The Lost Brother (15 page)

Gwen didn’t enjoy thinking about that time,
and she wondered what could have gone so wrong in the woman’s
upbringing that she could think any amount of gold made
impersonating Gwen a good idea. Gwen didn’t add that she hoped the
woman
had
been well paid, because in the end she’d paid for
what she’d done with her life.

They reached King Owain’s headquarters by
mid-afternoon, though not before enduring two hours of
uncomfortable riding. That morning’s snowfall had been heavier in
the mountains between Cilcain and the abandoned monastery, which
would have been bad enough to travel through, but because the rain
had started to fall and the weather to warm, it wasn’t long before
the snow began to melt in earnest, turning the trail to mud. Thus,
by the time Gareth and Gwen descended the path towards the
monastery, Gwen was exhausted, freezing, and soaked through from
head to foot.

She swept a sodden lock of hair out of her
eyes, glad to know that she would soon be able to warm herself in
front of a fire. She hadn’t really taken in the monastery’s setting
when they’d come here the first time. Although the location was
remote, it was beautiful in a way that only a Welsh valley could be
beautiful. Even though it was approaching winter, the grass
remained green from the fall rains, and late season roses bloomed
white and pink where they grew against the stone walls.

Although some of the outbuildings had fallen
into disrepair, the chapel, abbot’s quarters, and cloister remained
intact—and at the moment, inviting. It would be nice if, when the
fighting finally ended, an offshoot convent or some enterprising
monks settled here once again.

The two men standing in the shelter of the
guardhouse came to attention at Gareth’s approach, and Gareth
lifted a hand to them as he led Gwen through the derelict gatehouse
and into the courtyard.

Both guards braved the rain to hold the
bridles of their horses. Gareth dismounted and then helped Gwen to
the ground. She tried to put her feet down in a somewhat dry spot,
but the entire courtyard had turned into a muddy puddle, and she
landed with a splash and a squish. Her toes were so cold, however,
that she hardly felt the sudden wash of water over them.

“Is King Owain in residence?” Gareth asked
the guard, who was tugging on Braith’s bridle to lead her to the
stable.

“He is,” the guard said, “but—” He broke off
as Prince Rhun appeared in the doorway to the courtyard, having
come from what had once been the abbot’s quarters. He halted at the
sight of Gareth and Gwen, and then he stepped back into the shelter
of the cloister, motioning for them to come to him.

Gareth and Gwen obeyed, trudging through the
muddy courtyard to reach him. Gwen held up the hem of her dress,
but in her head she was already relegating this dress to the bottom
of her trunk, to be worn from now on only on days precisely like
today. They stepped through the doorway into the sheltered walkway
that surrounded the well at the center of the cloister, though it
was only moderately less chilly out of the rain than it had been in
it.

Rhun frowned. “I didn’t expect you back so
soon.” The prince wore his cloak, boots, and gloves, as if he’d
just arrived or was just leaving.

Gwen looked past the prince, wondering how
far away a fire might be.

Rhun didn’t seem ready to take them to one
yet. “Have you solved the case already?”

Gwen pushed back the hood of her cloak and
shook out her hair, spraying drops of water on the flagstones. “Not
quite.”

A tinge of humor echoed in her tone. She
hadn’t expected to feel amusement, but now that they were here, and
the rain wasn’t falling on her head, her spirits had risen. They
hadn’t solved the murders, but they were safe and among friends. It
wasn’t the best possible situation, but it was enough to be going
on with.

“Our problems are greater than one murder,
my lord,” Gareth said.

“It’s after noon now, isn’t it?” The
cloister was open to the sky in the center, and Rhun took a quick
step out from under the roof to check the quality of the light.
Gwen could have told him that the sun wouldn’t shine again today.
“Can whatever you have to tell me wait? We’ve had some trouble here
too.”

At the same instant Gareth said, “What
trouble?” Gwen said, “It would better for Gareth and me if it
didn’t.”

Rhun placed his hands on his hips, looking
from one to the other, not in a rude way, but simply assessing.

Before he could answer, Gwen added, “What
has happened that you haven’t the time to speak to us? Are you off
somewhere?” Gwen was suddenly afraid that Rhun had heard a rumor
about Gareth that put his trust into question.

But no, that wasn’t it at all.

“My father is very ill,” Rhun said finally.
“I had a thought to bring a healer from the encampment to him, but
now that you’re here, Gwen, perhaps that won’t be necessary.”

“What’s wrong with him?” Gwen said.

“It’s his stomach,” Rhun said. “In all my
life, I have never seen him laid so low. All he can do is vomit or
lie lethargically on his bed.”

Gwen bit her lip. That wasn’t like King
Owain at all.

Rhun read her expression correctly. “You
know what he’s like—always full of energy. Even when he has a
fever, he remains up and about. Now, while he continues to insist
that when we move the camp closer to Mold he will come with us, he
shows no ability to do anything but lie on the bed unmoving.”

“The assault is about to begin?” Gareth
said. “I thought we had more time.”

“We did,” Rhun said, “but after you left
yesterday, all the lords and captains who have joined this war met
and decided that now was the time.”

“Please don’t tell me that you’re basing
this on Father Alun’s word?” Gwen said. “He’s a kindly priest, but
he knows nothing of war.”

“Did you see any of Ranulf’s soldiers in
Cilcain?” Rhun said.

“No,” Gareth said.

Rhun lifted one shoulder and dropped it.
“Yes, Father Alun’s news contributed to the decision, but it was a
combination of several things: Lord Goronwy says dysentery is
spreading among his men, not unlike what Father has; Chester’s
troops are definitely on the move, whether to refortify Mold or to
attack us; and then there’s the weather.”

“It wasn’t snowing yesterday,” Gareth
said.

“But those who task it is to judge the winds
believed it would. And they were right. If we wait any longer to
begin the offensive, we may face more weather like we woke up to
this morning. The consensus is that we’re running out of time. But
now with Father ill—” Rhun gestured helplessly with one hand
towards the inner recesses of the monastery and looked at Gwen,
“—maybe he’ll listen to you.”

“To me?” Gwen said. “Why would he listen to
me when he won’t listen to you?”

“Because he likes you. I am his son. Words
fall from my lips but he doesn’t hear them.”

Gwen had noticed a similar tendency in her
father and her brother. Gwalchmai, in particular, was of an age
where his sister couldn’t possibly be right about anything. She
hoped he would grow out of it soon, since she was in the awkward
position of being both sister and mother to him. She wouldn’t have
thought, however, that King Owain and his favored son would have a
similar relationship.

“I can try.” She put out a hand to the
prince, hating even to say what was in her mind and knowing it was
only in her mind because she was so full of suspicion already.
“Could-could the king have been poisoned?”

Rhun’s hands clenched. “I don’t want to
think it. He never eats unless someone else has eaten first. If he
was poisoned, I don’t know how it could have happened.” He turned
on his heel and marched back into the recesses of the monastery.
“I’ll take you to him as soon as we get you out of those wet
clothes.”

“How long has he been ill?” Gwen said,
hurrying to catch up. “You mentioned yesterday that he was
unwell.”

“I should have had you look at him before
you left.” Rhun looked over his shoulder at Gwen. “He was too ill
even to receive King Stephen’s letter.”

Gwen frowned. That was very ill indeed.

“While Gwen sees to my father, perhaps you
can tell us what has gone wrong with your investigation,
Gareth.”

“Us?” Gareth said.

But then the question was unnecessary
because they’d turned a corner and arrived at the warming room.
Hywel and Godfrid were seated in chairs near the fire, with Madoc
and Cynan, Hywel’s and Rhun’s two younger brothers, close by at a
corner table. They’d all been conferring together in low voices,
but they looked up as Rhun, Gareth, and Gwen came through the
door.

“Look who I found,” Rhun said.

Hywel stood abruptly. “I wouldn’t have
thought you’d return so quickly. Did you solve the murder?” He put
out a hand to Gareth, and the two men grasped forearms.

“Sadly, no,” Gareth said. “In fact, that’s
why we’re here.”

A large fireplace took up part of one wall.
Its smoke vented out the back, along with a portion of its heat
(unfortunately), but Gwen wouldn’t have cared if the room had been
full of smoke, just so long as it was warmer than outside. Her
hands were frozen, and she moved straight to the fire, stripping
off her gloves as she went. She dropped them to the hearth and held
out her hands to the flames.

“Tell us!” Godfrid cleared the cups on the
table out of the way with one hand while beckoning with the other
that they all should sit.

Gwen stayed where she was by the fire,
though she turned her back to it so she could see the men’s faces.
After a moment, she removed her cloak and hung it on a hook to the
left of the fire so it would dry. The heat warmed the back of her
dress, and she felt her shoulders relaxing for the first time since
she and Gareth had left Lord Morgan’s fort that morning.

“I was hoping Gwen could see to Father
first, since she’s here,” Rhun said, not yet ready to sit
either.

Hywel waved a hand at his elder brother. “I
just checked on him. He’s asleep, and Tudur said he’d come find me
the instant he wakes, so let’s hear what Gareth and Gwen have to
say in the interim.” He peered into Gwen’s face. She hastily tried
to smooth the pinched look she knew she was wearing, but she was
clearly unsuccessful because Hywel added, “What’s wrong? What has
made you come back before the investigation is finished?”

Gareth glanced at Gwen. She canted her head
to indicate that he had the floor, so he took up the task, laying
out everything they’d discovered so far for the princes to examine:
the dead woman who looked like Gwen; Gareth’s arrest for his
supposed treason; the appearance of the second body; plus all the
bits and pieces, from the character of Father Alun, to the
gravesites, to the reticent answers of Bran. He was careful not to
interpret the evidence or assume anything.

Meanwhile, a servant brought food and drink
for Gareth and Gwen. Now that Gwen was warm, she was hungry too,
and she came forward from the fire to devour what was in front of
her as Gareth talked.

When he’d finished, Hywel’s face was a
thundercloud. “You were right to return, both of you. I am shocked
that Lord Morgan arrested you on such flimsy evidence merely to
gain favor with Father.”

“I assure you, no matter what the rumor, we
wouldn’t have believed it,” Rhun said.

“What if someone told you they’d seen me in
the company of one of Earl Ranulf’s men?” Gareth said. “What
then?”

Rhun’s face fell.

Gwen nodded. “Regardless of who murdered
whom, someone out there met the false Gareth and may well believe
the real Gareth has been bought.”

“I haven’t been associated with prior
murders, but it does seem likely that the killer of the false
Gareth is a nobleman or knight and has the freedom to come and go
to some degree as he pleases.” Cynan said.

Stocky and blond and the spitting image of
his father, though somewhat shorter in stature, Cynan was an
unknown quantity to Gwen. It was practically the first time she’d
heard his voice or participated in a conversation that included
either him or Madoc, in part because this war was the first time
King Owain had brought his two younger sons into his
confidence.

Not as handsome as either Rhun or Hywel,
Cynan did possess the bluest eyes Gwen had ever seen. Madoc, his
blood brother, sat beside him. Two years younger than Cynan, he had
darker hair and brown eyes, but exactly the same shape and
features. Except for their coloring, the two could have been
twins.

“From the tracks you found, the killer rides
a horse as well,” Hywel said. “It’s easy to forget, living at Aber
as we do, or now with the army, how few of our people have the
wherewithal to own a horse that can be ridden.”

“One wonders what has become of my
belongings,” Rhun said. “They fell into the river at the same time
as Gareth’s.”

“Are we going to find the body of a false
Rhun in another day or two?” Cynan said.

Gareth rubbed at his forehead as if his head
ached there. Gwen’s certainly did.

“We haven’t even figured out why the false
Gareth and Gwen were in Cilcain, much less where they’d been and
what they’d been doing. We need to get out there and find more
evidence.” Gareth half rose to his feet.

“Wait, Gareth.” Godfrid waved him down. “Who
knew besides we few that Gareth and Gwen had gone to Cilcain?”

“Nobody but us and the guards on gatehouse
duty yesterday,” Hywel said, “unless you told someone.”

“I wouldn’t,” Godfrid said.

Hywel nodded. “Rhun and I swore the guards
to secrecy and agreed not to speak of it to anyone outside our
immediate circle. The fewer people who knew of their mission the
better.”

Godfrid raised his eyebrows. “You already
didn’t trust someone in your own camp?”