The Dragon Lord's Daughters

by Bertrice Small

  Struggling to keep his startled horse under control while hanging onto this raging shrew was almost too much for him. The girl came close to falling to the ground although he doubted that she realized it. “Stop struggling, lady!” he commanded her in a stern voice, attempting to tighten his grip on her.

  Averil looked directly at him, and reaching up, clawed at his face with both of her little hands.

  “Oww!” he yelped as he felt her sharp fingernails breaking the skin. Yanking his animal to a sudden halt he quickly repositioned his captive, forcing her facedown across his saddle before moving on again.

  Averil howled in fury at this new outrage. “Are you trying to kill me, you monster?” she yelled at him. “Why are you doing this to me?”

  He ignored her question as he gained the top of the hill again where Lord Mortimer’s men were waiting for him and Roger. “Take the lady and tie her hands together, put her on the horse we brought, then bind her ankles so she may no longer injure herself or me,” he ordered the nearest Mortimer man-at-arms as he tossed the girl from his saddle. His hand went to his face. The little bitch had blooded him!

  Averil found herself on her rump in the grass. Faster than they might have anticipated she scrambled to her feet and attempted to run back down the hill. Rhys jumped from his own mount, tackling her almost immediately. He then hauled her kicking and screaming in her barbaric Welsh tongue back to where a gentle gelding was waiting saddled for her. Hoisting her onto the creature’s back he grabbed both of her wrists in an iron grip. “Bind her!” he yelled, and was instantly obeyed, one man wrapping a strip of narrow leather about her wrists, while another tied her ankles together beneath the horse.

  Averil screamed at the top of her lungs, and was rewarded by having a slender piece of silk brought for the occasion being tied about her mouth to gag her. The girl’s green eyes glared furiously at her captors, and the man tying her wrists crossed himself when he had finished, so fierce was the look she gave him.

  “Best to hurry,” Roger said. “Those two little lasses are running swiftly. Pendragon and his men will be upon us quickly. ’Tis best we put as much distance as we can between ourselves and them. If we can outrun them the rest of the day, we’ll escape them tomorrow, I’m certain.”

  Rhys nodded, and remounting his stallion took the lead rein he was handed. Then they galloped off, heading for the English area of the Marches. Roger and the men followed. They did not stop for several hours. In late afternoon they heard the sound of a pursuing troop behind them, but those following were not yet in sight. The man they had sent ahead galloped up.

  “Up ahead!” he said. “There is shelter. Hurry!”

  “We’ll hide,” Roger Mortimer told the men-at-arms. “You go ahead and lead them astray for us, but for mercy’s sake, don’t get caught!”

  “I’ll leave two men with you, my lord. Your father would skin me alive if I didn’t,” the captain said, nodding at the two men by his side. Then, without waiting for an answer, the captain and the rest of the troop galloped speedily off.

  The scout was one of the two men-at-arms. He brought them to the ruins of what had obviously been a religious house, and dismounting, the men led their horses, and their captive, into the half collapsed wreck of a farm building. Averil’s leg bonds were released, and she was dragged, struggling, to a pile of moldering hay, and secreted beneath Rhys’s dark cloak while he sat upon her to still her fruitless attempts at escape. And they waited.

  They could hear the baying of hounds and the thunder of horses’ hooves coming nearer and nearer. There were shouts, and the sounding of a horn. The horses with them stirred nervously, but were soothed by the three other men so they did not whinny to alert their pursuers. And then the sounds of pursuit moved on by them, and soon it was quiet once again.

  “They’re gone,” Roger said.

  “They’re sure to return this way,” Rhys replied. “I smell rain on the wind. It may be safer remaining here. I don’t want to begin our journey again only to meet the lady’s outraged father returning home, and have no place to hide her. Do you think your father’s men can outrun the Welsh?”

  “Aye. They’ll have no trouble. Pendragon is unlikely to even catch sight of them except briefly. They’ll be into the Englishry by nightfall, and I doubt the Welsh will follow them there. The Dragon Lord will accept his heiress has been bride-napped and will have to come to make a settlement.”

  “We’re not at Everleigh yet,” Rhys said wisely. “I would remain well hidden for now.” He stood up, and as he did he realized his captive had ceased her struggles. He pulled his cloak off her. Averil had fainted. He bent to make certain that she was breathing, sighing with relief at the sight of the rapidly beating pulse in her slender throat.

  “Nay, you didn’t kill her.” Roger chuckled. “She is a beauty, isn’t she? What luck you have had, Rhys!”

  “Aye, she’s pretty enough,” he admitted. What had he done? He had stolen this highborn girl from her family, and the possibility of a good match with some nobleman. He was a baseborn son, and would never be more than a bailiff. Her family would kill him for this, but the die was cast, and the girl did have the most kissable lips.

  “Pretty? She is beautiful! Look at that hair! It’s like spun gold. And her figure, slim, yet nicely rounded where it should be,” Roger enthused. “Her features are very fine, not at all coarse. What a lovely little nose she has. It is straight without a hook on its end or a bump in its slim little bridge. I wonder what color her eyes are.” He sighed. “Aye, you bagged yourself a truly fair maiden, Rhys.”

  They sat and waited until eventually, as the sun was sliding into the long May twilight, they heard the sounds of horses again passing them by, but this time going in the direction of Dragon’s Lair. One of the men-at-arms had slipped out at the first sign of Pendragon’s return, and hidden along the track to make certain of who it was riding by. Finally, when all had been quiet for several long minutes, he returned.

  “ ’Twas the Welsh, my lords,” he confirmed. “And the lord of them all was swearing something fierce as they went by.” The man chuckled.

  “We’ll wait a bit longer,” Rhys said, “before I remove the lady’s gag so she may eat and drink.” They sat in silence again as the faint rumble of thunder could be heard heralding the approaching storm. Finally, Rhys bent and untied Averil’s gag.

  She glared up at him. “You have almost killed me,” she snarled.

  “Are you hungry or thirsty?” he asked her, ignoring her complaint.

  “I have to pee,” she snapped.

  He flushed at her words. But then he pulled her to her feet. “I’ll have to go with you,” he said. “For some reason I do not feel I can trust you.”

  “I cannot pee with you standing there watching,” Averil told him. “Put me in that closed stall there. Untie my hands so I can hike my skirts. Then close me in. There is no means of escape there, and I will have my privacy. Or do you wish to embarrass me in some futile attempt to master me?”

  “Lady,” he told her, “I have only your best interests at heart.”

  Averil sniffed dismissively, and held out her hands to him. He untied them and did as she had bid him, leading her to the closed stall and closing the door behind her. He heard Roger snicker and glared across the glooming of the stable at him.

  “I’m finished,” he heard Averil call.

  He opened the door and led her out. She moved slowly and stiffly, having been confined for the last several hours. When he had returned her to her place he moved to tie her wrists together again.

  “How can I eat if I cannot use my hands?” she demanded of him.

  “I do not trust you, lady,” he told her bluntly. “I will feed you myself.” He bound her hands together again.

  “I shall be battered and bruised,” Averil told him. “My da will kill you when he catches up with you.”

  “Your father has come and gone. He will come to Everleigh sooner than later to make a marriage settlem
ent with me for you, lady. I have stolen you, and you are now mine.”

  “I will never be yours, my lord! I should sooner enter a convent than be your wife!” Averil cried. She was furious, for she had never felt so helpless in all of her life.

  “Before your father comes, lady, you and I will be well and truly mated. No convent will have you, for you will most certainly not be a virgin,” Rhys said harshly. “Now still your foolish protests or I will consummate this union here this very night before these witnesses.”

  “You wouldn’t dare!” Averil said, but then seeing the threatening look in his eyes she grew suddenly silent, and sat quietly.

  “There is but soldier’s rations,” he half apologized, bringing her a barley cake, which he broke in small pieces and fed her.

  “Wine?” Averil demanded.

  “Water,” he said, putting his horn flask to her lips.

  “Can you not afford wine?” she replied scathingly.

  “Do you want the water or not?” he asked through gritted teeth.

  “Aye. I must remain alive so I can watch while my father kills you slowly for this outrage you have perpetrated upon me,” she said sweetly. Then she drank thirstily.

  Roger Mortimer laughed aloud hearing her words. “She has spirit, Rhys. You will breed strong sons on her.”

  Averil shot him a look of pure venom, and Roger laughed again. “If you only had a sister, lady,” he said.

  “I have two,” she snapped. “ ’Twas my younger siblings with me when you kidnapped me. I am the eldest of Pendragon’s three daughters and a son.”

  The May moon had begun to rise through the trees as the twilight deepened into night. The storm that had threatened them earlier had passed over without rain. Averil slept atop Rhys’s cloak, curled into a protective ball. Roger had put his own cloak over her when she had fallen asleep. The five men took turns at the watch while the horses browsed in the grass behind the entrance of the half-standing structure where they sheltered, the moonlight silvering their hides.

  When the morning came mist hung in the air, but the blue sky above promised a fair day for their ride. They arose before the sun, ate, drank and attended to their personal needs before starting out once more. By midday they had crossed the invisible border into the Englishry where they found Lord Mortimer’s men waiting to escort them the rest of the way. They arrived at Everleigh in late afternoon. Rhys cut the bonds holding Averil, and lifted her from her horse.

  “Welcome home, lady,” he said. “This is Everleigh.” He led her into the house.

  “It is yours?” she asked, looking curiously about the hall where they now stood. It could be worse, she thought.

  “Nay, it is my sister’s. Mary is our father’s legitimate heir. She is six, and I have charge over her. I am my father’s bastard.”

  Averil began to laugh.

  “You find that amusing, lady?” he said, half angrily.

  “Nay, my lord. I find it an incredible coincidence,” Averil answered him, regaining control over her emotions.

  “A coincidence?” he said, his handsome face wearing a look of puzzlement.

  “What is coincidental about my birth, lady?”

  “I, too, am my father’s bastard,” Averil told him.

  “You are Pendragon’s daughter? You said you were!” he cried.

  “I am Pendragon’s eldest daughter, born to his concubine Gorawen. Am I not, then, what you sought, my lord?”

  “I sought the Pendragon heiress,” he said slowly.

  “That, my lord, would be my second sister, Maia,” Averil told him. “The little one with us was Junia, the youngest, who is the child of our father’s other concubine, Ysbail. Oh, dear! You have indeed made an error, haven’t you?” She smiled sweetly at him.

  “I will send you back immediately!” Rhys said. This is what came of not following his own instincts, he thought to himself.

  “You cannot send her back,” Roger said, shaking his head.

  “Why the hell not?” Rhys demanded.

  Averil was giggling now.

  “Because having stolen her you are bound to wed her lest you bring dishonor upon yourself, your family, upon her, and upon the Pendragon family,” Roger said. He looked to Averil. “Are you in favor with your sire, lady? Will he come for you and settle a bride price on you?”

  “My da loves all of his daughters equally well,” Averil said. “As I am the eldest of his children I am probably his favorite. He will dower me when I wed, but I do not intend upon marrying with this buffoon who has kidnapped me! In fact, I shall help da to slaughter you, Rhys FitzHugh of Everleigh, and I shall enjoy every minute of your demise.”

  Rhys was struck dumb by the tangled situation, but Roger kept his head. He spoke up again saying, “Lady, you, too, have no choice in this matter. No other man will have you now, nor the church, either. You will be considered tainted goods.”

  “But why?” Averil wailed. “Nothing has happened but that this village idiot stole me away. I am as pure as I was before I ever laid eyes on either of you.”

  “Lady, your word would not be enough to convince another man. You are a woman. Women lie. And men, caught in impossible situations, lie as well. Neither my word as Rhys’s best friend, nor his, will be accepted in this matter, I fear. You will have to wed one another or both be disgraced forever.”

  “Then I shall be disgraced forever!” Averil cried dramatically.

  “But I cannot be, for my sister’s sake,” Rhys said slowly. “I will marry you, lady, even if you are not your father’s heiress. Mary’s good name must be protected.”

  “I will not marry you!” Averil shouted, and she hurled herself at him, pulling his dagger from his belt and striking at him.

  Roger leapt forward and knocked the weapon from her hand, wrestling the girl away from Rhys who was now bleeding from his shoulder. “Be still you little Welsh savage!” he ordered her, calling for the servants with his next breath to attend their master. The servants ran into the hall, and seeing that Rhys was wounded set up a hue and cry. “Attend to his injury,” Roger commanded them. “The blade did not go deep. He is not dying. Give him some wine. God’s wounds, lady, you have blooded him twice now in the last day. Have mercy!”

  Rhys, pale now, sat while his wound was treated and bound up by Rhawn, his sister’s nursemaid. “Where is Mary?” he asked her faintly.

  “Where this barbarian you have brought back with you cannot harm her,” Rhawn said balefully, glaring at Averil.

  “Do not set the evil eye on me, old crone!” Averil snapped. “I have not come willingly with this fool who is your master. And now he has ruined any chance of happiness I might have had by his impetuous actions.”

  “I will wed you,” Rhys said, thinking she needed his reassurance.

  “Did you not hear me?” Averil said. “I will not marry you.”

  “Aye, you will, daughter!” her father’s voice said grimly. And Merin Pendragon entered the hall at Everleigh, his men at his back.

  Chapter 3

  The Dragon Lord was a big tall man with a strong air of command about him. He strode into the hall at Everleigh, and without being asked seated himself in the chair of authority at the high board. “Now, Rhys FitzHugh, you will explain yourself to me while I decide if I shall allow you to wed my daughter whom you have dishonored, or merely satisfy myself by killing you for the insult you have dealt to my family.” His green eyes scanned the younger man curiously. “Is this manor yours?”

  “Nay, my lord,” Rhys answered honestly.

  “Kill him, Da!” Averil said ruthlessly. “I tried, but only wounded him.”

  “To whom does this manor belong, Rhys FitzHugh?” the Dragon Lord asked, ignoring his eldest daughter. Women could be so damned emotional. Could she not see this was possibly an opportunity?

  “Everleigh is the property of my little sister, Mary FitzHugh,” Rhys replied.

  “Then you are bastard born?” the Dragon Lord queried. His bastardy was not a pro
blem, but his lack of lands could be, Merin Pendragon considered.

  “Yes, my lord.” Rhys was extremely uncomfortable. This was FitzHugh’s hall, and yet here he stood like a beggar in his own home, feeling like a naughty boy before this Welshman. He glanced towards Roger Mortimer, but Rog was silent, and had that guilty look upon his face that always gave them away as boys.

  “Are you your sister’s guardian, Rhys FitzHugh?” the Dragon Lord wanted to know.

  “I am, my lord,” Rhys said. “On his deathbed my father told me that had my own mother not died with my birth he should have wed her. And when he finally did wed he lost another woman in childbirth. My sister, Mary, is six years old, my lord. Our father asked me to watch over her, and over Everleigh, and see her well matched one day. I will honor my father’s wishes, but it is not difficult for me to do so. I love my little sister.”

  “So at least you have a place to live until the day comes that she weds, Rhys FitzHugh. When she does you will have to make certain that her marriage agreement includes keeping you on as Everleigh’s bailiff else you find yourself homeless. If you do well, then no prospective husband should object to such an arrangement.” He sighed. “Now what in the name of the Blessed Holy Mother induced you to bride-nap my daughter? I want the truth now!”

  “I sought an heiress for myself, my lord. I am five and twenty years, and it was time I took a wife. Before he died my father suggested I find an heiress, and kidnap her so her family would be forced into letting me have her lest my behavior stain her honor.”

  “Did you not realize that I had three daughters, and only one of them true born?” the Dragon Lord asked the younger man.

  “Nay, my lord, I did not,” Rhys said, flushing and feeling the full weight of his stupidity now. “She said she was your daughter. She was the tallest, and I assumed this was she whom I sought.”

  Merin Pendragon burst out laughing, and he laughed until the tears were rolling down his ruddy face.