"Tell me about Rhys of St. Bride's," Nesta said. "He was your suitor, wasn't he?" She washed the mortar and pestle Wynne had been using.

"An unwanted one," Wynne replied as she slowly dried the utensils.

"Why?" Nesta's light gold eyes were curious. "Do you find him physically repugnant?"

"An unwanted suitor only because I do not desire to wed at this time," Wynne explained to Nesta. "As for his features, I believe you could call them attractive. Rhys is of medium height and every inch of him is a warrior. I sense that his physique is a hard one. There seems to be no softness about him. His neck is bull-like. He exudes fierceness." Wynne wiped the stone counters clean.

"Yet you were not fearful of him," Nesta noted.

"I did not show my fear, but aye, I was fearful. Perhaps not so much of him as that he might take me away from Gwernach, that he might be a danger to Dewi. His motives in seeking me out for a wife were not of a romantic nature. My brother is young and not yet grown to manhood. If he dies, then I am next in line to inherit this land. I think my attraction for Rhys was Gwernach. He is an ambitious man."

"There is nothing wrong with ambition," Nesta said thoughtfully, "but I can understand your fears for your little brother; and you are wise to follow your voice within, sister. Tell me more of Rhys. What color are his eyes? His hair? He is quite faceless to me."

"Are you not afraid?" Wynne asked. "Your brother has promised you to someone you don't even know if you will like."

Nesta smiled. "I feel no calling to the Church. Therefore, I must, of necessity, wed. There is no one whom I love. I trust Madoc to choose wisely for me, and I believe he has. My mother's home, Pendragon, is my inheritance from her. I cannot have it without a husband. Had Madoc chosen a man with holdings inland, what good would Pendragon be to him or to me? Rhys's castle is quite near my own- But tell me more of the man!" Nesta removed the apron Wynne had given her to cover her gown.

"He is a Celt in face. His eyes are light grey, almost silvery, and his hair is a rich dark brown. He has a beard, and it is, I think, his one vanity, for it is beautifully barbered, with a moustache that encircles his mouth running into the beard. His mouth is large, and his lips are thick and sensuous. Yes, he is an attractive man. I do not think he will disappoint you, but as to his character, I know little except that he is stubborn."

Nesta laughed her tinkling laugh again. "In other words, you could not frighten him off," she said.

Wynne shook her head ruefully. "I could not. Had your brother not appeared when he did, I do not know what would have happened to me."

"Madoc is clever that way," Nesta replied. "He always appears when you need him the most."

"Is it true what is said about your family?" Wynne queried Nesta, curious, and yet almost afraid of what the girl would answer.

Nesta smiled. "Aye," she answered simply, "but some are more skilled than others."

"Madoc?"

Nesta nodded. "He is a clever man, Wynne, but I have never known him to use his powers unfairly or with malice. If the truth be known, I do not even know the extent of his wisdom."

"And your skills? Are they as great? Forgive me, but I need to learn what it is I must face at Raven's Rock. I have never known any world but Gwernach. I must sound so childish to you," Wynne finished as she gave the stone counter a final wipe.

"Nay, you are not childish. Your concerns are natural ones, sister." Nesta put her arm through Wynne's once again. "My skills are little more than yours. You see, I am Madoc's half sister. Our fathers are different, and the lords of Wenwynwyn inherit their powers through the male line, not the female. Most people do not know that and assume otherwise. Madoc and I have another brother, Brys, who shares a father with me. Brys allows people to believe that he too has powers, although he really does not."

"I did not know you had another brother!" Wynne said.

"Brys is estranged from us. He has his own holding at Cai," Nesta said shortly. "You need not concern yourself with him. Now tell me. When will Rhys arrive? I am most anxious to meet him."

"He will not come until the night before the weddings," Wynne told her as they made their way back to the hall. "He escorts the two bridegrooms who are his cousins. I have invited him to remain for several days after the celebration, however, for I thought that you would want the time to get acquainted."

"Perhaps we will even allow him to return to Raven's Rock with us. I do not know what St. Bride's Castle is like, but I think it only fair that Rhys know my home is an elegant place, that he may have time to prepare for my coming after our marriage," Nesta said proudly.

Wynne nodded. "Aye, you are wise, sister." She flushed with her use of the word, but already she felt quite close to Nesta, who was so easy to talk with, and who was so candid in her opinions. "Rhys has been a bachelor for a long time, with no wife or mother to rule his hall. If he is like most men, it is probably a pigsty!"

In the hall, Madoc was comfortably settled talking to Enid. Wynne noted that her grandmother looked happier and more at ease than she had in many months. It was obvious that she liked the prince. If only I could be certain, Wynne thought, then blushed as Madoc looked up, gazing directly at her as if she had spoken aloud instead of within her mind.

"Do not do that!" she told him angrily. "You have not the right."

He had the good grace to flush guiltily, and said, "I beg your pardon, dearling. I am so attuned to you that it is hard not to hear."

"Then you must teach me how you do it that I may have the equal advantage," Wynne said, mollified slightly.

"What is it?" Enid asked, confused by their words.

"Nothing that should fret you, Grandmother," Wynne told her.

"Take your betrothed for a walk in the garden overlooking the river," Enid instructed her granddaughter. "He has spent all his time entertaining an old woman this afternoon while you toiled in your pharmacea. Did you replenish your supply of cream?"

"Aye, and I've hidden it where Caitlin and Dilys will not find the jars. It was thoughtless and greedy of them to take all of the cream without asking first," Wynne said.

"But so like your sisters," Enid replied. "Go with Madoc, child. I will take Nesta to the solar that she may refresh herself. She will share your bed with you while she is here."

"Tell me of this garden overlooking the river," Madoc said, taking Wynne's hand as they departed the hall into the sunny afternoon.

"It is little but a patch of ground," Wynne said, smiling. "My mother and my grandmother insisted upon planting it and tending it. The house is built, as you will see, on a high promontory that juts out into the river below, and it is well walled. It is impossible to gain access to the rear of the house but from the house itself, for the walls prevent it on two sides, and the cliff is much too sheer to climb up from the river."

She waved her hand gracefully. "So here is our wee garden, my lord. There is no great deal to it, but grandmother loves it."

"And so do you," he noted, and she nodded.

"Aye, I do. I like to sit here on our one little bench and look to the hills beyond. It is peaceful. As you can see, there is little need for a wall where our garden thrusts out over the river, but mother planted roses there that no one might come too near the edge and fall."

"Rosa Damacena," he said knowledgeably. "I love their fragrance."

"You know the Rose of Damascus?" Wynne was surprised.

"There are beautiful gardens at Raven's Rock, dearling, and they eagerly await your gentle and clever touch," Madoc told her. "They have been somewhat neglected since my mother's death two years ago. You would have liked my mother. Nesta is very much like her."

"Nesta tells me that you have a brother too," Wynne said.

A shadow passed over Madoc's face. "Brys of Cai. Aye, but we are not close. I regret it, of course, but Brys has a restless and troubled spirit. He could be dangerous if I would let him, but I will not. You grow sweet herbs in your garden, I see," Madoc noted, deftly changing the subject. It was obviously one upon which he chose not to dwell.

Curious, but respectful of his wishes in the matter, Wynne plucked a piece of lavender and, crushing it between her fingers, put it beneath his nose. "My lavender is a special one I have bred as one might breed a cow. I think it more fragrant than other lavenders, and I shall bring seeds with me to Raven's Rock to plant."

He sniffed appreciatively, and then taking her fingers, kissed them. "Sweet," he said.

Her heartbeat quickened momentarily. "The lavender or my hand?" she said. "You seem to have a penchant for fingers, my lord," and though her look was grave, her green eyes twinkled.

Releasing her hand, he said, "You are a puzzle to me, Wynne of Gwernach. I am not certain how to behave with you lest I frighten you or offend you by my actions. One moment you're as prickly as a sea urchin, the next as shy as a doe. Yet I cannot help myself and I act on instinct alone with you. What else am I to do?"

"What is it you want of me, my lord?" Wynne asked him bluntly. "It is more, I sense, than just my hand in marriage."

"For now, dearling, I would simply have your love," Madoc answered, evading her cleverly, for the truth was too potent a brew for her to drink at this moment in time.

"I do not know if I can give you love, my lord. I love my bother, and Mair, and my grandmother. I think I may even harbor a small tender emotion for Caitlin and Dilys. I loved my parents, and I love Einion, who has watched over me since I was an infant. I even have an affection for a large raven I call old Dhu, but what I feel for these good souls is not what you would have me feel for you, I sense. Having never felt that particular elusive emotion, Madoc of Powys, I do not even know if I am capable of it. Besides, is that emotion we call love real?

"It seems a dangerous thing to me to entrust one's heart and being to another. Circumstances change as life passes, and what was certainty yesterday may not be tomorrow. To love, I think, means you must have certitude and faith in another. You must rely totally upon them. I do not know if I dare allow myself the luxury of what you call love."

"You tell me you have never loved a man, dearling, and yet you speak as a woman of experience who has been deeply hurt by another," he replied.

"Do I?" Wynne look genuinely surprised. "How strange," she told him, "yet I have told you the truth, and I have felt this way from my earliest years."

"Perhaps in another time and place," he said casually, "you gained this sad knowledge that has lingered on to plague you in this time and this place."

She nodded slowly. "Perhaps," she agreed.

Madoc found it interesting that she did not discount his words, and he wondered if she understood the theory of reincarnation. It was a wisdom as old as time itself; understood and believed by their Celtic ancestors, and once even taught by the Christian faith. It was a simple doctrine, and the sacrifice of the Christ had made it even clearer to those who believed.

The immortal soul, a gift from the Creator, would be reborn again and again in human form as it struggled to purify itself. The human soul, like an uncut gemstone in its earliest stage, constantly working to cut and polish itself to perfection that one day it might move on to the next plane of spiritual existence. The Church had ceased teaching reincarnation many centuries before. The early mass of the faithful were simple people who misunderstood the doctrine. For them reincarnation was an excuse to indulge their vices with the reassurance that they would return to repent those sins in another life. As this was not the purpose intended, the Church simply ceased the teaching of higher spiritual attainment; but the knowledge constituted an integral part of many other faiths.

Madoc was a Celt in his heart and soul. He knew that Wynne's reluctance to wed stemmed from another life. It certainly had not come from anything that she encountered in this time and place, but he knew from where it did come. It was a problem that she must work out for herself. He could do nothing to help her. He could love her and he could reassure her. Perhaps in time she would be content. Or perhaps she would remember. Though he welcomed that possibility, he also feared it.

"When your sisters are wed," he told her, "we will return to Raven's Rock. There we will come to know one another. Mayhap you will even learn to love me. Come Beltaine next I will take you for my wife, Wynne of Gwernach."