Chapter Seven
Owain Gwynedd, however, was not asleep, though he was less than pleased to see Hywel stride into the room, interrupting his late night meal with Cristina. They sat together at the high table in the great hall, alone but not private, an odd pairing at first glance, his middle-aged bulk a contrast to her petite youthfulness.
Gareth bent his head to Gwen’s. “As far as I’ve seen, she refuses to dally for more than a few moments alone with the King. She has her eye on the main chance.”
“He’s obviously smitten.”
“It seems to me since everyone’s here for Anarawd’s wedding,” Gareth said, “they might as well go ahead and marry themselves instead.”
“Don’t say that!” Gwen said.
“We’re all waiting for it.”
“Even if we’re dreading it,” Gwen said.
Their feet echoed in the hall, thudding hollowly on the wood of the floor as they made their way among the mostly empty tables. Hywel came to a halt in front of his father, with Gwen and Gareth a pace behind him to his left and right. “Sir. I bring bad news,” Hywel said.
King Owain studied his son, a smile twitching at the corner of his mouth, despite his earlier annoyance. “Let’s hear it, then.”
Gwen had the sense that they were playing out an oft-repeated scene—as if Hywel had often brought King Owain bad news, and this was the least painful way to relay it.
Hywel took a deep breath and let it out, still hesitating.
His father leaned forward, perhaps realizing that this news was going to be worse than usual.
“Anarawd and his men were ambushed on the road from Dolwyddelan by a company of Danes,” Hywel said. “King Anarawd is dead.”
King Owain surged to his feet, knocking back his chair, even Cristina forgotten. “How do you know this?”
“My man found him.” Hywel gestured to Gareth who stepped forward and bowed.
“Tell me,” King Owain said.
Gareth bowed again, and then related how he’d observed the start of the battle and returned with reinforcements to find King Anarawd and his men dead. He touched on the presence of Gwen and her family but didn’t emphasize it, and then described the second ambush. “The wounded are being cared for at Caerhun, my lord.”
King Owain gazed at Gareth, then looked past him to the few other knights and men-at-arms who’d gathered to hear the tale. “Arrest him.” He pointed at Gareth with his chin.
“What?” Gwen stepped forward. “You can’t—” She cut herself off as Hywel grabbed her arm.
“Hush,” he said, and then turned to the King. “Father, this is—” and then he broke off himself as three men surrounded Gareth and pinioned his arms behind his back.
“What are you doing?” Gareth cast a pleading glance at Hywel, looking for help. “I had nothing to do with this! I found them.”
“Did you not leave King Anarawd to die?” King Owain’s face suffused with blood and his voice thundered. “Are you not experienced in the use of a sword?”
“Yes, but—”
“I’ve tolerated your presence up until now because my son trusts you, but I heard about you from my brother. The truth will come out more easily from a cell.” King Owain waved a hand. “Take him.”
Gareth’s jaw bulged. Gwen thought he was going to dig in his heels when his shoulders tensed, but then his eyes met Hywel’s. Gareth must have read something there that convinced him to back down, because he allowed the guards to turn him, his legs moving stiffly, and lead him away. He didn’t look again at Gwen.
“Father.” Hywel faced King Owain, his voice back to reasonable. “Gareth had nothing to do with this. He hasn’t the money to pay—”
But King Owain was still on fire. “I never said he paid for it! But he could have been bought and paid for! That I will believe!”
“Father—” Hywel tried again.
“You have something to say?” His voice thundered throughout the hall. “You question my orders?”
Hywel took a step back. “No, Father.” He ducked his head. “But I will discover the truth. Gareth has served both you and me well. He is not at fault here.”
King Owain wasn’t listening. He turned and kicked the fallen chair out of his way. It skittered across the floor. Then he paced towards the fireplace. “Who bought them? Who seeks to strike me in the heart, in my own lands?”
By now, Gwen had slipped away, fading into the background as much as she could, with her back against the wall out of reach of the firelight. It was clear that calling any kind of attention to herself would be a major mistake. King Owain, however, had not forgotten her and, after haranguing Hywel a while longer, he spun towards her. “You tell me your father comes too! Was he injured in this fight?”
“No, sir,” she said. “Both he and my brother are safe at Caerhun.”
“I am besieged on every side.” King Owain returned to his pacing.
“Whoever killed Anarawd has enough money and power to buy a troop of men—from Ireland no less—and point them in whatever direction he chooses,” Hywel said. “Either that, or this is an attack from Ireland itself.”
“Don’t tell me what I already know!” King Owain said, the storm returning. “Where’s Rhun?”
“At Aberffraw, my lord,” Hywel said. “He was to escort Elen here tomorrow.”
“Coc oen!” King Owain said. “This is just what I need.”
At his flagrant profanity, Cristina rose to her feet, risking his wrath far more than Gwen could have imagined she might, and put a hand to his arm. “There is nothing more to be done tonight. Madog will come from Caerhun tomorrow with Anarawd’s body. Until then, strategy is best conceived with a cool head.”
King Owain turned on her at the implied criticism of his temper, but she stood steady before him, gazing unblinking into his eyes—and raising her standing considerably in Gwen’s estimation. He glared at her for another count of ten, and then his shoulders relaxed, and he even laughed. “I bow to your wishes, my dear. We will retire.”
Hywel took a step forward. “About Gareth, my lord—”
“He will stay where he is. He has not told me as much as he will.” King Owain strode from the room, Cristina on his arm.
It was as though the fire had gone out in the hall. It was colder, darker, and far, far calmer without King Owain’s presence. Gwen moved to Hywel’s side. “Is there something Gareth knows that he’s not telling the king?”
Hywel gave her a cryptic look. “Many things, but since you confirm his story, I don’t see what more he can tell us about Anarawd’s death.”
“Does Gareth really have to stay in a cell tonight?”
“You’re asking me to defy my father? You’ve spent all of a half-hour in his company in the last six years but already you should know better.”
“But, my lord—”
“You’ve felt only a taste of my father’s wrath. I cannot release Gareth on my own accord—not yet—not until pressed to absolute need. Besides, it sounds worse than it is for him. We don’t actually have any cells here. This isn’t the Tower of London.”
“Yes, my lord.” Gwen cast her eyes down so she wouldn’t have to look at him—or embarrass herself with begging.
She could feel Hywel’s eyes on her.
“We will speak in the morning,” Hywel said. “I’ll have my father’s steward find you a place to sleep.”
The Good Knight Page 7