The Good Knight (A Gareth and Gwen Medieval Mystery) (15 page)

Owain Gwynedd had no answers either. He stared at Cristina and then scrubbed at his hair with both hands, making the straw tufts stick up on end. “I am undone. My entire family conspires and plots without my knowledge.” He collapsed onto the bench that Gwen had vacated.

“Please forgive me, my lord, but I was attempting to help your son in his search.” Cristina gave King Owain a look that managed to make her look coquettish, rather than guilty or embarrassed. “King Cadell’s room was one of several I examined.”

“Why?” King Owain raised his hands and dropped them in his lap in a helpless gesture. “Why would you do this?”

“Because I was the only one who could.”

King Owain gazed at her. Cristina didn’t back down. Like Hywel, she kept her face calm and unconcerned. Then King Owain began to laugh. He threw back his head and roared at the ceiling. Still standing behind his desk, Hywel grinned at Gwen. She just barely managed to smile back. It really wasn’t funny—and the power Cristina seemed to wield over the King certainly made it worse—but for the moment, Cristina appeared to be on their side.

Eventually, King Owain sobered. “Did you tell Cadell what you found?”

“Of course not,” Cristina said. “I gave the seal to Gwen, who obviously showed it to Hywel and Gareth, which is how it ended up among Gareth’s things. I have no idea how Cadell came to hear of it.”

“He would, of course, have discovered it missing,” Gwen said.

“That is if he put it there in the first place,” Hywel said, “and if he is the perpetrator of all this.”

“Ach.” King Owain waved a hand. “You’re looking in the wrong direction. Cadell is neither smart enough, nor devious enough, to have planned something this complicated. He’s been Anarawd’s loyal advisor ever since their father died.” Owain paused. “I am considering giving him Elen’s hand.”

“But someone ordered Anarawd’s death, my lord,” Cristina said. “Who stands to gain the most from it?”

“What about Uncle Cadwaladr—”

“Don’t speak his name!” King Owain jutted his chin out at his son. “I have heard your opinion of him and I grant that he might be wrong about Gareth, but he has done nothing to deserve any accusation, especially not one as inflammatory as this.”

Nobody replied and King Owain seemed to sense their muted disapproval. He straightened. “I need proof of someone else’s guilt, Hywel, before I can free Gareth. You know that.”

“I’ll get your proof, Father.” Hywel glanced at Gwen. “We’ll get it if it’s there to find.”

“I trust you,” King Owain said. “You have never failed me.” And with that astounding piece of fatherly affirmation, he stood and held out his arm to Cristina, who took it.

Hywel stopped his father, however, before he could leave the room. “Why do you think so poorly of Gareth, Father, when he has served us well?” His tone was genuinely curious. “Back when we first heard the news of Anarawd’s death, you referred to something Uncle Cadwaladr told you. What was it?”

King Owain pursed his lips. “I’ll tell you. There’s no reason not to. Cadwaladr believes Gareth was the spy who revealed our movements to the Normans in the last days of fighting in Ceredigion, before your grandfather died.”

Gwen blinked. Whatever she’d been expecting, it wasn’t that.

“Why didn’t he name him so at the time?” Hywel said.

“He chose not to. We’d won the war; there seemed little to gain and the admission that he’d harbored a spy would have shown weakness just at a time when he needed to show strength. The people of Ceredigion needed a leader, not one who could be fooled by a strip of a boy.”

“All I can tell you is that I don’t believe it, Father,” Hywel said. “It doesn’t fit with the man I know.”

“Perhaps. For now, I want him where I can see him. It was his brother, Bran, who rode with the Danes,” King Owain said. “Perhaps they conspired together.”

Gwen’s teeth were clenched so tightly she didn’t know if she’d be able to pry them apart. That the truth could get so distorted never ceased to amaze her. She wanted to say something, but at a warning look from Hywel, kept her mouth shut.

King Owain narrowed his eyes at his son. “You will do well to remember that the punishment for treason is death.”

Hywel swallowed hard. “I would not have forgotten that, Father.”

King Owain nodded curtly and left, Cristina on his arm, leaving Gwen and Hywel alone once again.

“That means Gareth stays where he is, doesn’t it?” Gwen said.

“For now.”

Chapter Eighteen

B
ack in the stables, Gwen and Hywel gazed down at Gareth, who lay flat on his back on the hard, dirt floor, rather the worse for this incarceration. “I’m tired of being thrown in here for something I did not do!” His tone was emphatic, but the volume was weaker than Gwen liked. “And now you tell me that King Owain thinks that because Bran was with the Danes, I was too? To what end? Nothing could be further from the truth.”

Gwen knelt beside him and felt his head. “Are you much hurt?”

“I’m fine.” Gareth grasped her hand. “But what about you?” He touched the redness that spread from the corner of her mouth to her cheek. And then his voice hardened. “Who did this?”

Gwen glanced up at Hywel, who lounged against the doorframe, one hand resting on his sword. He grimaced, but didn’t answer.

“Gwen—” Gareth’s voice had a warning tone to it.

She sighed. “Cadwaladr.”

“Goddamn—” Gareth swallowed whatever else he was going to say, squeezed her hand hard and then let go. He pushed himself up onto his elbows and glared at Hywel. “Nice of you to intervene, my lord.”

“I have no obligation to explain myself to you,” Hywel said. “But I will repeat what I told Gwen: this is a long game I’m playing and it wouldn’t do to confront Cadell—or Cadwaladr—over something that doesn’t matter.”

Gareth opened his mouth to speak, and then closed it. “Doesn’t matter—” He mumbled further under his breath, but didn’t openly protest.

“What did you discover on your journey?” Hywel said.

“A couple of bodies.” Now Gareth scrambled to his feet, holding a hand to his belly and moving more stiffly than usual. Gradually he straightened and stretched. “A few bruises, Gwen, that’s all.” He’d read the concern on her face correctly. “As Lord Hywel pointed out, it’s a small matter.”

Gwen nodded, going over in her head what she’d seen earlier in front of the cell. At the time, it had looked as if Cadell’s men had beaten Gareth badly, but maybe her eyes had fooled her. They might have been pulling their punches, wanting to make it look good to please their lord. Gareth had told her that for the years he’d served Prince Cadwaladr, many of his friends had learned to shade their actions so as to not openly violate their orders, but not exactly follow them either. It was a matter of living with oneself afterwards.

Then Gareth’s words registered. “More bodies?” she said.

“I found one in the Roman fort near the intersection of all those trails,” Gareth said, “and a second at Dolwyddelan. The castellan discovered that death an hour before I arrived. The murderer had stuffed him into the latrine. It was just his bad luck that the slops came to clean it when they did. The body was cold and stiff; it had been in there—or at least dead—no more than two days.”

“Do you know the identities of the dead men?” Hywel said, still leaning against the doorframe.

“The first was a Dane. Someone killed him with a knife to the chest.”

“The same method as Anarawd,” Hywel said.

“Yes, but a different knife,” Gareth said, “one that the killer left behind. In addition, the killer drove a spear through the man’s middle—after he was dead, mind you.”

“How very interesting,” Hywel said.

“Why skewer a dead man?” Gwen said.

Hywel turned to her. “Why indeed?”

Gareth nodded. “I brought his effects home to Aber. They’ll be in my saddlebags still.” He paused. “Someone saw to Braith, I hope?”

“I made sure of it,” Hywel said. “And the second?”

“The second was a stable boy at Dolwyddelan Castle.”

“Really?” Gwen catalogued the boys she’d seen when she was there with her family. Then she pulled herself up short, disturbed that she could be so calm about so many murders. It wasn’t right that she should get used to them. But as it was… “Why would someone want to kill a stable boy?”

“We don’t know the answer to that, but he had been assigned to tend King Anarawd’s horse,” Gareth said.

“That could be important,” Hywel said.

Gwen wrapped both arms around her middle, a sick feeling in her belly. “Anarawd’s horse died in the ambush.”

“Stinks to high heaven, now,” Gareth said. “Putrid.”

“I can’t present any evidence of course, not from here,” Gwen said, ignoring him. “But that boy … could he have been the one who looked after my father’s horse?”

Gareth canted his head. “It’s possible. Though several boys could have shared the task, just as they do here.”

“My father’s horse turned up lame the morning King Anarawd left Dolwyddelan.” Gwen spoke slowly as she thought it out. “Father was so very angry. The boy was terrified. At the time, I didn’t think anything more of it than that the child feared my father’s wrath, but what if he’d been instructed to nobble Anarawd’s horse, and he hurt the wrong one? What if it wasn’t my father he feared, but someone else who’d tasked him with a job he failed to accomplish—someone who killed him?”

“Why would the murderer have wanted to prevent Anarawd from leaving Dolwyddelan?” Gareth said. “That makes no sense.”

“Anarawd arrived at Dolwyddelan Castle a day early,” Gwen said, “and thus left a day early too. The killer could have wanted to delay Anarawd past a dawn start—which is exactly what happened to us instead. Perhaps he feared the mercenaries wouldn’t have time to get into position. As it turned out, it was my father who was forced to borrow a horse and Anarawd who wouldn’t wait for him.”

“There are too many murders in this,” Hywel said. “Too many murderers altogether. It’s nonsensical.” He pushed off the frame, no longer relaxed. If there had been more room to pace he probably would have. “We’ve got someone who ordered the ambush; someone who killed Anarawd; someone who killed the servant woman; someone who killed the Dane; someone who killed the boy; someone who poisoned Gareth; someone who moved Anarawd’s body.”

“Seven someones? Three?” Gareth said. “All the same?” He swiveled on one heel and kicked at the wall. A board split. “And what makes even less sense is that I find myself back in this
cachu
cell!”

Gwen took a step back at his anger. Maybe because he saw it, Gareth stopped himself from aiming another kick at the wall. And then he laughed, though there wasn’t much amusement in his voice, and threw out a hand to Gwen—“Sorry. Sorry for my mouth too.”

Gwen waved a hand. It was hardly the first time she’d heard profanity. She preferred it to when a man swore by the saints, who might actually be listening.

“I’ve spoken with my father,” Hywel said. “He once again will entertain the notion that you didn’t kill Anarawd, but he leaves you here, Gareth—and is happy to do so—because Cadell still has his ear.” He paused. “Just be thankful Cadell doesn’t have more power at Aber than any other prince, myself included.”

“There’s something else…” Gwen cast her eyes sideways at Hywel, wondering if she should speak or if he would prefer to tell Gareth the rest of what had passed between Hywel and his father.

Hywel nodded and delivered the bad news: “You should also know that Prince Cadwaladr’s latest accusation against you is that you were a spy for the Normans.”

“What?” Gareth gaped at him. “When—when was I supposed to have done that?”

Hywel smiled. “He implied that you passed vital information to fitz Martin that allowed him to hold Cardigan Castle against us.”

“He’s mad!”

Hywel smirked. “I thought you’d say that.”

“So you’re letting Gareth out?” Gwen said, relieved that at last something was going to go right.

“No. Not until Cadell goes home.” Hywel shrugged. “Unfortunately, that might be a while as my father seems set on marrying Elen to him in Anarawd’s place.”

Gareth’s jaw clenched. Then he mastered himself and turned to Gwen. “And that means you have to stay away from me.”

“What? No I don’t. Why would you say that?”

“I won’t have suspicion falling on you.”

Gwen stared at him, so irritated she couldn’t respond. Then Hywel tugged her arm. “Come. Gareth’s right.” He shot Gareth a grin. “Not for the first time, but don’t get used to me saying so.”

Chapter Nineteen

“
G
wen! Gwen!”

Gwen eyes popped open. It was almost as if she’d been expecting someone to come and wake her up. She couldn’t say that she’d had a full night’s sleep since she left Dolwyddelan.

She sat up, clearing the last of the sleep from her mind. Then, the voice came again.
“Gwen! Gwen!”

“Hywel?” She whispered his name and then thought better of how loud it sounded in the quiet room, fearing she’d wake the other women. One rolled over as Gwen waited, breath held, and then stilled. Wrapping a blanket around her shoulders, Gwen got to her feet, tiptoed to the door, and slipped out of the room.

Three men waited for her, none of whom were Hywel. She had a flash—only an impression really—of cloaks and hoods before one of the men put a hand over her mouth, pulled her to him, and whispered, “Come with us quietly or Hywel dies.”

Gwen tried to swallow but her mouth had gone dry. She wanted to ask what they had done to him, and if they realized what kind of trouble this would bring them, but couldn’t speak around the man’s hand. And then she had to focus on her feet as he urged her down the stairs, through the sadly deserted kitchen, and towards the postern gate. Once outside, in the narrow space between the kitchen garden wall and stables, the man removed his hand. She opened her mouth to scream, but before she could, he shoved the open end of a flask between her teeth and poured.

She choked and coughed as the liquid sloshed into her mouth. “What is this?” She tried to twist away, but another man held her head with a forceful hand to the back of her neck. The man holding the flask grabbed her jaw and cheeks and forced her teeth apart. He upturned the flask and she swallowed. And then swallowed again.