“No, he isn’t.” Hywel’s voice held amusement, which was typical of the man. It was his earlier anger that had been unusual.
“He is wanted by the sheriff of Shrewsbury!”
“You speak our language, so you should be Welsh enough to know that we don’t abide by English law here,” Hywel said, speaking for every Welshman in the courtyard, whose hackles had risen at the newcomer’s words.
Everyone but the stranger knew that Gareth wasn’t the man he wanted, but his immediate innocence was instantly put aside to defend the integrity of their homeland. The guards at the gatehouse stepped closer, their own swords out and ready. Godfrid, Cynan, and Madoc moved to block any escape.
The man ducked his head, suddenly uncertain. “I thought this land belonged to the Earl of Chester—”
“Not anymore. He has no power here.” Rhun came forward, halting out of sword reach of the stranger.
The man wore no helmet, and his brown hair was plastered to his forehead from the rain. His clothing was that of a man-at-arms, though the sword he held was finely wrought. He was either of higher rank than he looked or a well-trusted emissary.
“Put up your sword,” Hywel said.
Grossly outnumbered, the man flicked his eyes nervously from Hywel to Rhun and back again, only now noticing their fine clothing, swords, and armor. He swallowed hard and, after another moment’s hesitation, obeyed.
Having sheathed his sword, he spread his hands wide. “May I ask to whom I have the honor of speaking?”
“I am Prince Hywel of Gwynedd, and this is my brother, Prince Rhun, the edling.”
The man expelled a breath, and then he bowed deeply. “John Fletcher of Shrewsbury at your service.” He lifted his head, glancing first at Gareth, who hadn’t moved to put away his sword as yet, and then he straightened. “My lords, I may have crossed the border into Wales in error, but this man is still a highwayman. You should know that you have a serpent in your midst.”
“Did this thieving and brigandry occur in Shrewsbury too?” Hywel said.
“It did,” John said. “A month ago.”
Hywel turned slightly to look at Gareth. “Have you been to Shrewsbury in the last year?”
“You know I haven’t.”
“Sir Gareth is the captain of my guard,” Hywel said. “He has hardly left my side in five years of service, except at my direction and to places he has then proven to have reached. He has not been to Shrewsbury, and there was never a time in the last year he could have ridden there and returned without my noticing his absence. This is not the man you’re looking for.”
“But—” The stranger’s determined expression had been faltering as the prince talked, and now real puzzlement entered John’s eyes. “Did you say, ‘Sir Gareth’? Not the Sir Gareth who saved the life of Henry Plantagenet, the son of Empress Maud?”
“The very same,” Hywel said.
The man put a hand to the top of his head. “I am at a loss.” Placing his heels together, he bowed, but this time in Gareth’s direction. “My lord, I apologize for mistaking you for someone else.” He squinted too, his expression still full of concern. “My eyes aren’t what they used to be.”
“Clearly,” Hywel said.
Gareth finally lowered his sword and took one stride towards the stranger, his arm out. “I am Gareth ap Rhys, captain of Prince Hywel’s teulu.”
Hywel stepped aside so John could grasp Gareth’s arm. “John Fletcher, undersheriff in Shrewsbury, sent to trace the whereabouts of one Cole Turner. For some time, he’s been wanted for crimes committed in England, but we had word only a few days ago that he’d been seen on the road north of Shrewsbury. I picked up his trail and followed him here.”
“Are you saying that the trail led to this monastery?” Gareth said.
John shook his head. “I lost his scent a ways to the south, and I must have turned the wrong way in the rain because I didn’t mean to enter Wales. What is this place?”
“King Owain, who rules these lands, has taken this abandoned monastery as his headquarters for his campaign against the Earl of Chester,” Gareth said.
John licked his lips. “I hadn’t realized your victories had brought you so far north and east, my lords.” He released Gareth’s arm and turned to the princes. “I request permission to explain my task to the king in order to pursue Cole into Gwynedd.”
“That will not be necessary,” Prince Rhun said.
John blinked in confusion. “Why not?”
Gareth made a slashing motion with one hand, not yet ready to answer that question. “I want to know more about this man who looks like me. It is obvious you have met him. Did you know him personally?”
“Not as a friend, mind you, but we caught him red-handed nearly a month ago on the high road to London, robbing a merchant. He escaped custody, however.” John ground his teeth in frustration.
Gareth grimaced, which may have been a failed attempt at a smile. Gwen didn’t feel like smiling either. It was of some comfort to know Cole’s name, but that he’d been wanted for highway robbery only made her more concerned about what else he’d been doing in the last month, and how willing he might have been to do something far more heinous in Gareth’s name.
“Then you may be pleased to learn that he is dead,” Gareth said.
“Dead? How so?” John said.
“He was run through and left beside a trail that passes through the mountains to Cilcain. Lord Morgan’s man found him, and he told us of Cole’s death yesterday, though we didn’t have a name for him until now. My wife and I examined the body ourselves.” Gareth gestured that Gwen should come forward.
John had been looking into Gareth’s face, but at Gwen’s approach, he looked past him to her. His mouth opened. “What—how—”
Gwen felt a frisson of satisfaction at John’s reaction.
Gareth smiled grimly too. “This is my wife, Gwen ferch Meilyr. From your expression, I don’t have to guess that she looks familiar to you too.”
John made a helpless gesture with both hands. “Indeed, though now that I look more closely at both of you, I realize that I was mistaken on her behalf as well as yours.”
“Who did you think I was?” Gwen said.
“You look very much like the daughter of one of our merchants in Shrewsbury, a young woman named Adeline,” John said.
“Is she, by chance, missing, having been last seen in the company of Cole Turner?” Gwen said.
John couldn’t keep his eyes off Gwen’s face. “How do you know about her?”
Before Gwen could answer, Hywel intervened. “May we see your credentials?”
“Of course.” John pulled a folded piece of parchment from the recesses of his coat and handed it to the prince.
Hywel studied the paper. From where she was standing, Gwen could see the elaborate seal and signature at the end of the letter. Although she didn’t recognize the sheriff of Shrewsbury’s emblem on sight, Hywel obviously did, since he gave a brief nod to indicate that all was well.
“For all that your name is of Saxon origin, you speak Welsh with barely an accent.” Hywel refolded the parchment and returned it to John. “How is that?”
“My mother is Welsh.” John accepted the return of his credentials with a slight bow, and when he straightened, he proceeded to detail her ancestry for three generations. She was from Powys, and not of a family that Gwen knew.
“My task is not at an end, you understand?” John concluded. “Even if Cole is dead, I still seek the girl. I have word from those who saw them together that she went with him willingly on this journey north. If she’s up here alone, however, now that Cole is dead, she may be lost or in distress.”
Nobody replied for a few heartbeats, and then Gwen sighed, deciding that it might as well be she who answered him. “I’m afraid that as to the woman you are seeking, the news of her fate is similar to that of Cole’s.”
John stopped in the act of pocketing his credentials, his gaze moving sharply to Gwen’s face. “Don’t tell me she is dead too?”
Gareth put a hand on the undersheriff’s shoulder, more familiarly than might be normal with a stranger, but this wasn’t a normal piece of news. “I’m sorry, John. She is, indeed, dead. She was murdered, as Cole was.”
John’s face fell. “No.” Blinking rapidly, he stepped away from Gareth, who dropped his hand. The other men didn’t look at John directly, pretending not to notice his distress.
Gareth did him the service of continuing to speak, even if he was talking to the back of John’s head. “Two nights ago, the killer left her body in the graveyard of the church in Cilcain.”
John swung around to face Gareth again, and Gwen was glad to see he’d mastered himself and his eyes were clear. “You saw her body as well as Cole’s?”
“Yes,” Gareth said. “Her resemblance to Gwen was unmistakable.”
“I’m so sorry,” Gwen said. “You must have known her well.”
“I thought I did,” John said.
“Can you tell us how a merchant’s daughter became a companion to a thief?” Gareth said.
John’s expression turned stony, and when he spoke next, his voice was without inflection. “I have no idea how she became acquainted with Cole and ended up here, dead.” He licked his lips. “Do you?”
“For all that she resembled me, we didn’t know her name until this moment,” Gwen said. “It seems she might have been a cousin I never knew I had.”
“We are in the early stages of our investigation,” Gareth said. “We haven’t had the opportunity to question more than a handful of people about what they know. We were just about to return to Cilcain when you arrived and accosted me.”
John took in another deep breath and let it out. “I would like to see her.”
“She was to have been buried today,” Gareth said gently, “as was Cole.”
Gwen looked up at Gareth. “We woke to snow. Father Alun may have waited for the ground to soften before ordering out the gravediggers.”
Hywel nodded. “Regardless, John needs an escort back to England. It’s a wonder he made it this far without being stopped. Many of the men are in a mood to attack first and ask questions later.”
John hung his head. “Like I did.”
It was by now mid-afternoon, and there was faint hope that John could reach Cilcain before the burials. Even if he left this instant, the sun would be setting by the time he reached the chapel. Still, if John’s interest in Adeline had been more than that of a friend, he deserved the chance to see her face one more time before they put her into the ground.
Gareth made an appeasing gesture with one hand. “With my lord’s permission, I can take you to her—to Cole too, if you like. At the very least, you can speak to witnesses other than Gwen and me who saw them both.” He glanced at Hywel, who nodded his assent.
“I would be grateful,” John said.
Then Gareth moved to Gwen’s side and lowered his voice. “Can you stay here this time?”
“There’s as much danger for me here as in Cilcain,” Gwen said, “maybe more if the nobleman we’re searching for is among King Owain’s retinue.”
“I didn’t say I wanted you to stay here to keep you out of danger, cariad.” Gareth’s voice was low and steady.
Gwen’s eyes widened as she took in what Gareth was saying. He was suggesting that she take up the role she’d played for Hywel before she married Gareth—to act as a spy in King Owain’s court and to report what she discovered.
Gwen nodded. “I haven’t had a chance to see to King Owain, and this will give me the perfect excuse to stay by his side and to meet everyone who currently surrounds him. If our murderer is here, I will do my best to find him.”
“Safely.” Gareth gazed down at her, a warning look in his eyes. “Please do not take any risks, even necessary ones!”
Gwen would have much rather either stayed with Gareth or returned to her daughter, whose absence was becoming as constant an ache in her heart as Gareth’s had been earlier. But she appreciated Gareth’s trust in her and that he wasn’t barring her from the investigation just because danger was all around them. They were in the middle of a war. Danger was a way of life.
She put a palm flat on his chest. “I will do my best.”
“You’d better.”
Prince Rhun approached, having caught the end of their conversation. “I’m hoping you’ve just told Gwen to stay with my father.”
“I have,” Gareth said, “and she will.”
“Those medicines are still in my bag. I’ll get them.” Gwen moved towards the rickety stables in which the horses sheltered, deciding she’d had enough of standing in the drizzling rain. John stayed where he was, still eyed suspiciously by Cynan, Madoc, and Godfrid. However, Rhun, Hywel, and Gareth walked with Gwen and halted beneath the overhanging roof.
One of the stable boys had removed Gwen’s saddlebag, brushed down her horse, and given him a blanket. He was warm and dry now—warmer and dryer than Gwen herself. Her bag rested on a shelf near the horse’s head, and she went to open it.
Gareth’s horse was tied next to Gwen’s. He lifted the saddle from its rest near Gwen’s bag and settled it onto Braith’s back. Rhun waited while he tightened the belt and then said, “You have far less to fear regarding discovery this time. With the army moving forward, we are no longer worried about alerting Ranulf to our presence in Cilcain. Let his spies tell him we have moved. He will know it for certain soon enough.”
Hywel bumped Rhun’s shoulder with his fist. “While Gwen sees to Father, we should put in an appearance at the camp to make sure everything is progressing smoothly. The men will march soon.”
Rhun’s eyes brightened for a moment, in anticipation of movement, but then his face fell. “I should stay—”
“No you shouldn’t.” With the box of medicines tucked under her arm, Gwen approached the princes. “I can talk to him about staying behind without you. He’s either going to listen to me or he isn’t. Whether or not you are looking sternly at him over my shoulder won’t make a difference.”
Rhun gave way with relief, and he and Hywel moved to where their horses were tethered, giving Gwen and Gareth some privacy so they could say their goodbyes. Gareth put his arm around Gwen, and she kissed his cheek. “Be careful.”
“You too, cariad.” A smile flashed across his face. “King Owain’s temper being what it is, it is you who have the more dangerous task.”