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

later found his seat still available and Gwen, flushed from the heat and the singing, returned to him. The appreciation of the diners in the hall was palpable.
    “Where have you been?” Gwen said as he sat down.
    “Outside,” he said. “I listened to your family sing until nearly the end, and then thought I’d follow a hunch.”
    “And that was…?”
    “That Aber was, for a time, unguarded. I’ve never seen anything like it.”
    “Gwalchmai’s voice is beautiful,” she said.
    “As is yours.”
    Gwen shook her head, though he could tell she was pleased at his compliment. She continued, “You can’t blame the guards for wanting to listen to it. They must have thought nobody would notice if they were gone for a short while.”
    “Of course,” he said. “But all of them at the same time?”
    “I suppose—” Gwen had been gazing towards the high table as she spoke and now her brow furrowed. “Where is—?” She cut off the words just as Cristina appeared, a coquettish smile on her lips, and sat down a few seats from King Owain.
    Gareth leaned close to whisper into Gwen’s ear. “She returns. A moment ago I saw her leaving the barracks.”
    “No!” Gwen hunched her shoulders at how loud that had come out and modulated her tone. “All by herself?”
    “So it seems,” Gareth said.
    “But King Owain has been here the whole time,” Gwen said.
    “That he has.”
    Gwen bit her lip. “Why was she in the barracks? Whom did she meet?” Gwen rested her elbows on the table and put her chin in her hands, still studying Cristina. “I don’t like this.”
    “There’s no doubt she’s conniving,” Gareth said. “Though I suspect King Owain softened his stance against me because of her defense. I can’t dislike her for that.”
    “Could she have been with another man?” Gwen said. “It’s so unlik—”
    King Owain’s baritone interrupted their conversation. He rose to his feet, his cup raised and his voice booming to all corners of the hall. “We have feasted today in memory of Anarawd, the King of Deheubarth, the man who was to be my son. He was a brave man, a good king, and would have made a noble husband.”
    The hall fell completely silent at his words. Even Elen, who’d begun to sob again at the mention of Anarawd’s name, quieted herself. Cristina, seated next to her and three seats down from King Owain, wrapped her arm around the girl’s shoulders.
    “Anarawd was murdered by a band of Danes from Ireland,” King Owain said. “Although I do not yet know why, I will know, and then the perpetrators will be punished! I swear this!” He raised a clenched fist and then his cup.
    “To Anarawd!” the King said.
    “To Anarawd!”
    Everyone drank and then King Owain gestured to Gwalchmai and Meilyr, who prepared to sing again.
    “The killer has seriously underestimated this king,” Gareth said.
    “You know him better than I,” Gwen said. “Will he ask someone else to pursue this mystery since we’ve discovered nothing of use today? Is there anyone else to ask?”
    “He always turns to Hywel,” Gareth said. “And Hywel turns to me. We still have time. The Council will meet tomorrow morning and the meeting should take all day. You know how these things go.”
    “I’m sure they will talk about Anarawd,” Gwen said. “Will you have to attend Hywel?”
    “God forbid!” Gareth said. “Hywel knows I’m no good in council. He has other men for that. He doesn’t want me within eye or ear shot of his father either. Hywel may have to face him all day tomorrow, but I have no intention of putting myself in the path of King Owain’s wrath again.”
    “I’m glad,” Gwen said. “That’s definitely not a good place for you to be.”

Chapter Fourteen

    A s it turned out, however, that’s exactly where Gareth did find himself the next morning, corralled on one side by Hywel and on the other by Rhun. It was an uncomfortable feeling, to say the least.
    “You’re expected.” Hywel