The Dragon Lord's Daughters - Bertrice Small

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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 problem, 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.

      “There is nothing amusing in this, Da!” Averil burst out angrily.

      “Aye, lass, there is,” her father replied. “He seems an intelligent young man, yet he behaved stupidly, and now he must live with his error in judgment.” The Dragon Lord turned to pierce Roger Mortimer with his glance. “And you, young Mortimer, were part of this? What will your father say when I complain to him, and I will.”

      “We meant no harm, my lord,” Roger quickly said, “and Rhys did not hurt the girl. I swear it!”

      “He tied and gagged me, Da! He starved me!” Averil complained. She sneezed. “I think he has given me an ague, forcing me to sleep in the ruins of a barn last night. I almost froze to death, Da.”

      “Your suffering is duly noted, daughter,” Merin Pendragon remarked dryly. There was a hint of laughter in his voice. Then he said to Rhys, “You will have to wed her now, though she is not my heiress, young FitzHugh. If I had caught you before nightfall we might have salvaged Averil’s good name, but you have had her with you overnight, and whatever either of you may say regarding the matter I must assume the absolute worst.”

      “My lord, my men were with us, and Roger, too. They will swear that nothing untowards took place,” Rhys declared.

      “It is not me you would have to

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