Free The Lost Brother by Sarah Woodbury Page B

from their sheaths either, Gareth
and Gwen were at a woeful disadvantage. Gareth was an excellent
swordsman, but he couldn’t fight six men at once.
    Father Alun, his hands fluttering, rushed
forward and set himself between Gareth and Pedr. Three more
soldiers crowded through the chapel door after the priest. Gareth
recognized the impossibility of his position, and the muscles in
his jaw clenched. He slowly moved his hand from the hilt of his
sword. For Gwen’s part, she gripped the hilt of her belt knife as
it lay in its sheath at her waist, though like Gareth, she didn’t
draw it.
    “I don’t want violence, especially not in a
church,” Pedr said. “If you come quietly, I won’t be forced to tie
your hands.”
    “I’m under arrest?” Gareth said.
    Pedr nodded curtly. “Lord Morgan has charged
me with the task of bringing you to his seat.” He held up one hand.
“Please don’t make this more difficult than it already is.”
    Gwen found it ironic that Pedr could ask
Gareth not to make life difficult for him, as if that should
be where Gareth’s sympathies should lie. In this case, however,
making life difficult for Pedr would certainly make it even more
difficult for Gwen and Gareth.
    Then Pedr looked beyond Gareth to Gwen, as
if seeing her for the first time. “If this is your lady wife, Sir
Gareth, my lord requests her presence too.”
    Gareth edged sideways to shield Gwen more
fully from Pedr’s view. “My wife needn’t be a part of this.”
    “My lord disagrees.” He took another step
forward, and this time he brought up one hand appeasingly. “I give
you my word that she will come to no harm. I swear it on my
mother’s grave.”
    Father Alun had remained standing between
Pedr and Gareth, but at this oath, he dropped his arms and turned
to Gareth. “I know Sir Pedr. You can believe what he says.” He
leaned closer and spoke in an undertone. “Sir Pedr is very loyal to
Lord Morgan. If he was bidden to bring you, that is what he
believes he must do.”
    “Regardless of whether or not I want to
come.” Gareth made a guttural sound deep in his throat. “It seems
my standing as the captain of Prince Hywel’s teulu bears no
weight with him.”
    Father Alun was back to anxious. “I assure
you that Pedr isn’t loyal to Ranulf of Chester.”
    “That may be true,” Gareth said, “but it
doesn’t explain what possible grounds Morgan has for my
arrest.”
    Gwen rubbed her forefinger on the back of
Gareth’s elbow and said in a whisper, “I don’t think we have a
choice but to go with him, Gareth.”
    “I know.” He looked down at Gwen. “We have
few choices, and none of them are good.”
    “Every villager saw us ride past,” Gwen
said. “Pedr named you directly. He knows who you are, which means
he knows why we’re here. At the very least, by speaking to Lord
Morgan we might learn something about the woman and why she was
buried in his grandfather’s grave.”
    “I will learn nothing if I’m locked in a
cell.”
    Father Alun was six inches shorter than
either man, and Gareth met Pedr’s gaze over the top of his
head.
    “There is so much more going on here than we
know right now,” Gwen added in an undertone.
    After another moment’s reflection, Gareth
nodded his assent.
    “Bring him.” Pedr spun on his heel and
strode for the door. The soldiers in the nave closed in on Gareth
and Gwen, herding them before them.
    Father Alun walked beside Gareth, wringing
his hands. “This is all my fault.”
    Gareth stopped on the threshold of the
chapel and put a hand on the priest’s shoulder. “You didn’t kill
this woman. You only sought justice for her, which was the right
thing to do. You are not to blame for Lord Morgan’s betrayal.”
    “We’ll be all right.” Gwen said, trying to
speak confidently even if she didn’t feel it inside.
    Lord Morgan was a completely unknown
quantity. She couldn’t imagine what he thought Gareth could have
done to justify his arrest. King Owain