The Fallen Princess (14 page)

Gareth

G
wen greeted them
at the gatehouse upon their return to the castle. It appeared she’d
been waiting for them. Gareth could tell at once by her expression
that something was wrong.

“It’s not good news, is it?” he said.

Gwen’s look was apologetic. “I thought it
might be better to talk here where we can’t be overheard. Your
father is sitting at the high table with Cadwaladr even now,
waiting for your return.”

“Does he know that we suspect Cadwaladr of
something?” Hywel said.

Gwen nodded. “I’m sorry. I couldn’t help it.
Your uncle was glaring at me, and King Owain saw him.”

Hywel grimaced. “Tell me quickly what you’ve
learned.”

Gwen obeyed. Both Hywel and Gareth knew
Brychan—Gareth better than Hywel, since he’d been among the
garrison in Ceredigion all those years ago. Neither had known that
he’d been Tegwen’s lover, however. That bit of news, and that
Tegwen and Brychan had met at Wena’s hut, left Gareth shaking his
head and staring at his boots. Then Hywel told Gwen what they’d
found.

“Old Wena.” Gwen sighed. “I asked about her
when I returned here a year ago and was sad to learn that she’d
died. I never thought to wonder what had become of that marvelous
house of hers.”

“It’s still there,” Hywel said, “but now the
children say that it’s haunted.”

“I find that fitting,” she said. “Could be
what they’ve heard is the wind moving through the mountain. In bad
weather, it could scare anyone away.”

“It scared Llelo,” Gareth said.

It had occurred to Gareth also that the
squeaky door and the moaning of the wind through the tunnel
wouldn’t have been the only sounds that the boys could have
misconstrued as the result of ghosts. To come upon the house at a
time when Brychan, Cadwaladr, or who knows what other man had
brought a woman to it could frighten any innocent boy. He bit his
lip and looked down at his feet, suppressing his amusement.

“Where is Llelo, by the way?” Gwen looked
past Gareth, her eyes searching. “I didn’t see him come in.”

“We sent him home before we visited Wynn in
the village,” Gareth said. “I hope he’s licking his wounds in the
kitchen.”

Gwen smiled. “Dai was upset to have missed
all the excitement. That will teach him to be such a lay-about when
intrigue is afoot.” Then she sobered. “I don’t mean to make light
of Tegwen’s death, my lord.”

“I know,” Hywel said. “Our grief at her loss
was tempered by the thought that she had gone of her own will. None
of us who loved her are having an easy time of it today.”

“There
is
something I don’t
understand, my lord,” Gwen said.

Hywel had been about to head off across the
courtyard but turned back to Gwen.

“Why didn’t Tegwen’s murderer remove her
necklace and cloak?” Gwen said.

“Where would he have taken them?” Hywel
said. “He must have thought it more prudent to leave them with
her.”

“Or he was squeamish,” Gareth said.

“I wondered that too,” Gwen said.

Hywel tipped his chin towards the front door
to the hall. “We can’t put off my father any longer.”

The walk across the courtyard felt like a
march to the gallows. Hywel kept his head high, however, so Gareth
squared his own shoulders and strode after him, Gwen in tow. The
guard standing at the top of the steps to the hall opened the door
for them, and a wave of warmth hit Gareth’s face.

The hall was packed with people, every bench
filled, but at the sight of the three of them walking through the
door, the babble cut off abruptly. By now, everyone from Aberffraw
to Rhuddlan knew that when Gareth, Gwen, and Hywel were seen
consulting together the way they had been today, an investigation
was underway. The crowd had been waiting to see them together in
the hall ever since Tegwen’s body had arrived at Aber, and everyone
was anxious to learn what they knew.

King Owain nodded at Hywel, who saluted his
father while Gareth and Gwen bowed. King Owain gestured them
forward. As they paced between the tables the length of the hall,
Gareth tried very hard not to look at anyone or anything other than
the back of Hywel’s head.

“We’ve been here before, haven’t we?” Gwen
said.

“I can’t say that’s a comforting thought,”
Gareth said.

“I can safely say that you won’t be thrown
into a cell at the back of the stables this afternoon,” Hywel
said.

It was nice to see that Hywel still had his
sense of humor, though Gareth’s incarceration in August of last
year for a murder he didn’t commit hadn’t been at all amusing at
the time.

As they passed through the hall, murmured
conversation broke out around them, a thrill of expectation rising
among the diners at the prospect of news. Dinner wouldn’t be served
until sunset, but Aber was full of people, and there was nothing
like a dead body to bring out the curious. Even if Tegwen hadn’t
been a princess, the word of anyone’s remains on the beach on the
day before Hallowmas would have been enough to set tongues
wagging.

King Owain fixed his gaze on the trio as
they approached the dais. Gareth tried not to look at Cadwaladr,
but he instinctively glanced at him out of the corner of his eye.
Cadwaladr wasn’t looking at him, fortunately, but was in close
conversation with his neighbor, a minor lord from southern Gwynedd.
Gareth couldn’t help but think his detachment was feigned and that
his ears were as attuned as anyone’s to what Hywel had to say to
King Owain. Gareth’s would have been if he’d been wearing
Cadwaladr’s boots.

Hywel stepped onto the dais to stand
opposite his father’s seat, put his heels together, and bowed.
“Father, may I speak to you in private?”

“Is that truly necessary?” King Owain put a
hand to his breast bone, touching the thick cross strung on a chain
around his neck. Gareth couldn’t help but think he was wearing it
as if it were armor, or a talisman, but it wouldn’t protect him
from the news Hywel was bringing him.

Gareth’s eyes flicked again to Cadwaladr,
who still wasn’t looking in his direction. Hywel may have done the
same, because the muscles around his father’s mouth tightened,
whether in concern or suppressed anger Gareth couldn’t tell. With
King Owain, the latter was always a likely response.

“We will speak in your chambers.” Without a
word to anyone who shared the table with him, the King stood and
headed towards the side door.

The moment he passed into the corridor, the
buzz of conversation in the hall rose behind him. To approach him
so publicly had been a mistake. After this, the king would have to
say
something
to his people, if only to ward off the wilder
and more imaginative rumors.

Once everyone was inside Hywel’s office,
Gareth closed the door. King Owain had paced to Hywel’s chair, but
the instant he sat in it, he was on his feet again, unable to stay
still. He went to the window and looked out of it, his back to the
room. “What have you found?”

Gareth had no wish to sit himself, but he
escorted Gwen to the bench against the wall. Hywel clasped his
hands behind his back and stiffened his legs. He looked like he was
bracing for a strong wind that, as it happened, bore a remarkable
resemblance to King Owain’s temper.

“We think we have found the place where
Tegwen has lain all these years,” Hywel said.

King Owain turned to look at his son, his
expression clearing. “That was quick work.”

“One of the fisher boys heard and saw a cart
pass by his house in the early hours of the morning, before low
tide and the clammers were out. He recognized the horse pulling it,
though he couldn’t make out the driver. After we questioned him, we
found the horse and cart at a homestead close to Aber village. It
was old Wena’s place.”

“I haven’t thought of her in years.” Now
that they’d started talking, King Owain seemed to relax. He went to
Hywel’s chair and sat.

“No one lives there now, but I understand
that the house and the land it’s on belong to Uncle Cadwaladr,”
Hywel said.

King Owain rocked back in the chair, the
front legs lifting off the floor. “Cadwaladr was not in Gwynedd
when Tegwen disappeared. None of us were.”

“I know that, Father,” Hywel said. “We were
fighting in Powys, Cadwaladr at your side, and as it turns out,
Tegwen’s lover, Brychan, fought there too. I have no mind to accuse
my uncle of anything so perverse as the murder of his niece.”

“But you suspect your uncle of something.”
King Owain tapped a finger to his lips. “Gwen implied as much to me
earlier.”

“I believe it was he who left Tegwen on the
beach.” Hywel signaled to Gareth, who stepped forward.

Gareth would rather have faced down a wild
boar without a spear than pull the pendant coin from his scrip. But
he did as Hywel bid him and held it out to King Owain.

“This was found near her body this morning,”
Hywel said. “It belongs to Uncle Cadwaladr.”

“I see.” King Owain eyed the pendant. “Is
that all? He could have dropped it on the beach at any time. Weeks
ago, for that matter.”

“Father—” Hywel was struggling to keep
impatience out of his face.

King Owain brought the legs of his chair
back to the floor with a
thud
. “Let me see if I am
understanding you correctly. You think that someone killed Tegwen
five years ago and left the body in old Wena’s hut, but your uncle
discovered it and decided—instead of informing me, or you, or
Rhun—that he should deposit her on Aber’s beach this morning.”

“Yes,” Hywel said.

King Owain scrubbed at his hair with both
hands, cursing under his breath.

“Father, I would like your permission to
speak to Uncle Cadwaladr,” Hywel said.

King Owain took in a deep breath through his
nose and let it out. “I accept the need. Cadwaladr should come here
now so we can get this over with.” Then he hesitated as he
contemplated the three of them. “But I can’t send any of you to
fetch him.”

Gareth looked at Gwen. Because he knew her
so well, he recognized the light in her eyes and that she was
trying to constrain her mirth. The king was right: if any one of
the three of them walked up to Cadwaladr as he sat on the dais in
the great hall, he would refuse to accompany them. Even if he
didn’t have half of Gwynedd watching his every move, he would still
have viewed his brother’s choice to summon him by means of Gareth,
Gwen, or Hywel as an insult.

The animosity among them ran deep: Cadwaladr
had dismissed Gareth from his service six years ago; he’d abducted
Gwen last year, spiriting her away to Ireland, after which Hywel
had burned his castle at Aberystwyth and then taken over his lands
in Ceredigion. If Cadwaladr were to name the residents of Aber
Castle he hated the most, their names would top the list.

King Owain gave a snort of disgust and rose
to his feet. “Just as I thought. None of you can disagree.”

“Perhaps I could fetch Lord Taran,” Gwen
said. “He could then ask Prince Cadwaladr to join us?”

“More to the point, my lord, perhaps meeting
in this space is not advisable,” Gareth said.

King Owain opened the door to Hywel’s
office. “I agree. I will speak to Cadwaladr in my chambers.”

“But Father—”

King Owain made a dismissive gesture. “Son,
the presence of you and Gareth will only inflame matters. Gwen
alone can attend to us.”

Gwen opened her mouth to protest too, but
Gareth put an arm around her shoulders and spoke for them both.
“Surely, my lord—”

“Unless you don’t think you’re capable, my
dear?” King Owain said, baiting her.

“I am perfectly able, my lord,” Gwen
said.

The king blithely ignored her glare. “Good.
I will see you there shortly.” He strode away.

The three of them stared after him. Hywel
muttered something indistinguishable under his breath. It sounded
like he was cursing Cadwaladr, possibly his father, and
circumstances all at the same time.

“Why does he want me there?” Gwen said. “I
didn’t find the pendant and didn’t even go to Wena’s house. I know
what you saw only because you told me about it.”

“Gareth raises my uncle’s hackles by his
very presence,” Hywel said. “I took his castle and his lands. You,
on the other hand, merely annoy him.”

Gwen choked down a laugh. “I can safely say
that the feeling is mutual.”

“You’re my secret weapon.” Hywel went to the
door. “You can do this.”

Gareth and Gwen stood together for a moment
after Hywel left, looking at each other with the same surprise at
Hywel’s candor.

Gwen lifted one shoulder. “I suppose I
shouldn’t keep King Owain waiting.”

The pair hastened to catch up with Hywel,
detouring into the courtyard by a side door and coming back inside
through a different door on the other side of the keep to avoid the
great hall.

“No matter how long the interview lasts, I
will be waiting for you outside,” Gareth said.

Gwen’s morose expression didn’t change.

Hywel grinned to see it. “We both will.”

Gwen

I
n general,
whenever she was forced to occupy the same room as Cadwaladr, Gwen
avoided him: she didn’t look at him, she didn’t talk to him, and
she looked for any excuse to leave the room before she had to do
either of those things. Thus, the idea of questioning him about his
recent whereabouts had her stomach in knots, and she clenched her
hands together to stop them from trembling. Cadwaladr was a snake
in human form. He had abducted her. It wasn’t something she could
forgive. Not today. Maybe not ever.

Gareth stayed beside her until King Owain
and Cadwaladr passed through the doorway from the great hall into
the corridor that led to King Owain’s rooms. Then he kissed her
cheek, squeezed her hand, and departed. Gwen tried to slow her
pounding heart. She opened her hands wide and placed them flat at
her sides against her skirt. She was glad she had taken off the
plain homespun she’d worn to the beach and replaced it with one of
her two finer dresses, this one green with a white underskirt. It
was a kind of armor against the unpleasantness to come.