Dragon of the Island

by Mary Gillgannon

  Maelgwn struggled to clear his throat and ask his sister the fateful question, already dreading her answer.

  “What will happen now? Who will be king?”

  Esylt’s brilliant blue eyes sparkled with excitement. “There will be war,” she answered. “Llewen and Owen have already begun recruiting men. Maelfawr will not be far behind.”

  “They mean to fight each other for the kingship?”

  Esylt nodded. “What did you expect? There can be only one king, one leader. Whoever is strongest will take everything.”

  Maelgwn opened his mouth to protest, but the words wouldn’t come. His throat seemed choked with dust. He reached out to Esylt, trying to communicate his fear to her, but her image seemed to fade before his eyes. Her blue eyes diminished to points of light, and then the river, the summer’s day—everything vanished.

  The soft linen sheets were tangled around Maelgwn’s limbs, and he struggled to free himself, throwing off the blankets so the cool evening air could soothe his sweat-soaked skin. Moonlight poured into the room, illuminating the figure of a man opposite the bed who regarded Maelgwn with cold, angry eyes. For a moment, Maelgwn’s breathing quickened again, and then he relaxed, shaking his head at his own foolishness. He was in Constantine’s guest chamber. The fierce man was nothing more than a picture, a mosaic portraying the god Neptune as he rode the roiling waves. It was the moonlight that made the god’s eyes glint with life and the six dolphins that surrounded him seem to leap in the room.

  Maelgwn leaned back, trying to recover himself. The rich food, the spiced wine, the strange surroundings—all had addled his mind and caused this panicky mood. After weeks on campaign, his body could not adapt to the soft bed, the enticing atmosphere of luxury and comfort.

  Maelgwn got up and poured himself a cup of wine. He took a gulp and grimaced with distaste at its rich, cloying flavor. He would rather be drinking water—the clear, sweet mountain water of Gwynedd. His mind turned back to the dream. Even now, over ten years later, the memory of the day he learned of his father’s death still haunted him. He could not forget his own fear and shock, nor Esylt’s gloating excitement.

  As Esylt had predicted, his brothers had fought bitterly for the next three years, rending apart the kingdom that their father had united. Owen had been killed early on, but neither Llewen nor Maelfawr could defeat the other. Maelgwn had tried to avoid entering the struggle, but it was not to be. When there were rumors of plots against Maelgwn’s life, Esylt convinced their Uncle Pascent to provide him with arms and men. She had saved his life, Maelgwn thought bitterly, and now she would never let him forget it.

  Still, he had done the hard part—molding his men into an army, devising clever tactics to make up for his disadvantage in numbers. He would never forget the thrill of seeing the respect in the eyes of the old greybeards after Coed. They had once followed his father, now they followed him. That victory had been very sweet, and yet afterwards he had faced the horror of looking down upon the glassy-eyed corpse of his brother Llewen. He should have known then how dark the heart of war was.

  Maelgwn sighed and walked to the window. He peered out at the flat, white moon that seemed caught in a tree in Constantine’s orchard. Dinas Brenin, “king’s fort”—he would never forget that name, that place. After Betws-Coed Gwalmach, Maelfawr and his men took refuge there. They were joined by Maelgwn’s mother, Rhiannon. From the beginning, she had encouraged the strife between her sons. At Dinas Brenin she took a stand with Maelfawr—her oldest living child—against Maelgwn, the unwanted babe of her autumn years.

  Maelgwn forced back the pain. His mother had not loved him. Never. And yet, he had not meant for her life to end that way.

  He had planned to besiege the fortress and starve them out. But Esylt had intervened with her subtle plan and not-so-subtle taunts. A siege would take time, she warned him. He might lose his men if he waited too long. A strategically set fire would burn Maelfawr and his men out and force them to fight much sooner.

  He resisted until his men began to drift away, anxious to get home before the harvest. Even then he was reluctant. He wanted a pitched battle, an even contest. It was only when Esylt began her wicked taunts that he even considered a fire. She called him a coward and a fool. She sneered at him, warning that he was about to let it all slip away.

  Maelgwn shook his head. How could he have listened to her? Even before the first sparks caught he had known that it was a mistake. The old timber walls of Dinas Brenin had gone up like kindling. His brother, his mother—all those people inside—they had never had a chance.

  He turned from the window, the bile rising in his throat. He could never forget the part Esylt had played in the tragedy. He had never trusted his sister since that day. Perhaps that was why he was apprehensive about his impending marriage. Esylt was bound to resent any woman he chose to marry. A queen at Caer Eryri would lessen Esylt’s importance and challenge her authority to run the fortress as she wished. She was bound to cause trouble.

  The thought that he needed to consider Esylt’s wishes made him furious. He was king—he had the right to marry any woman he chose. What better match could he make than this lovely, well-dowered princess?

  Maelgwn lay down on the bed again, thinking of Lady Aurora’s sensuous beauty. So young and luscious she was, like a warm summer’s day. His anxiety and anger eased, pushed aside by arousal. He wanted this intriguing princess. He would not let anyone deter him from taking his prize. Tomorrow he would wed Lady Aurora and annex her father’s rich lands to his own. He was the Dragon, and no one could stop him. Not even Esylt.

  A few paces away across the courtyard, Aurora stirred in her fitful sleep. Several times she woke and crept across her sisters’ room to the unglazed window and peeped out, trying to decide if Marcus would be awake yet. When the glow of a lamp in the wing where her parents slept convinced her that it was near morning, she hurried back to her sleeping place and quickly dressed.

  The villa was quiet. Aurora’s sandals made a soft slapping sound on the paving stones of the courtyard as she ran past the garden. She inhaled the rich scent of summer flowers hovering in the darkness, and choked back a pang of longing. Even with Marcus beside her, she would miss her home painfully.

  The familiar warm darkness of the stables affected her even more profoundly. She had spent hours in these comforting corridors—it did not seem possible she would never come here again. She hurried from stall to stall, searching desperately for Marcus. She had to speak to him now, before it was too late, before her mother and sisters came to dress her for the wedding and her life spun completely from her control.

  “Marcus?”

  He was brushing down one of her father’s matching chestnut geldings, and he didn’t turn when she called to him. In exasperation she made her voice as sharp and scolding as her mother’s.

  “Marcus!”

  He faced her with eyes so full of bitterness and hatred that Aurora’s heart pounded in her chest. She had hoped he had not heard that she was to be a bride; she wanted to tell him herself when she explained her plan to him. Obviously Marcus already knew. He looked wild and hopeless, as if she had died and he was grieving for her.

  She moved slowly toward him, extending her hand, as if he were a skittish horse she was trying to gentle.

  “I know it’s awful, Marcus, but I have a plan. I’m going to ask if I can... if I can bring you with me!”

  Marcus didn’t reach for her hand, nor did his face change, except to grow even more desperate.

  Aurora began to talk rapidly:

  “I will be taking a maid, of course, so it wouldn’t be that strange for me to bring a manservant as well. You could take care of my horse and wait on me. The important thing is that we would be together. Why, we might even go riding sometimes.” She paused, out of breath and dreading the terrible look in his eyes.

  “Please, Marcus,” she begged. “Please come with me!”

  The struggle between his pride and his feelings for her
showed clearly on Marcus’s handsome countenance. Aurora watched him in agony, pleading silently.

  Marcus let out a painful sigh. “Aurora, I can’t. I couldn’t stand to watch you with him, to watch him possess you. He has no right to you.”

  Marcus turned away, unwilling for her to see his anguish. Aurora made no move to comfort him. She stood still and stiff, consumed by the sense of utter loss that washed over her. Marcus had been her last hope. Now there was nothing ahead of her, nothing except the unknown, frightening future.

  * * *

  “Maelgwn!”

  He jerked awake and was fumbling for his sword when he recognized the voice outside the door. Maelgwn let his scabbard fall with a clatter and went to let in his first officer, Balyn ap Rhyderch. Balyn greeted Maelgwn with a cheery smile. His eyes grew wide as he glanced around the room.

  “Truly it is a room fit for a king,” Balyn said in a hushed, appreciative voice.

  “Aye,” Maelgwn agreed as he leaned down to pull on his boots. “Still, it’s not a room I would want to spend another night in.”

  “All this beauty and luxury doesn’t please you?”

  Maelgwn shook his head and gestured to the lush bed and rich furnishings. “Comforts such as these make men soft and weak. It seems no wonder to me that Constantine can’t field a decent army. You would have thought he would have learned from his Roman forebears that an easy life leads to easy defeat.”

  “Harsh words from a man who is benefiting greatly from a Roman British leader’s weakness,” Balyn noted wryly. “Tell me, my lord, did you not sleep well?”

  Maelgwn shook his head, then turned away from his officer’s concerned brown eyes. Balyn had been at his side since the beginnings of his struggle for the kingship, and he trusted him completely. Still, Maelgwn was unwilling to share his doubts with his first officer. He didn’t want anyone to know that he had been awake half the night, troubled by thoughts of Esylt and memories of Dinas Brenin.

  Balyn changed the subject swiftly. “From the scornful way you speak of Roman ways, I suspect my discovery of the Baths would be lost on you.”

  “Baths?”

  Balyn nodded. “I’m sure you’ve heard of the Roman passion for daily bathing. Constantine has his own private bathhouse. There is both hot and cold water and a room where they use hot rocks to make steam. I must confess that I have already enjoyed their invigorating pleasures this morning. You might try it, Maelgwn. It would be one way to prove to your lovely young bride that you are a civilized man.”

  Maelgwn’s incredulous look quickly turned to an amused grin. “Aye, the girl did seem appalled to be wedding me, didn’t she?”

  Balyn shrugged. “Your reputation precedes you, my lord. No doubt the Lady Aurora thinks she is about to marry a terrible ogre.”

  “And yet she was brazen enough to pose as a serving girl at my table, a common spy.” Maelgwn pointed out, raising his dark brows.

  “Surely her father put her up to that!”

  “No doubt,” Maelgwn agreed. “But she had the nerve to carry off the disguise—which many women would not.” He stroked his whisker-roughed chin thoughtfully. “I must admit the girl puzzles me. I can’t say that I know what kind of woman I have agreed to wed. I intend to ask Constantine to have her brought to me before the wedding so I can see what my princess is like when she does not have a roomful of people staring at her.”

  “You’re not regretting your choice, are you?”

  “No, I have no doubt that Lady Aurora is the one I should wed. Believe me, I did not choose her for her fair face alone. As soon as I guessed that she was Constantine’s favorite, I knew. What better hold can you think to have upon a man than to possess his dearest daughter?”

  “You talk as if she is to be a hostage, not your queen.”

  “It won’t come to that,” Maelgwn answered emphatically. “The peace will hold, at least long enough for me to strengthen my other borders. In the meantime I may well beget an heir, and a child of our shared blood would solidify my alliance with Constantine for good.”

  Balyn nodded. “It is a clever plan, my lord. Let’s hope that you are able to convince Esylt of the wisdom of your marriage.”

  Maelgwn scowled. “Esylt has no say in who I marry. She will have to accept my decision as best she can.”

  Balyn nodded agreeably and then rose from the finely worked wooden chair. “If you wish to meet with your bride before the wedding, you’d best be seeking her. The morning is already half over.”

  * * *

  Aurora paced in the garden, listening to the hum of the bees and trying to relax. The heavy scent of roses filled the air, and their vivid colors of coral, mauve, wine and yellow seemed to make Aurora dizzy. The heat was making her breathless anyway, or maybe it was the tight dress that made it so hard for her to catch her breath. She was dressed in a gown of thin, almost transparent blue-green fabric called “silk.” Her mother said the dress came from Constantinople, and Aurora could not help wondering how the women stayed warm there. Not only was the gown sheer, it was also embarrassingly skimpy. Although it pinched tightly at her waist, it left her arms, shoulders and the tops of her breasts nearly bare.

  Her discomfort was increased by her elaborate hairstyle and ornate jewelry. Aurora’s sisters had carefully braided her hair and piled it on the top of her head. Although Julia had assured her that she looked like a Roman goddess, Aurora’s neck already ached from the weight of her heavy tresses. Her wedding costume was completed with massive gold earrings that pinched her ears, bands of gold and onyx around her wrists and a large, egg-shaped pendant of amber that dangled between her breasts, banging into her every time she tried to move quickly. As if Aurora were not uncomfortable enough, she had just found out from her father that Maelgwn had requested to meet alone with her in the garden.

  Aurora straightened her spine and threw back her shoulders, listening to the jingle of her earbobs. If only Maelgwn would come. She couldn’t stand this waiting. After Marcus’s refusal to accompany her to her new home, her mood had gone from despair to anger. The longer Maelgwn made her wait, the more her pain receded and her hostility grew. When she tried to remember her future husband, all she could think of was his mocking half-smile as he chose her. It was infuriating!

  What was she—a prize filly thrown in with the rest of the livestock he had insisted upon as tribute?

  Aurora heard a soft sound behind her and turned. Her heart seemed to jump into her throat. Maelgwn was even bigger than she remembered. No man she knew was near to Maelgwn’s height, and his broad shoulders, long limbs and lean, muscular body gave him an aura of power that was frightening. He wore a jewel-studded sword at his side and a dagger in his belt, as if ready to do battle instantly. Aurora was reminded of a wildcat ready to spring at its prey.

  “Lady Aurora.” He bowed politely.

  “My lord,” she breathed back, reluctant to curtsy and give him an even more immodest view of the cleft between her breasts that the low neckline exposed. His eyes fixed there with an obvious interest that both embarrassed and angered her. In retaliation, she gave him a brazen, probing look.

  In the bright sunlight Maelgwn’s hair did not look black, but a very deep shade of brown, and his piercing deep-set eyes were a stormy blue. His freshly shaved tanned skin was smooth and fine-textured, and Aurora realized with surprise that Maelgwn was rather young, no more than a score and a handful of years. She was wondering how he had come to power at such an early age, when her thoughts were interrupted by Maelgwn’s low, rumbling, rather musical voice.

  “What do you think, Aurora, of your bridegroom?”

  She flushed crimson. How foolish she was—sizing him up, trying to decide if he pleased her. It hardly mattered if he appealed to her or not. She was stuck with him.

  He fixed her with a sly smile. “I had not thought you to be so shy—not after your turn as a serving girl yesterday. What did you hope to gain by spying on me?”

  “I was not spying,” she answ
ered indignantly. “It is not unusual for a young woman to wait upon her father’s guests!”

  “Perhaps not. But unintroduced and dressed in rags?” Maelgwn shook his head. “Your behavior suggests deceit, but it could well be you are not to blame. I imagine your father put you up to it.”

  “No! My father had nothing to do with it! It was my idea, mine alone,” Aurora answered, anxious to avoid any impugning of her father’s honor. “I defied him and didn’t dress for dinner but offered my services in the kitchen instead.”

  “Why?”

  Maelgwn was looking at her with a studied interest that made her throat go dry.

  “I don’t know. I guess I was curious.”

  “Curious?” Maelgwn raised his eyebrows slightly. “That is an acceptable answer, I suppose. I must admit I am curious about you as well. Perhaps we should sit down and get to know one another better.” He gestured toward a bench beneath an old apple tree. Aurora nodded and followed him to the bench, listening almost hypnotized to the soft sound of his sword shifting beside him as he walked.

  She sat beside him awkwardly, and he turned and put his fingers under her chin, lifting her face so he gazed directly into her eyes.

  “It is important you know, Aurora, that I hate deceit. I won’t tolerate lying and manipulation.”

  She nodded, sure that the lump of fear in her throat would choke her if she tried to speak. His eyes bored into her with deadly intensity, as if seeking to probe her very soul. As much as she wanted to look away, she held his gaze. She had done nothing wrong, and she wouldn’t yield to his shameless attempt to intimidate her.

  After a moment, Maelgwn smiled again, his hard features thawing.