitors, however, availed themselves of the hall's whore. Caddaric was at first surprised, but as the days went by and Wynne remained untouched by any other man, he began to grow angry.

"Is there no one who will help me to bring this proud bitch to heel?" he grumbled to Eadgyth.

"Perhaps, my husband, it is God's way of intervening in your cruel plan," she told him boldly. Eadgyth was the only one of Caddaric Aethelmaere's women who might speak to him without fear of reprisal. "I think God has saved you from yourself, and I thank him for it."

But Caddaric was not pleased by her words. Each day he watched as Wynne fed Averel, who was now toddling about the hall on fat, unsteady little legs. He watched her sit by the fire pit nursing her daughter, her son by her knee chattering up at her and stroking Averel's little head tenderly. The little boy adored his baby sister. How strange, Caddaric thought to himself. This small boy with his raven's hair and his deep blue eyes; this so obviously Welsh child and I have much in common. Averel. Averel who is both his half sister and mine.

Daily Caddaric Aethelmaere watched Wynne and her children, growing more and more embittered. Her womb was as fertile as one of his newly harvested fields. Yet she denied him its use. She denied him the children he so desperately desired. He had made her the lowest of the low in his hall; still everyone treated her as they had treated her in the days when his father had been alive. Worse! For some strange reason, no man who had come into his house as a guest would avail himself of her services. She remained cool and untouched. It was driving him mad. He wanted to punish her. He wanted to humble her. He wanted to destroy her even as she was destroying him!

He would give her to the first man who would use her in his very presence so that he could be certain she would be brought down and demeaned, he promised himself, and he waited for that man and that day.

Chapter 18

Autumn came once more and with it a peddler's cart that rumbled down the barely visible path that led from a poorly marked secondary track to Aelfdene manor. It was late afternoon. The serfs and the geburas, curious, came from the fields and from their houses, delighted for this pleasant intrusion into their otherwise dull lives. The cart was drawn by a rather tired-looking dusty brown horse who ambled into the manor house courtyard as if he were coming home and then abruptly stopped.

Atop the cart's bench seat sat two men. One was large with shoulder-length grey-white hair. Stepping down from the cart, he announced in a rough voice, "I am Boda, the peddler. I have come to trade, and I seek shelter for the night." Boda walked with a most pronounced limp.

Caddaric Aethelmaere stepped forward. "I am the thegn of Aelfdene," he said. "You're welcome to my hall. Let me see your goods and we will talk."

"Very good, my lord," Boda said, and turned to the other man with him, a gaunt shambling fellow with a half-vacant look. "Display our goods, you fool!"

"Who is he?" demanded Caddaric.

"My son Tovi," Boda replied. "Since birth he has been slow in his mind."

"Why do you keep him with you?" Caddaric asked.

"Why not? I do not have to pay him, and he is too stupid to steal from me, aren't you, Tovi?" The peddler chuckled.

Tovi offered his audience a gap-toothed grin and nodded. He had the definite look of a half-wit about him.

"A slave would have cost me money, my lord. With Tovi I have but to feed him regularly and beat him occasionally. Or is it feed him occasionally and beat him regularly?" The peddler chuckled loudly at his own humor. Then he said, "If you have women you would favor and are of a mind to be generous, bring them forth. I have many pretties and geegaws that will appeal to the ladies."

Caddaric did not know how generous he was of a mind to be this day, but Eadgyth and his lesser women had been particularly accommodating of late. "Bring your mistress and the others," he commanded the nearest serf.

The peddler and his son began to display their goods for all to see. Caddaric was astounded by the variety of merchandise laid out from the small cart which hardly seemed large enough to hold half of what was presented. There were some fine iron pots and attractive glass vessels, as well as the usual supplies of salt and spices; but it was the extent of the luxury goods brought forth that amazed Caddaric. He was unable to keep from saying so.

Boda nodded as if pleased by the young thegn's astuteness. "We are a large family of traders," he said chattily. "I have nine brothers, and our business extends from England all the way to Byzantium. It is there my eldest brother does the buying for us all, as it is cheaper to buy directly in Constantinople than if we bought from some middleman here in England or elsewhere. The goods are then shipped to us wherever we are. I make my home in London during the winter months, but once the roads are passable again, Tovi and I travel about in our little cart, trading and selling as we go."

"Your little cart holds a great deal," Caddaric noted.

" 'Tis all in the packing, my lord," Boda assured him with an airy wave of his hands.

The women had come from the house and were exclaiming excitedly over the peddler's wares. The fabrics displayed on wooden racks had them in raptures. There was fine linen from Genoa; scarlet silk from Lucca; blue and white silks as well as beautiful woolen cloth from Firenze. There were fine-tooled leather belts, and leather belts that had been gilded in gold leaf. There were silver and bronze buckles from Byzantium, and a very beautiful silver dish from the same city, which particularly took Caddaric's fancy. Indeed, having seen it, he could scarcely let it out of his hands.

The selection of jewelry was an excellent one. There were beads of blue and white glass, and crystal beads and those of garnet. There were gold and garnet disk brooches, and other brooches fashioned from silver and decorated with moonstones. There were bracelets of both silver and gold; as well as decorative pins. A rock crystal pendant set in a silver sling took Berangari's fancy, but Eadgyth very much desired a beautifully engraved bronze work box. The others argued over simpler treasures such as small ivory boxes and packets of needles.

Wynne, however, fell in love with a fine-painted dower chest. "It would be perfect for Averel," she said wistfully. "It is never too soon to begin filling a girl's dower chest." She knew that had Eadwine been alive, the chest would have been immediately purchased for their daughter. She did not expect Caddaric, however, to buy it. So, turning away, she returned alone to the house, unnoticed by the others.

The peddler and his son would shelter in the hall for the night. Eadgyth knew that Caddaric would offer Wynne to them for their pleasure. His desire to break her spirit had not ceased, and the two strangers were the first visitors they had had in weeks. When Caddaric had finally gone back into the house, Eadgyth and the others clustered about the peddler. From a distance it appeared as if they were chattering, questioning him or seeking to bargain with him.

"My husband," said Eadgyth in a sweet voice, "will offer you the services of the whore of the hall tonight, sir. Do not, if you value your life, accept his offer."

"Why not?" Boda demanded in his rough voice, peering at her curiously with bloodshot eyes.

"She is a sorceress!" Dagian said dramatically before Eadgyth might even answer him.

"Aye," Berangari put in quickly, and lowered her voice, "she rendered our man useless when he sought to have his way with her. He has been no good to any of us since, though he blusters and pretends it is otherwise."

"There are no children here," Haesel said in an eerie tone. "None but those belonging to the Welsh witch herself. Her curse has denied us all our motherhood."

"Why does he not get rid of her?" Boda demanded suspiciously.

"She was purchased by the old master to be the manor's healer," Eadgyth answered him. "We have no other healer, nor anyone capable of it. That is why our lord will not let the girl go, though we have pleaded with him to do so."

"If she is the healer, then why is she also the whore of the hall?" Boda probed further.

"She was the old master's favorite woman. She bore him a child," Eadgyth said. "After his death, our husband sought to force himself on her, for he had a greedy appetite for female flesh. When he would not heed her objections, she worked her magic upon him. He punished her in return by making her the whore of the hall, but we have warned all to whom he would offer her, for knowing what we do, we cannot in good Christian conscience allow any man near her. She has threatened to curse any who would attempt her, and believe me, sir, she will!"

The peddler nodded his understanding of the matter. "I thank you for your warning, my lady," he told her. "I should not enjoy being crippled. I have a young second wife."

In the safety of the Great Chamber the women giggled over what had just passed between them and the peddler.

"He reeks of onions," little Aelf said. "I could smell them even from where I stood behind Berangari."

"At least he'll not bother Wynne," Eadgyth said in relieved tones.

"He's a big lout and ugly as sin," Berangari noted, "but it is his son who frightens me. Did you see him watching us from the sides of his eyes?" She shuddered. "I'd not like to meet him on a dark path on a moonlit night."

"He's just a half-wit," Aelf noted. "Do you think that half-wit men futter women? Do you think they even know how?" she wondered curiously.

"How horrible!" Haesel shrieked. "How can you think of such a thing?"

"Well, Caddaric will offer Wynne to the peddler, and he will refuse her," Aelf said. "What if he offers her to the halfwit? We did not speak to him, and besides, he would not know enough to refuse. What if he can fuck like any other man, despite his lack of wits? Did any of you consider that?" Aelf concluded, extremely pleased with herself for having thought it all out.

"The peddler will not allow his son near Wynne," Eadgyth said with firm assurance in her voice. "Even if the creature could function in a normal manner, the peddler will want to protect his offspring from any curse. Remember, the poor soul is free labor for his father."

At the dinner hour they adjourned to the hall to find Caddaric smiling and in a particularly good mood. Boda and his son were with him. At each of their places, but Wynne's, was a gift. For Eadgyth there was the beautiful bronze work box that she had so admired.

"Open it! Open it!" Caddaric chortled.

Inside Eadgyth found a packet of needles and a lovely gold and garnet disk brooch. "My dear husband," she said, and her eyes were filled with tears. She had never, since her wedding day when he had come bearing gifts, received such bounty from him. Why now, she wondered, delighted nonetheless.

Berangari, smiling, was clasping the rock crystal pendant in the silver sling about her graceful neck. She had never dreamed it would really be hers. Catching Caddaric's hand up, she kissed it in thanks, and Caddaric grinned.

There was an ivory comb in a matching case decorated with blue glass and moonstones, for Dagian, and a necklace of garnet beads for Haesel, the beads all strung on a gold chain. Aelf was in transports of delight over a silver and moonstone brooch. They fought over Caddaric in their efforts to thank him, which plea,sed him mightily, and he patted and pinched their buttocks in approval.

"Surely you have gifted yourself with something as well, my husband," Eadgyth said when the excitement had finally died down.

"After the meal I will tell you." He chuckled mysteriously.

It was a simple family supper. Rabbit stew, bread, cheese, and a sweet cake made with apples. There was newly brewed ale to drink, and Caddaric had more than his share. It was good, Eadgyth thought, to see him so happy. She could never remember ever seeing him so filled with the joy of living as he was this evening. When the dishes had been cleared from the board, Caddaric sat back smiling broadly. It was obvious he was quite pleased with himself.

"Eadgyth asked me before the meal if I had not purchased something from Boda that would give me pleasure," Caddaric began. "Well, I have!" Reaching beneath his chair, he lifted up the silver dish he had been so covetous of earlier and placed it on the table. "My father never had anything of such value in this hall in his day," he bragged. "Boda says it is from the workshop of Simon of Constantinople, one of the finest silversmiths in all of Byzantium. Look at the engraving, Eadgyth! It is a bull fighting a lion. Boda says it is a lion, although we do not have such beasts here. How I would like to hunt a lion!" Caddaric's face was filled with pleasure and almost boyish excitement. "And, " he continued, "I have something else, my wife." He drew a small vial filled with a reddish powder from his pocket, whispering as he did so, "Boda says that this will restore my vitality, Eadgyth. It is magical, and after I have taken it all, which I must do over a period of seven days, mixing it with wine, I will be able to give my women sons! Is this not marvelous?"

"Caddaric," Eadgyth asked him nervously, "these items are rare and of great value. What can you possibly have of equal value that you could barter in exchange?"

"Boda wants a wife for his son Tovi," Caddaric said slyly. "The half-wit has lately developed a lust for female flesh, and Boda has already had to pay damages to two men whose women Tovi used without permission. The fool knows no better." He laughed. "So Boda has decided to get a wife for his son. In exchange for all your gifts, for the silver bowl, and the magical powder, I have agreed to supply him with a bride."

"But what if the half-wit gives his wife children, Caddaric? Think on it, I beg you, my lord," Eadgyth said. "Is such a thing kind?"

"Do not fear, lady," Boda interrupted them, obviously worried that Caddaric would renege on their agreement if his wife convinced him to do so. "Neither my wife nor I lacked any of our wits, and we fathered three daughters as well, all sound. Poor Tovi, our youngest and our only son, was so curst. My young second wife has given me two boys as healthy as any. My grandchildren are all full-witted. Any babies Tovi can sire on a healthy woman will certainly have all their wits about them, I am sure. The girl your husband is giving us will not suffer. She will be well cared for, I promise you."

"The bargain has already been struck, Eadgyth," Caddaric said firmly. "I want the silver bowl; but more important to me, wife, is the powder which Boda assures me will overcome the Welsh woman's curse. Do you not want me well and whole again?"

What else could she answer but "Aye," Eadgyth thought. Her husband had purchased them all fine gifts by bartering away a serf girl. Eadwine Aethelhard would certainly not have done that, and then she pushed the guilty thought away. Caddaric Aethelmaere was a hard man, but he had always been good to her. What difference could one girl make? Knowing her husband's normally close ways, the girl would have some fault, Eadgyth was certain. The serfs were always spawning children. It almost seemed that they had nothing else to do. She smiled up at her husband and inquired, "Which girl is to go with Boda and his son, my lord?"

And the horrifying answer came. "Wynne."

"You cannot!" Eadgyth burst out as the others gasped in total shock, but Wynne rose to her feet, white with her fury.

"I am not some serf to be disposed of, Caddaric Aethelmaere!" she shouted at him. "I am your father's widow! Is this how you honor Eadwine Aethelhard's memory? By giving his widow to a low-bred half-wit?"

"I am the master of Aelfdene now, not my father!" he shouted back. "You will do as I tell you and go where I send you!"

"When Eadwine died, I wanted to take my children and return home to Gwernach, but you would not give me your help. 'Twas you who insisted I remain here that you might have free rein to attempt your rape of me; and afterward when you failed, you sought to demean me by making me the whore of the hall. You failed in that as well, Caddaric Aethelmaere! And you will fail in this shameful attempt too!" Stepping down from the high board, she called out, "Ealdraed! Fetch my children to me. I leave Aelfdene this night!"

Caddaric stood up and the muscles in his neck bulged darkly with his rage. "Aye, you Welsh witch, you have defied me at every turn, but not in this! I swore to myself that the first man who would agree to take you upon this board in my full view would have you for his own! The peddler has said that his son will have you for a wife, and that he will meet my conditions. So be it!" Then looking to Boda and Tovi, he told them, "She is yours."

Not even bothering to look back, Wynne turned away from her tormentor and walked swiftly down the hall. Suddenly the half-wit was before her, prancing foolishly and giggling. He repelled her totally, and she drew back as he reached out to grasp at her.

"Pretty lady," he chortled. "Father says you are now my wife."

Wynne slapped out at Tovi. "Get away from me!" she said in a low, tight voice.

It was like striking out at a persistent insect. Tovi moved agilely aside, and his surprisingly strong fingers closed about her slender wrist. Yanking her close, he grabbed at one of Wynne's breasts and squeezed it, repeating, "Pretty lady." He was drooling slightly.

Wynne struck out at him, but again he ducked her and began dragging her down the hall back toward the dais. She struggled fiercely, hitting out futilely at him. "Let me go, you idiot! Release me this instant! Caddaric, I will kill you for this! Do not doubt that I will wreak a vengeance upon you so terrible that you will live to regret your actions this night!" Standing stock-still, she managed to momentarily halt their progress and kicked Tovi quite hard on his bony shin. He grunted, but then quite easily yanked her up before the high board.

"My wife nasty," he whined at Boda. "Tovi no like, Father."

"There, my son, do not be distressed," Boda answered him smoothly. "What have I taught you makes a lady happy? You must fuck her. The good lord who has given you this pretty wife wants to see you fuck her."

"Caddaric, in the name of the blessed Jesu and his sainted mother, I beg you not to allow this thing," Eadgyth cried, and falling to her knees by his side, she took his hand. "Take back the work box and the other things, my lord. I do not want them if you will but substitute another for Wynne. Anyone, but not Wynne! What will Aelfdene do for a healer, my husband?" she attempted to reason with him.

"Aye, my lord," Berangari and the others said, and with little sighs they placed their own gifts upon the table. "Please spare Wynne."

"Aelfdene did without a healer for many years before the Welsh woman came," Caddaric said coldly. "We will survive without her. It is my wish she be given to the peddler's son. Boda, can your son do his duty by this woman? If so, then let him! Here! Upon my table before us all, because you, my dear wife Eadgyth, my lesser woman, will remain to see what happens to those who defy and displease me."

Caddaric snapped his fingers in a prearranged signal, and several serving men ran forward to roughly tear the clothing from Wynne's body. They held her firmly as they ripped away at her tunic dress, her under tunic, and finally her delicate chemise. Wynne struggled against them wildly, then, fear overcoming her, she began to scream as a mindless terror engulfed her. Her limbs became frozen, unable to move. They bore her up onto the dais, still resisting, but weakly, and placed her upon the high board. The half-wit, seeing her naked form, began to chortle and fondle himself lewdly. The servants held her arms and spread her legs wide as Tovi clambered up onto his victim, cackling with salacious excitement. Eadgyth and the others shrieked, horrified as the half-wit displayed a large and engorged manhood.

Wynne struggled uselessly against her captors. Her heart was pumping violently and she shrank back futilely as Tovi's body covered hers; unable to breathe properly, her head spinning, but totally capable of realizing what was happening to her. Tovi began to grunt like an animal as he settled himself atop her. She felt him begin to insert himself in her body, his hand guiding his great rod, pushing it slowly into her passage. Wynne began to scream helplessly beneath his assault, feebly trying to buck him off her. Tovi's mouth came wetly down on hers, but she quickly turned her head away in disgust. Then she heard a familiar voice whispering urgently in her ear. "Keep fighting me, dearling, else I cannot bring this deception off!"

It could not be! After almost three years? It could not be! Her fear subsiding somewhat, even though she howled like a scalded cat beneath the man atop her, Wynne focused her eyes and looked into the deep blue eyes of Madoc of Powys! She was going mad! That was it! She was going mad. Her head rolled about, and into her sight came the face of Caddaric Aethelmaere. It was filled with lust and sadistic pleasure. He almost slavered with his excitement, believing Wynne finally broken.

"That's it, half-wit!" he encouraged Tovi. "Hump her! Give her your all!" and he laughed even as he envied the fool the conquest he had so desperately desired.

Wynne's head rolled back to face her attacker. "Madoc?" she mouthed.

"Aye, dearling," he whispered in her ear as, to her shock, she recognized with absolute certainty the man violating her.

"No! No! No!" Wynne moaned, horrified by her own sudden reaction to him. It was simply too much to bear.

"Pretend to faint, dearling," he instructed her, but Wynne already had. Madoc forced himself to a quick conclusion. Then in his identity as the slack-mouthed Tovi, he climbed off the unconscious Wynne, chortling and wiping his limp weapon on his tunic as he pulled it down. "Lady nice now, Father," he said. "Tovi fuck her good."

Eadgyth and the others were weeping wildly. Little Aelf had vomited her dinner onto the floor. Rising, the women stumbled from the hall, supporting each other in their grief and their shame. Their continued sobs could be heard from above in the Great Chamber.

"Wine!" Caddaric called to his servants. "I would drink a toast to the bride," and he laughed uproariously.

The wine was brought and poured. The three men drank it down quickly. Wynne slowly began to regain consciousness, remembering at once what had happened and wondering if she had indeed heard Madoc's voice coming from the idiot's mouth.

"Take the bitch then," Caddaric said, slamming his heavy goblet down on the tabletop by her ear. "She's yours and good riddance!"

Wynne pulled herself up into a half-seated position and said bitterly to him, " I want my children! I'll not go without my children, Caddaric! If you try and keep them from me, I will somehow find a way to return to Aelfdene and kill you! Give me my children!"

"I got rid of the boy several days ago," he said with a cruel smile, and grasping one of her breasts in his hand, he squeezed it hard. "Did the half-wit service you well?" He leered at her.

"Arvel!" she shrieked. "You have killed Arvel!" Scrambling to her knees, she lunged at him, her nails going for his eyes, her teeth bared in almost feral fashion.

"I do not kill children," he said scornfully, pushing her away. "Ruari Ban, the slaver, came through here several days ago. You were out as usual, gathering your damned roots and berries. He said the man from whom he purchased you wanted your son. I sold the brat to him!" Caddaric laughed again. "I made a pretty penny too. Ruari Ban was very anxious to have the boy and made no secret of it."

"Arvel, my son." Wynne wept for a moment and then she snarled, "I will find my son, but you will not have my Averel, you devil!"

"Take the wench," he told her. "I won't have to provide for her or give her a dowry if you do. I owe my father nought, for had he not stolen you from me in the first place, you would have given me my children, and I would be a happy man. To hell with my promise!"

"Come, wife," Tovi said, and he lifted her off the table to carry her, protesting, from the hall.

"Where's the child?" Boda asked. "I don't want the Welsh woman unhappy."

"In the Great Chamber with her nursemaid. Willa will bring her to you at dawn before you go. You don't want the little wench in the way tonight, do you? I don't doubt that your son will be more than happy to share his bride with you," and Caddaric laughed nastily. Then he said sharply, "Get out! Our dealings are done. You will not be welcome at Aelfdene again. Do not come back."

"You need not fear, my lord," Boda said quietly. "There will be no need for us to come this way again." He bowed politely and then departed the hall, leaving Caddaric Aethelmaere to his wine.

In the courtyard the peddler's wagon stood silent. Boda climbed into the back of it, pulling at his dirty grey-white hair as he quickly clambered into the vehicle. Wynne lay, now clothed in a clean chemise, upon a narrow bench that served as a sleeping place. Her eyes widened at his entry, the wig in his hand, his red hair bright in the lamplight.

"Einion!" she half sobbed. "Oh, Einion!" and she sat up, relief pouring through her bruised body.

The big man enfolded her in his bearlike embrace and hugged her hard. "Lady! My lady Wynne. Thank God we have found you at last!"

"But you do not look like yourself," Wynne said, peering hard at him, "and yet I should know that fiery head of yours and your dear voice anywhere."

Einion chuckled. "My lord Madoc is a master of disguises, my lady Wynne. You did not recognize him in the repulsive Tovi, did you?"

"Nay," said Wynne softly, "I did not."

"My skin has been painted with bark and berry juices to resemble that of an older man, a man who spends half his year in a large town," Einion explained. "The shape of my nose has been altered by the use of clay. I hunch and I learned to modify my walk. I even changed my voice. It is a good disguise, my lady Wynne, is it not?"

"Very good, Einion," she replied, and then she looked at the other man in the wagon. "Is it really you, Madoc? I cannot see you through this deception. Yet for a moment in the hall, I thought I saw your eyes." She was beginning to shiver.

Madoc reached up, and drawing down a small length of soft wool, wrapped it about her shoulders. " ‘Tis I, dearling, truly. I dare not remove my camouflage and restore myself to my own identity until we are well away from this place. This Saxon thegn would not be pleased to learn he has restored you to your own people. He seems to gain great pleasure in shaming you."

"This place is Aelfdene, my lord. It has been my home for three years now," Wynne said, and he immediately caught the reproving tone in her voice. "I have lived here longer than I did at Raven's Rock." Then she looked at Einion. "Where is my daughter?"

"With her nursemaid in the Great Chamber. He says he will give her to me in the morning."

"I will not leave here without Averel," Wynne said firmly.

"Averel, " Madoc said. "I thought we had agreed to call a daughter Angharad."

"Averel is not your daughter, my lord," Wynne answered him, and wondered why it was she felt a small bitter satisfaction in telling him this. His arrival here was certainly more than fortuitous, but the timing was all wrong and it rankled her.

Madoc's eyes darkened. "Is she the daughter of that animal who calls himself the lord of this place?"

"Nay," Wynne told him scornfully, "she is not. Her father was Eadwine Aethelhard; he was Aelfdene's former master. He died ten months ago in a hunting accident. He sacrificed himself to save the life of his eldest son, that pig who now rules in this hall."

"And my child? Did you safely deliver my child?" Madoc asked her.

"I did. You have a son, my lord. A fine, healthy boy. I called him Arvel, not Anwyl, for he was a child to be wept over in our captivity," Wynne told him. A captivity, she thought bitterly, that might have ended sooner if you had but come for us before now.

"Where is my son?" Madoc demanded. Indeed, she seemed far more concerned for her daughter than she was for her son.

"Did you not hear Caddaric Aethelmaere in the hall, my lord? He has taken my son and sold him to Ruari Ban, who is, as we speak, bringing my innocent child to your brother at Cai!" Her eyes were filled with tears. "Why did you wait all this time to come for us, my lord? Why? I waited and I waited, and I prayed and prayed that you would rescue us; but you did not come. It was as if we had never existed for you, Madoc."

"That is unfair, Wynne," he told her, his own anger beginning to rise. She had had a child by another man, and from the tone of her voice when she had spoken of that man, she had cared deeply for him. Did she still love her Saxon? Had she ever loved him?

"You did not come!" Wynne repeated.

"We sought you from the very beginning, dearling," he began. Then he patiently explained to her as best he could his desperate search for her and for their child. "Until we could be sure that you even remained in the country," Madoc told her, "we could not be certain that we would ever find you. For the past eight months now Einion and I, positive you were still in this land, have traveled the Mercian countryside. We used Worcester as the center of our radius and stopped at each and every manor we came to, searching for you, Wynne."

"Almost three years have passed," Wynne said low. "Three years to the day, Madoc."

"Three years in which you managed to make yourself a new life and bear another man's child," he retorted, his anger spilling over. "How is it this Caddaric could steal my son away and you not even know of it, Wynne? Did you give my son as much love and care as you have given to your Saxon's daughter?"

Her hand flashed out, making hard contact with his face. "Do not dare to criticize my abilities as a mother, my lord. Where were you when Arvel was born? I was here at Aelfdene, and my son's life was saved by the very Saxon whose daughter I later bore. Arvel came into the world, the cord wrapped about his little neck. I had tried to bear him alone, without help, for I was frightened and proud, and yet angry that you had not found us. Eadwine heard my cries and helped me to birth Arvel. Your son?" She said scornfully. "He may have come from your seed, but it was Eadwine Aethelhard who was father to him! It was Eadwine Aethelhard who claimed him legally for his own; who watched him take his first steps; who sat up with me when he had a fever; whom Arvel called Da."

He was staggered by her vitriol as much as by the words she spat at him.

"You must not quarrel now," Einion said. "Not now that you have finally found each other. If you do, then you allow Brys of Cai the final victory over you both."

"Did you love your Saxon?" Madoc asked low.

"Aye," she answered him, "but not as I love you."

Love. She had said love! Not loved, but love! "Dare I hope," he said, "that you love me yet?"

"I thought I did," Wynne answered him honestly, "but the man I loved was someone I knew three years ago. I am your wife, Madoc, and that has not changed. Still, we must get to know each other again. I am not the same Wynne of Gwernach as you knew three years ago. I am older, and I hope wiser." She turned to speak to Einion once more. "In the morning when we have regained my daughter's custody," she said, "we must hurry directly to Cai. God only knows what evil Brys intends for my son, but we must save him!"

"What of your belongings?" Einion asked her.

"Caddaric does not have a good head for wine," Wynne said with a smile. "His women will see he is carried to his bed, and he will sleep until the morrow is half gone. I will be able to get my things and Averel's as well."

The dawn had scarcely broken when Eadgyth crept to the peddler's wagon, calling softly as she neared it. "Wynne. Wynne! Are you there?"

Wynne stepped down from the cart and embraced her friend. "It is all right, Eadgyth," she said. "I am well."

"But how can that be?" Eadgyth fretted. "I do not understand how you can be so cheerful after what happened to you last night. It was horrible! I will never, ever forgive my husband for his bestial treatment of you, Wynne. Never!"

Wynne put a comforting arm about Eadgyth and replied, "Do you remember how I always told you that my husband would one day come for me? Well, he has."

"What?" Eadgyth's blue eyes were huge with her surprise, and then she said, "Oh, Wynne! My poor, poor Wynne! This terrible night just past has driven you mad!"

"No, no, Eadgyth! I am as sane as you are," Wynne reassured her. "Boda, the peddler, is my own servant Einion, well-disguised, I assure you, for even I did not recognize him at first. As for his son, Tovi, 'tis my own lord, Madoc, and he is equally well-disguised. I will not go into the details of this, Eadgyth, but you must swear to me that you will not tell the others. None has been the friend to me that you have, dearest Eadgyth. I would not leave you to worry about me. Know that I leave Aelfdene today for my own dear land of Wales. I am going home, Eadgyth, as I always knew I would."

Tears of happiness for her friend slipped down Eadgyth's face. "I will miss you," she told Wynne. "The others have always been pleasant companions, but you have been my friend. I will miss Arvel and Averel too. Now there will be no children at Aelfdene."

"Why did you not tell me about Arvel?" Wynne queried Eadgyth.

"I did not know until last night myself," Eadgyth replied. "Do you think I would have ever allowed Caddaric to do such a thing if it had been in my power to stop him? Had I known his intent, I would have hidden Arvel from him. I went immediately to the serfs' village after I left the hall last night, and I learned that Caddaric had sold Gytha to Ruari Ban as well. She was to go with little Arvel and continue his care. Where has the slaver taken them?"

"To the castle of my brother-in-law, Brys of Cai. He is the most evil man in Christendom, Eadgyth. God only knows what plans he has for my son. We leave for Cai as soon as I have gathered my things and Averel's."

"Come now back to the house," Eadgyth said. "Berangari and I have packed everything, but perhaps you will want something from your pharmacea. All that is there is really yours, and your journey will not be either short or easy."

"Thank you, Eadgyth," Wynne said. "I will take a few basic things, but I will leave the rest for you. You must take my place as Aelfdene's healer, my friend. I have filled a small book with all my recipes and their uses. It will be yours now."

The two women returned to the house. Wynne gathered what she wanted from her pharmacea. Then, with the help of the others, Wynne's chest and the small chest containing Averel's things were brought out to the peddler's cart. Averel's nursemaid, Willa, looked most woebegone. Her little nose was red from her weeping.

"Would you like to come with us, Willa?" Wynne asked the girl, who had been born and lived her entire life at Aelfdene.

"If I could, lady. There is nought for me here," was the weepy reply.

As the others had returned to the house, but for Eadgyth, Wynne said to Madoc, "Give me a silver penny, my lord, that I may purchase this girl."

Digging into his pocket, Madoc drew forth the required coin and handed it to Eadgyth. "Tell your husband that Boda wanted the girl to continue looking after the child so that I might help with the wagon and the goods. That you refused to let Willa go for any less than a penny, believing Boda would not pay it," Madoc instructed her. "Your husband will undoubtedly be surprised you struck so good a bargain for her, and the little wench isn't even worth a ha'penny. He will, therefore, be pleased enough to ignore the fact you sold off his property."

"You are not the half-wit," Eadgyth replied slowly, her voice filled with wonder. She peered closely at the creature she knew as Tovi. Then she looked at Wynne. "Is he fair beneath his disguise, Wynne?"

"Aye," Wynne said shortly. "His face is fair."

"Will you keep our secret, my lady Eadgyth?" Madoc asked her gently. "I have sought so long to find my wife and restore her to my side."

"I will keep your secret, my lord," Eadgyth told him solemnly, "but you must not think it is because I do not love Caddaric Aethelmaere, or because I am a disobedient wife. I both love and honor my husband, though I know he is not the most admirable of men. Wynne is my friend, and Caddaric's actions toward her have been wrong. It is not my wifely duty, however, to tell my husband that he has returned Wynne to her own dear lord. Such knowledge, as you undoubtedly know, would not please him. Wynne has been like a fever in my husband's blood. The realization that he could not have his way with her hardened his heart and made him crueler than I have ever known him to be. It is better that he go on believing he has debased her and brought her low. Another defeat would be more than he could bear," Eadgyth finished quietly.

"The care you show for your husband's peace of mind is most admirable, my lady," Madoc told her sincerely. "I think you a most wise and patient woman."

Eadgyth smiled a small smile. "Go with God's good blessing," she said. Then she and Wynne hugged each other. "It is unlikely that we will meet again," Eadgyth said. "I am glad that this ends well despite Caddaric."

"If you should ever need my help," Wynne told her, "you have but to get a message to Raven's Rock. I can never repay you for all your kindness." She hugged Eadgyth a final time. "God watch over you, my friend."

Eadgyth turned away and reentered the house. To have stayed any longer would have caused suspicion. Wynne, her daughter in her arms, and Willa climbed into the cart while Einion and Madoc, in the disguises as Boda and Tovi, mounted the bench seat. Einion flapped the reins over the horse's back, and the cart lumbered out of the courtyard of Aelfdene onto the half-track that led to another obscured road that would lead them back into Wales. To the east the sky was beginning to glow with the promise of a bright new day.

Chapter 19

They had traveled five days from Aelfdene. Now certain that Caddaric had not followed after them in some warped change of heart, Madoc and Einion thought it safe to remove their disguises. Willa, who had been informed almost immediately of the truth, watched wide-eyed as they did so. Her admiration of Einion was ill-concealed. Wynne felt it necessary to tell the girl of Einion's wife, Megan.

"Did you have to tell her quite so soon?" he grumbled at her.

"It is not necessary that you seduce my daughter's nursemaid," Wynne told him tartly. "You have not stinted yourself of female company in the months you have been away from Raven's Rock, I am certain."

Einion's eyebrows rose in surprise. She had matured. The baby who had grown into the sweet and lovely young girl was now a full-blown woman; and a woman, he suspected, who would have to be reckoned with. He wondered if Madoc had realized it yet, or if the prince would continue to treat his wife as a restored prize possession. Einion grinned to himself. Life was becoming interesting once again.

"I'll not tell you I've been entirely true to Megan, except in my heart," he said plainly, "but then Megan is wise enough not to ask as long as I am a faithful husband when at Raven's Rock."

"It's a wonder you haven't been killed by some enraged father or husband by now," Wynne said, and then she chuckled. "You have not changed, Einion, and I am glad. Everything else has changed."

"Aye," he agreed. They sat before a small campfire in a sheltered glen where the¹ little fire would not be seen by bandits. "You have changed," he told her.

"I had no choice," she replied. "It was a matter of survival. It was not myself I thought of, but of the child I carried at the time."

He nodded. "You and Madoc are yet at swords' points. Can you not heal the breach between you?"

Wynne smiled at him. "I hope so, Einion," she said, "but Madoc refuses to understand how it was for me. Then there is the matter of our son which must be settled."

"What is he like, the boy?" Einion asked. "Averel is nothing like you."

"Nay, she is her father's daughter without a doubt," Wynne said with another smile, "and Arvel is his father's son. He is Madoc's mirror image. After a time I began to forget Madoc's face. I had but to look at his son to remember. He is healthy, and bright and quick for a lad his age. If Eadwine had been alive, he would have never let my son go, for he thought of him as his own," Wynne told Einion.

"If Brys of Cai wanted the boy, my lady, he would have nonetheless found a way to steal him," Einion remarked fatalistically.

"But why does he want my son?" Wynne wondered aloud.

"He wants our son," said Madoc, joining them, "because his mind is warped, and he has some nefarious scheme festering within him."

"How long will it take us to get to Cai?" Wynne asked.

"We are not going to Cai, nor to Raven's Rock, dearling," he answered. "I am taking you and Averel to Gwernach. If I return home with you, then Brys will quickly learn of it. He will know that we will soon be coming to regain our son. To our small advantage, I have never known Brys to harm a little child, and this child is his nephew, his blood. I believe Arvel is safe as long as Brys does not suspect that we have been reunited. If he learns that, however, our son's life could be forfeit. We must plan carefully, for there will be but one chance for us. This I know in my heart."

"Mercifully, you will not take as long to fetch our son as you did to fetch me," Wynne said sharply.

"You are not fair," he replied equally hotly. "I have explained over and over again that at first we did not know where you were, for Brys made it seem as if you had died in the forest. I did not believe that though but until I was certain, I did not know where to look. Then we spent months chasing after the Irish slaver, only to find that you had never left England. We were hampered by weather, and by the fact we had so much territory to cover. There are hundreds of thegns, and hundreds of halls in which we had to look for you. You could have been in any of them, Wynne."

"I almost lost hope that you were coming," she told him.

"You were quite safe it seems," Madoc said dryly. "Willa has gossiped to Einion the whole story of how your Saxon thegn fell madly in love with you at first sight. Did you fall madly in love with him?"

"I grew to love him," she told Madoc honestly, "for he was a good and kind man. Was it necessary for me to cease living because you had disappeared again from my life, Madoc?" Wynne demanded sharply. "I had Arvel to think of, and his safety was paramount. I think I probably would have died in those early months had it not been for Eadwine's patience and kindness; and the realization that I must go on for my child's sake if not for my own. Would that have pleased you? The tender memory of love lost? Would you have followed me once more into another moment in time that we be reunited again? Love, I have come to realize, is not all nobility and purity of passion, Madoc. Love is both laughter and tears. Sorrow and pain. Giving as well as yearning for. You must learn that if we are ever to be happy."

"You have changed so," he said, and then he smiled at her, his blue eyes growing warm as he drank in her beauty. "You have always been the older soul, Wynne, and I a step behind. Teach me, dearling, that I may at least in this life race evenly with you."

"I will teach you, my lord, but you must catch up with me, for I will not wait for you," Wynne said. Then she took his hand in hers and, raising it up, rubbed it against her cheek. "I have missed you, my lord. I am glad we are together."

Turning his head, he kissed the hand that caressed his face and then said desperately, "God, how I long for a little bit of privacy! I cannot even remember wanting you as much as I want you now."

Wynne laughed low. "There will be plenty of time for that, my lord," she told him, and leaning forward, she placed a sweet kiss upon his lips, "but let us find our child first."

Madoc looked somewhat startled. "Do you tell me, dearling, that you will not receive me in your bed until my son is safe?"

Wynne's smile faded instantly. "To you, my lord," she said icily, "Arvel is naught but an imagining, but to me he is flesh and blood. You speak so possessively of my son, but he is not your son but for an accident of birth. Not yet! Not until you have brought him home; seen his dear little face, which is so like your own; held him close; and gained his love and trust. Only then will he truly be your son. Do not your fleshly desires fade in the face of all of this? Mine surely do!" and she turned away that he might not see her tears.

Madoc arose from their campfire and walked away into the darkness.

"You are too hard on him, Wynne of Gwernach," Einion said to her sternly, "and you are wrong."

"You, who have been my shield and buckler from my earliest time, would say this to me?" Wynne wept, and her look was so tragic, it was all Einion could do not to comfort her, but he did not.

"He has given up much for you, my lady," Einion told her.

"What has he given up?" she sniffled.

"His magic, " Einion replied.

"What?" Wynne's tears instantly ceased.

"Aye," Einion said. "Only I know of it, for Madoc knew if there were others who were aware of his sacrifice, they would use it against him. He is wise enough to realize that the strong stature the princes of Wenwynwyn have always enjoyed comes from their reputation for magic. This is a contentious time in which we live, my lady. If Prince Madoc's strength is thought to be his magic, then it follows his loss of that magic would be considered a great, if not fatal, weakness. Raven's Rock and its lands have always been secure from the covetousness of its neighbors because of that aura of magic. Even Brys of Cai is fearful of the prince for that reason."

"Not so fearful that he did not abduct me, and, not so fearful that he has not stolen my son," Wynne noted.

"Brys is not as wise as he thinks himself. He plays upon the prince's love of his family and his reverence for life," Einion said wisely.

"You say Madoc has given up his magic," Wynne answered. "Tell me of this."

"Before I departed Raven's Rock to hunt down the slaver, Ruari Ban," Einion began, "the prince called me to him. He had sought desperately for you within his mind's eye, but he could not find you and was at a total loss to understand why. In his guise as old Dhu he had scoured the countryside, and again there had been no trace of you to be found. Magic in this instance, it seemed, was of no help. It came to him then, he told me, that perhaps the Creator was telling him that the time for magic was past. As the days flew by he became more strongly convinced of this. So after much soul-searching he decided that if he was to find you, if he was to find your child, he must make the ultimate concession to the Creator, even, he said, as you had once renounced your powers for love of him in another time and place. How, he asked me, could he do any less for you than you had once done for him? I did not understand him when he said that, my lady, but I think you will."

Wordlessly Wynne nodded, silent tears slipping down her face with her understanding of the enormous sacrifice Madoc had made for her and their child.

"Together," Einion continued, "we went to the chapel, and I stood witness as Prince Madoc renounced his powers before God's altar. Neither will he pass them on to your children, my lady."

"What of the shape-changer's art?" Wynne asked. "Surely he did not give that up too."

Einion nodded. "That he cannot so easily put away from him, for it is knowledge bred into his family by their descent from the ancient Celtic god, Cernunnos. The prince has sworn, however, never to use that art again; or to pass it on to his descendants. Although the ability to shape-change will lie within them all, without the proper magic that power will remain dormant for all time. So you see, my lady Wynne, Prince Madoc has given up much to have you back, when he might simply have accepted your loss and sought another wife." Einion arose from his seat next to her by the flickering file. "I will seek my bed now, lady."

Alone, Wynne peered into the dancing flames. How could she have allowed herself to become so wrapped up in her own self-righteousness that she failed to consider Madoc's feelings as well as her own? She might have changed, but she wondered if she had matured. Perhaps it would not have mattered so greatly if she did not love him; but despite it all, she did love him. She had never stopped loving him, even when she had allowed herself to love Eadwine too. She sighed deeply. Why could life not be more simple? And then she laughed softly at herself for the childish thought, even as she sensed his return to her side.

He squatted next to her.

"Why did you not tell me?" she asked him.

"That you might feel sorry for me?" he demanded bitterly.

"Why," she said patiently, biting back a sharp retort, "would I feel sorry for you? When Rhiannon gave up everything for Pwyll, did he feel pity?" Wynne turned that she might see his face in the firelight. "What you have done is the most magnificent gesture of love that anyone could make for another. My feelings for Eadwine Aethelhard never lessened my feelings for you, Madoc of Powys. From the beginnings of time we have been two souls that somehow become a single entity while yet remaining separate. I wonder if I will ever understand it." Reaching out, she touched him and said softly, "Will you not kiss me, my dear lord?"

"If I kiss you again, dearling," he told her tightly, "I will want more." There was a look almost akin to pain etched upon his face.

"No more than I am willing to give you, Madoc," she replied quietly.

His sculpted face registered his surprise at her words, and he arose, drawing her up with him. Wynne reached out and touched his high-boned cheek. Her slender fingers moved over his proud visage as if relearning it. The heavy, bushy eyebrows that bristled above his smoky, deep blue eyes. The long nose and narrow lips that lay so sternly above the deep cleft in his chin. With a small smile, Wynne said, "You have the look of a brigand."

Returning her smile with one of his own, he caught her hand and, turning it over, placed a kiss upon her palm. "I will have to appear even fiercer now if I am to keep us from harm," he told her, and drew her against him.

Wynne's arms slipped up about his neck and she molded herself close against his lean, hard body. "Should I be fearful, my dear lord?" she teased him. Her lips were tantalizingly close to his.

With a groan his mouth closed over hers in a bruising kiss. Wynne felt her heart leap joyously within her chest at his touch, yet at the same time she had the sensation of being consumed by fire. Somehow it felt as if it were the first time with him, but it was also better. She was more aware of her body now than she had ever been, and wondered fuzzily what had brought this revelation about. Her breasts swelled and hardened while her limbs grew languid and weak. Her blood, it seemed, had turned to a stream of hot honey that dallied slowly through her body, wreaking havoc with her composure.

Madoc, however, appeared to be suffering from similar symptoms. There was no mistaking the reaction of his body to the sensuous stimulus of his wife's body. He groaned again, saying, "Alas, dearling, for a lack of privacy, else I should make love to you here and now!"

Wynne laughed low and replied, "You will find neither Einion nor Willa within a half mile of this site, my lord, for he knows me better sometimes than I know myself. Averel sleeps within the safety of the cart, and Einion will have taken Willa off to some secluded spot that he might have his way with her, though she will scarce refuse him, being a lustful wench. If you would have me, Madoc of Powys, we are free to indulge in our own passions," Wynne told him, and she began to undress before him.

He spread his cloak upon the ground in front of the fire and followed suit. At last they stood together, naked, facing one another and as equal as a man and a woman can be. He reached out and cupped one of her breasts, squeezing it tenderly. Wynne smiled into his eyes and caressed his muscled shoulder with gentle fingers.

"Undo your hair for me," he said, and she loosened her heavy, thick braid, combing her raven's-black tresses free with her fingers. It rippled down her slender back in lavish waves. He caught a small strand between his fingers and kissed it, inhaling its subtle perfume as he did so. "You are so fair," he told her. "Never has there been a woman like you, Wynne of Gwernach."

"Nor a man like you, my lord Madoc," she answered, her eyes brimming with her newly reawakened love for him.

Their lips met once more in a passionate kiss as Wynne slid her arms back around his neck. Madoc drew her close again, his hands clasping her rounded buttocks. They kissed frantically now, mouths wet against each other; hot and wet against the flesh of throats and shoulders and chests; tongues dueling wildly as they slid together to their knees upon his cloak. His head lowered, placing scorching kisses over her quivering breasts; licking sensuously at her nipples, suckling upon them so fiercely that he drew forth her milk and, half sobbing, could not cease for several minutes, so aroused was he by this clear sign of her fertility.

Wynne's head was whirling with a plethora of emotions as he made this leonine love to her. She had forgotten the depth of his passion, or perhaps she had simply not dared to remember it. His mouth upon her skin burned like a brand. He offered pleasure so great that she could not imagine how she would return that pleasure, but she nonetheless welcomed it as she had never welcomed it before. He had always had this wildly delicious effect upon her. His mere look could turn her into an unrepentant wanton.

"Look at me, dearling," he crooned at her, and Wynne realized that her eyes had been closed in her rapture.

She forced her lids open and looked directly into his beloved face, half drowning in his deep blue eyes.

He stared back into her clear, green gaze. "Do you doubt my love for you, my precious wife?"

"I never doubted your love, my husband," she returned.

Satisfied, he lowered his head once more and began to trail kisses down her waiting body. Wynne sighed happily, and Madoc smiled silently, his body moving to accommodate his actions. She was open to him, and he slid between her satiny thighs, placing burning kisses upon each one as he did so. His hands slipped beneath her, cupping the peachlike mounds of her bottom to hold her steady as she began to whimper in fevered anticipation of his desire. He nuzzled her, breathing in the pungent female perfume of her. Then he kissed the warm, soft flesh of her mound.

"Ahhh, yes!" she encouraged him and, reaching down, spread her nether lips wide for him.

His tongue snaked out to touch her lightly with just its pointed tip, and she quivered distinctly beneath the teasing caress. He let her wait a moment or two longer, and then he once again touched her delicately, and this time she shivered even harder than before. The small succulent bud of her womanhood seemed to take on a life of its own beneath his flickering tongue. Puffing itself up, it deepened in color, communicating its pleasure throughout her whole body in tingling waves of delight. She gasped and sighed as sensation after sensation pulsed through her. Carefully he sucked upon her little jewel, and Wynne shrieked softly, almost unable to bear the delight that he was giving her.

"I want you inside of me!" she cried low. "I can bear no more of this sweet torture, Madoc! Fill me full of you!"

Then his mouth was on hers again, and she could taste herself upon his tongue. His hard body covered her as she wrapped her arms about him once more. Pushing her legs up, he eased himself into her sheath and began to slowly pump her with deep, lingering strokes of his great manhood. With a cry of rapturous bliss Wynne wound her legs about his torso, her hips jerking furiously as she encouraged him onward.

"Ahhhh, 'tis sweet! So sweet!" she half moaned, and he held her tightly, for she was thrashing wildly in her ecstasy.

She could distinctly feel him pulsing and surging within her fevered body. Each new thrust of his ravenous lance brought her closer to perfection. Their mutual hunger for one another communicated itself. As she was attuned to him, so was he attuned to the deep tremor building up within her very core. It quivered and vibrated as, head thrown back, Wynne struggled for air. She was being totally and utterly overcome by the billowing, vibrating sensation that rushed up to overwhelm her.

Madoc groaned as if in anguish as his own heightened passions threatened to wash over him. "I can wait no longer!" he cried, and Wynne felt her parched and secret garden being flooded with his warm life force.

"Ahhhh, my dearest love," she whispered to him as her body eagerly received his lover's tribute and, after what seemed a long time, he shuddered with complete and total release even as she soared above him.

They lay sprawled together, replete with their fulfillment while the fire cracked sharply. Their contented bodies were wet with their efforts, and finally Wynne said, "We will catch our death of cold if we do not clothe ourselves, my sweet lord."

He kissed her neck softly, nipping lightly at the damp skin, and rolled off of her onto his hip. His fingers trailed down between her breasts, and then he said, "I had not realized how much I had missed you, dearling, until now."

Wynne laughed softly. "I, also," she admitted, sitting up and reaching for her chemise. "Cover yourself, Madoc, for if Willa sees you she will lust after you as she has for Einion."

He chuckled and began to dress himself. When they were both reclothed, they refurbished their fire and sat companion-ably next to it, holding hands.

"How are we to go about regaining our son?" Wynne asked him.

"I do not know yet," he answered her, "but as I have told you, it is best you secrete yourself at Gwernach, that Brys not know we are reunited."

"I will leave Willa and Averel at Gwernach with my grandmother," Wynne told him. "Although Willa cannot wet-nurse my daughter, there will be someone there who can. They will be safe at Gwernach. I, however, am coming with you. Can we count on Rhys of St. Bride's to aid us?"

"Rhys would, of course, aid us if I asked," Madoc responded, "but I will not. Cai cannot be taken by force of arms, especially where Arvel's life is concerned. We will have to regain our son through guile and great cleverness."

"You will have to kill Brys this time," Wynne said.

"You sound like my sister," Madoc replied.

"You cannot march yourself into Cai demanding your child, Madoc, and expect that Brys will acquiesce without a struggle." Wynne's look was a serious one. "Oh, Madoc, my love! You have given your brother every chance, but he cannot help himself. The destruction of your person and everything connected with you seems to be his ultimate goal; but I am convinced that even if he attained that goal, he would yet be dissatisfied. His hatred for you is a deep sickness of the soul that does not stem from the here and now. You know that as well as I do. We cannot spend the rest of our lives looking over our shoulders wondering what evil Brys is planning for us next time! Kill him! Put an end to it! Do not allow him to separate us as he did once before."

Madoc sighed deeply. "And if I kill him, will I not be in his debt? Will that hatred he harbors finally die, or will it be reborn anew in another time and place for me, for us to contend with, Wynne?"

She shook her head. "I do not know the answers to your questions, Madoc. I simply know that if we are to live out our lives in peace this time, Brys must be dealt with in a way that will leave him unable to hurt us anymore."

"He is my brother," the prince said helplessly.

"He uses that very tie of blood against you, Madoc!" she said impatiently. "He has cost us three years of our lives. He cruelly parted us in an effort to destroy you, forcing me into bondage, though God knows I was fortunate in that bondage. He has stolen our child. And for what purpose, Madoc? Why does he want our son? What wickedness does he now plan? This is the man of whom you would be compassionate? Your brother does not know the meaning of the word compassion. If you allow him to live on, the further misfortunes that Brys brings down upon us all will be your fault, my lord, for it will be you who will have let him wreak some new havoc."

"I know that the words you utter are right and true, dearling," the prince answered Wynne, "but do not fear. Though it will be hard to do, I will see that Brys never again hurts anyone." He made a small attempt at humor. "I think I should rather slay Brys myself than have to listen to you and Nesta scold me. My sister has never really forgiven me for not protecting you more thoroughly, Wynne."

Wynne smiled. "How is Nesta?" she asked him. "I thought of her often, particularly in the early days of my captivity, for she was near to term with her child. Was it a son or a daughter?"

"Nesta has two sons," Madoc told her. "The eldest is Daffyd, and the younger, Trystan."

"How I long to see her!" Wynne said, and then she frowned. "We cannot allow Nesta and Rhys to know we have returned until Arvel is safe," she told him. "Tell me of my grandmother, my sisters and Dewi."

"Your grandmother is well, though she has mourned you deeply, even knowing you were not dead. Dewi is almost a man now, and Mair is growing into a beauty. She is the only one of your sisters who will rival you."

"And Caitlin and Dilys?"

Madoc laughed. "They thrive, although the elder will not speak to the younger anymore."

"Why on earth not?" Wynne looked puzzled. "They were always friends, if one could call their odd relationship friendly."

"True, dearling, but remember, 'twas always Caitlin, the elder, who led the way. Now, however, the tide has turned in Dilys's favor. In the four years she has been wed, she has produced four children. Three boys and a girl. The girl is one-half of a set of twins. Caitlin, on the other hand, has had but one son, upon whom she dotes, and has miscarried twice of children too small to even sex. Although her husband treats her as if she were a queen, and she rules the roost at Coed without interference, she is discontent and furious that her younger sister has outstripped her."

"Does Arthwr complain of a lack of children?" Wynne asked him.

Madoc chuckled. "He does not. He would not dare."

Wynne laughed. She had not thought of Caitlin in a long time, but now her memories of her sister came flooding back. No, her brother-in-law would not complain. He would have learned by now Caitlin's long memory for a slight, and her uncanny ability to wreak revenge upon those who displeased her. "How unfortunate," she said, her face now smooth and serious, "that I shall not be able to invite my sisters for a reunion at Gwernach," and then she was overcome by a fit of giggles.

They reached Gwernach unannounced late on a grey afternoon.

Clasping her eldest grandchild to her bosom, Enid could only say, "I knew he would bring you home safe, my child!" Her eyes brimmed over with happy tears that ran down her worn face.

Wynne hugged her grandmother back. She was astounded by the change in Enid. Her grandmother had suddenly become an old woman who moved far more slowly than Wynne could remember. Her lovely visage was marred by lines. "I have brought you a great-grandchild, Grandmother," she said, and drew her daughter forward. "This is my daughter, Averel Aethelhardsdatter."

Enid masked her surprise and, bending, smiled into the little girl's face. "I like your name, Averel," she said. Then she lifted Averel up into her arms, kissing her cheek as she did so.

Averel regarded Enid with large eyes, debating whether she was ready to accept another new person into her life. So much had changed for her in the last few weeks. She liked the giant with the burning head who let her ride upon the wagon's bench and hold the horse's reins. Willa liked him too. She was not certain, however, of the dark man who always seemed to be watching her mother and paid little heed to her.

Averel decided quickly. Putting her arms about Enid 's neck, she kissed her great-grandmother wetly. "Gama," she said, sounding mightily pleased. The adults around her laughed.

"She is a dear child," Enid said delighted, "but she is not in the least like you, Wynne."

"She looks like her father," Wynne replied. "His name was Eadwine Aethelhard, and he was the thegn of Aelfdene Manor, near the Mercian town of Worcester. He considered me his wife, and I was treated as such by all there."

"Wynne!" A youthful but masculine voice spoke her name.

Wynne turned and saw a tall, black-haired young man. For a moment she could not believe her eyes. "Dewi?" she said. "Ohhhh! You have become a man! Almost," she amended, and hugged him.

"I am betrothed," he said loftily, "to Gwenhwyvar of Clydach. We will be wed in two years' time. I made the match myself."

"You did well," Wynne told him, remembering the family. "They have a strong strain of milk cows. Your Gwenhwyvar will be bringing cattle as part of her dowry, I trust."

"Aye," he said with a grin. " 'Twas her greatest attraction for me."

"Villain!" his grandmother said, half laughing. "Do not tell me her soft brown eyes did not attract you. She is a lovely child with yellow hair. Her grandmother, on her father's side, was Saxon, I am told." Then Enid smacked him lightly. "Have you no word of welcome for your sister who has returned after three years of captivity among the Mercians? Where are your manners, Dewi?" She sighed and explained to Madoc, "They are all alike. Gwernach first before all else."

"I'm glad you're home safe, Wynne," Dewi said, and then he replied to his grandmother, "If I did not put Gwernach first as Wynne taught me, where would we all be?" He wore a slightly outraged look upon his handsome young face.

"He's right," Wynne agreed. "Dewi, I am so proud of you!"

"Who is the child?" her brother asked, his gaze moving to Wynne's daughter.

"Your niece, Averel," came the answer.

"She's a Saxon whelp," he replied, and Wynne explained once more Averel's parentage. Dewi took the little girl from Enid and smiled at her. "Hello, bunny," he said softly, and stroked her hair. "She's like a little brown bunny," he chuckled, "with that soft hair and those suspicious eyes."

Mair came into the hall, and again Wynne was astounded. Her littlest sister had grown taller, and had an almost coltish young woman's look to her. Madoc had been right. Mair was fast becoming a beauty. Her long brown hair was filled with golden lights, and her green eyes were like a forest lake, all dappled and mysterious. Shyly she greeted her sister, welcoming her home; but it was Averel who brought a smile to her lovely face. Mair immediately took her niece in hand, and Averel reciprocated, pleased to find someone young enough to understand her.

They sat down to the evening meal and, as they ate, Madoc explained to his in-laws that Wynne had borne him a son in her captivity; of how his brother had recently sent the slaver, Ruari Ban, for the child; and of how Caddaric Aethelmaere had sold the little boy to him. "I want Wynne to stay at Gwernach while I go to Cai to retrieve our son from my brother, and afterward we will all go home to Raven's Rock," he concluded. Then he added, "but no one must know that she is here. I have no wish for Brys to try another of his tricks."

"I have been thinking these past days as we rode," Wynne said. "I have already told you that I must go to Cai with you, Madoc. You cannot force Brys to give up our son, but I think I can. The one thing he will never expect is for me to beard him in his own hall once more. Besides, Arvel does not know you and will be frightened. I have thought hard on it. At first I thought we could do this ourselves. I did not want to involve others, but now I think you should go to St. Bride's and obtain Rhys's aid. With an army at our back, and me in Brys's hall, he will not dare refuse to return Arvel to us. He will simply have no choice in the matter."

"He could barricade himself within Cai with both you and your son as hostages," Dewi said to his eldest sister. "Have you thought of that, Wynne? I am not so certain that your idea will succeed."

"Nor I, dearling," Madoc agreed with his brother-in-law.

"Brys could indeed withstand a siege at Cai," Wynne said honestly, "but for how long? Cai is not Raven's Rock, for it can be approached quite easily from one side. Does it have an interior source of water, as does Raven's Rock? I know for a fact it does not, for when I was last there I saw servants bringing water in buckets across the drawbridge."

"Aye," Madoc said thoughtfully, "its water source is a spring which is located outside the castle, but still, I do not think it wise for you to go to Cai, my love."

"Think on it, Madoc!" Wynne persisted. "Can you not imagine Brys's surprise and shock when I come before him dressed in my finest clothing, bejeweled and exuding confidence? When I come before him to demand the return of my son, the heir to Powys-Wenwynwyn?"

"Aye, he will be surprised, but knowing my brother, he will quickly recover and order your imprisonment," Madoc told her. "No, Wynne, 'tis impossible!"

"It is not!" she shouted at him, and those about the table began to shift nervously in their seats. It was rare that Wynne lost her temper, but when she did… "Let Brys know that I have come not alone this time, but with an army at my back. He will understand he has no choice but to release Arvel to me. Oh, he may at first decide to withstand a siege, but he will quickly realize upon reflection that he has no other option, Madoc. Think about your brother, my lord. He never commits a crime openly. Secrecy is a part of him. He is like a creature one finds beneath a rock who cannot stand the light of day. Appearance is important to Brys. He delights in his ability to look charming and innocent, even as he delights in his own wickedness."

"That is true," Madoc admitted, "but it frightens me to think of you inside Cai again. There must be no more separations between us."

"Madoc, my own dear lord," Wynne said, "we have made our peace with each other. Somehow, I suspect, we will always be together."

"I am still not totally convinced of the wisdom of your suggestion," Madoc told her honestly, "but I will go to St. Bride's seeking my brother-in-law's help. We will return to Gwernach and discuss this again. Will you accept whatever decision Rhys and I make in this matter?"

"I will," Wynne agreed.

"And you will swear to me that you will not go tearing off to Cai while I am at St. Bride's? You will wait for us?" His deep blue eyes were half serious, half amused, for his request was clever, and the look upon Wynne's face one of a child found out in some anticipated mischief-making. "Promise me, my lady of Raven's Rock, or I shall instruct your brother to lock you in a cow byre until I return," he threatened her.

"Oh, very well!" she said with ill-concealed grace, and her family laughed with relief.

Madoc rode out the next morning for St. Bride's alone. He trusted his wife, but at the same time he realized her impatience to rescue their son might lead her to dishonor her promise to him. Einion remained behind to watch over his lady, as he had always watched over her, and if Wynne had had any thought to slipping away from Gwernach, she was not given the opportunity, for Einion's eyes were on her constantly.

"You could have gone with him," Wynne grumbled at Einion.

"He will travel faster alone," was the bland reply, "and time is important to us in this matter. We must lay siege to Castle Cai before the winter snows come."

Wynne nodded. "Let us hope the winter will be delayed, or at least a mild one, should it come early," she told him, and looked to the greying skies with their lowering moisture-laden clouds.

"The weather is still warm with false summer," Einion said. "There is time."

A week passed. A week in which Wynne renewed her ties with her family. Without Madoc she was free to speak of Eadwine, and she did.

"You loved him well, my child," Enid said. "I can tell it from the tender way in which you recall him. What happened to him?"

"Almost a year ago," Wynne began, "Eadwine went hunting for boar. A large one had been spotted rooting in his wood, and 'twas near the feast of Christ's Mass. He wanted a boar's head for the celebration. His eldest son, a discontented and unhappy man, rode with him. When the boar was finally run to ground, Caddaric leapt from his horse, eager to make the kill and shine in his father's eyes. The beast moved faster than they had anticipated. Eadwine put himself between his son and the creature, killing it, but being mortally wounded in the process. He saved Caddaric's life, but then toward the following dawn as my Eadwine lay near death, Caddaric refused his father's dying request to care for me. My poor lord died knowing he left me in danger."

Wynne then went on to explain to her grandmother Caddaric's obsession with her, and his unswerving belief that Wynne could give him the children that Eadgyth and the others had not been able to give him. Her brother and sister had now joined them and listened wide-eyed as she wove her tale. They all laughed when Wynne elaborated upon the scheme the other women concocted to protect her from the attentions of other men once Caddaric had condemned her to become the whore of the hall, of how finally, in anger and frustration, Caddaric vowed to give Wynne to the first man who would take her upon his high board in his presence; of Boda and his half-wit son Tovi.

"How wonderful that you were able to escape this horrible Saxon," Mair said earnestly, and she hugged Averel, who was comfortably settled in her lap. "How I should like to find a man someday who would love me as Prince Madoc loves you, dearest sister." Her green eyes grew dreamy with her secret thoughts and hopes for her future.

"He will be there at the right time, Mair," Wynne told her little sister. "You have but to wait, and Dewi, I know, will grant you the same grace and favor he granted me. You will only marry the man you love."

"Aye," Dewi agreed. "If he is suitable, and if he is available, Mair, he will be yours, I swear it!"

With a little smile, Mair took her niece and wandered off humming to herself. Dewi shrugged with amusement and, excusing himself, went back out into his fields to oversee his servants.

"And what of Madoc?" Enid asked her granddaughter. "Can you love him again, Wynne?"

"I never stopped loving him, Grandmother," came the answer. "I find it odd myself, but there it is, and though I puzzle about it over and over, I find no explanation as to how I can love two men at the same time. Each is different, and now, having lost one, I can love the other fully."

"What if your Saxon had not been killed?" Enid wondered aloud.

Wynne shook her head. "I do not know," she said. "Had I been faced with such a situation, I think I might have had to flee them both and live alone where neither could find me. It frightens me to even think about it. How could I possibly choose? Each has given me a child."

"Hmmmmm," Enid sighed, and her expression was a grave one. She had no answers to such a possible problem either. God was a far better architect than man in arranging such matters.

Chapter 20

Madoc returned eight days after he had left them, bringing not only Rhys, but his sister Nesta as well. The two young women threw themselves into each other's arms, weeping happily.

"I never knew how much I missed you until now!" Wynne cried.

"Nor I, you," Nesta reciprocated. "Now let me see your daughter! Madoc tells me she is absolutely adorable."

"He said that?" Wynne was completely surprised. Madoc had not seemed too anxious to engender a relationship of any kind with little Averel. His attitude had pained her, especially when she remembered Eadwine Aethelhard's loving fosterage of Arvel.

Nesta immediately understood Wynne's thoughts. "He did indeed say Averel was adorable. He is quite taken with the child, Wynne. It is simply difficult for him to reconcile his feelings for her with his knowledge that she was conceived by another man upon his wife's body."

“ 'Tis yet another wicked wound that Brys has done Madoc," Wynne said.

"Aye," Nesta replied, "but do not fear, dearest sister. Madoc will eventually reconcile himself to your lost years. The important thing is that we are now all reunited once more."

"Madoc must destroy Brys for all time," Wynne said suddenly.

"Aye," Nesta rejoined. "I agree with you. The defeat we are about to give Brys will embitter him far more than anything he has ever suffered before now. He is not a man to take such a defeat lightly. Left alive, he will seek new means of hurting us all. There is no choice but to destroy him first. Destroy him completely."

"Now you see, brother Madoc," Rhys of St. Bride's deep voice boomed out, "why I am not afraid to leave Nesta in charge of St. Bride's or Pendragon. She is the perfect mate for me." He chuckled, and took his wife's dainty hand as if to lead her forth. "Look at her. She looks like a fairy princess, but she is as bloodthirsty as any berserker I have ever encountered!"

"Am I wrong in my assessment, my lord?" Nesta demanded of her husband, and she pierced him with a sharp look.

"Nay, my love, you are not. We must defang that snake who calls himself Brys of Cai once and for all." Rhys then smiled at Wynne. "Welcome home, Wynne of Gwernach!" he said, and enveloped her in a quick bear hug. Setting her back on her feet, he said admiringly, "I think you are equally as strong as my wife, lady, to have survived your captivity. Women of the Cymri race are, it seems, like well-tempered sword blades: both beautiful and strong."

"What a fine compliment, my lord," Wynne praised him, her cheeks pink with her pleasure. "I see you have learned well from Nesta how to turn a pretty phrase, but lest you turn my head with your flattery, I would know if Madoc has discussed my plan to retrieve our son, and if he has, what you think of it?"

"I think you are absolutely correct in your appraisal of the lord of Cai, sister," Rhys surprised her by saying. "He is a craven coward, and the best way to approach him is surprise."

"You agree with me?" Wynne was indeed astounded.

"I do," he replied. " 'Tis the best way to initiate our war against him. Surprise! And I can imagine the look upon his handsome face when you stride boldly into his hall demanding the return of your son!" Rhys's deep laughter echoed through Gwernach's hall. "He could easily choke on his own bile, and wouldn't that be a great pity! 'Twould save us the trouble of gutting him like the swine he is."

Wynne turned to Madoc and he shrugged in agreement. "I must bow to Rhys's wisdom and yours, it seems, dearling. I am no warrior, but a man of logic and reason."

"And you need not be responsible for killing the devil," Rhys said. "I will do it in repayment for the sin he attempted to commit against my darling Nesta when she was just a wee girl. Only an evil creature with perversion bred into his very soul could seek hurt against women and children."

Wynne paled. "Yes," she said, "Madoc assures me that Brys will not hurt Arvel. What if he already has?"

Madoc shook his head. "I know somehow that he has not harmed the boy," he reassured his wife. "If Brys wanted to harm or even kill our son, he would have done it at Aelfdene, making certain that we both knew. He did not. He arranged to steal the child away in secret so that you would not know immediately, and I would not know at all because I was not even supposed to find you, dearling. Nay, Brys has done no injury to Arvel."

"We must leave for Cai as soon as possible," Wynne said, and then she asked Rhys, "Where is your army, my lord? You have brought no armed force to Gwernach with you."

"My men left St. Bride's for Cai four days ago," Rhys said. "They travel by night only. Such a force as I am bringing would arouse suspicion, not only of our neighbors, but of Harold Godwinson over the hills in England as well. Now that he has seen to the murder of our king, he does well to fear us. Word might also reach Cai. Brys must not be warned of our coming, nor the English interfere with this family matter of ours. I sent a messenger to Raven's Rock instructing Madoc's men to travel by night as well. If we ride out tomorrow night, we will be in plenty of time to meet them."

"Will you go too?" Wynne asked Nesta.

"Aye, I must," Nesta told her. "I must see the end of this and know truly that Brys can never harm any of us again."

That evening Wynne and Madoc sought privacy in the peddler's wagon which had been placed neatly to one side of the courtyard of Gwernach's manor house. Emptied of its goods, it was quite spacious. A mattress filled with sweet meadow grass and fragrant clover had been placed upon the floorboards of the wagon to be topped with a featherbed and several sheepskins. The bleached linen that covered the top and sides of the cart gave them complete seclusion from prying eyes. Naked, they lay stroking each other's bodies to tender arousal.

"You are delicious," he growled low, nipping at the smooth curve of her hip.

"Villain!" Wynne smacked playfully at her husband. "Do I not feed you enough that you would attempt to feast upon my person?"

"I love feasting upon you," he murmured low. Then he rolled her onto her back, and pouring a little wine from one of two goblets they had brought into the wagon upon her belly, he lapped it up with his tongue. "I am drunk with my desire for you, Wynne of Gwernach," he told her passionately.

"And as randy as a stallion in heat too, my lord," she said, her heart beating a quick tattoo. How she loved him!

"Aye," he admitted, and rolling upon his own back, he begged her, "Love me, dearling! I need to feel your mouth upon me tonight."

Rising up upon her side, Wynne looked down at him sprawled upon his back, his manhood engorged and stiff as it thrust upward. She bent and rubbed her soft cheek against it, then placed a kiss upon the ruby tip, her tongue snaking out to encircle the smooth skin of the head, her fingers clamping firmly about it.

He groaned with pure pleasure when she took him into her mouth, reveling in the warmth of her tongue against his skin. "Dear God!" he exclaimed suddenly, "I am nigh to exploding with my desire for you, Wynne, my beautiful wife!"

Releasing him, she raised her head and looked into his eyes. "I feel no desire yet," she said frankly. "How quickly you men are ready to couple, fired by your own lusts, and by wine, no doubt. We women are not so quickly aroused. Alas, though I would give you all the pleasure that I could, Madoc, my dear lord, I am not ready to receive your wild and wondrous passion."

What other woman of his past acquaintance, he wondered, would have made so honest an admission? Other men, he knew, would have been angered by a wife's refusal to offer instant gratification, but then it had never been that way with them. Reaching up, he caressed her full breasts hanging like twin moons above him. Seeing the pleasure begin to creep into her eyes, he smiled slightly. One of his greatest delights in Wynne had always been her enthusiasm for making love. Lifting his head, he licked at her nipples, teasing at the sensitive pinkish-beige flesh until they contracted into thrusting nubs and she murmured with contentment. His hands closed about her waist, and Madoc buried his head in the deep valley between those soft breasts, rubbing his face against the perfumed skin. The fragrance of white heather, warmed by the heat of her body, assailed him.

Gently he tumbled her back onto the soft sheepskins, spreading her wide to him. His night-black head lowering, his mouth sought the honied sweetness of her. His skilled tongue began to stroke expertly at the sensitive coral-pink flesh. Beneath him she began to writhe and whimper with the familiar sound of pure pleasure. He felt his own desire beginning to rise as she cried softly, "Madoc! Oh, Madoc, my love!" with a building urgency he also recognized.

When he had brought her twice to a full and shuddering release by means of his tongue, he mounted her, filling her full with his throbbing passion; riding her furiously until they had both attained mutual pleasure a third and final time. Then rolling off of her, Madoc gathered Wynne into his strong arms.

It had begun to rain outside, and Wynne lay happily within the security of his embrace, listening to the sound of it against the tentlike top of the wagon, thinking her mixed thoughts. Tomorrow night they would leave for Cai. They would reach it in several days' time. Arvel, her precious son! Their son. How she longed to hold him once again within her arms. How proud Madoc would be of the little boy! Curiously she wondered what Brys wanted with the child. Brys with his angel's face and black soul. She would soon know.

The rain had stopped by mid-morning of the following day, but it had grown colder. Enid sought among the storage chests and found clothing that had belonged to Wynne several years earlier, before she had gone to Raven's Rock. Together she and Mair stayed up practically the entire night altering the garments, that Wynne would have warm clothing for the trip.

"They are not the elegant garments you are used to wearing at Raven's Rock," her grandmother apologized, "but they are clean and warm and will keep the wind and rain out."

Wynne thanked Enid lovingly and said, "I have not worn elegant garments for some years now, Grandmother. I am certainly not ashamed of my old clothes." Her fingers stroked at the soft wool fabric of her tunic dress. Both it and her under tunic, which was lined in rabbit's fur, were dark green in color and matched the heavy green mantle which was edged in wolf's fur. Wynne fastened the mantle shut with a pretty brooch of silver, a single piece of green agate in its center.

"Megan will be bringing Wynne's richer garments to Cai, that she may face my brother at her grandest," Madoc told Enid.

Averel was already in her cot sleeping when they finally departed Gwernach. The little girl fully understood that her mother would be leaving her for a time, but did not object as she was assured that Mair would be there with her. Hugging Wynne and placing a noisy kiss upon her mother's cheek, she had toddled from the hall that evening garbed in a little white chemise, her hand tucked securely in Mair's. Then suddenly she pulled away from Mair and, racing back across the hall, threw herself at Madoc.

He lifted her up into his lap and gently inquired, "What is it, Averel?"

"Da?" Averel said, and there was no doubt in anyone's mind that the word was posed as a question. For some inexplicable reason, Averel needed to identify exactly who Madoc was in her life; and she needed to know it now.

"Aye, bunny, I'm your da," Madoc replied, and looking over the little one's head, he almost wept at the look of gratitude in Wynne's beautiful green eyes.

"Da come back?" Averel asked.

"Aye, Da is coming back," he reassured her.

Averel wrapped her arms about his neck and hugged him with all her childish strength. Then climbing down from the prince's lap, she ran back to Mair, and together they left the hall.

"Thank you," Wynne said simply to her husband.

"Do not shame me any further," he answered her low. "Did not the Saxon, Eadwine Aethelhard, who was her father, take my son to his heart without question? In my pride I have been slow to act, but in the presence of our families I say now that I take Averel Aethelhardsdatter for my own true daughter. I will dower her, and never will I treat her with any less love or respect than I will treat my own natural-born children."

A quarter-moon lighted their way as they rode forth from Gwernach. Enid watched as they went, the six horses outlined darkly atop the hill. Dewi had insisted upon going, and there was nothing that either Wynne or Enid could do to dissuade him.

"He's fourteen and 'tis past time he had battle experience," Rhys agreed. "How do you expect him to defend Gwernach from attack, if it should ever be attacked, if he has no battle experience?"

"He also has no heir," Wynne protested.

“ 'Tis unlikely there'll be a fight," Rhys said in an attempt to calm her fears. "Brys does not engender great loyalty among his men. 'Twill be a wee skirmish if anything at all, and we'll put the lad safely in the rear that he might observe and learn," the lord of St. Bride's soothed his sister-in-law, but he winked broadly at Dewi, who grinned back, delighted with the conspiracy.

When dawn came they camped in a secluded cave by a stream, taking turns at standing watch and keeping the little fire within their rocky shelter low that it not be seen by its smoke. Dewi trapped a hare in early afternoon and, after skinning it, broiled it. It was tough and gamy, but tasty. The weather remained clear as they began their ride that night.

"We're fortunate," Rhys growled. "I thought that rain the other night signaled the beginning of a wet spell. Nothing is worse than riding in the rain, unless it is riding in the snow."

"Where will we meet our army?" Wynne asked him.

"They will secrete themselves in the woods near Cai and await us. They must be careful that they are not discovered. Surprise is the key element to our victory," Rhys explained. "When a foe is surprised, he is less likely to act with either intelligence or instinct. In most cases he will react with fear, which is a breeding ground for ill-judgment."

"Rhys is a brilliant tactician," Nesta said proudly.

The lord of St. Bride's grinned, quite pleased by his beloved wife's appraisal of his abilities. "When you go into the castle, Wynne," he continued on, "you need have no fear. We will secure the drawbridge area immediately, and you will offer amnesty to any men-at-arms within the castle."

"If we are surprising Brys," Wynne asked, "why can we not secure the entire castle at once? You seem so certain that there will be little resistance."

"That is true," Rhys replied, "but we do not know where your son is, Wynne. Though we may secure the castle, there is no guarantee that we can capture Brys of Cai himself in a first assault. Without Brys in our hands, the boy could indeed be in danger. Better we stick to our original plan. Believe me, no one will be more surprised than the master of Cai to have you walk into his hall, proudly regal, and demanding that your son be returned to you." He chuckled. "Ahhh, Jesu, I wish I could see it!"

Wynne rode silently now, remembering the last time she had faced down Brys of Cai. This time, however, she would have an army at her back. This time she was fighting for possession of her son. This time she was wiser than she had been four years ago. Brys would not defeat her this time.

Another dawn, another bright day. They camped in a wooded thicket, unable to have a fire this time because, despite the density of the wood, they were in the open. Smoke from a campfire could easily give them away. Resigned, they ate cold barley cakes which were enhanced by thick slices of Gwernach's Gold, sweet, crisp apples, and drank a rich wine that warmed them before sleeping. Today Nesta and Wynne would take the first watch. The women insisted upon doing their part.

"Madoc tells me you have two sons," Wynne said to her sister-in-law. "Tell me about them. Do they favor you or Rhys?"

"Trystan, the younger, is Rhys reborn. He is a noisy, brawling child," Nesta told her. "As for Daffyd, he seems to be a mixture of us both, although he has my auburn hair. He's clever like Rhys, but more thoughtful. St. Bride's will not suffer when he comes into his inheritance. I shall give Pendragon to Trystan, however, for he would chafe beneath his elder brother's rule. But tell me of your Arvel."

Wynne smiled. "His father's image," she said. "He is a quiet lad, always watching and listening. He and Daffyd will be good companions for each other."

"Madoc was like that as a little boy, I remember our mother saying. He was so totally different from Brys, who was mercurial in temperament. Madoc thinks before he acts. Brys simply acts and considers not the consequences," Nesta told Wynne.

"That is what frightens me," Wynne said. "That Brys will act. For what purpose can he possibly want my son?"

Nesta shook her head. "Only in Brys's twisted mind can the answer to that question be found, dearest Wynne."

Once more the weather favored them, and they rode throughout the cold, clear night. The moon waxed fuller and silvered the landscape as they passed by. Slowly they traveled onward, drawing nearer with each passing hour to Castle Cai. Wynne pulled her mantle closer about her and was grateful for its fur-lined hood. The wind, though slight, was sharp and cutting upon her face. Her fingers were icy within her wantuses, which were well-tanned kid mittens lined with fur. She wondered if she would ever be warm again. How she longed for a well-built hall and a roaring fire to sit by and toast her hands and feet.

They rode for several more days, until finally one night as they rode along Madoc said, "We will reach Cai before dawn. Megan should already be there. You will have plenty of time in which to change your clothing, dearling."

Wynne nodded wearily. "Can we not rest the day?" she asked. "I am so tired."

"A hot meal will restore you, my lady," Einion broke in, and reaching over, he patted her shoulder.

"He is right," Madoc said. "We dare not linger any longer than necessary beneath Brys's very nose, for fear of losing our advantage with him, Wynne."

"A hot meal," Wynne sighed. "Do you think it will be venison stew? Or lamb?"

"If you eat too much you will want to sleep," Rhys counseled. "You may have just enough to revive your energy."

Nesta shot Wynne a sympathetic glance. She was as bone-tired as her friend was, but at least she would not have to stride into the hall at Cai and challenge her brother.

"Aren't you tired, Rhys?" Wynne asked him.

"Nay," said Rhys. "With each step we take toward Cai my energy rises. Battle, or the thought of battle, is like an aphrodisiac to me. I love it! It excites me! It sets my blood to raging and my heart to racing. I am never more alive!"

"Poor Rhys," Nesta laughed. "He has had little excitement but what he could find in our bed since our marriage. Is that not so, my dear lord? I will no longer allow him to go and play at war with the other little lordlings, unless, of course, we are attacked ourselves."

Rhys chuckled. "You have offered a multitude of sweet and infinitely delightful compensations, lady mine," he told her. "Still, I will admit to looking forward to this adventure. It will give me great pleasure to kill Brys of Cai, for never was a man more in need of killing."

"Of your skill with weapons, my dear lord," Nesta told her husband, "I have no doubt; but beware my brother, Brys. What he lacks in ability, he makes up for in cunning. Do not make the mistake of thinking that because he is nobly-born that he will act with chivalry. His sole intent when cornered will be to win by means fair or foul. He will care not which as long as he is triumphant. Give him no quarter!"

"It disturbs me that you have set yourself up as Brys's executioner," Madoc said. "I feel the task should be mine."

"Nay," Rhys replied. "Brys's death should not be laid at your door, nor should his blood be on your hands, Madoc of Powys. It would, I fear, allow your brother the final victory. We will not give him that victory! He will go to his death knowing that he has lost totally. That his family has triumphed over him. Nay! He must not have any victory!"

Chapter 21

Brys of Cai had his private apartments within the north tower of Castle Cai. He liked facing north, for neither the sun nor the moon rose from that direction, and in their daily passage across the skies above, their light barely touched his rooms, which were usually cold with the harsh winds that blew from the north. The chill suited him. Even as a child he had disliked warmth.

The apartment was luxurious in its furnishings and scrupulously clean, for Brys could not tolerate disorder or dirt. Exquisite and very unique tapestries hung upon the walls. They offered scenes of erotic perversions totally unsuitable for a man who held a Church office. They were woven at a nearby convent by six nuns who relieved their tedium by occasionally gracing Brys's bed. The furniture was of heavy, well-polished oak. The apartments had another amenity known to few. Within the bishop's bedchamber was a small door behind one of the tapestries which led to the ramparts of the castle. From there Brys could get to any other part of the castle in the event of an emergency.

Such an emergency was now occurring even as a nervous servant shook his master awake.

"Your grace! Your grace!" the man gently patted at Brys's shoulder.

The icy eyes opened instantly. Brys sat up asking, "What is it? Be careful you do not wake the child, or you will suffer for it." The boy's face was still stained with the tears he had shed the night before, when Brys had whipped him soundly for whining that he wanted to continue to sleep with his nursemaid and not within his uncle's chamber. Arvel would learn quickly to obey his uncle, Brys thought with grim pleasure.

"Well?" he demanded of the servant. "Why have you awakened me at this ungodly hour? If it is not important, you will regret your lapse of sound judgment." He stared coldly at the man.

"My lord," the servant said, trying to hide his great and deep satisfaction at what he was about to impart to this vicious master, "we are under siege, my lord. I thought you would want to know." He bowed politely and quickly stepped back several paces that he might avoid any blow aimed at him.

Brys's eyes narrowed with speculation. "Who dares to besiege Castle Cai?" he wondered aloud.

"I could not say, my lord, but undoubtedly they will soon reveal themselves to you," the servant replied boldly.

"Get out!" Brys told him, swinging his legs over the side of the bed. Rising, he reached for his sherte, pulled it over his head, and, bending down, drew a pair of braies up his legs before stuffing them into his boots as he yanked them on his feet. Opening a chest, he took out a richly embroidered peacock-blue silk kirtle lined in marten and put it on. Then checking to see if the boy still slept, he lifted the tapestry and slipped through the little door. Quickly he mounted the steps, pushing open the trapdoor at the top of the staircase and climbing out onto the ramparts.

"My lord!" One of the men-at-arms came forward to help him.

Brys shook him off and, striding over to the battlements, peered down. The flat open space he had so carefully cleared before the front of the castle was filled with armed men standing shoulder to shoulder in line after line after line. The setting moon was strong enough to cast an eerie light that touched the tops of the assembled army's helmets, giving them an almost ghostly appearance. There was not a sound to be heard. Brys had absolutely no idea of who they were, arid he hissed slightly in annoyance beneath his breath.

"What shall we do, my lord?" the man-at-arms asked him.

The bishop of Cai looked blankly at the soldier and said, "Why do you ask me? I am no soldier. Besides, they offer no hostile action toward us. They but stand before my gates." With a shrug he moved away from the battlements of the castle and returned down the staircase to his apartments. Squatting by the trundle, he woke Arvel. "Awake, my nephew," he said softly. "It is morning, or almost morning." Drawing the sleepy child to his feet, he quickly dressed him and then, picking him up, carried him from the apartments down into the hall.

The Saxon wench, Gytha, ran forward and took the boy from him. "I'll feed him his breakfast, my lord," she said, ducking her head to avoid his gaze.

He nodded and eyed her speculatively. She was a handsome creature with big, pillowy tits and broad hips. She would undoubtedly make a good fuck. He would amuse himself with her before he sold her off to Ruari Ban the next time the slaver passed his way. That would be time enough to begin erasing Arvel's happy memories of babyhood. His nephew must learn cold reality.

His thoughts turned to the boy as he watched Gytha spoon hot cereal into the child's open mouth. Madoc's son. Madoc's only son. Only heir. He had his hated brother's son in his possession! Brys smiled. He had taken Madoc's wife from him, but that had been but the beginning of his revenge. Madoc had not seemed to suffer greatly the girl's loss, and, indeed, a woman was easily replaced. A firstborn son, however, was not; and the best part was that Madoc did not even know of the boy's existence. There would be time for that, Brys contemplated, and he smiled.

He had sent Ruari Ban back to Mercia when he believed the baby would be weaned and could travel. "Fetch me the child," he had told the slaver. If the child were a boy, so much the better; but a little girl would do just as well. A boy he could raise as his own, teaching him to hate what Brys hated, and of course that meant Madoc. He would bind his nephew to him so tightly that Madoc would never be able to reshape Arvel's cold heart. And when the boy was old enough, say fourteen or so, he would bring him to Raven's Rock to displace whatever other children a second wife would have borne his brother. An heir who had been taught to hate and despise his father! An heir for Raven's Rock who would be schooled in pure evil; whose first task would be to kill his father and perhaps even his male siblings. It was such a perfect revenge!

But if Madoc's young wife had whelped a girl, then he had another plan in mind. He would lovingly raise the little wench, introducing her to the delights of the flesh as early as he dared. He would have her maidenhead himself, and he would make the girl love him so desperately that she would do whatever he bade her to do. Hopefully she would look like her mother. Then one day when she was at her peak of perfection, he would introduce her into Raven's Rock. She would be instructed to seduce her father, not knowing, of course, that Madoc was her father. When she was well and truly ensconced as Madoc's lover and ripening with Madoc's child, he would tell his brother the truth. That his mistress was his own daughter! That the child she carried would be not only his offspring, but his grandchild as well! Brys almost laughed aloud at this scenario, and frankly, could not decide which revenge was best. He would have to rely on fate to choose, and fate had, bringing him a nephew.

Arvel was a strong child, healthy and intelligent. He would learn quickly once he could be forced from his babyish ways. He had allowed Ruari Ban to buy the boy's nursemaid and bring her along because, as the slaver had cleverly pointed out, the little lad would still need a woman's care. He would be more comfortable with someone familiar, and therefore less likely to sicken and die; or worse in Brys's estimation, to take a dislike to the lord of Castle Cai, whom he must be taught to love, trust, and fear implicitly.

Brys slowly sipped at his morning ale. He was a man skilled in patience, and he would need that patience now more than ever. It would be ten to twelve years before he could introduce his nephew to his father. He contemplated the story he would tell Arvel as to how he came to live with his doting uncle. He would not speak on it until the boy asked, and that, he knew, would be several years hence. Arvel would remember little of his first three and a half years by then. He would only recall the years lived at Castle Cai. Brys would tell his nephew that his father had cast both his mother and himself out of Raven's Rock when he fell in love with another woman and desired to make her his wife. As Wynne's loss had not killed Madoc with grief, Brys knew that he would have to remarry, and the sooner the better. After all, Wynne of Gwernach had disappeared almost four years ago. He might even pretend to make peace with Madoc and their sister Nesta, in order to be privy to their lives; in order to encourage Madoc's remarriage, something he knew their sister would approve of wholeheartedly. Aye, 'twas time for dear Madoc to remarry. Neither he nor Nesta need ever be aware of Arvel. Not until the time was ripe.

He smiled more broadly, and a small chuckle escaped him. Arvel would be taught to hate Madoc with a blind, unreasoning hatred. He would be told and retold of how he and Wynne were cast off, that his father might indulge his vices with other women. He would be mentally tortured with the picture of his half brothers and half sisters, all of whom were beloved of their father, spoilt and indulged by a doting prince who cared so little for his firstborn that he had cruelly cast him aside.

Siblings who were loved by their father, while he, Arvel, the most worthy of them all, was cast aside. Arvel would be taught to covet Raven's Rock so greatly that when the time came for him to meet Madoc, he would desire his father's possessions and title so passionately that he would be willing to kill to obtain them from the man who had deserted him and had been responsible for the death of his beautiful and gentle mother.

Brys stared out into his hall. Wynne of Gwernach. He could see her now standing before him. She was garbed in a magnificent tunic dress of grass-green brocatelle embroidered with gold thread in an acorn and oak-leaf design. Her girdle was of linked gold disks, and in the center of each disk was a polished round of green agate. A necklace of gold and pearl was hung about her neck, and in her ears were matching pearl drops. Her magnificent raven's-black hair was parted in the center, and the single, thick braid she always wore was woven with gold ribbons and small pearls. There would be thick, rich brown marten decorating the hem of her brocatelle tunic dress, and at its broad sleeves as well. She would have a jeweled band about her forehead.

Wynne of Gwernach. She was the most beautiful woman he had ever known. Even his sister Nesta could not hold a candle to Wynne. How often he regretted his lack of foresight that night he had held her captive. He would have enjoyed forcing her; showing her how much better a lover he was than his brother Madoc. It would have given him pleasure to hear her plead with him, but then she might have miscarried of the child, and his vengeance would have been quite incomplete. His self-control was to be commended, Brys thought. Ahh, beautiful Wynne of Gwernach. With a sigh of regret he blinked the vision away, but it did not go away.

Brys of Cai screwed his eyes tightly shut, but when he opened them again, she was still standing there, smiling at him. It could not be! He felt an aching tightening in his chest, and he struggled to draw a breath. She began to walk toward him, and Brys half rose, making the sign of the cross as if to ward off some evil.

Wynne's laughter bubbled up and tinkled throughout the hall. " 'Tis a wonder the roof does not cave in upon us, Brys," she mocked him. "What sacrilege that you should invoke the sign of the cross!"

"You are but a figment of my imagination," he managed to croak.

"More likely of your guilty conscience, but alas for you, I am quite real, dear brother-in-law. I have returned from Mercia whence you sent me, and I have come for my son, Arvel. Give him to me!"

"I know not of what you speak," Brys lied futilely, his icy eyes darting to where Gytha had been feeding Arvel. The Saxon bitch crouched nervously in the shadows, her arms wrapped protectively about the boy.

"Give me my son!" Wynne repeated, and now her voice was cold and hard. "I know not for what vengeful or perverted purpose you have stolen him away from me, but I want him back, Brys, and I mean to have him! Madoc is anxious to make the acquaintance of his heir."

"Where is my brother?" Brys demanded, and then his eyes lit with comprehension. "It is he outside my gates, isn't it?"

"Aye," she drawled. "It is."

"If he wanted the child so badly, my beauteous Wynne, why did he not simply use his vaunted magic to retrieve him? I would expect that of Madoc," Brys sneered.

"There will be no magic used here this day, Brys. This is not about magic. It is about you and your evil, which are about to come to an end. Now give me my son!" Wynne stood, determined now, before the high board.

"My lady!" Gytha called. "We are here!"

"Harry!" the lord of Cai barked, and immediately a hulking man-at-arms leapt forward. "Take the child to my quarters. As for you, my traitorous Saxon bitch," Brys turned his attention to Gytha, "you will leave Cai this day and thank God I do not punish you as you deserve! The lady here can tell you of my expertise with a whip upon the backs of bad servants."

The man-at-arms reached for Arvel, who immediately began screaming, "Mama! Mama!" while Gytha gamely attempted to retain custody of her little charge. With a fierce yank, however, Harry tore Arvel from Gytha's arms and raced away with the boy, who was now howling loudly at the top of his small lungs. Gytha fled weeping to Wynne's side.

"It is all right, Gytha," Wynne gently soothed the distraught nursemaid. "Leave the castle now. You will find safety with my woman servant, Megan, outside the gates. I will shortly bring Arvel back to you."

"Do you think she can so easily walk through my gates?" demanded Brys arrogantly as Gytha ran from the hall.

"Your gates have already been secured by my husband and the lord of St. Bride's," Wynne told him. "You should also know that your men-at-arms, but for those within this hall, have all surrendered to us." She turned and spoke to the remaining few of Brys's men. "We offer amnesty to any of you who will join your mates and go in peace."

Brys laughed bitterly as he watched his remaining retainers flee his hall. "Vermin! Lice!" he shouted after them. "I will yet win this day, and you will come crawling back to me for your places! Do not, for I will kill with my bare hands any who do!"

"You are beaten, Brys of Cai," Wynne told him. "Come now and face your death like a man and not some craven, ignoble thing."

"My death?" Brys looked truly astounded. "What do you mean, face my death? You have won. What more can you want of me?"

"We want your life," Wynne said solemnly.

"My life? You want my life?" Why did he keep repeating everything she said? Brys wondered irritably.

"Your life, devil!" the deep voice of Rhys of St. Bride's thundered through the hall, and the great lord strode forward, armed and ready to do battle.

"I will not fight you," Brys said petulantly. "I am no warrior as you!"

"You will fight me, coward, for I offer you no other choice but to die on the end of my sword like the dog you are!" Rhys said. "Before this day is over, Brys of Cai, you will be in Hell, where you surely belong, and never did a man deserve to suffer more for his sins than you do."

Brys looked down the hall. It was slowly filling with heavily armed soldiers. He edged himself nervously along the high board. "Where is my brother Madoc and my sister Nesta?" he whined, childlike.

"You will not see them again," Rhys told him.

"You would deny a condemned man this last request?" Brys bleated piteously, forcing his icy eyes to fill with tears.

"Hah, charlatan! Think not to elicit my sympathy with your false tears," Rhys replied. "There is no pity in me for the likes of you!"

"Wynne, I appeal to you?" Brys pleaded, holding out his slender, long hands.

"I owe you nothing, Brys," she answered him coldly. "You abducted me from my husband, sold me into slavery along with my unborn son. You have caused Madoc and me pain far greater than you will ever know. I owe you nothing, for this is not the first time you have come between us, and I think you know it well."

"You do not seem to have suffered so greatly the wretched experience you claim I forced you into," he said with a sneer.

"No thanks to you, Brys of Cai!" Wynne snapped angrily.

"Enough of this talk," Rhys said harshly. " 'Tis time, coward!"

Brys broke from the cover of the high board and, dashing across a corner of the hall, fled through a small door that had been hidden behind a tall-backed chair. With a roar of fury Rhys leapt after him, followed quickly by Wynne. They found themselves within a small interior hallway whose only other exit was up a stone staircase. Above them they could hear Brys's footsteps as he ran from them. Rhys began to swiftly mount the stairs with Wynne behind him.

"It probably goes to his apartments," she shouted after her brother-in-law. "He'll not trap himself. There will be another exit."

"Fear not," Rhys replied. "I'll have the miserable devil's hide and send his soul to Hell before the hour's out!"

At the top of the staircase they encountered a locked door, but in no mood to be denied his quarry, Rhys of St. Bride's quickly and methodically battered the barrier down. They found themselves within an antechamber. Ahead of them a door slammed shut. They hurried to open it, but once again Rhys was forced to smash through the oaken portal, which easily gave way beneath his mighty blows just as Brys and his lone remaining henchman rushed out another door; but as there was no time to close off this door, their pursuers were immediately behind them.

Up another narrow flight of stairs they ran, Rhys puffing from the weight of his battle gear, but nonetheless game. Wynne could hear her son crying ahead of her, and Arvel's desperate sobs almost broke her heart. Dear God, she silently prayed, keep my baby safe! Don't let us lose him now. She hurried around another turn in the stairs and saw before her a trapdoor, already open, as Brys and Harry scrambled through it. As the hapless man-at-arms attempted to slam the trapdoor shut on them, Rhys, teeth bared, roared loudly, "Do so and you're a dead man!" Harry, still grasping Arvel about the waist, drew back, quite intimidated.

Then they were all outside upon the roof of Castle Cai. Rhys drew a deep breath to clear his head and said, "Now fight me, you whoreson, and let us be done with this farce!"

"I have no weapon," Brys whined piteously.

"Give him your sword," Rhys commanded Harry, and the man-at-arms successfully struggled to free his arms, which he then passed to his master.

Brys glared angrily at him and complained, " 'Tis not the weapon of a nobleman."

“ 'Tis your only chance, you cowardly, sniveling devil," Rhys told him coldly, and raising his own weapon up, he aimed a blow at his enemy, who staggered, but blocking the blow successfully, backed away.

With grim precision the lord of St. Bride's drove his enemy across the roof of the castle and toward the battlements along the edge. There, silhouetted against the bright blue afternoon sky, the two men fought upon the heights of Castle Cai. Metal clanged fiercely on metal as the well-forged blades of the broadswords met again and again with a noisy ringing tone that echoed in the otherwise clear silent air.

Below, all the inhabitants of the castle, along with the army of Rhys and Madoc, clustered in groups staring upward, hypnotized by the fascinating yet terrifying spectacle going on above them. This was a life and death struggle, and the soldiers were open-mouthed for the most part. Megan and Gytha knelt, praying fervently for the lord of St. Bride's safety and eventual triumph over the wicked lord of Cai. Nesta, however, had full faith in her husband's ability to overcome her evil brother.

"It is but a matter of time," she said quietly to Madoc.

"Do you feel no remorse or sadness for Brys?" he asked her.

Nesta shook her head. "Nay," she said, "I do not. How can I, dearest brother? How can you? Yet I realize that in your kind heart you do feel pity for Brys despite all he has done. Perhaps you are a better soul than I am. I understand it not, but I do know that Brys must die for any of us to be safe. There simply is no other way."

"Will he learn from this, I wonder?" Madoc said aloud.

"That I cannot tell you," Nesta answered her brother honestly. "He is so filled with envy and anger and bitterness. Until he can purge himself of those evils, I feel he will always be a danger to us and to himself. Perhaps in time." She let her eyes stray back up to the battlements where her husband and brother fought their duel to the death.

Wynne, from her greater vantage point upon the roof, watched the battle. If she was afraid, she was not aware of it, for her mind was devoid of everything but her son. She looked to Harry.

"Give me Arvel," she said softly.

He shook his head. "I dare not, lady, until this is finished," he replied, and she felt sorry for him, caught between them all. Arvel would be safe. Instinctively Wynne knew that the man-at-arms would not harm her child.

"Cease your weeping, Arvel," she told the little boy. "Mama is here, Harry has you safe, and we will soon go home."

Arvel sniffled, but reassured, he stopped howling and regarded his mother with round, solemn eyes.

Wynne's gaze moved back to the battle.

Slowly and quite deliberately Rhys fought against Brys of Cai, raining blow after punishing blow at him, pushing him back and to his limit, wearing him down for the eventual kill. Rhys's own great heart was hammering with the exertion of the battle. The sweat ran in hot rivulets down his face and in cold rivulets down his back. Neither Rhys nor his opponent wore mail, for the lord of St. Bride's would have considered it dishonorable to fight well-armored when his enemy was not. Rhys relied upon his own skill to overcome Brys. He had to admit to himself that Brys was a skilled swordsman, for all his disclaimers to the contrary. He could see, however, that Brys of Cai's soft and sensual life, with its overabundance of fine food and even finer wines, had rendered his stamina less than that of a hardened veteran as himself.

I want to put an end to this quickly, Rhys thought suddenly. He knew that the longer their conflict raged on, there was always the chance that a lucky blow struck by his enemy could seriously maim or even kill him. He wanted to live a long and happy life with the beautiful Nesta, and his sons were far too young to be orphaned. With a sudden, wild battle cry that startled them all, Brys in particular, Rhys showered a series of fierce blows down upon his adversary, forcing Brys to his knees.

With the terrible realization that death was indeed staring him quite directly in the face, Brys of Cai sought to save himself in a most dishonorable fashion. With an instinct for survival and an agility that surprised even himself, he quickly scooped up a handful of dirt and pebbles from atop the castle walls and, with an unfailing aim, flung them directly into Rhys of St. Bride's face. Blinded temporarily, Rhys could only flail helplessly as Brys of Cai struggled to his feet and raised his own broadsword to deliver the lord of St. Bride's his death blow. Horrified by this sudden turn of events, Wynne screamed helplessly in desperation.

The day had waned while the two men fought, and now from out of the sunset-stained sky, a large black raven swept down, screaming his raucous cry as he dove directly at Brys of Cai's head and face. Startled, Brys was forced to drop his weapon in a vain attempt to defend himself from the huge bird. The creature, however, would not be deterred from his apparent purpose, which seemed to be Brys of Cai's destruction. Against the background of a flaming orange-gold sky, the great black raven deliberately forced Brys backward, all the while screaming fiercely, his sharp beak scoring several open, bloody wounds upon the handsome face and the hands which were raised to shield himself. The bird's large wing span beat upon his enemy. There was nowhere for Brys to go.

In a shrieking final assault upon Brys of Cai, the great black bird drove his victim over the battlements of Castle Cai to a screaming finality below. The body landed with a loud, unpleasant thump upon the wooden drawbridge. It was spread-eagled and faceup, allowing those near it a glimpse of Brys's face, which was contorted in rage, surprise, and terror.

"Madoc!" Wynne whispered as the raven flew up into the burning scarlet sky, cawing triumphantly. Then she whirled about and said fiercely to Harry, "Give me my child!"

Without another word the man-at-arms thrust Arvel into his mother's care, and Wynne, her son clinging to her, climbed back down through the trapdoor and hurried down the stairs. She flew through Brys's chambers and down the next flight, back into the now empty hall. Her feet barely touching the ground, she raced out of Castle Cai, skirting Brys's dead body, and looked back up. Above her the great black bird flapped his wings noisily, still crying his triumph.

Then to the horror of both Wynne and Nesta, a voice was heard to say, "Damned impudent bird!" and an arrow flew from somewhere within the ranks of the standing army to find its mark within the raven's chest. The bird plummeted to the ground. With a shriek Wynne pushed Arvel at Gytha and ran to where the raven had fallen. Kneeling upon the ground, she cradled the creature in her arms and heard his voice weakly saying, "Madoc is ainm dom. Madoc is aimn dom. Te… se… Madoc!"

About them the startled soldiery drew back with a single gasp of surprise. " 'Tis the prince!" she heard them saying.

"Oh, my dearest love," Wynne wept, the tears pouring down her pale cheeks. "What have you done that it should end like this?"

"I have killed my brother," he said weakly, "but alas, dearling, there was, it seems, no other way."

"Arvel is safe," she told him as a shudder ripped through his body.

Madoc's smoky blue eyes grew bright for a brief moment and he whispered, "Show me my son!"

"Gytha! Bring Arvel!" Wynne cried, and when Gytha hung back afraid, Nesta took her nephew from the Saxon girl's arms and brought him into Madoc's sight.

Madoc's gaze feasted upon his son, and he said in a satisfied voice, "He is me. It is good, dearling." Then the light began to fade swiftly from his eyes, and Wynne cried out, seeing it.

"Madoc! My lord and my love! Do not leave me!" She cradled him tightly, her dark hair, which had come loose in her pursuit of Brys, now falling about them like a curtain. Her tears, flowing copiously, wet both her tunic front and his kirtle.

"You will survive, dearling," he said, his voice so weak that she was forced to bend even closer to hear him. "You must!" Then his soul pulled free of his body and he was gone from her.

"Madoc! Madoc!" Wynne cried desperately. "Do not go my love! Do not go! You must get to know Arvel! And there is the other! I have not yet told you of the new child I am to bear you, the child now growing beneath my heart! The child created of our reunion! Madoc!"

Nesta, having returned Arvel to Gytha, now bent and gently helped her sister-in-law to her feet. She, too, was weeping at the sight of her beloved brother's body. Rhys stumbled out onto the drawbridge, still half blinded with the grit his dishonorable opponent had thrown at him.

"What has happened?" he demanded.

"Did you not see it?" Wynne said tonelessly.

"See what?" Rhys said. "I had Brys of Cai all but beaten when the dishonorable whoreson threw dirt in my face, and I was blinded for a time. All I could hear was the flapping of wings and a bird's cry. I saw nothing."

"Madoc saved you," Wynne told him. "Although he had sworn never to use his shape-changer's powers again, he did so in order to defeat Brys and save you, Rhys. Now he is dead! Shot through with an arrow by one of our men." Her tears flowed briefly and hotly for a moment, and then she said, "Come, my lord. I must prepare an herbal wash for your poor eyes. I doubt there is any serious damage to your sight, but your eyes are most likely scratched and will need my attention. Nesta, take your husband into the castle."

"She is so cold of heart," Rhys said to his wife as they reentered Cai. "Her husband is dead, and she weeps but a moment, and then says she will treat my wounds. Thank God I have you, my angel!"

"Dearest Rhys," Nesta told him gently, "you have never understood Wynne of Gwernach. She loved my brother with every fiber of her being. She will mourn him until she dies, and she will never, I promise you, remarry. She will raise her son Arvel, and this new child she is to bear, to know their father as if he were there with them and not just a memory. Her grief will always be a private grief, as her love for Madoc was a private love. She is not cold of heart. Indeed, her heart is broken; but she will go on as Madoc wanted her to go on, and she will survive to raise her children to man- and womanhood. Madoc will always be in her heart, and in her mind and in her daily thoughts. What they have, have had, and will one day have again, is a love that time cannot destroy. Dearest Rhys, my darling lord! I love you so very much!" And Nesta of Powys flung her arms about her husband and kissed him passionately. "I shall never be able to thank Madoc," she said, and Rhys knew exactly what she meant. Madoc had saved his life.

Gently he disengaged himself from his beautiful wife's embrace. "We must help Wynne," he told her.

"You must offer to help, but let her have the decision whether to accept or not," she told him, and he nodded his agreement.

Outside, Brys of Cai's body had been lifted from the drawbridge.

"What shall we do with it, lady?" the captain of the guard asked her helplessly, there being no other authority in his sight.

"Lay him out upon the high board in his hall," Wynne instructed. "After I have treated the lord of St. Bride's eyes, we will leave here. Before we do, fire this castle. It must be totally destroyed."

"But the night is upon us, lady," the captain protested.

"Would you seek shelter here?" Wynne demanded of him, and he shook his head.

"And my lord Madoc?" the captain asked nervously.

"We will take my lord back to Raven's Rock," she answered. "Prepare a litter for his body that it may be carried with the honor and the dignity it deserves."

"Shall I look for the archer, my lady?"

Wynne's green eyes looked bleakly at the soldier. " Why? He knew not what he was doing. I want no one punished. I forgive the archer, whoever he was. I never want to know!" She turned away from the captain and reentered the hall to minister to Rhys's eyes.

Her wishes were immediately carried out. When she had finished treating the lord of St. Bride's, Brys had been placed upon his high board, cold and stiff. They piled furniture and other combustibles about him. On the floors above, flaming brands had already been placed in each nook and cranny of the castle. Now Wynne took a torch and lit Brys's funeral pyre. The scarlet flames leapt upward, casting dark dancing shadows on the walls. Wynne stood for several minutes watching, unable to leave until she saw the fire beginning to consume Brys's body. Then finally at a touch of Rhys's hand on her arm, she turned and walked slowly from the Great Hall of Castle Cai. Outside, and on the other side of the drawbridge, she paused and again stood watching as the castle, now fully engulfed in flames, burned. It stood as a beacon against the dark night sky, yet Wynne felt not the warmth of the fire.

Madoc was dead. The words burnt into her consciousness like a brand. She had lost him again even as their reunion had allowed her to believe that their difficulties were behind them, and that they would be together forever. Yet the choice had been Madoc's. He had not, of course, chosen to relinquish his life; but he had simply been unable to allow his friend to do so. Rhys, whose own sense of honor would not permit Madoc to destroy Brys, now owed his very existence to the prince's great sacrifice. And Madoc's actions had certainly included her and Arvel as well, Wynne thought sadly. Whatever sins he had committed against them in that other time and place had been surely expiated by the unselfish surrender of his own life in this time and place. It was a bitter comfort, but she understood.

Suddenly a small hand slipped into her cold one, and she heard her son's voice saying, "Where is my uncle, Mama?"

Wynne looked down at him. "Your uncle is dead, Arvel," she told the little boy. "He will never hurt you again."

Arvel nodded at her with Madoc's look, and Wynne's heart contracted most painfully. "Can we go home, Mama?"

"Aye, my lord prince," she told him.

Arvel's smoky blue eyes widened at her words. "Am I a prince?"

"You are the prince of Powys-Wenwynwyn, Arvel ap Madoc," his mother told him.

"My home is not at Aelfdene?" Arvel was suddenly possessed by a new awareness.

"Nay, my lord prince," she answered.

"Where is my home, Mama?"

"You are the lord of Raven's Rock, my son," she told him.

Rhys came and said, "Whatever you want, Wynne of Gwernach. Whatever help you need, ever. It is yours in return for a debt I can never repay, as well as for the kinship between us."

She nodded. "I thank you, my lord," she answered him, and then she said to Arvel, "This is your uncle, my son. He is Rhys, the lord of St. Bride's."

Rhys bowed solemnly to the little child, saying, "I am always and ever at your service, my lord prince. Is there any way in which I can now serve you?"

"Take me upon your horse, uncle," the little boy answered. When they were all mounted, Arvel commanded Rhys to the head of the line of soldiers. "I would go home now," he said. "I would go home to Raven's Rock."

They moved away from the burning castle, the little boy upon his uncle's great horse leading them. Behind, the bearers surrounded by men-at-arms carrying lighted torches bore the body of Madoc of Powys-Wenwynwyn. They were followed by the women and the small army as they wended their way into the forest. Above them the night sky was lit by a bright, full moon now. Wynne looked up at the moon. It shone pure and white against the blackness.

Then suddenly the pristine beauty was marred a moment by the shadow of a raven as it flew across the moon. Wynne thought that perhaps she might even hear the bird's cry, but had she, it would have been a different cry. Madoc was dead. Once again they had been separated by a cruel moment in time. That they would be reunited again one day she had not a single doubt; and next time… oh, next time, it would be even better!

She was unaware of the tears that were flowing quickly down her beautiful face; unaware that her mouth had turned itself into a secret, small smile at her thoughts. Nothing mattered now but the children. Arvel, and Averel, and the new child growing within her. The children, and Raven's Rock, and her memories. Aye! Her memories. And what memories they were!