Page 57

“Precisely.”

If Knud’s expression was any indication, there was nothing precise about it at all. “Would you care to enlighten me further? I see no correlation between Frida’s desire for a gold goblet and the way Cymry think.”

Leif pivoted and crossed the room again. “Amongst our people, there is prestige and honor in being a Viking, in returning from raids with the most valuable treasures. Frida expects you to return home with a precious trinket. That is the way of the Vikings. Not so, the Cymry.”

“You think we are missing something by focusing on the motives most familiar to us,” Knud guessed.

“It is possible.” Leif frowned. “If we could identify the correct motive, it would make it far easier to identify the assailant.”

“Agreed,” Knud said. “So what is your preference? A typical Viking emotion, such as avarice, or something we have yet to fully explore, such as jealousy, fear, revenge, or love?”

Leif ran his fingers through his hair. How could strangers ascertain a murderer’s passions when such things were usually kept hidden from his closest friends? Thanks to his interaction with Gethin, Leif had learned about the recovery of Cadwaladr’s tabards, but he still knew almost nothing about the men who had been with Anarawd the night of his death.

“I will have to return to the castle,” he said.

Knud frowned. “I do not know what excuse you conjured up for entry the last time, but the guards will surely not accept it again. And I do not especially wish to come to the rescue should you be the one put in shackles rather than me.”

“Your gallantry is overwhelming,” Leif said dryly.

“I am simply encouraging you to think of something that does not involve walking into the Cymry’s fortress with no means of escape.” Knud gave him a meaningful look. “Your mother will thank me.”

Knowing that Knud was right did nothing to ease Leif’s feelings of frustration and helplessness. He did another circuit of the small room. This time, his gaze landed on his sack lying on the bed. He stared at it, a fresh notion—one that was no less rash than reattempting to enter the castle—beginning to form in his mind. “I have an idea.”

“If it is of the same caliber as the one that caused us to set sail from Dyflin, I wish you would reconsider,” Knud said.

Leif ignored him. “I will send a message to Rhiannon and ask that she meet me outside the castle walls.”

“Who is Rhiannon?”

“She is the dark-haired young lady I spoke to at the market. The one at the burial today.”

Knud stared at him. “Are you going to invite the guards also, or will you leave that responsibility to her?”

“She will not send the castle guards after me.”

“And why is that?”

“I cannot say,” Leif said. “It is simply a feeling I have.”

Knud raised his eyes to the ceiling. “You come to Deheubarth looking for facts, for proof of Cadwaladr’s innocence, and yet you willingly walk into a situation fraught with danger based on a feeling?”

“That sums it up well,” Leif said, already emptying his sack of everything but the wooden jewelry box. “The innkeeper, Elis, said he had a responsible son, did he not?”

“You are mad,” Knud said, shaking his head. “Completely mad.”

Leif stopped what he was doing. “I would have you wait here, Knud. And if I do not return to the inn by evening, return to Dyflin without me.”

“Flattered though I am that you believe me capable of rowing the boat that distance alone, I would rather have another set of oars to help me.”

Leif’s lips twitched. “I may be mad, but I am good for that, at least.”

“At this present time, I believe it may be all you are good for.” He sighed heavily. “What is your plan?”

“I shall have the innkeeper’s son deliver this box to Rhiannon. She will know who it is from, so he need not mention my name. A simple ‘At the river within the hour’ will suffice. If she is willing, she will meet me there.”

Knud’s gaze darted from Leif’s face to the box. “Is that the box Rune took from the house we raided up the coast from here? The one you traded the gold cross for?”

“It is.”