Chapter Five #3
“We need to get into the room with the pulley that will open the portcullis,” Blayth said.
“If I had to guess, I would say it is on the upper level of the gatehouse. Aeddan and I will hold off those coming up the ladders if Pryce and the lady can make it into the chamber on the upper level. See how they are already trying to form a blockade on the chamber entry?”
They could all see a group of soldiers with torches bunched up around an opening that led into the second floor of the gatehouse. Oddly enough, if there was a door on the opening, they hadn’t shut it. The doorway remained unsealed.
Asmara could see the portal clearly, and she could feel the thrill of battle rushing through her veins, for a variety of reasons.
To begin with, she loved the rush of battle and the feel of a weapon in her hand.
But it was also her first time fighting with Blayth and she was beginning to see what all the fuss was about.
He was absolutely fearless in movement, fluid in motion, and moved with surreal power.
She’d never seen anything like it in her life.
As the four of them moved towards the gatehouse, more English soldiers came running at them.
Blayth and Aeddan were in the lead, fighting the men back, and as they did so, Asmara managed to pick up a short sword that someone had dropped in the chaos.
As Blayth and Aeddan fought off the onslaught, and tried not to get pushed off the wall walk themselves, Asmara dropped to her knees and pushed through the legs of the men who were fighting.
She was in a perfect position to do a lot of damage, and damage she did.
Men ended up with cut Achilles’ tendons or sword thrusts to the backs of their knees.
In fact, Blayth had no idea why men were falling away from him so swiftly until he saw Asmara on her knees amongst the English, slashing viciously with her sword.
It was one of the more impressive things he’d ever seen, and he found himself fighting off a smile at the very plucky Dragon Princess.
Now, he understood what men had been saying about her.
She was fearless, indeed.
In fact, he’d seen her fighting off the English the moment he’d arrived on the top of the wall.
She’d had a shield and a staff, and she was creating serious problems for several English soldiers who were trying to fight back.
For a brief moment, he’d admired the woman and her obvious skill, but then it occurred to him that the lovely, leggy woman who had his interest was in a great deal of danger, and that brought about a side of him he never knew he had.
Certainly, he was fearsome in a fight – there was no one more fearsome – but the thought of Asmara in danger did something to him.
It spurred him to another level of fighting fervor.
He’d rushed up behind her, putting himself between her and the English, and that’s when men started dropping. Blayth was fighting to claim the castle, but he was also fighting for Asmara. As if the woman needed his help. But the chivalrous man in him was determined to give it.
In the midst of everything, he was trying not to feel like an utter, complete idiot.
The English had cleared up now between his slashing and Asmara’s stabbing, so he reached down and pulled her to her feet amidst wounded English on the wall walk.
“Well done,” he told her. “I think there are a few men around here who may never walk again, thanks to you.”
Pink-cheeked from exertion, Asmara looked at her handiwork of injured men, kicking one soldier when he didn’t move out of her way fast enough. He groaned when she kicked him again.
“Do you think so?” she asked seriously.
He nodded, his eyes glimmering at her. “I do,” he said.
There was a warm moment as they looked at each other, and Blayth felt something shocking bolt through his veins.
Fear? Excitement? He didn’t know. He couldn’t ever remember feeling it before.
All he knew was that when he looked at her, he felt a distinct shock, but there was no time to linger on the sensation.
He pointed to the two-storied gatehouse.
“Now, let us see if we can lift that portcullis. Hurry, now; dawn is upon us and there is no time to waste.”
Asmara charged off, swinging her sword and engaging men who were far better protected than she was, but it didn’t seem to matter to her.
She used those long legs to kick, and she wasn’t afraid to aim for a man’s groin.
She did whatever she had to do in order to disable them.
Once she had them off-balance, she lashed out, gravely injuring or even killing.
Blayth saw her do it twice as they pushed their way to the gatehouse.
Just as they neared the open door, a large soldier emerged.
Unfortunately, Asmara walked right into him and he reached out, clamping a big hand around her neck and giving her a good shake.
The sword dropped from her grip as her hands moved instinctively to the big mitt around her neck, squeezing the life from her.
She kicked out, twice, and caught the man in the abdomen and thigh, but not hard enough to cause him to dislodge his grip.
Just as her vision began to dim, Blayth thrust his sword into the man’s belly.
Asmara fell aside as Blayth stabbed the man again and then tossed him over the wall walk. When he should have been heading into the gatehouse to locate the mechanism for the portcullis, he found himself more concerned for Asmara. He pulled her to her feet.
“Are you well?” he asked. “He did not hurt you, did he?”
Asmara was rubbing her neck where the soldier had gripped her. “Nay,” she said. “Thanks to you. I think he was trying to kill me.”
Blayth’s lips flickered with a grin. “What was your first indication?”
Asmara stopped rubbing her neck and looked at him, thinking he was making some kind of nasty remark about her. But she saw the grin, and the mirth in his eyes, and a smile creased her lips.
“I am not entirely sure,” she jested in return. “It could have been that big hand on my neck. Or the fact that he was English.”
Blayth snorted, a humorous sound. “It was both, demoiselle,” he said. “But never fear; I would not let him do it, to you or to your sister. You were both quite valuable this night.”
Asmara’s smile vanished as she started looking around, almost in a panic. “My sister,” she gasped. “Where is Fairynne?”
Blayth turned around, too, looking for the tiny woman who had helped liberate a castle.
The sun was starting to rise and the sky above was turning shades of blue and gray, casting a moderate amount of illumination on the castle.
He thought he could see the younger ferch Cader sister over by the tower, still near the ropes that she had helped secure. He pointed.
“Over there,” he said. “But I would not worry over her. It seems that both ferch Cader sisters can take care of themselves.”
Asmara could see Fairynne also and it eased her mind considerably. “That is not a bad thing,” she said. “We have always been able to take care of ourselves.”
He cocked his head slightly. “You should not have to. Menfolk should protect you.”
“There are no menfolk that can protect me any better than I can do for myself.”
His smile was threatening again. “What about English soldiers who try to break your neck?”
She grinned and averted her gaze. “I would have overcome him, eventually.”
“And yet, you did not have to,” he said. He paused before speaking again. “I would do it again if you needed me to.”
There was something chivalrous in the way he said it, something that made Asmara look up and take notice.
There was fighting going on all around them but, at the moment, it was as if they were the only two people in the whole world.
When their gazes met, the corners of his eyes crinkled in a way that was difficult to describe.
There was something… warm there. Something that suggested his concern for her wasn’t purely soldier to soldier. It was simply man to woman.
She began to feel faint for an entirely different reason.
God, how the man could make her heart race!
But the warm moment was dashed by the sound of the big portcullis as it began to lurch open.
Chains groaned, iron creaked, and men began to yell.
When Asmara and Blayth ran to the edge of the battlements to see what the fuss was about, they could see Morys and Cader’s men at the gatehouse below.
Blayth turned quickly, rushing from the wall as he gestured to the open door of the second-floor of the gatehouse.
“Help them raise the portcullis,” he told Asmara. “I will go down below. I have a feeling the English will not take kindly to their new visitors.”
With that, he quickly descended the ladder that led to the bailey below, and Asmara charged into the second floor of the gatehouse, helping Aeddan and Pryce and two other men fight off English soldiers who were trying to do them great harm.
Once Asmara entered the fight, the English limped away with kicked groins and other unmanly injuries, pain she wasn’t afraid to inflict, and the portcullis went up just enough so that Morys and Cader were able to flood in with their hundreds and hundreds of men.
Within an hour, the English of Llandarog Castle were subdued and the banners for Edward I were torn down from the battlements as the fortress was once again claimed by the Welsh.
Even in the town of Llandarog, which had been shut tight against the battle, the peasants were starting to emerge, cheering the fact that the great castle was now in the hands of the Welsh.
They began bringing food and drink to the castle in droves, and the men of Morys and Cader’s armies soon found themselves stuffed with sausages, marrowfat peas, and watered ale.
A feast fit for victors.
When Cader got over his anger at Fairynne’s part in securing Llandarog, he realized that he was most proud of his daughters.
Blayth had told him that breaching Llandarog would not have been possible if it weren’t for the women warriors.
He was, in truth, quite pleased with them, and when Asmara wanted to sit and eat and drink with Morys’ men, he didn’t stop her.
She’d earned a place among them. But he sat with his own men, across the bailey, with an exhausted Fairynne sleeping on his lap, and watched his oldest daughter as she listened to Morys’ men tell great stories of valor.
But the feasting and stories of valor soon came to a halt when they received word from Howell stating that his siege of Gwendraith Castle had suffered a setback and they’d been unable to breach the castle.
His missive asked Cader and Morys to spare what men they could, including Blayth, and send them along to Gwendraith to aid in claiming the castle.
Morys decided that Cader and a few of the men should remain with Llandarog while Morys took his men, and more than half of Cader’s, on to Gwendraith.
Cader didn’t argue with him; he was happy to remain at the castle they’d worked so hard to capture.
Before the day was out, Morys and his men rode out for Gwendraith, which was less than ten miles from Llandarog.
To the cheers of the peasants of the village, Morys took his men and headed off to another battle.
Much to Asmara’s dismay, Cader had intentionally kept her and Fairynne with him.
She was furious about it and had argued strongly but, in the end, Cader would not be swayed and Asmara marched off to sulk.
What she didn’t know was that Cader had his reasons, petty or no – his arrogant, conceited brother who, when told Asmara and Fairynne’s roles in the breach of Llandarog, couldn’t even congratulate them.
Asmara had proven herself worthy, as had Fairynne to a certain extent, but Morys wouldn’t acknowledge them. His pride wouldn’t let him.
It was pride that was starting to drive an even deeper wedge between him and his brother. And because of it, Cader kept his daughters with him. While Morys and his men went on to confiscate Gwendraith Castle, and remain there, Cader and his daughters, and his men, remained at Llandarog.
Asmara didn’t know why her father wouldn’t let her go join up with Morys’ army, but her father seemed particularly embittered after the siege of Llandarog.
He didn’t want to talk about Morys at all, even worse than before.
All Asmara knew was that it would be some time before she saw Blayth again, and in those weeks of separation, she didn’t forget about the man. On the contrary.
She was very much looking forward to the day when she would see him again.
And she knew she would see him again.