The Uninvited Guest (15 page)

“
When you arrived outside
King Owain’s door last night and found Lord Goronwy gone, what did
you think?”

Tomos heaved a sigh. “I was wondering if one
of you would ask me that. I thought nothing of it, in truth.” He
shrugged. “Goronwy is a great friend, but not the most reliable,
truth be told.”

“
So you assumed he’d given
up and gone to bed without finishing his watch?” Gareth
said.

“
That’s it exactly,” Tomos
said. “I did my duty and was waiting for Cadwaladr to relieve me
when Cristina discovered her ruined dress.” As Tomos finished his
sentence, he stood in his stirrups, his attention caught by the
hunt. He pointed. “Here it comes!”

The massive boar burst from the bushes,
scattering twigs and dried leaves in all directions. It headed for
the far side of the circle of men, near where Rhun stood. All the
men in the circle braced themselves and the ones behind craned to
see.

“
Loose!”

The shout came from the king and he released
his spear, followed by a half dozen others. All but two missed, but
those that hit caught the boar broadside and stuck in the tissue
surrounding his ribs. With remarkable calm, and ignoring all else,
Rhun set his feet and thrust his spear into the boar’s neck as it
went past him.

The boar staggered another twenty yards and
was hit by several more spears before he fell, bristling like a
hedgehog. Without realizing it, Gareth had moved his horse closer
to the fight until he reached Hywel’s location. His lord turned to
Gareth with a grin and slapped his fist into his palm. “Rhun was
magnificent!”

Overhearing, King Owain swung around and
spied Hywel. He raised both fists in victory, his face flushed. “A
fine day, son!”

Hywel laughed and dismounted to run toward
his father who embraced him. Rhun stood in the midst of a circle of
jubilant men, all clapping him on the back and congratulating him.
King Owain and Hywel joined them. Gareth sat where he was, watching
as carefully as ever, though he was less worried about the king’s
safety at this moment than he’d been all day.

King Owain released Rhun and then spied
Gareth, still on horseback. He pointed at him. “Ride to Aber! Tell
them that we feast on boar tonight!”

Gareth saluted to indicate that he’d heard.
Hywel glanced over at him too and lifted a hand, which Gareth
interpreted to mean that Gareth should do as he was bid and Hywel
would watch over his father. At least that’s what Gareth hoped it
meant.

Gareth circled the scene and headed deeper
into the forest, looking for the broad trail that would take him to
the road that led east, to Aber. He didn’t push Braith—he was in no
real hurry—but trotted along as easily as the terrain allowed. If
past hunts were anything to go by, the king would organize an
impromptu celebration at the kill site with fresh roasted boar
meat. Given that King Owain appeared to have planned ahead, Gareth
wouldn’t put it past him to have arranged for several of the men to
carry a few skins of mead in their saddlebags. They would be a
while.

It took Gareth nearly half an hour to find
the main path. He urged Braith up an incline and onto it, turned
north, and then rode another mile. Coming around a curve in the
trail, he found his route blocked by a downed tree. He pulled
Braith up and gazed at it, disgusted. It was too large a tree for
Braith to jump—if she were so inclined, which she usually
wasn’t—and the branches were too thick to allow them to go under.
The tree had crushed the bushes on either side of the trail when it
fell, however, leaving a possible path for Gareth to lead Braith
around it.

Gareth dismounted and, clicking his tongue
at Braith, led her off the path and into the brush. It was so thick
in places, he feared he might have to pull out his sword to cut
through it, which would dull the blade terribly. But after a dozen
steps, he reached the spot where the trunk had come loose from the
moist soil. The roots formed a cave that the boar they’d just
killed would have very much liked. Below the tree, the earth fell
away in a steep decline into a narrow ravine. On rainy days, the
bottom would be full of water.

Braith whickered and stepped sideways,
suddenly nervous. Gareth put a hand on her nose to calm her, but
Braith pulled on her bridle, almost jerking it from Gareth’s
hand.

“
What’s wrong,
girl?”

Gareth sensed motion before he saw it, and
spun around. He didn’t move quickly enough, however, to counter the
large branch swinging towards him. Even as he raised his arm to
block it, it connected with the side of his head. His legs dropped
out from under him. Braith whinnied. A man grunted somewhere nearby
and Gareth thought he heard a guttural curse.

Gareth felt himself rolling downwards, at
first slowly, and then steadily picking up speed. He threw out his
hands, trying to stop, but the bank was too steep. Then his head
connected with a rock at the bottom of the ravine—and he knew
nothing more.

Chapter Twelve

G
wen watched Gareth and Hywel ride away until they were specks
in the distance, and then turned back to the keep. She didn’t want
to go inside. Without their support, the task that faced her seemed
enormous and impossible. Search every room? Question everyone who
remained in the castle?

With reluctant feet, she dragged up the
steps to the great hall. Could be, the killer was riding even now
with King Owain’s party, which was a comfort only in that Gwen
might have a few hours without a dead body to plague her.

She pushed open the door to
find that the only people remaining in the hall were a few older
men, a handful of soldiers from the garrison, and a gaggle of
girls. Facing them, Gwen quailed even more. Every one of Cristina’s
female friends and relations fitted into a category of
female
that Gwen found
unattractive: sharp and mercenary like Cristina, overbearing and
pompous like Enid’s mother, Lady Jane, or simpering and
vacant.

Then again, maybe not all.

A young woman sat at the end of one of the
long tables, working her way silently through a large bowl of
porridge. It was Mari. Gwen had noticed her the first day she’d
arrived with Lord Goronwy and some others of Cristina’s family,
before all the troubles began. She—alone among Cristina’s
relations—hadn’t asked for special foods or privileges, or treated
Gwen like a servant. Gwen wasn’t noble—in marrying Gareth, it was
she who was rising above her station—but she wasn’t a servant
either. Nor a slave. And she didn’t like being treated as one,
especially by girls younger than she.

Mari hadn’t spoken to Gwen beyond their
brief meeting in the linen closet over Enid’s body. Gwen wasn’t
part of the wedding party, and thus had not been included in their
gatherings. But at the moment, Mari was alone …

Gwen sat across from the girl, who looked
up, her spoon halfway to her mouth. After a brief perusal of Gwen,
she swallowed another bite of porridge and set the spoon in her
bowl.

“
Hello,” Mari
said.

“
Hello.” Now that Gwen had
gotten this far, she wasn’t sure what to say. It had been a long
time since she’d employed much in the way of social niceties.
Usually, when meeting new people, she hid behind Gwalchmai or their
mutual singing.

The girl didn’t appear to know what to say
either, so Gwen managed, “I’m Gwen.”

“
I know who you are,” the
girl said. “You’re the bard’s daughter. You’re to marry Sir
Gareth.”

Gwen saw an opening. “That’s right, if
things ever settle here.”

“
You mean the
murders?”

“
Yes,” Gwen said. “King
Owain had to postpone his wedding because of them, so it’s hardly
possible for Gareth and me to marry while he can’t.”

“
I hadn’t thought of that.”
The girl’s eyes drifted away from Gwen to one of the men-at-arms
who’d just come in through the front door. Gwen shifted in her
seat. If she’d already lost Mari’s attention, this wasn’t going
well.

“
Thank you for your help
this morning,” Gwen said.

Mari waved a hand. “It was nothing. When
Cristina screamed, none of us knew what to do or how to comfort
her.”

“
Grown men have done worse.
You could have lost your breakfast at the sight of … you know …”
Gwen’s voice trailed off. This really wasn’t going well.

“
We hadn’t eaten yet,” Mari
said. “This is the first real food I’ve had all day.”

Yet again, the silence swam between them as
Mari picked up her spoon and started eating.

Gwen forged ahead. “Will you stay at Aber
until Cristina’s wedding, regardless of when it eventually
happens?”

“
I have nowhere else to go,
so I suppose I will.”

“
I’m sorry,” Gwen said. “I
don’t know what you mean.”

The girl spoke around her mouthful of food.
“My parents are dead. Lord Goronwy is my guardian. I have no
husband, no dowry, and no chance of getting one. Thus, I go where
he goes.”

Gwen blinked at the girl’s bluntness. “I
didn’t know.”

The girl gazed down at her empty bowl. Gwen
had a premonition that she might start licking it. Instead, Mari
shrugged one shoulder and put down her spoon. “It’s no matter.”

Gwen didn’t believe that, but accepted that
Mari didn’t want to talk about her dependency. “How well did you
know Enid?”

“
I lived with her on and
off for two years, so I should know her well, but I can’t say I
understood her,” Mari said.

“
How’s that?” Gwen
said.

Mari gave Gwen a dark look. “You saw how she
died. Haven’t you noticed that not a single person at Aber has
expressed surprise that Enid is dead? Shock, maybe. Annoyance that
she had the gall to die in such an untimely fashion, and horror
that she was stuffed into a trunk. But surprise? No.”

“
And why is that?” Gwen
said, though she had an inkling that she knew already.

Mari scoffed. “Because she
had no sense of self-preservation. We all knew it. She would lie
with any man. She would
lie
to any man about anything, all the while looking
as beautiful as an angel and with that vacant smile that convinced
you that nothing untoward was going on behind her eyes.”

“
But you didn’t believe
that?” Gwen said. “That she was as vacant as she looked, I
mean?”

“
Her mother did. She
couldn’t fool the rest of us.” Mari gestured to the room at large.
“Several of us tried to talk to her. She insisted she knew what she
was doing. Always. And in truth, until her father died, she’d
always been petted and favored. Why shouldn’t she believe she could
do anything she wanted?”

“
Do your cousins share your
opinion?” Gwen said.

Mari stood. “Come with me.”

Gwen gazed up at her, uncertain.

“
Come on.” Mari laughed.
“Nobody is going to bite you!”

Mari led Gwen towards the right-hand
corridor, up the stairs, past the room in which Gwen slept, on past
the linen closet, and finally to the last room on the left. Before
she pushed the door fully open, she turned to Gwen, smiling, though
no real amusement reached her eyes. She canted her head towards the
half-open door. “Listen.”

Gwen didn’t need to get any closer to
hear.

“
I hate her! I hate her!”
Cristina’s voice echoed down the corridor, along with the sound of
something breakable hitting the wall and falling to the floor in
pieces. Soothing replies came from girlish voices inside the room,
but since the sound of stomping feet continued, Cristina didn’t
seem to be heeding them.

“
She’s talking about Enid,
of course,” Mari said. “King Owain told Cristina before he left
this afternoon that he couldn’t confirm any wedding plans until
tomorrow at the earliest.”

“
There’s still hope,
though,” Gwen said. “At least he hasn’t called it off.”

Mari shrugged and then pushed the door open
wide. The two of them stood on the threshold, taking in the scene:
Cristina, arresting her arm in mid-swing at the sight of them,
about to hurl a ceramic cup against the wall; Alis, one of her
bridesmaids with her back to the bedpost, hands over her ears; and
two other girls, Rhiannon and Catrin, cowering on the bed.

Cristina did not look well. Her face was
flushed to the roots of her hair, which had come loose and lay
tangled around her shoulders. “What!” She screamed the word, her
chin jutting out and her eyes bulging.

Mari nudged Gwen in the small of her back,
forcing her to take two steps forward.

“
Gwen is looking for the
person who murdered Enid and I thought you might have some thoughts
on the subject.” Mari said, matter-of-factly.

Cristina straightened, her temper cooling as
if she’d doused a fire with a bucket of water. “Shut the door.”

Mari obeyed and then
returned to her place beside Gwen, who clasped her hands in front
of her and waited for Cristina to speak again. She was trying to
gaze at Cristina with detached politeness.
What am I doing here?
Facing down
Cadwaladr had been easy by comparison.

Cristina plopped herself on a stool, reached
for her comb from among the scattered cosmetics on the table beside
her, and began working at the tangles in her hair. Gwen could see
Cristina’s temper rising again and she hastened forward, “Let me
help you, my lady.”

Cristina handed Gwen the comb and Gwen (very
carefully) began to work at the locks. “I apologize, my lady, for
overhearing what you were saying, but if you could tell me about
Enid …?”