The Unlikely Spy (7 page)

“We really do need to ask you a few
questions before you go,” he said.

The woman looked at the floor. “If I
must.”

Hywel took the woman’s elbow and guided her
to one of the nearby chairs. She sat, and Hywel pulled the second
chair close. “I’m sorry you have lost your husband, but I have a
few questions before I can leave you to mourn him in peace. Please
tell us your name.”

“I am Madlen. His name is Gryff.” She sobbed
into her cloth anew, though even as she did so, her eyes flicked to
the prince’s face. “Was Gryff.”

Gareth felt a smirk forming on his lips.
Hywel was so handsome and personable, he could charm a widow at her
husband’s laying out.

“When did you last see your husband,
madam?”

Madlen looked fully into Hywel’s face, tears
streaming down her cheeks. “Yesterday evening. He had been working
at our booth at the fair, which was open late, so I didn’t think
anything of it when he hadn’t returned to our lodgings by the time
I went to sleep.”

“And this morning?” Hywel said.

“He wasn’t next to me, but he often rises
before I do. It was only after I went to our booth myself and spoke
to my uncle that we realized something was amiss.” Madlen’s voice
gained in strength the more she spoke, and her story became more
coherent. “When I asked my uncle when he’d last seen him, he said
he’d dismissed Gryff well before midnight and hadn’t seen him since
then. I didn’t know what to do.”

She’d finally mastered her tears, which was
all to the good as far as Gareth was concerned. When they’d arrived
at the chapel with the body, he’d been almost at a loss as to where
to begin the search for the man’s identity. The population of the
region was growing with every hour as travelers continued to stream
into Aberystwyth for the festival. Even with knowing Gryff’s name
as they now did, sorting through the people to find the murderer
was going to be difficult. It would have been far worse without his
name, however, and Gareth was grateful to Madlen that she’d come
forward so quickly.

“Who is your uncle?” Gareth said.

“Iolo. He has come to the festival to sell
his cloth.”

“And your husband worked for him?” Gareth
said.

“Yes.” The word came out a sob as Madlen
fell apart again.

Like most types of traders, cloth merchants
ran the gamut from very wealthy to little more than peddlers,
moving from house to house and village to village, hawking their
wares. Gareth had never heard of Iolo, but he was far less familiar
with the people of southern Wales than those who lived in the
north, and he’d had little interaction with merchants in his time
here. Other than his wish to buy Gwen a new dress, he hadn’t had a
need for fabric for new clothes this summer. He’d have to ask Gwen
to have a look at Iolo’s wares, however. She would be able to tell
him something of the quality and selection.

“We’ll have to speak to him,” Hywel
said.

Madlen had gone back to her weeping, but at
Hywel’s words, she looked up. “Why?”

“You’re husband died at the millpond. We’d
like to know how that came about,” Hywel said.

“But—” Madlen broke off, looking from Hywel
to Gareth and back again. Then she caught sight of Rhun standing in
the darkness, out of the candlelight. Her eyes widened, but she
said, “I was told he drowned.”

Rhun had been leaning against the wall
throughout the interview, his arms folded across his chest, but now
he stepped forward. “Madlen, allow me to find someone to escort you
back to your uncle. Let the prince and Sir Gareth take care of
Gryff.” He held out his elbow to her.

Madlen’s shoulders sagged, and she rose to
her feet to take the prince’s arm. She and Prince Rhun disappeared
back into the main part of the chapel.

Hywel raised his eyebrows at Gareth. “I
can’t leave you alone for an hour without you stumbling across a
murder?”

“Was it that obvious?” Gareth said. “I was
hoping we were more subtle than that.”

“It was obvious only to me, I think,” Hywel
said.

But Gareth was staring at Gryff’s body.
Something about it had changed. He hesitated, deciding that he must
be mistaken, but then he looked back and realized what he’d
noticed. Gryff’s purse, which had been suspended from his belt
earlier, was gone.

Gwen

F
or all that
Tangwen rarely slept, she was otherwise a fairly biddable child.
Gwen had a moment’s pause at leaving her with Elspeth yet again,
but her nanny promised to keep Tangwen from eating the rocks in the
monastery garden and allow her to dig in the dirt with a wooden
spoon on the edge of one of the gardens. Tangwen would come to
dinner filthy from head to toe, but she’d be happy, which made the
whole endeavor worthwhile.

When Gwen entered the courtyard, it was
empty except for Prince Rhun, who was just entering the chapel
through the front door. She followed him, and once inside the
chapel, it didn’t take much looking to find Gareth. He was standing
over the body as she knew he would be. She took in a breath at the
sight of him. He’d cut his hair short again for summer and was
clean-shaven. He was thirty years old now, seven years older than
Gwen, and his broad shoulders bespoke a lifetime of soldiering. He
was courageous, strong, and intelligent. Those blue eyes, which at
the moment were studying the body before him, had seen right
through many a suspect.

And he was
hers.

Gareth had removed the dead man’s shoes and
bared him to the waist. His sopping clothes were piled under the
table in a heap, which was just like a man to do. Although Rhun had
arrived only moments before Gwen, by the time she reached the
vestibule, he’d taken up a comfortable position in one corner,
propped against the wall and out of Gareth’s way. Prince Hywel was
there too, taking precious time away from coordinating his
festival.

All three men looked up as she stepped into
the little room. Gareth gave her a small smile, and the others
acknowledged her presence with a raised hand or eyebrow (that was
Hywel), but then they returned their attention to the body. While
she wasn’t particularly sorry that she wasn’t examining the dead
man herself, the looks of consternation on the men’s faces had her
hesitating in the doorway. “What is it?”

“We had a visit from the dead man’s wife,
Madlen,” Gareth said. “Prince Rhun has just returned from escorting
her out of the monastery.”

“Oh good. Do we know his name now?” Gwen
said.

“Gryff, apparently,” Hywel said.

“Then what’s the problem?” Gwen said.

“Madlen took the purse that was tied to his
belt—and she did so secretly, making sure we didn’t see her do it,”
Prince Rhun said.

Gwen looked to the dead man’s waist and saw
that the prince was right. She had examined the contents of the
purse right away, and they hadn’t told her anything. It was
disconcerting to think that she might have missed something, or
that Madlen valued the purse so highly as to steal it. “How did she
manage to hide her actions from you?” Gwen made sure when she spoke
that no tone of accusation crept into her voice. A mourning woman
could be a daunting prospect for any man.

“She threw herself across him when she first
arrived. Gareth had to pry her off him,” Rhun said.

Gwen’s brow furrowed. “She threw herself
across him?”

Hywel turned to look at her. “That surprises
you?”

“Well … yes,” Gwen said. “I mean, he spent
the day in the water, so he’s soaking wet and smelling more than a
little ripe.” She moved her hand to Gareth’s arm. “I love you very
much, but I can’t see myself doing that.”

Hywel’s attention remained on Gwen. “You do
have a curious way of looking at things.”

Gwen shrugged, not entirely sure what Hywel
meant by that. It was his fault that she’d developed a suspicious
mind, and suspicion was what she felt towards Madlen at present. “I
didn’t see her, of course. I don’t mean to tell you your job.”

“She could have feared to leave it,” Rhun
said. “A man of Gryff’s station wouldn’t have had much, but what he
did have would have been all the more important.”

“I would agree, but did you see how well she
was dressed?” Hywel said.

Gwen could tell from the look on Rhun’s face
that he had—and that he was irritated with himself for not noticing
earlier what was obvious to him now. From the sheepish expressions
on the men’s faces, Gwen could tell that Madlen had made quite an
impression on all of them. Gwen resolved to meet this woman as soon
as possible and judge her for herself.

“So, you’re wondering how it was that Gryff
could be so poorly dressed and his wife dressed so fine?” Gwen
said. “Perhaps he was doing rough labor and wore his worst clothes,
and she came to the chapel dressed in her finest.”

“Her uncle is a cloth merchant,” Hywel said.
“Iolo is his name.”

“Gryff is no advertisement for his wares
though, is he?” Gareth said. “Especially as a member of the
family.”

“That’s something we should ask Madlen
about,” Gwen said.

“In retrospect, one of many things we should
have asked her about while she was here,” Gareth said.

“Did you tell her that Gryff was murdered?”
Gwen said. “Did she notice the knife wound?”

“Not that she said, and we didn’t say,”
Gareth said. “I think it’s good policy to continue as we’ve started
and not tell anyone what we know.”

“I agree,” Gwen said. “As time goes on,
people may well become suspicious that we are putting so much
effort into finding out about a man who drowned, but it would be
better if that particular rumor didn’t fly around immediately.”

“Madlen and her uncle will have to be
treated carefully.” Gareth looked at his lord. “Shall we strike
while the iron’s hot?”

Hywel made a rueful face. “I can’t. I have
to see to Mari, and then I must return to the festival grounds. The
contest is heating up. I can’t avoid my duties as host.” His regret
was obvious, though less that he was hosting the festival than that
he couldn’t be in two places at once.

Gareth nodded in acknowledgement. “Then I
will question Iolo.” He looked at Gwen, seemingly about to speak,
and then transferred his gaze to Prince Rhun. “If you’ll forgive
me, Gwen, I think Prince Rhun should be my other pair of eyes in
this.”

Gwen wasn’t offended. She’d been silently
calculating the length of time it would take to ride to the
festival grounds, if that was where Iolo was, question him, and
return—and if she felt comfortable leaving Tangwen all that time.
She’d already decided that she would have to be excused and was
trying to figure out how to tell Gareth. “It’s a relief, actually.
I don’t want to go far from Tangwen anyway.”

As Gareth moved towards the door, he trailed
a hand down Gwen’s spine. She looked into his face, and he gave her
a brief nod, which she returned. They’d spent too many days apart
since they’d found each other again three years ago, but she knew
him and he knew her. Their life together had changed after Tangwen
had come into it, and Gwen couldn’t be as active in these
investigations as she used to be, but that didn’t mean she couldn’t
help.

At this moment, Gwen interpreted Gareth’s
knowing look as a reminder to ask Hywel about the knife, just to
get it over with. Since Rhun didn’t know the truth about how King
Anarawd died, it was better that he departed with Gareth, so that
Gwen could speak to Hywel alone.

Hywel had gone back to surveying the body,
bringing a candle closer to peer into the eyes, and then he fixed
his gaze on the knife wound.

Gwen took in a breath, taking a chance.
“What do you see there?”

Hywel scratched his cheek. “The man was
stabbed in the chest.” He glanced at Gwen. “Is there more that I
should be noticing?”

“You tell me.” Gwen’s tone was a more
combative than she intended, and she softened it. “Gareth saw it
too, you know.”

“Saw what exactly?”

Gwen looked at him through narrowed eyes.
“That wound should look familiar to you.”

Hywel straightened and took a step back from
the body. “You’re going to have to explain more clearly what you
mean, Gwen, because I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“My lord, we’ve stood here before, over a
man killed in identical fashion to this man, with an identical
wound.”

Hywel sucked on his lower lip. “Why would
Sioned have killed this man?” Sioned had been one of the culprits
back at Aber two years ago during their investigation of the death
of Hywel’s cousin. She’d killed a man with a knife to the
chest.

“Sioned remains in Gwynedd,” Gwen said. “My
lord, I’m talking about Anarawd.”

“What does Anarawd have to do—” Hywel’s jaw
dropped. “You think
my
knife killed this man? Gwen—”

Gwen kept her eyes on Prince Hywel’s face.
He stared at her through a few heartbeats. And then he laughed.
“Ah, Gwen. I didn’t kill Gryff. I am not lying to you.”

Gwen let out the breath she’d been holding.
“All right.”

Hywel’s brow furrowed. “All right? That’s
it? You believe me?”

“Why would you lie to me?” Gwen said. “If
you did kill him, it would hardly be something I could openly
accuse you of. You are the Lord of Ceredigion and a prince of
Gwynedd. But it would mean we could stop investigating this
death.”

“And you said Gareth noticed the wound too?”
Hywel said.

“Yes.”

Hywel ran a hand through his dark hair,
mussing it so it stood on end. “I suppose I would have been
disappointed if he hadn’t. His skill in these matters is one reason
he leads my men.” He gestured to Gryff. “The man didn’t drown. It
is murder, but not by my hand. You aren’t wasting your time looking
for the killer, I assure you.”

Gwen hadn’t realized how tight the muscles
in her shoulders had become out of fear of what Hywel might have
done until the tension left her. “Do you understand that I had to
ask?”