The Dragon Lord's Daughters Page 6

  “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 l
ook 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.”

  “I think I should like to have you as a sister,” Mary said. “Did you do the embroidery on your tunic?”

  “Aye, I did,” Averil admitted.

  “Could you teach me how to do such fine embroidery?” Mary asked.

  “Perhaps, but tomorrow we leave for Aberffraw, and Prince Llywelyn’s court, so this matter between my family and your brother may be decided,” Averil said.

  “When you are wed to my brother will you teach me?” Mary persisted.

  “If I am wed to your brother, aye, I will,” Averil promised. But I should sooner remain a maid and wither away first, she thought. Rhys FitzHugh was the most annoying man she had ever encountered. His surprise that he had not stolen Merin Pendragon’s heiress and then his reluctant agreement to wed her to save her reputation was more than aggravating. She could but hope there was a man at Prince Llywelyn’s court who would agree to take her. Anything would be better than this arrogant Englishman.

  The next day they departed for Aberffraw. It was a long ride across northwestern England, and Wales’ Mary FitzHugh was left behind, for her presence was not necessary. It was Midsummer’s Eve when they reached Prince Llywelyn’s court. They had crossed the Menai Strait to the Island of Anglesey, with their horses and baggage, utilizing several small local ferries. Around them the Irish Sea washed the beaches of the island, and an almost imperceptible mist rose and fell over the landscape.

  There was nothing on the island that stood higher than a thousand feet. Here, Averil knew from the history her father had instilled in all of his children, the ancient druids had made their last stand before being massacred by a people called the Romans. Merin Pendragon knew all of this because the family from which he had descended had followed the old ways once. While they were now good Christian people, the old ways were not forgotten in his hall.

  There was an almost magical air about Anglesey. The marshes and wetlands of the island were filled with waterfowl. In the lush green meadows fat cattle and sheep grazed. There were few dwellings along the path they traveled, but those paths were lined with tall hedges. Now and again they rode through a small forest, but most of the island was bare of woodlands.

  Reaching Prince Llywelyn’s court Averil found she was not particularly impressed. Her father’s keep was more grand. She was surprised as the prince was married to King John’s daughter, Joan. The prince’s home was nothing more than a small castle of timber and some stone. About it clustered a small village with a church, and several cottages that did not appear particularly prosperous. The air about them was warm, and softer than any Averil had ever known. They were welcomed in the prince’s hall, and Averil was given a place in the solar to sleep. The prince would hear their case immediately, for there would be festivities this night to celebrate midsummer.

  Averil asked a serving woman for water to bathe her hands and her face. She rifled through her pack to draw out the clothing she would wear into the prince’s hall. Her hair was full of dust, but there was not enough water to wash it. She brushed and brushed and brushed her long tresses into a semblance of respectability. Then, having removed her travel-strained garments, she bathed as best she could, put on a clean chemise, and dressed. Her gown with its long fitted sleeves was a dark green brocade with a round neckline that was embroidered in gold threads. Over it she wore a dark green sleeveless tunic that had been embroidered at its scooped neckline and along its hemline. Her long golden hair was adorned with a simple gold chaplet decorated with stylized flowers. On her feet she wore soft leather shoes. Her only jewelry was a thin gold chain with a round gold pendant upon which was a red enamel dragon, her family’s insignia.

  Satisfied that she was respectably clean and well-garbed, Averil joined her father, Lord Mortimer and their companions in the prince’s hall. The meal was being served, and they found places below the high board where they might sit and eat. Averil ate little, and was especially careful of her garments. She thought the variety of food being offered was very generous and impressive. Here, then, would be Joan of England’s influence. She could learn from this visit, Averil considered as she watched the servants dashing about with their bowls and platters. When the meal had been concluded, the prince’s majordomo called for silence.

  “The lord Merin, of the ancient and honorable house of Pendragon, descendant of Arthur, King of the Britons, has come before the prince for a judgment in the matter of his daughter’s honor. Come forward, Merin Pendragon, and speak your piece. All those connected with this matter will also show themselves now,” the majordomo said.

  Merin Pendragon bowed before his prince and his wife. “My lord,” he began. “Several weeks ago my eldest daughter, here with me,” and he drew Averil forward so she could be seen by all, “was taken from my lands by Rhys FitzHugh, the bailiff of the manor of Everleigh in the Englishry. His purpose was to steal a bride, and he thought that my daughter Averil was my heiress, but here he erred in judgment. Averil is my eldest child, but born to my concubine, Gorawen, true-born daughter of the house of Tewydr. This offspring of mine is dearest to my heart of all my children, my lord. I had only begun to consider a match for her, and given her great beauty it would have been a very good match, you will agree. It is right and proper that Rhys FitzHugh wed with her now, having stolen her from us. But while he has said he would, he yet demurs in his duty. So, my lord, I bring this matter before you. It has been agreed among us that your judgment will be accepted by all who come before you this day in my daughter’s behalf. Lord Mortimer, Rhys FitzHugh’s liege lord, has accompanied us with his own son, who was also party to helping his friend steal my daughter. Lord Mortimer will defer to you in this matter, my lord.”

  Prince Llywelyn looked down upon them. “Averil Pendragon, what have you to say in this matter?”

  “My lord, I will accept your decision,” Averil said so softly that they could barely hear her. She did not look directly at the prince, for it would not have been considered polite. She did, however, remember to bob a curtsey to the prince and his wife.

  The prince nodded, impressed by both her beauty and her manners.

  “If, my lord, another man would be willing to take her to wife, Rhys FitzHugh could be ab
solved of his crime.”

  “What dower will you give with the girl?” the prince asked.

  “A herd of six young heifers, and a healthy bull. A flock of twenty-four ewe sheep with their lambs, and a breeding ram. She has a fine horse, a chest of linens, and pewter. Another of clothing in good repair. She comes with her own loom, for she is an excellent weaver. And I have set aside fifteen silver pennies, one for each year of her life. She excels in housewifery and does the finest embroidery I have ever seen. She is able to read and write her name. She can speak English and French as well as our own tongue.”

  “She has no land?” the prince said.

  “Nay, my lord. My daughter, Maia, who is my true-born daughter, will have the only bit of land that I can spare from her brother’s inheritance,” Merin Pendragon said.

  The prince nodded again. “The girl is well dowered despite her lack of land.”

  Averil looked about the hall. It had suddenly dawned on her that she was very far from home. Her gaze moved swiftly as she looked over the many men in the crowd. More men than women. Strange men. Rough-looking men. And who knew where their homes were. At least Rhys FitzHugh’s home was within two days of Dragon’s Lair, and her family. What had she done, being so damned stubborn and dramatic in her refusal to accept her fate and take Rhys FitzHugh for a husband? And how was she going to escape being snapped up and married to a complete stranger? She bit her lower lip in her vexation as she considered the possible courses open to her.

  Joan of England leaned over and whispered something in her husband’s ear.

  The prince spoke once again. “Averil Pendragon, were you harmed in any way by Rhys FitzHugh?” His meaning was very clear and it was the single straw she needed to save herself. She snatched at it. A blush suffused her pale cheeks. Her golden head drooped, and she was perfectly silent. She dare not lie, but she knew what her silence would imply, and so she remained speechless.

  The men in the hall looked at one another and nodded, some shaking their heads, murmuring regretfully. A man wanted a virgin for a wife no matter her dower portion. With this girl they could not be certain until the wedding night, and even if she was proved pure, no one would ever believe it under the circumstances described this evening.