"The lady Caitlin sent me for you," Einion said. "The lord of St. Bride's is near and requests your permission to stop at Gwernach."

"Permission our sister undoubtedly sent," Dewi said irritably.

Einion grinned. "Yes, master," he said, and then he added, "she would not have even given the poor messenger so much as a drink of water, in such a hurry was she, but that your grandmother spoke up.

"What a pity we cannot match Caitlin with Rhys of St. Bride's," muttered the boy. " 'Twould serve him right!"

"Dewi!" Wynne laughed. "You will not shame us with bad manners, my young lord of Gwernach. Rhys of St. Bride's must be welcomed and treated with courtesy, no matter that I will refuse of his suit."

"What if you love him?" the boy said.

"I would still not accept an offer of marriage that would endanger you," Wynne told her brother quietly. "Not for the love of a man, Dewi. For love, sworn to most passionately, can turn and change until it disappears entirely. Nay, dear one, I shall never base any important decision I make in life upon love."

The boy nodded, content. All he understood of Wynne's words was that she would not leave him or place his existence in jeopardy; but Einion's brown eyes were troubled. The lady Wynne was much too young to have so acute a knowledge of life, particularly as she lacked the awareness of men and women. It was not the first time she had spoken thusly, and each time she did, he peered at her curiously, seeing someone else. Yet it was she and no other who always stood before him. He shook his great head, puzzled, and kicked his horse to follow along after them.

They arrived back at Gwernach to find Rhys of St. Bride's there just ahead of them, his troop of men and horses milling about in the courtyard as the stable serfs struggled to gain control of the situation. Their relief was almost palpable as Wynne arrived; the chief amongst them ran to take her horse's bridle.

"See to our guests," Wynne gently instructed him. "I am capable of managing my own mount."

As the serf backed off, his place was taken by a man of medium height, richly dressed. "I shall not have to kill those who have told me that Wynne of Gwernach is a beautiful girl," he said, "but perhaps I should, for they did not praise your beauty enough, lady."

"And I had not heard it said that Rhys of St. Bride's was a flatterer, my lord," Wynne answered, looking down upon him.

The face that looked up at her was pure Celt. The head was large and oval. The face from forehead to cheekbones, broad, narrowing slightly as it moved downward to the well-barbered, dark, short beard and moustache that encircled a sensuous mouth. The nose was straight and the eyes now engaging hers light grey. The physique was battlehard as evidenced in the thick, bull-like neck. His close-cropped hair was a rich, deep brown.

Wynne did not lower her gaze from his. To do so would have given evidence of weakness on her part. Wynne did not think it wise to allow Rhys of St. Bride's to believe she could be manipulated or bullied.

"Let me help you from your horse, lady," he said, and without waiting for an answer, lifted her down, his strong fingers firmly grasping her about the waist, loosening slightly as her feet made contact with the ground.

Wynne stepped away, brushing the dust from her clothing, casually shaking an imaginary wrinkle from her yellow tunic dress. "Thank you, my lord," she said. "Will you come into the hall for refreshment?" Turning, she moved away from him.

For a moment Rhys was nonplused. He had been told that Wynne of Gwernach was an untried and innocent maid. Yet this girl seemed quite strong and confident. Though his experience with young girls was not great, he did not somehow feel her behavior was correct. Still, he had no choice but to follow after her, which he did.

Wynne's heart was beating perhaps a bit more rapidly than normal. So this was Rhys of St. Bride's, she thought, attempting to marshal her thoughts logically. He didn't look like an easy man, but neither did he look cruel. Rather, he appeared to have a look to him that reminded her of the tenacity of a hunting dog. If he wanted Gwernach, she was going to have a battle keeping it from him, but keep it from him she would. Gwernach belonged to Dewi ap Owain, and Wynne intended that her brother grow to manhood, marry, and pass Gwernach on to his descendants.

They entered the hall and Caitlin and Dilys came forward, simpering their welcome to the lord of St. Bride's as Wynne introduced him. Each girl was wearing her second-best tunic dress. Caitlin's was rose-colored with silver and black thread embroidery which complemented her fair skin. Dilys's was a pale blue with darker blue and pink thread embroidery. They giggled and lowered their eyes modestly as Rhys's frank gaze swept over them.

"Your sisters are fair," he said bluntly.

"They are young yet, my lord," Wynne replied, signaling a house slave to bring wine.

"We are both certainly old enough to marry!" Caitlin said boldly.

"Sister!" Wynne spoke sharply. "What will my lord of St. Bride's think of such impudence? Please to be seated, my lord. It is an honor to have you stop at Gwernach."

"I did not just stop, lady, and well you know it. Did I not send to you weeks ago a message saying that I would come? Your sister speaks a truth. She is old enough to wed, as are you, and hence, the purpose of my visit."

Wynne turned to Caitlin and Dilys. "Leave the hall," she told them, "and send our grandmother to me." She turned her back to Rhys of St. Bride's. "I beg you bridle your tongue, my lord, until my sisters are gone and the lady Enid come to us."

He nodded, well pleased. She had manners, and more important, she was discreet. Beauty, manners, discretion. A man could do worse, and it soothed his uneasiness over her forward manner.

Caitlin and Dilys left the hall. Disappointment was written all over their faces, even as Wynne smiled briefly and said, "They would gossip, my lord, and our business must, I think, remain private."

"Not for long," he told her confidently.

Wynne held her peace for the moment and set about being the good hostess; offering her guest more wine, freshly baked bread and some of their own Gwernach's Gold cheese, over which he smacked his lips appreciatively.

Enid came into the hall to join them. Her greying hair was braided into a coronet atop her head, which added to her height, giving her stature. Her under tunic was red; her outer tunic dress was a rich indigo blue embroidered with silver threads on the sleeves. A square of sheer fabric sewn with silver threads and anchored by a gold headband served as a headdress. She had garnets of an excellent quality in her ears, and an enameled cross worked with garnets and pearls hung from a heavy gold chain upon her breast.

"My granddaughter has seen well to your comfort, my lord of St. Bride's," Enid said by way of greeting. "I am the lady Enid of Gwernach and I bid you welcome to our home."

He had arisen from the high board at her approach, and now he kissed her hand before seating her. "The lady Wynne seems to know well the duties of a good chatelaine." He sat next to her, between grandmother and granddaughter. "Her good reputation and the fame of her beauty have reached me at St. Bride's. Such attributes in a woman please a man in search of a wife."

Wynne colored, saying nothing, but Enid said calmly, "You are in need of a wife, my lord?"

"I am," he said bluntly. "I'm widowed several years now, and it is time I took myself another bride. A man of my stature needs legitimate sons to follow him."

"You have illegitimate sons?" Wynne said quietly.

He was startled by her bluntness, assuming a young girl of good family would not know of such things. "Aye," he said slowly. "I have several sons. The eldest is seventeen. They cannot inherit, however, as you must surely know."

"Your honesty is commendable, my lord," Enid said, and she lifted her cup to her lips to hide her smile. How typical of Wynne to disconcert this great coastal battle lord. The girl's appearance was so deceptive. Her smooth-skinned, pale, serene face gave an appearance of meekness. Until she opened her mouth to speak, Enid thought wryly, placing her cup back upon the high board. "Why have you come to Gwernach, my lord?" she asked him. Best to get back to the business at hand.

Rhys of St. Bride's cleared his throat noisily, and then taking a deep breath, said in a resonant voice that rumbled up from his chest, "Lady, I wish to have your granddaughter for my wife."

"You refer, of course, to Wynne," Enid replied calmly. "Not Caitlin or Dilys."

"It is the eldest one I seek," was the reply.

"We are honored, of course," Enid began, only to be interrupted by the proposed bride.

"I thank you, my lord of St. Bride's, for the great honor you do me, but I cannot be your wife," Wynne said plainly.

"Cannot? Whyever for, lady? Are you already promised? Or perhaps it is the church for which you have a calling?" Rhys demanded.

"Nay, my lord, I have no wish to cloister myself, but I do have a duty to my family. To my brother, Dewi ap Owain, who is Gwernach's lord, though he be too young; and to my parents, may God assoil their good souls, who would expect me to stand by Dewi until he is grown and capable of managing on his own. I cannot leave Gwernach until my duty to my family is done, which will be many years hence. So, my lord, I thank you again for your most kind offer, but I think it best you seek a wife elsewhere," Wynne concluded politely.

"It is not another I want, lady. It is you," Rhys said gruffly.

"My lord! You do not know me. My family is slight compared to yours, and my dowry, though adequate, not at all what your great name could expect."