The Good Knight (A Gareth and Gwen Medieval Mystery) by Sarah Woodbury Page A

bowed once more before stepping back from the table and turning away. Gareth watched Meilyr scan the crowd for available seats at a lower table: above the salt as was their due, but not among the nobles, of which Aber still housed many.
    Gareth was amused at how undramatic this much-worried-over meeting had been, a counterpoint to all the events that had led to it. Perhaps that was why it had gone so well—it seemed ridiculous to bear a grudge over a six-year old argument when Anarawd was dead and the reason for their reconciliation—the wedding—would not come to pass.
    “That went better than I expected,” Gwen said, in an undertone.
    “You mean ‘feared’,” Gareth said.
    Gwen turned to smile at him, but then King Owain spoke, loud enough for all to hear, stopping Gwalchmai and Meilyr in their tracks. “I was hoping for a song.”
    Meilyr turned back to the King. “Of course, my lord. It would be our pleasure. We have several prepared.” Though he’d been looking for seats away from her, Meilyr’s eyes immediately went to Gwen. He jerked his head to indicate that she should join them.
    Gwen rose from her seat, and then startled Gareth by placing a hand on his shoulder, squeezing once, and leaning in to whisper to him: “Now everyone will see what all the fuss was about.”
    It felt so normal to have her touch him, as if they were once again as good friends as they’d been five years ago, before his disgrace and subsequent banishment. Looking back, she’d touched him often over the last few days—just a brush of his arm or a bump with her shoulder: affectionate but undemanding. He didn’t know whether to be pleased and hopeful, or curse himself for noticing, because now that he had, he’d be on the lookout for it and undoubtedly drive himself mad interpreting every move she made.
    As Gareth stewed about that, Gwen made her way to the dais, a portion of which had been cleared of chairs to make room for the three musicians. And, of course, Gwen was right about the song. Three notes after opening his mouth, Gwalchmai had made a place for his family at Aber. He sang a piece from Aneirin’s Y Goddodin :

    Three hundred horses galloped into battle
    Garlands round their necks
    Three hundred men rode them
    Swords raised high
    Three kings led them
    The pride of the Cymry
    Alas! None returned.

    Although Gareth focused his attention on Gwen, he acknowledged that it was Gwalchmai’s soprano that soared above the others. The song had brought tears to listeners’ eyes for five hundred years. Under normal circumstances, grown men cried at the ending. But in Gwalchmai’s hands, none could withstand the beauty of it, including King Owain himself, who wept openly. Noblemen on either side of him sobbed, their faces in their arms that they’d folded on the table.
    Gareth waited until the last verse, tears tracking down his cheeks despite his best efforts to contain them, before slipping down the side passage to the hall and outside to the castle courtyard. A quick turn around the perimeter of the keep showed him what he’d feared: not a soul—not a guard, servant, noble, or peasant—was in evidence. Gareth had made it his business to know who was on duty tonight, and when each of the men in turn had entered the hall to listen to the singing, Gareth had felt a prickling at the back of his neck he couldn’t ignore.
    Under these circumstances, a thief or a spy would have ample opportunity to do whatever he liked. Steal a body, maybe? Or murder a servant? Gareth stilled, not sure what he was listening for, but disliking the lack of discipline among King Owain’s men, even if many of them were his friends. Aber might be one of the most secure of King Owain’s dominions, but to leave the hall unguarded? The front gate unattended? It made no sense.
    And then Gareth sighed to see Cristina, the King’s beloved, crossing the courtyard at a run. She entered the main building through a side door. He followed and a moment