The Dragon Lord's Daughters

by Bertrice Small

  Junia’s tears faded away. “I did hear our da speaking with the lady Argel about matches a few days ago,” she said innocently.

  Maia’s arms dropped from about her sibling. “What did my mother and our father say?” she demanded to know.

  “There were no names spoken,” Junia replied.

  “But what did they say?” Averil pressed her little sister. “They had to have said something that piqued your curiosity, Junia, else you should not have mentioned it.”

  “They said the time had come to consider marriages for you both. Father said he would follow the example of our prince, the Great Llywelyn, and seek among the Marcher lords for suitable husbands for you. That’s all that I heard. I swear!”

  “What did my mother reply?” Maia wanted to know.

  “She agreed. Nothing more. You know your mother, Maia. She is so kind and soft-spoken. It is rare that she disagrees with our father. My mother says we are fortunate in her for another wife might not be so thoughtful of her husband’s concubines, or allow them to live in the keep with the lady and her children,” Junia finished.

  “My mother says if the lady Argel had been able to bear her children sooner we might not be here at all,” Averil remarked. Then she turned her attention again to the prospect of a husband. “We must listen more closely, sisters,” she told them, “for we shall be told nothing before it is engraved in stone. We shall have to learn everything for ourselves.”

  The three heads nodded solemnly in agreement.

  Several days later, however, Averil overheard something that displeased her greatly. Her father was considering making a match for Maia first because she was his legitimate daughter. Never before had Averil Pendragon known her sire to put one of his children above the other, no matter their birthright. And worse! He would make no overtures towards any family until Maia was fifteen, which was a whole year away. I will be sixteen by then, Averil considered, and too old for a good match. She sighed, and began to think what she could do, but she could think of nothing. She kept this knowledge from her sisters, but she did speak with her mother, Gorawen.

  Gorawen was as beautiful as her daughter was. They shared the same pale golden hair, and fair skin. But Gorawen’s eyes were silver in color, and Averil’s were the light green of her father’s. All of the Dragon Lord’s daughters had green eyes. “You were right to come to me,” Gorawen said. “Your father can wait no longer to match you with a husband. You are more than old enough, but if you must tarry until Maia is wed, who knows how old you may be. Certainly too old to attract a good match. I will not allow your beauty to be wasted on some insignificant family!”

  “He has never before put her before me,” Averil said, her tone irritable.

  Gorawen laughed softly, and patted her daughter’s hand. “He has always been more than fair with you all, and Argel too, but this is different, Averil. There is no avoiding the fact that both you and Junia were born on the wrong side of the blanket.”

  “So was our ancestor, Gwydre, the founder of this house,” Averil muttered.

  “I know,” her mother replied, “but that was centuries ago, and Gwydre was a man. It is different for lasses, Daughter. My birth was true, but I was one of five daughters. There was no dowry for me for either a husband or the church. My father, Arian ap Tewydr, was more than willing to give me to Merin Pendragon as his concubine. He knew your father would treat me well, and I should be safe for the rest of my days. He made your father swear on his ancestor’s name that the children born of our union would be well cared for, and you have been, Averil.”

  “Why did you have no other children, Mother?” Averil asked.

  “I did not want to give your father a son when Argel had not. She is a good and patient woman, but even good and patient women have their limits. Ysbail gives us all enough difficulty.”

  “But Argel did give father a son,” Averil said.

  “But only after many years of marriage. That is why he took Ysbail for a second concubine, however she birthed Junia much to her annoyance, but then she is a foolish woman. If she had birthed a son he would have been overshadowed by a legitimate brother, for Argel managed at last to have the son, who is your father’s heir. Ysbail would not have been happy to have any son of hers forced to take a lesser role.”

  “You both might have had more daughters,” Averil said slyly.

  “We might,” her mother answered, “but we did not.” Then she laughed. “I will tell you when you need to know, daughter.”

  “Will you speak with my father?” the girl asked.

  “Eventually,” Gorawen said. “Your birthday is not until the last day of April, my daughter. I do not want your father aware of what you heard, or that you were eavesdropping when he and Argel were discussing your fates. Let me handle this in my own way, and my own time. You will, I promise, be wed before Maia.”

  “I believe you, Mother, for you have never lied to me,” Averil said.

  “You must learn to cultivate patience, Daughter,” Gorawen chided gently.

  “I will try,” Averil promised, and her mother smiled.

  “Good. You want to show your father that you are ready to leave his keeping, and be a good wife to a husband,” Gorawen said. “Your behavior must never shame us.” Then Gorawen dismissed her only child, and considered how to deal with the situation with which Averil had presented her. The truth was that Merin Pendragon had kept his two eldest daughters too close for too long. Averil and Maia should have both been matched earlier, and their marriages ready to be celebrated. Her own child would be fifteen at the end of the month, and Maia would be fourteen on the fourteenth of May. She smiled to herself. Once the wheels were set in motion to match Averil and Maia she was certain that Ysbail would begin demanding equal treatment for her daughter. Junia would be but eleven on June second. There was time for Junia. First Averil, and then Maia. Maia’s match would be the better one no matter, but Merin would see that Averil was given a good husband. Her daughter would have a good dower portion. She would not have to be a concubine like her mother, Gorawen thought, satisfied.

  She arose, and calling her serving woman for her cloak, Gorawen went out into the spring day. The courtyard of the keep was quiet but for the poultry scratching about in the dirt. Several dogs slept in the sunshine, and by the kitchen garden, her destination, a fat tabby dozed amid the new greenery. She shooed him awake and away, and taking her knife from her robes began to cut some herbs. If she was to have her way about Averil she must get Merin into her bed. Of late, she noted, his manhood did not rise to the challenge of her womanhood as it once had. He was no longer a young man. He had wed Argel late, being thirty. He had been too busy in the service of Llywelyn ap Iowerth, called the Great Llywelyn, who was his overlord, and lord of almost all of Wales. It was Llywelyn who had finally sent him home, and told him to marry before it was too late.

  So Merin Pendragon had returned to his keep. His parents were gone from the earth, and he realized the prince was right. He needed a wife. He had found a good match in Argel urch Owein, daughter of Owein ap Dafydd. Argel had been fifteen when they wed. But to her distress she could not seem to conceive a child. After four years Merin had brought Gorawen into his keep, and nine months later Averil had been born. A year later Argel had brought forth her first child, a daughter, Maia. But after that there was no sign of another child.

  Gorawen knew well how to prevent conception, having been taught by her grandmother, a wisewoman. She had prevented another pregnancy in order that Argel might have time to conceive a son for their shared lord. After a while Merin grew impatient, and brought another concubine into their midst. Ysbail conceived immediately, and birthed Junia. Gorawen saw that her grandmother’s potion was fed to Ysbail that she not birth a son; and she prayed to the gods both old and new for Merin’s seed to take root in Argel’s womb again, and that it be a son. Her prayers were finally answered in the summer that Averil was six, Maia five, and Junia three. Argel birthed a son on the first day of Augu
st. He was a healthy child who was called Brynn.

  After that there were no more children born of Merin Pendragon’s seed, and as the years went on the master of Dragon’s Lair Keep began to lose interest in his women. Now and again, however, Gorawen could lure him to her bed, and help him to gain pleasure. It was usually when she wanted something badly, for Merin Pendragon was no fool, and she would not shame him. So when that evening she murmured an invitation in his ear he had smiled knowingly, and nodded.

  Gorawen was awaiting her lord. She had had a tall oaken tub brought to her chamber, and filled with hot water. Now having undressed Merin she climbed into the tub with him, and began to bathe him. He grunted with pleasure as she scrubbed his back with a boar’s bristle brush, and a rough cloth. She picked the nits from his graying head, and washed his locks thoroughly. “Where have you been sleeping?” she demanded. “You are flea bit on your back. You need a new mattress, my lord. I shall tell Argel.”

  “Do it yourself,” he said. “She is morose of late, and can take no suggestion. She weeps at nothing. I do not understand it. She is not breeding, I know for certain.”

  “Perhaps her juices are drying up,” Gorawen suggested. “ ’Tis a sad time for a woman to know she may never again bear life in her womb.”

  “You and Argel are the best of friends, and make my life pleasant,” he said. “You would think kindly of my lady.” He pulled her wet, naked form against him, and kissed her heartily. “You’re a good lass, Gorawen, mother of my eldest child.”

  She stood quietly in his embrace, and smiled. “You are good to me, and to our daughter, my lord. But come now, and let us get out of the tub. I have a fine treat for you.” She smiled again, and climbed out of the water, quickly wrapping a drying cloth about herself, picking up the other to wipe the water off Merin’s big body. He was yet a fine figure of a man. When they were both dry she led him to her bed, settling him, hurrying to bring a plate of sweetmeats and a cup of wine for his pleasure.

  Merin Pendragon had a sweet tooth, and reached at once for the plate. He popped a sweetmeat in his mouth, chewing appreciatively. “What are they?” he asked her.

  “I dried plums last summer, and soaked them in sweet wine in a stone crock all winter. Then I rolled them up, dipped them in honey, and rolled them in crushed almonds. Do you like them, my lord?” She climbed into the bed next to him, and sipped from his cup.

  “You’re a clever wench, Gorawen,” he told her, unaware that the wine the plums had been soaking in was imbued with a potent aphrodisiac she made from the herbs in her garden. He reached for her as he felt his passions begin to stir.

  Gorawen melted into his arms. “My dear lord,” she murmured, holding her face up to him for his kisses, tasting the wine and the plums on his breath. Her fingers began to caress the back of his neck gently, but in a way that had always pleased him greatly.

  “What do you want of me?” he demanded, shifting her so that she now lay beneath him. He pulled the drying cloth open, and stared down at her big breasts.

  “Later, Merin,” she said softly, her tongue teasing his ear, her breath hot, and sending shivers down his spine.

  He chuckled. “A very clever wench,” he told her with emphasis. Then covering her body with his, and feeling his lust beginning to rage, he thrust into her, sighing gustily as she received him, wrapping her legs about his waist. Soon she was crying out to him with pleasure, and for the first time in a very long while Merin Pendragon felt like the inexhaustible youth he had once been. He groaned as her body shuddered with her pleasure not once, but twice. And at that second burst of satisfaction he loosed his own juices with a howl of gratification, finally falling away from Gorawen, his breath coming in quick pants.

  They lay together recovering from the bout of Eros that had surprised even Gorawen. The plums were more successful than she had anticipated. At last recovered she said, “Now I will ask a favor of you, my lord.”

  He laughed aloud. “And I will grant it you, sweeting, as you have pleasured me mightily this night. What is it you will have of me?”

  “I want you to find a husband for Averil. She will be fifteen at the end of the month. It is past time she was matched, wedded and bedded,” Gorawen said.

  “I have been thinking on it,” he said. “For both Maia and Averil.”

  “Maia is your legitimate daughter, but she is the younger, my lord. She will be easier to match, but she should not be wed before her elder sister. If they had not all been raised together without prejudice in your hall it might be a different thing. But you have treated all your children, both licit and illicit, in the same loving and kindly manner,” Gorawen pointed out.

  “Ahh,” he said, “I see the difficulty here, sweeting. It takes time to make the kind of match that must be made for Maia, and if much more time passes, Averil will be considered too long in the tooth.”

  “Aye, she will. My lord, she is the most beautiful of your daughters. Use that beauty for a good match. Then the match you can make for Maia will be even better than you might have hoped for as she is the legitimate daughter. And little Junia will have an opportunity she might not if her sisters are married well, and better.”

  “A clever wench,” he repeated for the third time that evening. “But who?”

  “You have said you would follow the example of our prince and seek among the Marcher lords for sons-in-law. This may also prove useful when Brynn is of an age to take a wife. I know that the prince hopes to rid himself of this English king who is his overlord, but I wonder if that will ever happen. And we who live here in Wales must think of ourselves, and our children, first. What are the politics of great men to us?”

  Merin Pendragon nodded. “You reason well, sweeting, though you be but a woman. The more we ally our family to the families of the Marcher lords the better off it will be for us. I will do as you have asked me, and find a husband for Averil first, but I will tell Argel of my decision before I do. She is my wife, and as loyal to me as are you.”

  “Of course you must speak with Argel, my lord! She is mistress in this house, and I respect her as I do you,” Gorawen said sweetly. She lifted the plate of sweetmeats from the table by the bed. “Will you have another, my love?”

  “Aye, I will!” he said smiling at her. “I vow, Gorawen, no one, not even my dear Argel, pleases me, or treats me as you do.” He ate three more of the plum delicacies.

  “I have been happier with you than with anyone else,” Gorawen told him honestly.

  He smiled warmly at her. Soon his lust was afire once more to his surprise, and he was putting her beneath him once again, and satisfying their shared desires with the enthusiasm of a man thirty years younger.

  When afterwards he slept, replete with his pleasure, Gorawen arose, and took the plate of sweetmeats away. There was but one left upon the plate, but she did not want him to have it lest he associate the wine-soaked plums with his lust for her this night. It was the first time she had used such means to arouse him, and she was quite surprised by the success she had had. But he was content with her, and his own performance tonight. She smiled wickedly. He would not have the same success with Ysbail. The other concubine would have to suck his cock to a stand to bring them both any pleasure at all, and it would be quick. As for Argel, she no longer cared if her husband visited her bed. But because of this night Gorawen’s daughter would be matched first. Merin would explain it all to Argel, and Argel would not argue. She never did.

  Now Gorawen began to wonder who Averil’s husband would be. There were several fine families among the Marcher lords who would do. A younger son? A favorite son born on the wrong side of the blanket? Gorawen considered what kind of dower Merin would provide for his eldest child. There would have to be just enough cattle, and sheep, to add to Averil’s beauty to make her most desirable. Since she was favored by her father, the manner of her birth would not matter. But Gorawen knew she had extracted all she dared from Merin this night. Now let him make good on his promise, and then she wou
ld haggle with him over their daughter’s dower.

  The next afternoon she took Averil into her herb garden ostensibly to teach her of things she must know, but also to tell her daughter of her small success with Merin Pendragon. “You may not tell anyone of what I have said to you,” Gorawen warned Averil. “Your father has given me his pledge, and he will keep his word.”

  “Who do you think it will be, Mother?” Averil asked, excited.

  Gorawen shook her head. “I have no idea, but you may trust your father will do his best by you. It will surely be a son from one of the Marcher families, for the Pendragon interests lie with them if we are to continue to survive.”

  “Maia said I should be given to an elderly merchant that father is indebted to, or perhaps some simple knight,” Averil said, “but I know that will not be. The better my match, the better Maia’s match will be.”

  “Aye.” Gorawen nodded. Then she said, “Now, here is a secret remedy I shall teach you, daughter, so that if you desire to prevent conception of a child, you can.”

  “The priest says it is a woman’s sole function to bear new life,” Averil replied.

  “The priest is an old fool and should know better since he and his hearth mate have birthed nine younglings they could not feed were it not for your da. Surely he has had some pleasure of his mate other than just children.” Gorawen laughed knowingly.

  “Teach me all you know, Mother,” Averil said eagerly. “Some say you are a witch with all your knowledge of herbs and potions. I would learn all you are willing to share with me.”

  “Humph!” Gorawen sniffed. “Fools! I gained my wisdom in my father’s house at my grandmother’s knee. She thought that because I had no dower it might be an advantage to me wherever life would lead me. And it certainly has been.” She bent her head and pointed.

  “The seeds from the wild carrot, mashed into a paste and formed into a pellet that can be taken each day will prevent conception, Averil. It is not wise for a woman to have babies too quickly. Two years between each child is healthy.”