The Dragon Lord's Daughters. Bertrice SmallЧитать онлайн книгу.
considered the possible courses open to her.
Joan of England leaned over and whispered something in her husband’s ear.
The prince spoke once again. “Averil Pendragon, were you harmed in any way by Rhys FitzHugh?” His meaning was very clear and it was the single straw she needed to save herself. She snatched at it. A blush suffused her pale cheeks. Her golden head drooped, and she was perfectly silent. She dare not lie, but she knew what her silence would imply, and so she remained speechless.
The men in the hall looked at one another and nodded, some shaking their heads, murmuring regretfully. A man wanted a virgin for a wife no matter her dower portion. With this girl they could not be certain until the wedding night, and even if she was proved pure, no one would ever believe it under the circumstances described this evening.
“Nothing happened between us!” Rhys FitzHugh burst forth.
“Averil Pendragon, will you not speak to us?” the prince encouraged her in his most kindly tones. The poor lass was obviously very shamed.
Averil’s golden head drooped even lower, and she turned as if to hide her face in her father’s broad chest. Her slender frame appeared to tremble.
“Damn it, you wicked wench,” Rhys cried, “tell them the truth!” He was furious as he realized what she was doing. She had decided to have him, but she would regret it.
Averil pressed closer to her father as if seeking his protection. Her shoulders shook visibly. Merin Pendragon forced his face to remain serious, but oh, how he wanted to laugh. Averil had obviously decided that after dragging them across Wales to Aberffraw she would, after all, have Rhys FitzHugh as her husband. He wondered what had caused her to change her mind. He put an arm about his daughter, reinforcing the very impression Averil wished to make. “My lord?” he pressed the prince.
Llywelyn the Great shook his grizzled head. “We can ask no other to take her under these circumstances, Merin Pendragon, despite her generous dower and her great beauty. Rhys FitzHugh, having stolen Averil Pendragon from her father’s protection, you must wed her now if you are to restore her honor and yours. This is my decision.” He turned and looked at Lord Mortimer. “Edmund Mortimer, I know you for a man of honor. Will you see that your liege-man does his duty?”
“I will, my lord prince,” the Englishman said quietly.
“Bring a priest forth, then. This couple shall be united forthwith,” the prince ordered.
Oh, Holy Mary, Averil thought! She had only meant to make it impossible for another man to claim her. Now she was to be wed to Rhys FitzHugh immediately. There would be no escaping him or his ire. She peeped at him from beneath her dark lashes. He looked very angry. Would he beat her for this wicked trick she had played on him? Probably he would. Averil shuddered nervously, and seeing it Rhys smiled a slow, wicked smile, his eyes making contact with hers, and holding her in his thrall. Now, you wicked little bitch, the look said, you will regret your perfidy this day.
“Oh, please, my lord prince,” Averil said in her sweetest tones. “Could we not return home to Dragon’s Lair first? I would have my mother, my sisters and brother with me when I wed this man.”
The Great Llywelyn appeared to consider, but Merin Pendragon spoke up first.
“My daughter is sentimental about our family, my prince, but I believe it best the marriage vows be said now. We will all return home to Dragon’s Lair afterwards, and celebrate this union before Rhys FitzHugh may take his bride home to Everleigh. It would allow us time to bring his sister, the lady Mary, to our home to join in these joyous festivities.”
“Then so be it!” Prince Llywelyn said in a jovial voice. “A Midsummer’s Eve wedding before our own celebrations begin. Where is the priest?”
Averil turned to her father. “Da! Why are you doing this?”
“Do you think I do not know you, Averil?” he replied softly. “If I allow you to return home unwed you will find some excuse to avoid this marriage. And believe me, daughter, no other will have you now because of this misadventure.”
“But it wasn’t my fault, Da! And nothing happened! I swear on the Blessed Mother than I am still a maid,” Averil told her sire.
“I believe you,” the Dragon Lord replied, “but no one else will until the bloodied sheet is taken from your bed and hung for all to see.”
“Oh, my God!” Averil gasped. “Oh, Da! Do not make me sleep with him tonight, I beg you! Not here in this strange place.” Her green eyes filled with tears.
“I will speak with him, Averil. I’m sure Rhys FitzHugh is no more anxious for a coupling than you are. Not yet. But he will be, my daughter.” He turned away from her, and reaching out, drew the subject of their conversation forward. “You will wed her tonight, but you may not have her until she is ready. Do you understand me, Rhys FitzHugh? For all her spirit she is inexperienced and young. She has not her mother to comfort her in this situation, and she is afraid though she would deny it.”
“I am not a monster, my lord. This is not her fault. It is mine. My father meant well when he advised me to steal an heiress bride. But I could have ignored that advice. I could have refused to go with Roger when he came with his troop of men for me. I did not. I might have learned a bit more about the family whose daughter I meant to take.” He smiled a brief, rueful smile. “Nay, ’tis my sin, not your daughter’s. She might have saved us all the trouble of traveling half of Wales, however, but then, I was not eager, either. It is indeed my fault, for I should have known better.”
“I may come to like you, Rhys FitzHugh,” the Dragon Lord said, “and so I will give you this bit of advice, which you would be wise to take. Averil is headstrong, and she has a temper, but she is a good lass with a kind heart. She will try your patience, but she will be loyal to you. Treat her with kindness and she will reward that patience.”
Rhys FitzHugh nodded. “You have given me good counsel, my lord. I will try to heed it, but I suspect that your daughter will not make it easy for me.”
Merin Pendragon chuckled. “Nay, she will not. But she is a prize worth winning like her mother, I assure you.”
The priest arrived in the hall. He listened to the Great Llywelyn, his master, and then turned to the Dragon Lord and his party. “Let the bride and groom step forward,” he said. “There is no blood impediment to this marriage?”
“None,” Merin Pendragon said.
“The dower portion is agreed upon, and the parties are both willing?”
“The dower has been pledged before witnesses in this very hall, and aye, they are willing,” Merin Pendragon replied.
“Then they shall be joined according to the rites of Holy Mother Church,” the priest said. Then he looked out over the hall. “Be silent, all of you! This is a sacred and proper rite of the church. You may resume your pagan celebrations of midsummer when I have finished, but not a moment before!”
The hall grew quiet as the priest joined Averil Pendragon and Rhys FitzHugh in holy matrimony before her father, Edmund and Roger Mortimer, Llywelyn the Great, the prince of the Welsh, Joan of England and their court. Finally they knelt for a blessing, and then the priest departed as the hall once more grew noisy with revelers celebrating Midsummer’s Eve.
Averil found herself alone briefly with her new husband. For once in her life she was struck dumb. She felt very foolish, but she simply didn’t know what to say to him.
“You might have agreed to this several weeks ago, wife, instead of dragging me across Wales,” Rhys finally said, breaking the heavy silence between them. “What made you change your mind, Averil?”
“I looked about the hall and decided there was no other as suitable as you, my lord,” she told him, at last finding her voice.
He laughed. “Then I suppose the trip was worth it,” he told her.
Averil flushed. “I’m