Brithwin’s pinched face relaxed. Sweet mercy. What did this woman think he would do to her?
She pushed off the back of the bench and rose. Her cheeks flushed, he’d have guessed from the heat in the room if not for her gaze which bore into him. “I am ready, my lord.” She forced the words out between clenched teeth.
The mordant way she said his title incited a growl from her wolfhound. Royce scowled at the dog.
He contemplated giving Brithwin his arm as he led her out of the kitchen and toward the bailey but decided against it. No reason to let her believe he approved of her behavior. “I would have you show me the grounds Hawkwood possesses. Thomas suggested I take you.” He snorted. “He claims you know it as well as he. I do not doubt Thomas believes that to be the truth.”
Brithwin straightened her back and lifted her chin. “I assure you, my lord, Thomas speaks only the truth. I spent as much time as possible away from the castle while my father ruled. Shame that I suddenly have the same urge.”
“Not without guards, I would hope. Although with your sharp tongue, ’tis possible you could draw blood.”
Brithwin stomped ahead of him. If she lifted her nose any higher, she would be watching the birds fly. “Thomas always makes sure I have guards about me.”
Her haughty demeanor brought on a grin, but as the words sank in, he sobered. Again, Thomas. Why had her father not seen to her safety? Even a harsh father should see to her well-being. He hadn’t had a chance to speak with Thomas about Brithwin and her father, but needed to.
The bailey buzzed with morning activity. Servants bustled around with morning chores, while knights sat on low benches, honing their swords and oiling their chain mail. The men he’d chosen to accompany them on their ride stood at the ready.
The crisp morning air soon would be warmed by the sun’s rays. The day promised to be good for riding. He stopped in front of a small chestnut mare and lifted Brithwin onto her seat. His hands lingered on her waist as he gazed into her stormy eyes, wishing they could have the kind of love his parents had.
What kind of magic did she weave? Royce jerked his hands away and strode to mount his warhorse.
“After you.” He feigned a slight bow, fighting the spark of desire that ignited.
†††
As they made their way out the gate, Royce gave the men curt orders to stay alert. Somewhere in that charge, Brithwin was certain Royce also had given a silent command to allow them privacy, because immediately half the company separated and forged ahead while the other half dropped behind them. She guided her mare along the trail that skirted the village and headed for the eastern edge of Hawkwood’s land.
“Is there anything in particular you want to see?” she asked, breaking the lingering silence.
He tipped his head toward her as if she should know the answer. “Everything.”
It would take more than a day to show him everything. She’d show him the important things he needed to know.
She may not have wanted to marry him, but she wasn’t foolish enough to withhold information because of it. This land and these people were still hers, and she felt responsible for them. Like it or not, she would tell him whatever he needed to know to keep her people safe and fed.
As they traveled, Brithwin shared information of Hawkwood’s holdings. She pointed out the grazing sheep and goats on the countryside with pride. This was fertile land and coveted by many.
A goshawk swooped down in front of them from the branch of a nearby tree, close enough that she could hear the whoosh of wind beneath his wings, his talons latching onto a small rodent as the bird skimmed along the grass. Brithwin slowed to watch the magnificent hawk fly away effortlessly with his prey. Glancing over, she noticed Royce seemed taken by the gracefulness of the bird, too. Perhaps they could find something they agreed on.
The group continued on, stopping only for short stints when Royce wanted to get a closer look at something, not nearly enough time for her to get down and stretch. She would not be seen as weak—if the men didn’t have to stop, neither did she.
Well into their ride, Brithwin’s back ached, her thighs were rubbed raw, and every time the horse took a step, pain shot through her backside. Who would have thought the lout would keep her on her mount for five hours? With a sick father, she’d been busy running a castle the past three months, which left her precious little time to be on a horse.
The small piece of bread she’d nibbled earlier left her hungry. She shifted in her seat, trying to ease the chafing on her legs. Royce was a typical man. He gave no consideration to anyone else’s discomfort—especially that of a woman.
Brithwin pointed toward the water ahead. “Hawkwood borders the river.”
Royce leaned forward, stood in his stirrups, and glanced around. “Let’s rest here and water the horses. We can stretch our legs and partake of the basket of food that Cook packed.”
The man must have read her mind, but she was too relieved to think about it. The river gurgled past her. She drew her mount to a stop. Royce appeared next to her before she had time to attempt dismounting. Grasping her waist, he lifted her from her horse and set her feet on the ground. His grip lightened, sending her legs buckling beneath her. She let out a gasp and grasped his shoulders. His arms wrapped around her.
Supported by him, Brithwin waited for strength to return to her legs. The scent of sandalwood and leather enveloped her as she struggled to keep herself from leaning against his chest. Her legs trembled beneath her. The near presence of him didn't help her wobbly legs, and she sagged against him, causing his grip to tighten. Her breathing echoed his. The rising and falling of his chest became one with her, but his heart’s rhythm threatened to be her undoing. She shoved her hands against his solid chest as she tipped her chin up.
The iron arms tightened around her again with a gentleness that belied their strength. The glimpse of concern and tenderness in his eyes made her wonder whether the man she so detested were a facade.
†††
Royce held up Brithwin’s small frame and berated himself for riding so many hours without stopping. Where was his chivalry? Her head rested against his chest. The woman did strange things to him. It was hard to believe a few days ago he’d planned to make her life miserable. Heaven help him if he were to find out she had anything to do with his family’s deaths.
He must not allow himself to feel anything for her until he knew the truth. Keeping a firm grasp on her shoulders, he stepped away. “Can you stand by yourself?”
“I think so.” A hint of a smile played across her lips. “And thank you.”
Letting his hands fall to his sides, he broke contact with her. “You need not thank me, my lady.”
“No?” She eyed him with uncertainty. “I would have fallen had you not caught me.”
He had much to learn about this wife of his—most would have complained an hour into the trip, demanding to stop and rest. And here she stood, thanking him for catching her. Brithwin was stronger than he credited her. His thoughts of a spoiled and coddled girl could not have been more wrong.
Royce’s hands curled into fists. Admiring her strengths was a dangerous pastime.
“I believe I am fine now.” She squirmed under his perusal. “Shall we water the horses and eat? I am famished.”
Royce handed her the basket, grabbed the reins of both horses, and led them to the river. Waiting for the horses to finish, he glanced behind. Brithwin busied herself laying out the food. Sunlightened strands of hair escaped her plait that framed her oval face. Saints above. He need not allow his eyes to drink in her beauty. Not until he knew the truth. How many times would he have to tell himself that?
As the other men took their food and sat on rocks near the river, Royce tied the horses to a branch and made his way over to the food. He stretched out on the ground and picked up a piece of cheese. “Did you come here often?”
“Nay, ’tis too far a ride. But ’tis one of my favorite places. I savor every moment I come
and try to memorize every little thing. When I was pun—when I was alone, I could come here in my mind.”
Punished. She hadn’t finished the word, but by the drop of her head, there was no need. Royce cocked his head. “Pray tell, my lady, why would you be punished and by whom?”
Brithwin shoved a piece of crust in her mouth and chomped vigorously.
Royce eyed her with growing suspicion. “I asked you a question, my lady.”
She swallowed with a gulp. “I have no idea what you refer to.”
Royce pushed up to a sitting position and scowled. “And I do not believe you. What is it you hide?”
He glimpsed the twitching of her jaw before she swung her head around. “I conceal nothing that is your right to know.”
Royce grunted and got to his feet. The chit could be stubborn. He made his way to the water. Perhaps punishment was the only way her father could keep a daughter with her own mind under control.
Royce untied the horses. “We need to get back.”
A straight route made the return trip much shorter. The clomping of their horses’ hooves on dirt was drowned out by yells of children and the noise of workers as they entered the village. Royce adjusted in his saddle. The houses were in good shape. Several had new thatched roofs, the area around was clean, and there were no offensive smells. Not only did the castle run efficiently, but it was also obvious the villeins had expectations they had to meet.
A man, dragging a young boy by the arm, yelled out to them. Royce stopped his horse. The boy looked no older than eight or nine and squirmed like a hooked fish. The man jerked him forward, his might out powering the young lad.
He stopped upon reaching Royce. “Good eventide, milord 'n milady.”
Royce pulled his steed to a stop and leaned forward, giving a quick nod with his head. “Is there a problem here?”
“Aye, that there is, milord. Me name is Peter, and I caught this here boy trying to steal one of me chickens.”
Royce turned his attention to the young boy, who was looking at the ground and shuffling his feet. “Is this true, boy?”
“Peter—” Brithwin’s eyes locked on the man.
Royce raised his hand to silence her. “I’m waiting for an answer, boy.”
“The bird were runnin’ ’cross the street.” The young boy flashed a peek under his brows and returned to studying the ground.
“Where are your parents?” Perhaps they had put him up to this.
Brithwin jerked forward and lowered her voice. “His mother died a fortnight ago, my lord.”
The lad slowly raised his eyes to meet Royce’s gaze. “My da died when I was a boy, and me ma died right before the last rain.”
Royce glowered at Brithwin. “I will handle this, my lady.” He then turned to the lad. “What is your name, boy?”
“L-lucus.”
Brithwin smiled at the small boy. “I thought you were to stay with your uncle?”
Royce swung around. “Woman, did I not make myself clear?”
The young boy stirred the dirt around with his toe. “He don’t want me. Told me to leave and not come home.”
Royce had heard enough. “Peter, lift the boy to me. I’ll take him off your hands and determine his punishment.”
Before she could raise her objection, he raised his palm to her again. “My lady, not a word.”
†††
Oh, the man was insufferable. Who did he think she was? No, the question was what and the answer was chattel. She clamped her lips together. His arrogance grated on her nerves. She’d like to choke him. Now, there was a pleasant thought.
Peter tossed young Lucas up to Royce, where he was seated in front of him. The boy’s eyes grew twice their size, and she was confident his awed look was for the large destrier, not fear of Royce. Lucas began asking questions about the horse, never stopping until they dismounted at Hawkwood. And to her amazement, Royce patiently answered each one in detail.
Royce towered over the young boy, who sucked in his bottom lip and lowered his eyes. Royce patted his head. “I never like to discuss business on an empty stomach, and I haven’t eaten since the noon hour. Why don’t you go on into the hall and find yourself a place to eat. When we are done, we will talk.”
“Yes, milord!” Lucas ran toward the castle.
Brithwin studied the way a stray curl rested above Royce’s brow, making him look boyish. “That was kind of you.”
“The lad probably hasn’t had a decent meal in days.” Royce turned to his horse, tending the animal’s needs.
The long ride had drained Brithwin’s energy and stiffened her limbs. The return trip hadn’t been as bad—they stopped regularly and stretched their legs. She ambled into the castle behind Lucas, each step causing her to wince, thankful the day’s ride was over, and went directly to her room to clean up. After splashing water on her face and slipping into a clean gown, she stepped out of the portal and started down the corridor, stopping to relight a torch and return it to the wall. The shadows lengthened as light shining through the windows dimmed. She squelched the shiver that threatened. Hastening her steps, Brithwin made her way to the great hall and food.
When the evening meal was finished, Royce, still seated on the dais, summoned Lucas.
Brithwin cleared her throat and waited for Royce to turn. He gave her a warning glance before resting his eyes on the boy.
“Now, do you want to tell me why you were stealing the chicken?”
The boy looked at his feet again.
Royce scowled at the young lad. “I expect you to look at me when I talk to you, boy.”
Lucas’s chin quivered. “Y-yes, milord.”
“Go ahead.”
“He were gonna kill the bird!” he blurted out.
Royce spoke under his breath, “The boy rescued a chicken?”
Brithwin sat stunned as she witnessed Royce fighting the mirth that threatened to spill out while he attempted to sound stern.
“Still, the chicken didn’t belong to you. We can’t let this go unpunished.” Royce rubbed his jaw. “You must like birds.”
The picture of Lucas frantically trying to save a chicken meant for someone’s dinner pot got the best of Brithwin, and try as she may, she could not stop the giggles that burst forth.
Lucas sneaked a glimpse and smiled.
Royce shot Brithwin a brooding look, and she clamped her hand over her mouth.
When the boy’s smile withered, Royce continued. “You will work in our mews. You can labor there, keeping it clean, and maybe you can learn some things. Sleep in here and take your meals with the others. I will have someone introduce you to your duties tomorrow. You understand?”
“Yes, milord!”
“I expect you to do a good job. Run along, now.”
Brithwin sat in disbelief as Royce finished speaking to Lucas. Maybe there was hope, for the man had a heart after all.
She hid her smile as Royce’s head jerked around. His golden-brown eyes darkened and bore into her.
“You, my lady, need to learn your place.”
Chapter 8
Brithwin remained kneeling on the floor in front of the bench long after Pater had finished praying with her. She found her heart heavy every morning of late. Pater’s haunting words returned every time she prayed. Don’t let this bitterness consume you. It will not hurt your father, but it will slowly rob you of the joy in your life. It was true. Her happiness had eluded her for a long time now. Feelings were peculiar. While he lived, she regularly suffered at his hand, yet she never had this heaviness in her soul that she now felt. She despised her father and did not want to forgive him. He didn’t deserve her forgiveness, even in death. There were a thousand reasons why. Brithwin pushed Pater’s words from her mind. Tears threatened as she silently begged God to hear her prayer.
Pater sat on the other side of the cool stone chapel. She knew his eyes were on her. Then, as if her slightest movement had called him, he straightened to his feet and shuffled toward her.
“Dear child, I have watched you struggle for nigh unto a fortnight, and I have been petitioning God to help you through whatever ails you. However, today I felt the Lord nudge me to you.”
He knelt beside her and wrapped his arm around her shoulder. Brithwin lifted her head and choked back a sob.
The tenderness in his eyes broke loose the dam. “I have seen you struggling, my child. Will you share your burden with me?”
Brithwin swiped the tears with the back of her hand. “Pater, God does not hear my prayers.”
“And how do you know that?” Compassion flooded his voice.
Brithwin looked at the elegant crucifix that stood at the front of the room. “I do not feel His presence when I pray, and He does not answer my prayers.”
“You cannot rely on feelings, my dear.” Pater closed his eyes and smiled. “Do you remember when you were a child and you found that stone in the shape of a dove?”
Brithwin smiled at the memory. “Aye, I remember. I slid it under the crack in the door. I felt very sorry for you, the way my father kept you imprisoned. I thought it would cheer you up. I knew you would love the dove.” Her smile broadened. “Although I didn’t understand at the time it was not the bird you loved.”
Pater laughed. His eyes danced with delight. “You were what kept me going every day. I looked forward to those moments you could sneak away to see me.” He paused and his face clouded. “Until I learned you were punished each time your father discovered you had come to see me. But those days are behind us. When you were a child, how did you know I had the dove?”
“I gave it to you.” She tipped her head sideways and waited to see what he was getting at.
“But you couldn’t see it after you gave it to me, and you couldn’t feel it. So how did you know I had it?”
“Because I gave it to you, and you told me you put it on your table and every time you looked at it, you thought of me.”
“You trusted me. You had faith that I kept it even though you couldn’t see in my room or feel it.” Pater gave her a gentle squeeze. “That is the same way it is with our Lord. You do not have to feel Him for Him to be here. You know He hears your prayers because His Word tells us He hears us when we pray. You must trust Him to be true to His word.”
Sword of Forgiveness (Winds of Change Book 1) Page 6