The Unexpected Ally

by Sarah Woodbury

  “You don’t have to tell me what is going on, Gwen, but I might be able to help.”

  “It isn’t that I don’t trust you, Saran, but—” Gwen raised her eyes to the ceiling. “It’s possible that Derwena is involved in something unsavory, and if our suspicions are correct, I don’t want you to feel that you have to choose between me, because I took you into my confidence, and her.”

  “What do you mean by unsavory?”

  Gwen ground her teeth. She’d gone and said more than she should have even though she’d just told Saran that she wouldn’t. Saran had that effect on her, and she should have known to be warier before coming here. “After you left with my father, Derwena rode off with a man whom we think might be involved in Erik’s—”

  Gwen made a grab for the cup of water that Tangwen held in her right hand. Saran had set the little girl up on a stool at the table with a cup of water and a variety of tiny seed dishes. Tangwen had lined them up in front of a small whisk broom, which the healer used for sweeping up the residue of her preparations, and a carafe around which Saran had tied a ribbon. They, along with Tangwen’s stuffed cloth doll that she took everywhere with her, were pretend guests whom Tangwen had invited to a meal. She’d been talking to them in her sweet two-year-old lisp while Saran and Gwen had been discussing the investigation.

  Saran studied Gwen with somber eyes. “Involved how?”

  Gwen sighed and carefully poured half the water in Tangwen’s cup into a more stable container. “There are indications that the man in question might have actually killed him.” She put out a hand to her friend. “I can’t say more. Gareth won’t be pleased that I said this much.”

  “He sent you to me, didn’t he? Maybe that was because he thought I could help.”

  Gwen licked her lips. “Can you tell me what your sister has been doing these last few years? Has she lived all her life in Corwen?”

  “No.” Saran let out a burst of laughter. “No, of course not. She went there because of Rhodri, who was to have married a local girl. I don’t know what happened there, but even after the wedding was called off they stayed. Before that, she lived in Llangollen. That was where her man was from.”

  “But he died,” Gwen said.

  Saran nodded. “When Rhodri was still a babe.”

  “Was she ever at the castle?” Gwen held her breath.

  “She worked as a maid for a time after her husband died. Why?”

  “That I can’t tell you, not without permission.”

  Saran went back to her chopping, and the set of her shoulders told Gwen that she was irritated. “Then I can’t help you further.”

  “I’m sorry.” Gwen put a hand on Tangwen’s back. “It’s time to go, cariad.”

  Saran pointed at Tangwen with her chin. “No need for that! We’re just getting to know each other, aren’t we?”

  Gwen looked doubtfully at Tangwen, who was looking at Saran rather than at Gwen.

  “Would you like to stay with me a while? As soon as you’re ready, I’ll take you right back to your mother.” Saran kept her tone light. Gwen was almost afraid to speak, but she raised her eyebrows at Saran, who nodded.

  “I’ll see you later then.” Gwen bent to drop a quick kiss on her daughter’s cheek and then backed away towards the door.

  Saran leaned forward across the worktable, a dried cherry from last year’s crop on her palm. Perhaps she’d been saving it for just this moment. “Would you like to eat this?”

  Tangwen reached out a hand, grabbed the fruit, and popped it into her mouth, giggling as she did so.

  As Gwen slipped through the doorway, she heard Saran say, “Cherries are good, aren’t they?”

  Tangwen had many adults in her life, but she had no grandmothers, and Gwen was happy for her to discover what she’d been missing. Saran herself had no grandchildren, so it was as if they’d been waiting for each other.

  Conall straightened at the sight of Gwen exiting the healer’s hut. As she’d supposed, he’d been lounging against a low stone wall that surrounded the house across the street and kept its family pig from running wild. What she hadn’t expected was to find him holding the reins of a woman’s horse while conversing with the woman—or rather, girl—on its back.

  The girl was escorted by two other men. One stood fifty feet away, out of earshot, but the other was Iorwerth, King Owain’s seventeen-year-old son. At the men’s shift in attention, the girl turned to look at Gwen, who halted too, struck dumb by her beauty. She didn’t wear a coif, so tendrils of her light brown hair hung around her face, shimmering in the morning sun with red and gold highlights. Her features were perfect—from her bow of a mouth, to her upturned nose with its dash of tiny brown freckles, to her large gray eyes with long, dark lashes. No wonder Conall had affected an air of casual interest, and Iorwerth, who was much more innocent, was gazing at her with wide-eyed appreciation. The men would have to be blind not to be interested in this girl.

  Conall put out a hand. “Gwen, I’d like to introduce you to Marared, Madog’s daughter.”

  Gwen smiled at the girl and curtsied. Marared wasn’t Susanna’s daughter, so she had to have been born illegitimately. Gwen had no expectation that Madog was a faithful husband, but he had far fewer illegitimate children filling his court than Owain. It was very hard to tell how old the girl was, given the tendency of girls to mature early, but if Gwen had to guess, she would have said Marared was a year or two younger than Iorwerth—roughly Gwalchmai’s age, and he would be sixteen later this year.

  Marared looked gravely down at Gwen from her seat on her horse. “It is a pleasure to meet you.”

  Gwen looked from Marared to Conall. “I don’t mean to interrupt.”

  “It is no trouble.” Marared put out a hand. “I was just waiting for my mother.”

  Gwen tried to think of a tactful way to ask who her mother was and failed. “Do you mean Queen Susanna?”

  Marared smiled. “Of course. My mother died when I was born, so my father took me to live at Dinas Bran. Susanna is the only mother I have ever known.”

  Raising her husband’s bastard was not a task every woman would take on willingly, but Susanna seemed to have done so—and done an excellent job with this girl for her to be so bright and charming.

  “Where is she?” Gwen looked around, not seeing either Susanna or a riderless horse.

  But a moment later, Susanna appeared on foot with two manservants in attendance, coming onto the main road from a side street beyond the healer’s hut where Saran remained with Tangwen. It appeared that she had walked from the monastery as Gwen and Conall had. Susanna smiled as she saw Marared, who lifted a hand to her mother, and Susanna’s smile widened even more when her attention landed on Gwen.

  “My goodness, Gwen!” Queen Susanna spoke melodiously and moved the last fifty feet towards Gwen with such grace she might have been skating on ice. She stopped in front of Gwen and put her hands to Gwen’s upper arms. “It is a wonder to see you all grown and beautiful. I had heard that your family had returned to Aber. I’m sorry I have been unable to visit there in so long.”

  Gwen had last seen Susanna many years ago, when Gwen herself was just a girl. In fact, now that Gwen thought about it, that encounter had taken place at the funeral of Cadwallon, Susanna and Owain’s brother, who’d died fighting men of Powys near Llangollen. The bad blood between Gwynedd and Powys had a long history, and Susanna had been caught in the middle of it for her whole marriage. In fact, the fighting had been the reason for her marriage, even if the truce it engendered had been merely temporary.

  And while it had never occurred to Gwen before, Gareth had probably been at the funeral too, since his uncle had died the same day as Cadwallon. At the time, Gwen had been eleven years old and Gareth eighteen, so they wouldn’t have looked at each other twice.

  Then Susanna added, as if reading Gwen’s thoughts, “I was just speaking to Conall of those days.”

  Gwen just managed not to gape at Conall, who was looking as impos
sibly amused as always. “Excuse me, my lady, but how is it that you knew Conall before today?”

  “At one time, my father considered a match for me with Diarmait of Leinster. I lived in his court for a few months before my father decided to marry me to Madog and brought me home. Conall was one of my guards while I was in Ireland.”

  The corner of Conall’s mouth lifted. “I was fourteen years old and completely smitten. I wouldn’t have thought you’d remember me, and I am honored that you did.”

  Susanna raised her eyebrows. “You were completely smitten, and I hated everything about Ireland except you. Of course I wouldn’t forget you.”

  Conall bowed like a courtier. “My lady.”

  Now it was Susanna’s mouth that was twitching. Marared and Iorwerth were looking on with identical astonished expressions on their faces. In the bloom of youth as they both were, they had trouble picturing either Conall or Susanna so young. Meanwhile, Gwen was trying to calculate when this visit had taken place, and realizing in the process that Conall was not Gareth’s age as she’d thought, but quite a bit older.

  “My lady, did you come to the village for a particular purpose?” Gwen said.

  “I came to see the healer. Before I could knock, Conall informed me that she was not at home, and thus I didn’t disturb you and your friend.”

  Gwen shot a look at Conall, who winked back at Gwen. How Susanna had recognized Gwen was now apparent. She had walked by in the time Gwen and Tangwen had been inside the healer’s hut, so when Susanna returned to find Gwen on the street, she knew instantly who she was.

  “Did you get what you needed from the healer?” Gwen desperately wanted to ask what Susanna had come to the village for—and even more to ask what she’d been doing with Derwena and the nine-fingered man last night, but it was impossible to do either under these circumstances. These questions were for Hywel—and Hywel alone—to ask.

  But Susanna waved a hand dismissively and told her what she wanted to know without her asking. “A sick headache laid me low all of last night. I took poppy juice, retired immediately after I arrived at the monastery, and didn’t rise until this morning. I used the last of the tincture I had, however, and came looking for more, in case I’m as desperate tonight as last night.”

  Gwen took a small step forward. “Poppy juice is dangerous but can be very helpful at times.”

  “Carys told me where she keeps it. I’ll just collect it and be on my way.” Susanna nodded at Gwen, in a clear dismissal, and turned towards the hut.

  Gwen stood hesitantly in the road, watching her go, and then turned to look at Conall. For the first time this morning, his eyes had narrowed. Marared hadn’t noticed the change in the air, however, and was still smiling, though rather than at the world at large as before, she was looking directly at Iorwerth. Acknowledging that his attentions were surplus to requirements, Conall put his heels together and bowed. “It was a delight to make your acquaintance.”

  “Likewise.” Marared batted her eyes at Conall, eliciting a smile from him and a frown from Iorwerth.

  Feeling that they needed to be gone before Susanna came out again or Iorwerth decided he needed to defend Marared’s honor, Gwen set off at a brisk pace back towards the monastery. Conall hastened to catch up. “Where are you going in such a hurry?”

  Gwen glanced at him. “I know you think very highly of Susanna, but she lied just now when there was no need to do so. She was establishing her whereabouts. Did you tell her about the investigation into Erik’s death?”

  “No.” Then he frowned. “She did ask what I was doing here, so I had to tell her something.”

  “What did you say?”

  “That I was associated with the company from Gwynedd because of an unrelated matter Gareth and I had worked on together in Shrewsbury. I had been wounded and was healing before I returned home to Leinster. When she pressed further, I told her I was simply escorting you to the village.”

  Gwen chewed on her lower lip as she thought. “Susanna is a very intelligent woman. What’s more, she’s had to survive for the whole of her marriage on the cusp of Powys and Gwynedd. She knew that Hywel was going to Shrewsbury because he told her he was when he was at Dinas Bran. It’s an easy leap to the idea that your presence there was related not only to Hywel’s, but to Cadwaladr’s doings.”

  “I’m sorry.” Conall really did sound contrite. “It isn’t often I’m surprised by anyone into revealing more than I should.”

  “Much less a woman?” Gwen looked at him sideways.

  “I wasn’t going to say it.”

  “Never mind,” Gwen said. “She could have learned all of that simply by asking any man in Hywel’s teulu. She probably already knows about Erik’s death and all the particulars. We haven’t spoken of it, but monks gossip as much as anyone and a monastery is like a small village in that way.”

  They’d arrived back at the monastery. The conference was ongoing, and she crossed the courtyard at a quickened pace to enter the guesthouse. She pulled up in the doorway, inordinately pleased to find Susanna’s maid sitting by the fire, looking rather limp. She was a woman in her middle forties, with a slender build and gray hair that fell loosely around her shoulders—an unusual style for a woman of her age.

  Gwen crossed the floor to peer down at her. “Are you all right?”

  The woman looked up, sweeping a lock of hair out of her face as she did so. “Do I know you?”

  “I’m sorry.” Gwen put a hand to her heart. “I am Gwen ferch Meilyr, wife to Gareth. We are staying in the guesthouse too.”

  “You are from Gwynedd.”

  “Yes.”

  The woman sniffed and returned her gaze to the fire. “I am unsure what is wrong with me. My lady was ill last night with a headache, and I meant to sit beside her bed in case she needed me, but I was so tired myself I slept the whole night through.”

  Without waiting to be invited, Gwen plopped herself down onto a nearby stool and took the woman’s hand. “I am so sorry to hear that. Is there anything I can do?”

  In the face of Gwen’s relentless kindness, the woman couldn’t remain aloof. “No, thank you. I really am much better.” She gestured to her hair. “I know I must be a sight.”

  Gwen tucked one of the loose strands behind the woman’s ear. “Your hair is lovely.”

  The woman smiled despite herself. “Thank you.”

  “I’ll fetch you a warm posset. Maybe that will help until the queen returns.” Gwen rose to her feet, intending to head for the guesthouse kitchen. Conall had been standing to one side of the door, his arms folded across his chest and one ankle crossed over the other, looking amused again, but he frowned and put out a hand to her before she could. “Do you hear—” He stopped and went to the door.

  Gwen followed to find that men were spilling out of the chapter house, and they were in something of an uproar.

  “That doesn’t look good.” Conall shook his head and started down the steps. “I admire Abbot Rhys, but Powys and Gwynedd have ever been at each other’s throats. There was no real reason to think it would be any different this time.”

  Gwen followed after him. “He felt he had to try.”

  The first bunch of men in Powysian surcoats stalked towards the gatehouse, while a smaller group from Gwynedd milled about, glaring after them. The level of rancor in the courtyard was high. Gwen searched for Gareth, standing on tiptoes so she could see better.

  Then a young monk hurtled into the courtyard, coming from the gardens. He skidded to a halt at the sight of so many noblemen, and Conall grabbed him around the shoulders to steady him. “I was sent to find help—” he put his hand to his chest, breathing hard, “—the barn is on fire.”

  Chapter Nineteen

  Hywel

  The messenger spoke to Abbot Rhys, and the news of the burning barn swept through the conclave with hardly a pause from speaker to listener. He’d barely opened his mouth to announce what was happening before the chapter house was deserted.

&nbs
p; Hywel instantly sent Gareth off with Gwen and Conall. The barn was where Erik had died, so they might truly regret its loss, depending upon what they’d missed seeing inside it the first time around. Within a few moments, the only people who remained in the chapter house were members of Hywel’s own family. Abbot Rhys himself had walked away with Madog, bending his ear with soothing tones, thanking him for sending his own men to assist in fighting the fire.

  Hywel had never experienced quite this amount of disarray at the end of any meeting in which his father had participated.

  Eventually, the only people left in the room were King Owain, Hywel, Taran, Cynan, and a few retainers, including Gruffydd, who stood at the door, as far away from the action as possible. After sitting back in his chair with a sigh, King Owain looked down for a moment, one hand smoothing his mustache, and then he started to laugh. Hywel looked at Cynan, whose eyes widened as he stared at their father, and then Cynan shook his head, making clear that he had no idea why Owain was laughing, and he wasn’t going to be the one to ask.

  Hywel sighed. Such was the fate of the edling. That thought, again today, made him smile rather than despair. If nothing else, his father’s amusement was contagious. He pulled out the chair Rhys had abandoned and sat in it, his eyes on the king.

  By now, King Owain was laughing so hard that tears were leaking out of the corners of his eyes. It wasn’t until he put both hands on the top of his head and leaned back to look up at the ceiling, trying to gain control of his laughter, that he finally managed to speak. “Old Madog really pulled that one out of the sack, didn’t he? Whoo!” He rocked back in his chair, still struggling for control.

  “What are you finding so funny?” Hywel said.

  Owain wiped his eyes. “We had him, you know. We had him completely in our net.” Within the space of a heartbeat, the amusement vanished entirely, and Owain leaned forward to look intently at Hywel. “He tried to kill you. You. My. Son.” He poked a finger on the table to emphasize the last three words.