Chapter Fourteen
As it turned out, however, that’s exactly where Gareth did find himself the next morning, corralled on one side by Hywel and on the other by Rhun. It was an uncomfortable feeling, to say the least.
“You’re expected.” Hywel grasped Gareth by the elbow.
“Me?” Gareth said, tempted to pull away. “Why?”
“The Council has already heard a version of the story from Meilyr, and now it’s your turn,” Rhun said.
“Did Meilyr mention me? Did he accuse me of anything?”
Rhun gave Gareth a puzzled look, and Gareth forced himself to clear his expression. Rhun was one of those men who went through life loved by everyone. He couldn’t understand why other men didn’t have the same experience. It wasn’t that he wasn’t intelligent, because he was, but he was completely guileless.
“All is well, Gareth,” Rhun said. “Neither Meilyr nor my father bear a grudge against you. The Council just needs to hear your perspective.”
Gareth glanced at Hywel. As usual, a smile hovered around his lips, and Gareth thought he could read skepticism in his face, but then Hywel nodded encouragingly. “My brother speaks the truth. Just tell them what you told me.”
So, for the third time, Gareth relayed the story of witnessing the battle, returning with Madog and his men, having Gwen and her family come upon them shortly thereafter, and the details of the second ambush. Madog, too, was among the audience, and he nodded his agreement at the point where he came in.
“He tells it as it was, my lord,” Madog said. “I also might add, that when the mercenaries ambushed my men, Gareth saved my life.”
“And now Anarawd’s body has been stolen,” Cadwaladr said from his seat beside King Owain.
“Yes.” That was from Hywel, who stepped into the center of the ring of men. His face filled with an earnestness and sincerity that might have fooled those who didn’t know him well, but which, if a man looked more closely, never reached his eyes. Gareth was just grateful to have the council’s attention off him. “It happened sometime in the night after Madog brought him here. I regret that I didn’t place a guard on the door, not thinking it necessary. I was wrong.”
At this bold acceptance of fault, the men around the table eased back in their seats, lowering the tension in the room. Hywel was well-thought of among the nobility, generally well-liked, and in some quarters, pitied. He, of the two brothers, had served as their father’s primary emissary to their kingdoms. These lords were comfortable with Hywel and knew him well—or thought they did.
Over the years, Gareth had learned to watch Hywel’s other face—the one that showed only in the eyes. When Rhun had knighted him, Gareth had felt Hywel’s eyes boring into his brother. Gareth still hadn’t decided if it was hatred he saw in them or resentment that Rhun had, as usual, usurped Hywel’s prerogative. It was hard to resent Rhun for long, however, and Gareth had never noted that particular look on Hywel’s face again. Hywel had accepted Gareth’s advancement and even accorded him a small manor house within his own domains on Anglesey.
Although Hywel was telling the Council the truth (as far as Gareth knew it, anyway), his eyes said he wasn’t telling all of it. That wouldn’t normally have been a cause for concern, since Hywel was Gareth’s lord and had protected Gareth as best he could up until now, but this venture was unique in Gareth’s experience. Maybe he should see to finding out what secrets his lord was keeping.
For now, Hywel had convinced the Council of his sincerity, and Rhun took it further. “I must assure you that Gareth had nothing to do with Anarawd’s death. Some of you may have thought it, especially given the presence of his milk-brother, Bran, in the Danish company.”
Gareth was disconcerted to see some nods around the table. These men, too, had questioned Gareth’s role. It was Cadell, newly crowned by King Owain’s hand, who spoke for them. “I understand that King Owain accused him of the deed, yet this man’s present freedom indicates you have rejected that notion?”
Rhun plowed on. “While he was locked in the stables, someone put poison in Sir Gareth’s mead, nearly killing him. We released him for his own protection. Anarawd’s body was stolen that same night, but at that point, Gareth was still recovering and under the guard of several of my brother’s men. Unless this conspiracy is far vaster than we presently understand—or are prepared for—he must be absolved of that crime, and thus of the murder as well.”
A few different heads nodded, and Gareth allowed himself to relax, if just a little. Even Prince Cadwaladr, seated beside his brother, shrugged his grudging admission. Perhaps King Owain had done Gareth a favor by imprisoning him after all. Then Hywel spoke again, stepping into the fray with his wicked smile and a laugh that disarmed everyone with whom he came in contact. “Gareth is a fine swordsman, but even under my tutelage, he’d be hard pressed to coordinate a plot against Anarawd and keep it secret, especially from me!”
Laughter accompanied the comment. They’re going to let me go. Gareth eased towards the wall, into the shadows. King Owain noticed Gareth’s movement and, to Gareth’s astonishment, raised his goblet in salute. Gareth bowed. As he straightened, he caught sight of Cadwaladr’s face. He was directing a glare of such malevolent loathing—for once not at Gareth but at the King—that Gareth feared it would skewer King Owain then and there.
Having finished speaking to the Council, Hywel had come to stand nearby. Gareth turned to him to tell him what he’d seen, but the young prince put a hand on his arm to stop him speaking—and perhaps to restrain him from leaping between the two brothers to protect King Owain.
“I see it,” he said.