Chapter Eight
The Welsh filled up the feasting hall of Gwendraith that night as if they’d been feasting there all their lives.
It was a loud, festive gathering. A massive fire burned in the hearth as men ate and drank and laughed.
The feasting table with the broken leg was crowded with men, and there were no other tables in the hall, so men sat on the floor, eating the mutton that had been roasted over an enormous fire in the kitchen yard.
Great hunks of roasted meat were being passed around by servants, and men stuffed themselves on the cooked carcass.
After seeing Corbett off into the moonlit night, Blayth and Asmara had returned to the hall, lured as the other men were by the smell of food.
When they’d entered the hall, however, it was already packed with bodies, and Blayth had bodily removed two men from the end of the table so that he and Asmara could sit.
He’d then proceeded to steal the food that other men were eating to give over to Asmara, who was both touched and embarrassed by his chivalry.
She’d never known anyone to be chivalrous towards her before and she was quite used to fighting her own battles or grabbing her own food, but Blayth was quite happy to do it for her.
She watched him as he confiscated food and utensils, and in a very short amount of time, she was sitting with a full trencher in front of her that included meat, bread, and boiled beans, and someone else’s knife.
She didn’t know who it belonged to, but Blayth had given it to her, so she used it to stab at her food, which was quite good and salty.
After he finished stealing her a meal, he stole one of his own and delved into it.
He didn’t say much at all, really. Small talk and comments as he stole food but, after that, he shoved food in his mouth as if he were starving and the conversation died.
But even as they ate, surrounded by a room full of eating, noisy men, Asmara couldn’t seem to tear her attention away from Blayth.
James, the Saesneg knight had called him.
He swore he knew him, and he was evidently quite convinced of it because he’d been very emotional about it.
James, it’s me! We were told you were dead!
Those had been the astonished words out of the man’s mouth, but it had been obvious that Blayth had no idea who the man was, or what he was talking about.
Still, Corbett had been convinced that he was someone named James.
But that recognition had abruptly, and oddly, ended and the knight had seemed most apologetic about it. Fearful, even.
But what could he be afraid of?
It was a brief instance of mistaken identity that Asmara should have easily forgotten, but she couldn’t quite seem to shake it.
So much of Blayth’s past was a mystery. From what Blayth had told her, he didn’t remember anything prior to waking up in Morys’ hut.
It was Morys who had told him who he was and had given him his past, and his legacy, but everyone knew that Morys could color the truth to suit him. Even Blayth had said so.
So… what if Blayth’s past was something Morys had also colored?
“You are quiet,” Blayth said, interrupting her thoughts. “And you are staring at me. What are you thinking?”
Asmara hadn’t even realized he’d glanced at her. She’d been too caught up in her reflections. Grinning with embarrassment, she looked to her food.
“I am thinking of the Saesneg knight,” she said. “I… I was simply wondering if he will do what you told him to do.”
Mouth full, Blayth shrugged. “There is no knowing for certain, at least not for a while,” he said. “He seemed as if he was agreeable, so I can only hope he values his word.”
Asmara tried to eat but she couldn’t seem to. There was far too much on her mind.
“He seemed to know you,” she said.
It was the statement she’d been hesitant to make but, in the same breath, they couldn’t avoid the obvious. They had both been present when the knight seemed to recognize him. But Blayth shrugged, apparently unfazed by the event.
“Too much time in the vault drove the man mad,” he said. “He was seeing things in the darkness that were not there.”
Asmara wasn’t so certain even if Blayth sounded positive about it. She was about to say something when a chorus of cries arose from men near the hall entry, and she turned to see Morys entering the hall.
He emerged into the crowded room to a hero’s welcome, lifting his hands to his men and absorbing the adulation, when he caught sight of Blayth and Asmara at the end of the table. Asmara swore the man’s expression darkened when he saw her, but his focus was mostly on Blayth, his shining star.
Morys had eyes only for him.
“Ah,” Morys said. “Here I find you. Is the food good tonight?”
Blayth glanced up. “Good enough,” he said. “How was your conference with Howell?”
Morys pushed the man seated next to Blayth down the table, opening up a spot, which he gladly took. “Something we shall discuss on the morrow, in private,” he said. Then, he turned his attention to Asmara. “What are you doing here?”
It wasn’t a polite greeting and Asmara could feel herself tensing up.
“My father sent me,” she said steadily. “There is nothing happening at Llandarog. The castle is secure, and the men grow fat and lazy. My father thought you could use me at Gwendraith if the situation was not so settled.”
Morys cocked his eyebrow. “You?” he said. “We do not need you. You can go back to my brother and tell him to keep his children away from Gwendraith.”
It was a nasty thing to say and it was a struggle for Asmara not to rise to it.
If she rose to it, they would fight, and he would surely order her away.
That would be a problem because she had no intention of returning to her father.
Instead, she chose to ignore him, turning back to her food. But as she took a bite, Blayth spoke.
“She may remain,” he said. “She has wisdom and she is strong. She is a fine addition to our ranks.”
Morys looked at him in surprise before snorting rudely, grabbing at a cup of ale a servant brought for him.
“So, the Dragon Princess has you under her spell, has she?” he said.
“Very well. I will not contest you, but she will be your responsibility. I want nothing to do with her or her weakling father.”
Bashing her was one thing, but insulting her father was another.
Asmara’s head shot up, a nasty comment on her lips, but Blayth caught her attention and shook his head faintly to discourage her from replying.
There was something in his eyes that conveyed reassurance and trust – that he would not let such a thing to go unanswered.
More of that chivalry that he’d been intent on showing her as of late.
Confused and upset, Asmara returned to her food, but it was clear that she was upset.
Blayth knew this and, in truth, he was not particularly thrilled with Morys’ obvious attempts to offend Asmara. She didn’t deserve what the man was so callously dishing out. Keeping his focus on his meal, he spoke to Morys.
“I found Cader to be a sensible and thoughtful warrior in my dealings with him,” he said. “I would watch who I insult, even if it is your brother. He is still our ally and I am not in the habit of insulting men I would trust with my life.”
Morys wasn’t sure he liked Blayth’s attitude. This was the man he’d nursed back from the brink of death, the man who was leading this great new rebellion, and nothing could interfere with that. Blayth always agreed with him, in all things, and they understood one another.
At least, Morys thought they did. This was the first time that Morys could recall that Blayth even remotely came close to chastising him, of all subjects, over his brother.
And then, it occurred to him.
Asmara was sitting across the table, head down as she ate her food, but it began to occur to Morys why Blayth was defending Cader.
Asmara was here, and he suspected that Blayth might have an interest in the woman.
She’d come to Gwendraith, uninvited, and latched on to him.
He’d never heard of the Dragon Princess having feminine wiles, but she wasn’t an un-handsome woman.
Some might even call her beautiful. Therefore, it was more than possible that she’d learned to use that beauty to her advantage.
It made Morys wonder what had gone on at Gwendraith since he was away.
Given how he felt about his brother, it was difficult not to feel animosity towards Asmara.
My father sent me.
Was it possible that Cader had sent Asmara to lure Blayth away? In Morys’ paranoid mind, all things were probable.
“He is my brother and I shall say what I please,” Morys said as a servant put a trencher of roast mutton and beans in front of him. “Furthermore, I will not discuss him with you. I want to know what has been going on at Gwendraith since I have been away.”
Blayth drained his cup of ale before replying. “Nothing but what you see.”
Morys wasn’t sure if he believed Blayth; given that Asmara was there, certainly, there had been some activity. But he didn’t press him, at least not at the moment. With Asmara there, Morys was coming to think that Blayth was, indeed, under her spell.
“I have much to discuss with you from my conference with Howell,” he said. “There is much to say.”
Blayth simply nodded, holding his cup up as a servant filled it. “More plans, I will assume?”
“We will discuss that tomorrow.”