Sword of Forgiveness (Winds of Change Book 1)

by Debbie Lynne Costello

She smiled to herself. It was true, she had wanted to let him wait a wee bit longer, simply because the later they left, the less time she would have to spend with him. And perhaps, too, because she knew he loathed waiting.

  The fact that he wished to discuss last eve gave her more of a reason to wish to delay. She had no desire to enter into that conversation. He was sure to ask why she’d stood by his bed, and worse yet, why she had tried to maim him. She couldn’t tell him she had taken the knife, and it was doubtful he’d even noticed it on the table. Brithwin shuddered. He would have no reason to suspect she had taken it or that she now wore it strapped to her leg under her gown.

  Royce’s long stride ate the ground between them. “You seem to have lost your way. Let me escort you to the horses. We are taking the birds out for a hunt.”

  Concern for her falcon overrode the anger she felt at Royce. “Is Lioness up to flying? She has been sick.”

  “The falconer said it would do her good. She needs exercise.”

  Lucas handed her a glove. Brithwin glowered at Royce as she slid her hand into the protective leather then asked Lucas to hold the bird until she mounted.

  Once settled on her horse, she reached down and took the bird onto her hand, thanking Lucas. She headed out of the bailey and toward the woods.

  A smile tickled her lips as Shadowmere’s hooves pounded the ground and Royce caught up with her. He reined in slightly in front of her and looked straight ahead.

  Her stomach lurched. The kindness he’d shown to Lucas hinted of another man. One she didn’t know but wanted to. Yet he despised her and believed her a murderer. What other reason would there be for him not to take his husband rights? All the better for her, though. He could keep on despising her if it kept him in his own chamber at night.

  But what if he went to the king with these accusations of murder, and she was deemed guilty? She would lose Hawkwood and everything dear to her. She swallowed. She could even lose her life.

  Life with her father had been hard, yet Royce could make it worse. What had she done that God would send her a husband just like him in Royce?

  Trust Me.

  A shiver ran up Brithwin’s spine. She glanced to Royce. He continued to look forward. Brithwin sighed. I will try, God, but You will have to help.

  Stopping along the way, they flew their falcons. Talon brought in more game, but Lioness had done a fine job, adding several rabbits to the bag. The exercise did seem to perk Lioness up. Brithwin ran her hand down the sleek feathers, enjoying the smoothness against her skin.

  “Brithwin.” Royce drew her attention away from Lioness. “For what did you come to my room yestereve? From the way you nearly maimed me, I would say it wasn’t to see me.”

  Her heart skipped a beat. “I’d left something in the room.”

  “Why did you not ask me to get it?”

  “I didn’t realize I’d left it until late.”

  “What was so important that it could not wait until morning when it has waited this long?”

  Luck was on her side because no sooner had Royce asked her than a rabbit darted out from the thicket. Brithwin released Lioness. The falcon took to the air. “’Tis so good to see her soar again. She was quite sick and I feared I may lose her.”

  “Aye, she seems strong.”

  Brithwin worked hard to keep the conversation away from yestereve. When Lioness had returned with her catch, they rode on. Royce spoke of the winter preparations for the castle. Her worries that he would be angry and punish her diminished. There was kindness in every word. They continued to fly their falcons with no more mention of why she’d entered his room. In the distance, birds sang cheerful songs in the trees. A gentle breeze sent the tall, lush grass into a dance, and flowers swayed, sending up wafts of fragrance pleasing to her senses. It turned out to be a pleasant day with her husband. She enjoyed his company and was a bit sad to have to return.

  Hawkwood appeared in the distance and Royce turned in his saddle, locking his gaze on her. “My lady, I would know why I found you skulking around my room yestereve. And why I frightened you so much when I tried to stop you.”

  Brithwin swallowed. She had convinced herself she had evaded this questioning. “I—I told you, I left something of mine. It is not as if I had much time to gather my things before you took over my chamber.”

  “But you would have had only to ask. I am not without compassion.”

  She narrowed her eyes. “I have not seen it directed at me.”

  “My lady, I do not wish for our whole life to be fraught with hostility. But you must accept that I am now the lord of Hawkwood, and I am the one that makes the decisions.”

  She was not ready to turn her people, her land, and her will over to him. He had not proven that he would be a good and fair lord. And until he did, she would make no promises. “I am sorry if I injured you last eve.”

  “Well, at least you will admit to something. And since you bring it up, my lady, I would appreciate it if you would keep that knee of yours to yourself.”

  “Aye, my lord.” Unless I ever feel threatened.

  Royce heaved a sigh and rode through the portcullis.

  †††

  Royce greatly enjoyed his wife’s company for the view, but her lack of answers to his questions also greatly vexed him. His wife’s knowledge of the land, the people, and the running of the castle amazed him. He almost laughed when his mind returned to those first days before they had met. He had expected a spoiled, simpering lord’s daughter. It pleased him—and frustrated him—that he couldn’t have been more wrong.

  Each passing day intensified his desire for her to be innocent of the murders. Nevertheless, knowing she had taken the knife from his room nurtured the seed of doubt that had been planted.

  Royce reined in as they rode into the bailey. “My lady, I wish to hear your explanation…now.”

  Brithwin gave him a calculating look. “Or what? You will punish me? Shall I go lock myself in my room, my lord?”

  Would this woman ever learn her place? Royce swung from his horse and stomped to Brithwin. He should turn her over his knee. Could she not accept the kindness he tried to show her? As he lowered her to the ground, her mount sidled into her, wedging her between him and the horse. Royce stepped back and she slid down the front of him until her feet hit the ground. He held in a groan. He wanted to hold her there, run his fingers through her windblown hair. His chest tightened and he pulled her closer. Something hard jabbed his thigh. He glanced down in search of the cause. Her gown pressed against a long bump that looked suspiciously like a knife. Withdrawing his hands from her waist, he stepped away to grasp the reins and hand them to the groom.

  Royce lifted the bag of rabbits. “I’ll take these to Cook.”

  He made his way to the kitchen, his mind in search of answers. She wore the knife on her leg. If she intended to do him harm, she’d had plenty of opportunity today. He’d brought no guards as he had planned to stay in close proximity of the castle. Had she wanted to use the knife, it was the perfect time. But she had not.

  If she only would have told him she’d taken the knife. He’d given her several chances, yet she evaded each opportunity.

  If she felt threatened by someone, he needed to know in order to protect her. Perhaps he shouldn’t have relieved Daffydd of his watch duties.

  It was possible she was afraid of her husband and wore the knife merely for protection. He’d not done anything to suggest he would harm her. So why did she fear him? If he knew more of what she had endured at her father’s hand, he could surely understand her better.

  †††

  Brithwin didn’t move when Royce rushed to the kitchen as if he couldn’t depart from her fast enough. Part of her wanted to run after him, wanted to feel his protective arms around her. He constantly made her angry; yet when she was in his arms, she felt so safe. She couldn’t have it both ways.

  His retreat reminded her how he despised her. Royce wanted nothing to do with her, and if today’s
questions were any indication, he still believed her his enemy.

  She could see no way to prove her innocence to a man determined to find her at fault. If he deemed her guilty of this evil thing, what then? The dungeon? Death? She had hoped and prayed he would be perceptive enough to see through this veil of deception he had been given. Trusting that God would open her husband’s eyes was the most difficult task she had ever faced.

  Back about her daily duties, Brithwin headed to her garden.

  She slowed as she neared. “Floyd?” Brithwin strained to see what he was doing in her garden.

  “Yes, milady.” He didn’t look up but kept shoveling stone onto her walkway.

  “What are you doing?”

  “Following milord’s orders.”

  “Lord Rosen Craig had you do this?”

  “Aye, milady. Punishment for not letting you out of your room.” He stole a quick glance and went back to throwing stone on the pathway.

  “I see. Will I be in your way if I tend to my garden?”

  “I have taken care of the weeding, milady.”

  “Did he have you do that, too?”

  “Aye.”

  Working in her garden always helped calm her. It was kind of Royce to think of her, but now she must find something else to do. She sighed and turned to leave.

  “Milady?”

  “Yes, Floyd.”

  “’Tis sorry I am for not letting you out.”

  He didn’t sound sorry. He sounded more like Royce had told him to apologize. She nodded and made her way into the kitchen to find something to do.

  At the evening meal, she overheard Royce mention to Thomas he would be leaving for Rosen Craig soon. And though she wanted to know why he was returning to his family’s estate, she wouldn’t ask him. It mattered not if he left—she would have a few days relief from him. After all, wasn’t that what she wanted?

  She made her way up the stairs and to her room, where Elspeth awaited her. After undressing and climbing into bed, she pulled the covers tight about her shoulders, trying not to wonder about the purpose of Royce’s trip to Rosen Craig.

  †††

  Brithwin tried to make the dream go away. But the yells of men and the horn sounding wouldn’t stop. A scream—not her own—dragged her from her slumber. She threw off her covers. Dread and the acrid smell of fire jolted her awake. The horns had blown—they were under attack, or there was fire. She ran to the window. The sky glowed orange over the village.

  Chapter 11

  Grasping for a gown, Brithwin scrambled into the first dress that met her fingertips. Hands fumbling, she tied her sheathed knife to her leg. The light from the village raged brighter by the minute. Pungent smoke wafted through the window. How in heaven’s name had the fire started?

  She glanced out the window again. If her eyes didn’t deceive her, it looked to be half the village aglow. Her insides twisted. Would Malcolm be safe? His grandfather, Guy, could not walk. How would Murielle get her husband out if sparks ignited the thatch on their house?

  With her friend’s safety in mind, Brithwin bounded down the corridor and stairs. Halfway, she remembered the basket of herbs and salves sitting next to her window. Lifting her gown, she took the stairs two at a time and returned to her room.

  A moment later, clutching the basket in her hand, she fled through the door.

  A quick prayer left her lips. God, please watch over the villeins. Allow each one to escape with their lives. Brithwin rushed across the bailey, heading for the stables, and crashed into Royce with an oof.

  Royce grasped her shoulders. “What are you doing out here?”

  “I have come to help.” Brithwin twisted to free herself from his grasp. The village burned while he delayed her.

  He tightened his hold. “Nay! I do not want to have to worry about you.” He glanced at her basket, and some of the hardness left his face. “Go back to the castle. If any are injured, we will send them to the hall.”

  “Don’t be a foo—”

  Royce’s lips pinched, and his gaze met hers in an unspoken warning.

  Nay, she would not call him a fool again. “The wounded may not be able to walk to the hall.”

  Royce released her and folded his arms in front of him, scowling. “I’ll see they arrive safely.”

  A quick survey told her most of the men had saddled their horses and were leaving. Lord Rosen Craig certainly wasn’t going to let her go. She thrust her hands on her hips, the herb basket dangling from her arm. “I must be with my people.”

  “And I said nay. I do not have time for this, my lady. Stay!”

  †††

  He jerked away and stalked to his horse. The animal stomped and tossed its head as though scoffing at the woman’s insolence. He swung his leg over his mount and glanced back. The stubborn chit remained in the same spot, with hands planted firmly on her hips and nose in the air, yet again.

  With the portcullis clanking upward, the men spurred their horses to a gallop as if headed into battle. He kicked his steed’s sides and joined them.

  Royce rode hard to the edge of the village, where he reined in Shadowmere and swung to the ground, leaving the animal free to move. Confining his horse would put him at the mercy of the fire, should it get that far.

  Even from a distance, he heard the desperate cries for help. The sounds jarred recollections—his command, his father’s knights and his lack of his father’s leadership couldn’t stop the slaughter of the Scots. All memories he’d intentionally forced away. Now those scenes assaulted his mind with a vengeance; but he was not there now, and these people needed him. He could not let his past affect their future.

  Royce sprinted for the inferno, shouting orders as he ran. “Get ladders against the houses that can be saved, and toss off the burning thatch. You, women, get water and throw it on the houses. Try to keep the fire from spreading. Anyone who is able, grab anything you can find and start beating out the flames.”

  Working alongside his men and the villeins, Royce heaved himself up a ladder and began throwing the blazing thatch to the ground. The heat from the flames scorched his face, and the acrid smell of singed hair assaulted his nose. Sweat rolled down his body, stinging seared skin as he worked to put out the flames of house after house.

  People yelled for more water. A high-pitched wail drew his attention to a woman as two men held her from entering her home.

  Royce jumped from the ladder and dashed to her side. “Who is inside?”

  Smeared tears trailed through the soot on her cheeks. “My boy is in there!”

  †††

  As soon as Royce rode out of the gate toward the burning village, Brithwin turned in the direction of the stables. They were empty except for Fearless and an old nag. The smell of fire brought the horses on alert, and Fearless nervously threw her head about. She took the palfrey out of her stall and to a block. Not bothering with a saddle, she climbed on the horse’s back and headed out of the bailey, hoping Royce had not warned the guard on duty. Holding her breath, she drew near the outer gatehouse.

  The guard didn’t watch who came and went. She followed his gaze, and the relief at leaving unhindered withered in the pit of her belly. The blaze looked to consume the whole village.

  She squeezed her horse’s flanks with her legs, and Fearless raced down the road toward the fire. The fleeting rush of hooves pounding behind her prickled her nerves, but the urgency of reaching Murielle and Guy pushed it out of her mind.

  As soon as she neared the village, she tied her horse to a tree. If the fire spread too fast, she wanted Fearless far enough away to be safe. Running as fast as her feet would take her, she entered the village. Heat hit her like a furnace. Men on ladders threw off fiery thatch from roofs. Shovels beat and smothered the flames once the thatch hit the ground. People carried buckets of water from the well and the river to throw on the houses in hopes of controlling the flames.

  Coughing, she fought her way through the hellish scene to find Murielle outside,
bent over, gasping for air.

  “Where are Guy and Malcolm?” Brithwin yelled above the chaos.

  Still gasping, Murielle said, “Inside… I can’t pull Guy out, and Malcolm…too frightened …in the loft.”

  Brithwin ran into the house, followed by Murielle, and nearly stumbled over Guy lying near the door, his clothes smoldering. “Murielle, grab his arm and I will grab the other, and we will pull him out.”

  Guy’s dead weight hindered their ability to move him. The crackle of dry wood burning surrounded her—the fire, hot enough to melt her skin, the smoke so thick that each breath she took strangled her, sending her into a coughing spasm and stealing a little of her strength each time. With a heavy jerk, she managed to move him a few inches.

  “On the count of three, pull as hard as you can, Murielle.” Brithwin choked back a round of coughing. “One, two, three, pull!”

  They heaved against his weight. Guy slid halfway out the door.

  “Again, Murielle.”

  The second pull got him out of the hut. They continued to drag him away from the glowing embers. Murielle raised her hand to her head and swayed. Brithwin reached out and grasped her arm to steady her.

  “Run and get water to pour on his clothes.” Brithwin glanced at the smoke billowing out the door and window. The growing flames that somehow, thankfully, had not started in the thatching licked upward. A coughing spell racked her body. She staggered toward the blazing cottage. “I will get Malcolm.”

  Murielle clasped hold of Brithwin’s gown and followed. “You cannot go alone, milady.”

  Brithwin stopped and pried her garment from the old woman’s hands. “Go.” She gave her a firm shove. “Go, get water!” Brithwin turned and ran back into the inferno.

  †††

  A wall of flames engulfed the front of the house and lapped toward the back. Grabbing a shovel on his way, Royce ran around to the rear of the hovel and slammed his foot into the wall. The force of the kick jarred his teeth. The wall didn’t budge. Shovel in hand, he wedged the blade between two boards and pulled on the handle. The plank's slight movement gave him hope, and he pulled harder. With a loud groan, a piece broke free, and Royce sprawled to the ground. He pushed himself up, went to the wall, and seized the next board. Bracing his feet against the base of the wall, he threw his weight backward and ripped off board after board until he’d made an opening large enough to fit through. He sucked in a breath and plunged his head into the hole to look for the child. “Boy!” He waited. “Are you in here, boy?”