The Good Knight (A Gareth and Gwen Medieval Mystery)

back, though Gareth hadn’t felt it at the time.
    Gwen wrapped her arms around Gareth’s waist and rested her head on his chest. Gareth responded to her touch, pressing his cheek onto the top of her head. Her hair smelled of apple blossoms.
    Hywel touched his father’s sleeve. “No one should leave the castle without your permission, Father.”
    Rhun nodded. “We don’t know if the boy was working alone or with another. I agree—”
    Owain held up his hand to stop his sons from speaking further. “Get this man out of here. We will talk after you learn what you can from him.”
    “Yes, Father,” Hywel said. The king’s words were meant more for him than for Rhun.
    Two of King Owain’s men grasped the would-be assassin by the arms and hauled him to his feet, his arms wrenched behind his back. He’d done a good job of feigning unconsciousness all this time, but Gareth’s first instincts were correct. The boy couldn’t maintain the ruse once on his feet. He stood before them, shaking and blinking rapidly. He did weave, however, and the two soldiers who held him tightened their grip in order to keep him upright.
    Hywel jerked his head towards the rear of the hall and the guardsmen responded by dragging the boy through the doorway to the side corridor and its less public exit. Gareth still held Gwen’s waist. He bent his head to speak to her but she put a finger to his lips. “I know what you want. You don’t even have to say it.”
    Gareth did anyway. “Hywel and I will question him. I don’t want you there for it.”
    Gwen nodded, for once subdued (which Gareth tried not to read too much into). “I will stay here and keep an eye on the king—and his guests.” She threaded her fingers through Gareth’s.
    “Start asking questions of those in the hall, the best you can,” Hywel said. “So close to the incident, we might get some unguarded responses.”
    Gareth kissed Gwen’s forehead and released her. Without looking back, he and Hywel followed the guards into the corridor, past Hywel’s office, and then out the side door. It was a way to reach Aber’s courtyard without having to walk the length of the great hall. Rhun, as the elding and Owain’s right hand man, stayed behind to support the king.
    Once outside, the wind whipped Gareth’s cloak from his body and brought a wash of rain to his face. It revived him after the warmth and close confines of the hall. At the same time, the cold air stiffened his overworked muscles. He rubbed at his shoulders and neck with one hand to loosen them.
    “My father lives every day with the threat of death.” Hywel stalked towards the stables, his chin out. “He has a food taster who samples every dish before it is brought to the high table, a steward who makes it his business to know everyone who enters Aber, and guards to watch over him night and day. How could this happen?”
    “Because for all that, it’s impossible to keep anyone completely safe,” Gareth said. “He has to see his people and to be seen among them. He can’t do that from behind a wall any higher than Aber’s. Besides, it’s his wedding day tomorrow. He has to show the world that he believes in what he is doing, which means inviting everyone around to witness it.”
    “Damn priests,” Hywel said. “They should keep their nose out of private business.”
    “Not all of them are bad,” Gareth said. “You can be grateful their reach extends only so far. Cristina is your father’s cousin and thus forbidden to him in their eyes. But they can’t prevent him from marrying her. They have more power over the King of England than they do over the King of Gwynedd.”
    “So I’m to be grateful for small mercies, is that it?” Hywel shot Gareth a twisted grin. “What my father really should do is get rid of my uncle Cadwaladr.”
    “And yet he’s done exactly the opposite,” Gareth said. “He might be regretting that, just now.”
    Hywel caught Gareth’s arm and pulled him closer. “What are the odds that my uncle is behind this?”
    Gareth chewed on his lip. “I’m not the one to ask and you know it. But even objectively, he’s a likely candidate. He planned the murder of King Anarawd only last summer. He brought an army of Danes to Gwynedd. Is it a stretch to think that he could plot to murder his own brother? I assure you, we will not be the only ones to think it either.”
    “Everyone in the hall should be thinking it right now,” Hywel said.
    “What will the king