“Stop,” he commanded quietly. “Shut your lips. I have not changed my mind, but you have yet to allow me to explain. You keep interrupting me.”
He was holding her very tightly and Asmara could feel the strength in those hands. If nothing else about the man had impressed her, the first touch of his hands upon her did. The power radiating from them was indescribable. It made her heart race so vibrantly that she could scarcely catch her breath.
“Very well,” she said. “Explain.”
He could see that she was still angry. She wasn’t going to make this easy for him, and he knew that anything other than the truth wouldn’t be well-met, so he swallowed his pride. His relationship with the woman was deepening, or at least he hoped so, and he decided that it was right that he should confess what he’d been thinking. If she didn’t understand, then perhaps all of that pity and compassion he’d felt from her was insincere. But if she did understand – and he prayed she did – then perhaps all of this was real.
He very much wanted it to be real.
“It occurred to me that I did not give you a choice,” he said. “It occurred to me that I have forced you into agreeing to ride with me. There is no reason why you should want to do so.”
Asmara was confused. Her brow furrowed as she peered at him. “Why would I not want to ride with you?”
He dropped his hands and averted his gaze. “Let us be honest,” he said. “I… I am not the most attractive man. My body is damaged. I do not blame you if that repulses you, so I did not mean to force you to do something that would mean… we will be close together by virtue of riding on the same horse, and… you do not need to be faced with the scars that cover me.”
He trailed off, putting his left hand up to cover the side of his head that was so badly damaged. He was covering it from her view. As he did so, it began to occur to Asmara what he meant and the pity, the sorrow, she felt for the man knew no limits.
“Is that what you think?” she said. “That I think you are repulsive somehow?”
He shrugged. “I would understand, demoiselle. You are such a beautiful woman and such perfection deserves perfection. I am far from it.”
Asmara’s heart just about broke. She’d always thought she was a hard woman, hardened to the feelings and emotions of others. She kept her composure through almost any situation, but not this one. It occurred to her that he was so very ashamed of the way he looked, at least when it came to a woman. But the truth was that she found it rugged and exciting.
She always had.
The stable was being filled with the warmth of the early morning sun as she took a few steps in his direction. When she was close enough, she reached out and put her hand over his as it covered the left side of his head. Curling her fingers around his, she pulled his hand away. When he looked up, wary of her intentions, all he saw was a gentle smile on her face.
“All I see is a man who has seen much in life,” she said softly. “I see a handsome man I would be delighted to ride with. You are strong and fearless as a warrior, but beneath that façade, you are kind and humorous. I also sense a gentleness in you that I cannot explain, but it is there. I can see it, just below the surface. I agreed to ride with you because I wanted to, not because you forced me to. No one can force me into anything I do not wish to do. Or haven’t you figured that out yet?”
Blayth could hardly breathe through the pounding in his chest. “I have,” he said. “But… are you certain?”
“Very certain.”
Asmara’s touch was so very gentle, and warm, and it was like nothing he’d ever experienced before. That this beautiful, accomplished woman was saying such things to him was beyond his wildest dreams. He’d never been very good with words, but always much better with actions. The only action he could think of was to take her in his arms and kiss her.
He did.
Enormous, freckled arms pulled her against him as his mouth slanted over hers. Initially, Asmara stiffened with shock and Blayth fully expected a fist to come flying into his jaw, but she didn’t hit him. She put her hands up, on his chest as if to push him away, but he simply pulled her closer and suckled her lips with a glorious hunger. It was enough of a hunger that Asmara felt it, too, and soon enough, he could feel her body relax. Slowly, but surely, she began responding to him.
In little time, she was limp and boneless against him.
It was like heaven.
Blayth couldn’t remember ever having a woman in his arms like this, so his actions weren’t from practice. They were instinctive. It was instinctive that his tongue snaked into her mouth, licking at her, and then feeling the woman tremble in his arms as his kisses became more forceful.
In truth, he was overwhelming her. The scent of her in his nostrils fed the primal beast within, the one that was greatly aroused by a woman. It was the most basic male in him, the one that wanted to mate with her in the worst way, and he put his big hands on her back, between her shoulder blades, and pulled her straight into his seeking mouth. He wasn’t feasting on her lips any longer, but on her neck and shoulders, and on the delicate flesh on the swell of her full bosom. The more he tasted, the more he wanted and through it all, Asmara had yet to utter a sound.
She was letting him do whatever he wanted to do.
Blayth was blinded by his lust for her, the soft warmth of her body, and he was thinking about pulling her into the shadows and exploring her even further when one of the horses nickered softly, setting off another horse, and then one of them kicked at the post on his stall. That rattled Blayth’s concentration and he loosened his grip, afraid that they were about to be seen. It was early still, and the animals were anticipating their morning meal, which would be coming shortly. Blayth didn’t want to be discovered with Asmara in a compromising position by some stable groom.
Before he realized it, they were standing a few feet apart, and Blayth found himself looking into Asmara’s flushed face.
“Should I apologize for forcing myself upon you?” he asked quietly.
Asmara was as close to swooning as she had ever been, but she managed to shake her head.
“Nay.”
“Good. Because I do not want to.”
Asmara swallowed, hard. She didn’t know what to say to that. She knew she should be terribly embarrassed, or angry at the very least, but she couldn’t seem to manage it. The moment he touched her, it was as if every bone in her body turned to jelly and her mind was laid to waste.
All she could do was let him kiss her.
There was fire in the man’s touch that had scorched her to the bone. And because she didn’t know how to reply to his statement, as romantic conversation was completely foreign to her, she simply grinned sheepishly and looked away.
Blayth’s gaze lingered on her lowered head, smiling at her coy manner. He was deeply relieved that his impulsive action hadn’t resulted in a bloodied nose, or worse. All he knew was that he’d wanted to kiss her, so he had. And she had liked it.
He could hardly believe it.
“Then I suppose I should find my horse so we can depart,” he said. He turned to his left, realized his horse wasn’t in that direction, and then quickly turned right. “Damnable animal keeps moving himself around. He is trying to trick me.”
Asmara giggled as Blayth headed down a row of stalls. He was acting about as giddy as she felt, which she thought was rather sweet. She watched him pull forth a dappled gray beast with a fat rump, leading the horse from the stable and out into the stable yard.
Asmara didn’t follow him, however, because her horse was still standing there, favoring his right front hoof, so she immediately set about finding a bucket to soak the horse’s hoof in. Blayth had said that the grooms would do it, but she didn’t want to leave it to chance. While he was preparing his horse, she would tend to hers. Finding a wooden bucket with the remains of grain in it, she blew into it, blowing out the chaff, as she headed out into the stable yard.
Blayth saw her leaving and he called out to her.
“Where are you going?”
Asmara paused, the bucket on her hip. “To find hot water to soak my horse’s hoof,” she said. “I will be back by the time you finish preparing your horse. Will you make sure to find a groom to tend my horse while we are gone?”
He smiled at her, a toothy grin. “With pleasure, demoiselle.”
Asmara fought off a smile as she turned and headed for the keep and the kitchen yards behind it. In fact, she couldn’t seem to stop smiling, thinking of Blayth and his kisses, feeling the soft warmth of his lips on hers. Lost in thought, she put her fingers to her lips as if to feel the last place he’d kissed her. She’d never been kissed by a man in her life and her first kiss had definitely been one to remember.
She was ashamed to admit there was something in her that liked it.
The Dragon Princess had a soft woman in her, after all.
The sun continued to rise overhead and the breeze was picking up, pushing puffy clouds across the sky. Somewhere to the east, storm clouds were starting to gather and it was possible they’d have a storm by nightfall, but Asmara wasn’t paying any attention to that. She was thinking ahead to the trip to Carmarthen and wondering if Blayth was going to try and kiss her again. Secretly, she hoped so. As she neared the keep, she began to hear someone calling her name. Torn from her daydreams, she turned to see a most unwelcome sight.
Cader was heading in her direction.
Immediately, Asmara went on her guard, knowing that if her father had come all the way to Gwendraith, he must be very mad, indeed. She’d had almost three days before he’d shown his face, but she supposed that she knew, in the end, that he would come for her. Finding her missing at Llandarog, he probably assumed she went home, but when he didn’t find her at Talley, then he came looking for her at any one of the recently captured castles. Gwendraith was closest and the logical choice.
Unfortunately, he’d caught her out in the open. There was no running and hiding now. With a heavy sigh, she turned and headed in his direction.
“Greetings, Dadau,” she said evenly. “It is a fine morning, is it not?”
Cader looked weary and furious. He was in no mood for his daughter’s flippant greeting. “What are you doing here?” he growled. “Why did you leave Llandarog?”
Asmara had been anticipating this question at some point and she was prepared. “Because Llandarog is dead,” she said. “There is nothing happening there. The men are lazy and bored. I came to Gwendraith to see if I was needed because, certainly, I am not needed at Llandarog.”
Cader’s lips were set in a hard, flat line. “That is for me to decide, not you,” he hissed. “I need you at Llandarog to oversee the men.”
“Nursemaid them, you mean.”
His eyes narrowed. “What does that mean?”
She threw up her free hand, the one that wasn’t holding the bucket. “It means that an old woman could do the same job you want me to do,” she said angrily. “The men at Llandarog do not need a commander; they need a nurse to wipe their noses and settle petty squabbles. I am a warrior, Dadau; I cannot sit around and tend an army of fools.”
Cader sighed sharply. “I decide what you will do, Asmara,” he snapped. “You do not seem to understand that. In fact, since you are so unhappy at Llandarog, you may return home to your mother and sister. I cannot use a warrior who will not follow my wishes.”
Asmara paused; she could do one of two things at that moment. She could fight him, or she could try to ease the situation. Her father was as stubborn as she was and, truth be told, she’d done wrong by leaving. She knew that. But she didn’t want to tell him the truth of exactly why she’d left. She would never admit that she’d come to Gwendraith because of a man. Instead, she turned the conversation to something she and her father were joined against – Morys.
“I do not think that would be wise,” she said, presenting someone who was much calmer than she had been only moments earlier. “Dadau, I will truthfully tell you why I came. It was something I did not want to speak of to you, but now… now I must.”
Cader had no patience for her. “What is it?”
“I am convinced something is very wrong with Morys.”
He rolled his eyes. “Nothing is wrong with him,” he said. “You simply want to find fault with him because you do not like him.”
“Nay, Dadau, not this time,” she insisted. “There is something wrong. He is up to something.”
Cader was still irritated with her, but part of him was the slightest bit interested in what she had to say. Asmara had always proven herself wise and a good judge of character. It was true that she was rash, and bold, and that was just something Cader lived with, but she was also someone he trusted. Therefore, he was inclined to listen to her as long as she wasn’t trying to stir up anything.
“Merch, I know you do not like your Uncle Morys,” he said, less angry than he had been. “As far as him being up to something, he is always up to something. That is who he is.”
He shook his head and lifted his hands in a futile gesture, as if he didn’t quite know how to address that side of his brother’s character. Asmara closed the distance between them, putting a hand on his arm.
“This is different than his usual ambition,” she said, lowering her voice. “There is something going on that he is not telling anyone, and it centers around Blayth.”
Now, she had her father’s attention. “What do you mean?”
Asmara was very careful with how much she told him; she had a plan in mind, a plan that would allow her to remain at Gwendraith, and with Blayth, but she had to make it believable to her father or he really would make her return home. And she very much wanted to stay.
Therefore, she rolled out an explanation that was half-truth, half-speculation. She wanted her father to hear what she had heard for the most part, at least enough to convince him that she would be doing right by remaining at Gwendraith.
“I am not entirely certain,” she said after a moment, “but I have had a few conversations with Blayth. Do you know he cannot remember anything before he came to live with Morys? He told me that it was Morys who told him he was the bastard son of Llywelyn. That information never came from Blayth; he does not remember if he is or not.”
By now, Cader was over his anger at his daughter, listening intently to what she was telling him about his brother and the mysterious warrior known as Blayth the Strong.
“Morys told him who he was?” he clarified.
Asmara nodded. “Aye,” she said. “I have been asking around and I believe I have the confidence of a few of Morys’ men. I want to know what they know about Blayth. It’s my belief that Morys is trying to use the man for some greater purpose, like a puppet. He gives orders and Blayth obeys.”
Cader wasn’t following her. “For what purpose?”
She lifted an eyebrow. “Think about it,” she said. “What if Morys is trying to unite Wales under Blayth, but Blayth will have no real power? It will be Morys with the power, Dadau.”
Cader was looking at her with great skepticism but, on the other hand, it sounded very much like his brother. Morys had always been extremely ambitious and with the bastard son of Llywelyn under his control, the power Morys could wield might be limitless. In truth, he couldn’t put anything past the man.
“That is serious speculation,” he said. “What proof do you have?”
Asmara shook her head. “None,” she said. “All I know is what Blayth has told me and what Morys has told all of us. But it all seems so strange, Dadau… doesn’t it?”
Cader had to admit that it did. “And that is why you came here?”
Asmara nodded, even though she was lying about it. “If Morys is trying to gain power, then we should know, shouldn’t we?” she said. “And what about Rhys ap Maredudd? He is the one heading this rebellion, but Morys is telling everyone that Blayth is the only true Welsh prince and that he is the one who should lead it. Rhys will not take any of this without a fight and it is possible t
hat Morys will lead us all into a massive civil war – Rhys against Blayth.”
It was a horrific thought. But knowing what he did about his brother, none of this was far-fetched. It was not only possible, but probable. With that in mind, Cader suddenly wasn’t so angry about Asmara’s presence at Gwendraith. The woman had good instincts.
“Then you wish to remain here?” he asked.
“Someone should, don’t you think? Someone needs to watch Morys and see what he is planning.”
“You could just ask him, you know.”
“Do you truly believe he would confess such a thing?”
Cader shook his head reluctantly. “Nay,” he said. Then, he sighed heavily. “Very well. You may remain. But you will send word to me if you discover anything.”
“I will come and tell you myself if I discover anything.”
“I will hold you do that.”
He was going to allow her to remain. Asmara struggled against showing the relief she felt.
“You may as well see Morys while you are here,” she said. “He returned from Carmarthen two days ago, some kind of secret meetings with Howell, so you should ask him about it. He did not tell me anything.”
Cader was never in the mood to speak with his brother, but he thought that might be a good idea.
“I did not know about any meetings at Carmarthen,” he said.
“I did not think so.”
Cader’s gaze trailed up the massive keep as if to see Morys somewhere inside. “I am interested to know what was discussed.”
“Then go and ask him,” Asmara said. She held up the bucket in her hand. “I am going to the kitchen yard for hot water. My horse has a wound on his hoof that must be soaked. Oh… and if Morys asks you, I told him that you sent me to Gwendraith to see if I could be of any help. That is all he knows.”
Cader simply lifted his hand, acknowledging the situation, before heading off to the keep. Asmara stood there a moment, watching him go, wondering what would take place in the coming discussion between her father and his ambitious brother. If Morys felt cornered, or probed, the discussion might not go well at all. Asmara was coming to think that it might be a good idea to remain at Gwendraith to make sure a brotherly meeting didn’t turn into a brotherly argument.
The Original de Wolfe Pack Complete Set: Including Sons of de Wolfe Page 259
