CHAPTER NINETEEN
Asmara awoke to the sounds of snoring.
It took her a moment to realize what she was hearing and when her eyes opened, she had no idea where she was. Nothing was familiar. It was a badly cluttered chamber, with dust everywhere, and sunlight was streaming in from the cracks in a shuttered window.
Turning her head slightly, she realized that she was drooling. Wiping at her chin in disgust, she lifted her head, trying to determine where she was. More snoring drew her attention and she looked down to see Blayth sleeping on the floor next to her bed.
He was sleeping on his back, his mouth hanging open as he snored loudly enough to rattle his teeth. Then, he’d stop, as if he’d awoken himself, and shift around before falling into a deep sleep again. The snoring came back. Asmara watched this cycle go on for a few minutes, enough to bring a smile to her lips.
In truth, it was rather fascinating watching him sleep.
Moving around in the bed, she could feel the pain in her shoulder, but it wasn’t too terribly bad. Cautiously, she sat up, waiting for a great stabbing pain, but there was none. Sore, yes, but no agony. She sat all the way up, gingerly moving her left shoulder as much as she could, thinking she felt much better than she should given the seriousness of the wound. Swinging her legs over the side of the bed, she saw that she couldn’t get to the floor without stepping on Blayth.
The man would have to move.
He continued to snore and every time he did, she tapped him on the belly with her foot. He’d stop, shift, and then start snoring again. Finally, after five or six taps with her foot to his belly, he opened his eyes and just stared at the ceiling. Asmara wondered if he was even awake. But then, his eyes moved to her, slowly, until their gazes met. She grinned.
“You snore like an old dog,” she said.
He blinked and licked his lips. “Is that so?” he said hoarsely. “And you talk in your sleep.”
Her smile vanished. “I do not!”
“How do you know?”
She didn’t have a snappy retort for him so she turned her nose up. “That is not a nice thing to say.”
He grinned, pushing himself up so he was still lying back but braced up on his elbows. “You cannot imagine the things you said in your sleep,” he teased because she was fun to tease. “Scandalous things. I never knew you had such thoughts.”
She scowled. “I did not.”
“Of course you did,” he said. “But you spoke of your undying love for me, mostly.”
She looked at him, aghast. “I did no such thing!”
His face fell. “Then you do not love me?”
Her shocked expression transformed into something thoughtful, then embarrassed, then warm. The jesting mood of the conversation faded as something quite real took hold.
“I told you that I would marry you, did I not?” she said softly.
“That does not mean you love me.”
“Do you love me?”
She had turned it around on him but rather than get defensive, he smiled. “There is nothing about you that is not to love,” he said quietly, his sleepy eyes glimmering at her. “How do you feel?”
Asmara was touched by his words, warming her in ways she could not have imagined. His question had caught her off guard at first, but his reply had been honest and sweet. That giddy feeling swept her again, so strongly that she was nearly lightheaded with it.
“I feel wonderful,” she said. “And there is nothing about you that is not to love, either.”
It was a bold statement from a woman who was unused to speaking on her feelings. With a massive grin on his face, Blayth sat up all the way and reached out, cupping her face and bringing her lips to his for a sweet kiss. But their lips against one another sparked an immediate blaze, one that roared for a few seconds until Asmara lifted her left arm to put it around his neck. The moment she did so, a great pain bolted through her shoulder and she immediately gasped, dropping her arm.
“Are you well?” he asked, great concern on his features as he helped her hold her arm and shoulder still. “I did not mean for a kiss to injure you.”
Asmara shook her head. “It did not,” she said, holding her left arm against her chest. “I simply did not think. It really does not feel too badly, so long as I do not move it too much.”
He began to peel back the bandages to see if she tore the stitches. “Then we must make sure you do not move it until it heals,” he said. “It does not look like the stitches are torn. Jestin did an excellent job of tending the wound because it is healing very well already.”
Asmara was relieved to hear that. “That is good news,” she said. Then, she looked around the cluttered, dusty chamber. “Where is Jestin?”
Blayth yawned and stood up, scratching his head. “Probably in the church,” he said. “That seems to be where he goes in the morning.”
Asmara looked up at him. “How would you know that?”
“Because he went there yesterday morning.”
She frowned. “Yesterday?” she said. “How long have we been here?”
He looked at her. “This is the second day,” he said. “You have been asleep for two nights and a day. The poppy potion he gave you must have been potent.”
Asmara was surprised to hear that. She felt groggy, that was true, but she didn’t feel terrible. But then, a thought seized her and she reached up, grasping Blayth’s hand.
“No one has come looking for us, have they?” she asked anxiously.
He patted her hand. “Nay,” he assured her. “Not that I have seen. Even so, the horses are tucked away where they cannot be easily seen. When you feel better, we shall leave.”
“I feel better now,” she insisted. “We can leave today.”
He eyed her. “There is no great rush,” he said. “We can afford the time for you to heal.”
She shook her head and stiffly stood up from the bed. “We cannot,” she said. “Every day that we delay is another day that Payton-Forrester might leave Lioncross Abbey. If we want to catch the man, then we must hurry.”
She had a point, but Blayth wasn’t going to insist they depart for Lioncross sooner than she was ready. He might push his men like that, but he wasn’t going to push her like that.
“And we will,” he said. “But it is my suspicion that he will be there for some time. When we released him from the vault, he had been starved and tortured, and I can imagine the ride to Lioncross must have taken a lot out of the man. Therefore, I would wager to guess that he will be at Lioncross for a time until he has sufficiently recovered his strength. I think he will be there for at least a few more days, certainly enough time for us to make it to Lioncross, too. Besides… given that we have stopped at a church, I had an idea.”
She wasn’t following his train of thought. “What idea?”
“You said you would marry me, and we have a priest at our disposal,” he said, his eyes twinkling. “Mayhap we should take advantage of the situation.”
Asmara quickly knew what he meant, and her cheeks flushed, feeling her excitement. “I think he believes that we are already married,” she said. “When we first came here and he asked our names, I never told him that we were not married.”
Blayth snickered at the thought of duping the priest. “He did let us sleep in the same chamber,” he said. “He must believe we are married. I hope he is not too angry to find out that we are not.”
“I suppose there is one way to find out.”
Blayth shrugged. “True enough,” he said. “I will find him. Meanwhile, you can change out of your torn and soiled clothing if you wish. I will bring your satchel to you so that you can clean up.”
Asmara thought that sounded like a wonderful idea.” I would be appreciative,” she said. “And mayhap some water? I would like to wash my hands and face.”
He put up his hands. “Remain here,” he said. “I will bring you everything. You do not need to move around overly with that shoulder.”
Smiling faintly, Asmara sat back down on the bed, watching him as he quickly headed into the other chamber. She realized that she could get very used to the man’s chivalry, something that had endeared her to him from the start. He was kind, gentle, and thoughtful. As she’d told him – what wasn’t there to love?
She patiently waited for him to return with her satchel, and he did so quickly. The sun was becoming brighter now, sending long beams of yellow light into the room from the cracks in the shutters. Once Blayth brought her satchel and a bowl of cold, clear water from the bucket near the hearth, he went to the window and pulled back the shutters, letting the daylight in.
From the window, he could see the vibrant green landscape beyond. There were trees in the way, but he could see the meadow across the road and the white flowers that grew there. There were some clouds in the sky but, to him, he’d never seen a more beautiful day. With Asmara by his side, every day was beautiful.
“It looks to be good traveling weather,” he told her. “I shall go find you something to eat and then I shall speak with Jestin. Do you require anything else?”
Asmara had untied her bag and was pulling forth items, trying not to use her left arm as she did it.
“I do not believe so,” she said. “But I am rather hungry.”
“I would believe that.”
“What did you do all day yesterday while I slept?”
Blayth made a funny little laugh, scratching at his temple as he turned to look at her. “Suffered through one of the worst aching heads I have ever had,” he said. When she looked at him curiously, he explained. “Jestin makes cider from the apples in his orchard that is like drinking lightning. It is potent enough to get a man very drunk if he is not careful. Unfortunately, I was not careful.”
Asmara laughed at him. “Let that be a lesson to you,” she said. “Beware of priests and their ciders.”
He wriggled his eyes in agreement. “In the future, I certainly shall,” he said. Then, he turned away from the window and headed towards the chamber entry. “I will leave you to dress. Or would you like for me to stay and help you?”
Asmara looked at him, feeling her cheeks flush as she fought off a self-conscious smile. “Once we are married, I shall gladly accept your assistance.”
He could see that she was sweetly embarrassed by his offer. “Then I shall hurry and get the priest now.”
She laughed. “I will be dressed by the time you return.” He was almost through the doorway when she called to him. “Blayth?”
He paused and looked at her. “Aye?”
Her smile faded. “When we are married, what shall I be known as?” she asked. “What I mean is that wives assume their husband’s name. What shall I be called?”
It was a very good question but one he’d not really considered until now. After a moment, he shook his head. “Ap Llywelyn is not my name,” he said quietly. “That has been established. Until we can establish what, exactly, my name is, then you shall be addressed as My Lady Wife, Lady Blayth.”
“But… your name is James.”
“What would you prefer to call me?”
“What are you comfortable with?”
“As I said, until my identity can be established without question, I shall continue to go by Blayth. It is the only name I remember.”
Asmara nodded, an acknowledgement of a most confusing issue. Blayth gave her a smile, and a wink, before leaving the chamber in search of Jestin.
As Asmara cleaned up, Blayth nosed around the main chamber for food and came across a half of a loaf of brown bread, covered up with cloth, and some hard, white cheese. He took it back to Asmara for her to eat before heading out of the small residence and into the cold morning beyond. The grass was wet with dew and moisture hung from the trees. He headed for the church, with its enormous tower and chapel attached, and entered through a side door.
Inside, it smelled of earth and incense, and he looked up at the heavy crossbeams across the ceiling, supporting the pitched roof. It was the first time he’d been inside the church because yesterday, as he’d told Asmara, he’d spent most of the day nursing a horrific headache, which meant he’d spent his time mostly lying down because it was more comfortable. He’d wanted to inspect the broadswords of Jestin’s collection, but he didn’t quite make it. He’d slept heavily last night only to be awakened by Asmara’s smiling face and blatant insult.
He wanted to wake up that way for the rest of his life.
In truth, he really didn’t know if Jestin spent his days here in the church. He’d only said that because the man left early yesterday morning, and this morning he’d also left early and had headed in the direction of the chapel. Therefore, Blayth could only assume the man was somewhere in the church and he found himself heading for the big tower, plainly seen through an open door on the west end of the chapel.
“Jestin?” he called.
He thought he heard a muffled reply coming from the tower so he continued on, entering the low doorway that led into the great stone turret, and he immediately saw Jestin sitting to his right, hunched over a table that was positioned below a window. The effect was such that there was light on the table, illuminating vellum, something Jestin appeared to be writing on. The table was crowded with pieces of vellum and writing instruments. The priest lifted his quill when he saw Blayth enter, turning towards the man.
“Ah,” he said. “So you have escaped the clutches of the demon cider?”
Blayth gave him a lopsided grin. “If you know it is sanctioned by Satan, then why do you make it?”
Jestin laughed softly. “Because I like it,” he said. “That must mean that I am sanctioned by Satan. But let us not discuss my immortal soul; let us discuss you and your lady wife. Has she awakened yet?”
Blayth nodded; he was coming to like this irreverent priest, just a little. “She has, indeed, awakened,” he said. “And I have a confession.”
“Then you have come to the right place.”
“She is not my wife. We would like for you to rectify that situation.”
Jestin lowered his quill completely. “I see,” he said thoughtfully. “Well, I suppose nothing untoward has happened since you have been here. But why did you not tell me the truth?”
Blayth shrugged. “There was never really the opportunity, I suppose,” he said. “She was injured and I was only concerned with her care. We did not intend to be deliberately subversive.”
Jestin really didn’t seem to mind. “And I did not ask you if you were married; I only assumed,” he said. “No harm done, I suppose. But we shall remedy the situation. I would be pleased to perform the rite.”
Blayth cast him a long look. “I am not so sure now,” he said. “I cannot have my marriage rite performed by a priest who is sanctioned by Satan.”
Jestin chuckled. “I promise that Satan will not enter into this,” he said. “I am glad you wish to marry the lady, even though she has a tongue of fire. You will have to douse that fire, Blayth.”
Blayth shook his head. “I do not want to,” he said. “What that woman has done in her life… she is fearless and brave as few men are. She is as strong as the mountains and then some. Nay, I would not douse her fire. I worship it.”
Jestin thought it was a rather sweet sentiment, something rarely heard these days. He’d not often come across men who spoke so highly of their women. He pointed to the vellum on the table, with his neat writing on it.
“You told me the story of Blayth the Strong on the evening you arrived, when the demon cider loosened your tongue,” he said. “I am writing it all down, by the way. It is a tale of great heroics. But you shall have to tell me the story of your lady if she is so fine and strong.”
“She is,” Blayth said. “But I am not sure I want to share that story. Mayhap the story of the Dragon Princess is just for me.”
Jestin’s eyebrows lifted. “The Dragon Princess?” he said. “I am intrigued. Then that would make you something of a dragon tamer.”
Blayth shook his head. “Do not let her hear you say that,” he said. “She would not like it.”
Jestin lifted his shoulders carelessly, as a man does when he is too foolish to be frightened by a woman. “It is not for her to know, is it?” he said. “She is brave, you say?”
“Like you have never seen.”
“She does not dress like a lady. She dresses more like a warrior.”
“That is because she can fight better than most men.”
“But she is a princess?”
“Rhys Gryg is her grandfather,” he said. “Her great-grandfather was the last King of Deheubarth.”
That meant something to Jestin, who was suitably impressed. “Then she is, indeed, a Dragon Princess,” he said. “And you wish to marry her?”
“Aye.”
“What of her father? Does he give his permission?”
Blayth didn’t want to have to explain the entire situation, so he lied about it. “He is dead,” he said. “She has no one but me, and I intend to marry her. She deserves to be worshiped and tended as only I can.”
Jestin didn’t push him on the subject; he was coming to like this slow-speaking but witty man who spoke so fondly of his lady. “Very well,” he said. “When do you wish to marry her?”
“Today. Now, if we can.”
Jestin nodded thoughtfully. “Two acolytes will be here at noon to help me with Sext, the mid-morning prayers for the faithful,” he said. “I will perform the marriage rite before Sext and they shall witness the ceremony.”
Blayth was satisfied. “My thanks,” he said. “I shall pay you for your service.”
Jestin turned to him, a shrewd twinkle in his eye. “I do not want your money,” he said. “I want you to tell me of the story of the Dragon Princess.”
Blayth had to grin at the man; he was persistent. After a moment of debate, he finally relented.
“If I do this, you cannot tell her,” he said.
“I will not say a word.”
“Are you going to write her story down as you’ve written mine?”
“Of course I am. I told you that I am the Keeper of legends.”
“Then do it after we have left, please. I should not like for her to know.”
Jestin agreed. For the next two hours, he heard Blayth tell him what he knew of Asmara and of her brave breach of Llandarog Castle.
It was everything Jestin hoped it would be.
Dressed in a dark green woolen tunic that went to her knees, with her leather breeches beneath it, Asmara became Blayth’s wife as they both stood at the entry to Jestin’s church beneath a canopy of oak branches, swaying in the gentle wind.
It was right before the noon prayers and two boys from the village were witnesses as Jestin performed the marital rite. The younger of the boys picked his nose through the entire ceremony, right in Blayth’s line of sight, and he found it very difficult not to make threatening faces at the child at the terrible display of manners.
He focused on Asmara instead, on her lovely face as she gazed up at him with a mixture of adoration and excitement. Her pretty hair was braided and draped over her right shoulder. Even though she wasn’t dressed in fine clothing, she couldn’t have been more beautiful to him had she been wearing silks and jewels. He smiled at her the entire time, taking his vows, feeling his connection with her down to his bones. She was embedded in him, the strength of their feelings for one another more powerful than anything he’d ever known.
The day he realized she meant something to him was the day he began a life he never thought he’d have, something sweet and loving and kind. He was a man who had been born at least twice in his lifetime, but with Asmara in his life, he felt as if he was being born yet again. When the rite was over, and Jestin finished praying, Blayth took Asmara in his arms, being very careful of her left shoulder, and kissed her.
It was the best kiss of his life.
Shortly after the kiss, they could see villagers arriving for the nooning prayers, so he took Asmara back to the residence and closed the door, bolting it. He was fairly certain that Jestin wouldn’t disturb them, at least for a couple of hours, and he very much wanted that time alone with Asmara. Once he finished bolting the door, he turned to find her standing behind him rather expectantly.
He grinned sheepishly.
“I have good news,” he said.
She cocked her head curiously. “What is it?”
A somewhat seductive expression spread across his face. “I have taken a wife,” he said, “and I am a better man for it.”
She laughed softly. “And I have taken a husband,” she said. “To be truthful, I never thought I would. I still can hardly believe it. What man wants a wife who can best him in a fight?”
Blayth went to her and put his arms around her, kissing her soft mouth. “Me,” he whispered. “Let me prove it.”
Asmara could only nod her head, the flames of lust consuming them quickly as they so often did when they touched. But this wasn’t the stables of Gwendraith, where they had to hide in the darkness, concealing their desire from others. Now, they were in the proper place at the proper time, and nothing was going to stop their passion.
Now, they could explore their feelings for one another without reserve.
Blayth could think of nothing else. Although extremely mindful of her wounded shoulder, he wasn’t going to let it get in his way of expressing his love for his new wife. God, he loved her with everything he was, with every heartbeat that pulsed through him. She was like air and water to him; he needed her to survive. Now, she was finally his.
He would wait no longer.
His kisses were tender at first, gentle upon her lips and jaw. He was so very gentle with her. But quickly, they grew heated, and more powerful, and he swept her into his arms and carried her into the chamber with the tiny cot. It was all they had for what they needed to do, but it would be enough.
Carefully, he began to remove her from her clothing, untying the fastens on her tunic as his kisses distracted her from the fact that he was slowly undressing her. As he’d discovered in the stable of Gwendraith, she was easily distracted by his kisses and he used that to his advantage. All he wanted to do was get the woman naked and beneath him where he could feel their flesh touching. Nothing else seemed to matter. He had to claim her in every possible way.
But she seemed to be hesitant even though his kisses were powerful, and he remembered from their time in the stable that it had been dark then, perhaps somehow giving her a false sense of modesty. Quickly, he left her and went to the only window in the chamber, closing the shutters so that it was darker in the room and they had more privacy. He wanted her to be comfortable and that action seemed to ease her a great deal. In the dim light, he lay her down on the small bed and continued.
There wasn’t much room for him to lay beside her so he had to half-cover her with his body. For a man with no real memory of ever having coupled with a woman, because he’d never bedded one in the time he had been with Morys, he was acting purely on instinct, or so he thought. Perhaps there were some latent memories driving him, because he seemed to know exactly what to do. In the shadowed room, he resumed his kisses as his hand snaked underneath her tunic and onto her warm, soft belly. He remembered that belly, silky and smooth, but his hand immediately went to her breasts as his mouth found her sensitive earlobe and suckled.
Asmara gasped at the overload of sensations, something that turned her limbs to mush. Blayth felt her relax and he was able to lift the tunic over her head, immediately moving to strip her of her breeches as well. In nearly the same motion, he ripped off his own clothing, tossing it into a heap on the floor.
The moment his naked flesh touched hers, he knew he was lost.
Blayth wedged his knees between her slender thighs, his fingers moving to the dark curls between her legs as his lips found a tender nipple. Asmara twitched and groaned as Blayth suckled strongly, reacquainting himself with her delicious body. When his finger slipped into her, there was no discomfort; she was slick, her young and powerful body ready for his throbbing member, ready to accept the destiny of a woman.
There was no pain and no fear… only passion.
Asmara’s pants of pleasure were beginning to echo off the walls. Blayth inserted another finger into her, listening to her groan as she lifted her pelvis to him, seeking more of his touch. His tongue lapped at her nipples and he could feel her slick passage contracting around his fingers, a physical response to the ritual of mating. It was her body demanding his, whether or not she knew it, and he would answer the call.
Blayth removed his hand from her, no longer capable of pacing himself. He was trying; genuinely, he was trying, but her soft body was demanding him and he shifted his bulk, placing his heavy arousal against her and thrusting gently. He slipped into her without effort.
Her body was drawing him in, deeper by the moment. Asmara gasped at his intrusion, her pants of pleasure less evident as he gained headway. Blayth kissed her deeply, murmuring against her mouth and promising the pain would only be momentary. The further he moved into her, the more uncomfortable it was becoming, and he knew he could wait no longer.
Gathering her tightly against him, Blayth drew back and coiled his buttocks, driving into her. He couldn’t be sure he breached her maidenhead, because Asmara had spent her life in strenuous activity, including riding horses astride, so it was quite possible that she didn’t even have one. But it didn’t matter; from her reaction, he knew she was virgin. There was no doubt. When she yelped into his mouth, it only confirmed what he already knew. Holding her close and seated deep inside her, he could hear his own gasps echoing off the walls.
Blayth didn’t wait to give her pleasure. Cupping her heart-shaped bottom with one hand, he began to move. Within the first few thrusts, Asmara groaned, feeling uncomfortable and overwhelmed. But his gentle whispers broke through her haze and she instinctively began to respond to him, experiencing the friction of his manroot as he penetrated deep. The discomfort soon gave way to a blossoming fire that grew brighter by the moment.
Now, the spark that had existed between them from the beginning was finally allowed to blaze.
Asmara lay beneath him, her long legs parted and his big body pounding into her, experiencing every thrust, every withdrawal, with a pleasure she could never have imagined. There was something so deeply intimate about it, yet so deeply strong. He never stopped kissing her, or gently touching her with a free hand, the entire time, as if worshipping everything about her in the most powerful way possible. Every time their bodies came together, Asmara swore she could feel the sparks shooting up into her belly. The harder he drove into her, the more brilliant the sparks.
Blayth, too, was feeling the sparks shooting through his body as he felt his climax approach. She was so tight around him, so slick, that it was pleasure beyond all human comprehension. It felt like seconds, but it was actually several long minutes before he finally reached his peak, breathing her name as he released himself deep. Even so, he continued to move, feeling the slippery wetness he had put into her.
It was heaven.
Asmara felt his spasms, hearing her name in his strangled groan. But his thrusting continued as he reached between their bodies, his fingers probing her wet curls. A gasping scream erupted from her lips as he gently pinched her pulsing nub of pleasure, bringing her to the first release she had ever experienced. Waves of pleasure consumed her as her body twitched and rocked, and Asmara was vaguely aware of Blayth’s soft laughter.
“So you like that, do you?” he breathed, his fingers still between her legs, touching her where their bodies were joined. “I shall have to remember that.”
Whatever he was doing to her caused her to climax twice more, her entire body bucking with the pleasure he was bringing her. He was still embedded in her, still moving, stroking in and out of her as she experienced something more intimate and glorious than she could have ever dreamed.
The mating of a husband and a wife.
Finally, she put her hand between her legs to stop him because she was growing flushed and faint. It had all been so terribly overwhelming. When her fingers stilled his, he laid his head on her shoulder, dropping gentle kisses on her flesh.
“What is not to love about you, my lady?” he whispered. “From now until the end of time, I will love you and only you.”
Asmara’s breathing slowed and she opened her eyes, staring up at the ceiling and feeling Blayth’s weight on top of her. He was still in her, too, for she could feel his male member twitching and throbbing, as if it had a life all its own. It had been such a beautiful and overwhelming experience that tears trickled down her temples. Bringing up her legs, she wrapped them around him, holding him tightly against her.
“And I shall love only you,” she murmured. “You are my husband, my love, the man I adore. Tell me that this is only the beginning, Blayth. Tell me that our life will always be filled with such wonder.”
He lifted his head to look at her, seeing the trail of her tears down to the bed. Gently, he wiped them away.
“It will always be filled with such wonder,” he promised.
She turned to look at him. When their eyes met, all the words in the entire world weren’t enough to describe the beauty of the moment. What they were feeling went beyond words.
It went beyond love.
Finally, they were one.
When Jestin finished with the noon prayers, he never even tried to return to the residence where the newlywed couple had retreated. Something told him he wouldn’t get past the door, anyway.
Heading to his tower room, he sat down at his table beneath the window and continued his story about Blayth the Strong, finishing the legend as told to him by the very man it was based upon. Only in this legend, he added the tale of the Dragon Princess and how she and the Welsh hero had fought for freedom against the English in a small valley in southern Wales.
By the time he finished the tale, even he was coming to believe that the two of them were something beyond heroic.
They were the stuff of legends.