Winds of Time by Sarah Woodbury

could drink. After
a few more minutes, he was able to lever himself to his feet. He
rested his head against his horse and slowly stroked its neck.
    “ Are we in danger from
Henry, do you think?” I said.
    Marc sighed and patted his horse some more,
back to his usual silence. Fortunately, this time, he condescended
to break it. “Henry is my cousin,” he said in a level voice, the
first time I’d heard him use it. “While Edyth and I share a father,
Henry is the eldest son of my father’s brother. Upon his deathbed,
my uncle asked me to look after him. Henry is five years younger
than I, and has always been greedy, conniving, and very, very
intelligent. I thought I could control him, and failed in the worst
possible way.
    “ Since Prince Dafydd
returned to Wales—after the agreement of 1277—Henry rose higher in
the Prince’s estimation, to my detriment. It was through me that
Henry came to the Prince’s attention in the first place, but I
realize now that Henry continually whispered untruths about me in
the Prince’s ear. Prince Dafydd, in turn, saw the possibilities in
my brother: that he would carry out his bidding, no matter what it
was. That brought Henry more power. Through Henry’s urging, Prince
Dafydd reconciled with Prince Llywelyn. As Prince Dafydd’s
influence grew, so did Henry’s.”
    “ What plan did you fail to
complete that brought down Prince Dafydd’s ire on you?” I said.
“Did he order you to … assassinate Prince Llywelyn?”
    Marc opened one eye and then closed it,
before answering a question I hadn’t asked. “Henry rescued me from
my debtors, but I owed him money and he never let me forget it. He
threatened to expose my failings to my other creditors. And to
Prince Dafydd, if I didn’t take the blame for something I didn’t
do. That the plan failed is Henry’s doing, not mine.”
    “ What plan?”
    But Marc didn’t answer. He gripped his
horse’s mane and pulled himself into the saddle as if he were
climbing the last peak of a tall mountain range. Once in the
saddle, he looked first at me, and then away down the road.
    “ I will speak no more of
this,” he said. “It is over. Now remount your horse and we will be
on our way.”
    He urged his horse forward
and I hurried to catch my own horse and mount, my head spinning all
the while. The need to see Llywelyn had risen as an ache in my
breast I hadn’t felt for many years. I’d fought it; I’d beaten it
down; I’d suppressed it to the point that I believed I could live a
normal life. I had lived a normal life. But all I’d done was lull myself into
living a lie.
    For the rest of the day, I rode well behind
Marc. Whether his silence was due to shame or anger I did not know.
I was as lost in the Middle Ages as I’d ever been.
     
    * * * * *
     
    “ You must be Mistress
Marged,” the stocky captain of the Morgannwg said in Welsh as I
dismounted. Marc was already turning his horse around as if he
meant to leave that very minute.
    “ Yes, sir,” I said in the
same language, glancing back at Marc. “How soon do we
sail?”
    “ With the tide, Madam. One
hour. Please come aboard.”
    I glanced past him to the little boat that
would carry me to Wales and thought ugly thoughts.
    “ Are there any other
passengers?” I wanted to know how many others might witness my
upcoming humiliation.
    The captain hesitated, leaned forward, and
lowered his voice. “There is one, Madam. He should remain hidden
and you need not encounter him.”
    “ Why ever not?”
    “ He is a physician.” Morgan
pursed his lips, thinking. “He is … a Jew.”
    “ Oh,” I said.
    “ The man saved my daughter’s
life and I feel I must accommodate his request for passage to
Wales. If you are concerned about sailing with him …”
    The man hesitated again and I hurried to
reassure him. “I’m not concerned, sir. Please don’t worry about him
on my account. I confess I am not a good sailor, and I might have
need of his assistance on the