The Fallen Princess (30 page)

Mari was standing a few feet from the body,
facing towards the postern gate. “Hywel, regardless of who did
this, we can’t let everyone know that Brychan was murdered in the
woods. The people might panic.”

Hywel groaned. “Why does it have to be
Hallowmas?”

“We have to do something with the body,”
Gwen said. “We can’t leave him here.”

Mari was gathering herself after her shock.
“You two put the body in the firewood shed behind the house,” she
said to Hywel and Gareth. “Gwen and I will act as lookouts.”

At Hywel’s assent, Mari ran ahead to blow
out the candles on the pathway and plunge the manor into greater
darkness. A few candles still flickered on the back steps to the
house, and she put those out too. Gwen, meanwhile, stood sentry
halfway between the woods and the house, and when it seemed all was
clear, she waved the men forward. Gareth and Hywel carried the body
out of the woods, but when they passed Gwen, she realized they were
leaving a trail of blood on the ground behind them.

While Gareth stacked enough wood to last the
household inhabitants through the night and divert them from
entering the woodshed, and Mari kept watch at the corner of the
house, Gwen grabbed a rake from its hook on the wall. Scraping the
ground with broad sweeping motions, she worked her way back to the
woods with it, churning the soil, grass, and leaves to bury as much
blood as she could. Nobody would notice the blood in the dark, but
it might be noticeable in the morning and, at the very least,
attract wild animals in the night.

When she reached the spot where Brychan had
died, she stopped, listening to the distant calls and laughter from
the castle. As Gwen’s eyes grew used to the darkness under the
trees, the world outside the woods grew brighter—or maybe it was
the sweep of stars that had appeared from behind a cloud. Gareth
and Hywel disappeared inside the woodshed, and Mari now stood on
the top steps to the back door, which was open, her silhouette
clearly visible against the backdrop of candles she’d relit behind
her.

Gwen shivered and looked away. She’d been so
focused on her task that she hadn’t had time to be afraid of the
dark. Now she glanced towards the castle and caught movement out of
the corner of her eye. Someone was lurking at the base of the wall,
sidling towards the postern gate. Gwen stared at the figure for two
heartbeats and then started back towards the manor. She opened her
mouth to shout for Gareth, not fool enough to confront a murderer
on her own. But before she could catch his attention, a great burst
of laughter came from the revelers by the gate. A half-dozen
drunken men spilled from it.

Unlike the guards who remained in the
courtyard, these men had drunk more than enough mead. They milled
around on the pathway leading to the manor house.

“Gareth!” Gwen started to run just as the
cloaked figure slipped among them and through them.

Gareth and Hywel didn’t appear, but Mari
hurried down the steps towards her. “What’s happening?”

“I saw him!” Gwen pointed towards the
revelers.

“I’ll get Hywel,” Mari said.

“Gwen!” A drunken man stepped from the pack
of men, his arms wide as if he wanted to embrace her. “Where is
your husband? He has been far too serious of late, and we mean to
make him join us!”

Gwen slowed and then stopped, looking past
the man, whose name was Iago. “Did you see who it was who passed by
here just now? He wore a cloak and came from over there.” Gwen
pointed to the wall to the south of the gate.

Iago spun on his heel and waved a hand at
his fellows. “It’s just us here, right boys? I didn’t see
anything.”

Gareth and Hywel hurried up. “Is everything
all right?” Gareth said.

“Gareth!” Iago clapped a hand on Gareth’s
shoulder. “You’re not drinking!”

“And you, Iago, have drunk far too much.”
Gareth shook him off and guided Gwen through the crowd to the
postern gate. “Mari said you saw the killer. Where did he go?”

“Through here, I’m sure of it,” Gwen said.
“Iago and his friends are too drunk to notice anything but their
own amusement.”

Two men stood sentry on either side of the
doorway. One of them, thankfully, was Rhodri. He’d been on the
beach the day before with Gwen. It was his son who’d discovered
Cadwaladr’s coin pendant.

“A man, hooded and cloaked, came through
here just now,” Gareth said. “Did you see him?”

“We’ve seen dozens, my lord, both in and out
since you passed this way earlier.” Rhodri’s brows came together.
“I haven’t noticed anyone who shouldn’t be here, but I don’t know
the names of everyone at Aber tonight either.”

Gareth cursed under his breath. “He belongs
here; he must.” He gazed around the courtyard, his hands on his
hips.

The bonfire had been piled to the height of
a man, with the flames shooting higher than that. At least a
hundred people were gathered around it, with more on the margins by
the craft halls and barracks. Gwen tried to see individual faces
instead of the firelight. Then she noticed a cloth bundle by the
corner of the stables.

“What’s this?” She held up a cloak, thin and
brown with blotchy stains in places that someone had wadded up and
discarded. Looking at it ruefully, she handed it to Gareth, who
cursed again. The cloak was damp, but in the firelight Gwen
couldn’t tell if the moisture was blood or merely water from the
puddle it had been lying in.

“It’s rough and cheap,” Gwen said.

“It could belong to anyone—from the killer
to a villager too drunk to notice how cold he now is.” Gareth
pounded a fist on one of the posts that held up the stable’s roof.
“What is going on here?”

“Did Brychan have anything on him that helps
us?” Gwen said.

Gareth shrugged. “It’s always awkward to go
through a dead man’s clothes like a petty thief, but Hywel and I
did the best we could in the dim light and found nothing of
interest. What Brychan knew was in his head.”

“And here I thought Hywel was going to be
the one in danger tonight,” Gwen said.

“I’m concerned now for you and Mari.” Gareth
tossed the cloak onto a towering stack of wood beside the
blacksmith forge. “He knows you saw him, but he got away, and in
this crowd, the only way we’re going to discover his name is by
sheer luck.”

“We’re getting close,” Gwen said, trying to
be reassuring. “He’s slipped up and killed someone else. He’ll know
that we’ve grabbed the end of the thread and only need to tug at it
for his world to unravel.”

“I won’t say you’re wrong,” Gareth said.
“Isn’t that always the way of it? As time goes by and more people
become involved, the killer’s plan gets away from him and spirals
out of control.”

“There you are!” Godfrid detached himself
from some onlookers standing near the gatehouse and strode up to
them, grinning. At the sight of their serious faces, however, he
faltered.

“What’s happened?”

“We have another murder, and we don’t know
why,” Gwen said. “Brychan, Tegwen’s lover, is dead.”

Godfrid’s expression darkened. “My men and I
will aid you in any way we can.”

“We’ll have to ask the same questions we’ve
been asking all over again: if anyone saw anything unusual; if
anyone hasn’t been where they’re supposed to be,” Gareth said.

Godfrid snorted. “It’s Hallowmas. Nobody is
where he’s supposed to be.”

“We’d better get started, then,” Gwen
said.

“Not you, though.” Gwen found herself being
spun around by her husband and directed towards the manor house.
“You are for bed.”

Gwen didn’t dig in her heels, but she didn’t
come willingly either. It was very unlike Gareth to tell her what
to do so determinedly. “You can’t think I’m going to sleep? I just
saw a man murdered, and you’ve hidden his body in the
woodshed.”

“I know, Gwen.” Gareth’s voice came low in
her ear. “But you could try. Mari needs you. And I need you safe.
We have a killer running loose inside Aber. I would feel better
knowing you were safe outside the walls.”

Gwen swallowed down her protest. She liked
being involved, and she liked knowing what was happening, but she
could just as well skip asking those same questions over again to
the drunken inhabitants of Aber Castle. She allowed Gareth to
escort her to their room. Hywel met them at the front door, a look
of relief crossing his face at the sight of Gwen. He practically
pushed her through the doorway to their room. Mari was leaning over
the basin in the corner.

“You are a very bad man,” Gwen said.

Hywel smirked. “Get her to sleep if you can;
try to sleep yourself.”

“We won’t be long, Gwen,” Gareth said. “It
is less than two hours to midnight, after which everyone will be
even more drunk and incapable of answering our questions.”

Hywel scoffed. “In another hour, we’re going
to be the only ones standing.”

Hywel

H
e was a coward. He
knew it. And Gwen was a saint. Hywel had no trouble accepting their
opposite natures and refused to feel guilty about the look Gwen
shot him as he closed the door to the corridor and left the manor
house with Gareth. Someone had already relit the candles along the
walkway, and the light led them back into Aber.

Godfrid met them inside the gate. “The women
are safe?”

That question had Hywel spinning on one
heel, grabbing Rhodri’s arm, and marching back down the pathway
with him. “I need you to stand guard at the manor house.”

“My post—” Rhodri didn’t exactly stutter,
but he was looking at Hywel with a concerned expression.

“Too much has happened during the last two
days for me to allow Gwen and Mari to stay in the house without a
guard. I need you to stand watch until Gareth and I return.”

“Of course,” Rhodri said, no longer
protesting. “It will be my pleasure.”

Hywel returned to where Gareth and Godfrid
waited, listening to the tail end of Gareth’s description of
Brychan’s death. Godfrid was staring at him with bemused horror.
“Nothing like this ever happens in Dublin.”

Hywel had to laugh. “I very much doubt
that.”

Gareth then found another sentry to replace
Rhodri, one of the few who wasn’t completely drunk. Meanwhile, King
Owain’s man, Adda, appeared, hovering in the entrance to the
stables, his eyes searching. When he saw Hywel, he hurried over.
“My lord—” He cleared his throat. “We have a problem.”

Godfrid’s look of continued disbelief was
priceless, but Hywel ignored it. “Tell me.”

“It’s Dewi, the man you captured this
afternoon. He won’t wake,” Adda said.

“No.” Two dead men within a single hour was
more than Hywel could take.

Gareth stepped in. “Show us.”

Adda ushered them towards the back of the
stables to a rear room that doubled as Aber’s prison when needed.
The room hadn’t changed since Gareth had spent time in it last
year: ten feet on a side with hay scattered across the floor and
smelling potently of manure and horse.

Dewi lay facing the wall on a pallet, an
improvement from when Gareth had been incarcerated here. With the
feeling of having been here before, Hywel put his hand to Dewi’s
shoulder and rolled him onto his back. His eyes were closed as if
in sleep. Gareth put his fingers to Dewi’s neck. Hywel expected him
to shake his head, but then Gareth grabbed both sides of Dewi’s
head and rocked him back and forth. “Wake up!”

“He’s alive?” Godfrid said from behind
them.

“Barely!” Gareth threw a look over his
shoulder at Adda. “Get the healer in here.”

“I’ll get a bucket of water,” Godfrid
said.

Gareth slapped Dewi’s cheeks, and when Dewi
moaned, Hywel helped Gareth move him into a sitting position.
Godfrid reappeared with a full bucket of water and an empty one as
well, and then Adda returned with the healer. Daff wasn’t Wena, but
Hywel knew him to be capable. Fortunately, Daff also wasn’t a man
to overdrink.

“What happened to him, my lord?” Daff
said.

“I don’t know,” Hywel said. “He won’t
wake.”

Daff sniffed near Dewi’s mouth, as Hywel had
done to the guard Madog, mumbled under his breath, and then
sprinkled herbs into the cup of water Godfrid handed him. Daff
gestured to Dewi’s food tray. “Is that what he ate and drank?”

“We think so,” Gareth said.

“I’ll check it after we get him awake. I’m
going to guess that someone tampered with his food, which means
we’ll need him to puke it up.” Daff eyed the prince. “You might
want to step back.”

Hywel didn’t wait to be told twice. He’d
been present when a similar treatment had been given to Gareth
after Cadwaladr had poisoned him. Daff gestured to Gareth. “Hold
his mouth open.”

Gareth obeyed, and Daff poured in the
liquid, forcing it down Dewi’s throat. The guard came awake enough
to cough and sputter, and then in a rush he vomited the contents of
his stomach into the empty bucket Godfrid shoved in front of
him.

Stepping away while Daff administered
another dose, Hywel moved to where Adda hovered in the doorway, his
hands working nervously in front of him. “Have you been on duty all
evening?”

“I came on after Tegwen’s funeral, but he
was fine then. I’d swear to it!”

“Has he had any visitors?” Hywel said.

Adda nodded his head eagerly. “At least a
dozen.”

Hywel exchanged a puzzled look with Gareth,
who’d overheard. “Why?” Gareth said.

“To mock.” Adda raised his shoulders in an
exaggerated shrug. “I didn’t let any of them but Prince Cadwaladr
inside.”

Hywel’s hands went to the top of his head.
“When was this?”

“Right after I first came on duty,” Adda
said. “Did I do wrong?”

“No, Adda,” Gareth said. “You could hardly
have gainsaid a prince.”

Gareth was right, but that didn’t stop Hywel
from grinding his teeth.