A Moment in Time (38 page)

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

"Are you hungry?" he asked.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"I know," came the reply.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Aye, my lord."

"Did she eat well?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"You are not asleep," he said.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"I will run away," she said defiantly.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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