CHAPTER FOUR
Two weeks later
Llandarog Castle, eight miles east of Carmarthen Castle
The heavens had opened up and hell had poured forth.
The summer had been unseasonably wet and, true to form, storm upon storm had rained across the area for the past two weeks. The storms had been cold, too, and the feeling in the air was very much like autumn or even a cold spring.
But it wasn’t something that bothered the Welsh. Wales could be wet even in the best of times, so they were used to the discomfort of constant rain and the chill of the wind. The weather did nothing to dampen their spirits or their determination in what needed to be done.
The time to act was upon them.
The plan outlined at Carmarthen Castle was that the three castles in question – Llandarog, Idole, and Gwendraith – would be taken simultaneously. It was decided that the castles needed to be seized all at once to prevent the English from sending reinforcements to one or more of them.
Therefore, the Welsh fighting force in the south, comprised of about four thousand men, was split into three groups. One was led by Morys and Cader, the second by Howell and his men, and the third by another warlord named Kimble whose lands lay to the north near Cilgerran. He carried men from the mountains with him, Welshmen who fought with guerilla tactics rather than in organized groups.
In fact, given that the siege of a castle wasn’t something the Welsh normally did because they didn’t possess the big siege engines necessary for such grand operations, the smartest tactic for them to take was stealth. That was how they worked best. A head-on siege wouldn’t work on any of their targets because all three had serious defensive features, so it was decided that only a few select men would make their way into the castles to open the gates for the rest of the Welshmen to enter and engage in hand-to-hand combat with the English inside.
It was the kind of tactic that Blayth was best at.
Even though it was Morys and Cader in charge of the siege of Llandarog Castle, it was Blayth who would lead the breach of the gatehouse with the enormous portcullis. He had an uncanny knowledge of the English defenses and the night before their assault on Llandarog, Blayth stood outside of Morys’ tent, listening to the conversation of the men gathered with Morys. In particular, he could hear two familiar voices, men who had become his friends over the years. Aeddan was one of them, a warrior of thirty years and three, with big brown eyes and a quick temper, and Pryce was the other, a sometimes-foolish younger man who was Aeddan’s brother.
Both men were Blayth’s shadows. Where he went, they went, and he couldn’t remember when they hadn’t always been by his side. In fact, their faces were some of the first Blayth could remember after awakening from the weeks of unconsciousness after his terrible injuries.
Morys, and Morys’ wife, Auryn, had mostly taken care of him, but when it came time to regain his strength and re-learn even the most basic things, Aeddan and Pryce ap Ninian had helped a great deal. It had been the brothers who had helped him learn to speak again, and the brothers who had helped him strengthen the right side of his body, which the head wound had terribly weakened. They had worked with him, side by side, sympathizing in his frustrations but never allowing him to quit.
Because of them, Blayth had grown bigger, faster, and stronger. He chopped wood, lifted stones and tree branches, rode horses, wrestled men, and any number of extreme activities that saw the weakened, nearly-dead warrior build himself up into something broad and muscular. His body had healed faster than his brain and, in truth, that was something of an ongoing process. He still forgot certain words and, at times, his speech could be slow. But the thought processes behind those damaged traits were still sharp, perhaps sharper than they had ever been. It was simply difficult for him to express himself at times.
Yet, the hard work had paid off. The result had seen them develop a close bond and Blayth considered Aeddan and Pryce his brothers. Since he had no other family, he loved them as if they were his blood, and as he stood on a rise watching the town of Llandarog in the distance, he could hear Aeddan and Pryce as they squabbled with a few other warriors over the game of dice they were playing.
The brothers were fond of gambling and, too many times, they had tried to gamble for every possession from anyone they ever knew. They had a bit of a reputation. When Blayth heard a smacking sound, as if someone had been struck, and then instant silence, he fought off a smile. He knew that Pryce, who could be rather obnoxious, had pushed too far. When he glanced over his shoulder to see Pryce leaving the tent with his hand over his eye, he couldn’t hold back the smile then.
Some things never changed.
But some things did. Even as Pryce wandered away, Blayth’s attention moved to Cader’s encampment towards the north. He could see them through the trees. There were no fires, nothing to alert Llandarog Castle that there were Welsh watching them in the forest, but he could see the outline of the tents nonetheless because the rain was starting to lighten and the moon was quite bright behind the gathering clouds.
Seeing Cader’s encampment had him thinking of something he’d tried to push out of his mind for two weeks, ever since Carmarthen Castle and the chance encounter with a woman he hadn’t been able to shake. He’d discovered that she was Cader’s daughter, the brother that Morys rarely spoke to, but spoke of a good deal. Blayth felt as if he knew Cader simply from Morys’ frequent mention of the man, but if Blayth was to believe anything Morys said, then he would believe that Cader was a quiet, meek man who was stubborn and grim.
He wasn’t a brother Morys was proud of.
But Blayth had been around Cader during their time at Carmarthen Castle when they were planning their attacks on the three castles, and he came to see Cader as a man who was quiet but intelligent. He had excellent insight into the battles to come and his suggestions were sound. But he’d also been the one to suggest the breach of Llandarog, and even now as Blayth watched the castle in the distance, he didn’t like Cader’s suggestion for one particular reason.
The man suggested using his daughter.
Blayth sighed heavily at the thought of a woman in battle. It wasn’t unheard of, but Blayth personally didn’t think women belonged in warfare. Cader had lauded his daughter’s skill, and the others who had fought with her seemed to agree, and it was Blayth who was to take an advance party, including Cader’s daughter, and scale Llandarog’s one exterior tower.
The tower was set in the curtain wall, high on a rise, so Blayth and his men were to scale the hill and then the daughter and Pryce, who was tall and skinny, were to climb the tower as Blayth and the others protected them with their long bows. Once the woman and Pryce slipped into the slender lancet windows on the tower, they were to make it to the curtain wall where they would lower ropes so Blayth and the rest of the party could climb up. Then, they were all to make it to the gatehouse and open the gate for the rest of the army and try not to get killed in the process.
That was the plan for taking Llandarog.
It wasn’t a bad plan. In fact, it was an excellent one providing they weren’t seen. The moon would be setting towards morning, making the land quite dark, and that was when Blayth was to take his group to the tower. That was when he was to help that leggy, beautiful woman climb that tower.
Nay, he didn’t like it at all.
So, he stood there and brooded, thinking of the woman he’d been unable to shake. That wasn’t like him, considering he wasn’t one to think of women in general. Something told him that, once, there had only been one woman for him, although he really had no memory of her, or of anything else for that matter. He remembered nothing prior to the day he awoke, somewhat lucid, in Morys’ sod hut those years ago. He didn’t even remember his name; all he could say was one word.
Wolf…
He gave himself that name and he didn’t even know why.
The lack of memory didn’t bother him like it used to. Morys had told him who he was, and where he’d come from, and he accepted the man’s word on the matter. But there were times when he dreamed of men he knew he loved, of women with Scottish accents, and of castles he’d never seen. But on nights like this, with an impending battle, he felt more at home than anywhere else. He knew he’d been born and raised a warrior, and even if he couldn’t remember his past, he was certain about his future.
He would lead the fight to free Wales from the English.
“Great Lord?”
A quiet, feminine voice roused him from his thoughts and he turned to see Cader’s daughter standing a few feet away. He’d never even heard her approach, but his hearing on his right side wasn’t very good because of the head wound, so events like this weren’t unusual. He usually had Aeddan or Pryce watching his back for such things but tonight there were no such observers.
Looking at her, Blayth began to feel the same way he did the first time he met her – interested, perhaps even a little giddy. Two weeks of trying to put her out of his mind, and then ignoring her when she was nearby, just went up in a puff of smoke.
He turned in her direction.
“Lady Asmara,” he said in his low, deliberate speech. “Your presence honors me.”
Wrapped in a dark, oiled cloth against the rain, Asmara’s features were pinched red from the cold. She had come from her father’s encampment, moving with stealth through the damp foliage, until she reached Morys’ encampment. She was wet and weary from what had been two weeks of a rather difficult existence on battle campaign, but her golden eyes were bright.
“My father has sent me,” she said. “He wishes for me to speak to you about our coming operation on the morrow.”
“What do you wish to know?”
Asmara opened her mouth to say something, but she quickly shut it. She simply looked at him as if scrutinizing him and, after several long moments, she cleared her throat softly.
“I wish to know why you did not tell me who you were when we met at Carmarthen,” she said. “I introduced myself. It would have been polite for you to tell me who you were.”
Blayth sensed some indignation in her tone. “Does it matter?”
Asmara’s eyebrows drew together. “Of course it does,” she said. “It would have been the polite thing to do.”
“You said that.”
“I meant it.”
Blayth was coming to sense more than simple indignation. Was it possible she was still angry at him for throwing her in the trough? Truth be told, once he realized who she was, he’d been rather embarrassed that he’d done it. Asmara ferch Cader was royalty, the woman that the men called the Dragon Princess. Aye, he knew all about the Dragon Princess and he knew about her skill.
After he’d discovered her identity, he’d made a few inquiries about the woman and was told a few amazing tales. Wanting to find out more about the woman was certainly not the behavior of a man who’d been trying to shake thoughts of her.
Truth be told, now that he was faced with her, he didn’t know what he wanted.
… to forget her?
Or not.
“If my lack of introduction offended you, then I am sorry,” he said after a moment. “Our encounter was brief and once you introduced yourself, there was no opportunity for me to give you my name. It was not intentional.”
She stared at him a moment, as if debating whether or not to believe him, before finally relenting. Her brow eased, as did her expression.
“I’ve heard tale of Blayth the Strong,” she said. “Since my father and Morys do not speak, and have not fought a battle together in years, I have only heard tale of you. We’ve never met.”
“Nay, we have not.”
“I expected to find a man ten feet tall, with arms the size of tree trunks.”
His lips twitched with a smile and he lifted one of his arms. Even though it was cold and raining, he wasn’t wearing a cloak or warm clothing of any kind. The tunic he wore, of a faded brown color, had the sleeves ripped off it because his enormous arms were bare. With his right arm lifted and flexing, the muscles beneath his pale skin were bulging and defined. He inspected both arms, in fact, before replying.
“They are,” he said simply.
Asmara’s gaze lingered on him for a moment before breaking down into soft laughter; she couldn’t help herself.
“Aye,” she agreed. “They are. And you are not a modest man. But, then again, I suppose you have no reason to be.”
Blayth lowered his arms. “Modesty is for men who are unsure of their strengths,” he said. “I am sure of mine.”
It was a curious thing to say. Asmara’s interest in the man was a little less guarded because, in truth, he was rather fascinating. But she knew that from the first moment they’d met. She’d spent two weeks thinking about the man and watching him from a distance, but all of that changed tonight.
Cader, in fact, hadn’t sent her.
She’d boldly come on her own.
“Of that, I have no doubt,” she said after a moment. “And Morys clearly trusts you, for I have heard that you have fought many great battles for him.”
“Morys seems to have more battles to fight than most.”
Asmara snorted; she couldn’t help it. “That is because he has more enemies than most,” she said before she could stop herself. Realizing she probably shouldn’t have said such a thing to Blayth, who was loyal to Morys, she hastened to change the subject. “The last time my father had regular conversations with Morys was more than five years ago. I think that was before you came into his service.”
Blayth nodded vaguely. “So I am told.”
“That Morys has not spoken regularly to my father since then?”
“Nay. That I have been in Morys’ service for five years.”
She cocked her head. “That is a curious thing to say,” she said. “You do not know exactly how long you have been in his service?”
Blayth scratched a big shoulder, his gaze moving from Asmara to the castle in the distance, a black silhouette against the cloudy sky. She was asking questions that would lead him to speak on things that were probably better left unsaid. Knowing that Morys and Cader were at odds, he suspected that Cader might have put her up to it. She’d said that her father had sent her, after all, and that was a grossly disappointing thought. He’d rather hoped she wanted to know about him on her own.
“Tell your father that your attempts to discover more information about me have come to failure,” he said. “I will see you in a few hours and we may go over the plan to breach Llandarog at that time. I will not speak of it until then.”
Asmara stiffened and the glimmer went out of her eyes. “My father did not send me to discover more about you, only the plans for the coming operation.”
“I am not stupid, woman. Return to your father.”
Her features tensed. “So you think I have been trying to… to probe you? What should I want to probe you about?”
“Whatever it is, it is not your business.”
He seemed very guarded all of a sudden. As if a curtain of defense was raised, and Asmara was truly at a loss. She wasn’t probing him for her father’s sake, only for hers, but as she tried to figure out why Blayth seemed so defensive, she recalled the moment in the great hall of Carmarthen Castle and how men questioned Morys’ statement of Blayth’s identity.
Truth be told, he was a mysterious man, now with a great legend attached to him. Perhaps, he’d learned to be defensive about who he was. Perhaps, it was instinctive for him to protect himself, and understandably so. But his assumption that she was attempting to probe him upset her greatly.
“I told you why I was here,” she said, her voice low. “If you do not believe me, that is your misfortune. I do not lie, and I do not seek personal information from you on behalf of my father. That is twice you have insulted me now. There will not be a third time.”
With that, she turned on her heel and disappeared into the trees. Blayth kept his gaze on the distant castle until he heard the foliage moving and he knew she was no longer standing there. Only then did he turn to look at her, watching the dark figure move towards the distant encampment.
Oddly enough, he believed her. He didn’t know the woman, but something told him that she was being truthful. Perhaps, she really had wanted to know something about him, on her own, and he’d ruined the moment by chasing her off. He wasn’t much good with women, anyway, and he certainly was out of practice when it came to wooing one. Not that he wanted to woo Asmara, but she was a long-legged beauty and those long legs had his attention.
As did the rest of her.
Perhaps tomorrow he might apologize to her for insulting her yet again.
It was coming to be a habit with him.
With the moon down, the darkness before dawn was inky.
A group of ten Welsh were moving in almost complete darkness, heading across a field, a thicket, and a bubbling stream, before reaching the village of Llandarog.
It was a small village, built up around the hill with the castle perched on top of it, rising like a jewel above the green Welsh countryside. It was a prosperous little village, and peaceful for the most part, because the English garrison wasn’t an active one.
Even though the road that Llandarog Castle guarded was one of the main roads through the south of Wales, the road to the north, where Carmarthen Castle was located, was more heavily traveled. Therefore, the garrison at Llandarog, which was held by Lord Pembroke, had grown lazy and fat. Without much to do, the soldiers were not on their guard when Blayth, Asmara, and eight Welsh warriors made their way through the village and straight to the hill with the castle on the top.
Unfortunately, with the wet weather, the hill was thick with soggy grass up to their knees, and trees with branches that were heavy with water. For every three steps they took in scaling the hill, they would slide a step or two back. It was slow going to mount the hill, but Asmara and Blayth were leading the charge. Asmara was smart enough to use her dagger to anchor herself into the hill so she could pull herself up, and Blayth was making headway by sheer strength alone. With great effort, they made their way to the base of the enormous tower of Llandarog.
Once they reached the stone, Blayth silently called the men to him, motioning in the darkness. Everyone gathered close to him so his voice would not carry. The last thing they wanted was for any sentries on the walls overhead to hear him. With the group of Welshmen crowded around, Asmara was in the front and she was literally pushed right into Blayth, who had to reach out a big hand to steady her. They were so close that he could feel her hot breath on his cheek and see the glimmer of her eyes in the weak light. As misplaced as it was, it was quite arousing, and he found himself fighting off the allure that the woman’s close proximity provoked.
It was a struggle to focus on the plan ahead and not her sweet body next to his.
“We must get to the window overhead,” he said, pointing up the tower to a window that was about twelve feet over their heads. It was long and thin, about two feet across, with a lip on the bottom of the sill that stuck out a few inches. “The lady and Pryce will scale the wall with ropes and make their way inside. Once in the tower, they will make their way to the wall next to the tower and lower those ropes for us to climb. Are there any questions?”
Asmara and Pryce were the closest to Blayth. They were already looking up at the great stone tower. “If the weather was not so wet, scaling the wall would be a simple thing,” Pryce said. “But the stone is wet, Blayth. I fear we shall lose our footing.”
Blayth had already thought of that. He, too, found himself looking up at the tower, realizing their plan to scale it was in great jeopardy, especially since the rain was picking up. He even reached out to touch the stone; it was slick. It would be very difficult to scale. His mind began to work quickly for an alternative plan, knowing he had to think fast if they were going to salvage the situation.
And then, he saw it – there was a vine about eight feet up, a bushy thing that was growing all over the eastern side of the tower. He thought that if maybe they could get to it, then they could use it to climb to the window, because it was growing over the window itself.
It was worth a try.
“There is something else we can do,” he said. “I am tall enough so that if the lady stands on my shoulders, she can pull herself up to the cluster of vines and use it to climb to the window.”
The entire group looked up again, seeing the massive growth of vines over their heads. Wet, perhaps even weak vines. It wasn’t much of a back-up plan, but it was all they had. Just as they were about to put the plan into action, they could hear someone else moving up the slope and they turned to see a figure struggling through the slippery grass. Every one of them was armed, so daggers were unsheathed.
Aeddan was part of their group, and he pulled his knife from its sheath. They could all see the figure moving in their direction, but Aeddan didn’t wait for the body to come to them – he slid down the slope and grabbed the small figure by the neck. Everyone could hear a decidedly female gasp, quickly stifled by Aeddan as he slapped a hand over the mouth. Somehow, he managed to drag the figure up the slope, shoving it to the ground in front of Blayth. When the muddy head came up, it was Asmara who reacted most strongly.
“Fairynne!” she gasped, trying to keep her voice quiet. Furious, she reached out and grabbed her sister by the arm, practically pulling it out of its socket. “What are you doing here?”
Fairynne was defiant and repentant at the same time. “You may need me,” she said. “I came to help!”
“Does Dadau know you are here?”
“Not… exactly.”
“What do you mean by that?”
“He told me not to come, but I did not listen. I knew I could help you, Asmara. You must let me!”
Asmara was so enraged at her foolish sister that she started hitting the girl around the head and shoulders, slapping at her, only to be separated by Blayth and Aeddan. While Aeddan pulled Fairynne away, Blayth managed to get hold of Asmara’s slapping hands.
“Enough,” he growled. “You are going to cause every Saesneg soldier in the castle to hear us. Who is this woman to you?”
Asmara was so embarrassed that she could hardly look at the man. “My sister,” she said. “My reckless sister. She followed the army when we left our home and my father could not spare a man to return her. She has been with us ever since, like a disease we cannot be rid of.”
She’d said that to insult her sister, who was glaring at her, wounded. Blayth eyed the offended woman in the darkness. She was small, and very slender, and from what he could see, not a ravishing beauty like her sister. He shook his head with both disbelief and regret.
“Another ferch Cader female,” he muttered. “Can she at least fight like you?”
“Nay.”
“I can!”
The sisters answered at the same time. Blayth eyed the pair before shaking his head again, realizing they now had an unwanted woman as part of their group of skilled warriors. Before he could comment further, however, Asmara pushed Fairynne aside, so hard that the woman rolled backwards and crashed into the men behind her.
“Come on,” she said to Blayth, hoping to divert the attention away from her disobedient sister. “Stand up and I will climb on you. We must hurry. The sun will be rising soon.”
Blayth thought it seemed as if she were giving him orders, but she was right in one respect – they had to make haste. They couldn’t continue to stand around and argue about a silly young woman who had followed them. Therefore, he forgot all about the younger ferch Cader sister as he stood up, trying to anchor his big feet into the mud of the slope as he leaned forward against the tower.
As he knew, it was slippery – all of it. The stone, the grass, everything. He was having a difficult time anchoring his feet because of the heavy grass, and he could feel someone butting up against his lower legs, trying to give him some support. Throwing his substantial weight forward even further, he pressed himself against the stone of the tower.
“Go,” he hissed to Asmara. “Climb.”
She did. Aeddan had put himself against the back of Blayth’s legs, trying to bolster the man, so Asmara took the hemp rope that was handed to her and climbed on his back, using him as a stepping stone to climb onto Blayth’s back. As she literally scaled his broad back and onto his shoulders, he lifted a hand and pulled her up. With her knees on his shoulders, Asmara clung to the wet, stone tower for support as she made her way to her feet.
Beneath her, Blayth and Aeddan were grunting with effort, trying to keep from slipping in the very wet footing. Asmara knew this, and she didn’t want to particularly fall if they lost their footing, so she quickly grabbed on to the vine, which was stronger than it looked. She could feel substantial branches beneath the foliage and was able to grab hold and pull herself up.
Blayth felt her weight lift from him and he looked up in time to see her scaling the wet vines. She managed to climb with ease, quickly making headway up the tangle of vines to the slender lancet window. As he watched with some trepidation, she peered inside the window for several long moments before moving away. Blayth watched with concern as she suddenly backtracked on her climbing, enough so that she was nearly to the bottom of the vine again. Either she was refusing to go through the window, or there was something she wanted him to know.
Her actions were concerning.
“What is it?” he hissed at her.
Asmara was trying not to raise her voice, fearful she would be heard. “The window narrows on the interior,” she whispered loudly. “I believe I can squeeze through, but your man cannot.”
She was describing an arrow slit – windows that were wider on the exterior and then narrowed on the interior to protect the man firing the arrow at attackers. Sometimes they could become quite narrowed, like a funnel, and Blayth didn’t like the thought of Asmara going in alone. He wouldn’t have liked the thought of anyone going alone for what needed to be done, but he was particularly concerned for the Dragon Princess. She was trying to do a man’s job and it simply wasn’t right that she should go alone.
Turning his head, he could see his men crouched behind him, and he saw Pryce in particular. He motioned the man forward, grabbing his arm when he came close.
“Get up there with her,” he said. “You will go through that window if I have to get up there and pound you through it.”
Pryce nodded. He was slender, but he had big bones. Big knees, big joints, and the like. He wasn’t tiny by any means. But he was skinnier than any of the other men, including his brother, so there was little choice. And he knew for a fact that Blayth would climb up and pound on him if he became stuck, which was an embarrassing thought. Blayth started to boost him up so he could grab hold of the vine, but Asmara waved him off.
“He is too large,” she hissed. Then, the men heard her sigh heavily. “Give me my sister. She can make it through.”
So the little rebel was to be part of this, after all. Blayth frowned as he turned to look at the small woman, several feet away and crouched in a muddy ball. Although he didn’t argue with Asmara, the thought of sending two women into a castle full of English was starting to give him hives. He was leery enough with only Asmara breeching the castle, but sending her younger sister in with her was less than ideal.
Still, there was little choice if the window was narrowed on the inside, and he had to trust Asmara in the matter. She knew what she was looking at; he didn’t. The Dragon Princess surely knew what she was doing, didn’t she? Men had spoken of her prowess in battle and of her skill, so even though Blayth hadn’t fought with the woman, and hadn’t yet developed a trust for her, he had no choice if this endeavor was going to have a chance of succeeding.
He had to trust the woman.
Therefore, he motioned silently to Fairynne. She’d heard her sister’s request, but she hadn’t moved, fearful of being pushed down again, until Blayth beckoned. Then, one of the Welshmen grabbed her by the arm and pulled her up, passing her over to Blayth, as someone else put a coil of hemp rope around her neck.
As Fairynne adjusted the rope so she could climb with it, Blayth heaved her up in the direction of her sister’s outstretched hand.
“Listen to your sister in all things,” he rumbled in her ear as he passed her up. “For if you do not, I shall find you when this is over and blister your arse.”
Fairynne’s eyes widened with fear as Blayth lifted her up as high as he could. She ended up with her feet on his shoulders, much as Asmara had done, but her sister was there to pull her up onto the vine. Fairynne held on tightly, now climbing the vines and following her sister to the slender window of the tower.
Their entire success now rested on the shoulders of two small women.
“What do we do if they are captured?” Aeddan was standing next to Blayth, his dark eyes watching the sisters climb. “Cader will never forgive Morys if that happens.”
Blayth was watching them also. Truthfully, he didn’t know what to say about the situation. It had all happened so quickly and they’d had to improvise with the changing of the circumstances, but as he watched Asmara insert her head and then the rest of her body into the window above, he was beginning to wonder if this wasn’t a very bad idea.
But they’d come too far to turn back now.
“Cader raised his daughters to fight like men,” he said simply. “He only has himself to blame.”
Aeddan didn’t reply because he knew Blayth didn’t mean it as coldly as it sounded. He knew for a fact that Blayth had more feeling than most and, at times, would rather negotiate out of a situation than fight it. But he was also a man who was unafraid to do what was necessary in the end.
There were just over a thousand men waiting for a handful of men to open the portcullis of Llandarog Castle so, in this case, sending two women to make the initial entry was necessary and Aeddan knew the man well enough to know that he was harboring a wicked sense of guilt because of it.
Sending women in to do a man’s work.
Now, all they could do was pray.