Read The Dragon Lord's Daughters Online
Authors: Bertrice Small
The Dragon Lord's Daughters (13 page)
Finally he spoke. “When I am inside you I don't want to leave.”
“I don't want you to leave me,” she admitted.
“Well,” he said, his tone amused, “we know that we shall get on well in the bed, wife. As for the rest of it we shall have to see.”
“I have learned it is a good thing if a man and his wife respect one another,” Averil responded. “Men care for the women in their lives in different ways. My father is fond of his wife. He loves my mother with a great passion, yet Ysbail he treats with amused toleration. But he respects all of his women for who they are, and what they can do for him, his children and the family. And they respect him. I hope, Rhys FitzHugh, that when we come to know one another better, we will respect each other.”
He nodded, his fingers trailing across the swell of her bosom. “Will you love me, Averil Pendragon?” he asked her.
“Will you love me?” she countered. He was so very handsome with his dark wavy hair, and his blue eyes. Could she love him? The man who had stolen all her dreams of glory? She didn't know.
He laughed. “So for now we must be satisfied that we pleasure each other well, eh, wife?”
“For now,” Averil told him. She was not yet ready to broach the subject of the serf, Rhawn, with him. They needed to know one another better, and so she told her mother the next day as the two women sat together in the hall.
“What do you plan?” Gorawen asked softly, looking about to be certain that they were alone, and there was no servant to hear.
“I will ask my husband to give Rhawn her freedom,” Averil said. “For her years of devotion to the FitzHughs. And a lovely little cottage for her very own. Only then do I believe will Rhys be comfortable asking her to step aside for me. But when he does this I will be with him, and I will beg her aid that I may help Everleigh's rightful mistress, my sister-in-law Mary. I will explain I am not used to being idle, having learned all manner of housewifery from my own mother, and the lady Argel.”
“It is a well-considered plan,” Gorawen said thoughtfully, “and it is just possible you may succeed. I have always thought you a clever girl, Averil.”
“And she will no longer sleep in the house, Mother. I will appoint a younger girl to serve Mary. Rhawn is too dour, too possessive and dark. Mary needs someone young, someone filled with laughter looking after her.” Averil sipped from her cup.
“Rhawn will not be entirely happy with what you suggest,” Gorawen said, “but if Rhys can be brought around you will have no trouble. The woman has been so well treated that she has forgotten she is a serf. Rewarding her with her freedom is a stroke of brilliance, my daughter! But beware it does not backfire on you. Make certain Rhys understands she is to live in her own cottage, not just go there now and again.”
“I will, Mother,” Averil replied. Then she said, “I think little Mary likes my brother Brynn. Perhaps I should invite him for a visit soon.”
“Your father considers the possibility of a match between the two, if he can keep Lord Mortimer at bay,” Gorawen answered. “You will let us know if your husband's inclinations lay in that direction.”
“Mary is too little for marriage although I know there are some who would set the match now, and then leave her to grow up. Rhys will not,” Averil told her mother.
“Good! Having estates on both sides of the Marches is your father's hope,” Gorawen confided.
Mother and daughter spent their days together as Gorawen instructed Averil in the sensual arts. But after three full days at Everleigh the Dragon Lord announced that their time was done. They would depart for home in the morning. Averil had learned well from her mother. She knew ways now of arousing Rhys that she would not have imagined before. Gorawen had taught her daughter to make potions, and lotions to encourage and aid a lagging lover. To arouse an eager one, and keep him well satisfied.
“There are other methods,” Gorawen said, “but I will come again, and instruct you. For now, I believe you have enough knowledge to keep Rhys FitzHugh contented.”
Averil felt overwhelmed with sadness as she watched her parents and her brother ride out and away from Everleigh. She had never before faced a permanent separation from her family. She suddenly realized how much she missed her sisters. Her servant, Dilys, put a comforting hand on hers.
“I will miss Dragon's Lair too, lady,” she said. “I have never before been away from home.”
“This is our home now, Dilys,” Averil said.
“The way that old Rhawn talks, you're naught but an interloper,” Dilys said indignantly. “She has a fine opinion of herself, does old Rhawn.”
“Pay no attention to her,” Averil said calmly. “She is a serf as are you, but because her responsibilities are great she does, indeed, think highly of herself. Still, I think my husband should reward her for her loyalty. I must consider it. And Dilys, you must not gossip with the other servants. I need you to be my eyes and ears.”
Dilys nodded. “I know that,” she said. “Lady Argel explained it to me before we left our home. Old home,” she corrected herself.
Each day that followed Averil would ask Rhawn if she might have young Mary's company that she teach her the things the serf could not, but Rhawn always had an excuse to deny Averil Mary's companionship. Averil would then sit serenely at her loom in the hall weaving. She would pick flowers from the manor gardens and arrange them. She would pluck herbs to make her potions. One day she decided to make scented soaps, something that Rhawn could not do. She had taught her little mistress the art of making ordinary household soap, but scented soaps were an entirely different thing.
“Mary must learn this art,” she said before her husband, and he agreed.
Rhawn was therefore unable to prevent the two from being together.
They boiled and rendered fat. The process took an entire day. They sifted ash, which they mixed with lye. This they combined with the rendered fat, olive oil, and finally the different scents. These compounds were then poured carefully into pans to harden. Some was put into stone containers. The mixes in the pans would take several months to cure, and become hard. The soaps in the stone containers would be left a month, and then used as a soft soap.
Mary loved the fragrance of roses and violets. Averil preferred honeysuckle and woodbine. After three days' work the soaps were ready to be stored. Averil suggested to the little girl that they go riding, for she had learned from Rhys that Mary loved to ride, but Rhawn would rarely allow it. And sure enough, Rhawn protested.
“Now, Rhawn,” Averil said, smiling her sweetest smile, “a lady must know how to ride properly, and poor wee Mary hardly has had any chance at all to learn properly. Please do not begrudge her. We can both use the fresh air, and we will certainly be back in time for your good supper.” Then taking Mary by her little hand, Averil walked her from the hall.
“That was very brave of you,” Mary said as they crossed the yard to the stables. “No one ever tells Rhawn what should be done.”
“Rhawn is a good woman, Mary, but she is still a serf. You are mistress here. If it is your desire to have cheese crowdie every night, then Rhawn must obey your wishes. Still, I think it a shame that Rhys does not give the good woman her freedom. I know she is a bit vinegary at times, but she is faithful to the FitzHughs, and deserving of reward.”
“Oh, Averil, how wise you are!” her little sister-in-law said. “Rhawn can be crotchety but she does love me, although sometimes I wish she did not love me quite so much.”
“She has cared for you since your birth, little one, but I will admit I find her a bit possessive of your person,” Averil murmured.
They reached the stables, and their mounts were brought forth. Mary had a small white pony with a black mane and tail. Averil had a fine bay mare. The two girls rode peaceably away from the house, and down the lane. They passed by the fields, now harvested. The gleaners were already bent among the rows. In the orchards the apples and pears were being harvested. They saw Rhys, and waved to him. He smiled broadly to see his wife and small sister riding side by side.
He told her so that night as they lay abed, but added, “I'm surprised that Rhawn allowed Mary out of the house.”
Now, Averil realized, was her chance. “You have not been as good to Rhawn as you might have, Rhys. You yourself have said that her loyalty is unparalleled.” She pressed herself against him, leaning over to kiss his cheek.
“What would you have me do?” he asked her, surprised.
“Make her a freedwoman, and give her her own cottage,” Averil said to him. “I will need her help, of course, but it is past time I took up the duties of the hall until Mary is old enough for them. It is not right that you put a serf over your wife, Rhys, but I do understand how much you appreciate her faithful service.”
He nodded slowly. “I know that you are right, Averil, but I would not seem ungrateful of Rhawn.”
“You forget that she is a serf, husband, and not your equal,” Averil reminded him. “Give her her freedom as a reward for her service. Let her have a cottage to call her own. I will choose a younger girl to serve your sister. Mary will never be fit for her station in life, or for a husband, as long as Rhawn remains her keeper. If you reward her so well you cannot be said to be ungrateful. I know it is difficult for you, Rhys, but I must have my place in this household. Especially now,” she concluded meaningfully.
“Why now?” he asked.
“I believe I may be expecting your child,” Averil told him.
“Already? Praise God, my beautiful wife, you are a fertile field,” he said excitedly.
“And you have been a diligent plowman,” Averil murmured, kissing him again. She licked at his ear. “I like it when you plow a fine furrow, Rhys, my husband.”
He felt his desire for her rising. “Can we?” he asked. “I know nothing of these things, Averil.” Unable to help himself he stroked the insides of her thigh with his fingers.
“For now, we can,” she assured him with a small smile as he drew her into his embrace.
“I cannot get enough of you, Averil,” he whispered to her, nuzzling her soft golden hair. “What sorcery have you engaged to so bind me to you?”
“I am content that you still lust after me, husband,” Averil told him. “Especially as we have been wed over three months.” She raised her head up from his shoulder, and kissed his lips. “I am growing used to you, Rhys. I might even come to love you in time.”
“Then I must certainly give you your way in this matter,” he said.
“Because I said I might love you?” she questioned him, curious.
“Nay, because I have come to love you, Averil, and because you are right,” he answered, surprising her. Then he kissed her with slow, deep kisses until she was hot and eager to couple their bodies, to soar with pleasure.
“I want you to love me,” she told him softly. “I want you to need me, to trust me, to respect the little wisdom I can offer you. No matter how we began, Rhys, we are husband and wife now. I do not want us to be unhappy in that state.” She opened herself to him, sighing as he entered her eagerly, filling her with his newly admitted passion for her. And Averil did soar with his love, and as they reached the heavens together as they so often did, she could have sworn she felt the ice about her heart crack, and she cried his name in her sudden happiness. And then she wept as she had on that first night; and he held her in his embrace as he had then. “I am so happy,” she admitted to him, sniffling.
“Why?” he said. “Because you know now that I love you?” He stroked her soft hair, marveling as he always did at its color and texture.
“Aye, but also because I know now that I love you,” she sobbed.
Huddled in his arms she did not see his small smile, or that he shook his head wonderingly. No one had ever spoken to him of these feelings between a man and a woman. Yet he did love her, and her admission that she loved him made him happier than he had ever been in all his life. He wondered if his father had ever known these feelings of sweetness and completion. “I'm glad you love me,” he whispered to her.
The next day they rode out together taking Mary with them to choose a cottage for Rhawn. An elderly freedman had recently died, and as he had no heirs his cottage had reverted to the manor. The little building was of stone with a hard-packed dirt floor, and a well thatched roof. It had one large room. The hearth was clean, and drew well when Rhys lit a brand and held it in the mouth of the fireplace. There was a large dresser with racks for plates and cups atop, and a cabinet with shelving below. There was a good-size bed that would need a mattress, and coverlet. There was a table, two chairs, a stool, and a wood settle by the fireplace.
“It is a very fine cottage!” Mary said excitedly.
“And near the village well,” Averil noted. “And it has a small back garden.”
“There is a bench in front. Rhawn would enjoy sitting and gossiping with her neighbors,” Mary replied. “What do you think, Rhys? I think it is perfect!”
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