The Dragon Lord's Daughters (3 page)
Read The Dragon Lord's Daughters Online
Authors: Bertrice Small
“I dried plums last summer, and soaked them in sweet wine in a stone crock all winter. Then I rolled them up, dipped them in honey, and rolled them in crushed almonds. Do you like them, my lord?” She climbed into the bed next to him, and sipped from his cup.
“You're a clever wench, Gorawen,” he told her, unaware that the wine the plums had been soaking in was imbued with a potent aphrodisiac she made from the herbs in her garden. He reached for her as he felt his passions begin to stir.
Gorawen melted into his arms. “My dear lord,” she murmured, holding her face up to him for his kisses, tasting the wine and the plums on his breath. Her fingers began to caress the back of his neck gently, but in a way that had always pleased him greatly.
“What do you want of me?” he demanded, shifting her so that she now lay beneath him. He pulled the drying cloth open, and stared down at her big breasts.
“Later, Merin,” she said softly, her tongue teasing his ear, her breath hot, and sending shivers down his spine.
He chuckled. “A very clever wench,” he told her with emphasis. Then covering her body with his, and feeling his lust beginning to rage, he thrust into her, sighing gustily as she received him, wrapping her legs about his waist. Soon she was crying out to him with pleasure, and for the first time in a very long while Merin Pendragon felt like the inexhaustible youth he had once been. He groaned as her body shuddered with her pleasure not once, but twice. And at that second burst of satisfaction he loosed his own juices with a howl of gratification, finally falling away from Gorawen, his breath coming in quick pants.
They lay together recovering from the bout of Eros that had surprised even Gorawen. The plums were more successful than she had anticipated. At last recovered she said, “Now I will ask a favor of you, my lord.”
He laughed aloud. “And I will grant it you, sweeting, as you have pleasured me mightily this night. What is it you will have of me?”
“I want you to find a husband for Averil. She will be fifteen at the end of the month. It is past time she was matched, wedded and bedded,” Gorawen said.
“I have been thinking on it,” he said. “For both Maia and Averil.”
“Maia is your legitimate daughter, but she is the younger, my lord. She will be easier to match, but she should not be wed before her elder sister. If they had not all been raised together without prejudice in your hall it might be a different thing. But you have treated all your children, both licit and illicit, in the same loving and kindly manner,” Gorawen pointed out.
“Ahh,” he said, “I see the difficulty here, sweeting. It takes time to make the kind of match that must be made for Maia, and if much more time passes, Averil will be considered too long in the tooth.”
“Aye, she will. My lord, she is the most beautiful of your daughters. Use that beauty for a good match. Then the match you can make for Maia will be even better than you might have hoped for as she is the legitimate daughter. And little Junia will have an opportunity she might not if her sisters are married well, and better.”
“A clever wench,” he repeated for the third time that evening. “But who?”
“You have said you would follow the example of our prince and seek among the Marcher lords for sons-in-law. This may also prove useful when Brynn is of an age to take a wife. I know that the prince hopes to rid himself of this English king who is his overlord, but I wonder if that will ever happen. And we who live here in Wales must think of ourselves, and our children, first. What are the politics of great men to us?”
Merin Pendragon nodded. “You reason well, sweeting, though you be but a woman. The more we ally our family to the families of the Marcher lords the better off it will be for us. I will do as you have asked me, and find a husband for Averil first, but I will tell Argel of my decision before I do. She is my wife, and as loyal to me as are you.”
“Of course you must speak with Argel, my lord! She is mistress in this house, and I respect her as I do you,” Gorawen said sweetly. She lifted the plate of sweetmeats from the table by the bed. “Will you have another, my love?”
“Aye, I will!” he said smiling at her. “I vow, Gorawen, no one, not even my dear Argel, pleases me, or treats me as you do.” He ate three more of the plum delicacies.
“I have been happier with you than with anyone else,” Gorawen told him honestly.
He smiled warmly at her. Soon his lust was afire once more to his surprise, and he was putting her beneath him once again, and satisfying their shared desires with the enthusiasm of a man thirty years younger.
When afterwards he slept, replete with his pleasure, Gorawen arose, and took the plate of sweetmeats away. There was but one left upon the plate, but she did not want him to have it lest he associate the wine-soaked plums with his lust for her this night. It was the first time she had used such means to arouse him, and she was quite surprised by the success she had had. But he was content with her, and his own performance tonight. She smiled wickedly. He would not have the same success with Ysbail. The other concubine would have to suck his cock to a stand to bring them both any pleasure at all, and it would be quick. As for Argel, she no longer cared if her husband visited her bed. But because of this night Gorawen's daughter would be matched first. Merin would explain it all to Argel, and Argel would not argue. She never did.
Now Gorawen began to wonder who Averil's husband would be. There were several fine families among the Marcher lords who would do. A younger son? A favorite son born on the wrong side of the blanket? Gorawen considered what kind of dower Merin would provide for his eldest child. There would have to be just enough cattle, and sheep, to add to Averil's beauty to make her most desirable. Since she was favored by her father, the manner of her birth would not matter. But Gorawen knew she had extracted all she dared from Merin this night. Now let him make good on his promise, and then she would haggle with him over their daughter's dower.
The next afternoon she took Averil into her herb garden ostensibly to teach her of things she must know, but also to tell her daughter of her small success with Merin Pendragon. “You may not tell anyone of what I have said to you,” Gorawen warned Averil. “Your father has given me his pledge, and he will keep his word.”
“Who do you think it will be, Mother?” Averil asked, excited.
Gorawen shook her head. “I have no idea, but you may trust your father will do his best by you. It will surely be a son from one of the Marcher families, for the Pendragon interests lie with them if we are to continue to survive.”
“Maia said I should be given to an elderly merchant that father is indebted to, or perhaps some simple knight,” Averil said, “but I know that will not be. The better my match, the better Maia's match will be.”
“Aye.” Gorawen nodded. Then she said, “Now, here is a secret remedy I shall teach you, daughter, so that if you desire to prevent conception of a child, you can.”
“The priest says it is a woman's sole function to bear new life,” Averil replied.
“The priest is an old fool and should know better since he and his hearth mate have birthed nine younglings they could not feed were it not for your da. Surely he has had some pleasure of his mate other than just children.” Gorawen laughed knowingly.
“Teach me all you know, Mother,” Averil said eagerly. “Some say you are a witch with all your knowledge of herbs and potions. I would learn all you are willing to share with me.”
“Humph!” Gorawen sniffed. “Fools! I gained my wisdom in my father's house at my grandmother's knee. She thought that because I had no dower it might be an advantage to me wherever life would lead me. And it certainly has been.” She bent her head and pointed.
“The seeds from the wild carrot, mashed into a paste and formed into a pellet that can be taken each day will prevent conception, Averil. It is not wise for a woman to have babies too quickly. Two years between each child is healthy.”
“Why did you have no more children, Mother?” Averil asked.
“If I had borne a son before Argel it would have made all our lives difficult,” Gorawen explained. “And your father did not need more daughters. Three was enough.”
“You prevented Ysbail from having other children, didn't you?” Averil said with great certainty.
Gorawen smiled, but neither did she confirm or deny her daughter's suspicions. “Here, this is sparagus. The best stalks are those with their heads turned downward towards the earth. They have two uses. Alleviating constipation, or stimulating romantic relations. You must add a little seasoning to them after boiling or they can cause the fibers of the stomach to be damaged. A pinch of salt is enough.”
“Its uses are quite varied,” Averil noted.
Gorawen laughed. “Yes,” she agreed, “they are.”
“How does it affect romantic relations?” Averil asked.
“You boil the stalks until they are just tender, with the salt, and then you serve them in a dish of melted butter,” Gorawen said. “The sight of a woman slowly eating the sparagus, licking the stalks with her tongue, sucking upon the stumps, stimulates a manhood greatly. When you do this before your husband he will imagine you are licking his stalk, and sucking upon it.”
“Ohh!” Averil exclaimed, and she blushed. “I never realized . . .” Her voice trailed off as she blushed once more.
“You will not discuss what I tell you or teach you with either of your sisters. Junia is too young for such knowledge, and as for Maia, it is up to her mother to enlighten her. Now, with regard to a husband's manhood, you must be absolutely certain it is clean before you touch it. Most men do not bathe regularly, but you must make certain that your husband does. Wash him yourself, which he will enjoy, or bathe with him, which is even more pleasurable,” Gorawen said. “In the finest castles and keeps the hostess is responsible for bathing her guests of honor. That is how the daughters of the house learn. Here at Dragon's Lair, however, we have no guests. There is no reason for anyone to come here.” She paused a moment to think, and then Gorawen continued. “Both you and Maia must learn the art of bathing a man. I will speak to Argel about it. I believe you should practice on your brother, Brynn.”
“Wash Brynn?” Averil was scandalized. “That little heathen never bathes, Mother, and except in the summer when he swims in the stream I think water never touches his skin.”
“Well,” Gorawen said, rising from the garden, “you and Maia have to learn how to properly wash a male. Brynn and your father are the only men of rank at Dragon's Lair, and I do not think it proper that you wash Merin.” Then, forgetting Averil entirely, she hurried off to find Argel and present her with this problem.
Argel was in the hall of the keep, working at her loom. She was weaving a tapestry depicting King Arthur's marriage to his wife, Guinevere. The other of Merin Pendragon's concubines, Ysbail, was with her, sorting out threads by color for her embroidery frame. They looked up as Gorawen entered the hall.
“The girls must learn to bathe a man,” Gorawen began. “Here, our Lord Merin is beginning to consider husbands for Averil and Maia, and they are lacking in the basic knowledge needed and known by the most common goodwife!”
“Marriages for Averil and Maia?” Ysbail screeched. “What of my daughter?”
“Junia is too young yet,” Argel said, ending any argument. “First our lord will seek a match for Averil, for she is the eldest. It must be a very good match if Maia is to have an even better one. And these two marriages will determine what kind of matches can be made for Junia and Brynn.”
“Of course,” Ysbail said slowly. Then she added, “Our good lord had best work quickly, for Averil is really getting too old to match. I want to see Junia wed at thirteen.”
“Averil's beauty will make up for her age,” Gorawen said through gritted teeth.
“Averil is the perfect age to wed,” Argel noted quietly. “But Gorawen is correct. The girls are well versed in housekeeping, but know little of common hospitality or courtesy towards a guest. This lack must be remedied quickly.”
“We'll have to use Brynn,” Gorawen said.
Argel and Ysbail burst out laughing.
“I know, I know,” Gorawen said with a grin, “but we have no one else, do we?”
“Nay, we do not,” Argel said, wiping the tears from her eyes. “We will begin this evening. I shall have the large oak tub set up in the hall, and they can begin to learn. Junia may also take part in these lessons. She is not too young for that.”
“Poor Brynn,” Ysbail said.
“He will survive,” Argel said dryly. “And who knows what we will find beneath those several layers of dirt. They'll have to pick the nits from his head.”
“There is much to learn,” Gorawen said, “as our daughters will soon find out.”
In early evening the tub was brought into the hall and set before a fireplace to be filled with hot water. Cloths for scrubbing, brushes, cloths for drying, and soap were placed on a small table that had been set at the tub's edge. Averil, Maia and Junia, long aprons over their chemises, were waiting for their brother to be brought into the hall. They looked at each other, and began to giggle as he was dragged in forcibly, howling with his outrage. At eight years of age, Brynn Pendragon was the image of his father. He was tall for a boy of nine, with long gangly limbs, and thick black hair.
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