The Good Knight (A Gareth and Gwen Medieval Mystery)

gave away.
    Gwen glared at him. “He told you about Rhys?”
    “Not his name,” Gareth said. “But the circumstances.”
    “I’ve had enough of my father’s opinions,” she said. “Don’t make me dislike yours as well.”
    “I know it’s been hard—”
    Gwen cut him off. “I’ve not wasted all these years mourning your absence,” she said. “I’d hoped we’d have three children by now, and be living on a bit of land somewhere by the sea.” She shrugged. “It wasn’t meant to be. I can accept that we can’t always live the life we imagined.”
    “I’ve paid for my choices, Gwen,” Gareth said. “I’d prefer not to have to keep paying.”
    Gareth felt Gwen’s eyes on him, but didn’t know if he should say anything more as she didn’t. Cadwaladr had dismissed him the same day he’d intended to ask Meilyr for Gwen’s hand. She’d been only sixteen, he twenty-three and far more sure of himself than he should have been. Cadwaladr had been right to dismiss him, if outright disobedience was grounds for dismissal. But then, Cadwaladr’s insistence that Gareth cut off the hand of an eight year old boy who’d stolen a piglet had been one order too many for Gareth. Still, looking at Gwen now, it was hard not to have regrets.
    The lights of Aber shone in the distance and they slowed. “It’s been a long time for you, hasn’t it?” he said.
    “Six years. I cried when we left.” Gwen paused, and then to Gareth’s surprise, added, “I was pleased to work for Hywel again because of those memories. But you can’t go back, not really, even if you follow the same road.”
    Gareth swallowed. Was that comment meant for him? Was she telling him to walk away from her? “I do think Hywel missed you,” he said, instead of asking either of those questions. And then kicked himself again. What compelled him to mention Hywel’s name every third sentence?
    “Did he?” she said. “He didn’t even seek me out to say goodbye.” Before Gareth could formulate a reply, they reached the walls and Gwen’s mouth fell open at what confronted them. “What are they doing to the castle?”
    King Owain didn’t have the wherewithal to improve the defenses of all his holdings, but Aber was an important seat, his stronghold on the north coast of Gwynedd. He’d ordered the building of a stone wall around the fort, turning what had been little more than a large manor house nearly into a fortress. Many of the English bastions along the border between England and Wales were going up entirely in stone. It was dangerous not to keep up with the times, but the cost was exorbitant.
    “The English are coming,” Gareth said. “Perhaps not this year, but eventually. Hopefully by the time they get their affairs in order, King Owain will be ready.”
    “I’m not so much worried about the English today,” Gwen said. “This ambush of Anarawd indicates that King Owain has a very angry, very dangerous enemy.”
    Gareth took in a breath. “Perhaps it’s time he knew of it.”
    They urged their horses the last yards to the gatehouse. Gareth’s face gained them admission and in the shelter of the courtyard, they faced off in the darkness. At this hour—nearly midnight by Gareth’s reckoning—most of the torches had been allowed to die, leaving two by the front door to the hall and two by the gate. The bulk of the garrison slept in the barracks, while the peasants and craft workers had settled into their huts and stalls. Dawn came early in August and they and their animals would be up before it.
    “Should we speak to Hywel first?” Gwen said.
    Gareth glanced towards the great hall, some thirty paces away. The King kept odd hours, but midnight was as late as Gareth had ever seen him leave the hall. If he held true to form, Gareth would have to wake him, which thrilled him not at all. Better to take the cowardly route. He grasped Gwen’s arm and tugged her towards a side entrance to the main building, for which the hall formed the central room, with offices, storerooms, and sleeping quarters leading from it.
    “Hywel’s rooms are along here.” Gareth opened the exterior door and entered a long passageway. Still tugging Gwen with him, he halted in front of a half-closed door and knocked.
    “Come.”
    Gareth pushed through the door, with Gwen at his heels. For once, Hywel was alone, though that wasn’t to say a woman wasn’t lounging on his bed in the room adjacent, waiting for him to return. Hywel’s charm and