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Prologue, Chapter One, Chapter Two, Chapter Three

BRITANNIA 455 AD

Prince Tryffin spied the enemy, a Saxon man, woman, and child standing in the clearing aside Foss Way. The memories of the battle just fought, blood soaked dirt, the mad screams of his friends, burned the mind of the 16-year-old leader. One of Tryffin's men took a warrior stance before the unarmed Saxon. Tryffin kneed his steed forward, fathoming the Saxon garbed in the undyed clothes of a slave.

"This man is no warrior," Tryffin barked. "Halt!" His heart plummeted as he heard the deadly swipe of a drawn sword. Before the Saxon could speak the white blade sliced into the Saxon's belly. "Too late," Tryffin whispered in a defeated tone. "The bloodlust lingers."

"Da!" the child cried in a tear-choked voice.

Tryffin snapped his neck around. He gazed into round blue eyes wide with shock. Thick silver-blonde braids framed the little girl's terror-stricken face. His throat knotted.

"In truth a wee angel, amidst all this carnage." Tryffin was surprised at the dead tone of his own voice.

"Nay!" the child screamed.

Tryffin's man swung his long sword in a whacking stroke. Tryffin's nostrils flared at the stench of blood. The Saxon slave lay in a crimson pool.

The woman cried out, "Aldhelm, my husband!"

Tryffin's breath caught in his throat as he watched the woman pull her hair and shake. A torrent of tears spilled down her cheeks. She picked her husband's chopping ax off the ground, raised it above her head and rushed toward Tryffin. Eldol waylaid the woman putting himself in harm's way. The ax split his side. Eldol screamed out yet managed to stop the Saxon woman with the deadly point of his sword.

"Eldol, halt," Tryffin yelled, "stay your hand!"

The warrior's sword arm couldn't be stilled. With a slice of the blade the Saxon woman slumped to the dirt. Eldol held his side. Tryffin yanked hard on the reins wheeling his mount around.

"Disarm!" he bellowed, "Now!"

The young warriors tossed bloody swords to the ground. Tryffin gazed upon the grim visage of the little girl's small shivering fingers losing hold of a wicker basket. Juniper berries rolled into the blood soaked soil. Speechless, Tryffin stared into bulging blue eyes. A sharp pain pierced his forehead.

He was engulfed in a childhood memory when he was only six turns of the year. He'd been sent away to foster at Taunton. In the dark of night he wept for his family but he soon considered Gwydion's mam his second mother. Tryffin cupped his brow and tried to slow down his thoughts as he recalled the day they went nutting in Pensel Wood. A brigand leapt down from a tree, slit his foster mother's throat, and made off with her gold torque. The cur was caught and beheaded by Gwydion's father. Tryffin remembered well because he had been made to watch. He was a princeling of Lichester and would deliver such justice one day. Tryffin rubbed his throbbing forehead as members of the war band called out his name bringing him back to the present. With fearful clarity he gleaned that he might not be any better than that savage brigand. The wee lass had clearly marked him as a villain. She inhaled sharply, then took to the woods afore he could tell her that she would come to no harm.

"Wait!" Tryffin turned his horse toward the woods, but before he could knee the steed, Gwydion grabbed the reins.

"Where do you make for, Tryffin?" His voice was edged with worry.

"The Lass!" Raising his hand, Tryffin commanded, "Fall into the woods! Rescue the wee maid." His men stood still. An eerie silence descended. Tryffin felt he had lost all power.

"First, you attacked without my orders. Now, you fail to follow a direct command. Need I have you all flogged before you return to your families?" he thundered. "Bring the child to me unharmed. From this moment on she is my ward, inasmuch as her parent's blood is on my hands."

"Give up this chase," Gwydion warned. "The thicket of bush and trees shall keep the lass hidden from the likes of us."

"Gwydion, move aside. In truth if I find her not, I shall live out the rest of my days without honor."

Gwydion sighed heavily. "Foster brother, she flees for her life. You lead the war band that slew her sire and mam." He paused then said, "She flees you."

"How can I ride away while she is lost in the woods?" Crestfallen, he turned his face away.

"You cannot keep your friends from their families. Long have we been away, fighting our first battle. Loved ones await us. Search for the child fresh on the morrow," Gwydion pleaded.

Scanning his men's confused expressions Tryffin suddenly noticed Eldol's pale face. Glaring upon his friend's torn boiled black leather vest, Tryffin exclaimed. "By Mars! Eldol you are wounded!"

Tryffin ripped off a strip of his undertunic, and bound Eldol's slash. Gently he boosted the warrior onto his horse. "Hasten! We need take Eldol to the surgeon and send a missive to his sire in Glochester. Ride on." He kneed his horse, still thinking of the lass. "God help her!"

Chapter One

Seven years later: Britannia 462 AD

Tryffin dug his heels into his horse's flanks as he rode into the village of Taunton, headed straight for the chapel. He reined the steed in at first sight of his foster brother kneeling in front of a freshly dug grave.

"Hail Gwydion," Tryffin spoke solemnly. He had fostered with him and fought Saxons with him. They were brothers in their souls. "I fostered here for five years. He was my father too."

"Aye. That he was. I am so glad you came." Gwydion stood. "I felt so alone."

Tryffin swung off the roan steed and handed the reins to a lingering stable boy. He strode to Gwydion's side. "I will stay as long as you have need of me."

Gwydion tilted his head in a thankful gesture. "The priest made a charm and tied it about my father's neck to chase away the fever. But it had not the power to overcome the plague."

Casting his eyes downward, Tryffin imagined Gwydion sitting by his sire's deathbed constantly dabbing a woolen rag of cool water on the man's sweating forehead as he begged the gods for father's life. Gwydion lost his mother to needless violence now his father was taken by the plague. Why did such woes befall Gwydion? A true friend. A good man. Tryffin felt his throat knot.

Gwydion rose and Tryffin stood by him as the villagers mourned the late prince into the dark of night.

The murky sky faded into a rosy dawn and a crowd gathered to rang out cheers as the priest placed a

thick gold torque around the neck of the new prince of Taunton, Gwydion ap Enion.

That eve Tryffin sat at his friend's side in a smoky hall jammed with feasters. "You have already started on the wine, I see." But I will catch up, Tryffin thought to himself as he quaffed down a cupful in one gulp.

Gwydion dropped a joint of venison dripping with onion sauce onto his plate.

Tryffin embarked on his favorite subject. "Have you seen any new weapons of late?"

With a goblet in hand Gwydion leaned back in his chair. "Aye. I came across an Erin long blade with perfect balance. It is superb."

Letting out a guffaw, Tryffin shook his head in disbelief. "Perfect balance? I have to see this."

"Yes, you do," Gwydion said with a smug smile.

Before Tryffin could reply, a saucy servant wench asked, "Is there anything you'd be a' needing M'lord?" She ran her fingers though his hair.

Tryffin's flush of ardor chilled as his gaze darted to three men sitting at the table behind the serving wench. It's them. The Prytani miners sit at this very board. Tryffin never believed the only men living in Pensel woods hadn't seen some sign of the girl. He had always thought they knew something since he rode up to their hut and questioned them about the lass seven years ago. He had seen it in their eyes. If I ask about the girl and they roll their brown eyes upwards now then I will know she still lives.

He sucked in a deep breath, and strolled over to the brothers. Tryffin noticed the one with the scraggly beard nearly dropped his tankard. The quiet one smiled broadly, probably to hide his fear. Moreover, the younger brother stared expressionless. Ah, the smart one. Tryffin planted his foot on the bench beside that brother and leaned back against the long oaken table.

"My good men, it has been seven years since I handed you a bag of coin for tidings of a lost girl. Yet, I have heard naught from you." He stared and waited for the Prytani to speak.

"A Saxon girl was it not?" Rud the youngest, queried in a nonchalant tone. "Did you ever find her M'lord?" Warch asked as he rubbed his scraggly beard. "Do we owe you the bag of coin, Prince Tryffin?"

"Nay," Tryffin shook his head. "I was but concerned for the child. I believe she yet lives." His lucid gaze bore into Warch.

"Mayhap she made her way to a Saxon enclave and is safe with her own kind," Rud stated.

Tryffin did not miss Rud's judgmental tone. He stared hard at the Prytani. "I never even knew her name."

Lamn, began to mouth the name, but halted his tongue. Yet Tryffin saw it. Ah, and if they knew her name, then they knew where she was. This was not over. Tryffin's heart leapt in his chest. She lived. For the first time in seven years he felt alive. Tryffin would find the lass and make it all up to her somehow. Then his conscience could rest.

Gwydion strode to his side and slapped him on the back. "So Tryffin, do you mean to take away my finest lead miners to search for the lost child? She would be a grown woman now. If she lives at all."

"Nay, I remembered the miners from when I fostered here and was merely greeting them."

"Ah, my friend, you fool no one but yourself. The great quest of your life has been that poor child. The guilt tore your heart in two."

"Zeus, Gwydion! Am I truly that easy to read?"

"Aye." He grinned.

"Your lead miners that dwell in Pensel Woods say they have seen nothing of the girl for these seven years." Tryffin spoke in a matter-of-fact tone. He noticed that the brothers glanced away save for Lamn. Tryffin knew Lamn was the key to the Saxon lass.

Tryffin put up the proper screen, holding his eyes to a blank state. He leaned toward the squat man, and queried, "Tell me Lamn have you had good tidings?" With a broad grin he goaded the woodsman into disclosure. "What has happened since I last saw you? Have you married? Had children?"

"Nay. Not yet."

Confident, and louder then he meant to, Tryffin retorted, "Come now. You're three men living alone in the woods. Surely you have the same needs as other men." He lowered his tone as if to confide a secret. He feigned a wide smile and baited, "Tell us of your wild wenching."

Warch's eyes twinkled with laughter. "Oh, M'lord we have tasted a few choice morsels in our day." His warm chuckle faded into a ponderous tone. "But, we have not yet found true love." He cocked his head. "And you M'lord, have you pledged your troth?"

"I have pledged my heart." A sense of loss laced his voice. "She was but a child when I swore to protect her." He spoke as if weighted down, "She would be of an age to marry now. Yet, I know nothing of her." He sighed. "She took to the woods, never to be seen again." A look of sadness passed over his features.

The servant girl flashed him a saucy wink as she poured more mead into his tankard then she plopped upon the prince's firm lap and moved her thigh to arouse a lusty glow in his eyes.

Tryffin sighed. "Ah, deary, you will serve me well indeed." He swept his hand slowly up her ample breast and stared hard into the brown eyes of each brother as his words set the snare. "Alas, I am able to enjoy my wenching here, but at my villa I must be chaste least I offend my Lady Mother or young sister." Tryffin knew Lamn had taken the bait when he nodded in full agreement.

"It is the same for us, my Lord. It would prove unseemly to expose a true lady, be she matron or daughter, to the ways of wenching." The warm ale had loosened his tongue. "Such sport is best kept to mead halls, not one's own home."

Warch began coughing and spurting ale as if Lamn's loose tongue had caused him to drink down the wrong pipe.

Tryffin's eyes gleamed as he casually leaned back on the cushioned bench. He enjoyed this scene. I caught you. Soon I will find the Saxon maid. "Ye say daughter, yet I thought you had born no issue. What say you Lamn? Have you a girl dwelling with you in Pensel Wood?" He starred at Lamn. Confess now you lying rogue. For I will shower the girl with all she wishes. To raise a child in the wilds of Pensel forest what had they been thinking of? She would soon be in the royal villa of Lichester under his protection.

Rud sucked in a deep breath and stood stretching his small frame to full height. "M'lord I seek your understanding in forgiving my brother his ailment. He is addled you see, slow-witted. 'Tis all due to a woman who captured his heart, then broke it she did, many years ago." He fluttered his hands. "The lady gave birth on the very day she was to wed Lamn. She had concealed her condition from all. Plump she was and no one noticed the extra weight." He rushed on. "As the babe was not my brother's issue, he called off the betrothal. When the lady recovered, she ran off with a traveling troupe. The baby girl was taken in by a nearby convent." He paced as he babbled on.

"Being far more pious then her mother she took holy vows and is a nun. We are not of the Christian faith and do not fully understand the nuns. Lamn felt guilty that the child was raised without the blessing of the old gods. But she was not his own daughter so he had no say. This my dear lord is the lass my brother alluded to when he spoke of a daughter." Sadness shown in his deep brown eyes as he used all his skill to milk the scene for sincerity, though it was a complete farce. "Regrets weigh heavily on a man over the years."

"Ah Rud." With hand over heart, Tryffin inclined his head. "'Tis so sad. Heartbreaking. Forgive me for reminding you of the tragedy dear Lamn. Friends we are, and I wish you no harm. I shall have the good priest of Lichester visit the convent to make sure the lady fares well."

Lamn opened his mouth to speak, but before he could say something that would give them away Rud butted in.

"M'lord you are most kind, but the lady knows not of Lamn as he be not her true father. But we gratefully bid you thanks," Rud added with believable sincerity. He stood. "My deepest apologies my lord, we are in our cups and have been mumbling on. 'Tis time to bid you good night."

Lamn trotted behind Warch and Rud as they wandered off to the far side of the hall.

Tryffin whispered, "Now what do you make of that Gwydion? They lied. The Saxon girl has been with them all this time."

Gwydion shook his auburn head in pure bafflement. "The miners? What would they do with her?"

"I fear to think of it." What am I to do with her, Tryffin wondered. She had fled him as a child. Would she willingly come with him?

"Tryffin friend of mine -- mayhap the ale speaks. Those men have served me well these many years. Their kith and kin served my sire and grandsire before me." He rushed on. "News of a Saxon girl living in the forest would have reached my ears long ago. In truth the lass cannot be alive."

Gwydion paused, his brows arched apologetically. "I am truly a goat to speak such dither to you. In truth she may live. Sweet Jesu let us pray so." With a tinge of frustration in his voice he said, "However, I have doubts that she dwells so close to my own kingdom. How could a Saxon girl stay hidden all this time?"

"I hear you, brother." How could he explain that some things were beyond logic and reason? Leaning toward Gwydion he stressed each word. "Yet, I feel her nearby."

Tryffin stared off into the distance barely hearing Gwydion's exasperated query, "How can you feel the girl's presence? You speak in riddles man."

"Augh, Gwydion I need to protect her. The girl's sad face has haunted my dreams these seven years. You ask me how I can feel her? My God, I have felt naught save her sadness since that fateful day! I am burdened with guilt."

"Well, I bow to your higher knowledge of the lass. Tell me how do you plan to bring your suspicions to light?"

"By seizing the day dear Gwydion. I leave for their woodland hovel before light; long afore the three brothers will awake." His eyes sparked with the hope of finding the Saxon lass.

"Tryffin, I shan't allow you to make this quest alone. If the lass yet lives, she is not without a protector."

"Come if you wish. I will not stop you." Tryffin turned his back on his friend unable to speak of the girl to someone who didn't understand. He paced around the villa.

Candletime had long come, but dawn had not yet broken when a Taunton hearth guard approached Tryffin and whispered gruffly. "I have the news you asked for M'lord. The Prytani are curled up on straw pallets near the hearth, sound asleep they are."

Tryffin ran to the stable, saddled his horse and rode into Pensel wood.

Aelfrida woke to noises of snapping twigs and horses hooves. She thought her foster fathers made the sounds as they returned to the hut. She dressed, strode to the door and stood under the lintel barefoot in naught but a wrinkled shift crookedly draped with a blue overtunic. At last they were back! She worried each time her fathers were gone from her sight. She was afraid of losing her family. It had happened before. In a moment's time she had been left alone in the world. She cupped her hand above her eyes to search the distance for approaching riders, her Prytani fathers.

Aelfrida gasped in horror. A Celtic Lord, mounted on a huge steed, rode from the thicket of trees. Before she could run, the dark shadow of the horse engulfed her. Breathless, her heart pounded as the man vaulted down in one fluid move.

Intensely she prayed. "Great Goddess Eostre, and powerful God Woden forsake me not!"

"You live! I have prayed to the blessed Virgin every day since you took to the woods. I must commission a shrine in thanks of sweet Mother Mary's blessing," Tryffin exclaimed.

Ye Gods! What brings this man here, prattling such gibberish? Live? Of course I live. Why would I not? She caught herself staring at him. Those amber eyes held the power of a lodestone. The bright orbs called to her and burned beneath her flesh. She felt heated and anxious. Aelfrida turned her head away. What is happening? Who is this man? Why is he here?

She forced her lungs to breathe, her lips to speak. "What say you?" She gulped then shook her head. "'Tis no Mother Mary here, only three miners and myself." Why does he stare with hunger in his eyes? Howbeit my heart hammered with fear yet, now swirls with excitement.

"M'lady, three men dwelling alone with a young maid," his voice was etched with worry. "It makes for much gossip. I need know -- have they misused you? Tell me for I will right the wrong."

Wrong? Misused? "Nay! Aelfrida stepped back. "Never!" she spat. "Three men you say. My fathers all three. My family!" Stretching out forearms and fingers, she passionately exclaimed, "I see you are a fancy lord yet, I shan't allow you to speak foul of my fathers. No cause have you. Kind, honest, good men that saved my life when I was but a child. I still have nightmares of that day."

She could not control the weeping tinge to her voice. "I can still see my mam and sire laying in pools of their own blood. A Celtic war band slew them. I remember the face of the leader. His eyes were unnatural, ablaze with fire. I have never seen the like since." She froze like solid ice despite the warm day. Somehow she managed to continue. "Until now." It cannot be. She trembled, like a branch in an autumn gust. "'Tis you!" Her tone was chilling. "You're older as am I yet those eyes mark you as my parents murderer." Silent tears streamed forth as she shook with anger. "I swore a blood oath!"

Now I have the chance. Yet why has he come? "Do you mean to kill me?"

As if he knew she meant to run the lord grabbed her arm. She let out a pulsating scream of terror.

"Unhand me! I shan't submit do you hear. I shall fight to the very death. Never will you have your way with me!"

His breath was sharp and audible. He gentled his voice to a soothing purr. "Ah lass, I will have no man in my service that takes a woman against her will. No one would dare affront you in any way." His amber eyes were tender. "Leastwise myself for I offer you my wardship. Come with me. I shall take care of you."

Aelfrida blinked in puzzlement. What manner of crazed cur is this? Wardship? Does the Celt think me addled? He means harm and naught else. Need I remind him that he slew my mam and da?

"Come to you? Never! Save to kill you." Aelfrida tried to yank her arm back. Instinctively he clutched her tighter. Tugging against the iron grip, her eyes flashed with outrage. "Unhand me or die!"

"I cannot let you go until you hear me out," he spoke in a quiet pleading tone. "It breaks my heart that you hate me so."

She boldly met his steady gaze.

Tryffin said, "I only want to help you."

"Murderer!" Aelfrida raged.

A Moment ago his nearness both disturbed and excited her but not now hate was all she felt. Warch's foaming mount burst into the clearing. Tryffin's hand flew to his sword hilt. The Prytani raised his thick arm, launching a black spear that struck the Prince like a lightning bolt. He moaned and dropped at Aelfrida's feet with the iron rod embedded in his side.

"Gods, no!" Slumped over Tryffin she pleaded. "Nay. You cannot die like this. They will kill Warch. You shan't take my family from me. Not again!

"Tryffin softly said, M'lady -- "

Warch interrupted. "Come." The Prytani glanced uneasily at Tryffin. "We need to escape."

Panic welled in Aelfrida's throat. "Ah, Warch. You have attacked a Celtic Prince."

At that moment Rud and Lamn reined in their ponies.

"Aelfrida!" Lamn yelled.

"Gods! Brother what have you done?" Rud queried.

Aelfrida froze as Prince Gwydion charged toward them spewing out the order. "Take them!"

Aelfrida's gaze swept over the swarm of soldiers.

She shivered with raw fear. As Gwydion's guards held long swords at Lamn's and Rud's necks she was reminded of that fateful day seven years ago.

"By holy god," Gwydion swore at Warch, "if he dies, you forfeit your life!"

"Nay! He shan't' die. Not like this." Aelfrida ran into the hut.

"Halt, wench!" Gwydion bellowed.

Her swift hands grabbed a vial packed with red powder used to stanch bleeding, and a jar of leek oil from the cupboard.

Running back to Gwydion, she pleaded, "I know herbs M'lord. Let me save him." She briskly glanced at Tryffin's limp body. "So that Warch may live."

At his tense nod of consent, Aelfrida knelt beside Tryffin. With a tender touch she padded the red powder into the wound to slow the blood flow then rubbed leek oil over the slash to fight infection. She wasn't surprised when the prince flinched, for she knew the leek oil stung. With straight needle she meticulously pulled the thread in and out. Tryffin clamped his mouth shut. Aelfrida saw a muscle in his jaw shudder. "Does it hurt?" she asked knowing it did.

Tryffin opened his eyes meeting her gaze. "Nay," he said.

Aelfrida quirked her eyebrows in skeptical amusement. Spreading her long fingers across his chest she perused the dainty stitches on his side. It will do. She smugly smiled with satisfaction.

Tryffin leaned his head back on the ground and closed his eyes giving in to the weariness that Aelfrida knew engulfed him. She felt Gwydion's wary gaze upon her.

"Maid how fares he?"

"Your friend shall heal. He must." Aelfrida looked scornfully upon the peaceful countenance of the sleeping prince. Even helpless the man was a threat; for if he didn't live, Warch would die.

He was strong. That would help. Tall he was. Formed of lean yet sinewy arms and legs liken to a stag. His chest was as solid as the trunk of Woden's sacred tree. The russet sheen of his hair was like the coat of a fox. The Fox Prince. She should have recognized him at first sight and killed him. Her blood oath had been shattered by her loyalty to Warch.

Then again, the prince hadn't been the one who slew her Mother and Father. He was simply the one she clearly remembered. Apparently he remembered her as well. Wringing her hands she boldly gazed into Gwydion's sea-green eyes. "Nay, he shan't die, not this day."

Slowly the Taunton prince nodded. "Wench, you ride with me. You shall all be held in Taunton, until I or Tryffin can give forth justice." Not so gently he lifted her onto his dapple mare. The Prytani were hauled upon three horses lead by one of Gwydion's guards. Tryffin was pulled in a hastily constructed litter. They were taken to Taunton. Warch was drug to jail and Rud, Lamn, and Aelfrida were led to a guarded upstairs bower.

Aelfrida listened to Gwydion pray in a choked voice then tiptoed to his side. "I do not mean to disturb your prayers." If Tryffin dies the death penalty will befall Warch. "I am a herb woman, Prince Gwydion," she said in a persuasive tone. "I can save your friend. He needs tonic brewed of betony to fight wound fever. I know where the betony grows. My Prince, let me tend him."

Gwydion gazed into Aelfrida's eyes and agreed.

Day and night Aelfrida sat at the bedside of the pale prince. Wiped his brow with cool cloths, and forced drops of healing broth and tea down his dry lips. This day as every day Aelfrida pulled up his tunic so she could look at the wound in his side. Aelfrida inspected the stitches woven by her own hand. They puckered nicely, the flesh around them was a healthy pink. No infection had set in. The Prince will live, so Warch will live. That is all I want. Her treacherous eyes scanned from his side to the exposed portion of his chest scattered with tiny russet whorls. She longed to run her fingers though the swirl of curls. What is wrong with me? He is the enemy.

His lashes fluttered upward, she felt the heat of his amber gaze. "You are healing well, yet I need gather marjoram for your pain." She prattled, fighting a desire to gaze endlessly upon him. "We can't have Gwydion hearing you moan and thinking you are worse." Ye gods! Am I going moon mad? "Stay still. I shall soon return," she said hastily then walked away without a backward glance.

Striding through the yard she entered Pensel woods and gulped the fern and floral scented air to chase away her heated emotions. A lark chirped brightly from a branch high above. Aelfrida stooped down and a wood mouse scurried past her feet. She picked a handful of medicinal herbs and sniffed their fresh aroma all the way back to the bower.

Aelfrida entered the chamber, making every effort not to meet Tryffin's gaze. Wrapping her slender fingers around a large, smooth rock she crushed marjoram stems into potent pain-killing oil. Aelfrida scooped up the flowering tops and with a gentle flutter of her palm dropped them into a clay jar to later brew into a purple dye for her fathers feast day tunics. If they lived. Warch's life was in the hands of Prince Tryffin. The man she could not bare to look upon for his eyes sparked and burned into her. Had she gone addle?

Taking a deep breath she approached the Prince. No longer was he a fresh-faced boy riding home from his first battle, Tryffin was a seasoned warrior, a prince of the Celt. Leader of the war band that changed her life forever.

Slowly, she slipped a wooden spoon of marjoram oil between his lips. She found herself gazing at his arched brows that accented burnished copper colored eyes. Once again she could not tear her gaze away. The betony had brought down the wound fever but she needed to check his brow.

Nibbling upon her lower lip she stretched her fingers across the Prince's smooth forehead. Her palm tingled. There was no fever, but the warmth of his flesh made her shudder. Quickly she withdrew her hand and stared at her open palm. It still burned. But she couldn't forget that he slew her parents and even now was a threat to Warch's life. Aelfrida had no intent of caring for him beyond healing him so Warch might live. Her palm still tingled.

"How fare I?" he asked in a smooth low voice.

Speechless, Aelfrida stared at him. She cared nothing for this prince. Yet, his fiery eyes mesmerized her. She had to admit that he no longer frightened her. He was weak and pale fighting off wound fever. A man that needed her help. Suddenly, she heard a sound behind her. Gwydion strode past her and smiled down at his foster brother.

"You look well enough for a tankard of heady brew."

"Aye, brother. The Saxon lass keeps spooning me potions and teas, I need something with a bite to it."

"In truth you do." Gwydion turned to Aelfrida. "Fetch an amphora of wine."

She strode toward the door yet was compelled to glance back at Tryffin. "Keep him well," she instructed the Taunton prince.

Strolling to the kitchen she could not put the image of Tryffin from her mind. Red stubble bristling upon his firm chin, a slender yet masculine nose, and thick hair draping the curve of his brawn shoulders.

Tryffin's pale face was lit with a warm smile. "They are not quite ready for me in heaven."

"You gave me quite a scare," Gwydion chided.

"Did I now? Fine thing I'd come to lift your woe over the death of your father. Instead I gave you grief over my own wound."

"It would seem we are even then."

"The lass seems to be faring well," Tryffin said.

"She stitched you up and tended to you these many days."

"Mayhap there is hope." Tryffin recalled the rangy child seven years ago bearing little likeness to the full-blossomed woman she had become. "When I gazed upon her sweet face I was truly besotted." I had felt the need to touch that vision of loveliness and prove she was real. Yet when I took her hand in mine she screamed. "She was afraid of me. She blames me for her parents' death."

"You do not carry the blame for that deed." Gwydion put his hand on Tryffin's shoulder. "You tried to stop us."

A sigh escaped, as he cast his eyes downward. "I no longer feel the heaviness of guilt. I feel heartache." Tryffin shook his head. She glares daggers at me."

A sad frown flitted across Gwydion's face. "Do not burden yourself so." He leaned back against the fresco wall and said, "This lass dwells in my realm. I will tell the Prytani that I wish to arrange a marriage between you and the lass. She could not find a better man than you."

"Ah, Gwydion, to drag that one screaming and kicking to the bridal bed will not do at all." Tryffin smiled. "I will have my silver haired lass willingly." I shall breach her defenses. She will come to want me. The way I want her.

Tryffin's face flushed with the vision of the shapely beauty writhing beneath him, pressing her full lush lips upon his. "Ah," he sighed, forgetting Gwydion's presence.

"Friend, while you ponder this affair of the heart what do you deem I do with Warch the Prytani?"

The question brought Tryffin back to reality. After clearing his throat he began an explanation of the fray in the woods. "While trying to speak to the lass I clutched her arm unaware of how unseemly it looked. As Warch galloped toward us he saw Aelfrida pull away from me. Warch thought I meant her harm, so he attacked me."

Staring intently at his friend Gwydion stated. "Warch lies in my jail, awaiting his fate."

"Nay." Shaking his head Tryffin curtly said. "Release him."

"Indeed, I will." A flash of humor crossed his face. "Happens that will soften the maid towards you."

"Run swift then my friend, tarry not. The lass needs her father freed." Tryffin felt groggy and weak. As Gwydion headed to the jail Tryffin turned his face toward the wall and shut his eyes.

The hem of Aelfrida's blue dress rustled across the mosaic floor as she slid into the chamber to find the Prince asleep. She feigned the need to check his temperature; with a brush of her hand she caressed his forehead. Her fingers fluttered across the clipped bangs of his soft brow. Goose bumps prickled upon her white arm. She gaped at the long lashes fringing his closed eyes. Nay, he is the enemy. Yet his lips silently beckoned to her. She smiled at the sound of his snoring. I must be addled, but who will know save me? Before she could change her mind Aelfrida tilted her face downward until her mouth hovered above his, then bent down claiming the forbidden fruit.

Tryffin woke. "Zeus! 'Tis you, the woodland goddess."

When Tryffin spoke he brushed a warm breeze across Aelfrida's face, the corners of his lips turned up into a bright smile that sparked a twinkle of wonderment in

his eyes. "Fair maid...you...did you kiss me?"

Aelfrida nibbled her lower lip as she averted her eyes to the floor. "Nay!" In a huffy tone the prince expressed his disappointment. "No, I suppose not. You did not seem to be fond of me. Fearful and hateful are you when around me. Yet it felt...so real."

Aelfrida briskly offered, "A glass of wine, M'lord?"

"I could use a drink or two of heady brew." Tryffin's chiseled face brightened with a wide grin. "Set the wine aside for some ale, lass."

Picking up the clay jug, she thought of the wretched fate of poor Warch. Risking the direct gaze of Tryffin's shimmering eyes, she asked. "M'lord, now that you are recovered I know you will be about serving justice." She set the pitcher down. "I beg of you to have mercy. Warch's actions were meant to protect me, not to harm you." It pains me to have to grovel before this murder.

"Ah, my darling girl, I feel to your foster fathers it may be one and the same." He gulped a swig of ale.

"Prince Tryffin, I implore you, do not seek vengeance. Spare Warch's life." She felt a tear slide down her cheek. "M'lord I shall give you anything you want." I must save Warch, nothing else matters. "Take me as your slave if you wish. Just free my father."

Tryffin gingerly rose from the bed and pulled her to him. Aelfrida did not draw away. He is my only hope of saving Warch.

"Your foster father is safe." Tryffin paused then in a weak tone said, "I feel dizzy." He collapsed onto the bed bringing Aelfrida on top of him. She shot up from the bed. Reading the puzzled look upon Tryffin's face, Aelfrida mistakenly concluded that her perilous position had not been an accident. She remembered her promise. There was no turning back.

"My Lord Prince, I meant no offense. I will hold to my word. I was merely caught unaware." She cast her eyes to the floor. "For my father's freedom, I am yours to have as you will." As soon as Warch is free I will find a way to take revenge on this Celtic cur.

"Ye think me a monster?" Tryffin queried in a chilling tone. "My legs are weak from the wound. I fell." He pushed his arms upon the bed as he tried to move to a sitting position. Aelfrida reached out to help him.

"Never mind that," he snapped. "You are right about one thing. I do want you." He managed to scoot back on the bed so his back leaned against the wall. "You give yourself too quickly, my girl. I have not yet named the price of Warch's freedom."

The heat of anger burned Aelfrida's cheeks. So that is his game, he means to make me grovel even more. Bravely she met his gaze as he continued.

"As Lichester's only heir, son of Archmail, Chieftain of the Durotriges, my life is worth much. I am familiar with your Saxon custom of wergold. The price of my life is quite high." In the voice of a true prince Tryffin asked, "Aelfrida the Saxon, foster daughter of Warch the Prytani, are you ready to pay the price for his folly?"

Clenching her fist, she said, "Aye."

"So be it." He paused. "We shall wed in a Christian ceremony. Hereafter, you will serve me as a faithful wife, fulfilling all marital duties."

Aelfrida bit her lip. That word 'wife' was that what he said? Did she translate the Celtic tongue wrongly? She would not be mistress or slave? Her face crinkled in puzzlement. "My lord, did you say wife?"

"Aye. Wed me and Warch goes free. But never tell a soul of this bargain. No one must think you anything less then a willing bride. Even the Prytani must trust that you love me. I will not have my pride broken, not even by you."

Aelfrida's brow creased. Wife? Why would he want to wed me? What is he up to? A stark realization crossed her mind. Great Goddess Eostre, what am I thinking? I will have to bear his children; Celtic children that shall grow up to kill innocent Saxons like my Mother and Father. "Nay! I will never marry you."

"That is the price for Warch's life."

"I will lay with you one time. Then you free Warch."

"You shall marry me if you want to save Warch's life. That is my final offer."

"'Tis unfair. Marriage is for evermore."

"Marriage is for a lifetime. Warch tried to take my life. To free him you will pledge your troth to me as long as we both shall live. It is a fair exchange."

"There is nothing fair about it. It is Roman justice at its ugliest."

"You have no choice if you want Warch to live."

"Oh I have a choice." I can avenge my parents' death by killing you. But, that would not save Warch.

Gwydion will still have Warch put to death. He has said as much. Then, I would be put to death for killing a Celtic Prince. What revenge is there in that? By Saxon law, a wife can never take vengeance on her husband. If I marry him, it would cancel my blood price oath. Neither Warch nor I would be put to death. I need to marry him. Can I bring myself to be wife to this warrior of the Celt? Her thoughts turned to the remembrance of the stolen kiss, she longed for just one more. She bit her lip. Nay. I marry him out of need. I can do naught else. "I accept. I will be your wife, Prince Tryffin."

"You please me well." His strong fingers wrapped around her trembling hand as he gently guided it to his mouth. "Sweet Aelfrida," he whispered, fluttering a kiss upon her palm.

Fire! My hand is on fire. Swiftly she pulled her arm behind her back. I must not let his charms deter me from my plan to save Warch, and then find a way to rid myself of this marriage. Tryffin cupped her small chin in both hands. His seething lips pressed against her cheek. Aelfrida felt light-headed. He must have cast some type of enchantment over me. Tryffin crushed his lips against hers. Aelfrida groaned with need. He tore his lips away and gazed into her eyes.

Oh no, he can see how much I want him. Just as I can see the haze of desire glistening in his eyes. She turned her face away.

"Aelfrida, run and tell your fathers to have the priest draw up the nuptial contract."

Without a backward glance she turned on her leather heels and ran to the jail. When the guard told her Warch had been released and was in the bower, she sped off even faster. Aelfrida burst through the bedchamber door. She smiled then stiffened and bit her lip as she faced them.

Now comes the hard part, she thought. "I am to marry Prince Tryffin." She swallowed then nibbled her lip. "I am." She shrugged.

"Wh...wh...what say you?" asked Rud.

"I shall pledge my troth to the Prince of Lichester," she flashed a tentative half smile.

After a long, uncomfortable pause Lamn piped up, "'Tis not a bad match. He is a brave warrior."

"I say he is lucky," added Warch.

"Indeed, Goddess Fortuna has smiled on Prince Tryffin to win you as a bride." Rud smiled.

Aelfrida took a deep breath glad to have that announcement done with.

Lamn eased her aside. "Daughter, I feel there is something I must speak to you about. Do you remember as a little girl how you looked after the sick Animals? Birds with broken feathers and motherless animals. Like the little fox pup."

"Aye, of course I remember. I loved that little fox."

"Seeing you tend that fox pup was the sweetest thing. You had come back from picking berries with the pup cuddled in your hands. You had heard its squeaks of life and found the vixen dead at its side. For days on end you dipped your tiny fingers in goat milk for the pup to suckle."

"I could not let him die. I felt like his mother. I was all of twelve years of age."

"Warch fussed at you to no end. He was so afraid the pup would bite you. He kept saying that the creature was meant for the wild not for cuddling up on his little girl's lap."

"I remember telling him that the pup was an orphan like me and we had to look after each other.

"Aye you did. Do you remember what I told you? I had seen the fox in my dreams and knew it to be an omen. I said then and I say now the love of your life will be a man with eyes and hair like that pup. In truth the fox will bring you much."

"Do you mean to say the Fox Prince?"

"Is your destiny. The gods know." Lamn gently kissed her forehead.

I have never doubted Lamn's wisdom before, but he must be mistaken. Tryffin is my sworn enemy, she thought as she took Lamn's hand and followed Warch and Rud into the chapel.

A cluster of tapering candles cast a warm glow upon the bland wattle and daub walls. Father Mark handed the stylus first to Warch then Lamn and finally Rud, so that each made their marks on the marriage contract. Their eyes were dark, wide, and sad. Aelfrida knew this was as hard for them as it was for her. She looked away staring mindlessly at the tall, white stone baptismal font. The thick air scented of sacrament wine and smelly black candle smoke made it hard for her to breath. With the contract completed, Lamn loudly cleared his throat gaining everyone's attention.

He announced, "As a priest of God Cernunnos I need leave today, for duty calls. Last night the old Prytani god disclosed to me in a dream that a terrible tragedy has befallen a family that I share an interest in. Cernunnos bids me help them."

"What family?" Aelfrida asked in a baffled tone. "Will you not tell us more?"

"Nay. Now is not the time for you to know." But we will all be together soon."

"When the gods call, he must go," Rud said.

"It has always been so," added Warch.

The strange flicker of the chapel candles startled Aelfrida. An eerie feeling overcame her and she could not offer any objections. The world has gone crazy. "Aelfrida kissed Lamn's weather worn cheek and chin and bade him farewell.

"'Tis so strange. What will happen next?" She whispered to him.

Upon hearing the name of the pagan God Cernunnos Father Mark made the protective sign of the cross against his chest. Then he smiled kindly upon Aelfrida and took her aside to begin her Latin lesson. She studied with him each afternoon while Tryffin hunted with Gwydion.

Five days later when hunting in Pensel Wood Gwydion queried, "Will you catch a stag for your betrothal feast?"

"Aye." Tryffin's eyes sparkled as if he were playing a game. "Bigger than any you can catch."

Tryffin and Gwydion scanned the forest for prey then snapped their heads toward the sound of a single horse at hard gallop. Waving long silver swords above their heads Tryffin and Gwydion ambushed the man from the side.

"Yeaaach!" Tryffin flung the heavy sword onto the thick bracken. "It's my messenger. Lestin, what means this, pounding through the woods like a bandit ready to attack?"

With a crestfallen look the messenger lad delivered sad tidings. "Lord, the plague has struck Lichester."

Tryffin grasped Lestin's arms and gritted his teeth. "Tell me."

"Prince and Princess Roma were overtaken by the black death," the lad said in a low voice.

"Dead?" He felt like a huge stone had settled in his chest. "My Father? Mother?" He spoke in a lifeless tone. "Dead." His clamped lips imprisoned a wail of grief.

Lestin's eyes were filled of tears. "Your sister, Princess Nesta lives."

"Nesta." Thanks God my sister lives. But, my parents? How can they be dead? In a weak, withdrawn tone he said, "I wish to be alone."

"Save for me. I stay," Gwydion said. "You were here to grieve for my sire -- and now I am here to grieve for yours."

Thick, leafy branches blocked the sunlight from Tryffin. He covered his face with his hands and his shoulders heaved as he cried. Thoughts of Aelfrida broke through his pain. I must win her love, for I need her now more than ever.

Road dust fluttered from Tryffin's cloak onto the chapel floor. As he lit a candle, his mind reeled with the memory of his mother rolling the beeswax into that very candle less than two months ago. He swallowed the sob that rose in his throat. He lay face down, his arms outstretched like a cross. From his tight throat he managed to mumble a Latin prayer to the wooden floor.

Feeling someone's gaze upon him, Tryffin rose and turned to face his sister, Nesta. He wiped his eyes to clearly look upon her. She was so pale.

Fear swept through him. "Jesu, Nesta are you ill?"

She wiped away the tears that had glistened on her pale oval face. "Ah Tryffin, I'm alive and well. I've missed you so." She took a deep breath. It seemed to Tryffin that she was trying to gain her strength to speak further.

Nesta wrapped her to hands about Tryffin's arm. "I thought Da and Mam would be with us ever and anon." The tears returned, sliding down her cheeks.

"But, they are gone...forever." She swallowed. "Oh Tryffin, I shall never be able to kiss them again. They shall never even see me wed."

"Shush, little Nesta, poor little sister mine." His guilt was like a steel weight. A nagging inner voice was asking, why, why weren't you here? He flung out his arms encircling her. He was afraid to let her go.

She swallowed her sobs and looked up at Tryffin. "'Twas fever one day, then swollen sores on their armpits the next. We burnt the sores off them. The stench was horrid." She drew in a sharp breath. "We carried eight bodies to the church. All died within three days. Some were taken by death the very day they caught the fever."

His fingers trembled as he patted her red head. "Shush, it is all over."

She clung to his heaving chest, as they freely wept together. The tears subsided; she pulled his hand, dragging him outside. A wagon of newly harvested oats scented the late summer air of the inner yard. Warm sunshine spilled upon Tryffin's face, lighting his dreary expression.

"You must meet the druid. If not for him, others, perhaps myself, would have perished as well."

Tryffin nodded. A druid here at Lichester? The druid saved her life? When he turned to greet the druid the shock of seeing that it was Lamn hit him full force. Tryffin took a quick sharp breath. He could feel his body stiffen. "Pray tell, Lamn, what business have you here?"

Tryffin watched Nesta's throat bob as she swallowed hard. He knew it was not wise to question the ways of a Druid. Yet, the Prince found it hard to believe this small quiet man held the powers of the ancient priesthood.

"Tryffin, I told you he helped us. God Cernunnos told Druid Lamn it was the rats. We sacrificed them. Poisoned them by pouring a potion into the cracks of walls and floors so they would get to it easily. No one has come down with the plague since the day of the great fire in which we burnt the dead rats."

"Burnt rats! Nesta what do you mean? A Druid he is not."

"I am a priest of Cernunnos. You have been to our hut before, Prince Tryffin. You've seen the temple there."

"Temple? Never have I seen...wait, do you speak of the old oak carved with the likeness of the hunting god?"

"Aye, the temple. I am the priest. I lead the dancing every year. Even Aelfrida dances with antlers on her head." He grinned broadly, pressed his thumbs against his temples and stuck his fingers up to look like antlers.

"She said nothing to me of dancing with antlers on her head. What say you of burnt rats?"

"As God of the beast, Cernunnos knew the plague was carried by the tiny brown creatures." Lamn lowered his hands and gestured as he said, "So he had me burn them. The smell is still lingering a bit."

"Aye, I got a whiff of rats on the wind." Grimly, Tryffin waved the air away from his face.

"I am sorry, I didn't arrive in time to save your parents. The gods often warn us too late. They don't have a good concept of time, being immortal."

"He saved me," Nesta piped up.

"I am eternally grateful Lamn. I knew not." A tinge of doubt, etched his tone. "Why did you not tell us? I would have hastened here."

"As a servant of the gods, I am sworn to help all in need. I was not trying to keep my dream a secret, 'Tis only that it was evasive, as all dreams are. As I was at Taunton, instead of in my own hut, I did not have my scrying bowl at hand to see it clearly. There was nothing I could tell you at the time that would have made sense to you. It would only have disturbed you. I had hoped to save you sorrow," he said in a gentle tone.

"You did what you could. For that I am grateful. So you are a druid? In truth I knew not." He paused. "Is it true that all you had to do to halt the plague was kill those pests?"

"Aye my Prince. The plague and the rats are gone from Lichester. You and your household are safe."

"Lamn you saved my sister's life. Name your request, and I shall grant you whatever you wish."

"I wish naught, save to serve as long as Aelfrida is here."

"Are you trying to say that you do not want Aelfrida here? Might you her to return to Pensel Woods?"

"No Lord, I do not."

"Lamn, you and your brothers are welcome here -- you know that. You are not required to serve me."

"Prince, think on this -- while you have a priest for your Christian subjects you do not even retain a bard at Lichester to hold to the old ways."

Tryffin's brow furrowed. "Truly, you give me cause to ponder."

He was a Christian. Yet many of his people were still pagan. Ah, he would never hear the end of this from Father Callus. Yet if Lamn had been here at the plague's outbreak his parents might have survived as well as others. "Aye!" he declared with princely aplomb. "I shall acclaim you Arch-Druid of Lichester."

Tryffin's eyes caught sight of Aelfrida running toward him and the gathering crowd. "Lamn!" her voice rose in a tone of surprise. "I can't believe you are here." Aelfrida hugged him tightly.

"Aelfrida, Lamn has been chosen to serve Lichester as our druid." The corners of Tryffin's mouth eased into a broad, satisfied smile.

"It is my destiny," Lamn said in a tone that bespoke the confidence he had in himself and his rightful place in the universe.

Tryffin caught an abrupt change in Aelfrida's expression. She lowered her gaze, and stared at the ground. What had Lamn said that had distracted her so? This moodiness baffled him. He longed to know what she was thinking.

Aelfrida and Tryffin turned toward Lamn. The druid knelt on the folds of his tartan cloak, which snaked across the ground. He grinned at Aelfrida and straightened his shoulders.

Tryffin unsheathed his sword and pressed it gently upon Lamn's head. "We thank you for your allegiance and service Lamn ap -- " His words cut off in mid sentence as he realized he did not know Lamn's Father's name.

"Belinus, my Lord."

"Lamn ap Belinus, I name you Arch-Druid of Lichester."

Tryffin helped the druid up, and gave him the kiss of peace. The gathered crowd cheered.

"Nesta, did you know our new druid will be my foster father by marriage?"

Nesta's eye lashes fluttered upward above round blue eyes. "Marriage?"

Amusement flickered in his eyes. "Yes. Sister dear, it seems we have much to speak of." He wrapped his arm about her slender shoulder and steered her to a private spot in the garden.

Left alone in the yard, Aelfrida's mind kept drifting back to Lamn declaring his destiny. Aelfrida couldn't shake that word from her mind. She remembered Lamn saying that Tryffin was her destiny. That bound her even tighter to this place and this man. Even uncannier was the realization of how happy that made her. I banish these strange feelings. He is my enemy. I will wed him as promised but I will never give him my heart. Pulling her thoughts together, she was aware that gaping servants surrounded her.

It reminded Aelfrida of that fateful day in the dark forest when she was surrounded by towering trees, except now she was in a Roman villa surrounded by unfamiliar faces. She felt trapped. Smiling at the servants she hoped they would show her what was expected.

From a distance she heard, "Gail, see to it that Lady Aelfrida's needs are met."

Aelfrida knew that rich-timbered voice was Tryffin's. When she turned her eyes toward him, he was already far away.

Gail, a servant with a rounded face and body, gestured for Aelfrida to follow her. As Aelfrida was rushed down the hallway and up the stairs of the grand villa she felt so small. Will I ever get used to all this luxury? She followed the plump servant into a spacious bower. She plopped down on an uncomfortable wooden stool and spoke to Gail.

"Whom do I share this chamber with?" Butterfly wings fluttered against Aelfrida's chest, as she thought, not Tryffin. Please not yet.

"This is Princess Nesta's chamber. You share with her. I had a bath brought forth." Gail pointed to a round wooden tub in the corner.

Aelfrida nodded to the servant. A mocking voice inside her head was chiding that she should be relieved Tryffin was not sharing the chamber, instead of feeling so let down.

She pulled the braids from her hair and shook it loose, then shed her gown and sank into the warm water. She raised her knees up and lowered her smooth back into the water scented with floating leaves. It smelled of sweetness, spring breezes, and lush grass, bringing to mind the musky scent of sweat and leather that lingered about Tryffin. She pictured the late summer breeze blowing through his deep russet hair as he rode a muscular steed in the misty spray of a gentle shower. As the tiny leaves crushed into her skin, it tingled. Her wet flesh tingled as she recalled the warmth of Tryffin's sinewy arms and the ripples across his chest. Leaning her head back, she saw Gail staring with a puzzled expression, Aelfrida felt her cheeks color, but her embarrassment quickly turned to vexation at her wayward thoughts. I have become such a silly goose. What is wrong with me? She flashed Gail a wide grin as if nothing was wrong. Nervously she plucked a leaf from the water and held it up.

"Strawberry leaves."

"Aye, M'lady, 'tis a favorite of Princess Nesta," Gail answered while massaging the relaxing water into Aelfrida's scalp. Aelfrida's lingering, wanton thoughts vanished at the sound of footfalls fast approaching from the stair well.

Gail held out a loose tunic to Aelfrida for modesty's sake just before the door drapery was pulled back. Nesta strode in, her face blotched red from weeping -- yet she offered Aelfrida the hospitality of Lichester.

"I welcome you, to this family, sister mine."

Aelfrida flashed the princess a sincere smile. "You are most gracious, M'lady, I offer my deepest condolences in this time of grief."

"Aye, ye are a sweet one." The corners of Nesta's mouth formed a slight smile. Aelfrida felt Nesta run her hand thorough the wisp of hair dangling loose from two silvery braids.

"I miss brushing my mam's hair. May I?"

Aelfrida nodded yes.

Nesta picked up a jewel-encrusted comb and handed Aelfrida an heirloom bronze mirror. Aelfrida wrapped her fingers around the handle bedecked in Celtic tracery.

"The rough ride did a job of matting your hair."

"Quite so. Albeit I kept it braided." If that matters at all? What do I know of the fine styling of hair or clothes? I was raised in a forest hut by three lead miners. Before, that I was a slave, yet here I am betrothed to a Prince. Does Tryffin know of my lowly birth? Could he tell that my Father was not a free man? Who ever heard of a Prince marrying a thrall?

"I hear tell you were fostered by Prytani miners."

"Aye, they are of the old race before the Celts came."

Nesta smiled. "We call them the wild ones."

Irritation etched Aelfrida's voice. So Nesta meant to point out her low station. She would let no one not even the Lichester princes insult her foster fathers. "They took me in as a lost child and gave me much love. They are far from wild, M'lady."

Nesta continued to run the brush down Aelfrida's long mane. "I meant but to honor them by my words. 'Tis true that the Roman side of me reveres the word 'civilized'. Yet to the Celtic side there is no higher compliment I can pay to another living thing then to call it wild. Without the wildness you could not have survived one night as a child alone in Pensel woods much less seven years. Strength such as yours is hard to come by. You are a fitting wife for my brother and have the makings of proper princess for my people."

She sat the brush down.

"Amongst the Celts 'tis maidenly to wear our hair loose, especially for brides on their wedding day. As far as braiding goes six braids is not uncommon for us. We fasten gold balls to the ends." She dug out six such tiny, golden orbs from a small chest and held them out to Aelfrida. "For you. They were my mother's."

"Oh, no I can't take those. They are too fine for the likes of me."

Nesta pressed the six balls into Aelfrida's palm. "They are yours." She flashed Aelfrida a lively dimpled smile. "This is your home. I am your new sister. Everything here is yours."

Nesta's grin was infectious. Aelfrida smiled as she struggled with her conscience. 'Tis not fair that I keep this secret. I need tell her I am no fine lady to live like a Princess and bedeck my tresses with golden balls. I am a thrall. A Saxon thrall. When she finds that I was not born free she will not think me wild. To grow wild one must grow free.

"Nesta, you revere wild men, yet you call Saxons barbarian."

"They burn and ravish -- 'tis not the way of champions. 'Tis not honorable. 'Tis not the acts of wild men but ruthless marauders."

"My sire and dame did not commit such acts."

'Tryffin knows they were harmless. It haunts him."

"Well it should."

"Aye, your strength shall serve my brother well." Nesta opened a chest, withdrew a white linen shift, and held it up to Aelfrida. "This too, was my mother's."

Aelfrida shed her peplos and under-dress then slipped on the treasured shift. Sighing with pleasure at the feel of the elegant cloth against her bare skin, she stroked the fabric far more airy and delicate then wool. Aelfrida had never seen the like.

"Nesta, what did you call this cloth?"

"Linen."

Aelfrida twirled. She felt so pretty. She tilted her head, her long silver hair rippling, down her back. She looked at Nesta. Often as a child in Pensel woods she longed for a sister. Now she had one. She really did.

Aelfrida smiled as she sank into the rush filled mattress, saying, "I bid you good night, sister mine."

A shaft of moonlight beamed through the small chapel window; Tryffin slumped over an oaken funeral couch, the closed lid was carved with likeness of his father and bordered by intricate engravings of Jesus, Joseph, and the blessed Mother Mary. He gazed at the image of his mother carved on top of her sarcophagus. A tall dark robed figure stood in the doorway. Tryffin gave him a gloomy nod of dismissal. "Priest, I wish to grieve in peace." 'Tis no time for company. I am weeping like a weaning babe. No one should see my weakness bared. He rubbed his red eyes to stop the flux of tears.

"My Prince I would have words with you," the priest said in a dull, troubled voice.

That alone set warning bells ringing. Tryffin cleared his throat to vanquish the sobs. "Priest, do you bring troubling news?"

"The funeral will be on the morrow, my Lord Prince." He paused for he knew the Prince would not want to hear what he had to say. "It is favorable to have the acclamation of the heir no later than the following day. On the next, we need hold the wedding feast."

"What say you? Verily you do not mean to celebrate my acclamation then my wedding henceforth, before my parents' graves are even cold?" His melancholy mood veered to anger, insulted over this slight to his sire. "We shall observe the full period of mourning before holding festivities." Dismissing the priest, Tryffin turned back to gaze at the cold clay urns. Father Callus drew back, inhaled deeply, gathering all his strength.

"Prince Tryffin, I know you have no wish to speak of these matters at this time of grief." He lifted his hands shaking them slightly. "But plans must be put forth. 'Tis best for Lichester to move forward with the coronation and the wedding forthwith. 'Tis a time of unrest. Prince Vortimer fights against the Saxon horde."

Father Callus' intake of breath was sharp and audible. "You need fortify your position. The folk of Lichester need the security of a crowned prince and a lady of the manor."

Tryffin lowered his gaze. Lichester and its people are my responsibility now. "You speak of duty, Father Callus. My sire raised me to do my duty. My thanks for your good counsel. Make the plans. It shall be as you say." He turned back to the urns. "Leave me be -- I bid my parents farewell."

The priest quietly withdrew. Tryffin lay upon his mother's funeral coach and wept. Then stood and strode with a stiff heaviness across the yard to the villa. He dragged his feet up the two red concrete porch steps.

His steps vibrated loudly against the colored concrete of the portacus. He entered the villa striding across the floor of circular mosaic scenes. He briefly scanned the lighted painted panels of Roman mythology from which glowing braziers hung lighting his way toward the family bowers as he called for Gail.

Tryffin was soon standing outside the ladies bowers listening to the servant do his bidding. "Lady Aelfrida, Princess Nesta, let me help you with your robes. The Prince begs words with you."

They darted into the hallway. Nesta reached out to hug Tryffin, then hesitated.

"Brother, what tidings do you bring?"

"Ladies, it will be hectic," he stopped in mid sentence to take a deep breath. "We must move forward at a quickened pace." His mouth tightened.

"On the morrow we shall have the funeral games. The next day shall be my coronation and swearing of fealty. The day following shall be the wedding. As heir, I must settle these matters swiftly." He stood stiff, still and silent. Tryffin knew Nesta would put up a fuss about the rush. He could not even meet Aelfrida's gaze. She may break loose and flee rather than be wed to a Celtic Prince in three days' time.

"Ahh." Aelfrida's tone was sympathetic. "It is sad, for it bears hardest on you." She leaned her head toward him. "You need more time."

He blinked his eyes, astonished at Aelfrida's words. Tryffin noticed Nesta's shocked expression. Her mouth was agape. Her eyes grew wider. He knew that his own expression mirrored hers.

The corners of his mouth tipped up into a smile. By Jove, the maiden is warming to me already. He stepped toward her. The scent of lush berries lingered about her, like a mist. He reached for Aelfrida's soft hands as he stared into her depthless woad-blue eyes. His smile widened. He realized that she made no effort to retrieve her hands. My eyes entrance her. Bending his head slightly forward, he whispered, "Sleep well, my love."

Tryffin noticed the trembling of her lithe body, and felt a certain pride that he affected her thus. Inasmuch, it would take all his will power to hold out until the wedding night. Tryffin stood in the doorway, gazing at Aelfrida. He saw his reflection in her eyes.

Aelfrida stepped back and said, "We all need to rest for the funeral on the morrow." She slipped into the bedchamber.

Flashing a smug grin, Nesta quipped,"Oh my! Interesting days ahead."

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