wife.'
For a long moment Wynne stood silently before the oak door listening to Megan's footsteps as they echoed and retreated down the narrow staircase. Finally raising her fist, she knocked once. His voice came quite clearly through the thick wood, bidding her to enter, which she did.
'Good morning, dearling,' he said to her as she stepped into the room. 'I trust you are ready to work hard.' He smiled.
He was garbed even as she was, but that his costume was violet. About his neck he wore a heavy silver chain from which hung a silver pendant in which was imbedded the largest moonstone she could ever remember seeing. It was fully as big as one of the small apricots Madoc had sent her as a treat the previous summer. The silver diadem that restrained his unruly dark hair was studded with moonstones of a smaller size. He somehow seemed larger than life in this place, and Wynne suddenly considered that she should possibly be just a little afraid of him.
She bowed politely to him, never revealing that thought and hoping he had not read it. 'I am ready to learn all you would teach me, Madoc, if in the end you will teach me how to change my shape as you do.'
'In time, dearling. Do not be impatient with me,' he told her.
Wynne looked about her with frank interest. 'Where are we?' she asked him.
'This is the east tower of Raven 's Rock,' came the reply.
'It is one of the round towers,' Wynne returned. 'The original tower of the keep, I would venture.' She looked about her. In the curve of the wall was a small fireplace in the shape of an inverted U. A peat fire burned brightly upon its hearth. There was a large L-shaped, slate-topped table and a similar table formed like a T within the room. Set on each table was a stone mortar and a pestle.
There were shelves hollowed from one wall, and upon them were an assortment of vials, bowls, and beakers of various sizes, shapes, and colors, as well as glass and stone jars holding quivering liquids, pastes, and other dried substances whose origins she could not fathom at this point. There were several charcoal burners set upon each of the tables, and from the walls of the room hung bunches and sheaves of all manner of herbs, roots, and dried flowers.
It was actually very much like her own little pharmacea at Gwernach, where she had mixed her own medicines and salves to help doctor her people. The room was very well-lit by small torches affixed in their iron holders which were set into the wall. They were quite necessary, as through the tower window she could see the day was grey and overcast. Set upon a tall, three-footed stand beneath the window was a thick manuscript.
'This is a wonderful room,' she said with sincerity.
'You will note,' he said with his dry humor, 'there are no small horned demons lurking in the corners ready to do my evil bidding; nor is there a single cat, black or otherwise, that I use as my familiar. I am afraid I should greatly disappoint those who consider my arts to be those of the devil. I seem to lack all the necessary accoutrements.'
'I suspect that if such things were really necessary to your talents, Madoc, that they would not be readily in evidence for all to see,' she mocked him. 'It is a strange world in which we live that denies such a wonderful part of our heritage. Still, I understand the need for caution and will act accordingly.'
He nodded. 'It is sad, Wynne, that we who were once the lords of this earth have had to learn the fine art of compromise. Compromise is confining and stifles the fires of talent. Still, we must survive within this new and righteous world in which we find ourselves… But enough of this idle chatter, dearling. You have come to learn, and I will teach you. First, however, I must ascertain just how much you actually know. Use the L-shaped table and show me how you would make a love potion. You do know how to make a love potion?'
Wynne raised her eyebrows at him. 'I would not be much of a healer if I did not know how to make a love potion, Madoc.' Then she turned to face the storage shelves and, seeking carefully amongst the jars and beakers, removed precisely the ingredients she needed, placing everything neatly upon the table. Skillfully she measured out amounts of each substance, placing the ingredient first into the mortar, where she ground it to the desired fineness before adding it to a larger bowl, into which she would finally combine the mixture. When she had finished, Wynne looked expectantly toward Madoc. 'Well?' she demanded.
'How do you administer it?' he asked her, neither approving nor disapproving her work.
'A pinch in a goblet of wine usually does the trick,' she said.
'It would do even better if you added…' He paused, his dark blue eyes flickering quickly over the shelves until, finding what he sought, he drew it forth. 'Three violet flowers ground medium-fine. Remember, 'tis the flowers, not the leaves you want; and a pinch of orris root. The potion is far more binding and, therefore, more effective with these two elements added. Made like this, you can also infuse the entire potion into red wine. It should be heated just to the boiling point, but never beyond,' he cautioned, 'for it loses its strength then. The treated wine can then be stored safely for some months in a stone bottle and not lose any of its potency. Just one small spoonful mixed into a goblet of cool wine or into a cup of ale will work quite well.
'Come, we will grind your ingredients into a fine powder. Then I will show you just how much wine to use and demonstrate how to heat the mixture properly. Once you have done it successfully, you will not forget it.'
'Can I trust you with so potent a potion, Madoc?' Wynne teased him.
'I need no love potion to bind me to you, dearling. My devotion is one that has endured through the centuries. Soon, I hope, you will remember that.'
Wynne grew pink with the compliment, but said nothing more. Instead she set to work pestling the mix she had made into a smooth powder; while Madoc lit one of the small charcoal burners and set it near him on the slate- topped table. They worked together, side by side, for some time; he, requesting one compound after another; Wynne, showing him what she knew, and her knowledge was vast for a girl so young. She had gained her learning early from her own mother, a skilled healer. When Margiad had died, Enid had completed Wynne's education. Wisely, Wynne had never been loath to listen to the remedies offered by some of the old women at Gwernach. The elderly had a vast fund of wisdom and it was foolish to discount it.
Now as she worked with Madoc she realized how much more she could learn. It was another bond she hoped would tie them together and perhaps even help her to remember the past that had separated them. Sometimes, as with the love potion, he improved upon her own mixture. Other formulas he left alone, nodding quickly in approval of her methods before disposing of some of the mixtures and storing others.
The hours sped by quickly and the day waned. Finally Madoc called a halt to their labors, saying, 'This table and this room are open to you whenever you desire to come here to make medicines and salves for our people.'
She nodded and then said, 'Tell me why, of all the beautiful birds in the world, you chose to become a raven?'
A slow smile altered his serious features. 'It is true that I might have been something else, but think, Wynne. The raven is a plain and common bird. People pay little, if any, attention to it. In flight it has no enemies, for the birds of prey will not bother a raven who minds his own business. The raven is like an ordinary face in a crowd of people. One is very much like another. On the whole it is a safe bird to be. When I alter my own shape, it is not to put my life in danger.'
'What is the secret to changing?' she begged him.
'Not yet, dearling. You have more to learn, and as I would not put myself at risk, I will certainly not put you at risk. Eventually I will teach you magic, but not yet.'
She sighed but wisely accepted his decision.
'Are you tired?' he asked her solicitously as they returned to their apartments.
'Aye,' she nodded, sighing.
'There are but the two of us, dearling. Let us bathe and rest and then have our supper here in my reading room before the fire. Would it please you?'
'Aye, I should like a bath and the informality of our chambers,' she admitted. 'Have the meal brought and set by the fire to keep warm. Then dismiss the servants, for we do not need them. I will serve you, my lord.'
Megan, as efficient as ever, had already drawn Wynne's bath. She undid Wynne's braid, brushed it free and then, wrapping hanks of her mistress's hair about her hand, pinned the loops atop Wynne's head with her golden hairpins. Disrobing her lady and helping her into the great oak tub, Megan was surprised to find herself dismissed for the evening.
'I can wash myself,' Wynne told her. 'Spend your free time driving my Einion to distraction, as you seem to
