Cadwaladr sputtered, spittle flying from his lips in his anger, but King Owain held up one finger to stop him from speaking. To Gwen’s amazement, Cadwaladr subsided. King Owain had power over him. Gwen felt a little better to see it.
“He informed you of its existence,” King Owain said, “and you decided that with Hallowmas so close, you had to get rid of it. You couldn’t have a dead body in a house to which you brought your women. So, in the middle of the night, you loaded the body into the cart and drove to the beach at Aber, where you left her in the sand. Are you going to stand there and tell me I’m wrong?”
Cadwaladr’s hands were clenched into fists at his sides like Gwen’s had been earlier. “I didn’t kill her.”
“Nobody said you did.” King Owain’s voice turned soothing. “We merely want to know what you did do, so we can look to others for the actual deed.” King Owain kept his eyes fixed on his brother’s face. Cadwaladr looked down so he wouldn’t have to meet the king’s gaze, chewing on his lower lip and staring at the floor.
Cadwaladr remained that way for a long count of ten before he gave a sudden laugh and threw up his hands. “Fine. You caught me out.” Cadwaladr pulled up a chair that had been set at an angle to the table and plopped himself into it, still laughing. He shook his head as if he was mocking himself instead of capitulating completely.
“I should have known better than to expect I could remain anonymous in this. Just as you said, old Wynn found the body and told me of it. God knows what he was doing up in that loft, the old fool. Seeing to things, he told me. Meddling, more like. Once he’d found it, though, I couldn’t have a dead body in my house, so I took it to the beach this morning. I must have dropped my pendant when Wynn and I lifted her from the cart.”
King Owain leaned forward. “I’m trying to understand how you could find the body of your niece—”
“I didn’t know who it was! What little I saw of the body told me it was a woman, but it was all—” Here, Cadwaladr waved his hand back and forth, his face contorted in disgust, “—wrinkled and brown. To my eyes, it was a body wrapped in a cloak. Nothing more or less. I didn’t look closely other than to make sure she was dead. Long dead, by my reckoning.”
King Owain sat back in his chair again, contemplating his brother. “You didn’t notice the lions embroidered into the hem of the cloak or her garnet necklace?”
“I didn’t look at her closely,” Cadwaladr said, “and even if I had noticed, I wouldn’t have linked those items to Tegwen. I barely knew the girl. What would I know of her jewelry or clothing?”
Cadwaladr’s assertion was completely in keeping with his character. King Owain knew it too. He heaved a sigh and fingered a stack of papers on his desk. “God knows why, but I believe you.”
Cadwaladr sat straighter in his seat. “Well, you should.”
Neither Gwen nor King Owain jeered, though they could have. King Owain cleared his throat. “Nevertheless, your first impulse when you came upon a dead body in your house was not to tell me or to bring it to the attention of my son—”
Cadwaladr made a disgusted face.
“—who has years of experience dealing with such matters. Instead, your next move was to leave her on Aber’s beach?”
“I could have buried her in the garden, couldn’t I? I knew someone would have missed her, even if her death occurred a long time ago, but I didn’t want to involve myself.” Cadwaladr glared at his brother. “Given our history, I knew that Hywel’s first thought would be that she was one of my women and that I’d killed her. What reason I could possibly have had to do that, I don’t know, but under the circumstances, it seemed better to remain anonymous.”
Gwen bit the inside of her lip to keep herself from speaking. Cadwaladr was right about that, startling as it was for her to admit. If the body hadn’t been Tegwen’s and Cadwaladr had come to Hywel with the news of its appearance in his wall, Hywel would have suspected Cadwaladr’s hand in her death. In fact, if the body had belonged to anyone but Tegwen, the list of suspects would have been hugely long.
“Except, of course, you didn’t remain anonymous,” King Owain said. “You were seen, and since you were seen, we traced the body back to your property and wasted most of a day chasing after evidence that you could have told us yesterday!” His last words were accompanied by a raised voice and the thump of his fist on the table. “You left your niece’s body on the beach!”
Cadwaladr’s chin jutted out defiantly. “I did what I thought was best.”
Then Cadwaladr stood abruptly, the chair protesting as he shoved it back. He adjusted his long burgundy robe, made of finely woven wool embroidered at the hem, much like Tegwen’s. Like all of Cadwaladr’s clothes, it couldn’t have come cheap, and for the first time ever, Gwen wondered how Cadwaladr afforded it. With his reduced lands and the huge expense he’d incurred in paying off the Danes he’d hired to kill King Anarawd, she would have thought he wouldn’t have had the wherewithal to buy himself expensive clothes. And then she wondered what he could be doing to gather wealth to himself—and if it was something King Owain wouldn’t like if he knew about it.
“You did what you thought was best for you,” King Owain said. “You always do.”
“I will return to the hall.” Cadwaladr turned on his heel and paced towards the door, his shoulders back and his dignity—at least on the surface—intact. He even closed the door gently behind him.
King Owain’s last comment had been the truest thing Gwen had ever heard him say about his brother. She closed her eyes, struggling to contain her own emotions. She hated Cadwaladr and wanted to see him humiliated—but the actual seeing of him humiliated hadn’t made her feel good at all. The sickness in her stomach returned, and she rubbed her belly, comforting herself when her child did a somersault under her hand.
“That went well,” King Owain said.
Gwen opened her eyes to find the king tipped back in his chair with his boots on the table and his hands clasped behind his head. The top rung of the chair hit the wall, and the king smiled up at the ceiling.
“My brother is a sanctimonious bastard, and I can’t believe he sprang from the same loins as I did. Where’s his honor?” He spread his arms wide. “He cares only for himself.”
Gwen decided that the correct response was to make no response. A silence fell between them as the king continued to look up at the ceiling. Then he swung his feet off the table and let the front legs of his chair hit the floor. He pointed a finger at Gwen. “Don’t tell anyone I said that.”
“No, my lord. Of course not.”
Then King Owain allowed himself a laugh, sounding a great deal like his brother. “What am I saying? You’ll run and tell my son and Gareth as you always do.” He waved a hand at Gwen, sweeping her from the room. “Go on. What are you waiting for? Find me Tegwen’s killer.”
“Yes, my lord.” Gwen couldn’t get to her feet fast enough. She curtseyed to the king and left the room. Once outside, however, she hesitated. King Owain’s bellow of laughter had followed her into the corridor.
Chapter Eleven
Hywel
“That’s that, then,” Hywel said after Gwen recounted the conversation with Cadwaladr to him and Gareth. “My father seemed pleased with the result of the interview? Actually pleased?”
“He was angry at your uncle,” Gwen said, “but then he wasn’t. You know how he is—quick to anger and equally quick to laugh. I think he was relieved to know that his brother didn’t kill Tegwen. So he laughed. I don’t know how your father sleeps at night.”
“He has learned to manage the worry,” Hywel said. “Kings have far less power than everyone thinks.”
The trio had chosen to stand outside the kitchen to talk, for lack of a more private location. The family that would be housed in Hywel’s rooms had arrived while Gwen had been speaking with Cadwaladr; every noble soul was doubling or tripling up for the next few days, even Hywel and Mari. Though Gareth and Gwen weren’t noble, Gareth was Hywel’s capt
ain, and to share a room with Mari and Hywel meant Gareth and Gwen wouldn’t have to sleep in the hall. Even Rhun, Hywel’s elder brother, had found a bunk in the barracks. Depending on how the rest of the day went, some of them might not be sleeping at all anyway.
Gwen had found a sunny spot on one of the stumps used for chopping the wood that kept the fires going in the kitchen. A boy worked with a pile of cuttings a few yards away, the satisfying thunk of his axe into the next block of wood punctuating their conversation.
“What if Brychan is right and Bran murdered Tegwen?” Gareth said.
“An entire investigation completed in one day?” Hywel clapped his hands together before making a rueful face. “I don’t think so.”
“I think we need a great deal more evidence before we can conclude who killed Tegwen,” Gwen said. “We can’t hang a man based upon the opinion of the dead woman’s lover. So what if Bran didn’t love Tegwen? That’s not a crime.”
“It is a crime in my eyes,” Hywel said, “but even our knowledge of the poor state of their marriage is based on nothing but hearsay.”
“So where do we go from here?” Gareth said. “I admit to being surprised that we have discovered as much as we have, but Cadwaladr’s activities happened only this morning. We’re looking now for answers about a death that may have occurred five years ago.”
“Two deaths, actually,” Hywel said.
“Two?” Gwen said.
“Bran was murdered two years later,” Hywel said. “That changes everything.”
Gareth glanced at him before looking down at his feet, clearly wanting to say something but choosing to hold his tongue. Thus, Hywel hesitated before continuing. Gareth had wanted the murderer to be Cadwaladr, which Hywel understood completely, but that desire was affecting his judgment and preventing him from seeing the whole situation as clearly as he sometimes did.
“What if the same man murdered them both?” Hywel said. “I admit it’s a long shot, since their deaths were two years apart, but it’s worth considering, especially since Tegwen told Mari she knew a secret about her husband. What if it was a secret her husband shared with someone else?”
“I’m wondering how Tegwen got from Rhos to Aber without anybody knowing about it,” Gwen said. “Did the Dane she ran off with bring her here, or someone else? Where was Bran at the time?”
“In Powys with everyone else,” Hywel said.
“Did you see him there?” Gwen said. “You always know everything about everyone.”
Hywel scoffed. “This was five years ago, and I was hardly paying attention to where any specific man was during the campaign. We had periods of inactivity. Who’s to notice who slipped away?”
“Cadwaladr could have slipped away,” Gwen said.
“Perhaps,” Hywel said.
Gareth raised his head. “I’m reluctant to admit this, but Cadwaladr is a prince of Wales. If he’d been gone long enough to return to Aber and murder Tegwen, someone would have noticed.”
“Besides, she was his niece,” Hywel said. “I find it unlikely, even as repugnant as I find my uncle, that he would have had cause to murder her. A romantic liaison with Tegwen would have been beyond even him.”
“Who knew of the house?” Gareth said. “Riding hard through a night and a day during a lull in the fighting, any man could have returned to Aber.”
“Many of Cadwaladr’s men knew about it too,” Gwen said, “not to mention all of the women he brought there and whomever they told about it.”
“My lord,” Gareth said, “only Gwen has spoken with either Brychan or Cadwaladr. Bran is clearly out of reach, but Brychan is here. I think it’s time we asked him some more questions.” Gareth put out a hand to Gwen. “Have you seen him since you talked to him?”
Gwen took in a surprised breath. “I didn’t think to keep an eye on him or ask anyone else to. Have I been a fool?” She put her hand to her mouth. “He was distraught enough after our conversation that he might have thought twice about staying at Aber.”
“If you have been a fool, we all have. Let’s just see if we can find him,” Hywel said. “Brychan should know better than to think I would arrest him just because it’s convenient.”
“You, yes,” Gwen said, “but your father?”
“I see your point.” Hywel’s mouth twitched. “Still, my father has behaved reasonably up until now, and we still have another full day before the sun sets tomorrow night and Hallowmas begins.”
“Even for us, solving Tegwen’s murder by then would be quick work.” Gwen shivered. “This isn’t like our usual investigations. Years have passed since any of these events took place.”
“And yet, we’ve had at least one murderer running loose in Gwynedd, maybe two, between Tegwen and Bran,” Hywel said. “By now, he must have thought it would never come to light. We can use that to our advantage.”
“Gwen, if you could look for Brychan in the hall while Prince Hywel and I—“ Gareth cut off his sentence as a wail of pain and grief went up from the entrance to the castle.
“Go! Go!” Gwen said.
Gareth and Hywel raced around the corner of the keep, pulling up when they saw that the cries were coming from a woman who had buried her face in King Owain’s chest. The king, looking extremely uncomfortable indeed, held her and patted her back. The begging look his father gave him was one Hywel had never seen in his eyes before.
Gruffydd, the castellan of Dolwyddelan Castle, stood nearby, and it was his wife, Sioned, in King Owain’s arms. Although Hywel knew Sioned to be in her early fifties, she had the dark hair and smooth skin of a much younger woman. Perhaps to match his wife’s youthfulness, Gruffydd retained the straight posture and flat stomach of a man ten years younger too. The couple was accompanied by a matron holding the hands of two girls who had to be Tegwen’s daughters.
Fortunately, before his father could foist Sioned off on Hywel, Gwen appeared. Sioned raised her head to look into the king’s face, tears streaming down her cheeks, and then at the king’s urging, collapsed in grief onto Gwen’s shoulder instead. Hywel hadn’t realized until that moment what a tall woman Sioned was. Although she wasn’t overweight, she was well muscled, and the much smaller Gwen struggled not to bow beneath the older woman’s weight. Noticing his wife’s distress, Gareth took Sioned’s elbow, turning her towards him. “I’m so sorry for your loss.”
King Owain cleared his throat. “Tegwen’s grandparents have just learned of the events of the morning.”
“I need to see my baby.” Sioned’s head remained bowed.
“What happened to her?” Gruffydd said.
“We’re doing all we can to discover exactly that,” King Owain said. “It will take some time.”
Gruffydd clenched his jaw. “Hallowmas is tomorrow night. We must put her in the ground before then.”
Hywel stirred. “We can’t complete our investigation that quickly.”
Gruffydd turned on him. “My granddaughter deserves to rest in peace!”
“We will see to her burial by then, regardless of how much we’ve learned,” King Owain said appeasingly. “To do otherwise would be unseemly.”
Hywel bowed his own head, his jaw clenched tightly, and didn’t contradict his father. He recognized a command when he heard one.
While Calan Gaeaf was the day to celebrate the harvest and the first day of winter, the night before, Nos Galan Gaeaf—or Hallowmas—was the day the spirits of the dead walked abroad. Hywel knew why Tegwen’s grandfather wanted Tegwen buried before then. Nobody wanted to think about her body lying in a room in the barracks—within the castle walls—on such a night. Although burning the body upon death like the pagans of old would have deprived them of material evidence, Hywel could understand the impulse to put the dead beyond reach forever.
“I will bring you to her.” Gareth still held Sioned’s arm, and now he moved away with her. Before they reached the barracks, Gareth glanced over his shoulder at Gwen and mouthed the words find Brychan.
Gwen threw
up her hands in frustration.
Hywel leaned in to appease her. “Get Evan to help you. He was on the wall-walk earlier.”
“What are you going to do?” Gwen said.
“Investigate.” Hywel nodded towards the barracks. Tegwen’s grandparents had just disappeared inside with Gareth.
“If the murderer is at all clever, and he must be to have come this far undetected, he’ll know that we’re looking for him now,” Gwen said.
“Don’t worry, Gwen,” Hywel said. “I’ve got Gareth’s back.”
“As he has yours, my lord.”
Hywel didn’t know what he’d ever done to deserve such staunch companions as Gareth and Gwen, but it was one of the blessings of his life to know that what Gwen said was true.
Chapter Twelve
Gareth
The room in the barracks to which they’d brought Tegwen’s body was one that could hardly be spared, given the crush in Aber, but Gareth had no concerns that anyone would begrudge it to her either. He hadn’t known Tegwen—had never even met her—but from the accounting of her that he’d heard since he stood over her body on the beach, he’d come to think of her as a sweet girl, but lost. The news that she drank more wine than was good for her had surprised him at first, but given the tragedies of her short life, whether of her own making or another’s, the desire to lose herself in drink was one he understood.
And was one he had known well, once.
When Cadwaladr had dismissed Gareth from his service, Gareth had left his entire life behind him. In one day, he’d lost both his position and Gwen, and the humiliation of one and the pain of the other had brought him to his knees—at first only figuratively and then in fact as he’d been rescued by a convent of women and found a place as its protector. They’d give him a job and a purpose.
He’d gone back to them once, after he’d joined Prince Hywel’s retinue, to show them what he’d made of himself. The prioress had greeted him, holding his arms and kissing each cheek. When he told her that he’d found a position in Prince Hywel’s retinue, instead of congratulating him, she’d asked if he was being of service. As was a habit with the wise, she’d ignored his material possessions—his new sword and fine armor—and gone straight to the only issue that mattered.
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