Never an overly prideful man, he thought nothing of picking up a scythe and working in the fields with his serfs and his slaves. Indeed, on the day that Owain ap Llywelyn had died, he had suddenly decided to help in the rethatching of his barn. The spring rains would be upon them, and the winter had taken its toll of that vital structure's roof. A load of thatch upon his broad shoulder, he had lost his footing and fallen from the roof into a pile of hay below. A pitchfork, left carelessly in the hay, had pierced Owain ap Llywelyn's heart, killing him instantly.
The heir to Gwernach was ten years old and, although technically the estate was his, he was much too young to manage it. That task had fallen to his eldest sister, Wynne, who was fifteen, there being no male kin available. Fortunately the orphans of Gwernach had their paternal grandmother, Enid, to look after the management of the household, leaving Wynne free to oversee her little brother's large inheritance. There were other things that needed settling, though, and Wynne feared she was not capable of doing these things.
As the lord of Gwernach, her little brother was a valuable marital catch; but Wynne was not certain it was wise to betroth Dewi ap Owain to a wife until he was considerably older. It was not unusual for boys of ten to be married; but the truth of the matter was that should Dewi not survive his childhood, a child wife's family could place a claim on the rich lands of Gwernach in the widow's name. Then what would happen to the rest of them? Standing by her father's grave, Wynne frowned, for she knew the answer to her question. She, her sisters, and their grandmother would find themselves displaced and penniless. It was all so complicated. Husbands had to be found for Caitlin, Dilys, and Mair. How was she to go about that? She didn't even have a husband herself.