the full weight of his stupidity now. “She said she was your daughter. She was the tallest, and I assumed this was she whom I sought.”
Merin Pendragon burst out laughing, and he laughed until the tears were rolling down his ruddy face.
“There is nothing amusing in this, Da!” Averil burst out angrily.
“Aye, lass, there is,” her father replied. “He seems an intelligent young man, yet he behaved stupidly, and now he must live with his error in judgment.” The Dragon Lord turned to pierce Roger Mortimer with his glance. “And you, young Mortimer, were part of this? What will your father say when I complain to him, and I will.”
“We meant no harm, my lord,” Roger quickly said, “and Rhys did not hurt the girl. I swear it!”
“He tied and gagged me, Da! He starved me!” Averil complained. She sneezed. “I think he has given me an ague, forcing me to sleep in the ruins of a barn last night. I almost froze to death, Da.”
“Your suffering is duly noted, daughter,” Merin Pendragon remarked dryly. There was a hint of laughter in his voice. Then he said to Rhys, “You will have to wed her now, though she is not my heiress, young FitzHugh. If I had caught you before nightfall we might have salvaged Averil’s good name, but you have had her with you overnight, and whatever either of you may say regarding the matter I must assume the absolute worst.”
“My lord, my men were with us, and Roger, too. They will swear that nothing untowards took place,” Rhys declared.
“It is not me you would have to convince,” the Dragon Lord said. “Under the circumstances I should never be able to find another husband for my daughter, and I think you will agree that Averil is far too lovely to waste on the church. I am prepared to be generous despite all that has happened.”
“Why would you be generous?” Rhys demanded to know, now suspicious. These Welsh were a crafty people, and perhaps the wench was not as pure as she appeared.
“I should rather go into a convent than marry this buffoon!” Averil declared angrily. “Take me home, Da!”
“Be quiet, Averil,” her father said softly. “This matter is not your concern.”
“Not my concern? I should like to know why not! It is my life you are talking about. My life you are so casually deciding without any care for me at all! Would my mother approve of this, my lord father?”
“Your mother has the good sense to trust my judgment, daughter,” the Dragon Lord told her. “Now, be silent.” He cuffed her lightly, warningly. He loved her, but he would not be spoken to in such a manner before strangers.
“What ho! The hall!” came a voice, and they all turned to see Lord Mortimer entering with several of his men. “Merin! You Welsh devil, ’tis good to see you again.”
The Dragon Lord arose from his chair, and coming around and down from the high board went forward, hand outstretched to meet his old friend. “Edmund, you English devil! I concur. Did you know that your son, and young FitzHugh, here, came over the border into the Welshry and stole my eldest daughter?”
“What?” Lord Mortimer feigned surprise. “I am shocked, Merin. Absolutely shocked!”
Roger Mortimer opened his mouth, and then closed it.
“Well, young Rhys, you shall have to wed the Dragon Lord’s heiress if you are to salvage your honor, and hers,” Lord Mortimer said.
“I did not steal the heiress, my lord,” Rhys murmured. “It seems my lord Pendragon has three daughters, but only the middle one is true born.”
“An unfortunate error on your part,” Lord Mortimer replied, and he swallowed back the laughter that threatened to overwhelm him. How could he have forgotten that Pendragon had two rather toothsome concubines? And of course, they would have had children. “Nonetheless, the lady’s honor must be restored, Rhys FitzHugh.”
“Nothing happened to the lady, my lord Mortimer. Roger and the others will swear to it!” Rhys replied. “Will you not intercede for me in this matter?”
“No, no, my young friend,” Lord Mortimer said. “You must do what is right, and there can be no argument.”
“Let us seek Prince Llywelyn,” the Dragon Lord said. “I will set forth this matter before him. I will offer my daughter and her dower to any who would have her. If another will take her despite this misadventure, then I will accept him as husband to my eldest child. But if none steps forward, Rhys FitzHugh, you must wed Averil then and there. I can be no fairer than that.”
“A most generous offer,” Lord Mortimer agreed.
“Am I to then be sold off as if I were a heifer?” Averil spoke up.
“An unwed woman is indeed a commodity,” her father replied. “If a man cannot have sons who can fight for him, then a daughter who can be married off in the most favorable alliance possible is the next best thing.”
“Send me to a convent!” Averil cried dramatically.
“Why, child, you are far too lovely,” Lord Mortimer said soothingly. “ ’Twould be a crime against nature to incarcerate so fair a maid behind stone walls.”
“Is it agreed then that we will take this matter to Prince Llywelyn?” the Dragon Lord asked.
“You will go with us, my lord?” Rhys asked Lord Mortimer.
“Aye, I think I had best lest you lead my son astray again,” Edmund Mortimer said with a small grin.
“I think it is usually the other way about,” Rhys replied meaningfully.
“Feed us, young FitzHugh, and then we will start out again,” the Dragon Lord said.
“Better we spend the night here at Everleigh, my lords, for the hour grows late,” Rhys suggested hospitably. “Rhawn,” he called. “Fetch your mistress and have her come to greet her guests.”
“I am here, Rhys,” Mary said, coming from the shadows. She was a pretty child, her dark brown hair fashioned into two plaits, and her bright eyes a clear blue. She wore a pale yellow tunic over her orange tawny gown. “I but waited until you had completed your business. You are welcome to Everleigh, my lords, and my lady.” She curtsied prettily. “Come to table. The meal is about to be served. My lord Pendragon, you will sit on my right. Lord Mortimer on my left. Lady Averil will seat herself next to her father with my brother, and you, Roger Mortimer, will sit by your father.”
Merin Pendragon was enchanted by the little girl. The child had beautiful manners, and even at this tender age knew her duty as chatelaine. Still, she was young yet. She could die, and then her brother would inherit Everleigh despite his birth. It was unlikely anyone would challenge him for it.
The meal was simple. The bread trenchers were filled with a tasty pottage of rabbit, onions, and carrots in a thick gravy. There was plenty of fresh bread, a crock of butter, and a small wheel of hard flavorful cheese. The pewter goblets were filled, and kept filled with an excellent ale with the hint of barley.
“You keep a good table, my lady Mary,” Merin Pendragon approved.
“Rhawn,
