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.
