The Good Knight (A Gareth and Gwen Medieval Mystery)

however, and her mouth tightened into a thin line. She forced herself to relax. What was done was done. She’d made her choice, as had Hywel. It would do her no good to think too hard about it.
    Hywel kissed Cristina on the cheek, and settled himself two seats from his father, whose chair stood in the center spot at the table. Prince Cadwaladr occupied the last chair on one end, as far from Hywel as he could get, and didn’t even look up. As Prince Hywel often reminded her, families were complicated.
    Gwen found a place against the back wall, behind and to the right of King Owain, which meant she was directly behind Rhun and just to the left of Hywel. The kitchen door was a few paces to her left. Owain Gwynedd kicked out his chair and stood in front of it, effectively blocking her view of half the hall and forcing her to peer around his bulk.
    Next to the king on his left, Cristina’s father, Lord Goronwy, twisted in his seat to look up at the king, while still holding tightly to his daughter’s hand. For all that Cristina had lived at Aber for the last six months, it wouldn’t have been proper for her to sit next to Owain at a formal dinner until after their marriage.
    Owain remained standing, waiting for the hall to settle. It didn’t take long for neighbor to nudge neighbor into silence. At least two hundred people filled the cavernous space, squashed cheek by jowl at the tables. Gwen watched the people who faced King Owain (all she could see of the king was his back). They represented every sector of Gwynedd, high and low: men in mail, leather, or padded cloth armor, or no armor at all, women in fine wool dresses, others in thick homespun, maids with long hair down their back, and old grannies with wispy curls.
    There was her father, scowling as always, his arms folded across his chest, though what concerned him today, Gwen didn’t know. Maybe he’d heard from Gwalchmai that Gareth had returned.
    And there was Gareth . He pushed through the front door and elbowed his way along the side wall. He must have washed, as his face was clean and his close-cropped hair wet. When Gwen had known him before, Gareth’s hair had been longer. She couldn’t decide which look she liked better.
    He hadn’t changed his clothes, however, and the mail underneath his travel-stained cloak glinted in the torchlight. When he reached her father’s position, Meilyr actually had the grace to stick out his hand, which Gareth shook. They spoke a few words before Gareth moved on. By some miracle, their exchange had been civil.
    Gareth edged further down the hall, making for her (Gwen hoped) or at least trying to get closer. Her heart warmed with every step he took. Although it wouldn’t be seemly for him to stand behind the high table or to wait on it with her, he deserved a seat above the salt if he could find a space to sit. He was a knight in Prince Hywel’s company after all.
    Waiting on the high table wasn’t usual for her either, but the serving girls had been run off their feet just keeping up with the lower tables this week, and today was the last feast before the wedding. Taran, King Owain’s steward, had hired more workers, but Cristina had asked specifically for Gwen to serve her. How could Gwen refuse her future queen?
    At the time, Gwen had been somewhat put out that Cristina would expect such a service from her, but now Gwen was glad, since it meant she’d taken special care with her appearance. Serving Cristina meant Gwen would have to spend the evening on the dais, and thus be visible to everyone in the hall. Knowing this, Cristina had given Gwen permission to wash in the bath room, with its elaborate tiles and sunken pool, a legacy of the Roman nobleman who had built his manor long ago on the very spot on which Aber now stood. Gwen wore her second-best dress which happened to be Gareth’s favorite color—a deep blue. She was saving her finest dress (which she actually liked less well) for the wedding tomorrow.
    The room quieted, and after an appropriate pause, Owain Gwynedd lifted his glass. Gareth halted, having advanced to a position thirty paces from Gwen. The servants had arranged the tables to leave a gap between the dais and the three long tables that stretched the length of the hall, parallel to each other and perpendicular to the high table.
    Gareth glanced at Gwen, his eyes lit with good humor and a smile. Several men of the garrison shifted to make room for him and he settled back against the