The Good Knight (A Gareth and Gwen Medieval Mystery)

you?” Gwen said. The revelation explained everything, and yet was so stunning, she could barely get the words out, much less call down to Gareth to tell him that that it wasn’t true. Of course, Hywel knew it wasn’t true.
    “Cristina.”
    Gwen choked on a mixture of hysteria and laughter at the name. Cristina appeared to be a meddler and a trouble-maker of the worst sort, playing both sides against the middle as she saw fit. Her gambit with the seal still left Gwen gasping, since it was only through her that King Cadell could have known Gareth had it; at the same time, convincing Cadwaladr that Gwen was Hywel’s mistress may have saved Gwen’s life, but it also had drawn his attention to her in the first place. Who knew if it was this knowledge that had given him the idea that he could use her? If Gwen ever saw Cristina again—if she lived through the next moments—she had a mind to throttle her.
    Hywel faced forward again. “Let her go, Uncle. Using Gwen as a shield will gain you nothing.”
    Cadwaladr lifted his chin and his voice, defiant as ever. “So you are beginning to see reason.” He smiled his satisfaction, while at the same time tightening his grip on Gwen’s waist.
    “Let her go, uncle,” Rhun said. “You don’t want to do this.”
    “I think I do,” Cadwaladr said. From a sheath at his side, he produced a knife and slipped it under Gwen’s chin. Gwen strained to lift herself out of its range, but of course Cadwaladr just moved with her. She hoped that those on the ground could see it well enough to know if the blade had a notch. She couldn’t get a close look. At the sight of it, Gareth gave an audible gasp and Hywel put out his arm to stop him from speaking, or throwing himself at the gate.
    “As you wish,” Hywel said. “You win this round.” He fisted his hand at the men behind him, who lowered their bows.
    With that, Cadwaladr seemed to decide something. He sidled along the top of the wall, still hiding behind Gwen’s body, which she held as stiffly as she could to avoid the knife. When he reached the stairs that led to the courtyard below, he couldn’t hold the knife to her throat and get her down the stairs at the same time, so he put it away. Then he twisted Gwen’s arm behind her back and force-marched her down them, his grip so tight it would leave a bruise. In that formation, they crossed the courtyard, heading towards the postern gate.
    “Faster, you fool!” Cadwaladr stabbed the finger of his free hand at a man who ran in front of them so he could open the door. Pulling up, Cadwaladr allowed the host of Danish raiders to file past him first before following with Gwen. A glance behind her revealed that Cadwaladr’s own men would remain at Aberffraw. She caught the glances of two of them, including the one who’d guarded her in the hallway. His face, as before, told her nothing.
    Cadwaladr manhandled her through the door and into the midst of the three dozen Danishmen. Moving faster than she would have thought possible, yet still silent, the Danes escorted them at a run along the pathway that led from the postern gate to the beach. Gwen blinked her eyes against the sun which now blazed down unrelieved by clouds. Noon had come and gone. The boats on the shore a quarter of a mile away drew nearer with every heartbeat.
    Gwen struggled against Cadwaladr now, anger conquering her fear. Though her dress hampered her movements, she kicked out, connecting at least once with his shin and forcing him to slow. She made him drag her weight and Cadwaladr cursed and shook her. She hoped he’d fling her aside and leave her behind, even if it meant a fall and a broken arm. Anything would be better than continuing as they were.
    Well, almost anything.
    “I’ll take her,” a giant of a Dane said in heavily accented Welsh, though there was a hint of amusement in his voice. He slipped his arm around Gwen’s waist.
    “No!” Gwen flailed at him with her fists but he batted her hands away, lifted her from Cadwaladr grasp, and threw her over his shoulder. Her arms and head hung down his back and she continued to beat on him, for all the good it did her. His grip around her legs was so strong she couldn’t even kick him properly. She certainly couldn’t penetrate his leather armor. The tears that had threatened to overwhelm her for the last hours pricked her eyes, though they were more out of frustration and anger than sadness.
    Gwen bounced on the Dane’s shoulder as they ran