A Moment in Time

by Bertrice Small

  Turning his head, he kissed the hand that caressed his face and then said desperately, "God, how I long for a little bit of privacy! I cannot even remember wanting you as much as I want you now."

  Wynne laughed low. "There will be plenty of time for that, my lord," she told him, and leaning forward, she placed a sweet kiss upon his lips, "but let us find our child first."

  Madoc looked somewhat startled. "Do you tell me, dearling, that you will not receive me in your bed until my son is safe?"

  Wynne's smile faded instantly. "To you, my lord," she said icily, "Arvel is naught but an imagining, but to me he is flesh and blood. You speak so possessively of my son, but he is not your son but for an accident of birth. Not yet! Not until you have brought him home; seen his dear little face, which is so like your own; held him close; and gained his love and trust. Only then will he truly be your son. Do not your fleshly desires fade in the face of all of this? Mine surely do!" and she turned away that he might not see her tears.

  Madoc arose from their campfire and walked away into the darkness.

  "You are too hard on him, Wynne of Gwernach," Einion said to her sternly, "and you are wrong."

  "You, who have been my shield and buckler from my earliest time, would say this to me?" Wynne wept, and her look was so tragic, it was all Einion could do not to comfort her, but he did not.

  "He has given up much for you, my lady," Einion told her.

  "What has he given up?" she sniffled.

  "His magic, " Einion replied.

  "What?" Wynne's tears instantly ceased.

  "Aye," Einion said. "Only I know of it, for Madoc knew if there were others who were aware of his sacrifice, they would use it against him. He is wise enough to realize that the strong stature the princes of Wenwynwyn have always enjoyed comes from their reputation for magic. This is a contentious time in which we live, my lady. If Prince Madoc's strength is thought to be his magic, then it follows his loss of that magic would be considered a great, if not fatal, weakness. Raven's Rock and its lands have always been secure from the covetousness of its neighbors because of that aura of magic. Even Brys of Cai is fearful of the prince for that reason."

  "Not so fearful that he did not abduct me, and, not so fearful that he has not stolen my son," Wynne noted.

  "Brys is not as wise as he thinks himself. He plays upon the prince's love of his family and his reverence for life," Einion said wisely.

  "You say Madoc has given up his magic," Wynne answered. "Tell me of this."

  "Before I departed Raven's Rock to hunt down the slaver, Ruari Ban," Einion began, "the prince called me to him. He had sought desperately for you within his mind's eye, but he could not find you and was at a total loss to understand why. In his guise as old Dhu he had scoured the countryside, and again there had been no trace of you to be found. Magic in this instance, it seemed, was of no help. It came to him then, he told me, that perhaps the Creator was telling him that the time for magic was past. As the days flew by he became more strongly convinced of this. So after much soul-searching he decided that if he was to find you, if he was to find your child, he must make the ultimate concession to the Creator, even, he said, as you had once renounced your powers for love of him in another time and place. How, he asked me, could he do any less for you than you had once done for him? I did not understand him when he said that, my lady, but I think you will."

  Wordlessly Wynne nodded, silent tears slipping down her face with her understanding of the enormous sacrifice Madoc had made for her and their child.

  "Together," Einion continued, "we went to the chapel, and I stood witness as Prince Madoc renounced his powers before God's altar. Neither will he pass them on to your children, my lady."

  "What of the shape-changer's art?" Wynne asked. "Surely he did not give that up too."

  Einion nodded. "That he cannot so easily put away from him, for it is knowledge bred into his family by their descent from the ancient Celtic god, Cernunnos. The prince has sworn, however, never to use that art again; or to pass it on to his descendants. Although the ability to shape-change will lie within them all, without the proper magic that power will remain dormant for all time. So you see, my lady Wynne, Prince Madoc has given up much to have you back, when he might simply have accepted your loss and sought another wife." Einion arose from his seat next to her by the flickering file. "I will seek my bed now, lady."

  Alone, Wynne peered into the dancing flames. How could she have allowed herself to become so wrapped up in her own self-righteousness that she failed to consider Madoc's feelings as well as her own? She might have changed, but she wondered if she had matured. Perhaps it would not have mattered so greatly if she did not love him; but despite it all, she did love him. She had never stopped loving him, even when she had allowed herself to love Eadwine too. She sighed deeply. Why could life not be more simple? And then she laughed softly at herself for the childish thought, even as she sensed his return to her side.

  He squatted next to her.

  "Why did you not tell me?" she asked him.

  "That you might feel sorry for me?" he demanded bitterly.

  "Why," she said patiently, biting back a sharp retort, "would I feel sorry for you? When Rhiannon gave up everything for Pwyll, did he feel pity?" Wynne turned that she might see his face in the firelight. "What you have done is the most magnificent gesture of love that anyone could make for another. My feelings for Eadwine Aethelhard never lessened my feelings for you, Madoc of Powys. From the beginnings of time we have been two souls that somehow become a single entity while yet remaining separate. I wonder if I will ever understand it." Reaching out, she touched him and said softly, "Will you not kiss me, my dear lord?"

  "If I kiss you again, dearling," he told her tightly, "I will want more." There was a look almost akin to pain etched upon his face.

  "No more than I am willing to give you, Madoc," she replied quietly.

  His sculpted face registered his surprise at her words, and he arose, drawing her up with him. Wynne reached out and touched his high-boned cheek. Her slender fingers moved over his proud visage as if relearning it. The heavy, bushy eyebrows that bristled above his smoky, deep blue eyes. The long nose and narrow lips that lay so sternly above the deep cleft in his chin. With a small smile, Wynne said, "You have the look of a brigand."

  Returning her smile with one of his own, he caught her hand and, turning it over, placed a kiss upon her palm. "I will have to appear even fiercer now if I am to keep us from harm," he told her, and drew her against him.

  Wynne's arms slipped up about his neck and she molded herself close against his lean, hard body. "Should I be fearful, my dear lord?" she teased him. Her lips were tantalizingly close to his.

  With a groan his mouth closed over hers in a bruising kiss. Wynne felt her heart leap joyously within her chest at his touch, yet at the same time she had the sensation of being consumed by fire. Somehow it felt as if it were the first time with him, but it was also better. She was more aware of her body now than she had ever been, and wondered fuzzily what had brought this revelation about. Her breasts swelled and hardened while her limbs grew languid and weak. Her blood, it seemed, had turned to a stream of hot honey that dallied slowly through her body, wreaking havoc with her composure.

  Madoc, however, appeared to be suffering from similar symptoms. There was no mistaking the reaction of his body to the sensuous stimulus of his wife's body. He groaned again, saying, "Alas, dearling, for a lack of privacy, else I should make love to you here and now!"

  Wynne laughed low and replied, "You will find neither Einion nor Willa within a half mile of this site, my lord, for he knows me better sometimes than I know myself. Averel sleeps within the safety of the cart, and Einion will have taken Willa off to some secluded spot that he might have his way with her, though she will scarce refuse him, being a lustful wench. If you would have me, Madoc of Powys, we are free to indulge in our own passions," Wynne told him, and she began to undress before him.


  He spread his cloak upon the ground in front of the fire and followed suit. At last they stood together, naked, facing one another and as equal as a man and a woman can be. He reached out and cupped one of her breasts, squeezing it tenderly. Wynne smiled into his eyes and caressed his muscled shoulder with gentle fingers.

  "Undo your hair for me," he said, and she loosened her heavy, thick braid, combing her raven's-black tresses free with her fingers. It rippled down her slender back in lavish waves. He caught a small strand between his fingers and kissed it, inhaling its subtle perfume as he did so. "You are so fair," he told her. "Never has there been a woman like you, Wynne of Gwernach."

  "Nor a man like you, my lord Madoc," she answered, her eyes brimming with her newly reawakened love for him.

  Their lips met once more in a passionate kiss as Wynne slid her arms back around his neck. Madoc drew her close again, his hands clasping her rounded buttocks. They kissed frantically now, mouths wet against each other; hot and wet against the flesh of throats and shoulders and chests; tongues dueling wildly as they slid together to their knees upon his cloak. His head lowered, placing scorching kisses over her quivering breasts; licking sensuously at her nipples, suckling upon them so fiercely that he drew forth her milk and, half sobbing, could not cease for several minutes, so aroused was he by this clear sign of her fertility.

  Wynne's head was whirling with a plethora of emotions as he made this leonine love to her. She had forgotten the depth of his passion, or perhaps she had simply not dared to remember it. His mouth upon her skin burned like a brand. He offered pleasure so great that she could not imagine how she would return that pleasure, but she nonetheless welcomed it as she had never welcomed it before. He had always had this wildly delicious effect upon her. His mere look could turn her into an unrepentant wanton.

  "Look at me, dearling," he crooned at her, and Wynne realized that her eyes had been closed in her rapture.

  She forced her lids open and looked directly into his beloved face, half drowning in his deep blue eyes.

  He stared back into her clear, green gaze. "Do you doubt my love for you, my precious wife?"

  "I never doubted your love, my husband," she returned.

  Satisfied, he lowered his head once more and began to trail kisses down her waiting body. Wynne sighed happily, and Madoc smiled silently, his body moving to accommodate his actions. She was open to him, and he slid between her satiny thighs, placing burning kisses upon each one as he did so. His hands slipped beneath her, cupping the peachlike mounds of her bottom to hold her steady as she began to whimper in fevered anticipation of his desire. He nuzzled her, breathing in the pungent female perfume of her. Then he kissed the warm, soft flesh of her mound.

  "Ahhh, yes!" she encouraged him and, reaching down, spread her nether lips wide for him.

  His tongue snaked out to touch her lightly with just its pointed tip, and she quivered distinctly beneath the teasing caress. He let her wait a moment or two longer, and then he once again touched her delicately, and this time she shivered even harder than before. The small succulent bud of her womanhood seemed to take on a life of its own beneath his flickering tongue. Puffing itself up, it deepened in color, communicating its pleasure throughout her whole body in tingling waves of delight. She gasped and sighed as sensation after sensation pulsed through her. Carefully he sucked upon her little jewel, and Wynne shrieked softly, almost unable to bear the delight that he was giving her.

  "I want you inside of me!" she cried low. "I can bear no more of this sweet torture, Madoc! Fill me full of you!"

  Then his mouth was on hers again, and she could taste herself upon his tongue. His hard body covered her as she wrapped her arms about him once more. Pushing her legs up, he eased himself into her sheath and began to slowly pump her with deep, lingering strokes of his great manhood. With a cry of rapturous bliss Wynne wound her legs about his torso, her hips jerking furiously as she encouraged him onward.

  "Ahhhh, 'tis sweet! So sweet!" she half moaned, and he held her tightly, for she was thrashing wildly in her ecstasy.

  She could distinctly feel him pulsing and surging within her fevered body. Each new thrust of his ravenous lance brought her closer to perfection. Their mutual hunger for one another communicated itself. As she was attuned to him, so was he attuned to the deep tremor building up within her very core. It quivered and vibrated as, head thrown back, Wynne struggled for air. She was being totally and utterly overcome by the billowing, vibrating sensation that rushed up to overwhelm her.

  Madoc groaned as if in anguish as his own heightened passions threatened to wash over him. "I can wait no longer!" he cried, and Wynne felt her parched and secret garden being flooded with his warm life force.

  "Ahhhh, my dearest love," she whispered to him as her body eagerly received his lover's tribute and, after what seemed a long time, he shuddered with complete and total release even as she soared above him.

  They lay sprawled together, replete with their fulfillment while the fire cracked sharply. Their contented bodies were wet with their efforts, and finally Wynne said, "We will catch our death of cold if we do not clothe ourselves, my sweet lord."

  He kissed her neck softly, nipping lightly at the damp skin, and rolled off of her onto his hip. His fingers trailed down between her breasts, and then he said, "I had not realized how much I had missed you, dearling, until now."

  Wynne laughed softly. "I, also," she admitted, sitting up and reaching for her chemise. "Cover yourself, Madoc, for if Willa sees you she will lust after you as she has for Einion."

  He chuckled and began to dress himself. When they were both reclothed, they refurbished their fire and sat companion-ably next to it, holding hands.

  "How are we to go about regaining our son?" Wynne asked him.

  "I do not know yet," he answered her, "but as I have told you, it is best you secrete yourself at Gwernach, that Brys not know we are reunited."

  "I will leave Willa and Averel at Gwernach with my grandmother," Wynne told him. "Although Willa cannot wet-nurse my daughter, there will be someone there who can. They will be safe at Gwernach. I, however, am coming with you. Can we count on Rhys of St. Bride's to aid us?"

  "Rhys would, of course, aid us if I asked," Madoc responded, "but I will not. Cai cannot be taken by force of arms, especially where Arvel's life is concerned. We will have to regain our son through guile and great cleverness."

  "You will have to kill Brys this time," Wynne said.

  "You sound like my sister," Madoc replied.

  "You cannot march yourself into Cai demanding your child, Madoc, and expect that Brys will acquiesce without a struggle." Wynne's look was a serious one. "Oh, Madoc, my love! You have given your brother every chance, but he cannot help himself. The destruction of your person and everything connected with you seems to be his ultimate goal; but I am convinced that even if he attained that goal, he would yet be dissatisfied. His hatred for you is a deep sickness of the soul that does not stem from the here and now. You know that as well as I do. We cannot spend the rest of our lives looking over our shoulders wondering what evil Brys is planning for us next time! Kill him! Put an end to it! Do not allow him to separate us as he did once before."

  Madoc sighed deeply. "And if I kill him, will I not be in his debt? Will that hatred he harbors finally die, or will it be reborn anew in another time and place for me, for us to contend with, Wynne?"

  She shook her head. "I do not know the answers to your questions, Madoc. I simply know that if we are to live out our lives in peace this time, Brys must be dealt with in a way that will leave him unable to hurt us anymore."

  "He is my brother," the prince said helplessly.

  "He uses that very tie of blood against you, Madoc!" she said impatiently. "He has cost us three years of our lives. He cruelly parted us in an effort to destroy you, forcing me into bondage, though God knows I was fortunate in that bondage. He has stolen our child. And for what purpose, Madoc? Why does he want our son? What wickedne
ss does he now plan? This is the man of whom you would be compassionate? Your brother does not know the meaning of the word compassion. If you allow him to live on, the further misfortunes that Brys brings down upon us all will be your fault, my lord, for it will be you who will have let him wreak some new havoc."

  "I know that the words you utter are right and true, dearling," the prince answered Wynne, "but do not fear. Though it will be hard to do, I will see that Brys never again hurts anyone." He made a small attempt at humor. "I think I should rather slay Brys myself than have to listen to you and Nesta scold me. My sister has never really forgiven me for not protecting you more thoroughly, Wynne."

  Wynne smiled. "How is Nesta?" she asked him. "I thought of her often, particularly in the early days of my captivity, for she was near to term with her child. Was it a son or a daughter?"

  "Nesta has two sons," Madoc told her. "The eldest is Daffyd, and the younger, Trystan."

  "How I long to see her!" Wynne said, and then she frowned. "We cannot allow Nesta and Rhys to know we have returned until Arvel is safe," she told him. "Tell me of my grandmother, my sisters and Dewi."

  "Your grandmother is well, though she has mourned you deeply, even knowing you were not dead. Dewi is almost a man now, and Mair is growing into a beauty. She is the only one of your sisters who will rival you."

  "And Caitlin and Dilys?"

  Madoc laughed. "They thrive, although the elder will not speak to the younger anymore."

  "Why on earth not?" Wynne looked puzzled. "They were always friends, if one could call their odd relationship friendly."

  "True, dearling, but remember, 'twas always Caitlin, the elder, who led the way. Now, however, the tide has turned in Dilys's favor. In the four years she has been wed, she has produced four children. Three boys and a girl. The girl is one-half of a set of twins. Caitlin, on the other hand, has had but one son, upon whom she dotes, and has miscarried twice of children too small to even sex. Although her husband treats her as if she were a queen, and she rules the roost at Coed without interference, she is discontent and furious that her younger sister has outstripped her."