CHAPTER ELEVEN
The sky at sunrise was truly something to behold. It was a pink sky, with great ribbons of golden clouds streaked across it and a sun that was just peeking out from the eastern horizon. The vibrant green landscape of Wales was coming alive beneath the warm glow, awakening to the dawn of a new day.
Asmara was in the stables of Gwendraith, seeing to her horse. It seemed to have developed an abscess on its hoof. She noticed that the horse was favoring his right front leg yesterday and when she’d come in this morning, the abscess was evident. Bent over the animal, with an iron lamp casting a soft golden light on the floor of the stables, she was working on cleaning out the hoof itself before going in search of the items she would need to cleanse the abscess.
In fact, Asmara had been spending a good deal of time with her horse. Her presence with the animal had been constant over the past two days, ever since Morys returned from Carmarthen Castle. He’d kept Blayth with him, sequestered as they discussed more plans for the building rebellion, and Asmara has been left on her own. Not that she minded, because it was better than returning to Llandarog. As long as she was near Blayth, she was content.
But being away from him had given her time to think. In truth, all she’d done was think about Blayth and what she was coming to feel for him. They hadn’t spent a lot of time together before Morys returned and ruined everything, but she felt as if they’d gotten to know one another fairly well in that time. He’d spoken of his past, or what he could tell her, and of the memories Morys had given him.
But in hearing of Morys’ part in Blayth’s life, Asmara was even more suspicious of her uncle than she had been before. When Blayth told her that Morys had “given” him his memories, that had set off a warning bell in her mind. Then, when the Saesneg knight had called Blayth by another name, that had only confirmed what Asmara was already suspecting.
Then, Morys’ very strange behavior the night he returned from Carmarthen was questionable at best. It was a litany of clues, all adding up to something, telling Asmara that Morys knew far more about Blayth than what he’d told the man.
It also told her that Blayth wasn’t who Morys said he was.
But she would not speak of her suspicions, not to anyone, and especially not to Blayth. He didn’t remember anything, but he seemed comfortable in the memories Morys had given him. More than that, those involved in the rebellion were looking to Blayth as if he were their new savior and she would never take that hope away from her people.
It was an odd position she found herself in.
So, she spent time with her horse, stewing over Morys and his lies and wondering if, in the long run, they would end up hurting Blayth. If that happened, then Asmara was prepared to defend the man from any backlash to Morys’ lies. She would not let him be hurt, and least of all by Morys. If her greedy, self-serving uncle was on a path to destruction, then she would not let him take Blayth down with him.
That was what her father had said to Morys once, back when they were still speaking to one another. Morys had grand dreams of purging the English from Wales, as did Cader, but Morys was far more reckless about it. Cader preferred to be sly and calculated in his movements against the English, while Morys preferred to be loud and rash. Morys had always called Cader weak because he didn’t approve of Morys’ bold manner, but Morys had called Cader weak one too many times and Cader swore at him and told him he would not be pulled down by his brother’s path to destruction. That had been the beginning of the estrangement between them.
Asmara hadn’t spent much time around Morys before the separation. But in the moments she had spent with him as of late, she developed a healthy hatred for the man. She didn’t like anything about him and his manipulative ways, and she didn’t like the way he controlled Blayth.
Blayth was a good, loyal warrior and Morys took advantage of that.
Then came the silly daydreams of what it would be like if Blayth was free of Morys, and if that gentle chivalry he’d shown her meant something more than simply manners. What if it was something he wanted to show her? What if he didn’t look at her as another warrior, but as a woman fully grown? Her father was always asking about future grandchildren and her answer was always the same – Someday, Dadau, but not today.
What if that someday had finally come?
A noise shook her from those foolish dreams and she turned to see Aeddan and his brother, Pryce, entering the stable. Asmara had seen them since their return from Carmarthen with Morys, but she hadn’t really spoken to them. They had duties that kept them very busy. When the brothers entered, Aeddan’s dark eyes fixed on her and he smiled politely.
“My lady,” he said. “You are up early.”
Asmara turned back to her horse. “I thought my horse was coming up lame yesterday,” she said. “I came to check him.”
Aeddan had a cloak and a few other items in his hands. He set them down and came over to Asmara as she bent over her animal.
“How is he?” he asked.
Asmara held up the hoof, showing him the beginnings of the abscess. “Poison has somehow gotten into his hoof,” she said. “I must make a solution of salt water to help drain it.”
Aeddan was peering at the wound. “Indeed,” he said. “You should soak it several times a day with the salt. It should heal. It does not look too terribly bad.”
Asmara had a tool to clean out the hoof and she picked at the area carefully. “I hope not,” she said. “He has a propensity for hoof wounds.”
Aeddan’s gaze lingered on the hoof for a few moments before he looked up at the animal in general. He gave the beast an appreciative slap on the withers.
“He is a fine horse,” he said. “How old is he?”
“He has seen three years this summer. I raised him from birth.”
Aeddan passed a practiced eye over the long legs of the horse. “I would wager that he can run like the wind.”
“And he does not like to be captured, either. When I put him out to pasture, sometimes it takes me an hour to catch him. He thinks it’s a game to run from me.”
Aeddan smiled, petting the horse on his dark face. “I have a horse that looks a good deal like him,” he said. “Morys gave him to me. He once belonged to a Saesneg soldier.”
The mere mention of Morys brought down Asmara’s mood. Blayth had even mentioned that Aeddan and Pryce had been with him from the beginning of his memories so, with that in mind, Asmara’s curiosity took hold. There was something in her that wanted to know about Blayth and Morys from Aeddan’s perspective. He knew the situation as well as anyone.
“You have been with my uncle a long time, then?” she asked, sounding rather innocent in her attempts to probe him.
Aeddan wasn’t on his guard. He answered immediately. “Aye,” he said. “Since I was young. My father served him, too, so it was natural that we also serve him.”
“Is your father still alive?”
Aeddan shook his head, patting the horse’s head. “My father died several years ago,” he said. “It was Morys who practically raised my brother and me.”
“Then you are close to him?”
“Nay.”
The answer came from Pryce, who was standing back in the shadows. He had been listening to the conversation and could no longer remain silent. When Asmara and Aeddan turned to him, he seemed rather uncomfortable with the attention, but it didn’t stop him from speaking up.
“He is not like a father to us,” he said, stepping forward into the light. “He is our overlord and that is all. Morys does not treat anyone like family and God was wise when he did not allow the man to become a father. He would have been a terrible one.”
Aeddan was giving his brother a warning look, but Asmara pressed him. “Yet you still serve him,” she said. “Why do you serve him if you do not like him?”
Pryce simply shook his head. “We owe him a great deal,” he said. “When our father died, he fed us. He did not turn us out. But he expects something for that kindness.”
“Morys is a strict taskmaster,” Aeddan said, cutting of Pryce because the man was starting to complain. “Pryce does not appreciate a man who has a strong sense of control. But we appreciate that he has provided for us and continues to do so. He is a prince of Deheubarth, after all. It is a privilege to serve him.”
Asmara hadn’t had much contact with the ap Ninian brothers during the raid on Llandarog, or even afterwards, so this was the first real conversation she’d had with them. She could see that Pryce seemed to be somewhat discontented when it came to Morys and Aeddan tried to be tactful. It was a rather interesting take on Morys, but not a surprising one. She dropped the horse’s hoof and tossed the hoof pick aside.
“My father is also a prince, but he treats his people well,” she said. “He and Morys have never gotten on.”
“We know,” Aeddan said. “Morys is hard on people who do not think as he does.”
Asmara lifted her eyebrows. “I could see that the night he returned from Carmarthen when Blayth did not agree with what he was saying,” she said. “Does he always keep Blayth so close to him?”
Aeddan nodded firmly. “He does,” he said. “It has always been that way.”
“But why?”
Aeddan shrugged. “I suppose because of who he is. Morys protects him.”
“Protects him? Or hides him?” Asmara asked. Then, she noticed the change of expression on Pryce’s face; he wasn’t very good at hiding what seemed to be disbelief. “You have been with Blayth since Morys brought him back from Llandeilo, haven’t you?”
Aeddan looked at her. “Did Blayth tell you that?”
“He said that he recovered because of you.”
Aeddan’s focus seemed to hang on her for a few moments and Asmara was afraid he was becoming wise to the fact that she was trying to pry information out of him. The man gave the horse one last pet before dropping his hand.
“He is like a brother to me,” he finally said. “I would trust Blayth with my life many times over. I would trust Morys with my life, too.”
Asmara could sense that he was becoming either defensive or suspicious, so she stopped questioning him. Hopefully, there would be another chance but, for now, he was shutting her down.
“It is good to have friends and allies like that,” she said, taking the conversation in another direction. “You are very fortunate. I have my father and my sister, whom I trust, although Fairynne can be rather silly at times.”
The corner of Aeddan’s mouth twitched. “As my brother can be rather silly, also, I understand.”
Pryce made a hissing sound, a somewhat threatening sound, and Asmara knew the conversation was over for the most part. But it had been good while it lasted. She turned around, hunting for a bucket.
“I suppose I should find some salt now to soak the hoof,” she said. “You would not happen to know where I can find some, do you?”
“Find what?”
A fourth voice entered the stable and Asmara turned to see Blayth entering just as the sun came over the horizon. The light behind him was bright and beaming, as if the man had a halo. She felt her heart skip a beat at the sight of him.
“Salt,” she said. “My horse has a wound on his hoof that needs to be soaked.”
She was pointing to her horse, but Blayth was only looking at her. He had arisen early that morning with the specific purpose of finding Asmara before Morys also rose. The man liked to sleep past dawn but Blayth was counting on the fact that Asmara, an industrious woman, didn’t. He’d hunted in the hall for her, and all around the keep, before wandering down into the outer bailey only to be told by a soldier that he’d seen the woman heading for the stables.
Now that he’d found her, he intended to soak up every single moment he could with her, but he couldn’t do it with Aeddan and Pryce hanging around. In fact, he felt the unfamiliar stab of jealousy to realize the brothers had been alone with her.
“Aeddan,” he said. “Go and find salt for the lady. She should not have to hunt for it herself.”
Aeddan pointed to his brother. “Pryce can do it,” he said. “I am expected out on patrol.”
“Then get about your duties, both of you.”
As Pryce left the stable and Aeddan headed into one of the stalls to bring forth his horse, Blayth took a few more steps in Asmara’s direction.
Now, it was just the two of them, without an audience. Blayth could feel the excitement of her proximity, making his fingers tingle. Simply looking at the woman was beginning to feed his soul in ways he could hardly comprehend.
In her presence, all seemed right with the world again.
“I am sorry to hear about your horse,” he said. “Is there anything more I can do?”
Asmara’s heart was pounding against her ribs. She’d never in her life been so glad to see anyone and she had no idea how to elegantly handle the situation. When it came to social graces, she had none.
“Nay,” she said, thinking her voice sounded rather giddy on a serious matter regarding her horse. “Soaking the hoof should ease the situation.”
If he noticed the tremble to her voice, he didn’t acknowledge it. “Aye, it should. I hope it works.”
“So do I.”
An awkward silence followed as Aeddan moved past them, leading his horse out into the stable yard. When he was gone, Blayth turned to Asmara with a glimmer in his eye.
“I thought he would never leave,” he said.
“Why?”
“Because the man is not wanted.”
She cocked her head. “I do not understand.”
He started to chuckle. “I am not doing a very good job of this.”
“Of what?”
He scratched the scarred side of his head. “Of speaking with you. I wish to speak to you.”
“About what?”
He lifted his big shoulders. “Things,” he said. “Morys has kept me by his side for two days until I am sick of the sight of him. I had hoped you were still at Gwendraith. I was afraid his rudeness might have chased you back to Llandarog.”
Asmara shook her head. “He cannot chase me away. Did he tell you that he wanted to?”
“Nay,” Blayth said. “But he seems to see his brother when he looks at you. The same animosity is there.”
“You noticed, did you?”
Her tone was jesting, but the statement was a true one. He grinned.
“Unfortunately, I did,” he said. Then, he sobered, but his gaze upon her was most intense. “I… I was wondering if you might accompany me to Carmarthen, demoiselle. I am displeased with the smithy here at Gwendraith and I know that there is a superior smithy in Carmarthen that I should like to have repair the blade of my sword. It has been damaged and the smithy here has only made it worse.”
It was a surprising offer, one that Asmara had not been prepared for. But the thought of accompanying him into town did not displease her at all. In fact, she was most eager to go with him except for one rather major concern.
“I would be honored to go with you,” she said. “But if Morys is going also, then I shall decline.”
Blayth shook his head. “He is not going with me,” he said. “In fact, he does not even know that I plan to go. I swear, I cannot take another day of the man. I must have some time away from him and I should like you to go with me when I do.”
Realizing it would just be the two of them, Asmara was thrilled at the thought. “I will go,” she said, hoping she didn’t sound too eager. But then she remembered her horse and her manner cooled. “But my horse must be tended. I cannot simply leave him.”
“I will have the grooms soak his hoof. And you can ride with me.”
The self-reliant Dragon Princess had never once ridden with a man. In fact, she’d scorned those who had tried, men who wanted to make her anything other than what she was – fiercely independent and strong. She would look at women as they fawned over men and think poorly of them, and that meant she would ride her own horse.
No man would tell her otherwise.
At least, that was how she used to think, but since the introduction of the damaged warrior with the deliberate, and sometimes slow, speech pattern, that independent woman was coming to think that a little dependency – and a little chivalry – wasn’t such a bad thing, after all. He commanded that she should ride with him, and she would not argue. She wanted to do it.
For the first time in her life, she was starting to feel like a woman.
But there was some confusion as well as chagrin with that thought. Asmara had to admit that she was glad Fairynne wasn’t around to see such a thing. She’d often chastised her sister for her foolish, romantic notions, but now Asmara was starting to see what the fuss was about.
The right man changed everything.
“I always ride my own horse,” she finally said, though there was a twinkle in her eye. “I have never ridden with a man on his horse.”
“Why not?” Blayth asked. “Is it against your religion?”
Asmara burst out laughing. “Nay,” she said. “I suppose there is no one I would consider riding behind.”
“Will you ride with me?”
“I will make an exception with you.”
It was, perhaps, the first flirtatious thing she’d ever said to him, and Blayth took it as an open invitation. It did his heart such good to realize that the long-legged beauty was willing to put aside her own standards to agree to ride with him. As simple as it sounded, it was an important milestone.
She wanted to ride with him.
But the excitement in his chest began to wane when he thought back to their conversation on the day she’d arrived, and how he’d been unused to the compassion and understanding he’d shown her. Blayth was a man with demons, and perhaps one of his greatest demons was his own insecurities.
When it came to a woman, it was a demon that was almost stronger than he was. He started to think that perhaps her agreeing to ride with him was just another act of pity. She’d shown him so much understanding and grace. He’d asked her to ride with him and, perhaps, this was just more of her grace.
It wasn’t as if he’d given her a choice.
Now, he was starting to feel foolish.
“If you do not want to, you do not have to,” he said. “If you are more comfortable riding a horse of your own, then I am sure you can borrow one. I will find it for you myself.”
He started to step away but Asmara reached out to stop him. “Wait,” she said, grasping his arm. “I told you I would ride with you. Did you ask me hoping that I would refuse?”
“Nay…”
She cut him off. “Then you do not want me to ride with you?”
“It is not that at all, but…”
She cut him off a second time. “That what? You are very close to insulting me for the fourth time. You ask me to ride with you, but now you have changed your mind?”
She could bring words to her lips faster than he could even though his mind worked far more swiftly than hers. His head injury prevented him from finding the correct words sometimes, or speaking with any speed, and this was one of those cases. He could see that she was growing increasingly upset, so he put his hands up and grasped her firmly by the arms to stop her momentum.
“Stop,” he commanded quietly. “Shut your lips. I have not changed my mind, but you have yet to allow me to explain. You keep interrupting me.”
He was holding her very tightly and Asmara could feel the strength in those hands. If nothing else about the man had impressed her, the first touch of his hands upon her did. The power radiating from them was indescribable. It made her heart race so vibrantly that she could scarcely catch her breath.
“Very well,” she said. “Explain.”
He could see that she was still angry. She wasn’t going to make this easy for him, and he knew that anything other than the truth wouldn’t be well-met, so he swallowed his pride. His relationship with the woman was deepening, or at least he hoped so, and he decided that it was right that he should confess what he’d been thinking. If she didn’t understand, then perhaps all of that pity and compassion he’d felt from her was insincere. But if she did understand – and he prayed she did – then perhaps all of this was real.
He very much wanted it to be real.
“It occurred to me that I did not give you a choice,” he said. “It occurred to me that I have forced you into agreeing to ride with me. There is no reason why you should want to do so.”
Asmara was confused. Her brow furrowed as she peered at him. “Why would I not want to ride with you?”
He dropped his hands and averted his gaze. “Let us be honest,” he said. “I… I am not the most attractive man. My body is damaged. I do not blame you if that repulses you, so I did not mean to force you to do something that would mean… we will be close together by virtue of riding on the same horse, and… you do not need to be faced with the scars that cover me.”
He trailed off, putting his left hand up to cover the side of his head that was so badly damaged. He was covering it from her view. As he did so, it began to occur to Asmara what he meant and the pity, the sorrow, she felt for the man knew no limits.
“Is that what you think?” she said. “That I think you are repulsive somehow?”
He shrugged. “I would understand, demoiselle. You are such a beautiful woman and such perfection deserves perfection. I am far from it.”
Asmara’s heart just about broke. She’d always thought she was a hard woman, hardened to the feelings and emotions of others. She kept her composure through almost any situation, but not this one. It occurred to her that he was so very ashamed of the way he looked, at least when it came to a woman. But the truth was that she found it rugged and exciting.
She always had.
The stable was being filled with the warmth of the early morning sun as she took a few steps in his direction. When she was close enough, she reached out and put her hand over his as it covered the left side of his head. Curling her fingers around his, she pulled his hand away. When he looked up, wary of her intentions, all he saw was a gentle smile on her face.
“All I see is a man who has seen much in life,” she said softly. “I see a handsome man I would be delighted to ride with. You are strong and fearless as a warrior, but beneath that façade, you are kind and humorous. I also sense a gentleness in you that I cannot explain, but it is there. I can see it, just below the surface. I agreed to ride with you because I wanted to, not because you forced me to. No one can force me into anything I do not wish to do. Or haven’t you figured that out yet?”
Blayth could hardly breathe through the pounding in his chest. “I have,” he said. “But… are you certain?”
“Very certain.”
Asmara’s touch was so very gentle, and warm, and it was like nothing he’d ever experienced before. That this beautiful, accomplished woman was saying such things to him was beyond his wildest dreams. He’d never been very good with words, but always much better with actions. The only action he could think of was to take her in his arms and kiss her.
He did.
Enormous, freckled arms pulled her against him as his mouth slanted over hers. Initially, Asmara stiffened with shock and Blayth fully expected a fist to come flying into his jaw, but she didn’t hit him. She put her hands up, on his chest as if to push him away, but he simply pulled her closer and suckled her lips with a glorious hunger. It was enough of a hunger that Asmara felt it, too, and soon enough, he could feel her body relax. Slowly, but surely, she began responding to him.
In little time, she was limp and boneless against him.
It was like heaven.
Blayth couldn’t remember ever having a woman in his arms like this, so his actions weren’t from practice. They were instinctive. It was instinctive that his tongue snaked into her mouth, licking at her, and then feeling the woman tremble in his arms as his kisses became more forceful.
In truth, he was overwhelming her. The scent of her in his nostrils fed the primal beast within, the one that was greatly aroused by a woman. It was the most basic male in him, the one that wanted to mate with her in the worst way, and he put his big hands on her back, between her shoulder blades, and pulled her straight into his seeking mouth. He wasn’t feasting on her lips any longer, but on her neck and shoulders, and on the delicate flesh on the swell of her full bosom. The more he tasted, the more he wanted and through it all, Asmara had yet to utter a sound.
She was letting him do whatever he wanted to do.
Blayth was blinded by his lust for her, the soft warmth of her body, and he was thinking about pulling her into the shadows and exploring her even further when one of the horses nickered softly, setting off another horse, and then one of them kicked at the post on his stall. That rattled Blayth’s concentration and he loosened his grip, afraid that they were about to be seen. It was early still, and the animals were anticipating their morning meal, which would be coming shortly. Blayth didn’t want to be discovered with Asmara in a compromising position by some stable groom.
Before he realized it, they were standing a few feet apart, and Blayth found himself looking into Asmara’s flushed face.
“Should I apologize for forcing myself upon you?” he asked quietly.
Asmara was as close to swooning as she had ever been, but she managed to shake her head.
“Nay.”
“Good. Because I do not want to.”
Asmara swallowed, hard. She didn’t know what to say to that. She knew she should be terribly embarrassed, or angry at the very least, but she couldn’t seem to manage it. The moment he touched her, it was as if every bone in her body turned to jelly and her mind was laid to waste.
All she could do was let him kiss her.
There was fire in the man’s touch that had scorched her to the bone. And because she didn’t know how to reply to his statement, as romantic conversation was completely foreign to her, she simply grinned sheepishly and looked away.
Blayth’s gaze lingered on her lowered head, smiling at her coy manner. He was deeply relieved that his impulsive action hadn’t resulted in a bloodied nose, or worse. All he knew was that he’d wanted to kiss her, so he had. And she had liked it.
He could hardly believe it.
“Then I suppose I should find my horse so we can depart,” he said. He turned to his left, realized his horse wasn’t in that direction, and then quickly turned right. “Damnable animal keeps moving himself around. He is trying to trick me.”
Asmara giggled as Blayth headed down a row of stalls. He was acting about as giddy as she felt, which she thought was rather sweet. She watched him pull forth a dappled gray beast with a fat rump, leading the horse from the stable and out into the stable yard.
Asmara didn’t follow him, however, because her horse was still standing there, favoring his right front hoof, so she immediately set about finding a bucket to soak the horse’s hoof in. Blayth had said that the grooms would do it, but she didn’t want to leave it to chance. While he was preparing his horse, she would tend to hers. Finding a wooden bucket with the remains of grain in it, she blew into it, blowing out the chaff, as she headed out into the stable yard.
Blayth saw her leaving and he called out to her.
“Where are you going?”
Asmara paused, the bucket on her hip. “To find hot water to soak my horse’s hoof,” she said. “I will be back by the time you finish preparing your horse. Will you make sure to find a groom to tend my horse while we are gone?”
He smiled at her, a toothy grin. “With pleasure, demoiselle.”
Asmara fought off a smile as she turned and headed for the keep and the kitchen yards behind it. In fact, she couldn’t seem to stop smiling, thinking of Blayth and his kisses, feeling the soft warmth of his lips on hers. Lost in thought, she put her fingers to her lips as if to feel the last place he’d kissed her. She’d never been kissed by a man in her life and her first kiss had definitely been one to remember.
She was ashamed to admit there was something in her that liked it.
The Dragon Princess had a soft woman in her, after all.
The sun continued to rise overhead and the breeze was picking up, pushing puffy clouds across the sky. Somewhere to the east, storm clouds were starting to gather and it was possible they’d have a storm by nightfall, but Asmara wasn’t paying any attention to that. She was thinking ahead to the trip to Carmarthen and wondering if Blayth was going to try and kiss her again. Secretly, she hoped so. As she neared the keep, she began to hear someone calling her name. Torn from her daydreams, she turned to see a most unwelcome sight.
Cader was heading in her direction.
Immediately, Asmara went on her guard, knowing that if her father had come all the way to Gwendraith, he must be very mad, indeed. She’d had almost three days before he’d shown his face, but she supposed that she knew, in the end, that he would come for her. Finding her missing at Llandarog, he probably assumed she went home, but when he didn’t find her at Talley, then he came looking for her at any one of the recently captured castles. Gwendraith was closest and the logical choice.
Unfortunately, he’d caught her out in the open. There was no running and hiding now. With a heavy sigh, she turned and headed in his direction.
“Greetings, Dadau,” she said evenly. “It is a fine morning, is it not?”
Cader looked weary and furious. He was in no mood for his daughter’s flippant greeting. “What are you doing here?” he growled. “Why did you leave Llandarog?”
Asmara had been anticipating this question at some point and she was prepared. “Because Llandarog is dead,” she said. “There is nothing happening there. The men are lazy and bored. I came to Gwendraith to see if I was needed because, certainly, I am not needed at Llandarog.”
Cader’s lips were set in a hard, flat line. “That is for me to decide, not you,” he hissed. “I need you at Llandarog to oversee the men.”
“Nursemaid them, you mean.”
His eyes narrowed. “What does that mean?”
She threw up her free hand, the one that wasn’t holding the bucket. “It means that an old woman could do the same job you want me to do,” she said angrily. “The men at Llandarog do not need a commander; they need a nurse to wipe their noses and settle petty squabbles. I am a warrior, Dadau; I cannot sit around and tend an army of fools.”
Cader sighed sharply. “I decide what you will do, Asmara,” he snapped. “You do not seem to understand that. In fact, since you are so unhappy at Llandarog, you may return home to your mother and sister. I cannot use a warrior who will not follow my wishes.”
Asmara paused; she could do one of two things at that moment. She could fight him, or she could try to ease the situation. Her father was as stubborn as she was and, truth be told, she’d done wrong by leaving. She knew that. But she didn’t want to tell him the truth of exactly why she’d left. She would never admit that she’d come to Gwendraith because of a man. Instead, she turned the conversation to something she and her father were joined against – Morys.
“I do not think that would be wise,” she said, presenting someone who was much calmer than she had been only moments earlier. “Dadau, I will truthfully tell you why I came. It was something I did not want to speak of to you, but now… now I must.”
Cader had no patience for her. “What is it?”
“I am convinced something is very wrong with Morys.”
He rolled his eyes. “Nothing is wrong with him,” he said. “You simply want to find fault with him because you do not like him.”
“Nay, Dadau, not this time,” she insisted. “There is something wrong. He is up to something.”
Cader was still irritated with her, but part of him was the slightest bit interested in what she had to say. Asmara had always proven herself wise and a good judge of character. It was true that she was rash, and bold, and that was just something Cader lived with, but she was also someone he trusted. Therefore, he was inclined to listen to her as long as she wasn’t trying to stir up anything.
“Merch, I know you do not like your Uncle Morys,” he said, less angry than he had been. “As far as him being up to something, he is always up to something. That is who he is.”
He shook his head and lifted his hands in a futile gesture, as if he didn’t quite know how to address that side of his brother’s character. Asmara closed the distance between them, putting a hand on his arm.
“This is different than his usual ambition,” she said, lowering her voice. “There is something going on that he is not telling anyone, and it centers around Blayth.”
Now, she had her father’s attention. “What do you mean?”
Asmara was very careful with how much she told him; she had a plan in mind, a plan that would allow her to remain at Gwendraith, and with Blayth, but she had to make it believable to her father or he really would make her return home. And she very much wanted to stay.
Therefore, she rolled out an explanation that was half-truth, half-speculation. She wanted her father to hear what she had heard for the most part, at least enough to convince him that she would be doing right by remaining at Gwendraith.
“I am not entirely certain,” she said after a moment, “but I have had a few conversations with Blayth. Do you know he cannot remember anything before he came to live with Morys? He told me that it was Morys who told him he was the bastard son of Llywelyn. That information never came from Blayth; he does not remember if he is or not.”
By now, Cader was over his anger at his daughter, listening intently to what she was telling him about his brother and the mysterious warrior known as Blayth the Strong.
“Morys told him who he was?” he clarified.
Asmara nodded. “Aye,” she said. “I have been asking around and I believe I have the confidence of a few of Morys’ men. I want to know what they know about Blayth. It’s my belief that Morys is trying to use the man for some greater purpose, like a puppet. He gives orders and Blayth obeys.”
Cader wasn’t following her. “For what purpose?”
She lifted an eyebrow. “Think about it,” she said. “What if Morys is trying to unite Wales under Blayth, but Blayth will have no real power? It will be Morys with the power, Dadau.”
Cader was looking at her with great skepticism but, on the other hand, it sounded very much like his brother. Morys had always been extremely ambitious and with the bastard son of Llywelyn under his control, the power Morys could wield might be limitless. In truth, he couldn’t put anything past the man.
“That is serious speculation,” he said. “What proof do you have?”
Asmara shook her head. “None,” she said. “All I know is what Blayth has told me and what Morys has told all of us. But it all seems so strange, Dadau… doesn’t it?”
Cader had to admit that it did. “And that is why you came here?”
Asmara nodded, even though she was lying about it. “If Morys is trying to gain power, then we should know, shouldn’t we?” she said. “And what about Rhys ap Maredudd? He is the one heading this rebellion, but Morys is telling everyone that Blayth is the only true Welsh prince and that he is the one who should lead it. Rhys will not take any of this without a fight and it is possible that Morys will lead us all into a massive civil war – Rhys against Blayth.”
It was a horrific thought. But knowing what he did about his brother, none of this was far-fetched. It was not only possible, but probable. With that in mind, Cader suddenly wasn’t so angry about Asmara’s presence at Gwendraith. The woman had good instincts.
“Then you wish to remain here?” he asked.
“Someone should, don’t you think? Someone needs to watch Morys and see what he is planning.”
“You could just ask him, you know.”
“Do you truly believe he would confess such a thing?”
Cader shook his head reluctantly. “Nay,” he said. Then, he sighed heavily. “Very well. You may remain. But you will send word to me if you discover anything.”
“I will come and tell you myself if I discover anything.”
“I will hold you do that.”
He was going to allow her to remain. Asmara struggled against showing the relief she felt.
“You may as well see Morys while you are here,” she said. “He returned from Carmarthen two days ago, some kind of secret meetings with Howell, so you should ask him about it. He did not tell me anything.”
Cader was never in the mood to speak with his brother, but he thought that might be a good idea.
“I did not know about any meetings at Carmarthen,” he said.
“I did not think so.”
Cader’s gaze trailed up the massive keep as if to see Morys somewhere inside. “I am interested to know what was discussed.”
“Then go and ask him,” Asmara said. She held up the bucket in her hand. “I am going to the kitchen yard for hot water. My horse has a wound on his hoof that must be soaked. Oh… and if Morys asks you, I told him that you sent me to Gwendraith to see if I could be of any help. That is all he knows.”
Cader simply lifted his hand, acknowledging the situation, before heading off to the keep. Asmara stood there a moment, watching him go, wondering what would take place in the coming discussion between her father and his ambitious brother. If Morys felt cornered, or probed, the discussion might not go well at all. Asmara was coming to think that it might be a good idea to remain at Gwendraith to make sure a brotherly meeting didn’t turn into a brotherly argument.
That had been known to happen.
Not surprisingly, when she told Blayth that her father had arrived and wanted to know about the meeting with Howell, Blayth thought remaining at Gwendraith as the brothers ap Macsen held their meeting was a good idea, too. The trip into town could wait for another day.
After several long hours of arguing, Cader never did find out the details of Morys’ meeting at Carmarthen, only that there was a larger meeting for all of the warlords slated several days later. That was all Morys would tell his frustrated brother, who ended up riding out just before dawn and heading back to his village.
Asmara had seen her father as he’d ridden from Gwendraith, knowing how genuinely upset he was at his brother’s secrecy. It gave even more credence to her supposition that Morys was up to something, or even hiding something, and she knew without question that her father would be present at the big meeting at Carmarthen. In fact, he wouldn’t miss it.
Something told Asmara that the meeting was going to be a volatile one.
In truth, she had no idea just how volatile.
It would be life changing for them all.