Pain. And more pain overcame her. She gripped the arms of the birthing chair, struggling not to cry out too loudly. Eadwine, she knew, was surveying the rain-soaked fields, for the barley had been planted earlier in the week. His sons and their families kept to their own halls during the day, and Wynne had cleverly sent Ealdraed to the cook house to discuss with Heall her plans for the kitchen gardens this season. The cook had asked her to take charge of that small part of his domain. "That you may have all you need for your pharmacea, lady," he had said.

Her pains were coming quickly now, and the feeling of strong pressure was completely unbearable. She could not help herself, and with a great groan she pushed down once, twice, and a third time. For a dizzying moment she was free of pain. Then the agony and the straining began again. She was quite powerless to stop it now, for the birth was imminent. Unable to contain herself, Wynne cried out aloud, pushing down again as she did so. She found herself panting wildly. She could actually feel the child being born, but now she suddenly wondered if she could indeed birth Madoc's son without help. A shriek was torn forth from her again, and then, to her relief, she heard familiar footsteps upon the staircase.

Eadwine Aethelhard practically leapt into the Great Chamber and, hurrying to her side, knelt down, his hands sliding beneath the birthing chair. "The child is half born, my wild Welsh girl," he said.

"I don't want you here," she gasped unreasonably as another spasm gripped her vitals and she bore down once more. "I… I want Madoc!" Still, she was glad to see him, even if she couldn't admit it.

"Push again, and once again," he calmly instructed her, ignoring her sham anger.

"I hate you!" she cried out to him, but obeyed. Suddenly she realized that her travail was nearly over. From beneath the chair, she heard a small whimper which was almost immediately followed by a tiny bellow of outrage. Gasping and still overcome with small pains as she expelled the afterbirthing, Wynne watched in amazement as Eadwine tenderly cleaned the child off. Expertly he put the tiny gown on the infant, gently fit the tiny cap on the tiny head, swaddled it most efficiently, and handed it to her.

"You have a fine son, my wild Welsh girl!" he said approvingly. "What is his name to be?"

Wynne looked down at her son and tears sprang into her eyes. How much like Madoc he was, she thought sadly. They had planned to call a son Anwyl after that long-ago child from another time and another place; but she knew the circumstances of this baby's birth would not allow her to call him Anwyl. Someday they would be free, but she never wanted to forget Brys of Cai's wickedness, and so looking up at Eadwine Aethelhard, she replied softly, "His name is Arvel ap Madoc. Arvel means wept over, for this son of Madoc, the prince of Powys, is far from his heritage, and is to be wept over by all until he can be restored to it. By his mother, who has brought him into this slavery; and by his father, who has so longed for his coming and has lost him before he even knew him." She handed the baby back to the thegn. "Take him, my lord, and place him gently in his cradle while I attend myself."

"If you will wed with me, Wynne," Eadwine Aethelhard said, laying the infant in his cot, "I will raise your child as if he were my very own child."

"He will not be considered a slave?" she asked as she cleaned herself free of the traces of Arvel's birth. The heir to Powys-Wenwynwyn must not be a slave!

"Nay! From this moment of his birth he is free, and so I will affirm to all, my wild Welsh girl!" declared Eadwine Aethelhard passionately.

Wynne drew forth a clean chemise from her chest and put it on, adding her old garment to the pile of bloodied laundry. Slowly she crawled into their bed space. She was aching and suddenly very tired. "I am not certain that it is right, my lord, but I will be your wife," she promised, "if a priest, knowing of my history, will marry us."

He nodded. "We have no priest at Aelfdene now, and although I have applied to the diocese at Worcester for one, they have not yet granted us this blessing. Until such time as a priest is sent to us, Wynne, you will live with me openly as my wife. I will make it publicly known to all that I intend to wed with you; that you are to be treated with honor as the mistress of this manor; that all of your children are my children. There is nothing unusual in such an arrangement for a second marriage among our people. Rest now, my wild Welsh girl. You have done well this day. I will send Ealdraed to watch over Arvel, and you need have no fears for his safety." He bent down and kissed her gently, his crisp beard tickling her cheek. Then he left her.

She had done the right thing, Wynne thought sleepily. Arvel would never be a slave, no matter what happened. She would see that Eadwine fulfilled all his promises to her. As mistress of Aelfdene she would have even greater respect than she now had as Wynne, the healer. She was feeling giddy with happiness and filled with relief at having come through the perils of childbirth unscathed; of having a beautiful and apparently healthy son. Despite the rain, spring was here. Madoc would find them. It was the winter that had undoubtedly impeded his search. Now that spring was here, he would find them. Certainly before her six-week healing period was over, but if not before then, surely soon thereafter. Even if Eadwine was able to enforce his husbandly rights over her, it was a well-known fact that nursing women did not conceive. Everything would be all right. Madoc would soon find them and, in the meantime, her new status would protect her son.

And, indeed, Eadwine Aethelhard was true to his word. Several days after Arvel's birth he escorted Wynne into the hall. She was wearing a cream-colored tunic dress of brocatelle which had been embroidered with dainty gold thread butterflies. Beneath it was an under tunic of bright yellow silk. Eadwine had gifted her with it the day after Arvel's arrival, having instructed that it be secretly made for her. Upon her right shoulder Wynne had pinned a round gold brooch decorated with green agates. Another gift from this new husband she seemed to have acquired.

Eadwine Aethelhard had assembled his entire family, his servants, his freed men, and as many of his serfs as he could crowd into the hall. Wynne had to admit to herself that he was certainly a most attractive man in his scarlet kirtle. To celebrate the festive occasion, he had even perfumed his rich brown beard, and his brown hair curled gracefully just above his broad shoulders. Aye, he was a very handsome man with a commanding presence.

He led her to a high-backed chair that had been set before the dais at the end of the hall. Wynne sat as she knew she was expected to, and Eadwine Aethelhard stood by her side. "Today," he said, "I have freed this woman and her son from the bonds of slavery." He bent and unlocked the delicate gold slave collar from about her neck and put it in her lap. "It is yours to do what you will, my wild Welsh girl."

"I will send it to St. Frideswide's nunnery and ask that masses be said for the soul of your sons' mother, the lady Mildraed," Wynne told the assemblage.

A murmur of approval greeted her words, but Caddaric Aethelmaere glowered at Wynne, and she could feel his deep hatred.

"Today I have freed this woman and her son from slavery," Eadwine Aethelhard repeated, "and now I declare before all that I have taken her for my wife. When a priest is sent to us, we will formally seal this union; but you here know that in accordance with the old ways, I am within my rights to make the lady Wynne my wife by announcing it publicly before you all. Her infant son, Arvel, I adopt as my own child. Come now and pledge your fealty to the new lady of Aelfdene Manor."

"You would set this… this Welsh slave in our mother's place?" shouted Caddaric Aethelmaere. "How can you?" His fury caused him to redden unattractively.

"Wynne was a captive, Caddaric. She is of good birth," his father told him.

"How can you know that? Because she has told you so? I do not believe it for a minute! You are an old fool, my father! You have been ensorceled by this Welsh witch! You have already sampled her wares as is your right. Why must you wed her?" Caddaric demanded.

"Because I love her," Eadwine Aethelhard replied, his blue eyes hardening. "Because I am master here, and I choose to wed her. Now kneel before my lady and give your fealty, Caddaric, or I will disinherit you this day!"

For a moment it appeared that Caddaric Aethelmaere would defy his father, but Eadgyth Crookback gently tugged upon her husband's sleeve. Without even looking at her, Eadwine Aethelhard's eldest son fell to his knees before Wynne and hastily mumbled the required words of loyalty. Finishing, he looked up at her, and Wynne knew that Caddaric would never forgive her for this day. As he arose, Baldhere Arm-strang took his place and, with a wink at her, swore his oath of loyalty to Wynne.

Rising, he asked mischievously, "Shall I call you Mother, lady?"

"Not if you wish to become an old man," Wynne replied sweetly.

Her humor broke the tension within the hall, and the others in the crowded room knelt, pledging their fealty in unison to the new mistress of the manor. Ale was passed about, and a toast drunk to the newlyweds' health. The hall then emptied of all but family. Eadwine picked Wynne up and returned her to her bed in the Great Chamber, for she was not yet fully recovered from Arvel's birth. Ealdraed followed behind.

"I am so happy for you, lady," she half wept as she helped her mistress to disrobe and return to her sleeping space. "I never thought to see the master happy again, but since the day of your arrival he is a young man once more! You will not be unhappy with him, and it will be good to have babies about this hall as in the past."