The Bard's Daughter (A Gareth and Gwen Medieval Mystery) Read Free Page B

nodded. “It’s not drink, Meilyr, though you certainly had plenty of that, too. Or at least your clothing did.”
    “ Then what is it?” Meilyr said.
    “ It’s an old recipe, from the east,” Saran said. “A skilled herbalist pours it into a sponge and holds it under a patient’s nostrils, to ease their pain and help them to sleep.”
    “ What is in it?” Gwen said.
    “ It’s an infusion of poppy, mandrake, hemlock, and ivy,” Saran said.
    Gwen’s heart beat a little faster. “Such a concoction can’t be easy to acquire.”
    “ I wouldn’t have said so,” Saran said.
    “ But you think someone could have used it on my father?”
    “ It would certainly explain Meilyr’s deep sleep,” Saran said. “Even a drunkard should notice when a man is murdered at his feet.”
    “ I’m not a drunkard!” Meilyr said.
    Saran bent to look into Meilyr’s face. “You are. I’ve kept my eye on you and even if you’ve been sober most of this winter, if you are going to live through tomorrow and help that boy of yours become everything you hope he does, you need to admit it. And drink only water.”
    Meilry made a disgusted noise in his throat, but then said, “You’re right. I know—” He clenched his knees so hard that his knuckles turned white. “I hate water.”
    Saran shook her head. “Did you kill Collen?”
    “ No.” Meilyr’s voice was stronger again.
    Saran muttered something that included the words “men” and “stubborn” as she looked down on Meilyr’s bowed head. Then Saran spoke louder: “Elements of this crime seemed to have been well-planned, in that your father was deliberately dosed with this infusion and put into the pantry. But other aspects, like the strangling of Collen are that of impulse. Surely there are cleaner ways to kill a man.”
    “ At the same time, it’s hard to imagine a method more effective than a harp string,” Gwen said.
    Again, the muttering, before Saran raised her voice. “True. Though I could tell you better.”
    Gwen didn’t dare ask about that knowledge. A skilled herbalist, by definition, was the most trusted—and the most dangerous—person in any community.
    “ Will you go to Gruffydd with this?” Gwen said.
    Saran glanced at Gwen. “I will, but it won’t be enough.”
    The pit of sickness in Gwen’s stomach threatened to become permanent. “It won’t?”
    Saran straightened, patted Meilyr on the shoulder, and then took Gwen’s arm. “Come with me.” Saran prodded Gwen to the door, knocked on it, and when the guard opened it, hurried Gwen through it and out of the barracks. Saran halted and turned to Gwen, her eyes full of regret. “It will not be enough that I bring my suspicions to Gruffydd. There is too much evidence weighing against your father for Lord Cadfael to release him on my word.”
    “ Wha—what do you mean?” Tears formed in Gwen’s eyes.
    “ Cariad , why are you crying?”
    “ B—b—because my father has been accused of murder.” Gwen brushed away the tears with the back of her hands.
    Saran’s gentleness gave way to impatience. She stood with her hands on her hips, waiting for Gwen to regain control. Gwen struggled not to cry for another dozen heartbeats and then managed a shaky smile.
    “ That’s better,” Saran said. “Now. We know that Gruffydd and Robert have already made up their minds about your father, correct?”
    Gwen nodded, not daring to speak lest Saran’s exasperation overflowed again.
    “ Has Gruffydd tried to trace your father’s movements last night? Has he talked to anyone at all?”
    “ Not that I know,” Gwen said.
    Saran gave a sharp nod. “Then I guess it is up to you.”
    “ What?” Gwen said. “How could it be up to me?”
    “ I’ve watched you for three months, now,” Saran said, “moping about, pining after that Gareth of yours.”
    “ I’m not pin—”
    “ You are, and it’s time you stopped. He’s not coming back and you need to manage your own life instead of