The Good Knight (A Gareth and Gwen Medieval Mystery)

the door. Gwen headed towards him.
    “What’s going on here?” a woman’s voice said.
    Gwen looked past Hywel to see Elen, the bride, at the entrance to the great hall. At only sixteen, her marriage would have been a May-December match, but Gwen hadn’t heard that she’d complained about it to her father. Her golden hair glinted in the sunlight, forming a halo around her head. As a bride, she had the right to wear it loose and it cascaded down her back in a bright mass.
    Hywel caught her arm. “Come with me, Elen. I’ve something to tell you.”
    He tugged her in Gwen’s direction and Gwen hurried to greet them. Their ages were too different to have allowed them to be actual friends growing up, but Gwen had cared for Elen many times in the years she lived at Aber. Too often, Elen’s elders had alternately spoiled and ignored her. Gwen had tried to make up for that, just a little.
    “Gwen!” Elen embraced her. “I’m so glad you’ve come.”
    Gwen eased back, still with her arm around Elen’s waist, and filled with regret at what she was going to have to say next. “We have some bad news.”
    Elen’s face paled. “Father—”
    Hywel moved closer, a finger to her lips. “Not Father. Anarawd. He’s dead.”
    “He’s—”
    “Damn it,” Hywel said as Elen’s eyes rolled up in their sockets and she collapsed unceremoniously into Gwen’s arms. Gwen staggered under her burden, which Hywel eased by catching his sister around the shoulders before Gwen dropped her. Between the two of them, they carried Elen to a bench set against the wall behind them. Hywel laid her on her back and Gwen pulled up her knees.
    “It’s all right, cariad ,” she said, her lips on Elen’s forehead. “You’re going to be all right.” Elen had never been good with sudden shocks—whether the event was a finger prick from a sewing needle or her grandfather’s death. Gwen had nursed her through both in her time.
    Cadwaladr had noted his niece’s arrival and strode toward them, his gaze fixed on Elen’s supine form. The expression on his face was stern but sympathetic and Gwen catalogued in her head the number of times she’d seen him come up with exactly the right outward manifestation, regardless of his inward feelings. Then again, the whole royal family was good at hiding what they thought—even King Owain had a devious mind when he chose to use it. He was the King of Gwynedd after all. By necessity, he’d learned deception in the cradle.
    Hywel glanced up and allowed exasperation to cross his face for a heartbeat before schooling his expression. Gwen wondered how many people in the room would have preferred to be anywhere but where they were right now. Then King Owain blew in from his upstairs chamber.
    “What’s all this noise?” He surveyed his domain with sharp eyes.
    At his interjection, Cadwaladr changed course, heading towards his brother. Elen opened her eyes. “Oh, Father!”
    As if she’d never been ill, she spun off the bench and ran towards King Owain, who clasped her to him. He gazed over her head to Hywel, meeting his eyes, and then jerked his head in the direction from which he’d just come. That must have meant something to Hywel because he grasped Gwen’s arm and dragged her with him to a doorway a few paces away leading to a side passage.
    “What are you doing?” Gwen tried to pull away from him but his grip was too firm. They entered the hallway and Hywel swung her around so her back pressed against the wall of the hall.
    “Cadwaladr shouldn’t see you with me.” Hywel moved his hand to her shoulder, holding her still, and peered around the door frame. “Another moment and he would have.”
    “Why does it matter if Cadwaladr sees me with you?” Gwen said. “He knows we grew up together.”
    Hywel tsked at her under his breath. She found it annoying that so many of the men in her life had a tendency to do that, not to mention drag her wherever they wished like a half-trained sheep at a village fair.
    “You found King Anarawd’s body, remember? And you did it with Gareth.” Hywel ran his hand through his hair and turned to pace in front of her, even if hampered by the confined space. “Cadwaladr is very sensitive to his dignity and views Gareth as a mortal enemy.”
    “I still don’t—”
    Hywel hissed into her face. “Cadwaladr doesn’t know you work for me and I’d rather he didn’t learn of it today. I’m thankful my father thought of it in time.”
    Gwen