LITMIR.BIZ

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founder of this house,” Averil muttered.

      “I know,” her mother replied, “but that was centuries ago, and Gwydre was a man. It is different for lasses, Daughter. My birth was true, but I was one of five daughters. There was no dowry for me for either a husband or the church. My father, Arian ap Tewydr, was more than willing to give me to Merin Pendragon as his concubine. He knew your father would treat me well, and I should be safe for the rest of my days. He made your father swear on his ancestor’s name that the children born of our union would be well cared for, and you have been, Averil.”

      “Why did you have no other children, Mother?” Averil asked.

      “I did not want to give your father a son when Argel had not. She is a good and patient woman, but even good and patient women have their limits. Ysbail gives us all enough difficulty.”

      “But Argel did give father a son,” Averil said.

      “But only after many years of marriage. That is why he took Ysbail for a second concubine, however she birthed Junia much to her annoyance, but then she is a foolish woman. If she had birthed a son he would have been overshadowed by a legitimate brother, for Argel managed at last to have the son, who is your father’s heir. Ysbail would not have been happy to have any son of hers forced to take a lesser role.”

      “You both might have had more daughters,” Averil said slyly.

      “We might,” her mother answered, “but we did not.” Then she laughed. “I will tell you when you need to know, daughter.”

      “Will you speak with my father?” the girl asked.

      “Eventually,” Gorawen said. “Your birthday is not until the last day of April, my daughter. I do not want your father aware of what you heard, or that you were eavesdropping when he and Argel were discussing your fates. Let me handle this in my own way, and my own time. You will, I promise, be wed before Maia.”

      “I believe you, Mother, for you have never lied to me,” Averil said.

      “You must learn to cultivate patience, Daughter,” Gorawen chided gently.

      “I will try,” Averil promised, and her mother smiled.

      “Good. You want to show your father that you are ready to leave his keeping, and be a good wife to a husband,” Gorawen said. “Your behavior must never shame us.” Then Gorawen dismissed her only child, and considered how to deal with the situation with which Averil had presented her. The truth was that Merin Pendragon had kept his two eldest daughters too close for too long. Averil and Maia should have both been matched earlier, and their marriages ready to be celebrated. Her own child would be fifteen at the end of the month, and Maia would be fourteen on the fourteenth of May. She smiled to herself. Once the wheels were set in motion to match Averil and Maia she was certain that Ysbail would begin demanding equal treatment for her daughter. Junia would be but eleven on June second. There was time for Junia. First Averil, and then Maia. Maia’s match would be the better one no matter, but Merin would see that Averil was given a good husband. Her daughter would have a good dower portion. She would not have to be a concubine like her mother, Gorawen thought, satisfied.

      She arose, and calling her serving woman for her cloak, Gorawen went out into the spring day. The courtyard of the keep was quiet but for the poultry scratching about in the dirt. Several dogs slept in the sunshine, and by the kitchen garden, her destination, a fat tabby dozed amid the new greenery. She shooed him awake and away, and taking her knife from her robes began to cut some herbs. If she was to have her way about Averil she must get Merin into her bed. Of late, she noted, his manhood did not rise to the challenge of her womanhood as it once had. He was no longer a young man. He had wed Argel late, being thirty. He had been too busy in the service of Llywelyn ap Iowerth, called the Great Llywelyn, who was his overlord, and lord of almost all of Wales. It was Llywelyn who had finally sent him home, and told him to marry before it was too late.

      So Merin Pendragon had returned to his keep. His parents were gone from the earth, and he realized the prince was right. He needed a wife. He had found a good match in Argel urch Owein, daughter of Owein ap Dafydd. Argel had been fifteen when they wed. But to her distress she could not seem to conceive a child. After four years Merin had brought Gorawen into his keep, and nine months later Averil had been born. A year later Argel had brought forth her first child, a daughter, Maia. But after that there was no sign of another child.

      Gorawen knew well how to prevent conception, having been taught by her grandmother, a wisewoman. She had prevented another pregnancy in order that Argel might have time to conceive a son for their shared lord. After a while Merin grew impatient, and brought another concubine into their midst. Ysbail conceived immediately, and birthed Junia. Gorawen saw that her grandmother’s potion was fed to Ysbail that she not birth a son; and she prayed to the gods both old and new for Merin’s seed to take root in Argel’s womb again, and that it be a son. Her prayers were finally answered in the summer that Averil was six, Maia five, and Junia three. Argel birthed a son on the first day of August. He was a healthy child who was called Brynn.

      After that there were no more children born of Merin Pendragon’s seed, and as the years went on the master of Dragon’s Lair Keep began to lose interest in his women. Now and again, however, Gorawen could lure him to her bed, and help him to gain pleasure. It was usually when she wanted something badly, for Merin Pendragon was no fool, and she would not shame him. So when that evening she murmured an invitation in his ear he had smiled knowingly, and nodded.

      Gorawen was awaiting her lord. She had had a tall oaken tub brought to her chamber, and filled with hot water. Now having undressed Merin she climbed into the tub with him, and began to bathe him. He grunted with pleasure as she scrubbed his back with a boar’s bristle brush, and a rough cloth. She picked the nits from his graying head, and washed his locks thoroughly. “Where have you been sleeping?” she demanded. “You are flea bit on your back. You need a new mattress, my lord. I shall tell Argel.”

      “Do it yourself,” he said. “She is morose of late, and can take no suggestion. She weeps at nothing. I do not understand it. She is not breeding, I know for certain.”

      “Perhaps her juices are drying up,” Gorawen suggested. “ ’Tis a sad time for a woman to know she may never again bear life in her womb.”

      “You and Argel are the best of friends, and make my life pleasant,” he said. “You would think kindly of my lady.” He pulled her wet, naked form against him, and kissed her heartily. “You’re a good lass, Gorawen, mother of my eldest child.”

      She stood quietly in his embrace, and smiled. “You are good to me, and to our daughter, my lord. But come now, and let us get out of the tub. I have a fine treat for you.” She smiled again, and climbed out of the water, quickly wrapping a drying cloth about herself, picking up the other to wipe the water off Merin’s big body. He was yet a fine figure of a man. When they were both dry she led him to her bed, settling him, hurrying to bring a plate of sweetmeats and a cup of wine for his pleasure.

      Merin Pendragon had a sweet tooth, and reached at once for the plate. He popped a sweetmeat in his mouth, chewing appreciatively. “What are they?” he asked her.

      “I dried plums last summer, and soaked them in sweet wine in a stone crock all winter. Then I rolled them up, dipped them in honey, and rolled them in crushed almonds. Do you like them, my lord?” She climbed into the bed next to him, and sipped from his cup.

      “You’re a clever wench, Gorawen,” he told her, unaware that the wine the plums had been soaking in was imbued with a potent aphrodisiac she made from the herbs in her garden. He reached for her as he felt his passions begin to stir.

      Gorawen melted into his arms. “My dear lord,” she murmured, holding her face up to him for his kisses, tasting the wine and the plums on his breath. Her fingers began to caress the back of his neck gently, but in a way that had always pleased him greatly.

      “What do you want of me?” he demanded, shifting her so that she now lay beneath him. He pulled the drying cloth open, and stared down at her big breasts.

      “Later, Merin,”

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