They came upon a patch of chamomile and another of wormwood which had not yet died back. The latter was good for worming, and the former made a tea which was a cure for sleeplessness.

"Here's some elecampane for you," Ealdraed called, and dug it out. Dried and powdered, the elecampane root was mixed with honey and vinegar to make a tonic.

As they skirted about the other side of the little marsh where they had found the bog myrtle and the marsh mint, Wynne spotted some late-blooming wake-robin and hurried to gather it up. "If only I could find some bryony," she muttered to herself.

"There's some on the path back toward the manor house," her companion replied.

"I thought you knew little of herbs," Wynne teased her.

"I know bryony," Ealdraed said. "What is it for?"

"I'm going to make Berangari a skin lotion with the root of the bryony, this wake-robin, and some goat's milk. Lemon too, if I can get some."

" 'Tis a waste of time if you ask me," Ealdraed said. "Her face could be as smooth as a baby's bottom and Caddaric still wouldn't be able to get a child on her or any of the others. I've heard that he renders his women sore with his striving, for all the good it's done him."

"Perhaps Berangari wants smooth skin to please herself," Wynne suggested.

The day had suddenly grown cold, and the wind that had been gently blowing from the east was coming in stronger gusts now from the northeast. The grey clouds were darker, and Ealdraed announced, "There's snow coming. 'Tis been too warm for too long, and when it's like this in this valley, and the weather turns quickly, then it means snow."

"Please, God, no!" Wynne whispered.

"Put it out of your mind, dearie," the old woman said gently.

"What?" Wynne replied defiantly.

"Escape," Ealdraed said. "Be sensible, my lady Wynne. You are many days from your Raven's Rock, and you are with child. The winter is almost upon us. If you try and flee Aelfdene, you will be caught. If you are not caught, what chance has a woman alone of traveling all those miles? If you will not think of yourself, think of your child."

"I am thinking of my child," Wynne told her. "My son is a prince of Powys, conceived legitimately and lawfully, condemned to be born into slavery! How can I let this happen while there is breath in my body, Ealdraed? How can I allow my son never to know his heritage or his father, who mourns his loss? I cannot! Your master is a good man, and I am fortunate to be safe in his care; but I can already see that he cares more for me than he should. Despite his knowledge of my past, he takes me into his bed each night and forces himself upon me. He is a lonely man, and he would have a woman to love and be loved in return. I cannot love Eadwine Aethelhard, for I love Madoc of Powys, and I always will!"

"My lady Wynne," Ealdraed said patiently, "you must accept the fate that the good God has visited upon you. We are women, and what other choice do we have? I am a serf. You are a slave. It is God's will."

"And yet you address me as any of my own servants would, my good Ealdraed," Wynne told her. "There are other slaves in Eadwine Aethelhard's house, but you do not address them so. You do not think of me as a slave, any more than I think of myself as a slave."

"It is beginning to rain," Ealdraed said evasively. "Let us hurry home, lady," and she began to walk doggedly ahead.

Wynne smiled behind the old lady's back and followed after her.

When they reached the manor house Wynne gave Ealdraed her basket and, taking another, went off to the kitchen garden to gather what she could of the household herbs. If snow was indeed coming, there would be a frost and the plants would be useless thereafter, until spring, when they grew anew. Ignoring the light rain, she gathered sage for the nerves; fennel to aid with fever; mint for stomach ailments; and rue. The garden contained lettuce, parsnips, beets, and spinach, all of which could be eaten, but all of which were also medicinal in use as well. Lettuce for sleeplessness, parsnips for quickening desire, spinach for coughs and chest ailments. There were onions and leeks, which had many uses. Cabbages, marrows, and cucumbers. Wynne was astounded that no one in Eadwine Aethelhard's house understood the many uses and advantages of even the kitchen garden. Kneeling, she clipped dill, parsley, and caraway, whose seeds were also of value. She found plantings of sweet basil, rosemary, and marjoram as well as some garden heliotrope and yarrow, which were growing wild by the garden wall.

Heall, the cook, came out from his kitchens and said in a friendly tone, "I've lemons, should you need them, lady, and a good supply of apples and a few figs stored away."

Wynne rose to her feet, picking her basket up as she did so. "I cannot find any lavender," she replied. "I cannot imagine a proper household that does not grow lavender. It cannot have died back yet."

"Look behind the manor house," Heall told her. "The lady Mildraed had a small garden of herbs and roses. You will find your lavender there, lady."

Wynne thanked him and hurried off. She found the lavender exactly where he had said she would. The little garden was badly overgrown and had certainly gone unattended since the lady Mildraed's death. Obviously no one cared. The little garden had been allowed to run wild. There was plenty of lavender to be harvested. When she had finished cutting the fragrant stems, Wynne realized that she was beginning to feel quite tired, and she was very hungry as well. Her child was moving about quite actively, as if in protest, so she returned indoors.

Ealdraed had food for her, knowing Wynne hadn't eaten since early morning and it was now afternoon. There was cheese, fresh bread, crisp apples, and sweet wine that had been watered to render it less potent.

"You do not take care of yourself," grumbled Ealdraed. "Why do you not take better care of yourself? You have that babe to think about now, my lady."

"If I took good care of myself," Wynne teased her, "what would there be for you to do?" She sliced off a chunk of cheese and a slice of bread and began to eat hungrily.

"Heh! Heh! Heh!" the old lady cackled, well-pleased to be so appreciated. "When you have eaten, lady, we will get to our sewing," she said.

It snowed that night, as Ealdraed had predicted. Large, wet flakes that were half melted before they even hit the ground, where they melted completely, for the earth was still warm. It was a reminder to Wynne, however, that she dare not linger too long. She could learn nothing from the serfs or the other slaves as to the direction, for they did not know, such things not being of particular interest to them. She knew the dark hills to the west separated England from Powys, but there were no roads directly over them. If only, she thought wryly, Madoc had taught her the secret to changing one's shape, she could have turned herself into a bird long since and flown back home to Raven's Rock. She spent as much time out of doors as she could, wandering the fields in search of useful plants, searching the skies for the sight of old Dhu, for the certain knowledge that he had found her and would come to rescue her.

Eadwine Aethelhard watched her restlessness, easily divining some of her thoughts; knowing that she but sought a means of escape; and realizing that he must make her hate him if he was to save her from herself and the dangerous path she would take. In time she would come to see that he was right, and then perhaps she would not hate him. When Wynne had been at Aelfdene three weeks, he called her to him as he sat alone in the hall one evening, his family at long last departed.

"I have a gift for you," he said quietly, and unwrapped a cloth that lay on the table before him.

"What is it?" she asked, curious, but distressed that he would give her a gift.

He lifted the object from the cloth, and Wynne visibly paled.

"No!" she said, her heart thudding at the sight of the pale gold circle.

"Put it on, Wynne," he said. "It has been made especially for you and you alone. A mark of my high regard."

"It is a slave collar, " she managed to gasp. "1 will not wear a slave collar!" She felt near to tears and struggled to maintain her composure.

He arose and stood over her, the collar in his hands. "Look at it," he said. "It is of the finest gold and decorated with green agates that match your wonderful eyes." His hand reached out and stroked her slender neck. "I would not allow such a lovely neck to be encircled by an iron or leather slave collar."

"It will chafe me," she whispered desperately. "Surely you would not mark my skin?"

"It will rest upon your neck bone easily, and if it indeed chafes you, sweeting, then I will have it lined in lamb's wool." He gently slipped the gold collar about her neck, closing it and locking it with a small key as she sat frozen in shock, unable to move or to resist him. His lips kissed the back of her neck and he said softly in her ear, "Now, Wynne, you cannot escape me. Did you think I did not know of your plans to flee? Oh, sweeting, how far do you think you would have gotten? And if you had escaped me, do you think you could have escaped the other predators, both two-legged and four-legged, awaiting you along your long road home?" He knelt by her side, his arm slipping about her thickening waist. "I'm in love with you, Wynne, and I have been since the moment I first laid eyes on you. I would not be cruel to you, but I must protect you from your own foolishness. With this slave collar about your graceful neck, you cannot escape me. You are marked as a slave for all to see."

"I will never forgive you this," she said stonily.

"In time you will," he said with certainty, "and that collar will not remain upon your neck forever, Wynne. The day you become my wife, I shall remove it from your neck even as I have put it there."

"I cannot marry you," she cried desperately, leaping to her feet. "Why can you not understand? I am Wynne of Gwernach, wife to Madoc, prince of Powys!"

"Nay," he said. "You are Wynne, a Welsh slave belonging to Eadwine Aethelhard, the thegn of Aelfdene manor." Then he arose and looked down upon her. "You are Wynne, the most beloved woman of Eadwine Aethelhard."

"Call me whatever you will, my lord," she said proudly, "You cannot make me that which I am not, even by putting a slave collar about my neck. I will never be your wife." Then she turned and walked from the hall up the stairs into the Great Chamber.

She will love me in time, Eadwine Aethelhard thought stubbornly. She will love me. She must, for I cannot live without her now!

Chapter 13

Madoc of Powys had returned home from the valley below his castle to find his servants hysterical with fear and grief.

"She went out riding early yesterday morning unescorted," Einion told him bluntly.

"Why weren't you with her?" the prince demanded, struggling to stem the violent beating of his heart. "Where is my wife?"

"I wasn't with her because I had no idea she intended to ride, my lord," Einion told him. "Had I known, I would have been with her. Have I not kept her safe from harm her entire life? She told the stablemen and the men-at-arms that she meant to go no farther than the bridge. They let her go believing her safe. Then everyone became involved in his daily routine, and no one thought to ask if my lady Wynne had returned until her horse reappeared riderless."

"You sent out search parties?" Madoc demanded, knowing the answer even before Einion gave it. Wynne! he cried in his heart. Where are you, dearling?

"I headed the search myself, my lord, but it was almost nightfall. The following morning we left at first light. We did not find my lady, but we did find her tunic dress and her chemise. They were torn and bloodied as if some wild beast had… had…" Einion could not go on.

"She is not dead!" the prince shouted angrily. How could this have happened? How?

"We did not find a body," Einion, now recovering himself, admitted. "Not even parts of a body. No shoes, no jewelry. Nothing but those two pieces of clothing. It is almost as if…"

"Someone were attempting to make us believe that Wynne is dead." Madoc finished the thought for Einion, his mind already filled with possibilities and troubled thoughts.

"But, my lord," said Einion, "you have no enemies. Who would do such a cruel thing?"

Madoc shook his head. "I do not know, my friend, but I intend finding out."