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Authors: Where Magic Dwells
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that moment of terror, Wynne realized. Forgotten was everything in the face of this man’s easy way with the boy. In that same instant she reluctantly recognized how much Arthur needed a father. How much they all did.
Coming as it did on the tail of the Englishman’s revelation of his purpose in Wales, that admission was nearly her undoing. They needed a father, even the girls. No matter how hard she tried to mother them, she couldn’t change that fact. Yet giving up even one of them to their English father was not the solution.
Unable to deal with these new and troubling thoughts, Wynne rose abruptly to her feet. “Let’s be on our way then. Rhys, Madoc, come away from that vine. If you two think you’re going to try that foolhardy feat again—Here, I want you two separated. Rhys, you shall go with Bronwen. There, up ahead of me. And Madoc, you and Isolde stay behind me—”
“I’ll walk with Sir Cleve,” Arthur piped up.
“No, you shall walk with me,” Wynne retorted. She crossed to Arthur and took his hand in hers, pulling him clear of the Englishman. Sir Cleve, indeed! It seemed the English gave titles to baby-stealers now. What a godless race they were.
“You’re hurting my hand,” Arthur complained. He pulled hard against her. “Wynne!”
In sudden confusion Wynne stared down at the child. His eyes were wide and frightened. The other children, too, were watching her with expressions ranging from uncertainty to fear. She released Arthur at once, then clasped her own hands together. Anything to stop the awful shaking that had suddenly overcome them.
“Are you all right?” the Englishman asked in a quiet voice. When she didn’t answer, he turned to the children. “The five of you start up the path. You know the way. Go slowly and stay together. Wynne has had a little scare, that’s all. We’ll follow shortly.”
The children obeyed at once. Though Wynne would like to have called them back—to gather them all in her arms and draw strength from their very nearness—at that moment all she could do was stand there, trembling.
“Are you all right?” he asked once more.
Again Wynne didn’t answer. She couldn’t. The truth was, she was not all right. Her life, which had seemed so even and calm, so predictable, now was shattering all around her. And all because of this man.
He put a hand on her arm and turned her to face him, but at his touch she jerked away. Though she’d had a strong sense of his presence before she’d even laid eyes on him, that was as nothing compared with the effect of his touch. It was so strong, it shook her to her very core. Even as she backed away from him, she could still feel the individual impressions of each one of his fingers.
“Stay away from me,” she whispered, not sure whether it was her fear or the threat she intended that came through in her voice. “Stay away from me and my children.”
“Listen to me, Wynne.” He stepped forward, arms open in appeal. “Let me tell you everything, and then you’ll understand.”
“I understand all I need to understand,” she retorted. “You’ve come here to steal one of my children. That makes you my foe, and … and …” Her voice wavered, and she knew she sounded more like an emotional woman than an enemy to be feared. But still she plunged on. “And I’ll fight you with every fiber of my being.”
She started to step back and turn away. He was too close. He was too big and too intimidating. But before she could move, he had her by both arms. Once more that unexpected charge of energy shot through her, catching her off guard. Then he lowered his face to the same level as hers and glared back at her.
“I don’t want to fight you,” he snapped, giving her a slight shake for emphasis. “One of your children was very likely sired by Sir William Somerville. He’s a very powerful and rich man, and he wants to give his son all the benefits due him.”
“You can’t be sure it’s one of my
Coming as it did on the tail of the Englishman’s revelation of his purpose in Wales, that admission was nearly her undoing. They needed a father, even the girls. No matter how hard she tried to mother them, she couldn’t change that fact. Yet giving up even one of them to their English father was not the solution.
Unable to deal with these new and troubling thoughts, Wynne rose abruptly to her feet. “Let’s be on our way then. Rhys, Madoc, come away from that vine. If you two think you’re going to try that foolhardy feat again—Here, I want you two separated. Rhys, you shall go with Bronwen. There, up ahead of me. And Madoc, you and Isolde stay behind me—”
“I’ll walk with Sir Cleve,” Arthur piped up.
“No, you shall walk with me,” Wynne retorted. She crossed to Arthur and took his hand in hers, pulling him clear of the Englishman. Sir Cleve, indeed! It seemed the English gave titles to baby-stealers now. What a godless race they were.
“You’re hurting my hand,” Arthur complained. He pulled hard against her. “Wynne!”
In sudden confusion Wynne stared down at the child. His eyes were wide and frightened. The other children, too, were watching her with expressions ranging from uncertainty to fear. She released Arthur at once, then clasped her own hands together. Anything to stop the awful shaking that had suddenly overcome them.
“Are you all right?” the Englishman asked in a quiet voice. When she didn’t answer, he turned to the children. “The five of you start up the path. You know the way. Go slowly and stay together. Wynne has had a little scare, that’s all. We’ll follow shortly.”
The children obeyed at once. Though Wynne would like to have called them back—to gather them all in her arms and draw strength from their very nearness—at that moment all she could do was stand there, trembling.
“Are you all right?” he asked once more.
Again Wynne didn’t answer. She couldn’t. The truth was, she was not all right. Her life, which had seemed so even and calm, so predictable, now was shattering all around her. And all because of this man.
He put a hand on her arm and turned her to face him, but at his touch she jerked away. Though she’d had a strong sense of his presence before she’d even laid eyes on him, that was as nothing compared with the effect of his touch. It was so strong, it shook her to her very core. Even as she backed away from him, she could still feel the individual impressions of each one of his fingers.
“Stay away from me,” she whispered, not sure whether it was her fear or the threat she intended that came through in her voice. “Stay away from me and my children.”
“Listen to me, Wynne.” He stepped forward, arms open in appeal. “Let me tell you everything, and then you’ll understand.”
“I understand all I need to understand,” she retorted. “You’ve come here to steal one of my children. That makes you my foe, and … and …” Her voice wavered, and she knew she sounded more like an emotional woman than an enemy to be feared. But still she plunged on. “And I’ll fight you with every fiber of my being.”
She started to step back and turn away. He was too close. He was too big and too intimidating. But before she could move, he had her by both arms. Once more that unexpected charge of energy shot through her, catching her off guard. Then he lowered his face to the same level as hers and glared back at her.
“I don’t want to fight you,” he snapped, giving her a slight shake for emphasis. “One of your children was very likely sired by Sir William Somerville. He’s a very powerful and rich man, and he wants to give his son all the benefits due him.”
“You can’t be sure it’s one of my
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