A Moment in Time

by Bertrice Small

  The Saxon wench, Gytha, ran forward and took the boy from him. "I'll feed him his breakfast, my lord," she said, ducking her head to avoid his gaze.

  He nodded and eyed her speculatively. She was a handsome creature with big, pillowy tits and broad hips. She would undoubtedly make a good fuck. He would amuse himself with her before he sold her off to Ruari Ban the next time the slaver passed his way. That would be time enough to begin erasing Arvel's happy memories of babyhood. His nephew must learn cold reality.

  His thoughts turned to the boy as he watched Gytha spoon hot cereal into the child's open mouth. Madoc's son. Madoc's only son. Only heir. He had his hated brother's son in his possession! Brys smiled. He had taken Madoc's wife from him, but that had been but the beginning of his revenge. Madoc had not seemed to suffer greatly the girl's loss, and, indeed, a woman was easily replaced. A firstborn son, however, was not; and the best part was that Madoc did not even know of the boy's existence. There would be time for that, Brys contemplated, and he smiled.

  He had sent Ruari Ban back to Mercia when he believed the baby would be weaned and could travel. "Fetch me the child," he had told the slaver. If the child were a boy, so much the better; but a little girl would do just as well. A boy he could raise as his own, teaching him to hate what Brys hated, and of course that meant Madoc. He would bind his nephew to him so tightly that Madoc would never be able to reshape Arvel's cold heart. And when the boy was old enough, say fourteen or so, he would bring him to Raven's Rock to displace whatever other children a second wife would have borne his brother. An heir who had been taught to hate and despise his father! An heir for Raven's Rock who would be schooled in pure evil; whose first task would be to kill his father and perhaps even his male siblings. It was such a perfect revenge!

  But if Madoc's young wife had whelped a girl, then he had another plan in mind. He would lovingly raise the little wench, introducing her to the delights of the flesh as early as he dared. He would have her maidenhead himself, and he would make the girl love him so desperately that she would do whatever he bade her to do. Hopefully she would look like her mother. Then one day when she was at her peak of perfection, he would introduce her into Raven's Rock. She would be instructed to seduce her father, not knowing, of course, that Madoc was her father. When she was well and truly ensconced as Madoc's lover and ripening with Madoc's child, he would tell his brother the truth. That his mistress was his own daughter! That the child she carried would be not only his offspring, but his grandchild as well! Brys almost laughed aloud at this scenario, and frankly, could not decide which revenge was best. He would have to rely on fate to choose, and fate had, bringing him a nephew.

  Arvel was a strong child, healthy and intelligent. He would learn quickly once he could be forced from his babyish ways. He had allowed Ruari Ban to buy the boy's nursemaid and bring her along because, as the slaver had cleverly pointed out, the little lad would still need a woman's care. He would be more comfortable with someone familiar, and therefore less likely to sicken and die; or worse in Brys's estimation, to take a dislike to the lord of Castle Cai, whom he must be taught to love, trust, and fear implicitly.

  Brys slowly sipped at his morning ale. He was a man skilled in patience, and he would need that patience now more than ever. It would be ten to twelve years before he could introduce his nephew to his father. He contemplated the story he would tell Arvel as to how he came to live with his doting uncle. He would not speak on it until the boy asked, and that, he knew, would be several years hence. Arvel would remember little of his first three and a half years by then. He would only recall the years lived at Castle Cai. Brys would tell his nephew that his father had cast both his mother and himself out of Raven's Rock when he fell in love with another woman and desired to make her his wife. As Wynne's loss had not killed Madoc with grief, Brys knew that he would have to remarry, and the sooner the better. After all, Wynne of Gwernach had disappeared almost four years ago. He might even pretend to make peace with Madoc and their sister Nesta, in order to be privy to their lives; in order to encourage Madoc's remarriage, something he knew their sister would approve of wholeheartedly. Aye, 'twas time for dear Madoc to remarry. Neither he nor Nesta need ever be aware of Arvel. Not until the time was ripe.

  He smiled more broadly, and a small chuckle escaped him. Arvel would be taught to hate Madoc with a blind, unreasoning hatred. He would be told and retold of how he and Wynne were cast off, that his father might indulge his vices with other women. He would be mentally tortured with the picture of his half brothers and half sisters, all of whom were beloved of their father, spoilt and indulged by a doting prince who cared so little for his firstborn that he had cruelly cast him aside.

  Siblings who were loved by their father, while he, Arvel, the most worthy of them all, was cast aside. Arvel would be taught to covet Raven's Rock so greatly that when the time came for him to meet Madoc, he would desire his father's possessions and title so passionately that he would be willing to kill to obtain them from the man who had deserted him and had been responsible for the death of his beautiful and gentle mother.

  Brys stared out into his hall. Wynne of Gwernach. He could see her now standing before him. She was garbed in a magnificent tunic dress of grass-green brocatelle embroidered with gold thread in an acorn and oak-leaf design. Her girdle was of linked gold disks, and in the center of each disk was a polished round of green agate. A necklace of gold and pearl was hung about her neck, and in her ears were matching pearl drops. Her magnificent raven's-black hair was parted in the center, and the single, thick braid she always wore was woven with gold ribbons and small pearls. There would be thick, rich brown marten decorating the hem of her brocatelle tunic dress, and at its broad sleeves as well. She would have a jeweled band about her forehead.

  Wynne of Gwernach. She was the most beautiful woman he had ever known. Even his sister Nesta could not hold a candle to Wynne. How often he regretted his lack of foresight that night he had held her captive. He would have enjoyed forcing her; showing her how much better a lover he was than his brother Madoc. It would have given him pleasure to hear her plead with him, but then she might have miscarried of the child, and his vengeance would have been quite incomplete. His self-control was to be commended, Brys thought. Ahh, beautiful Wynne of Gwernach. With a sigh of regret he blinked the vision away, but it did not go away.

  Brys of Cai screwed his eyes tightly shut, but when he opened them again, she was still standing there, smiling at him. It could not be! He felt an aching tightening in his chest, and he struggled to draw a breath. She began to walk toward him, and Brys half rose, making the sign of the cross as if to ward off some evil.

  Wynne's laughter bubbled up and tinkled throughout the hall. " 'Tis a wonder the roof does not cave in upon us, Brys," she mocked him. "What sacrilege that you should invoke the sign of the cross!"

  "You are but a figment of my imagination," he managed to croak.

  "More likely of your guilty conscience, but alas for you, I am quite real, dear brother-in-law. I have returned from Mercia whence you sent me, and I have come for my son, Arvel. Give him to me!"

  "I know not of what you speak," Brys lied futilely, his icy eyes darting to where Gytha had been feeding Arvel. The Saxon bitch crouched nervously in the shadows, her arms wrapped protectively about the boy.

  "Give me my son!" Wynne repeated, and now her voice was cold and hard. "I know not for what vengeful or perverted purpose you have stolen him away from me, but I want him back, Brys, and I mean to have him! Madoc is anxious to make the acquaintance of his heir."

  "Where is my brother?" Brys demanded, and then his eyes lit with comprehension. "It is he outside my gates, isn't it?"

  "Aye," she drawled. "It is."

  "If he wanted the child so badly, my beauteous Wynne, why did he not simply use his vaunted magic to retrieve him? I would expect that of Madoc," Brys sneered.

  "There will be no magic used here this day, Brys. This is not about magic. It is about you a
nd your evil, which are about to come to an end. Now give me my son!" Wynne stood, determined now, before the high board.

  "My lady!" Gytha called. "We are here!"

  "Harry!" the lord of Cai barked, and immediately a hulking man-at-arms leapt forward. "Take the child to my quarters. As for you, my traitorous Saxon bitch," Brys turned his attention to Gytha, "you will leave Cai this day and thank God I do not punish you as you deserve! The lady here can tell you of my expertise with a whip upon the backs of bad servants."

  The man-at-arms reached for Arvel, who immediately began screaming, "Mama! Mama!" while Gytha gamely attempted to retain custody of her little charge. With a fierce yank, however, Harry tore Arvel from Gytha's arms and raced away with the boy, who was now howling loudly at the top of his small lungs. Gytha fled weeping to Wynne's side.

  "It is all right, Gytha," Wynne gently soothed the distraught nursemaid. "Leave the castle now. You will find safety with my woman servant, Megan, outside the gates. I will shortly bring Arvel back to you."

  "Do you think she can so easily walk through my gates?" demanded Brys arrogantly as Gytha ran from the hall.

  "Your gates have already been secured by my husband and the lord of St. Bride's," Wynne told him. "You should also know that your men-at-arms, but for those within this hall, have all surrendered to us." She turned and spoke to the remaining few of Brys's men. "We offer amnesty to any of you who will join your mates and go in peace."

  Brys laughed bitterly as he watched his remaining retainers flee his hall. "Vermin! Lice!" he shouted after them. "I will yet win this day, and you will come crawling back to me for your places! Do not, for I will kill with my bare hands any who do!"

  "You are beaten, Brys of Cai," Wynne told him. "Come now and face your death like a man and not some craven, ignoble thing."

  "My death?" Brys looked truly astounded. "What do you mean, face my death? You have won. What more can you want of me?"

  "We want your life," Wynne said solemnly.

  "My life? You want my life?" Why did he keep repeating everything she said? Brys wondered irritably.

  "Your life, devil!" the deep voice of Rhys of St. Bride's thundered through the hall, and the great lord strode forward, armed and ready to do battle.

  "I will not fight you," Brys said petulantly. "I am no warrior as you!"

  "You will fight me, coward, for I offer you no other choice but to die on the end of my sword like the dog you are!" Rhys said. "Before this day is over, Brys of Cai, you will be in Hell, where you surely belong, and never did a man deserve to suffer more for his sins than you do."

  Brys looked down the hall. It was slowly filling with heavily armed soldiers. He edged himself nervously along the high board. "Where is my brother Madoc and my sister Nesta?" he whined, childlike.

  "You will not see them again," Rhys told him.

  "You would deny a condemned man this last request?" Brys bleated piteously, forcing his icy eyes to fill with tears.

  "Hah, charlatan! Think not to elicit my sympathy with your false tears," Rhys replied. "There is no pity in me for the likes of you!"

  "Wynne, I appeal to you?" Brys pleaded, holding out his slender, long hands.

  "I owe you nothing, Brys," she answered him coldly. "You abducted me from my husband, sold me into slavery along with my unborn son. You have caused Madoc and me pain far greater than you will ever know. I owe you nothing, for this is not the first time you have come between us, and I think you know it well."

  "You do not seem to have suffered so greatly the wretched experience you claim I forced you into," he said with a sneer.

  "No thanks to you, Brys of Cai!" Wynne snapped angrily.

  "Enough of this talk," Rhys said harshly. " 'Tis time, coward!"

  Brys broke from the cover of the high board and, dashing across a corner of the hall, fled through a small door that had been hidden behind a tall-backed chair. With a roar of fury Rhys leapt after him, followed quickly by Wynne. They found themselves within a small interior hallway whose only other exit was up a stone staircase. Above them they could hear Brys's footsteps as he ran from them. Rhys began to swiftly mount the stairs with Wynne behind him.

  "It probably goes to his apartments," she shouted after her brother-in-law. "He'll not trap himself. There will be another exit."

  "Fear not," Rhys replied. "I'll have the miserable devil's hide and send his soul to Hell before the hour's out!"

  At the top of the staircase they encountered a locked door, but in no mood to be denied his quarry, Rhys of St. Bride's quickly and methodically battered the barrier down. They found themselves within an antechamber. Ahead of them a door slammed shut. They hurried to open it, but once again Rhys was forced to smash through the oaken portal, which easily gave way beneath his mighty blows just as Brys and his lone remaining henchman rushed out another door; but as there was no time to close off this door, their pursuers were immediately behind them.

  Up another narrow flight of stairs they ran, Rhys puffing from the weight of his battle gear, but nonetheless game. Wynne could hear her son crying ahead of her, and Arvel's desperate sobs almost broke her heart. Dear God, she silently prayed, keep my baby safe! Don't let us lose him now. She hurried around another turn in the stairs and saw before her a trapdoor, already open, as Brys and Harry scrambled through it. As the hapless man-at-arms attempted to slam the trapdoor shut on them, Rhys, teeth bared, roared loudly, "Do so and you're a dead man!" Harry, still grasping Arvel about the waist, drew back, quite intimidated.

  Then they were all outside upon the roof of Castle Cai. Rhys drew a deep breath to clear his head and said, "Now fight me, you whoreson, and let us be done with this farce!"

  "I have no weapon," Brys whined piteously.

  "Give him your sword," Rhys commanded Harry, and the man-at-arms successfully struggled to free his arms, which he then passed to his master.

  Brys glared angrily at him and complained, " 'Tis not the weapon of a nobleman."

  “ 'Tis your only chance, you cowardly, sniveling devil," Rhys told him coldly, and raising his own weapon up, he aimed a blow at his enemy, who staggered, but blocking the blow successfully, backed away.

  With grim precision the lord of St. Bride's drove his enemy across the roof of the castle and toward the battlements along the edge. There, silhouetted against the bright blue afternoon sky, the two men fought upon the heights of Castle Cai. Metal clanged fiercely on metal as the well-forged blades of the broadswords met again and again with a noisy ringing tone that echoed in the otherwise clear silent air.

  Below, all the inhabitants of the castle, along with the army of Rhys and Madoc, clustered in groups staring upward, hypnotized by the fascinating yet terrifying spectacle going on above them. This was a life and death struggle, and the soldiers were open-mouthed for the most part. Megan and Gytha knelt, praying fervently for the lord of St. Bride's safety and eventual triumph over the wicked lord of Cai. Nesta, however, had full faith in her husband's ability to overcome her evil brother.

  "It is but a matter of time," she said quietly to Madoc.

  "Do you feel no remorse or sadness for Brys?" he asked her.

  Nesta shook her head. "Nay," she said, "I do not. How can I, dearest brother? How can you? Yet I realize that in your kind heart you do feel pity for Brys despite all he has done. Perhaps you are a better soul than I am. I understand it not, but I do know that Brys must die for any of us to be safe. There simply is no other way."

  "Will he learn from this, I wonder?" Madoc said aloud.

  "That I cannot tell you," Nesta answered her brother honestly. "He is so filled with envy and anger and bitterness. Until he can purge himself of those evils, I feel he will always be a danger to us and to himself. Perhaps in time." She let her eyes stray back up to the battlements where her husband and brother fought their duel to the death.

  Wynne, from her greater vantage point upon the roof, watched the battle. If she was afraid, she was not aware of it, for her mind was devoid of eve
rything but her son. She looked to Harry.

  "Give me Arvel," she said softly.

  He shook his head. "I dare not, lady, until this is finished," he replied, and she felt sorry for him, caught between them all. Arvel would be safe. Instinctively Wynne knew that the man-at-arms would not harm her child.

  "Cease your weeping, Arvel," she told the little boy. "Mama is here, Harry has you safe, and we will soon go home."

  Arvel sniffled, but reassured, he stopped howling and regarded his mother with round, solemn eyes.

  Wynne's gaze moved back to the battle.

  Slowly and quite deliberately Rhys fought against Brys of Cai, raining blow after punishing blow at him, pushing him back and to his limit, wearing him down for the eventual kill. Rhys's own great heart was hammering with the exertion of the battle. The sweat ran in hot rivulets down his face and in cold rivulets down his back. Neither Rhys nor his opponent wore mail, for the lord of St. Bride's would have considered it dishonorable to fight well-armored when his enemy was not. Rhys relied upon his own skill to overcome Brys. He had to admit to himself that Brys was a skilled swordsman, for all his disclaimers to the contrary. He could see, however, that Brys of Cai's soft and sensual life, with its overabundance of fine food and even finer wines, had rendered his stamina less than that of a hardened veteran as himself.

  I want to put an end to this quickly, Rhys thought suddenly. He knew that the longer their conflict raged on, there was always the chance that a lucky blow struck by his enemy could seriously maim or even kill him. He wanted to live a long and happy life with the beautiful Nesta, and his sons were far too young to be orphaned. With a sudden, wild battle cry that startled them all, Brys in particular, Rhys showered a series of fierce blows down upon his adversary, forcing Brys to his knees.

  With the terrible realization that death was indeed staring him quite directly in the face, Brys of Cai sought to save himself in a most dishonorable fashion. With an instinct for survival and an agility that surprised even himself, he quickly scooped up a handful of dirt and pebbles from atop the castle walls and, with an unfailing aim, flung them directly into Rhys of St. Bride's face. Blinded temporarily, Rhys could only flail helplessly as Brys of Cai struggled to his feet and raised his own broadsword to deliver the lord of St. Bride's his death blow. Horrified by this sudden turn of events, Wynne screamed helplessly in desperation.