But then her father lifted his hand to her. “I-I love you, Gwen. Now go.”
“I love you, too!” Gwen sketched a wave, her heart lighter than it had been in days, and went.
Chapter Fifteen
“Wake up, Gwen.” Hywel’s voice whispered in her ear and Gwen sat up with a start. After she’d left Meilyr, Gwen had gone to the kitchen for food for Gareth, and then had fallen asleep on the floor of Hywel’s office waiting for him, with her pack as a pillow and her cloak as a blanket.
“Is it time?”
“Nearly dawn now.” Hywel cinched the tie on his pack and hoisted it to his back. It looked heavier than hers.
“My father knows, my lord,” Gwen said.
Hywel eyed her. “How did that come about?” His voice was calm, but she didn’t think he was exactly pleased.
“He guessed,” Gwen said. “I didn’t expect him to greet me in the courtyard, and I wasn’t prepared to lie to him.”
“Fathers can do that to you.”
“I’m sorry.”
Hywel gave Gwen a wry smile. “Perhaps it’s just as well. Someone should know that Gareth lives, if something should happen to us.” And then he grinned. “I’ve already told Evan, so I can’t blame you too much.”
“I’m glad,” Gwen said. “But why him, exactly?”
“Because somebody has to watch our backs,” Hywel said. “And Gareth trusts Evan. I had him send a horse around to the hay barn for Gareth just now.”
Hywel and Gwen made their way to the trapdoor, laid over the stairs down to the tunnel that led south out of Aber. The guardroom for the tunnel that went north, to the sea, was on the ground floor of one of Aber’s ancient towers. Extra armor and weapons were stored there, but it had space enough within it for a man to put his feet up on a table in some comfort. Gwen knew for a fact that it was a favorite gathering spot for members of the garrison to entertain each other with dicing or cards.
In contrast, the guardroom in which she found herself now hardly deserved the name: it was dank, dark, and chilly, located at the bottom of a flight of narrow stone steps—and was the least popular posting in the castle.
There, they met a much happier Evan. He’d relieved the usual guard, who’d needed no persuasion to depart, thinking Evan crazed.
Gwen peered through the half-open door to the tunnel and sniffed. It stank of mold and dead animals. She glanced at Hywel. “Are you sure about this?”
“There is no other way to leave the castle undetected at this hour,” Hywel said.
Though nothing but darkness crept down here, dawn was coming to the outside world, which meant that the castle was waking. The craft people, servants, and herders would be tending to their stalls and their animals.
“It’s all right, Gwen,” Evan said. “One of the men walks the length of the tunnel every few days. You’ll be safe enough.”
“I might. But my stomach may not be,” Gwen said.
Hywel poked Gwen in the back. “I’ve never seen this side of you. You survived an abduction to Dublin and yet you can’t walk a quarter of a mile in the dark?”
Gwen swallowed hard. “I can. I just don’t want to.”
“I’ll lead.” Hywel magnanimously stepped in front of Gwen.
One yard into the tunnel, Gwen’s creeping sensation of impending doom couldn’t be denied. At the very least, she felt that the tunnel would collapse around her ears at any moment. She wanted to turn and run, but she concentrated on putting one foot in front of the other, her eyes on the torch Hywel held. “Your father should either improve this tunnel, or block it in,” Gwen said (tartly).
“Given the drain on the exchequer caused by rebuilding Aber in stone, he may have to leave that to his successors,” Hywel said. “Talk to Rhun about it when his time comes.”
Gwen glanced back. The tunnel had curved slightly, blocking the light from the guardroom. She looked forward again. So far, they’d walked the longest hundred yards of her life. Hywel swore the whole journey wouldn’t last long, but each step brought the darkness closer around her. Moisture seeped from the walls and she heard rats squeaking in the corners.
“Steady, Gwen.”
Gwen nodded, even if Hywel couldn’t see it, and kept walking. Then, a hint of light appeared ahead of them. Both she and Hywel picked up their pace.
They reached the ladder leading to the hay barn. The trapdoor above them was already open, hence the bit of light they’d seen while in the tunnel.
“Someone must be here.” Hywel said, softly. “Let’s hope it’s Gareth.”
Please let him be here. Please let him be safe!
Hywel climbed out of the hole, leaving Gwen in the dark without a torch. Her ears strained for any sound of Gareth, but the promised rain had started with the coming of the day. Raindrops pounded on the roof and plopped into puddles in the dirt outside, ensuring that Gwen could hear nothing but the thudding of her own heart.
Gwen began to climb. Her head rose above the floor of the barn and she was tempted to squeeze her eyes shut, sure that something had gone wrong and Gareth wouldn’t be there. Neither she nor Hywel had dared to call out Gareth’s name in case they weren’t alone. What if the murderer was a step or two ahead of them? What if in trying to avoid him, Gareth had run into him on his way back to Aber?
Then Gareth reached down a hand to pull her all the way out of the hole.
“I told you not to worry,” Hywel said.
But she had, and so apparently, had Gareth. “Praise be to God.” Gareth enveloped her in his arms. “I didn’t even know you were here until Hywel popped out of the hole.”
Which wasn’t surprising since the sound of the rain was even louder inside the barn than it had been echoing down the shaft.
“The tunnel was horrible,” Gwen said.
Gareth laughed and his voice was like music. “I only poked my nose down it, but I agree. Why doesn’t King Owain improve it?”
“That’s what I asked,” Gwen said.
“Because then people would use it, and he wants to discourage that.” Hywel clapped Gareth on the shoulder. The three of them stood in a circle, grinning at each other. “Did you have any trouble?”
“No,” Gareth said. “I reached the barn just before the rain started falling. I hid in the hay. Even slept a little.” Pieces of straw had caught in his hair and clothing and Gwen plucked one out.
“Your wound is bleeding again.” Blood had seeped into the outer layer of the cloth she’d wrapped around his head. “I’ve brought more linen and herbs so I can bandage you properly.”
“We’ve brought other things, too,” Hywel said.
“Sit,” Gwen said to Gareth.
“Yes, ma’am.” Gareth made himself comfortable on the floor with his back to one of the posts that supported the roof. For all that King Owain wanted to discourage visitors to the tunnel, he kept the barn maintained in the right way. From the outside, it looked as if it might blow over in the next windstorm, but the supporting beams were solid (even if a few listed to one side), and the roof had been rethatched recently. The companions were dry beneath it.
Hywel stood behind Gwen, his hands on his hips. “I’m glad you’re alive, Gareth.”
Gareth looked up at his prince. “I am too. What did you bring me?”
“Your sword, of course.” He handed it to Gareth, who rested it across his lap. “And I borrowed an old cloak from Rhun.” Hywel tossed it to him. “It’s frayed around the bottom and torn in one corner but is otherwise whole. He won’t even miss it.”
“Thank you.”
While Gwen dabbed at his wound, Gareth shrugged the cloak around his shoulders. Then he leaned against the post again and sighed. “I hate being cold.”
Hywel followed the cloak with a small loaf of bread, which Gareth bit into hungrily.
“Do you have any idea who did this to you?” Hywel said.
“No idea at all,” Gareth said around a mouthful of bread. “I didn’t think we were close to finding the kill
er.”
“I didn’t think so either,” Gwen said.
“It seems you have developed a reputation for discovering the identity of wrong-doers, and our killer didn’t want to give you the chance to identify him.” Hywel left Gareth to his food and went to the doorway of the barn to look into the rain, humming under his breath.
Gwen took out the tweezers and held them up. “Dirt has lodged in the wound. I need to pick it out.”
“Go ahead,” Gareth said.
“Why don’t you tell me a story while I do it,” Gwen said. “To distract yourself.”
“I thought you were supposed to tell a story to me?” But Gareth closed his eyes as Gwen got to work. “What do you want to know?”
“When did you learn to read?” Gwen said.
Gareth opened his eyes. “How did you know about that?”
“You read the labels on my medicine jars last summer.” Gwen said.
“Are you sure?”
Gwen was worried suddenly that she’d exposed a great secret. She glanced at Hywel, but he remained as he’d been, his back to them, watching the rain.
Then Gareth’s eyes twinkled. “I’m jesting. I do know how to read.” Gareth winced as Gwen pulled a particularly gruesome splinter from his wound and then he closed his eyes again. “It was after I left Lord Goronwy’s.”
Gwen pulled out another wood shard, holding her breath all the while because she was hurting him. “How long had you been there?” Gwen wanted him to keep talking so he wouldn’t think about what she was doing.
“Goronwy was involved in a land dispute with one of his neighbors and wanted the extra manpower. In the spring, he had no more need of my services. It had been kind of him to keep me on as long as he did, since the courts had settled the lawsuit in January. I went south, for no other reason than that it was where the road led. I asked for hospitality for the night from a community of nuns. Before I started on the soup, their prioress asked me to stay longer.”
“What—and become a nun?” Hywel had been listening. He turned on a heel to look at Gareth, his eyes alight with good humor.
Gareth laughed. “Of course not. They needed protection from a company of marauders. This was well out of Owain Gwynedd’s domain, mind you, right on the border between Wales and England, and the border hasn’t been peaceful for a while.”
“No,” Hywel said. “My father will have to turn his attention to it after the Christmas feast.”
“Surely the unrest in England is beyond his scope to manage,” Gwen said.
Hywel eyed her. “He doesn’t want to manage it. He hopes it continues for many more years. But if King Stephen can’t control his own lands, if he allows thieves and highwaymen to waylay travelers, my father must step in and subdue those lands in his stead.”
“And what he subdues, he might as well keep,” Gareth said. “King Stephen is going to regret turning a blind eye to lawlessness.”
“He is going to find that some of his Norman allies, too, have grown restless,” Hywel said.
“Did I hear someone speculate the other day that this was thanks to Cadwaladr?” Gwen glanced from one to the other as they both nodded at her. “What has he done?”
“Some of the Marcher lords see Prince Cadwaladr’s disaffection—for all that my father has welcomed him back to court—and my father’s distraction with both him and this wedding, as an opportunity.”
Gwen’s face fell. “That’s really why you came back to Aber, isn’t it? It wasn’t for your father’s wedding. It’s because his lands are in danger from the east.”
“My father would have had my head if I hadn’t attended his wedding,” Hywel said. “But the eastern threat looms large in our consultations and is one reason we were delayed in our return north.”
Gwen turned back to Gareth. “You still haven’t answered my question, you know. About the reading.”
“Oh that,” Gareth said. “Teaching me to read was payment for my services. I stayed with the nuns for four months.”
“Did you have to fight for them, in the end?” Gwen said.
“I did.”
Gwen waited through several heartbeats and when nothing more was forthcoming, she accepted that he wasn’t going to say anything else on that subject. “And then what?” she said.
“The fighting moved beyond their lands and I decided I’d try my luck again in the north,” Gareth said. “The abbess gave me a glowing recommendation. I thought if anything could counter Cadwaladr’s slandering of me, it was her testimony.”
“That’s when I first encountered you,” Hywel said. “You were fighting for—”
“Yes,” Gareth said.
“Glad that didn’t last long.” Hywel gestured to Gareth’s newly bandaged head. “Now that you are in one piece again, what’s your intention?”
Gwen felt herself saying grrr, grrr, grrr inside. The men’s conversation had deliberately excluded her, indicating that here was yet another piece of Gareth’s past that he didn’t want to talk about. It wasn’t that he couldn’t have his secrets. She probably had some of her own, though she couldn’t think of any more exciting than the time she and a friend stayed awake past midnight in the stables getting drunk on blackberry wine. It was just that his secrets kept popping up when she least expected them.
Gareth rose stiffly to his feet. “Our problem appears to be how easily our killer gets around. We have no idea who he is and unless he shows himself by murdering again—”
“And I wouldn’t put it past him,” Hywel said.
“—then we have to come at this from a different direction. It seems to me that our hopes rest on finding more about what Enid was up to that got her killed,” Gareth said. “We know what Ieuan was doing—running errands for the murderer—but our missing assassin may have answers for us too.” He reached into his coat, pulled out a scrap of paper, and unfolded it. “I made a sketch of him while I was waiting for you.”
He held out the paper. Gareth had drawn images of Enid, the assassin, and Ieuan in charcoal.
“Those are perfect likenesses,” Gwen said. “I forgot that you could draw.”
“Before, it was only in the dirt,” Gareth said, “since no one would trust me with their precious paper.”
“You see why I keep him around, Gwen?” Then Hywel canted his head to Gareth. “How much time do you need?”
“It depends on how far I have to go,” Gareth said. “A few days? A week? I will report back within seven days, even if I’ve found nothing.”
“I’m almost more concerned that you find something. This man has murdered two people, and tried to kill two more, one of whom is you,” Hywel said. “My father had a good idea in sending out search parties, even though his quest degenerated into a boar hunt. I need a dozen more men doing what you’re proposing, but I don’t have that many whom I trust.” He put a hand on Gareth’s shoulder, squeezed once, and released him. “All the more reason to take care of the one I do have. Be careful.”
“Yes, my lord.” Gareth slipped his arm around Gwen’s waist and drew her to him.
Now that Gareth was leaving her again, Gwen found tears pricking at her eyes. She managed to blink them back, but she was sure Gareth saw them. “You will head east, then?” she said.
“If you were fleeing Aber, which way would you go?” Gareth said. “King Owain’s writ runs only to his eastern border and not beyond.”
“Or to the sea,” Gwen said.
“If our assassin has escaped to Dublin, I’m not following,” Gareth said.
That made Gwen laugh, despite herself and her fears.
“I will be careful,” Gareth said. “I promise.”
“Meanwhile, Gwen and I will try to keep my father alive until you return,” Hywel said.
Chapter Sixteen
Hywel stood at Gareth’s stirrup as he mounted Dewi, the horse Evan had sent to the hay barn for him. “You do realize that our killer is a nobleman? He has to be.”
“I do.” Gareth had more than enough
experience with the nobility. Their life of privilege made them more certain of their own rightness than those below them. Sadly, Cadwaladr was only one of many self-serving and arrogant barons Gareth had encountered.
When he’d been speaking to Gwen and Hywel earlier, Gareth had cut off the story about his past when he’d gotten to the part where he’d joined the garrison of a Lord Dafydd—a cousin to King Owain a few times removed. Like King Owain, Lord Dafydd was a second son advanced to his station by the death of his older brother.
But unlike King Owain, Dafydd had only one son whom he spoiled as if he were a five year old, for all that he’d reached eighteen. Gareth had spent nearly nine months cleaning up after this young man’s ‘youthful hijinks,’ as his father called them. In anyone but a lord’s son, his acts would have been considered criminal. The final straw for Gareth had been the young man’s claim of droit de seigneur: the right of a lord to take a maiden before her wedding.
Gareth had never heard of the droit before, beyond rumor, and in any case, lords in Wales had no such right, even if men in other nations claimed it. The youth didn’t heed Gareth’s protests (or that of the girl’s betrothed), raped her, and sparked open warfare between village and castle. Gareth had defended the lord’s son, to the point of not allowing the villagers to kill him, and then he had ridden away. He hadn’t left Cadwaladr’s service only to lose his soul in another’s.
“You must tread very carefully.” Hywel’s eyes flicked to where Gwen waited in the doorway of the barn, and then back to Gareth. “The killer might be at Aber, but you don’t know who else knows what he’s done and what he plans. Anyone you meet could be part of his scheme.”
Gareth was about to scoff at Hywel’s words, but his lord’s intensity stopped him. “Yes, my lord. I won’t trust anyone. I won’t assume anything.”
“Good man.” Hywel slapped the horse’s rear to get him going.
As Gareth trotted into the rain and away from the barn—and Gwen—he turned in his seat once to look at her. She stood in the entrance, forlorn, and his heart constricted. Yet, this was the right course. He knew it. While he didn’t like leaving Gwen, he could do far more good on the outside, rather than hovering around King Owain, waiting for the killer to strike again.
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