The Good Knight (A Gareth and Gwen Medieval Mystery)

wall.
    “Welcome to you all.” King Owain raised his glass higher and the diners followed suit. Those without glasses, Gareth and Gwen among them, put a hand to their hearts. “Tomorrow, you will witness an event that has been a long time coming. Tomorrow, I will be joined forever with my beloved, Cristina.”
    At these words, Lord Goronwy stood to clasp King Owain’s forearm in an expression of solidarity. When King Owain released him, he moved to stand behind his daughter’s chair. Owain then reached across the space Goronwy had vacated and touched his glass to Cristina’s. They both drank, Cristina looking at King Owain over the rim of her cup with a smile in her eyes and on her lips.
    It was a smile Gwen had seen before, and one that she trusted just about as far as she could throw her soon-to-be queen. That Cristina cared primarily for herself was a certainty. That she saw marriage to King Owain as a pinnacle of achievement—which it would be for any woman—was unquestionable. Gwen wished her well. For all that Gwen was thankful to find herself in the good graces of both bride and groom, she wouldn’t have wished marriage to King Owain on anyone. For her part, Gwen had her hands full with a certain young knight.
    One of the serving men, a youth of less than twenty, came through the door to the kitchen with a tray of food to replenish the dishes at the tables. He stopped short at the solemnity of the diners and shifted from one foot to the other. Gwen didn’t know him—Aber’s steward had hired many men for the week whom she didn’t know—but she motioned for him to stand at the wall so as not to interrupt the ceremony. The man set his tray on a small table next to the door and took his place beside her. He dipped his head to Gwen. “Thanks.”
    Cristina and King Owain faced the room again and Goronwy retook his seat. Cristina tipped her head characteristically to one side as she gazed at her future subjects. From her relaxed shoulders and folded hands, Gwen could tell that she was pleased.
    King Owain put down his glass and spread his arms wide in an expansive gesture. “First, thanks to you all for coming to witness this blessed day. I would especially like to extend my appreciation to my long-time companions who will stand with me tomorrow: Lord Goronwy,” Owain dropped a hand to his friend’s shoulder, “Lord Taran, my brother Cadwaladr, and Lord Tomos, a true friend if there ever was one.” Taran, seated on Hywel’s right, raised his glass and both Cadwaladr and Tomos lifted a hand in acknowledgment of the King’s words.
    Gwen smiled as she recognized this final friend. Tomos was one of the few barons in the hall who was consistently polite to all, baseborn, royal, or somewhere in between. He nodded to the king from his seat one down from Cristina.
    The crowd in the hall raised their glasses and everyone drank. Before the noise level could rise, King Owain lifted his hands again. “Tonight I also wish to announce the first of many gifts to my bride.”
    Cristina’s head whipped around so fast to look at the king it was a wonder she didn’t strain herself. And then she recovered, facing forward and straightening in her seat. She hadn’t known the time had come for gift-giving, for all that Owain must have made her and her family promises when Lord Goronwy signed the papers of betrothal.
    King Owain continued his announcement: “The moment we are wed, I bestow upon Cristina ferch Goronwy my estate of Rhuddlan in the cantref of Tegeingl. It once belonged to her grandfather and it is my pleasure to return it to her family. Many thanks to my friend, Lord Tomos, who has kept it well these many years.”
    King Owain lifted his glass in the direction of Tomos. What King Owain didn’t say, and this was why the Church was opposed to his wedding, was that Cristina’s grandfather was also Owain’s grandfather, and the man for whom he was named. His mother (who had died last spring) and Cristina’s father had been siblings.
    The control of Rhuddlan was a plum appointment, one that Tomos had to regret losing. Cristina, when she took over the estate, would want to bestow the stewardship of it on someone of her own choosing, probably a family member. Such was the way of kingly largess. Gwen wouldn’t have expected Tomos to cheer at this announcement, but as he raised his glass to Owain, a huge smile spread across his face. Then King Owain explained the reason for Tomos’ pleasure: “In