"Then I'll find my own bed," Ealdraed said with a small smile at Wynne. "Bathing at night, and in November too!" She hurried off down the stairs.

As she departed, Wynne heard Eadwine Aethelhard's step upon the staircase, and he entered the Great Chamber. "Ealdraed told me you wanted a bath. I will join you." He began to remove his clothing. "She professes to be very shocked by the knowledge that you bathe almost each day."

"Do not the Saxons bathe regularly, my lord?" Wynne asked him. She was not certain that she should not be embarrassed, but the fact that on the briefest of acquaintance he had taken her the previous night seemed to abrogate any modesty on her part. She was a married woman. She knew what a man looked like.

"I suppose it depends on the Saxon," he answered her. "Some bathe with regularity, and others do not."

"Do you?" She raised her eyes to his.

"Aye," he said, and stepped into the tub, seating himself opposite her. "I find the strong scent of an unwashed body most repellent." His gaze, calmly meeting hers, was filled with amusement.

"Is there something that you find humorous, my lord?" she said tartly.

"Aye," he said, and a chuckle escaped him.

"What?" she demanded.

"You are a very bad slave," he told her. "In fact you are a terrible slave," he said, and another chuckle eluded him.

"I am not a slave!" she cried, her anger spilling over.

"You may not have been born a slave, Wynne, but at this moment you are legally a slave. My slave. And yet you behave more like a wife than a slave. You have taken my household in a firm grip, and the servants call you 'lady' I have noted. Even my younger son and the other women are respectful of you as they would be a wife."

"That, my lord Eadwine, is because I am a wife. I am Madoc of Powys's wife, and I am in your house against my will. Say what you want, and do what you want, you cannot change that, for it is the truth. I will never submit willingly to you. While I am in your house, however, you shall have my respect, for you are, as I told your elder son this evening, a good lord."

He ignored her emotional outburst and said in a matter-of-fact tone, "Wash me, sweeting. The water grows cold, and we will both catch a chill shortly." He turned himself about so that his back was to her.

Men, Wynne thought irritably. They would only accept what they wanted to accept, but it mattered not. She was not a slave! His or anyone else's! Still, she could not help but wonder as she washed him why Madoc had not found her yet. She had not forgotten Baldhere Armstrang's remark in the hall earlier this evening. That Madoc and his ancestors were men of magic and sorcery she had never doubted. Why then had he not come to her? Why was she caught in this benevolent cage, imprisoned by a man to whom she was, to her own surprise, finding herself increasingly attracted even upon their short acquaintance?

"Gently, sweeting," he cautioned her. "You are rubbing the skin from my shoulders."

Madness! It was all madness, Wynne reflected angrily to herself. How could this have happened to her? She had been happy and content as Madoc's wife. To suddenly find herself the slave of this charming man was… was… was infuriating! Why? Why? She splashed water over the soapy areas of Eadwine Aethelhard's shoulders and back. There was no point in her anger. She had brought this upon herself by refusing to accept Madoc's judgment in the matter of Brys of Cai; and she was certainly suffering for her insistence that she could reunite Madoc's family.

Suddenly the thegn turned himself about in the tub and took the cloth from her. "I will remember in future never to allow an angry woman possession of my person," he said humorously, his grey-blue eyes twinkling. "Why are you angry, and at whom are you angry, Wynne?"

"I am angry at myself," she replied, "for not believing Madoc when he told me that his brother was a totally evil man. If I had listened to my husband, I should not be here with you now. I should be safe at Raven's Rock." Then, unbidden, the tears began to slip down her cheeks.

Eadwine Aethelhard swallowed hard, when in truth he wanted to laugh. It had suddenly occurred to him how humorous their situation was, and then he sobered, for it was tragic too. Naked in a bath with a man other than her husband, Wynne wept for her past when the reality was her present and her future. He was that reality, and it astounded him that this girl should have such a grip on his heart. What did he really know of her? "You are tired," he told her, "and breeding women are given to fits of unexpected and irrational weeping. So it was with my Mildraed."

"I am not your Mildraed," she sniffled.

"Nay," he said, "you most certainly are not. You are my wild Welsh girl. I think, Wynne, if you will release your hold on the past, you will find your future a pleasant and happy one."

She pulled away from him and, standing up, stepped from their tub to towel herself dry. Eadwine caught his breath as his eyes beheld the lush beauty of her. Last night in their bed he had not been able to really see her, but now he could scarce take his eyes from her. His inspection of her in the hall had been to ascertain her general health, to be certain if he purchased her she would not die. He had seen she was lovely, but not how lovely. Never in all his life had he beheld a woman so fair. Her limbs were graceful. Her tall, slender body only beginning to ripen with the child she carried. He felt himself growing hot with his desire for her as, raising her arms, she undid her braid from atop her head where it had been pinned. Her breasts rose and thrust forward with the movement. He stepped from the tub and his aroused state was instantly apparent. Their eyes met, and Wynne turned quickly away from him, a flush upon her cheeks.

"I am cold," she said, and walking across the room, slipped beneath the coverlet of the sleeping space.

I will win her over, Eadwine Aethelhard thought to himself. I must win her over, for I am falling in love with her, and I cannot bear the thought that she might hate me. Slowly he dried himself, and then he joined her in their bed, slipping his arms about her and kissing the back of her neck softly. She lay perfectly still against him, and he was suddenly angry. "I want you," he growled at her.

"As you wish, my lord," she answered listlessly. "I am your slave, and you have the right."

"Aye!" he said furiously. "I am your master, and I have the right. I could have you killed if I so desired, Wynne!"

"Then do so," she cried, "for perhaps death is preferable to this bondage!"

His fury crumbled in the face of her pain. "Nay, sweeting, I want no harm to come to you or the child." He turned her about so that she was forced to face him. "Look at me, Wynne," he said gently. "You must accept what cannot be changed. If you do not, you will destroy yourself and perhaps the child as well."

"But life can change, my lord," she insisted. "A month ago I was the cherished wife of a prince of Powys; yet this night I lay in another man's bed, his slave. Who is to say that that cannot eventually change?"

Her eyes were green, he thought. He hadn't realized it until this moment, but her eyes were green. And her mouth was incredibly kissable; ripe and moist, the lips slightly parted in her fervor. His lips gently touched hers, and he murmured against them, "Aye, anything can change, sweeting, but for now can you not be content with me?" He could feel the blood roaring in his ears; the insistent throb of his manhood.

Wynne saw the desire in his eyes, and a mixture of sadness and despair overcame her. The child stirred within her, and she knew that for the baby's sake she must survive. Still, she could be no less than honest with him. "I do not know, Eadwine Aethelhard," she said, "if I shall ever be content without Madoc of Powys," and then she smiled slightly at him, "but I will try." It was the best she could do, she thought, and the words, spoken reluctantly, were half believed by them both. Wynne rolled onto her belly and carefully drew her legs up. "If you do not soon satisfy that lust of yours, my lord, you will do yourself an injury, I fear," she said.

He moved behind her and gently inserted his length within her woman's passage. "Some day you will welcome me," he said quietly.

Never, she thought, but she said nothing as he began to move upon her. His gentle, but firm attentions offered her a measure of satisfaction despite her resolve to remain unmoved. When he finally lay sleeping by her side, Wynne reached out as she had each night since her abduction and called Madoc. There had always been such a strong link between them, and yet now she felt that link blocked somehow. Still, she could not give up, nor would she ever stop trying.

Her plans for escape were never far from her mind. It had taken almost three weeks to travel the distance between Brys of Cai's castle and Aelfdene manor. Although she had ridden behind Ruari Ban, the pace had been a slow one because of the party of slaves the Irish slaver possessed. Therefore, Wynne concluded, she had to assume that it would take just as long if not longer for her to return to Raven's Rock. She wasn't even certain of the direction in which she should travel, but she would eventually gain that needed information.

She had to go soon. Before the snows came; while she was still able to travel. She would steal a horse! She could still ride, and if she dare not gallop her mount, at least she would walk it. A few days' time was all she needed. A few days in which to gather the knowledge she would need to make her escape successful. She had to be successful, for instinct told her there would be no second chance. The thought that she could soon be gone from Aelfdene comforted her, and Wynne finally slept.

In the morning the skies were grey and lowering. The day, however, was yet warm, and, encouraged, Wynne took a basket, setting forth with old Ealdraed to find what plants she could use for her pharmacea. They first visited the orchards, where Wynne removed some bark from the cherry trees, being careful not to injure the trees. They moved on out into the countryside, where they were delighted to find some bog myrtle. The bark could be used for dye; the leaves for flavoring ale; and the catkins when boiled yielded a fragrant wax that made particularly sweet-smelling candles.

Because there had not yet been a frost, there was much to be had from the fields and nearby marsh. There was wonderfully aromatic sweet flag, its yellow-green sword-shaped leaves rising from its root stock, which could be used in perfumes, for flavoring, and medicinally. Wynne found capers growing amid the stone ruins of some earlier structure, and an excellent supply of both acorns and chestnuts that had not yet been devoured by animals, nor were they riddled with worms. The acorns had a variety of uses. Pounded, they could be made into a paste by the simple addition of lamb fat. The paste was then used to cure inflammations. Finely ground, the acorns could be used in a vaginal pessary; and acorn tea was used to stop dysentery. Honey, however, was a necessary addition to the tea, for acorns were known to cause headaches. Chestnuts boiled in water and then eaten were an excellent stimulus for passion in a reluctant lover.

Much to Wynne's surprise, she found a goodly supply of pinecones that had escaped the birds. They stopped to hull the pinecones where they found them, for tiny worms were known to live beneath the scales. It was useless to take home such cones only to have to throw them out. The seeds in the cones were good for bladder and kidney difficulties, and no pharmacea should be without them.

As they walked on they found Betony and Hoarhound, and both field and marsh mint as well as pudding grass, which was excellent for repelling fleas. Wynne stopped suddenly and knelt down. Then she began to dig out several plants that were still quite actively growing. The plants were large, almost three feet in height, and the leaves quite hairy.

"What's that ugly thing?" demanded Ealdraed.

"Cheese rennet," Wynne told her, "though some call it lady's bedstraw. Although there are no flowers right now, the plant itself helps the sheep and goat's milk to thicken. I can get a yellow dye to color the cheese from the stem and the leaves, and a red dye which adheres particularly well to wool from the roots."

"I never heard of such a thing," Ealdraed told her bluntly.

"My family has been famous for their cheeses for many, many generations," Wynne said. "Our cheese is called Gwer-nach's Gold, and the traders from Cornwall, Devon, and Ireland come to Gwernach regularly to get it."