Page 1 of Cadell the Dragon

PROLOGUE

“Guess who’s back at Bryn Glas?”

Though the question wasn’t directed at him, Cadell ap Llywelyn’s ears instantly pricked up. Bryn Glas? News of what was happening at the castle was something he would always want to hear. What a stroke of luck he’d chosen this exact moment to get a drink at the tavern. It seemed he would leave with useful information.

He bent down and, in an effort to hide his impatience, pretended to check his stallion’s girth. Was no one going to answer the question?

“Rhun ap Maredudd, master of the place?” the man nearest to him offered. He didn’t sound particularly interested in discovering who had come back, merely trying to placate his friend. “About time, too. The place is falling apart.”

“No. It isn’t Rhun. He cannot come back, for he’s dead.”

Gasps followed the abrupt declaration, which was obviously the reaction the man had been waiting for. Cadell didn’t move or say a word. His head was ringing from the shock of what he’d just heard. In his mind, it meant only one thing.

If Rhun was dead then he, Cadell, might be able to start living at last.

“He was killed three months ago,” the man carried on. “In an ambush meant to slaughter a contingent of English men-at-arms, but failed.”

“God rest his soul. We need more men like him, warriors ready to risk their lives to restore our independence at long last.”

“We do. Alas, he’s dead. And so, now his widow has come back. To put his affairs in order, I suppose.” The man gave a snort. “Foolish of her if you ask me. Alone here, she won’t last a week. The people of Bryn Glas are notoriously hostile to the English.”

“As they should be. I never understood what had possessed Rhun to marry an English woman.”

It was fortunate that no one was paying attention to him, because Cadell knew he had now betrayed the interest he was taking in the conversation. Johanna was back? And she was a widow? He thought his heart might just have exploded. Indeed, his life might well be about to start.

Having heard all they wanted to hear, the crowd began to disperse. Only two men remained behind.

“I for one never wondered why Rhun married the Lady Johanna. English as she may be, she is a mighty fine woman,” the tallest of the two said. “I remember her well. Mind you, she’s not someone you forget easily.”

Cadell could only agree to that. Despite their brief acquaintance ten years ago, he had never been able to forget the beautiful lady. In fact, he had done little since then but obsess about her.

“I wouldn’t mind trying my luck with her, you know,” the second man said, slapping his friend on the shoulder. “Pity, she’s been married for ten years. Her cunt won’t be as tight as it once was but it⁠—”

He never had chance to finish. Quick as a sword strike, Cadell dropped all pretense at indifference and backed the man up against the tavern wall.

“Listen to me, you whoreson,” he hissed, his voice low and menacing. No need to grab him by the throat, he was keeping him trapped between the tavern wall and his own, tense body. “You will stop thinking about Lady Johanna, in any way. You will go back to your wife and children and never ever mention her again, do you hear? She’s not for the likes of you.”

No. If she truly was a widow now, then she would be for one man only.

Him.

1

WALES, SUMMER 1322

Castell Bryn Glas. Blue Hill Castle.

Each step of her horse brought Johanna closer to the place she hadn’t seen in over ten years. Alas, this wasn’t a happy homecoming, far from it. When the forbidding stone walls appeared at the top of a hill that did indeed look, if not exactly blue, at least purple thanks to the heather covering it, her heart sank further. The castle looked as if it had been badly neglected in the last decade. As badly neglected as she had been by her husband, Rhun, who had been master of the place.

Her husband, who had died far away from her earlier this year. His death had been a shock, and not being given the opportunity to say goodbye, or even attend his funeral, had not helped her accept her new situation. When the news that Rhun had been killed during an ambush had reached her, he had already been dead for more than two months. There had been no last message murmured in her ear, no letter of comfort written on his deathbed, nothing to help her deal with the terrible loss. Never had she felt more clearly that she did not matter to him.

What was she to do now, alone in a foreign land, in a place badly in need of repair?

Two days after hearing of her husband’s death, she had elected to leave for Wales. Perhaps it had been a foolish decision, but Rhun had never allowed her to have a say in how his estate was managed and now that he was not here anymore, she would do what she felt needed to be done. What was the other option? Stay in England, alone in the manor her family had given her upon hearing of her hasty marriage to a Welshman?

That didn’t appeal to her in the least.

“You will need a refuge from the savages from time to time,” her eldest brother had declared, as he’d handed her the deeds to the place. “Believe me, you will thank me for this.”