The Good Knight (A Gareth and Gwen Medieval Mystery)

despite his lack of station.
    Gwen was so focused on Gareth that she wasn’t aware of the other men among them—live ones—until they approached her family. A half dozen converged on them at the same time. One caught her upper arm in a tight grip. Another grabbed Meilyr’s bridle. “Who are you?” the soldier said.
    Meilyr stood in the stirrups and pointed a finger at Gareth. “Tell them who I am!”
    Gareth came forward, his eyes flicking from Meilyr to Gwalchmai to Gwen. He was broader in the shoulders, too, than she remembered.
    “They are friends,” Gareth said. “Release them.”
    And to Gwen’s astonishment, the man-at-arms who held her obeyed Gareth. Could it be that in the years since she’d last seen him, Gareth had regained something of what he’d lost?
    Gareth halted by Meilyr’s horse. “I was sent from Aber to meet King Anarawd and escort him through Gwynedd. He wasn’t even due to arrive at Dolwyddelan Castle until today, but …” He gestured to the men on the ground. “Clearly, we were too late.”
    Gwen looked past Gareth to the murdered men in the road.
    “Turn away, Gwen,” Gareth said.
    But Gwen couldn’t. The blood—on the dead men, on the ground, on the knees of Gareth’s breeches—mesmerized her. The men here had been slaughtered . Her skin twitched at the hate in the air. “You mean King Anarawd is—is—is among them?”
    “The King is dead,” Gareth said.

Chapter Two

    C ould this situation be worse? Gareth couldn’t imagine how. Facing Gwen over a handful of dead bodies was one thing—not pleasant, but something with which he could cope. It was something else entirely to face Gwen’s father after not seeing either of them since Meilyr had rejected Gareth’s offer for Gwen. Meilyr oozed resentment, as if a better life could have been had than singing for the lords and kings of Wales. At least Gwen’s presence indicated that he’d not restrained her more than needful, nor sold her to the highest bidder. That she stood in front of him as beautiful as ever, and as if the intervening years had never happened, took his breath away.
    At the sight of her, he wanted to either punch the air in exaltation or pull her into his arms, but did neither. Instead, he said, “Are there more of you? Are you traveling with a company?”
    “No.” Gwen looked up at him, tears in the corners of her eyes. “We’d hoped to ride alongside King Anarawd, but my father’s horse went lame and delayed us at Dolwyddelan. The King and his men left without us.”
    “Praise God they did,” Meilyr said. “If we’d traveled with him, we’d be dead too.”
    Leave it to him to think about his own skin first , though in this instance, Gareth couldn’t blame him. If he’d had Gwen and Gwalchmai to protect, he’d have felt the same way.
    “Gwalchmai seems a sturdy lad,” Gareth said. “If I give him my horse, can he ride back to Dolwyddelan? We need carts to transport the dead. It’s only a few miles—”
    “I know how far it is,” Meilyr said, reverting to his habitual scorn. “We’ve just come that distance.”
    That told Gareth all he needed to know about the state of Meilyr’s nerves. It was bad enough for Meilyr to ride into Aber Castle after so many years away and ask King Owain Gwynedd for entrance, even if he’d been invited. It was quite another to do the same with the dead body of the bridegroom thrown over his horse.
    “Do you have any idea who did this?” Gwen said.
    “Not specifically.” Gareth forced his eyes away from her, willing to talk to Gwen but not wanting to relate what he knew in front of Gwalchmai and Meilyr.
    “Did you see anyone on the road to the north?” Gwen stepped closer to him and his arm itched to go around her. He stayed his hand. They’d fallen in love shortly after Meilyr’s falling out with King Owain, but now hadn’t spoken for five years. Their last words, while not thrown at each other in anger, had been full of pain. Christ. I was more a child than she was, for all I’ve seven years on her.
    “No. I would have expected more traffic, given the upcoming wedding.” Gareth glanced at Anarawd’s body and added “—which won’t be taking place now.”
    “Why would anyone want to stop Anarawd from marrying Elen?” Gwalchmai asked this with all the innocence of a twelve-year old. “It’s a perfect match.”
    “I don’t know about that,” Gareth said, “but it looks as if the men who ambushed Anarawd chose the perfect