Read The Dragon Lord's Daughters Online
Authors: Bertrice Small
The Dragon Lord's Daughters (38 page)
“What of Simon de Bohun?” a voice from among the small garrison called.
“He will soon be in hell with his sire,” Rhys replied coldly. “Put down your weapons if you would swear a new alligance to the Pendragons.”
The sound of falling weaponry filled the courtyard, and the men there fell to their knees.
“Two of you,” Rhys said, “open the gates wide, now, and watch for our horses. The rest of you come into the hall.” And he led them into the castle, the head of Hugo de Bohun leading them on. They were then put into the dungeons, and locked in the cells there, for Merin Pendragon would want each man interviewed before he would trust any allegiance they would make. The de Bohun men understood that, and made no protest. Rhys then rejoined his father-in-law and the Mortimers.
Junia and Simon were standing separately, each guarded by two of the Dragon Lord's men-at-arms.
“Where is the priest?” Merin Pendragon called loudly, and the cleric hurried forward. “You know what to do, priest,” the Dragon Lord said. “Bring my daughter and the young de Bohun lord forward.”
“Da!” Junia attempted to speak with her father once again.
“You are to be married to your lover, girl. Is that not what you wanted?” he asked her coldly.
“Have mercy, Da!” she begged him.
“I will show him more mercy than he showed you. Now be silent, girl, and speak your vows with this man you would marry,” Merin Pendragon said in harsh tones.
“If you mean to kill him once we are wed I will not say the vows,” Junia cried defiantly. “If that is the only way I can keep him alive then I will!”
“Junia, in the name of all that is holy,” Simon said to her, “let me restore your honor to you before I die! Do not let me go to my death with the sin of what I did on my conscience, I beg you!”
“But if I will not wed you, he will not kill you, for my honor will still be in question,” Junia reasoned innocently.
“Junia, I am already a dead man,” Simon told her softly. “Marry me and let me go to my grave forgiven. Our love was doomed from the start.” He took her two hands in his hands. “Please, my love, do this for me that I may rest in peace.”
The tears began to slip down Junia's face. She nodded reluctantly.
The young couple were pushed forward before the priest, and were told to join hands. The priest hurriedly droned the words of the marriage ceremony, and when he had finished Junia and Simon were man and wife. They kissed a lingering kiss. Then the priest drew Simon de Bohun off, and Junia watched with growing horror as her husband knelt and began to speak in low words that she could not make out. She turned to her father now, her slender hands held out pleadingly in a gesture of silent desperation.
“Da! In the name of all that is holy, spare Simon!” The tears began to pour down her fair face. “He is all I have ever wanted. I love him!” She threw herself at her father's feet pleading, her hands raised up to him in supplication. “Let him go away! I will never see him again! Da! Da! I beseech you to have mercy!”
Merin Pendragon turned his head away from his weeping daughter. “The Pendragon honor, Junia, your honor, my honor, must be restored. There is no other way. I am sorry, my daughter.”
“You are a worse monster than Hugo de Bohun!” she accused him angrily. “If you do this thing I will never forgive you!”
“Is he shrived yet, priest?” the Dragon Lord asked.
Simon de Bohun stood up and walked over to them. “But a moment, my lord,” he said calmly to Merin Pendragon. Then he took Junia in his arms, and looking down into her face said, “Your father is right, my love. By stealing your virtue I stole your honor as well. Our marriage has but partly restored that honor. Only my life can atone for what has happened. I should never have come that day to meet you, but I needed to see you one more time. I am so sorry, Junia, for I would have never intentionally harmed you, my precious love.”
“Simon! I love you!” she cried. The tears would not stop flowing. She would spend the rest of her life in tears and mourning for him, Junia thought to herself.
“And I love you, my dear wife,” he responded. “But now I must go, and you, Junia, must continue on with your life as it was intended.” His lips touched hers in a final tender kiss, and then putting the girl from him he turned to Merin Pendragon. “I am ready now, my lord,” he said.
The Dragon Lord handed Simon de Bohun a cup of wine. “My beloved Gorawen sent me with a packet of poison, Simon de Bohun. She said if I felt you deserved a kind death I was to give it you, mixed within a cup of wine. There will be no pain, I promise you. Just sleep.”
“No!” Junia flung herself towards the two men in a futile attempt to take the cup. She was restrained by Rhys FitzHugh.
“Shut up, damn you, Junia!” he hissed in her ear. “He is exhibiting great bravery. Would you break his spirit now?” His fingers dug into her arms.
Simon de Bohun's elegant fingers wrapped about the stem of the goblet. Then raising it to his lips he drank it down without stopping. The cup dropped from his hand almost at once, and he collapsed to his knees. “Junia!” he said, and then he crumpled over, his heart slowly coming to a stop. His last conscious thought was that Merin Pendragon hadn't lied. There was no pain. No pain at all.
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unia began to scream. She wrenched herself free of Rhys's iron grip, and threw herself across Simon's now prone form. Her hand reached out to take the cup. She would drink whatever dregs were left in it, but Rhys, anticipating her, kicked the cup across the hall. Gazing up at him, the look she gave him was filled with venom. Then she turned towards her father. “You have murdered Simon, damn you!”
unia began to scream. She wrenched herself free of Rhys's iron grip, and threw herself across Simon's now prone form. Her hand reached out to take the cup. She would drink whatever dregs were left in it, but Rhys, anticipating her, kicked the cup across the hall. Gazing up at him, the look she gave him was filled with venom. Then she turned towards her father. “You have murdered Simon, damn you!”
“I have restored our honor, you foolish child,” he told her.
“What good is honor to me when I have lost the one man, the only man I shall ever love?” she screamed at him. “Will honor keep me warm on a cold winter's night, Da? Will honor give me a son? Curse you and your honor to hell!” She cradled the body of her dead husband protectively.
“Lay him out upon the high board,” Merin Pendragon said. “He will burn with the castle.”
“No!” Junia told her father fiercely. “You will bury him honorably, next to his mother. Let his father burn with Agramant as he is now burning in hell, but Simon will be treated with dignity, Da. It will be your bridal gift to me.” Her look was one of pure determination.
“Let her have this boon, my lord,” Lord Mortimer interceded for Junia. “It is little enough your daughter asks of you.”
“Very well,” Merin Pendragon replied. “Take some of the de Bohun men, daughter, and bury your husband.” He turned to Rhys. “Fetch two from the dungeons, and go with them.”
“I will go too,” young Brynn Pendragon said.
The Dragon Lord looked to his son, surprised.
“He was my friend, Da,” the boy said quietly. “He was kind to me.”
“He took our family's honor, Brynn,” Merin Pendragon responded.
“But he was my friend,” Brynn repeated, and going to his sister raised her up from where she knelt, gently loosening her grip from Simon's dead body. “Come, Junia, we must bury him now, sister.” Then he turned to Cadi and old Elga, both of whom were weeping softly, afraid to incur the wrath of the Dragon Lord. “Come with us.”
“A shroud,” Elga quavered. “He must have a shroud.”
“There is no time, old woman,” Lord Mortimer told her. “Be grateful the Dragon Lord allows him to be laid by his mam.”
Rhys returned from the dungeons with two strong men in tow. On his command they picked up the body of Simon de Bohun, and departed the hall.
Merin Pendragon turned to the two de Bohun women servants. “If there is anything of yours that you would take with you,” he said, “fetch it now while the grave is being dug. I am almost ready to fire the castle.”
The two women scampered off while Brynn led his sister out of the castle onto the hillside where Anne de Bohun was buried in a family plot marked with a small stone cross. The two men-at-arms set the body they carried down, and began to dig the grave that would contain Simon de Bohun. The earth was soft with the recent rains, and the two worked quickly. Elga and Cadi joined Brynn and Junia just as Rhys declared the grave ready. The two servants carried small bundles wrapped in shawls.
Junia was sitting on the grass next to the body. She was speaking softly, but they could not make out her words. The tears that continued to pour down her face seemed endless, and her eyes were beginning to swell shut with her sorrow.
Rhys touched her shoulder gently. “Say your farewell, Junia. It is time.”
The face that looked up at him was anguished and drawn, but she nodded, bending to kiss the icy lips of the young man who had been so briefly her husband. Then she let Brynn help her up, and watched, trembling, as Simon was laid in his grave. Old Elga was sobbing bitterly, and her keening grew in intensity as the dirt was shoveled over the body of the young man she had helped to raise. The air was suddenly damp with impending rain, and as the wind began to rise they suddenly smelled an odor of burning. Turning they saw Agramant fully ablaze, flames leaping from the castle roof and from every opening in the building. Even the heavy wooden drawbridge was afire.
The serfs belonging to Agramant had come forth from their hovels. They stood staring openmouthed at the destruction, and particularly at the bloodied head of Hugo de Bohun looking down at them from atop its pike. Merin Pendragon spoke to them in a loud and strong voice.
“I am the Dragon Lord, and so end those who insult my family's honor. Take what few possessions you have, and follow in my train. You now belong to me, but you will find me a far better master than the one whose head now adorns my pike.”
“My lord!” A tall man among the serfs came forward. “What of the young lord?”
Merin Pendragon pointed with a long finger to the hillside. “He is now next to the lady Anne. May God and his Blessed Mother have mercy on him.”
At his words many among the serfs began to weep.
“Find my daughter,” the Dragon Lord said. “She will ride by my side.”
It was Rhys FitzHugh and Brynn Pendragon who lifted Junia off her husband's grave. They aided her to mount her horse, and put the reins in her hands. She spoke not a word. Her eyes were now almost entirely shut from the salt of her tears, which refused to stop flowing. Seeing her deep anguish Brynn attached a leading rein to his sister's mount, which he kept himself. Merin Pendragon said nothing. It was natural for his daughter to mourn the man she had believed she loved. He would give her a full year's mourning, for if he did not it would seem odd to any considering her for a wife. She would not be allowed to ride out from Dragon's Lair unless she was accompanied by his men. There would be no more problems such as Junia had caused with the de Bohuns.
They came home two days later, their journey having been slowed by the serfs with them. Argel and Gorawen were waiting for them in the great hall of Dragon's Lair. When they saw the state the young girl was in they both hurried forward, but before they might speak to her Ysbail came into the hall, and seeing her daughter ran forward.
“So, you are returned despoiled and unfit to be a decent man's wife, my daughter!” she cried. “How could you bring dishonor upon the Pendragon name, Junia?”
“I am widowed, Mother,” Junia spoke the first words they had heard her utter since departing Agramant.
“Well, that is at least something,” Ysbail replied. “Our honor has been restored. I knew your father would do the right thing. Pray God there is no child in your womb.”
“I curse the day the Dragon Lord ever laid eyes on you, Mother,” Junia said. “I curse the day you laid with him and conceived a daughter. Get away from me! Your words offend, and the sight of you makes me want to puke!”
Ysbail fell back, openmouthed. She tried to speak, but she could not.
Junia turned away from her, and stalked from the hall proudly.
“Jesu!” Argel whispered. “I have never seen such bitterness.”
“She loved him,” Gorawen replied simply.
“Here is your son, safe, lady,” Merin Pendragon said to his wife.
Argel held out her arms to Brynn, and with a grin he slipped into them, and hugged her. “You are your father's son,” she told him, “and I am proud of you, Brynn.”
“It was Juni who saved me,” he told her. “She saw I had water, for Hugo de Bohun planned to starve me to death. Juni said I could survive as long as I had water, and she was right, Mother. She was the brave one, for she bearded Hugo de Bohun daily.”
Argel kissed her son's forehead, and then released him. “I will remember to thank your sister,” she promised.
“I would wait a while,” Brynn replied wisely. “She is very angry that father slew her husband. Simon was not a brave man until the very end, but he did his best to protect her. He really loved her.” Then Brynn turned to greet both Gorawen and Ysbail. “I am happy to see you both,” he told them.
“I am sorry my daughter put you in danger, Brynn,” Ysbail whispered in a quavery tone. “I am glad you have survived to come home to us.”
Brynn realized suddenly that he felt sorry for Ysbail. With a show of his generous nature he embraced her, saying, “Lady, I am as much to blame as is my sister. But we are both now safe, praise God and his angels.” Then he kissed her cheek.
Ysbail burst into fulsome tears, and ran from the hall.
“ 'Twas nicely done, my son,” Argel approved, and Gorawen nodded in agreement. “When Junia ran to her Simon, all of Ysbail's dreams came crashing down around her, I fear. She is at a loss now as to what to do.”
“She brought up one thing we has best consider,” the Dragon Lord said. “What if Junia is with child?”
“I will take care of it,” Gorawen said. “I have already prepared a draught for Junia to drink. It will settle the problem, my lord.”
“God forgive us!” he responded.
“Would you prefer a de Bohun grandchild?” she asked him. “And how easy will it be to find a husband for Junia if she is burdened with another man's child?”
“Do it now,” he said. “Junia grows more obdurate with each passing day.”
Gorawen bowed to him, and hurried off. In her chamber she opened a small packet of fine powder that she had prepared while he had been gone. Emptying it carefully into a simple pewter goblet she poured wine from her own carafe, and painstakingly mixed the two until the powder was well dissolved. Then taking up the cup she went up the winding staircase to the tower room where Junia slept. Opening the door with one hand, she entered.
Junia turned, but there was no welcome in her look. “What do you want?” she asked. Her normally sweet voice was cold as ice.
But Gorawen did not flinch. She held out the cup. “Drink it,” she said.
Junia took the cup from the older woman. For a long moment she hesitated, but then she drank it down as swiftly as Simon had imbibed his poisoned cup.
“You did not ask me what it was,” Gorawen said, taking the cup back.
“I would wish the same poison that you gave my husband, but I know better. This brew of yours is to make certain I bear no child, is it not?”
“Aye,” Gorawen answered, her gaze refusing to flinch beneath Junia's hard look.
“I will never forgive any of you,” Junia told her.
“Perhaps you will not,” Gorawen said calmly, “but I would remind you that this is not the fault of your mother, or Argel, or me. What has happened to you is not the fault of your father, or your brother, either, Junia. What has happened is your fault, and Simon de Bohun's fault. He has paid the ultimate price with his death. Now you must pay the ultimate price by living without him whether you will or no.” And then turning about, Gorawen left the surprised girl. The older woman understood the girl's grief, but Junia had to come to terms with the truth sooner or later.
Let her consider my words well,
Gorawen thought to herself as she made her way back down into the hall.
Let her consider my words well,
Gorawen thought to herself as she made her way back down into the hall.
The autumn came, and they celebrated on the last day of October in the old way. The fires burned on the hillsides from the moment of the sunset and through the night, sending off the old year, and welcoming in the new year. The preparations were made for the winter. The lord and his men hunted daily. New hovels were built to house the additional serfs before the cold rains and bitter snows of winter arrived.
The winter came, and it was no better or worse than many before it. Junia remained cold and sullen to her family, but for Byrnn. She wove at her loom incessantly, and prayed constantly. Cadi and old Elga had been absorbed into the household. Argel had asked Elga to serve young Brynn in hopes that having another boy would ease the woman's sorrow over Simon de Bohun. Brynn did not really need a nursemaid any longer, but he understood, and found little things that Elga might do for him. Cadi was given to Gorawen. It was thought better she not serve Junia for she could be nothing more than a reminder of the girl's time at Agramant, which had ended so unhappily.
Spring finally came, and seated in the hall one night Merin Pendragon brought up the subject they had been expecting him to bring up. “It is seven months since our return from Agramant,” he began, “and Junia will be sixteen in two more months. The time has come for me to seek out another husband for her.”
“She will fight you over it, my lord,” Ysbail said.
“Perhaps, and perhaps not,” Gorawen responded.
“Aye,” Argel agreed. “She is still angry at us, and may take any excuse to leave Dragon's Lair.”
“Have you a man in mind?” Gorawen asked their lord.
“Possibly. Mortimer and I discussed it last autumn when we were hunting,” Merin Pendragon replied. “He has a widowed cousin, William le Clare, who was wed for many years to his childhood sweetheart. It was a true love match between them,” the Dragon Lord said, “but alas, they had no children. William le Clare's wife died two years ago. He might be willing to take a young wife in hopes of at last siring an heir.”
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