Read The Dragon Lord's Daughters Online
Authors: Bertrice Small
The Dragon Lord's Daughters (28 page)
“Is he?” Gorawen smiled. “Tell me, Junia.”
“He has dark hair like mine, and his eyes are the purest gray I have ever seen. I think he is every bit as handsome as my sister Maia's husband; and he is certainly handsomer than Rhys FitzHugh,” Junia said.
“Indeed,” Gorawen noted. Her son-in-law was a fine-looking man, but he was nowhere near as handsome as Emrys Llyn. But Gorawen was concerned, for Junia already sounded as if she were falling in love with this Simon. “Learn his surname, my child, and then come tell me so I may speak to your father for you.”
“Oh, thank you, Gorawen!” Junia said, and then a look of regret passed over her face. She bit her lower lip. “Check and mate,” she said ruefully.
But Gorawen just laughed aloud and said, “You are really becoming a fine player, Junia. I am proud of you. Neither of your sisters play as well.”
Junia smiled happily. Suddenly life was just wonderful. She had Simon, and Gorawen had just complimented her. She asked Brynn to come with her the following day when she rode out to Mryddin Water to meet Simon.
“Gorawen says I should not meet Simon alone now that I am of a marriageable age,” she confided to her younger sibling.
“And you actually listened?” Brynn said unbelievingly. “There is more to this than you are telling me, Sister.”
Junia's pale skin grew pink. “Gorawen says if his family is a respectable one Da might be willing to make a match beween Simon and me!”
“And what if his family is not suitable?” Brynn demanded to know. “What will you do then, Sister?”
“Do not even think such a thing!” Junia cried. “Of course Simon's family will be suitable, Brynn. They must be!”
“But if they are not?” he persisted.
“I will not think about it,” Junia replied.
“You must think about it, Sister,” the boy pressed her. “Would you run away with him, that is, if he would do it? Would you refuse to marry at all?”
“I don't know,” Junia admitted. “But Simon's family will be acceptable to Da. I just know it will, Brynn! Why are you always so dour?”
“Always have a plan, Sister,” Brynn replied. “And another plan if the first one fails. 'Tis only prudent.”
Reaching Mryddin Water they dismounted and secured their horses. Brynn began to climb the stairs of the ruined castle to their very top, which offered him a fine view of the surrounding countryside. Junia picked a bunch of daisies, and began to weave crowns from the flowers. She was very nervous. She had met Simon when she was twelve. Knowing his surname had never been necessary until today. How was she to go about learning that surname? Could she ask him outright?
“He's coming,” Brynn Pendragon called out from his aerie atop the stairs.
Junia's heart began to beat rapidly. She pinched her cheeks to bring some color into them. Why was she so damned pale? She sat on her perch over the little river, watching as his big horse picked its way across the shallows to the other side. Seeing him entering the clearing she came forth to greet him along with Brynn, who dashed down from his watch post atop the stairs.
“Brynn! It is good to see you again,” Simon said as he saw the boy. “What brings you here today?”
“Juni shouldn't be meeting you alone,” Brynn said. “You are both of an age to make a match. I can't have my sister's reputation tarnished, now, can I, Simon?”
“Brynn!” Junia was blushing. “Oh, Simon, I do apologize for my little brother's quick tongue,” she said.
“He's right, Junia, but the de Bohuns are honorable folk. I swear it,” Simon de Bohun said with a smile. She was so fair, his Junia.
“As are Pendragons,” Brynn replied. There! That answered the question they needed to know, and told him as well. Brynn was pleased with himself. “I'm going rabbitting,” he said. “I'll be back.” And he trudged off, his traps in his hand, ready to set.
“Two years,” Junia said, “and this is the first time I have known your surname.”
“And I yours,” he agreed.
“Simon?” She looked just a little bit anxious.
“Yes, Junia?” he answered her.
“Simon, I know of no other way of asking this than to come right out and say the words. Please do not think me forward.”
He put his arm about her shoulders, and drew her against him. “What is it, sweeting? Why, I can see your little heart beating in the hollow of your throat. Tell me.”
Junia drew a deep breath. Somehow his arm about her made her feel braver. “In a few months' time my father will seek a husband for me. If he approached your father, would you be amenable to such a match? Ohh, please tell me the truth! If you are not then I shall never speak on it again, and you must promise we will remain friends.”
Simon de Bohun turned the girl about. His hands rested lightly on her shoulders. He looked directly into her eyes. “Junia, do you not know that I love you?” he said softly. “My innocent maid, you are the only girl I could ever wed. My father is not an easy man. Some say he is a cruel man, and I will admit that I have seen that side of him. But I am his only son. Certainly he will want me happy in my marriage, for the one good thing they say about Hugo de Bohun is that he loved my mother. I will speak with my father, and have him approach yours about a match now that I know it would please us both.” Then he brushed her lips gently with his, and Junia almost swooned, for she had never before been kissed; but his arms wrapped about her, holding her close.
“Simon,” was all she could say. Junia couldn't ever remember a time when she had been so happy. His cotte chafed her cheek, but she didn't care.
“I will approach my father tonight,” Simon promised her, smiling into her green eyes, his hand caressing her face.
“They will not let me wed until I have past my fifteenth birthday next June,” she finally said. “We must wait until then, I fear.”
“It will give my family time to know you, and your family time to know me,” he said. “I can wait, for you, sweeting, are a prize worth having.”
“I have set my traps,” Brynn said, returning.
“Unset them!” Junia said. “I want no blood spilled here, Brother, for this is a joyous place.”
“Jesu!” Brynn swore, and stamped off to fulfill her unreasonable request. What the hell was wrong with Junia? When he returned she was alone again. “Where's Simon?” he asked her.
“He has gone home. We will meet again in three days' time. Come on! I don't want to be riding in the twilight, Brother. Who knows who is lurking about.” She mounted her horse and looked impatiently to him.
Brynn climbed up into his saddle, gathering the reins into his hand. “What happened to put you in such a mood, Sister?”
“We are going to be married!” Junia exclaimed excitedly.
“What?” Brynn looked surprised.
“He loves me, brother! He loves me! He is going to have his father ask Da for my hand in marriage.”
“Jesu!” the boy exclaimed again.
“You can tell no one, brother! Do you swear it?” she demanded of him.
“Why not?” Brynn laughed. “I cannot wait to see the look on your mother's face when the offer comes. She does not like the English. Even the Marcher English. Just knowing what I know will be worth the wait.”
“I will have none but Simon,” Junia said firmly.
“Now you sound like Maia, but at least we knew the Lord of the Lake was a man of means. What does Simon de Bohun have that will make him an acceptable husband for you in Da's eyes?” Brynn asked his sister. “Is he the eldest son, or a younger son? Will his family accept the circumstances of your birth? Will they accept your mother?”
“He is an only son,” Junia said, “and what does the rest of it have to do with a marriage between us if we love one another?”
“Sister, sister,” Brynn lamented. “Love has nothing to do with a good match. Matches are made for gold and for land. A match must give an advantage to both parties. Even I, young as I am, understand that. And so should you. Do you not recall that Da was considering matching me with Mary FitzHugh before she died? Had she been my wife it would have gained us the manor of Everleigh, and a toe-hold in the Englishry. Marcher lords always seek lands on both sides of the border. It is practical.”
“I am the Dragon Lord's daughter,” Junia responded.
“His youngest daughter. Born to a second concubine, and not a wife. You have little to offer the heir to an estate,” Brynn reminded her. “Unless he's poorer than you.”
“My sistersâ” Junia began, but her brother cut her short.
“Averil's marriage was good fortune for her based on Rhys's stupidity. Maia was born a legitimate child, and had land to offer along with her dower of silver and cattle. Do not pin your hopes upon Simon's father agreeing to even consider a match between you two. He will be looking higher, seeking an heiress with lands to add to his as well as livestock and gold.”
“You are wrong,” Junia said firmly. “Simon will convince his father otherwise despite what you believe are my shortcomings.”
“Your mother bore but one child, and a daughter at that,” Brynn said.
Junia countered gamely, “Gorawen bore but one child, and yet her daughter now has two children.”
Brynn laughed again. “Well,” he said, “I can see you will fight to the death for what you want, Juni. I wish you naught but good luck, Sister.”
“I wonder how far it is to Simon's home from Mryddin Water,” Junia said.
It was not far, and Simon had ridden quickly, for he was anxious to tell his father that he had fallen in love and wanted to marry. At eighteen he was more than ready to take on the responsibility of a wife, and children of his own. His only qualm was bringing Junia into the de Bohun household where his father ruled with an iron hand. Junia was such an innocent girl, and from the stories she had told him of her family her house was a kinder place than his had ever been.
Simon had not lied when he said his father was not an easy man. That he was considered cruel by some. A few said the death of his beloved wife had been what changed him, but the old nurse who had raised Simon said otherwise. He was always cruel, she told Simon. But he had loved the lady Anne, and she had softened him while she lived. She had never really recovered from Simon's birth. Yet his father loved and treasured her. When Simon was twelve his mother found herself with child again. She had died shortly thereafter, unable to sustain either herself or her unborn babe. Hugo de Bohun had bitterly mourned her passing for a year before he reverted to his old and wicked ways. He had left the raising of his son to his beloved wife, and her elderly nurse. After Lady Anne's death no women would serve willingly in Hugo de Bohun's household, for most who did were prey to the lord and his men. His serfs either hid their daughters or disfigured them to keep them safe from rapine. Simon could but hope that Junia would have as civilizing an effect on his father's house as his mother once had.
That evening the hall was unusually quiet, and Simon took the opportunity to approach his father who was not yet in his cups, and without his latest whore in his lap.
“I want to marry,” he said.
“Aye, I have been thinking it was time for you to take a wife,” Hugo agreed. “There's this little heiress whose lands match ours to the east. Her father would be amenable to a match, I suspect. The de Bohun name means something in this land though we are but a minor branch of it.” He picked up his goblet and drank deeply.
“I have chosen my own wife,” Simon said boldly. “I would marry for love as you once did, Father.”
“I married for love, aye, and what did it get me? One son, and a broken heart. 'Twas foolish, and you will wed where I say you'll wed, boy.”
“I will not marry some bucktoothed wench for her lands, damn it!” Simon said angrily. “I want Junia Pendragon, and by God, Father, I shall have her!”
“Who did you say?” Hugo de Bohun asked, his look suddenly dark.
“Her name is Junia Pendragon. She is Welsh, and while I know you profess to dislike the Welsh, many of your fellow Marcher lords mix their blood with the Welsh. It gives them lands on both sides of the border, and a stronger position.”
“No de Bohun will ever marry a Pendragon, Simon! Are you a fool that you do not know the story? Do not tell me there is something old Elga has not told you?” he sneered, draining his cup and slamming it on the board to indicated his need for more.
A servant quickly filled the cup to the brim.
“What story?” Simon demanded. Until today he never remembered even hearing the name of Pendragon.
“Several generations back, I think it was in the time of my great-grandfather, a de Bohun son was to wed a Pendragon daughter. The bethrothal papers were signed, the dower delivered, when the bridegroom died unexpectedly before the wedding could be celebrated. The greedy Welsh Pendragons then demanded the return of the dower from us. Of course, we refused them. It was not our fault that the de Bohun lad died after the papers were signed. The girl's property was rightfully ours. Then the damned wench went and killed herself by jumping from the top of her father's keep because without her dower lands she could not wed another, and no convent would have her. The Pendragons blamed us, but it was not our fault. The dower was ours.
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