Page 65 of The Call of the Sea

So Cadwgan’s defense was much the same as Hywel’s.

“None of the castle staff have reported having heard a quarrel between any of them,” Heledd continued.

As Rhiannon thought through this new information, footsteps sounded in the passage. Voices muffled by the thick walls and solid door followed. She glanced at the window, noticing for the first time that the sun had set. “It is late,” she said. “I must make haste.”

Heledd set down the jewelry box and reached for Rhiannon’s comb. “It seems to me that you and I have entered this race before.” She reached for Rhiannon’s long hair. “Be still. I shall have it plaited in no time.”

Heledd was as good as her word. Within minutes, Rhiannon’s dark hair was piled upon her head in a plaited crown.

“I cannot begin to express how much I have missed you,” Rhiannon said, rising from the chair. “Thank you for coming to me this evening.”

“It was my pleasure,” she said, moving aside so that Rhiannon could easily exit the room. “Take great care, Miss Rhiannon.”

“I shall.” Rhiannon recognized the concern in her former nursemaid’s eyes and leaned forward to kiss her wrinkled cheek. “Do not fret. Even though I have come to the unfortunate realization that my heart rarely listens to my head, I will endeavor to be less impetuous in the future.”

Heledd offered her a weak smile. “It has been that way with you since you were very young, Miss Rhiannon, and I would not wish it differently. I pray that your heart will always lead you aright.”

“I pray the same,” Rhiannon said. “Farewell, Heledd.”

“Farewell, Miss Rhiannon.”

Chapter 28

Leif gazed sightlessly at the flickering flames in the inn’s large fireplace, the bowl of pottage on the table before him largely untouched. He was vaguely aware of the three men laughing over a flagon of mead on the other side of the room and of Knud eating voraciously at his right, but his thoughts were with those gathered at the great hall in the castle.

Unable to stomach the notion that Rhiannon was likely seated beside Cadwgan at the royal banquet, he focused his attention on what little he had learned of the events surrounding Anarawd’s death since arriving here. The details were sparse, and like an unfinished tapestry, the full design remained unclear.

“I am missing something, Knud,” he said. “Something vital.”

“Aye,” Knud replied. “Your meal.” His friend paused his chewing long enough to point at Leif’s bowl. “If you are not going to eat, I shall take it.”

Leif slid his bowl toward him. He had no doubt the pottage was flavorful. Upon their return to the inn, the aroma coming from the large pot hanging over the fire had filled the large room, and Knud had insisted that they partake immediately. Unfortunately for Leif, food held no appeal whatsoever. He needed answers, not nourishment.

“How can it be that Anarawd seemingly had no enemies yet lies dead?”

Knud drained his bowl and reached for Leif’s. “Mayhap he was killed in error.”

“If he had been away from his own castle, that theory would carry more weight. As it is, he was in his own bed in his own chambers. No one—not even a guest—would mistake who lay there.”