my God!” Averil gasped. “Oh, Da! Do not make me sleep with him tonight, I beg you! Not here in this strange place.” Her green eyes filled with tears.
“I will speak with him, Averil. I’m sure Rhys FitzHugh is no more anxious for a coupling than you are. Not yet. But he will be, my daughter.” He turned away from her, and reaching out, drew the subject of their conversation forward. “You will wed her tonight, but you may not have her until she is ready. Do you understand me, Rhys FitzHugh? For all her spirit she is inexperienced and young. She has not her mother to comfort her in this situation, and she is afraid though she would deny it.”
“I am not a monster, my lord. This is not her fault. It is mine. My father meant well when he advised me to steal an heiress bride. But I could have ignored that advice. I could have refused to go with Roger when he came with his troop of men for me. I did not. I might have learned a bit more about the family whose daughter I meant to take.” He smiled a brief, rueful smile. “Nay, ’tis my sin, not your daughter’s. She might have saved us all the trouble of traveling half of Wales, however, but then, I was not eager, either. It is indeed my fault, for I should have known better.”
“I may come to like you, Rhys FitzHugh,” the Dragon Lord said, “and so I will give you this bit of advice, which you would be wise to take. Averil is headstrong, and she has a temper, but she is a good lass with a kind heart. She will try your patience, but she will be loyal to you. Treat her with kindness and she will reward that patience.”
Rhys FitzHugh nodded. “You have given me good counsel, my lord. I will try to heed it, but I suspect that your daughter will not make it easy for me.”
Merin Pendragon chuckled. “Nay, she will not. But she is a prize worth winning like her mother, I assure you.”
The priest arrived in the hall. He listened to the Great Llywelyn, his master, and then turned to the Dragon Lord and his party. “Let the bride and groom step forward,” he said. “There is no blood impediment to this marriage?”
“None,” Merin Pendragon said.
“The dower portion is agreed upon, and the parties are both willing?”
“The dower has been pledged before witnesses in this very hall, and aye, they are willing,” Merin Pendragon replied.
“Then they shall be joined according to the rites of Holy Mother Church,” the priest said. Then he looked out over the hall. “Be silent, all of you! This is a sacred and proper rite of the church. You may resume your pagan celebrations of midsummer when I have finished, but not a moment before!”
The hall grew quiet as the priest joined Averil Pendragon and Rhys FitzHugh in holy matrimony before her father, Edmund and Roger Mortimer, Llywelyn the Great, the prince of the Welsh, Joan of England and their court. Finally they knelt for a blessing, and then the priest departed as the hall once more grew noisy with revelers celebrating Midsummer’s Eve.
Averil found herself alone briefly with her new husband. For once in her life she was struck dumb. She felt very foolish, but she simply didn’t know what to say to him.
“You might have agreed to this several weeks ago, wife, instead of dragging me across Wales,” Rhys finally said, breaking the heavy silence between them. “What made you change your mind, Averil?”
“I looked about the hall and decided there was no other as suitable as you, my lord,” she told him, at last finding her voice.
He laughed. “Then I suppose the trip was worth it,” he told her.
Averil flushed. “I’m sorry I’m not the heiress,” she said sharply.
“So am I,” he agreed dryly, “but your dower is quite good, and we’ll manage.”
“Why did you not breach me that first night?” she asked, curious.
“I was advised to, but it would not have been honorable,” he told her quietly. “And as you have brought the subject up, I would have you know that I am a patient man, Averil. And this is neither the time nor the place for our cojoining. When we get home to Everleigh we will discuss the matter.”
Unable to help herself Averil put her small hand on his big one, and looked up into his face. He was very handsome, she thought, but not in the pretty way that Roger Mortimer was. “Thank you,” she said softly.
“You have green eyes,” he noted with a small smile.
“All my sisters do, but Maia’s have a hint of emerald in them, and Junia’s are a dark green. Your eyes are silvery blue. They are very pretty,” Averil said, and then she blushed again.
“Your father says you have a temper, but also a good heart,” he told her.
She nodded. “I do.”
“You are honest,” he said with another smile. “I have seen your temper.”
“I try to be fair, my lord,” Averil answered him.
“Do you want to join the festivities?” he asked.
“Perhaps we might share a cup of wine,” Averil suggested, “but I really am so very tired, my lord. I want nothing more than a good night’s sleep in a real bed, or on a mattress before we must spend our days traveling home, and our nights on the hard earth.”
“Agreed,” he said.
He found a servant who brought them a large goblet of wine mixed with potent, honied mead to share. It was very strong, and to her embarrassment Averil found her head spinning. Her legs began to give way beneath her, but Rhys sensed it. Catching her up in his arms before she fell, he cradled his new wife, surprised by the feelings she aroused. Calling to a servant, he asked to be shown the way to the solar where Averil was staying. With the servant going before him he climbed a flight of narrow stairs. Averil’s eyes were closed, and she was murmuring softly. She was indeed very lovely, Rhys thought. Perhaps he had not gotten such a bad bargain after all. And there was silver as well as kind in her dowry. Silver could buy him his own land, and more silver could be made breeding the sheep and cattle her father was giving him. Nay, it was not a bad bargain at all. If they could learn to get on, then all would be well.
Arriving in the solar he said to the serving woman sitting by the fireside sewing, “The lady is indisposed. Where am I to put her?”
“Ah,” the woman said, “the Dragon Lord’s child. Lay her upon that small cot by her pack, my lord. Is she all right?”
“Two sips of wine with mead,” he told the servant. “She is very tired. Our journey has been long, and tomorrow we must return home.” He set his burden down where he had been instructed. Taking the little chaplet from her head, he laid it aside.
“Poor lass,” the servant replied. “I will look after her, my lord.”
Reaching into his pouch Rhys drew forth a coin. “Thank you,” he said, pressing the large round copper into the woman’s hand. Then he left.
When Averil finally awoke it was daylight again. The solar was filled with chattering women. Her gown had been eased, and her slippers had been removed from her feet. Her mouth felt very dry, but before she could even sit up a serving woman was at her side with a cup of clear water.
“Drink it all,
