Fortunately, before anyone else could come out of the barracks or enter them, Brychan gathered himself, wiping at his cheeks with the heels of his hands and clearing his throat. “I’d best be off.” He stood abruptly.
Gwen rose to her feet with him. “Oh no, you don’t. You can’t leave it like that.”
Brychan’s grief had been tumultuous, but now he looked mutinous, with his chin sticking out and defiance in his eyes. Gwen had a moment of panic that he really was going to leave it like that because she didn’t know what else she could say to him to convince him to keep talking to her. She understood that he was embarrassed to have been seen crying. Many men would have been, even if Welshmen allowed their emotions to show more than other peoples, like the Normans or Danes. On the other hand, Irishmen, in Gwen’s experience, cried openly and often with no compunction about it whatsoever.
Whether he saw the understanding in Gwen’s face or simply decided that Gwen was going to hound him until he talked, Brychan’s expression softened. As Gwen gazed up at him, he wiped at his cheeks one more time and tipped his head towards the stables, striding away without waiting to see if Gwen would follow. Gwen lifted the hem of her skirt and scuttled after him.
Once inside the door, Brychan stopped. He peered around the darkened stables. What little light to see by filtered through the four open doorways. At night, a man had to bring a lantern inside in order to see, but the danger of fire was ever present, and everyone made do without real light the best they could during the day.
“No one can hear us now,” Gwen said.
Brychan grunted his agreement. They did appear to be out of earshot of the handful of stable boys hard at work cleaning out horse stalls, as well as out of sight of anyone in the courtyard. Brychan ran his hands through his hair and then paced three times around the little space by the doorway between a mound of hay and the first stall. “I loved her. I did. And she loved me. She was only fifteen—Christ, I can’t believe that was nearly ten years ago—and we had only a few weeks together before her grandfather promised her to another man.”
“To Bran, son of the Lord of Rhos,” Gwen said.
“Yes,” Brychan said. “It was a fine match, of course, appropriate for her station. She should never have even looked at me.”
“How did you meet?” Gwen said. “She was a princess—”
“—and I was a lowly man-at-arms?” Brychan nodded. “She was a wild one, that girl. She loved horses, and it always seemed that I was in the stables when she was there. I’d been sent to Dolwyddelan by the king, you see, stationed there as part of Gwynedd’s defenses. It’s a small castle, and there’s not much besides herding sheep to entertain a young girl. I see now that her interest in me was all my fault. I should never have let her know how I felt about her. When I learned that she was to marry Bran—”
“That must have been hard,” Gwen said. This was an old story but no less heartbreaking in the telling.
“It split me apart to let her go.”
“But you did let her go?” Gwen said.
Brychan nodded. “I told her that I couldn’t be with her anymore and that I was leaving so she could marry Bran with honor. We never lay together then; I swear it.”
“What did she say in return?”
“When she found out about the wedding and to whom she’d been promised, she asked me to run away with her. But I couldn’t, could I? She was fifteen; I was twenty, with no money or land. I was a poor soldier serving King Owain’s father and lucky to have the position. It didn’t matter that her father had died and that Owain was now the heir to Gwynedd. She was still a princess.”
“What happened then?” Gwen found herself hanging on his words, envisioning a stable much like this one and a young girl being told she couldn’t have the man she loved. Gwen had been that girl. She knew what Tegwen had felt.
Brychan shrugged. “Nothing happened. She married Bran. I served King Gruffydd as I had since I was fourteen. My life and hers went on apart from one another. I know her grandfather thought he was doing right by her, giving her to Bran.”
“It would have seemed a good match,” Gwen said.
“Nobody cared that she didn’t love him. Nobody expected her to love him when they married. Her grandfather even told her that love was for herders and peasants, not princesses.”
“I imagine that everyone else told her she would grow to love him,” Gwen said.
Brychan looked down at his feet. “Why wouldn’t she have? He was rich and handsome.”
“And did she grow to love him?” Gwen said.
“She did, or as much as he would let her.”
Mari had said as much, but Gwen was glad to have it confirmed—and since it was Brychan saying it, likely it was true.
“She was full of love, that girl. She forgot me, as I hoped she would, and gave the love she’d had for me to him. But it wasn’t returned. He was rich and spoiled as these men often are. When she didn’t bear him a son, he lost whatever interest in her he’d had up until that point. Two daughters in three years she gave him …” Brychan’s voice faded away.
“When did you find her again?” Gwen said.
“I didn’t,” Brychan said. “After I left Cadwaladr’s service—” He gave Gwen a sharp look. “You do remember me leaving?”
“I do,” Gwen said. “You left not long after Gareth had been sent off. I didn’t ever find out why, though.”
Brychan waved a hand. “Ach. It’s water under the bridge now. I was one of the ones who obeyed when Gareth did not, but every man has a soul, even if it takes him a long while to discover it. I left Ceredigion and came back to Aber in hopes that I could serve a different lord, even King Owain, now that his father was dead. I hoped that enough time had passed that my transgressions could be forgiven.”
“And were they? He found a place for you?” Gwen said.
“He did,” Brychan said. “Since Tegwen had been several years married by then, the past seemed of little importance to anyone but me.”
Gwen eyed him as he stopped his story again. “And Tegwen, perhaps?” she said.
“She sought me out.”
“When was this?” Gwen said.
“Some three years after her marriage? That would have been after the wars in Ceredigion and the death of the old king. King Owain sat on the throne. Only a few had known about us the first time, and we did everything we could not to cause gossip now.”
“Except not see each other,” Gwen said.
“Except that,” Brychan said.
Gwen had vivid memories of that time. Gareth had been dismissed in early summer of that year, and Brychan had left before winter closed the roads. She had another question to ask but couldn’t figure out how to ask it delicately, so she just said, “You became lovers?”
“I never touched her before her marriage. She went to Bran’s bed a maiden. But she had grown into a woman, a very unhappy one, and I was weak.” He looked away. “We met when we could in a little house to the west of here. Prince Cadwaladr’s it was, but as he was in Ceredigion, I didn’t much worry that anyone would find us. Cadwaladr used it for his own trysts. I saw no reason not to use it for mine.”
Gwen didn’t want to interrupt the flow of his conversation, but the mention of the house had her pulse racing. “What house was this?”
Brychan threw out his hand to indicate beyond the Aber River. “It lies to the south of the road to Penrhyn. A strange one, built right into the side of a hill.”
“I’m sorry, but did you say that Cadwaladr used it for trysts?” Gwen said.
Brychan lifted one shoulder. “He could be found there in the evenings whenever he left his wife in Ceredigion and came north. It was common knowledge among the men because some of us had to accompany him and then escort the girl home afterwards.”
That was more about Cadwaladr’s activities than Gwen had ever wanted to know, but she was sure that Hywel and Gareth would be interested to learn of it. Gwen knew the hut in question, though i
t had belonged to someone else when she was a girl. “Back to Tegwen. When was the last time you saw her?” Gwen said.
“She came to me, two weeks before she disappeared, and told me that she was with child and it was mine,” Brychan said. “Her husband had been absent for much of the spring and had sported more with other women than with her. He would know that the child wasn’t his.”
“She was sure it was yours?” Gwen said.
“We were sure. She asked again for me to take her away. I wanted to.” Brychan clenched his hands into fists. “But I was a coward. I needed more time to think about where to go and how we would live. She’d caught me at a bad time for making any decision too. I had come to Aber only because my lord was one of King Owain’s captains, and he sent me home with a message for Lord Taran. The war in England was newly started, and King Owain decided to gain himself some territory at the expense of a few Marcher barons he thought needed reining in. I put Tegwen off with excuses and told her that I would come to Rhos before the end of the month. That would have been April.”
“But you didn’t,” Gwen said.
Brychan eyes skated away and didn’t return to Gwen’s face. “I never intended to, and I never saw Tegwen again. I visited Aber a few months later, but she’d already run off with that Dane.”
“What did you think about that?” Gwen said.
“I assumed that since I’d refused her, she’d found another man to take her away,” Brychan said. “It made perfect sense. I was happy to believe it because it meant that she had a better man than I or Bran to care for her.”
“What about the child?” Gwen said.
“A Dane would have raised her child as his own,” Brychan said. “That’s the Danish way, and I would have honored him for it.”
“Do you think Bran ever suspected that you and Tegwen had renewed your attachment?” Gwen said.
Brychan shook his head forcefully. “Not unless she told him.”
Gwen canted her head. “Would she have told him?”
“She might have if she was angry enough or had been drinking enough.” Brychan made a mournful face as Gwen’s eyes went wide. “The truth is, I knew how unstable she was. It was part of the reason I was reluctant to take her away.”
“Which is why you thought her running away with a Dane was well within her character,” Gwen said.
Brychan nodded. “But now—I wonder if he ever existed at all.”
To Gwen’s mind, everybody should have been wondering that by now. Given the condition of the body, she’d been dead a long while. Did it make sense that her new lover would have killed her within days of sailing off with her and then left her body somewhere near Aber? Gwen shook her head. Nothing about this death made sense.
“I have told you the truth.” Brychan looked directly into Gwen’s face, perhaps confused by Gwen’s head shaking and thinking that she didn’t believe him.
“Thank you for talking to me. I will make sure that both Prince Hywel and King Owain are aware of your willingness to help.”
“I should have taken her away.” Brychan’s face crumpled, and he pressed his fingers to the corners of his eyes. “I should have protected her.”
Gwen put a hand on his arm. “Do you know something about her death beyond what you’ve already told me? I thought you were in Powys when she disappeared?”
“I was in Powys, but I have no doubt at all who is responsible for her death. Lord Bran must have found out about the baby and killed her.”
Chapter Seven
Gareth
As they left Aber, Gareth checked behind them to make sure that Gwen wasn’t following them. There was a time when she might have, but as he straightened in his saddle, he acknowledged that her task might well prove more interesting than theirs. Their own quest sounded to him like searching for a particular sheep in a field of sheep. Llelo sat on the horse behind him, confident enough in his seat that he was barely holding on and sure that he had the information they needed.
“She’s got herself involved in this one, and you won’t be able to convince her to leave it alone,” Hywel said.
“I am aware of that, my lord,” Gareth said, “and I don’t want to. She’ll get answers where we can’t. ”
“She always has.” Hywel smirked, and Gareth supposed he had every right to feel self-satisfied. It was Hywel who had asked Gwen to spy for him all those years ago, acknowledging her intelligence and resourcefulness and putting them to work for him. Hywel’s pride reminded Gareth of when he’d stood before the community of nuns who’d taken him in, after Cadwaladr had thrown him out of Ceredigion, and for the first time read to them a passage from the Bible. Afterwards, the prioress who’d taught him to read told him that there was no greater satisfaction for a teacher than when her student opened his wings and took flight.
To this day, Gareth had difficulty believing how much his teacher had done for him—and for so little in return—but he could see how Hywel could feel the same great satisfaction about Gwen. Hywel had set her feet on a path that she’d enthusiastically followed. More recently, she’d walked it on Gareth’s arm but only because she’d learned to run by herself first.
“There.” Llelo pointed to a hut to the north of the road, with a pathway beyond it that led to the beach and the sea. “That’s where Ceri lives.”
The livelihood of most Welshmen depended upon herding sheep and cattle, but many on the coast lived by and for the sea. Fishermen had plied these waters since before the coming of Cunedda, the great founder of Gwynedd. Oysters, clams, and fish of every stripe and color fed King Owain’s people daily. In hard times, when crops failed or in the difficult days before the harvest, food from the sea kept the people alive. Ceri’s family was among those who fished.
The hut in which Ceri lived was meager, with thin walls of wattle and daub and a thatched roof that needed repairs if it was to keep out the coming winter. Gareth looked at Hywel with raised eyebrows. Something wasn’t right here, and as a steward of this kingdom, it was just as well that Hywel was here today to learn of it. Llelo slid off the back of Gareth’s horse, went to the doorway, and rapped on the wall beside the door, since the door consisted only of a leather apron.
A boy of ten swept through the doorway. “Hello,” he said at the sight of Llelo, and then his eyes widened to see Gareth and Hywel, both still mounted, behind his friend. “My lords.” He pulled on his forelock in obeisance.
“Is your father at home?” Gareth said.
Ceri shook his head. “My father is dead.”
“I’m sorry for your loss.” Hywel jerked his head at Gareth, who dismounted and approached the boy, agreeing with Hywel that a fatherless child needed a bit more concerned attention while being questioned than one who had a father to stand at his shoulder. Gareth had been such a child once, though he couldn’t recall ever being caught up in a murder before he started working for Prince Hywel. “Llelo tells us that you heard a cart pass by here this morning. Can you tell us about it?”
“I heard it and then saw it, my lords,” Ceri said.
“Llelo said that you recognized the horse that pulled it?” Hywel said.
Ceri nodded. “The horse stables across the road.” He pointed southwest, towards the woods and fields beyond the road. “There’s a small steading which you can’t see from here because of the trees. We don’t go to the house, but when the horse is out to pasture closer to home, I feed him carrots if I have any to spare.”
Ceri had moved out of the doorway and was patting the nose of Gareth’s horse, a bay named Goch (Red). Gareth felt in his pockets for a bruised apple he’d taken from the stores for just this type of occasion. All men acknowledged the indispensability of horses, but not all men loved them. Ceri seemed to have a knack.
Gareth handed the apple to Ceri, who perched it on his flat palm and held it out to the horse. “Whose house is it?” Gareth said. The sooner they found the owner of the horse, the sooner they could return to Aber.
Ceri shrugged.
/> Gareth looked at him curiously. “You don’t know?”
Again the shrug. Goch had taken the apple, and now Ceri worked his hands nervously in front of him.
Gareth tried again. “You said you don’t go to the house. Why not? I would have thought you would range all over these lands when you’re not out fishing.”
Ceri bit his lip and glanced at Llelo, who’d clasped his hands behind his back and was looking down at his feet, stubbing his bare toe in the dirt. He didn’t respond to Ceri’s questioning look.
Gareth looked from one boy to the other. “Would one of you please tell me what is troubling you?”
Llelo should have known better than to keep silent when Gareth used that tone of voice, but it was Ceri who finally capitulated. “It’s the house. It’s … well … haunted.”
Hywel was finally interested enough to dismount. “Say that again, Ceri.”
Ceri shrugged for the third time, not obeying Hywel, so the prince lifted the boy’s chin with two fingers. “Why do you say the house is haunted?”
As Ceri gave the prince yet another shrug, Gareth had a strong urge to shake him. He restrained himself, however, and Prince Hywel, who had more patience than Gareth, kept his eyes fixed on Ceri’s face.
Llelo finally came to Ceri’s rescue. “That’s what they say. We all avoid it.”
Hywel’s eyes turned thoughtful.
Meanwhile, Gareth put a hand on Llelo’s shoulder. “It seems that what Ceri has told us doesn’t surprise you. You knew which house and horse he meant already?”
Llelo ducked his head and nodded.
“So you brought us here, even though you already knew where the horse pastured and could have taken us there directly?”
The Fallen Princess Page 8