The Good Knight

by Sarah Woodbury

  Chapter Twelve

  “Gwenllian ferch Meilyr!”

  Gwen swung around to see her father and brother riding through the front gate of the castle. Her father rode a fine horse—finer than the one Gwen had ridden to Aber and equal in breeding to the lame stallion that he’d left at Dolwyddelan. Gwalchmai drove their cart, filled once again with their belongings rather than dead men, with her little pony on a leading rein behind. Gwen had expected her father and brother to arrive hours earlier, if not the day before. Though Gwen admitted to herself that she felt as if every hour without her father’s presence was a reprieve of sorts.

  “Welcome to Aber, Father,” she said, changing direction.

  As Gareth had suspected, the body in the stable had been that of the missing servant. Gwen had detected the scent of belladonna on a spot on her dress, indicating that she’d been the culprit, but who had paid her to poison Gareth—and precisely why—was as unknown as it had been before they started looking. That he’d had the wherewithal to act so quickly was disconcerting.

  With the fading of the afternoon, Hywel had told them to put aside their questioning of the inhabitants of Aber for now. Gwen had left Gareth asleep in the barracks with his friend Evan watching over him. Gareth hadn’t recovered from his brush with death. Although he’d protested that he could help, he would have been underfoot. She wanted to search the kitchen, garden, and surrounding grounds more thoroughly for belladonna without him—because whatever her feelings for him, and however much she wanted to be with him, there was no denying that he pressed on her, distracted her even, and it was time for some clear thinking.

  “I trust your investigation is progressing?” Meilyr brought his horse to a halt in front of her.

  Gwen canted her head and peered up at her father. That was an unusual—if not unheard of—question for him. Normally, he never inquired about her work. “Not so much that you’d notice. Though the day has been eventful in that we’ve lost one body and discovered another.”

  Meilyr grunted. “And the King?”

  Gwen smiled. Now she understood the roundabout way her father was speaking and the reason for his delay in coming to Aber. “King Owain has absorbed the news of Anarawd’s death. He supports our efforts to find his killer and has not hanged anyone for it yet, though he thought about it. Over the last two days, his temper has cooled.”

  Meilyr dismounted in the courtyard and straightened his robes while a stable boy ran to take the horse’s reins. “Have you spoken to him of me?” He kept his eyes on his own attire instead of on her.

  “No,” Gwen said. “Only to Hywel. You are expected, however, and a room prepared. Lord Taran, King Owain’s steward, asked me to direct you to him when you arrived.”

  Her father took in a breath and let it out with a sharp laugh. “I’m ready.” He turned to Gwalchmai. “Come here, boy.”

  They both wore worn but unpatched traveling clothes. They’d replace these with finery by evening when Gwalchmai would make his debut in the hall. Gwalchmai seemed to feel none of his father’s nervousness. Instead, his eyes glinted with what Gwen read as excitement.

  She turned to him, smiling. “Are you ready?”

  Gwalchmai went up on his toes and back down. “I am.”