Caw! Caw!

Wynne turned at the sound of the harsh voice and the noisy flapping of the wings that accompanied it. A great black raven stood eyeing her from a nearby tree. He cocked his head almost as if to ask what the problem was that kept her here on this bleak hilltop in a rough wind that smelt most distinctly of rain. A small smile touched Wynne's lips. The raven was an old friend. He seemed ageless, having been about her whole life. Her father had always teased her that the bird must certainly be the oldest living raven, for ravens, he said, were not particularly long-lived; but Wynne knew that this bird now looking at her was the same bird she had always known.

"Hello, Dhu!" she called, feeling strangely comforted by his presence. "I've no bread on me to share with you today. Sorry."

The bird looked aggrieved at her words and made a small crackling sound in the back of his throat.

"Ohh," Wynne said gently, "I've hurt your feelings, haven't I? You didn't come for bread at all, but to comfort me, old Dhu. Well, my problems are surely bigger than yours today." Then she laughed softly. "And wouldn't the world think me mad or a witch to be talking to a raven? And yet we're old friends, aren't we?"

The raven appeared to bob his head.

Wynne chuckled, amused. "Well, I'd best be off, old Dhu. I'll not solve my difficulties standing here chattering to you. Take care of yourself and don't steal too much seed when we plant next week." Then she was off down the hill from the grave site, while behind her the raven continued to watch her, perched comfortably on his tree; but then as the first drop of rain began, the bird flew off, grumbling, to seek shelter.

Wynne pulled her woolen shawl up over her head as she hurried down the hill. Spring rains could be treacherously deceptive, and she didn't need a chill. At least the house would be warm. It was strange, but despite its proximity to the river, it was always comfortable. As a child she had wondered about the ancestor who had built their house upon a promontory overlooking the river. As she grew in wisdom she understood that by doing so the house was only vulnerable on one side; and that side was surrounded by a thick stone wall allowing entry only through heavy ironbound oak gates which were closed and barred at sunset and in times of danger.

Within those walls were the estate's main dwelling; main barn; blacksmith's forge; cook house; stables, kennels, dovecote; well; and kitchen gardens. The house, which was constructed of both stone and timber, had a thatched roof with several smoke holes for the fire pits which indicated that it was a wealthy man's home. Inside, the main floor consisted of a hall that extended almost the entire length of the building and soared two stories high. Above the portion of the hall that was single-storied was a second floor consisting of a solar and a single small chamber which had been Owain ap Llywelyn's private sleeping place for himself and his wife. This, in itself, was unique, for generally the lord and his family slept in the same room, curtains drawn about each bed being the only privacy available.

Wynne dashed through the gates of her home as the skies opened in earnest, gaining the house with a gusty sigh of relief. She shook the droplets from the heavy fabric of her shawl, rendering it almost fully dry, and wrapping it about herself, moved into the hall. The two fire pits were both blazing merrily, and as usual, the place was snug and dry. Her green eyes skimmed over the room, taking in her grandmother, Enid, as she instructed the servants bringing in the evening meal; to her brother, Dewi, who was happily rolling about in the rushes with the latest litter of puppies and their baby sister, Mair; to her next two sisters, Caitlin and Dilys, who sat idly gossiping as usual. Seeing her entry, Dilys jumped up and ran to her elder sister.

"Where were you?" she whined. "We were afraid! We've had word Irish slavers are raiding our coast again. What if you had been taken? What would happen to us?" Her pretty mouth had a petulant cast to it.

Caitlin joined them and said in superior tones, "She was at the grave again, weren't you, Wynne? Why you go there is beyond me. There is nothing there. Father is long gone; but Dilys is right. The Irish are raiding. It would behoove you to be more prudent in your wanderings."

"Thank you for your concern, dear sister," Wynne said dryly, "and how do you know about the Irish? There's nought to fear from them. We are too far from the coast for the Irish to bother with us."

"A messenger came!" Dilys burst out. "While you were gone!"

"Was I gone so far that you could not have sent for me?" Wynne answered sharply. "I was, after all, in sight of the house. I saw no rider."

"You saw no rider because you were probably daydreaming again," Caitlin replied. "The rider came, and he departed as quickly, for he was ordered by his master to return immediately. Rhys of St. Bride's needs every man he has until the danger is over, I would think."

"Rhys of St. Bride's sent to us to tell of Irish slavers?" Wynne was puzzled. " 'Twas kind of him, but quite unnecessary, I believe."

"No! No!" Dilys giggled inanely, dancing about her eldest sister, her golden-brown braids swinging madly.

"Be silent, you silly wretch!" Caitlin ordered her sibling. "I will tell Wynne the message." She turned to her elder. "Rhys of St. Bride's would come to visit us. He would speak to you on a matter of some importance," Caitlin said loftily, "which can only mean he wants to marry you! I told the messenger to tell his master that you would be pleased and honored to receive him at his convenience. If you wed Rhys of St. Bride's, then we will be able to find rich husbands too! What an opportunity for us all! Are you not pleased, Wynne?"

Wynne, however, looked at first astounded by her sister's news and then disturbed. "No," she finally said, choosing her words carefully. "No, I am not pleased at all by the prospect of being courted by Rhys of St. Bride's. I shall have to refuse him should he ask, and refusing him while keeping his friendship will not be an easy thing, Caitlin."

"Refuse him? Why would you refuse him?" Caitlin shrieked. "You will ruin us all, you selfish creature, before you are through!"

Wynne sighed. "Caitlin, think a moment. Why would a powerful warlord with a great castle want me to wife? Oh, my dowry is good, but our name is not great. Rhys of St. Bride's can have both in a wife, so why would he want me?"

"Who cares why he wants you?" Caitlin said petulantly. "Don't you understand anything, Wynne? With Rhys for a brother-in-law, and our comfortable dowries, we shall have our pick of good husbands. Besides, we are related to the king."

"Our connection to Gruffydd ap Llywelyn is so slender as to be almost invisible," Wynne said matter-of-factly. "If Rhys of St. Bride's is to come courting me, it is because of our brother."

"What has Dewi got to do with it?" Dilys asked, her pretty forehead wrinkling with her puzzlement.

"Our brother is young. Should anything happen to him before he is grown, wed, and a father, Gwernach would be mine. We are fortunate we have no close male relations else they threaten Dewi for his inheritance. You can be certain that that is what is in the back of Rhys of St. Bride's mind as he comes courting me. Dewi's possible demise. I should not put it past him to hurry our brother into the next life that he might gain Gwernach through me. The line of descent in the matter of Gwernach is quite clear. It is first through the male line to the third degree, and then through the female line beginning with the eldest daughter. Rhys of St. Bride's has never even seen me. I might be bald and snaggle-toothed, but he would have me to have Gwernach."

"You're mad!" Caitlin said, but she could not look at her sister as she spoke.

"Nay," their grandmother said, joining them and entering into the conversation. "She's probably right, and yet I do not feel we should judge Rhys of St. Bride's harshly until we have heard him out. Perhaps his offer will be a genuine one. Wynne is a practical girl. She clearly sees her main attraction for a powerful lord is the fact that, though Dewi is Gwernach's lord, she is Gwernach's heiress until Dewi has fathered a son of his own. Still, my girl," Enid said, putting a comforting arm about her eldest grandchild, "Caitlin did the correct thing when she told the messenger that you will receive the lord of St. Bride's."

"Let us hope the Irish keep him busy for several months," Wynne muttered. "The last thing I need about Gwernach right now is a suitor. The corn and the hay must be planted if I am to feed the cattle next winter. It is hard enough, as you well know, to wrest grain from this soil."

"Four more cows calved today," Dewi said coming up to his sisters. "Old Blodwen had twins again, and one of them is a wee bull, Wynne."

She smiled down at him, pulling the straw from his. black hair and ruffling it affectionately. "A wee bull," she repeated. "Well, if he's half the stud his sire is, he'll prove valuable to us."

Dewi grinned, pleased, but Caitlin glowered darkly.

"Cows and bulls!" she said irritably. "Is that all you can think about, Wynne?"

"One of us must think about such things if this estate is to survive- if your dowry is to survive-until I can marry you and Dilys off," Wynne told her.

"My dowry is my dowry," Caitlin said firmly.

"Your dowry," her sister replied, "is part of this estate, and Gwernach comes first."

"And there's another reason that you should marry Rhys of St. Bride's if he asks you," Caitlin insisted stubbornly. "No woman is competent to manage an estate. I don't even understand why you won't do it. Better you wed and let Rhys handle Gwernach before you lose everything for us!"