The Good Knight (A Gareth and Gwen Medieval Mystery)

down the slope, through the thick grass, to the strip of sandy beach beyond. He crossed the yards to the three ships in three or four strides. Though Gwen arched her back, craning her neck to see where they were going—or even where they’d been—it was a lost cause. Men shouted all around her, mostly in Danish which she didn’t speak at all. The men the Danish leader had left to guard the boats must have moved into action the instant their company spilled from the postern gate because by the time the Dane and Gwen reached their designated craft, they’d already pushed off and the boat was in two feet of water.
    Gwen still on his shoulder, the big Dane surged into the river and caught the rail of his ship with his right hand. Now that she understood that they really planned to take her away from Aberffraw, Gwen shrieked and beat on the Dane with both fists. She tried to wriggle off of his left shoulder, shifting her hips, but his grip was as strong as ever. Again she tried to kick out with her feet but the best shot she managed only caught her foot in his cloak.
    The Dane had started out muttering under his breath at her resistance, but now he laughed and unceremoniously dumped her into the boat. She landed on her rear and fell backwards. Her head glanced off a bench. She lay sprawled as he’d left her, her eyes squeezed shut, catching her breath. She hadn’t even gotten her feet wet.
    It didn’t take long for the rest of the Danish mercenaries to clamber in after her. Her Danish captor himself stepped over the side, his boots shedding water into the bottom of the boat. He reached down, hooked her under her arms and plopped her onto one of the seats set in the middle of the boat so she wouldn’t interfere with the rowers. She tried to push up, to better see the shore, but the Dane kept one hand on her shoulder holding her down. Heavily laden, the boat put to sea.
    It had all happened so quickly, Gwen hadn’t had time to develop any kind of plan. When the Dane moved off to direct one of his men, perhaps thinking her no more of a threat, Gwen spun in her seat. I have to get out of here! The panic that accompanied that thought rose in her chest and she swallowed it back down. As with the Dane, the other men were going about their business, not paying attention to her. She scooted towards the side of the boat, peering around the shifting men so she could see what was happening at Aberffraw. The oarsmen bent their backs into their task, chanting out the count in unison.
    Beyond the bank, figures appeared around the southern end of the castle. Gwen’s heart lifted. They were coming! Gareth rode flat out, bent over Braith’s neck and racing her down the slope from the castle to the river.
    One of the Danes to the rear of the boat shouted a warning and the big Dane raised a fist. His men obeyed and the pace of their strokes increased.
    “Pull!”
    This came from Cadwaladr, and the order could have been repeated in Danish, or the men might have been muttering idiot for all she knew. Certainly the order was unnecessary, as the Dane had gotten his men moving without even having to open his mouth. Gwen hadn’t imagined boats could move as quickly. The rhythm was unrelenting and the boats swung into the faster current in the middle of the river. Within a count of ten, Gwen’s ship lay fifteen yards off the shore and a good fifty from where they’d entered the water.
    Gwen shot one look behind her to see what Cadwaladr was doing. He gazed away from her, west towards Ireland. Grey clouds hung on the horizon, obscuring any view but of the sea. The middle of the Ffraw River was calm but soon they’d leave the safety of the estuary and enter the surging waves at its mouth. Afraid that she’d already hesitated too long, Gwen launched herself from her seat.
    She placed one foot on the edge of the boat, pushed upwards with the other, and dove into the water.
    Except she never made it. A thick arm caught her around her waist, hauling her back, and a low chuckle sounded in her ear. “You’ve got spirit,” the big Dane said as he spun her around. “I’ll give you that.”
    “Not so fast, my dear.” Cadwaladr accepted her weight in his arms and pulled her away from the ship’s rail.
    And it was from that position, with Cadwaladr’s sickening touch around her waist, that Gwen watched the ship leave the estuary and enter Aberffraw harbor. Tears tracked helplessly down Gwen’s cheeks as her view of the shore, and her