The Dragon Lord's Daughters

by Bertrice Small

  “But the most amazing thing I saw at Ile du Lac was in a long gallery that faced the lake. Emrys showed me with his magic a wall of portraiture so lifelike that I expected the figures to step from the wall and converse with us. I saw my ancestor, King Arthur, his queen, Lancelot, and all those who lived at Arthur’s court in that time. And when Emrys waved his hand again they were all gone, and the wall was a blank. I shall never forget it as long as I live.”

  “That is, indeed, wonderful magic,” Gorawen said softly.

  “I am convinced that the Lord of the Lake loves Maia truly. I am convinced that there was no evil in the demise of his previous wives. That is why I have given him my consent to marry our daughter. It is a good match, Arthur’s descendant and Lancelot’s descendant,” Merin concluded.

  “They will want to be wed soon,” Argel remarked.

  “Emrys and I have chosen the first day of the Celtic New Year, November first,” the Dragon Lord said.

  “That is less than a month, my lord!” Argel exclaimed.

  “Do you think Maia will wait longer?” Gorawen chuckled dryly.

  “It does not have to be a grand affair. Invite the Mortimers, Averil and her family. ’Twill be enough, and Maia will not care as long as the family is together,” the Dragon Lord told his wife.

  “And we are all here to help,” Ysbail chimed in, to their surprise.

  Junia returned to the hall. “Maia and Emrys won’t stop kissing,” she announced, plopping herself down next to her brother again.

  “They are in love,” Gorawen murmured.

  “Do all people in love kiss without ceasing? I do not see how they can even breathe,” Junia responded. “You and father don’t spend all your time kissing.”

  The adults laughed, and then Argel said, “When you are young, and love is new, you do a lot of kissing, Junia.”

  “You mean that I will have to do all that kissing someday?” the young girl asked incredulously. She wrinkled her little nose with distaste.

  “Only if you want to,” Gorawen replied, “but if it is the right man, you will want to, my child.”

  Maia and her lover now came into the hall, and Maia ran to her father. “Thank you, Da!” she told him, and she hugged him.

  “I should have beat you more,” he growled, hugging her back.

  “You never beat me at all!” Maia exclaimed.

  “And you see what a willful wench you turned out to be,” he teased her.

  “My lord Emrys says we will wed on November first, and I am content to know it,” Maia said meekly.

  “Love,” Argel murmured, and she rolled her eyes.

  Gorawen and Ysbail laughed.

  It had grown dark outside, and the lamps were lit in the hall. The evening meal was served, and those at the table were merry. Afterwards, Junia and Brynn, tired with all the excitement, found their beds. Ysbail arose, yawning, and saying that if she was to do the embroidery on Maia’s wedding gown she must get her rest. As her embroidery was the finest of Merin Pendragon’s women, she was not detained. Argel then stood, and kissed her daughter good night before departing the hall. Merin Pendragon was quickly on his feet, taking Gorawen’s hand in his.

  “I will see that the door is barred, and tell the servants to douse the lamps,” he said to no one in particular. Then he left the hall in Gorawen’s company.

  “They are not very subtle,” Maia said softly, looking at her lover.

  “Did you really keep to your chamber and starve yourself while we were gone?” he asked her.

  Maia laughed, and then she flushed. “Nay, my lord. I was coaxed from my room as soon as my father had gone. I missed no meals at all I blush to tell you.”

  “If you father had refused my suit, and not gone to Ile du Lac, would you have carried out your threat?” he wondered aloud.

  She nodded. “I am yours, Emrys. I can belong to no other,” Maia told him.

  He held out his hand to her. “Come and sit in my lap, Maia.

  She came at once to his invitation, for she had cuddled in his arms in her dreams. She had no fear of him at all.

  When she was comfortably settled he reached around her, and began to unlace her gown. Then he drew the upper half of the gown from her arms and shoulders. The fabric settled itself about her waist. “I want to caress you,” he told her. “I want to feel your skin against my hands.” His fingers undid the ribbons holding her chemise closed.

  “We have not done this before,” Maia whispered, her pulses beginning to race.

  “Nay,” he said. “We have not.” He let his hand push past the opening of her chemise.

  “Why?” she asked him.

  “Because you were not really mine until your father agreed,” Emrys Llyn said, his long fingers brushing her skin lightly.

  “I was yours from the moment you first came to me, my lord,” Maia told him. She looked up at him adoringly.

  His dark head dipped, and he brushed his lips lightly against hers over and over. Then his tongue traced the shape of her mouth lingeringly, and when she murmured with her pleasure his mouth took hers in a fierce hard kiss that seemed as if it would never end. His hand plunged deep, finding a full and generous round breast. He cupped it. Then he squeezed it while his lips relaxed against hers, and he said against her mouth, “You have no idea, Maia, the white-hot desire I have for you!”

  Her head was spinning, and she was having difficulty breathing for a long moment. Then she whispered daringly against his mouth, “Remove your cotte, my lord.”

  “What if someone comes?” he asked her.

  “They will go away,” she assured him.

  He released his hold on her, and pulled the cotte off even as he watched with surprised eyes as Maia shrugged her chemise down to join the top of her gown. Then reaching out she undid his chemise, and drew it off.

  “I am a virgin,” she said, “but I have desires and instincts which I feel need to be sated, my lord. Will you satisfy them?” Her bare arms slipped about his neck, and she looked up at him with open longing. The tips of her nipples were temptingly close to his smooth chest. Her little pointed tongue imitated his actions of a few moments earlier.

  He was astounded by her daring impudence.

  “Do you not want me, Emrys?” she asked him. She pulled him against her breasts.

  He groaned with longing. The soft flesh of her bosom was the most intoxicating thing he had ever experienced. All the other women he had known in his life faded in his lust for this beautiful girl. “Your nature is, I can see, as fiery as your hair,” he murmured low in her ear. His tongue encircled the curved whorl of delicate flesh, licking at it slowly. He blew gently into it, smiling to himself as she shivered openly. Her instincts might be leading her, but her experience was nil.

  “Your flesh on mine,” she whispered at him. “It feels so good, Emrys. I could stay this way forever!”

  He loosened her hold on his neck, and tipped her into the curve of his arm. “I want to look at your breasts, Maia. And when I have had my fill of them, I want to suckle on you. Jesu! You have the most beautiful and perfect round breasts.” He stroked her flesh gently, and she trembled with a rising hunger she could not understand. Then his dark head lowered itself again, and his seeking mouth fastened itself about a nipple.

  Maia gasped softly. Feeling his wet and hungry mouth feeding on her was the most exciting thing that had ever happened to her. His mouth sucked harder, and she felt a corresponding tug in her secret place. Unable to help herself she arched her body against him. “Ohh, Emrys.” She sighed. “Don’t stop, I beg you.” The mouth tugged harder and harder at her until she actually felt a humid moistness that stuck against her thighs. “Oh!” she exclaimed, surprised.

  His hand slipped beneath her skirts, slithering up until he, too, felt the first rush of her virginal juices. He wanted to take her then and there, but he did not. By their wedding night Maia would fear nothing, but he had to be patient with her, and with himself. He removed his hand and lifted his he
ad from her breasts, kissing her mouth as he did. “It is enough, my love, for now.”

  “It will never be enough,” she told him.

  He laughed. “Do you crave my passion so, then, my love?”

  Maia nodded. “You and no other, Emrys Llyn. I should die before I would allow another to have me.”

  “Be patient, my love. In just a few short weeks we will be wed. And in the meantime we will make love when and where we can that you may be ready to accept me on our wedding night,” he told her.

  Maia nodded. “I am not afraid of passion,” she told him.

  “I know,” he answered her, and then pulling her chemise up, he threaded the ribbons used to close it shut. He drew up the top of her gown, and she slipped her arms back into the sleeves even as he laced the garment shut.

  “I don’t know why we bother.” Maia laughed. “We will go to our chambers, and disrobe now.”

  “The little Junia will be waiting for you, I am certain,” he said, laughter in his deep voice. “She will want to know all that has transpired between us, my love.”

  “She is much too young!” Maia said, scandalized.

  “Nonetheless, she will ask. Did you not ask Averil after she had mated with her husband?” he teased, and laughed when she blushed. “Therefore we must at least give the appearance of propriety,” he concluded.

  Maia sighed. “Aye,” she agreed, “but I should far rather go to your bed tonight, my lord, than share a bed with my little sister.”

  He laughed again, tipping her from his lap. “You will behave yourself, Maia. Remember that you are soon to be a respectable married woman. Go now.”

  “You don’t know where the guest chamber is, my lord,” she told him mischievously, grinning.

  “A servant will show me, my love,” he said.

  She pouted a moment, but then she gave him a quick kiss, and hurried off. Emrys Llyn sat staring into the flames of the fire. He loved this girl as he had never before loved. His previous unions had been of necessity. He had not wanted to wed, for he knew that somewhere out in the world beyond Ile du Lac there was a girl who would love him, and him alone. Who would not be afraid of the truth when he told her, or look at him as if he were a monster as his first wife had done.

  Rosyn had been an innocent daughter of a northern family. She had been meant for the church, but he had seen her and thought that perhaps she would suit him. She was a meek and gentle girl. Her uncles had been more than willing, and so they had wed. But Rosyn had been devout. His magic had frightened her. And when the Lady had come forth from the lake to inspect her, she had fled to the top of one of the castle towers, and flung herself over the edge. He felt great guilt at her death, and it had been put about that the poor lass died suddenly in her bed.

  In choosing a second wife he looked for a stronger, bolder girl. He found her in Gwynth, a merchant’s beautiful daughter. Gwynth had skin as white as the snow, and hair like a raven’s wing. Her eyes were as black as the cherries that came from Brittany in June. Emrys Llyn was willing to accept Gwynth’s small dower portion. Her father was content to overlook the strange rumors about the Lord of the Lake, and the marriage was celebrated. But no sooner had it been than Gwynth began to change from a cheerful girl into a shrew. She mistreated the servants. There was nothing that caught her eye that she did not desire, and she would whine and complain until she got it. Emrys Llyn did everything he could think of to please this second wife, but she was never content. Enough was never enough for Gwynth.

  To amuse her one day he showed her the portraiture in the gallery overlooking the lake. Gwynth was immediately transfixed by King Arthur’s sword, Excalibur. She demanded to know what had happened to it, and he told her that Lancelot had brought the sword back to the lake, and hurled it into the water. He explained that the Lady’s hand had come from the water to reclaim the sword, which she would hold until Arthur returned to recover the throne of Britain.

  “Then the sword is in the lake,” Gwynth said.

  “The sword is with the Lady,” Emrys replied.

  “It should be here in the castle, hanging over the main fireplace in the great hall,” Gwynth replied. “You must tell the Lady we want it.”

  “Nay,” he responded quietly. “The sword belongs with the Lady. ’Tis she who gave it to Merlin the Enchanter for Arthur.”

  “Have you no idea of the prestige the sword would bring you, my lord,” Gwynth railed at her husband. “If you will not ask the Lady for it, then I will!”

  Several days later Gwynth was found on the edge of the shore. She was dead. And once again the story was put about that Emrys Llyn’s wife had suddenly died in her bed.

  He had not loved Rosyn, but she had been a sweet girl. He had not loved the beauteous but greedy Gwynth, but he had hoped she would love him. Now he was to take a third wife, and he wondered if he was doing Maia Pendragon a disservice in wedding her. Yet she knew of his magic, and was not afraid of it. And she had shown no unpleasant traits so far. But did she love him enough? He didn’t want the death of another wife on his conscience. Yet he could not resist her, and he loved her as he had never loved another. And the plain truth was that he had no choice if he was to move on with his life.

  “My lord?”

  He started, and turned to face a servant. “Yes?”

  “If I may show you to your chamber, my lord. The doors are barred, and the lamps doused. I should like to seek my own bed, but if you are not ready, I will wait.”

  Emrys Llyn arose, and stretched. “Nay, ’tis past time for me to find my bed, but it is so comfortable here before the fire. Forgive me that I have kept you from your own rest. Lead on.” And he followed the servant from the hall.

  Though Maia protested it was decided the following day that the Lord of the Lake would return home until just before the marriage was to be celebrated. And in his daughter’s presence Merin Pendragon obtained Emrys Llyn’s promise not to visit Maia in her dreams. They would be separated until a day before the wedding. Reluctantly Maia bade her lover farewell, and watched sadly as he rode away from Dragon’s Lair.

  But in the days that followed she had little time to weep over his leaving, for the preparations for her wedding began in earnest. Messengers carrying invitations were sent out to Everleigh and Lord Mortimer. Her father, her brother, and the castle huntsmen went into the forest to find a fine boar for the wedding feast. Ysbail worked tirelessly on the embroidery that would be added to Maia’s wedding gown. And in the kitchens the cook began preparing for the feast he would have to create on the wedding day.

  Argel wanted her daughter’s wedding dress to bespeak her status as the legitimate daughter of the house. She chose a rich violet silk brocade for the undergown. The garment had long, tight sleeves, and a simple round neckline. The sleeveless overgown was the same shade of violet, but embroidered in rich gold thread with a matching fabric girdle. The color but highlighted Maia’s pale skin, and rich red-gold hair. The effect would be one of graceful simplicity. Beneath her fine clothes Maia would wear a simple white chemise designed as her undergown with a round neckline and long fitted sleeves. The chemise, however, was fashioned of a very thin silk that would not bunch beneath the brocade. The three older women of the house worked hard on Maia’s wedding garments, and Ysbail even embroidered the pointed toes of the bride’s shoes, as well as her white silk hose, with small flowers and leaves.

  “I shall not have a gown that fine,” Junia said enviously, “and Averil was wed in just what she had brought with her to Aberffraw. Yours is surely the most beautiful gown in the whole wide world, Maia.”

  “I should have chosen a lighter color,” Maia answered her younger sister.

  “The violet is stunning with your hair and skin,” Junia replied. “I think your mother chose well, Sister.”

  “As do I,” said the eldest of the sisters, entering the solar.

  “Averil!” Both Maia and Junia turned, squealing with delight.

  “Put the baby down, Dilys,” Averi
l said to her maid. “That is what the cradle by the fireplace is for, lass. And try not to wake him, or he’ll be howling to suckle again.” She turned to her sisters. “I am naught but a milk cow to the little devil.” She hugged each of her siblings in turn. “So, Maia Pendragon, you are to be married at last. You are closer to sixteen than fifteen now, I fear. Had you wasted any more time you should have found yourself considered too old, but then there is gossip that this Lord of the Lake has outlived two wives to date, and no children to show for it. Tell me what you know, for I am overcome with curiosity.”

  “He is handsomer than your husband!” Junia burst out. “And he practices magic! And I like him so very much. I hope my husband is as nice.”

  Averil laughed. “Well,” she said, “that tells me a great deal.”

  “I cannot live without him,” Maia said softly. “It is as if he is the other half of both my heart and my soul.”

  “So, Sister, you are very much in love, I see,” Averil replied. “I do not know if that is good, or if it is bad. I suppose only time will tell.”

  The harvest gathered in at Everleigh, Averil and Rhys had a day before the wedding day. The Dragon Lord and Gorawen were happy to see that Averil’s marriage was a good one despite the manner in which it had been begun. Emrys Llyn arrived at Dragon’s Lair in time to celebrate Samhain, the last day of the Celtic calendar year, which was still kept in parts of Wales, Ireland, and Brittany. Maia flew into his arms, and they embraced eagerly.

  “They kiss all the time,” Junia said, a disapproving tone in her young voice.

  Averil looked at her husband, and they smiled knowingly, for they understood what Junia was not yet old enough to understand.

  The meal was simple that night. Roast venison, broiled fish, a pottage of lamb and vegetables, bread, cheese, and pears stewed in red wine. And afterwards they all went outdoors to light their fire as the last of the sun sank behind the western hills. And on the hillsides all around them other fires sprang to life as they began to dance about the flames welcoming in the New Year according to the ancient calendar of their ancestors.