Free The Lost Brother by Sarah Woodbury Page A

trouble Gwen because she’d come to
recognize its source: Father Alun had reached a stage in his life
where he was sure of himself, the world, and his place in it. Gwen
surely couldn’t begrudge him that feeling of security. She’d had it
only since she’d married Gareth.
    Then she frowned. “Is that the sound of
hooves I hear?”
    Father Alun glanced up at her, his eyes
questioning, and then he stood up quickly. The drumming of hooves
on the road was definitely getting closer, and the rhythm of it
indicated it wasn’t just one horse coming, but a company of
riders.
    “Get back in the church,” Father Alun
said.
    “And leave you out here alone?”
    “I am a man of God. Whoever these men are,
you should not be the one to face them. Get inside!”
    Gwen obeyed his voice of command, flying
through the door and across the nave towards Gareth, but she
stopped halfway across the floor, barely managing not to heave up
the last meal she’d eaten at the renewed assault on her senses. The
smell seemed much worse after the fresh scents of the garden
outside.
    Gareth, concern evident on his face, flipped
the sheet over the whole of the woman’s body and met Gwen a few
paces from the table. “What is it?”
    “Horsemen are coming. At least four from the
sound of the hooves on the road. Father Alun sent me inside.”
    Gareth took a last look at the body and then
moved towards the middle of the nave. Even though Gwen had meant to
slam the door shut, it was heavy, with stiff hinges, so she hadn’t
managed it. A four-inch gap remained between the door and the
frame. That, as it turned out, was just as well. The open door
meant they could hear Father Alun greeting the newcomers. His voice
was calm, even familiar in its manner, which eased Gwen’s breathing
some. A man with a gruff voice replied to him, though in words Gwen
couldn’t make out at this distance.
    Gareth angled his body so he stood in front
of Gwen and waited fifteen feet from the door, his hand on the hilt
of his sword.
    “Do you recognize the voice?” Gwen said in
an undertone.
    “No. But I hear the authority in it.”
    The chapel had no back door. There was no
place to which they could flee, and no time to do it anyway. The
door swung open to reveal a soldier dressed entirely in black, with
black hair and beard in the fashion of the English. He wore a sword
belted at his waist and a long flowing black cloak. He hesitated in
the doorway for a heartbeat, taking in the scene—and probably the
smell—and then his eyes focused on Gareth and Gwen.
    He took two steps inside and said in a loud
voice that echoed around the chapel, “Father Alun tells me that you
are Sir Gareth ap Rhys, of the court of Owain Gwynedd.”
    Gareth squared his shoulders, his hand
remained on his sword hilt, though he hadn’t drawn the weapon. “I
am.”
    “You will come with me.”
    Father Alun came through the doorway behind
the man and tugged on his arm. “Sir Pedr. Let me explain why
they’re here.”
    The man shrugged him off, instead gesturing
with one hand to indicate that Gareth should come forward. Gareth
didn’t move, and Gwen stayed where she was, slightly behind
Gareth’s left shoulder. She was surprised her breathing remained
steady.
    “Who are you?” Gareth said.
    “My name is Pedr ap Gruffydd. I serve Lord
Morgan, of Bryn y Ddu. I am tasked with bringing you to his
seat.”
    “Why?” Gareth said.
    Pedr hesitated. “I have not been given leave
to answer that.”
    “And if I refuse to come?” Gareth said.
    “Refusal is not an option.”
    “Of course it is,” Gareth said.
    Gwen couldn’t see Gareth’s face and couldn’t
tell what he was thinking, other than that his shoulders remained
relaxed. Gwen recognized his stance. He was prepared for a
fight.
    Pedr put his hand on the hilt of his own
sword and gestured that the five men who’d come with him should
enter the nave. They circled around Gareth and Gwen, and while none
of them had pulled their swords