The Uninvited Guest

by Sarah Woodbury

  Gwen sighed. “Prince Cadwaladr, don’t you think?”

  Chapter Eleven

  King Owain, however, had other plans—for himself, for his brother, and for any of the men at Aber who’d been chafing to escape the castle.

  Because that was what he was doing: escaping.

  By the time Gareth and Hywel had finished examining the body and arranged for it to be prepared for burial, and Gwen had come back from speaking with Goronwy, King Owain had gathered fifty men in the courtyard. A man hunt was in the works.

  Hywel stood at his father’s stirrup, Gareth just behind him. “You can’t be serious, Father!”

  “I am. I cannot stay penned up another hour.”

  Hywel lowered his voice. “Someone is trying to kill you.”

  “All the more reason to find this assassin,” King Owain said. “And if we get to shoot a deer or two along the way, so much the better. We have people to feed.”

  “At least wait for Gareth and me to ready ourselves!” Hywel said. “We must come with you.”

  “Then you’d better hurry!”

  Hywel and Gareth headed for the barracks, certain that King Owain would be as good as his word and leave without them. “If my father weren’t so damn stubborn …” Hywel muttered the words as they reached the storage room where they would find their armor and polearms. They wore their swords already but would have to outfit themselves again from head to foot in order to be properly arrayed to ride from the castle.

  Gareth couldn’t blame the king for taking advantage of the opportunity to leave Aber. The castle had begun to feel constricting even to Gareth. To King Owain, against whom these deaths had to be directed (at least in part), it must have become stifling.

  Gareth stopped Evan as he was leaving the barracks. “We’ll need our horses saddled and ready to go with the king. Will you see to it? I’m afraid King Owain is going to leave before we’re ready.”

  “Of course.” Evan clapped a hand on Gareth’s shoulder. “It’s a change to have him rely on you, eh?”

  Gareth snorted a laugh. “Better than spending three days in a cell, that’s for certain.”

  Evan shook his head. “That will never happen again. You’re like the new stone curtain wall that King Owain has put up around Aber: inviolable.”

  Hywel had already entered the armor room, but Gareth hesitated in the doorway. “What do you mean?”

  “Three different lords accused you of murdering King Anarawd, Owain Gwynedd among them. Never mind that it was clear from the start you didn’t do it. Because you were accused and found not guilty, nobody will ever lock you up again.”

  “I wouldn’t say tha—”

  “Think about it.” Evan’s tone was that of a man convinced. “You stood up to them all and were proved right. You could be found standing over a body with a bloody knife in your hand, and still nobody would believe you’d done the deed.”

  Which, now that Gareth thought about it, was about as good an outcome of the incident last summer as he could have imagined. That and Gwen had become his. The image of her as he’d seen her on the beach at Abermenai grew bright in his mind: her freckled nose and sun-kissed cheeks from her recent sea voyage, her deep brown eyes in which a man could lose himself forever. At the time, Gwen’s long hair had come loose from the chignon at the back of her head and hung down her back. He’d threaded his fingers through it as he’d kissed her goodbye.

  Evan jerked his head towards the courtyard. “I’ll watch the king’s back until you catch up.” He left.

  “This is so like him!” Hywel stood in front of Gareth wearing a helmet and breeches and nothing else.

  “What do you mean?” Gareth threw open the trunk that contained Hywel’s armor.

  “Do you want to know what’s really going on?” Hywel ripped off the helm he’d just put on and tossed it in a corner. “My father sent out scouts a week ago, looking for sign of a boar he could hunt, and it just so happens that they returned this morning with a report of a nest to the southwest of Aber. Is this a man hunt or a boar hunt?”

  “You can’t blame him for wanting to leave the castle,” Gareth said.

  “We don’t know who paid the boy to kill him. We don’t even have any leads! And he’s going to leave himself vulnerable, out in the open? Or leave the killer at the castle to cause more trouble?”

  “Your father hopes it begins and ends with the boy,” Gareth said, not sure why he was defending King Owain to Hywel. “He has lived with the threat of assassination for so long, he misjudges its intensity.”

  “What does he think? That the youth stumbled into Aber on a whim? Someone paid him to kill my father! We could ride all the way to the fort at Caerhun today and not find him, even with fifty men searching. If he had help, he could be past the Conwy River by now. Or hiding in a cave in Arfon.”

  “Let me help with that.” Gwen entered the room at a trot, just as Gareth finished wrestling himself into the padded shirt he wore under his armor. He’d been hoping not to wear it again for a few more days at least. She’d brought two squires with her, and they immediately went to assist Hywel.

  “You’ll have to do what you can while we’re gone,” Hywel said to Gwen as a squire buckled a bracer around his forearm. “Gareth and I are going to waste the whole rest of the day. We’ll be lucky to return by dark.”

  “All of our suspects are going with King Owain, though, aren’t they?” Gwen said. “Prince Cadwaladr mounted his horse a moment ago with Taran beside him.”

  “Along with a dozen other barons, any of whom might have murdered Enid,” Hywel said.

  Gareth glanced at his prince. He’d never seen him more irritated. Hywel was genuinely worried about his father. Gareth looked down at Gwen. “Talk to anyone you can think of who might get us further down the road to catching our murderer.”

  “Search everyone’s room if you have to,” Hywel said. “I don’t care who they are.”

  Gareth glanced at Hywel, glad to have him lift a restriction that had hampered them in their quest for Anarawd’s murderer last summer. “Who’s to say our killer didn’t hide the assassin’s body inside the castle, somewhere that hasn’t been discovered yet? The linen closet and the bath room were excellent choices. We knew about Enid’s death so quickly only because of the activities of Cristina and her women.”

  “Get Cristina to help you,” Hywel said. “She’s always good for this sort of thing.”

  That prompted a smirk from Gwen, who hadn’t objected to their barrage of instructions. “Stay safe, you.” She wrapped her arms around Gareth’s waist.

  His arms were tight around her. He’d touched her and held her—even kissed her—half a dozen times today. Gareth was looking forward to many more similar instances. He rubbed her back and then she released him.

  “I’ll do my best,” Gwen said.

  Gareth and Hywel left the barracks just as the last of the hunters rode underneath the gatehouse. Fortunately, Evan had been as good as his word and their horses waited for them.

  Gareth swung himself onto Braith. He glanced towards the dozen men of the garrison who would remain behind. They clustered on the battlements and at the entrance to the great hall.

  “Which way did the King ride?” he said.

  Alun stood next to a fellow named Rhys, who last summer had ridden with Gareth, Hywel, and Prince Rhun to Aberffraw to rescue Gwen. Aber Castle, at least, would remain well-manned in their absence.

  “West!” Alun said.

  Gareth lifted a hand to his friend. Other men had ridden east and south, forming a ring extending outward from the castle.

  Hywel rolled his eyes. “I said he would ride west. And did you note that my father and many of the men with him were carrying spears, not lances? It’s a boar hunt, I tell you.”

  Gareth shook his head at the vagaries of kings, and then he and Hywel rode under the gatehouse, down the slope from Aber, and turned west onto the road to Bangor. They could see the tail end of the king’s company a qu
arter of a mile ahead. Some of the tension in Gareth eased. It was a fine winter day, he knew the area well, and he and Hywel were in no danger of losing the king’s party if it turned off the main road and headed into the forested mountains to the southwest of Aber.

  “My lord, tell me what you have been reluctant to mention about our assassin,” Gareth said. It came out more like an order than a request, but Hywel only glanced at him and grunted under his breath.

  “I was wondering when you would bring that up again.”

  “So you do know him?”

  “Maybe.”

  Gareth groaned inwardly. Did his lord have to make this so difficult, especially after all that had happened? “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  Hywel shifted in the saddle. “It means maybe, but given all that has happened, and that I’m only speaking to you, I won’t keep this to myself any longer … do you remember the story I told you about my first assignment from my father when I was fourteen?”

  “You burned the holding of one of his knights who’d rebelled against him,” Gareth said.

  “Who’d defied him, more like,” Hywel said. “I still don’t understand what the man was thinking, but I did as my father asked. Afterwards, having lost everything but what he stood up in, the man took his family south. My father kept track of him. A few months later, the man died of a fever. End of story.”

  “Except …”

  Hywel sighed. “Except, if I’m not mistaken, our assassin is that man’s son.”

  Even with the foreshadowing, Gareth hadn’t been expecting that. “Do you have a name?”

  “For the boy?” Hywel shook his head. “No. The father was Marc ap Iefan.”

  Gareth grunted. “Biblical.”

  “There’s irony for you,” Hywel said.

  “I can see why you didn’t want to say anything unless you were sure,” Gareth said. “I gather you haven’t mentioned this to your father?”

  “No,” Hywel said. “And I won’t, at least until we have the boy back in our hands. It would unlink the assassination attempt from our murders, however.”

  “Maybe,” Gareth said. “Unless, in failing to kill your father, the youth unleashed his rage on an innocent girl.”

  “Not so innocent,” Hywel said. “Remember the poppy juice? Enid was up to something last night that got her killed.”

  “What if Enid’s task was to dose the guards and free the boy?” Gareth said. “He killed her in order to cover his tracks.”

  “That’s all very well and good, but what about Ieuan?” Hywel said. “The assassin was in the cell when Ieuan died. And then there’s Lord Goronwy. Why did the assassin care about him at all?”

  “Because Goronwy was guarding King Owain’s door,” Gareth said.

  “Right,” Hywel said. “I knew we could come around to my father’s life if we thought hard enough.”

  “By putting Goronwy to sleep, the assassin got him out of the way,” Gareth said. “After the boy killed Enid and stuffed her into the trunk, he …”

  “Exactly,” Hywel said. “He did nothing.”

  “He left Aber, even though the king’s door was unguarded,” Gareth said. “Why did your father survive the night unharmed?”

  “It all comes back to Enid,” Gareth said.

  “And Enid is dead.” Hywel shot Gareth a grin. Their back and forth speculating about the murder seemed to have cheered him considerably. “But we’re not dead and as long as that is the case, we’ll keep asking questions!” He spurred his horse and after another few yards, caught up with the king’s party.

  They’d reached a crossroads where three paths diverged. One led northwest, to Bangor, another due west, to Caernarfon, and a third went southwest, into the upland woods. With a flick of his hand, King Owain assigned a dozen men to each avenue, with him choosing the upland route that would take them southwest, into the mountains. If boar hunting was really on the agenda as Hywel had predicted, this was the best place to start.

  “We spread out!” the King said.

  His followers obeyed, taking to the woods on either side of the road and positioning themselves a hundred feet apart. Gareth moved forward at a steady pace but hung back with Hywel. He didn’t really think the assassin would have gone to ground in such a remote spot. If Gareth had tried to murder King Owain, he would have run east, just as quickly as possible.

  “We have too many suspects.” Hywel lifted his chin to indicate his father’s companions, who included Cadwaladr and Taran. Gareth was glad to see Rhun sticking close to his father’s side too.

  As the woods thickened, Gareth found himself losing track of the comings and goings of his companions. Due to the heavy undergrowth, Hywel had moved thirty yards away. Braith was putting her hooves down carefully to avoid unseen holes, and skirting fallen logs and grassy hillocks. He didn’t want to hurry her.

  Up ahead men raised their voices, calling to one another. Suddenly, King Owain gave a roar of approval, though Gareth couldn’t see the men ahead of them because of the screen of trees between them and him. “What’s he doing?” Gareth said.

  Hywel brought his horse closer to Gareth’s. “Let’s circle around to the left. We need to get closer.”

  Gareth followed. They picked their way through heavy vegetation, so thickly overgrown in places that Gareth considered dismounting. Hywel, however, would have none of it. “This way!”

  They hadn’t ridden more than a quarter of a mile before Hywel proved he had a nose for this sort of thing. He and Gareth came out of the woods and into hillier terrain, well above the rest of the hunters. They moved in pockets below them, the bright colors of their tunics a contrast to their dark cloaks, and easily visible among the mostly leafless trees and winter vegetation. Gareth’s new position gave him a vantage point that looked over the woodland to the gray sea, a dozen miles to the north.

  “What are you doing here?”

  Gareth twisted in his saddle to see Prince Cadwaladr riding towards them from the west, flanked by two of his men.

  Gareth had no desire to say even two words to Cadwaladr. Fortunately, Hywel moved his horse to intercept his uncle. “Keeping an eye on things—and on my father. And you?”

  “The same,” Cadwaladr said. “Owain is behaving recklessly by riding out today.”

  Gareth blinked at that. Cadwaladr’s tone suggested that he actually cared about someone other than himself. Either that, or this was a ploy to support the idea that he had nothing to do with the attempted murder of his brother.

  “Then, I suggest we keep him safe, Uncle,” Hywel said.

  Hywel and Cadwaladr urged their horses back down the hill to the woodland, followed by Cadwaladr’s men, though not before each eyed Gareth warily. Gareth let them get ahead of him, keeping to his watch. William Rufus, a King of England, had died from a stray arrow while hunting with his men.

  Once under the trees, Gareth couldn’t miss Owain Gwynedd. Taller than all but a few of his men, he had dismounted and stood with bared head and hefted spear in a circle of twenty men. Goddamn it! Hywel had been right. So much for the man hunt. King Owain had found himself a boar.

  Gareth hated boar hunts. Enough men died from battle without losing lives and limbs in the service of hunting a two hundred pound angry pig. The circle of men faced a clump of bushes from which grunting noises came. The barking of the dogs rose to a cacophony and Gareth reined in Braith two dozen yards away. If the boar got loose from the circle of men, he didn’t want either his horse, or himself, gored.

  “I pegged you for a hunter, not an onlooker.” The voice came low from Gareth’s left and he turned to see Lord Tomos, Rhuddlan’s steward, gazing speculatively at the scene before them.

  “I’m not here to hunt boar,” Gareth said.

  Tomos glanced at Gareth, amusement in his face. “Others have spoken of you today.”

  Gareth allowed his face to freeze into a polite mask. If Tomos had spent any time with Cadwaladr, he’d have heard an earful.

  At G
areth’s silence, Tomos tsked through his teeth. “After your endeavors last night, you’re worried what people might say of you? No one in the hall but you had the skill and the instincts to save the king. I assure you, the only topic under discussion is your quick thinking and your efforts now to bring Enid’s killer to justice.”

  “I’m very pleased to hear that,” Gareth said. “Do you have any thoughts that might bring this investigation to a conclusion?”

  “One name rises to the surface.” Tomos gestured with one hand to where Cadwaladr had dismounted to stand beside King Owain. “Prince Rhun spoke to me of your exploits last summer. Not everyone could have faced down the king’s brother and lived.”

  Gareth felt himself relax, if just a little, and bowed slightly in Tomos’ direction. “It wouldn’t be appropriate for me to speak of those events, but thank you.”

  Tomos leaned closer. “We are all worried for the king’s safety. If there is anything I can do—anything at all—to help in your investigation, please don’t hesitate to ask me.” Tomos straightened.

  “There is one thing,” Gareth said.

  Tomos turned to him, a flash of surprise in his eyes before he mastered it. Gareth got the impression that Tomos’ offer was for form’s sake only and he hadn’t expected Gareth to take him up on it.

  “Yes?” Tomos said.

  “When you arrived outside King Owain’s door last night and found Lord Goronwy gone, what did you think?”

  Tomos heaved a sigh. “I was wondering if one of you would ask me that. I thought nothing of it, in truth.” He shrugged. “Goronwy is a great friend, but not the most reliable, truth be told.”

  “So you assumed he’d given up and gone to bed without finishing his watch?” Gareth said.

  “That’s it exactly,” Tomos said. “I did my duty and was waiting for Cadwaladr to relieve me when Cristina discovered her ruined dress.” As Tomos finished his sentence, he stood in his stirrups, his attention caught by the hunt. He pointed. “Here it comes!”