A Moment in Time

by Bertrice Small

  Because this was a tub in which one could stand, and it had just been filled full, Wynne could not wash his legs and feet, and told him so. "You must do your own," she said, but he caught her hand in his and drew it down to his manhood.

  "Will you not wash this randy piece of me, lady?" he pleaded softly, but did not release his hold upon her, even as with burning cheeks she dragged her cloth across his flesh. He held her gaze in his, willing her to touch him in a more intimate fashion. His lips brushed hers teasingly and, finally unable to help himself, he begged her with a single word, "Please!"

  "Ahhh," she sighed, moved, unable to resist his plea, "you are cruel, my lord," and then her fingers closed over the great shaft of his manhood, fondling it gently, then stroking it until he thought he would expire of the simple pleasure she was offering.

  "Tonight," he half groaned, "I will look into your face when I take you, my sweet wife. Do you know how very much I want to see your passion?" His arms wrapped about her and he kissed her hungrily, his lips almost tasting hers as he communicated his desire for her.

  Wynne's arms slipped up and wound themselves about his neck. She sighed deeply as her breasts pressed hard against his chest. She was unable to help herself. She was eighteen years old and filled with the joy of life. Whether Madoc came or did not come, she could not deter this marvelous man in his intent. She didn't want to deter him. She wanted him to make love to her, and she wanted to make love to him in return.

  "Not here," she whispered to him. "We cannot allow that wonderful bed to go to waste, Eadwine, my lord."

  He climbed from the tub and, turning about, lifted her out, setting her upon the floor. He would have hurried, but Wynne would not allow it, explaining that if the bed were to get wet, it would take much effort to properly dry it. They dried each other carefully, and then Eadwine set her back that he might admire her natural beauty. Blushing, Wynne returned the compliment, her green eyes widening just slightly at the sight of his manhood, for he was certainly well-favored.

  His hand reached out to caress her skin. "You are so fair," he said, his voice tender and filled with love. "I never knew a woman could be so fair." Reaching up, he loosed her long hair and it fell about her like a silken mantle. "It is as black as the night and as soft as satin," he observed. "Arvel has your hair."

  "His father is also dark," Wynne said softly.

  "I am his father," Eadwine Aethelhard told her. "Arvel is as much mine as he from whose seed he sprang. You cannot know, for not wanting to frighten you, I did not tell you, but when Arvel entered the world, the cord was wrapped about his neck. His color was good, however, but 'twas I who freed him and cleared his throat of mucus. 'Twas I who breathed the life into him."

  Wynne stared at him, shocked. Her passion dissolved for the moment. "He might have died," she whispered, horrified not simply by his disclosure, but by the fact her stubborn determination to deliver her child alone might have cost him his life had Eadwine Aethelhard not come into the Great Chamber when he did.

  "I was there to see him safely through the danger," Eadwine told her, correctly divining her thoughts. "I loved the boy from the moment I saw him. He will grow to be a strong and good man here at Aelfdene."

  "Pray God he grows to be like you, my lord," Wynne answered him. "I could wish for no more than that." She put her arms about his neck and kissed his tenderly. "Thank you Eadwine, for seeing that my son lived when you could have as easily allowed him to die."

  "I could never have allowed him to die, my wild Welsh girl," he told her. "Not when I love his mother so deeply. I will never make you unhappy, Wynne. Never."

  "Say it not, my lord," she told him. " 'Tis too great a promise to make."

  He lifted her up in his arms and walked slowly toward their bed. "I will make you happier than you have ever been, my beautiful wife," he replied, setting her gently upon the coverlet, pressing her back amid the pillows, kissing her until she was dizzy with pleasure.

  Happier than she had ever been. Was such a thing possible now? Once, oh it seemed so long ago, she had believed herself happier than any woman had a right to be. Once, long ago; but that long-ago time was gone; and she was beginning to realize, unlikely ever to come back. She caressed the back of his neck and felt his flesh prickle beneath her touch. Her fingers twined themselves through his thick ash-brown hair as once again his lips began to rain kisses upon her. His mouth was warm and just a little moist as he half kissed, half nibbled down the slender column of her throat.

  She set his senses aflame. Her skin was like living silk beneath his touch, and perfumed with lavender. Her raven's-black hair was equally fragrant and soft. He could feel the blood coursing throughout her body wherever his lips passed. He moved to suckle upon her nipples, which seemed to push themselves at him, and he was selfishly glad her mother's milk had not come in, that he not be denied this pleasure.

  His mouth upon her breasts all but destroyed her. Wynne could never remember her body being this sensitive, this attuned to a man; but perhaps it had just been so long, she reasoned guiltily with herself. She tingled all over with each tug of his lips, and a dull ache began to permeate her lower belly. She moaned low, and by the subtle slight movements of her body, urged him onward, but the thegn was not to be rushed. He had desired her from the first moment he had ever seen her, and their earlier couplings, when she had been pregnant with Arvel, had but whetted his carnal appetites.

  Drawing himself level with her once more, they began to kiss and caress each other simultaneously. Her lips were bruised with his kisses, but she did not want him to cease. Her fingers found battle wounds upon his skin as they passed teasingly over his flesh. She twisted from his embrace and kissed each roughened patch of skin, and he shivered at her touch. He rolled upon his back and lifted her atop him.

  "You do not fear passion, do you?" he said, smiling up into her flushed face.

  "Nay, not even from the beginning," she told him honestly, and leaned forward to nibble upon his lower lip, her breasts brushing the wiry hair upon his chest in a provocative fashion.

  Unable to restrain himself, he stroked them, saying, "I want to prolong this time with you, my wild Welsh girl, but my own desires are near to bursting. Let me but have you once, and then I shall spend an eternity giving you pleasure!"

  Wynne smiled down at him. "You are extravagant in your avowals of love, my lord," she teased him. "I, too, am eager to consummate this union!" Then to his great surprise she moved back just slightly, her green eyes half closed and glittering; and with a deep sigh she sheathed him languidly within her eager body. "You wanted to see my face when we mated this night," she said softly, looking down into his eyes. "Does this please you, my lord?"

  "Nay," he told her, and then he quickly reversed their positions so that she now lay beneath him, "but this does! A wife should submit beneath her husband, my wild Welsh girl!"

  Wynne laughed up into his face. "Why?" she demanded.

  "Because a man is master of his household," came the answer, and he began to move upon her slowly.

  "There will never be any peace between us, my lord, unless you learn that I am your equal within the privacy of our chamber," Wynne told him, and she forced herself to remain perfectly still.

  "My equal?" He began to thrust with sharp, little movements of his hips and buttocks.

  "In our bed," she replied, gasping softly, and then, pulling his head down to hers, she kissed him, her tongue pushing into his mouth to taunt him.

  "My wild Welsh witch!" he groaned, and her tongue licked at his throat, her teeth nipped at his earlobe. His movements became faster.

  "Your equal!" she persisted. She didn't know how much longer she could keep this up.

  "Aye!" he half sobbed, and beneath him she returned his passion so that they moved in tandem, their bellies crushing at one another, their buttocks straining, their thighs slippery with their efforts.

  Wynne felt the delicious remembered feelings of high passion beginning to catch at her. Rel
easing her grip on her self-control, she began to soar, following after the pleasure as it moved from plateau to plateau in search of perfect fulfillment. She could hear her own heart thumping wildly in her ears as the crisis neared for them both. Eadwine's handsome face was contorted with his raging desires and, as his passion burst, he howled a warrior's cry of victory, collapsing atop her.

  Now Wynne could feel his own heart against hers. The sensation of his love juices flooding her was acute. She was but a moment behind him in ecstasy, sliding into a semiconscious state as satisfaction and delighted contentment overwhelmed her, rendering her weak with pleasure. For a long minute they lay together, and Wynne realized that she liked the weight of him upon her. There was something comforting about him; and even though this tumultuous coming together of theirs had occurred on the first anniversary of her marriage to Madoc of Powys, Wynne could feel nothing but happiness. Madoc was gone from her life as mysteriously as he had appeared in it; but in his place was a man who loved her.

  She kissed the top of his head, and, looking up at her, he smiled. Wynne could not help but smile back, and in the many nights of passion that followed that first one, she came to realize that she loved him. Not with the same desperation or wild ardor as she loved Madoc, but with a quieter and deeper feeling. The autumn came and it was with joy that Wynne realized she was once again with child. Eadwine Aethelhard's child.

  Her husband, for indeed she had grown to think of him as her husband, was delighted. Baldhere made wickedly bawdy remarks about his father's sexual prowess. The other women of the family were pleased for her, for it made Wynne truly one of them. Only Caddaric Aethelmaere was displeased and bitter.

  "Are you certain she whelps your cub?" he demanded rudely of his father one October evening. "These Welsh wenches are said to be loose in their ways. You spawned but two children with my mother. Why should this woman now be ripening with your seed? It could be the bastard of some stableman or cowherd, and you in your dotage, Father, preen and prance about the hall like some young stallion trumpeting an accomplishment of which you are probably not capable."

  Wynne, seated at her loom by the main fire pit, rose to her feet and moved to her husband's side. Her small hand snaked out to hit her stepson with a fierce blow. "How dare you?" she said to him. "How dare you insult your father so? And me as well? You do not have the right, Caddaric Aethelmaere. Your father, my husband, is more man at forty-three than you will ever be for all your women! Your mother, my God assoil her kind soul, was incapable of bearing children successfully after you and your brother were born. It happens sometimes with women. That is no reflection upon your father, who remained always faithful to her in her lifetime, else you should see familiar faces amongst the younger serfs.

  "But she is dead now, and your father has taken me to be his wife. I am young, and I am fertile. I will give your father as many children as he will give me, Caddaric Aethelmaere! If you cannot keep a civil tongue in your head in future, then you may not come into our hall. I will not be insulted, nor will I allow your father to be," Wynne finished, and then she returned to her loom.

  "She is overproud, your Danish wife," Caddaric Aethelmaere said, rubbing his cheek, amazed by the strength of her blow, which had come close to staggering him; but only, he reassured himself, because she had taken him by surprise. If he had her under him between his strong thighs, he would have had her screaming for mercy.

  "Danish wife or no," replied Eadwine, "Wynne is my wife, and the child she carries my child, and the son she bore last spring mine by right of adoption."

  The term Danish wife that his son had used referred to the fact that their union had not yet been blessed by the clergy. It was a common practice in England among many Saxons for the men of wealth to have two or more wives at a single time if they so chose, despite the reality of the Christian religion which was now dominant in the land. The old ways died hard, and there were many reasons other than children for a man to take a wife. Powerful men married for wealth and more power, rich men for more riches; but there was always love to consider. The Danish wife was the woman a man took sometimes for the sake of love. A wife taken under canon law was usually wed for more practical purposes. The children of a Danish wife, or indeed any of a man's concubines, were considered as legitimate as the children of the wife a man wed only for the sake of power and gold. Concubines, however, had not the prestige and status of a wife or a Danish wife. A Danish wife was as respected and as honored as any other wife.

  From that night on, Caddaric Aethelmaere kept a guard on his tongue where his father's marriage and his father's wife were concerned. It was not that he felt any less bitter, but Eadgyth Crookback warned him that he endangered his own inheritance with his loose tongue.

  "You are now legally entitled to inherit Aelfdene Manor as your father's eldest son," she warned him, "but if you continue to offend Eadwine Aethelhard, it is his right to divide his lands amongst whomever he chooses, or even disinherit you entirely. He has already adopted Wynne's son, Arvel, and your stepmother will give your father a child in the spring. It could be another male child. You call your father old, but he is not. Once we women teased Wynne about her elderly husband, and she blushingly confided to us that he is a vigorous lover. He uses her each night, and sometimes more than once, my husband! He could get half-a-dozen children on her before he tires of passion, Caddaric! Continue to offend Wynne and your father and you could find yourself without a manor house and but five hides of land only when my father dies."

  So following his wife's advice, for Caddaric Aethelmaere had always respected Eadgyth Crookback's opinion, the thegn's eldest son ceased his attacks on Wynne and his father. The two men were at constant sword points, nonetheless, over the politics of the day. King Edward was more saint than ruler. The son of Emma of Normandy and Aethelred, called the "Unready," he had been raised in his mother's country and come to the throne only upon the death of two half brothers who numbered among his several predecessors. His wife was the daughter of the late Earl Godwin, also called Eadgyth; but the marriage was in name only, for Edward was a deeply religious man who would have entered a monastery had he not been prevented from it, being in the direct line of descent.

  His celibacy, however, meant there would be no children of his union with Godwin's daughter. Edward had chosen as his heir his cousin, William the Bastard, duke of Normandy. Godwin did not approve the choice, but Godwin was now dead, and his son, Harold, took up where his father had left off. Edward was the last of Cedric's line. He would be the final king of the blood of Wessex. Royal blood did not run in Harold Godwinson's veins, and yet he aspired to Edward's throne once it became vacant.

  Men like Caddaric Aethelmaere supported Harold. He was Saxon English, and the fact that royal blood did not run in his veins did not matter to them. Eadwine Aethelhard, on the other hand, believed that King Edward's choice must be honored. Besides, Eadwine had told Wynne, he did not believe that Harold could stem the tide of any invasion from the Viking north. William could. Harold would plunge England into one war or another, for men like Harold liked war. It was their business. William, on the other hand, preferred peace, although he was an excellent soldier. War cost a man his gold. Peace made a man more gold. So father and son argued back and forth nightly in a battle that neither could resolve.

  Wynne enjoyed their disputes to a point, for she was learning all about English politics. She found it interesting, and wondered when Duke William claimed his inheritance someday whether he would be content to remain on the English side of Offa's Dyke, or whether he would come with his knights to invade Wales. Would Gwernach be in danger? Or St. Bride's? She often wondered how her family was getting on and hoped that one day Eadwine would allow her to go back to Gwernach for a visit. Would Enid still be alive?

  She sighed, and then her hand went to her belly as the child moved. Two children in two years. She wanted to give Eadwine more babies, but she didn't want to become enceinte for at least another two years after this child
was born. It was very wearing on her, for all her youth and vigor. To that end she was secretly making and storing vaginal pessary. Men were so silly about things like that.

  Martinmas came. The cottars and geburas arrived to bring the thegn his rents. They celebrated with roast goose and baked apples. Arvel already had several teeth and gnawed happily upon a leg bone. He was a beautiful baby, with his father's blue eyes and dark hair. He was also a happy and secure child who made his needs easily known by shouting "Ba!" and pointing to whatever it was he desired. To Eadwine's delight, the baby would always call out "Da!" whenever he appeared within the infant's view. Arvel loved everyone with the exception of Caddaric Aethelmaere. He grew strangely quiet in his presence, as if sensing an enemy.

  At Christ's Mass Wynne thought of Nesta, of whom she had given little thought over the past months. Nesta's baby would be a year old now. She missed Madoc's merry sister and wondered if Nesta ever thought of her. It was another lifetime, Wynne considered, for just the briefest moment saddened. She had been abducted more than a year ago, and yet despite the beautiful summer and the mild winter they were now experiencing, Madoc had never come for her. Sometimes she wondered if he were yet alive, or had he died of a broken heart as the wicked Brys of Cia had predicted. It didn't matter anymore. She was Eadwine's wife. Soon she would bear his child. She loved him.

  Chapter 15

  On the fifth day of the month of April in the year 1063, two days after her nineteenth birthday, the thegn of Aelfdene's wife gave birth to a daughter. Eadwine Aethelhard was as delighted as Wynne.

  “ 'Twill save us difficulty," she said. "For all his silence, Caddaric remains jealous. He will not think of his half sister as a threat."

  "I have a gift for you to honor this occasion," Eadwine told her. "I have built a new cottage and raised to the rank of gebura one of my cottars. He is, it seems, clever with bees, and we need a beekeeper at Aelfdene. The rents from the land the beekeeper hold of me are to be yours, my love. When our daughter marries one day, they will serve as part of her dowry."