Read The Dragon Lord's Daughters Online
Authors: Bertrice Small
The Dragon Lord's Daughters (10 page)
“You cannot!” she gasped. “You will shame me if you do this now!”
“How?” he demanded. The cloth had dropped away, and he was fondling her round little breast, squeezing the soft flesh, pinching the nipple lightly to make it pucker.
“There will be no bloody sheet for my da to fly. People will assume you had me when you first stole me. Or they will say I was no virgin at all, and speculate if I had a lover. Please, Rhys FitzHugh! Not here! Not now! If my virtue is questioned my sisters may suffer as well.”
He groaned. For just the briefest moment he had forgotten that she was a virgin. She was so incredibly desirable. “Get out of the tub, Averil, and wrap yourself in a drying cloth,” he said.
“But I must dry you, my lord,” she protested.
“If you put one more finger on me, wife,” he told her, “I cannot prevent myself from having you, here and now. If you want that bloody sheet displaying your innocence to fly from your father's tower in the morning, you will do what I tell you. Now!”
Averil scrambled from the tub, taking one of the large drying cloths and wrapping herself in it, her back to him, as she toweled herself free of water. Her body was tingling, especially her breasts. The blood coursing through her veins right now boiled, she was convinced. She had been but briefly kissed. Lightly fondled. But she knew she was more than ready to lie with this man. He might not have her love yet, or her trust, but he had certainly engaged her lusts.
“Come out, now, my lord husband,” she finally told him. “I think you can trust me to dry you without further ado.”
“Aye,” he agreed as he climbed from the water. “I have managed to quiet my big boy, but not for very long, Averil. This union of ours must be consummated, you will agree.” His manhood still looked very dangerous.
“I do,” she admitted as she swiftly and efficiently dried him off. The conversation was perturbing, she considered. There had never been a man in her life before but for her father, her brother, the keep's servants and men-at-arms. No one had ever looked at her with desire. Averil was the Dragon Lord's eldest daughter. She was untouchable until Rhys FitzHugh had stolen her away, and ruined her chances of a rich marriage. She should be angry at this man, and she was. Yet he excited her, and the teasing glimpses he had given her of what lay ahead in their marriage bed were tempting.
He took the drying cloth from her and wiped his face. “What are you thinking?” he asked her.
Caught in her reverie she looked at him and said, “You need to scrape the whiskers from your face, Rhys FitzHugh. You look like a bear just come from its winter cave. You will find what you need on the shelf there. I must go to the chamber I share with my sisters and dress now. I will send my mother to bring you clean clothing.” And Averil hurried from the bathing room.
Outside she met her mother. “He will need clean clothes,” she said.
“Where are you going, daughter?” Gorawen asked.
“I must dress myself, Mother,” Averil replied.
“Your possessions are no longer with your sisters. While you are here you will sleep with your husband in the small room at the top of the west tower. It is already made up. Go and put on fresh garb. When you are presentable you may both return to the hall where a feast will be set to celebrate your marriage.”
Averil nodded, for she suddenly found she could not speak. She was to no longer be with Maia and Junia. She was to sleep with this husband she had gained in so reckless a manner. She almost ran up the narrow staircase to the tower chamber. Inside she found her clothing and brushes and her dower trunk. She pulled a clean chemisette from it, and removing the drying cloth from about her form she pulled it on. Her gown was of olive green silk with long tight-fitting sleeves. Over it she drew a sleeveless tunic of the same shade embroidered with gold threads. She had never before seen these garments, but she knew they were gifts from her mother on her marriage. Gorawen had exquisite taste, and was known for her generosity.
Sitting down on the bed Averil undid her hair, and taking up her brush began to brush out the long damp mass until it was reasonably dry. Then plaiting it she wrapped the braids about her head, afixing them with polished bone hairpins. She had never before dressed her hair this way but now she was a married woman, and might. She found slippers to match her gown, and slipped them on. Then she looked about for Rhys FitzHugh's clothing, but she could find nothing for him. Hurrying from the tower room she sought her mother.
“There are no fresh garments for my husband in our chamber,” she told Gorawen.
“He has no clean garments,” Gorawen said. “Have you not noticed that he has been wearing the same clothing since you left for Aberffraw? You are his wife. It is up to you to see what garments he has are made presentable before he dresses again, Averil.”
“He must have a clean chemise and leg coverings, Mother, or washing him will have been a waste of time,” Averil replied.
Gorawen nodded. “I agree,” she said. “I have some clean chemises and leg coverings that belonged to your father when he was younger. I had saved them for Brynn for when he is older, but we may spare some for Rhys FitzHugh. Come along and we will fetch them.”
“Let me tell him lest he put on his dirty clothing,” Averil replied, and running to the bathing room she opened the door and stepped through. “Do not dress yourself yet, my lord,” she said to her husband who was still scrapping the whiskers from his chin. “I will bring you some clean garments.” She picked up his boots and cotte. “I will have the servants clean these.” Then she was gone before he might even speak.
She gave Rhys's boots to a serving man, instructing him to clean and polish the worn footwear and then return them to her lord in the bathing room. She handed the cotte to another servant, telling her to brush the garment clean and return it to its owner in the bathing room. Then Averil hurried on, a small smile on her face as she thought of her new husband's reaction when her father's servants entered the room unannounced.
Gorawen went to the solar where all the women liked to gather. From a trunk set in an alcove she drew out a beautiful linen chemise, handing it to her daughter. “I believe this will fit Rhys,” she said, and bending down again she drew out a pair of braies, giving them to Averil. “You must give his old garments to the servants to launder, but you may keep these.”
“Thank you, Mother,” Averil responded, and she hurried off back to the bathing room to help her husband dress.
Neither his boots nor his cotte were ready when she returned to him. He had finished taking the whiskers from his face. “You are handsome,” Averil said. “My sisters have said it, and now I see it. Here is a clean chemise, my lord, and a set of braies. They are yours now. Put them on while we wait for your cotte and boots,” Averil suggested to him with a small smile. She let her eyes slip quickly over him. He was a big man in every respect, well muscled and straight of limb.
Rhys FitzHugh slipped the undergarment over his now very clean frame. He sat down upon a three-legged stool to pull on the dark woolen braies. “Where did you find these?” he asked curiously.
“They were my da's when he was younger. My mother put them aside when he outgrew them for Brynn, but says she can spare them, for you are now her son,” Averil told him. “My mother has taught me not to be wasteful.”
“Your mother is very beautiful. But for your eyes you resemble her muchly,” he replied. “She is from the house of Tewydr?”
“Aye. My bloodlines are good, my lord. You will have no cause for shame in me, though you stole the wrong maiden. Actually, my blood is better than that of my true-born sister, Maia, though I should never say it aloud to others,” Averil explained.
He nodded, and then the door to the bathing room opened, and a serving maid entered carrying his cotte and his boots. She handed them to Averil, curtsied, and withdrew from the chamber.
Averil handed her husband his boots. “Put them on, Rhys FitzHugh. They are of better quality than I suspected now that I see them clean,” she noted. Then she looked at his cotte. “It is blue. I could not tell before. But it is very threadbare, my lord. Have you the material at Everleigh for me to make you another? You are the bailiff of a fine estate, and cannot go about looking like a poor man.”
“But I am a poor man,” he reminded her. “Everleigh belongs to my sister.”
“You have cattle and sheep through your marriage to me, my lord, and a purse of fifteen silver pennies, one for each year of my life,” Averil reminded him. “You are no longer a poor man, and you must have a new cotte.”
He laughed. “I am surprised to find that despite your great beauty, my wife, you are a girl who will care well for me, and our children. You are not overproud, or haughty, Averil. My sister will do well to follow your instruction. Rhawn, her old nurse, cannot teach Mary how to be a lady, but you can.”
“I am indeed haughty, my lord, but only where required,” she responded.
He laughed again as he straightened his cotte. It was threadbare. It would be good to have a new one. “There is fabric aplenty at Everleigh, my wee Welsh wife. While you ripen with our first child this winter you will sew me a new one,” he said.
“Even a well-brought up virgin knows it takes more than wishing to get a child,” Averil said pithily, yet there was a small smile upon her lips.
He yanked her into his arms, and kissed her heartily. “As you will learn this very night, Averil, my wife. But for now we are expected in the hall that your family may properly celebrate our union.”
Rosy with her blushes Averil nonetheless spoke up. “Then let us go, Rhys FitzHugh,” she said to him. Perhaps marriage to this man would not be so bad after all. If he was not a great lord he was a charming man. That had to count for something.
Chapter
5
5
W
hen Averil and her husband entered the hall of the Dragon Lord they found their entire family gathered and waiting. Normally the main meal of the day would have been served at the noon hour, but a messenger sent ahead of Merin Pendragon had warned the keep of the master's return. The lady Argel had therefore postponed the dinner, and the cook had had time to add more dishes, for the men with their lord would eat far more than the household of women and children he had been feeding. The order of their seating had been prearranged. Averil and Rhys, the feast's guests of honor, were placed to the left and the right of the Dragon Lord. The lady Argel sat to the bride's left followed by Roger Mortimer, Maia and Ysbail. To the bridegroom's left was Gorawen, Lord Mortimer, Brynn Pendragon, and Junia.
hen Averil and her husband entered the hall of the Dragon Lord they found their entire family gathered and waiting. Normally the main meal of the day would have been served at the noon hour, but a messenger sent ahead of Merin Pendragon had warned the keep of the master's return. The lady Argel had therefore postponed the dinner, and the cook had had time to add more dishes, for the men with their lord would eat far more than the household of women and children he had been feeding. The order of their seating had been prearranged. Averil and Rhys, the feast's guests of honor, were placed to the left and the right of the Dragon Lord. The lady Argel sat to the bride's left followed by Roger Mortimer, Maia and Ysbail. To the bridegroom's left was Gorawen, Lord Mortimer, Brynn Pendragon, and Junia.
By chance there was a traveling monk from the Cistercian order who had begged a night's shelter from the Dragon Lord. He offered up a blessing for the meal and the young couple. Rhys FitzHugh was surprised when the servants set polished pewter plates and matching spoons before each diner. He had never seen such plates although he had heard of them. He noted the diners in the hall below the high board had the usual trenchers of bread. The servants then brought about the courses for the high board upon silver platters. There was trout broiled and set upon a bed of watercress. There was capon and venison, both roasted, and a rabbit pie in brown gravy. The last of the summer peas was served. Fresh bread, still warm from the ovens, and sweet butter were placed upon the table while other servants poured wine into the pewter cups at each place. When all had been consumed a final course of cheeses, pears, sugar wafers and jellies was brought forth and set upon the high board.
When the meal had been at last finished the guests at the high board washed their hands and face in bowls of scented water brought forth by the servants. Below the high board other servants were gathering up the bread trenchers, which would be distributed to the few poor gathered at the door to the kitchen garden. Lord Mortimer was impressed with Merin Pendragon's hospitality and gentility, which was every bit as fine as his many English friends. And in some instances even better.
Now the Dragon Lord's daughters got up to entertain the guests. Like most of the Welsh they were musical by inclination. Averil played upon the telyn, which was a Celtic type of harp. Maia, the pibgorn, a reed instrument peculiar to the Welsh. Junia favored the recorder, which she alternated with a small drum painted with a design, and the cymbalum, or bells, which were shaken in time with the music. She was the most skilled musician of the three sisters.
Outside the hall the day had now waned, and the twilight was followed by the night. All evidence of the meal was now gone from the high board, and the tables below it were set against the walls with their benches atop them. The large fire pit blazed, taking the damp chill off the evening. The rushes had been swept away, and the keep's dogs lay sprawled by the warmth of the hearth snoring, as the men talked among themselves.
Gorawen moved discreetly to her daughter's side. “It is time for me to escort you to your bed, Averil,” she murmured low. “Keep playing,” she instructed the other two girls.
Averil stood up quietly, her fingers sliding over her telyn's strings in a brief finish. Her sisters quickly took up a more spritely tune thereby distracting the others from Averil's departure. Following her mother, she left the hall. “Where are we going?” she asked her parent.
“To your chamber in the tower where you dressed earlier,” Gorawen replied. “The lady Argel and I prepared it for you and your bridegroom this afternoon. You will have privacy for your wedding night, daughter.”
“But what of Lord Mortimer and his son?” Averil inquired.
“They will sleep in the hall,” her mother responded. “There are bed spaces that are clean and ready for visitors. They will be just as comfortable there. Besides, the guest chamber is needed that you and your husband consummate your union. Merin will not allow you to depart until he is certain it has been done, Averil. He would not allow Rhys FitzHugh any excuse to repudiate you.”
“I do not think he would do such a thing, Mother. He is an honorable man,” the girl said as she had earlier.
“Truly honorable men do not kidnap innocent maidens, daughter,” her mother said sharply.
“But men can make mistakes, can they not?” Averil said quickly. “But if they repent of their errors are they not honorable again?”
Gorawen laughed softly. “You are defending him,” she teased. “Is it just possible that you are beginning to like this husband you have?”
“Like him or not I must live with him till death parts us,” Averil responded in practical tones.
Gorawen laughed again. “He is handsome, and young enough to be vigorous in bed sport. Your are right to try to find the good in him, Averil.” They had reached the top of the tower. Gorawen opened the door and escorted her daughter inside. “I will help you to undress,” she said, and when Averil was garbed in only her chemise her mother pointed to the basin of warm scented water that had been set in the hot ashes of the tiny fireplace. “Relieve yourself, then wash, daughter,” she instructed the girl.
Averil obeyed, quickly emptying the chamber pot out the single window, and pushing it beneath the bed again. She cleaned her teeth with the cloth provided, and then bathed her private parts.
Gorawen nodded, satisfied. “Now remove the chemise,” she said.
“Will he be naked too, Mother?” Averil asked nervously.
“We shall see he is delivered to you as God made him, my daughter,” her mother said with a small smile. “I have always believed that lovers should be equals although such a radical thought would disturb most.”
Averil removed her chemise and climbed into the big bed that seemed to take up much of the chamber. “I am ready,” she said.
“Unplait your hair,” her mother bade the girl, and when Averil had obeyed Gorawen said, “Now you are ready.” She fluffed her daughter's pale gold hair so that it framed her face and billowed about her slender shoulders. “Yes,” she said softly. Then she bent and kissed Averil upon the forehead. “Let him lead you, my daughter,” she said, “and do not fear. We will speak on the morrow of this night, and I will teach you all you shall need to know. Tonight, however, your innocence will speak for you.” Then turning, she left the tower room.
It was both exciting and terrifying, this unknown, Averil thought as she waited for Rhys FitzHugh to come to her. Did she need to pee again? No. She was fine. She had a vague idea of what to expect. He would lie her on her back, and mount her. Her love passage was located between her thighs. His manhood would pierce it. It was said to be painful the first time. Averil's heart hammered nervously. It sounded like a most intimate act, and she had never experienced intimacy with anyone. She drew the coverlet up higher, more aware than ever of her nakedness. And then she heard a faint sound of laughter from the stairwell that led up to the tower. The laughter grew louder. She heard Rhys protesting something, and then more laughter. She strained to hear the words, but could not quite make them out. Then there were footsteps, and the door to the chamber was flung open, and Rhys, naked as the day he had come from his mother's womb, was pushed roughly into the room.
“There he is, lady,” Roger Mortimer said, leering at her wickedly. He was drunk. “We have undressed him for you, but you shall have to do the rest.” He eyed her in an attempt to see her breasts.
Rhys FitzHugh turned about, pushing Roger and those who had accompanied him from the chamber. He slammed the door shut, and threw the bolt, barring it firmly. The laughter outside in the hall echoed loudly, but then they heard the sound of retreating footsteps, and the laugher slowly faded away. Rhys turned.
“Get into bed,” Averil said.
“Are you anxious, then?” he asked her as he came across the room.
“I do not want you catching a chill and dying on me yet,” she replied sharply.
He lifted the coverlet and slid beneath it, climbing atop her as he did, sitting back on his tight haunches to face her. Reaching out he cupped one of her small round breasts in his palm, stroking it with his other hand. “Beautiful,” he said in reverent tones.
Her heart almost burst through her chest. She gasped with shock at his bold and quick actions, her eyes wide, her mouth making a small “O.” For a moment she was speechless, but then she quickly recovered. “You will crush me, you great creature,” she protested.
“Nay, I will not,” he said. “I want to see your face when I touch you, Averil. I like the look of surprise upon it now. It tells me more than words could.” He very gently pinched her nipple, smiling softly as she colored and grew rosy with blushes.
“Remember, I am a virgin,” she whispered for what she knew would be the final time. It actually hurt to speak. Her throat was tight.
“I know,” he replied. He leaned forward so that his lips were almost touching hers. Then he ran his tongue around those lips. He took her two small hands, saying against her mouth as he did, “Take my big boy in your hands, Averil, and caress it. Soon it will swell with its desire, and I will fill you full with my lust. Do not be afraid. Tonight I will pleasure you, and I will teach you to pleasure me.” His breath was winey and hot in her face.
“My mother says that after you have satisfied yourself as to my purity she will teach me how to please you,” Averil whispered back at him.
“I cannot object. Your father has the appearance of a contented man when he looks at her, which is often. He loves her above the others.”
“I know,” Averil said softly. She could feel his flesh on her thighs. Her hands reached out to hold him in her palm, petting him with gentle fingers, and he began to harden and swell beneath her touch.
Leaning slightly forward he fastened his mouth about a nipple of one breast, licking and suckling it.
Averil's senses spun as a sharp sensation of what she realized was desire enveloped her, and a small cry escaped her.
He lifted his dark head, looking into her green eyes. “Lovers taste and tease one another, Averil. Do you like it?”
She nodded, wordless. She was being pounded by a host of sensations, one more delicious than the other. She was afraid, and yet she was not afraid.
He rolled onto his back, lifting her so that she lay atop him. “There,” he said low. “Is that not better, wife? I like the feel of you against me.” Then he wrapped his arms about her, and began kissing her with slow, hot kisses that blended one into another until it seemed as if it were one long and passionate embrace.
Averil's head spun. Her mouth was burning with the touch of his lips. She could feel his manhood pressing into her soft thigh. Hot. Hard. Yet patient. Willing to wait until she was ready. She trembled more with anticipation than fear. She was very curious, yet still cautious of what was to come. Her breasts were crushed against his wide chest. Their bellies caressed as he throbbed against her.
“Open your eyes, wife,” he commanded her gently. “How can I look into your soul if you hide from me?”
Averil's eyes flew open to meet his, surprise upon her visage. She hadn't realized that her eyes were closed until he had spoken. She had been totally lost in his embrace, and drugged by his sweet kisses. “I am beginning to comprehend why my mother loves my father,” she told him as her light green eyes met his dark blue ones.
“This is not love, wife,” he answered her. “This is lust, but it is a start.” His big hands fastened about her narrow waist, and he drew her forward, raising her up so that her breasts hung over his face. “So perfect,” he murmured, rubbing his cheek against her round flesh. Then his tongue slipped from between his lips, and he began to lick at her nipples.
“Ohh, I like that!” Averil told him.
He opened his mouth and sucked hard on her right nipple until she shuddered with delight. Then he transferred his attentions to her left nipple, suckling it first, and then nipped on it sharply.
Averil moaned, her pleasure undisguised. “You make me tingle in the secret place,” she told him innocently.
“Let me see,” he murmured, turning her onto her back once more, and leaning over her. His lips met hers again, his tongue pushing into her mouth as his fingers slipped between her nether lips to play. She was already wet with her rising desire. He found her little jewel, and began to worry it with the ball of his forefinger. She squirmed beneath his touch, making little whimpering noises. “Do you like that, Averil?” he whispered in her ear, his tongue now pushing into the shell-like whorl.
“Yesss!” she hissed. Her eyes were closed again, and the look on her face told him her fear had left her, at least for now.
The finger continued to play with her until she shivered with satisfaction, experiencing her first real knowledge of passion. He slowly pressed the foraging finger into her untried body, moving it carefully back and forth. “And do you like this?” he asked her, licking the side of her face with his broad tongue.
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