burst out laughing.
'You stupid little toad,' Caitlin said angrily, 'can you not understand the value to us if Rhys of St. Bride's weds our eldest sister?'
'I understand the value to
'What if she falls in love with him?' Caitlin demanded.
'Then she will have my blessing,' the boy answered. 'I would have my sisters happy in their marriages.'
'I shall be happy with a rich and powerful husband only,' Caitlin told them.
'So you have said, my sister, on numerous occasions,' Dewi returned. 'I should not say it too loud, however, Caitlin, for a man would be desired, I think, for more than his name, his rank, or his wealth.'
'Even as a woman would,' Wynne replied.
'What a pair of fools you both are,' Caitlin said. 'A man seeks many things from a woman. More gold to fill his coffers. More power for his family. Sons. He cares not if a woman loves him if he has these things. We have little gold and no power to speak of, but we have beauty, which has a certain value, and our mother was a good breeder, which also has value. Couple this with a sister wed to a powerful coastal lord…' Her blue eyes glittered with pleasure at the thoughts she no longer voiced.
Dewi shook his head. Though he was young, he understood Caitlin far better than she would have imagined, or even liked; and he knew as he had always known that he did not like her. He pitied the man that she would eventually entrap and marry. Caitlin had a heart of stone, if indeed she had any heart at all. There was nothing in her for anyone but herself. She was cold. 'A man would be loved, Caitlin,' he told her, knowing even as he said it that Caitlin was incapable of loving anyone, perhaps even herself.
'I repeat, little brother, you are a fool!' came the harsh retort. 'Men care not if women love them. Power! Gold! Those are their only goals. You will see that I am right one day when you grow up and stop believing in the fairy tales our grandmother and eldest sister so love telling.'
'I will marry for love alone, Caitlin,' the boy told her quietly. 'What good is a fat dowry in a house that is riven with discord between its master and its mistress? What kind of children do such poor souls breed? Gold can never ease a sore heart.'
Before Caitlin might argue with her brother further, Wynne held up her hand. 'There can be no agreement between you on this subject,' she said, 'and so I would bid you both to cease your childish bickering. When Rhys of St. Bride's finally arrives, we will listen to him with courtesy, whatever he may have to say.'
The siblings nodded their agreement of Wynne's words, though each thought separate thoughts from hers. Caitlin believed that when Rhys of St. Bride's offered their sister a proposal of marriage, she would prevail upon Wynne to accept him, thus ensuring golden futures for herself and Dilys. She smiled a most smug smile at them all.
Dewi's eyes narrowed almost imperceptibly as he regarded her distastefully. Caitlin reminded him of a nasty cat eyeing a helpless mouse. She would not have her way if he had anything to say about it, and he would. His rights as the master of Gwernach would be upheld. He might be young, but Dewi knew if he did not begin to exert his influence now, he would have a hard time making those around him take him seriously later on in life. He would not exhibit any weakness, if only for Wynne's future happiness.
'For your sake, sweet sister,' Dewi told Wynne, and touched her cheek lovingly with his small hand.
Caitlin glowered. She did not miss the significance of either his gesture or his words, but she held her peace. In the end it would be her words that prevailed in the matter and not some unfledged boy's.
The weather improved, and within a short period of time the fields were green with new growth. Wynne, with Dewi at her side, rode out daily to inspect the estate. They were a familiar sight to the serfs and slaves belonging to Gwernach, the young master upon his fat dappled grey pony; his sister upon her gentle black mare. Though it frightened them to have a boy for a master, the people of Gwernach trusted the lady Wynne to make certain that all would be well. In the years before the old master had died so suddenly, the lady Wynne would accompany him upon his daily rounds. Even as a child they had known that there was something special about her, and indeed, as she grew, their collective instinct had been proven correct. Wynne of Gwernach was a healer, but it was not just her knowledge of medicines, herbs, potions, and poultices that made her so special. It was her healer's touch, a rare ability granted to few. So they trusted the young master's sister to keep them safe.
It was a good spring. The cattle grew fat in meadows grown to lushness from the early rains. They lost no calves either in the birthing, or to illness, or to predators. The demand for their cheese was greater than ever before, not simply for its quality, but due to the fact they could only produce a certain amount which in turn drove up the price, filling Gwernach's coffers with new gold. As she rode over the estate early one afternoon with her brother, Wynne thought their life perfect.
'Caitlin no longer complains that we need a man to run the estate,' Dewi noted. 'Allowing her her fill of cloth and small treasures from that passing peddler seems to have soothed her fretfulness.' He chuckled.
'Caitlin is merely distracted by her new acquisitions,' Wynne told him wisely. 'She considers everything she was permitted to purchase her rightful due.'
Dewi laughed aloud, and then he grew serious. 'We have heard no more from Rhys of St. Bride's, my sister, but having said he will come, I have no doubt that he will. What shall you do if, indeed, he does bring you an offer of marriage?'
'I shall refuse him, Dewi. I have told you that I will not leave Gwernach until you are grown and wed. Our parents would, God assoil their good souls, want it that way. As soon as it is possible, we will arrange marriages for Caitlin and Dilys, although Dilys alone is a harmless and simple soul. Caitlin, however, needs a husband. Her spirit is a restless one, and she sows discord in our house because of it. It will not be so when she has her own hall to rule.'
'She would not like it that you know her so well, sister,' Dewi said.
'Then we shall not tell her, little brother,' Wynne replied with a smile, 'but your instinct is as sharp as mine, is it not?'
'I think you may be too wise a woman, sister,' the boy said mischievously, but then his eye was distracted and he cried, reaching for his slingshot, 'Look! It is that black beggar who steals the seed!' Delving into his pouch for a stone, he fitted it quickly into the sling and launched it even as Wynne cried out.
'No, Dewi! 'Tis my raven! Do not shoot him!'
His aim, usually true, was not this time, or perhaps the raven was simply quicker. With an indignant squawk it flew direcdy above them, scolding angrily.
Wynne laughed. 'One does not need to speak the raven's tongue to know that he is cursing you quite heartily, little brother,' she teased the boy.
'Mistress! Mistress!' The voice called across the hillside and they were quickly joined by Einion, a house slave. He was a large man, so tall that his legs practically touched the ground as he rode his horse. Broad of shoulder, with sinewy arms and legs, a leonine head of fiery red hair that fell to his shoulders, he was an impressive and fearful sight. Off his horse, however, Einion limped badly, and it was that injury that had resulted in his enslavement. He had been captured after a battle with the Irish and sold by them into slavery. He was, he had told Owain ap Llywelyn, a Norseman from the far north country of Norway. Though his gait was ungainly and awkward due to his injury, Einion had incredible strength in his upper body. Owain ap Llywelyn had liked the man immediately and trusted him instinctively. Removing the slave collar from Einion, though he did not release him from bondage to the family, Owain had assigned him to protect his children, who, at the time of Einion's arrival into the household, had consisted of an infant girl called Wynne.
'The lady Caitlin sent me for you,' Einion said. 'The lord of St. Bride's is near and requests your permission to stop at Gwernach.'
'Permission our sister undoubtedly sent,' Dewi said irritably.
Einion grinned. 'Yes, master,' he said, and then he added, 'she would not have even given the poor messenger so much as a drink of water, in such a hurry was she, but that your grandmother spoke up.
'What a pity we cannot match Caitlin with Rhys of St. Bride's,' muttered the boy. ' 'Twould serve him right!'
'Dewi!' Wynne laughed. 'You will not shame us with bad manners, my young lord of Gwernach. Rhys of St.
