The Good Knight (A Gareth and Gwen Medieval Mystery)

“I actually didn’t mean to talk about what happened between you and Cadwaladr, though we can. What I meant to point out is that Prince Cadwaladr is one of the few men in Wales who exactly fills the description of someone who’d want to murder Anarawd.”
    “Why is that?”
    “Because he rules in Ceredigion, on lands adjacent to Anarawd’s. Perhaps he didn’t want King Owain to control them through his daughter, possibly at Cadwaladr’s expense.”
    Gareth scrubbed at his face with both hands. “It’s true he has Irish connections. As do all the royal families in Deheubarth and Gwynedd.”
    “More than that, he lived there as a child,” Gwen said. “Hywel tells me that he only returned to Gwynedd upon the death of Cadwallon because his father felt that the remaining brothers must stand together to defend Gwynedd.”
    “We must keep speculation to a minimum,” Gareth said. “You might as well accuse Hywel, for he shares a similar pedigree—his mother was Irish!”
    “I’m not accusing anyone of anything,” Gwen said. “But speculation is how mysteries are solved. We ask good questions, and we see if any of the answers we find fit our questions.”
    Gareth ran his hand through his hair. “Good questions, you say? I’ve got one for you—when do I get out of here?”

Chapter Nine

    G wen lay still and silent on her pallet, thinking of Gareth and hoping he wasn’t too uncomfortable in his cell. When she’d returned to Hywel, he’d laughed off her concerns about Gareth’s well-being, but she didn’t think he was quite as complacent as he conveyed. Hywel had to know that even though King Owain had lost his temper and acted rashly, the king might not want to admit he was wrong about Gareth, even if they never found proof of his guilt.
    In addition, King Owain should have known by now that his brother, Cadwaladr, didn’t always relate the most accurate version of events. As she gazed up at the ceiling, she had a vision of that day five years ago when she’d lain in a room very like this one, but in Ceredigion, sobbing her eyes out over the loss of Gareth. Prince Cadwaladr had summarily dismissed him and Gareth had ridden away with only his sword and his horse. Cadwaladr hadn’t even allowed him a moment to return to his quarters to gather the rest of his things.
    It was Gwen who’d done that. Though Gareth didn’t know it, she still had one of his spare shirts, stuffed into the bottom of her satchel, and wore his mother’s cross around her neck. She should have given it to him first thing, but had forgotten about it until this moment. She pulled it out and clenched it in her fist.
    To be fair, she had to acknowledge that Prince Cadwaladr had been beset at the time and much like his brother, may have allowed his temper to run away with him. Not long before, the Normans had beheaded Gwenllian, a younger sister to Owain and Cadwaladr, for leading a rebellion against them. Gwenllian’s husband—who just happened to be Anarawd’s father—had been in Gwynedd at the time, seeking an alliance against the Normans. As a result, Cadwaladr and Owain Gwynedd had gone south to avenge her death. Their losses had been compounded by the death of Gruffydd, their father, not long after in 1137.
    These past realities made Anarawd’s murder all the worse. Not only was he a strong ally and the King of Deheubarth, but he was a nephew-by-marriage to both Owain and Cadwaladr since Gwenllian had been Anarawd’s step-mother. These family ties were powerful and compelling, not just for King Owain and Cadwaladr, but for any Welshman. While the victory over the Normans had allowed King Owain to annex Ceredigion, it could not replace what they’d lost. It was Cadwaladr, now, who ruled those lands. And if Cadwaladr had something to do with Anarawd’s death…
    Thinking of the possibility made Gwen’s stomach ache.
    The next morning, after a restless night in which she feared she’d repeatedly woken many of the other women, Gwen forced herself from her pallet and back downstairs. Chaos confronted her in the hall. Men, huddled in groups small and large, talked and gesticulated to other men who nodded sagely back. The news of Anarawd’s death was not easy for any of them to encompass.
    “Will our tribulations never cease!”
    That was Cadwaladr, holding court near the fire with three other barons. Taran, Owain Gwynedd’s steward, stood a few feet away, speaking grimly with several other men. Hywel was alone by