The massive boar burst from the bushes, scattering twigs and dried leaves in all directions. It headed for the far side of the circle of men, near where Rhun stood. All the men in the circle braced themselves and the ones behind craned to see.
“Loose!”
The shout came from the king and he released his spear, followed by a half dozen others. All but two missed, but those that hit caught the boar broadside and stuck in the tissue surrounding his ribs. With remarkable calm, and ignoring all else, Rhun set his feet and thrust his spear into the boar’s neck as it went past him.
The boar staggered another twenty yards and was hit by several more spears before he fell, bristling like a hedgehog. Without realizing it, Gareth had moved his horse closer to the fight until he reached Hywel’s location. His lord turned to Gareth with a grin and slapped his fist into his palm. “Rhun was magnificent!”
Overhearing, King Owain swung around and spied Hywel. He raised both fists in victory, his face flushed. “A fine day, son!”
Hywel laughed and dismounted to run toward his father who embraced him. Rhun stood in the midst of a circle of jubilant men, all clapping him on the back and congratulating him. King Owain and Hywel joined them. Gareth sat where he was, watching as carefully as ever, though he was less worried about the king’s safety at this moment than he’d been all day.
King Owain released Rhun and then spied Gareth, still on horseback. He pointed at him. “Ride to Aber! Tell them that we feast on boar tonight!”
Gareth saluted to indicate that he’d heard. Hywel glanced over at him too and lifted a hand, which Gareth interpreted to mean that Gareth should do as he was bid and Hywel would watch over his father. At least that’s what Gareth hoped it meant.
Gareth circled the scene and headed deeper into the forest, looking for the broad trail that would take him to the road that led east, to Aber. He didn’t push Braith—he was in no real hurry—but trotted along as easily as the terrain allowed. If past hunts were anything to go by, the king would organize an impromptu celebration at the kill site with fresh roasted boar meat. Given that King Owain appeared to have planned ahead, Gareth wouldn’t put it past him to have arranged for several of the men to carry a few skins of mead in their saddlebags. They would be a while.
It took Gareth nearly half an hour to find the main path. He urged Braith up an incline and onto it, turned north, and then rode another mile. Coming around a curve in the trail, he found his route blocked by a downed tree. He pulled Braith up and gazed at it, disgusted. It was too large a tree for Braith to jump—if she were so inclined, which she usually wasn’t—and the branches were too thick to allow them to go under. The tree had crushed the bushes on either side of the trail when it fell, however, leaving a possible path for Gareth to lead Braith around it.
Gareth dismounted and, clicking his tongue at Braith, led her off the path and into the brush. It was so thick in places, he feared he might have to pull out his sword to cut through it, which would dull the blade terribly. But after a dozen steps, he reached the spot where the trunk had come loose from the moist soil. The roots formed a cave that the boar they’d just killed would have very much liked. Below the tree, the earth fell away in a steep decline into a narrow ravine. On rainy days, the bottom would be full of water.
Braith whickered and stepped sideways, suddenly nervous. Gareth put a hand on her nose to calm her, but Braith pulled on her bridle, almost jerking it from Gareth’s hand.
“What’s wrong, girl?”
Gareth sensed motion before he saw it, and spun around. He didn’t move quickly enough, however, to counter the large branch swinging towards him. Even as he raised his arm to block it, it connected with the side of his head. His legs dropped out from under him. Braith whinnied. A man grunted somewhere nearby and Gareth thought he heard a guttural curse.
Gareth felt himself rolling downwards, at first slowly, and then steadily picking up speed. He threw out his hands, trying to stop, but the bank was too steep. Then his head connected with a rock at the bottom of the ravine—and he knew nothing more.
Chapter Twelve
Gwen watched Gareth and Hywel ride away until they were specks in the distance, and then turned back to the keep. She didn’t want to go inside. Without their support, the task that faced her seemed enormous and impossible. Search every room? Question everyone who remained in the castle?
With reluctant feet, she dragged up the steps to the great hall. Could be, the killer was riding even now with King Owain’s party, which was a comfort only in that Gwen might have a few hours without a dead body to plague her.
She pushed open the door to find that the only people remaining in the hall were a few older men, a handful of soldiers from the garrison, and a gaggle of girls. Facing them, Gwen quailed even more. Every one of Cristina’s female friends and relations fitted into a category of female that Gwen found unattractive: sharp and mercenary like Cristina, overbearing and pompous like Enid’s mother, Lady Jane, or simpering and vacant.
Then again, maybe not all.
A young woman sat at the end of one of the long tables, working her way silently through a large bowl of porridge. It was Mari. Gwen had noticed her the first day she’d arrived with Lord Goronwy and some others of Cristina’s family, before all the troubles began. She—alone among Cristina’s relations—hadn’t asked for special foods or privileges, or treated Gwen like a servant. Gwen wasn’t noble—in marrying Gareth, it was she who was rising above her station—but she wasn’t a servant either. Nor a slave. And she didn’t like being treated as one, especially by girls younger than she.
Mari hadn’t spoken to Gwen beyond their brief meeting in the linen closet over Enid’s body. Gwen wasn’t part of the wedding party, and thus had not been included in their gatherings. But at the moment, Mari was alone …
Gwen sat across from the girl, who looked up, her spoon halfway to her mouth. After a brief perusal of Gwen, she swallowed another bite of porridge and set the spoon in her bowl.
“Hello,” Mari said.
“Hello.” Now that Gwen had gotten this far, she wasn’t sure what to say. It had been a long time since she’d employed much in the way of social niceties. Usually, when meeting new people, she hid behind Gwalchmai or their mutual singing.
The girl didn’t appear to know what to say either, so Gwen managed, “I’m Gwen.”
“I know who you are,” the girl said. “You’re the bard’s daughter. You’re to marry Sir Gareth.”
Gwen saw an opening. “That’s right, if things ever settle here.”
“You mean the murders?”
“Yes,” Gwen said. “King Owain had to postpone his wedding because of them, so it’s hardly possible for Gareth and me to marry while he can’t.”
“I hadn’t thought of that.” The girl’s eyes drifted away from Gwen to one of the men-at-arms who’d just come in through the front door. Gwen shifted in her seat. If she’d already lost Mari’s attention, this wasn’t going well.
“Thank you for your help this morning,” Gwen said.
Mari waved a hand. “It was nothing. When Cristina screamed, none of us knew what to do or how to comfort her.”
“Grown men have done worse. You could have lost your breakfast at the sight of … you know …” Gwen’s voice trailed off. This really wasn’t going well.
“We hadn’t eaten yet,” Mari said. “This is the first real food I’ve had all day.”
Yet again, the silence swam between them as Mari picked up her spoon and started eating.
Gwen forged ahead. “Will you stay at Aber until Cristina’s wedding, regardless of when it eventually happens?”
“I have nowhere else to go, so I suppose I will.”
“I’m sorry,” Gwen said. “I don’t know what you mean.”
The girl spoke around her mouthful of food. “My parents are dead. Lord Goronwy is my guardian. I have no husband, no dowry, and no chance of getting one. Thus, I go where he goes.”
Gwen blinked at the girl’s
bluntness. “I didn’t know.”
The girl gazed down at her empty bowl. Gwen had a premonition that she might start licking it. Instead, Mari shrugged one shoulder and put down her spoon. “It’s no matter.”
Gwen didn’t believe that, but accepted that Mari didn’t want to talk about her dependency. “How well did you know Enid?”
“I lived with her on and off for two years, so I should know her well, but I can’t say I understood her,” Mari said.
“How’s that?” Gwen said.
Mari gave Gwen a dark look. “You saw how she died. Haven’t you noticed that not a single person at Aber has expressed surprise that Enid is dead? Shock, maybe. Annoyance that she had the gall to die in such an untimely fashion, and horror that she was stuffed into a trunk. But surprise? No.”
“And why is that?” Gwen said, though she had an inkling that she knew already.
Mari scoffed. “Because she had no sense of self-preservation. We all knew it. She would lie with any man. She would lie to any man about anything, all the while looking as beautiful as an angel and with that vacant smile that convinced you that nothing untoward was going on behind her eyes.”
“But you didn’t believe that?” Gwen said. “That she was as vacant as she looked, I mean?”
“Her mother did. She couldn’t fool the rest of us.” Mari gestured to the room at large. “Several of us tried to talk to her. She insisted she knew what she was doing. Always. And in truth, until her father died, she’d always been petted and favored. Why shouldn’t she believe she could do anything she wanted?”
“Do your cousins share your opinion?” Gwen said.
Mari stood. “Come with me.”
Gwen gazed up at her, uncertain.
“Come on.” Mari laughed. “Nobody is going to bite you!”
Mari led Gwen towards the right-hand corridor, up the stairs, past the room in which Gwen slept, on past the linen closet, and finally to the last room on the left. Before she pushed the door fully open, she turned to Gwen, smiling, though no real amusement reached her eyes. She canted her head towards the half-open door. “Listen.”
Gwen didn’t need to get any closer to hear.
“I hate her! I hate her!” Cristina’s voice echoed down the corridor, along with the sound of something breakable hitting the wall and falling to the floor in pieces. Soothing replies came from girlish voices inside the room, but since the sound of stomping feet continued, Cristina didn’t seem to be heeding them.
“She’s talking about Enid, of course,” Mari said. “King Owain told Cristina before he left this afternoon that he couldn’t confirm any wedding plans until tomorrow at the earliest.”
“There’s still hope, though,” Gwen said. “At least he hasn’t called it off.”
Mari shrugged and then pushed the door open wide. The two of them stood on the threshold, taking in the scene: Cristina, arresting her arm in mid-swing at the sight of them, about to hurl a ceramic cup against the wall; Alis, one of her bridesmaids with her back to the bedpost, hands over her ears; and two other girls, Rhiannon and Catrin, cowering on the bed.
Cristina did not look well. Her face was flushed to the roots of her hair, which had come loose and lay tangled around her shoulders. “What!” She screamed the word, her chin jutting out and her eyes bulging.
Mari nudged Gwen in the small of her back, forcing her to take two steps forward.
“Gwen is looking for the person who murdered Enid and I thought you might have some thoughts on the subject.” Mari said, matter-of-factly.
Cristina straightened, her temper cooling as if she’d doused a fire with a bucket of water. “Shut the door.”
Mari obeyed and then returned to her place beside Gwen, who clasped her hands in front of her and waited for Cristina to speak again. She was trying to gaze at Cristina with detached politeness. What am I doing here? Facing down Cadwaladr had been easy by comparison.
Cristina plopped herself on a stool, reached for her comb from among the scattered cosmetics on the table beside her, and began working at the tangles in her hair. Gwen could see Cristina’s temper rising again and she hastened forward, “Let me help you, my lady.”
Cristina handed Gwen the comb and Gwen (very carefully) began to work at the locks. “I apologize, my lady, for overhearing what you were saying, but if you could tell me about Enid …?”
“She was a conniving, scheming little witch!”
“Don’t keep your feelings inside so they fester,” Mari said. “We all want to share in how you feel.”
Cristina surged off her stool, her finger out and pointing at Mari. She’d pulled away from Gwen so suddenly, Gwen didn’t have time to react, but thankfully she’d just released a tangled lock of Cristina’s hair. Mari and Cristina gazed at each other, Cristina furious again and Mari’s face characteristically blank. Both of Gwen’s hands were up, suspended in the air. She didn’t want to touch Cristina until she knew whether or not she should.
Then Cristina laughed. She shook her head and collapsed back onto her stool, her shoulders shaking. “I do love you, Mari.”
Mari smiled. It lit her face with genuine emotion for the first time since Gwen had met her. Cristina held out her hand to Mari, who came forward to clasp it. “We must find you a dashing young knight to marry like Gwen’s Gareth and then you won’t have to go back to Powys with Father.”
Mari patted Cristina’s hand. “No man will have me without a dowry, and would I want a man who would take me without one?”
Gwen was offended for Gareth’s sake. “I don’t have a dowry.” Gwen had spoken without thinking, caught up in the cousins’ camaraderie and now bit her lip, fearing she’d been impertinent and had broken the fragile peace.
Cristina only waved a hand. “Mari’s betrothed died last spring of a fever. She didn’t have a dowry then either.”
“Cristina—” From the expression on Mari’s face, she did not want to talk about this, especially in front of Gwen.
“Mari is being dramatic.” Cristina’s voice hardened. “But I wasn’t. Enid had a way with men …” Her voice trailed off, but she’d finally brought into the open what was the crux of the whole matter.
“My lady, I understand that Enid had a way with men, but why would someone want to kill her for it?” Gwen said.
“If a woman killed her, it would be out of jealousy,” Mari said.
“Over a man?” Gwen said.
“Yes,” Mari said.
“And if a man killed her?” Gwen said. In unison, the eyes of every girl in the room narrowed.
“We hadn’t even considered that,” Mari said. “We all assumed that another woman strangled her out of jealousy and anger. Isn’t that what strangling means—rage?”
“Often,” Gwen said. “And if it was jealousy, who had most cause?”
That brought a universal shrug from all the girls. Mari was the only one to articulate an answer, “I don’t know.”
After their promising start, this was disappointing. Gwen tried to catch Mari’s eye but the girl wouldn’t look at her.
“I can tell you what we do know,” Gwen said. “Enid made plans to visit a man last night.”
Cristina snorted under her breath. “Nobody should be surprised at that, but the infraction that got her killed needn’t have happened last night. Enid has left behind a string of women who hate her.”
Gwen went cold. Including you? She wanted to ask the question, but didn’t dare lose the thread of the conversation. “If a man killed her, can you think what she might have done to arouse his anger?”
“It wouldn’t be because she wouldn’t lie with him,” Cristina said, abruptly and without apology. “It’s more likely that she saw something she shouldn’t have with all her sneaking around.”
“Any ideas as to what that might have been?” Gwen said.
Again, universal shakes of the head, though after a moment, Mari canted her head, thinking. “Could she have known something about the attempt on King Owain’s li
fe?”
“That’s something we’re trying to find out.” Gwen turned back to Cristina. “My lady, I have one more question if I may.”
“Speak,” Cristina said.
Gwen had hoped she’d agree. Who didn’t think gossip was fun? But Gwen’s next question wasn’t gossip … “I need to ask about your wedding dress. Do you believe Enid destroyed it? Did you suspect something untoward had happened to it and that’s why you visited the linen closet this morning with your ladies?”
Behind Cristina, Alis rolled her eyes but didn’t speak. Cristina glared hard at Gwen. “Why is it important?”
“I’m tying up loose ends,” Gwen said. “I never know what questions are going to give me the answers we need.”
“That’s not it,” Mari said, not waiting for Cristina. “We wanted to catch Enid in the act.”
“In the … act?” The moment the words came out, Gwen knew she was being hopelessly dense, but it was too late to take them back.
“Aren’t you a dear?” Cristina took Gwen’s chin in one hand and tilted her face from one side to the other, inspecting her. Then she released her and stepped back. “Yes, in the act. Enid had made a not-very-funny jest earlier that the only place to meet a man in secret in the whole castle, given how crowded it is this week, was in the linen closet. When she didn’t even pretend to sleep on her pallet in my room, the girls and I thought we’d catch her in a tryst.”
“That part didn’t turn out very well, though,” Mari said, again in that flat voice, “for any of us, least of all Enid.”
“May I see her things?” Gwen said. “Did she keep them in here, even if she didn’t sleep here?”
“Of course.” Cristina gestured to a wooden box that wasn’t large enough to qualify as a trunk. “She didn’t have much.”
Gwen crouched beside the box and opened the lid. “Why didn’t she?” Gwen glanced back at Cristina. When the future queen didn’t answer, Gwen looked around at the other women.
Finally, Mari pursed her lips and shrugged. “Her father died many years ago and her mother didn’t remarry. She’s lived …”
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