The Good Knight (A Gareth and Gwen Medieval Mystery)

with her vote of confidence. “Just don’t pepper him with too many questions.”
    She turned away, back to Hywel, and Gareth whispered, “That means you can ask some.”
    Gareth boosted the boy, Cadfan, onto Braith’s back and made sure he held the reins tightly. Braith wasn’t a warhorse as Alice’s Norman ancestors understood them, but was still far too big for Cadfan.
    “Where’s my father?” Cadfan said—probably the toughest question he could have chosen to ask.
    “I don’t know,” Gareth said. “Maybe Ireland.”
    “Why’d he go there?”
    “You’ve heard of something called ‘politics’?” Gareth said.
    Cadfan nodded.
    “That’s why,” Gareth said. “Best left well enough alone by both you and me.”
    For her part, Alice perched on Hywel’s horse, her hands in her lap. Normally, Hywel’s horse was more nervy than this, but he seemed to understand that prancing was not allowed today. Sedately, with Gareth and Hywel walking and leading their charges, they made their way back down the hill to where Hywel had left the rest of the men.
    “You truly mean to take my castle?” Alice gazed back up the hill where it squatted, as yet undamaged.
    “Yes, Aunt,” Hywel said. “I have no choice.”
    “We always have a choice,” she said, tartly.
    “Tell that to Cadwaladr,” Hywel said. “And ask Anarawd how he felt about it.”
    That silenced her—and everyone else. Hywel pulled Gareth aside. “I didn’t expect her to be pregnant. What do I do with her?”
    “Ask her,” Gareth said. “If any woman knows her own mind, she does.”
    Hywel glanced again at Alice, who glared at him. “I would go to my mother but her home is too far for me to travel in my condition,” she said, having evidently overheard their exchange. “A convent lies just north of the castle. I can stay there until the baby is born. My midwife lives in the village and she will help me.”
    “When is the baby due?”
    “Not for two months.”
    That eased Hywel’s concern, and with a few terse orders, he had three of his men escorting Alice and Cadfan back across the ford of the Ystwyth River, and then north towards the village.
    Cadfan, now seated behind one of the men-at-arms assigned to him, twisted in his seat to look back at Gareth. “Goodbye, sir knight.”
    Gareth saluted and bowed, “Young sir.” Once the two were out of earshot, he turned to Hywel. “She was prepared to defend the castle herself. She could still be a threat.”
    “But not today, I think,” Hywel said. “Her men remain in the castle and unless she incites the village against us, I find it unlikely we’ll hear from her again. At least not soon.”
    “Your father may hear from her,” Gareth said.
    Hywel laughed. “No doubt. Nonetheless, my men will see her safe and then guard the Abbey until I deem such precaution unnecessary. What I don’t want is for her to send a message to a nearby ally who might interrupt my plans.”
    “And what are those plans, my lord?” Gareth said.
    Hywel jerked his head to indicate Gareth should follow, and walked under the trees to where his other captains gathered. His two hundred men and horses had scattered among the woods along the river, mingling to some degree, but mostly coordinated according to which lord they served. Soon, ten men—the leaders among them—gathered around Hywel.
    “My father does not want a long siege,” Hywel said. “I will speak with Cadwaladr’s captain one more time, and if his response is the same as before, we’ll burn the castle to the ground today.”
    “Today, my lord?” one of the men, Maelgwyn of Rhos, said.
    Hywel stepped out from under the trees and checked the sky. “We’ve a few hours until sunset. Plenty of time.”
    “But surely such a move is—” Maelgwyn stopped speaking at Hywel’s hard look.
    “Tell me you weren’t going to say, ‘without honor’?” Hywel said.
    “Of course not, my prince.” Maelgwyn accompanied the denial with a slight bow. “Although I have to admit that I am uncomfortable with our task.”
    Hywel studied the man, eyes piercing, but Maelgwyn’s reservations had the other lords murmuring among themselves.
    “Have you forgotten what Cadwaladr did?” King Cadell said, his voice quiet, but loud enough so that they all heard him.
    Maelgwyn looked down. “No, my lord.”
    “Cadwaladr is a prince, but he murdered a king—one with whom he himself was allied, and whom Owain Gwynedd planned to bring into his family