The Good Knight (A Gareth and Gwen Medieval Mystery)

towards Cadwaladr seemed genuine, and Gwen believed her when she said she found the seal in Cadell’s rooms. The real issue was who had put it there. Gwen was beginning to admire Cristina more than she wanted to admit.
    “She, at least, didn’t kill Anarawd,” Gareth said.
    Hywel threw back his head and laughed. “God help us if she did.”

Chapter Sixteen

    T his time, Gareth wasn’t going to make the mistake of taking the long way to Dolwyddelan. When he’d gone to meet Anarawd before the ambush, he’d followed the well-traveled road from Aber to Caerhun, and then south to Dolwyddelan: the same road he and Gwen had ridden along together in the opposite direction.
    He’d had another choice, which he hadn’t taken then. He still cursed himself for choosing the longer route. Who knows what could have happened? He could have fallen in with Hywel after seeing the mercenaries. Perhaps he’d have followed their path and warned Anarawd they were waiting for him. Admittedly, he could have also come upon them by mistake and been murdered himself.
    A lifetime ago (though really only five days), the attraction of breaking his journey with the mead at Caerhun had been too good to pass up. Since dawn today, however, Gareth had followed a track that ran from Aber straight into the mountains, skirting the peaks of Snowdonia that loomed above him, almost close enough to touch. It was by far the shorter route in terms of distance—as well as in time for one man and horse alone. If it hadn’t been so impossible to widen properly, the Romans might have improved this road instead of the one that passed between the standing stones. As it was, they’d given it up as a lost cause. The native Welsh had not, and had continued to use it hundreds of years after the Romans had departed.
    He’d said goodbye to Gwen with some reluctance. A warm rain had been falling as he’d left Aber and they’d stood in the middle of it, arguing.
    “You could take me with you,” she’d said. “Two pairs of eyes are better than one.”
    “You may be one of Hywel’s spies, but that doesn’t give you license to do anything you want,” Gareth said.
    Gwen opened her mouth to protest, but Gareth overrode her. “As it is, Hywel gave me permission to leave Aber—and against his better judgment. Only a few days ago, I was under orders not to leave the castle at all. He’s concerned about how this looks.”
    “The Council dismissed the charges that you were involved in Anarawd’s death and King Owain agreed,” Gwen said. “It will show all Gwynedd that Hywel trusts you.”
    “Just as long as nothing else goes wrong,” Gareth said.
    “That’s why you need to bring me with you,” Gwen said. “I was never under suspicion at all and I can confirm to the King anything we find.”
    “Be that as it may, you cannot come,” Gareth said. “Your father would have my head. I’ll be back by tomorrow morning; it’s hardly any time at all.” He leaned in closer. “Besides, I need you to keep an eye on things here.”
    Gwen narrowed her eyes at him. “What aren’t you telling me?”
    Gareth shook his head. “I don’t even know enough to articulate what worries me. Suffice to say I don’t trust anyone but you.”
    That was a significant admission on his part and seemed to satisfy Gwen. It helped that it was true. Gareth did miss her company as the towers of Aber fell away and the mountains hid him from a watcher’s view. The higher he ascended into the hills, the more alone he became, but the more his heart eased. He shed the tensions of the last days. Early on in the journey, he encountered a few shepherds, watching their flocks in the higher meadows, but they too disappeared the higher he climbed.
    He crossed the barren uplands on which only grasses and scraggly bushes grew, and passed the initial peaks, bare of snow this late in the summer. As he traveled over a ridge and trekked down into one of the high valleys in which a highland lake nestled, the rain lessened and finally stopped, although the wind whipped his hood from his head.
    Over the next few miles, the landscape changed further, becoming more treed, with streams and waterfalls racing back the way he’d come. Ultimately, he came out of a long stretch of difficult terrain and reached the abandoned Roman fort that stood near the intersection of several paths. This was where Hywel had lost the Danes. The main road lay further on.
    Most of the stones had disappeared into the