Chapter Four #2
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.