"Give me a moment's privacy, Barris, and I will be with you," Wynne said.
He nodded and drew the door shut behind him, but did not lock it. She could see the back of his head through the grating in the door. Quickly Wynne relieved herself once more in the bucket in the corner. Then taking a drink and rinsing her mouth, she used the rest of the water to clean her face and hands. Smoothing back her hair with her damp hands, she was able to bring some order to it.
"I am ready, Barris," she said, and he pushed open the door for her to exit. She followed him through a dimly lit corridor, up a flight of stairs and into the Great Hall of Castle Cai.
"Did you sleep well, belle soeur?" Brys inquired pleasantly as she made her way up to the foot of the high board.
"As well as I might, considering the poor accommodations, my lord," she replied sweetly. "If you would have my mare brought, I think it is past time for me to return to Raven's Rock." It was a bold bluff.
"Your mare, I imagine, has long been back at Raven's Rock, belle soeur," came the reply. He smiled charmingly at her. "You, however, will not be returning to Raven's Rock, I fear. You see, my dear Wynne, in your innocence you have given me the perfect weapon for destroying my brother Madoc. I have waited all my life long for such an opportunity. An opportunity I frankly never dared dream that I would get, and yet I have! You, Madoc's treasured wife, have unwittingly given me the knife which I shall plunge deep into his chest!"
"I do not understand you, Brys," she told him, but his very enthusiasm had already set her pulse pounding throughout her entire body. Dear God, he was evil! Madoc! She cried in her heart. Madoc!
"Madoc has always been too strong for me," Brys explained in reasonable tones. "He was invincible, for he had no weaknesses through which I might strike out at him. Now he does. You, Wynne. You and the child you carry are Madoc's weaknesses. I shall destroy him through you! Your horse was taken back last evening to a point where it could not fail to find its way home, and it did, I am told. Already a search party combs the forest for any sign of you. Soon they will have it. Your torn and bloodied tunic dress will be found. Perhaps your shoes and chemise. It will be obvious to all that you have been eaten by wolves. Your loss, and that of your child, will destroy my brother. The knowledge that he did not protect you well enough, that you undoubtedly died in terror and fear, will break him! He will never recover. I shall be revenged on you both!"
"Why, Brys? Why do you hate us so?" Wynne probed.
"Why?" For a long moment Brys looked confused, and then he said, "Because I do! What difference does it make why? I simply do."
He did not know, Wynne thought. Instinct alone drove him. "You cannot get away with this, Brys," she told him. "What will you do with me? Kill me?" She felt far less brave than her strong words indicated.
"Kill you? Of course I will not kill you," he told her. "If I killed you, then your suffering would be over, belle soeur. No, no! I do not intend killing you. I want you to feel despair even as Madoc feels it. A broken man, he will grieve for you and the child that was to be, even as you live out your life in slavery somewhere with that child. A child who will be born into slavery and know no other life." Brys then began to laugh wildly as Wynne stared at him, transfixed.
"You cannot!" she cried. "I ask not for myself or for Madoc, Brys, but spare my child! I will do whatever you want me to do, but let my child be exonerated from whatever sin you believe Madoc and I have committed against you!" She fell to her knees pleading.
The laughter ceased abruptly, and Brys said, "It is useless to ask me for mercy. There is no mercy in me, Wynne. None! Now hear me well, for I will only say this once. If you want your child to live, you will keep your mouth shut while I do business with my friend, Ruari Ban. You see, belle soeur, there is always the slightest chance that if you are clever-and I believe you are-that one day you might escape the fate I have so carefully planned for you. If you attempt to interfere in my plans right now, however, I will personally rip the brat from your womb! Do you understand me?" His sky-blue eyes were cold, his voice uncharacteristically harsh.
Wynne rose to her feet and, looking defiantly at him, nodded. "I understand, Brys, and I damn you to Hell for what you are doing this day! Nesta once told me you were the Devil's own. I wish I had believed her when she said it, but to my discredit, I could not."
"Be silent now," he told her dispassionately, and turning to Barris, said, "Fetch in Ruari Ban."
Wynne watched as a tiny, wizened man entered the Great Hall. The top of his head was covered in a bristling thatch of bright red hair. His short legs almost danced their way up to the foot of the high board. His clothing was simple and dull, but there was an air of authority about him. His eyes were inquiring. They flicked quickly over Wynne and then turned themselves on Brys.
"Well, yer grace, and 'tis good to see ye again. I was just about to go over the hills into Mercia when yer message reached me. I hope 'tis worth my while, for I'd not intended to stop here." He gave Brys a brief little bow.
"When has it not been worth your while to visit me, Ruari Ban?" Brys demanded, laughing genially. "Come and join me. Wine for my guest!"
Ruari Ban clambered into a chair next to Brys and greedily quaffed down a goblet of wine. It was quickly refilled. "The roads are terrible dusty," he said, and then, "Well, yer grace? How may I be of service?"
"This wench," Brys said, his voice suddenly irritable, "I want to sell her to you, Ruari Ban. She was born right here at Cai, but she's been troublesome her whole life. There isn't a man-at-arms that takes her fancy she hasn't lain with, and now the wench has gone and gotten herself with child. And the lewd bitch doesn't even know who the father is! Unfortunately she is a beauty, as you can see, and the men persist in fighting over her. The few women slaves in the house dislike her for her proud ways. She's become more trouble to me than she's worth."
"Why not just marry her off to one of her men?" demanded Ruari Ban.
"And have her causing more trouble and cuckolding the poor fellow before she even gives birth? Nay! I want her gone from Cai. Make me a fair offer and she's yours. Surely you've some wealthy customer in Mercia or Brittany who'd have her."
"Well," the slaver considered, "let's see her wares, yer grace, and then I'll decide."
"Wynne! Remove your tunic!" Brys snapped.
She pierced him with a furious look, but the look Brys sent her back was ferocious. The child, she thought. I must put my own anger aside and remember my child. Wynne reached up, and loosening the neckline of the long under tunic, let it fall to the floor. Ruari Ban stared long at her naked form.
Finally he said, "I can sell her. What do ye want for her?"
"One copper," Brys said.
"Yer mad!" the slaver laughed. "Sold! Put yer gown back on, wench. Yer fate is sealed for this day." Then he turned to Brys. "Why so cheap, yer grace?"
"Because I want her gone from Cai immediately, my old friend, and because it pleases me to do you a great favor. You'll make a pretty penny on this piece of goods. One day I may want a favor from you. When that day comes, Ruari Ban, remember this day," Brys told the slaver.
"I will, yer grace, I will," Ruari Ban assured his host. Then he drank down his wine and, standing up, said, "We'd best be on our way. Though the day is new, it will grow old fast enough." He reached into the purse that hung from his belt and extracted a single copper which he handed to Brys. "Yer grace, payment in full." Then reaching into another bag hanging from his waist, he drew out a thin length of chain and, coming down from the high board, affixed it loosely about Wynne's waist: "We'll not be harming yer bairn," he told her. "Ye wear no slave collar, wench?"