A dirty band of fabric that might once have been white was tied around her head. A dark patch on it—dried, of course—had Gwen carefully unwinding the cloth, tugging on it to unstick it from the right side of the woman’s head and knowing before she saw the mat of blood in the woman’s hair that someone had to have hit her very hard to cause the wound. The same dark stains that Gwen guessed were blood instead of mud or the decay of time marred her dress at the right shoulder too.
Gwen gently worked her fingers underneath the matted hair and found the wound. As Gwen traced the edges of shattered bone, she came upon an abrupt indentation in the center of the wound as if a sharp point had been driven into the bone.
Gwen sat back. Trying to gain control of her thoughts, she blocked out the image of the woman as she was now in order to take stock of what the girl had once been: she was more than eighteen years old, possibly noble, and had been dead for years. Gwen ran her thumb along the woman’s slender wrist. The flesh still adhered to the bones and, like the rest of her arm, wasn’t a uniform medium brown. The skin was mottled all along the arm—darker in some places than others—but a thin band of darker skin went around each wrist. Given the unusual state of decomposition, Gwen didn’t want to speculate if these were bruises or a natural result of the desiccation of the body. Gwen had never seen a body like this one, so she honestly didn’t know what was normal in such a case.
Other than the head wound, of course, which clearly wasn’t.
For the first time in months, Gwen felt her stomach rebelling. She swallowed down the bile at the back of her throat, grateful now that Rhodri had woken her from a deep sleep, and she hadn’t had the opportunity to eat anything before she rode to the beach.
“Gwen!”
She looked up at the sound of her husband’s voice. Gareth had appeared in the gap between two dunes, accompanied by Prince Hywel and ten other men. Gwen had drowsily kissed Gareth goodbye before he’d ridden out of Aber Castle with Hywel. At the sight of him now, her spirits lifted, alleviating some of the sickness in her stomach. Gareth and the other men reined in and dismounted near where Gwen had left her horse and the cart had been parked.
Gwen’s pleasure faded, however, as Adda stepped in front of Hywel, talking quickly. They were too far away for Gwen to make out Adda’s words, and apparently Gareth wasn’t interested in hearing what Adda had to say because he strode past him, crossing the last few yards of sand to where Gwen waited. He was careful—as Gwen had been—to take a circuitous route so as not to disturb the already churned up sand more than he had to.
Gwen rose awkwardly to her feet and gestured to the body in the sand. “As you can see, we have had some trouble here.”
Gareth slipped an arm around her waist, holding Gwen close for a moment while she pressed her cheek to his chest. To Gwen’s dismay, tears pricked at the back of her eyes, and she shook her head to stop them from falling, determined not to lose her composure just because Gareth had arrived and she no longer needed to keep it.
“Are you all right?” He kissed her temple.
“I have lost count of the number of people who have asked me that this morning,” Gwen said. That wasn’t entirely true; in fact, she’d kept a careful count. Gareth was the third.
“You didn’t answer my question,” Gareth said, but he must have decided that if she could talk back to him, she really was fine, because he released her and crouched in Gwen’s place beside the dead woman.
While Gwen related what she’d discovered so far, Gareth went over the body as she had. Hywel, on the other hand, once he dismissed Adda, stood chewing on his lower lip, his arms folded across his chest and every line of his body revealing his tension and unhappiness. Gwen had assumed that the strange state of the body and the length of time since her death would make it difficult to identify the woman quickly, but the prince’s expression said otherwise.
“Do you know her?” Gwen said.
Hywel breathed deeply. “I don’t want to; I shouldn’t be able to.”
Gareth looked up from his examination. “My lord?”
Hywel didn’t answer. He seemed to be struggling with himself somehow.
Gwen stepped closer, looking at him with some concern. “Whoever she is, we’re here to help, like we always are.”
“After all these years, I can’t believe she’s dead.” Hywel scrubbed at his hair with one hand, his gaze never leaving the body.
“Who’s dead, my lord?” Gareth said.
“My cousin, Tegwen,” Hywel said.
Chapter Two
Gareth
Gareth looked from Hywel to the body and back again. “This is your cousin? How can that be?”
Gwen was staring open-mouthed at Hywel. “But—but—Tegwen ran away. We all know that she ran away!”
Hywel shook his head, sadness and regret in his face. “It seems we might have been wrong about that, Gwen.” Then he looked at Gareth and said, “My uncle, Cadwallon, was her father. He never had any sons, and Tegwen was his only child.”
Gareth straightened from his crouch and stepped close to his lord to ensure that none of the onlookers could overhear him. “I know who Tegwen was, my lord, but she’s been missing these five years. Are you suggesting that she didn’t run away with a Dane as we all thought but has been dead this whole time?”
“I can only tell you what I see.” Hywel gestured helplessly to the body. “That’s Tegwen. I’d swear to it.”
“How could she have ended up here?” Gwen stood with her hand to her mouth. She seemed unable to look away from the dead woman, so Gareth stepped past Hywel to stand beside her, his hand resting gently at the small of her back.
Gareth couldn’t blame the two of them for being shocked. This was the last thing he wanted to see today too. From the head wound, this was murder, and even if it happened a long time ago, it couldn’t be ignored. Neither King Owain nor Hywel would allow it. For Gareth’s part, he was loath to spend the short time he had with Gwen working on a murder investigation, particularly one involving a beloved member of the royal house of Gwynedd.
Tegwen’s disappearance five years ago had been dramatic enough to have become legend. Gareth had heard the stories and couldn’t blame the people for reveling in its retelling. Who wouldn’t enjoy a tale of a young princess who defied her family and ran away with a handsome Dane? The fact that Tegwen had left her husband and daughters behind was usually (and conveniently) forgotten.
Gareth had heard a version of the story in the great hall at Aber just last night, set to music and much embellished, with the names changed and an added mythological element that included a dragon. The singer hadn’t been Meilyr or Gwalchmai, Gwen’s father and brother, and as Gareth had heard this version before, he hadn’t paid much attention. He’d been with Gwen at the time, and they’d had eyes and ears only for each other.
Neither King Owain nor his guests were going to enjoy what appeared to be the real story: Tegwen hadn’t run away with a Dane. She’d been murdered instead.
Gwen slipped her hand into Gareth’s. “We have more to observe, but it might be better not to do it in front of all these people. Can you get them to leave? Rhodri and Dewi tried, but nobody seems to have listened.”
Gareth surveyed the beach. Although most of the dozen onlookers had the decency to move at least ten feet from the body, and no one else was hovering over it like they were, Gwen was right. “I’ll see what I can do. Ignore them and do what you have to do to help Prince Hywel.”
With a worried look at Hywel, who seemed to be frozen where he stood, Gareth headed up the beach towards his men in what wasn’t his usual stride. His boots dug into the soft sand, and he knew he’d be dumping the fine grains out of them for weeks to come. As he crossed onto drier sand, Gareth called for the men to gather around him.
“This has turned into a more delicate situation than Prince Hywel first thought it would be, and we need to contain this scene,” he said. “Many of you have had the misfortune to participate in incidents like this before.
I must stay beside the prince for now, but I need to know everything that happened on this beach between yesterday evening and this moment.” Gareth pointed with his chin at his friend. “Evan, if you could see to interviewing the people here? You know what to do. At a minimum, I need them to stay further away from the body. A crowd of onlookers watching his every move is the last thing Prince Hywel needs right now.”
“Of course, my lord.”
Gareth turned away, taking a breath and letting it out to settle himself as he looked down the beach to where Hywel and Gwen were talking quietly over Tegwen’s body. Hywel seemed to be recovering from his initial shock, which had been uncharacteristic of him to begin with. None of them had encountered a murder since last spring when a Norman spy had dropped a body at their feet in the bailey of Earl Robert’s castle at Newcastle-under-Lyme. While Gareth had been a key player in that investigation, his task had been hampered by his unfamiliarity with the area and a general prejudice against the Welsh displayed by most every Norman he encountered. At least here at Aber that wouldn’t be a problem.
Always considering himself to be one of Gareth’s men, even though he was only thirteen, Llelo had gathered a handful of children to him and was bending forward to speak to them, his hands on his knees. Gareth patted him on the shoulder as he passed him on the way back to where Hywel and Gwen waited. “All right there?”
“Yes, sir,” Llelo said.
“Let me know what you discover,” Gareth said.
“I already promised Gwen I would,” Llelo said, looking slightly affronted that Gareth would tell him his job. Gareth held back a smile.
Gwen had mentioned designating tasks to the other two attendants on the scene, Rhodri and Dewi, but they seemed to have disappeared. As Hywel had dismounted from his horse, Adda had tried to explain to him how inadequate to the task of investigating the death Gwen had been. Gareth had brushed past him with a disdainful look, but he probably should have found out if Adda had discovered anything important. Contrary to Adda’s opinion, Gareth was pleased with how Gwen had taken charge in his absence and how quickly the investigation had moved into full swing.
“I gather that you don’t recognize Tegwen yourself, Gareth?” Gwen said as he reached them.
He shook his head. “I never met her.”
“She disappeared a few months before you began your service with me, Gareth,” Hywel said.
“And you, Gwen?” Gareth said. “You must have grown up with her.”
Gwen bit her lip. “Not really.”
“Tegwen was the same age as I am.” Hywel had returned to his usual matter-of-fact manner, pacing around the body with his eyes on the ground as he talked. “She was the result of a liaison between my uncle, Prince Cadwallon, and a girl named Ilar, the daughter of a man-at-arms turned knight of my father’s generation. His name is Gruffydd.”
Gareth’s brows drew together. “Do I know him?”
“You should,” Hywel said. “Tegwen’s grandfather still lives. He’s the castellan at Dolwyddelan.”
Gareth’s expression cleared. “He’s a good man. He was very helpful last year when Anarawd—” Gareth broke off as Hywel glanced at him, his mouth twisting in wry amusement.
“Yes. Exactly,” Hywel said. “Ilar died birthing Tegwen, so Gruffydd and his wife raised her themselves. My grandfather appointed Gruffydd to be the castellan at Dolwyddelan at Uncle Cadwallon’s request, in remembrance of Ilar and so Gruffydd could raise Tegwen as befitted her station as a princess of Gwynedd.”
Gareth would have wondered why Cadwallon hadn’t brought the child to Aber and raised her himself if he hadn’t been a prince. Any peasant would have, but Cadwallon was a warrior and was often absent from home. It was common practice to foster out royal children, either at birth if the mother was dead and the parents hadn’t married, or at the age of seven when a child began to prepare for his adult life.
“That was why I barely knew her,” Gwen said. “I was only eleven when Cadwallon died, twelve years ago now. Tegwen lived mostly with her mother’s family, and I saw her in court only a few times.”
“When she was fifteen years old, Tegwen married Bran ap Cynan, whose father was the Lord of Rhos.” Hywel looked at Gwen. “You attended the wedding, didn’t you?”
Gwen shook her head. Rhos, a sub-kingdom to Gwynedd with the lord’s seat at Bryn Euryn, was a little more than ten miles from Aber Castle. “My father provided the entertainment, but Gwalchmai was a small child, and Meilyr left me at Aberffraw to mind him. Don’t you remember? You came home with your head full of new songs, though you’d sung none of them because your voice was still changing and my father didn’t trust it.”
“I was fifteen myself.” Hywel had gone back to a crouch beside the body, his head bent.
Gareth wasn’t sure if he should speak since it appeared that Hywel was struggling to control his emotions again. He cleared his throat. “My lord, why are you so sure this woman is Tegwen?”
“By her dress, her belongings.” Hywel threw out one hand, the gesture halfway to despair, pointing at the necklace at the woman’s throat. “She never took that necklace off. It was a gift from her husband.”
The body lay as Gwen had left it, the cloak spread out in the sand, and now Hywel flipped back the edge of the cloak to reveal a hem embroidered with tiny red lions, half obscured by sand and dirt. “This is her cloak. The lions were a tribute to her father’s personal coat of arms. My father gave it to her the day she became betrothed to Bran. I don’t know what has been done to her or how she came to look like this, but …” Hywel’s voice trailed away.
It was obvious to Gareth that Tegwen could have discarded the cloak and necklace at any time between her wedding and her disappearance, making this a completely different girl, but he kept his lips together. It would be one thing if what she was wearing was the only piece of evidence, but if Hywel thought he recognized her shape as well, Gareth wasn’t going to argue with him.
He’d never seen Hywel so shaken by a death. It worried him that if this was Hywel’s reaction—a man who wore stoicism and cynicism like a cloak—the effect of the news of Tegwen’s death on the rest of the inhabitants of Aber would be far more tumultuous.
Gareth put his hand on Gwen’s arm. “Gwen, you should ride ahead and tell the king that we will be bringing Tegwen’s body into Aber as soon as we’ve finished examining the scene.”
“What? Why me? Gareth, please—”
Gareth moved his arm up to her shoulders and bent his head so he could speak gently in her ear. “It has to be you. Right now, the three of us are the only ones who know this woman may be Tegwen. The news of her death would be better coming from you, since you’ve seen and touched her, than from any of the people here. The last thing we want is to arrive at Aber with the body and surprise King Owain with the news. We’re lucky it’s still early in the morning. You know how fast gossip spreads. In another hour, the news that the body of a richly dressed woman was left on the beach this morning will have reached half of Gwynedd. We have to reach the king before he hears of it from someone else and wonders why he’s been kept in ignorance.”
Gwen groaned audibly. “I’ll have to wake him.”
“I know,” Gareth said. “But maybe that’s for the best too. He won’t be in the hall yet. He shouldn’t have to learn of Tegwen’s death with his people watching.”
Gwen wrinkled her nose at Gareth. He hoped she wasn’t angry at him, even if he was right, but she didn’t complain further and then shot him a bright-eyed look over her shoulder as she turned to head up the beach to where the horses were picketed. At a gesture from Gareth, two members of the guard intercepted her, and she accepted the help of one of them to mount her horse. She lifted her hand to Gareth one last time and rode away, a guard on either side of her.
Turning back to Tegwen, Gareth stood on the other side of the body from Hywel, waiting for him to finish his examination. Hywel had crouched to feel at the head wound, and after a moment, he looked up at Garet
h. “Help me turn her.”
Gareth crouched beside his lord and pushed up on Tegwen’s right hip to roll the body up onto its side. As Gwen had said, the sand was damp beneath her, and though the moisture had seeped into her clothing, the cloth covering her front was relatively dry. Neither Gareth nor Hywel acknowledged this observation to the other, just laid her gently back down to the sand.
Hywel picked up one of Tegwen’s narrow wrists, stroking gently. “It’s broken.”
“Do you think it happened before or after her death?” Gareth said.
Hywel turned the hand over and back. “I can’t say. The skin is discolored, but so is her entire body. It has been too long since she died for me to read events clearly.” He gestured down the length of her. “She didn’t die here, that’s for certain.”
Bodies that had been moved always made for more difficult investigations. “She was struck on the head, but I don’t see how that relates to a broken wrist,” Gareth said.
“Maybe it doesn’t. Someone could have dragged the body roughly once she was dead,” Hywel said.
“Could the damage have happened as recently as last night?” Gareth picked up her other wrist. The bones were so dry and brittle that he feared he would break more of them and destroy whatever evidence they had. “You could see how easy it would be to do.”
“The head wound occurred prior to death,” Hywel said, “and I would say with some certainty that it caused her death, but I have never been faced with a body in this condition before.”
Hywel pointed to Tegwen’s feet, and Gareth moved around the body in order to inspect the heels of her boots. He knelt in the sand to lift up one heel and then the other. “I see scuff marks. I could match them to the scene if she’d died yesterday, but after all this time, it will be impossible to trace.”
“She was murdered; that’s what matters most.” Hywel straightened and stepped back from the body, his hands on his hips. “This will enrage my father.”
“Will he ask us to discover who killed her?” Gareth said.
The Fallen Princess Page 2