CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Gwendraith Castle
She was short and pretty, with dark brown hair.
And she was pelting him with snowballs.
Visions of a castle he didn’t know, and those same people whose names he couldn’t remember, were in his dreams again. There was a pretty little girl with long hair crying about snow in her ear, and then there was a one-eyed man hugging him. He’d seen that man in his dreams many times, but he had no idea who he was. All he knew was that he loved him, but he’d stopped trying long ago to remember the man’s name.
He never could.
And then he was getting amorous with the girl with the dark brown hair. He could feel her soft skin in his hands, and he had feelings for her. He wasn’t sure if it was lust or love or something else, but that girl brought about arousal in him and the intense feeling of attraction. He’d dreamed about her before, too. And in his dreams, she was something special to him. In truth, she had been his only experience with a woman that he could recall, a dream lover who had captured his attention.
But the dreams with his dream lover in them turned into something else. This often happened, too – his dreams would be those of nameless people he loved and then it would shift to a battle. Or, sometimes it was just the battle and nothing more. He could hear men screaming and fighting over his head as he lay on the ground. Fighting and more fighting.
Atty!
Scott!
Names that meant nothing to him, but he felt like they should.
In his dream, he could taste fear but he couldn’t move. Someone was trying to pick him up off the ground, but he fell away. He was conscious, hearing everything, but he couldn’t move. He couldn’t speak. But he had the greatest sense of loneliness he’d ever known, and as his dream faded into mist, all he could feel was a profound sense of loss. It left him feeling hollow and shattered, with a pain in his heart that he couldn’t describe. All he knew was that he felt… lost.
And then he awoke.
His heart was pounding, and he was sitting up in bed. Blayth didn’t even remember sitting up, but he was. There was sweat on his brow and he wiped at his face, trying to settle down. God, he hated these dreams. He had them frequently. It seemed that when he went to sleep, he entered another world, all his own. He spent his days in the real world and the nights in a world of people he didn’t know and fearsome battles that left him breathless.
He really hated that dream world, because it left him feeling sad and worn.
Blayth knew he couldn’t go back to sleep again. That was the curse of his vivid dreams. If he did, he’d fall right back into the same dream and wake up in a panic again. Therefore, he endeavored to remain awake. It was probably only an hour or two before dawn, anyway. There was no reason to return to sleep and suffer through another battle and more panic, or try to remember people he didn’t know.
His chamber was just off the entry of Gwendraith’s keep. It had been a guard room when they first took over the castle, but he transformed it into his bed chamber. That way, he was the first to hear of anything from the outer ward and the first man out of the keep if need be.
Climbing out of bed, he lit the taper on the bedside table. Before pulling on his leather breeches and long tunic, he headed to the basin to splash some water on his face and hair. Hair wet, he raked it back over his lumpy skull, or at least the left side of it was lumpy from the damage. There was a small piece of broken mirror that had been left behind at Gwendraith and he picked it up, gazing at his reflection.
Sometimes, he would stare at himself and wonder just who he really was. Morys called him Blayth, and although he’d gone along with Morys’ explanation about his past, he wondered quite often if that was really true. Something told him that all of those people he didn’t recognize in his dreams and the woman with the dark brown hair were all part of his past and had nothing to do with being a captive and tortured by the English. Something told him that his past was filled with better things than that.
The keep was quiet at this hour. He was awake, but he didn’t want to go about his duties yet. It was rare when he had moments of quiet like this, to relax and ponder his thoughts. Against the wall, and piled with his possessions, was a variation on a citole, a stringed musical instrument that he’d been given. For some reason, Blayth’s ability to sing and play an instrument had never left him, and it was something he enjoyed doing from time to time. He could remember so many songs and sing them quite ably. Picking up the instrument, which he hadn’t played in a long while, he took it with him as he headed out to the hall.
Men were sleeping on the fringes of the great hall, along with packs of scruffy-looking dogs, but Blayth didn’t pay any attention to them. His chamber was rather cramped and close, and he didn’t feel like spending any amount of time there, so he’d come out to the hall where the fire was dying and men were snoring.
Sitting down at the old feasting table, he kicked back his legs and leaned against the tabletop as he began to pick at the strings of the citole. A haunting melody came to mind and he quietly began to sing.
Come roam with me, my love,
Come roam far with me,
Away from this hard world,
And love only me.
His voice was rousing a few of the men, who began stirring in their sleep. He plucked a few more chords before starting the second verse.
They said that you loved me,
They said that you cared.
They said that your strong heart,
Wasn’t mine to be shared.
More men stirred, coughing as they began to awaken to the sound of Blayth’s beautiful baritone singing voice. He didn’t care a lick that he had awakened them, so he continued to sit there and hum the song, thinking of the coming day. He had great hopes of seeing Asmara and, perhaps, even taking that trip into Carmarthen that had been put off after the arrival of her father.
Even though there had been no great argument between Morys and Cader the day before, it was clear that not all was well between them. Cader wanted information from Morys’ meeting with Howell, but Morys told him very little other than the coming planned meeting at Carmarthen Castle next month.
Frustrated, Cader finally left Gwendraith in the late afternoon, heading to Carmarthen Castle to ask Howell personally what had been discussed between him and Morys, a move that utterly angered Morys. He liked to feel special, as if he was the only one privy to such inside information, but Cader wasn’t going to let him get away with it. He was part of this rebellion, too, and risking his men just as Morys was risking his. Therefore, he’d stormed off before sunset for the short ride to Carmarthen.
But Asmara had remained.
Blayth’s thoughts turned to the elegant creature everyone called the Dragon Princess. To him, she was becoming so much more than that. Their kiss yesterday had been an event that had changed something within him. He couldn’t believe she wasn’t repulsed by his big, scarred body, or his slow and sometimes hesitant speech. She had called him handsome.
No one had ever called him that before.
She hadn’t objected to his kiss, either. In fact, she seemed to enjoy it. He knew that he certainly did. She was the first kiss he’d ever had outside of his dream lover, but nothing with his dream lover had ever been so satisfying.
He knew he had to kiss Asmara again.
Kiss her and more. He’d never been one to think of marriage, but when he looked at Asmara, he was starting to think of such things. He couldn’t imagine not spending his life with her by his side, that strong and beautiful woman. She had endeared herself deeply to his damaged, confused soul, so much so that he knew he never wanted to be without her.
Odd thoughts for the usually solitary man.
Sitting back against the tabletop, he continued to strum his citole and think of Asmara ferch Cader. The hall was stirring around him, with men starting to rise for the day thanks to Blayth’s music. There were even a few grumbles and dirty looks in his direction. But he didn’t care, lost in a world of Asmara, and wondering what she looked like under the baggy clothing she wore.
As he continued to strum and think on golden-eyed beauties, he caught movement out of the corner of his eye at the hall entry and looked over just in time to see Asmara passing by the entry, heading out of the keep.
He was on his feet in an instant.
Quickly, he made his way back to his chamber to drop off the citole before leaving the keep, following Asmara’s path. It was quite early for her to be awake, with the eastern horizon just starting to lighten. There was a heavy dew in the air and the grass was wet, and his breath hung in the air in puffs of mist as Blayth continued to follow the woman from the inner ward and into the outer ward beyond.
He could see that she was heading for the stable, no doubt to check on her horse with the wounded hoof. Blayth continued to follow her at a distance. He was thinking of their kiss, of the day that followed, including sup that night where they’d sat in relative silence because Morys was upset about Cader, and Asmara didn’t want to draw the man’s ire.
In fact, she’d only stayed long enough to eat her meal before fleeing the hall and retreating to the chamber she’d been sleeping in. Blayth didn’t go after her, though; once she was gone, Morys began talking and he didn’t shut up until late in the night. After that, it was too late to see to her.
Fortunately, she was up early this morning.
The outer ward sloped downward and it was slippery from the early morning dampness, and Blayth struggled not to slip on the slick mud as he followed Asmara to the stable. He was far enough back from her that she didn’t hear him, nor did she notice, as she seemed singularly focused on reaching the stable. Once she disappeared inside the darkened structure that smelled heavily of hay and animals, Blayth came to a halt just outside the door, peering inside to see where she had gone.
He was stalking her.
Inside the stable, he could hear animals stirring as daylight approached. He could also hear Asmara moving around. He remained just outside the stable entry, pressed against the wall, hearing her soft voice as she spoke to the horse. Peering around the corner again, he saw her come forth with her horse, bringing him into an open area of the stable where she could tend to his hoof. When she tied up the horse and headed back into a corner of the stable to collect a bucket, he made his move.
Blayth knew he had to be careful when he ambushed her because it was dark, and he would startle her, and he didn’t want to end up missing an eye. So, he moved swiftly and quietly, and came up behind her just as she was bending down to pick something up. He tapped her on the shoulder and when she gasped and turned around, he threw his arms around her and kissed her.
But it wasn’t just any kiss – it was heated and sexy, and the moment her scent filled his nostrils, it was as if a fire sparked deep inside him. Asmara’s moment of surprise was quickly replaced by a response that saw her arms wind around his neck as she returned his feverish kiss. He even heard her giggle, low in her throat, and it fed his lust. Picking her off the ground, he carried her over into the last stall, which was quite dark at this hour, and pulled her down into the corner.
As he kissed her deeply, his hands started to wander. The tunic she wore was heavy against the cold morning, but he didn’t try to go through it. He simply went under it, snaking his hands beneath it until he came to her warm, naked belly. She flinched when he touched her skin. But instead of pulling from him in fear, she simply let him do as he wished, as his instincts dictated. She didn’t resist.
She wanted it as badly as he did.
Blayth’s hands seemed to have a mind of their own. He was a red-blooded man, with all of the needs of a man, and there were appetites inside of him that he’d kept repressed. They hadn’t been fed in any recent memory and now they were beginning to roar. As he suckled on her lips, he shoved her back into the corner of the stall to trap her, and his hands pulled up her tunic so that it was bunched around her waist as his hands moved to her full, soft breasts.
Both hands clamped down on her breasts and Asmara gasped. For a brief moment, she tried to push him away, unbalance by the intimate touch, but his hands were warm and gentle, and her body quickly relaxed. Blayth could feel her trembling beneath his touch as he kneaded her breasts, pinching her nipples.
All the while, his kisses were passionate and heated, and he had a raging erection that had happened fairly quickly. There was no way he could touch the woman’s delicious body and not react physically to her. All he could think of was satisfying himself, and of the contentment he would feel buried within her slick folds. Somehow, he managed to pull her out of the corner and lay her down on the dried grass of the stall. When she weakly tried to protest, he buried his head beneath her tunic and, in the darkness, his mouth latched on to a tender nipple.
Asmara’s protests died in her throat as he suckled her breasts, giving her pleasure that she’d never known before. In fact, she was letting him do whatever he wished and hardly uttering a word about it. Her body, young and strong and virile, was responding to his touch, and when his hands moved from her breasts and found their way into her hose, she still didn’t protest. It appeared she was without thought, without any opinions whatsoever. All she wanted to do was lay there and enjoy what he was doing to her, and Blayth was more than happy to comply.
He had her where he wanted her.
The skin of her buttocks and thighs was soft beyond measure, warm and inviting. His big hands gripped her buttocks first, squeezing them as he continued to suckle on her breasts but, before long, he was moving to the intimate junction between her legs. It was warm and safe and inviting down there and she trembled at his touch, even more when he stroked her with a finger. But that touch also seemed to awaken her from her haze of passion, for the long legs started to kick and she struggled to pull away from him.
“Nay,” she breathed. “We must not… you must not…”
His response was to suckle her harder. His hand was between her legs even as she tried to move away and he inserted a finger into her love-slick passage. Asmara gasped aloud at the sensual intrusion and she very quickly succumbed to his touch once more. Whatever he was doing to her was making her legs tremble, as if she had no control over them. And as his fingers probed her, the sensations he brought about dashed every thought out of her head.
She couldn’t fight him off, not even if she wanted to.
As she lay there with his hand between her legs, his head emerged from beneath her tunic and he began kissing her again, oh-so-gently. Between his tender probing and his gentle kisses, Asmara was like mud in his hands. She had no bones, no will of her own. But that soon came to a startling end when voices were heard.
Men were entering the stables, preparing to feed the animals, and Blayth abruptly stopped what he was doing and quickly yanked Asmara’s breeches up. She, too, was scrambling to her knees, pulling her breeches up and her tunic down, and Blayth stood up, seeing where the grooms were. Holding out a hand to Asmara, telling her to stay down and stay quiet, he headed out into the main part of the stable.
He made a preemptive move against the grooms, announcing himself as he came from the darkness. The grooms were surprised to see him but he pointed to Asmara’s horse, explaining the wound on the hoof that he’d come to tend. It was a bald-faced lie, but he had to say something. He then asked for help with the animal, sending one man for hot water and salt, while the other man went to the grain stores to get buckets of oats for the horses. When the men were out of the stable as they headed about their business, Blayth quickly went to the stall where Asmara was hiding and extended a hand to her.
She took it.
Quietly, he pulled her to her feet, holding her hand in his as he led her back over to her horse.
“One of them has gone for hot water so you can soak the horse’s hoof,” he said quietly, looking to the entry to the stables to see if anyone else was coming in. “You can be here, ready to tend your animal, when he returns.”
He turned to look at her in the growing light of morning only to realize that she was covered in hay and chaff. Swiftly, he began to brush her off, turning her around so he could sweep off the entire backside of her as she quickly moved to do the same on her front half.
“God’s Bones,” she muttered. “I look as if I have slept with the animals. They are going to know what we have been doing!”
Blayth shook his head to dispute her until she pointed at him and he, too, realized that he was covered in chaff. Then he started beating at his own clothing to shake it off, but as he swept and brushed and beat, he began to laugh.
“I do not mind for myself, of course,” he said. “But I would hate for anyone to think ill of you. And it would not be particularly healthy to have it get back to your father.”
Asmara reached out to brush off his left shoulder. “Nay, it would not,” she said. “He would make me go back to Llandarog for certain if he thought… well, if he thought I was compromised in any way.”
Blayth watched her as she finished brushing herself off. “I am not sorry I kissed you,” he said quietly. “I very much wanted to. But the rest of it… if you were uncomfortable, then I apologize. It will not happen again.”
She blushed, finding it difficult to look at him. “If my father found out what we have done, he would probably force you to marry me.”
“Who says I will not?”
The coy smile vanished from her face and she looked at him, eyes wide with shock. “Marriage?” she repeated. “Who has said anything about marriage?”
He chuckled. “You just did.”
“I did not mean it as an offer.”
“I did.”
Asmara had no idea what to say to him. Her eyes were wide and now her jaw was hanging open, genuinely astonished by the words coming out of his mouth. After a moment, she simply shook her head.
“You must be mad,” she finally hissed. “Who would want to marry a woman like me? No man wants a wife who can best him in a fight.”
Blayth cocked an eyebrow. “Who told you that?”
Her father had, but she didn’t want to throw him to the wolves. She shrugged her shoulders. “Everyone knows that. Everyone says it.”
“I do not say it,” he said. “Moreover, you cannot best me.”
She closed her mouth, not looking so surprised now. “Of course I can,” she said. “What would make you think that I cannot?”
“What makes you think you can?”
She was full of outrage as he snorted, laughing at her, and she couldn’t decide whether to laugh at him in return or challenge him. The warrior in her demanded a challenge.
“You have insulted me for the last time,” she said. “Now I will have to challenge you to a battle since you seem so keen on offending my honor.”
He wasn’t finished laughing. “Is that so?”
“It is!”
“If you wish it, demoiselle,” he said. “What is the weapon of choice?”
Asmara was genuinely irritated at a man who would laugh at her abilities as a warrior. “The staff,” she said. “If I win, you will declare to everyone that I am the greatest warrior you have ever known so that there will be no doubt.”
He nodded. “Very well,” he said. “And when I win, you will marry me and stop this warrior’s life. I would have you as my wife, not as a fellow soldier.”
She lost some of her humor then. “But… but I have always been a warrior,” she said seriously. “You cannot ask me to give that up. I do not know what I would do without it.”
“I do not want my wife on the field of battle.”
“Then I shall not be your wife.”
“Aye, you shall.”
She put her hands on her hips in growing frustration. “I do not agree to your terms.”
He matched her, stubborn against stubborn. “You are the one who challenged me,” he said. “I have agreed to your terms. It is very bad form for you not to agree to mine.”
For the first time, Asmara began to back away, uncertain with his demands. Was he jesting? Was he not?
“Please,” she said softly. “I cannot be any less than what I am. I would not be happy.”
Blayth could see the genuine sorrow in her eyes and he was coming to feel badly. He hadn’t meant to upset her, but he was fairly serious about not having a warrior wife. He would be worried every minute of every day if he did, worried that she might be injured or killed. He couldn’t live with himself if that happened.
Faintly, he sighed.
“But you will marry me.”
She gazed at him, her eyes like pools of undulating emotion. “If I do not have to give up what I have always known, I would be agreeable.”
Blayth felt a wave of joy wash over him. The woman was actually agreeable to marrying him in spite of their different opinions on what a wife should, or should not, do. He’d never felt such elation in his entire life. All jesting aside, it was a monumental moment.
“You would?” he murmured.
She nodded. The irritation was out of her expression. All he could see was honestly in her features.
“Aye,” she whispered.
“Truly?”
“Aye.”
He took a step in her direction, his eyes riveted to her. “You do not care of my past?” he muttered. “You know that I do not know the truth of where I come from or who I am. This does not bother you?”
She shook her head. “Nay. I know all I need to know about you.”
“And you would not be ashamed of me?”
“Never. And I will kill anyone who would say otherwise.”
It was like music to his ears. He could hardly believe it. “My sweet girl,” he said. “I never thought I would know a moment such as this. Now that it is here, I can hardly comprehend it.”
Asmara fought off a grin, seeing her own excitement and disbelief reflected in his features. “My father will not believe it, either,” she said. “All he wants is grandsons. Now he may actually have some.”
Blayth smiled. “God willing,” he said. “But do you still wish to fight me?”
She giggled, lowering her gaze. “I suppose it is not necessary since I have already agreed to your condition,” she said. “Will I have to give up my warrior ways?”
He shook his head. “I would not wish for you to be less than who you are,” he said. “But when those grandsons come along, I will ask that you do not fight whilst the child grows in your belly. Will you at least agree to that for me?”
She pursed her lips petulantly, but it was short-lived. “If I must.”
“It would make me happy.”
“Then I would wish to make you happy.”
He simply smiled at her, joy in his heart that he could not describe. “Thank you for this honor, demoiselle,” he said softly. “I shall endeavor to be a good husband and to always make you proud.”
It was a sweet thing to say and Asmara was deeply touched. In fact, she was rather overwhelmed with the entire conversation, which had been quite unexpected. But nothing had ever felt so right. In her heart, it felt right and true. She’d known many men, and a few had tried to court her, but she’d never felt in her heart and soul that it was the right thing to do. But with Blayth… there was no reservation whatsoever. She cared for him and she knew he cared for her. They could have a wonderful life together.
Except for one thing.
“You know that Morys will not be happy about this,” she said. “Blayth, I know he saved your life and he shall always have my gratitude because of it, but he does not wish for us to be together. We both know it.”
His smile faded. “He has made that clear,” he said honestly. “In fact, that is why he has kept me by his side for the past few days. He wants that my focus should be on him, and on the rebellion, and not you. I saw how he spoke to you when he returned from Carmarthen. He will not do that again, Asmara. I swear it.”
Asmara. It was the first time she’d heard her name from his lips and it sounded like the angels singing. She’d never heard her name said the way he’d pronounced it. Or perhaps she’d never noticed anyone else as they’d said it. Some men had said it sweeter, some harsher… who knew? Whatever the case, to hear her name from his mouth made her feel warm and giddy all over.
“You cannot end years of animosity simply by your command,” she said. “Although your desire to champion me is noble, I am afraid it may cause more problems. If Morys is already seeing me as a distraction, then it may make the problem worse if you try to intervene.”
Blayth knew that. He knew how Morys was; he’d seen the petty, ugly side of the man, and he’d seen his behavior towards his brother over the past few years.
But now… things were different.
“I will speak with him,” he said. “I cannot let him demean you. I will not. He will understand that we are to be married and if he has any respect for me, then he must respect you, also.”
He was being chivalrous again. Asmara had never known a man to show her such concern.
“Since you and I have come to know one another, when you are not insulting me, you have shown me that you can be quite chivalrous,” she said quietly. “It occurs to me that you must have learned that somewhere. Surely a man who has been beaten and tortured his entire life, as Morys has said, would not show the qualities that you have shown. Did you ever think of that?”
He hadn’t. “Nay,” he said. “I have not. I am as you see – simply me.”
She smiled. “I realize that, but there are things about you that a man is taught,” she said. “Your sense of chivalry, for one. And your ability to fight for another. You have tactical abilities that are learned, Blayth. I saw it when we overran Llandarog. You fight like a man who has been trained to fight, and that is not something English captors taught you. Does that make any sense?”
It did and, truthfully, he’d never thought of it that way. He knew what he knew, but he didn’t know how he knew it, only that he did.
“Aye,” he said. “Sometimes… sometimes I have dreams about men I do not know, and battles that I do not recognize. It is frustrating because I feel as if I should know these men. I told Morys of my dreams and he told me that I am dreaming of the men who tortured me, but I do not believe that is the case. When I am with these men, I feel… camaraderie. That is the best way I can describe it.”
Asmara was listening closely. “But you do not know these men in your dreams?”
He shook his head. “I wish I did.”
She pondered that. “And when the Saesneg knight called you James,” she ventured. “You did not feel anything when you heard that name?”
Again, he shook his head “Not at the time,” he said. “But it has become something of increasing interest to me. It is a feeling of curiosity and frustration – as if I should know the name, but I do not.”
Asmara didn’t push him, but she was glad she had asked him the question. They were closer now. And belonging to each other, she felt more comfortable with him than she’d ever felt with anyone in her life. He had been open and honest with her, and she felt as if she could be the same. She was greatly concerned with the way Morys treated him, like a possession, and the way Morys seemed to control Blayth’s memories. Therefore, she ventured to say what was on her mind and prayed it didn’t offend him.
“On the night Morys returned from Carmarthen, you mentioned what the Saesneg knight had said to you,” she said. “Do you recall how angry he became? There was no reason for him to become so angry, but he did.”
Blayth remembered that moment and nodded faintly. “I do recall.”
“I have been concerned with the way he treats you for some time,” she said. “When you told me that he gave you your memories and your name, that seemed so very strange to me. How would the man know of your past? How would he know everything about you?”
Blayth lifted an eyebrow. “I have wondered that very same thing.”
“Have you asked him?”
“I did last eve, in fact,” he said. “I asked him to send word to Llywelyn’s teulu, the men he claimed brought me to him. He has agreed to do it.”
“Do you believe him?”
“Until he proves otherwise, I will give him the benefit of the doubt.”
Asmara could see that there was still a great part of him that trusted Morys, the man who brought him back to life. There was some loyalty there and she knew it. She didn’t want to turn Blayth against Morys, but she wanted the man to know that, as an outsider, she thought the situation with Morys was odd.
Something, she suspected, that Blayth already realized.
“All I am saying is that I believe Morys knows more about your past than he is telling you,” she said. “The way he reacted when you mentioned the name that the knight called you – de Wolfe – tells me that he knows more. Much more.”
Blayth simply nodded, mulling over her words, as the groom suddenly reappeared, bearing two big buckets of steaming water. Morning was upon them and the castle was coming alive, but the private conversation they’d been able to have for the past few minutes had been priceless. Blayth thought that, perhaps, it had been the best conversation of his life.
But the first thing he had to do was tell Morys about the situation.
With the grooms around, and more people in the stable yard, his time alone with Asmara was finished. With a smile and a wink, Blayth left her to tend to her horse while he headed up to the keep to have a particularly serious discussion with Morys. Given the complexity of the situation in general, he felt he needed to be honest with Morys, most of all, and assure him that even though he planned on marrying Asmara, it did not weaken his passion for the rebellion, nor would it affect his duties in any way. Blayth hoped that those factors would be all Morys cared about, but something told him that, deep down, there was more to it. Morys could be jealous and petty, and Blayth had a feeling those particular traits of Morys might come into play.
As he headed for the keep, Blayth prepared himself for what was to come.
A showdown was on the horizon and there would only be one winner.
Blayth intended that it would be him.