The Good Knight (A Gareth and Gwen Medieval Mystery) (30 page)

“Do you see anything?” Hywel said. Of the three of them, Rhun had the best night vision.

“Men surround the fires,” Rhun said. “Outside their light, it’s hard to see anything.” And then… “Wait, a man comes.”

Rhun and Hywel ducked their heads. In contrast, Gareth popped his up, unsure of what instinct made him less cautious. He gazed at the man, noting his bulky shape silhouetted against the fire. Again it was instinct—and only his instinct—that told him what to do. He put a hand on Hywel’s shoulder. “Wait here.”

Before the princes could protest, Gareth leaped up and ran at a crouching lope to where the man had paused. He fell on his stomach at the man’s feet. Instead of calling to the other sentries, the big Dane turned his back on Gareth and faced the sea.

“Where is she?” Gareth said in a hoarse whisper.

“King Ottar’s own tent,” Godfrid said. “Third from the left,”

“Is anyone with her?”

“Two stand guard outside the entrance,” Godfrid said. “You’ll need a diversion to get inside.”

“Right. You’ll know it when you see it.” Gareth scuttled back to where Hywel and Rhun waited. “That was Godfrid. We need a diversion to get to Gwen.”

“I’ll go,” said Rhun. “Give me a slow count of one hundred and then move.”

“What are you going to do?” Hywel said.

Rhun shot Hywel a mischievous grin. “I don’t know. Like my brother, I make it up as I go along.” And with that, he was off.

Still sprawled in the grass, Hywel groaned and put his head into his hands. “I don’t even want to know.”

Gareth kept his head just above the level of the grass. A dozen torches lit the Danish camp, ruining the Danes’ night vision, but the darkness wouldn’t hide Gareth and Hywel much longer. Sunrise was a long way off, but they had very little time before the sky lightened in advance of it.

A flame shot into the sky further down the beach, near the shore of the Menai Straits, followed by roars of surprise by men in both camps. The soldiers around the Danish fire pits surged to their feet. Rhun had set the grass to the south of the camp on fire.

Godfrid had moved the instant the fire had been lit, the first to shout the warning to his companions.

“Now!” Hywel said.

He and Gareth ran to the rear of the tent, Gareth held his sword to counter anyone who challenged them and faced outward, on guard. Meanwhile, Hywel cut through the rear of the tent with two quick slashes of his belt knife. They ducked inside.

“Watch the front, Gareth,” Hywel said as he ran to Gwen.

“I prayed you’d come. I don’t know what would have happen—”

“We’re here now.” Gareth touched the top of Gwen’s head in greeting, though he wanted to pull her into his arms, and then bounded to the entrance of the tent. He peered through the opening. Only one guard had remained on duty, though he was now twenty feet further from the tent entrance than he should have stood. He wouldn’t be able to hear anything they said from that distance. Behind him, Hywel struggled to saw through the ropes that bound Gwen’s hands.

“Hurry,” Gareth said.

“I’m trying,” Hywel said, through gritted teeth.

They were out of time. “He’s coming, my lord,” Gareth said. The guard appeared to be remembering his duty and was backing towards them, his shadow bouncing in the firelight. “We need to get out of here now!”

Hywel freed Gwen’s hands and then pressed the knife into them. “You do your feet. I’ll defend the rear.” He stood, pulled his sword from its sheath, and stuck his head out of their ad hoc doorway. “Clear.”

Gwen’s captors hadn’t done as complete a job on this second rope and Gwen severed it more easily than Hywel had freed her hands. She got to her feet, more than a little unsteady. “I’m ready.”

Gareth caught her elbow and helped her out hole in the tent behind Hywel, who’d already gone through it. Once outside, they crouched low in the shadow of the tent before daring to venture across the sand to the trees. The distance to safety looked a lot further than it had on their way to rescue Gwen. The darkness had also turned to a murky dawn. Another dozen heartbeats and the shadows would no longer protect them.

“Stay low.” Gareth clasped Gwen’s elbow and tugged her forward, cat-like, across the sand.

“Down!” Hywel said.

Gareth dove to the ground, Gwen half-beneath him.

“Up!”

This was a new voice, and one that came from further east. They obeyed it, running flat out for the protective woods. Gwen tripped on the hem of her dress and Gareth clasped her around the waist to haul her to her feet again. A dozen heartbeats later, every one pounding so loudly in Gareth’s ears he could hear nothing else, they’d crossed the scrub and reached the safety of the Welsh lines. Gareth pulled up short in amazement at who had joined their venture.

“Hello, Father,” Hywel said.

Owain Gwynedd had come, along with Rhun (grinning madly) and a dozen men-at-arms, to ensure that the Danes stayed on their side of the beach. The King smiled and tousled Hywel’s hair like he was a boy. “Son. Why should you have all the fun?” Then the king reached for Gwen and pulled her into his arms for a rib-crushing hug. “Quite a chase you’ve led us on, young lady.”

“That was never my intent,” Gwen said, her voice muffled by the king’s thick cloak.

“Ha.” King Owain allowed himself a genuine laugh and then released her.

She turned then to Gareth and it was as if her whole world stood still. All she could see was him. All she could think about was him. She hadn’t realized she’d taken a step, but then she was in his arms and they were holding on to each other like they would never let go.

“Cariad,”
Gareth said. “I was so scared for you.”

“I know,” Gwen said. “I was scared for me too. But—” She eased back from him just enough to reach his mother’s cross and pull it out. “You were with me. You’ve always been with me.”

Gareth gazed down at the necklace and then touched the cross with one finger. “All these years?”

“Yes,” Gwen said.

“Perhaps we’ll have a wedding at Aber after all,” Hywel said.

Gwen had all but forgotten where they were. Her eyes widened, but Gareth laughed and pulled her to him again.

“I’ll speak to my bard on your behalf.” King Owain clapped a hand on Gareth’s shoulder. “Come. It is time to make peace.”

Chapter Thirty-Six

A
lone on her pallet in an otherwise deserted room at Aberffraw, Gwen stared at the blade in her hand. It glittered in the light of the fire, almost transparent in places, the notch along the top edge glaringly apparent. She wished Gareth were here to help her decide what to do, but Hywel had sent him south within an hour of rescuing her from the Danish camp, with orders to gather the two thousand marks worth of goods and cattle from Cadwaladr’s lands to pay the Danes. She and Gareth hadn’t had a chance for more than a fleeting goodbye.

But he would return and they would talk then; they’d talk about
their
future instead of Hywel’s—which faced her now. She took in a deep breath, stood, and walked down the hall to Hywel’s rooms. He was still awake, as she’d felt certain he would be, maybe even waiting for her.

“Good evening, Gwen.” Hywel looked up from the documents on his desk. Contracts maybe, or reviews from the law courts. Without answering, she set the knife on the edge of his desk and stepped back. Silent, they gazed at it together, and then Hywel nodded. “You see it, then.”

“Too much didn’t make sense in the end for it all to be Cadwaladr,” she said, “but the knife gave the game away.”

“It wasn’t a game, Gwen,” he said.

“Wasn’t it?” she said. “You manipulated everyone—me, Gareth, your father—from the start.”

“It was necessary,” he said.

“That’s what you think?” she said, her voice rising. Then she forced herself to moderate the tone so the sound would only carry to Hywel and not to neighboring rooms. “That’s your excuse for killing Anarawd?”

Hywel shook his head. “You misunderstand. That’s not how it was.”

“You mean you didn’t kill him?”

“Oh, I killed him all right.” Hywel leaned back in his chair, an elbow on the arm, as if discussing manor accounts instead of the death of the King of Deheubarth. “But there’s more to it than that.” He gestured to the knife. “I could have thrown it away.”

“You should have.”

“But then you wouldn’t have ever known the truth, would you?”

Gwen swallowed hard. “Why did you want me to know?”

Hywel turned his head to look out the window. “I don’t know. I’d put the knife away and only wore it tonight on impulse.”

“So tell me.”

Hywel pointed to the chair across from him and Gwen obeyed, out of habit maybe, or because she was tired. Hywel, however, stood. He paced around his desk to stand at the window, staring out. It was open onto the green fields beyond Aber. The moonlight made a square of light on the floor behind him.

“Word reached me that a band of men from Ireland—Danes or Irishmen the messenger didn’t know—had landed near Caernarfon the day before Anarawd reached Dolwyddelan. That concerned me, of course, as my western cousins aren’t known for their gentle passage through a countryside.”

Despite herself, Gwen smiled. Even his excuses were more droll than those heard from the average man.

“I gathered several of my men—Gareth not among them as you know—and picked up their trail. I went myself, on a whim. I had no idea what their plan was, or mine for that matter, or if I had a plan at all. But it seemed like a good idea at the time. We headed south from the standing stones at Bwlch y Ddeufaen, avoiding the roads and instead taking a trail that led into the mountains and would intersect the main road.” He shrugged. “We reached one of the many falls tucked into the hills and I called a rest to water the horses. It was a mistake to stop, of course, because in those moments of rest, the mercenaries attacked Anarawd’s band.”

Gwen sat up, confused. “What are you saying? You weren’t there?”

“I wasn’t tired or hungry, and I had a tickling in the back of my neck I’ve learned not to ignore. So I left my men to personally scout the ridge above the falls that overlooked the road. The Danes timed the attack perfectly. Anarawd hadn’t the least notion of their presence. The Danes killed them all.”

“But…” Gwen stopped, trying to picture the scene in her mind’s eye: Hywel lurking above the ambush site while the Danes descended on Anarawd’s men. “What happened next?”

“Gareth crested a more northern ridge, in my line of sight, but his eyes were only on the battle. Then he raced back the way he’d come, I presumed to go for help.”

“You saw Gareth and didn’t—?” The rest of the question caught in Gwen’s throat.

Hywel gave Gwen a pained look. “You think so badly of me, do you?” And then went on, not requiring an answer. “He could do nothing other than what he did. Anarawd’s men weren’t outnumbered, just unprepared. And when danger came, instead of fighting, Anarawd ran, leaving his men to fight the Danes alone.”

Gwen leaned forward. “You’re telling me King Anarawd abandoned his men to save himself?”

Hywel tsked through his teeth. “Even if he wasn’t the man I knew him to be, it could have been the right choice. His life was valuable, more valuable than that of his men. At times, running is the only option.”

“But not in this case?”

Hywel shook his head. “Anarawd’s captain was killed in the first onslaught and his men were never able to organize themselves properly for a counterattack. By the end, it was a slaughter.”

“And where was King Anarawd by this time?”

“Cowering in the woods,” Hywel said. “The Danes didn’t notice he’d run. They searched among the bodies—for the seal, it seems—left the dead as they lay in the road, and beat a retreat west, just as I told you. My choice was to return to my men and track them immediately, or…”

“Or to find Anarawd,” Gwen said.

“As you say,” Hywel said. “He was so happy to see me that he held out his arms to greet me. I put my knife into his chest instead. It was quite a job getting him back on the road without getting his blood all over me, I can tell you. That’s why I dragged him face down.”

“And left a trail for Gareth to find,” Gwen said. “Along with dirt and scuff marks on Anarawd’s toes.”

“Oh yes,” Hywel said. “I was worried when Gareth so quickly identified that the body had been moved. Admittedly, Gareth’s skills are the reason I brought him into my company in the first place, but that he could read the signs so easily…”

 Understanding grew in Gwen’s mind. “So once we all were at Aber, you hid Anarawd’s body yourself to prevent Gareth from making further discoveries. That was you.”

“I buried him in unconsecrated ground,” Hywel said. “Anarawd was a coward. I couldn’t allow my sister to marry him.”

“And Anarawd’s seal?” Gwen said.

“Ah yes, the seal.” He tapped a staccato on the window sill. “The Danes realized they were never going to get their money if they didn’t bring the seal to Cadwaladr. I imagine he’d demanded it as proof they’d done the deed. When they didn’t find it among the dead, they may have believed they’d ambushed the wrong party, which is why they returned to the road for the second ambush.”

“Perhaps I can shed light on that, at least,” Gwen said. “One of Cadwaladr’s guards was at Dolwyddelan. I saw him there and at Aber. Later, he was one of my guards at Aberffraw, after Cadwaladr abducted me. If he met the Danes after the first ambush, he could have ordered them to finish the job. Bran, Gareth’s milk-brother, implied as much before he died, though we didn’t understand his meaning at the time.”

“And thus, my men and I were unable to pick up their trail. They didn’t head west, back to their boats, but took another route north to intercept you.”

“So it was you who took the seal from Anarawd’s body and hid it in Cadell’s room to divert suspicion.”

For the first time, Hywel looked slightly guilty. “How was I to know that Cristina would come snooping?”

“That’s…” Gwen tried to find the word but the best one she could come up with was
diabolical
and just couldn’t quite say it.