All those connected with this matter will also show themselves now,” the majordomo said.
Merin Pendragon bowed before his prince and his wife. “My lord,” he began. “Several weeks ago my eldest daughter, here with me,” and he drew Averil forward so she could be seen by all, “was taken from my lands by Rhys FitzHugh, the bailiff of the manor of Everleigh in the Englishry. His purpose was to steal a bride, and he thought that my daughter Averil was my heiress, but here he erred in judgment. Averil is my eldest child, but born to my concubine, Gorawen, true-born daughter of the house of Tewydr. This offspring of mine is dearest to my heart of all my children, my lord. I had only begun to consider a match for her, and given her great beauty it would have been a very good match, you will agree. It is right and proper that Rhys FitzHugh wed with her now, having stolen her from us. But while he has said he would, he yet demurs in his duty. So, my lord, I bring this matter before you. It has been agreed among us that your judgment will be accepted by all who come before you this day in my daughter’s behalf. Lord Mortimer, Rhys FitzHugh’s liege lord, has accompanied us with his own son, who was also party to helping his friend steal my daughter. Lord Mortimer will defer to you in this matter, my lord.”
Prince Llywelyn looked down upon them. “Averil Pendragon, what have you to say in this matter?”
“My lord, I will accept your decision,” Averil said so softly that they could barely hear her. She did not look directly at the prince, for it would not have been considered polite. She did, however, remember to bob a curtsey to the prince and his wife.
The prince nodded, impressed by both her beauty and her manners.
“If, my lord, another man would be willing to take her to wife, Rhys FitzHugh could be absolved of his crime.”
“What dower will you give with the girl?” the prince asked.
“A herd of six young heifers, and a healthy bull. A flock of twenty-four ewe sheep with their lambs, and a breeding ram. She has a fine horse, a chest of linens, and pewter. Another of clothing in good repair. She comes with her own loom, for she is an excellent weaver. And I have set aside fifteen silver pennies, one for each year of her life. She excels in housewifery and does the finest embroidery I have ever seen. She is able to read and write her name. She can speak English and French as well as our own tongue.”
“She has no land?” the prince said.
“Nay, my lord. My daughter, Maia, who is my true-born daughter, will have the only bit of land that I can spare from her brother’s inheritance,” Merin Pendragon said.
The prince nodded again. “The girl is well dowered despite her lack of land.”
Averil looked about the hall. It had suddenly dawned on her that she was very far from home. Her gaze moved swiftly as she looked over the many men in the crowd. More men than women. Strange men. Rough-looking men. And who knew where their homes were. At least Rhys FitzHugh’s home was within two days of Dragon’s Lair, and her family. What had she done, being so damned stubborn and dramatic in her refusal to accept her fate and take Rhys FitzHugh for a husband? And how was she going to escape being snapped up and married to a complete stranger? She bit her lower lip in her vexation as she considered the possible courses open to her.
Joan of England leaned over and whispered something in her husband’s ear.
The prince spoke once again. “Averil Pendragon, were you harmed in any way by Rhys FitzHugh?” His meaning was very clear and it was the single straw she needed to save herself. She snatched at it. A blush suffused her pale cheeks. Her golden head drooped, and she was perfectly silent. She dare not lie, but she knew what her silence would imply, and so she remained speechless.
The men in the hall looked at one another and nodded, some shaking their heads, murmuring regretfully. A man wanted a virgin for a wife no matter her dower portion. With this girl they could not be certain until the wedding night, and even if she was proved pure, no one would ever believe it under the circumstances described this evening.
“Nothing happened between us!” Rhys FitzHugh burst forth.
“Averil Pendragon, will you not speak to us?” the prince encouraged her in his most kindly tones. The poor lass was obviously very shamed.
Averil’s golden head drooped even lower, and she turned as if to hide her face in her father’s broad chest. Her slender frame appeared to tremble.
“Damn it, you wicked wench,” Rhys cried, “tell them the truth!” He was furious as he realized what she was doing. She had decided to have him, but she would regret it.
Averil pressed closer to her father as if seeking his protection. Her shoulders shook visibly. Merin Pendragon forced his face to remain serious, but oh, how he wanted to laugh. Averil had obviously decided that after dragging them across Wales to Aberffraw she would, after all, have Rhys FitzHugh as her husband. He wondered what had caused her to change her mind. He put an arm about his daughter, reinforcing the very impression Averil wished to make. “My lord?” he pressed the prince.
Llywelyn the Great shook his grizzled head. “We can ask no other to take her under these circumstances, Merin Pendragon, despite her generous dower and her great beauty. Rhys FitzHugh, having stolen Averil Pendragon from her father’s protection, you must wed her now if you are to restore her honor and yours. This is my decision.” He turned and looked at Lord Mortimer. “Edmund Mortimer, I know you for a man of honor. Will you see that your liege-man does his duty?”
“I will, my lord prince,” the Englishman said quietly.
“Bring a priest forth, then. This couple shall be united forthwith,” the prince ordered.
Oh, Holy Mary, Averil thought! She had only meant to make it impossible for another man to claim her. Now she was to be wed to Rhys FitzHugh immediately. There would be no escaping him or his ire. She peeped at him from beneath her dark lashes. He looked very angry. Would he beat her for this wicked trick she had played on him? Probably he would. Averil shuddered nervously, and seeing it Rhys smiled a slow, wicked smile, his eyes making contact with hers, and holding her in his thrall. Now, you wicked little bitch, the look said, you will regret your perfidy this day.
“Oh, please, my lord prince,” Averil said in her sweetest tones. “Could we not return home to Dragon’s Lair first? I would have my mother, my sisters and brother with me when I wed this man.”
The Great Llywelyn appeared to consider, but Merin Pendragon spoke up first.
“My daughter is sentimental about our family, my prince, but I believe it best the marriage vows be said now. We will all return home to Dragon’s Lair afterwards, and celebrate this union before Rhys FitzHugh may take his bride home to Everleigh. It would allow us time to bring his sister, the lady Mary, to our home to join in these joyous festivities.”
“Then so be it!” Prince Llywelyn said in a jovial voice. “A Midsummer’s Eve wedding before our own celebrations begin. Where is the priest?”
Averil turned to her father. “Da! Why are you doing this?”
“Do you think I do not know you, Averil?” he replied softly. “If I allow you to return home unwed you will find some excuse to avoid this marriage. And believe me, daughter, no other will have you now because of this misadventure.”
“But it wasn’t my fault, Da! And nothing happened! I swear on the Blessed Mother than I am still a maid,” Averil told her sire.
“I
