King Owain sat in an ornate chair he’d brought with him from Gwynedd and was eating at a trestle table with Mari when his two sons, flanked by Gareth and Gwen, appeared in front of him. The king had raised the sides of his tent to allow whatever evening breeze existed to blow past him. Everyone was thankful the sun had gone down because today had been the hottest day yet. Mari sat beside her father-in-law, nursing Gruffydd, who nonetheless was flailing an arm behind him to reach what was on the table. She’d already finished eating—or, more likely, had given the meal up as a lost cause as long as she had an active one-year-old in her arms.
“It’s a delegation,” King Owain said by way of a greeting. “I am suddenly worried.”
“You have nothing to fear,” Prince Rhun said, “though we do have a story to tell you.”
“Oh good,” Mari said. “I’m tired of being kept in the dark.”
Hywel bent to kiss the top of her head. “That was never my intent.”
“At least now I’ll be able to sleep.” Mari lifted Gruffydd from her breast and put him to her shoulder, patting him on the back until he burped.
The festival was over. The last bard had finished his song, and the judges had conferred. They’d awarded the top prize to the bard who’d replaced Gwen’s own father at Carreg Cennan. With Meilyr, Hywel, and Gwalchmai not participating in the contest, Gwen hadn’t had much interest in the overall outcome. The young man in question, however, had been very good, and both she and Hywel had approved of the choice. He’d beaten out many older men to win.
King Owain plucked a shred of roasted chicken skin from his teeth and leaned back in his chair. “Pull up a stool.” He looked at Hywel. “I have wanted to say many times since I arrived that I cannot be more proud of you, son.”
Hywel dropped his gaze to his feet, but he was smiling. Gwen was glad to hear King Owain say that. Hywel did deserve whatever accolades were heaped upon him, not only for the festival itself, but for what he’d accomplished in Ceredigion. If nothing else, the resolution of Gryff’s murder showed that: a boy who’d lost his hand because of Cadwaladr had come forward because the man who’d refused to take it from him had come to serve Hywel. Whether or not Hywel had made the right decision in releasing Erik, he’d had sense enough to put his trust in Gareth.
Hywel raised his head. “We’ve had some trouble, and Rhun and I thought it was time we told you about it.” He then launched into a summary of Gryff’s murder and the subsequent investigation. The four of them had conferred with each other on and off over the course of the day, clarifying the various points to each other as they’d had time to think about them.
King Owain listened intently throughout Hywel’s recital, and looked particularly pleased at the discovery that Llew had witnessed the murder itself. As Hywel fell silent, King Owain rose to his feet and began to pace back and forth behind his chair.
It was Mari who spoke first. “I don’t understand something. Gryff gave the cross to his wife one day but didn’t hide the ring until the next. Why the delay?”
“We may never know,” Hywel said. “Perhaps he didn’t know himself, except that I can see how the ring—clearly Uncle Cadwaladr’s own—wasn’t something he could give to someone else for safekeeping. Regardless, at some point he decided to seek me out, and when he couldn’t find me to show me the ring, he hid it in the best place he could think of.”
“It does seem that Gryff became bolder as time went on,” Gwen said. “His final act was to confront Iolo with his treachery. Who knows where that courage came from?”
“From a sense of righteousness,” Rhun said. “The man seemed to drift through his life in every other way, but he hated our uncle.”
King Owain had continued to pace during their exchange with Mari, but now he stopped and looked at his sons. “So my brother and Cadell have had a falling out?”
Hywel scratched the back of his head and shot Gwen an amused look. His father had latched onto this piece of information as the most important point when he’d hardly blinked at the news that Cadwaladr and Cadell had colluded to ambush Anarawd three years ago. Cadwaladr’s future plans, as great or small as they might be, needed to be their concern now.
“It seems so,” Rhun said. “Cadwaladr left before dawn, and Cadell departed afterwards, perhaps once he learned of Iolo’s death. Our scouts report they went different ways. Whatever may have been the initial reason for Uncle Cadwaladr’s presence here, he does not appear to be assisting Cadell with any incursions on Deheubarth’s southern border.”
King Owain looked at his older son. “And Angharad?”
“She went with him,” Rhun said. “I was not able to speak with her before she left.”
“We will find a way, son,” King Owain said.
“Thank you, Father.”
King Owain studied the darkness beyond the tent and shook his head. “Those two will be the death of me—” He turned back to his sons. “Let me see the ring.”
Rhun took two steps forward and carefully placed Cadwaladr’s signet ring on the table in front of his father.
King Owain glared at it but didn’t speak. Gwen hoped his temper wasn’t about to rise because he’d likely wake Gruffydd, who’d fallen asleep on Mari’s shoulder.
Rhun spoke into the silence. “It seems that Gryff came upon the ring and the cross, whether while fulfilling his role as messenger or when actively searching for them. The latter had been given to Iolo by Cadell to be used as proof that he spoke for him, the former by Cadwaladr to show to Cadell for the same reason. Father, I believe this is the real reason both Gryff and Iolo were killed.”
“They were murdered to hide Cadell’s involvement in his own brother’s murder, and my brother’s recent involvement in Ceredigion.” King Owain sat heavily in his chair. “He knows that I would not support his designs on this land, and for him to plot to take it, with or without Cadell’s help, moves him past mischief to treason.”
It was Rhun, not the stony-faced Hywel, who said, “Yes, Father.”
King Owain’s expression was dark as he contemplated his sons. “My brother is like a high wind that blows away everything and everyone in its path. I cannot predict when it will come, only that it is coming. When my brother betrays me, as it seems he must, I ask only that the three of us remain united, whatever the cost.”
Gareth stood taut beside Gwen. In a way, this was the moment they’d all been waiting for and made up for all the failures and lack of concord in the past. King Owain had finally spoken out loud what they’d all known needed to be said for years.
“Of course,” Rhun and Hywel said together.
“After Cadwallon died, my father made me swear to look after my younger brother. Only we two were left, you see. I have tried …” Suddenly King Owain looked ten years older than his actual age.
Mari put a hand on the king’s arm. “Nobody doubts your loyalty, my lord. You have done more for your brother than he deserved. But some men cannot be saved.”
“Especially not from themselves,” King Owain said.
Morgan appeared at the entrance to the tent. At first only Gwen noticed him, but then he cleared his throat, and everyone else turned to look. “I apologize, my lords, for the interruption, but I bring grave news.”
Hywel raised a hand to his steward, indicating that he should speak.
“A rider has arrived from the east, from Lord Goronwy,” Morgan said.
Lord Goronwy was the father of Cristina, King Owain’s wife.
King Owain straightened in his chair. “Spit it out, man. We’ll never be in a better mood to hear it.”
“Earl Ranulf has left Chester in force. He has fortified Mold Castle on Gwynedd’s eastern border. Lord Goronwy fears an assault is imminent.”
King Owain stood abruptly, tipping back his chair, which Gareth caught before it could hit the ground. “It may be that my brother heard this news and responded, choosing not to share it with us. He seeks glory for himself.”
“Or he allies himself with Chester,” Rhun said. “He has done it before.”
“The festival is over,” Hywel said. “My men can be ready to leave tonight.”
“Then we go,” King Owain said, “and may God have mercy on our souls.”
The End
The Lost Brother, the next Gareth & Gwen Medieval Mystery is available at all retailers.
November 1146. War has come to Gwynedd at the hands of Ranulf, Earl of Chester, who seeks to gain a foothold in Wales against the day peace finally comes to England. On the eve of King Owain’s counter-assault on Mold Castle, the body of a woman who bears a striking resemblance to Gwen is discovered buried in someone else’s grave. Even in the midst of war, murder must be investigated, and it falls to Gareth and Gwen to bring the guilty to justice.
When their investigation uncovers not only another body, but also treason at the highest levels of King Owain’s court, Gareth and Gwen must come to terms with unprecedented treachery—and a villain whose crimes can never be forgiven.
The Lost Brother is the sixth Gareth & Gwen Medieval Mystery.
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Keep reading for a sample of Footsteps in Time, the first book in the After Cilmeri series, also set in Medieval Wales:
In December of 1282, English soldiers ambushed and murdered Llywelyn ap Gruffydd, the Prince of Wales. His death marked the end of Wales as an independent nation and the beginning of over seven hundred years under the English boot.
Footsteps in Time is the story of what might have happened had Llywelyn lived.
And what happens to the two teenagers who save him.