Free The Renegade Merchant by Sarah Woodbury

in a deep breath and seemed about
to speak, but then he hesitated again and no words came out. Gareth
should have realized that John had never before delivered news of a
death to a loved one. He put a hand on John’s shoulder and spoke to
Martin. “What John is trying to tell you is that we found the body
of your brother, Roger, this morning. I’m sorry, but he is
dead.”
    “Wha—” Martin’s face paled, and he stuttered
as he looked from Gareth to John and back again. “What-what did you
say?” His voice, when he managed to speak, had gone high. People
weren’t capable of paling on command, which meant Martin’s reaction
was genuine. He was shocked by the discovery of his brother’s
body.
    The man still inside the shop gave up what
he was doing and approached, hesitating in the space between light
and dark at the edge of the shop. “Sir?”
    Martin threw out a hand, but Gareth wasn’t
clear on whether Martin meant for this second man to leave or to
stay. The man came forward anyway, his brow furrowed. He was John’s
age or younger, taller and very well built, with huge arm muscles
as befitted one who worked with his hands. He had intelligent brown
eyes and brown hair pulled back in a thong at the base of his
neck.
    Gareth cleared his throat reflexively, since
John still wasn’t speaking. “Who are you?”
    The man looked Gareth up and down—and then
surprised him by answering in fluent Welsh. “Huw, Roger’s and
Martin’s apprentice. Who are you?”
    “Gareth ap Rhys, of Gwynedd.”
    That prompted a widening of the eyes and a
quick nod that was almost a bow. “What’s happened?” Huw looked from
Gareth to Martin, who was gazing past John as if he didn’t see
him.
    “Roger is dead,” Gareth said shortly.
“Perhaps you could tell me when you last saw him?”
    Huw blinked once, pausing with his mouth
open as if he was going to speak to Martin, but then turned to
Gareth instead. He spread his hands wide as he answered Gareth’s
question. “Yesterday evening sometime. He left me to close up.”
    John moved closer to Martin and found his
voice enough to speak gently, “Martin, do you mind telling us when
you last saw Roger?”
    “Last night at supper.” Martin spoke almost
reflexively, and it was clear his mind was not on his answer. Then
the nature and specificity of John’s question seemed to hit him.
“Why do you ask me that?”
    John bit his lip. “Roger was murdered,
Martin.”
    Martin’s mouth made the shape as if he was
going to say, “What?” again, but no sound came out.
    Huw was more expressive, looking away and
swearing in his native language. Then he turned back. “How?”
    Gareth glanced at John to see if he was
going to answer or if Gareth should, but John was in control of the
interview now. “He was strangled, down at Rob Horn’s Inn.”
    “Strangled.” Martin spoke as if he didn’t
know the word’s meaning.
    “We found him in one of the rooms,” John
said.
    Martin’s brow furrowed. “How unlike him.
Roger was never one to rent a room by the hour.”
    Huw looked at Martin with a puzzled
expression on his face. Gareth didn’t think the apprentice
understood what Martin was implying: that the reason Roger had been
at the inn was to be with a whore. That hadn’t been Gareth’s first,
second, or third assumption, and from the quick glance John sent
him, it wasn’t where his mind had gone either.
    Gareth was quick on the uptake though and
asked, “Does Rob rent rooms by the hour?”
    “No, not normally, but why else would Roger
be in a room at an inn? He lives here. He would have brought any
respectable woman here.”
    Huw took a step back, finally understanding
what Martin had meant. The puzzled expression remained, but it was
now accompanied by a half-smile and a head shake. Gareth had never
been a merchant’s apprentice, but he’d been a man-at-arms not too
long ago. It was the assumption among the lower echelons of any
profession that it was they, not their