Bertrice Small - A Moment in Time

"Wynne!" He cried her name joyfully, his whole face alight with his happiness at her words. "Ahhh, my wild Welsh girl, I will never make you unhappy, and I will love you forever! I swear it!"

Forever, Wynne thought as their lips met in a sweet kiss. Was there really such a thing as forever? Nay. There was but a moment in time, and those who were wise lived each moment to its fullest, for a moment gone could never come again. "And I will love you for as long as we live, my dear lord," she promised him, knowing how very much he needed to hear such words from her.

In the weeks that followed, all at Aelfdene remarked that they had never seen Eadwine Aethelhard so happy, and his happiness was infectious. Everyone but Caddaric seemed touched by it.

"She has woven a witch's spell about him," the thegn's eldest son complained to his wife.

"He loves her," Eadgyth Crookback patiently explained to her husband. "There is no magic in that."

"He never behaved that way with my mother," Caddaric grumbled.

"Your mother and father were of an age, my lord, and they wed for expediency's sake, as we all do," Eadgyth replied, feeling pain for her husband, who had probably never loved anything in his life, including her. Caddaric was and always had been filled with bitterness and jealousy, though she could not say why. "Your father is in his late middle years. He skirts along the borders of old age. He did not expect to find love at this time in his life. Not only has he found it, but he has found it with a beautiful and kind young woman who has given him another child. Wynne will probably give him other children as well. You had best face the situation for what it is, husband, and make your peace with it," Eadgyth counseled wisely. "Wynne is not your enemy."

"She has said I will not father any children," Caddaric told his wife.

"I expect she is right," Eadgyth answered him quietly.

"She is wrong!" he shouted back at her. "I could get sons on her! I know it!" His look grew moody, and then Caddaric Aethelmaere told his wife darkly, "One day Aelfdene will be mine, and Wynne will be mine too! She will bear sons for me whether she wants to or not; or I will destroy her!"

The Feast of Christ's Mass was approaching, and a large wild boar had been seen in the woods belonging to Aelfdene. The thegn invited his eldest son to accompany him on the hunt.

"We'll have a fine boar's head on the table for the Yule," Eadwine promised Wynne, giving her a morning kiss, his hand sliding beneath her chemise to cup a plump breast.

"Stay abed awhile longer, my lord," she enticed him. "You'll have far better hunting here today than in the cold, dank woods." She pulled his head down for a longer, more leisurely kiss, her tongue licking most provocatively at the corners of his mouth.

With a deep sigh Eadwine buried his face in her perfumed hair for a long, sweet moment, but then he regretfully pulled away from her. "You, my wild Welsh witch, must await my pleasure. The boar, alas, will not," he said, half laughing. "If the creature goes beyond the boundaries of my holding, he will be someone else's prize."

"Are you so certain that I will await your pleasure?" she teased him mischievously.

"Aye," he said boldly, catching her back to him as, with a snort of pretended outrage, she leapt from their bed. He cuddled her in his lap for the briefest time and then, setting her on her feet, gave her bottom an affectionate spank. "See to my meal, wife!" he teased her back.

"We have house serfs to see to the meal," she told him loftily. "I think I shall go to my pharmacea and devise a potion that will keep you always by my side."

Instead, however, Wynne went to the cradle where their daughter was now very much awake and hungry. Quickly changing the baby's napkin, Wynne sat back down upon the bed and put the infant to her breast. Averel suckled greedily, and Eadwine had to look away. The sight of their child nursing at her mother's breast aroused him far more than he wanted Wynne to know. Even now he could not quite believe his good fortune in his young and fair wife.

The servants came into the Great Chamber bringing water for washing, and, finished feeding her daughter, Wynne handed her to the young serf girl whose duty it was to watch over Averel.

At eight months of age Averel was a beautiful and healthy baby. She was plump, with her father's ash-brown hair and features. Only her eyes, which had turned from blue to her mother's forest-green, indicated her maternal heritage. Usually a sunny-natured infant, Averel's sweetness could quickly turn to rage at the most unexpected moments.

"She has a Saxon berserker's temper," Wynne would tell Eadwine when their daughter would howl and roar with anger. In those rare moments only he could calm her, and Wynne would shake her head in mock despair, saying, "She has already wrapped you about her tiny finger, my lord. I fear you will spoil her," which he, of course, would deny.

They washed and quickly dressed for the day ahead. While Eadwine and Caddaric went hunting for the boar, Wynne and the other women planned to decorate the house for the celebration. They descended to the hall below to break their fast with freshly baked bread, a hot barley porridge, a hard, sharp cheese, and newly pressed cider. Arvel and his nurse, Gytha, were awaiting them. Wynne's son still slept with his wet nurse in her cottage, for he was not yet weaned, and grew jealous when he saw his mother nursing his little sister. The rest of the family hurried in, and for once Caddaric was in a pleasant mood. He and his father bantered back and forth over who would be the first to sight the boar and, of course, who would have the honor of killing it first.

Shortly outside the hall the dogs were heard yapping and barking as they were brought from the kennels by their handlers. They would be joined by some dozen serfs who were assigned to the task of beaters this day. It was their job to drive the boar from his lair, out of hiding and into the open, where the bowmen, who were of the gebura class, might have a shot at him. Although the bowmen would defer to their lord and his son, if danger became imminent they would not hesitate to shoot. True, the kill must go to Eadwine Aethelhard or his son, Caddaric Aethelmaere, but all the hunters enjoyed the sport of the hunt.

The thegn, being a big man, had a large bow. It was made of the best yew wood and strung with the finest cord. The tips of the bow were of polished bone set in silver. With his mother's encouragement, little Arvel toddled up to his foster father, struggling beneath the weight of Eadwine's bow case.

Eadwine chuckled as, bending, he took the bow case from the tiny boy. "Soon," he said, smiling at Arvel and ruffling his black hair, "I shall have to teach you how to shoot, my small son."

Arvel's deep blue eyes lit up with pleasure, for he totally comprehended the words. "Daa!" he said, nodding his head vigorously.

"Does he say nothing else but 'Da'?" Caddaric asked sourly.

"He says what any child his age says, which is little," Wynne remarked sharply, "but how could you know that, Caddaric? You have no children." She handed Eadwine a bracer for his left arm. "For you, my love," Wynne told him. "I sent to Worcester for it."

He took the arm guard from her, smiling, pleased; turning the bracer, which was made of polished bone and set in silver, even as his bow tips were, over in his hand. " 'Tis a fine piece, Wynne," he told her. "I thank you!"

"The sun will be up before we get started if you do not leave this woman, Father," grumbled Caddaric.

"He is right," Wynne quickly said, forestalling an argument between father and son. "The day does not look particularly promising, and I smell snow, my lord. If it grows wet, return home. I have no wish to nurse you through a sickness with the Yule and Christ's Mass celebrations upon us."

Eadwine Aethelhard put an arm about her supple waist and gave her a hard kiss. "I'll return at the first flake of snow or drop of rain, my wild Welsh girl. Just remember that you are to await my pleasure." He chuckled.

"Indeed, my lord, and I will," she said softly and, standing on tiptoe, bit his earlobe.

The thegn roared with laughter. "Oh, vixen," he promised her, "I will have a fine forfeit from you this night for your boldness!" Then he kissed her a final time and exited the hall chuckling.

"He loves you well," Eadgyth said, a trace of sadness in her voice.

"And I have come to love him," Wynne told her friend.

"Do you ever think of the other?" Eadgyth asked curiously.

"Aye," Wynne answered honestly. "How can I not when Arvel is his father's very image?"

"Do you still love him?"

"I do." Wynne smiled a small smile, as if mocking herself, and then continued, "I do not think I shall ever stop loving Madoc of Powys, but at the same time I love Eadwine as well. Do not ask me, Eadgyth, for I do not understand it myself."

"You are very fortunate to love and to be loved," Eadgyth told her.

"Caddaric loves you," Wynne said. "Oh, I know you do not think him capable of it, but he does."

"Nay," Eadgyth replied, and tears sprang into her soft blue eyes. "He but remembers that my father promised him an additional two and a half hides of land if he treated me well. He needs that land to attain the rank of thegn in his own right."