The Fallen Princess

by Sarah Woodbury

  Tegwen, for all that she was a princess, had walked a hard road not entirely of her own making. And yet Gareth couldn’t look at Gruffydd’s wife, who’d found a stool in the corner and was bent over her knees, her arms wrapped around her waist, sobbing, and judge her for her part in it. Tegwen’s grandparents had done what they thought was best for her. She was dead today not because she was unhappy but because a man had killed her. Gareth’s service to Tegwen, to his lord, and to God would be to unravel the why and the who.

  While Gruffydd ignored his wife and stared down at his granddaughter’s body, rubbing at his jaw, his face completely expressionless, Hywel was looking distinctly uncomfortable with the raw emotion pouring from Sioned. Tegwen was his cousin, and Gareth believed that he’d loved her, but Gareth also knew what was going on in his prince’s mind without him speaking: Tegwen is dead, and the longer you stand over her body and keep me from my work, the longer it is going to take to find out who killed her.

  “Do you think it’s Tegwen?” Gareth said.

  “My baby!” Sioned sobbed into her hands. “My baby is dead.”

  Gruffydd’s glance towards his wife seemed to be without sympathy, but then he cleared his throat, and his voice was thick with emotion as he answered. “I have no doubt.”

  Hywel put a hand on Gruffydd’s shoulder. “I recognized her as soon as I saw her too. I am so very sorry.”

  While Gareth wasn’t a parent yet, he did sympathize with their grief: the wound caused by Tegwen’s loss had scabbed over in the years after her disappearance, but in the time it took for them to ride under Aber’s gatehouse, that scab had been ripped off. The situation was made particularly difficult because Tegwen’s grandparents hadn’t been expecting anything more this afternoon than a few days of camaraderie and feasting with their friends and relations. Now they had the funeral of their granddaughter ahead of them.

  “I’m sorry also to have to speak about her death at a time like this,” Gareth said, moving to stand beside Gruffydd at the foot of the table on which Tegwen lay, “but we need to ask some questions about Tegwen’s last days.”

  “You mean the same questions you should have asked five years ago when she disappeared? After her husband killed her?” Gruffydd was no longer the affable castellan of Dolwyddelan but an angry, grieving grandfather.

  “Why do you say that her husband killed her?”

  “He beat her, didn’t he?” Gruffydd said. “It was only a matter of time.”

  Gareth blinked. Gruffydd’s certainty that Bran was at fault was the same as Brychan’s, though Brychan hadn’t mentioned physical abuse and neither had Mari. “If so, why didn’t you do something about it?” In Wales, a woman could leave her husband if he physically harmed her, and her family would support her. Tegwen could have left Bran if she was afraid of his fists.

  “She refused to admit that he hurt her,” Gruffydd said.

  Gareth looked at Hywel, who raised his eyebrows and nodded to indicate that he should leave it for now.

  “When did you last see Tegwen?” Gareth said.

  “We were with her for most of Epiphany,” Gruffydd said, “through the funeral of the old king and the ascension of Bran to rule of the cantref. But once the winter thaw set in, travel became difficult. It’s twenty-five miles from Dolwyddelan to Bryn Euryn. We wanted to see her—”

  At these words, Sioned cried all the louder, her shoulders shaking.

  Gruffydd glanced at his wife and finished, “—but whenever we visited, Bran made us as uncomfortable as he could.”

  “What do you mean by that?” Gareth said.

  “He would complain about the expense of housing us and our men or indicate that our chamber would be needed shortly for a more important guest,” Gruffydd said.

  Sioned took in great hiccups of air and wiped at her eyes.

  “We didn’t want to appeal to Tegwen,” Gruffydd said, “since it would put her in the difficult situation of having to choose between her husband and us, so we never stayed long. And Bran made it difficult for her to visit us too.”

  “Tegwen—wouldn’t leave—the girls at Bryn Euryn,” Sioned said, speaking through gasping breaths as she tried to control her tears, “and Bran claimed the journey would be too taxing for them, being so young.”

  Gruffydd finally bent to Sioned, holding her hands and whispering words Gareth couldn’t hear.

  “Bran sounds like a delightful fellow,” Gareth said in an aside to Hywel.

  “Two have named him now,” Hywel said. “We will have to look at him more closely.”

  “How?” Gareth said. “He’s dead.”

  “So is Tegwen—and look what we’ve learned of her in a day,” Hywel said.

  Gareth gave a slight cough to regain Gruffydd’s attention. “When did you first learn of your granddaughter’s disappearance?”

  “Ten days afterwards!” Gruffydd spun around, his face once again flushed red with anger. “She disappeared at the Feast of St. Bueno, and we didn’t know of it until the first of May.”

  “Bran didn’t send for you when it happened?” Gareth said.

  “He did not!”

  “Is that why you accuse him of her murder?” Gareth said.

  Gruffydd glared at Gareth and didn’t address his question. “The trail was cold before we even started looking.”

  “It does seem odd that Bran didn’t tell you of her disappearance,” Hywel said. “All the same, how can you accuse Bran of murder when he was in Powys at the time with the king and most of the lords of Gwynedd?”

  “Come to think on it, why weren’t you in Powys too?” Gareth said.

  Gruffydd snorted his disgust. “I’d broken my leg.” He pointed at Gareth with his chin. “You remember—I was still recovering when you came to Dolwyddelan that summer.”

  “I remember,” Gareth said.

  “Damn knee has never been right since,” Gruffydd said.

  “So you couldn’t personally have searched for her, regardless of when you heard the news,” Gareth said. “Did Bran know of your injury?”

  “Know of it?” Gruffydd said. “He was riding right behind me when it happened. I was on my way to Aber for the gathering of the troops for the march on Powys. The horse stepped into a hole. My boot was caught in the stirrup, and I went down under the horse.”

  Gareth winced. “You were lucky to live.”

  Gruffydd ran a hand through his hair, still thick with almost no gray at all in the brown. “After Tegwen disappeared, I almost didn’t want to. It was only Sioned—” He gestured to his wife, “—who kept me going. And then after Bran’s death, we took in Tegwen’s daughters.”

  If the girls had been boys, Ifon might have kept them in Rhos, but a girl was of little interest beyond diplomacy. Tegwen’s marriage to Bran had been intended to further an already well-established relationship with Rhos. Ultimately, if he’d lived, Bran would have arranged for a similar marriage for his daughters.

  “I loved her.” Sioned spoke again, renewed sobs choking her throat. “I miss her every day.”

  Gruffydd rested a hand on his wife’s shoulder. “Come, cariad. She is gone from us. Let’s leave her to these men, who will see to her.”

  The pair departed. Hywel gazed after them for a moment. “What if I have a daughter?” He shook his head. “You and I are in for it, aren’t we?”

  “Is everything all right between you and Mari?” Gareth said, not looking at his lord—and not sure he should be asking this in the first place.

  “I didn’t mean that. You know my feelings for Mari.”

  It was Hywel’s desire to see his wife that had prompted him to ride north in August for a three-day visit because he couldn’t bear to be parted from her any longer. Gareth had ridden with him and been glad to see Gwen too. Before he left again, Gwen had begged to come south with him, though they both knew her condition prevented it. Gareth wouldn’t have wanted her to be a part of what he’d had to do anyway. When Hywel had returned to Ceredigion, he’d burned C
ardigan Castle to the ground.

  Gareth didn’t want to think about the death he’d seen on that day or its possible repercussions, so he drew back the cloak that covered Tegwen. He restrained his instinctive recoil at the sight of her mummified remains. Tegwen’s body hadn’t so much rotted as dried out. Wena’s cottage, with its constantly moving dry air, had provided an unusual environment for a corpse. Gareth glanced at Hywel, who was standing in his usual position with his hands on his hips, studying her.

  “If she was pregnant when she died, we have no way to tell,” Hywel said.

  “She might not have been far enough along to show,” Gareth said. “I suppose if her tissues had disappeared, the baby’s bones might have remained among her own. Impossible now to know.”

  “How did she get from Rhos to Wena’s cottage?” Hywel said. “Gwen was right to see that as the most pressing question.”

  “That’s because you’re looking at this all wrong.” The door to the room swung open. Cadwaladr’s wife, Alice, stood in the doorway. “It disturbs me that you are trusted by your father to see to this when you have no idea how go about to investigating wrongful deaths.”

  Gwen, who’d come through the door after Alice, closed it gently. Behind Alice’s back, Gwen put a finger to her lips. Hywel had been opening his mouth to protest Alice’s slight and now snapped it shut. He rubbed his chin, his eyes flicking from Alice to Gwen, who remained a pace behind the older woman. Gareth focused on covering Tegwen’s body with the cloak. Although Alice had already received an eyeful, none of them needed to see Tegwen’s remains while they talked.

  “Alice has some important information for us regarding the circumstances surrounding Tegwen before her disappearance,” Gwen said.

  “Anything you have to say might be helpful,” Gareth said into the silence that nobody else was filling.

  “Right.” Alice marched to the stool upon which Sioned had been sitting and sat herself down. “First of all, I know that I can rely on you not to let anything I say leave this room. My husband must never hear that I spoke to you. I will deny all rumor of it.”

  “Certainly,” Hywel said.

  “You may not tell your father either,” Alice said.

  Hywel looked at her carefully. “If it must be kept so secret, are you sure you want to tell us at all, Aunt?”

  “My husband is under suspicion for yet another crime. He has committed enough on his own without adding false accusations,” she said. “I could not bear it if he lost his lands in Merionydd. My children must have some inheritance.”

  Gareth could accept that.

  As the lord who had taken Ceredigion from Cadwaladr and who had fought all summer to maintain his grip on it, that was something Hywel could understand too. “You have my word,” Hywel said. “Please tell us what you know.”

  “My father died eight years ago, ambushed during a return journey to Ceredigion. Upon his death, Cadwaladr and Owain took the lands my father had carved out for himself. My family lost all of our lands in Wales, and my mother retreated to England. After his wife died in childbirth two years later, Cadwaladr came to England to ask my mother for my hand in marriage, to make peace from war. My mother accepted on my behalf, and I returned to Ceredigion as Cadwaladr’s wife.”

  Gareth had to give credit to Alice for treating Cadfan, the son of Cadwaladr’s first wife, as her own. For the rest, Alice hadn’t said enough as yet to know where this was leading. Hywel was watching Alice, a finger to his lips. He didn’t interrupt or ask what this was about either.

  Alice continued, “Cadwaladr spent the spring of Tegwen’s disappearance in the east, having been called upon by his brother to fight. He left me at Aber with Gwladys, King Owain’s wife.”

  “I remember,” Hywel said.

  “Lord Bran was often with us as well.” Alice primly folded her hands in her lap, looking pleased with herself.

  Silence fell among the companions. Gareth was lost but didn’t want to say so. Then Gwen stepped forward. “You can’t leave it there, my lady. As you said, we aren’t as clever as you and need more to understand what was going on five years ago.”

  Alice sighed, irritation crossing her face. Gareth had admired Alice’s fortitude when he’d encountered her in Ceredigion, but she’d been the lady of her own castle then, even if Hywel soon burned it down. This Alice seemed pettier and angrier. Maybe she always had been. But then, she was the Norman wife of a dishonored Welsh prince, living in exile in Gwynedd—not the refined Norman life she was born to. He could see how that could wear on her.

  “Gwladys and Bran were lovers, of course,” Alice said.

  “No!” Hywel gaped at his aunt. “They can’t have been. Gwladys never would have betrayed my father.”

  “She could have and she did,” Alice said primly. “I was the only one who knew. She confided in me, loath to send Bran away but terrified of the king and sure that he would discover all when he returned from the east.”

  “Wait a moment,” Gareth said. “All along we’ve been saying that Bran was fighting in Powys with everyone else. Are you saying that he wasn’t?”

  Alice sent him a look of disdain. “I wasn’t in Powys, of course, but I heard about that little war. It was chaos: lords fighting here and there, practically at each other’s throats as much as at the Earl of Chester’s, raids from Shrewsbury all the way up to Chester itself, and nobody was ever where he said he would be.” Her brow furrowed. “Didn’t you know?”

  Gareth looked from Gwen to Hywel, both of whom seemed stunned speechless by the revelation about Gwladys. Gareth had been guarding his convent during that ‘little war’ and had been on the receiving end, so to speak, of the fighting. He rubbed his forehead. “You’re saying that Bran wasn’t reliably in Powys that spring?”

  “That is it exactly.”

  “How is that possible? Surely the residents of Aber would have noticed if Bran returned frequently to consort with their queen,” Gareth said.

  “She didn’t meet him at Aber. They held their trysts at that little house where Cadwaladr says you found Tegwen’s body,” Alice said.

  Satisfaction flooded through Gareth. Since Hywel’s tongue appeared frozen to the roof of his mouth, he spoke for him. “How long did the affair last, do you know?”

  “A few months, no more. She broke it off—before Tegwen’s disappearance, mind you.”

  Finally, Hywel pulled up a second stool to sit beside his aunt; he took her hand. “You’re sure about this?”

  “I’m sure.”

  Gwen stepped to Gareth’s side. “I don’t remember Gwladys having such a compelling character that she would attract someone like Bran. She was a mouse, especially in comparison to Cristina.”

  Alice had overheard Gwen’s comment. “He didn’t woo her for her looks.”

  Hywel looked up at Gwen. “Though I know little of Bran, his desire was probably less for Gwladys herself than for what he thought he could gain from her.”

  “You mean he wanted a good word from Gwladys in King Owain’s ear?” Gwen said. “Why would he need that? He’d already married Tegwen, a princess, and ruled Rhos.”

  “A man can never have enough land, Gwen,” Hywel said.

  “I assume I’m not the only who’s noticed that nearly everyone involved in Tegwen’s disappearance is already dead themselves. Is that a little too convenient?” Gwen said.

  “I am not investigating Gwladys’s death,” Hywel said. “She died of a fever just before Christmas that year. My father was distraught.”

  “That was a momentous year for Gwynedd,” Gwen said. “Tegwen disappeared, Gwladys died, war in England and the March—”

  “I came to Gwynedd that summer. Clearly the most momentous event of all,” Gareth said, trying to lighten the atmosphere in the room.

  “But what does Bran’s affair with Gwladys have to do with Tegwen’s disappearance and death?” Gwen said, not acknowledging his jest. Gareth wasn’t sure that she or Hywel had even heard it. “Why does telling us t
his clear Cadwaladr of wrongdoing?”

  “Bran was very angry when Gwladys wouldn’t see him anymore,” Alice said. “One night, he snuck into her room through the window and asked Gwladys what she would do if Tegwen and King Owain were no longer among us.”

  Hywel surged to his feet so quickly that he knocked over his stool. “He threatened the life of the king? You can’t be serious?”

  “I am.” Alice looked like she was biting back a smile, enjoying the effect she was having on Hywel.

  “Why would you wait five years to tell us this?” Gareth said. “King Owain’s life could have been in danger; Tegwen’s clearly was.”

  “I admit that when Tegwen disappeared shortly after that incident, I had some concerns,” Alice said. “I kept an eye on Bran, but since Tegwen wasn’t dead—and he was still married to her—I thought she was out of his reach. Then when everyone returned from Powys, Cadwaladr took me away to Ceredigion. By the time we returned a full year later, Gwladys was dead, and I saw no reason to tarnish her memory with accusations of infidelity.”

  Alice finished this last sentence, still looking pleased with herself. Gareth had seen the same look on Cristina’s face when she’d come to them with information. He understood it. Who didn’t feel satisfaction at airing a long-kept secret? Perhaps she was also relieved to be rid of it.

  “Thank you for your assistance, Aunt.” Hywel held out his hand to Alice to help her to her feet. He escorted her to the door, bowed her out of it, and then shut it with a gentle click, after which he rested his forehead against the wooden slats for a long count of ten.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Hywel