†††
“Who goes there?” the guard roared.
Brithwin put her ear to the barred window.
“’Tis Elspeth. I bring your meal,” her voice quivered.
“Ah, Elspeth, such a lovely name. Did you come to keep me company?” Brithwin envisioned the smirk on the guard’s face. Elspeth should not have come down alone.
“N-no, I brought your food.”
“I should rather have your company.”
Brithwin held her breath. Elspeth’s gasp echoed on the stone walls. Her body quaked for her friend. “Run, Elspeth. Leave while you can,” Brithwin whispered.
“Come, now. You don’t have to be shy around me. There’s no one here to interrupt us.” The guard’s smooth voice sent shivers down Brithwin’s spine.
“Your food will get cold.” Elspeth’s words came out so low Brithwin could barely make them out.
“’Tis food. I have eaten it cold many a time. Now come here, wench.”
Elspeth screamed. Something thudded. “I shall go get you more,” Elspeth’s voice warbled.
“It can wait. Right now, I am hungry for something else.”
Poor Elspeth. Brithwin’s stomach convulsed for her friend.
A muffled scream rent the air. Brithwin could only imagine that the man forced himself on Elspeth as she listened.
He chuckled. “I like ’em feisty. Give me another kiss.”
Fabric ripped. Brithwin thought she might be sick. She banged on the metal door, screaming at the guard to let Elspeth go.
“Don’t worry your pretty little head, milady. Your turn yet comes."
Chapter 14
The shuffle of boots rushing down the stone stairs echoed like a distant thunder through the dungeon. A loud crash, Elspeth’s squeal, and a resounding thud were nearly Brithwin’s undoing. “Elspeth. Elspeth!”
“Stand down.” Thomas’s warning sent a wave of relief through Brithwin.
She peered out the small window of her cell, waiting silently, her aching hands gripping the metal window bars. If only she could stick her head out the door and see if her friend was uninjured. She closed her eyes and leaned her head against the door.
Father, please protect our rescuer.
Metal on metal resonated through the air. She recognized the chiming of swords. But this time it was no mock battle the men fought. This was real. More clanging of metal reverberated down the hall—then a groan. Heavy footfalls thumped on the ground, growing louder as they drew nearer to her. Panic snaked up from the pit of her belly.
I will not doubt God. He has already won this battle for me.
Brithwin moved back as the footsteps stopped in front of her door. She couldn’t see the man’s face as he stood before her window, but she recognized the stained tunic of the guard. The same guard who’d promised she’d be next. Her stomach convulsed. The metal bolt slid against the door that slowly swung open. The guard fell in—injured.
The figure standing behind him made Brithwin want to weep. Her champion rushed in with concern filling his eyes. She fell into Thomas’s open arms, swallowing a sob.
He wrapped his arms around her and leaned down. “We must hurry and get you to safety, milady.”
They had reached the stairs when a movement to Brithwin’s left caught her attention. A cry escaped her lips, and she stumbled to Elspeth, who huddled on the floor with her knees drawn up and head buried in her legs. Drained of strength, Brithwin dropped to the floor beside her maid and pulled the girl to herself.
Taking in her torn dress, Brithwin wiped away the tears—thoughts for herself gone. “Did he hurt you?”
Elspeth raised her head. Her chin quivered as she answered. “Nay, he did not hurt me.” Elspeth burst into tears. “’Twas terrible, milady. I thought . . . I thought . . .”
“Hush, now, dear one.” She stroked Elspeth’s hair. “All is well.”
Thomas cleared his throat. “Milady, we must hurry and get you to safety. We do not know what else has happened while we were down here.”
“Of course. Can you stand, Elspeth?” Brithwin looked at her with sympathy. She couldn’t help her, and she questioned if she had the strength to rise herself.
Thomas stepped forward. “If you will allow me?”
Brithwin fell back. Daffydd came down the steps and around the corner with sword drawn.
Thomas lifted Elspeth into his arms and looked to Daffydd. “How does it look above?”
“So far, everything is going as planned.”
“Good. We must hurry.” Thomas started up the steps with Elspeth.
Brithwin glanced back toward the cell with the injured guard. “We must send someone to tend to the guard.”“
You are soft-hearted, Brithwin.” Thomas spoke as he climbed the stairs. “When this is over...”
Daffydd sneered. “Wouldn’t want him to die before Royce has a chance to pass judgment on him.”
Brithwin shivered at the promise in those words. The guard would pay dearly. She hurried up the stairs behind Thomas. Nearing the top, a torch threw light on Thomas’s leg, revealing a glistening red slash.
Brithwin gasped. “Thomas, you are injured.”
“I will be fine, milady. We must not talk until we have you to safety.”
Daffydd came up the steps from behind and slipped past them into the lead. Keeping to the shadows to avoid the guards walking the ramparts, they walked in silence. Daffydd held up his hand for them to wait then slipped into the castle. A minute later, he signaled all was clear. They crept up the stairs and into Brithwin’s room to find Marjory pacing the floor. She ran to Brithwin and embraced her.
Marjory guided her to a chair. “Come, sit before you fall down.”
Brithwin acquiesced but frowned at her injured rescuer. “Thomas, let me look at your wound.”
“’Tis a scratch. Nothing for you to worry about.”
Brithwin’s gaze passed over each of the dear faces now assembled in her old room but stopped on Elspeth. Her maid remained where Thomas had set her down, clutching her gown together. Brithwin went to her chest and pulled out her cloak, wrapping it around Elspeth. As she did so, Thomas and Daffydd slipped from the room, mumbling something about seeing how Jarren fared.
Elspeth dipped her head shyly. “Thank you, milady.”
Brithwin sank down on a chair. “It is I who should thank you. You have risked much and done me a great service this day. I will not forget it.”
†††
Royce sat before the fire as Thomas entered his room. Jarren waited quietly by, after telling him a number of acts committed by his household—acts bordering on treachery. Tension permeated the chamber. Trust once taken for granted now teetered on a precipice which could easily crumble.
Thomas moved forward. “I’d like to hear what you have to say about milady,” the man growled like an angry father. He stood with feet apart, his arms folded, and braced for battle. His leg bore a gash in need of attention, confirming the unrest of the castle.
“I am told she was in the dungeon. Jarren filled me in as you arrived. How is my lady?” Royce hadn’t felt this low since he discovered his family murdered. He was supposed to be Brithwin’s protector, but instead he lay in bed, weak as a new born babe.
Thomas gave him a guarded look. “She fares better than you would expect. She tended to Elspeth when we left. Milady is strong, and her faith once again sustains her.”
Royce dragged a hand through his hair. “This should not have happened.” He sent a harsh look to Jarren. “Some men have forgotten their place.”
“Did you not accuse her of stabbing you? They stripped her to her chemise looking for her knife.”
Royce frowned. “I would not accuse her without proof.” Yet he had accused her—accused her of the murder of his family.
Jarren cleared his throat and shifted. “Rosen Craig, from what I am told, when you had the fever, you did not defend her. When others blamed her.”
Royce let out a groan and dr
opped his head into his hands. He’d like to strangle Jarren right now. If the man hadn’t laced his drink with a sleeping draught, this never would have happened.
Jarren looked at him soberly. “There is more.”
Royce glared at him. “More?”
Drawing in a deep breath, Jarren rubbed his neck. “Aye, there is.
“Let’s go to my solar where we can sit. I want to hear the whole of this mess.”
Several hours later, the men left, and Royce returned to his chamber. He had put two of Hawkwood’s knights to guard Brithwin's door and keep her safe. His gut twisted every time he envisioned Brithwin locked in the dank cell. She was a woman he could admire. The ordeal would have broken most. He thought about the last time he’d seen her, standing with her hands on her hips, frowning at him as he rode to fight the fire. A clipped laugh escaped. He had believed she would obey him. She just waited for him to leave so she could defy him. The woman could drive him mad. She was beautiful, brave, and stubborn. One minute she could make him smile, and in the next, infuriate him. He desired her as a husband does a wife, yet guilt for feeling that way toward his parent’s possible murderer tempered the desire.
Daffydd’s story of all she had done, how she had risked her life for an old peasant and a feebleminded boy, made him see her in a different light. She came nowhere near the spoiled wench he imagined. How many women would have stayed in a run-down hut, with little food, and cared for the old man? Thank the saints he had sent Daffydd to watch her.
On the morrow he would speak with her. He settled onto his bed and glimpsed the faint light breaking up the night sky. He would not have long to wait, for morning had arrived.
†††
Brithwin had risen as dawn streaked the sky with pale light. Along with the bathwater Elspeth had seen to, she delivered a message from Royce—he wished to see her. Steam from the heated water in the wooden tub ascended in a foggy mist. The water caressed her body as she lowered herself into it. The scent of roses tickled her nose. Leaning her head back, she closed her eyes and tried to block out the nightmare she’d just lived. To lie in the water all day and forget what had happened would be heaven. The heat soothed her sore muscles and aching joints. She slid down and dipped her head under the water to wet her hair. Every part of the filthy cell she would wash from her body.
Elspeth cleaned her with gentle fingers, kneaded her scalp, and scrubbed her hair until every trace of the pungent smell disappeared. As the bath cooled, Brithwin continued to luxuriate in the tepid water. She sighed from the pure pleasure of it.
“I would imagine you will not be so anxious to go pray with Pater.” Elspeth dried her hands on the cloth next to her.
“Of course I will. I have much to be thankful for.”
“How can you say that, after what you have gone through? After what I went through? It was horrible enough for me. And to think about you down there in that devil’s den.” Elspeth shuddered.
Brithwin smiled at her. “’Tis God who saw me through it, not put me there. I tell you true, there was no one around, just a whisper, then a sliver of light shone through my door. Day and night, the torch stayed lit, yet I never saw anyone light or replace it. The Lord was with me. I felt His presence, and He kept my fear from overtaking me.”
Elspeth merely looked away, and Brithwin finally stepped out of the tub, leaving little round droplets of water seeping into the wooden floor. After drying, she dressed in a clean chemise and sat before the fire, combing her fingers through her hair. The morning grew late while she lounged in her chair, nibbling on the bread and cheese brought to break her fast. She pushed aside the last piece of bread. The time had come to face Royce. She could not delay much longer. He was not a man to be put off.
The lovely gown Thomas had given her for her wedding beckoned to her. The more contrast she could get from her prison clothes the better, but the memories from her wedding dress were not pleasant, either. Indecision gave way. She chose a gown saved for special occasions. Elspeth had dressed her hair to hang down in a plait, brushing her waist. Now all she had left to do was wait for his lordship.
Elspeth had barely stepped out when there was a strong rap on the door.
“’Tis Royce.” Brithwin whispered to herself as she quickly sat. “You may enter.” Her insides twisted. Would he blame her yet again for things she hadn’t done?
Royce stepped through the portal. His clothing hung loose on his thinned frame. Brithwin’s breath hitched. She turned her head, hoping he had not noticed her surprise. Why should she care if he’d been ill, when he had left her in the dungeon with little food and nothing but her chemise to wear?
†††
The smell of roses pervading the room sent Royce’s senses reeling. “I hope you are feeling well, my lady.”
Brithwin folded her arms across her chest. The small window appeared to have attracted her interest, for she didn’t turn from it. “It is as you say, my lord.”
The mockery in her voice made Royce wince. It was obvious they had followed his orders and no one had spoken to her about her confinement. “Could you look at me, Brithwin?”
She turned slowly. “Yes, my lord.”
Royce frowned at her continued derision. “I am glad you were not harmed, my lady.”
Brithwin’s eyes bore into his. “’Tis no thanks to you, but that is no matter. The Lord took care of me and kept me.”
“And you blame me?” He knew she did.
She tipped her chin and pulled back her shoulders. “You, my lord, are the one who gives the orders here, are you not?”
Brithwin’s statement caught him off guard. They were the same words he had used to condemn her of Hawkwood’s part in his family’s deaths. He raised his eyebrows and took a step toward her. “You believe me guilty of this? Have I ever given you cause to think I am capable of such a thing?”
Brithwin’s eyes were the color of angry blue flames as she narrowed them on him. “From the day of your arrival, you have despised me. You look at me with distaste and impatience. You accuse me of murder. You avoid me or ignore me. Need I go on, my lord?”
Royce could not take his eyes off her. She was even more beautiful full of righteous anger. He took three more steps, halting before her. She lifted her chin a little higher. He bit back a smile. She was proud and would not be intimidated. He slowly raised his hand and rubbed the backs of his fingers across her cheek, savoring the smoothness of petal soft skin. She didn’t balk, but continued to hold his stare. That gave him hope, and he ran a finger down her neck and over the throbbing vein there. Was it from fear? Nay, she braved a week in the dungeon—the lady was fearless. Was it anger, then? Or dare he hope she felt what he did?
Passion and desire rose within him, quickening his own pulse at the smallest of touches. He yearned to pull her into his arms and to kiss the remaining stubbornness into submission. A mental shake brought him around.
To cover his discomfiture, he stepped away. “I’m not ignoring you now, am I?”
Every nerve in his body alerted him to her nearness. The woman drew him in just as in the stories about the sirens of old. She was a lure to him, beckoning him to come, drawing him to his demise; and, as in those stories, he could not resist her temptation. She did not have to open her mouth to tempt him; she needed merely to stand before him, alone, and in her chamber.
He plunged his hands through his hair. “What do you do to me?”
She tilted her head to the side. “I have done nothing to you. If you remember, it is you who has done this evil thing to me.”
Royce wasn’t sure whether she truly misunderstood him, but he was glad for it. He needed to draw the conversation to an end and remove himself from her presence before he did something he regretted.
“Brithwin, I spent the last week in my room with a fever and dosed with a sleeping draught. I knew nothing of your imprisonment.”
“How convenient for you, my lord.”
“There was nothing convenient about a knife
wound. I give you surety of that.”
Her eyes narrowed, and her face flushed. “So that is why they stripped me to my chemise, looking for my knife? They left me for days in a cold stone tomb, with water trickling down the walls, in nothing but a thin piece of cotton. And you want me to believe you were not responsible?”
Royce wanted to grab her and shake some sense into her. “I have given you no reason to doubt my word. A man is only as good as his word. I would not dishonor myself so.”
Brithwin turned away and swung back, eyes ablaze. “You give me many reasons! You do not trust me. Do you think I would dishonor myself? Yet still you think I am guilty of your family’s death. Trust works both ways, my lord.”
Royce paced across the room, taking several deep breaths before returning to stop in front of her. He ground his teeth together. She used his title, but she made sure he heard her disparaging tone. She deliberately irritated him. He shrugged it off, braced his feet apart, and folded his arms. “I give you my word. You can trust it. And I am declaring my innocence, something you still have failed to do.”
The emotions washed over her. Oh, she was easy to read. At least she was when she did not have time to think about putting on a mask. The fury melted away like water on snow, and uncertainty replaced it. She searched his face as if to discern the truth.
She scowled at him. “Then let me avow today that I had no hand in your family’s deaths.” She lifted her chin, a habit she seemed to save for him. “Now let us see who is willing to trust.”
Chapter 15
Did Royce toy with her? Thomas believed he was a man of his word. Brithwin couldn’t tell, and suddenly she needed to escape his overwhelming presence. She moved to the door.
He growled her name. “Brithwin, we have not finished.”
She stopped. “I intend to break my fast, my lord.”
“Very well. If you wish to continue this in the great hall rather than in private, ’tis all the same to me.” He stepped forward and offered her his arm. “Shall we, then?”
Sword of Forgiveness (Winds of Change Book 1) Page 13
