Men like Caddaric Aethelmaere supported Harold. He was Saxon English, and the fact that royal blood did not run in his veins did not matter to them. Eadwine Aethelhard, on the other hand, believed that King Edward's choice must be honored. Besides, Eadwine had told Wynne, he did not believe that Harold could stem the tide of any invasion from the Viking north. William could. Harold would plunge England into one war or another, for men like Harold liked war. It was their business. William, on the other hand, preferred peace, although he was an excellent soldier. War cost a man his gold. Peace made a man more gold. So father and son argued back and forth nightly in a battle that neither could resolve.

Wynne enjoyed their disputes to a point, for she was learning all about English politics. She found it interesting, and wondered when Duke William claimed his inheritance someday whether he would be content to remain on the English side of Offa's Dyke, or whether he would come with his knights to invade Wales. Would Gwernach be in danger? Or St. Bride's? She often wondered how her family was getting on and hoped that one day Eadwine would allow her to go back to Gwernach for a visit. Would Enid still be alive?

She sighed, and then her hand went to her belly as the child moved. Two children in two years. She wanted to give Eadwine more babies, but she didn't want to become enceinte for at least another two years after this child was born. It was very wearing on her, for all her youth and vigor. To that end she was secretly making and storing vaginal pessary. Men were so silly about things like that.

Martinmas came. The cottars and geburas arrived to bring the thegn his rents. They celebrated with roast goose and baked apples. Arvel already had several teeth and gnawed happily upon a leg bone. He was a beautiful baby, with his father's blue eyes and dark hair. He was also a happy and secure child who made his needs easily known by shouting "Ba!" and pointing to whatever it was he desired. To Eadwine's delight, the baby would always call out "Da!" whenever he appeared within the infant's view. Arvel loved everyone with the exception of Caddaric Aethelmaere. He grew strangely quiet in his presence, as if sensing an enemy.

At Christ's Mass Wynne thought of Nesta, of whom she had given little thought over the past months. Nesta's baby would be a year old now. She missed Madoc's merry sister and wondered if Nesta ever thought of her. It was another lifetime, Wynne considered, for just the briefest moment saddened. She had been abducted more than a year ago, and yet despite the beautiful summer and the mild winter they were now experiencing, Madoc had never come for her. Sometimes she wondered if he were yet alive, or had he died of a broken heart as the wicked Brys of Cia had predicted. It didn't matter anymore. She was Eadwine's wife. Soon she would bear his child. She loved him.

Chapter 15

On the fifth day of the month of April in the year 1063, two days after her nineteenth birthday, the thegn of Aelfdene's wife gave birth to a daughter. Eadwine Aethelhard was as delighted as Wynne.

“ 'Twill save us difficulty," she said. "For all his silence, Caddaric remains jealous. He will not think of his half sister as a threat."

"I have a gift for you to honor this occasion," Eadwine told her. "I have built a new cottage and raised to the rank of gebura one of my cottars. He is, it seems, clever with bees, and we need a beekeeper at Aelfdene. The rents from the land the beekeeper hold of me are to be yours, my love. When our daughter marries one day, they will serve as part of her dowry."

"How wonderful!" Wynne said, and then she laughed. " 'Tis a sweet gift you have given me, my lord."

"Have you thought of a name for her?" he asked, looking down dotingly upon the baby who had his ash-brown hair and eyes he suspected would turn as green as her mother's. She was not all delicate like Wynne either, but a large baby, more a Saxon child.

"Averel," Wynne told him. "I want to name her Averel for the month in which she was born. 'Tis a pretty name, and she will be a pretty girl one day, for all her sturdiness. She is certainly your daughter, Eadwine. See! She has your nose and mouth, and her hands are very like yours."

He chuckled, pleased. "Averel Aethelhardsdatter. Aye, I like it too, my wild Welsh girl!"

"Da!" Arvel tugged at Eadwine's kirtle insistently. He was thirteen months old now and wise enough to know that another center of attention was taking this big man he adored away from him.

With a smile Eadwine lifted the boy up into his lap. "Look, Arvel, my son. You have a baby sister. Her name is Averel and it will be your duty to protect her always, until she is wed one day and safe within another man's house."

Arvel leaned forward and peered at the swaddled infant. He found her singularly uninteresting, so, putting his thumb in his mouth, he cuddled back against his foster father. "Da," he sighed happily, content in the warmth of Eadwine's arms.

Baldhere Armstrang took in this most loving and domestic picture as he entered into the Great Chamber. "Old Ealdraed tells me I have a baby sister," he said, smiling at his father and stepmother. Bending, he looked down at the baby and then he chuckled. "She's got your stamp on her, Father," he said. "What is her name?"

"Averel," came the reply.

" 'Tis pretty. I'm sorry I won't get to see her grow up, but a messenger has just come to say that Aeldra's father is near death. We must leave Aelfdene as soon as possible. She and I will go this very day. The others will pack our belongings and follow with the children."

"Have you told your brother?" Eadwine asked.

Baldhere made a grimace. "I did, and what do you think he said to me? That Eadgyth's father persisted in living on, thereby robbing him of his rightful inheritance and the rank of thegn, while I, his junior, would now rank above him. How my good fortune irritates him." What Baldhere did not say to his father was that his elder brother had concluded that he would probably come into his inheritance of Aelfdene sooner than he would gain the remainder of Eadgyth's dowry, for Eadwine would surely wear himself out futtering his young wife, while his father-in-law cared for himself as assiduously as one would care for a newborn infant king.

"Come and bid us a final farewell before you leave," Eadwine said to his younger son. "I did well when I matched you with Aeldra Swanneck, Baldhere. She's a good breeder as well as a good wife. Remember what I have taught you about husbanding the land, and follow the wise example of our antecedents. Keep adding to your estate whenever you get the opportunity. That is the best advice I can give you."

"I will not forget, Father." Baldhere arose and departed the Great Chamber.

"I will miss Baldhere and his women," Wynne said, "but then all of the women at Aelfdene are pleasant to be with, my lord. That is what I missed the most at Raven's Rock. I had only my maidservant, Megan, for company. At Gwernach I had my grandmother and my sisters. Although Caitlin and Dilys are difficult at best to get along with, my younger sister, Mair, was not." She yawned.

He could see how heavy her eyelids were, and said, "You are tired, sweeting. Birthing a babe is hard work, I know. Rest now." Rising, he lifted Arvel up into his arms.

"Aye, birthing is difficult work," she replied, "and well you know it, for you have been with me through both my labors, Eadwine." She smiled up at him, feeling a strong burst of affection for this man. She was certainly beginning to really accept him as her husband, although the Church still had not sent a priest to Aelfdene to look after the spiritual well-being of its people and to bless their union. It was really up to her to press the issue. Yet she had not. What would ecclesiastical opinion be on her status?

She was not fearful for Averel, for Eadwine claimed their daughter for his own child, and legally adopted Arvel. Although she was making peace with her situation, in the deepest recesses of her heart she still longed for Madoc and for their magical home at Raven's Rock. It saddened her that the prince did not know of his son. Oh, why had he not come to find her?

Eadwine bent down and kissed her brow, holding onto Arvel as the tiny boy leaned forward to hug her, planting a wet kiss upon her cheek at the same time.

"Maaa," Arvel said. He was such a happy, contented child.

"Sleep well, my love," the thegn told her, and took her son off.

She listened to his footsteps as they descended the stairs, Arvel's little voice chattering his baby babble which, to her amusement, Eadwine seemed to completely understand. Wynne smiled to herself, thinking how fortunate she and her son were to have fallen into Eadwine Aethelhard's hands. As for Averel, she was the thegn's daughter. Wynne looked down at the new baby. She was amazingly pretty for a newborn, with a head full of dark brown curls and healthy, rosy cheeks.

"What a lucky little girl you are, Averel Aethelhardsdat-ter," she told the baby. "You are your father's only daughter, and he will spoil you totally, I have not a doubt, for he is a kind man."

She heard footsteps upon the stairs and looked up as Caddaric Aethelmaere entered the Great Chamber scowling.

"So you've whelped the brat at last, have you?" was his greeting to her.

"You have a sister, Caddaric," Wynne told him in even tones, but her temper was close to flaring.

"Well, let's have a look at her," he said condescendingly, and Wynne lifted the edge of the blanket that protected her daughter's face. Caddaric stared down at the baby. "What's her name?" he demanded.

"Averel," was the short reply.

"She looks like Father," he noted dryly.

"Aye," Wynne answered in dulcet tones, but she was pleased. It was the closest Caddaric would ever come to acknowledging his half sister's legitimacy, but having done so, Wynne knew he would never deny Averel, for Caddaric possessed a strange sense of honor and a strong sense of blood ties.

"She should have been my child," he growled at her.

"You would not have wanted a daughter, Caddaric," Wynne said quietly.

"I would have given you a son," he said bitterly. "My father is old, and his seed is weak. I would have spawned a son on you had my father not stolen you away from me."

"When will you remember that it is your father who is lord here and not you, Caddaric? Your father did not steal me from you, for you never had me to begin with, and you know it to be so. Why do you persist in this fantasy?"

"I could get sons on you, Welsh woman," he said stubbornly. "My father did not need more children. He has two healthy sons and a host of grandchildren, thanks to my brother. He did not need a young wife and additional children. I, however, need sons, and the useless creatures I have shackled and surrounded myself with cannot produce even a feeble daughter! I need you! You are magic!"

She doubted that her stepson would ever like her, but Wynne realized that she had to make him face the reality of his situation, and now was as good a time as any. "Caddaric, answer me a question," she probed gently. "Have you ever in your life been seriously ill?"

He thought long, his broad brow puckering with his concentration, and then he said, "Once. Only once."

"Tell me about it," she pressed him.

"The year before I married Eadgyth," he said, "my cheeks became all swollen and ached. I looked like a frog when he courts his lady. I ran a great fever for several days. Afterward it was said that my mother feared for my life." He chuckled with his memory. "My cock became all swollen too, and God knows I have been more than well-endowed. Better than many, I am assured, but it was twice its size during my illness. I quite admit to being disappointed when it returned to normal," Caddaric finished with a leer.

"It is unlikely that you will ever produce children," Wynne told him bluntly.

"What?"

"I am a healer, Caddaric, as was my grandmother and my mother before me. The illness you have described to me is the swelling sickness. When.a child becomes ill of it, there is little difficulty. The same is true of a young girl or young boy; but a man or an older boy can suffer greatly from the swelling sickness, especially if it affects their male organs, as the illness obviously did yours. The sickness burns the life from the male seed. I know this, for it is part of my healer's wisdom."

"You lie, Welsh witch!" he raged at her. His cheeks were scarlet above his beard.