A Moment in Time (5 page)

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

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

"And my sisters?" Caitlin demanded.

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

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

Dilys giggled vacuously.

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

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

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

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

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

"And the lady Dilys?" he asked.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"But I do," he answered quietly.

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

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

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

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

"Aye," Dilys answered him simply.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Chapter 2

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"And Dewi?" Wynne said quietly.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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