The Good Knight (A Gareth and Gwen Medieval Mystery) (9 page)

“That, I couldn’t tell you,” Hywel said.

“Cadell is another with strong Irish connections,” Gwen said. “His father fled to Ireland when the Normans took Deheubarth forty years ago.”

“As did my own grandfather.” Hywel glanced at her, a wry smile on his lips. “I’m sure you haven’t forgotten that my entire family is descended from the Dublin Danes and Brian Boru, the High King of Ireland.”

Gwen bit her lip. This put how many names on her list of potential traitors? She followed Hywel out the door and back to the courtyard, where the as-yet-uncrowned King Cadell was dismounting from his horse, accompanied by his own company of men, at least a dozen by her count.

“Welcome to Aber.” Hywel walked up to Cadell, who looked a bit like Hywel himself, but shorter and slighter. Here was another second son who found himself possessed of a kingdom on no notice at all.

“Thank you, Prince Hywel.” Cadell bowed. “It is my great pleasure to see you again. Bards still sing of your exploits in Deheubarth in the last war.”

Hywel blinked. “Thank you.”

“Has my brother arrived?” Cadell peered past Hywel to the keep. It looked like he expected Anarawd to appear on the steps at any moment.

Hywel cleared his throat. “In a manner of speaking.” He glanced once at Gwen as he took Cadell’s elbow. “I would have you speak to my father.” Everyone in the courtyard bit their tongues as Hywel steered Cadell towards the side entrance rather than into the great hall.

Evan came to a halt beside Gwen. “Who did kill King Anarawd?”

Gwen shook her head. “I wish I knew.”

Chapter Ten

G
areth woke with his head in a bucket, heaving up his insides. “I’m fine! I’m fine!” he said, lying boldly. He couldn’t remember how he’d gotten here. He’d eaten his noon meal, and then …

He pushed at the hand that held his head, forcing down a final heave that belied his words.

“You’re not fine,” Hywel said. “But you’re alive, which is the important thing.”

Gareth shivered and his hands shook as he wrapped his arms around his middle, trying to stem the contractions roiling his stomach.

Hywel had been the one holding his head and now bent to look into his face. “Are you ready to lie down?”

Gareth nodded and allowed Hywel to ease him to the ground. Gareth pillowed his head with one arm. “I feel so terrible.”

“You ate something you shouldn’t have,” Gwen said. “We had to get the poison out of you.”

“By nearly killing me?”

Gwen raised her eyebrows and a smile hovered around her lips. “Now I know you’re going to live since you’re so ungrateful.” And then she softened. “I gave you mandrake. I agree that it’s altogether vile.”

“You’re not jesting about the poison, are you?” Gareth said. Another shudder rippled through him.

“Gwen saved your life.” Hywel eased back onto his heels to give Gareth space. And probably to avoid any contents of Gareth’s stomach that remained inside him, but might not stay there.

Gareth moaned. “I ate what I was given.” He pressed his face into the cool floor. Absent were the scatterings of refuse and straw. It seemed they hadn’t survived his illness. “You’re telling me that someone sickened me deliberately?”

“Not sickened, poisoned,” Hywel said. “The guard brought food and drink at noon and when I came to find you afterwards, you were unconscious.”

“You came very close to dying,” Gwen said.

Gareth opened his eyes enough to see into her face. The waver in her voice as she spoke gave him just enough pause to spare a thought for her instead of how horrible he felt. “I’m sorry. Why would anyone try to poison me?”

“Clearly, because of your charming personality,” Hywel said, a smile twitching at the corner of his mouth. “Your meal was bread and cheese. Even if it was foul, it wouldn’t have put you so close to death. It had to have been the mead.”

“It didn’t taste right when I drank it,” Gareth said. “I left most of it in the jug.”

“We know,” Gwen said. “We didn’t dare try it on anyone else, but from the smell, the poisoner used an infusion of belladonna.”

Christ
!

“Someone
really
wants you dead,” Hywel said.

Gareth glanced up at him, noting his dry tone and his familiar amusement at the catastrophes of the world. “What does your father say?”

“He doesn’t,” Hywel said.

“We haven’t told him,” Gwen said. “We haven’t told anyone yet.”

“Why—” Gareth cut off his question. He knew why not; they wanted to catch a killer, not put him on his guard. As long as Gareth remained in this cell, as long as everyone assumed he was the chief suspect in Anarawd’s death, the real killer would think himself safe. “You’re thinking to keep this a secret.”

“I’d like to,” Hywel said. “I may not be able to.”

“I don’t think it’s going to be possible, my lord,” Gwen said, “especially since you need to convince your father to let Gareth out of this cell. He’s far too vulnerable in here.”

“And outside?” Hywel said. “Are you prepared to spend every waking moment guarding him—even if he’d let you?”

Gwen blinked. Curious despite his misery as to how she’d answer, Gareth waited, expectant.

“Better that than having him stabbed through the heart like Anarawd or pushed off the battlements,” Gwen said, disappointing Gareth by not blushing. He should have known that she’d take it as matter-of-factly as Hywel had asked the question.

Hywel pursed his lips, thinking. “Stay here. I’ll be back.”

Hywel left and Gareth rested his cheek on the floor. Gwen scooted nearer and before he knew it, she’d pillowed his head in her lap. “We must be closer to the answer than we think. But to me, the list of potential culprits is only getting longer.”

“No, no,” Gareth said. “It’s shorter. We know that whoever is responsible for Anarawd’s murder is
here
, at Aber. Otherwise, he couldn’t have reacted on such short notice.” He paused. “Admittedly, that does leave us half of Gwynedd and more.”

“Yesterday afternoon, I met Cadell, Anarawd’s brother, in the courtyard,” Gwen said. “He’s come for the wedding too.”

“And it is he who inherits.” Gareth chewed on his lower lip. “Could Bran—” He stopped.

 “Could your milk-brother have been working for Cadell?” Gwen finished for him. Her fingers worried at a worn spot on his shirt. If she didn’t stop, it would soon turn into a hole.

“Perhaps Cadell objected to the match,” Gareth said, “though probably not for the same reasons Hywel did.”

Gwen looked down at him. “Why wouldn’t Hywel want Elen to marry Anarawd?”

Gareth lifted a shoulder. “He had been known to mistreat his women.”

“Oh.”

Gareth managed to turn his head to look at her without throwing up. She looked a little ill herself. “Regardless, this moves Cadell to the top of our list,” he said. “He stands to gain the most from Anarawd’s death.”

“And he’s smarmy,” Gwen said. “The way he spoke to Hywel…”

Footsteps sounded in the passage outside Gareth’s cell, and the man himself reappeared. “Well, isn’t this cozy,” Hywel said, his eyes alight as he took in the sight of Gwen cradling Gareth.

“Did you speak with King Owain?” Gareth pushed up from Gwen’s lap. He struggled into a sitting position and came to rest with his back against the wall beside her.

“I did. He grants that you are unlikely to have poisoned yourself. With reluctance, he is setting you free for the time being within the confines of the castle.”

Gareth leaned his head back against the wall and closed his eyes. “I’m delighted to hear it,” he said, but didn’t move. He opened his eyes far enough to catch the glance Gwen and Hywel shared.

“It’s a start,” Gwen said. “Was anyone else there when you spoke to your father?”

“Taran and Cristina,” Hywel said.

Gwen wrinkled her nose in distaste. “Now everybody will know.”

“They would have anyway, the moment Gareth appeared in the hall.” Hywel braced his shoulder against the frame of the door. “While we wait for this dashing fellow to recover, why don’t you give me news of your travels, Gwen. It’s been months since I’ve seen you.”

“Someone tried to marry her, you know,” Gareth said before Gwen could say anything.

Gwen stuttered and shoved Gareth’s shoulder. “Not that kind of news.”

“You turned him down?” Hywel said.

“My father did,” Gwen said.

Hywel smirked. “Families are complicated, aren’t they?”

Gareth looked away and found Gwen watching him, amusement and the words
they certainly are
in her eyes.

Chapter Eleven

“
G
et up! Get up!” The words hissed in Gwen’s ear.

She sat up with a start, thinking that her unsettled dreams had become reality. This most recent one had been full of fighting men, their swords swinging wildly in her direction. Gwen calmed as Gareth settled on the edge of her pallet and put a hand to her arm to hush her so she wouldn’t wake the woman next to them. A dozen ladies, many of whom had come for the cancelled wedding and would go home disappointed, slept around her on the floor. Cristina, King Owain’s assumed intended, occupied the only bed.

“Anarawd’s body has disappeared.”

Gwen swallowed hard as she gazed at Gareth, finding it difficult to marshal a reasonable reply. “Will it never end? This gets more complicated by the hour.”

Gwen pushed at Gareth to move him out of her way so she could gather her things and get out of the room. With her dress under her arm and her boots in her other hand, she followed him into the corridor. Looking left and right for stray observers, she relaxed against the wall and tipped her head back to gaze at the ceiling.

“Come on,” Gareth said when she didn’t instantly spring into action.

“This is just too much.” Gwen slipped the dress over her head, covering her undyed shift. “It ties in the back.” She turned to face the wall. “Can you fix it for me?”

To his credit, Gareth didn’t hesitate; far more expertly than Gwen would have thought him capable, he laced her dress up the back. “I never got a chance to examine the body, you see,” Gareth said.

After Gareth had felt well enough to stand, the three of them had gone to the great hall and found a spot in the corner for him to rest. Over the course of the evening, Gareth had recovered more fully, until he’d been able to consume a piece of fresh bread and a hunk of cheese. He’d refused the mead, however, for which Gwen couldn’t blame him. But still, much to his disgust, she’d insisted on tasting everything he’d been offered to eat or drink before she’d let him have it.

Gwen turned to face him. “You don’t think the job Hywel and I did was adequate? We did what we could.” That last bit came out defensive and Gwen wished she could take it back.

Gareth shook his head, seeming to understand. “It’s not that I don’t trust you or respect your abilities, it’s just …” He paused as he thought. “Hywel spoke to me of the ragged edge in Anarawd’s wound. You showed it to him?”

“Yes,” Gwen said.

Gareth nodded. “Do you remember when you came upon me at that first ambush site?”

“Of course,” Gwen said, “how could I forget?”

“Your arrival distracted me, but I was studying how his body was laid on the road. Remember how I said that the murderer had dragged it?”

“From the scuff marks on his toes,” Gwen said.

“That and because there wasn’t enough blood on the ground beneath his body,” Gareth said. “If he’d bled out like his companions, it would have soaked the ground. It hadn’t rained the night before and although the earth in the road was damp, it wasn’t damp enough to indicate he’d died there.”

“But there’s more,” she said. “You think there’s something else?”

“Yes,” Gareth said. “Did you notice that his nails were full of dirt?”

Gwen gazed at him. “No. I didn’t.”

“Anarawd scrabbled in the dirt. Maybe he tried to crawl away from his killer before he died.”

 Gwen shivered at how cold the killer’s heart must be. “You never mentioned this before.”

“I thought there was plenty of time to make certain,” he said. “I should have inspected the body straight away, but with the singing in the hall, and the dark, I assumed this morning would be soon enough.”

Gwen gave him a half-smile. “Do you know the first thing that Hywel told me after he asked me to spy for him?”

“What?”

“Never assume.”

Gareth snorted laughter—more in disgust than amusement Gwen thought—and led the way down the stairs to Hywel’s rooms. Just like the night they arrived, Hywel appeared to have slept alone. He stood before the fire, his hands clasped behind his back. He looked up as they entered.

“You were still abed?” he said, taking in Gwen’s night braid. Although she’d pulled on her boots, she hadn’t yet attended to her hair. “It’s nearly dawn.”

“One of us got to bed later than she liked,” Gwen said. “And that would be your fault.” Even though she’d gone to bed earlier than Gareth and the men that Hywel had set to protect him, she’d stayed in the hall with him far too late, listening to Hywel sing. His tenor had filled the air with song after achingly beautiful song. Gwen’s father, had he been there, would have been pleased with the progress his student had made, even if Hywel had taken what Meilyr had taught him and made the art his own. Most of his songs—the ones he’d written himself—had an unusual meter and rhyme.

“I assume Gareth has told you that Anarawd’s body is missing, along with all his possessions.”

“Yes,” Gwen said.

“Like an idiot, I didn’t leave a guard on the room,” Hywel said.

Gareth shook his head. “You couldn’t have foreseen this, my lord, any more than an attempt to poison me. We’ve seriously underestimated our opponent. I believe it’s time we took all this to the king.”

“We must do a complete search of the castle, not only for the body and Anarawd’s possessions, but belladonna as well,” Gwen said. “We’ll need his permission to do that.”

Hywel turned back to the fire, hesitated, and then nodded. “I urged something like this on my father after we discovered you’d been poisoned. Now we have to act.”