Dragon's Dream by Mary Gillgannon
It is the sixth century A.D. Maelgwn, the Dragon of the Island is celebrated for his feats of heroism. But now he has been defeated: The tragic loss of his beloved Aurora has left him grieving and alone.
But Maelgwn has a duty to his people -- and his realm. As the king, he is expected to marry again. What begins as a political union with a red-headed Celtic princess rapidly becomes much more. Possessed of mystical powers, beautiful, sensuous Rhiannon tempts him beyond reason... and adores him beyond measure. In her tender arms, Maelgwn's sorrowing heart begins to heal. But treachery is never far from the royal throne, and soon Maelgwn must fight as he has never fought before -- to save his honor, his sons, and the woman he never dreamed he could love...
THAT MOMENT WOULD CHANGE HER LIFE FOREVER . . .
The sky began to glow with the milky pink light of dawn, and a gleaming mist floated on the horizon. As they watched, the haze thinned, revealing the peaks of the mountains in the distance. The colors of the sky deepened and then grew brighter, glowing with shades of orange, rose, violet and gold. Slowly the sun rose, stealing color from the sky and burning away the mist.
"How beautiful," Rhiannon whispered. "It's as if the world were beginning again."
"It's not a sight you can see from anywhere in Britain but here," Maelgwn answered. "The sea, the mountains, the misty air—that is the magic of this land. It speaks of ancient mysteries, forgotten gods, barely remembered dreams." He sighed softly. "When I was young, I loved the highlands best. I once thought never to leave them. Now, I find the sea calls me, too. I love to watch the waves breaking and breaking, forever and ever. It reminds me how short and insignificant life is, that a man should never measure himself against the eternity of the sea."
Rhiannon looked up at her husband, watching him stare out at the water. The morning light made his hair seem lighter and softened the fine lines in his face. All at once, she was able to stop thinking of him as a king and see him as a man. She recognized the haunted look, the wistful sadness in his eyes. Like her, he sought something far beyond this place. But this man—perhaps Maelgwn the Great was strong enough and brave enough to find it.
PINNACLE BOOKS are published by Kensington Publishing Corp.
850 Third Avenue
New York, NY 10022
Copyright © 1996 by Mary Gillgannon
ISBN 0786002387
First Pinnacle Books Printing: March, 1996
Printed in the United States of America
To the memory of James Douglas Morrison A Celtic bard and magician of my own time
May you and your red-haired consort find peace on the Other Side.
Prologue
Llandudno Priory, Wales, A.D. 517
"He'll see you now."
Balyn ap Rhodderch raised himself stiffly from the stone bench in the priory garden, grimacing as his leg muscles protested the exertion. The monk waiting for him gave him a contemptuous look, then turned and walked away through the rows of sweetly scented flowers and herbs. Balyn hastened after him, stumbling slightly.
They entered a low, timber building. Inside, the stifling hot air reeked of unwashed flesh. Sweat poured from Balyn's skin as they entered the narrow corridor. His breathing grew labored as he followed the brother's rapid steps, and a squeezing tightness built in his chest. The place reminded him of a tomb—dark, airless, confining.
Some distance ahead of him, his escort paused at a small, rough-hewn door. "Maelgwn the Great," he said in a voice emphatic with sarcasm. The monk scowled briefly at Balyn, then disappeared down the hall.
Balyn glanced after him uneasily, wondering how he would ever find his way out of the mazelike dwelling. Slowly, he approached the doorway. For a moment he stared at the pattern in the wood. Then he took a deep breath, lifted a meaty fist and knocked.
"Enter."
The door swung open at his touch, and Balyn ducked into the small room. Sunlight slanting in from one narrow window struck a crucifix hung on the wall and made it gleam with brilliance. Balyn blinked, his eyes adjusting to the dazzling light which touched the dust motes in the air and turned them to a golden mist. He gradually made out a narrow, palletlike bed, covered with a familiar faded purple blanket. He blinked again and recognized the figure seated on the bed. The man's hair was dark, almost black, and it reached to his shoulders. A full beard covered most of his face.
"So, my friend, we meet again," the man said softly. As he smiled, his teeth flashed in his dark countenance.
"My lord," Balyn answered, bowing slightly. The man waited, watching him expectantly. Finally, Balyn spoke. "Abelgirth is dead."
The man sighed slightly and stood up. Balyn scrutinized his body, draped in a coarse robe. Maelgwn was thinner— the muscles had wasted some—but there was still power there, and the deadly, catlike grace that had once made the king such a formidable foe in battle. The tiny room seemed much too small for him.
"No doubt he died thinking I was a coward," Maelgwn said bitterly.
Balyn looked away. There had been a time when the coastal overlord, Abelgirth, had joined the other chieftains in mocking Maelgwn for his piety and his devotion to his dead wife. But at the end, when he knew he was dying, Abelgirth had called Balyn to him and begged him to seek out Maelgwn, to convince him to leave the priory and rule again.
"Abelgirth sent me here," Balyn answered. He hesitated, feeling the crushing anxiety start in his chest. So much depended upon him, on his words, and he had never been a man comfortable with words, at least serious ones. Give him a joke or ribald story, aye, he could do justice to it. But this... how could he persuade a man to climb out of his grave and live again?
"While Abelgirth lived, your kingdom was safe, but now the future of Gwynedd is threatened," he continued. "You must take up the kingship again. There is no one else."
"There is Elwyn... and Maelgrith... and Rhodderi."
Balyn shook his head. "They are not strong enough. The other chieftains will not rally around any of them. If you do not return... Gwynedd is lost."
Maelgwn sighed, his whole body heaving as if a great weight rested on his shoulders. "It is lost to me already. I buried my dreams with Aurora... and Evrawc... and..." he spoke very softly, "...my son."
"But we need you," Balyn said in a hoarse voice. "You are being selfish, Maelgwn. Think of the people who depend on you, who fought for you. How can you tell them you don't care anymore?"
The scolding tone of his own words worried Balyn, but he could not help himself. He did not know how to be persuasive enough, but perhaps he could shame Maelgwn, make him so angry that he would climb out of this trough of self-pity and fight back. He held his breath as he saw the vivid glow of rage in Maelgwn's blue eyes. The king was famous for his violent temper; more than one man had perished before it.
The flash of flame vanished, as if it had been quenched. Maelgwn laughed, and Balyn noted that his teeth were strong and white. The king remained healthy, despite the meager diet and inactivity of life at the priory.
"Selfish, am I?" Maelgwn chortled. "It seems it is my burden to have all manner of insults hurled at me. The brothers assure me that I am sinful and evil, filled with base thoughts of worldly treasures and the false glory of power. Aye, I am a sinful, sinful man." His face twisted in scorn. "I don't believe any mortal man can meet the priests' demands, only grovel and destroy himself, tormenting his pathetic flesh for the glory of God."
"Then why not leave? You don't belong here anyway. You are a warrior, a king. How can you deny the blood of Cunedag which flows in your veins?"
"It is accursed blood!" The tiny room echoed with Maelgwn's deep voice. "The rest of my family died fighting each other, obsessed with power. I thought I could escape the curs
e, but there is no escape. Look what became of my sister, Esylt. She betrayed me, she betrayed her own people, and all for a pathetic chance to be queen." Maelgwn's voice trailed off, almost into a sob. "When my son died, I took it as a sign that my line is meant to die out, to perish forever."
Balyn shifted his weight from one foot to another. Dear God, how was he to fight this, to overcome the darkness that seemed to fill the room? Seven years had passed since Maelgwn's wife, Aurora, had died in childbed and the boy child had perished as well. Why did the wound never heal? Could Maelgwn be right? Was his family cursed?
No, Balyn thought resolutely, he would not give in to this invisible enemy which had nearly defeated Maelgwn. He could still fight for his king and win. If only he could find the right weapon, the right words...
His eyes swept Maelgwn. The king was yet a handsome man, not much different from the charming, spirited prince he had befriended so many years ago. Always quick to anger, Maelgwn had been just as quick to toss off a friendly jest in the grimmest situation. Merely a boy in the beginning, he had bested them all with his bravery and courage. Tears filled Balyn's eyes. He loved this man more than anyone he had ever known. He reached out and put a soothing hand on Maelgwn's shoulder.
"Let it go. Try... please try to be king again. We need you."
In the silence, they could both hear the rustling sounds of the outside world, the coo of ringdoves that nested in the roof.
Maelgwn sighed with resignation. Aye, he did owe Balyn. For most of his life, this big, honest warrior had been his loyal friend. They had fought countless battles together, shared confidences, jokes, even women in their younger days. The bond between them ran deeper than blood. If he looked closely at Balyn's upper arm, he could see his own death written in his friend's flesh. Years ago Balyn had jerked Maelgwn out of the way of an arrow and caught the deadly barb himself. The old warriors believed that if a man saved your life, he had a claim upon you. Whatever he asked, you could not refuse. Balyn, in all those years, had never asked him for anything.
Balyn waited. His brown eyes glistened with tears that made Maelgwn look away.
Gazing up at the crucifix on the wall, Maelgwn's lips moved in silent prayer. Then he turned back to Balyn. "Go and tell the prior I am leaving."
"God be praised," Balyn whispered and then smiled, his face bright with joy. "I will tell them—pious fools. If they dare speak ill of you, I will remind them how lucky they have been. The shores have remained quiet for years, but someday the Irish raiders will be back. Then the holy brothers will be glad you are a king, fighting for their lives outside these walls, rather than praying for their souls within them."
Maelgwn laughed. It was a faint, tentative sound. Balyn knew he had never heard anything so beautiful.
Chapter 1
Narana tapped her foot impatiently at the doorway to the lodge. "Come, come. I don't have all day to wait for you!"
Hurrying to put away her sewing, Rhiannon followed after her stepmother, dodging dogs and children among the hide tents and roughly fashioned wood huts of the Brigantes' summer camp. By the time they reached the lodge of her father, King Ferdic, Rhiannon was sweaty and breathing hard.
Narana went in to announce her. Rhiannon waited outside, her stomach a bundle of knots. Her father seldom noticed she was alive, let alone requested her presence in his lodge. This summons was completely unexpected.
After a moment, Narana came out and nodded. Rhiannon entered and found Ferdic seated on a fur rug at the end of the room, his hands restlessly testing a new bow. Beside him lay a pile of weapons and armor. His lean, powerful body was draped in a brightly patterned tunic threaded with strands of deep green and blood red, his neck and wrists ringed with the enameled bronze jewelry of a warrior. With his long mane of brilliant red hair and his finely chiseled features, he looked every inch a king.
Rhiannon approached her father cautiously. She bowed. "My lord."
Ferdic stood up. "Rhiannon. Come closer."
She stepped to within easy reach of her father's jeweled fingers. Her head lowered, she gazed demurely at his dusty, leather-clad feet. After a moment, Ferdic reached out to grasp one of Rhiannon's long red braids, running his hand along it as a man might test a finely honed blade.
"I had not noticed before what a comely little thing you've grown to be." Ferdic's eyes swept over her, taking in every inch of Rhiannon's slim body. "You may well have a pleasing shape too, but one can hardly tell in that drab garment." He gestured at her plain, loose gown in disapproval. "Surely you have something finer to wear. You are a princess; you should try and dress like one."
Rhiannon kept her head bowed, hoping her father would not see the resentment firing her cheeks. Did he not know that her stepmother begrudged her any new clothes? Had he paid so little attention to his household that he failed to notice that Narana hated her?
There was silence between them. Ferdic slipped his hand beneath Rhiannon's chin, lifting her face so he could gaze upon it. For one brief moment Rhiannon met his eyes. Ferdic's beautiful blue-green eyes gleamed, cold and calculating.
Rhiannon looked away, struggling to hide her unease. As much as she hungered for her father's attention, this sudden keen regard did not gratify her, but made her nervous.
Ferdic removed his hand and leaned away from her. "Are you still afraid of men, Rhiannon?"
His voice was gentle, even kind. Rhiannon licked her dry lips and forced herself to answer. "Nay, my lord."
Her father nodded. "Esylt promised me she would deal with the matter."
Ferdic's mention of Esylt made Rhiannon's mind crowd with memories. The tall, dark-haired woman had been much more of a stepmother to her than ill-tempered Narana. Although Esylt had never lived with the Brigantes, she had often come to visit, or asked for Rhiannon to be sent to her. Esylt had loved Rhiannon and protected her; most important, she had been there to comfort her after that awful night two years ago when Llewenon had hurt her.
"It is good you no longer fear a man's touch, Rhiannon. You are a woman now. It's time you were wed."
Rhiannon's thoughts jerked back to the present, and she realized with a shock why her father had asked for her. Esylt had always warned Rhiannon that Ferdic would marry her off as soon as he found a husband wealthy and powerful enough. Apparently that time had come.
"I have thought upon your future husband a great deal," Ferdic said. "I have decided it is not enough that you marry a prince of our tribe. You are my only daughter, and the Brigantes recognize inheritance through the mother's line. It may well be that one of your sons could grow up to be a king."
Rhiannon gazed at her father in puzzlement. No one had ever suggested she might have more to offer her people than a generous bride price to enrich Ferdic's treasury. Was her father plotting something, using her marriage as a scheme to set up his future grandson as king over another territory?
Ferdic moved away and began to pace the room with a restless, feline stride. "I have made up my mind on a match for you. His enemies have discounted him as weak. They say his time is over. But I know better. He is a great commander and a shrewd man. If anyone can unite the Cymry tribes, it will be the man they call the Dragon of the Island. I have sent a delegation to his new fortress, proposing an alliance between our people. In a few days I expect to know the Dragon's answer."
Ferdic paused and regarded Rhiannon; his keen eyes pierced her relentlessly. "I thought you should know what your future holds, Rhiannon. If it matters, Maelgwn the Great is said to be handsome, and not unkind to women. His devotion to his first wife was extraordinary. Her death so grieved him that he even renounced his kingdom for a time."
Rhiannon scarcely heard Ferdic's last words; her thoughts focused on the name he mentioned. "Maelgwn the Great?" she breathed. "Esylt's brother?"
"Aye. Much alike they were too, both in looks and temperment."
Rhiannon's mind reeled. Esylt had spoken often of her brother, how handsome he was, how tall and kingly, what a brave and bril
liant warrior.
"Nay, I could not," Rhiannon said faintly. "I could not marry such a man."
"You would defy me?"
Ferdic spoke softly, but his voice was full of threat. Rhiannon backed away a step, shaking her head. "Nay, I mean... I... I don't see why he would want to marry me."
Her father's expression relaxed. "I'm going to offer him a dowry he can't resist. Maelgwn is fighting to regain his lands. He needs soldiers. He'll not refuse my offer of Brigante warriors."
Rhiannon stared at Ferdic in dismay. The gods help her! Her father was bribing this man to marry her. Maelgwn might not want her, but he would be forced to take her as part of the bargain.
"Rhiannon." Ferdic sounded frustrated, almost angry. "I thought you would be pleased. I know you were fond of Esylt. Your grief at her death was amazing. I had not imagined the old bitch so loved by anyone. Maelgwn is Esylt's closest kin. It should not be hard for you to bind yourself to such a man."
Harsh, choking pain filled Rhiannon. Esylt's death had left a deep emptiness inside her, and her father's cruel way of speaking of her loss made it more difficult to bear. He had told her the news almost casually last spring, as if Esylt's passing was no more than interesting gossip. When Rhiannon broke down and cried in front of him, he only shrugged and told her it was nothing to weep over. Esylt was getting old, he said, and losing her looks. He hoped he died before he grew old and lost the respect of his men.
Rhiannon looked up. Her father watched her, as if waiting for her to say something. What could she say? She did not want a husband, especially one who had been forced into marrying her. But there was no point telling her father that. Ferdic had already extended the offer to Maelgwn, and he obviously did not care whether she was willing. He expected her to be grateful.
Rhiannon forced her lips into a wan smile. "I would be pleased to marry Maelgwn the Great."
Ferdic smiled back at her, a grin so warm and dazzling that Rhiannon wondered if it weren't worth lying only for that, to see her father look pleased with her for once in her life.
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