Authors: Bertrice Small

The Dragon Lord's Daughters (8 page)

BOOK: The Dragon Lord's Daughters

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“I may come to like you, Rhys FitzHugh,” the Dragon Lord said, “and so I will give you this bit of advice, which you would be wise to take. Averil is headstrong, and she has a temper, but she is a good lass with a kind heart. She will try your patience, but she will be loyal to you. Treat her with kindness and she will reward that patience.”

Rhys FitzHugh nodded. “You have given me good counsel, my lord. I will try to heed it, but I suspect that your daughter will not make it easy for me.”

Merin Pendragon chuckled. “Nay, she will not. But she is a prize worth winning like her mother, I assure you.”

The priest arrived in the hall. He listened to the Great Llywelyn, his master, and then turned to the Dragon Lord and his party. “Let the bride and groom step forward,” he said. “There is no blood impediment to this marriage?”

“None,” Merin Pendragon said.

“The dower portion is agreed upon, and the parties are both willing?”

“The dower has been pledged before witnesses in this very hall, and aye, they are willing,” Merin Pendragon replied.

“Then they shall be joined according to the rites of Holy Mother Church,” the priest said. Then he looked out over the hall. “Be silent, all of you! This is a sacred and proper rite of the church. You may resume your pagan celebrations of midsummer when I have finished, but not a moment before!”

The hall grew quiet as the priest joined Averil Pendragon and Rhys FitzHugh in holy matrimony before her father, Edmund and Roger Mortimer, Llywelyn the Great, the prince of the Welsh, Joan of England and their court. Finally they knelt for a blessing, and then the priest departed as the hall once more grew noisy with revelers celebrating Midsummer's Eve.

Averil found herself alone briefly with her new husband. For once in her life she was struck dumb. She felt very foolish, but she simply didn't know what to say to him.

“You might have agreed to this several weeks ago, wife, instead of dragging me across Wales,” Rhys finally said, breaking the heavy silence between them. “What made you change your mind, Averil?”

“I looked about the hall and decided there was no other as suitable as you, my lord,” she told him, at last finding her voice.

He laughed. “Then I suppose the trip was worth it,” he told her.

Averil flushed. “I'm sorry I'm not the heiress,” she said sharply.

“So am I,” he agreed dryly, “but your dower is quite good, and we'll manage.”

“Why did you not breach me that first night?” she asked, curious.

“I was advised to, but it would not have been honorable,” he told her quietly. “And as you have brought the subject up, I would have you know that I am a patient man, Averil. And this is neither the time nor the place for our cojoining. When we get home to Everleigh we will discuss the matter.”

Unable to help herself Averil put her small hand on his big one, and looked up into his face. He was very handsome, she thought, but not in the pretty way that Roger Mortimer was. “Thank you,” she said softly.

“You have green eyes,” he noted with a small smile.

“All my sisters do, but Maia's have a hint of emerald in them, and Junia's are a dark green. Your eyes are silvery blue. They are very pretty,” Averil said, and then she blushed again.

“Your father says you have a temper, but also a good heart,” he told her.

She nodded. “I do.”

“You are honest,” he said with another smile. “I have seen your temper.”

“I try to be fair, my lord,” Averil answered him.

“Do you want to join the festivities?” he asked.

“Perhaps we might share a cup of wine,” Averil suggested, “but I really am so very tired, my lord. I want nothing more than a good night's sleep in a real bed, or on a mattress before we must spend our days traveling home, and our nights on the hard earth.”

“Agreed,” he said.

He found a servant who brought them a large goblet of wine mixed with potent, honied mead to share. It was very strong, and to her embarrassment Averil found her head spinning. Her legs began to give way beneath her, but Rhys sensed it. Catching her up in his arms before she fell, he cradled his new wife, surprised by the feelings she aroused. Calling to a servant, he asked to be shown the way to the solar where Averil was staying. With the servant going before him he climbed a flight of narrow stairs. Averil's eyes were closed, and she was murmuring softly. She was indeed very lovely, Rhys thought. Perhaps he had not gotten such a bad bargain after all. And there was silver as well as kind in her dowry. Silver could buy him his own land, and more silver could be made breeding the sheep and cattle her father was giving him. Nay, it was not a bad bargain at all. If they could learn to get on, then all would be well.

Arriving in the solar he said to the serving woman sitting by the fireside sewing, “The lady is indisposed. Where am I to put her?”

“Ah,” the woman said, “the Dragon Lord's child. Lay her upon that small cot by her pack, my lord. Is she all right?”

“Two sips of wine with mead,” he told the servant. “She is very tired. Our journey has been long, and tomorrow we must return home.” He set his burden down where he had been instructed. Taking the little chaplet from her head, he laid it aside.

“Poor lass,” the servant replied. “I will look after her, my lord.”

Reaching into his pouch Rhys drew forth a coin. “Thank you,” he said, pressing the large round copper into the woman's hand. Then he left.

When Averil finally awoke it was daylight again. The solar was filled with chattering women. Her gown had been eased, and her slippers had been removed from her feet. Her mouth felt very dry, but before she could even sit up a serving woman was at her side with a cup of clear water.

“Drink it all, child. There is a potion in it to restore your energy, which has been badly drained,” the woman said, and cradling Averil's shoulders she helped her into a half-seated position, putting the cup to her lips.

“How long have I slept?” Averil wondered aloud.

“Why, all of last night, and into this morning,” the servant said. “The first mass has already been said, and they are breaking their fast in the prince's great hall.”

“I must get up!” Averil exclaimed. “We are leaving today.”

“You should rest, lady,” the woman responded. “You are very pale.”

“I am always pale,” Averil replied, and she drank the potion down.

“Are you of the Fair Folk, then?” the woman asked.

“They say I have an ancestress who was one of them,” Averil told her.

The servant nodded. “Aye. Every few generations it is said the strain reappears in a son or a daughter, lady. Very well, I will help you.”

Averil asked for a basin of water, and while she waited for it to be brought to her she removed her good gown and tunic, packing them away with her chaplet and shoes, changing into a tan gown and brown tunic, and a sturdier pair of leather shoes for riding.

She bathed quickly, scrubbing her teeth with a rough cloth, and wove her long golden hair into a thick, single plait. She set a sheer cream-colored veil over her head, fastening it down with a chaplet braided with brown silk and gold threads.

“I will bring your pack and your cloak to the hall, lady,” the serving woman said.

Averil looked distressed. “I have no coin to reward you,” she said regretfully.

“Your man did that last night, lady. He was generous,” the serving woman said, smiling. “Go along, now. When you need them, your possessions will be brought to you.”

“Thank you,” Averil replied, and she hurried off to the hall to find her father and the others. The others. Her husband. She was a married woman now. And he had been kind last night. She wondered if he would continue to be kind.

Her father found her first. “Hurry and eat, daughter,” he said. “We want to be off Anglesey and onto the mainland before midday. Where is your husband?”

“I don't know,” Averil said. “He brought me to the solar and left me last night.”

Averil sat down at one of the tables below the high board. A servant slapped a hollowed-out trencher before her, and filled it with oat stirabout. Another servant gave her a piece of buttered bread, and set a cup before her.

“Wine, ale, or cider?” he said.

“Wine,” Averil told him. The hair of the dog to calm her belly, and her nerves. She ate slowly. Her father had disappeared again, probably seeking the others.

“You slept well?” Rhys FitzHugh had seated himself by her side. “Wine,” he told the attendant serving man.

“Yes, my lord, thank you,” Averil replied.

“Good! When you have finished your meal we will ride.”

“Did you have a good night, my lord?” Averil asked him.

He grinned. “Roger and I got very drunk,” he began. “What happened after that I do not know, but I woke up on a hillock in a meadow outside the castle.”

Averil reached out and drew a piece of grass from his dark brown hair. “I think, my lord, that my bed was more comfortable.”

“As would mine have been if you were in it,” he said softly.

“You promised!” she cried, flushing.

“And I will keep that promise, Averil,” he assured her. “I have merely remarked that a man sleeps better with a woman by his side.”

“I have never even kissed a man,” she told him.

“Good!” he told her. “Then mine shall be the only lips you ever know.”

“Do you want to kiss me?” she demanded to know. “You but touched my forehead with your lips after we had been wed yesterday.”

“If you want to be kissed, Averil, I will kiss you,” he said.

“If I must ask you then it is not worth it,” she told him quickly. “I am finished with my meal.” She stood up. “We had best be going, my lord.”

“You will ride by my side today, lady, so we may learn to know one another,” he told her. “Come along now.” And he took her hand in his, leading her off and out of the hall to where their party awaited them.

Chapter
4

I
t seemed that they rode for days although their return was actually no longer than their journey to Aberffraw had been. Each night they made camp, and Averil's bedding was set next to her husband's. Yet not once did he touch her, or even kiss her. And each day they rode side by side learning bit by bit about each other. Rhys spoke of his father with admiration, and how he loved Everleigh. He told Averil of how when he was eighteen his father had, to everyone's surprise, fallen in love with the daughter of a distant relation who had been orphaned and placed in his custody. They had wed, and nine months later Mary had been born. Her mother, however, a delicate creature, had not survived the childbirth.

“Was your stepmother good to you?” Averil asked him, curious.

“Always,” Rhys answered. “When Rosellen was first brought to Everleigh it was thought that my father would match her with me, for we were close in age. She was sixteen. But Da loved her from the first sight he had of her, and she him. Their marriage was the right thing. And because she loved my father she was good to me even when she was carrying her own child. That child might have been a son and heir for my father. Still, Rosellen treated me with great kindness.”

“Is that why you love Mary so much?” Averil said.

“Aye,” he agreed, “but you will come to love Mary, too, for she is sweet by nature,” Rhys responded.

“My sister Junia is sweet, but Maia is more determined than even I am. I suppose it comes from the pride she has in being our father's legitimate daughter although no one in our house has ever made a distinction between us. We are simply the Dragon Lord's daughters,” Averil explained.

“And your mothers all get on with one another?” he queried her.

“My mother, Gorawen, and the lady Argel, are great friends. Da's second concubine, Ysbail, is a good woman, but inclined to be a bit prickly. She is very concerned that her daughter Junia not be slighted. But of course, Junia never is.”

“You love your sisters,” he remarked.

“Aye, and our little brother Brynn,” Averil told him. “He is almost nine. He looks so much like Da that we sometimes have to laugh when we see them together. He is very proud that he descends from King Arthur. He knows every bit of our family's history, and will tell you all about it whether you will or no.”

“You will miss your family,” he said quietly. It was a statement more than a question.

“Aye, but you will not forbid them Everleigh, my lord, will you?”

“Nay, they may come when it suits them,” he replied.

“If your sister is the mistress of the manor, what am I to do?” Averil asked. “I am not used to being idle. Will we live in the manor house?”

“I have always lived there, but there is a bailiff's cottage, Averil, if you would prefer it,” he told her. “It has not been lived in for many years. The last bailiff of Everleigh was a cousin of my father's. He had neither chick nor child. When he died I was sixteen. My father then made me the manor's bailiff, so the cottage is mine by right.”

“If your sister and I can exist peacefully together then we shall live in the manor house,” Averil said. “But if Mary is in charge, and she has Rhawn, then I shall spend my days making the cottage habitable again for us one day. For now I shall set my loom up in your hall. Will that be satisfactory, my lord?”

He nodded. “I think it a wise thing you plan, Averil, for once Mary is wed we would do well to leave her with her husband though she should never ask us to go. Still, it will be several years before my sister is old enough to be married.”

They had chattered back and forth as they rode each day, and Averil began to consider that she had made a good match even if Rhys FitzHugh was not a great lord. How Maia and Junia would tease her over her former boasting,
but then, see who they would have as husbands one day,
Averil thought. Maia, of course, would make the best match, being true born. And Ysbail would certainly see that Junia was not wed badly.

They finally arrived back at Dragon's Lair, and as they entered the hall of her father's keep Gorawen ran forward to embrace her only child.

“I am wed,” Averil said softly.

“Has he been kind?” Gorawen asked anxiously.

“He has had no opportunity,” Averil murmured.

“Thank heavens!” her mother exclaimed low. “There is much you need to know, my daughter. There are things I must teach you before you go to his bed. I shall tell him that he may not have you yet.”

“I do not know if he even wants me, really,” Averil said. “He has not even kissed me yet, Mother. While there was little occasion for coupling along our journey, surely he might have found a moment to steal a kiss, but he did not.”

“Perhaps he is shy,” Gorawen suggested with a small smile.

“He kidnapped me, Mother!” Averil said. “I hardly believe him to be shy.”

“Do you talk with one another?” Gorawen was becoming just a little concerned.

“Aye. I have learned much of him, and he me,” Averil answered her parent.

Gorawen nodded. “That is to the good,” she said. “I think perhaps your husband is giving you a chance to adjust to your new situation in life. He has shown no animosity at having to wed you?”

“Honor was at stake, Mother,” Averil responded. “And if I have learned one thing, Mother, it is that Rhys FitzHugh is honorable despite his behavior in the matter of obtaining my person.”

“But he shows no anger towards you at having made the error he made?” Gorawen persisted. “Often a man will make a mistake where a woman is concerned, and then he will blame her for his blunder. Has this been the case with you and Rhys FitzHugh?”

“Nay,” Averil said slowly. “I believe he has come to terms with what he has done. He speaks fairly to me, and has not censured me for his fault.”

“Good, good!” Gorawen said, but she thought to herself that she would watch this new son they had obtained most carefully. Averil had not her experience where human nature was concerned.

Averil kissed her mother's cheek, and then turned to curtsey to her father's wife.

Argel took the girl by her shoulders and kissed her on both cheeks. “Welcome home, Averil,” she said. “I am happy that all has worked out well for you.”

“Thank you, lady,” Averil replied sweetly. “Now, my sister Maia must have a husband of her own. But let him be near, lady, so we do not lose one another.”

“And then my daughter must be matched,” Ysbail said sharply.

“Junia has several years before she should wed,” Merin Pendragon said.

“But he must be as fine a gentleman as is chosen for Maia,” Ysbail persisted. “Not some poor bailiff such as Averil has wed, though I will admit he is handsome.”

“Aye, aye!” the Dragon Lord said impatiently.

Now it was the sisters' turn to greet the returning Averil. They rushed her with little shrieks and giggles, hugging their eldest sibling.

“What is it like?” Maia demanded.

Averil shook her head at Maia. “The hall is hardly the place to speak on such things,” she said, reluctant that her sisters know she was still a virgin.

“He is very handsome, as my mother says,” Junia remarked.

“Is he?” Averil turned and looked at her husband. “Aye, I suppose he is.”

“How could you not notice?” Junia said.

Averil grinned. “A man should never be told how beautiful he is, little one. They are vain enough about everything else.”

“I wonder if my husband will be handsome,” Junia replied.

“Your husband must be a man of some property, and good family,” Maia told the youngest of the trio. “Handsome does not count. Wealth and family are the only important factors in a marriage. You are a descendant of the great Arthur, no matter you were born on the wrong side of the blanket, sister.”

“But Averil said she would wed a great lord, and Rhys FitzHugh is hardly a great lord. He doesn't even have lands of his own,” Junia noted.

“He is bailiff of a great manor,” Maia replied quickly. She did not want Junia pointing out that their eldest sister, indeed the most beautiful of them all, had married badly and beneath her, though certainly through no fault of her own. Why, if Averil had not protected her two sisters that day, Maia thought, it might be her now wed to a bailiff. She shuddered delicately at the idea. Rhys FitzHugh was certainly not the man of her dreams. The man of her dreams was tall, dark and dangerously handsome with an air of mystery about him. She just didn't know who he was yet.

“Rhys tells me there is a stone bailiff's cottage if we wish it,” Averil said. The truth of innocent Junia's words had not been lost on her.

“But you've lived in a keep all of your life,” Junia said. “Will not a cottage seem small to you, sister?”

“Mayhap it is a big cottage,” Maia suggested. She glared at Junia. Would the brat not be silent? Could she not comprehend the awful truth of the situation?

Averil laughed softly. “Perhaps he will become a great lord one day,” she said, a twinkle in her light green eyes.

“Oh, sister, I am sorry!” Maia replied low.

“Do not be,” Averil responded. “I have had the many weeks we rode across the land to Aberffraw and back to think on it. Rhys is an honorable man, and I believe he will be kind to me and the children I give him. He has a home, and a respected position. It is unlikely he will ever lose either. We are well matched, and another man might not have been as accepting of me despite the fine dowry Da has offered.”

Maia nodded slowly. “You have gained some wisdom in these weeks away from us,” she said. “Though we are but a year apart, you seem older to me now.”

Averil laughed. “I do not know if it is wisdom, or the simple acceptance of the facts that stare me in the face now,” she admitted ruefully. And then she laughed softly.

“Well,” Junia put in, “if he cannot be a great lord, or a wealthy man, then it is certainly a good thing that he is handsome, isn't it?”

Her two elder sisters laughed, and Averil cupped the girl's face with her hand.

“Is that what you shall seek in a mate, Junia? A beautiful man?”

“I think it a more obtainable goal than a great lord,” Junia murmured dryly.

Maia chuckled. “Clever puss! She may be right.”

“I want a bath,” Averil said. “My nose has become numb to my own stink, and that of the horses we rode. My bottom has turned to leather these past weeks!”

“Yes,” the lady Argel said, overhearing. She turned to Rhys FitzHugh. “You, too, will certainly want a bath, my lord. I will have it made ready. Your wife will bathe you herself. I am happy to say that all of our daughters know how to properly conduct themselves with guests.” She signaled to a servant.

Maia and Junia looked at Averil mischievously. Their eldest sister swallowed hard, but then she said, her voice smooth and calm, “Yes, my lord, it is a wife's duty to bathe her husband when he needs it. I shall go and oversee to the preparations so that all is done properly. My mother will bring you to me when all is in readiness.” Then, with a brief nod of her head, she glided gracefully from the hall.

“You've done better than I would have thought, young FitzHugh,” Lord Mortimer noted with a grin. Then turning to the lady Argel he said, “We will avail ourselves of your hospitality tonight, my lady, and I thank you.”

“Of course, my lord Mortimer. You and your son are welcome. Would you like baths, too? Our daughters and I can see to it.” Her mild brown eyes were twinkling.

Roger Mortimer looked most enthusiastic, but his father quickly said, “We shall wait until we return home, lady, if you can bear with our stink. And again, I thank you.”

The lady Argel tilted her head graciously. “I must go see that the cook has enough for the supper. We were never certain when you would return. Gorawen, go help Averil. Ysbail, I will need your aid. Daughters, go to my solar and rest yourselves. We will leave the hall to the men for now.”

“Those who call the Welsh barbarians have never visited your home, Merin Pendragon,” Lord Mortimer said. “Your wife is most obviously a treasure. And your two women!” He smacked his lips lightly. “How you have managed to keep the peace between them, I do not know.”

“Each has her place in my house and my heart,” the Dragon Lord told his old friend. “They are assured of it, and thus coexist. If they did not they would go, for Argel is my wife, and she is a good woman.”

“But Gorawen has most of your heart, my friend,” Edmund Mortimer said wisely.

Merin Pendragon said nothing, but he did smile briefly.

Gorawen. His wife's mother, Rhys FitzHugh thought. He could see from where Averil had obtained her looks, but for her green eyes.

BOOK: The Dragon Lord's Daughters

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