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."

During the next few days the forest was carefully combed for the merest sign of Wynne, but none was found. There was no body. No bones. There was absolutely no trace of the lady of Raven's Rock at all. It was as if the earth had opened and swallowed her. Madoc then commanded that it be made known throughout all of Powys that his young pregnant wife was missing and feared abducted. The similarity between their previous life together and now did not escape Madoc. A reward was offered to anyone who could supply the prince with information leading to his wife's recovery.

His next move was to go to Cai, for he could still hear Wynne's voice importuning him to make his peace with his brother. Had she defied his authority and gone to see Brys? He would not have believed her so foolish, and yet, though old and wise in many ways, Wynne was yet a child in others.

"Why do you find it necessary to visit me with so many soldiers at your back, dear brother," Brys greeted his elder sibling. "Do you not trust me?"

"No," Madoc replied, "I do not. My wife is missing, Brys. Would you know where she is?"

"Do sit down, Madoc. Will you have some wine?" Brys inquired. "Your insistence in getting immediately to the point is really quite unnerving and most uncivilized, brother dear."

"And your evasiveness, Brys, is typical. Do you know where Wynne is?" Madoc demanded, his piercing gaze causing Brys a certain amount of uneasiness.

"Why would I know where Wynne is, Madoc? I am sorry that you cannot keep a better watch over your wife, especially as she is expecting your heir. Breeding women are fanciful creatures, I am told. Is it possible that she has gone to Gwernach? Have you sent your riders to her brother to inquire if she is there?" The bishop of Cai languidly lifted his onyx-studded silver goblet to his lips and sipped at his wine. Then setting the cup down, he smiled at Madoc and said, "If I knew where your wife was, brother dear, I should not tell you. Your obvious suffering is really quite delicious. I would have never thought your weakness would be a woman, Madoc. How pedestrian and common you have become."

Madoc of Powys's dark blue eyes narrowed dangerously. "Do not tempt me to rashness, Brys," he warned.

Brys of Cai laughed scornfully. "You will not harm me, Madoc. It goes against your kindly nature. You have always used your powers for good. Besides, I am your brother."

Madoc shook his head. "You are right, Brys. I cannot seem to destroy you. I will not jeopardize my immortal soul even for the moment of supreme pleasure that killing you would give me. Not now. Not at this moment in time. But there will come a day, Brys, when the Celtic warrior in me will rise up, and I will finally kill you, even if I be damned for it."