Chapter Nineteen #2
He wriggled his eyes in agreement. “In the future, I certainly shall,” he said. Then, he turned away from the window and headed towards the chamber entry. “I will leave you to dress. Or would you like for me to stay and help you?”
Asmara looked at him, feeling her cheeks flush as she fought off a self-conscious smile. “Once we are married, I shall gladly accept your assistance.”
He could see that she was sweetly embarrassed by his offer. “Then I shall hurry and get the priest now.”
She laughed. “I will be dressed by the time you return.” He was almost through the doorway when she called to him. “Blayth?”
He paused and looked at her. “Aye?”
Her smile faded. “When we are married, what shall I be known as?” she asked. “What I mean is that wives assume their husband’s name. What shall I be called?”
It was a very good question but one he’d not really considered until now. After a moment, he shook his head. “Ap Llywelyn is not my name,” he said quietly. “That has been established. Until we can establish what, exactly, my name is, then you shall be addressed as My Lady Wife, Lady Blayth.”
“But… your name is James.”
“What would you prefer to call me?”
“What are you comfortable with?”
“As I said, until my identity can be established without question, I shall continue to go by Blayth. It is the only name I remember.”
Asmara nodded, an acknowledgement of a most confusing issue. Blayth gave her a smile, and a wink, before leaving the chamber in search of Jestin.
As Asmara cleaned up, Blayth nosed around the main chamber for food and came across a half of a loaf of brown bread, covered up with cloth, and some hard, white cheese.
He took it back to Asmara for her to eat before heading out of the small residence and into the cold morning beyond.
The grass was wet with dew and moisture hung from the trees.
He headed for the church, with its enormous tower and chapel attached, and entered through a side door.
Inside, it smelled of earth and incense, and he looked up at the heavy crossbeams across the ceiling, supporting the pitched roof.
It was the first time he’d been inside the church because yesterday, as he’d told Asmara, he’d spent most of the day nursing a horrific headache, which meant he’d spent his time mostly lying down because it was more comfortable.
He’d wanted to inspect the broadswords of Jestin’s collection, but he didn’t quite make it.
He’d slept heavily last night only to be awakened by Asmara’s smiling face and blatant insult.
He wanted to wake up that way for the rest of his life.
In truth, he really didn’t know if Jestin spent his days here in the church.
He’d only said that because the man left early yesterday morning, and this morning he’d also left early and had headed in the direction of the chapel.
Therefore, Blayth could only assume the man was somewhere in the church and he found himself heading for the big tower, plainly seen through an open door on the west end of the chapel.
“Jestin?” he called.
He thought he heard a muffled reply coming from the tower so he continued on, entering the low doorway that led into the great stone turret, and he immediately saw Jestin sitting to his right, hunched over a table that was positioned below a window.
The effect was such that there was light on the table, illuminating vellum, something Jestin appeared to be writing on.
The table was crowded with pieces of vellum and writing instruments.
The priest lifted his quill when he saw Blayth enter, turning towards the man.
“Ah,” he said. “So you have escaped the clutches of the demon cider?”
Blayth gave him a lopsided grin. “If you know it is sanctioned by Satan, then why do you make it?”
Jestin laughed softly. “Because I like it,” he said. “That must mean that I am sanctioned by Satan. But let us not discuss my immortal soul; let us discuss you and your lady wife. Has she awakened yet?”
Blayth nodded; he was coming to like this irreverent priest, just a little. “She has, indeed, awakened,” he said. “And I have a confession.”
“Then you have come to the right place.”
“She is not my wife. We would like for you to rectify that situation.”
Jestin lowered his quill completely. “I see,” he said thoughtfully. “Well, I suppose nothing untoward has happened since you have been here. But why did you not tell me the truth?”
Blayth shrugged. “There was never really the opportunity, I suppose,” he said. “She was injured and I was only concerned with her care. We did not intend to be deliberately subversive.”
Jestin really didn’t seem to mind. “And I did not ask you if you were married; I only assumed,” he said. “No harm done, I suppose. But we shall remedy the situation. I would be pleased to perform the rite.”
Blayth cast him a long look. “I am not so sure now,” he said. “I cannot have my marriage rite performed by a priest who is sanctioned by Satan.”
Jestin chuckled. “I promise that Satan will not enter into this,” he said. “I am glad you wish to marry the lady, even though she has a tongue of fire. You will have to douse that fire, Blayth.”
Blayth shook his head. “I do not want to,” he said. “What that woman has done in her life… she is fearless and brave as few men are. She is as strong as the mountains and then some. Nay, I would not douse her fire. I worship it.”
Jestin thought it was a rather sweet sentiment, something rarely heard these days. He’d not often come across men who spoke so highly of their women. He pointed to the vellum on the table, with his neat writing on it.
“You told me the story of Blayth the Strong on the evening you arrived, when the demon cider loosened your tongue,” he said. “I am writing it all down, by the way. It is a tale of great heroics. But you shall have to tell me the story of your lady if she is so fine and strong.”
“She is,” Blayth said. “But I am not sure I want to share that story. Mayhap the story of the Dragon Princess is just for me.”
Jestin’s eyebrows lifted. “The Dragon Princess?” he said. “I am intrigued. Then that would make you something of a dragon tamer.”
Blayth shook his head. “Do not let her hear you say that,” he said. “She would not like it.”
Jestin lifted his shoulders carelessly, as a man does when he is too foolish to be frightened by a woman. “It is not for her to know, is it?” he said. “She is brave, you say?”
“Like you have never seen.”
“She does not dress like a lady. She dresses more like a warrior.”
“That is because she can fight better than most men.”
“But she is a princess?”
“Rhys Gryg is her grandfather,” he said. “Her great-grandfather was the last King of Deheubarth.”
That meant something to Jestin, who was suitably impressed. “Then she is, indeed, a Dragon Princess,” he said. “And you wish to marry her?”
“Aye.”
“What of her father? Does he give his permission?”
Blayth didn’t want to have to explain the entire situation, so he lied about it. “He is dead,” he said. “She has no one but me, and I intend to marry her. She deserves to be worshiped and tended as only I can.”
Jestin didn’t push him on the subject; he was coming to like this slow-speaking but witty man who spoke so fondly of his lady. “Very well,” he said. “When do you wish to marry her?”
“Today. Now, if we can.”
Jestin nodded thoughtfully. “Two acolytes will be here at noon to help me with Sext, the mid-morning prayers for the faithful,” he said. “I will perform the marriage rite before Sext and they shall witness the ceremony.”
Blayth was satisfied. “My thanks,” he said. “I shall pay you for your service.”
Jestin turned to him, a shrewd twinkle in his eye. “I do not want your money,” he said. “I want you to tell me of the story of the Dragon Princess.”
Blayth had to grin at the man; he was persistent. After a moment of debate, he finally relented.
“If I do this, you cannot tell her,” he said.
“I will not say a word.”
“Are you going to write her story down as you’ve written mine?”
“Of course I am. I told you that I am the Keeper of legends.”
“Then do it after we have left, please. I should not like for her to know.”
Jestin agreed. For the next two hours, he heard Blayth tell him what he knew of Asmara and of her brave breach of Llandarog Castle.
It was everything Jestin hoped it would be.
Dressed in a dark green woolen tunic that went to her knees, with her leather breeches beneath it, Asmara became Blayth’s wife as they both stood at the entry to Jestin’s church beneath a canopy of oak branches, swaying in the gentle wind.
It was right before the noon prayers and two boys from the village were witnesses as Jestin performed the marital rite.
The younger of the boys picked his nose through the entire ceremony, right in Blayth’s line of sight, and he found it very difficult not to make threatening faces at the child at the terrible display of manners.
He focused on Asmara instead, on her lovely face as she gazed up at him with a mixture of adoration and excitement.
Her pretty hair was braided and draped over her right shoulder.
Even though she wasn’t dressed in fine clothing, she couldn’t have been more beautiful to him had she been wearing silks and jewels.
He smiled at her the entire time, taking his vows, feeling his connection with her down to his bones.
She was embedded in him, the strength of their feelings for one another more powerful than anything he’d ever known.
The day he realized she meant something to him was the day he began a life he never thought he’d have, something sweet and loving and kind.
He was a man who had been born at least twice in his lifetime, but with Asmara in his life, he felt as if he was being born yet again.
When the rite was over, and Jestin finished praying, Blayth took Asmara in his arms, being very careful of her left shoulder, and kissed her.
It was the best kiss of his life.