Read The Dragon Lord's Daughters Online
Authors: Bertrice Small
The Dragon Lord's Daughters (6 page)
“They're gone,” Roger said.
“They're sure to return this way,” Rhys replied. “I smell rain on the wind. It may be safer remaining here. I don't want to begin our journey again only to meet the lady's outraged father returning home, and have no place to hide her. Do you think your father's men can outrun the Welsh?”
“Aye. They'll have no trouble. Pendragon is unlikely to even catch sight of them except briefly. They'll be into the Englishry by nightfall, and I doubt the Welsh will follow them there. The Dragon Lord will accept his heiress has been bride-napped and will have to come to make a settlement.”
“We're not at Everleigh yet,” Rhys said wisely. “I would remain well hidden for now.” He stood up, and as he did he realized his captive had ceased her struggles. He pulled his cloak off her. Averil had fainted. He bent to make certain that she was breathing, sighing with relief at the sight of the rapidly beating pulse in her slender throat.
“Nay, you didn't kill her.” Roger chuckled. “She is a beauty, isn't she? What luck you have had, Rhys!”
“Aye, she's pretty enough,” he admitted. What had he done? He had stolen this highborn girl from her family, and the possibility of a good match with some nobleman. He was a baseborn son, and would never be more than a bailiff. Her family would kill him for this, but the die was cast, and the girl did have the most kissable lips.
“Pretty? She is beautiful! Look at that hair! It's like spun gold. And her figure, slim, yet nicely rounded where it should be,” Roger enthused. “Her features are very fine, not at all coarse. What a lovely little nose she has. It is straight without a hook on its end or a bump in its slim little bridge. I wonder what color her eyes are.” He sighed. “Aye, you bagged yourself a truly fair maiden, Rhys.”
They sat and waited until eventually, as the sun was sliding into the long May twilight, they heard the sounds of horses again passing them by, but this time going in the direction of Dragon's Lair. One of the men-at-arms had slipped out at the first sign of Pendragon's return, and hidden along the track to make certain of who it was riding by. Finally, when all had been quiet for several long minutes, he returned.
“ 'Twas the Welsh, my lords,” he confirmed. “And the lord of them all was swearing something fierce as they went by.” The man chuckled.
“We'll wait a bit longer,” Rhys said, “before I remove the lady's gag so she may eat and drink.” They sat in silence again as the faint rumble of thunder could be heard heralding the approaching storm. Finally, Rhys bent and untied Averil's gag.
She glared up at him. “You have almost killed me,” she snarled.
“Are you hungry or thirsty?” he asked her, ignoring her complaint.
“I have to pee,” she snapped.
He flushed at her words. But then he pulled her to her feet. “I'll have to go with you,” he said. “For some reason I do not feel I can trust you.”
“I cannot pee with you standing there watching,” Averil told him. “Put me in that closed stall there. Untie my hands so I can hike my skirts. Then close me in. There is no means of escape there, and I will have my privacy. Or do you wish to embarrass me in some futile attempt to master me?”
“Lady,” he told her, “I have only your best interests at heart.”
Averil sniffed dismissively, and held out her hands to him. He untied them and did as she had bid him, leading her to the closed stall and closing the door behind her. He heard Roger snicker and glared across the glooming of the stable at him.
“I'm finished,” he heard Averil call.
He opened the door and led her out. She moved slowly and stiffly, having been confined for the last several hours. When he had returned her to her place he moved to tie her wrists together again.
“How can I eat if I cannot use my hands?” she demanded of him.
“I do not trust you, lady,” he told her bluntly. “I will feed you myself.” He bound her hands together again.
“I shall be battered and bruised,” Averil told him. “My da will kill you when he catches up with you.”
“Your father has come and gone. He will come to Everleigh sooner than later to make a marriage settlement with me for you, lady. I have stolen you, and you are now mine.”
“I will never be yours, my lord! I should sooner enter a convent than be your wife!” Averil cried. She was furious, for she had never felt so helpless in all of her life.
“Before your father comes, lady, you and I will be well and truly mated. No convent will have you, for you will most certainly not be a virgin,” Rhys said harshly. “Now still your foolish protests or I will consummate this union here this very night before these witnesses.”
“You wouldn't dare!” Averil said, but then seeing the threatening look in his eyes she grew suddenly silent, and sat quietly.
“There is but soldier's rations,” he half apologized, bringing her a barley cake, which he broke in small pieces and fed her.
“Wine?” Averil demanded.
“Water,” he said, putting his horn flask to her lips.
“Can you not afford wine?” she replied scathingly.
“Do you want the water or not?” he asked through gritted teeth.
“Aye. I must remain alive so I can watch while my father kills you slowly for this outrage you have perpetrated upon me,” she said sweetly. Then she drank thirstily.
Roger Mortimer laughed aloud hearing her words. “She has spirit, Rhys. You will breed strong sons on her.”
Averil shot him a look of pure venom, and Roger laughed again. “If you only had a sister, lady,” he said.
“I have two,” she snapped. “ 'Twas my younger siblings with me when you kidnapped me. I am the eldest of Pendragon's three daughters and a son.”
The May moon had begun to rise through the trees as the twilight deepened into night. The storm that had threatened them earlier had passed over without rain. Averil slept atop Rhys's cloak, curled into a protective ball. Roger had put his own cloak over her when she had fallen asleep. The five men took turns at the watch while the horses browsed in the grass behind the entrance of the half-standing structure where they sheltered, the moonlight silvering their hides.
When the morning came mist hung in the air, but the blue sky above promised a fair day for their ride. They arose before the sun, ate, drank and attended to their personal needs before starting out once more. By midday they had crossed the invisible border into the Englishry where they found Lord Mortimer's men waiting to escort them the rest of the way. They arrived at Everleigh in late afternoon. Rhys cut the bonds holding Averil, and lifted her from her horse.
“Welcome home, lady,” he said. “This is Everleigh.” He led her into the house.
“It is yours?” she asked, looking curiously about the hall where they now stood.
It could be worse,
she thought.
It could be worse,
she thought.
“Nay, it is my sister's. Mary is our father's legitimate heir. She is six, and I have charge over her. I am my father's bastard.”
Averil began to laugh.
“You find that amusing, lady?” he said, half angrily.
“Nay, my lord. I find it an incredible coincidence,” Averil answered him, regaining control over her emotions.
“A coincidence?” he said, his handsome face wearing a look of puzzlement.
“What is coincidental about my birth, lady?”
“I, too, am my father's bastard,” Averil told him.
“You are Pendragon's daughter? You said you were!” he cried.
“I am Pendragon's eldest daughter, born to his concubine Gorawen. Am I not, then, what you sought, my lord?”
“I sought the Pendragon heiress,” he said slowly.
“That, my lord, would be my second sister, Maia,” Averil told him. “The little one with us was Junia, the youngest, who is the child of our father's other concubine, Ysbail. Oh, dear! You have indeed made an error, haven't you?” She smiled sweetly at him.
“I will send you back immediately!” Rhys said. This is what came of not following his own instincts, he thought to himself.
“You cannot send her back,” Roger said, shaking his head.
“Why the hell not?” Rhys demanded.
Averil was giggling now.
“Because having stolen her you are bound to wed her lest you bring dishonor upon yourself, your family, upon her, and upon the Pendragon family,” Roger said. He looked to Averil. “Are you in favor with your sire, lady? Will he come for you and settle a bride price on you?”
“My da loves all of his daughters equally well,” Averil said. “As I am the eldest of his children I am probably his favorite. He will dower me when I wed, but I do not intend upon marrying with this buffoon who has kidnapped me! In fact, I shall help da to slaughter you, Rhys FitzHugh of Everleigh, and I shall enjoy every minute of your demise.”
Rhys was struck dumb by the tangled situation, but Roger kept his head. He spoke up again saying, “Lady, you, too, have no choice in this matter. No other man will have you now, nor the church, either. You will be considered tainted goods.”
“But why?” Averil wailed. “Nothing has happened but that this village idiot stole me away. I am as pure as I was before I ever laid eyes on either of you.”
“Lady, your word would not be enough to convince another man. You are a woman. Women lie. And men, caught in impossible situations, lie as well. Neither my word as Rhys's best friend, nor his, will be accepted in this matter, I fear. You will have to wed one another or both be disgraced forever.”
“Then I shall be disgraced forever!” Averil cried dramatically.
“But I cannot be, for my sister's sake,” Rhys said slowly. “I will marry you, lady, even if you are not your father's heiress. Mary's good name must be protected.”
“I will not marry you!” Averil shouted, and she hurled herself at him, pulling his dagger from his belt and striking at him.
Roger leapt forward and knocked the weapon from her hand, wrestling the girl away from Rhys who was now bleeding from his shoulder. “Be still you little Welsh savage!” he ordered her, calling for the servants with his next breath to attend their master. The servants ran into the hall, and seeing that Rhys was wounded set up a hue and cry. “Attend to his injury,” Roger commanded them. “The blade did not go deep. He is not dying. Give him some wine. God's wounds, lady, you have blooded him twice now in the last day. Have mercy!”
Rhys, pale now, sat while his wound was treated and bound up by Rhawn, his sister's nursemaid. “Where is Mary?” he asked her faintly.
“Where this barbarian you have brought back with you cannot harm her,” Rhawn said balefully, glaring at Averil.
“Do not set the evil eye on me, old crone!” Averil snapped. “I have not come willingly with this fool who is your master. And now he has ruined any chance of happiness I might have had by his impetuous actions.”
“I will wed you,” Rhys said, thinking she needed his reassurance.
“Did you not hear me?” Averil said. “I will not marry you.”
“Aye, you will, daughter!” her father's voice said grimly. And Merin Pendragon entered the hall at Everleigh, his men at his back.
Chapter
3
3
T
he Dragon Lord was a big tall man with a strong air of command about him. He strode into the hall at Everleigh, and without being asked seated himself in the chair of authority at the high board. “Now, Rhys FitzHugh, you will explain yourself to me while I decide if I shall allow you to wed my daughter whom you have dishonored, or merely satisfy myself by killing you for the insult you have dealt to my family.” His green eyes scanned the younger man curiously. “Is this manor yours?”
he Dragon Lord was a big tall man with a strong air of command about him. He strode into the hall at Everleigh, and without being asked seated himself in the chair of authority at the high board. “Now, Rhys FitzHugh, you will explain yourself to me while I decide if I shall allow you to wed my daughter whom you have dishonored, or merely satisfy myself by killing you for the insult you have dealt to my family.” His green eyes scanned the younger man curiously. “Is this manor yours?”
“Nay, my lord,” Rhys answered honestly.
“Kill him, Da!” Averil said ruthlessly. “I tried, but only wounded him.”
“To whom does this manor belong, Rhys FitzHugh?” the Dragon Lord asked, ignoring his eldest daughter. Women could be so damned emotional. Could she not see this was possibly an opportunity?
“Everleigh is the property of my little sister, Mary FitzHugh,” Rhys replied.
“Then you are bastard born?” the Dragon Lord queried. His bastardy was not a problem, but his lack of lands could be, Merin Pendragon considered.
“Yes, my lord.” Rhys was extremely uncomfortable. This was FitzHugh's hall, and yet here he stood like a beggar in his own home, feeling like a naughty boy before this Welshman. He glanced towards Roger Mortimer, but Rog was silent, and had that guilty look upon his face that always gave them away as boys.
“Are you your sister's guardian, Rhys FitzHugh?” the Dragon Lord wanted to know.
“I am, my lord,” Rhys said. “On his deathbed my father told me that had my own mother not died with my birth he should have wed her. And when he finally did wed he lost another woman in childbirth. My sister, Mary, is six years old, my lord. Our father asked me to watch over her, and over Everleigh, and see her well matched one day. I will honor my father's wishes, but it is not difficult for me to do so. I love my little sister.”
“So at least you have a place to live until the day comes that she weds, Rhys FitzHugh. When she does you will have to make certain that her marriage agreement includes keeping you on as Everleigh's bailiff else you find yourself homeless. If you do well, then no prospective husband should object to such an arrangement.” He sighed. “Now what in the name of the Blessed Holy Mother induced you to bride-nap my daughter? I want the truth now!”
“I sought an heiress for myself, my lord. I am five and twenty years, and it was time I took a wife. Before he died my father suggested I find an heiress, and kidnap her so her family would be forced into letting me have her lest my behavior stain her honor.”
“Did you not realize that I had three daughters, and only one of them true born?” the Dragon Lord asked the younger man.
“Nay, my lord, I did not,” Rhys said, flushing and feeling the full weight of his stupidity now. “She said she was your daughter. She was the tallest, and I assumed this was she whom I sought.”
Merin Pendragon burst out laughing, and he laughed until the tears were rolling down his ruddy face.
“There is nothing amusing in this, Da!” Averil burst out angrily.
“Aye, lass, there is,” her father replied. “He seems an intelligent young man, yet he behaved stupidly, and now he must live with his error in judgment.” The Dragon Lord turned to pierce Roger Mortimer with his glance. “And you, young Mortimer, were part of this? What will your father say when I complain to him, and I will.”
“We meant no harm, my lord,” Roger quickly said, “and Rhys did not hurt the girl. I swear it!”
“He tied and gagged me, Da! He starved me!” Averil complained. She sneezed. “I think he has given me an ague, forcing me to sleep in the ruins of a barn last night. I almost froze to death, Da.”
“Your suffering is duly noted, daughter,” Merin Pendragon remarked dryly. There was a hint of laughter in his voice. Then he said to Rhys, “You will have to wed her now, though she is not my heiress, young FitzHugh. If I had caught you before nightfall we might have salvaged Averil's good name, but you have had her with you overnight, and whatever either of you may say regarding the matter I must assume the absolute worst.”
“My lord, my men were with us, and Roger, too. They will swear that nothing untowards took place,” Rhys declared.
“It is not me you would have to convince,” the Dragon Lord said. “Under the circumstances I should never be able to find another husband for my daughter, and I think you will agree that Averil is far too lovely to waste on the church. I am prepared to be generous despite all that has happened.”
“Why would you be generous?” Rhys demanded to know, now suspicious. These Welsh were a crafty people, and perhaps the wench was not as pure as she appeared.
“I should rather go into a convent than marry this buffoon!” Averil declared angrily. “Take me home, Da!”
“Be quiet, Averil,” her father said softly. “This matter is not your concern.”
“Not my concern? I should like to know why not! It is my life you are talking about. My life you are so casually deciding without any care for me at all! Would my mother approve of this, my lord father?”
“Your mother has the good sense to trust my judgment, daughter,” the Dragon Lord told her. “Now, be silent.” He cuffed her lightly, warningly. He loved her, but he would not be spoken to in such a manner before strangers.
“What ho! The hall!” came a voice, and they all turned to see Lord Mortimer entering with several of his men. “Merin! You Welsh devil, 'tis good to see you again.”
The Dragon Lord arose from his chair, and coming around and down from the high board went forward, hand outstretched to meet his old friend. “Edmund, you English devil! I concur. Did you know that your son, and young FitzHugh, here, came over the border into the Welshry and stole my eldest daughter?”
“What?” Lord Mortimer feigned surprise. “I am shocked, Merin. Absolutely shocked!”
Roger Mortimer opened his mouth, and then closed it.
“Well, young Rhys, you shall have to wed the Dragon Lord's heiress if you are to salvage your honor, and hers,” Lord Mortimer said.
“I did not steal the heiress, my lord,” Rhys murmured. “It seems my lord Pendragon has three daughters, but only the middle one is true born.”
“An unfortunate error on your part,” Lord Mortimer replied, and he swallowed back the laughter that threatened to overwhelm him. How could he have forgotten that Pendragon had two rather toothsome concubines? And of course, they would have had children. “Nonetheless, the lady's honor must be restored, Rhys FitzHugh.”
“Nothing happened to the lady, my lord Mortimer. Roger and the others will swear to it!” Rhys replied. “Will you not intercede for me in this matter?”
“No, no, my young friend,” Lord Mortimer said. “You must do what is right, and there can be no argument.”
“Let us seek Prince Llywelyn,” the Dragon Lord said. “I will set forth this matter before him. I will offer my daughter and her dower to any who would have her. If another will take her despite this misadventure, then I will accept him as husband to my eldest child. But if none steps forward, Rhys FitzHugh, you must wed Averil then and there. I can be no fairer than that.”
“A most generous offer,” Lord Mortimer agreed.
“Am I to then be sold off as if I were a heifer?” Averil spoke up.
“An unwed woman is indeed a commodity,” her father replied. “If a man cannot have sons who can fight for him, then a daughter who can be married off in the most favorable alliance possible is the next best thing.”
“Send me to a convent!” Averil cried dramatically.
“Why, child, you are far too lovely,” Lord Mortimer said soothingly. “ 'Twould be a crime against nature to incarcerate so fair a maid behind stone walls.”
“Is it agreed then that we will take this matter to Prince Llywelyn?” the Dragon Lord asked.
“You will go with us, my lord?” Rhys asked Lord Mortimer.
“Aye, I think I had best lest you lead my son astray again,” Edmund Mortimer said with a small grin.
“I think it is usually the other way about,” Rhys replied meaningfully.
“Feed us, young FitzHugh, and then we will start out again,” the Dragon Lord said.
“Better we spend the night here at Everleigh, my lords, for the hour grows late,” Rhys suggested hospitably. “Rhawn,” he called. “Fetch your mistress and have her come to greet her guests.”
“I am here, Rhys,” Mary said, coming from the shadows. She was a pretty child, her dark brown hair fashioned into two plaits, and her bright eyes a clear blue. She wore a pale yellow tunic over her orange tawny gown. “I but waited until you had completed your business. You are welcome to Everleigh, my lords, and my lady.” She curtsied prettily. “Come to table. The meal is about to be served. My lord Pendragon, you will sit on my right. Lord Mortimer on my left. Lady Averil will seat herself next to her father with my brother, and you, Roger Mortimer, will sit by your father.”
Merin Pendragon was enchanted by the little girl. The child had beautiful manners, and even at this tender age knew her duty as chatelaine. Still, she was young yet. She could die, and then her brother would inherit Everleigh despite his birth. It was unlikely anyone would challenge him for it.
The meal was simple. The bread trenchers were filled with a tasty pottage of rabbit, onions, and carrots in a thick gravy. There was plenty of fresh bread, a crock of butter, and a small wheel of hard flavorful cheese. The pewter goblets were filled, and kept filled with an excellent ale with the hint of barley.
“You keep a good table, my lady Mary,” Merin Pendragon approved.
“Rhawn, who both nursed me and kept my father's house, has taught me, my lord,” Mary replied. “I still have much to learn.”
When the meal was over Mary bid the gentlemen good night, and taking Averil by the hand said, “You will sleep with me tonight, my lady Averil.” She led Averil up the staircase in the hall to an upper floor. “I have a fireplace in the solar,” she said, “and it is kept alight most of the year. The men will be comfortable in the hall. There are several bed spaces. They are used to rougher accommodations than are we.”
“Your brother made me sleep in a tumbledown stable last night,” Averil said with badly concealed ill humor.
“If he did, it was probably the best place he could find,” Mary responded calmly. “My brother is a good man, lady.” They had reached the solar, and Mary turned, looking up at Averil. “Are you to be my brother's wife?” she asked.
Averil swallowed back the quick sharp retort that was on her tongue, saying instead, “I do not know. Such arrangements are the province of men; my father, your brother, and the Great Llywelyn, who is our prince.”
“So I am told,” Mary said, “but I wonder why it should be so.”
“So do I,” Averil answered her softly. Then she smiled down at the child.
“I have a little sister named Junia who is just a few years older than you are.”
“Does she look like you? You are the most beautiful girl I have ever seen,” Mary said frankly.
“Junia looks more like you,” Averil answered her, “but that her eyes are green. We all have green eyes, my sisters and I. Maia has red hair, and Junia's is dark. Our brother's hair is dark too, and his eyes hazel colored. Only Brynn and Maia have the same mother. Our father has a wife, and two concubines.”
“That is immoral!” Mary said, shocked.
“No,” Averil answered her, not in the least offended. “It was of necessity. The lady Argel was barren for several years after her marriage to my father. So Da took my mother, who is called Gorawen, to his bed. I am my father's first child. Then the lady Argel produced my sister Maia. But after that there were no other children so Da took a second concubine, Ysbail. Junia was born from that union, but the lady Argel finally produced the desired son. Your brother is bastard born.”
“That is so,” Mary replied. “I had not considered it. But our father did not wed with my mother for many years after Rhys was born, and his mam was long dead. Do you all live together?” Mary was fascinated.
“We do,” Averil said. “We are content to do so.”
“I have never heard of such a thing, but then, 'tis said that the Welsh are a barbaric people,” Mary innocently responded.
“We are most certainly not barbaric!” Averil spoke up defensively. “Many men keep other women, and sire children on the wrong side of the blanket, Mary FitzHugh. Are you English then barbaric too?”
“I meant no offense,” the little girl said apologetically.
“I know,” Averil told her. “You but prate what you have heard others say. But you must be more guarded in your speech, Mary FitzHugh. You might insult someone without meaning to who might not take into account that you are but a child.”
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