The Dragon Lord's Daughters. Bertrice SmallЧитать онлайн книгу.
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 settlement 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