The Dragon Lord's Daughters Read online

  Also by Bertrice Small

  The Kadin

  Love Wild and Fair

  Adora

  Unconquered

  Beloved

  Enchantress Mine

  Blaze Wyndham

  The Spitfire

  A Moment in Time

  To Love Again

  Love, Remember Me

  The Love Slave

  Hellion

  Betrayed

  Deceived

  The Innocent

  A Memory of Love

  The Dutchess

  “The Friarsgate Inheritance”

  Rosamund

  Until You

  “The O’Malley Saga”

  Skye O’Malley

  All the Sweet Tomorrows

  A Love for All Time

  This Heart of Mine

  Lost Love Found

  Wild Jasmine

  “Skye’s Legacy”

  Darling Jasmine

  Bedazzled

  Beseiged

  Intrigued

  Just Beyond Tomorrow

  Vixens

  Anthologies

  Captivated

  Fascinated

  Delighted

  I Love Rogues

  BERTRICE SMALL

  THE DRAGON LORD’S DAUGHTERS

  KENSINGTON PUBLISHING CORP.

  http://www.kensingtonbooks.com

  All copyrighted material within is Attributor Protected.

  Table of Contents

  Also by Bertrice Small

  Title Page

  Dedication

  Prologue - ANCIENT BRITAIN BEFORE THE DARK AGES

  Part One - Averil

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Part Two - Maia

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Part Three - Junia

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Epilogue

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  PURE SILK

  THE BOOKSELLER’S DAUGHTER

  Copyright Page

  For Sophia Patricia Small,

  when she is old enough

  Prologue

  ANCIENT BRITAIN BEFORE THE DARK AGES

  The Enchanter looked directly at Lord Ector. “Arthur may not marry the girl,” he said.

  “But why?” Lord Ector protested. “Her father and I have made an agreement that Lynior and Arthur will wed at Beltaine. She is already ripening with his child. It is a good match for a nameless foundling. Lynior is her father’s only child.”

  “You should have consulted me first before you made any life-altering decisions for the lad,” the Enchanter said quietly.

  “Consulted you? You have not been back here since the night you brought Arthur to my wife and me as a newborn infant,” Lord Ector said. “We don’t even know who you are, but since you appeared in our hall in a puff of smoke we assumed you came from the Fair Folk, and it would have been dangerous for us to refuse an emissary of the Fair Folk.”

  “I am Merlin,” the Enchanter said quietly.

  “The king’s Merlin?” Lord Ector was impressed, and perhaps just a little afraid. Merlin, half fairy, half human, was known to be a most powerful sorcerer.

  The Enchanter nodded. “I was in Uther Pendragon’s service once, but the king died thirteen years ago, Ector of Gwynedd. Since then Britain has been at war with itself, as you must surely know. The lesser kings cannot agree on a High King. Now I have called a council to be held in London at the time of the Winter Solstice, which the Christians call Christ’s Mass. The new king will be chosen then by my hand, and you must be there with your fosterling, Arthur, and your son, Cai. You cannot refuse me.”

  “Nay, I cannot,” Lord Ector said, “but why do you forbid Arthur his marriage to Lynior? What difference should it make to you?”

  “Come to London at the Solstice, and you will see,” Merlin replied quietly.

  Lord Ector sighed. “Lynior’s father will be very displeased, especially considering his daughter’s condition.”

  “Tell him that Arthur will, at the proper time, recognize his child, and that neither his daughter nor his grandson will suffer for it. I will personally see that the maiden is given a husband of good family who will cherish her and her child. Tell him that Merlin the Enchanter has made this promise.”

  “I will,” Lord Ector said, nodding, and then he blinked hard, for Merlin was gone. Shaking his head Ector of Gwynedd wondered just what this was all about. Well, they would know at Christ’s Mass, and not a moment before. Now he had the painful task of telling Arthur that he could not wed with Lynior; and the more difficult task of telling Lynior’s father. He sighed, and then calling for a servant, sent for his wife.

  Maeve came, and he told her of Merlin’s visit. “Are you certain you were not dreaming?” Maeve demanded of him. “You imbibed a great quantity of new mead with your supper, husband.” She gave him a small fond smile.

  Ector sighed again, and drew his wife down into his lap. “I was not dreaming, lass,” he told her. Her plump weight on his knees somehow gave him comfort. She was a good woman, and they had been wed for over twenty years now.

  “So it was old Merlin himself,” Maeve said. “Ohh, I wish I had been here! And he has plans for our lad, does he? I wonder what they are. ’Tis unfortunate about Lynior, but if the Enchanter says he will make it right, then he will. You must tell Lord Evan as soon as possible.”

  “And Arthur?”

  Maeve shook her head. “Tell Evan first that he may tell his daughter as we tell Arthur. I see no reason why they should not remain friends. They have a child in common. I will come with you to Evan for he has a hot temper like our own Cai, and he prizes Lynior greatly especially as she is his only child.”

  But strangely Lord Evan was not angry. “From the moment I gave my consent to the match,” he said, “I have been troubled each night with terrible dreams. Now I understand why. This marriage was not to be.”

  “The Enchanter says he will personally choose a good husband for Lynior. One who will cherish her, and her child,” Lord Ector told his old friend.

  “If I cannot have Arthur then I want no other,” Lynior said, entering her father’s hall. “I do not need a husband to be happy. I will raise my son alone, teaching him to be the good and honorable man his father is. Does Arthur know?”

  “Not yet,” Maeve told the young woman who was to have been her daughter-in-law. “Merlin says Arthur will acknowledge his child.”

  “It is a son, I carry,” Lynior said calmly. “I intend naming him Gwydre. Arthur’s fate must be very great that Merlin himself is involved.”

  “It was Merlin who brought Arthur to us all those years ago,” Lord Ector said, “though we did not know it at the time who he was. But when a man appears in your hall in a rumble of thunder and a puff of smoke, you do not argue with him or ask his name.”

  “You will go to London at the Solstice?” Lord Evan asked.

  “Merlin has commanded it. The High King will be chosen then, he says. I am to bring Arthur, and Cai will accompany us as well,” Ector replied.

  “You’ll not leave me behind,” Maeve said sharply.

  The two men laughed, and Lord Ector said, “Nay, wife, I will not leave you behind. You shall come with us, and see the new king crowned.”

  So Lord Ector and his family traveled from their keep in the north of Wales to London in
time for the Solstice. The closer they got to the ancient city the more crowded the roads became. It seemed that everyone in Britain was gathering to see the new High King chosen by the great Enchanter, Merlin. Ector and his party were fortunate to find a single room to share in a small inn within the city. The men-at-arms who had traveled with them had to content themselves sleeping with their horses in the stables.

  On the day of the choosing, Cai, Arthur’s older foster brother, discovered that he had not brought his sword with him, and he wished to wear it to the council. A warrior was not properly dressed without a sword. “Go find me a sword,” he told the younger boy.

  “Where am I to find you a sword?” Arthur demanded. “I have no money. Do you think someone will just give me the loan of a weapon because I ask it?”

  Cai cuffed the boy irritably. “ ’Tis your fault in the first place,” he scolded Arthur.

  “You are in training to be my squire. What kind of a squire forgets his master’s sword? If we were going into battle I should certainly be at a disadvantage, shouldn’t I?”

  “But you aren’t,” Arthur argued. “We’re just going to stand among the crowd and see the new High King chosen from among the twelve lesser kings, Cai.”

  Cai knocked his younger companion to the ground with a hard blow, and then standing over him growled, “Find me a sword, youngling, or I’ll give you such a beating that you’ll not walk for a month!”

  Arthur scrambled to his feet, and stumbled from the inn’s courtyard, his head throbbing from the blow. Cai had a foul temper, and it was no use arguing with him when he got like this. He wasn’t going to find a sword for his elder, but he could at least keep out of the range of his fists until it was time to leave for the choosing. He hadn’t wanted to come to London. But they had told him he was not to wed with Lynior after all, and he was instead to come to see the new High King chosen. He didn’t understand why that was so important, or what seeing the new High King chosen had to do with his marriage to Lynior. But there was to be no marriage now, and no one would explain to him why. His foster father had said bluntly that he didn’t know himself. It had just been ordained by a higher authority.

  Suddenly a bent old man, leaning heavily on his staff, his black cloak covering him from head to foot, sidled up to Arthur and said, “You seek a sword, young master, do you not?”

  “How did you know?” the young man said, surprised.

  “Go into yon courtyard,” the old man said, pointing with a bony finger, “and you will find what it is you seek.” Then he hobbled off down the street, seeming to disappear before Arthur’s very eyes into the mists of the morning.

  For a long moment the lad debated, but then he decided that nothing ventured, nothing gained. And wouldn’t Cai be surprised if Arthur did return with a sword for him? Striding into the grassy courtyard he saw a large boulder, and thrusting forth from it was a great sword with a bejeweled hilt. Upon the stone were carved the words “Who Pulls This Sword From This Stone, Is Britain’s Rightful High King,” but the boy did not see the words. He saw only the sword. Cai was going to be very surprised. He chuckled. Reaching out Arthur drew the weapon from the rock.

  “Now you will come with me, Arthur, son of Uther Pendragon, High King of all of Britain,” a strong authoritative voice said, and the old man with the staff stepped from the shadows of the courtyard.

  Arthur turned. “Who are you? And who did you say I am?”

  “You are the only son of Uther Pendragon, and his wife, Igraine, who was once wife to Gorlois, Duke of Cornwall,” the old man said.

  “Nay, old sir, you are mistaken. I am Arthur, younger son of Lord Ector of Wales,” Arthur responded politely.

  “You are Ector’s fosterling, Arthur Pendragon. I brought you to him myself the night you were born. He knew not who I was,” the old man replied.

  “Who are you?” Arthur asked, curious now.

  “I am Merlin the Enchanter,” was the answer, “and ’twas I who placed the sword in the stone, and put a spell upon it so that only the rightful king of all of Britain might take it. All the lords of this land have been here before you to attempt to draw this sword forth from the stone. All have failed. ’Tis you, Arthur Pendragon, who is Britain’s rightful High King. Now, put the sword back into the stone from whence you drew it, and wait for me while I go to gather the lesser kings. You will then take the sword from the stone a final time before witnesses, and be proclaimed High King.”

  “Is this why I could not wed with Lynior, Merlin?” the young man asked.

  Merlin nodded. “You have your fate to follow, my lord, as Lynior has hers. She will give you a son in the spring, and from him will a line of Pendragons be born down through the centuries.”

  “Lynior’s son cannot be king after me?” He didn’t understand.

  Merlin shook his head. “None will follow you, Arthur Pendragon, though you will have one other son. I cannot prevent his birth though I would if I could, for he will be a curse. Nay, Lynior’s son must remain unknown to all but a few that the Pendragon line continue. You have half sisters, Arthur. The daughters of Gorlois. Morgause, Elaine, and Morgan. They are magical creatures who will seek to revenge their father on you and yours. To keep Lynior’s son safe you must keep him hidden even as I kept you hidden with Ector all these years so that you might live to follow in your father’s footsteps.”

  Arthur nodded slowly. “I understand,” he said, feeling as if the stone that housed the sword was now upon his shoulders. He knew suddenly, and with great insight, that his boyhood was over; that the life ahead of him would be filled with adventure, passion, pleasure and pain. There would be great successes, and equally great disappointments. “You will stay with me, and guide me, Merlin, won’t you?”

  “I will remain with Your Majesty as long as I can,” the Enchanter said, a small smile touching his wintery features.

  “And no matter what happens my blood will flow down through the centuries?”

  “Forever and ever, my lord. You have my promise,” Merlin answered quietly.

  Arthur thrust the sword back into the stone. “Fetch the lesser kings then that I may prove myself their High King.”

  “Yes, my lord,” Merlin replied, and he hurried off.

  And so Arthur drew the sword from the stone in the grassy courtyard a second time, before all the lesser kings of Britain, and was proclaimed High King, though there were some who were not happy. His reign was a great one as Merlin had predicted, but the daughters of Gorlois, his half sisters, were a constant thorn in his side. The eldest of them, Morgan Le Fay, a powerful enchantress, seduced Arthur who had never met her, and conceived a child by him. Their son, Mordred, eventually became the downfall of his father’s kingdom.

  But in the mountains of north Wales, Lynior, daughter of Evan, raised Arthur’s eldest son, Gwydre, in secret, protected by Merlin’s sorcery even after the ancient Enchanter disappeared. And through Gwydre, and his wife, Eres, daughter of Odgar, who was the son of Aedd, King of Ireland, the line of Pendragon continued down through the centuries unscathed.

  Part One

  Averil

  Chapter 1

  “I shall marry a great lord,” Averil Pendragon told her sisters as they sat together in their father’s hall. Her golden head nodded emphatically with her pronouncement.

  “You shall marry the man our father chooses for you,” her sister Maia said.

  “And he shall be a great lord,” Averil repeated.

  “Perhaps,” Maia said. “But he could as easily be an old merchant to whom father owes a great debt, and wishes to pacify; or mayhap a knight father wishes to bind to our service. Your dower will be small, Averil, for though you are the eldest of us, you are still naught but a concubine’s daughter. My brother Brynn and I are the true heirs,” Maia concluded loftily with a satisfied smile.

  “But I am the most beautiful of us all,” Averil shot back. “Everyone says I am the fairest of our father’s daughters. My beauty shall not be wasted on some
merchant or simple knight. I may be the daughter of a concubine, but our father loves my mother, and so my value is great.”

  “You are the most beautiful of us all!” their youngest sister, Junia, said with a sigh. “You are both very beautiful, and I am so plain.”

  “You are not plain, Junia,” Maia said. “You are simply young.”

  “Aye, I am,” Junia replied. “You have such rich red hair, Maia. And you, Averil, are descended from the Fair Folk, and have hair like spun gold. My dark hair is so common.” She sighed.

  “But your features are exquisite,” Averil remarked. “You have the most perfect little nose, and a sweet mouth, Junia. As for your hair, it has the blue-green shine of a raven’s wing. It is hardly common, sister.”

  “But I am a concubine’s daughter, too,” Junia wailed. “And the youngest! What sort of dower will I have by the time I am old enough to wed? Father will probably have to match me with the old merchant.” She began to cry.

  “Now see what you have done with your proud boasting!” Averil snapped at Maia. “You have made the baby weep, and if we cannot stop her we will be punished.”

  “What about your boasting about being the most beautiful and marrying a great lord?” Maia demanded to know. Reaching out, she pulled Junia from her stool, and into the comfort of her arms. “There, there, chick, do not fret. Father loves us all equally, and we will all have grand dowers and great lords for husbands I am certain.” She stroked her little sister’s dark head.

  “Really?” Junia sniffed softly.

  “Of course, you goose!” Averil said impatiently. “We are the Dragon Lord’s daughters, and descended from King Arthur himself. Even today our ancestor’s memory is still strong. But because I am the eldest I shall be wed first, and I will be fifteen next month, sisters. I think it is time for me to be matched. Most girls are wed younger than fifteen. Da just doesn’t want to let us go.”