Madoc was not aware of this, for his holding was too remote for Harold to even be bothered about. The prince was wending his way into England even as Harold was coming to Wales. While Madoc spent the spring and summer of the year carefully combing the English countryside in a twenty-mile radius leading out from the town of Worcester, the Welsh king was fighting for his very life. It was a battle he lost in early August, when he was assassinated by several of his own men suspected of being in Harold's pay. The murderers did not live long enough to enjoy their ill-gotten gains. Gruffydd's sons, took swift retribution. Harold capped his triumph by announcing that he was taking Gruffydd's widow, Edith of Mercia, as his wife.
Edith's younger brother, now Mercia 's earl, was not strong enough to protest this breach of good taste, or even resist Wessex 's earl. Harold's Danish wife, also an Edith, and the mother of his three sons, accepted the situation as one of necessity. Now Harold had virtually all of England beneath his control, after the king of course. All that was left was for Edward to die.
At Aelfdene, Eadwine and Caddaric quarreled even more virulently about the political situation. Eadwine continued to support the king's decision to name the Norman duke his heir. Caddaric continued to believe Harold should be king. As the summer days shortened and moved toward the autumn, there was hardly a meal that was not disturbed by the two men arguing the situation.
"Harold is a common Saxon berserker," Eadwine insisted one evening as the dispute broke out anew.
"He has the people's support," Caddaric returned.
"Humph," his father snorted. "The people. The people do not rule, and their support can be bought with a ha'penny's worth of ale, you fool! Harold cannot hold England against the Norse! They seem to believe that they have a claim on this land too. Do you think they will politely step aside when the day comes and support Harold? 'Tis an idiot's belief! Only William of Normandy can hold England. His reputation as a war lord is both fearful and to be feared. Once William is in firm control, the Norse will not dare to oppose him."
"The Norman duke is a foreigner!" Caddaric exploded. "You would support a foreigner over Harold? 'Tis treasonous, I tell you!"
"Treasonous?" Eadwine leapt to his feet. "You dare to call me treasonous, you ungrateful whelp?" The thegn reached for the dagger at his waist, but Wynne stayed his hand.
"Caddaric," she said angrily, "leave the hall and the board this instant! You are not to return until you have apologized to your father. I will not have this constant bickering at my table any longer!"
Caddaric opened his mouth to protest, but his wife hissed furiously in his ear, "Wynne is right, my lord! Come now!" Eadgyth then threw Wynne a look of support and, with the other women, hurried Caddaric from the hall.
Eadwine slumped to his seat, and Wynne refilled his goblet with strong red wine, which he quickly drank down. "I want another son," he said in a determined tone.
"You have Baldhere, and Baldhere has two sons now," Wynne told him gently. "If Caddaric displeases you, then name Baldhere as your heir. It is his sons who will eventually possess Aelfdene at any rate, my dear lord."
"Nay," he replied. "I want a son of your loins for my heir!" He stood and grasped her tightly by the wrist. "Come, my wild Welsh girl. I am hot to fuck you and make a new son for Aelfdene!" He pulled her toward the stairs leading to the Great Chamber.
It was no good arguing with him when he got like this, Wynne knew. More and more, Caddaric Aethelmaere was getting on Eadwine's nerves. If only Eadgyth's father would die, that Caddaric might have his own lands and attain the rank of thegn in his own right. Then he would take his women and depart, leaving them in peace. The constant arguing wasn't good for Eadwine.
In the Great Chamber she twisted out of his grasp, laughing softly, one hand outstretched to fend him off. "Nay, my lord stallion," she said playfully, "you will not tear my gown as you have done in the past."
"My storeroom is filled with beautiful rich cloth," he replied. "I give it all to you, sweeting. You can make a hundred new gowns." He reached for her again.
Wynne danced out of his way. "Nay!" she said in the firm voice one would use with a recalcitrant child. "I have better things to do with my days than to sew meekly by the fire. Besides, you know I abhor waste. Let me disrobe for you, and then I will undress you, Eadwine." Her voice was now seductive and soft. She smiled enticingly at him, removed the gold circlet and the prim white linen veil from her dark head and laid them aside.
"Very well," he agreed, slouching back into an armed chair, a half smile upon his face. She knew well how to handle him, Eadwine thought, amused. He did not resent it, however, for everything she did, he realized, was for him and for the children. There was no selfishness in her. She was a truly amazing woman.
Wynne could see that the anger had now drained out of him, and she was relieved. She slipped off her red tunic dress, laying it aside; her yellow under tunic and linen chemise followed. She wore no footwear within the house. Wynne raised her arms to unfasten her ear bobs, putting them with her clothing. Slowly she undid her single, thick braid, combing her black hair free of tangles with her fingers.
"Put your hands behind your head," he ordered her softly, and then, sitting back, took in the lush beauty of her. Her firm young breasts had grown fuller with childbirth, and their nipples had darkened from coral pink to a deeper coral. Her belly was flat, and yet there was a roundness to it that was most pleasing to his eye. Her limbs were well-fleshed, but certainly not fat. He would never tire of looking at her, he decided as, sensing his thoughts, Wynne lowered her arms and came forward to stand before him.
Gently she pulled him to his feet and began to undress him. First his kirtle with its decorated neck opening. Then his under tunic and sherte. He kicked his house shoes off as, kneeling, Wynne began to unfasten the cross-gartering on his braccos and roll them down off his feet. Her hands teased at his thighs and legs, sending shivers of hot anticipation through him; but when she grasped his half-roused manhood in her hand and brought it to her lips, he could not restrain the groan that burst from his throat.
She held him firmly, her pointed little tongue encircling the sensitive tip of his member. Her other hand reached beneath him to cup and fondle his pouch. Then she took him into the warm cavern of her mouth, suckling upon him strongly, even as he began to shudder with the fierce passion she was arousing in him. His hands reached down, fingers tangling amid the raven's-dark floss of her hair, kneading her scalp with more urgent motion until finally he managed to cry out to her, "Enough!" As she loosed her grip on him, he dragged her to her feet, his mouth finding hers in a scalding kiss.
Wynne slipped her arms about his neck, her naked body pressing against his naked body, feeling the hard length of him beating insistently against her thigh. He pressed her back onto their bed, spreading her legs, which lay over the edge, wide; kneeling before her to lean forward, that he might love her in the same manner in which she had just loved him. Her love juices flowed almost instantly and she gasped, squirming beneath his tongue, which was never quiet; moving here and there with skilled delicacy until she was half mad with the pleasure he offered and she so greedily took. He pushed himself even farther forward, his artful tongue pressing into her very passage to stroke and tease her until she was whimpering with a desire that could, not be assuaged.