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

himself—had an unusual meter and rhyme.
    “I assume Gareth has told you that Anarawd’s body is missing, along with all his possessions.”
    “Yes,” Gwen said.
    “Like an idiot, I didn’t leave a guard on the room,” Hywel said.
    Gareth shook his head. “You couldn’t have foreseen this, my lord, any more than an attempt to poison me. We’ve seriously underestimated our opponent. I believe it’s time we took all this to the king.”
    “We must do a complete search of the castle, not only for the body and Anarawd’s possessions, but belladonna as well,” Gwen said. “We’ll need his permission to do that.”
    Hywel turned back to the fire, hesitated, and then nodded. “I urged something like this on my father after we discovered you’d been poisoned. Now we have to act.”
    “We should start now, before the nobles and their lackeys are awake,” Gwen said. “We might get more assistance from the kitchen and the craft halls when there’s nobody watching.”
    “You two begin the interviews; I’ll organize men from the garrison to do a search for the body,” Hywel said. “It may be that the culprit was forced to stash it in an out-of-the-way spot inside the castle.”
    “Yes, my lord,” Gareth and Gwen said together and left the room, heading for the kitchens. They’d find breakfast there, warmth, and the loquacious cook, Dai.
    “I can’t believe I have to do this again,” Gwen said. “And at Aber, no less.”
    “Tell me about the murder Meilyr was charged with,” Gareth said.
    Gwen shook her head, mentally going over the disaster that week had been, remembering her fear and her struggle to help her father. “I never believed he did it,” she said, “though perhaps it was marginally more likely than you murdering Anarawd.”
    “What happened?”
    “During one of our visits to the south of Wales—all the way to Carreg Cennan—a man was found dead, garroted with one of my father’s iron harp strings.”
    “A few twists and one of those could cut through most anything,” Gareth said.
    “Including the culprit’s fingers,” Gwen said. “My father always wears gloves when he strings his harp because without them he cuts his hands every time. The murderer didn’t know that. Given that my father was in a cell, it was to the murderer’s advantage to hold off seeking aid, which he did for three days until his fingers festered and became impossible to hide.”
    “And you noticed?”
    “The fool came to the herbalist for treatment, a friend of mine. By then, we were looking for an injured man and knew he was guilty from the moment we saw his hands.” She shrugged. “After few well-placed questions in front of the castellan, Lord Cadfael, the man confessed.”
    Gareth shook his head over that, but when Gwen glanced at him, he was smiling.
    When they entered the kitchen, just as Gwen had hoped, Dai plopped a plate of biscuits, newly churned butter, jam, and a watery porridge in front of them.
    “You look serious, Gwen. And you,” Dai said to Gareth, looking him up and down, “are a very ill young man.”
    “Someone poisoned him yesterday with an infusion of belladonna,” Gwen said, her mouth full of biscuit.
    “Never say so!” Dai took a step back. “Not in my food!”
    “The culprit put it in the mead,” Gwen said. “Since Gareth had to stay locked in his cell, he doesn’t have any idea who did it.”
    “What was the name of the boy who brought the food?” Gareth said.
    “Llelo,” Dai said and then without pausing for breath, raised his voice to carry through the kitchen to the pantry. “Llywelyn ap Rhys! Get in here!” A boy of twelve tumbled through the curtain that separated the pantry from the kitchen proper, wiping his hands on his apron, his eyes wide. Dai gestured towards the boy. “Here he is.”
    “Come here, boy.” Gareth waved him closer.
    Llelo glanced at Dai, who nodded, and came to a halt in front of Gareth. He eyed the biscuits, licking his lips; Gwen