“I am too,” Gwen said.
The tavern patrons wouldn’t let Gwen leave right away, and she was willing to stay to find out more about Enid and Ieuan. She learned more about Gareth instead, another side of him she hadn’t yet seen. Huw had been telling the truth when he’d said that Gareth was a favorite in the village. If two men needed cooling down after too much mead, or when a dispute arose, Gareth was often the one called to deal with it. Stern, but fair. That was what everyone said.
By the time Gwen left the tavern, it was mid-afternoon. Even then, the villagers had protested that she should stay, seeing no reason for her to reenter the winter weather, which was keeping all but the most hardy of them indoors.
“More mead, Gwen?” Huw said as Gwen eyed the door.
“I must go.”
“It’s raining. There’s no need to go out in it just yet.”
“Prince Hywel will be wondering where I am,” Gwen said. “Besides, the rain is tapering off.” Gwen was glad to see it since it meant that Gareth, too, wouldn’t be riding through a downpour. She hoped he was having at least some luck, as she had.
Huw let her go. As she made her way to the door, she found Lord Tomos just coming through it into the tavern. “Hello.” He stopped on the threshold to shake out his wet cloak.
“What brings you here?” Gwen said.
“With no wedding today either, I fancied a change of scenery,” he said. “And you? Asking questions for Hywel, were you?”
“Yes.”
Tomos nodded. “That’s good. We need to stop this madman before he does any more damage.”
Gwen had been ready to walk through the door, but now she hesitated. “Do you have any thoughts about whom he might be?”
“I wouldn’t want to say,” Tomos said. “All I know is that Owain and I have spent forty years in each other’s company. I don’t want to lose him.”
“I didn’t realize you’d known him that long,” Gwen said.
“Oh, yes.” Tomos brushed a hand through his wet hair. “My father sent me to Aberffraw when I was a lad. Owain and I were the two runts of the castle and befriended each other. Later, we were squires together, and then knights. Owain has gone to war with me beside him every time he’s fought a war.”
“He’s very lucky to have you, then,” Gwen said.
Tomos bowed slightly at the waist, though his eyes flicked to the mug of mead Huw had just set on the table for him. Gwen smiled. “I won’t keep you.”
“Nothing like Huw’s warm mead.” Tomos held the door for Gwen and ushered her into the drizzle.
A short while later, she strolled through the entrance to the great hall, looking forward to warmth and (foolishly) a quiet stint by the fire, to find the hall in an uproar. Cadwaladr and King Owain were faced off against each other, shouting. King Owain’s temper was legendary—Gwen herself had seen it multiple times—and she would have thought that Cadwaladr would have known better than to set it off.
Cadwaladr pushed close to his brother until they were nose to nose. “If you think that I’m going to stand here and listen to your false accusations—”
“You will stand here and you will listen!” King Owain said. “I hold your purse strings and if you think you can instigate another scheme like last summer’s—”
“Last summer! You hold that against me still?” Cadwaladr said. “How long will I have to pay for a single—”
“A single indiscretion? Is that what you were going to say?” King Owain’s voice was thundering. “You … murdered … Anarawd!”
“I don’t have to listen to this.” Cadwaladr turned on his heel and marched towards the exit, passing within inches of Gwen, who skittered away. The great doors slammed shut behind him.
King Owain pointed at the several members of his teulu who stood near the door. “Don’t let him leave the castle.”
They didn’t yes, my lord him, just bowed their heads and instantly obeyed, following after Cadwaladr. For a moment, the doorway framed the mist and the darkening sky that filled the courtyard. Gwen could also see to the gatehouse and watched as the portcullis fell into place with a thud. Nearby, Hywel spoke to Alun. “Double the guards on all the exits.”
“Yes, my lord.”
Rhun and Hywel exchanged a glance and then looked at their father. He stood before the fire, staring into it. His face was flushed from the heat of the flames and his anger was fading only now. He thumped his chest with one hand and coughed. “That man will be the death of me.”
“He will not.” Cristina glided into view and put her arm through King Owain’s elbow.
“You bring comfort, as always, my dear.” King Owain patted her hand. “You shouldn’t have had to witness that.”
“Your troubles are my troubles, my lord,” Cristina said.
King Owain patted her hand again and whispered into her ear. Cristina nodded and left the hall, though not before firing a sharp look at Gwen.
What? Such a look made Gwen nervous.
Once Cadwaladr had left, the hall had emptied. Everyone had wanted to watch the argument between the royal brothers, but nobody wanted to be present for the aftermath. Owain looked towards Hywel and Rhun and lifted his chin. “Come closer.”
They came, but not before Hywel took Gwen’s arm and tugged her with him. “You too.”
Gwen allowed herself to be herded nearer to the king.
“What can we do, Father?” Rhun said.
“See what’s become of your uncle, if you would, Son,” King Owain said.
“Of course.” Rhun clapped a hand on Hywel’s shoulder and departed. He had to know, as both Hywel and Gwen did, that his father was getting rid of him so that he wouldn’t be a party to what King Owain wanted to talk about next. Something unsavory, no doubt. But it wasn’t what Gwen expected.
“Tell me what has become of Gareth,” King Owain said.
“What do you mean, Father?” Hywel said. “The men didn’t find him.”
King Owain wasn’t having any of it. “You say, the men didn’t find him, do you? Since the last time you lied to my face, you were seven years old, I’d say you found him, or Gwen did—and that he is alive.” King Owain turned his glare on Gwen.
Gwen tried to look down, or away, or at Hywel, but couldn’t manage it. Nor could she overtly lie to King Owain. “Yes,” she said.
“And you didn’t tell me?” King Owain’s temper was rising again.
“We thought it best,” Hywel said.
Gwen continued the thought, “The man who felled Gareth and left him to die shouldn’t know that he still lives.”
“When, exactly, were you going to tell me, your own father and king?” King Owain said.
Hywel swallowed hard. He was having trouble answering again.
“How did you know?” Gwen said.
“I am observant,” King Owain said. “I believe I know most of what goes on in my castle.”
That wasn’t comforting, actually, given what did go on that Gwen knew about.
But then King Owain put up a hand. “I am not here to question your methods, Son. I want to know if my brother murdered Enid and this servant, Ieuan. More, I want to know if he hired that youth to kill me.”
“We want to know that too,” Hywel said, “but we have nothing that ties Enid to Cadwaladr. We haven’t been able to trace Enid’s movements after she put poppy juice into Lord Goronwy’s drink.”
King Owain looked away and with that glance, Gwen’s stomach hit the floor. “My lord?” she said. “Did you see Enid on the night she died?”
Hywel hissed through his teeth.
King Owain clearly didn’t want to answer, but Hywel prompted him. “Father?”
“She came to me.” King Owain’s shoulders sagged.
“When?” Hywel said.
“After midnight. I wouldn’t know the time because I was asleep. She roused me when she slipped into bed with me. At first I thought it was Cristina—for all that she had refused to come to my chamber until then. I h
ad a spark of hope that she saw no reason to wait with only one night before the wedding.”
King Owain couldn’t know Cristina very well if he thought she might really share his bed before the wedding, but Gwen didn’t say anything. She was a maiden herself and the King shouldn’t be speaking like this in front of her. But she didn’t want to stop the flow of his story by calling attention to herself.
“But then Enid spoke to me—I don’t even know what she said—and I realized she wasn’t my bride. I leaped from the bed,” King Owain said.
“You what?” Hywel said.
King Owain’s brow furrowed. “I turned her out. I am a man of honor. I had a liaison with Enid years ago, but it was short-lived. I certainly didn’t want her the night before my wedding to Cristina.”
“There would be hell to pay if Cristina found out.” A smile twitched at Hywel’s lips.
“There would have been a scene,” King Owain said. “Cristina might have called the wedding off.”
Or … murdered Enid. The thought rose unbidden in Gwen, not for the first time, and Hywel stilled beside her. “Father, could Cristina have seen—”
“No, she couldn’t have!” Owain said. “I booted Enid from my room and threw her dress after her. She stood in the corridor, glaring at me, before I slammed the door in her face—well, closed it quietly, given the hour and that I didn’t want to draw attention to the incident.”
“And there was nobody in the corridor with her?” Hywel said.
Again, Gwen was glad to let Hywel ask these questions for her.
“Not that I saw,” King Owain said, “and I checked carefully because I didn’t want her associated with me, even in the eyes of one of my closest friends. I barred the door behind her.”
Hywel turned to Gwen. “That means that Lord Goronwy was gone by then.”
King Owain nodded and a stunned expression swept across his face. “You’re right. He was.”
Hywel snapped his fingers. “Enid slipped poppy juice into Goronwy’s drink to get him out of the way so that she could—”
“—enter my room and seduce me!” King Owain said.
“But why would she do that?” Gwen said.
King Owain appeared taken aback. “Isn’t it obvious? She hoped I’d call off the wedding with Cristina and marry her. It was her last chance.”
“Had she contacted you before this?” Hywel said. “Tried to renew your acquaintance?”
“No.” King Owain said.
Gwen shook her head. “How can that be the whole story? Enid ended up dead shortly thereafter—”
The door to the great hall burst open and slammed back against the wall. “Father!” It was Rhun. “Uncle Cadwaladr has barricaded himself inside the chapel and won’t come out!”
Chapter Eighteen
Gareth’s horse, Dewi, stood placidly in the middle of the ferry, uncaring of the water crossing or anything else as far as Gareth could tell. It didn’t bode well for the horse’s ability to get up to speed if Gareth needed it, but perhaps said something about his loyalty and willingness to travel all day, which Gareth figured was what faced them.
This man he was chasing—boy really, though he was old enough to count as a man—might have feared that someone was following him, but as time went on, would have begun to feel more secure. He’d have stopped for the night somewhere on the other side of the Conwy River, thinking himself safe. Maybe the rain had discouraged him from progressing far today. He would sleep inside tonight. And if he’d done any of those things, it meant Gareth could catch him.
“Wind’s picking up,” Daff said as he poled the ferry towards the eastern pier. “Getting colder for your journey.”
“It can’t be helped,” Gareth said. “Thank you, though, for your assistance.”
“I hope you catch the bastard,” Daff said. “I wouldn’t have taken him in my boat if I’d known what he’d done. We don’t get much news except from travelers, and it’s not like he would have told us what he was up to, eh?”
“Definitely not,” Gareth said, liking Daff more and more. “I gather from your attitude that King Owain is popular here?”
“More so than his father was,” Daff said, “though I’d appreciate it if you didn’t report that back to Aber.”
“Of course I won’t,” Gareth said. “Over the years, I’ve learned to keep much of what I learn to myself. Unless it’s pertinent to my investigations, whatever you say is between you and me.”
“And me!” Padrig said, from the front of the boat.
“And you,” Gareth said.
“Old King Gruffydd spent most of his life fighting, you know,” Daff said. “In his later years, he passed more responsibility to his sons—Cadwallon and Owain they were then, before Cadwallon died and Gruffydd brought Cadwaladr back from Ireland—and it was for the better. Sometimes when a man lives to fight, he forgets how to live.”
“I will remember that.” Gareth smiled. Gwen would see that he did. The thought warmed him, even as he pulled up his hood to counter the promised wind.
The ferry docked on the other side of the Conwy River and Gareth led Dewi onto the shore. He turned back to look at the ferryman and his son.
“Good luck,” Padrig said.
“Thank you.” Gareth mounted Dewi and headed east. So far, the assassin had stuck to the less traveled road, and Gareth thought it unlikely he would have returned to the main one after crossing the Conwy. Still, when he reached a crossroads, he deliberated. He could ride south and pick up the main road as it headed east from Caerhun or continue down the beach road until he could turn south at the Clwyd River. If the youth was going all the way to Chester, he could have turned onto the high road beyond Rhuddlan Castle at St Asaph.
The beach was less populated along this stretch than between Aber and Conwy. Gareth met only three people and none could tell him of the man he was tracking. Ten miles of nothing later, he knew he’d made a mistake in taking this path. But he couldn’t do anything about it now.
Finally, he reached the Clywd River and turned south. The sun hadn’t quite set, but darkness had crept upon the landscape. The bushes and trees that lined the road were stunted from the sea air and poor, sandy soil. The shadows made them look like an army of wizened men, leaning upon canes. Gareth couldn’t reach shelter soon enough. He decided to ask for hospitality at Rhuddlan Castle, Lord Tomos’ charge. Lord Tomos wouldn’t be there, of course, but his steward could surely find Gareth a place to rest his head. Given that Gareth hadn’t found a single trace of the assassin along this road, it didn’t make sense to continue in the dark.
When he reached the turn-off that would take him across the river to the castle, however, he met a man riding towards him, coming from St. Asaph. As he’d spoken to no one in two hours, Gareth’s spirits rose. “Sir! A moment of your time?”
The man reined in, his eyes shifting from the hilt of Gareth’s sword and his polished armor to his torn cloak and plodding horse. Coupled with his blood-matted hair, it occurred to Gareth that he had the look of a man who had once been well off, but was now very far down on his luck.
“Certainly, my lord,” the man said. “What is it?”
“I am Sir Gareth, of Aber Castle.” Gareth urged Dewi closer. “Do you live nearby?”
“I am Caradoc,” the man said, “of Rhuddlan Castle.”
“Excellent,” Gareth said. “Do you recognize this man?” He held out the paper which he’d folded to show just the face of the would-be-assassin.
Caradoc peered at the paper and then glanced into Gareth’s face. “Why do you seek him?”
Caradoc was the first to give him that particular response. Most people either said, yes if they had, or no if they hadn’t. But Gareth answered Caradoc civilly enough. “He tried to kill King Owain.”
“Tried?”
Gareth shrugged. “King Owain was too well protected for him to succeed.”
Caradoc had been leaning forward in the saddle and now straightened. “This is terrible. And
he escaped?”
“Yes,” Gareth said.
“How?”
“We’re not sure of that either.” Gareth didn’t want to give any more than that away to a man he didn’t know.
“Then I will tell you. Yes, this must be the man I saw. I rode from Rhuddlan this morning and had just turned onto this road, heading south, when he overtook me, going the same direction as I. He passed me by, heading up the road to St. Asaph.”
“This morning, you say?” Gareth said. “Did you notice anything peculiar about him?”
“Like what?”
Gareth shrugged. “Anything that might draw your attention.”
“Nothing,” Caradoc said, “but we didn’t speak.”
Now, Gareth was faced with a dilemma. He gazed south, eyeing the road ahead of him and wondering how far the man had gotten this day. He nodded at Caradoc. “Thank you for your assistance.”
Caradoc gestured towards the castle behind Gareth. It perched on its hill, overlooking the marshes to the north and east. “Surely you’d like a bed for the night? I oversee the castle when Lord Tomos is away.”
“No, thank you,” Gareth said, deciding instantly that he would push on. “I can’t rest yet.”
Caradoc bowed his head in acceptance of Gareth’s decision and continued up the road to his castle. Gareth thanked the saints that he’d met Caradoc when he had or he might have turned in at Rhuddlan. He still could have spoken to Caradoc, but he would have missed his chance to gain any ground on the assassin. Given that Gareth had come all the way from Aber in one day, the boy must have made a shorter day of yesterday. As Gareth had hoped, he’d thought himself safe and chosen to rest, rather than put more distance between himself and his possible pursuers.
It also meant that Gareth wouldn’t waste any more time on the smaller tracks that branched off the main road. Rhuddlan had been built at the first ford of the Clwyd River south of the sea. The assassin could have crossed the river here and headed east into the marshes. Gareth knew now that he hadn’t done that. He could take the road to St. Asaph and then head east from there—all the way to Chester if need be. And he might have to do exactly that. Caradoc had seen the youth that morning. The boy was still miles ahead of Gareth.
The Uninvited Guest Page 16