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“Because it did not belong with him.” He paused as though choosing his words carefully. “You cannot know how long the memory of your agonized cries from that fateful night have haunted me. I had no thought that I would ever see you again, but safeguarding the items that were so dear to you seemed to be one small way in which I could make amends for what occurred.”
Struggling to make sense of what he’d told her, Rhiannon attempted to find her voice. “I . . . I am most thankful. Having my mother’s things returned means more than I can say.” She pried open her purse and withdrew the pendant. “But I cannot accept this.” She held it out to him, the silver wave on her palm, the chain dangling between her fingers, and forced herself to continue. “When we return to Ynys Môn, Owain Gwynedd intends to announce my betrothal to Cadwgan ap Gronw. It would be unseemly for me to accept so personal a gift from another man.”
She caught the flash of something that looked remarkably like pain in Leif’s eyes. But it was gone before she could fully identify it. He reached out his hand, but rather than taking the pendant from her, he wrapped his fingers around hers, burying the pendant in her closed fist. “The pendant is yours. Although I have no say over whether or not you ever choose to wear it, I can insist upon this.”
The air stilled between them.
“I . . . I cannot . . .”
He tightened his grip. “Please, Rhiannon. It belongs with no other person.”
Rhiannon lowered her gaze to their clasped hands, the threat of tears pricking her eyes. “What do you want of me?”
To her own ears, her tortured whisper revealed a heart that dreaded her union with Cadwgan but yearned for more time with Leif. But whether Leif heard the same, she could not tell. Regret filled his expressive blue eyes, and he released her hand.
“I am come for the same reason that I was in Aberffraw: I must know if Cadwaladr is truly guilty of murdering Anarawd.”
The abrupt change in subject helped Rhiannon rally her defenses. “You remain convinced that Cadwaladr is innocent.”
Leif shook his head. “I am convinced of nothing. But I have yet to find a motive strong enough to lead Cadwaladr to do something so violent, and I am wary of the well-placed clues leading to his charge.”
“The tabards and knife,” she said.
“Aye.” He looked at her quizzically. “If the men guilty of a murder could be identified by their tabards, what do you think they would do with those pieces of clothing?”
“Burn them,” Rhiannon said without hesitation. “They would destroy all evidence that tied them to the crime.”
“I agree. Which is why I find it troubling that the tabards in question were discovered by some local boys whilst they were out hunting in the forest.”
“They were found?”
“So the castle’s blacksmith told me. And they were returned to the castle.”
Rhiannon’s thoughts whirled. Why had Heledd not told her this when they had been speaking of the crime? Surely, as the castle laundress, she would be aware of the clothing’s reappearance.
“If the men seen leaving the castle in Cadwaladr’s tabards were part of a well-orchestrated ruse, there is someone else behind the crime,” Leif said. “But as an outsider, I do not know the players well enough to discover a possible motive on my own.” A new level of urgency tinged his voice. “I need to know if any of the noblemen or royals in the castle harbor sufficient jealousy, a desire for revenge, or a secret so terrible that it could drive him to kill another.”
“How is one to ever uncover such truths? Surely they would rarely be revealed to another.”
“I require only a single observation or a memory—no matter how faint—of an unguarded word, an obvious grudge, or unusual behavior to steer me aright.” Leif fixed her with a penetrating gaze. “Would you be willing to help me?”
Rhiannon stumbled back a pace. “You wish me to spy for you?”
He shook his head. “I simply wish you to make a few subtle inquiries into the background and mindset of the noblemen in the castle. If you discover nothing that might point to another being responsible for Anarawd’s death, I can report the same to my father.”
“Why are you so determined to do this? Why do you seemingly care deeply about something so wholly unconnected to you or your people? Surely you owe Cadwaladr no allegiance.”
“It is true that I owe Cadwaladr nothing. Indeed, I scarcely know the man. But I do know something of the suffering that occurs when truth is ignored. For me, that is reason enough.”
Rhiannon tore her gaze from his earnest expression. How could she possibly refute such a response?
“What if I were to learn something that leads me to question Cadwaladr’s guilt as you do?” she asked.
“Then I would ask that you get word to me at the inn in the tref without delay.” He offered her a ghost of a smile. “They know me as Luc.”
Before Rhiannon could formulate a suitable response, a warbling whistle sounded. Leif tensed, and Rhiannon swiveled to face the small grove of trees a little farther downstream.
“What was that?” she asked.
