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Grom raised his eyebrows. “What brings you here?”

“We had business at the castle,” Leif said, purposely keeping his answer vague. “For the time being, it is best that no one knows our homeland.”

“What of you?” Knud asked. “I had not expected to see you in Deheubarth.”

“I travel through Gwynedd and Deheubarth on my way to and from Britannia,” he said. “I rarely return to a tref on the same trip, but when I was here a fortnight ago, a nobleman asked to see my knives. He claimed to have owned a Norse blade for a short time and wished to replace it.” He shrugged. “Word of mouth sells well. If he was happy with his blade, he may send others here to seek me out.”

The air left Leif’s lungs in one ragged breath, and if the look on Knud’s face was any indication, his friend’s thoughts were running parallel to his own. How long had Cadwaladr’s knife been in another’s possession before it had been used on Anarawd? Long enough for the villain to ascertain its quality and crave one of his own?

“This nobleman,” Leif said. “What can you tell me of him?”

Grom scratched his head. “Tall, he was. Dark hair and dark eyes. And affluent. He paid the price I asked without a quibble.”

“How many of the men at the burial fit that description, Knud?”

“Two,” Knud replied without hesitation. “Cadwgan and Cadell. Cadwgan is the taller of the two, but they are both dark-haired.”

“Well now, I was going to say that the name started with a C.” Grom scratched his head again. “I’ve learned enough Gaelic to buy and sell, but I fear their strange names often get the better of me.”

Cadwgan or Cadell. Leif’s mind raced. Was it possible that this unforeseen meeting with Grom could narrow their search for the murderer? Once at the castle, Leif could demand that both men reveal their weapons, but even if one was carrying Grom’s knife, Leif had no proof that the same man had once wielded Cadwaladr’s. They needed something more.

“Behind you,” Knud hissed. “Three guards wearing Cadell’s colors.”

Leif’s thoughts scattered. He glanced to his right. Three castle guards were approaching, their hauberks clinking faintly as they walked. Knud stepped to the left. Leif followed, relieved when the men’s attention remained on Grom’s wares rather than on his customers.

“Tell me, stranger,” the shortest of the guards said, “which is your most well-balanced sword?”

Grom handed the Cymry a doubled-edged, slightly tapered blade. “Try this,” he said.

The other two guards moved closer to examine the weapon. Leif caught Knud’s eye and gave a slight nod. Without a word, they slipped into the crowd milling around the nearby well and then started back the way they had come.

The local people parted to allow the castle visitors to pass through the market. Two little girls stood barefoot beside a tree, pointing and whispering as Rhiannon, Gwenllian, and Cadwgan walked by with three of Cadwgan’s retainers. The youngest child had a mass of unruly dark curls that reminded Rhiannon of her own hair at that age. Rhiannon smiled at her. The child covered her mouth with her hand to stifle a giggle. The one beside her—a sister, if their similar features were any indication—poked her.

Loosening the ribbon at the top of the purse attached to her girdle, Rhiannon fished out a small coin. Without a word to Gwenllian or Cadwgan, she deviated from the path they were taking toward the cloth merchant and approached the children. The older girl tugged on her little sister’s worn tunic and pulled her into a tumbled curtsy.

“Good day to you,” Rhiannon said.

“Good day, miss,” the older girl said. The younger one looked at her with wide eyes and popped her thumb into her mouth.

“Are you enjoying the market?”

The older girl shifted her feet uncertainly. “Our brother, Iago, told us t’ wait ’ere whilst ’e went to buy eggs fer our mam.”

“You are being very good to do as he asked.” She pressed the small coin into the little girl’s palm. “When he comes back, mayhap you can surprise your mam with some honey also.”

The girl looked at the coin in her hand as though she’d never seen anything like it before.

“Gramercy, miss.” She pressed her clenched fist to her chest, her words coming out in a rush. “We ain’t ever ’ad ’oney afore.”

“Then I daresay you will like it very much,” Rhiannon said.

“Rhiannon, is something amiss?” Cadwgan appeared at Rhiannon’s elbow, and the girls stumbled back a pace.

“Not at all,” Rhiannon said. “I was simply exchanging a few words with these children.”

He scarcely acknowledged them. “Gwenllian is waiting.”

Rhiannon glanced over her shoulder. Gwenllian had reached the cloth merchant’s stall and was already inspecting a piece of linen. “She appears to have things well in hand,” Rhiannon said. “But I am happy to join her now.”