Dragon of the Island Read Online Free Page A

duties in
the marriage bed, don’t you?”
    Aurora blushed and nodded. Lady Cordelia
touched her daughter’s cheek reassuringly.
    “Lovemaking can be a great joy, Aurora, and
forge a strong bond between you and your husband. It need not be an
unpleasant duty, although much depends on the man...” She stopped
short. Maelgwn didn’t seem like someone who would have patience
with a frightened, inexperienced girl. She could only hope that her
first impression of him was overly harsh.
    Lady Cordelia smoothed the blankets around
her daughter’s slender form. There seemed little more to say.
Aurora was marrying an unknown rather uncivilized man. She could
only pray that things turned out well for her.
    After her mother left, Aurora lay in bed,
too tense to sleep. She listened to the villa’s night sounds that
floated in through the unglazed windows: the lowing of cattle, the
bark of her father’s hounds, the murmur of muffled voices through
the plaster and stone walls. Her mind worked feverishly, slowly
forming a plan. She might be doomed to marry Maelgwn and leave
Viroconium behind, but that did not mean she must abandon
everything she cared about. Despite her future husband’s vile
reputation, there were advantages to marrying a powerful and
wealthy man. She would likely have her own chambers and her own
servants to wait upon her. There would be nothing unusual in
bringing along a manservant to take care of her horse and serve her
in ways a maid could not. If Marcus could come with her, her lot
would not be so bitter, nor her loss so great.
    Aurora was flooded with relief as the idea
unfolded. Maelgwn was a busy, important man and would probably be
away on campaign much of the time. She would have plenty of time to
be with Marcus, to ride and talk. It would be almost like things
were now. Aurora lay back on the bed and began to relax. She would
go to Marcus first thing in the morning and tell him her wonderful
plan.

Chapter 3
    The shoals and rapids of the river shimmered
in the afternoon sun, nearly blinding him. Maelgwn looked away,
focusing his eyes on the fishing line he was baiting. Sweat
trickled down his forehead, but he was as oblivious to the heat as
he was to the gnats that circled around him in iridescent
clouds.
    “Maelgwn!”
    He turned, startled, and saw his sister
Esylt coming down the pathway. His first reaction was anger—at her
for surprising him and making him jump, and at himself for letting
her sneak up on him. His anger lasted only briefly, for he saw
something in Esylt’s face that made his pulse quicken with
expectation. Her deep blue eyes were bright as flames and her face
flushed beyond the exertion of hurrying down the steep, rocky path.
She reached out and placed a small tanned hand upon his own.
    “Father is dead.”
    Her words sank in slowly as Maelgwn stared
at the silvery-brown texture of Esylt’s fingers. The contentment of
the summer’s day drained away, and he felt empty and cold. He
forced himself to speak, cringing as his voice came out in an
anguished, adolescent croak.
    “How?”
    “A sickness of the stomach.” Esylt’s voice
was matter-of-fact. “It felled him at Cowyn and he died two days
later. He suffered fiercely, but the end came quickly enough. Not a
warrior’s death—still, they say he was brave.”
    Dead. How could his father be dead? Maelgwn
shook his head, as if trying to deny Esylt’s words. Cadwallon had
always seemed invincible. As far as Maelgwn knew, his father had
never been beaten in battle. Now he was dead, just like any other
man—except that he was not like any other man. No chieftain before
him had ever been able to unite the warring tribes of Gwynedd into
one kingdom, one people. Cadwallon’s strong rule had brought the
country years of peace. Maelgwn shuddered slightly, thinking about
the future. Who could take his father’s place? Who would carry on
after him?
    Maelgwn struggled to clear his throat and
ask his sister the fateful question,