“’Tis too late to change plans. It stays as is. Do you understand what is expected of you, Marjory?”
“I understand. But how am I to get milady’s things to take with us?”
Thomas folded his arms. “We are not leaving. This is Lady Brithwin’s home. Where could she go and remain safe?”
“But she will not be safe here. Not until Lord Rosen Craig…” The color drained from Marjory’s face. “Thomas, I did not even think.” She shook her head. “I have been sending up a sleeping draught for milord every day. Sir Jarren had requested it so milord could rest and heal.”
Thomas lifted his hand and stroked his chin. “Hmm, I could have misjudged Sir Jarren. Do you believe he is keeping Lord Rosen Craig asleep to keep milady confined?”
“I do not know who to trust or what to believe.” Marjory’s voice quavered.
“No one speaks of her confinement. I have told my men not to talk on it and raise suspicions. However, Lord Rosen Craig’s men have not said anything, either. Hence, I do not know who is aware of it and who is not. ’Tis very troubling. We must be careful.”
“Aye, very careful.” Marjory replied.
Thomas’ gaze locked with Elspeth’s. “I will bring milady there straight away. If something goes awry, all of you must stay there where you will be safe. Our men will be lying in the midst of Lord Rosen Craig’s men tonight. Should an alarm sound, they will be ready with their swords.”
Elspeth rung her hands. “What happens after you get her out? Something will have to be done, or we will all be in grave trouble.”
“Once milady is safely in her room, I intend to confront Lord Rosen Craig. Something is amiss. A knight stands guard over milord.”
“What of milord’s friend?” Elspeth rubbed her arms. “Do you think he is responsible for milady’s plight?”
“Jarren has been down to the village every day, and I have not seen him go up to see Lord Rosen Craig. But we cannot know for sure.”
Marjory dug through her basket of herbs. “Shall I send a sleeping draught to milord’s guard also?”
“Aye, I would like to restrain from any bloodshed this night. Do not put any more in Lord Rosen Craig’s drink, but continue to send the drink up as you always do. I need to speak to him. I cannot believe it has come to this. I pray I do not have to turn on Milord. There is no honor in that, but milady is like a daughter and I will do what I must.” Thomas nodded and withdrew from the kitchen.
†††
Jarren stood with his hands on his hips, facing Philip and Marjory in the kitchen.
Marjory busied herself wiping the crumbs from the table to the floor. “I tell you, I will not do it! If you want him to drink it, you take it to him. I have done enough in making it.” She hoped she did not shake outwardly, for her insides quaked. She had not spoken to Sir Jarren since her lord’s fever had broken and he’d ordered the draught. It was just her luck to have him come to her now that Thomas had warned her to stay away from them.
Philip smiled. “It was your idea, Jarren, and you are his closest friend. He will take it better coming from you.”
“When he finds out we have kept him sleeping for several days I don’t think he will take it well from anyone,” Jarren grumbled.
“It has only been three days thus far, the other four his fever kept him a-bed.” Philip gave a lopsided grin.
Jarren took the goblet that Marjory held with trembling hands and headed for Rosen Craig’s chamber. Before he could mount the stairs, Daffydd intercepted him. Leaning in and keeping his voice low, Daffydd spoke. “We need to meet privately.”
“I will meet you later. I am bringing this up to our lord.” Jarren lifted the drink for Daffydd to see and stepped around him. Daffydd grasped his arm in a firm grip.
“We need to talk. Now.” Urgency rang in Daffydd’s voice.
Jarren followed him to the outer bailey where Daffydd glanced around. Frowning, Jarren folded his arms, the drink dangling from his fingers. “What is so secretive that you must drag me out here?”
“There are things going on that I do not like. Do you know where Lady Rosen Craig is?”
Jarren looked at him with impatience. “I have been too busy overseeing the rebuilding at the village to watch after Lady Rosen Craig. Is there a problem?”
Daffydd let out whoosh of air. “You do not know then.”
“Know what? I have no time for this.”
“Lady Rosen Craig languishes in the dungeon as we speak.”
Jarren had heard enough nonsense. “Have you been listening to gossipmongers? If that were so, I would know and I have heard no such thing.”
Daffydd flashed a glance around. “’Tis true. I heard two of the men holding her there talking. They have imprisoned her to await our lord’s punishment. The one knight said he heard Lord Rosen Craig say she is guilty of trying to murder him.”
“’Tis ridiculous. Royce does not believe that.”
Daffydd shrugged. “That is not all.”
Jarren’s stomach twisted. “What else must I know?”
“No one is talking about milady, not our men or Hawkwood’s men. I know that many have been working at the village, but I am telling you, I can feel the tension. I fear we could have a battle between knights of Hawkwood and knights of Rosen Craig if we don’t move quickly.”
Daffydd leaned close to Jarren. “Something is amiss.”
Jarren took a deep breath and wiped his hand down over his face. What a mess. He had kept Rosen Craig sleeping knowing it would help him heal and, in doing so, had possibly caused this. “I am going down to get milady out. Find Philip and apprise him.”
Jarren rushed to the dungeon and came face-to-face with Lachlan, a brawny Scotsman who had joined up with Royce on the return trip from the border skirmish. “I’ve come to see milady.”
“Sorry, me friend, but ye won’t be seeing the lass today. I got me orders, ye know.”
“And where do these orders come from?”
Lachlan cocked his head. “Well, now, they be comin from da laird.”
“So Rosen Craig spoke to you personally?” This man was aware of the friendship between him and Royce. Surely he would listen to him.
“Now, I not be sayin dat. But me orders came from him nonetheless.”
“I am here on Rosen Craig’s behalf. If he’d wanted his wife down here, I would know about it. Now step aside.” He swung his body to walk past and felt the cold steel blade of a sword against his neck.
“As I was sayin, only the laird be changing the orders.”
It wasn’t the blade of steel at his neck that made Jarren back down, but the concern for milady and Royce. He didn’t dare set off a catalyst of events that would put them in danger.
Jarren spun on his heel and ascended the stairs, leaving the dungeon. He walked across the bailey and toward the great hall, taking the stairs two at a time, and turned toward Rosen Craig’s chamber. Seeing the guard posted at his door, he nodded and walked past. What was going on? There was only one man he knew he could trust. Jarren headed to the back stairs in search of Hawkwood’s guard at arms.
Jarren found Thomas on the practice field, bent over, his hands resting on his knees, and dripping with sweat while his opponent did the same. Thomas straightened and greeted Jarren.
“If you have come to challenge me, you are too late. I have no more energy for another bout.”
Jarren glanced at the men watching. “Nay, I was wondering if you could come with me over to the stables and have a look at my horse.”
Thomas raised his eyebrow and pushed his sword into its sheath. They reached the edge of the practice field before Jarren used the same approach that Daffydd had used on him.
“Do you know where Lady Rosen Craig is, Thomas?”
Thomas eyed Jarren suspiciously. No one knew whom to trust.
“I can see by your reaction, you do.”
“Aye,” he said slowly.
Jarren rubbed his neck where Lachlan’s blade had res
ted. “I have just come from the dungeon and Rosen Craig’s room. Both have guards.”
Thomas’s brows narrowed. “When did you hear of milady’s plight?”
“Only minutes ago. Lord Rosen Craig had been concerned that his wife did not feel safe, so he, unbeknownst to Lady Rosen Craig, sent Daffydd to keep watch over her.”
“I see.” Skepticism filled Thomas’s voice.
The man apparently wasn’t going to offer anything. “Do you know how many men are involved in this?”
“’Tis hard to say. We have tried to determine that ourselves and have decided not to trust any of your men.”
“I understand, but I can assure you, neither Philip nor I was previously aware of this. I know you will not stand by and do nothing while milady is held prisoner.”
Thomas placed his hand on the hilt of his sword. “Very well, but if you betray us, I will run you through and throw your body to the wild animals.”
Jarren met his gaze. “Fair enough.”
†††
“Ye won’t be goin’ nowhere or seein’ no one until me laird tells me so.” Brithwin jumped when the booming voice broke the silence of the room a few minutes after she’d heard Jarren speak to the guard.
“When will that be?” She struggled to keep a steady voice.
“Sorry, lass, but I got me orders. No one is to talk to you and that includes me.” He snickered as his footsteps faded.
Brithwin slid down the wall to the cold stone floor of her cubicle and drew her arms tight about her knees. Iron claws gripped her chest, stealing her breath. The cold had seeped into her bones, stiffening her joints. Water dripped down the walls, leaving a slimy black sheen where the mysterious light hit. Pungent odors filled the room and seemed to draw the rats, mice, and insects. She wasn’t sure who was eating whom, but the rats were hungry. They grew braver with every passing day, waking her by gnawing on her feet. The food and water came in small portions, should she get any at all. Weakness invaded her body.
She thanked God for the light, which now sat on the wall beyond her door. Who had placed it there, she didn’t know, but it stayed there and remained lit. She didn’t know how, but she knew whom to thank.
With no window to the outdoors and inconsistent meals, she was not sure how much time had passed. Enough to nurture the growing anger she felt toward Royce. He was no different from her father, the man who’d delighted in her misery. How many times had he sent her here, and left her in the darkness? Royce must have been born with the same vile nature. She had done nothing to him to deserve his accusations.
She rocked back and forth, trying to bring warmth to her body. It was unfair. She did not deserve this. Holding the tears at bay, she refused to let them fall. If she did, he would win.
Why, God? Why are you allowing this? I have tried to live by all Pater has taught me about you. What did I do to deserve this?
She pushed the heels of her hands against her eyes to stop the flow. Then, as she sat in the silence that surrounded her, she heard a still small voice which was silent yet so clear.
Do you trust me, Brithwin?
Lowering her hands from her eyes, she slowly lifted her head. The words Pater had spoken so many times floated across her mind. Trust in the Lord with all thine heart; and lean not unto thine own understanding. In all thy ways acknowledge Him, and He shall direct thy paths.
Her voice caught in her throat from lack of water and use. It came out a whisper. “I am trying to trust You, Lord. I want to trust You, but I don’t understand why I must endure this.”
I am with you always, unto the end of time.
Brithwin felt the arms of God wrap around her like a blanket warmed before a fire. His presence surrounded her, pushing away the damp chill of her cell and her heart. The torch flared brighter, illuminating the dank room. Peace poured into her, filling her heart, and for the first time since she entered her prison, she wasn’t afraid.
†††
An unexpected backdraft from the large stone fireplace sent up a thick grey haze of smoke. It fit Jarren’s mood. The evening repast progressed in hushed restraint. Thomas and Jarren sat next to their lord’s and lady’s empty seats on the dais. Jarren fidgeted, not knowing how the night would end.
He looked out upon the mixed group of men. “It is an unsettling feeling, watching these men, not knowing who is a part of this scheme.”
Thomas joined Jarren’s morose gaze and stared out in front of him. “Let’s pray tonight goes as planned. If it does, we will find out the truth.”
Jarren continued searching the men’s faces, turmoil building within him. “These are men with whom Royce and I fought side by side in many a battle. ’Tis hard to believe any have betrayed him.”
“Only God knows a man’s heart. Some men are masters at hiding their true nature.”
While the men began moving the tables to the side making room to bed down for the night, Jarren and Thomas quietly went over the strategy for later and then split up to await word of the rescues.
Jarren and Philip went to Brithwin’s old chamber and were met by Marjory and Elspeth. Jarren paced the floor.
Philip leaned against the wall with his arms crossed. “Your pacing puts me on edge.”
“’Tis making me nervous, too.” Elspeth sat on a stool. “How much longer must we wait?”
“Not much longer. It has been quiet in the hall for a while.”
He stepped over and stirred the fire for something to do. Thor raised his head slightly and looked at him. “Where were you, you useless old hound?”
“Don’t take it out on him,” Elspeth defended. “Milady locked him in her chamber when she left to prevent his getting in the way.”
Philip pushed away from the wall. “I’m off to see if the guard at Lord Rosen Craig’s door is sleeping yet.”
He returned soon after with a smirk on his face. “The guard won’t be waking any time soon. How much did you put in his drink, Marjory? I shoved him with my boot, and he didn’t stir. You didn’t kill him, did you?”
She scowled. “I know what I do. I did not wish to take a chance on him waking.”
Jarren headed to the door and turned. “Lock the door behind us, and do not open it for anyone but us.”
Elspeth ran to the door and clutched his sleeve. “What will happen to Brithwin if things go wrong?”
Jarren pulled from her grasp. “Thomas will guard her with his life.”
Elspeth balled her hands into fists. “She could die.” Her words shook as they tumbled out. “We all could die. This is not good. Not good, I tell yo—”
Jarren’s voice thundered as he took hold of Elspeth’s shoulders and shook her. “Elspeth! Milady is counting on your courage. It is up to us to rescue her. Can she rely on you?”
Elspeth’s face drained of color. She nodded.
His voice softened, as well as his touch. “All will turn out well. Remember, your lady needs you.” Jarren dropped his hands from her shoulders and slipped out the door.
Both men crept down the dark hall with their hands on the hilts of their swords, listening for sounds of the traitors. The sleeping guard lay sprawled on the floor blocking the entrance. Jarren rolled the guard over, slowly opened the door, and peered inside. Looking back, he nodded. He and Philip pulled the guard into the room and shut the door.
†††
Royce fought the darkness to open his eyes, but the need for sleep kept pulling him back to his dream. He was in Scotland with his men and stood in the middle of a village. The Scots swarmed out of their homes with weapons drawn. A battle cry went up amongst the throng of angry sheep farmers. His men drew their swords. The Scots descended from every direction, dressed in all manner of clothing.
They were no match for Royce’s trained knights. They fell like babes. Blood soaked the ground. A second bevy pressed forward. He wanted to stop his men. These weren’t men—mercy—they were mere boys. He called a halt, but the roar of voices and the clank of steel against steel drowne
d out his voice. A flash from the sun’s light bounced off a blade, drawing his attention to the terrified face of a woman as her loved one fell to the sword. She bent and clasped the mighty weapon and turned on the offender. A scream of anguish flew from her lips. His knight swung in an arc to defend himself, but she pressed on. Royce yelled and tried to run, to save her from her own folly, but the screams and clanging metal again drowned out his words. He needed to run, but stones strapped to his feet kept him firm. Someone grabbed him from behind, pinioned his arms, and shook him. He struggled to break free. He had to help the woman, but strength abandoned him. Someone called his name from far away. He couldn’t see them. The familiar voice was worried. He moved toward the voice and the frightened woman began to fade. He needed to help her, to save her. He had to go back. The voice beckoned with urgency and he followed.
“Rosen Craig! Rosen Craig! You have to wake up.” Jarren’s forceful voice jarred Royce’s head. Was the infernal man trying to shake his teeth loose?
“I thought Marjory was told not to put anything in Royce’s drink,” Philip said.
“She didn’t,” Jarren countered.
Royce struggled to open his eyes. Two anxious sets of eyes scoured him. “You can stop shaking me.” His reprimand came out a pathetic, raspy plea.
Philip grinned. “For a minute I worried Marjory put you to an eternal sleep.”
He handed Royce a goblet of water. “How do you feel?”
“I can lift my head and breathe at the same time if that counts for something.” His lips cracked as he spoke, leaving a metallic taste in his mouth.
“I suppose it does.” Philip’s smile broadened.
Jarren stepped forward to help. “Can you sit?”
Royce sat up, swinging his feet over the side of the bed while trying to grasp his jumbled memories. “How long have I been abed?”
Jarren cleared his throat. “Near to eight days now.”
“My mind is a haze. I remember naught.” The fire, being stabbed, the old healer’s home, near falling from his horse, but not much more.
Jarren shot an inscrutable glance at Philip then pulled a chair up and sat. “There is much to tell while we wait.”
Sword of Forgiveness (Winds of Change Book 1) Page 12
