The Unexpected Ally (20 page)

“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 impossibly 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.”

Hywel

T
he 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.

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.