The Dragon Lord's Daughters

by Bertrice Small

  “Nothing happened between us!” Rhys FitzHugh burst forth.

  “Averil Pendragon, will you not speak to us?” the prince encouraged her in his most kindly tones. The poor lass was obviously very shamed.

  Averil’s golden head drooped even lower, and she turned as if to hide her face in her father’s broad chest. Her slender frame appeared to tremble.

  “Damn it, you wicked wench,” Rhys cried, “tell them the truth!” He was furious as he realized what she was doing. She had decided to have him, but she would regret it.

  Averil pressed closer to her father as if seeking his protection. Her shoulders shook visibly. Merin Pendragon forced his face to remain serious, but oh, how he wanted to laugh. Averil had obviously decided that after dragging them across Wales to Aberffraw she would, after all, have Rhys FitzHugh as her husband. He wondered what had caused her to change her mind. He put an arm about his daughter, reinforcing the very impression Averil wished to make. “My lord?” he pressed the prince.

  Llywelyn the Great shook his grizzled head. “We can ask no other to take her under these circumstances, Merin Pendragon, despite her generous dower and her great beauty. Rhys FitzHugh, having stolen Averil Pendragon from her father’s protection, you must wed her now if you are to restore her honor and yours. This is my decision.” He turned and looked at Lord Mortimer. “Edmund Mortimer, I know you for a man of honor. Will you see that your liege-man does his duty?”

  “I will, my lord prince,” the Englishman said quietly.

  “Bring a priest forth, then. This couple shall be united forthwith,” the prince ordered.

  Oh, Holy Mary, Averil thought! She had only meant to make it impossible for another man to claim her. Now she was to be wed to Rhys FitzHugh immediately. There would be no escaping him or his ire. She peeped at him from beneath her dark lashes. He looked very angry. Would he beat her for this wicked trick she had played on him? Probably he would. Averil shuddered nervously, and seeing it Rhys smiled a slow, wicked smile, his eyes making contact with hers, and holding her in his thrall. Now, you wicked little bitch, the look said, you will regret your perfidy this day.

  “Oh, please, my lord prince,” Averil said in her sweetest tones. “Could we not return home to Dragon’s Lair first? I would have my mother, my sisters and brother with me when I wed this man.”

  The Great Llywelyn appeared to consider, but Merin Pendragon spoke up first.

  “My daughter is sentimental about our family, my prince, but I believe it best the marriage vows be said now. We will all return home to Dragon’s Lair afterwards, and celebrate this union before Rhys FitzHugh may take his bride home to Everleigh. It would allow us time to bring his sister, the lady Mary, to our home to join in these joyous festivities.”

  “Then so be it!” Prince Llywelyn said in a jovial voice. “A Midsummer’s Eve wedding before our own celebrations begin. Where is the priest?”

  Averil turned to her father. “Da! Why are you doing this?”

  “Do you think I do not know you, Averil?” he replied softly. “If I allow you to return home unwed you will find some excuse to avoid this marriage. And believe me, daughter, no other will have you now because of this misadventure.”

  “But it wasn’t my fault, Da! And nothing happened! I swear on the Blessed Mother than I am still a maid,” Averil told her sire.

  “I believe you,” the Dragon Lord replied, “but no one else will until the bloodied sheet is taken from your bed and hung for all to see.”

  “Oh, my God!” Averil gasped. “Oh, Da! Do not make me sleep with him tonight, I beg you! Not here in this strange place.” Her green eyes filled with tears.

  “I will speak with him, Averil. I’m sure Rhys FitzHugh is no more anxious for a coupling than you are. Not yet. But he will be, my daughter.” He turned away from her, and reaching out, drew the subject of their conversation forward. “You will wed her tonight, but you may not have her until she is ready. Do you understand me, Rhys FitzHugh? For all her spirit she is inexperienced and young. She has not her mother to comfort her in this situation, and she is afraid though she would deny it.”

  “I am not a monster, my lord. This is not her fault. It is mine. My father meant well when he advised me to steal an heiress bride. But I could have ignored that advice. I could have refused to go with Roger when he came with his troop of men for me. I did not. I might have learned a bit more about the family whose daughter I meant to take.” He smiled a brief, rueful smile. “Nay, ’tis my sin, not your daughter’s. She might have saved us all the trouble of traveling half of Wales, however, but then, I was not eager, either. It is indeed my fault, for I should have known better.”

  “I may come to like you, Rhys FitzHugh,” the Dragon Lord said, “and so I will give you this bit of advice, which you would be wise to take. Averil is headstrong, and she has a temper, but she is a good lass with a kind heart. She will try your patience, but she will be loyal to you. Treat her with kindness and she will reward that patience.”

  Rhys FitzHugh nodded. “You have given me good counsel, my lord. I will try to heed it, but I suspect that your daughter will not make it easy for me.”

  Merin Pendragon chuckled. “Nay, she will not. But she is a prize worth winning like her mother, I assure you.”

  The priest arrived in the hall. He listened to the Great Llywelyn, his master, and then turned to the Dragon Lord and his party. “Let the bride and groom step forward,” he said. “There is no blood impediment to this marriage?”

  “None,” Merin Pendragon said.

  “The dower portion is agreed upon, and the parties are both willing?”

  “The dower has been pledged before witnesses in this very hall, and aye, they are willing,” Merin Pendragon replied.

  “Then they shall be joined according to the rites of Holy Mother Church,” the priest said. Then he looked out over the hall. “Be silent, all of you! This is a sacred and proper rite of the church. You may resume your pagan celebrations of midsummer when I have finished, but not a moment before!”

  The hall grew quiet as the priest joined Averil Pendragon and Rhys FitzHugh in holy matrimony before her father, Edmund and Roger Mortimer, Llywelyn the Great, the prince of the Welsh, Joan of England and their court. Finally they knelt for a blessing, and then the priest departed as the hall once more grew noisy with revelers celebrating Midsummer’s Eve.

  Averil found herself alone briefly with her new husband. For once in her life she was struck dumb. She felt very foolish, but she simply didn’t know what to say to him.

  “You might have agreed to this several weeks ago, wife, instead of dragging me across Wales,” Rhys finally said, breaking the heavy silence between them. “What made you change your mind, Averil?”

  “I looked about the hall and decided there was no other as suitable as you, my lord,” she told him, at last finding her voice.

  He laughed. “Then I suppose the trip was worth it,” he told her.

  Averil flushed. “I’m sorry I’m not the heiress,” she said sharply.

  “So am I,” he agreed dryly, “but your dower is quite good, and we’ll manage.”

  “Why did you not breach me that first night?” she asked, curious.

  “I was advised to, but it would not have been honorable,” he told her quietly. “And as you have brought the subject up, I would have you know that I am a patient man, Averil. And this is neither the time nor the place for our cojoining. When we get home to Everleigh we will discuss the matter.”

  Unable to help herself Averil put her small hand on his big one, and looked up into his face. He was very handsome, she thought, but not in the pretty way that Roger Mortimer was. “Thank you,” she said softly.

  “You have green eyes,” he noted with a small smile.

  “All my sisters do, but Maia’s have a hint of emerald in them, and Junia’s are a dark green. Your eyes are silvery blue. They are very pretty,” Averil said, and then she blushed again.

  “Your father says yo
u have a temper, but also a good heart,” he told her.

  She nodded. “I do.”

  “You are honest,” he said with another smile. “I have seen your temper.”

  “I try to be fair, my lord,” Averil answered him.

  “Do you want to join the festivities?” he asked.

  “Perhaps we might share a cup of wine,” Averil suggested, “but I really am so very tired, my lord. I want nothing more than a good night’s sleep in a real bed, or on a mattress before we must spend our days traveling home, and our nights on the hard earth.”

  “Agreed,” he said.

  He found a servant who brought them a large goblet of wine mixed with potent, honied mead to share. It was very strong, and to her embarrassment Averil found her head spinning. Her legs began to give way beneath her, but Rhys sensed it. Catching her up in his arms before she fell, he cradled his new wife, surprised by the feelings she aroused. Calling to a servant, he asked to be shown the way to the solar where Averil was staying. With the servant going before him he climbed a flight of narrow stairs. Averil’s eyes were closed, and she was murmuring softly. She was indeed very lovely, Rhys thought. Perhaps he had not gotten such a bad bargain after all. And there was silver as well as kind in her dowry. Silver could buy him his own land, and more silver could be made breeding the sheep and cattle her father was giving him. Nay, it was not a bad bargain at all. If they could learn to get on, then all would be well.

  Arriving in the solar he said to the serving woman sitting by the fireside sewing, “The lady is indisposed. Where am I to put her?”

  “Ah,” the woman said, “the Dragon Lord’s child. Lay her upon that small cot by her pack, my lord. Is she all right?”

  “Two sips of wine with mead,” he told the servant. “She is very tired. Our journey has been long, and tomorrow we must return home.” He set his burden down where he had been instructed. Taking the little chaplet from her head, he laid it aside.

  “Poor lass,” the servant replied. “I will look after her, my lord.”

  Reaching into his pouch Rhys drew forth a coin. “Thank you,” he said, pressing the large round copper into the woman’s hand. Then he left.

  When Averil finally awoke it was daylight again. The solar was filled with chattering women. Her gown had been eased, and her slippers had been removed from her feet. Her mouth felt very dry, but before she could even sit up a serving woman was at her side with a cup of clear water.

  “Drink it all, child. There is a potion in it to restore your energy, which has been badly drained,” the woman said, and cradling Averil’s shoulders she helped her into a half-seated position, putting the cup to her lips.

  “How long have I slept?” Averil wondered aloud.

  “Why, all of last night, and into this morning,” the servant said. “The first mass has already been said, and they are breaking their fast in the prince’s great hall.”

  “I must get up!” Averil exclaimed. “We are leaving today.”

  “You should rest, lady,” the woman responded. “You are very pale.”

  “I am always pale,” Averil replied, and she drank the potion down.

  “Are you of the Fair Folk, then?” the woman asked.

  “They say I have an ancestress who was one of them,” Averil told her.

  The servant nodded. “Aye. Every few generations it is said the strain reappears in a son or a daughter, lady. Very well, I will help you.”

  Averil asked for a basin of water, and while she waited for it to be brought to her she removed her good gown and tunic, packing them away with her chaplet and shoes, changing into a tan gown and brown tunic, and a sturdier pair of leather shoes for riding.

  She bathed quickly, scrubbing her teeth with a rough cloth, and wove her long golden hair into a thick, single plait. She set a sheer cream-colored veil over her head, fastening it down with a chaplet braided with brown silk and gold threads.

  “I will bring your pack and your cloak to the hall, lady,” the serving woman said.

  Averil looked distressed. “I have no coin to reward you,” she said regretfully.

  “Your man did that last night, lady. He was generous,” the serving woman said, smiling. “Go along, now. When you need them, your possessions will be brought to you.”

  “Thank you,” Averil replied, and she hurried off to the hall to find her father and the others. The others. Her husband. She was a married woman now. And he had been kind last night. She wondered if he would continue to be kind.

  Her father found her first. “Hurry and eat, daughter,” he said. “We want to be off Anglesey and onto the mainland before midday. Where is your husband?”

  “I don’t know,” Averil said. “He brought me to the solar and left me last night.”

  Averil sat down at one of the tables below the high board. A servant slapped a hollowed-out trencher before her, and filled it with oat stirabout. Another servant gave her a piece of buttered bread, and set a cup before her.

  “Wine, ale, or cider?” he said.

  “Wine,” Averil told him. The hair of the dog to calm her belly, and her nerves. She ate slowly. Her father had disappeared again, probably seeking the others.

  “You slept well?” Rhys FitzHugh had seated himself by her side. “Wine,” he told the attendant serving man.

  “Yes, my lord, thank you,” Averil replied.

  “Good! When you have finished your meal we will ride.”

  “Did you have a good night, my lord?” Averil asked him.

  He grinned. “Roger and I got very drunk,” he began. “What happened after that I do not know, but I woke up on a hillock in a meadow outside the castle.”

  Averil reached out and drew a piece of grass from his dark brown hair. “I think, my lord, that my bed was more comfortable.”

  “As would mine have been if you were in it,” he said softly.

  “You promised!” she cried, flushing.

  “And I will keep that promise, Averil,” he assured her. “I have merely remarked that a man sleeps better with a woman by his side.”

  “I have never even kissed a man,” she told him.

  “Good!” he told her. “Then mine shall be the only lips you ever know.”

  “Do you want to kiss me?” she demanded to know. “You but touched my forehead with your lips after we had been wed yesterday.”

  “If you want to be kissed, Averil, I will kiss you,” he said.

  “If I must ask you then it is not worth it,” she told him quickly. “I am finished with my meal.” She stood up. “We had best be going, my lord.”

  “You will ride by my side today, lady, so we may learn to know one another,” he told her. “Come along now.” And he took her hand in his, leading her off and out of the hall to where their party awaited them.

  Chapter 4

  It seemed that they rode for days although their return was actually no longer than their journey to Aberffraw had been. Each night they made camp, and Averil’s bedding was set next to her husband’s. Yet not once did he touch her, or even kiss her. And each day they rode side by side learning bit by bit about each other. Rhys spoke of his father with admiration, and how he loved Everleigh. He told Averil of how when he was eighteen his father had, to everyone’s surprise, fallen in love with the daughter of a distant relation who had been orphaned and placed in his custody. They had wed, and nine months later Mary had been born. Her mother, however, a delicate creature, had not survived the childbirth.

  “Was your stepmother good to you?” Averil asked him, curious.

  “Always,” Rhys answered. “When Rosellen was first brought to Everleigh it was thought that my father would match her with me, for we were close in age. She was sixteen. But Da loved her from the first sight he had of her, and she him. Their marriage was the right thing. And because she loved my father she was good to me even when she was carrying her own child. That child might have been a son and heir for my father. Still, Rosellen treated me with great kindness.”


  “Is that why you love Mary so much?” Averil said.

  “Aye,” he agreed, “but you will come to love Mary, too, for she is sweet by nature,” Rhys responded.

  “My sister Junia is sweet, but Maia is more determined than even I am. I suppose it comes from the pride she has in being our father’s legitimate daughter although no one in our house has ever made a distinction between us. We are simply the Dragon Lord’s daughters,” Averil explained.

  “And your mothers all get on with one another?” he queried her.

  “My mother, Gorawen, and the lady Argel, are great friends. Da’s second concubine, Ysbail, is a good woman, but inclined to be a bit prickly. She is very concerned that her daughter Junia not be slighted. But of course, Junia never is.”

  “You love your sisters,” he remarked.

  “Aye, and our little brother Brynn,” Averil told him. “He is almost nine. He looks so much like Da that we sometimes have to laugh when we see them together. He is very proud that he descends from King Arthur. He knows every bit of our family’s history, and will tell you all about it whether you will or no.”

  “You will miss your family,” he said quietly. It was a statement more than a question.

  “Aye, but you will not forbid them Everleigh, my lord, will you?”

  “Nay, they may come when it suits them,” he replied.

  “If your sister is the mistress of the manor, what am I to do?” Averil asked. “I am not used to being idle. Will we live in the manor house?”

  “I have always lived there, but there is a bailiff’s cottage, Averil, if you would prefer it,” he told her. “It has not been lived in for many years. The last bailiff of Everleigh was a cousin of my father’s. He had neither chick nor child. When he died I was sixteen. My father then made me the manor’s bailiff, so the cottage is mine by right.”

  “If your sister and I can exist peacefully together then we shall live in the manor house,” Averil said. “But if Mary is in charge, and she has Rhawn, then I shall spend my days making the cottage habitable again for us one day. For now I shall set my loom up in your hall. Will that be satisfactory, my lord?”