Chapter Eleven
The sky at sunrise was truly something to behold. It was a pink sky, with great ribbons of golden clouds streaked across it and a sun that was just peeking out from the eastern horizon. The vibrant green landscape of Wales was coming alive beneath the warm glow, awakening to the dawn of a new day.
Asmara was in the stables of Gwendraith, seeing to her horse.
It seemed to have developed an abscess on its hoof.
She noticed that the horse was favoring his right front leg yesterday and when she’d come in this morning, the abscess was evident.
Bent over the animal, with an iron lamp casting a soft golden light on the floor of the stables, she was working on cleaning out the hoof itself before going in search of the items she would need to cleanse the abscess.
In fact, Asmara had been spending a good deal of time with her horse.
Her presence with the animal had been constant over the past two days, ever since Morys returned from Carmarthen Castle.
He’d kept Blayth with him, sequestered as they discussed more plans for the building rebellion, and Asmara has been left on her own.
Not that she minded, because it was better than returning to Llandarog.
As long as she was near Blayth, she was content.
But being away from him had given her time to think.
In truth, all she’d done was think about Blayth and what she was coming to feel for him.
They hadn’t spent a lot of time together before Morys returned and ruined everything, but she felt as if they’d gotten to know one another fairly well in that time.
He’d spoken of his past, or what he could tell her, and of the memories Morys had given him.
But in hearing of Morys’ part in Blayth’s life, Asmara was even more suspicious of her uncle than she had been before.
When Blayth told her that Morys had “given” him his memories, that had set off a warning bell in her mind.
Then, when the Saesneg knight had called Blayth by another name, that had only confirmed what Asmara was already suspecting.
Then, Morys’ very strange behavior the night he returned from Carmarthen was questionable at best. It was a litany of clues, all adding up to something, telling Asmara that Morys knew far more about Blayth than what he’d told the man.
It also told her that Blayth wasn’t who Morys said he was.
But she would not speak of her suspicions, not to anyone, and especially not to Blayth.
He didn’t remember anything, but he seemed comfortable in the memories Morys had given him.
More than that, those involved in the rebellion were looking to Blayth as if he were their new savior and she would never take that hope away from her people.
It was an odd position she found herself in.
So, she spent time with her horse, stewing over Morys and his lies and wondering if, in the long run, they would end up hurting Blayth.
If that happened, then Asmara was prepared to defend the man from any backlash to Morys’ lies.
She would not let him be hurt, and least of all by Morys.
If her greedy, self-serving uncle was on a path to destruction, then she would not let him take Blayth down with him.
That was what her father had said to Morys once, back when they were still speaking to one another.
Morys had grand dreams of purging the English from Wales, as did Cader, but Morys was far more reckless about it.
Cader preferred to be sly and calculated in his movements against the English, while Morys preferred to be loud and rash.
Morys had always called Cader weak because he didn’t approve of Morys’ bold manner, but Morys had called Cader weak one too many times and Cader swore at him and told him he would not be pulled down by his brother’s path to destruction.
That had been the beginning of the estrangement between them.
Asmara hadn’t spent much time around Morys before the separation. But in the moments she had spent with him as of late, she developed a healthy hatred for the man. She didn’t like anything about him and his manipulative ways, and she didn’t like the way he controlled Blayth.
Blayth was a good, loyal warrior and Morys took advantage of that.
Then came the silly daydreams of what it would be like if Blayth was free of Morys, and if that gentle chivalry he’d shown her meant something more than simply manners.
What if it was something he wanted to show her?
What if he didn’t look at her as another warrior, but as a woman fully grown?
Her father was always asking about future grandchildren and her answer was always the same – Someday, Dadau, but not today.
What if that someday had finally come?
A noise shook her from those foolish dreams and she turned to see Aeddan and his brother, Pryce, entering the stable.
Asmara had seen them since their return from Carmarthen with Morys, but she hadn’t really spoken to them.
They had duties that kept them very busy.
When the brothers entered, Aeddan’s dark eyes fixed on her and he smiled politely.
“My lady,” he said. “You are up early.”
Asmara turned back to her horse. “I thought my horse was coming up lame yesterday,” she said. “I came to check him.”
Aeddan had a cloak and a few other items in his hands. He set them down and came over to Asmara as she bent over her animal.
“How is he?” he asked.
Asmara held up the hoof, showing him the beginnings of the abscess. “Poison has somehow gotten into his hoof,” she said. “I must make a solution of salt water to help drain it.”
Aeddan was peering at the wound. “Indeed,” he said. “You should soak it several times a day with the salt. It should heal. It does not look too terribly bad.”
Asmara had a tool to clean out the hoof and she picked at the area carefully. “I hope not,” she said. “He has a propensity for hoof wounds.”
Aeddan’s gaze lingered on the hoof for a few moments before he looked up at the animal in general. He gave the beast an appreciative slap on the withers.
“He is a fine horse,” he said. “How old is he?”
“He has seen three years this summer. I raised him from birth.”
Aeddan passed a practiced eye over the long legs of the horse. “I would wager that he can run like the wind.”
“And he does not like to be captured, either. When I put him out to pasture, sometimes it takes me an hour to catch him. He thinks it’s a game to run from me.”
Aeddan smiled, petting the horse on his dark face. “I have a horse that looks a good deal like him,” he said. “Morys gave him to me. He once belonged to a Saesneg soldier.”
The mere mention of Morys brought down Asmara’s mood.
Blayth had even mentioned that Aeddan and Pryce had been with him from the beginning of his memories so, with that in mind, Asmara’s curiosity took hold.
There was something in her that wanted to know about Blayth and Morys from Aeddan’s perspective.
He knew the situation as well as anyone.
“You have been with my uncle a long time, then?” she asked, sounding rather innocent in her attempts to probe him.
Aeddan wasn’t on his guard. He answered immediately. “Aye,” he said. “Since I was young. My father served him, too, so it was natural that we also serve him.”
“Is your father still alive?”
Aeddan shook his head, patting the horse’s head. “My father died several years ago,” he said. “It was Morys who practically raised my brother and me.”
“Then you are close to him?”
“Nay.”
The answer came from Pryce, who was standing back in the shadows. He had been listening to the conversation and could no longer remain silent. When Asmara and Aeddan turned to him, he seemed rather uncomfortable with the attention, but it didn’t stop him from speaking up.
“He is not like a father to us,” he said, stepping forward into the light. “He is our overlord and that is all. Morys does not treat anyone like family and God was wise when he did not allow the man to become a father. He would have been a terrible one.”
Aeddan was giving his brother a warning look, but Asmara pressed him. “Yet you still serve him,” she said. “Why do you serve him if you do not like him?”
Pryce simply shook his head. “We owe him a great deal,” he said. “When our father died, he fed us. He did not turn us out. But he expects something for that kindness.”
“Morys is a strict taskmaster,” Aeddan said, cutting of Pryce because the man was starting to complain.
“Pryce does not appreciate a man who has a strong sense of control. But we appreciate that he has provided for us and continues to do so. He is a prince of Deheubarth, after all. It is a privilege to serve him.”
Asmara hadn’t had much contact with the ap Ninian brothers during the raid on Llandarog, or even afterwards, so this was the first real conversation she’d had with them.
She could see that Pryce seemed to be somewhat discontented when it came to Morys and Aeddan tried to be tactful.
It was a rather interesting take on Morys, but not a surprising one.
She dropped the horse’s hoof and tossed the hoof pick aside.
“My father is also a prince, but he treats his people well,” she said. “He and Morys have never gotten on.”
“We know,” Aeddan said. “Morys is hard on people who do not think as he does.”
Asmara lifted her eyebrows. “I could see that the night he returned from Carmarthen when Blayth did not agree with what he was saying,” she said. “Does he always keep Blayth so close to him?”
Aeddan nodded firmly. “He does,” he said. “It has always been that way.”
“But why?”
Aeddan shrugged. “I suppose because of who he is. Morys protects him.”
“Protects him? Or hides him?” Asmara asked. Then, she noticed the change of expression on Pryce’s face; he wasn’t very good at hiding what seemed to be disbelief. “You have been with Blayth since Morys brought him back from Llandeilo, haven’t you?”
Aeddan looked at her. “Did Blayth tell you that?”