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would you be generous?” Rhys demanded to know, now suspicious. These Welsh were a crafty people, and perhaps the wench was not as pure as she appeared.

      “I should rather go into a convent than marry this buffoon!” Averil declared angrily. “Take me home, Da!”

      “Be quiet, Averil,” her father said softly. “This matter is not your concern.”

      “Not my concern? I should like to know why not! It is my life you are talking about. My life you are so casually deciding without any care for me at all! Would my mother approve of this, my lord father?”

      “Your mother has the good sense to trust my judgment, daughter,” the Dragon Lord told her. “Now, be silent.” He cuffed her lightly, warningly. He loved her, but he would not be spoken to in such a manner before strangers.

      “What ho! The hall!” came a voice, and they all turned to see Lord Mortimer entering with several of his men. “Merin! You Welsh devil, ’tis good to see you again.”

      The Dragon Lord arose from his chair, and coming around and down from the high board went forward, hand outstretched to meet his old friend. “Edmund, you English devil! I concur. Did you know that your son, and young FitzHugh, here, came over the border into the Welshry and stole my eldest daughter?”

      “What?” Lord Mortimer feigned surprise. “I am shocked, Merin. Absolutely shocked!”

      Roger Mortimer opened his mouth, and then closed it.

      “Well, young Rhys, you shall have to wed the Dragon Lord’s heiress if you are to salvage your honor, and hers,” Lord Mortimer said.

      “I did not steal the heiress, my lord,” Rhys murmured. “It seems my lord Pendragon has three daughters, but only the middle one is true born.”

      “An unfortunate error on your part,” Lord Mortimer replied, and he swallowed back the laughter that threatened to overwhelm him. How could he have forgotten that Pendragon had two rather toothsome concubines? And of course, they would have had children. “Nonetheless, the lady’s honor must be restored, Rhys FitzHugh.”

      “Nothing happened to the lady, my lord Mortimer. Roger and the others will swear to it!” Rhys replied. “Will you not intercede for me in this matter?”

      “No, no, my young friend,” Lord Mortimer said. “You must do what is right, and there can be no argument.”

      “Let us seek Prince Llywelyn,” the Dragon Lord said. “I will set forth this matter before him. I will offer my daughter and her dower to any who would have her. If another will take her despite this misadventure, then I will accept him as husband to my eldest child. But if none steps forward, Rhys FitzHugh, you must wed Averil then and there. I can be no fairer than that.”

      “A most generous offer,” Lord Mortimer agreed.

      “Am I to then be sold off as if I were a heifer?” Averil spoke up.

      “An unwed woman is indeed a commodity,” her father replied. “If a man cannot have sons who can fight for him, then a daughter who can be married off in the most favorable alliance possible is the next best thing.”

      “Send me to a convent!” Averil cried dramatically.

      “Why, child, you are far too lovely,” Lord Mortimer said soothingly. “ ’Twould be a crime against nature to incarcerate so fair a maid behind stone walls.”

      “Is it agreed then that we will take this matter to Prince Llywelyn?” the Dragon Lord asked.

      “You will go with us, my lord?” Rhys asked Lord Mortimer.

      “Aye, I think I had best lest you lead my son astray again,” Edmund Mortimer said with a small grin.

      “I think it is usually the other way about,” Rhys replied meaningfully.

      “Feed us, young FitzHugh, and then we will start out again,” the Dragon Lord said.

      “Better we spend the night here at Everleigh, my lords, for the hour grows late,” Rhys suggested hospitably. “Rhawn,” he called. “Fetch your mistress and have her come to greet her guests.”

      “I am here, Rhys,” Mary said, coming from the shadows. She was a pretty child, her dark brown hair fashioned into two plaits, and her bright eyes a clear blue. She wore a pale yellow tunic over her orange tawny gown. “I but waited until you had completed your business. You are welcome to Everleigh, my lords, and my lady.” She curtsied prettily. “Come to table. The meal is about to be served. My lord Pendragon, you will sit on my right. Lord Mortimer on my left. Lady Averil will seat herself next to her father with my brother, and you, Roger Mortimer, will sit by your father.”

      Merin Pendragon was enchanted by the little girl. The child had beautiful manners, and even at this tender age knew her duty as chatelaine. Still, she was young yet. She could die, and then her brother would inherit Everleigh despite his birth. It was unlikely anyone would challenge him for it.

      The meal was simple. The bread trenchers were filled with a tasty pottage of rabbit, onions, and carrots in a thick gravy. There was plenty of fresh bread, a crock of butter, and a small wheel of hard flavorful cheese. The pewter goblets were filled, and kept filled with an excellent ale with the hint of barley.

      “You keep a good table, my lady Mary,” Merin Pendragon approved.

      “Rhawn, who both nursed me and kept my father’s house, has taught me, my lord,” Mary replied. “I still have much to learn.”

      When the meal was over Mary bid the gentlemen good night, and taking Averil by the hand said, “You will sleep with me tonight, my lady Averil.” She led Averil up the staircase in the hall to an upper floor. “I have a fireplace in the solar,” she said, “and it is kept alight most of the year. The men will be comfortable in the hall. There are several bed spaces. They are used to rougher accommodations than are we.”

      “Your brother made me sleep in a tumbledown stable last night,” Averil said with badly concealed ill humor.

      “If he did, it was probably the best place he could find,” Mary responded calmly. “My brother is a good man, lady.” They had reached the solar, and Mary turned, looking up at Averil. “Are you to be my brother’s wife?” she asked.

      Averil swallowed back the quick sharp retort that was on her tongue, saying instead, “I do not know. Such arrangements are the province of men; my father, your brother, and the Great Llywelyn, who is our prince.”

      “So I am told,” Mary said, “but I wonder why it should be so.”

      “So do I,” Averil answered her softly. Then she smiled down at the child.

      “I have a little sister named Junia who is just a few years older than you are.”

      “Does she look like you? You are the most beautiful girl I have ever seen,” Mary said frankly.

      “Junia looks more like you,” Averil answered her, “but that her eyes are green. We all have green eyes, my sisters and I. Maia has red hair, and Junia’s is dark. Our brother’s hair is dark too, and his eyes hazel colored. Only Brynn and Maia have the same mother. Our father has a wife, and two concubines.”

      “That is immoral!” Mary said, shocked.

      “No,” Averil answered her, not in the least offended. “It was of necessity. The lady Argel was barren for several years after her marriage to my father. So Da took my mother, who is called Gorawen, to his bed. I am my father’s first child. Then the lady Argel produced my sister Maia. But after that there were no other children so Da took a second concubine, Ysbail. Junia was born from that union, but the lady Argel finally produced the desired son. Your brother is bastard born.”

      “That is so,” Mary replied. “I had not considered it. But our father did not wed with my mother for many years after Rhys was born, and his mam was long dead. Do you all live together?” Mary was fascinated.

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