The Good Knight (A Gareth and Gwen Medieval Mystery) by Sarah Woodbury Page A

Hywel? Gwen? A guard to beat the truth out of him? At the very least, he was looking for someone to talk to him, to come and tell him this was all a mistake.
    Fortunately, the guards hadn’t yet roughed him up. Hell—they weren’t even guards, but friends. Evan had brought him a flask, a crust of bread, and dried meat, with an unspoken apology in his eyes. None of his friends had been happy with their appointed task, but they did it. They did it because their lord ordered it and it wasn’t their place to question Owain Gwynedd’s orders. If Gareth had learned that lesson sooner, he might have married Gwen. They might have had those three children she’d mentioned.
    After an hour alone, a light appeared on the other side of the door. Gareth braced himself—whether for fight or flight he hadn’t yet decided—but it was Hywel who appeared. To his credit, he didn’t bother to apologize for Gareth’s predicament, but stood with his hands on his hips in the doorway with the door open wide behind him.
    “You won’t run, I assume,” he said.
    Gareth eyed the space behind his prince. He could knock Hywel over; maybe even make it out of the stables and through the postern gate before anyone was the wiser. But he didn’t. Instead, Gareth took Hywel’s words as a vote of confidence and as indication that at least Hywel didn’t believe in his guilt.
    “It would set your father further against me, wouldn’t it?” Gareth said.
    “Likely,” Hywel said.
    “Except I don’t even know what I’m supposed to have done.” Gareth felt like punching the wall again. “Is he accusing me of betraying you? Of being in the pay of another master? Does he think I helped kill King Anarawd and two dozen of his guardsmen?”
    “I expect he isn’t accusing you of anything but being in the wrong place at the wrong time,” Hywel said. “But he’ll hang you for it anyway if we can’t find the true culprit.”
    “ Christ !” Gareth swung around to kick at a bucket in the corner. It had an inch of stale water in it which he wouldn’t have drunk anyway. God knew what they kept in this room when they weren’t using it as a prison cell. He hoped few men had the pleasure of it before him, though his friends had known without discussion where to take him when they’d hauled him away from King Owain.
    “At least we’re not at Dolbadarn—they’ve dungeons there,” Hywel said.
    “I should thank him for that small favor, should I?”
    Hywel smiled. “I’m sure my father will see to addressing that lack when he rebuilds the hall in stone. In the meantime, you’re safe enough here.”
    “I’m a pig in a pen, waiting for slaughter,” Gareth said.
    Hywel canted his head as he studied Gareth. “Use your anger and frustration to concentrate your mind on what might really have happened. Though they were all abed when you arrived, the barons have gathered at Aber. They came for the wedding, which won’t happen now, but they’ll meet in council anyway as my father intended. If any one of them is guilty of this treachery, they’ll think themselves safer for your confinement. We might catch someone off guard.”
    “Tell that to your father,” Gareth said.
    “I won’t need to,” Hywel said. “By morning he’ll think of it himself, even if he won’t admit it. We can, however, take advantage of his hasty action.”
    “By leaving me in this cage?” Gareth said, not any happier with this idea, even if it was a good one. “I would be more useful on the outside!”
    “We’ll see.” Hywel smirked at Gareth’s outraged expression, and then added, “You’re a bit easier to control in here.” He held up an iron key. “I will lock the door because my father expects it, not because I don’t trust you.”
    Gareth managed to tamp down his temper enough to tip his head at Hywel who, still smirking, closed the door behind him. Personally, Gareth thought Hywel was putting a bit too much faith in his father’s good sense, which