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

she followed him into the corridor. Looking left and right for stray observers, she relaxed against the wall and tipped her head back to gaze at the ceiling.
    “Come on,” Gareth said when she didn’t instantly spring into action.
    “This is just too much.” Gwen slipped the dress over her head, covering her undyed shift. “It ties in the back.” She turned to face the wall. “Can you fix it for me?”
    To his credit, Gareth didn’t hesitate; far more expertly than Gwen would have thought him capable, he laced her dress up the back. “I never got a chance to examine the body, you see,” Gareth said.
    After Gareth had felt well enough to stand, the three of them had gone to the great hall and found a spot in the corner for him to rest. Over the course of the evening, Gareth had recovered more fully, until he’d been able to consume a piece of fresh bread and a hunk of cheese. He’d refused the mead, however, for which Gwen couldn’t blame him. But still, much to his disgust, she’d insisted on tasting everything he’d been offered to eat or drink before she’d let him have it.
    Gwen turned to face him. “You don’t think the job Hywel and I did was adequate? We did what we could.” That last bit came out defensive and Gwen wished she could take it back.
    Gareth shook his head, seeming to understand. “It’s not that I don’t trust you or respect your abilities, it’s just …” He paused as he thought. “Hywel spoke to me of the ragged edge in Anarawd’s wound. You showed it to him?”
    “Yes,” Gwen said.
    Gareth nodded. “Do you remember when you came upon me at that first ambush site?”
    “Of course,” Gwen said, “how could I forget?”
    “Your arrival distracted me, but I was studying how his body was laid on the road. Remember how I said that the murderer had dragged it?”
    “From the scuff marks on his toes,” Gwen said.
    “That and because there wasn’t enough blood on the ground beneath his body,” Gareth said. “If he’d bled out like his companions, it would have soaked the ground. It hadn’t rained the night before and although the earth in the road was damp, it wasn’t damp enough to indicate he’d died there.”
    “But there’s more,” she said. “You think there’s something else?”
    “Yes,” Gareth said. “Did you notice that his nails were full of dirt?”
    Gwen gazed at him. “No. I didn’t.”
    “Anarawd scrabbled in the dirt. Maybe he tried to crawl away from his killer before he died.”
     Gwen shivered at how cold the killer’s heart must be. “You never mentioned this before.”
    “I thought there was plenty of time to make certain,” he said. “I should have inspected the body straight away, but with the singing in the hall, and the dark, I assumed this morning would be soon enough.”
    Gwen gave him a half-smile. “Do you know the first thing that Hywel told me after he asked me to spy for him?”
    “What?”
    “Never assume.”
    Gareth snorted laughter—more in disgust than amusement Gwen thought—and led the way down the stairs to Hywel’s rooms. Just like the night they arrived, Hywel appeared to have slept alone. He stood before the fire, his hands clasped behind his back. He looked up as they entered.
    “You were still abed?” he said, taking in Gwen’s night braid. Although she’d pulled on her boots, she hadn’t yet attended to her hair. “It’s nearly dawn.”
    “One of us got to bed later than she liked,” Gwen said. “And that would be your fault.” Even though she’d gone to bed earlier than Gareth and the men that Hywel had set to protect him, she’d stayed in the hall with him far too late, listening to Hywel sing. His tenor had filled the air with song after achingly beautiful song. Gwen’s father, had he been there, would have been pleased with the progress his student had made, even if Hywel had taken what Meilyr had taught him and made the art his own. Most of his songs—the ones he’d written