A Moment in Time

crowd and quickly be forgotten should someone become curious as to their questions. You must divide the territory to be searched into sections, and into each section send one man.'

'Who,' said Madoc, quickly seeing the wisdom of Ein-ion's idea, 'will travel as a peddler; but not one man into each section, Einion, two. A peddler and his helper. They will travel the width and the length of their assigned section, learning which of the Saxons within that territory has the means to buy and own a prized slave woman. And when my wife is located, Einion, then one of those men can ride quickly back to Raven's Rock with the news.'

'And then, my lord,' Einion finished, 'we can ride out ourselves to bring my lady and your child safely home.'

'A map!' Madoc cried. 'We must have a map! Go to the monastery in the valley, for they will have the maps we need. Tell my head shepherd he is to give the monks six young sheep as a gift from the lord of Raven's Rock.'

'Shall I tell the monks why we need the maps, my lord?'

'Nay, I do not want my brother knowing what we do. Nesta is always warning me that I underestimate Brys, and she is right. We need eyes and ears within Castle Cai. The faceless voice who told me of Wynne's fate is a man-at-arms whose young sister was beaten to death by Brys after he had raped her. Find me that man and convince him to aid us, Einion.'

'What shall I offer him, my lord? We cannot give him gold, for he would surely be found out,' Einion said wisely.

'Tell him I would have him serve me here at Raven's Rock, and I will give shelter to his family as well,' Madoc replied. 'Should he believe himself in danger at any time before this is over, Einion, then tell him he is to come to me with his kin immediately. I want no innocent blood on my hands, but I need to know what Brys is doing before he knows it himself.'

'Very good, my lord,' Einion said, and bowing, he left the prince.

Madoc climbed to his tower sanctuary and peered out into the late afternoon twilight. It was beginning to snow. He felt a wave of frustration spilling over him. Winter. Winter was upon them, and it would be difficult with the bad weather to mount his search as quickly as he wanted. Somewhere over the mountains on the English side of Offa's Dyke was his wife. Was she afraid? Was she safe? Did she know in her heart that 'he longed for her and was even now seeking her? The thought that unless he was given a miracle, Wynne would undoubtedly bear their child alone, pained him. What if she died in childbirth? What would happen to their son? He angrily pushed the gloomy thoughts away.

Patience. It was a virtue of which he was not particularly fond, but one he had cultivated clown through the centuries out of necessity. Had he not learned patience, he could not have survived. Once again he knew he would have to be patient. When he had the maps, he would divide the vast territory separating him from his wife into small sections. Each section must be combed carefully for any sign of Wynne. It would take patience. It would take time. It would take luck. Wynne was brave, and she must know that he would not desert her. She would know he would not believe Brys's shallow ruse. She would know that he sought her; would find her and restore her to her rightful place by his side. Wynne must cultivate patience too. She must understand the difficulties involved.

Time. Why was it that time passed so quickly when life was sweet, and so slowly when you wanted it to hurry? Wynne stared out the narrow window in the Great Chamber, watching the heavy grey downpour. It had been five months since her abduction, and yet she felt as if she had been gone from Raven's Rock for years. The winter had been cold and forever, and now on this long-awaited day of the Spring equinox, the rain came in discouraging torrents. She turned away from the window, a tear sliding down her cheek. Where was Madoc? Why had he not found her by now? Certainly he didn't believe her dead. He wouldn't! How could he have left her to bear their child alone?

She had been in labor since early morning, but she had said nothing to those about her. If Wynne could not have her husband by her side, she wanted no one else near her. Since the day Eadwine Aethelhard had put the gold slave collar about her neck, Wynne felt as if it were an enchantment of sorts to keep Madoc from her. There was no way in which she could remove the hated collar. Eadwine had set it about her neck, locked it, and carried the key himself. At first it had taken all the courage she possessed not to go mad, for the collar not only openly labeled her, but it was indeed the successful deterrent he had said it would be. She could go nowhere without being marked for a slave, which meant there was no escape from Aelfdene for her.

In the beginning she had raged against her fate, but then she realized that since Eadwine was the only person who could free her, she would have to convince him that she was content. Wynne knew how very much he wanted her to be his wife. After her child was born, she would agree to his proposal. There was no priest at Aelfdene, and therefore they could not be formally married until a priest could be brought to them. Her status would only change in the sense that he would legally free her. When she told the priest of her predicament, he would, of course, forbid any marriage between them. Eadwine would have no choice but to let her go home. In her desperation and naivete, Wynne was convinced that the scenario could be successful, for although Eadwine Aethelhard was a stubborn man, he was also a very honorable man.

So over the past few months she had been sweet-tempered toward them all, despite the gold slave collar she wore about her neck. She never forgot that she was Wynne of Gwernach, wife to Madoc, prince of Powys. 'Madoc!' she half whispered, and a hard pain gripped her, causing her to gasp aloud and double over. When the pain had passed, she straightened up and moved slowly across the Great Chamber to where the birthing chair with its open center had already been set up in anticipation of her child's birth. Wynne stripped off her yellow tunic dress and her indigo-blue under tunic, folding them carefully and putting them away in the large, carved chest that Eadwine had given her for her possessions.

Within the chest were the things she needed for the birth. She carefully lifted them out, spreading several thicknesses of cloth beneath the chair first and then laying out the baby's little gown, a cap, and the swaddling cloth, toweling, and finally a small flask of rendered lamb fat for gently cleaning her child free of the birthing blood. Another pain tore through her, and Wynne groaned loudly. The pressure was almost too much to bear. She seated herself in the birthing chair, legs spread, drawing her chemise up about her waist, and as she did so, a great gush of water issued forth from between her thighs. With a mutter of irritation, Wynne arose slowly from her chair and, kneeling down, removed the cloth beneath it, replacing it with fresh cloths. The soaking-wet fabric she lay carefully aside to be washed. Waste was an anathema to her, and, like most women of her time, she was frugal by nature. She returned to her chair.

Pain. And more pain overcame her. She gripped the arms of the birthing chair, struggling not to cry out too loudly. Eadwine, she knew, was surveying the rain-soaked fields, for the barley had been planted earlier in the week. His sons and their families kept to their own halls during the day, and Wynne had cleverly sent Ealdraed to the cook house to discuss with Heall her plans for the kitchen gardens this season. The cook had asked her to take charge of that small part of his domain. 'That you may have all you need for your pharmacea, lady,' he had said.

Her pains were coming quickly now, and the feeling of strong pressure was completely unbearable. She could not help herself, and with a great groan she pushed down once, twice, and a third time. For a dizzying moment she was free of pain. Then the agony and the straining began again. She was quite powerless to stop it now, for the birth was imminent. Unable to contain herself, Wynne cried out aloud, pushing down again as she did so. She found herself panting wildly. She could actually feel the child being born, but now she suddenly wondered if she could indeed birth Madoc's son without help. A shriek was torn forth from her again, and then, to her relief, she heard familiar footsteps upon the staircase.

Eadwine Aethelhard practically leapt into the Great Chamber and, hurrying to her side, knelt down, his hands sliding beneath the birthing chair. 'The child is half born, my wild Welsh girl,' he said.

'I don't want you here,' she gasped unreasonably as another spasm gripped her vitals and she bore down once more. 'I… I want Madoc!' Still, she was glad to see him, even if she couldn't admit it.

'Push again, and once again,' he calmly instructed her, ignoring her sham anger.