“EEEEEEEEEEEEE.”
As the long wail faded into choking sobs, Gwen shot up from her pallet, staring wildly around the room. Although it was early morning, the fire still spit and smoldered in its hearth, having been stoked sometime in the night. Its light illumined half the room and reflected off the faces of the other girls. Several had wakened too. Anna rubbed her eyes and queried her neighbor. Gwen got to her feet.
“What do you think it is, Gwen?” Anna swept her hair out of her face.
“I’ll find out.” Although it meant taking extra time, Gwen tugged her dress over her shift. She tied the front laces as she slipped into her shoes, and then grabbed her cloak. She knew by now that entering the corridor outside her room in a state of undress in the middle of a crisis was a bad idea.
She poked her head into the passage and then followed the babble of voices to a doorway three doors down. It opened into a space that was more of a cupboard than a room, twelve feet long by eight wide, deep and narrow. Instead of a bed, it contained shelving and trunks piled with linens. Cristina sat on a stool near the door, her body folded in half and her arms around her waist. Three other women who belonged to the wedding party crowded into the small space.
As she entered, Gwen’s hand went to her mouth. Cristina’s wedding dress was draped over one of the trunks that sat against the back wall. Long rents had been made in the fabric, the trim at the bosom and wrists had been torn off, and the fine lacing up the front had been ripped out. One look at the other wide-eyed women in the room had Gwen shaking off her dismay to crouch beside Cristina.
“My lady, I’m so sorry!” She risked putting an arm around her future queen’s shoulders.
Gwen could understand Cristina’s horror, but found herself swallowing down a laugh. After all, nobody was dead. Still, the curse that Anna had spoken of had to be at the forefront of everyone’s mind, though to Gwen’s mind, this wasn’t a result of a curse but a deliberate, spiteful act. Someone had ruined Cristina’s dress on purpose. It wasn’t as if it had become torn all by itself.
Cristina lifted her head, brushing back the tears on her cheeks. “You must find out who did this, Gwen!”
One of Cristina’s women, Mari, was the first of her bridesmaids to recover. “Where is Enid, my lady? I think she could tell us something about it.”
Gwen was shaping her mouth to ask which one is Enid? when Cristina surged to her feet, stormed across the room, and swept the dress into her arms. She turned on her women, anguish having turned to anger. “What am I going to wear now?”
“We’ll find something.” Mari’s voice was soothing. “You wore that lovely green gown the other day—”
Cristina stamped her foot. “But Owain has seen it! It won’t be the same.”
“This wedding is cursed.” Rhiannon, another cousin, spoke sotto voce but Cristina heard her and pointed a finger at her.
“Don’t you say that! Don’t you dare say that!”
Rhiannon took a step back and then Cristina swung away from her. She flung open the trunk upon which the dress had been laid, perhaps meaning to stuff it away so she wouldn’t see it any more.
“Huh!” All the air was sucked from Cristina’s lungs. She stood frozen, her hand to her mouth. Gwen realized before the other girls that something was wrong and was at Cristina’s side in three strides. The body of one of Cristina’s bridesmaids had been stuffed into the trunk.
Gwen reached for the lid to close it again, but the other girls crowded around them before she could.
“Dear God.” That was Mari again. “It’s Enid!”
“She’s dead!” Alis, another bridesmaid, said.
“EEEEEEEEEEEE!” Rhiannon’s voice trailed off and she staggered back, both hands to her mouth. Her heel butted into the stool upon which Cristina had sat earlier and she plopped onto it.
Pounding feet sounded in the stairwell and the corridor, accompanied by many more voices. Then to Gwen’s relief, Gareth, bounded into the room, followed immediately by Hywel. Gareth grasped Gwen by both shoulders and stared down at Enid’s body with her. To Gwen’s relief, he encompassed the people and events in one glance. “Are you all right?”
Gwen nodded, though she felt as if her feet were frozen to the floor. Cristina hadn’t moved either. She had screamed in surprise at finding her ruined dress, and then become angry, but Enid’s death had silenced her.
Gareth gently touched Cristina on the shoulder. “My lady, I’m sorry for your loss, but it would be better for everyone, including Enid, if you returned to your room.”
Cristina lifted her head to look at him. Her face was very white, but no tears tracked down her cheeks. She still didn’t speak.
“How can you be so calm!” Rhiannon said.
Gwen glanced at her. She had no tears either, and once the initial shock had passed, there was only anger in her voice.
“We must all remain calm,” Gareth said, patience in every syllable, “and given that Enid didn’t get into that trunk all by herself, we need to find out who put her there. Either Gwen or I will speak to each one of you in turn, but it would be better if we didn’t conduct the interviews in here.”
Rhiannon opened her mouth—perhaps to protest again—but then closed it and nodded. “I apologize, my lord. I wasn’t thinking clearly.”
Mari had recovered enough to glide forward and take Cristina by her shoulders. “Sir Gareth needs us to leave, my lady. Let me take you to your room.”
Cristina swallowed hard and nodded, more in control. Her eyes were clear as she looked at her friend. “Thank you, Mari. We can trust Gareth to make things right.” With that unexpected accolade, Mari and Cristina herded the other women out of the room. When she reached the doorway, however, Cristina patted Mari’s arm. “Give me a moment. See to the others and then wait for me in the solar.”
“Yes, Cristina,” Mari said, shooing the other bridesmaids away from the door, along with the rest of the hangers-on whom the screams had awakened and who hovered in the corridor.
When they had all gone, Cristina turned to Gareth. “Ask what you need to ask of me now. I’d prefer to get this over with.”
Gwen was pleased to see the return of the straightforward and competent Cristina, rather than the weak-kneed woman who’d found her cousin’s body, even if weakness was perfectly justified in this instance.
“When did you last see Enid, my lady?” Gareth said.
“Before we went to bed last night,” Cristina said. “All of us—the wedding party, I mean—stayed late in the hall.”
“How late do you mean?” Hywel said, stepping forward. “We need to determine who was the last person to see your cousin alive.”
“We—the other women and I—went to bed just before midnight,” Cristina said. “Owain had departed earlier with Lord Taran, but Alis and Enid, and some of the others too, wanted to finish their wine.” She gave Hywel a half-smile. “I felt it unwise to leave any of my maids unchaperoned in the hall.”
“Completely understandable,” Hywel said. And it was. A woman who overindulged in wine was not safe on her own, not with so many eligible and attentive men-at-arms and knights about.
“Did she say anything about being frightened of anyone?” Hywel said.
“No, Hywel,” Cristina said.
“I’m sorry to ask this, my lady,” Gareth said, “but did she say anything to you—anything at all—about a plan to meet with someone later?”
Cristina shook her head, and her face showed regret. “No. I don’t know what happened to Enid after we went to bed.”
“But that’s odd, isn’t it?” Gwen said. “Wasn’t she staying in the same room with you and the other bridesmaids?” The castle was so full that every room overflowed. Even Gareth might not have found a real bed. Gwen eyed him, wondering where he’d spent the night.
“No.”
Neither man seemed to think this was as strange as Gwen did, and Gwen didn’t feel as if she could pursue it, not with Cristina gazing at her with her arms folded across her chest and her chin out. Instead Gwen said, “What brought you out of your room at this early hour, my lady?”
As soon as she asked the question, Gwen regretted it. She’d seen a certain coldness creeping into Cristina’s demeanor. They needed to know the answer to that question, but … “It is my wedding day,” Cristina said. “We woke early and thought we’d array ourselves accordingly.”
“And you kept your wedding dress in here?” Gwen surveyed the closet. “Why not in your room?”
Cristina gritted her teeth. “It was supposed to be in my room. Obviously, Enid removed it so she could destroy it.”
“Thank you,” Gareth said, shutting down the interview. “You have been very helpful.”
Cristina left the closet and Hywel pursed his lips as he eyed Gwen. “She didn’t like Enid very much, did she?”
“Even with the girl dead at her feet, she didn’t feel the need to hide it,” Gwen said.
“It’s interesting that Cristina assumed Enid destroyed her dress,” Hywel said. “Someone will need to talk to her again, but it won’t be you. It will not do for you to antagonize your future queen.”
Gwen wrinkled her nose, annoyed. When Gareth and she questioned individuals of a lower station, those individuals were usually forthcoming and eager to please—especially once Gwen and Gareth proved their reasonableness. The danger for a servant was to be accused of a crime he didn’t commit, because he was an easier target compared to one of his betters. In contrast, for Gwen to question a baron … he could complain about her impertinence to King Owain, who hadn’t always been as supportive as he appeared to be now.
“If we split up, we can get more done,” Gwen said. “We need to ask everyone in the castle about Enid and find out who saw her last.”
“The killer,” Gareth said.
Gwen gave him a disgusted look. “Of course.”
“Shall I wake King Owain, my lord?” Gareth said to Hywel. “He wouldn’t have heard Cristina scream.” The King’s rooms lay on the second floor of the wing on the other side of the sprawling complex, separated from the western wing by the great hall.
“I will do it.” Prince Cadwaladr stepped into the room. Gwen had heard no footsteps since Cristina left, so he must have been waiting in the corridor, just out of sight. She didn’t like the idea of him eavesdropping, though he might consider it a matter of survival.
Hywel eyed his uncle. “Thank you.”
Cadwaladr left and the three companions looked at each other. “That was odd,” Gwen said.
“Very odd,” said Gareth.
Hywel pursed his lips. “Odd enough that my suspicions are renewed.” He took a deep breath and released it. “To work, then.”
“What is the time?” Gwen said.
“Just before Prime,” Gareth said. “The sun won’t rise for more than an hour.”
Hywel knelt beside the trunk that held Enid’s body. He put a hand to the girl’s neck and then lifted her arm and dropped it. “Warm and nearly stiff.”
Gwen had encountered enough dead bodies by now (sadly) that she didn’t have to ask what that meant. If Enid’s body was warm and stiff, Enid had been dead more than two hours, but not more than half a day. Gwen regretted that she’d heard nothing of what had gone on in the closet. They would have to speak to the occupants of the rooms on either side, though as Cristina hadn’t heard anything, Gwen didn’t have much hope that anyone else had either.
“That means she was killed sometime before the third hour after midnight,” Gwen said.
“From midnight to three are the three most silent—and most secret—hours of any day.” Gareth gazed down at Enid’s body. “What did you get up to in that time that got you killed, Enid?”
Hywel turned to Gwen. “While Gareth and I get her out of the trunk, see what you can find in here that the murderer might have dropped, or that might give us a clue as to his identity.”
Gwen didn’t scoff at him, but it seemed unlikely she’d find anything. “The killer would have been trying to hurry, and hoping not to make noise, but he’d have had this room to himself—one of the few rooms in the castle where this would be true.” Even with guests strewn across the floor in rooms on either side, Taran hadn’t housed anybody in here.
“That he left Enid’s body here indicates how comfortable the murderer feels at Aber Castle.” Gareth grunted as he and Hywel lifted Enid from the trunk.
Gwen took a quick look into the hallway, and then closed the door to the room. Too many young women slept along the corridor. If any of them observed her examining Enid, there’d be more screaming. “Did the murderer kill her in here do you think?”
“We’ll see in a moment,” Gareth said. That would be determined by the way in which the blood had pooled in Enid’s body.
Hywel and Gareth wrestled Enid out of the trunk and laid her flat on her back on the floor. She wore the same dress she’d been wearing the night before.
“She never intended to go to bed,” Hywel said, “or at least not in the room designated for her.”
Gareth leaned into the trunk and came up with a small vial. “What’s this?”
Hywel and Gwen clustered around him as he unstoppered it.
“Is that what I think it is?” Hywel said.
Gwen didn’t have to bend close to recognize the smell that wafted from the vial. She remembered it all too well: syrup of poppies. Only a few drops remained in the bottom.
The three companions gazed at each other in dismay. “Could this be Enid’s?” Gareth said.
“Or the killer’s?” Gwen said.
“Enid didn’t die from poppy juice. Either someone in the castle is suffering a great deal of pain which he’s kept well hidden, or the poppy syrup was used on someone else. But if not Enid, who?” Hywel said.
“And why?” Gareth shook his head. “And how are the answers to these questions related to Enid’s death?”
Gwen gritted her teeth, ready now to ask what Cristina hadn’t been willing to answer. “Can you tell me why Enid wasn’t sleeping in the same room as Cristina?”
“Ah, Gwen.” Hywel coughed a laugh. “Cristina didn’t want to tell you what she and her bridesmaids knew to be true: Enid often didn’t sleep in the room to which she’d been assigned.”
Gwen caught an intent look that shot between Gareth and Hywel. “You’re telling me that for Enid to meet a man in a closet was … more usual than not?” Gwen held her breath.
“Yes,” Hywel said.
Hywel’s exploits with women were well known. If a woman as beautiful as Enid—with her thick honey-colored hair and curving figure—made herself available, he would know about it. And would be unlikely to decline what she was offering.
Silence stretched among them. Gwen looked down at her feet. Finally, Hywel sighed. “Rather than force you to ask me, I’ll just say it: I did not meet with Enid last night.”
Gwen looked up. “From what you’re not saying, I’m guessing you have met with her in the past?”
“Yes.” For all his faults, Hywel wasn’t one to beat around the bush. “Years ago.”
Gareth cleared his throat, glanced up at Gwen, and flushed red from the neck up. Regret filled his face. “I’m sorry to say, my lord, that you are not the only one.”