Chapter Thirty-Five
“Why don’t you just send Cadwaladr back to the Danes,” Hywel said. “This is his doing, isn’t it? All of it?”
Owain Gwynedd and Hywel stood together twenty feet away on the perimeter of the camp, illumined by the light of a flaming torch jammed into the ground. The light wavered in the wind that blew from the west and allowed their voices to carry to Gareth, who halted in mid-stride at the corner of the last tent. He glanced around, but no one else was in evidence. He shrunk back into the shadows so as not to interrupt them.
“Make him find the money to pay the Danes or face the consequences,” Hywel continued. “He’ll bankrupt himself, but make him do it. If you don’t, he’ll blame you for his lack of fortune and lands. He’ll never take responsibility for his actions if you do this for him.”
King Owain sighed. “He is a prince of Wales, son. You should know, if one day you are to aid your brother in his rule of Wales, that I can’t allow the Danes to make free with him. He hasn’t the wherewithal to face them. He’s run from them now. When they discover how he deceived them, they’ll lay waste to half of Gwynedd before they go home. I preserve him because by doing so, I preserve my people.”
Silence. And then Hywel asked the question that burned Gareth up inside. “Will you give him back his lands in Ceredigion?”
“And if I did, would you still do my bidding?” Owain Gwynedd said.
“Always,” Hywel said.
“That is why I will not,” King Owain said. “Ceredigion is yours.”
Hywel had been gazing out to sea, avoiding his father’s eyes, but now looked into Owain Gwynedd’s face. “Mine?”
“You’ve earned it,” Owain said. “It’s time you took your proper place as a prince of Wales.”
For once, King Owain had cut through Hywel’s façade of cynical unconcern. “Thank you, Father. You won’t be sorry for your trust in me.”
“I know it,” King Owain said. “Now get me that girl. I won’t have Ottar use her as a bargaining chip. Besides, my bard will never forgive me if you don’t.”
“Yes, sir!” Hywel said.
King Owain turned towards the center of the camp just as Rhun came trotting across the sand to his brother. Gareth decided it was safe to join them.
“Dawn is coming,” Rhun said.
“What are we to do?” Gareth came to a halt in front of Hywel, whose eyes were brighter than he’d ever seen them. “We don’t know where Gwen is being kept, or even if she’s being kept at all. Perhaps she’s still free, as she was when she was in Cadwaladr’s charge.”
“We’ll soon find out,” Hywel said. “If we’re to move, we have to do it soon. The moment King Ottar discovers Cadwaladr’s absence, he is going to be one very angry Dane.”
“The three of us need to rescue Gwen,” Rhun said. “Just us. Right now.”
Hywel studied his brother. “You are too valuable to lose.”
“That is why it must be we three,” Rhun said. “Even if he captures us, King Ottar will not harm us; he’s not harmed Gwen, at least as far as we know. He knows that the only way he’s getting out of here alive, at worst, or with his money, at best, is if he cooperates. Killing the son of Owain Gwynedd would ensure a massacre of his men and enduring enmity between Aber and Dublin. He won’t want that.”
“Prince Rhun is right, my lord,” Gareth said. “Even if King Ottar is angry now, he hasn’t killed Gwen. That would be wasteful, and the Danes are a most practical people.”
“Then we’ll go as you said, brother, before the sun rises, and while they’re still in disarray from Cadwaladr’s defection,” Hywel said. “If we wait any longer, it will be too late.”
“They may be more alert than usual,” Gareth said.
“We’ll surprise them,” Hywel said. “They’ll be focused on Cadwaladr, not on Gwen.”
Rhun snapped his fingers at one of the sentries as the three men passed him, heading for the narrow path that led through the brush to the Danish camp. “Tell the king we do his bidding. He’ll know what to do if we don’t return.”
“Yes, my lord!”
With Hywel in the lead, Rhun behind him, and Gareth bringing up the rear, they dodged among the scrubby bushes that dotted the windswept dunes. Gareth understood that a recklessness had come upon the two princes. They’d fought battles together, risked their lives dozens of times—but this was a different matter. Gareth could picture the glee rising in Hywel’s chest at this sudden chance at adventure and risk.
A cluster of stunted trees had found a niche on the edge of the beach, some thirty yards from the Danish fire circles and command tents. They dropped to their stomachs in the grass under the branches and took a moment to catch their breath. Then, Rhun lifted his head.
“Do you see anything?” Hywel said. Of the three of them, Rhun had the best night vision.
“Men surround the fires,” Rhun said. “Outside their light, it’s hard to see anything.” And then— “Wait, a man comes.”
Rhun and Hywel ducked their heads. In contrast, Gareth popped his up, unsure of what instinct made him less cautious. He gazed at the man, noting his bulky shape silhouetted against the fire. Again it was instinct—and only his instinct—that told him what to do. He put a hand on Hywel’s shoulder. “Wait here.”
Before the princes could protest, Gareth leapt up and ran at a crouching lope to where the man had paused. He fell on his stomach at the man’s feet. Instead of calling to the other sentries, the big Dane turned his back on Gareth and faced the sea.
“Where is she?” Gareth said in a hoarse whisper.
“King Ottar’s own tent,” Godfrid said. “Third from the left,”
“Is anyone with her?”
“Two stand guard outside the entrance,” Godfrid said. “You’ll need a diversion to get inside.”
“Right. You’ll know it when you see it.” Gareth scuttled back to where Hywel and Rhun waited. “That was Godfrid. We need a diversion to get to Gwen.”
“I’ll go,” said Rhun. “Give me a slow count of one hundred and then move.”
“What are you going to do?” Hywel said.
Rhun shot Hywel a mischievous grin. “I don’t know. Like my brother, I make it up as I go along.” And with that, he was off.
Still sprawled in the grass, Hywel groaned and put his head into his hands. “I don’t even want to know.”
Gareth kept his head just above the level of the grass. A dozen torches lit the Danish camp, ruining the Danes’ night vision, but the darkness wouldn’t hide Gareth and Hywel much longer. Sunrise was a long way off, but they had very little time before the sky lightened in advance of it.
A flame shot into the sky farther down the beach, near the shore of the Menai Strait, followed by roars of surprise by men in both camps. The soldiers around the Danish fire pits surged to their feet. Rhun had set the grass to the south of the camp on fire.
Godfrid had moved the instant the fire had been lit, the first to shout the warning to his companions.
“Now!” Hywel said.
He and Gareth ran to the rear of the tent. Gareth held his sword to counter anyone who challenged them and faced outward, on guard. Meanwhile, Hywel cut through the rear of the tent with two quick slashes of his belt knife. They ducked inside.
“Watch the front, Gareth,” Hywel said as he ran to Gwen.
“I prayed you’d come. I don’t know what would have happen—”
“We’re here now.” Gareth touched the top of Gwen’s head in greeting, though he wanted to pull her into his arms, and then bounded to the entrance of the tent. He peered through the opening. Only one guard had remained on duty, though he was now twenty feet farther from the tent entrance than he should have stood. He wouldn’t be able to hear anything they said from that distance. Behind him, Hywel struggled to saw through the ropes that bound Gwen’s hands.
“Hurry,” Gareth said.
“I’m trying,” Hywel said, through gritted teeth.
&n
bsp; They were out of time. “He’s coming, my lord,” Gareth said. The guard appeared to be remembering his duty and was backing towards them, his shadow bouncing in the firelight. “We need to get out of here now!”
Hywel freed Gwen’s hands and then pressed the knife into them. “You do your feet. I’ll defend the rear.” He stood, pulled his sword from its sheath, and stuck his head out of their ad hoc doorway. “Clear.”
Gwen’s captors hadn’t done as complete a job on this second rope and Gwen severed it more easily than Hywel had freed her hands. She got to her feet, more than a little unsteady. “I’m ready.”
Gareth caught her elbow and helped her out the hole in the tent behind Hywel, who’d already gone through it. Once outside, they crouched low in the shadow of the tent before daring to venture across the sand to the trees. The distance to safety looked a lot farther than it had on their way to rescue Gwen. The darkness had also turned to a murky dawn. Another dozen heartbeats and the shadows would no longer protect them.
“Stay low.” Gareth clasped Gwen’s elbow and tugged her forward, cat-like, across the sand.
“Down!” Hywel said.
Gareth dove to the ground, Gwen half-beneath him.
“Up!”
This was a new voice, and one that came from farther east. They obeyed it, running flat out for the protective woods. Gwen tripped on the hem of her dress, and Gareth clasped her around the waist to haul her to her feet again. A dozen heartbeats later, every one pounding so loudly in Gareth’s ears he could hear nothing else, they’d crossed the scrub and reached the safety of the Welsh lines. Gareth pulled up short in amazement at who had joined their venture.
“Hello, Father,” Hywel said.
Owain Gwynedd had come, along with Rhun (grinning madly) and a dozen men-at-arms, to ensure that the Danes stayed on their side of the beach. The King smiled and tousled Hywel’s hair like he was a boy. “Son. Why should you have all the fun?” Then the king reached for Gwen and pulled her into his arms for a rib-crushing hug. “Quite a chase you’ve led us on, young lady.”
“That was never my intent,” Gwen said, her voice muffled by the king’s thick cloak.
“Ha.” King Owain allowed himself a genuine laugh and then released her.
She turned then to Gareth, and it was as if his whole world stood still. All he could see was her. All he could think about was her. He hadn’t realized he’d taken a step, but then she was in his arms, and they were holding on to each other like they would never let go.
“Cariad,” Gareth said. “I was so scared for you.”
“I know,” Gwen said. “I was scared for me too. But—” She eased back from him and then pulled his mother’s cross from beneath her bodice. “You were with me. You’ve always been with me.”
Gareth gazed down at the necklace and then touched the cross with one finger. “All these years?”
“Yes,” Gwen said.
“Perhaps we’ll have a wedding at Aber after all,” Hywel said.
Gareth had all but forgotten where they were, and it seemed Gwen had too, because her eyes widened. Gareth laughed and pulled her to him again.
“I’ll speak to my bard on your behalf.” King Owain clapped a hand on Gareth’s shoulder. “Come. It is time to make peace.”
The Good Knight Page 37