The Good Knight (A Gareth and Gwen Medieval Mystery) (29 page)

“Why is he doing this?” Gwen said to Godfrid before he too could leave. She was sick of these silent men who tossed her around like a sack of turnips with little regard for her wishes, thoughts, or feelings. “I could have run like Cadwaladr, but I didn’t!”

Godfrid hesitated, half in and half out of the doorway. “It would have been better if you had.” He didn’t look at her, and she realized he was afraid—he, Godfrid, a prince of Dublin. He spoke over his shoulder. “You are now the only leverage Ottar has against Owain Gwynedd. Let’s hope that King Owain has more honor than his brother.”

“But—”

“Don’t speak another word. It isn’t safe.” He shook his head at her, just once, and was gone.

The transition from asleep and free to bound prisoner had happened so fast Gwen was having a hard time keeping up with the change. She took in a deep breath, trying to slow her frantic thoughts, and assess her situation. She’d gone from being Cadwaladr’s prisoner to being Ottar’s; from hovering on the edge of Ottar’s consciousness, to landing smack in the center of it. Like Cadwaladr, he still thought she was pregnant with Hywel’s child. It seemed that was the only reason she was still alive.

Chapter Thirty-Four

G
areth stared across the dunes that separated him from Gwen.

“It was the right choice,” Hywel said, coming up beside him. As usual, he was more perceptive than Gareth felt comfortable with. Gareth had just been thinking that he wasn’t sure he should have allowed Godfrid to leave without him. “For all that Godfrid is a Dane, he is my cousin. He will protect her.”

“If he can,” Gareth said, feeling that familiar growl forming in his throat. He’d felt it often around Gwen—that possessiveness that she would have dismissed as foolish but that had the hackles rising at the back of his neck at the thought of her anywhere near another man.

“He’ll be able to protect her far more than you could as a potential prisoner,” Hywel said. “Cadwaladr is mistaken, of course, that Gwen carries my child, but even if she did, my father wouldn’t necessarily do what he asked in order to save her life.”

“I know it,” Gareth said. “And though I would do everything in my power to save her, I can’t ask a king to sacrifice his kingdom for one woman.”

“Hopefully, it won’t come to that,” Hywel said.

Together, they turned back towards the fire pits and the pavilion where Owain held court. Given that the weather remained clear for now, King Owain had opted not to retreat to Aberffraw but to remain close to the beach with his men. They’d gone only a few paces, however, when Rhun intercepted them. Gareth couldn’t make out his features so far from the torch lights, but his voice was grim.

“Bad news,” he said.

Gareth looked past Rhun to the encampment. Men moved about, but in no great hurry.

“What is it?” Hywel said.

“Our uncle is here.”

“He’s what?” Gareth said. “The Danes let him go?”

“It appears he snuck out,” Rhun said. “He’s meeting with Father now.”

“God have mercy!”
Hywel said. “What a sorry excuse for a prince. We’d better find out what he’s got to say.”

They hurried to the king’s tent. Knowing his place, Gareth skirted the inside wall while Hywel and Rhun strode to where the two royal brothers spoke. Although Cadwaladr’s voice didn’t carry far, it was otherwise completely silent in the tent and Gareth had no trouble hearing their conversation.

“I’m sorry for Anarawd, brother,” Cadwaladr was saying as Gareth came to a halt about ten feet from him, to the right of the king’s position. “I never thought—”

“You never do think,
brother
.” King Owain had brought a chair specifically for himself so he wouldn’t have to lounge on the ground, a fallen log, or stand like everyone else, but he wasn’t using it. Instead he folded his arms across his chest and stared at Cadwaladr, using all of his considerable height to intimidate his brother. “It’s been a long while since this was about Anarawd, though his murder is what so starkly revealed your cowardice to me.”

“My cowardice?” Cadwaladr sputtered at the word.

King Owain turned up the fire. “Yes, your cowardice!”

“What are you talking about, Owain?” Cadwaladr said. “I did what I had to—”

“Why did you have Anarawd killed?” Owain said.

Now, that is a question.

Cadwaladr straightened his shoulders and lifted his chin. “I did what I thought was best. I believed it was more advantageous to us for Cadell to become King of Deheubarth. If I was wrong, I am sorry.”

Owain Gwynedd seemed struck mute by this speech, but then reddened. He stepped closer to his brother and this time, he kept his voice low, having gone past anger to rage. “If you were sincere in your regrets, why is there a fleet of Danes at your back? Why do you seek to force my hand by threatening my people—our people—with ruin unless I give you what you want?” King Owain looked away, glaring over the heads of his men to where the Danes waited on the other side of the thin fabric, across the sand. “Whatever it is that you want.”

For the first time in his life, Cadwaladr appeared momentarily cowed. “I haven’t threatened you. The Danes are merely alli—”

“You dare contradict me?” King Owain returned his attention to Cadwaladr and his voice back to thundering. “You stand before me, claiming brotherhood, and yet your actions belie your words.
Give me back my lands or I loose my Danes on Anglesey?
And what of that poor girl, Gwen, who you’ve brought into this? Why haven’t you returned her to her family?”

Cadwaladr opened and closed his mouth like a fish, not giving an answer, because of course, he didn’t have one.

“You hold her hostage, don’t you,
brother
,” Owain said. “If I don’t give you what you want, or better yet, slit your throat, your Danish friends will harm her. Isn’t that it?”

Cadwaladr stared at King Owain for a count of ten, and then threw himself to the ground at the king’s feet. “Please forgive me, brother,” he said, groveling, his nose almost to the ground. “I didn’t see until now how wrong I was.”

“Mary, Mother of God!”
King Owain blasphemed. “You sicken me.” He toed Cadwaladr’s ribs and gazed down at him, disgust written in every inch of his body. “Am I to assume by the fact that you came alone that your Danish friends don’t know you’re here?”

“I saw an opportunity to speak to you alone and took it.” Cadwaladr lifted his head so his voice wasn’t muffled. “Is that so wrong?”

Owain snorted under his breath. “And if I take you back, with or without promising anything, including your lands, what of the Danes?”

Cadwaladr sat back on his heels, his face radiant. “Together we can drive them from Abermenai. It will be a simple matter, as you so wisely encircled them just as we arrived.”

“And what about your promises to them, Cadwaladr?” Owain said. “With what did you buy them?”

And again, what about Gwen?
Gareth added, a cold fear settling into his chest at what King Ottar might do to her, even over Godfrid’s objections and defense, once they realized Cadwaladr was missing.

When Cadwaladr didn’t answer, King Owain said, “What did you promise them, Cadwaladr? My head after you’d killed me?”

“No!” The word burst out as if it was the truth, which perhaps it was. “I only promised them two thousand marks. That’s all.”

“And do you have two thousand marks?”

“Of course not,” Cadwaladr said, as if there was any ‘of course’ about it.

More silence from King Owain, and then he held out his hand to Cadwaladr. “Give me your seal.”

“My seal?” Cadwaladr said, aghast, eyes wide. A man’s seal was his life, his honor, even more than his sword. “But … but… .”

King Owain sighed. “I’m not consigning you to the gallows, Cadwaladr, merely a room at Aberffraw until I’ve cleaned up your mess. I need your seal so that when I send for the cattle and goods to account for the gold you owe Ottar, your people will know that you agreed to the bargain.”

“You’re going to make me pay them to go away?” Cadwaladr said, clearly horrified at this unexpected turn of events.

“You will either give them two thousand marks—or its equivalent—or I will give them you,” King Owain said. “It’s your choice.”

Cadwaladr still didn’t seem to believe him. He stuttered through another dozen heartbeats while King Owain stood still as a stone, arms folded, observing Cadwaladr as if he was a chained animal on display at a village fair. Hywel, standing to his father’s left, merely looked pained—and resigned.

And then Gareth understood that Cadwaladr had won again.

When Cadwaladr’s protests had died down, Owain turned to his sons, though his gaze took in Gareth as well. “Rescue the girl.” To Cadwaladr, he said, “We will give the Danes what you owe them. When that is done and they are gone from my shores, we’ll talk again.”

He strode out the opening to the tent and into the darkness. What was going on inside his head, Gareth didn’t know for sure, but could guess that it was only his iron will that had stopped him from disgracing his brother further, or worse, running him through. Cadwaladr, on the other hand, once Owain had left, popped to his feet like a youth, even as four of Owain’s guards grasped him around the shoulders and turned him in the direction Owain had gone.

“You heard him,” Cadwaladr said to the trio as he passed them. “Go rescue Gwen.”

Christ!

Chapter Thirty-Five

“
W
hy don’t you just send Cadwaladr back to the Danes,” Hywel said. “This is his doing, isn’t it? All of it?”

Owain Gwynedd and Hywel stood together twenty feet away on the perimeter of the camp, illumined by the light of a flaming torch jammed into the ground. The light wavered in the wind that blew from the west and allowed their voices to carry to Gareth who halted in mid-stride at the corner of the last tent. He glanced around, but no one else was in evidence. He shrunk back into the shadows so as not to interrupt them.

“Make him find the money to pay the Danes or face the consequences,” Hywel continued. “He’ll bankrupt himself, but make
him
do it. If you don’t, he’ll blame you for his lack of fortune and lands. He’ll never take responsibility for his actions if you do this for him.”

King Owain sighed. “He is a prince of Wales, son. You should know, if one day you are to aid your brother in his rule of Wales, that I can’t allow the Danes to make free with him. He hasn’t the wherewithal to face them. He’s run from them now. When they discover how he deceived them, they’ll lay waste to half of Gwynedd before they go home. I preserve him because by doing so, I preserve my people.”

Silence
. And then Hywel asked the question that burned Gareth up inside. “Will you give him back his lands in Ceredigion?”

“And if I did, would you still do my bidding?” Owain Gwynedd said.

“Always,” Hywel said.

“That is why I will not,” King Owain said. “Ceredigion is yours.”

Hywel had been gazing out to sea, avoiding his father’s eyes, but now looked into Owain Gwynedd’s face. “Mine?”

“You’ve earned it,” Owain said. “It’s time you took your proper place as a prince of Wales.”

For once, King Owain had cut through Hywel’s façade of cynical unconcern. “Thank you, Father,” Hywel said. “You won’t be sorry for your trust in me.”

“I know it,” King Owain said. “Now get me that girl. I won’t have Ottar use her as a bargaining chip. Besides, my bard will never forgive me if you don’t.”

“Yes, sir!” Hywel said.

King Owain turned towards the center of the camp just as Rhun came trotting across the sand to his brother. Gareth decided it was safe to join them.

“Dawn is coming,” Rhun said.

“What are we to do?” Gareth came to a halt in front of Hywel, whose eyes were brighter than he’d ever seen them. “We don’t know where Gwen is being kept, or even if she’s being kept at all. Perhaps she’s still free, as she was when she was in Cadwaladr’s charge.”

“We’ll soon find out,” Hywel said. “If we’re to move, we have to do it soon. The moment King Ottar discovers Cadwaladr’s absence, he is going to be one very angry Dane.”

“The three of us need to rescue Gwen,” Rhun said. “Just us. Right now.”

Hywel studied his brother. “You are too valuable to lose.”

“That is why it must be we three,” Rhun said. “Even if he captures us, King Ottar will not harm us; he’s not harmed Gwen, at least as far as we know. He knows that the only way he’s getting out of here alive, at worst, or with his money, at best, is if he cooperates. Killing the son of Owain Gwynedd would ensure a massacre of his men and enduring enmity between Aber and Dublin. He won’t want that.”

“Prince Rhun is right, my lord,” Gareth said. “Even if King Ottar is angry now, he hasn’t killed Gwen. That would be wasteful and the Danes are a most practical people.”

“Then we’ll go as you said, brother, before the sun rises, and while they’re still in disarray from Cadwaladr’s defection,” Hywel said. “If we wait any longer, it will be too late.”

“They may be more alert than usual,” Gareth said.

“We’ll surprise them,” Hywel said. “They’ll be focused on Cadwaladr, not on Gwen.”

Rhun snapped his fingers at one of the sentries as the three men passed him, heading for the narrow path that led through the brush to the Danish camp. “Tell the king we do his bidding. He’ll know what to do if we don’t return.”

“Yes, my lord!”

With Hywel in the lead, Rhun behind him, and Gareth bringing up the rear, they dodged among the scrubby bushes that dotted the windswept dunes. Gareth understood that a recklessness had come upon the two princes. They’d fought battles together, risked their lives dozens of times—but this was a different matter. Gareth could picture the glee rising in Hywel’s chest at this sudden chance at adventure and risk.

A cluster of stunted trees had found a niche on the edge of the beach, some thirty yards from the Danish fire circles and command tents. They dropped to their stomachs in the grass under the branches and took a moment to catch their breath. Then, Rhun lifted his head.