The Lost Brother

A Gareth & Gwen Medieval Mystery

The Lost Brother

by

Copyright © 2015 by Sarah Woodbury

Cover image by Christine DeMaio-Rice at Flip
City Books

November 1146
. Gwynedd is at war with
Ranulf, Earl of Chester, who seeks to gain a foothold in Wales
against the day peace finally comes to England. On the eve of King
Owain’s counter-assault on Mold Castle, the body of a woman who
resembles Gwen is discovered buried in someone else’s grave. Even
in the midst of war, murder must be investigated, and it falls to
Gareth and Gwen to bring the guilty to justice.

When their investigation uncovers not only
another body, but also treason at the highest levels of King
Owain’s court, Gareth and Gwen must come to terms with
unprecedented treachery—and a villain whose crimes can never be
forgiven.

The Lost Brother
is the sixth
Gareth & Gwen Medieval Mystery.

The Gareth and Gwen Medieval Mysteries:

The Bard’s Daughter (prequel)

The Good Knight

The Uninvited Guest

The Fourth Horseman

The Fallen Princess

The Unlikely Spy

The Lost Brother

The Renegade Merchant

The After Cilmeri Series:

Daughter of Time (prequel)

Footsteps in Time (Book One)

Winds of Time

Prince of Time (Book Two)

Crossroads in Time (Book Three)

Children of Time (Book Four)

Exiles in Time

Castaways in Time

Ashes of Time

Warden of Time

Guardians of Time

The Lion of Wales Series:

Cold My Heart

The Oaken Door

Of Men and Dragons

The Last Pendragon Saga:

The Last Pendragon

The Pendragon’s Quest

www.sarahwoodbury.com

To brothers everywhere

but especially to

Carew, Gareth, and Taran

Cadwaladr
– Cad-wall-ah-der

Cadwallon
– Cad-WASH-on

Ceredigion
– Care-eh-dig-EE-on

Cynon
— KIN-on

Dafydd
– DAH-vith (the ‘th’ is hard as in ‘they’)

Deheubarth
– deh-HAY-barth

Dai
– Die

Dolwyddelan
– dole-with-EH-lan (the ‘th’ is hard as in
‘they’)

Gruffydd
– GRIFF-ith (the ‘th’ is hard as in
‘they’)

Gwalchmai
– GWALCH-my (‘ai’ makes a long i sound like in
‘kite; the ‘ch’ like in the Scottish ‘loch’)

Gwenllian
– Gwen-SHEE-an

Gwladys
– Goo-LAD-iss

Gwynedd
– GWIN-eth (the ‘th’ is hard as in
‘the’)

Hywel
– H’wel

Ieuan
– ieu sounds like the cheer, ‘yay’ so, YAY-an

Llelo
– SHEH-low

Llywelyn
– shlew-ELL-in

Meilyr
– MY-lir

Owain
– OH-wine

Rhuddlan
– RITH-lan (the ‘th’ is hard as in
‘the’)

Rhun
– Rin

Rhys
– Reese

Sion
– Shawn (Sean)

Tudur
– TIH-deer

Owain Gwynedd – King of Gwynedd (North
Wales)

Cadwaladr – Owain’s younger brother, former
Lord of Ceredigion

Rhun – Prince of Gwynedd (illegitimate)

Hywel – Prince of Gwynedd (illegitimate)

Cynan – Prince of Gwynedd (illegitimate)

Madoc – Prince of Gwynedd (illegitimate)

Gwen – spy for Hywel, Gareth’s wife

Gareth – Gwen’s husband, Captain of Hywel’s
guard

Tangwen – daughter of Gareth and Gwen

Llelo – adopted son of Gareth and Gwen

Dai –adopted son of Gareth and Gwen

Evan – Gareth’s friend

Gruffydd – Rhun’s captain

Meilyr – Gwen’s father

Gwalchmai – Gwen’s brother

Taran – King Owain’s steward

Tudur – King Owain’s manservant

Father Alun – priest of Cilcain church

Godfrid – Prince of Dublin

Ranulf – Earl of Chester

November 1146

Gwen

“G
wen! Dear God,
Gwen, what are you doing here?” Gareth’s oldest friend, Evan, loped
towards her, coming from the lines of picketed horses. His blonde
hair was mussed, stuck to his head with sweat from the recent
wearing of a helmet, and his blue eyes were full of concern.

Gwen gestured to the bag she’d slung over
her shoulder. “I brought supplies for Gareth and Prince Rhun, and
letters for the king.”

Shortly after she’d last seen Gareth, the
cart carrying his belongings had overturned while crossing a
swollen river. All its contents had been lost downstream. According
to the letter Gareth had sent her, he’d lived these last weeks in
what he’d stood up in that day, plus whatever he could borrow from
his companions. Prince Rhun, apparently, had been forced to do the
same, since his possessions had been swept down the river too, and
not even a prince had time to visit a seamstress in the middle of a
war.

Even glared at her. “Yes, but Gwen—”

She cut him off, lowering her voice so it
barely carried. “Evan, I need to see him.”

Gwen hadn’t intended to admit that much,
even to Evan, but behind the admission was the daily ache Gareth’s
absence had become. Every night, Gwen lay awake missing him, her
mind roiling with visions of his death in battle. They were vain
imaginings, and she knew it, but it took an incredible effort of
will to get them out of her head. It seemed impossible that she
loved him as much as she did.

On the worst nights, she wished she could
simply cut out her heart and put it in a box, because it was so
painful to have its continued presence inside her body. Women had
felt this way about their husbands and sons going to war from the
first day men had gone to war. Gwen herself had felt it before. But
except for a brief furlough in early October, during a lull in the
fighting, Gareth had been gone for the whole of the last three
months. It was getting into winter, and this war needed to end.

The look on Evan’s face told Gwen he
understood without her saying more. Evan had avoided female
entanglements—or perhaps it was simply that he hadn’t found the
right woman yet—but that didn’t mean he didn’t understand love. He
didn’t embarrass her by further comment and instead looked past her
to the activity going on behind her.

His eyes widened. “I was going to ask if you
came alone, but I see that you didn’t!”

“No, I didn’t.” Gwen grinned. “I brought
Hywel some friends from Aber. Do you think he’ll be pleased to see
them?”

She turned to look with Evan at the group of
twenty riders who’d arrived in the camp with her. Six feet tall to
a man, the soldiers who conferred fifty feet away spoke in Danish,
brandished long swords and axes, and were of a lineage that had
struck fear into the hearts of Welshmen for five hundred years.
None of the newcomers were bigger, taller, and more dangerous than
the man at their center: Prince Godfrid of Dublin. An old
friend.

Evan shook his head. “You are a wonder! And
you know full well that not only will Prince Hywel be pleased, but
we need every last ally we can find.” His expression turned serious
again. “I won’t pretend that we haven’t been hard pressed the last
few weeks. The English always have more men than we do, and when
one of them falls, he is replaced by two more.”

But then he laughed to see Prince Hywel,
who’d come out of his tent in order to see what the commotion was
about, lifted into a bear hug by Godfrid. The two princes
contrasted sharply in coloring and size. While Hywel had dark hair,
Godfrid’s hair was so blond it was almost white. And though Hywel
wasn’t exactly a small man, Godfrid was twice as wide and four
inches taller. They both had blue eyes, though, which sparkled with
amused intelligence—and at the moment, mutual pleasure and
respect.

Turning away from the scene, Evan took
Gwen’s elbow. “Let me bring you to Gareth. He’s just returned from
scouting our northern perimeter. You’ll have to pardon the muck on
him. We’ve had nothing but rain for the last week.”

“At least winter has held off,” Gwen
said.

Evan made a
maybe
motion with his
head. “Those who know more than I about it say we’re due for colder
weather within a day or two. I’d like to see the ground harder
myself, since it’s better for riding and for moving across the
countryside with fighting men, but I’m not looking forward to snow
or freezing rain.”

They squelched through the mud towards a
cluster of tents on the north side of Hywel’s encampment. Located
roughly twenty miles due west of Chester, in a sheltered valley to
the west of the Clwyd mountains, the camp was close enough to
England to be within striking distance of Mold Castle, but far
enough away that any raid into Wales on the part of the Earl of
Chester’s forces would be seen before his soldiers could get this
far.

Even coming from the west, Godfrid’s company
had been stopped by three separate pickets keeping watch, ready to
blow a horn at a moment’s notice if the enemy had managed to breach
the mountains and come at the camp from an unexpected
direction.

The princes’ tents overlooked the main camp,
which had grown up in a farmer’s field and held nearly five hundred
spearman and archers. The presence of the army wasn’t affecting the
farmer’s livelihood, however, since the field had been harvested at
the end of the summer. Now in late November, grass grew in what had
once been straight furrows, churned and rechurned by the hooves of
horses and the feet of men.

Since it was winter, trees denuded of
foliage descended down the mountain sides towards the camp. Only
during the night would an enemy company be able to approach from
that direction without the watchers being aware. From where Gwen
stood, she could see anything that moved on the hills above her and
the fields around. She let out a sigh and allowed a true sense of
relief to comfort her. Gareth wouldn’t be safe until he returned
home again, but now that she had seen where he was sleeping, maybe
she could sleep better herself.

Near the outdoor kitchen, Gwen recognized
the blacksmith’s apprentice from Aber’s village. She made Evan stop
for a moment to give the boy the best wishes and greetings his
mother had charged her with bringing to him before she left. Every
woman at the castle and village had burdened Gwen with the same
task. Looking around the camp, which was much larger than Gwen had
anticipated, she saw that it was going to take her a bit longer
than she’d thought to fulfill those requests. First, however, she
had to complete her own mission.

Men of Prince Hywel’s
teulu
raised
their hands to Evan as he passed, and several nodded to Gwen,
recognizing her. Evan didn’t stop to greet them, however,
continuing to hustle Gwen along.

It was cold—colder than it had been so far
this year—and she was glad she hadn’t spent the last three months
living outside as these men had. Several nearby soldiers sported
bandages on their heads, and one man limped along in the opposite
direction from the one Gwen and Evan were taking. He saluted them
as they passed, and gave Gwen a wide grin, making her feel better
about his injury. For all that the men were clearly tired and
dirty, bursts of laughter came from around the campfires, and the
overall mood she was sensing wasn’t of gloom or despair.

“You’ve never been in a war before, have you
Gwen?”

“No.”

“It’s no place for a lady.”

“I wasn’t always a knight’s wife,” she
said.

Evan glanced at her. “I forget that
sometimes, but you’ve never been a camp follower either, and I
would have you avert your eyes from some of what goes on here.”

Gwen scoffed. “I know what goes on—” She
came to an abrupt halt, unable to speak, only to stare.

They’d arrived at the edge of the camp. A
washing trough had been set up a few paces from the entrance to the
nearest tent. Gareth, who hadn’t noticed Gwen’s approach, pulled
off his shirt and tossed it towards a pile of clothes, heaped by
one of the tent lines, awaiting laundering. Then he plunged his
head into the trough. While still submerged, he scrubbed at his
hair and neck with a cloth, and then he came up, shaking his head
and spraying water everywhere.