In the courtyard the peddler's wagon stood silent. Boda climbed into the back of it, pulling at his dirty grey-white hair as he quickly clambered into the vehicle. Wynne lay, now clothed in a clean chemise, upon a narrow bench that served as a sleeping place. Her eyes widened at his entry, the wig in his hand, his red hair bright in the lamplight.
"Einion!" she half sobbed. "Oh, Einion!" and she sat up, relief pouring through her bruised body.
The big man enfolded her in his bearlike embrace and hugged her hard. "Lady! My lady Wynne. Thank God we have found you at last!"
"But you do not look like yourself," Wynne said, peering hard at him, "and yet I should know that fiery head of yours and your dear voice anywhere."
Einion chuckled. "My lord Madoc is a master of disguises, my lady Wynne. You did not recognize him in the repulsive Tovi, did you?"
"Nay," said Wynne softly, "I did not."
"My skin has been painted with bark and berry juices to resemble that of an older man, a man who spends half his year in a large town," Einion explained. "The shape of my nose has been altered by the use of clay. I hunch and I learned to modify my walk. I even changed my voice. It is a good disguise, my lady Wynne, is it not?"
"Very good, Einion," she replied, and then she looked at the other man in the wagon. "Is it really you, Madoc? I cannot see you through this deception. Yet for a moment in the hall, I thought I saw your eyes." She was beginning to shiver.
Madoc reached up, and drawing down a small length of soft wool, wrapped it about her shoulders. " ‘Tis I, dearling, truly. I dare not remove my camouflage and restore myself to my own identity until we are well away from this place. This Saxon thegn would not be pleased to learn he has restored you to your own people. He seems to gain great pleasure in shaming you."
"This place is Aelfdene, my lord. It has been my home for three years now," Wynne said, and he immediately caught the reproving tone in her voice. "I have lived here longer than I did at Raven's Rock." Then she looked at Einion. "Where is my daughter?"
"With her nursemaid in the Great Chamber. He says he will give her to me in the morning."
"I will not leave here without Averel," Wynne said firmly.
"Averel, " Madoc said. "I thought we had agreed to call a daughter Angharad."
"Averel is not your daughter, my lord," Wynne answered him, and wondered why it was she felt a small bitter satisfaction in telling him this. His arrival here was certainly more than fortuitous, but the timing was all wrong and it rankled her.
Madoc's eyes darkened. "Is she the daughter of that animal who calls himself the lord of this place?"
"Nay," Wynne told him scornfully, "she is not. Her father was Eadwine Aethelhard; he was Aelfdene's former master. He died ten months ago in a hunting accident. He sacrificed himself to save the life of his eldest son, that pig who now rules in this hall."
"And my child? Did you safely deliver my child?" Madoc asked her.
"I did. You have a son, my lord. A fine, healthy boy. I called him Arvel, not Anwyl, for he was a child to be wept over in our captivity," Wynne told him. A captivity, she thought bitterly, that might have ended sooner if you had but come for us before now.
"Where is my son?" Madoc demanded. Indeed, she seemed far more concerned for her daughter than she was for her son.
"Did you not hear Caddaric Aethelmaere in the hall, my lord? He has taken my son and sold him to Ruari Ban, who is, as we speak, bringing my innocent child to your brother at Cai!" Her eyes were filled with tears. "Why did you wait all this time to come for us, my lord? Why? I waited and I waited, and I prayed and prayed that you would rescue us; but you did not come. It was as if we had never existed for you, Madoc."
"That is unfair, Wynne," he told her, his own anger beginning to rise. She had had a child by another man, and from the tone of her voice when she had spoken of that man, she had cared deeply for him. Did she still love her Saxon? Had she ever loved him?
"You did not come!" Wynne repeated.
"We sought you from the very beginning, dearling," he began. Then he patiently explained to her as best he could his desperate search for her and for their child. "Until we could be sure that you even remained in the country," Madoc told her, "we could not be certain that we would ever find you. For the past eight months now Einion and I, positive you were still in this land, have traveled the Mercian countryside. We used Worcester as the center of our radius and stopped at each and every manor we came to, searching for you, Wynne."
"Almost three years have passed," Wynne said low. "Three years to the day, Madoc."
"Three years in which you managed to make yourself a new life and bear another man's child," he retorted, his anger spilling over. "How is it this Caddaric could steal my son away and you not even know of it, Wynne? Did you give my son as much love and care as you have given to your Saxon's daughter?"
Her hand flashed out, making hard contact with his face. "Do not dare to criticize my abilities as a mother, my lord. Where were you when Arvel was born? I was here at Aelfdene, and my son's life was saved by the very Saxon whose daughter I later bore. Arvel came into the world, the cord wrapped about his little neck. I had tried to bear him alone, without help, for I was frightened and proud, and yet angry that you had not found us. Eadwine heard my cries and helped me to birth Arvel. Your son?" She said scornfully. "He may have come from your seed, but it was Eadwine Aethelhard who was father to him! It was Eadwine Aethelhard who claimed him legally for his own; who watched him take his first steps; who sat up with me when he had a fever; whom Arvel called Da."
He was staggered by her vitriol as much as by the words she spat at him.
"You must not quarrel now," Einion said. "Not now that you have finally found each other. If you do, then you allow Brys of Cai the final victory over you both."
"Did you love your Saxon?" Madoc asked low.
"Aye," she answered him, "but not as I love you."
Love. She had said love! Not loved, but love! "Dare I hope," he said, "that you love me yet?"
"I thought I did," Wynne answered him honestly, "but the man I loved was someone I knew three years ago. I am your wife, Madoc, and that has not changed. Still, we must get to know each other again. I am not the same Wynne of Gwernach as you knew three years ago. I am older, and I hope wiser." She turned to speak to Einion once more. "In the morning when we have regained my daughter's custody," she said, "we must hurry directly to Cai. God only knows what evil Brys intends for my son, but we must save him!"
"What of your belongings?" Einion asked her.
"Caddaric does not have a good head for wine," Wynne said with a smile. "His women will see he is carried to his bed, and he will sleep until the morrow is half gone. I will be able to get my things and Averel's as well."
The dawn had scarcely broken when Eadgyth crept to the peddler's wagon, calling softly as she neared it. "Wynne. Wynne! Are you there?"
Wynne stepped down from the cart and embraced her friend. "It is all right, Eadgyth," she said. "I am well."
"But how can that be?" Eadgyth fretted. "I do not understand how you can be so cheerful after what happened to you last night. It was horrible! I will never, ever forgive my husband for his bestial treatment of you, Wynne. Never!"
Wynne put a comforting arm about Eadgyth and replied, "Do you remember how I always told you that my husband would one day come for me? Well, he has."