The Uninvited Guest

by Sarah Woodbury

  “No one is saying any such thing.” Meilyr patted Gwen’s hand, actually smiling. “I meant that if Gareth continues to impress King Owain as he has, he will accept him into his teulu. What a promotion that would be!”

  Gwen didn’t know how to respond to that. If Gareth served King Owain directly, and Gwen married Gareth, then she and Gareth would stay at Aber Castle. Did her father really want that? Thinking of Meilyr as a person, with thoughts and feelings and trials of his own, as he’d expressed more and more over the last few months, confused her. It had been easier when she felt free to despise her father, to want nothing more than never to see him again.

  She tried not to let her thoughts cross her face, but when she didn’t answer him, her father gave an embarrassed laugh and patted her hand again. “Let’s sing.”

  Gwen trailed to the front of the hall after her father, obeying him as she usually did but in no mood to sing. Gwalchmai was young enough that the threat to the king wouldn’t be at the forefront of his mind longer than an hour, but it was all Gwen could think about.

  Fortunately, the song her father chose for her and Gwalchmai was one she could perform in her sleep. As their intertwined sopranos filled the hall, she studied the onlookers’ faces. Which one of you paid the youth to murder the king? Was it Cadwaladr as she couldn’t help suspecting? Or did they have yet another traitor in their midst?

  Near the end of her brief solo, Hywel, Gareth, and Taran stepped through the doorway that led from Hywel’s office. They made their way to the dais and consulted with the king. Gwen wished the song was over, so she could be with them and know what they were saying, but she held her note and smiled, and pretended all was well, as King Owain wanted. After a moment, the three men bowed and turned away. Gareth lifted a hand to Gwen as he waited beside Hywel for the song to finish, but Taran disappeared into the far corridor. It was almost as if he’d fled.

  Hywel, a poet himself, tapped his foot in time to the beat of Meilyr’s drum, but it was an impatient tapping. The moment Gwen sang her last note, he held up one finger—much as his father had—and pointed at the front door of the hall. Gwen went gladly, with hardly a glance at her father, who scowled but didn’t stop her. She wended her way to where Hywel waited, and once she reached him and Gareth, Hywel urged them both outside into the cold. He halted only when they reached the shadows beyond the stairs where nobody could overhear them.

  Tension emanated from both men. They hunched their shoulders, more than was necessary to stave off the cold night air.

  “What is it?” Gwen said. “And what was wrong with Taran that he left the hall in such a hurry?”

  “Our failed assassin fingered Taran as the man who hired him,” Gareth said.

  “What?” Gwen said. “That’s ridiculous!”

  Hywel made a maybe motion with his head, rocking it from side to side. “I’m inclined to agree, but the boy was very sure.”

  “He would have to be, of course, in order to deflect attention from himself,” Gareth said. “It would wrap this whole problem up nice and tidily to have the case solved before bedtime.”

  Gwen gazed into the middle distance and shook her head. “It’s far too early to decide one way or another. What did Taran have to say for himself?”

  “He denied everything, of course,” Hywel said.

  “The kitchen staff know nothing,” Gareth said. “The man comported himself well up until the moment he attacked your father.”

  “Taran himself admits he hired the man,” Hywel said.

  “Did Taran notice anything about the boy that could help us discover his origin—did he walk to Aber or ride? Did he spend time with any of the other servants?”

  Gareth and Hywel glanced at each other and Hywel snorted in disgust. “We didn’t ask him those questions.”

  Gwen laughed. “Let me be the one to talk to him the next time I see him. He might be less guarded with me.”

  “Taran was sweating,” Gareth said. “Buckets.”

  “I like Taran,” Gwen said.

  Gareth laughed.

  “Do we have anything else to go on?” Gwen said. “How can we believe the words spoken by a boy who tried to kill the King of Gwynedd?”

  “It would be easier if someone had noticed something odd about the boy,” Gareth said.

  “I didn’t,” Gwen said. “I didn’t even notice his knife—and if I had, what would I have thought of it? Nothing, probably. Every man, woman, and child in the hall carries a knife—to eat with if nothing else.”

  “With all the comings and goings in and out of the kitchen, the guards were more focused on keeping an eye on the food tasters and the food,” Gareth said.

  Hywel scoffed again. “Aber is a hotbed of gossip and rumor, but when it comes to something important, those same gossip-mongers are blind.”

  “We already know how this goes. He was hired by someone else, who’s hardly going to own to it. But you know …” Gwen hesitated as she thought some more. “Remember what happened to Gareth last time? Should we fear more for the life of the boy in that cell at this moment than for anyone at Aber, including the king?”

  “I have him well protected,” Hywel said. “I hope.”

  “I assume you told the king what the boy said?” Gwen said. “That’s why Taran ran off so quickly.”

  “Taran has sworn to remain within the confines of the castle until we can absolve him of any wrong doing,” Gareth said. “And as a small consolation, that is no different than what King Owain has asked of everyone. Nobody is to enter or leave without permission. Not until we have more information.”

  “Which we are unlikely to get as long as our assassin insists that Taran paid him,” Gwen said. “In addition, you keep calling him ‘the boy’. He hasn’t told you his name?”

  “He says he doesn’t know it,” Gareth said.

  “He can accuse Taran but not remember his own name?” Gwen said. “He’s lying.”

  “At first he said he couldn’t remember why he’d come to Aber,” Gareth said, “or even that he was at Aber. But that was before he realized I wasn’t buying his act.”

  “You put his back to the wall, Gareth,” Hywel said. “He saw his life flash before his eyes and knew he had to come up with something to ensure we’d keep him alive a while longer.”

  “How many other people heard him accuse Taran?” Gwen said.

  “Alun and Rhys were standing guard outside the room,” Gareth said. “I spoke to them, and they should keep it a secret, but …”

  “Secrets are hard to keep at Aber,” Gwen said. “So the real question is who is he protecting and why? Surely, he knows that he will hang as easily for trying to kill the king as if he’d succeeded. Why not take his master down with him?”

  Gareth folded his arms across his chest. “Who’s going to say what we’re all thinking?”

  “I would prefer it if nobody did,” Hywel said. “I benefitted from his downfall. It would be unwise for me to be even in the same room with him just now.”

  Gwen waved a hand. “You don’t need to worry. Your father has already brought it up. He asked that if we suspect Prince Cadwaladr of wrongdoing in this matter, we tell him immediately and present whatever evidence we have, however flimsy. He doesn’t want to be surprised this time.”

  The door to the hall at the top of the stairs swung open and a long square of light shone on the hard-packed earth of the courtyard. Prince Rhun and Lord Tomos, the soon-to-be owner of Nefyn, leaned on each other as they staggered down the steps arm-in-arm, both having had a bit too much to drink. It wasn’t every day the king survived a brush with death in his own hall. That and his wedding tomorrow were something to celebrate.

  Rhun clapped his brother on the shoulder. “What are you three doing here, hiding in the dark?”

  “Just talking,” Hywel said. “It’s too hot and noisy in the hall.”

  “Tomos has been giving me suggestions as to how to make my estate in Penllyn more profitable.” Rhun’s words slurred at the
start of his sentence and then straightened out. He was trying very hard to articulate clearly.

  Hywel clasped Tomos’ hand. “Perhaps later you could counsel me on my new holdings in Ceredigion, Tomos.”

  “It would be my pleasure, my lord.” Tomos bowed grandly to Hywel, and then he and Rhun weaved their way across the courtyard towards the barracks, arms around each other’s shoulders, at first humming, and then singing the chorus of the song Gwen’s family had just sung.

  Hywel turned back to Gareth and Gwen, all business. “We won’t get anything further done tonight, not with the mead flowing.”

  “There’s one more thing, my lord,” Gwen said. “I was hoping Taran would mention it to you, but I see he hasn’t.”

  Hywel’s eyes narrowed and his voice was wary. “What is it?”

  “This isn’t the first … uh … evening to have gone wrong,” Gwen said. “Nor the first attempt on your father’s life.”

  “It isn’t?” Gareth said.

  Hywel stared at her, aghast. “When?”

  “One incident occurred just after you left for Ceredigion, my lord. The king was riding in the company of his men when an arrow flew from a stand of trees two hundred yards away and narrowly missed him. I wasn’t there, of course, but Alun reports that it skimmed the top of the king’s shoulder before lodging in a tree on the other side of the road. His men charged into the woods after the archer, but …”

  “But found nothing,” Hywel said.

  Gwen shrugged. “King Owain’s men hunted all around and found what Alun said was the vantage point from which the archer had shot. He was up in a tree.”

  “Yet, long gone by the time the king’s men arrived,” Gareth said. “That is the curse and the blessing of ruling a country in which the bow is the weapon of choice for peasants and lords alike.”

  “It could have been a hunter’s arrow that went astray,” Hywel said.

  “That’s what King Owain said,” Gwen said.

  Hywel sighed. “And the other incidents?”

  “Closer to home but even less definitive,” Gwen said. “The king slipped on wet tiles upon entering the bath room. He crashed to the floor and skidded towards the steps that lead down into the bath itself.”

  “If he’d hit his head, he could have died from the impact!” Hywel said. “Or if the bath had already been filled, even drowned in the water if he didn’t regain consciousness.”

  Gareth blew on his hands and rubbed them together to warm them. “How could the culprit have known that the king would be the first one in the bath room that morning? He could have hurt anyone.”

  Gwen shrugged. “King Owain is a man of habit, and his habits are well known.”

  “That could have been an accident too,” Hywel said.

  “We all thought so,” Gwen said. “But from the first, something seemed strange about it. Why were the tiles wet at the entrance to the bath, and not around the pool?”

  “Simple,” Gareth said. “A servant had cleaned them that morning and left them to dry, not realizing there wouldn’t be enough time before the king entered the room.”

  “I asked the servants, believe me I did. They told me that the bath room had been cleaned the night before, in preparation for turning on the fires in the morning,” Gwen said. “If anybody had been in there for another reason, they wouldn’t admit to it.”

  “Of course not,” Hywel said.

  “I might as well tell you, since you’ll find out soon enough, that the servants are whispering among themselves. They say weddings at Aber are cursed,” Gwen said. “The other day, I caught Taran removing a weaving of fronds that someone had tacked above the door to the kitchen. For protection.”

  Hywel gazed towards Aber’s towers, watching the two guards on duty pace the battlements. Then he shook himself. “My father should have told me about this, especially about the arrow.”

  “He dismissed it, as he has dismissed everything that might hinder the wedding,” Gwen said. “If the Church couldn’t stop him from marrying Cristina, an archer certainly wouldn’t.”

  “When was the incident with the bath?” Hywel said.

  “Last week,” Gwen said.

  “Last week.” Hywel kept his face expressionless, as was his wont when his mind churned with bad news. “I will speak to my father of it. You two get some sleep. I’ll see you in the morning.”

  “Yes, my lord,” Gareth said. Gwen curtseyed.

  Hywel headed up the stairs to the hall and disappeared back inside. Gwen found Gareth’s eyes, and then his hands, on her.

  “I missed you,” he said.

  Gwen slipped her arms around his neck. “I missed you too.” In the courtyard when he’d first arrived at Aber, Gwen had pecked Gareth on the cheek in greeting. This time, the kiss Gwen gave Gareth was a real one, which he deepened as he pressed her to him.

  The door at the top of the stairs banged open. Gareth and Gwen jumped apart, and then both laughed when Hywel poked his nose around the frame.

  “Get to bed, Gwen.”

  “Yes, my lord,” Gwen said.

  Gareth saluted. Then he bent his head to Gwen. “He’s meddling.”

  “He can’t help it,” Gwen said. Hywel wasn’t her father, but Gwen eased her hand out of Gareth’s anyway. “I should go.”

  “I still want to hear what you have to say about the events of last summer,” Gareth said.

  “I want to tell you, too.” The story was on the tip of Gwen’s tongue, but she shook her head. “Now isn’t the time. It can wait.” She slipped away.

  Gwen entered the corridor that went past Hywel’s office and headed for the stairs to the second floor. Her pallet lay in one corner of the room where the maidens of the court slept (those who were not in the wedding party). As she approached the door, Anna, a young woman of fourteen whose father served in the king’s teulu, stepped through it.

  “Oh Gwen! Did you hear?” Anna said.

  “Hear what?”

  Anna leaned close and lowered her voice, though she couldn’t temper the excitement in it. “One of the servants slipped in the bath room and fell. He’s dead!”

  Gwen did not want to hear this. Not now. Not when they’d just been discussing King Owain’s brush with death in a similar incident. “Which servant?”

  Anna was practically dancing with the news. “Ieaun, I think. He worked in the kitchen. Does it matter? It’s all part of the curse!”

  “You must not speak of such things, Anna ferch Gruffydd!” One of the matrons of the court, Lady Jane, bustled towards them from the garderobe at the end of the hallway. “There is no curse.”

  “But there is!” Anna could not be stopped. “One of the housekeepers told me all about it. And when I saw a raven perched atop the flagpole this morning, I knew!”

  Gwen spun on her heel and headed for the staircase. Half-way down, she met Hywel coming up. He peered past her to the two women who remained in the corridor. At a wave of his hand, Lady Jane urged Anna back into the sleeping chamber.

  “You’ve heard?” Hywel said.

  “A servant is dead?” Gwen said.

  Hywel canted his head. “I examined him—cursorily, I admit—but it looks like he slipped and fell. It was a long enough drop to the bottom of the bath to kill him.”

  A burst of laughter came from the hall. A few hours remained before midnight, so the tables were still full. “Nothing we need to worry about, then?” Gwen said.

  “Not tonight, leastways,” Hwyel said. “Go to bed.” He backed down a step, but Gwen touched his shoulder to stop him before he turned away.

  “This is only going to make the rumors worse, you know,” she said.

  Hywel grimaced. “I know. At what time is the wedding planned for tomorrow?”

  “Early afternoon,” Gwen said. “With a feast after.”

  Hywel fisted a hand and slapped it into his palm. “We just have to get through one more day.”

  Chapter Five

  “EEEEEEEEEEEEE.”

&n
bsp; As the long wail faded into choking sobs, Gwen shot up from her pallet, staring wildly around the room. Although it was early morning, the fire still spit and smoldered in its hearth, having been stoked sometime in the night. Its light illumined half the room and reflected off the faces of the other girls. Several had wakened too. Anna rubbed her eyes and queried her neighbor. Gwen got to her feet.

  “What do you think it is, Gwen?” Anna swept her hair out of her face.

  “I’ll find out.” Although it meant taking extra time, Gwen tugged her dress over her shift. She tied the front laces as she slipped into her shoes, and then grabbed her cloak. She knew by now that entering the corridor outside her room in a state of undress in the middle of a crisis was a bad idea.

  She poked her head into the passage and then followed the babble of voices to a doorway three doors down. It opened into a space that was more of a cupboard than a room, twelve feet long by eight wide, deep and narrow. Instead of a bed, it contained shelving and trunks piled with linens. Cristina sat on a stool near the door, her body folded in half and her arms around her waist. Three other women who belonged to the wedding party crowded into the small space.

  As she entered, Gwen’s hand went to her mouth. Cristina’s wedding dress was draped over one of the trunks that sat against the back wall. Long rents had been made in the fabric, the trim at the bosom and wrists had been torn off, and the fine lacing up the front had been ripped out. One look at the other wide-eyed women in the room had Gwen shaking off her dismay to crouch beside Cristina.

  “My lady, I’m so sorry!” She risked putting an arm around her future queen’s shoulders.

  Gwen could understand Cristina’s horror, but found herself swallowing down a laugh. After all, nobody was dead. Still, the curse that Anna had spoken of had to be at the forefront of everyone’s mind, though to Gwen’s mind, this wasn’t a result of a curse but a deliberate, spiteful act. Someone had ruined Cristina’s dress on purpose. It wasn’t as if it had become torn all by itself.