"You are delicious," he growled low, nipping at the smooth curve of her hip.
"Villain!" Wynne smacked playfully at her husband. "Do I not feed you enough that you would attempt to feast upon my person?"
"I love feasting upon you," he murmured low. Then he rolled her onto her back, and pouring a little wine from one of two goblets they had brought into the wagon upon her belly, he lapped it up with his tongue. "I am drunk with my desire for you, Wynne of Gwernach," he told her passionately.
"And as randy as a stallion in heat too, my lord," she said, her heart beating a quick tattoo. How she loved him!
"Aye," he admitted, and rolling upon his own back, he begged her, "Love me, dearling! I need to feel your mouth upon me tonight."
Rising up upon her side, Wynne looked down at him sprawled upon his back, his manhood engorged and stiff as it thrust upward. She bent and rubbed her soft cheek against it, then placed a kiss upon the ruby tip, her tongue snaking out to encircle the smooth skin of the head, her fingers clamping firmly about it.
He groaned with pure pleasure when she took him into her mouth, reveling in the warmth of her tongue against his skin. "Dear God!" he exclaimed suddenly, "I am nigh to exploding with my desire for you, Wynne, my beautiful wife!"
Releasing him, she raised her head and looked into his eyes. "I feel no desire yet," she said frankly. "How quickly you men are ready to couple, fired by your own lusts, and by wine, no doubt. We women are not so quickly aroused. Alas, though I would give you all the pleasure that I could, Madoc, my dear lord, I am not ready to receive your wild and wondrous passion."
What other woman of his past acquaintance, he wondered, would have made so honest an admission? Other men, he knew, would have been angered by a wife's refusal to offer instant gratification, but then it had never been that way with them. Reaching up, he caressed her full breasts hanging like twin moons above him. Seeing the pleasure begin to creep into her eyes, he smiled slightly. One of his greatest delights in Wynne had always been her enthusiasm for making love. Lifting his head, he licked at her nipples, teasing at the sensitive pinkish-beige flesh until they contracted into thrusting nubs and she murmured with contentment. His hands closed about her waist, and Madoc buried his head in the deep valley between those soft breasts, rubbing his face against the perfumed skin. The fragrance of white heather, warmed by the heat of her body, assailed him.
Gently he tumbled her back onto the soft sheepskins, spreading her wide to him. His night-black head lowering, his mouth sought the honied sweetness of her. His skilled tongue began to stroke expertly at the sensitive coral-pink flesh. Beneath him she began to writhe and whimper with the familiar sound of pure pleasure. He felt his own desire beginning to rise as she cried softly, "Madoc! Oh, Madoc, my love!" with a building urgency he also recognized.
When he had brought her twice to a full and shuddering release by means of his tongue, he mounted her, filling her full with his throbbing passion; riding her furiously until they had both attained mutual pleasure a third and final time. Then rolling off of her, Madoc gathered Wynne into his strong arms.
It had begun to rain outside, and Wynne lay happily within the security of his embrace, listening to the sound of it against the tentlike top of the wagon, thinking her mixed thoughts. Tomorrow night they would leave for Cai. They would reach it in several days' time. Arvel, her precious son! Their son. How she longed to hold him once again within her arms. How proud Madoc would be of the little boy! Curiously she wondered what Brys wanted with the child. Brys with his angel's face and black soul. She would soon know.
The rain had stopped by mid-morning of the following day, but it had grown colder. Enid sought among the storage chests and found clothing that had belonged to Wynne several years earlier, before she had gone to Raven's Rock. Together she and Mair stayed up practically the entire night altering the garments, that Wynne would have warm clothing for the trip.
"They are not the elegant garments you are used to wearing at Raven's Rock," her grandmother apologized, "but they are clean and warm and will keep the wind and rain out."
Wynne thanked Enid lovingly and said, "I have not worn elegant garments for some years now, Grandmother. I am certainly not ashamed of my old clothes." Her fingers stroked at the soft wool fabric of her tunic dress. Both it and her under tunic, which was lined in rabbit's fur, were dark green in color and matched the heavy green mantle which was edged in wolf's fur. Wynne fastened the mantle shut with a pretty brooch of silver, a single piece of green agate in its center.
"Megan will be bringing Wynne's richer garments to Cai, that she may face my brother at her grandest," Madoc told Enid.
Averel was already in her cot sleeping when they finally departed Gwernach. The little girl fully understood that her mother would be leaving her for a time, but did not object as she was assured that Mair would be there with her. Hugging Wynne and placing a noisy kiss upon her mother's cheek, she had toddled from the hall that evening garbed in a little white chemise, her hand tucked securely in Mair's. Then suddenly she pulled away from Mair and, racing back across the hall, threw herself at Madoc.
He lifted her up into his lap and gently inquired, "What is it, Averel?"
"Da?" Averel said, and there was no doubt in anyone's mind that the word was posed as a question. For some inexplicable reason, Averel needed to identify exactly who Madoc was in her life; and she needed to know it now.
"Aye, bunny, I'm your da," Madoc replied, and looking over the little one's head, he almost wept at the look of gratitude in Wynne's beautiful green eyes.
"Da come back?" Averel asked.
"Aye, Da is coming back," he reassured her.
Averel wrapped her arms about his neck and hugged him with all her childish strength. Then climbing down from the prince's lap, she ran back to Mair, and together they left the hall.
"Thank you," Wynne said simply to her husband.
"Do not shame me any further," he answered her low. "Did not the Saxon, Eadwine Aethelhard, who was her father, take my son to his heart without question? In my pride I have been slow to act, but in the presence of our families I say now that I take Averel Aethelhardsdatter for my own true daughter. I will dower her, and never will I treat her with any less love or respect than I will treat my own natural-born children."
A quarter-moon lighted their way as they rode forth from Gwernach. Enid watched as they went, the six horses outlined darkly atop the hill. Dewi had insisted upon going, and there was nothing that either Wynne or Enid could do to dissuade him.
"He's fourteen and 'tis past time he had battle experience," Rhys agreed. "How do you expect him to defend Gwernach from attack, if it should ever be attacked, if he has no battle experience?"
"He also has no heir," Wynne protested.
“ 'Tis unlikely there'll be a fight," Rhys said in an attempt to calm her fears. "Brys does not engender great loyalty among his men. 'Twill be a wee skirmish if anything at all, and we'll put the lad safely in the rear that he might observe and learn," the lord of St. Bride's soothed his sister-in-law, but he winked broadly at Dewi, who grinned back, delighted with the conspiracy.
When dawn came they camped in a secluded cave by a stream, taking turns at standing watch and keeping the little fire within their rocky shelter low that it not be seen by its smoke. Dewi trapped a hare in early afternoon and, after skinning it, broiled it. It was tough and gamy, but tasty. The weather remained clear as they began their ride that night.
"We're fortunate," Rhys growled. "I thought that rain the other night signaled the beginning of a wet spell. Nothing is worse than riding in the rain, unless it is riding in the snow."
"Where will we meet our army?" Wynne asked him.
"They will secrete themselves in the woods near Cai and await us. They must be careful that they are not discovered. Surprise is the key element to our victory," Rhys explained. "When a foe is surprised, he is less likely to act with either intelligence or instinct. In most cases he will react with f
ear, which is a breeding ground for ill-judgment."
"Rhys is a brilliant tactician," Nesta said proudly.
The lord of St. Bride's grinned, quite pleased by his beloved wife's appraisal of his abilities. "When you go into the castle, Wynne," he continued on, "you need have no fear. We will secure the drawbridge area immediately, and you will offer amnesty to any men-at-arms within the castle."
"If we are surprising Brys," Wynne asked, "why can we not secure the entire castle at once? You seem so certain that there will be little resistance."
"That is true," Rhys replied, "but we do not know where your son is, Wynne. Though we may secure the castle, there is no guarantee that we can capture Brys of Cai himself in a first assault. Without Brys in our hands, the boy could indeed be in danger. Better we stick to our original plan. Believe me, no one will be more surprised than the master of Cai to have you walk into his hall, proudly regal, and demanding that your son be returned to you." He chuckled. "Ahhh, Jesu, I wish I could see it!"
Wynne rode silently now, remembering the last time she had faced down Brys of Cai. This time, however, she would have an army at her back. This time she was fighting for possession of her son. This time she was wiser than she had been four years ago. Brys would not defeat her this time.
Another dawn, another bright day. They camped in a wooded thicket, unable to have a fire this time because, despite the density of the wood, they were in the open. Smoke from a campfire could easily give them away. Resigned, they ate cold barley cakes which were enhanced by thick slices of Gwernach's Gold, sweet, crisp apples, and drank a rich wine that warmed them before sleeping. Today Nesta and Wynne would take the first watch. The women insisted upon doing their part.
"Madoc tells me you have two sons," Wynne said to her sister-in-law. "Tell me about them. Do they favor you or Rhys?"
"Trystan, the younger, is Rhys reborn. He is a noisy, brawling child," Nesta told her. "As for Daffyd, he seems to be a mixture of us both, although he has my auburn hair. He's clever like Rhys, but more thoughtful. St. Bride's will not suffer when he comes into his inheritance. I shall give Pendragon to Trystan, however, for he would chafe beneath his elder brother's rule. But tell me of your Arvel."
Wynne smiled. "His father's image," she said. "He is a quiet lad, always watching and listening. He and Daffyd will be good companions for each other."
"Madoc was like that as a little boy, I remember our mother saying. He was so totally different from Brys, who was mercurial in temperament. Madoc thinks before he acts. Brys simply acts and considers not the consequences," Nesta told Wynne.
"That is what frightens me," Wynne said. "That Brys will act. For what purpose can he possibly want my son?"
Nesta shook her head. "Only in Brys's twisted mind can the answer to that question be found, dearest Wynne."
Once more the weather favored them, and they rode throughout the cold, clear night. The moon waxed fuller and silvered the landscape as they passed by. Slowly they traveled onward, drawing nearer with each passing hour to Castle Cai. Wynne pulled her mantle closer about her and was grateful for its fur-lined hood. The wind, though slight, was sharp and cutting upon her face. Her fingers were icy within her wantuses, which were well-tanned kid mittens lined with fur. She wondered if she would ever be warm again. How she longed for a well-built hall and a roaring fire to sit by and toast her hands and feet.
They rode for several more days, until finally one night as they rode along Madoc said, "We will reach Cai before dawn. Megan should already be there. You will have plenty of time in which to change your clothing, dearling."
Wynne nodded wearily. "Can we not rest the day?" she asked. "I am so tired."
"A hot meal will restore you, my lady," Einion broke in, and reaching over, he patted her shoulder.
"He is right," Madoc said. "We dare not linger any longer than necessary beneath Brys's very nose, for fear of losing our advantage with him, Wynne."
"A hot meal," Wynne sighed. "Do you think it will be venison stew? Or lamb?"
"If you eat too much you will want to sleep," Rhys counseled. "You may have just enough to revive your energy."
Nesta shot Wynne a sympathetic glance. She was as bone-tired as her friend was, but at least she would not have to stride into the hall at Cai and challenge her brother.
"Aren't you tired, Rhys?" Wynne asked him.
"Nay," said Rhys. "With each step we take toward Cai my energy rises. Battle, or the thought of battle, is like an aphrodisiac to me. I love it! It excites me! It sets my blood to raging and my heart to racing. I am never more alive!"
"Poor Rhys," Nesta laughed. "He has had little excitement but what he could find in our bed since our marriage. Is that not so, my dear lord? I will no longer allow him to go and play at war with the other little lordlings, unless, of course, we are attacked ourselves."
Rhys chuckled. "You have offered a multitude of sweet and infinitely delightful compensations, lady mine," he told her. "Still, I will admit to looking forward to this adventure. It will give me great pleasure to kill Brys of Cai, for never was a man more in need of killing."
"Of your skill with weapons, my dear lord," Nesta told her husband, "I have no doubt; but beware my brother, Brys. What he lacks in ability, he makes up for in cunning. Do not make the mistake of thinking that because he is nobly-born that he will act with chivalry. His sole intent when cornered will be to win by means fair or foul. He will care not which as long as he is triumphant. Give him no quarter!"
"It disturbs me that you have set yourself up as Brys's executioner," Madoc said. "I feel the task should be mine."
"Nay," Rhys replied. "Brys's death should not be laid at your door, nor should his blood be on your hands, Madoc of Powys. It would, I fear, allow your brother the final victory. We will not give him that victory! He will go to his death knowing that he has lost totally. That his family has triumphed over him. Nay! He must not have any victory!"
Chapter 21
Brys of Cai had his private apartments within the north tower of Castle Cai. He liked facing north, for neither the sun nor the moon rose from that direction, and in their daily passage across the skies above, their light barely touched his rooms, which were usually cold with the harsh winds that blew from the north. The chill suited him. Even as a child he had disliked warmth.
The apartment was luxurious in its furnishings and scrupulously clean, for Brys could not tolerate disorder or dirt. Exquisite and very unique tapestries hung upon the walls. They offered scenes of erotic perversions totally unsuitable for a man who held a Church office. They were woven at a nearby convent by six nuns who relieved their tedium by occasionally gracing Brys's bed. The furniture was of heavy, well-polished oak. The apartments had another amenity known to few. Within the bishop's bedchamber was a small door behind one of the tapestries which led to the ramparts of the castle. From there Brys could get to any other part of the castle in the event of an emergency.
Such an emergency was now occurring even as a nervous servant shook his master awake.
"Your grace! Your grace!" the man gently patted at Brys's shoulder.
The icy eyes opened instantly. Brys sat up asking, "What is it? Be careful you do not wake the child, or you will suffer for it." The boy's face was still stained with the tears he had shed the night before, when Brys had whipped him soundly for whining that he wanted to continue to sleep with his nursemaid and not within his uncle's chamber. Arvel would learn quickly to obey his uncle, Brys thought with grim pleasure.
"Well?" he demanded of the servant. "Why have you awakened me at this ungodly hour? If it is not important, you will regret your lapse of sound judgment." He stared coldly at the man.
"My lord," the servant said, trying to hide his great and deep satisfaction at what he was about to impart to this vicious master, "we are under siege, my lord. I thought you would want to know." He bowed politely and quickly stepped back several paces that he might avoid any blow aimed at him.
Brys's eyes n
arrowed with speculation. "Who dares to besiege Castle Cai?" he wondered aloud.
"I could not say, my lord, but undoubtedly they will soon reveal themselves to you," the servant replied boldly.
"Get out!" Brys told him, swinging his legs over the side of the bed. Rising, he reached for his sherte, pulled it over his head, and, bending down, drew a pair of braies up his legs before stuffing them into his boots as he yanked them on his feet. Opening a chest, he took out a richly embroidered peacock-blue silk kirtle lined in marten and put it on. Then checking to see if the boy still slept, he lifted the tapestry and slipped through the little door. Quickly he mounted the steps, pushing open the trapdoor at the top of the staircase and climbing out onto the ramparts.
"My lord!" One of the men-at-arms came forward to help him.
Brys shook him off and, striding over to the battlements, peered down. The flat open space he had so carefully cleared before the front of the castle was filled with armed men standing shoulder to shoulder in line after line after line. The setting moon was strong enough to cast an eerie light that touched the tops of the assembled army's helmets, giving them an almost ghostly appearance. There was not a sound to be heard. Brys had absolutely no idea of who they were, arid he hissed slightly in annoyance beneath his breath.
"What shall we do, my lord?" the man-at-arms asked him.
The bishop of Cai looked blankly at the soldier and said, "Why do you ask me? I am no soldier. Besides, they offer no hostile action toward us. They but stand before my gates." With a shrug he moved away from the battlements of the castle and returned down the staircase to his apartments. Squatting by the trundle, he woke Arvel. "Awake, my nephew," he said softly. "It is morning, or almost morning." Drawing the sleepy child to his feet, he quickly dressed him and then, picking him up, carried him from the apartments down into the hall.
A Moment in Time Page 49
