Dragon of the Island (3 page)

But Maelgwn was unmoved by Constantine’s
daughters’ loveliness, for he could find no satisfaction in what he
sensed beneath the exterior of heart-stopping beauty. It was
obvious that the eldest daughter despised him. Her brilliant cat
eyes glared like daggers, and her fine features were contorted with
contempt. If a part of him was amused by her spirit, his mind told
him that she would likely make a shrewish, difficult wife.

In contrast, the younger princess seemed
calm and accepting. Too calm, Maelgwn thought. He noticed that her
hands grasped a prayer necklace and her lips moved as if praying.
Maelgwn felt a twinge of uneasiness. Most of his people still
honored the pagan gods of hill, stream and forest. He did not need
an overly devout queen to cause dissension in his court.

Maelgwn turned away from the two girls and
addressed Constantine impatiently: “I was told there were three
daughters; I would like to see the third.”

Constantine looked flustered. “Maelgwn, my
lord. Either of my older daughters would make an excellent wife.
Perhaps you don’t appreciate... my wife has trained them herself in
all the skills of running a fine household. They can both read and
write and sing like nightingales. No finer needlework is done by
any woman in Viroconium—”

Maelgwn interrupted Constantine’s recitation
of the wifely virtues of his daughters with a cold, mirthless
laugh.

“Constantine, I see before me two quite
lovely women, except that one looks like she would like to scratch
out my eyes and the other belongs more in a convent than a marriage
bed. Since I don’t fancy having to take my sword to bed or having
my soul prayed for daily, I would like to see the third daughter
ere I choose.”

Constantine flushed and looked around the
hall with an odd expression. Finally, after glancing at Maelgwn
uneasily, he motioned to a young woman who stood half-hidden behind
one of the hall supports. As the woman walked forward, Maelgwn
frowned in puzzlement. What was this—some well-favored servant girl
Constantine sought to pass off as his daughter? The woman’s wavy
dark hair was disheveled, her plain gown faded and stained, and
there was even a smudge of dirt on her cheek. With a start, Maelgwn
realized she had served him his wine before dinner.

“My youngest daughter, Aurora.”
Constantine’s voice was stiff, his face grim.

Maelgwn stared at the young woman intently.
On second glance, she did not look like a serving wench at all. She
was quite tall, and her straight, proud bearing bespoke noble
blood. Her dirt-streaked face was provocatively foreign, and her
elegant cheekbones and finely-arched brows clearly bore the stamp
of some Roman ancestor. Maelgwn suppressed a smile. Constantine had
tried to be clever, but his cleverness had given him away. By
dressing the youngest princess as a raggedy child and not even
presenting her, Constantine had revealed his true feelings—this
daughter was obviously his favorite.

Maelgwn allowed his eyes to linger on the
woman’s sensuous features and the supple curves of her body. A warm
flush of arousal spread through his loins, and his mind met it with
a vague sense of unease. This daughter was definitely beguiling,
perhaps too much so. He sensed pride and keen intelligence in the
enigmatic blue-gray eyes which met his own. His unease deepened,
but only for a moment. This exotic-looking woman might not make the
most docile of wives, but there was no doubt she was the one he
should choose. Constantine obviously held this daughter dear. What
better hold could he hope to have on his unwilling ally’s heart
than to marry his most beloved child?

Maelgwn hardly glanced at the other
daughters. “This one,” he said, pointing at Aurora. “I will marry
this daughter, Constantine. You may ready your household for a
wedding tomorrow.”

* * *

“How could you?” Julia asked Aurora
peevishly as soon as they reached the privacy of the villa. “Acting
like a loathsome table wench—Maelgwn might have thought Papa was
trying to deceive him. Your behavior could have ruined the truce
and gotten us all killed.”

“I noticed that you weren’t so anxious to
preserve the truce when it appeared Maelgwn might choose you,”
Aurora retorted. “Perhaps I was foolish, but at least I will bear
the blame for it.”

“Don’t say that,” Carina implored. “You are
not to blame. I think that Maelgwn chose you out of spite, to hurt
Papa. It makes me wonder what kind of man he is.”

“Don’t be silly. We know what kind of man he
is,” Julia argued. “Maelgwn is ruthless, scheming, wicked...”

“Julia!” Lady Cordelia’s voice was harsh.
“It’s time you went to bed. I want to talk to Aurora alone.”

Aurora allowed her mother to lead her to her
bedchamber and help her undress. Her bed was in a little alcove set
off from the main room where her sisters slept, and she could hear
their whispers through the separating curtain. For once she did not
strain to hear their talk. She was too shocked, too numb to deal
with anything but her own thoughts. Never had she imagined Maelgwn
would chose her. It was a complete breach of good manners to select
the youngest daughter when she had two older, marriageable sisters
available. Why had Maelgwn done it? Did he think that Constantine
had deliberately hidden her away? If so, his choosing her was, as
Carina suggested, an act of obvious spite.

Aurora tried to muster the energy to renew
her fury toward her future husband. He was so arrogant, so brazen.
She could not forget his probing look before he chose her, the way
his eyes lingered on her body where the gown pulled tight. The
memory of his look made her shiver with fear... and something
else.

“Aurora,” Lady Cordelia’s voice was soft and
tender as she brushed Aurora’s tangled dark hair. “Don’t be
frightened. Despite what Julia says, we don’t really know what kind
of man Maelgwn is. There are plenty of leaders who deal ruthlessly
with their enemies, but that doesn’t mean they’re not decent or
respectable people. Your father, for example. He has ruled
Viroconium strongly and well for nearly a score of years, but no
one could ask for a more devoted husband and father.”

Lady Cordelia paused, reluctant to suggest
that Maelgwn might be a doting husband. She didn’t really know what
to say to Aurora. She had never discussed the realities of marriage
with her youngest daughter. She must try quickly to impart some of
what she had learned in twenty years of being a wife.

“A man like Maelgwn will undoubtedly expect
your complete obedience,” Lady Cordelia began. “But making him care
for you is another matter. If you can learn to anticipate his needs
and meet them eagerly, your husband will soon come to depend upon
you for comfort and security in his life. Over time you may become
his partner, his consort as well as his wife.”

Aurora gaped at her mother. “You mean you
expect me to try and please Maelgwn, to make him happy?”

“Of course! I know little of Cymru
practices, but among our people, the Cornovii, a man has complete
authority over everyone in his household, including his wife. A
wife’s place is not to question her husband’s authority, but to
influence it.”

Aurora looked distinctly displeased by these
words, and Lady Cordelia felt a stirring of apprehension. She and
Constantine had spoiled Aurora and failed to prepare her for her
future as a nobleman’s wife. Her daughter’s fiery temper and
headstrong nature would not endear her to a grim, hardened man like
Maelgwn. Still, Lady Cordelia did not think even Maelgwn the Great
could be immune to Aurora’s beauty and innocent charm. Which
brought her to another subject she needed to discuss with her
daughter.

“Aurora, you do know of a wife’s duties in
the marriage bed, don’t you?”

Aurora blushed and nodded. Lady Cordelia
touched her daughter’s cheek reassuringly.

“Lovemaking can be a great joy, Aurora, and
forge a strong bond between you and your husband. It need not be an
unpleasant duty, although much depends on the man...” She stopped
short. Maelgwn didn’t seem like someone who would have patience
with a frightened, inexperienced girl. She could only hope that her
first impression of him was overly harsh.

Lady Cordelia smoothed the blankets around
her daughter’s slender form. There seemed little more to say.
Aurora was marrying an unknown rather uncivilized man. She could
only pray that things turned out well for her.

After her mother left, Aurora lay in bed,
too tense to sleep. She listened to the villa’s night sounds that
floated in through the unglazed windows: the lowing of cattle, the
bark of her father’s hounds, the murmur of muffled voices through
the plaster and stone walls. Her mind worked feverishly, slowly
forming a plan. She might be doomed to marry Maelgwn and leave
Viroconium behind, but that did not mean she must abandon
everything she cared about. Despite her future husband’s vile
reputation, there were advantages to marrying a powerful and
wealthy man. She would likely have her own chambers and her own
servants to wait upon her. There would be nothing unusual in
bringing along a manservant to take care of her horse and serve her
in ways a maid could not. If Marcus could come with her, her lot
would not be so bitter, nor her loss so great.

Aurora was flooded with relief as the idea
unfolded. Maelgwn was a busy, important man and would probably be
away on campaign much of the time. She would have plenty of time to
be with Marcus, to ride and talk. It would be almost like things
were now. Aurora lay back on the bed and began to relax. She would
go to Marcus first thing in the morning and tell him her wonderful
plan.

The shoals and rapids of the river shimmered
in the afternoon sun, nearly blinding him. Maelgwn looked away,
focusing his eyes on the fishing line he was baiting. Sweat
trickled down his forehead, but he was as oblivious to the heat as
he was to the gnats that circled around him in iridescent
clouds.

“Maelgwn!”

He turned, startled, and saw his sister
Esylt coming down the pathway. His first reaction was anger—at her
for surprising him and making him jump, and at himself for letting
her sneak up on him. His anger lasted only briefly, for he saw
something in Esylt’s face that made his pulse quicken with
expectation. Her deep blue eyes were bright as flames and her face
flushed beyond the exertion of hurrying down the steep, rocky path.
She reached out and placed a small tanned hand upon his own.

“Father is dead.”

Her words sank in slowly as Maelgwn stared
at the silvery-brown texture of Esylt’s fingers. The contentment of
the summer’s day drained away, and he felt empty and cold. He
forced himself to speak, cringing as his voice came out in an
anguished, adolescent croak.

“How?”

“A sickness of the stomach.” Esylt’s voice
was matter-of-fact. “It felled him at Cowyn and he died two days
later. He suffered fiercely, but the end came quickly enough. Not a
warrior’s death—still, they say he was brave.”

Dead. How could his father be dead? Maelgwn
shook his head, as if trying to deny Esylt’s words. Cadwallon had
always seemed invincible. As far as Maelgwn knew, his father had
never been beaten in battle. Now he was dead, just like any other
man—except that he was not like any other man. No chieftain before
him had ever been able to unite the warring tribes of Gwynedd into
one kingdom, one people. Cadwallon’s strong rule had brought the
country years of peace. Maelgwn shuddered slightly, thinking about
the future. Who could take his father’s place? Who would carry on
after him?

Maelgwn struggled to clear his throat and
ask his sister the fateful question, already dreading her
answer.

“What will happen now? Who will be
king?”

Esylt’s brilliant blue eyes sparkled with
excitement. “There will be war,” she answered. “Llewen and Owen
have already begun recruiting men. Maelfawr will not be far
behind.”

“They mean to fight each other for the
kingship?”

Esylt nodded. “What did you expect? There
can be only one king, one leader. Whoever is strongest will take
everything.”

Maelgwn opened his mouth to protest, but the
words wouldn’t come. His throat seemed choked with dust. He reached
out to Esylt, trying to communicate his fear to her, but her image
seemed to fade before his eyes. Her blue eyes diminished to points
of light, and then the river, the summer’s day—everything
vanished.

The soft linen sheets were tangled around
Maelgwn’s limbs, and he struggled to free himself, throwing off the
blankets so the cool evening air could soothe his sweat-soaked
skin. Moonlight poured into the room, illuminating the figure of a
man opposite the bed who regarded Maelgwn with cold, angry eyes.
For a moment, Maelgwn’s breathing quickened again, and then he
relaxed, shaking his head at his own foolishness. He was in
Constantine’s guest chamber. The fierce man was nothing more than a
picture, a mosaic portraying the god Neptune as he rode the roiling
waves. It was the moonlight that made the god’s eyes glint with
life and the six dolphins that surrounded him seem to leap in the
room.

Maelgwn leaned back, trying to recover
himself. The rich food, the spiced wine, the strange
surroundings—all had addled his mind and caused this panicky mood.
After weeks on campaign, his body could not adapt to the soft bed,
the enticing atmosphere of luxury and comfort.

Maelgwn got up and poured himself a cup of
wine. He took a gulp and grimaced with distaste at its rich,
cloying flavor. He would rather be drinking water—the clear, sweet
mountain water of Gwynedd. His mind turned back to the dream. Even
now, over ten years later, the memory of the day he learned of his
father’s death still haunted him. He could not forget his own fear
and shock, nor Esylt’s gloating excitement.