Sword of Forgiveness (Winds of Change Book 1)

by Debbie Lynne Costello

  Chapter 3

  Brithwin gasped. Had she heard him right? Glancing at Thomas, she knew she had, for the scowl on his face told of his displeasure. This was the man Thomas held in high esteem? The one he believed had more honor than most? What sort of man spoke in such a way upon meeting his future wife? Aversion spread over Royce’s handsome face. His contempt for her was obvious—the same as her father, who had despised her.

  Why did he not walk away if he deemed this marriage so distasteful? She glanced at her filthy clothes and sniffed. No matter how unattractive he found her, if he refused the union he would forfeit the prize—Hawkwood.

  Brithwin gave him a cold stare just as he had weighed and examined her a moment earlier. She would have turned on her heel except she feared it would appear she made haste to do his bidding. Heaven forbid! She deigned to waste her words on him. “If you will excuse me, my castle demands my attention.” She turned and marched away, sure to hold her head high.

  †††

  “Aye, your betrothed is quite a lady. She has not only the skills of a woman but the command to keep this place running smoothly.”

  “Humph.” Royce stalked out of the mews and headed toward the stables when he spotted the garth. “What is this fenced area?” He pointed to a small sectioned yard with narrow rows.

  “It is our garden. We grow many herbs, some for cooking and others for healing. The garden is off the kitchen, and Marjory, our cook, grows a goodly assortment of spices.” He added quietly, “And milady loves her flowers—she comes here whenever she is troubled.”

  Could a woman capable of ordering the murders of three people hide behind the guise of innocence? Such a person could love nothing or no one but herself. “She sits out here often, then?”

  “Lady Brithwin?” Thomas let out a chuckle. “She does not come out here to sit. She is the one who cares for the garden.”

  That explained her soiled hands and clothes when they met. The question was, what had troubled her so today that she sought out a quiet place where she could think? His impending arrival? Perhaps she considered him a problem that needed solving. Perhaps he had better watch his back.

  After inspecting the grounds and parting with Thomas, Royce strolled toward the great hall for the evening meal. Jarren caught up with him. They briefly compared notes on different aspects of the castle.

  As they entered the hall, Royce lowered his voice as he spoke to Jarren. “Find out what you can about Thomas. He is an old friend. I trust him not to be a part of this, but I would like to know my trust is not misplaced.” When Royce had finished speaking, he turned to see Brithwin sitting on the dais in the lord’s seat, casting him a cool, appraising stare.

  The woman challenged him. He didn’t know whether he should laugh or send her to her room without dinner. This lady had backbone, and she would not submit to him like the simpering little fool he’d expected to find here.

  Very well. He would have to cross the line she had drawn.

  †††

  A hush fell around her. It was obvious everyone waited to see the outcome of what was sure to be a confrontation. Whispers, “She sits in his seat!” wafted through the air. Thomas had tried to convince Brithwin not to sit in her father’s chair. The lord’s chair. He had warned her she should not put Royce to a test of wills. Her betrothed’s long legs took him quickly toward the dais, his fists clenched and jaw muscles bunching. Her pulse betrayed her, rapid at the collar of her dress. She swallowed.

  She should have listened to Thomas.

  Royce stopped directly in front of Brithwin and looked her up and down. “I see you took my advice. You clean up rather well.” He spoke loud enough for half the hall to hear him.

  The heat in Brithwin’s cheeks spread through her face. This was not going as she hoped. She had wanted to show Royce she would not be easy to rule. The smirk on his face told her he noticed her blush.

  “It has been a busy day, so if you will excuse me, Lady Brithwin, I will take my meal in my room. For future record, I have carried men with full armor off the battlefield, so a little rebellious wench is but a trifle for me.” He started out of the hall, stopped, and slowly turned back to her, a predatory glint in his hawkish eyes. “And Lady Brithwin,” he said softly, “tomorrow be sure not to sit in my seat unless you wish to be bodily removed.”

  The sound of indrawn breaths and the shifting of bodies in their seats reached her ears. Her face burned. She hated him.

  Who did he think he was? He was not her husband—yet. Maybe she wouldn’t marry the arrogant knave. Thomas was wrong. This man was not honorable. So why should her principle hold her to such a farce of a marriage?

  If she did not care so for her people, she would flee to her kin in Scotland and forget her integrity. However, after meeting Royce Warwick, she knew she could not leave her people to his mercy because she was sure he had none.

  What a fool she was to think a man ever would treat her with respect. They were all the same. Save for Thomas and Pater, men were out for no one but themselves, and a woman was no more than chattel in their eyes.

  Well, she would not let anyone treat her like a piece of property. Men like him treated their horses better than their women and valued them more, too. She had been down this road with her father, and she didn’t wish to travel it again.

  Bands of tightness wrapped around her chest. The futility of her wishes to escape this marriage crushed her heart, but she would not allow Royce to crush her spirit. She drew in a deep breath and pushed her shoulders back. She would stay strong.

  Still fuming when she left the great hall, she stomped to her chambers. Her body ached from the tension she’d held in all day, and she looked forward to the bath she had ordered in her room. It would relax her tight muscles, ease her nerves, and give her some much-needed peace and quiet to think. She reached the top of the stairs and turned the corner. Approaching the door of her room, she heard the sloshing of water. Elspeth, her lady’s maid, now prepared her bath, and the water would be lovely and hot. Brithwin stepped into her room. “I won’t need any assistance tonight, Els . . .” Her words stopped dead on her tongue. All she could do was blink and clutch the door.

  “Ah, Lady Brithwin,” Royce’s smooth voice carried across the room. “My thanks for sending up the bath.”

  She bid her feet move but they wouldn’t obey.

  He tilted back his head and smirked down his nose at her. “Would you close the door? I feel a chill.”

  The nerve of the man. He’d already taken over her room. And in her bath! Brithwin’s eyes dropped to the hair on his tanned chest, which glistened above the water. Her stomach fluttered and she pressed her palm against it. She couldn’t just stand here, and she certainly wasn’t about to walk away without saying something and let him get the best of her twice. She took a steadying breath and prayed he wouldn’t see her tremble.

  Forcing a smile she hoped didn’t look false, she spoke as sweetly as she could. “I wanted to see how well you cleaned up.”

  With his jaw dropped and disbelief in his eyes, she sailed out of the room, grasping the drying cloth as she departed and leaving the door open—a genuine smile creeping across her face.

  Chapter 4

  Royce fumed in the tub, staring at the open door while goose flesh rose on his arms.

  “Brithwin.” He waited to see if she’d answer or appear back in the doorway, knowing full well the little vixen wouldn’t. “Brithwin!” Silence.

  You’ll know who your master is when I am finished with you.

  There had been so much to do and see to since he had gotten to Hawkwood, he’d not taken the time to learn the servants’ names. Now he wished he had. The only maid he could recall was Brithwin’s lady’s maid.

  “Elspeth!” Royce bellowed the woman’s name. This time, giggles tinkled from down the hall.

  “Wench, come here. I’m in need of your assistance.” The giggles ceased and he could just imagine the two women scurrying away. Royce let out a g
rowl. The servants disrespected him just as their lady did.

  He’d catch his death, as cold as the room was becoming. He glanced at the bed where his clothes lay in a pile—unreachable. Nothing lay within an arm’s reach for him to cover with. The bed had covers. He let out a low growl as he stood and water dripped from him. Snatching the cover off the bed, he sent his clothes plummeting to the floor. He wrapped the cotton fabric around his waist as he hurried to the portal. As his hand pushed the door closed, his wet feet slid out from beneath him. He landed on his back, smacking his head on the floor. Dazed, he lay there until the blackness dissolved and his sight returned.

  Gingerly, he sat up and fingered the knot rising on the back of his head. He’d best not see that woman again tonight. No telling what he would do to her. Taking hold of the wall to steady himself, he stood and walked to the bed. He fell on the soft mattress as the room spun. On the morrow, he would deal with Lady Brithwin.

  The next morning when Royce came down to break his fast, Thomas sat eating. Royce rubbed his head and winced when his fingers brushed the painful goose egg. Royce had been around the chit for one day, and already he felt like he’d lost command. Well, it was time to take it back. The lord’s chair stood empty and he headed for it. Brithwin would understand when she saw him taking his proper place. It would be pure joy to see the look on her face.

  He settled into his chair, said a few words to knights walking past, and his food was served. Before taking a bite, he turned to Thomas. “This castle runs with efficiency. I am impressed.”

  Thomas set his goblet down and cocked his head. “’Twas not always so, not until Lady Brithwin took on the running of things. I’m thankful she pleases you.”

  Royce forced down the bite of food he’d taken. That statement greatly exaggerated his feelings. “Speaking of Lady Brithwin, when will she grace us with her presence?”

  Thomas nodded to a servant to fill his tankard. “She has eaten and is already about her duties.”

  The smile faded from Royce’s face. The day was early, the hall remained full, and still people filed in for the morning meal. She avoided him. Well, he would change that. “I wish to see this marriage performed as soon as possible.”

  “When were you thinking, my lord?”

  “I see no reason to delay. She should have had time to prepare.” His gut roiled as he said the words, but his king had ordered this marriage and his country needed a strong lord on this borderland. A thought niggled somewhere in his mind. Could an alliance have been formed between her and the border Scots? He would seek out the truth of who had murdered his family, and when he found it, justice would be swift.

  Thomas leaned back and pushed his plate away. “Some things have been readied. Without knowing the details of your arrival, ’twas difficult to plan all.”

  “I see you have a chapel. I have yet to see a priest.”

  “Father Bronson resides near us. However, another lord had need of him. A death, I believe. He went to console the family and perform the funeral. He should return on the morrow.”

  He took a bite of meat and swallowed. “Very good. We can have the wedding ceremony in three days’ time.”

  “What of the banns?” Thomas’s voice was firm. “They must be read.”

  Royce set down his knife and shrugged. “’Tis the king himself who said we must not tarry. Let the priest read them each day and again on our wedding day.”

  “And what of your family? I know they live but a day’s ride from here, but even if we sent a messenger in the morning, I doubt your family could arrive in time.”

  Royce’s heart flinched at the unexpected mention of his family. “I am the only one left in my family. Bryce and my parents were murdered”—he searched Thomas’s face for guilt, found none, and let out his breath —“recently.”

  Thomas stared in disbelief. “I am sorry. Who was responsible?”

  Again, Royce studied Thomas. The man seemed to harbor no guile, but he’d wait and see what Jarren unearthed in his investigation about Thomas. “My thanks for your concern, but I would rather not speak of it.”

  “Of course, my lord.”

  Royce sighed. Back to the title he didn’t deserve, but he would do all in his power to earn it.

  †††

  Brithwin stayed in the mews long after Thomas came to speak with her about the shocking news of Rosen Craig’s murders. She had sent out an archer to bring back a hare for her favorite falcons, Talon and Lioness. Lioness improved daily from a malady, and Brithwin offered her a chunk of the meat, hoping to coax the falcon to eat a bite of her favorite food. With encouragement, Lioness accepted the treat. Talon eyed Lioness and the meat then hopped toward Brithwin and took a chunk from Brithwin’s gloved hand.

  The birds picked at the meal as she considered the news Thomas had brought her from his conversation with Sir Royce—Lord Rosen Craig. She would need to keep his title in the front of her mind when she spoke, but in her heart he would never be her lord.

  Even with the bad taste in her mouth for Royce, she did have sympathy for him. To lose one’s whole family would be horrific, particularly since Thomas had said Royce was especially close with his brother. Perhaps that explained his short temper and impatience—much different than the laudable man Thomas described. Grief could cause a person to act out of character, and Thomas had vouched for his honor and chivalry. She’d seen sorrow addle her servants and the villagers before, although she never had experienced its effects herself.

  Maybe she’d been too hasty in judging him. A wee bit of guilt gnawed at her for walking out and leaving the door open last night. Brithwin ran her hand over Talon, and he leaned against it, enjoying the contact. Well, maybe guilt wasn’t the right word. The look of shock on his face! No, she had felt naught but pure satisfaction to best him in a game of wits.

  There was much to consider. If Royce’s imperious behavior was due to grief, then how could she not forgive him? Christ did say to forgive seventy times seven. Part of her wanted to forgive Royce and do what she knew to be right—to offer her fealty. The other wanted to hold fast to the wrong he’d done her and gain the upper hand.

  If she wanted anything other than animosity in her marriage, she would need to disregard her pride and forgive him regardless of whether he asked or wanted it. Her stomach knotted as she left the falcons and went to speak to Royce.

  She found him out in her garden. Maybe they did have something in common if he sought out the comfort of a garden when his heart was heavy. That gave her hope, and she smiled as she approached him. He was handsome. Her words fled. She gazed at her feet, waiting for those elusive thoughts to return. Finally they did.

  Raising her head, she looked past him. “Can we speak?” She nodded to the garden bench.

  †††

  Royce strolled over and waited for her to sit. It was obvious Thomas had spoken to her about his family. The way she avoided looking him in the eye fueled his belief she may be guilty. He longed to grab her and shake her until she confessed to her vile crimes. “What do you want?”

  “You wish to marry in less than a week’s time?” She continued looking across the garden. Anywhere but at the man she’d so grievously wronged.

  “The king wishes it.” Certainly not him.

  Brithwin clasped her hands. “Thomas tells me you have recently lost your family. I am sure the king would allow a grieving period.”

  Royce flew from the bench and began to pace. Why would she offer this? The woman must have an ulterior motive. Did she not loathe him yesterday? He stomped across the well-manicured aisle and back as he considered the possibilities. The kindness she showed could only be a ruse to throw him off and make him believe her blameless. He would not fall prey to her charms. He swung to face her. “Yes, I am sure you would like that. It would give you more time to plot against me.”

  She looked away, probably because her guilt weighed so heavily.

  He could not control the thunder rolling through him. He knew sh
e could possibly be innocent, though that was unlikely. If only he could cause her to break and spill forth with the truth. “What would you believe if you received the information given to me? Your men were seen fleeing Rosen Craig. You, my lady, are the one who gives the orders here, are you not? So do not play innocent with me!”

  A low growl drew his attention to a large, grizzled wolfhound standing beside his mistress. Its hackles were raised.

  She jerked her head up to meet his gaze for the first time. Those sea-blue eyes had turned frigid, and her small hands resting in her lap curled tightly into white fists. Her anger condemned her. “I do not play at anything, Sir Royce.”

  She sucked in a breath, and he chose not to correct her on his title.

  “No. What you play is far more dangerous. Do you deny responsibility for my family’s death?”

  “I believed your bad behavior was due to your grief, but now I see you have gone mad.” She stood. “I deny nothing, for I have nothing to deny. You insult me, sir!”

  She wouldn’t defend herself, more evidence she was guilty. She stomped away with her back stiff and arms swinging. His pent-up fury burst forth before she reached the kitchen. “Henceforth, you may address me as ‘My Lord.’ And, my lady, we wed in three days’ time.”

  She slowed but didn’t turn around. “Aye”—she paused —“my lord.” And she stomped into the kitchen.

  †††

  Brithwin had to tell her feet not to run as she scrambled for the stairs and her old room. She dreaded another confrontation, and going to the lord’s chamber was definitely asking for one.

  Her whole body trembled as she struggled to slip the heavy oak plank into its latch. After several attempts, she managed to secure the door. Grasping the recently doused torch off the wall, she plunged the end into the fire. Back in its holder, the candle sent a soft yellow glow over the room. She hated the dark. Her father could be thanked for that. Brithwin staggered to her bed and collapsed on it, telling herself she would not cry as she swallowed the lump in her throat and drew in deep breaths. Willing her hands to stop shaking, she pulled the wimple from her head. Feelings were a difficult thing to master, but she’d gotten good at it. However, at the moment, she was finding it a challenge to tamp down the tears.