Catherine Archer - Dragon's Dower

“Not prepared to receive me? You can not have forgotten that we share this chamber.”

“I have not forgotten. You may come back after my maid has prepared your bed.”

Simon scowled, then shook his head. “Nay, ’twill not serve. This is my chamber and you are my wife. It is not improper for me to be alone with you.” He stepped before her, perusing her slowly. “To do anything I wish with you.”

She sucked in a deep breath, as a rush of something dark and unknown raced through her. Desperately she fought for control at her reaction to him.

“I would not say that you may do as you wish with me, my lord. Wed though we may be, it is not a real marriage.”

“Do I detect a note of disappointment, Isabelle?”

Summer’s Bride

“A delightful read!”

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Winter’s Bride

“…a pleasurable medieval romance with conventional characters and a tried-and-true plot.”

—Romantic Times Magazine

Fire Song

“This finely crafted medieval romance…(is) a tale to savor.”

—Romantic Times Magazine

Lord Sin

“…deftly done and sure to please.”

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#591 MY LADY’S TRUST

Julia Justiss

#592 CALL OF THE WHITE WOLF

Carol Finch

#594 GOLD RUSH BRIDE

Debra Lee Brown

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Rose Among Thorns #136

**Velvet Bond #282

**Velvet Touch #322

Lady Thorn #353

Lord Sin #379

Fire Song #426

*Winter’s Bride #477

*The Bride of Spring #514

*Summer’s Bride #544

*Autumn’s Bride #582

†Dragon’s Dower #593

To my sisters-in-law, Edie, Iris, Lillian and Bev, for their continued interest and support of my writing for all these years. Thank you.

Prologue

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

England, 1188

The three boys sat facing one another. The flames of the fire they had lit at the center of their circle burned no hotter than the anger in their eyes.

Simon, who was the oldest by three months, took up his knife and held it over the flames. “I, Simon Warleigh, swear my allegiance and friendship to you, my brothers in arms, for the rest of my life.”

He drew the blade across his palm, barely flinching as it left a long shallow cut that began to bleed immediately. He passed the blade to Jarrod on his right.

The dark boy took the blade, held it over the flames and said, “I, Jarrod Maxwell, swear my allegiance and friendship to you, my brothers in arms, for the rest of my life.” He made no sign as the knife slit his flesh, passing it to his right.

Christian was the youngest by nearly a year. His brown hair was glossy with golden streaks in the fire-light. He took the blade. He looked to his companions, then held the knife over the flames as they had done. His voice was as firm with conviction as theirs had been. “I, Christian Greatham, swear my allegiance and friendship to you, my brothers in arms, for the rest of my life.”

He flicked his tongue out to wet his lower lip, then dragged the knife over his palm with a frown of concentration. He looked up at the other two.

All three stood in unison and they held their dripping palms out over the flames.

Simon spoke with a maturity far beyond his thirteen years. “Brothers we are, bound by the blood we shed and by our love for each other and the man who brought us together. May we never forget The Dragon and the wrong done him.”

“The Dragon,” intoned the other two boys.

Jarrod reached out to clasp Christian’s wrist. Christian did the same to Simon, who closed his own palm around Jarrod’s wrist.

Simon called out to the star-studded sky overhead. “Does it take our whole lives, my lord, we will see the man who wronged you punished.” The pain and sadness in his voice was echoed in the others’ faces.

They stood like that, bound by their love for one another and for the man who had acted as foster father, mentor and teacher to the three of them. The man whom they had been forced to testify against.

Jarrod spoke in a harsh voice. “We should have lied.”

Christian shook his head, his blue eyes dark with misery. “He would not have had us do such a thing, even to save him.”

Simon nodded. “Aye.”

Their foster father had had no idea what would come when he’d told them to tell the truth. Yet Simon knew that none of them would ever rid themselves of the guilt of having given testimony that would incriminate him.

Though Simon had loved his own father deeply neither he nor anyone else who had ever known Wallace Kelsey, known by friends and foe alike as The Dragon, could deny the impact of his character and genuine care for all who came into contact with him. That was, no one but The Dragon’s own brother, Gerard Kelsey.

It was he who, due to his treachery, now bore the title of Earl of Kelsey. It was he who sat in the place of honor in the great hall at Dragonwick.

At that moment Jarrod spoke up, “I have something that I wish to give each of you before we leave here.” He went to his horse and took a velvet bag from his belongings.

He came back to the fire and removed three objects, holding them out to the light. Simon saw that they were brooches, each containing a circle and within the circle was a magnificent dragon, its wings unfurled.

Jarrod held one out to Simon, then to Christian. “These will keep us from forgetting each other or him.”

Simon’s voice was as husky as his friend’s as he pinned the brooch to his cape. “I will never forget.”

“Nor I,” said Christian as he pinned his own into place.

Swallowing hard, Jarrod did the same. Then, with no further words between them, the three mounted and headed back to the keep, which after the events of the previous day no longer felt like home. It was the day when their innocence had died, the day The Dragon’s brother had attacked the keep and killed him.

England, 1201

“There is one way, my lord, for you to keep your head.” King John’s keenly assessing gaze held him.

Simon Warleigh, Lord of Avington stiffened where he stood before the king. King John leaned forward, his elbows on the table before him, as Simon spoke with a tone of calm that surprised him no less than it did the king. “And that would be?”

John Lackland was so called because his father Henry had made no great provision for him as he had his brothers. He had ruled with an iron hand since inheriting from his brother, Richard Lionheart, after his death in 1199. The king smiled thinly, reaching down to run a slender hand over the head of the sleek-coated hound that sat beside his heavily carved chair. “Take Kelsey’s daughter to wife.”