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 and 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.