Free The Unexpected Ally by Sarah Woodbury

gone more than three or four
paces and turned back. “Oh—another thing—” he retraced his steps,
“—that man you asked me about wasn’t alone. Another rode with
him.”

Chapter Seven
    Gareth
     
    T he near drowning
aside, being thrown on the ground had not done Gareth’s shoulder
any favors, and he was trying very hard not to think about how much
pain he was in, which was why he hadn’t said anything to Gwen about
it. Not that she didn’t know, of course, but he felt as if talking
about it would only make what he was feeling more real—and force
him to address the pain rather than ignore it.
    Besides, it was only pain. The wound was
bandaged again and not bleeding (much), and while the damage he’d
sustained today might have set his progress back a few days, his
heart was still beating. As long as he could breathe, he could
work. Working was better, in fact, than lying in bed feeling sorry
for himself.
    Of all the people in St. Asaph, Conall was
the one person who understood intimately how he was feeling, so it
was with some camaraderie that the two of them walked (rather
stiffly) side by side in the rain. Although they didn’t have far to
go initially, because of the ground they had to cover today and
their various ailments, they had saddled their horses and now led
them through the monastery gardens.
    Once outside the back gate, they mounted and
rode towards the barn. They’d spent all morning canvassing the
village for anyone who’d seen Erik, and they’d spoken to the miller
regarding his whereabouts the previous night. So far nobody had
witnessed anything unusual or, if they had, they weren’t talking
about it. They’d had no luck so far with any witnesses, and now
Abbot Rhys—in Gareth’s mind he would always be Prior
Rhys —had arranged for the brother who served as a milkman to
meet them at the barn where he’d found Erik’s body.
    “Are you sure about not returning to
Ireland?” Gareth said to Conall. They were keeping their horses to
a walk so as not to jar any of their injuries. “Is your king really
so sanguine about where you go and what you do?”
    Conall laughed and instantly sucked in a
breath at the pain. “The king gives me free rein to serve him as I
see fit. Given that the issue of the slave ring is resolved, my
immediate return home seems less necessary. The king will find that
no more women are being taken from Ireland, and that was the point
of the entire endeavor.”
    “And you see nothing wrong with establishing
a relationship between Leinster and Gwynedd.”
    Conall raised his eyebrows. “Would you?”
    “Not at all. Owain and Diarmait are cousins, both descended from Brian Boru, but I
don’t think they’ve met for many years, and certainly not since
Owain took the throne of Gwynedd.”
    “Men of power can always use a friend
though.”
    “As can less elevated men.”
    Conall grunted his assent. “Yes, they
can.”
    Gareth was liking this Irish spy more and
more, and he truly hoped he could trust him. So far, Conall had
given him no reason not to. Gareth had taken a similar risk four
years ago in befriending Godfrid, one of the princes of Dublin, and
he’d had no cause to regret it. Still, he would be fighting on
Godfrid’s behalf sometime in the near future, at the behest of both
Hywel and Owain. If the relationship with Leinster developed
through Conall, he wondered if someday he could expect to do the
same for Diarmait.
    Ireland had always been a source of strength
for Gwynedd’s kings. Over the years, many had retreated there when
pressed, using it as a place to gather support or even an army with
which to return to Gwynedd. Cadwaladr had done exactly as had his
father before him—three times. However, while King Gruffydd had put
his mercenaries to work overthrowing Norman control of Gwynedd,
Cadwaladr had brought an army of Danes to pressure his brother into
absolving him of murder.
    But Gwynedd had not often returned the
favor, for reasons that were not