A Moment in Time (48 page)

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Chapter 15

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Averel," came the reply.

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

"Have you told your brother?" Eadwine asked.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Averel," was the short reply.

"She looks like Father," he noted dryly.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Tell me about it," she pressed him.

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

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

"What?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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