No sooner had she settled onto the bed when scratching started at the door. She turned her head away and ignored the noise until pitiful whines joined in. With a sigh, she pulled herself up, padded across the room, lifted the latch, and opened the door. Thor, forever faithful, gazed at her with sorrowful eyes. He seemed to know when she needed him. “Come in, my friend.” She coaxed him onto her bed and curled next to him. The bristly grey fur belied the hound’s soft, comforting nature. Wrapping her arm around Thor, Brithwin knew this would be one of her last evenings nestled next to her companion.
She had no choice but marry—to defy the king would mean prison or death. The wedding would be in three days with or without her approval.
She would have to harden her heart as she had under her father’s cruelty. Though short, her freedom from male dominance had given her peace. Now, Royce had shattered that peace, for she’d be under an iron fist again—married to a man who believed her guilty of his family’s murder. Lord have mercy on her. What would he do to her when she became his wife? Perhaps he believed an eye for an eye. That would be far better than the cold, dark dungeon. Brithwin wrapped her arms around her middle, trying to rid herself of the tremor that still shook her body.
She couldn’t sink into despair. She must trust God to give her time to adjust and strength to endure a new marriage.
†††
The wedding day arrived too quickly. Elspeth stood before her with a gown draped on outstretched arms. Its fabric, the color of a beautiful summer sky, was adorned with a delicate gold braid around the neckline, sleeves, and hem. Tiny pearls, sewn in an intricate swirled design down the front of the gown, twinkled in the morning light. She touched the fine fabric, letting it run through her fingers.
She should be angry with Thomas for disobeying her and getting her a gown. She knew she had displeased her guard at arms when she informed him she would wear one of her old gowns, for her wedding was no celebration. Oh, the brooding look he’d given her. Brithwin smiled. But when she’d suggested she wear her black gown, he’d rolled his eyes. How could she be angry with him? This blue gown was exquisite. It was as if Thomas knew her heart, for he must have put much consideration into the colors and style, not to mention the cost of the gown.
Elspeth broke her thoughts by pulling the gown from her touch and laying it across the bed. “Milady, your bath awaits.”
After disrobing, she touched the water with her toe and stepped into the tub. The warmth soothed more than just her skin. “The gown is lovely.” A sigh escaped her lips as she sank farther into the water. “Thomas must have ordered this made weeks ago. It was kind of him. I just wish it were a happier occasion.”
Elspeth’s gaze shot to the door and she lowered her voice. “Don’t let your betrothed hear that! ’Tis rumored milord has a beastly temper.”
“I really don’t want to do this, Elspeth.” Her trembling hands caused ripples in the water. “I do not want to live the rest of my life with a man who hates me.”
“We’ll have none of that talk.” Her maid knelt beside the tub. “He will realize he is wrong. Give it time. You are too kind for him to believe such a beastly thing once he is better acquainted with you. Now, let’s get your hair washed and you out of there before the water cools and you catch a chill.”
Brithwin had managed to avoid Royce since she rushed out of the garden, but she couldn’t avoid him much longer. Once out of the bath, she donned her best linen chemise, embroidered with tiny flowers around the neck and hem. After pulling on her knitted wool hose and securing them with knee garters, she picked up Thomas’s gift and slipped it on.
The gown, as soft as a kitten’s fur, was the finest garment she had ever worn. Fitted to the hips where the voluminous skirt was adorned by tiny pleats, the surcoat, darker blue than the cotehardie it covered, had an exquisite gold belt that hung low on her hips. Still, for all its beauty, she felt melancholy.
Poised on the chair, she donned her shoes while Elspeth fussed with her hair.
“Milady, please stop your fidgeting.”
“I’m sorry, Elspeth. I can’t help it.”
“Now, for the final touch.” Her maid placed a gold circlet on Brithwin’s head. She moved back and clasped her hands in front of her. “Ye are beautiful, milady.”
Brithwin rose up and clasped her maid’s hands. A knock on the door drew their attention. “It appears we finished none too early.” She squeezed Elspeth’s hands. “Thank you, you are too good to me.”
Thomas’s voice came through the wood. “It’s time, milady.”
Brithwin let go of Elspeth’s hands, stepped out of the room, and took Thomas’s arm.
Taking a slow pace, she tilted her head and looked at him. “Thank you for the lovely gown, Thomas. ’Twas kind of you.”
“The gown?” He blinked. “Oh, aye, the gown.”
Thomas sounded surprised she would thank him. He must have thought she was still upset. It was wrong of her to have been so unkind to him for encouraging the king to decree this marriage. He was right. If not Royce, it would have been someone else.
“Lady Brithwin, you look beautiful.” Thomas’s eyes shone with pride.
“Thomas, I wish there were a better choice.”
His brow crinkled and his face softened with understanding. He slowed his steady strides and pulled her to a stop. “It will all turn out well. Wedding fears are not uncommon, even in people betrothed since childhood. You must garner your strength from God above. The Lord will never forsake you. Remember that always, for it is a treasure you should hold close to your heart.”
If only she could have Thomas’s faith. It seemed to come so easy to him, while she struggled with the simplest truths. For as hard as she tried, she failed to imagine God’s love could help her bear this union.
“I shall try, Thomas.” Her voice came out in a strangled whisper.
Chapter 5
Royce gazed down from the church steps as he waited for his bride to appear. His mind shifted to three days prior when Brithwin had huffed out of the garden with her head held high. His betrothed had too much pride. Yet, she bewitched him like no other—beauty, intelligence, confidence—qualities that also made her dangerous. Especially if he let down his guard.
The woman vexed him. What man desired to spend his days watching his back? He let out a growl. The priest, standing beside him, frowned. Vexed or not, King Richard’s eyes were on the benefits the marriage would bring him, not on Royce’s reluctance.
At Brithwin’s approach to the church, wearing the blue gown he’d bought for her, thoughts flew from his mind. A queer pain hit his chest, robbing him of his breath. None could rival her beauty. Chin tilted high, shoulders back, and hips swaying, Brithwin looked like royalty. And somehow she looked innocent in all her splendor.
Innocent! He shook himself mentally to get his thoughts in order. It would do him well to remember she could very easily be like Eve in the Garden of Eden, plotting to deceive him, to trick him into letting his defenses down. He couldn’t let her beauty cloud his senses, for surely she would use her womanly wiles against him in any way she could.
†††
Brithwin wished the day was over as Royce said his vows.
“I take thee, Brithwin, to be my wedded wife, to have and to hold, from this day forward, for better, for worse, for richer, for poorer, in sickness and in health, ’til death do us part, if holy church it will ordain, and thereto I plight thee my troth.”
The words couldn’t mean anything to him. He’d made it clear how he felt. It would be by God’s mercy only that he might honor one of the promises.
When her turn came, she replied where expected, all the while longing to be a spectator. That is, until he lowered his head and his lips tenderly brushed across hers to seal the spoken vows.
Suddenly, she was there. The awareness of his hands on her upper arms sent her senses on alert. He broke the contact, and she could still feel the impression of where he had held her. Lips tingli
ng, she ran her tongue over them. He was the first man whose mouth had touched hers. He’d been so gentle, she almost could deceive herself into believing he could be kind.
Brithwin’s body stiffened. Respect was something she’d never get from him as long as he believed her a murderer. To live in a marriage where her husband held so much hatred and animosity toward her would be unbearable. She needed to forget her pride and convince him of her innocence—but he’d made it clear he would never believe her. All her protests would be wasted words.
Royce took her arm and guided her into the church for mass. She drew her shoulders back and marched to the front, taking her seat. Settled beside Royce, Brithwin couldn’t concentrate on the priest’s droning words, and they became mere noise filling the small building. Married—her vows spoken before both God and man—her fate was sealed and she must move forward. She glanced at Royce, who stared straight ahead. A muscle flexed in his jaw. Could God make anything good come out of a marriage neither participant wanted?
†††
When the service finally concluded, the town folk filed from the church. Brithwin stopped beside Royce on the steps.
He spoke to her people. “Let me present to you Lady Rosen Craig.” They all cheered. “You are all invited to come to Hawkwood to celebrate with us.” A roar of excitement went up among the crowd.
Had he just invited every servant, freeman, and villein to remain and partake of the meal with them? Most of these people never had eaten in the castle hall. And judging by the pleasure of his invitation, it appeared Royce had made a calculated move, for if she knew her people like she thought she did, he had just won them over.
Struck by a moment of outrage, she drew her brows together—how warmly her people welcomed him. Where was their loyalty to her? How could they betray her after all she had done for them?
Brithwin let her gaze roam over the crowd with a frown. Where did he think he would seat everyone?
They made their way through the bailey, his hand still possessively on her arm, accepting the kind words and congratulations from the swarms of people.
The great room was a buzz of activity, with men scurrying around, moving tables closer together and opening floor space. Her people filed in, many finding seats on the floor, while others crushed together on benches, and to Brithwin’s astonishment, although it was very tight, they all fit.
With everyone seated, the food came out. Pork, beef, mutton, and poultry filled the tables. Sauces garnished the meats, while an abundance of fruits and nuts were heaped upon platters. Sweet custards and delicacies topped off the tables. It was a feast like none she ever remembered.
The troubadour that Thomas had hired for the evening made his way to the center of the room, entertaining with his ballads of chivalry and courtly love. Even with the distraction of music, she couldn’t keep her mind from what the evening would hold. Her stomach twisted—she needed air.
Brithwin glanced at Royce. He had not spoken a word to her since they’d sat to eat. Now, with the meal finished, he was not seeking her company—she had no reason to remain in her seat.
Brithwin stood to leave. Royce’s hand shot out and he seized her wrist as though he owned her. “Leaving so soon?”
The deep growl of her faithful wolfhound came from behind her. It renewed her courage. With a tip of her chin, she met his eyes. “I need fresh air. I find it stifling in here.”
“You will go nowhere without asking my permission first, my lady.” He tightened his hold as she tried to pull away. “Do not challenge me in this. I assure you, I am much stronger. If you defy me, you will only humiliate yourself.”
Brithwin flopped down. She wouldn’t ask him for permission. This was her castle. The only home she’d ever known.
As luck would have it, she didn’t have to feign submission long before an altercation erupted and duty called Royce away. Brithwin quickly slid from her seat and hurried to the back stairs. They were better concealed, and he was less likely to see her. All she had to do was make it to her room where she could lock the door and be safe.
†††
Royce approached a group of men overindulging in ale and throwing punches. He glanced around for one of his men to help break up the scuffle and glimpsed Brithwin scurrying along the wall toward the back stairs. Turning back to the boisterous group, Royce summoned Thomas, already making his way to him.
“Take care of this for me, Thomas,” Royce yelled as he hastened toward the front stairs.
†††
Brithwin rushed into her room and slammed the door. The heavy plank securing the latch leaned on the wall next to the door. As her hands grasped the oak board, Royce’s voice rumbled like a violent storm behind her.
“I’m glad to see you hurrying up to be with me.”
Brithwin yelped. Swinging around, she held the board as a shield. “How did you—”
His lips curled. “Get up here so quickly? Ahh. I saw you sneak to the rear steps. I wasn’t aware you were so anxious for this evening.”
Brithwin’s throat constricted. Her hands tightened on the board, and she took a step back. “Stay away from me.”
Royce glanced at the thick board in her hands. “Give it to me.”
“Nay.” As the words left her lips, he reached for the plank. She flung it at him and pulled the door handle.
Royce grabbed for the flying board but not fast enough. The board glanced off his forearm and slammed into his temple.
Brithwin cringed but continued to tug on the latch. A bolt of hot fear shot through her, twisting her insides and obstructing her thinking. She had to get out. She jerked on the handle until her arms were weak. Why wouldn’t it open? Her gaze flew from the top to the bottom of the door.
Royce’s foot, planted at the base of the door, barred her escape. Following his boot up to his muscular body, where his thick arms folded over his broad chest, Brithwin released the door handle and backed away. As he secured the door with the board, her mind filled with the image of rabbits caught in small game traps.
Royce turned. Blood trickled down one side of his face. Those golden-brown eyes now narrowed at her, full of dark foreboding. She glanced around, frantically seeking an escape. And then she saw the window.
†††
Royce’s head ached from the impact of the board. He couldn’t believe that the little imp had gotten the better of him.
The board in place, he turned to deal with Brithwin, but she’d backed against the wall, gaze wild and darting around the room. He knew the moment his wife saw freedom by the way her roaming eyes fixed on the window. She broke free and dashed away.
With long strides, Royce closed the distance, grasping her gown before she reached her escape. He pulled her toward him as she tried to jerk the fabric from his clutch. Spinning around, she came face-to-face with him and let out a small gasp. He felt pity for her when she drew up her arms, protectively covering her face as if he would strike her. Her body stiffened at his touch, but he did not relent. He had to establish lordship over her proud, defiant ways.
Sweeping her into his arms, he headed to the bed. To his surprise, she drew still and compliant in his embrace. A visible pulse throbbed at her neck, and her eyes went wide. He shook himself out of their mesmerizing hold.
“You would jump from a window to your death rather than remain in here with me?” Royce raised one eyebrow. “No, do not answer that.”
She was beautiful. Blood pounded in his ears. He did not want these feelings she caused. Disgust, directed at himself, consumed him. Brithwin was a deceiver, and he would not fall prey to her bewitchment. He must remain unfeeling toward her. He couldn’t become a love-struck pup—not with the woman suspected of arranging the murder of his family. He was like Adam tempted with the forbidden fruit. No matter that he had forbidden the fruit.
†††
Brithwin’s heart thudded erratically as Royce’s arms cradled her—and imprisoned her in their grip. A morsel of kitchen conversation snapped
into her mind—the giggles behind servants’ hands as they gossiped about wedding nights. She cringed and lifted her eyes to see him, wanting to know his intent. Pain splayed across his face. Those captivating brown eyes no longer blazed but now looked straight into her, seeking . . . The scent of sandalwood and leather beset her nose, causing her stomach to riffle. She bit her bottom lip. His embrace wasn’t so frightening.
Warmth rose in her face, and the heat consumed her. Her lips parted. This man caused so many different emotions to run through her and put her mind into a jumble. In a matter of minutes, she’d gone from angry, to scared, to something she couldn’t name.
Her thoughts ended abruptly as her body hit the bed, and his arms came down on each side of her, caging her in. The irritation had left his face, replaced by satisfaction.
She would wipe the smug look off his face. He may be stronger, but she had learned many lessons on defending herself against a man. She’d had to.
Her father had never been her defender. No one had to wonder for long about how he felt about her. When knights and nobility traveled through, often spending the night, they took his aversion for her as an open invitation.
Indeed, when Brithwin was but fourteen, Thomas had walked in the kitchen as a knight caught her unawares and pressed her against the cook’s table until the hard wooden edge bit into her back as he tried to steal a kiss. Thomas flung the man off her and beat him until she worried he would kill the man in his rage. The next day, he took her aside and taught her several effective ways to defend herself. Lessons she took seriously.
Sword of Forgiveness (Winds of Change Book 1) Page 4
