The Good Knight (A Gareth and Gwen Medieval Mystery)

doorway. “Clear.”
    Gwen’s captors hadn’t done as complete a job on this second rope and Gwen severed it more easily than Hywel had freed her hands. She got to her feet, more than a little unsteady. “I’m ready.”
    Gareth caught her elbow and helped her out hole in the tent behind Hywel, who’d already gone through it. Once outside, they crouched low in the shadow of the tent before daring to venture across the sand to the trees. The distance to safety looked a lot further than it had on their way to rescue Gwen. The darkness had also turned to a murky dawn. Another dozen heartbeats and the shadows would no longer protect them.
    “Stay low.” Gareth clasped Gwen’s elbow and tugged her forward, cat-like, across the sand.
    “Down!” Hywel said.
    Gareth dove to the ground, Gwen half-beneath him.
    “Up!”
    This was a new voice, and one that came from further east. They obeyed it, running flat out for the protective woods. Gwen tripped on the hem of her dress and Gareth clasped her around the waist to haul her to her feet again. A dozen heartbeats later, every one pounding so loudly in Gareth’s ears he could hear nothing else, they’d crossed the scrub and reached the safety of the Welsh lines. Gareth pulled up short in amazement at who had joined their venture.
    “Hello, Father,” Hywel said.
    Owain Gwynedd had come, along with Rhun (grinning madly) and a dozen men-at-arms, to ensure that the Danes stayed on their side of the beach. The King smiled and tousled Hywel’s hair like he was a boy. “Son. Why should you have all the fun?” Then the king reached for Gwen and pulled her into his arms for a rib-crushing hug. “Quite a chase you’ve led us on, young lady.”
    “That was never my intent,” Gwen said, her voice muffled by the king’s thick cloak.
    “Ha.” King Owain allowed himself a genuine laugh and then released her.
    She turned then to Gareth and it was as if her whole world stood still. All she could see was him. All she could think about was him. She hadn’t realized she’d taken a step, but then she was in his arms and they were holding on to each other like they would never let go.
    “Cariad,” Gareth said. “I was so scared for you.”
    “I know,” Gwen said. “I was scared for me too. But—” She eased back from him just enough to reach his mother’s cross and pull it out. “You were with me. You’ve always been with me.”
    Gareth gazed down at the necklace and then touched the cross with one finger. “All these years?”
    “Yes,” Gwen said.
    “Perhaps we’ll have a wedding at Aber after all,” Hywel said.
    Gwen had all but forgotten where they were. Her eyes widened, but Gareth laughed and pulled her to him again.
    “I’ll speak to my bard on your behalf.” King Owain clapped a hand on Gareth’s shoulder. “Come. It is time to make peace.”

Chapter Thirty-Six

    A lone on her pallet in an otherwise deserted room at Aberffraw, Gwen stared at the blade in her hand. It glittered in the light of the fire, almost transparent in places, the notch along the top edge glaringly apparent. She wished Gareth were here to help her decide what to do, but Hywel had sent him south within an hour of rescuing her from the Danish camp, with orders to gather the two thousand marks worth of goods and cattle from Cadwaladr’s lands to pay the Danes. She and Gareth hadn’t had a chance for more than a fleeting goodbye.
    But he would return and they would talk then; they’d talk about their future instead of Hywel’s—which faced her now. She took in a deep breath, stood, and walked down the hall to Hywel’s rooms. He was still awake, as she’d felt certain he would be, maybe even waiting for her.
    “Good evening, Gwen.” Hywel looked up from the documents on his desk. Contracts maybe, or reviews from the law courts. Without answering, she set the knife on the edge of his desk and stepped back. Silent, they gazed at it together, and then Hywel nodded. “You see it, then.”
    “Too much didn’t make sense in the end for it all to be Cadwaladr,” she said, “but the knife gave the game away.”
    “It wasn’t a game, Gwen,” he said.
    “Wasn’t it?” she said. “You manipulated everyone—me, Gareth, your father—from the start.”
    “It was necessary,” he said.
    “That’s what you think?” she said, her voice rising. Then she forced herself to moderate the tone so the sound would only carry to Hywel and not to neighboring rooms. “That’s