The Good Knight (A Gareth and Gwen Medieval Mystery)

hanging, exhausted from his own fight.
    Gwen noted her satchel, squashed but unopened beneath a box containing musical instruments. Her best dress, when it came time to wear it, should be undamaged. Gwalchmai noticed the box at the same time she did, and with a cry, ran towards the cart.
    “Those two are much alike,” Gwen said, as she watched Meilyr and her brother set the box upright, open it, and begin to examine the contents. Gwalchmai held up an injured drum, showing his father the hole punched through the skin stretched across the frame. “And Hywel for a third. Always thinking of music.”
    Gwen felt Gareth looking at her, his eyes questioning. She didn’t want to meet them. She kept seeing the rise and fall of his sword as he fought. But Gareth was thinking along entirely different lines. “Are you more to Prince Hywel than just his spy?”
    “What?” Gwen turned to Gareth. “What do you mean?”
    Gareth studied her. “Are the two of you lovers?”
    “Of course not.”
    The notion was ridiculous and Gareth should have known it if he’d thought about it for more than a few heartbeats. If anything, Hywel thought of her as a sister. Admittedly, Gwen had loved him as long as she’d known him, but understood almost as quickly what a lost cause that was, and how bad for her Hywel would be if she ever shared his bed. He was a Prince of Gwynedd and she a bard’s daughter. His father would never allow him to marry her and she wasn’t going to settle for anything less, not even from him.
    For Hywel’s part, he’d never shown any interest in her, not in all the years that he’d wooed and loved the dozens of women he’d taken to his bed. By now, she was grateful for that, because it made them friends, or at worst, employer and employee, without the complications of romance.
    “If you say so.” Gareth squeezed her hand once. “Come. We’ve more downed men than before—some of whom are still alive—and it’s a long way home to Aber.”
    “Surely you don’t intend to attempt the journey today? After all this?” Gwen glanced upwards. Although most of the day had passed and the sun had fallen halfway down the sky, as it was early August, they had at least five more hours of daylight. That would give them just enough time to get the exhausted soldiers, the dead, and the wounded, to safety before dark.
    Gareth shrugged. “Once we get the wounded to Caerhun, I must ride. Hywel and Owain Gwynedd need to hear what has transpired as soon as possible and I should be the one to tell it.”
    “Then I will come with you,” Gwen said.
    “Your pony can’t keep up with my horse, and Braith can’t carry two that far with any kind of speed,” he said.
    “I’ll borrow my father’s horse,” Gwen said. “He fears King Owain more than he values his own dignity. He will loan it to me.” The horse in question cropped the grass beside the road, still with a dead body on his back, but seemingly unconcerned about either it or the activity around him.
    Gareth caught Gwen’s chin and looked into her face. It had been a long time since they’d gazed at each other like this. She wasn’t sure she could read him anymore and for a moment didn’t know if he would agree—and what she would do about it if he didn’t. But then he nodded.
    “You’ll tell me next that Hywel would want me to let you come.”
    “He would. You know he would,” Gwen said.
    Gareth narrowed his eyes at her, but Gwen shrugged him off and walked toward the fallen cart as if the matter was already decided. It would be a bad start to their renewed friendship if she had to force his hand, or follow him from Caerhun without him knowing. A quick look through the jumble of belongings on the ground produced the bag of medicines and bandages that her father had kicked to one side in his anxiety to determine the state of his instruments. She’d tied the top tightly when she packed it to protect what was inside and now crouched to open it. Then Gareth was beside her again.
    “Do you know what these all are for?” He pawed through the collection of vials and herb boxes, picking up one and then another to study the labels. She almost laughed. It shouldn’t have surprised her that in the five years since she’d last seen him, he’d learned to read. It was just like him.
    “As well as anyone who spent half her life in the company of an active younger brother, I suppose,” Gwen said. “My father worked very hard to control Gwalchmai, and