The Dragon Prince

by Mary Gillgannon

  Eastra had almost forgotten about Bridei, so focused she was on Rhun and what had happened between them. She watched Rhun’s brother smile one of his dazzlingly ingratiating smiles as he answered, “I had nothing better to do, King Urien. And as you remember, I like being in the middle of things.”

  “Ah,” Urien said, “so I do. Well, Morguese will be pleased to see you. She was off in the forest when word came of your arrival. She’ll be here soon.”

  “By then we intend to be on our way!” Rhun’s voice rang out, as harsh and commanding as Urien’s. “You have no right to hold us prisoner. We’ve interfered in no way with your authority or your lands!”

  Urien drew back his massive fur and leather-clad frame and his eyes narrowed. “You crossed my lands without my permission. I consider that interfering with my authority.”

  She heard Rhun exhale in exasperation. “And how were we to get that permission without crossing those lands to speak to you? You know very well I and many others have often taken this route on our journey to Gwynedd.”

  “But you had no intention of stopping, did you? Although my wife is kin of yours, you did not think to visit her, nor to afford me—the chieftain of these lands—the courtesy of offering you the hospitality of a meal. Instead, you ride across my domain like a pack of sneaking cattle thieves.”

  Eastra felt Rhun’s tension increase, as if he wanted to spring on Urien and throttle him. She held her breath, terrified that if Rhun made such a move, Urien’s guards would injure or kill him.

  Then Bridei spoke, his voice cool and mellifluous after Rhun’s aggressive tones. “I urged him to stop. But my brother is an impatient man, eager to be home and bring his stepmother the gifts we bought her in Londinium. He knew if we stopped at your dun, courtesy would demand we share a meal with you. Then Morguese would beg us to stay and entertain her with news of the world outside Rheged. Our visit might well drag on several days. Meanwhile, Rhun is anxious to pay his respects to his family and return to Arthur’s camp. There is peace between Arthur and the Saxons for now, but...” Bridei shrugged expressively. “You know how the Saxon kind are. In a day or a week, they might decide they don’t yet have enough land and break the truce.”

  Urien cocked his head, as if considering Bridei’s explanation. Then he looked directly at Eastra. “You speak disparagingly of the Saxons, yet you travel with one of their kind in your company.”

  “A new maidservant for my lady mother, Rhiannon,” Bridei answered. “We purchased her in Londinium. Her needlework is said to be superb. I thought my mother would be delighted to learn Saxon sewing techniques. Eastra is of noble family. All of her kin were killed years ago in a raid. She’s been a slave ever since.”

  Urien grunted, appearing unconvinced. “Hard to imagine she is not a bedslave, with a face like that.” He smirked at her.

  Eastra felt Rhun go rigid next to her, but Bridei answered, “Believe it or not, her skill in needlework makes her worth more than any pleasure she could give a man in bed. There are many beautiful Saxon women, but few of them are skilled seamstresses. And, as I said, she is a gift for my mother, not my father.”

  “Not that your father would even look at her,” Urien said. “He is bewitched by his red-haired spouse, just as I am by my own lovely Morguese.” He smiled as he looked toward the door. Before she turned to see the woman who must be Morguese, Eastra noted Urien’s smile was faintly mocking.

  Eastra had never seen a woman like Morguese of Rheged. Once she had undoubtedly been spectacularly beautiful, with dark red hair that hung to her knees, pale, creamy skin and eyes there were neither green nor gray but a touch of both, like the glistening foam on a storm-tossed sea. But time had made inroads into her beauty. There were strands of white in her thick hair and faint lines marring her haughty features. Even so, time had not altered the aura of power that surrounded her. Eastra could not put her finger on what made this woman such a jolt to the senses. Although she was not much taller than Eastra, somehow she seemed to fill the room, dwarfing even Urien’s feral menace.

  “Bridei, my darling cousin.” Morguese came forward and kissed Bridei full on the lips. Then Morguese approached Rhun. “Rhun, what a delight to see you again after all these years.” Eastra watched in shock as Morguese planted a very uncousinlike kiss on his lips. Rhun all but squirmed until Morguese moved away, trailing some exotic, heady scent in her wake. She faced her husband. “What brings my darling kin to Caer Louarn?”

  “They came to visit you on their way to Gwynedd,” Urien answered with an innocent smile.

  For a moment, Eastra thought that Urien was lying to cover up the fact that he had really kidnapped Morguese’s “darling kin.” Then she saw the faint, knowing look on Morguese’s face and realized Urien’s wife was well aware of what he was about. “How delightful,” Morguese said, her face cat-like with contentment. “We must insist they enjoy our hospitality a good long while.”

  Chapter 10

  “Damn Urien! He’s playing some sort of game with us!” Rhun paced across the bedchamber where he and Bridei had been taken, after being told to dress for the welcoming feast. “You know he isn’t simply detaining us here so his wife can enjoy the pleasure of our company! I vow he has some more sinister scheme in mind!”

  Bridei shrugged nonchalantly and pulled on an embroidered tunic. “So he’s lying through his teeth. So what? There’s nothing we can do about it. We’ll just have to wait and see if we can either escape or convince Urien to free us.”

  “And you!” Rhun resisted the familiar urge to grab his brother and shake him. “You appear utterly unperturbed by all of this. Why is that, I wonder? Did you know all along this was going to happen?”

  “How would I know? I’ve been with you every moment since we left Londinium.”

  “That’s just the point.” Rhun decided to give voice to his vague suspicions. “In Londinium, you went off to do your spying, and ever since then, disturbing things have been happening.”

  “You were attacked in Londinium and now we’re being detained by one of Arthur’s enemies—and you think to blame me?” Bridei shook his head. “You’re grasping, brother. You knew this mission had its dangers. It’s pretty harsh to blame me for every misfortune that befalls us. After all, we’re on the same side.”

  “Allegedly,” Rhun grumbled. But deep down, he knew Bridei was right. He was lashing out blindly, desperate to find someone to blame for their predicament. Everything Bridei said was true. They’d known many of the British chieftains thought Arthur was gaining too much power. It was no surprise a man like Urien would harass them, knowing they were on a mission for Arthur. “Do you think Urien knows who Eastra is? Do you think he’s keeping us here because of her?” A spasm of fear went through Rhun. What if Eastra were in danger?

  “I don’t know, but I will try to find out,” Bridei answered.

  “How?”

  Bridei’s mouth quirked. “Morguese.”

  “Ah, I’d forgotten the two of you have a special relationship.” Rhun could not keep the bitterness from his voice. “And while you are at it, see that she does nothing to Eastra.”

  “What do you think she would do to Eastra?”

  Rhun snorted. “There’s no telling what sort of wicked spell she might work on an innocent like Eastra.”

  “You speak as if you believe the stories that Morguese is a sorceress.”

  “Well, isn’t she?”

  “Perhaps. But her power’s not much different than the kind of power Rhiannon has, and you’re not afraid of her.”

  “I’m certain Rhiannon would never hurt anyone, while I’m not convinced about Morguese. All I know is when Urien ordered Eastra to go with Morguese, this sense of dread came over me.”

  “Maybe you’re afraid Morguese will teach Eastra how to bewitch you.” Bridei grinned.

  “Huh.” Too late for that, Rhun thought to himself as he began to change his own clothing. He was already bewitched. Nay, that was misstating it. He was in love. What e
lse could this feeling inside him be, this desperate longing to be near Eastra, to hold her and keep her safe forever? Merely being away from her this short while made him frantic. And when he thought about the future and their inevitable parting, he felt such deep anguish he was not certain he could go on.

  He ran his fingers through his hair before splashing his face with water a servant had brought them. “What do you think Urien intends to do with us?” he asked as he toweled dry.

  “If I had to guess, I’d say he’s simply going to detain us here for a good while.”

  Rhun jerked around. “How long?”

  Bridei shrugged. “If I knew that, I might unravel the rest of his plan. Relax. If Urien had meant any of us harm, we would not be here. We would be back in the forest, already carrion for the wolves and ravens.”

  Rhun sighed as he exchanged his leather riding trousers for some of soft wool. Why had he agreed to this ridiculous journey? It would have been much simpler to take Eastra to some other stronghold, Tinegal perhaps. It was far from the Saxon lands and Arthur’s headquarters at Camlann, but could be reached by crossing lands that were ruled by the high king’s allies. This journey to Gwynedd—it was madness. Yet he had agreed to it, reasoning in some part of his mind hidden even to himself that it would give him an opportunity to be with Eastra that much longer. Now his obsession with this woman might have cost his commander dearly and could yet endanger them all.

  He recalled his coupling with Eastra, the blinding speed with which he’d thrown aside all restraint and rationality. Merely to touch this woman was to turn into a lust-raddled fool.

  A servant came to take them to the feast hall. With a grim look at Bridei, Rhun fell in step behind their escort. He had to stop thinking about Eastra. It was more important than ever that he keep his wits about him.

  * * *

  “That you’re a slave does not mean you have to dress in rags,” Morguese purred. “I’m certain we can find some clothing that will enhance your charms.”

  Eastra felt her body go rigid. She was in a sumptuous bedchamber, ostensibly for the purpose of helping Morguese prepare for the feast. But a tiny red-haired servant had assumed the responsibility of helping Morguese dress and was now combing out the queen’s thick auburn hair. Eastra had waited, anticipating some task would be required of her. Now, it appeared Morguese had more devious plans in mind.

  “Come here, sweeting,” Morguese coaxed. “Let me look at you more closely.”

  Repressing a shiver of dread, Eastra approached Morguese, who was sitting on a stool near the hearth. “Such a lovely creature.” Morguese reached out her long, elegant, be-ringed fingers and examined one of Eastra’s braids. “And exquisite hair. I’ve never seen any that shade before. I’m certain Rhun must have paid a very high price for you. In Londinium.” She smiled smugly and her strange eyes glinted green, like marshlights. She nodded to Eastra. “Turn around.”

  Eastra obeyed, her face hot with color. She might as well be in the slave market, the way this woman was inspecting her.

  “Mmmm. I’ve heard tales of such things,” Morguese murmured. “Of princesses, even queens, who fell into the hands of their enemies and ended up as scullery maids. How sad, very sad. To go from having such power to having naught.”

  Eastra whirled around, wanting to see her adversary’s face, to gauge whether she knew the truth or was simply guessing. But Morguese’s jewel-like eyes revealed nothing—except a kind of terrifying power, a startling energy that made Eastra look away. Anxiety shivered down her body. What if this woman ensorcelled her and made her reveal all her secrets?

  “You’re trembling, child.” Morguese stood, the movement light and quick. “Fear doesn’t become you. It demeans your beauty, makes you look pale and insipid. But perhaps that’s how you’ve had to appear in order to fool your captors into believing you’ve accepted your lot as a slave. But I know better. I think you are defiant and proud and not meek at all. You intend to have it back some day, all the power and esteem that was once yours.”

  Eastra went rigid. It was as if this woman could read her thoughts!

  Morguese responded with a satisfied smile. “They do not call me the ‘witch of the north’ without good reason. No doubt you’ve been raised to believe power is something only men wield. But that’s far from true. In fact, women control everything important. Urien fancies himself a great man, guiding the future of Britain. He’s no different than my kin, Arthur. But it is not up to them. I have looked into the scrying bowl and seen. It is my power, my magic that will endure!”

  Eastra stood frozen, mesmerized by this woman who was like no other she had ever met. Morguese of Rheged dared to challenge even the warriors of her race.

  “About your attire for the feast tonight...” Morguese tapped a finger on her chin. All at once, she was a woman again, rather than a seer prophesizing the future. “I think something subtle would be best. A fabric pale and shimmering, so that you glow like a flame in the dimness of the hall.”

  “Nevyn.” Morguese snapped her fingers. “Bring me the pale green gown I wore for the Beltaine celebration three years ago, the one that faded so badly when you washed it. Shoddy workmanship, I say. A good dye should not fade. Or perhaps I wasn’t meant to wear it after that. What if that is a sign that I should not wear the gowns I use for the ceremonies more than once? The Goddess might feel cheated, after all.” Morguese frowned, and Eastra heaved a sigh. It was a relief to be in the presence of a mortal woman once again, haughty queen though she might be.

  The gown Nevyn brought was finely made and elegant, not the provocative garment Eastra had worried it would be. She and Morguese were the same height, so although the Rheged queen was more generously built, the gown fit tolerably well. Nevyn combed Eastra’s hair and loosely braided the front. Finally, Eastra was deemed ready by Morguese and they proceeded to the feasting hall. Once they reached it, Morguese surprised Eastra by telling her to follow Nevyn to the kitchen area. “You’re supposed to be a slave,” she said with a faint smile. “Let’s see you behave like one.”

  Eastra soon found herself moving around the feast hall with a pitcher of mead, filling cups. She really didn’t mind her role of servant this night, if it gave her an opportunity to get close to Rhun. Gradually working her way around the other warriors gathered by the hearth, she reached Rhun and, trying not to tremble, filled his cup. He glanced up, his eyes full of anger and frustration, but then she smiled at him and his expression changed to one of yearning. Eastra’s heart soared. He could not deny what was between them. It showed too clearly on his face.

  She moved away, hoping he had the sense to drink his mead quickly so she could return to serve him once more.

  * * *

  To Rhun’s right, Urien said something. Rhun struggled to listen. He must remain wary and alert, and remember the danger they were in. But it was very difficult with Eastra so near, moving like a flame of light in the pale green gown, her milky skin and silvery gold hair completing the luminous effect. He wanted to reach out for her, to take her in his arms.

  But he could not. It would be terribly dangerous to let his enemy guess she was more to him than a gift for his stepmother. If Urien knew who Eastra was and how he felt about her... Rhun’s stomach clenched at the thought.

  “The slave girl...” Urien was saying. “It appears she has been trained to serve food as well as do needlework. She hasn’t spilled a drop, and she moves among the men with remarkable grace.” He looked at Rhun, an ironic grin twitching his mouth. “Perhaps after the meal, we could have her dance for us.”

  Rhun went rigid. The idea of having the whole hall of men looking at Eastra, enjoying her beauty, made him almost physically ill. “Just because she can serve mead gracefully does not mean she can dance,” he retorted. “As far as I know, the Saxons do not indulge in such activities. Although they set some store by their heralds and poets and are expert craftsmen, I don’t think music matters much to them.”

  “Still,” Urien sa
id, “It might be interesting to see if she has a natural gift for it. After Morguese dances, of course.”

  Rhun’s mind raced. He had to save Eastra from performing for these crude warriors. He could not subject her to such embarrassment and degradation. Bridei, he thought, shooting a glance at his brother. He might be able to think of a plan to spare Eastra. But how to talk to him? Bridei was seated on the other side of Morguese, down the table.

  Eastra carried in a platter of bannocks, offering the steaming cakes to the warriors to use in sopping up the juices from the chunks of meat they cut off from the roast boar carcass set up on a plank near the hearth. Rhun watched her, observing her agile movements. Demure but queenly, she was the epitome of refined womanhood. An intense longing built up inside him. If only there was some way that after this war was over, he could make her his wife. But that was a vain hope. The war with the Saxons had gone on since a hundred years before he was born.

  She came near, offering him a bannock. Again, she smiled at him, her teeth white and even, her blue eyes as soft and tranquil as the summer sky. He lost himself in her gaze, remembering her skin, her softness, her delicate female scent...

  “I think your plan is witless, Rhun ap Maelgwn,” Urien said beside him. “You should take her for a concubine. I’m certain you can find your stepmother some aged crone to aid her in her sewing. There is no need to waste such beauty.”

  Rhun looked sharply at Urien. The old chieftain laughed, his teeth glinting pale yellow in his gray-streaked beard. Rhun jerked his gaze away, fearing he’d made a fool of himself in front of his enemy. Curtly, he nodded to Eastra, indicating that she should move on. As she did so, Urien laughed again.

  The feast dragged on. Rhun had no appetite. He wondered if Urien was serious about having Eastra dance. The idea gnawed at him.