Dragon of the Island (4 page)

As Esylt had predicted, his brothers had
fought bitterly for the next three years, rending apart the kingdom
that their father had united. Owen had been killed early on, but
neither Llewen nor Maelfawr could defeat the other. Maelgwn had
tried to avoid entering the struggle, but it was not to be. When
there were rumors of plots against Maelgwn’s life, Esylt convinced
their Uncle Pascent to provide him with arms and men. She had saved
his life, Maelgwn thought bitterly, and now she would never let him
forget it.

Still, he had done the hard part—molding his
men into an army, devising clever tactics to make up for his
disadvantage in numbers. He would never forget the thrill of seeing
the respect in the eyes of the old greybeards after Coed. They had
once followed his father, now they followed him. That victory had
been very sweet, and yet afterwards he had faced the horror of
looking down upon the glassy-eyed corpse of his brother Llewen. He
should have known then how dark the heart of war was.

Maelgwn sighed and walked to the window. He
peered out at the flat, white moon that seemed caught in a tree in
Constantine’s orchard. Dinas Brenin, “king’s fort”—he would never
forget that name, that place. After Betws-Coed Gwalmach, Maelfawr
and his men took refuge there. They were joined by Maelgwn’s
mother, Rhiannon. From the beginning, she had encouraged the strife
between her sons. At Dinas Brenin she took a stand with
Maelfawr—her oldest living child—against Maelgwn, the unwanted babe
of her autumn years.

Maelgwn forced back the pain. His mother had
not loved him. Never. And yet, he had not meant for her life to end
that way.

He had planned to besiege the fortress and
starve them out. But Esylt had intervened with her subtle plan and
not-so-subtle taunts. A siege would take time, she warned him. He
might lose his men if he waited too long. A strategically set fire
would burn Maelfawr and his men out and force them to fight much
sooner.

He resisted until his men began to drift
away, anxious to get home before the harvest. Even then he was
reluctant. He wanted a pitched battle, an even contest. It was only
when Esylt began her wicked taunts that he even considered a fire.
She called him a coward and a fool. She sneered at him, warning
that he was about to let it all slip away.

Maelgwn shook his head. How could he have
listened to her? Even before the first sparks caught he had known
that it was a mistake. The old timber walls of Dinas Brenin had
gone up like kindling. His brother, his mother—all those people
inside—they had never had a chance.

He turned from the window, the bile rising
in his throat. He could never forget the part Esylt had played in
the tragedy. He had never trusted his sister since that day.
Perhaps that was why he was apprehensive about his impending
marriage. Esylt was bound to resent any woman he chose to marry. A
queen at Caer Eryri would lessen Esylt’s importance and challenge
her authority to run the fortress as she wished. She was bound to
cause trouble.

The thought that he needed to consider
Esylt’s wishes made him furious. He was king—he had the right to
marry any woman he chose. What better match could he make than this
lovely, well-dowered princess?

Maelgwn lay down on the bed again, thinking
of Lady Aurora’s sensuous beauty. So young and luscious she was,
like a warm summer’s day. His anxiety and anger eased, pushed aside
by arousal. He wanted this intriguing princess. He would not let
anyone deter him from taking his prize. Tomorrow he would wed Lady
Aurora and annex her father’s rich lands to his own. He was the
Dragon, and no one could stop him. Not even Esylt.

A few paces away across the courtyard,
Aurora stirred in her fitful sleep. Several times she woke and
crept across her sisters’ room to the unglazed window and peeped
out, trying to decide if Marcus would be awake yet. When the glow
of a lamp in the wing where her parents slept convinced her that it
was near morning, she hurried back to her sleeping place and
quickly dressed.

The villa was quiet. Aurora’s sandals made a
soft slapping sound on the paving stones of the courtyard as she
ran past the garden. She inhaled the rich scent of summer flowers
hovering in the darkness, and choked back a pang of longing. Even
with Marcus beside her, she would miss her home painfully.

The familiar warm darkness of the stables
affected her even more profoundly. She had spent hours in these
comforting corridors—it did not seem possible she would never come
here again. She hurried from stall to stall, searching desperately
for Marcus. She had to speak to him now, before it was too late,
before her mother and sisters came to dress her for the wedding and
her life spun completely from her control.

“Marcus?”

He was brushing down one of her father’s
matching chestnut geldings, and he didn’t turn when she called to
him. In exasperation she made her voice as sharp and scolding as
her mother’s.

“Marcus!”

He faced her with eyes so full of bitterness
and hatred that Aurora’s heart pounded in her chest. She had hoped
he had not heard that she was to be a bride; she wanted to tell him
herself when she explained her plan to him. Obviously Marcus
already knew. He looked wild and hopeless, as if she had died and
he was grieving for her.

She moved slowly toward him, extending her
hand, as if he were a skittish horse she was trying to gentle.

“I know it’s awful, Marcus, but I have a
plan. I’m going to ask if I can... if I can bring you with me!”

Marcus didn’t reach for her hand, nor did
his face change, except to grow even more desperate.

Aurora began to talk rapidly:

“I will be taking a maid, of course, so it
wouldn’t be that strange for me to bring a manservant as well. You
could take care of my horse and wait on me. The important thing is
that we would be together. Why, we might even go riding sometimes.”
She paused, out of breath and dreading the terrible look in his
eyes.

“Please, Marcus,” she begged. “Please come
with me!”

The struggle between his pride and his
feelings for her showed clearly on Marcus’s handsome countenance.
Aurora watched him in agony, pleading silently.

Marcus let out a painful sigh. “Aurora, I
can’t. I couldn’t stand to watch you with him, to watch him possess
you. He has no right to you.”

Marcus turned away, unwilling for her to see
his anguish. Aurora made no move to comfort him. She stood still
and stiff, consumed by the sense of utter loss that washed over
her. Marcus had been her last hope. Now there was nothing ahead of
her, nothing except the unknown, frightening future.

* * *

“Maelgwn!”

He jerked awake and was fumbling for his
sword when he recognized the voice outside the door. Maelgwn let
his scabbard fall with a clatter and went to let in his first
officer, Balyn ap Rhyderch. Balyn greeted Maelgwn with a cheery
smile. His eyes grew wide as he glanced around the room.

“Truly it is a room fit for a king,” Balyn
said in a hushed, appreciative voice.

“Aye,” Maelgwn agreed as he leaned down to
pull on his boots. “Still, it’s not a room I would want to spend
another night in.”

“All this beauty and luxury doesn’t please
you?”

Maelgwn shook his head and gestured to the
lush bed and rich furnishings. “Comforts such as these make men
soft and weak. It seems no wonder to me that Constantine can’t
field a decent army. You would have thought he would have learned
from his Roman forebears that an easy life leads to easy
defeat.”

“Harsh words from a man who is benefiting
greatly from a Roman British leader’s weakness,” Balyn noted wryly.
“Tell me, my lord, did you not sleep well?”

Maelgwn shook his head, then turned away
from his officer’s concerned brown eyes. Balyn had been at his side
since the beginnings of his struggle for the kingship, and he
trusted him completely. Still, Maelgwn was unwilling to share his
doubts with his first officer. He didn’t want anyone to know that
he had been awake half the night, troubled by thoughts of Esylt and
memories of Dinas Brenin.

Balyn changed the subject swiftly. “From the
scornful way you speak of Roman ways, I suspect my discovery of the
Baths would be lost on you.”

“Baths?”

Balyn nodded. “I’m sure you’ve heard of the
Roman passion for daily bathing. Constantine has his own private
bathhouse. There is both hot and cold water and a room where they
use hot rocks to make steam. I must confess that I have already
enjoyed their invigorating pleasures this morning. You might try
it, Maelgwn. It would be one way to prove to your lovely young
bride that you are a civilized man.”

Maelgwn’s incredulous look quickly turned to
an amused grin. “Aye, the girl did seem appalled to be wedding me,
didn’t she?”

Balyn shrugged. “Your reputation precedes
you, my lord. No doubt the Lady Aurora thinks she is about to marry
a terrible ogre.”

“And yet she was brazen enough to pose as a
serving girl at my table, a common spy.” Maelgwn pointed out,
raising his dark brows.

“Surely her father put her up to that!”

“No doubt,” Maelgwn agreed. “But she had the
nerve to carry off the disguise—which many women would not.” He
stroked his whisker-roughed chin thoughtfully. “I must admit the
girl puzzles me. I can’t say that I know what kind of woman I have
agreed to wed. I intend to ask Constantine to have her brought to
me before the wedding so I can see what my princess is like when
she does not have a roomful of people staring at her.”

“You’re not regretting your choice, are
you?”

“No, I have no doubt that Lady Aurora is the
one I should wed. Believe me, I did not choose her for her fair
face alone. As soon as I guessed that she was Constantine’s
favorite, I knew. What better hold can you think to have upon a man
than to possess his dearest daughter?”

“You talk as if she is to be a hostage, not
your queen.”

“It won’t come to that,” Maelgwn answered
emphatically. “The peace will hold, at least long enough for me to
strengthen my other borders. In the meantime I may well beget an
heir, and a child of our shared blood would solidify my alliance
with Constantine for good.”

Balyn nodded. “It is a clever plan, my lord.
Let’s hope that you are able to convince Esylt of the wisdom of
your marriage.”

Maelgwn scowled. “Esylt has no say in who I
marry. She will have to accept my decision as best she can.”

Balyn nodded agreeably and then rose from
the finely worked wooden chair. “If you wish to meet with your
bride before the wedding, you’d best be seeking her. The morning is
already half over.”

* * *

Aurora paced in the garden, listening to the
hum of the bees and trying to relax. The heavy scent of roses
filled the air, and their vivid colors of coral, mauve, wine and
yellow seemed to make Aurora dizzy. The heat was making her
breathless anyway, or maybe it was the tight dress that made it so
hard for her to catch her breath. She was dressed in a gown of
thin, almost transparent blue-green fabric called “silk.” Her
mother said the dress came from Constantinople, and Aurora could
not help wondering how the women stayed warm there. Not only was
the gown sheer, it was also embarrassingly skimpy. Although it
pinched tightly at her waist, it left her arms, shoulders and the
tops of her breasts nearly bare.

Her discomfort was increased by her
elaborate hairstyle and ornate jewelry. Aurora’s sisters had
carefully braided her hair and piled it on the top of her head.
Although Julia had assured her that she looked like a Roman
goddess, Aurora’s neck already ached from the weight of her heavy
tresses. Her wedding costume was completed with massive gold
earrings that pinched her ears, bands of gold and onyx around her
wrists and a large, egg-shaped pendant of amber that dangled
between her breasts, banging into her every time she tried to move
quickly. As if Aurora were not uncomfortable enough, she had just
found out from her father that Maelgwn had requested to meet alone
with her in the garden.

Aurora straightened her spine and threw back
her shoulders, listening to the jingle of her earbobs. If only
Maelgwn would come. She couldn’t stand this waiting. After Marcus’s
refusal to accompany her to her new home, her mood had gone from
despair to anger. The longer Maelgwn made her wait, the more her
pain receded and her hostility grew. When she tried to remember her
future husband, all she could think of was his mocking half-smile
as he chose her. It was infuriating!

What was she—a prize filly thrown in with
the rest of the livestock he had insisted upon as tribute?

Aurora heard a soft sound behind her and
turned. Her heart seemed to jump into her throat. Maelgwn was even
bigger than she remembered. No man she knew was near to Maelgwn’s
height, and his broad shoulders, long limbs and lean, muscular body
gave him an aura of power that was frightening. He wore a
jewel-studded sword at his side and a dagger in his belt, as if
ready to do battle instantly. Aurora was reminded of a wildcat
ready to spring at its prey.

“Lady Aurora.” He bowed politely.

“My lord,” she breathed back, reluctant to
curtsy and give him an even more immodest view of the cleft between
her breasts that the low neckline exposed. His eyes fixed there
with an obvious interest that both embarrassed and angered her. In
retaliation, she gave him a brazen, probing look.

In the bright sunlight Maelgwn’s hair did
not look black, but a very deep shade of brown, and his piercing
deep-set eyes were a stormy blue. His freshly shaved tanned skin
was smooth and fine-textured, and Aurora realized with surprise
that Maelgwn was rather young, no more than a score and a handful
of years. She was wondering how he had come to power at such an
early age, when her thoughts were interrupted by Maelgwn’s low,
rumbling, rather musical voice.