Chapter Eighteen #2
Asmara didn’t want to give Blayth’s name away, either.
“James,” she said, wincing as she spoke because it was also the first name that came to mind, and probably not the best name to give.
In order to head off any further questions, she pushed forth with an explanation.
“We were traveling north to… to see his family and we were attacked.”
Jestin had things in his hands as he headed over to the fire and pulled forth one of the iron arms that were used for hanging pots over the flame.
He had a small pot in his hand and hung it on the arm, but Asmara noticed that he was also holding a small sack of some kind.
There was already something in the pot, but she couldn’t see what it was, and she watched curiously as he sprinkled something from the little sack into the pot.
Using a stick leaning on the wall next to the hearth, he stirred whatever was in the pot.
Asmara couldn’t help but notice that the man really didn’t have much to say.
He seemed very annoyed with their intrusion, but that couldn’t be helped.
Unsure of what more to say to him, her attention inevitably returned to the beautiful broadswords pushed into the corner.
Dusty, and dulled with neglect, there was no mistaking their beauty.
“Did someone give those for safekeeping?” she asked. “Those weapons, I mean.”
Jestin was over at his table, his back turned to her as he ripped up material. Asmara could hear him tearing at it.
“You might say that,” he said. “Tell me why you were attacked.”
He was deliberately changing the subject, the second time she’d asked a question about all of the things he had stacked up in the corners, and the second time he avoided giving her an answer.
Asmara was coming to think he simply didn’t want to speak of it, and the truth of the matter was that she and Blayth had barged in on the man, and threatened him, so she didn’t blame him for not being friendly.
But she really didn’t care. As long as they had some shelter, and she was able to tend her wound, that was all that mattered. They’d be gone in the morning, anyway, and their whole visit would have been forgotten.
“I do not know why we were attacked,” she said after a moment. “An arrow hit me. That is all you need be concerned with.”
Jestin glanced over his shoulder again, his dark eyes appraising her, but Asmara looked away, gazing into the fire. Much as he didn’t want to speak on his massive collection, she didn’t want to discuss why she’d been hit with an arrow, so silence seemed best at this point.
They’d come to a stalemate.
The entry door burst open and Blayth appeared, lugging a big bucket of icy water from the well. He headed straight to the hearth, taking a knee beside it and looking at all of the cluttered mess around the hearth until he came to an iron pot that was sitting off to one side.
He pulled it forth, peered inside of it, and then took the hem of his tunic to wipe it clean, again and again. When he was satisfied that it was clean enough, he poured the water into it and set it upon the coals.
“I am sorry I took so long,” he said, “but I took a few moments to tend to the horses. While the water is warming, I should take a look at your shoulder. Does it hurt very much?”
Asmara looked up at him and he could see the answer to his question in her eyes, even though he knew she would never admit it.
“Nay,” she lied. “Not very much.”
He didn’t contradict her. The Dragon Princess was strong in so many ways, and he would not diminish that strength, but he watched her grimace as he moved her hand away from the wound.
Then he began peeling back the fabric of her tunic, getting a look at a puncture wound that was just below her left collarbone.
She turned her head away as he bent lower to get a good look.
“It does not look as if it is too terribly deep,” he said, “but it needs to be cleaned out.”
Gingerly, he pulled out a piece of fabric from the surface of the wound, part of her tunic that was torn off when the arrow pierced her.
As he looked closer, he realized there was another head close to his and he looked to see their host standing next to him, also peering curiously at the wound.
He could feel the man’s hot breath on his neck as he scrutinized the wound quite closely.
“We will need the wine to wash the wound clean,” the man finally said. “I have brought all that I have. We will also need to stitch it closed. I have is sewing kit.”
Blayth didn’t like the fact that the man was so close to Asmara, but he tolerated it for the moment. “I agree,” he said. “What is your name?”
“Jestin,” Asmara said; her head was turned and her eyes were closed because she didn’t want to see the gaping hole in her shoulder. “This is Father Jestin. I have introduced us as Morwenna and James.”
Blayth looked at her rather curiously for a moment, realizing she had given the priest fake names.
Still, he understood why; she didn’t want to involve the priest in their troubles and she didn’t want the man to be able to give their true names if Morys and other Welshmen came looking for them.
That seemed dangerous. Therefore, he kept that in mind as he watched the priest scrutinize Asmara’s wound.
The man who could help them… or very well condemn them.
But he didn’t seem like he was in the mood to condemn. In fact, after his initial irritation at their intrusion, he’d settled down dramatically. Now, he seemed very interested in Asmara’s wound.
“I have something to help her,” he finally said, rushing off to another cluttered corner of the chamber. “I read a treatise on Arabic potions and it had the knowledge of a healing mixture that keeps away fever and disease. A rotten brew, it is called. I have made it before.”
Blayth didn’t like the sound of that. “Rotten?” he repeated. “And it is supposed to help?”
Jestin nodded eagerly. “Aye,” he said. “It cures all ailments, or at least most of them. I have given some to the people of the village who were in need and the results are miraculous.”
Blayth was leery but, at this point, he was willing to allow it. He and Asmara had a long journey ahead of them and he didn’t want her suffering or ill along the way. He couldn’t bear it if something happened to this brave woman because of him.
As Jestin fussed over in the corner by the light of a single taper, Blayth turned to Asmara as she sat, still leaning against the old table.
He felt extremely guilty about what had happened and, in truth, he hadn’t really thought about it until now.
He’d kept the visions of Morys’ actions pushed aside because the more important task had been to reach safety.
But now, he had time to think about it. They were safe for the time being, Asmara was about to be tended, and he struggled not to let the guilt of it all consume him.
“You were very brave, cariad,” he finally said, kneeling down beside her.
“It is strange… I am not accustomed to anyone fighting my own battles, but that is what you have done. You stood up to Morys in my defense and I am both awed and grateful. But please know how sorry I am that it ended with an arrow in your shoulder.”
Asmara turned to look at him, feeling the warmth from the man.
There was so much warmth between them now that it was present every time they looked at each other, in their expressions as well as in their touch.
She could see in his expression how grateful he was and she put her hand up, cupping his bearded jaw.
“I would do it a thousand times over,” she murmured. “He was trying to turn the men against you and I would not let him do that.”
He put his hand over hers, turning to kiss her palm sweetly. “You are my champion,” he said softly. Then, he eyed the priest over in the corner. “What did you tell him?”
Asmara turned as well, her gaze falling on the man who was busily doing something. “Not much,” she whispered so the priest couldn’t hear. “I did not want to give him our real names for fear that Morys might be tracking us.”
Blayth thought back to the moment he saw Asmara’s arrow hit Morys in the neck. “I do not think that will be possible,” he muttered. “Your aim was true.”
“What do you mean?”
“I believe you killed him. If the arrow did not, then we certainly did when we fled and trampled him.”
Her eyes widened. “I… I did not see,” she said. “The arrow was in my shoulder and that was all I was concerned with. I did not see what happened after it hit me.”
He kissed her hand again. “He would have killed us,” he said. “I have no doubt. What you did, you did to protect our lives. There is no dishonor or shame in that.”
Asmara thought on the moment she was hit with Morys’ arrow, the moment that her own arrow was accidentally released. She really hadn’t been aiming at the time, but if she hit her uncle, she realized that she did not regret it. Blayth was right; Morys would have killed them both.
“I never thought I would see him do such a thing,” she said truthfully.
“I do not understand why he would… wait… that is not true. I do understand. Morys has always been selfish and deceitful. My own father will not speak ill of his brother, but I do not have such restraint. He was going to kill you to keep you from leaving him.”
“I know.”
“I would not have believed it had I not seen it for myself.”
Blayth simply nodded, thinking on Morys and how the man had been both a blessing and a curse to him.
“It occurred to me that he started seeing me as a possession,” he muttered.
“He saved my life. Therefore, it was his view that I should belong to him. I suppose I have always seen that in him, but never more so when you and I were coming to know one another. He did not like that my attention was somewhere other than on his goals.”