The Unlikely Spy by Sarah Woodbury

Author:Sarah Woodbury
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: suspense, murder, spies, wales, middle ages, welsh, medieval, castle, women sleuth, historical mystery, british detective
Publisher: Sarah Woodbury

“Well, well. What have we here?” Hywel crouched beside his brother behind a holly bush.

Evan stood against a pine tree, blending in against the dark bark in his brown cloak and plain tunic. He didn’t need to say anything because they all could see what Cadwaladr had brought: a small army. Men talked around three fires. One tent only had been put up towards the north end of the camp. The weather was clear and warm, and whatever warmth or protection from the elements anyone needed could be provided by the fire and the surrounding trees.

“He isn’t trying to hide that they’re here,” Rhun said.

Hywel shook his head. He couldn’t make sense of what he was seeing. “If Cadwaladr means to bring this force to bear on Aberystwyth, he would hardly have left it in plain sight. But he didn’t bring these men into the village for the festival, nor inform me of their existence, as simple courtesy demands.”

“Maybe it isn’t you Cadwaladr doesn’t want knowing about them,” Rhun said.

That set Hywel back on his heels. “Not me?”

“What if his true enemy is Cadell, for instance?” Rhun said.

“You mean they’ve had a falling out?” Hywel laughed low and mocking. His uncle had hired men to kill Cadell’s brother. The idea of them working as allies, in the past, present, or future, was almost obscene.

But Rhun’s suspicions had already gone there. “Or he is bringing these men across Ceredigion to the other side for some purpose of his own. It could be the opposite: he and Cadell, as allies, could be planning a campaign he doesn’t want you—or Father—to know about.”

“My lords.” Evan murmured the words, drawing their attention back to the camp. Cadwaladr himself had just ridden in with his guard. Hywel was relieved to know that his uncle was out of the castle, even if his absence meant he was plotting some new intrigue.

The sanctity of hospitality forbade aggression, either on the part of the host or the guest, and not for the first time Hywel understood why. To invite a man to dinner and then murder him as he ate was a crime beyond any other. Few would attempt it because in order to live afterwards, a man had to be so powerful that his enemies would continue to treat with him, despite their fear and hatred.

Cadwaladr dismounted and—almost as if he knew where Hywel and Rhun were hiding—strode towards their section of the woods. He didn’t come all the way, thankfully, but stopped at the fire pit nearest to Hywel’s hiding place. A man stood to greet him, bowing.

“What news, Erik?”

Only great effort stopped Hywel’s jaw from dropping.

“Nothing yet, my lord. The death of that man in the millpond is on everyone’s tongue. Nothing else.” The man spoke with a faint Dublin accent. Even without it, Hywel could have guessed who he was from his large stature and blond hair—blonder even than Rhun’s.

Rhun whispered low in Hywel’s ear. “I saw that man speaking to Iolo at his stall today.

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