The Good Knight (A Gareth and Gwen Medieval Mystery)

situation: that the Danes weren’t his servants. He was their hostage, held against his will until he paid what he owed. He should have known better than to think he could get the better of his Nordic cousins.
    “I will go,” Brodar said. “Or King Ottar will, to speak to Owain Gwynedd on your behalf.”
    “King Ottar knows no Welsh.” Cadwaladr sniffed and stuck his nose into the air. “And if you think—”
    A shout from the shore distracted Cadwaladr from his unfinished sentence, and before he could conclude it, Brodar left him at a run. Gwen turned to see what had excited them: Godfrid’s ship was sailing into the cove. His distinctive sail with a hind in its center—indicating it was the ship of the prince and heir to Dublin—grew larger with every stroke of the oars. Godfrid himself perched at the front of the boat like a conquering hero. The ship reached the beach and pulled up. Among general shouting and jubilation at his survival, nobody seemed to notice Gwen’s state of near collapse.
    Finally, she was able to pull Godfrid aside, tears already pouring down her cheeks at the news she’d yet to hear. “Where’s Gareth, Godfrid?”
    He leaned in, brushing her cheek with his lips and whispered close to her ear: “Alive.” Then he straightened and cuffed Cadwaladr’s shoulder. “Your countryman fell overboard; didn’t know when to huddle in the boat like a sane man.”
    Cadwaladr’s eyes narrowed. “He is your only loss?”
    “Not much of one,” Godfrid said, “though if you were his friend, I am sorry.”
    “No friend of mine.” Cadwaladr turned away and strode back up the beach to resume his post on the dune.
    Brodar moved in close, allowing the other men to disperse out of earshot. Gwen stayed where she was. Brodar glanced at her and then back at his brother, prompting Godfrid to put his arm around Gwen’s shoulder.
    “Speak so Gwen can understand,” Godfrid said.
    Brodar obliged. “All is well, brother?”
    “We play a greater game,” Godfrid said. “Two thousand marks is hardly worth our time in comparison to what I have planned; what Father has planned.”
    “What of Prince Cadwaladr?” Brodar looked past Godfrid’s shoulder at the Welsh prince. “Owain Gwynedd has come. His men stand just there…” Brodar gestured to the east. “I told Cadwaladr that we wouldn’t give him leave to go to him; that I would speak to King Owain for him.”
    “Good,” Godfrid said. “We shouldn’t let him out of our sight. We cannot trust him.”
    The trio headed up the beach towards the campfires. Gwen’s stomach growled. She hadn’t eaten anything since they’d left Dublin, and not much even then because she knew it would end up in the sea anyway. At their approach, other men stood, including Ottar, who rubbed his hands together— in anticipation? Godfrid nodded his greeting and released Gwen. “The men must discuss the future. Don’t wander off.”
    Gwen made a moue of irritation, her eyes never leaving his, but obeyed. She moved towards another fire pit, noting as she did that Cadwaladr had left his post. It was dark enough now that he couldn’t see anything, other than the cooking fires of his brother’s men. They were at a stalemate, if a temporary one. She gazed eastward herself, wondering what was going to happen next, and hoping next included Gareth.

Chapter Thirty-Three

    G odfrid had come back from his meeting with Ottar and Cadwaladr in a foul mood. He’d worked for over an hour, making Gwen a bower of a sort, hollowed out of a dune with driftwood forming a makeshift roof. And hadn’t spoken more than a grunt to Gwen the whole time.
    “You’ll be all right for tonight,” he said, finally breaking his silence. “I’ll be keeping watch not far away, and Brodar too.”
    “Thank you, Godfrid,” she said. “It’s more than I expected.”
    “Well, it shouldn’t be,” he said.
    “And Gareth?” Gwen lowered her voice. “How did you get him safe?”
    “Suffice that he is. Better you don’t know.” Godfrid grumbled something she didn’t catch in Danish, and then stalked away to a campfire Brodar had lit and now sat next to with half a dozen of Godfrid’s men.
    Gone was the merry Dane and in his place was a very serious and worried prince. Gwen watched him go, more concerned than she wanted to admit. How much should she be worried too? She’d eaten and drunk just enough to feel comfortable for the first time in a week. It gave her renewed energy and