The Good Knight (A Gareth and Gwen Medieval Mystery) (24 page)

“And now he does know,” said Godfrid. “I overheard the conversation between Cadwaladr and Prince Hywel.”

“I imagine so,” said Gwen.

“Does it seem to you that Hywel will come to Ireland, to rescue you from his uncle?” Godfrid said. “He came to Aberffraw for you.”

“He did,” said Gwen. “But that was his own country. Hywel won’t know what bargain Cadwaladr has made with Ottar or your father. Or even if it’s with them at all. Ireland is a big country. Besides, we don’t have ships like yours.”

“Where does Cadwaladr rule in Wales?”

“Ceredigion,” Gwen said. “Lands that Owain gave him.”

“So Hywel might think he took you there?”

“It’s likely,” Gwen said. “Hywel’s responsibility will be to secure those lands for his father and root out any who remain loyal to Cadwaladr, not to chase after me.”

Godfrid held Gwen’s eyes, his gaze steady. Gwen held her breath, not sure what he was seeing. And then… “You don’t love him,” Godfrid said.

Gwen looked away, unable to lie that well. “It’s not like that. You don’t understand.”

“Ah, but I do.” Godfrid pointed a finger at her. “Not only do you not love him, but you are not his lover either.”

Gwen blinked. “I…” Her mind worked furiously to think of how to answer without giving the game away. “Yes, I am.”

Now, Godfrid laughed. “You are a very bad liar.” He leaned back from the table, a look of satisfaction in his eyes. “I am right. You thought you could pretend that Cadwaladr spoke the truth as long as nobody asked you about Hywel directly. Nobody has asked you directly before this.”

“No—” Gwen said.

Godfrid wagged a finger in her face. “I watch my men when they lie. You lied to me now. You are not his lover and you don’t carry his child.” He peered at her. “You don’t carry any child. That you’ve been sick from the voyage gives cover to your lie.”

“I never lied,” Gwen said. “I never said anything to Cadwaladr about this at all. I just didn’t deny what he so firmly believed. Besides, he stole me from Aber and once he’d done that, he would have killed me if he knew the truth.”

Godfrid folded his arms across his chest, still looking satisfied. “You survived.”

Gwen straightened in her seat, relieved that he wasn’t angry. “I did.”

“And what about everything else?” he said. “Is that untrue also? What do you do in Wales when you are not captured by princes?”

“I am a bard’s daughter,” Gwen said. “I told you the truth about that. And I may not be Hywel’s lover, but I do know him well. My father was his tutor and we are of an age.” She smiled. “We learned our Latin together.”

“So that is why he came for you,” Godfrid said.

Gwen tipped her head to acknowledge the possible truth in his words. “Perhaps. But while I may not be his lover, I am his spy.”

Godfrid gazed at her for a count of five, and then he threw back his head and laughed. The sound echoed throughout the hall. Several of the other diners looked at him, but then turned away, smiling themselves. They were probably used to his laughter.

“Now that you tell me, I find I am not surprised,” Godfrid said, sobering. “There’s a story here you must tell me someday.”

“Someday.” Gwen paused, and then dared ask, “When did you first suspect that something was wrong with Cadwaladr’s assumptions?”

“On the battlements at Aberffraw, I noted your shock when Cadwaladr told Prince Hywel you carried his child,” Godfrid said. “Hywel himself couldn’t hide his surprise, but I assumed that your reaction and his was a response to Cadwaladr’s unveiling, not that it wasn’t true. Later, I thought back to the scene and realized that you were as surprised as Hywel. And also that you were not attached to him in that way.”

“We were that obvious?” Gwen said. “I need to work on my lying.”

“Oh no, you don’t.” Godfrid barked a laugh again, but turned serious almost instantly. “Remember, I don’t speak your language as well as I would like. I’ve learned to watch your faces.”

“Does anyone else know, do you think?” Gwen said.

“Not Cadwaladr anyway.”

“That’s a relief,” Gwen said. “What will you do now? Will you tell your father or Ottar? The longer I stay here the more obvious it will become that all is not as Cadwaladr believes.”

Godfrid tapped a finger on his upper lip. “I will not reveal your secret. It pleases me to keep it.” He paused. “But I don’t see how Cadwaladr could not learn of it eventually. He has spies everywhere too.”

“I will pretend as long as I can,” Gwen said.

“Cadwaladr thinks only of himself,” Godfrid said. “That makes him dangerous. He will become even more so if he learns of the deception.”

“I can’t avoid his company,” Gwen said. “I am a prisoner here—whether yours or his—does it really matter?”

Godfrid pushed back from the table, preparing to stand. “I am offended.”

Gwen bit her lip. She closed her eyes, marshalling her thoughts. “I need to go home,” she said, even as she gagged at the idea of the voyage across the sea and what it would do to her. “You need to let me go home.”

“I would let you,” he said. “But I have no plans to return to Wales. It may be that you will have to wait for Cadwaladr.”

Gwen rubbed her face with both hands, repulsed by the idea but with no counter to it. “If I must, I must.”

“What if I said you did not have to?” Godfrid put his hands flat on the table and leaned his weight on them. “What if I set you free, but then you stayed in Dublin. With me.”

Gwen dropped her hands. Godfrid was looking at her as if she was the only person in the room. When she didn’t answer, he touched her chin with one finger. “Think on it.”

He straightened, the reckless grin again on his lips and his eyes alight. Stunned, she watched him greet several men on his way down the central aisle. Then, with only one look back and an insouciant wave, so reminiscent of Hywel, he was gone.

Chapter Twenty-Nine

“
G
areth will take care of you,” Alice said to the handful of boy in Gareth’s arms, surprising Gareth with her vote of confidence. “Just don’t pepper him with too many questions.”

She turned away, back to Hywel, and Gareth whispered, “That means you can ask some.”

Gareth boosted the boy, Cadfan, onto Braith’s back and made sure he held the reins tightly. Braith wasn’t a warhorse as Alice’s Norman ancestors understood them, but was still far too big for Cadfan.

“Where’s my father?” Cadfan said—probably the toughest question he could have chosen to ask.

“I don’t know,” Gareth said. “Maybe Ireland.”

“Why’d he go there?”

“You’ve heard of something called ‘politics’?” Gareth said.

Cadfan nodded.

“That’s why,” Gareth said. “Best left well enough alone by both you and me.”

For her part, Alice perched on Hywel’s horse, her hands in her lap. Normally, Hywel’s horse was more nervy than this, but he seemed to understand that prancing was not allowed today. Sedately, with Gareth and Hywel walking and leading their charges, they made their way back down the hill to where Hywel had left the rest of the men.

“You truly mean to take my castle?” Alice gazed back up the hill where it squatted, as yet undamaged.

“Yes, Aunt,” Hywel said. “I have no choice.”

“We always have a choice,” she said, tartly.

“Tell that to Cadwaladr,” Hywel said. “And ask Anarawd how he felt about it.”

That silenced her—and everyone else. Hywel pulled Gareth aside. “I didn’t expect her to be pregnant. What do I do with her?”

“Ask her,” Gareth said. “If any woman knows her own mind, she does.”

Hywel glanced again at Alice, who glared at him. “I would go to my mother but her home is too far for me to travel in my condition,” she said, having evidently overheard their exchange. “A convent lies just north of the castle. I can stay there until the baby is born. My midwife lives in the village and she will help me.”

“When is the baby due?”

“Not for two months.”

That eased Hywel’s concern, and with a few terse orders, he had three of his men escorting Alice and Cadfan back across the ford of the Ystwyth River, and then north towards the village.

Cadfan, now seated behind one of the men-at-arms assigned to him, twisted in his seat to look back at Gareth. “Goodbye, sir knight.”

Gareth saluted and bowed, “Young sir.” Once the two were out of earshot, he turned to Hywel. “She was prepared to defend the castle herself. She could still be a threat.”

“But not today, I think,” Hywel said. “Her men remain in the castle and unless she incites the village against us, I find it unlikely we’ll hear from her again. At least not soon.”

“Your father may hear from her,” Gareth said.

Hywel laughed. “No doubt. Nonetheless, my men will see her safe and then guard the Abbey until I deem such precaution unnecessary. What I don’t want is for her to send a message to a nearby ally who might interrupt my plans.”

“And what are those plans, my lord?” Gareth said.

Hywel jerked his head to indicate Gareth should follow, and walked under the trees to where his other captains gathered. His two hundred men and horses had scattered among the woods along the river, mingling to some degree, but mostly coordinated according to which lord they served. Soon, ten men—the leaders among them—gathered around Hywel.

“My father does not want a long siege,” Hywel said. “I will speak with Cadwaladr’s captain one more time, and if his response is the same as before, we’ll burn the castle to the ground today.”

“Today, my lord?” one of the men, Maelgwyn of Rhos, said.

Hywel stepped out from under the trees and checked the sky. “We’ve a few hours until sunset. Plenty of time.”

“But surely such a move is—” Maelgwyn stopped speaking at Hywel’s hard look.

“Tell me you weren’t going to say, ‘without honor’?” Hywel said.

“Of course not, my prince.” Maelgwyn accompanied the denial with a slight bow. “Although I have to admit that I am uncomfortable with our task.”

Hywel studied the man, eyes piercing, but Maelgwyn’s reservations had the other lords murmuring among themselves.

“Have you forgotten what Cadwaladr did?” King Cadell said, his voice quiet, but loud enough so that they all heard him.

Maelgwyn looked down. “No, my lord.”

“Cadwaladr is a prince, but he murdered a king—one with whom he himself was allied, and whom Owain Gwynedd planned to bring into his family as a son,” Cadell said. “If Cadwaladr could do it to Anarawd, he could do it to anyone. Any of you.”

This discussion was making Gareth impatient and he stirred beside Hywel, thinking to speak. Maelgwyn cleared his throat, as if to say something more as well, but Hywel gave neither of them the chance.

“Get your men ready,” he said. “The time for action is now. I will accept the surrender of the garrison, should they choose to surrender, but I will not back down.” And then he paused to look into the face of each man in turn. “It is not I who orders this, but my father.”

Maelgwyn straightened his shoulders, seemingly putting aside his doubts. “Yes, my lord.”

“If there are Danes in that fort, my lord,” said Alun, who’d come as Prince Rhun’s representative, “they will have already left by the postern gate. We should have sent men to the beach to stop them.”

“Alice did have Danes among her men,” Gareth said, “though that they were Danes didn’t register until just now. Alun is right.”

“I saw them too,” Hywel said. “I deliberately let them go.”

“Why is that?” Color rose in Cadell’s cheeks. “They are bloodthirsty killers; they’ll go back to Ireland, get reinforcements, and continue to plague our shores.”

“The only good Dane is a dead one,” Maelgwyn said.

“That’s what the English say about the Welsh.” Hywel’s eyes narrowed. “You may recall that I have Danish blood, Maelgwyn.”

Maelgwyn paled. “Yes, my lord.” This wasn’t turning out to be a good day for him.

“We cannot kill every Dane in Ireland,” Hywel said, his voice full of patience. “I am letting them go because I want to encourage Cadwaladr’s return to Wales. The sooner my father confronts him in person, the better. The Danes will tell Cadwaladr that I’ve taken Aberystwyth. It will anger him.”

“I don’t understand—”

Hywel cut Maelgwyn off. “Obviously. This move is part of a greater whole, which I hadn’t realized I had to explain to you. My father wants his brother back in Wales, under his control, not inciting animosity and wreaking havoc among our Danish allies. If I let these Danes go, they’ll tell my uncle what has happened here at home. He won’t be able to resist doing something about it.”

A few of the men nodded.

“Regardless,” Hywel said. “As Alun pointed out, they’ve probably already gone and there’s nothing we can do about it. I don’t care if the entire garrison of Cadwaladr’s Welsh men-at-arms departs and disperses, though I would rather deliver them to my father as we did the men from Aberffraw. But if we spare all of them and yet take the castle, my father will consider this endeavor a victory. We will send a message to Cadwaladr that he must pay for his actions. I want that castle!” He punctuated this last sentence with a fist into his palm.

“Besides,” Gareth said as the men dispersed to their appointed tasks, even Maelgwyn, “Cadwaladr still has Gwen and I want her back. If he doesn’t bring her home, I may never see her again.”

“I haven’t forgotten Gwen, Gareth,” Hywel said.

Gareth bit his tongue, holding back the words he wanted to say. As with the villagers whose deaths Cadwaladr had ordered—at the hands of his own men—the loss of Gwen was not a matter that King Owain could allow to trouble him. If pressed, he might say that it was an unfortunate happenstance, but to wager a kingdom on one girl? No, Gwen’s well-being was Gareth’s responsibility. And so far, he hadn’t done his job in seeing to it.

For now, however, his duty to his lord forced Gareth to push the thought of Gwen, along with the image of her wearing a slave collar around her throat, to the back of his mind where it had sat and festered all this last week. That her captors thought she was pregnant with Hywel’s child was a life-saving grace, but how long could that last before they discovered it was a lie? And what would happen to her when they did?