The Dragon Lord's Daughters. Bertrice SmallЧитать онлайн книгу.
The field was dotted with fat cattle.
“Oh, she’ll be very well dowered,” Roger said softly. “There’s a lushness and richness about this place unlike any other I’ve seen in the Welshry. Look about you, Rhys. The rest of it is mountainous and rough upland such as we have traveled through. How did this Pendragon gain such a fine land? Mayhap the fairy who was his ancestor gave it to him.”
“I thought he was descended from King Arthur,” Rhys replied.
“He is, but his ancestor’s mother was part fairy, they say, and Merlin the sorcerer brought her to this place, and together they raised up this keep we see by means of magic. Then Merlin put a spell upon these lands that they would always be fertile, and that the Pendragons would thrive. That is how the story goes, I have been told.”
“While I am willing to believe that Pendragon’s family descends from King Arthur, I am loath to think there are any fairies in the family tree.” Rhys laughed. “ ’Tis a child’s fable. There are no such things as fairies.”
Roger chuckled. “Perhaps you are right,” he replied, “but look there, in that stand of willows by the stream. Three maidens, and one with golden hair that seems more magical than real. Do you think one of them is Pendragon’s daughter?”
“Let us ride down and ask,” Rhys suggested. Turning, he said to the men behind him, “Make yourselves discreet, lads. We don’t want to frighten the little dears. Rog and I will ride down and introduce ourselves.”
Together the two young men rode slowly down the rise, moving as they did closer and closer to the stream with its willow grove. The trio of lasses looked up as the riders moved their mounts at a leisurely pace across the little brook. The look was a wary one.
“Is this Dragon’s Lair?” Rhys asked politely.
“Aye, it is,” the tallest of the three said.
He noticed that she was easing the two younger girls behind her as she spoke. Clever girl, he thought to himself. “I am Rhys FitzHugh of Everleigh, and my companion is Roger Mortimer, Lord Mortimer’s son. Will you not introduce yourself, demoiselle?”
“Have you business with my father?” Averil asked Rhys.
“You are Pendragon’s daughter?” he answered her with the query. Jesu! She was beautiful! Obviously, his luck was about to change.
“I am,” Averil said. Then she turned and said to her companions, “Run home, and tell the lady Argel that we have two guests.”
As Maia and Junia turned to go, Roger Mortimer moved his stallion between them and their path, blocking their route. The two young girls looked up at him startled, and he saw fear coming into their eyes. “I will not harm you, demoiselles,” he reassured them, “but it is not quite time for you to run home.”
“What are you doing?” Averil demanded, seeing his actions.
“You are Pendragon’s daughter,” Rhys repeated, thinking she was very beautiful.
“Aye, I am Pendragon’s daughter,” she answered him impatiently. “My name is Averil.” Why was he asking her the same question over and over again?
Rhys FitzHugh moved his horse as close to her as he could, and reaching down he wrapped a hard arm about her slender waist, quickly lifting a very surprised Averil up onto his mount before him. “You will come with me, then, Pendragon’s daughter,” he said. And turning his animal about he moved swiftly across the stream, then put his horse into a canter, calling as he did so, “Roger!”
Roger Mortimer grinned down at the two startled girls. “Now, lasses, you may run home and tell the Dragon Lord that Rhys FitzHugh of Everleigh Manor has taken his daughter. He may come to Everleigh to discuss marriage terms at his convenience, of course.” Wheeling his own horse about, Roger Mortimer followed his friend.
Averil had at first been stunned by what had happened. Now, galvanized into action by the sight of the keep growing smaller behind her she shrieked aloud, causing Rhys’s mount to rear up in his flight. She began to pound at her captor with her clenched fists. “Villian! Put me down this instant! How dare you lay hands on me! My father will punish you for this outrage! Put me down!”
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