The Fallen Princess (33 page)

“The man who stole it was a Dane, and Danes
have come to Aber looking for it. It is not mine to keep, and I
cannot return it to Kells. But you can.”

“The Dane who came to Aber wants to return
it too,” Gareth said. “He is a good man.”

“He is a Dane.” Nest’s voice hardened. “Too
many houses such as mine have been sacked by Danes for me to ever
rejoice when I see their sails on the water. We learned to run and
hide a long time ago.” Then she shot Gareth a thoughtful look.
“Though there have been times when fighting seems to have been the
proper course of action.”

“I will introduce you to Godfrid, and
perhaps you will feel differently.” Gareth smiled at Nest’s icy and
skeptical expression. “Allow me at the very least to introduce you
to King Owain. This is news we can all celebrate.” He rose to his
feet, his heart lighter than it had been in days. It was one
mystery solved, and he hadn’t even had to leave Aber to do it.

“Wait.” Nest caught Gareth’s wrist. “There’s
one more thing I must speak to you about. I understand that you
buried Tegwen ferch Cadwallon yesterday.”

Gareth sank slowly back down to his bench.
“Yes, we did. Did you know her?”

“Not I,” Nest said, “but our order had
dealings with her.”

Gareth’s mind had been full of his good news
and its consequences. The finding of the Book of Kells coupled with
Thorfin’s death was going to rock Dublin to its very foundation.
But now he focused again on Nest. “How so?”

“A few days before she disappeared, she came
to us. Our convent lies near Bryn Euryn. She asked about joining
our community.”

“Tegwen wanted to become a nun?” Gareth
said. That seemed the least likely thing he’d heard about her.

Nest gave him a sad smile. “She said she
did. I thought you ought to know.”

“Thank you for telling us,” Gareth said.
“Though I suppose the investigation is over now. We have a witness
who attests that her husband killed her.”

“She loved her husband.” Bronwen spoke for
the first time, and from her wide-eyed look, seemed shocked to have
spoken at all. “But she was afraid of him too.”

“Do you know that for certain?” Gareth
said.

Bronwen nodded. “She told me so when she
visited. We were of an age, so I was allowed to show her around the
convent. She claimed to know a great secret about him but wouldn’t
speak of it to me—” Bronwen glanced at Nest, who nodded
reassuringly for her to continue. “The leader of our order would
have taken her in right then and there, but she insisted she had to
go back. We never saw her again …”

“I’m sure she was grateful to have had
someone to talk to,” Nest said soothingly.

Bronwen nodded. “That’s what I said to the
other man who came around asking about her.”

Gareth took in an audible breath of
surprise. “What other man?”

“It was after she disappeared,” Bronwen
said, clearly surprised at his surprise. “Long after.”

“Who was this?” Gareth said. “Was it her
husband, Bran?”

“No, no. Not her husband, someone else,” the
girl said. “Older.”

“You didn’t tell me about this.” Nest fixed
her eyes on Bronwen.

“I just remembered,” Bronwen said, showing a
glimmer of spine by not wilting under her superior’s glare.

“When was this?” Gareth said.

Bronwen’s chin wrinkled up as she thought.
“Maybe … three years ago?”

“Did the man give you his name?” Gareth
said.

Bronwen shook her head, her expression
uncertain. “I’m sure he did, but I don’t remember it.” Then her
face brightened. “But you can ask him yourself. He’s right there.”
She pointed towards the high table. “It’s man on the end.”

Bronwen was pointing to Gruffydd, Tegwen’s
grandfather. Gruffydd had been talking with Taran. Bronwen’s
gesture must have caught his eye because he looked in their
direction and saw Gareth staring back. Gruffydd put a hand on
Taran’s shoulder, mouthing apologies, rose to his feet, and almost
before Gareth could blink, had disappeared through the doorway to
the kitchens at the back of the hall.

“What’s wrong, Gareth?” Nest said.

Luck had reared its reluctant head at last.
“We need to raise the alarm,” Gareth said, though Nest would have
no idea what he was talking about. “It was Gruffydd all along!”

Gwen

D
ewi’s chin stuck
out, his expression mutinous and defiant. “I don’t know what you’re
talking about.”

“I need to know who else you told about
Tegwen’s disappearance and death,” Gwen said, “or anything about
what you witnessed the night she died. Someone poisoned you last
night, and I can’t believe it was for no reason.”

Evan and Goch, who had recovered from the
blow to the head Dewi had given him, had dragged him out of the
stables into the daylight. They set him on the same stump by the
kitchen door that Gwen had sat on two days ago to talk to Gareth
and Hywel. Dewi’s hands weren’t tied, but he had no weapons, and
his face was drawn and white from his ordeal. According to the
healer, he’d been sick until he had nothing left inside him and had
lain shivering and feverish until dawn.

This time, Gwen had banished the kitchen boy
to chop his wood elsewhere. The only reason they were out here at
all rather than in the cell at the back of the stables was because
it reeked of sickness—among other things—and Gwen’s stomach
couldn’t take it.

“I didn’t tell anyone!” Dewi brushed his
lank black hair out of his face. It had come undone from the tie at
the base of his neck. “Do you think I’m a fool?”

Gwen did, but she tried not to let her
skepticism show on her face. He’d obviously kept Bran’s secret well
enough to have survived this long. “What about Erik? Could he have
talked? We’re trying to figure out why someone tried to kill
you.”

“Erik wouldn’t have talked,” Dewi said, “and
he wouldn’t poison me either.”

“He’s long gone anyway,” Goch said.

Fugitives had been known to double back, but
Erik would know that they were searching for him. He couldn’t show
his face in Aber; thus, Gwen had to agree with Goch. At the very
least, Erik didn’t murder Brychan and then retreat
into
Aber.

“Particularly in the last few days, did you
mention to anyone anything about the events of that night?” Evan
said. “You knew Tegwen. You could have let slip that you’d been
near Aber with Bran around the time she disappeared.”

Dewi screwed up his face in a parody of
thought. “No, I didn’t.”

“You could have mentioned it accidently,
perhaps to impress a girl you were wooing?” Goch said.

Dewi made as if to dismiss the question, and
then his brow furrowed. “Well, I talked to my half-brother, of
course.”

Evan leaned in. “When was this?”

“Moreover, who is your half-brother?” Gwen
said.

“The first time was years after Tegwen
died,” Dewi said, answering Evan’s question first. “It can’t be
important now.”

“What did you tell him?” Evan said.

“He said that he knew Tegwen before her
marriage to Bran and wondered what had happened to her. I didn’t
tell him that she’d died,” Dewi added hurriedly, “only that I
thought there was more to the story. I might have mentioned that I
saw her not long before she disappeared, but he knew I worked for
Bran, so why wouldn’t I have seen her? How could this be important
now?”

Gwen put her face into Dewi’s. “Who. Is.
Your. Brother?”

Dewi looked around as if expecting to see
him in the courtyard. “His name is Brychan. We didn’t see each
other for years while I was in Rhos and he was in Dolwyddelan and
Bala, but then we reconnected by chance in Ceredigion during the
wars there and then again a few years ago after he returned to
Gwynedd.”

Gwen knew her mouth had fallen open. She
didn’t know what to say.

“Dewi doesn’t know, Gwen,” Evan said.

Dewi glanced at Evan. “Know what?”

Gwen put her hand on Dewi’s shoulder and
tried to speak as gently as she could. “Brychan was murdered last
night.”

Dewi goggled at Gwen. “What? He can’t have
been! Why would anyone do that?”

“Did you confess your knowledge of Tegwen’s
death to Brychan after we found her body?” Gwen said.

Dewi’s face went blank.

At that moment, there was a commotion in the
kitchen and Gruffydd, Dolwyddelan’s castellan, burst through the
doorway. He skidded to a halt in front of Dewi, his eyes widening.
“I thought you were dead!” And then he seemed to come to himself,
gaping at Gwen, Evan, and Goch, who were watching him in various
stages of surprise and consternation.

He stared at them for two heartbeats, and
then as Gareth flung himself through the open doorway from the
kitchen, Gruffydd fled, running flat out for the postern gate.

Gareth put up a hand. “Stop him!”

The guards at the gate looked at Gareth,
confused expressions on their faces, and then at Gruffydd as if to
say, “Stop
him
?”

“Out of my way!” Gruffydd made a sweeping
motion with his arm.

“Yes!” Gareth was younger and a little more
fit than Gruffydd, but if the sentry hadn’t pulled the postern gate
closed at the last moment, Gruffydd might have escaped.
Fortunately, the sentry knew an order when he heard one, and he was
more comfortable taking orders from Gareth than from Gruffydd.

Goch and Evan had run after Gareth. Gwen
followed at her usual slower pace. By the time she reached the
postern gate, Gareth had Gruffydd pressed to the closed door and
was tying his hands behind his back. With a word from Gareth, Evan
removed Gruffydd’s sword from his belt and a knife from his
boot.

“This is ridiculous. I have done nothing
wrong,” Gruffydd said.

“Then why did you run?” Gareth said.

“You have misunderstood,” Gruffydd said. “I
ate something that disagreed with me and was hastening outside of
Aber before I humiliated myself in front of everyone.”

“You seem healthy enough to me,” Gareth
said.

Gruffydd hacked and coughed, which seemed
real enough to Gwen. She almost believed his story. She might still
have believed it if Evan hadn’t at that moment turned Gruffydd’s
knife over in his hands and, with a curious expression on his face,
shown it to Gareth.

“That’s blood.” Evan traced a thin line near
the hilt with his finger. Narrow with a fine point, the knife
looked like it would match the wound too, if they had a wound to
match.

“Don’t be absurd,” Gruffydd said.

Gareth leaned closer, keeping a hand pressed
between Gruffydd’s shoulder blades and prodding his feet apart.
“You’ve had a momentous few days.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,”
Gruffydd said.

Gareth tsked through his teeth. “The irony
is that until you murdered Brychan, poisoned Dewi, and set fire to
the manor house yesterday, you’d kept your hands clean. What made
you fall apart so suddenly?”

“He murdered Brychan?” Dewi had come to a
halt beside Gwen, who’d completely forgotten about him in the
capture of Gruffydd.

Gareth glanced behind him. “Stay back,
Dewi.”

Dewi didn’t hear him—or couldn’t hear him.
“Why?” The word came out a wail.

Gwen didn’t answer Dewi because she didn’t
know, and she was hoping someone was going to tell her soon.

“Murder, poisoning, and arson. Am I missing
something?” Gareth said.

“And then there’s the matter of your
attempted murder of me.” Hywel had come up behind Gwen and stopped
at her left shoulder, between her and Dewi. Dewi had gone up on the
balls of his feet and came down again only when Hywel put a heavy
hand on his shoulder to keep him still.

“I didn’t shoot at the prince,” Gruffydd
said. “That was Brychan.”

“Who happens to be conveniently dead and
unable to gainsay you,” Gareth said.

“Brychan is the archer,” Gruffydd said.

“I don’t believe you.” Hywel released Dewi
and closed in on Gruffydd. “I think you murdered Bran too.”

Gruffydd didn’t answer, a sneer contorting
his features. “I admit to nothing.”

“It is as I suspected,” Hywel said. “Brychan
was the one with the courage, not you.”

Gruffydd spat on the ground. “Brychan went
only where I pointed.”

There was a silence as Gruffydd seemed to
realize what he’d said. He clenched his jaw. Gwen stood stunned.
She’d spoken with Brychan at length and believed what he’d told
her. If he’d murdered Bran, then he’d lied to her face. She felt
like a fool to have been so trusting.

“What’s the penalty for conspiracy to murder
the Lord of Rhos?” Gareth said as if asking Hywel about the weather
on Anglesey.

“You can’t pin Bran’s death on me.”
Gruffydd’s features were twisted with hate.

“But you did murder Brychan,” Gareth
said.

Gareth had Gruffydd’s cheek pressed to the
wall. Gruffydd’s mouth worked, and Gareth spoke in his ear. “We
have the loose thread now. All we have to do is pull at it and your
entire world will unravel. Better to confess to what you did do and
only owe
galanas
to Brychan’s family, than refuse to talk
and be accused of Lord Bran’s murder as well as Brychan’s. Think of
Sioned.”

“I am thinking of Sioned. I didn’t murder
Bran.” Gruffydd seemed to think that if he repeated the phrase
often enough, someone would believe him.

Gareth flipped Gruffydd around to face his
audience and gazed at him, unbending. Gruffydd’s eyes flicked to
Hywel. And it was only then that at last he nodded. “Brychan
demanded that I give him money so he could leave Gwynedd forever.
He told me that he feared you were getting too close. We fought.
That he’s dead was an accident.”

“What—you accidently stabbed him through the
heart with your boot knife?” Hywel said.

“It was an accident,” Gruffydd said
again.