The Good Knight (A Gareth and Gwen Medieval Mystery)

works.
    “He already has younger brothers, as you know,” Gareth said. “But have you heard that they’ll be more still? King Owain woos again.”
    Gwen nodded. “It’s no secret.”
    “There are barriers to the match, however,” Gareth said.
    “Because King Owain and Cristina are cousins?” Gwen said.
    “Because she’s a witch.”
    Gwen laughed and choked at the same time. “Don’t say that within King Owain’s hearing. He’d have your head.”
    “All I know is that he has eyes only for her and he trails after her like a lost puppy.”
    “Does she share his bed?” Gwen said.
    If Gareth had underestimated the work Gwen had done for Hywel, that question put to rest to any uncertainties in that regard. Gwen was no longer the sixteen-year-old innocent he’d known and sought to marry. “Not yet—not until the contracts are signed is my guess, no matter how persuasive he can be.”
    “Then all is not yet lost,” Gwen said. “He might change his mind.”
    Gareth was opening his mouth to express his skepticism when Braith stopped in the middle of the road. The rest of Owain Gwynedd’s men filed around them, some of them smirking at Gareth’s stubborn horse as they passed. Gareth tugged on Braith’s reins, but the beast refused to budge. Rather than hanging her head as Gareth might have expected, given her unhappiness with her present burden, Braith lifted it and pricked her ears forward.
    Gwen, who had walked a few paces on, came back to Gareth. “What is it?”
    “I don’t know,” he said.
    They’d not yet left the mountains, though they’d descended some distance from the highest point on the path, which was a mile beyond the ambush site. The road led down from this point to the Conwy River valley. When the road had run through the old slate mines some distance back, it had been a good fifteen feet wide. A quarter of a mile ahead of them, however, it narrowed to accommodate the gorge through which the road ran, and was just wide enough for the carts to pass in single file, with a man walking beside.
    Gareth moved his gaze to the hills on either side of the road. Braith wasn’t as temperamental a horse as some. Gareth had learned to listen to her. By now, he and Gwen had fallen twenty paces to the rear of the company. Those in front were nearing the narrow point in the road. From his journey south in the early hours of the morning, Gareth remembered that the path curved in on itself just ahead, following the creek on their right that flowed towards a fall.
    “Madog!” Gareth shouted above the rush of the water and the sound of feet and horses’ hooves.
    At the front of the line, just about to enter the narrow gap, Madog put up a hand and turned on a heel to look back at Gareth and Gwen. Owain Gwynedd’s forces, well acquainted with the chain of command, stopped immediately. Silence descended, with each man listening as hard as he could for anything amiss. The forest around them quieted too, which gave Gareth no comfort. It meant the animals and birds were on alert. Other than the occasional whicker of a horse in the middle of the company, the pounding in his own ears was all Gareth could hear.
    “Gareth! Watch out!”
    Gareth spun around, recognizing the voice but stunned that its owner could be here. Then, an eerie scream split the air, trailing off at the end as the crier caught his breath.
    Madog shot out a hand. “Move!”
    The entire company obeyed: every man pulled out his sword, crouched into a defensive posture, and turned to face outward, shields up.
    They’d reacted just in time.
    Arrows flew from the peaks on either side of the road, hurtling into the company. The rain of arrows didn’t last long but as soon as it stopped, men followed, flying into Owain Gwynedd’s men as if they themselves were shot from hidden bows. The trees on both sides of the road erupted and in a heartbeat, more enemy soldiers appeared between Gareth and his friends. With Gwen to protect, Gareth didn’t try to rejoin his company.
    Thrusting out his arm, Gareth shoved the body off Braith, launched himself onto her back, and pulled Gwen up after him. From his vantage point, Gareth quickly surveyed the field and saw that, unlike Anarawd’s company, he and his companions outnumbered their attackers.
    Sword in hand, Gareth hesitated, looking towards Meilyr, who twisted in his seat on the cart and waved his arm in a shooing motion, his face contorted. “Ride! Get her out of here!” Without waiting