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

lying boldly. He couldn’t remember how he’d gotten here. He’d eaten his noon meal, and then …
    He pushed at the hand that held his head, forcing down a final heave that belied his words.
    “You’re not fine,” Hywel said. “But you’re alive, which is the important thing.”
    Gareth shivered and his hands shook as he wrapped his arms around his middle, trying to stem the contractions roiling his stomach.
    Hywel had been the one holding his head and now bent to look into his face. “Are you ready to lie down?”
    Gareth nodded and allowed Hywel to ease him to the ground. Gareth pillowed his head with one arm. “I feel so terrible.”
    “You ate something you shouldn’t have,” Gwen said. “We had to get the poison out of you.”
    “By nearly killing me?”
    Gwen raised her eyebrows and a smile hovered around her lips. “Now I know you’re going to live since you’re so ungrateful.” And then she softened. “I gave you mandrake. I agree that it’s altogether vile.”
    “You’re not jesting about the poison, are you?” Gareth said. Another shudder rippled through him.
    “Gwen saved your life.” Hywel eased back onto his heels to give Gareth space. And probably to avoid any contents of Gareth’s stomach that remained inside him, but might not stay there.
    Gareth moaned. “I ate what I was given.” He pressed his face into the cool floor. Absent were the scatterings of refuse and straw. It seemed they hadn’t survived his illness. “You’re telling me that someone sickened me deliberately?”
    “Not sickened, poisoned,” Hywel said. “The guard brought food and drink at noon and when I came to find you afterwards, you were unconscious.”
    “You came very close to dying,” Gwen said.
    Gareth opened his eyes enough to see into her face. The waver in her voice as she spoke gave him just enough pause to spare a thought for her instead of how horrible he felt. “I’m sorry. Why would anyone try to poison me?”
    “Clearly, because of your charming personality,” Hywel said, a smile twitching at the corner of his mouth. “Your meal was bread and cheese. Even if it was foul, it wouldn’t have put you so close to death. It had to have been the mead.”
    “It didn’t taste right when I drank it,” Gareth said. “I left most of it in the jug.”
    “We know,” Gwen said. “We didn’t dare try it on anyone else, but from the smell, the poisoner used an infusion of belladonna.”
    Christ !
    “Someone really wants you dead,” Hywel said.
    Gareth glanced up at him, noting his dry tone and his familiar amusement at the catastrophes of the world. “What does your father say?”
    “He doesn’t,” Hywel said.
    “We haven’t told him,” Gwen said. “We haven’t told anyone yet.”
    “Why—” Gareth cut off his question. He knew why not; they wanted to catch a killer, not put him on his guard. As long as Gareth remained in this cell, as long as everyone assumed he was the chief suspect in Anarawd’s death, the real killer would think himself safe. “You’re thinking to keep this a secret.”
    “I’d like to,” Hywel said. “I may not be able to.”
    “I don’t think it’s going to be possible, my lord,” Gwen said, “especially since you need to convince your father to let Gareth out of this cell. He’s far too vulnerable in here.”
    “And outside?” Hywel said. “Are you prepared to spend every waking moment guarding him—even if he’d let you?”
    Gwen blinked. Curious despite his misery as to how she’d answer, Gareth waited, expectant.
    “Better that than having him stabbed through the heart like Anarawd or pushed off the battlements,” Gwen said, disappointing Gareth by not blushing. He should have known that she’d take it as matter-of-factly as Hywel had asked the question.
    Hywel pursed his lips, thinking. “Stay here. I’ll be back.”
    Hywel left and Gareth rested his cheek on the floor. Gwen scooted nearer and before he knew it, she’d pillowed