†††
Royce groaned as he shifted to his side on the narrow pallet. “I feel like I was used as a battering ram. What happened? The last thing I remember is climbing a ladder.”
“Aye, you did that. You just didn’t use it to come down. You should have listened to me.”
Jarren had told him it would be a bad idea, hadn’t he? Royce merely grunted. “The fire. How much did we lose?” His words came out hoarse.
Jarren handed him a goblet of water. “I cannot be sure, but I would say close to twenty homes burned. Some damaged, others totally lost.”
“Dead?”
“I do not know. It will be today or tomorrow before we can assess the complete loss of lives and homes.”
“We will start rebuilding today.”
The healer tottered over, pushed Royce from his side to his stomach, and scrutinized the wound. She clucked her tongue. “There will be no rebuilding this village today for you. You must rest for a sennight and regain your strength. If you don’t, you’ll reopen your wound. ’Tis still possible for the fever to come upon you.”
“You are the village healer?” Royce lifted his head, surveying all the herbs hanging from the ceiling and containers sitting on a shelf.
Nodding, she busied herself with placing fresh salve and cloth strips on his wound.
Royce sucked in a breath as he sat up. “I thank you for tending to my wound and allowing me to sleep on your bed. ’Twas kind of you. However, I must get to Hawkwood.”
The healer shot Jarren a glance laden with warning. Jarren heaved a sigh.
“I will go and fetch our mounts and bring you to the castle, but you must rest there.” He scowled at Royce. “Yestereve I believed you would die, though I would not speak so then.”
“I have warned you, milord.” The healer rose abruptly. "What you do is no matter to me.”
†††
Having trouble mounting his horse, Royce accepted Jarren’s assistance.
Jarren frowned. “’Tis unwise. You should remain another day. Gain some strength. You cannot even climb upon your destrier without support.”
Royce winced as he shifted in the saddle. “Nay, one night was enough. I am just a wee bit sore.”
Jarren snorted and shook his head. He climbed on his horse and led the way to Hawkwood.
Royce tried to concentrate as Jarren told of the woman who’d found a knife. Jarren would need to check Brithwin’s room for the blade when they returned. They were but a short ride. He would make it. Jarren pointed out where he’d encountered the woman as they passed the burned-out hulls, once homes. People wandered aimlessly. Royce’s heart pulled at their plight. They needed him. He attempted to sit tall in the saddle as he took in the damage, though beads of perspiration trickled down his face and back. He tightened his legs on Shadowmere to keep atop the horse.
When the castle gate drew near, he sagged, grateful he had made it.
His knuckles tingled, so fierce a grip he held to the saddle, and waves of dizziness threatened to spill him from his horse. The battle-hardened muscles in his legs could no longer grasp Shadowmere’s sides. By sheer, stubborn will he had not hit the ground thus far.
They reached the inner bailey and the stable. Philip rushed to them. The short excursion had turned out a major undertaking. As Royce slid off his horse, the dizziness he had fought swooped down on him like a hawk diving for its prey. His legs buckled beneath him.
Philip leaped forward and grasped his arm.
Jarren sent Royce a smug look. “Now, Rosen Craig, will you consider following the healer’s advice and rest?”
Royce’s glare encompassed both Philip and Jarren. “I will rest today, but on the morrow I will not remain abed.”
He hobbled to his room with their help. By the rood, he felt as weak as a babe. He collapsed onto the bed.
Philip remained near the door as Royce let himself down on the bed. The knight looked exhausted. Smudges of black remained on his face and arms.
Philip cleared his throat. “’Tis surely a small matter”—he glanced at Jarren and then at Royce—“but we haven’t seen milady today. She is most probably tending the injured . . . somewhere.”
Royce jerked his head up, sending the room into a spin. “Find her.”
His order to find Brithwin was the last thing he remembered when he awoke early the next morn to distant pounding. He wrenched himself to a sitting position. A searing pain shot through his shoulder, and he fell back, gasping. The impact of the mattress only intensified his pain. Every muscle in his body cried out in agony. Feeling like one of the bags they used for jousting practice, he grimaced and closed his eyes. Jarren and Philip hovered nearby like anxious wet nurses.
Royce turned to them. “Have you found her yet?”
“No one has seen her since before we left for the fire.” Jarren’s face looked haggard, and he massaged the back of his neck with his hand. “We searched the castle and the bailey with no luck.”
Royce rubbed his temple with his fingers. He’d ordered the wench to remain here. Had she used this opportunity to meet with someone—someone who had tried to kill him?
“Perhaps she tends the injured in the village,” Phillip defended.
“Did anyone see her in the village during the fire? The stubborn wench insisted on going with us.” Royce waited for an answer as his gaze bounced between the two men.
“We’ve heard nothing yet,” Jarren said.
Royce scoffed at Philip. “Yet you think she may be there aiding someone, when no one has seen her.”
Philip shrugged. “It is not as if we can go around knocking door to door. Twenty-four villein families lost their homes. Chaos reigns in the village. The people wander the streets like lost sheep. We are trying to gather supplies to rebuild, but ’tis difficult organizing those people. Lady Rosen Craig could be in the midst of them and no one would notice.”
Royce tried to raise himself again, winced, and immediately lay back down, waiting for the pain and dizziness to subside. “This is maddening. I would get up and do for myself. ”
“Marjory says ’tis the fever that keeps you weak,” Jarren offered.
Philip turned his attention to Jarren. “The cook?”
“Aye, she learned healing skills from old Mary, the healer.”
Royce lifted his head enough to get a good look at Jarren. “What of the woman who found the knife?”
“I looked for her while I sought out milady, and the woman with the knife was nowhere to be found. Her house is not livable, so she has most likely found somewhere to stay. I tell you the truth, Royce, ’tis hard to find anyone in the village right now.”
“Have you checked Brithwin’s room for the knife she took?”
“Aye. ’Tis not there. We've gone through everything twice.”
It wouldn’t be there. She had risked much in taking it from his room and taken it for a reason. What her purpose was, he didn’t yet know—but he would find out. He did know she hadn’t retrieved it to adorn her chamber.
“I want to see the knife this woman holds. I want to know if they are one and the same”—his voice faded to a murmur—“my lady’s and this knife that stabbed me.”
“Royce, don’t jump to conclusions here. I doubt she is the one who stabbed you.” Jarren spoke with conviction.
“How can you be so sure?” Sleep tugged at his eyes.
“The same way you could be, if you would allow yourself to really see the woman you married.”
Royce closed his eyes. “I hope you are right.”
“You will see I am. As I told you, the woman who found the knife will bring it here. She is hoping you will pay her for it. When she does, you will know the truth.”
†††
When the sun rose, Brithwin checked on Guy. They would have to remain at the cottage for many days, even if Daffydd thought otherwise. Murielle could not care for Guy alone. Brithwin woke Daffydd and sent him for water while she threw another piece of wood on the fi
re, thankful the nights were no longer so cold.
After applying more soothing salve to Guy’s wounded flesh, Brithwin walked around the small cottage, looking for anything useful. A cook pot sat next to the fire, and an ax rested against the wall in the corner. They would need both.
Daffydd stepped through the entrance with blood smeared on his face and tunic. Brithwin gasped. He held out the pail with a grin on his face.
Brithwin reached for the water.
“What happened to you?” Murielle squeaked.
“I brought food.” He stepped out the door, bent down, and came back holding a small boar. “He is a young one but will feed us.”
The three worked together preparing the food. It kept Brithwin’s mind occupied and helped pass the time.
The following days Brithwin spent teaching Murielle how to care for Guy’s burns. With her limited knowledge of plants, she showed her what could be used safely for pain and healing.
On the fourth day, Brithwin had to go home, for she knew not what kind of wrath she would face from Royce should he have chosen to stay at Hawkwood because of the fire. Daffydd’s concern of her husband’s anger did give her pause.
And she was more confident that Guy would live, though he was unable to travel as of yet. Daffydd would have to bring food until the old man healed enough to make the short journey, and then her new friend would escort them back.
After saying a prayer early in the morning for Guy’s healing, they readied to leave. A smile touched her lips when Daffydd asked her to pray Royce would show him mercy, but quickly faded when she considered he was serious.
Both horses needed to remain with Murielle. If Guy worsened, they would be able to reach Brithwin quicker…she hoped. She left Murielle her knife—it was all she would have for protection. The two traveled to Hawkwood in relative silence. She imagined he was as nervous as she to face Royce. She prayed Royce went on to Rosen Craig, but Daffydd’s lack of faith that her husband had caused her to worry.
Even as much as Royce avoided her, by now he would have noticed her absence. Elspeth would have covered for her the first day, maybe two, but far too much time had passed. Her maid was probably beside herself with worry. She prayed again that Royce would have mercy on both Daffydd and her.
The portcullis stood open. Brithwin and Daffydd passed under it and into the outer bailey.
Brithwin looked at the old gown she had thrown on the night of the fire. She doubted mending it would make it suitable to wear again. Thinking about a hot bath and clean clothes, she quickened her step. When she finished bathing, she would go and get fresh, warm bread and a slice of cheese. The thought caused her stomach to rumble.
Stepping through the unmanned gate that led into the inner bailey, Brithwin turned to Daffydd. “What will you do now we have returned?”
“The old couple needs food, so I will head to the kitchen and gather enough food for a few days. Then I plan to deliver it to them.” He smiled.
“’Tis good of you to look after them. They have always been dear to me.”
“I am pleased to be of service.” He bowed. “It has been an honor getting to know you, milady. Lord Rosen Craig is a fortunate man.” He turned and walked toward the kitchen. As he left, she heard him mutter, “Even if he’s too much a fool to realize it.”
That made her smile. But she needed to tell him never to allow Royce to hear him use fool in the same sentence with her husband’s name.
As Daffydd disappeared into the castle, she turned and was beset upon by rough hands and dragged away.
†††
A tumult coming from the bailey jolted Royce awake. The position of the sun’s rays on the chamber wall told him it was late morning. Straining to lift his head brought on a fiery pain in his shoulder, a grim reminder of his wound—and his weakness. He dropped his head back to the bed. He had slept fitfully through the night, each time waking with Brithwin on his mind. A fog enveloped his thoughts, making it hard to think and separate dreams from reality. It was the fever making him feel that way. He’d had it before.
Marjory sat on a stool next to his bed and wiped his forehead with a cool, wet cloth. “’Tis quite a commotion out there and sorry I am it woke you.”
“Do you know what is happening?” His voice came out raspy from disuse.
The sounds of boots came rushing up the stairs and then a loud rapping on the door. It flew open and one of his knights burst in the room. “We have Lady Rosen Craig! She walked into the bailey disguised as a peasant.” He paused to catch his breath. “I knew you would be anxious to hear, milord. We have heard she is the one you seek for your wound.”
Royce battled the haze that clouded his thinking. “Is she?” He was unsure, but didn’t he want to find her for some reason?
“Aye, milord, she is,” the knight said with confidence.
Royce shook his head, trying to clear it, but that caused the room to spin. The man standing there looked self-assured. Marjory appeared alarmed.
“Shall I bring her to you?” the knight asked.
“Nay!” Marjory sprang to her feet. “You need rest, milord.”
The knight puffed up. “We can lock her up until you wish to see her.”
He seemed pleased to have brought this news. Darkness closed in. Royce struggled to stay awake. “I need to be the first to speak with her.” Royce mumbled his words.
The knight turned to leave the room, but Marjory’s angry words brought him to a halt. “Where are you taking her?”
“To the dungeon.” The knight gave a malicious smile. “Where else would I put a murderer? She did try to kill our lord.”
“You cannot put milady in the dungeon! He will not allow it.”
Indeed, he wouldn’t, if he could form the words through the dark fog that held him captive. His eyes grew heavier.
The knight smiled arrogantly. “You heard him. Lord Rosen Craig wants to be the first to speak with her. Obviously, he is unable to do that right now. I am ensuring his wishes are carried out.”
With a humorless laugh, he turned abruptly and left the room.
Chapter 13
“Milady, come to the door. I have brought you a torch for light.” Marjory paused as heavy footsteps sounded behind her, “Someone is coming. I shall talk to Sir Thomas. He will get you out.”
“Why is he doing this to me?” Brithwin raised her head to peer out the small window, her voice raw.
Marjory stood and looked over her shoulder. The guard bore toward her. She whispered, “Lord Rosen Craig does not think clearly. ’Tis the fe—”
The booming voice of the man pulling her away from the door drowned her out.
“No one is to speak to her before Laird Rosen Craig. Now off with ye,” he pushed her away from the door, “before I throw ye in for aiding the enemy.”
Brithwin called to his retreating back. “Please tell me why he put me in here. What does he think I have done?”
His laugh sent icy fingers of fear down her back. “Ye will find out soon enough, milady.”
†††
The combination of the damp, musty cell and the pungent odor of rotting varmints caused Brithwin’s stomach to roil. Even in the dim light, she was able to make out a dead rat. She scrambled closer to the door and hugged her knees to her chest.
Dampness from the ground seeped into her chemise, as if to flee the bone-chilling cold. Her teeth chattered. The scampering of small, clawed feet, all too familiar to her ears, beat a maddening, irregular rhythm. At least the sliver of light—her beacon—helped hold the burning in her belly at bay and gave some comfort. She wiped at the perspiration beading on her forehead despite the chill, and tried to make sense out of what had just happened.
They’d stripped her to her chemise, looking for her knife. She wore nothing now but her thin undergarment. Her body quaked at the memory. The men who’d shredded her clothes had enjoyed her discomfort, sneering and laughing at each other’s vulgar observations, then leering at her as if she were a c
riminal. Their lewd and mordant remarks seared into her mind.
She rubbed at her body, trying to rid herself of their filthy touch and wishing she had soap and water to expunge the way they made her feel.
How could her husband allow such manhandling of her? And why did Marjory say Royce didn’t think clearly?
Royce was no different than her father, sending her to her own nightmare. Nothing could cause her insides to quake like this dungeon. She laid her head on her knees as her energy bled from her.
A wicked chuckle sounded outside her door, then a soft scrape of wood against stone. Her sliver of light vanished, plunging her back into dark terror.
†††
It was early morning. Thomas lingered in the kitchen talking in a hushed voice with Marjory while Elspeth waited silently. Three days had passed since Brithwin’s imprisonment. It was time they made their move. “You have stayed away from all of Lord Rosen Craig’s men?”
“Aye, I did just as you told me. I have not left the kitchen since we have talked. I have even made a pallet to sleep on.” She pointed to a bed lying at the side of the fire.
“We cannot give them any reason to think we are up to something. I have met with many of Hawkwood’s men, and they will get the word to the others. Tonight we will get milady out, and I need your help. Are you still willing?”
Marjory’s eyes drew to a squint. “You know I will do anything for milady.”
“Good. Now listen close.” Thomas’s voice dropped low. “We cannot afford mistakes. When Lord Rosen Craig’s men are all sleeping, I need you to make a sleeping tonic for milady’s guard. Elspeth will take it down to him. After he has fallen asleep, I will rescue milady. I want you to depart to her old room and wait for her there.”
“But Elspeth?” Marjory began shaking her head. “She is a lady’s maid.”
Thomas straightened and looked down at her. “I will not take chances on milady’s life. We do not know whom we can trust, and Elspeth has agreed to help.”
“I can go in her place. You do not know what you ask of her.” Marjory’s eyes shifted quickly to Elspeth and back to Thomas before she lowered her voice to a whisper. “The girl can swoon at a cross word.”
Sword of Forgiveness (Winds of Change Book 1) Page 11
