Sitting on the dais to Royce’s right was Jarren, his long-time friend and fellow knight, and beyond him, Royce’s uncle, Lyndle, lounged back in the chair with arms crossed over his chest.
“All of them?” Royce choked out the words.
“Aye.” Simon laid his hand on Royce’s shoulder and squeezed. He seemed to search for what to say. “My words are inadequate, I know, for you have suffered a great loss today. A terrible evil has fallen upon us.” He shook his head. “We all grieve the loss.”
“How could this happen?” Royce tightened his fists, his nails digging into his palms. Had a sickness swept through the castle?
The word echoed in his mind as though rolling through a cave—how. Moments ticked by before he realized he had spoken his thoughts.
Simon’s eyes filled with unshed tears and his voice grew thick with sorrow. “We know very li—”
Lyndle leaned forward and elbowed the old man aside. “I woke to the scream of your mother and hurried to your parents’ room, but when I arrived, they were both dead. While your father slept, someone ran a sword through him. Your mother’s neck was broken.” His voice cracked. “She must have woken and seen her attacker. When I looked for your brother, Bryce, he, too, was found in his bed, soaked in his own blood.”
Bile climbed in Royce’s throat and he fought to keep it down. “Did you see any of the attackers?”
Lyndle looked down at his hands as he spoke. “I saw the men as they rode out of the gates. One of them wore the Hawkwood colors.”
The words hit Royce like a joust stick at full tilt.
Jarren raised a single eyebrow and stared down the table at Royce’s uncle. “’Tis a bold move when the king is calling for peace between his lords. And how did they breach a well-guarded castle?”
Lyndle pulled his shoulders back. “The gatekeeper was found dead, and the guard’s food was laced heavily with wild poppy.”
Simon snapped his head up and gaped.
Was this the first he had heard this? Royce’s gaze darted to Lyndle. “Did you alert the guards in the hall?”
“I ran to make aware the guards outside.” Lyndle shifted in his seat. “But when none answered my call, I came in to wake the men in the hall.”
Royce slammed his fist down on the table. “Are you saying we have a traitor within our gates?”
Lyndle’s gaze shifted to Jarren then back to Royce. “I-it would seem so.”
Breath wouldn’t come. Swirls of color descended over his vision, blurring all reason. My family—saints above! How could this happen?
Clenching his jaw, Royce sucked air into his searing lungs. He needed to keep a straight mind. He couldn’t allow his grief to cloud his judgment. “How long since the search was mounted?”
“Search?” Lyndle looked around cautiously.
“We have a traitor among us and no one has sought him out?” Royce’s voice rose with each word.
Jarren cocked his head. “Why would men of Hawkwood kill your family?”
Lyndle shrugged. “Perhaps they sought to increase their holdings.”
Royce pushed away from the table. Putting his weight on his hands, he leaned forward and looked down the line of men. “Jarren asks a good question. As we rode out these gates to put down the skirmish with the Scots, the king’s messenger met me with a missive. The king has given me Brithwin, the heiress of Hawkwood, to be my bride.” As the words left his lips, a leaden weight sank to the pit of his stomach. If his betrothed had devised this, the scheming wench would pay for the blood spilt at Rosen Craig.
Chapter 2
A month had passed since her father’s death, and Brithwin had heard nothing from the king. Until now. Just as she’d begun to think God heard this one prayer—that the king was too busy to bother with her. But deep down she’d known better. A castle as large as her father’s held too much importance, and as surely as his tax collector’s annual appearance, the king’s decree had now come.
Standing in the great hall, every muscle frozen, Brithwin took the missive bearing the royal seal from her servant. She ran her fingers over the uneven wax and studied its signet. Within this letter lay her destiny. Making her way to her favorite chair, she sat in front of the large stone fireplace at the far end of the hall. Something told her she would want to be sitting when she read this.
Thomas, who’d been giving her an update on the state of things, followed quietly beside her and spoke as she sat. “Do you mind if I remain?” He tipped his head toward the missive.
Brithwin nodded for him to sit in the adjacent chair and opened the letter. Letters from the king were not common, so when the servants found the missive while cleaning her father’s room, they brought it straightway. The seal had been broken, indicating her father had read the contents. “Father had not shared this with you?” She studied Thomas’s face.
“No, I knew nothing of its delivery.”
She skimmed the paper, her fears becoming reality.
The king was pleased with a marriage between her and Sir Royce Warwick of Rosen Craig. A tear rolled down Brithwin’s cheek as she read the missive. She quickly brushed it away. Her father’s punishments had taught her to hide emotions that showed her weak. With Thomas’s gaze on her and not trusting her voice, she handed him the letter.
He scanned it quickly and let out his breath. His words faltered, as if he were unsure how she might receive them. “Lady Brithwin, when I wrote the king and informed him of your father’s impending death, I suggested an alliance with Sir Royce would be welcomed. But when I thought we’d gotten no response, I feared the king had not considered my request.”
Heat crept into her face. “You told the king I wanted to marry this—this stranger? Why, when you know I do not wish to marry him or anyone else?”
“Have you forgotten all I told you when your father died? Has the short time of running Hawkwood caused you to ignore your place as a woman? A woman cannot own a holding as strategic as this. ’Tis not done. You will marry, either by conquest or by decree.”
Her hands gripped the arms of the chair, turning her knuckles white. “I see no difference between the two.”
Thomas leaned forward in his chair, elbows propped on his knees. “Sir Royce is a good man. I knew him when he had just earned his spurs. We served as knights together at Landower Castle. Sir Royce will treat you well, for he is honest and loyal. A better man I do not know.”
“You sing his praises well, though it matters not. It seems I have no choice in the matter. No amount of valor can make me admire a man who forces my hand in marriage.” If she were ever to marry, she’d want a man who would love her and care about her thoughts and desires.
Thomas spread his hands open before her. “Milady, you know I would never intentionally cause you distress. I have only your best interests at heart.”
She would not concede to the compassion in his voice while her life dangled on a precipice. Distress? To be again at a man’s mercy may as well be a death sentence.
His voice softened. “I pray you will not be angry with me, Lady Brithwin. I did what I must and suggested a man I respect.”
“I need to think.” Exhaustion seeped into her bones. “I will eat my meal in my room. And I wish not to be disturbed.”
Brithwin pushed herself up from the chair and moved toward the staircase.
Thomas called to her before she reached the steps. “Think about what I have said, milady.”
“Aye, I shall.” She turned and ascended the stairs.
†††
Royce called together several of his men and sent them throughout the area in hopes of discovering who might have betrayed their lord and lady. Surely someone besides Lyndle had heard something—the drumming of hooves, perhaps, or a glimpse of men carrying Hawkwood’s standard. When he had finished talking with his men, he strode out of the hall, mounted his horse, and rode to the graves of his parents and brother.
He was still there on his knees, sword resting across his thighs, when
Jarren approached. Royce cupped his hand over the metal hilt, staring at the new grass rising from the freshly turned earth. “Do you believe in reaping what you have sown?”
Jarren squatted next to him. “Your family’s deaths are no fault of your own.”
Royce fingered the blade. “I had looked forward to getting the border skirmish behind me—to coming home, taking a wife, having my own castle to run. I had great hopes Lady Brithwin and I would fall in love, have strong boys”—a smile touched his lips— “and perhaps a pretty little girl or two, and oversee our land with fairness as husband and wife.”
“Don’t be hard on yourself. You’re a good man. And who is to say you still will not have all those things you so desire?”
Royce shook his head. “Nay, they are not to be mine.”
“Even if the tale Lyndle tells is true, you need not hold it against Randolf’s daughter.”
“You doubt Lyndle’s veracity?”
“Let us just say it merits further investigating. But Lady Brithwin—I expect she knows nothing of this.”
“That very well may be the truth of things. She is most probably an innocent. More the reason this marriage never should have been suggested. Not now. You know as well as I the sins I carry—how much blood is on my hands.”
“How could we have known the Scots were innocent and came out armed only to protect their village?” Jarren shook his head. “You can’t hold yourself accountable for something you knew nothing of. Edmond is the one to blame if you must lay blame at someone’s feet. Had he not attacked them, they would have stayed in their homes.”
Edmond. Royce’s body stiffened at the name. The last time he had encountered Edmond was to defend innocent lives, but he had come upon the bloody scene too late. He and his men had chased Edmond off but not before the viper had left a trail of carnage through the town.
“You can’t keep blaming yourself for another man’s evil deeds. Edmond may not have been present this time when we fought the Scots, but his hand remained in it. The fight with our border neighbors was no chance meeting. We both know Edmond set us up.”
“And because of that, commoners lost their lives. Will that man forever be a thorn in my side?”
Jarren cleared his throat. “I fear so. ’Tis why I sought you out. He and his knights came by Rosen Craig two days before your parents’ deaths and told your family you had fallen to the sword while in the north.”
“Are you certain? What could he gain by such a lie…unless…he came to appraise the security of the castle? If that be the case, then ’tis possible he works for my betrothed’s father. Are you certain ’twas him?”
“Aye, ’twas he and his men who brought the news.” Jarren shoved himself up to stand. “There is no question. He bore the scar you gave him at our last rendezvous.”
†††
Royce spent two weeks mourning his family before leaving Rosen Craig. He’d left strict instructions to keep his family’s death quiet until he had a chance to evaluate Hawkwood’s people. As they rode onto Hawkwood land, he spoke to his men. “Remember, until I know what we ride into, I am still Sir Royce to you men. No one is to call me Lord Rosen Craig. We will see if anyone knows I am lord without us informing them.” The weight of guilt lay heavy on his shoulders. His father and brother were the ones worthy of the title, not he.
Nearing the portcullis of Hawkwood, he scanned the walls and took in his surroundings. To see everything in fine array as he and his men rode into the inner bailey was a pleasant surprise. The gate had stood closed and well-guarded upon their arrival, knights walked the curtain wall, and men practiced mock battles in the field. Hawkwood did not appear weakened by a sickly lord—it was protected and well organized. He dismounted and his men followed suit. The stable boys emerged to take the horses’ reins before his feet had hit the ground. With good fortune, the rest of the place ran with the same efficiency.
Initially, King Richard’s announcement of Royce’s upcoming nuptials had pleased him. At least until he’d learned of his family’s murder. But even at that, seeing the castle up close sent warm currents through his blood. He was to be the new lord of this impressive structure.
The sound of his name interrupted his thoughts.
“Royce Warwick, it has been ages.” Thomas slapped him on the back and smiled.
Royce grinned at his old friend. “Thomas, ’tis good to see you. I was not aware you were located here.”
Thomas raised his eyebrows. “Did the king not tell you ’twas I who sent a request and suggested you for Lady Brithwin’s husband?”
“Nay, the missive held no details. But then, Richard is the king.” He grinned.
Jarren joined them, and Royce introduced the two men. “Jarren, this is Thomas, a friend from many years ago. We served together at Landower Castle.”
They exchanged a few words, and Jarren turned to Royce. “Would you like the men to have a look around and acquaint ourselves with the surroundings?”
Royce nodded to him. “’Tis your new home. Go over the defenses—I will want a report.”
Jarren strode toward the stables.
Thomas puffed up. “You will find the defense and security of Hawkwood well in order.”
Royce nodded. “I am impressed by what I see.”
“Come, I will show you around.”
The two men headed toward the large, wooden doors giving them access to the castle. Inside, Royce was once again impressed. It was obvious the old lord had wealth, with all the luxuries the dwelling had. A well-maintained fireplace large enough for a man to walk in sat deep in the wall opposite the dais. White cloths covered the tables, and intricately carved chairs, stained a deep brown, sat on the raised platform. Beautiful tapestries portraying courting couples, village scenes, and hunts hung on the whitewashed walls. Royce took in the splendor of the room.
“I wish to speak with Lord Randolf.” Royce dragged his gaze away from the brightly colored tapestry hung behind the lord’s chair. “’Tis important I get this matter behind me.”
Thomas gaped at him then shook his head as if to expel the words. “I—I assumed you knew he died.”
“Died? I knew he was sickly, but I didn’t think my tarrying would keep me from meeting him.”
“His health had declined over the past few months. However, he took a turn for the worse and passed in a few days. He’s been dead nigh on to five weeks now.”
An ice-cold chill wrapped around Royce. And why did they not find his death important enough news to send to him? That would have put Sir Randolf’s death just days before his own family’s. “Who has been in charge since the lord’s death?” If Hawkwood’s colors were seen fleeing Rosen Craig, then who gave the order?
“That would be your betrothed.” Pride filled Thomas’s voice. “Milady is an intelligent and ambitious woman, quite capable of overseeing things here.”
He searched his old acquaintance’s eyes for guile. There was none. Could his betrothed have given the orders and kept them from Thomas, knowing him to be an honorable man? Had Thomas not just said she was ambitious? Royce balled his hands.
He longed to slam his fist into something. Anything. He needed to feel pain to help take his mind off the ache within. Less than two months ago, he had left Rosen Craig a happy man, anxious to put down the uprising and get back to marry. But all that had changed.
Movement to his left caught Royce’s eye. A pretty maid stepped out of the hall.
Royce glanced around for his betrothed, but didn’t see anyone dressed like the lady of the castle. The maid strode toward them. The top of her head barely reached his chin. As she drew closer, Royce’s body warmed. She wasn’t just a simple beauty. Her long chestnut hair flowed carelessly around her face. Intelligence flashed in her sea-blue eyes. But it was the challenge in the way she looked at him that he found so startling. What maiden regarded a lord as though she were his equal?
†††
Each step drained Brithwin of hope that the man in front of
her was not her betrothed. He held himself as a lord would and dressed in fine clothes and appeared to know Thomas. He stood eye to eye with Thomas, making him a hand taller than most men. The muscles in his arms and chest gave proof of a warrior who wielded a sword. Hair black—no, deepest brown—touched his collar with the slightest hint of waves. His straight nose, square jaw, and strong chin gave him a look of authority.
Brithwin refused to glance down at her soiled dress or push back her unplaited hair—evidence that she’d spent the morning outside pulling weeds in her garden. She tipped her chin—she was still Lady Brithwin, regardless of what she wore. With any luck, her neglected appearance would turn the man away. If the situation were not so dire, she’d laugh. The only reason he agreed to marry was to take that which was hers.
“Lady Brithwin, meet your betrothed, Sir Royce Warwick.”
Interest flickered in his enthralling golden-brown eyes, but it quickly vanished at her introduction and what replaced it made her shiver.
Brithwin broke the painful silence that followed their introduction with a slight nod of her head. “We welcome you to Hawkwood, Sir Royce.”
†††
Ice ran through Royce’s veins. His betrothed? He gaped, wide-eyed, wishing she lacked in beauty. She was not a maid nor an angel, but the devil in disguise. But oh, what a lovely disguise. He would have to strengthen his resolve until he could find proof of her innocence or her guilt. If she tantalized his senses dressed in these ragged clothes, he could not imagine what she would do to him adorned in a beautiful gown.
Royce looked at this exquisite creature and knew his trials had just begun. If she had ordered his family’s murders, then surely she would try to use her womanly wiles on him to get what she wanted. Every time he gazed upon her beauty, he would need to remind himself of the possible blood on her hands.
Defiance blazed in her eyes. Perhaps a sign of her guilt? The woman needed to learn her place, and now would be a good time to teach her that he and he alone was her lord. His slow gaze raked her from head to toe. When he had finished, he chose his words carefully. “I hope this is not the way my betrothed always dresses. Go, clean yourself up before my men get the idea you’re a servant and expect you to serve as such.”
Sword of Forgiveness (Winds of Change Book 1) Page 2