Dragon's Dream

by Mary Gillgannon

  "On your signal," Maelgwn whispered. Gavran nodded. "Now."

  The arrows flew with a shriek, and the stag leaped into the air. They barely saw the blur of his body as he sailed a few dozen paces and then crashed to the ground with a thundering sound that echoed through the forest. The two men let out whoops of delight.

  "We did it!"

  "Aye, two perfect shots."

  They stared at each other for a second, their faces flushed with excitement; then they embraced exuberantly, pounding each other brutally on the back.

  Their celebration finished, they hurried toward the fallen animal. The stag sprawled awkwardly on the ground, his legs askew beneath him. His majestic head leaned to one side, the neck broken by the force of the arrow driving through it. The other arrow was lodged deep in his chest, impaling his heart. His glassy eyes were empty of life, but his flanks still heaved slightly and his legs twitched spasmodically.

  "A king," Maelgwn whispered.

  "Aye," Gavran agreed.

  It seemed natural to lower their voices; they could almost sense the great stag's spirit hovering nearby, floating on the dim, moist air.

  With a fierce heave, the two men rolled the stag on its side, and Maelgwn deftly slit the belly. After pulling out the intestines, still steaming with life, he reached deep into the warm mass and found the stag's heart. He paused from his butchering and began to dig a hole in the damp, cold ground with his huge hunting knife.

  "What are you doing?" Gavran looked up from his struggle to retrieve his arrow from the stag's neck.

  Maelgwn glanced at him almost sheepishly. "I'm making a sacrifice. In honor of this great king."

  "I thought you were a Christian."

  "In part," Maelgwn answered. "I am other things as well."

  Gavran smiled, showing the big, white teeth the Brigante were famous for. "Say a prayer to the horned god, Cerunnos, for me as well. Ask him to see me safely home."

  Maelgwn nodded solemnly, then went about his task of burying the heart. When he was done, he bowed his head and whispered his words of thanks. He could not explain why he did it, and no doubt the monks of Llandudno would have called him a blasphemer, but in the darkness of the woods, it seemed right that one king should show honor to another.

  They finished butchering the deer, covering much of the carcass with dirt and leaves, then each slinging a hind-quarter over their shoulders.

  "We should have brought horses," Gavran said with a groan beneath his burden.

  "Aye, but then we would have had to bring the hounds and the other men. It wouldn't have been the same."

  "No, it wouldn't have been the same," Gavran agreed. "It was a superb hunt, and one I will boast about for years."

  "No doubt you are eager to be home to begin your boasting," Maelgwn said.

  "Aye. I am eager to be home, but it is not to sit around the fire and talk of hunting. It is my wife I miss... and my three small sons."

  "Haven't you found any women here to your liking?"

  "You know I have sampled nearly every wench in the fortress," Gavran answered with a smile. "Still, it is not the same. There is nothing like a Brigante woman. Tangwyl has the thickest, softest red-gold hair and the loveliest white breasts..."

  "Stop!" Maelgwn complained. "If you keep this up, I will want to go home to her myself."

  "Ah, but you have a Brigante woman of your own now, Maelgwn, the fair Rhiannon."

  "Rhiannon hardly seems like a Brigante woman, so delicate and small she is. Tell me, Gavran, do you know anything of her mother or her mother's people?"

  Gavran shook his head. "Only the stories the women tell. That Ferdic, when he was just newly a man, came home from campaign with a tiny, red-haired babe, claiming that she was his own off a foreign princess. Rhiannon was raised first by Ferdic's mother and then his wife."

  "A strange tale."

  "Aye, especially for a man like Ferdic. He's shown little interest in Rhiannon, at least until she became a woman and he realized he might make a good match with her."

  "So, you don't think Ferdic holds his daughter dear," Maelgwn said contemptuously. "I thought as much. The girl has been neglected and perhaps more." He turned to Gavran abruptly. "I recall you mentioning a man named Llewenon, the bard and healer Rhiannon trained with. What more can you tell me about him?"

  Gavran frowned in concentration. "He was an odd one, kept to himself mostly, but then, most of the Learned Ones are like that. After he disappeared, he wasn't really missed, except for his tales around the fire. The man could weave a fine story."

  "What of women? Did Llewenon seek any of the Brigante women to warm his bed?"

  "Not that I know of, although he could have met them in secret. Why do you ask?"

  "It is only a thought..." Maelgwn's voice trailed off. He did not know how to broach the subject of Rhiannon's possible rape. It was an awkward topic to bring up with one of his wife's countrymen, but it seemed the only way to discover the truth.

  "Does it still trouble you that Rhiannon took training from such a man?" Gavran asked.

  "Not exactly." Maelgwn met Gavran's gaze. "Do you... is it possible that this man, Llewenon, took Rhiannon off alone and raped her?"

  Gavran looked startled. "Did Rhiannon tell you this?"

  "She has not told me anything at all. It's only a feeling I have."

  "I suppose it's possible. She was in his company a great deal... alone in the forest. And such a thing would explain how Llewenon fell out of favor with Ferdic. If he learned his daughter was violated, Ferdic would have been furious. Not because of Rhiannon, but for the offense against his authority." Gavran glanced at Maelgwn. "Why does it matter? Are you dissatisfied with your agreement with Ferdic?"

  "Of course not," Maelgwn answered, then paused. He did not want to discuss Rhiannon's odd behavior, nor could he tactfully vent his fury at Ferdic with one of the Brigante king's own men. He shot Gavran a rueful smile. "I only seek to understand my wife a little better. Who among us would not like to glean better knowledge of their mates?"

  Gavran laughed. "Don't waste your time, Maelgwn. There's no understanding women. I've been married for well-nigh seven years, and my wife is yet a mystery. I've come to believe it's better this way. I fear if I knew the truth of her thoughts, I would not like it!"

  Maelgwn chuckled agreeably, then fell silent. Since the incident in the forest two days ago, Rhiannon had seemed much more relaxed. She smiled frequently, and he had even seen her laugh openly when she and Rhun played with the puppies. It was obvious she was trying to put the past behind her. For her sake, he must do the same.

  But someday—Maelgwn's jaw clenched—someday he would speak to Ferdic about Rhiannon. He would discover the whereabouts of this monster, Llewenon. He would track him down and see him punished for what he had done.

  "What troubles you, my lord?"

  "What? What do you mean?"

  "You looked so angry just now."

  They were in the bedchamber; Maelgwn lay on his back while Rhiannon gently massaged the front of his thighs. He was bone weary. His muscles still screamed from the torture of carrying the stag's carcass so far. Still, real relaxation eluded him; he kept thinking about his conversation with Gavran, about this man Llewenon and the gruesome way he deserved to die.

  "It was nothing. Merely a grimace of pain." He turned over so Rhiannon could ease his aching shoulders, and no longer see his face. She moved over him. Her small, delicate fingers probed deep into his tight muscles, making him groan.

  "It must have been a grand animal," Rhiannon said.

  "Aye, he was magnificent, a twelve-point rack."

  "Think how many years it took for him to grow so big."

  Rhiannon's voice sounded wistful. Maelgwn felt a twinge of irritation. He suspected Rhiannon had more sympathy for the stag than for him.

  "Think how many years it took for me to grow fool enough to attempt this madness of hunting without horses. Lludd's balls! I am too old for such pain!"

&nbs
p; "You're not old," Rhiannon soothed. "Why, there are hardly any gray hairs on your head yet, and your stomach is hard and lean."

  "It's not my stomach that hurts tonight, but my back and legs. Ahhhhgghhh!"

  "From the way you grunt and groan, I'm not sure this is doing any good."

  "Aye, it is... right there... ahhhh!"

  Rhiannon continued to stroke him, trying to soothe her own worries as she eased Maelgwn's sore muscles. Her husband had such a strange expression on his face tonight. It was a look of brooding hatred. She wondered who it was directed toward—but in her heart she knew. Esylt. His sister might be dead, but Maelgwn had not eased in his desire for revenge against her. It burned inside him, a white-hot, unappeased loathing.

  She closed her eyes as she stroked the thick muscles of her husband's back and shoulders. If only she could make the pain in his heart go away as easily as she assuaged his sore body.

  Chapter 14

  "You wish me to go riding with you? Right now?" Rhiannon's fingers stilled on the clay pot she was shaping in the workroom near the kiln.

  Maelgwn gave her a reassuring smile. "I promised I would take you to the woods sometime, and we're not likely to have another day so fine as this one." Sensing her hesitation, he added, "The clay will be here when you return, as will your sewing."

  Rhiannon nodded slowly. Maelgwn turned and started toward the door. "I'll meet you at the stables."

  Maelgwn walked toward the corner of the fortress where the horses were kept. He knew Rhiannon loved to walk outside the fort. Still, she appeared reluctant to go with him. Would he never win his wife's trust? Would she always be wary?

  He met Rufus at the entrance of the stables. "Is Cynraith saddled yet?" Maelgwn asked.

  "Aye, my lord. And the little pony too, although I hardly think the puny beast a fittin' mount for a queen. Are you sure Lady Rhiannon wouldn't rather take Sawyl?"

  "Docile Iau reminds her of her homeland. Given the short distance we are traveling, the pony will suit."

  Rufus led Cynraith and Iau out. Maelgwn reached to stroke the stallion's glossy neck as he waited for Rhiannon. Iau nickered softly, as if jealous. Grinning, Maelgwn turned to give the shaggy little pony a measure of his attention. He did not expect Rhiannon to be long. She would have to wash the clay from her hands and change to a looser gown for riding, but unlike most women, she would not take time to fuss with her hair before meeting him. Her lack of vanity did not detract from her natural beauty, but only emphasized it.

  At last she came, walking toward him with the light, rapid steps that made her able to move so silently in the woods. She smiled at him shyly. Her cheeks flushed a lovely rose hue. He suspected she was pleased he had asked her to go riding with him, despite her earlier hesitation.

  Maelgwn lifted Rhiannon up on Iau, then mounted himself. They rode through the gate and down the hillside trackway. A soft wind blew in Maelgwn's face, and he breathed deeply of the air, scented with sea and sunshine. The breeze bore a hint of winter but was not yet cold. It was one of the mildest autumns he could recall.

  Rhiannon rode silently beside him, and Maelgwn felt no urge to converse with her. He was content to enjoy the presence of his wife, to appreciate her pleasure in the moment. As soon as they left the fort, he sensed a quickening of Rhiannon's senses. Like an animal, she responded to the wild elements around her. Her body relaxed, her breathing deepened. Even her face looked different. There was an alertness in her expression, a glow in her eyes.

  They reached the forest. Maelgwn dismounted and helped Rhiannon off her mount, then tethered their horses to a pine tree. He took her arm and led her among the stands of alder, beech and oak. Beneath their feet, the fallen leaves rustled, making a soft, soothing music.

  Yellow agrimony and purple loostrife still bloomed in clearings, and majestic purple and white spikes of foxglove poked above the dingy gray-brown carpet of fallen leaves. Maelgwn recalled that foxglove was poisonous, yet prized by healers to treat ailments of the heart. He wondered if Rhiannon knew the uses for the other plants they saw. He suspected she did, for as they walked, she examined the underbrush with a critical eye.

  Silently, Maelgwn cursed Llewenon. His abuse of Rhiannon had not only damaged a sweet and innocent woman, it had robbed the Cymry of a skilled healer. Maelgwn would never be able to ask Rhiannon to use her knowledge of plants and healing to aid his people. To do so would risk damaging the fragile trust he hoped to build with his wife.

  Maelgwn sighed. He could not indulge his anger toward Llewenon now. He had brought Rhiannon to the forest to ease her anxieties, not arouse them.

  They progressed deeper into the woods. Away from the sunlight, the air was cool and moist, and scented with the dark, pungent odor of decay. Dry and dying bracken and horsetail ferns covered the ground, and dark red bryony berries glowed like drops of blood on the vinelike plants curling around the low branches of trees.

  The path narrowed, so only one of them could pass at a time. Maelgwn gestured for Rhiannon to go ahead of him. Following, he admired the grace of his wife's movements, the rich color of her braids as they swung against her slender body. A lazy, tranquil mood crept over Maelgwn. There was a sense of timelessness here. These woods had existed for centuries before his great, great grandfather Cunedag settled in Gwynedd. They would be here for centuries after Maelgwn.

  He halted as Rhiannon paused beneath a huge, old oak and looked up at the tree's nearly bare branches. Her lips moved slightly, and Maelgwn guessed she whispered a prayer to Nemetoma, the ancient personification of the trees. The skin prickled slightly on the back of Maelgwn's neck as he stared at his wife.

  As a boy, he had sometimes felt the eyes of the Old Ones upon him when he walked in the forest, but never had his awareness of them been so strong.

  Rhiannon turned to face him and raised her eyes to his. Maelgwn felt her spirit reach out for him—as if she touched him, despite the handful of yards that stood between them.

  He walked toward her, drawn by her mystical gaze. "When I am with you, I sense... I feel as if I have been here before... in another time, another lifetime."

  Rhiannon nodded. "The forest is crowded with spirits. Perhaps they remind you of your other lives."

  Her words made a shiver run down Maelgwn's spine. He watched his wife intently, somehow half-expecting her to vanish before his eyes. She was so elusive, mysterious and yet, irresistible. He pulled her close, seeking the reassurance of her warm, lithe body in his arms.

  She reached up to touch his face and sighed. "Autumn is my favorite time of year. Such a magical time, the world poised between regret and hope. Plants are dying, the birds have begun to leave, animals prepare for the hardship of winter. But there is a sense of completion in the air. The dying plants are heavy with seed; the animals mate. Even in the end of things, there is a beginning."

  As her soft, light voice caressed his ears, Maelgwn felt heat fill his loins. Although he had not consciously brought Rhiannon to the woods to make love to her, it seemed right. When she lifted her face to look at him, Maelgwn leaned down to meld his lips to hers, slowly and thoughtfully.

  Rhiannon kissed him back breathlessly, savoring the warm, firm pressure of his lips, the sensual pleasure of their tongues touching. It startled her how easily Maelgwn had fallen under her spell. She wanted him—so badly her body ached. But she could not have asked him to love her, here among the dying splendor of the fall forest. Yet, he had known; his body answered the hunger of hers.

  She felt his hands slide beneath her braids and stroke her nape with a luxurious, gentle rhythm. Rhiannon sighed and leaned into him. The feel of his swelling arousal against her belly made spirals of longing unfurl along her body. She slowly slid her hands along his chest and stroked the hard muscles beneath his tunic. Her fingers inched down to the tie of his trousers.

  Maelgwn released her and allowed her to unfasten his clothes. She took his silky, hot shaft in both hands, enjoying the power of him, the raw strength and irresistible n
eed that quivered within her grasp. The sense of control she felt at this moment intoxicated her. She could make him moan with delight or increase his desire to unbearable intensity with the magic of her fingers.

  Slow and easy—she wove patterns in his flesh until his whole body seemed to vibrate. Then she slipped to her knees and took him in her mouth, savoring the salty, sweet taste of him, the warm pressure of him against her lips and throat.

  "I cannot last... that way." He gasped and lifted her face.

  She watched him spread his cloak on the ground, making a cushion beneath it with the dry leaves. Rhiannon stripped off her own garments and stretched out naked on the cloak. She looked up at Maelgwn, glancing shyly at his proud, purplish erection. The thought of him inside her made more warm wetness seep between her legs.

  Maelgwn knelt over her. He reached out and ran his fingers through her hair, fanning it out around her face. "My autumn woman," he whispered. "She is the color of berries and bright leaves and frost upon the ground. She will keep me warm all winter."

  He leaned down and kissed her. He body shuddered. His mouth moved lower, nuzzling her neck and shoulders. As he reached her breasts, his lips grew greedier, rougher. His teeth grazed her nipples; he sucked them until they were taut and aching. His mouth grazed her belly and still lower. She closed her eyes as the rough skin around his mouth scraped over her flesh, teasing her deliriously.

  Then his hot, demanding mouth sucked raggedly on the inside of her thighs. She cried out. His lips moved closer and closer to the melting, aching center of her. She flinched as he stuck his tongue deep inside her, but he held her tight, his strong hands kneading her buttocks.

  Her mind was flooded over and over with waves of rapture. She knew nothing except his firm hands stroking her, the tantalizing pressure of his mouth, the soft tickle of his long hair against her thighs. Her hips twisted and writhed, and she could feel the flame burning inside her, catching and swirling like a fire in the wind.

  Her legs were weak and trembling when he pulled his mouth away and turned her over. She rested on her hands and knees as he entered her from behind, burying his whole shaft within her with one glorious thrust that instantly took her to the heights of passion yet again.