Sword of Forgiveness (Winds of Change Book 1)

by Debbie Lynne Costello

  Royce writhed in his saddle. He could never have that. For all the good he had done, he had committed evil that wiped it out. His fate was sealed.

  When the castle walls came into view, Royce leaned forward and whispered in her ear. “I am sorry those blackguards spoiled our day. ’Twas careless, taking you outside of Hawkwood without guards. I put your life in danger, and there is no excuse.”

  Brithwin twisted and tipped her head. “You did not know brigands were on Hawkwood land.”

  Royce shook his head. “I will not be so rash in the future. This has played havoc with what I had planned today.”

  Her eyes widened. “And what was that?”

  “I had hoped we would have time to talk. I wish to begin our marriage anew. We have gotten off to an unpleasant start. I would ask for your forgiveness, my lady. I wish to be a good husband to you and treat you fairly.”

  Brithwin sucked in a breath as she gazed at Royce. With what appeared reservation, she touched his cheek. “I never thought I would hear those words from your lips. God has been faithful, just as His word tells us. I only needed to trust him. Now here you are offering me something I never dreamed possible.”

  †††

  Brithwin had bathwater sent to her chamber as soon as they arrived. She slipped into the water, leaning her head back and draping her limp arms over the sides of the tub.

  “Why are you smiling like that?” Elspeth asked.

  “Like what?”

  “Oh, you know what, like you have a secret! Out with it. I will not let you rest until you tell me.”

  “Mmm,’tis nothing. No, that is not true. It is something…something wonderful.”

  Elspeth knelt next to the tub. “Tell me what is so wonderful.”

  Brithwin leaned her head sideways to see her maid. “Lord Rosen Craig has asked my forgiveness, and I have given it. We shall begin our marriage anew with all forgotten. I can hardly believe it.”

  “So you will finally have a real marriage?”

  Brithwin ran her finger over her lips, remembering Royce’s kiss. “’Tis hard to believe, but aye. I do not know why I find it so hard to believe—God can do anything, and Pater tells me not a bird falls from the sky that God does not know. I have put my trust in Him, and He has not failed me.”

  Elspeth looked at her with skepticism. “What if my lord had not changed his mind, would that mean God failed you?”

  “Elspeth you are always negative. Why can you not see God as He truly is? God will not fail me, regardless. We must put our trust in Him, and He will see us through as He did me with my father.”

  “Aye, milady.” Elspeth handed Brithwin the rose scented soap.

  When she finished bathing, Brithwin put on her knitted hose and fine chemise. She sat in front of the fire, drying her hair and trying to decide what gown to wear.

  “Elspeth, bring me my blue gown, the one Thomas gave me for my wedding. I want to show Lord Rosen Craig I am willing to start at the beginning of our marriage.”

  Brithwin stepped into the gown and sighed. She never believed she’d know such contentment. The gown slid down her skin, clinging to the curves of her body. She fastened the gold belt and let it drape over her hips, then slid on her slippers. Elspeth laced up the gown. Brithwin made her way to a chair while her lady’s maid fixed her hair.

  Finished, Elspeth moved back. “You look beautiful, milady.”

  Brithwin couldn’t help but smile, remembering Royce telling her the same thing. “Thank you, and you may go. I will wait for Lord Rosen Craig.”

  A light knock sounded at the entrance between their chambers, and she bid him enter. Royce opened the door and paused, keeping it open and eyes locked on her. A tangle of emotions knotted in her. Could she do this? Was this what she wanted?

  He smiled. “Stay there. I will return.” Disappearing out of the room, he returned before she had time to wonder why he’d left. Royce knelt before her chair, pulled out a small cloth bag from his pocket, and placed it in her hand. “This was my mother’s and is my wedding gift to you.”

  Brithwin opened the bag and tipped it into her palm. She gasped. “They are lovely. I have never seen anything more exquisite.” She ran her fingers over the smooth string of pearls, all brilliant white and matched in size that he’d just given her.

  “They do not do you justice. You are far more beautiful, my Brithwin.”

  Heat surged to her face.

  “Is that a blush I see?” He fastened the strand about her throat, letting his fingers linger for a moment on her collarbone then placed a kiss where his hand had been. “I have embarrassed you?”

  “No man has ever spoken to me thus.” Her voice caught, and she finished in a whisper. “You are kind.”

  “I only tell you the truth. Come, let us go and eat.” Winking at her, he presented his arm. “I am anxious to show off my beautiful wife.”

  Brithwin strolled into the great hall on Royce’s arm. A slow hush overcame the room as heads turned and looks fell on them. Tipping his head down, he whispered for her ears alone. “It would appear I am not the only one who cannot take their eyes from you. You have left them speechless, which is quite a feat.”

  She glanced around the hall at the people who filled it. Her heart sang. How proud she was of the man who walked beside her, her husband, and he had earned the respect of not only the knights, but the villeins and servants. God had indeed blessed her.

  The servants filled the tables with trenchers. The meal, a feast once again befitting a king. Spread out before them and displayed with great beauty lay a wide variety of meats, sauces, cheese, fish, nuts, sweet meats, and fresh breads.

  “How did you have all this prepared so quickly?”

  “They have been working on this for days now. Preparing it was not the hard part, they tell me, but keeping it from you.” He chuckled as he pulled out her chair and then took his seat.

  Brithwin giggled, thinking how wonderful it was to see his eyes sparkle with amusement. A more handsome man she had never seen. His dark wavy hair remained damp from his bath. He’d donned an elegant blue tunic over a white shirt made of the finest linen.

  Marjory’s cooking and Royce’s healthy appetite had put meat back on his bones. It was evident in the way his muscles again pulled at the seams of his garments. He had shaved, leaving no stubble on his face. Her hands ached to run over the smooth, firm skin of his jaw.

  Royce stabbed a fig with his dagger. He turned to her and raised one eyebrow.

  Looking down, she pretended to be engrossed in her meal.

  Royce slipped a finger under her chin and lifted it until he gazed into her eyes. “You were staring at me. Could that mean you see something in me you like?”

  Brithwin opened her mouth to answer, but instead he held out the fig, enticing her with it. Taking a bite, she closed her eyes for a moment to savor it. “It is wonderful.”

  “Aye, that it is, much like you.” Royce sobered and his voice turned gravelly. “You are too good for me. I do not deserve you.”

  “How can you say such a thing? I am no better than you. We both have fallen short, but God loves us regardless of what we have done.”

  His jaw hardened. “You do not know the sin I carry. But this is not the time to talk of these things. This is a celebration. Look, the troubadour and jugglers come out to entertain us now.”

  The rest of the evening continued with merriment. However, Brithwin couldn’t stop the sadness that came upon her. She put on a mask and struggled to keep up the pretense. Her mind strayed, and try as she may, it kept coming back to the same question. What could Royce have done to make him feel unworthy of her, and was this why he shunned God?

  Between her concern for Royce and the worry of what the night might bring, the evening crept by. On the few occasions her father had allowed her to hear the tales of chivalry and honor the troubadours told, she fell under their spell. They filled her with longing, but tonight she could not concentrate. Her husband’s feelings of unw
orthiness consumed her mind. How could she make him see he was precious to the Lord?

  Never could she have survived the years with her father’s brutality without the Lord’s strength to lean on. How many times did she run to the wooden door in the tower and complain to Pater about it, and he always sent her to the Lord.

  But Royce was a man who relied on himself. Was it possible for him to see the importance of turning everything over to God—giving Him control of his life, past and future?

  Royce leaned and whispered to Brithwin, “’Tis time to go to our chamber.”

  Brithwin’s preoccupations scattered away as she arose with Royce. Elspeth rose and made her way toward the stairs. “Elspeth,” Royce’s voice stopped her, “Lady Rosen Craig will not need your assistance this night.”

  God help me, Brithwin sent a silent plea. If only she could melt into the floor. Elspeth’s oh-so-knowing smile gave her the courage to lift her head and square her shoulders as she took to the stairs.

  Royce opened the door to the solar. His smoldering gaze nearly sent her scampering away. She had to remind herself she liked his kisses—she liked them very much.

  She stepped through the entrance and into Royce’s embrace. A shiver ran up her spine, and she drew in a deep breath to steady herself.

  Chapter 17

  Brithwin’s insides quivered as Royce closed the door behind him and leaned against it. His gaze swept over her. Turning away to break her uneasiness, she glanced around the room. He had changed it. Beautiful tapestries hung on the walls. One portrayed scenes of battle, another an afternoon hunt, and a third, the king’s court. However, they were not the ones that drew her interest. She gravitated toward the vivid image hanging above the side table. An array of brightly colored flowers surrounded a woman much her size and of similar shape and coloring. Kneeling before her was a knight in full armor, offering her a flower.

  Royce’s voice, a low rumble, broke the silence. “’Tis peculiar how much she looks like you, aye?”

  “Aye, it is.” She reached out to run her fingers along the smooth tapestry. “’Tis a beautiful wall hanging.”

  Royce’s gaze fell to the floor. “I purchased these as a gift for my mother. I never had the chance to give them to her.”

  “I am sorry for your loss, Royce. I do not believe I told you, but I am. I cannot imagine losing someone you hold so dear. I never knew my mother, and my father loathed me, so there was no grief when he died. Thomas and Pater are the only people who have truly cared for me. They are dear to me. They would remain by my side if I were a poor serf. What I am or have matters not to them.”

  Royce pushed away from the door and walked toward her. “If Thomas and Pater were younger men, I would be jealous.”

  “They are the only fathers I have ever known. Thomas looked after me, keeping me safe, and Pater cared for my spirit.”

  “And Elspeth? She cares for you.”

  “Aye. Elspeth cares for me, to be sure. I did not realize how much until she risked her life for me.”

  Brithwin stroked the lustrous wall hanging once more and turned to face Royce. He laid his hands on her shoulders, his gentle voice seeping in and warming every part of her. “I have wronged you many times over, and still you forgive me. I would like to be one of those people who will stay by your side, Brithwin. I desire to have a marriage that is strong in trust and caring.”

  “I—I, too, desire this,” Brithwin’s voice quivered.

  “Do you? Then come, and sit, and let me take the plaits from your hair. I will be your maid for the night.”

  Her heart raced, sending blood pounding in her ears. She lifted another silent prayer, Dear Lord in heaven, please do not let my trust in him be unfounded. She sat in the chair Royce had walked her to. Fear and anticipation swirled inside her.

  Trust him, beloved.

  He lifted the gold ring that sat on her head and laid it on the oak chest. Gently, he ran his fingers through the plaits, letting her hair fall on her shoulders and down her back. Brithwin closed her eyes and bit her lip to keep from quivering. She must trust him. Had he not already shown himself different from her father?

  Royce whispered over her shoulder, “Did I tell you how pleased I am you wore the dress I bought you?”

  Brithwin turned her head to see him. “You bought my dress? I thought Thomas . . .”

  “Nay, my sweet Brithwin. When I discovered you did not have a wedding dress, I could not let my beautiful wife marry in rags.”

  “But why did you not tell me?”

  He ran his hand down her arm, making her shiver. “I feared you would not accept it if you knew it came from me.”

  Brithwin opened her mouth to protest and closed it. It would be a lie to say she would have worn it when well she knew she would not have. After all, had she not told Thomas she wished to wear her black mourning clothes? His hand skimmed back up her arm. She drew in a deep breath and released it. “I thank you kindly for my gown. ’Tis the most beautiful thing I own.”

  Royce pulled her from the chair and captured her lips with his own. His fingers tangled in her hip length hair. Royce drew her closer—his ragged breath brushed against her ear. For some reason it was pleasing to know she affected him thus.

  He pulled back and drew in a deep breath. “Are you ready for this part of our marriage, Brithwin? I want you to come willingly. If you are not ready—I will wait.”

  Brithwin suspected what those last three words had cost him. How could she deny him his marriage right? It was ordained by God, she told herself again. Certainty arose within her.

  “Aye, I am ready.”

  He scooped her up and carried her to the marriage bed.

  †††

  Brithwin stretched and let out a light sigh.

  “Good morn.”

  At the sound of the deep voice beside her, her eyes popped open.

  Royce stood next to the bed. His eyes twinkled and a smile spread across his face.

  “Good—good morn to you.” Brithwin rested on her side.

  With a caress, Royce coaxed her head back. “Did you know you are very beautiful when you sleep?”

  “It would be hard for me to know, for I am sleeping,” she said impishly.

  “I see you are in good humor.” He stroked her cheek. “It is time to get up and break our fast. The day wastes.”

  Brithwin lifted her head to get a better look at him. “You are dressed and ready to start the day?”

  “Aye, I have already given my men their orders.” He pulled his hand from behind his back. “I have a gift for you.”

  She rolled to her back and ran her hand over the cloth he revealed in his hand. “Oh, how lovely.”

  “It is from the East. Make something for yourself, Brithwin. I will look forward to seeing you in it.”

  Brithwin continued to stroke the fabric. “’Tis so beautiful, I do not want to cut it.”

  “It is not much good if you do not.” He smiled at her. “Elspeth waits outside the door to assist you. If you are ready, I will send her in.”

  She wanted to lie on the bed and relive each and every moment, to remember the tender and passionate words he had spoken, the gentleness in his touch, and the longing in his caress, but he was right, the day wasted. She bid him to send Elspeth in to her. The wish to languish in her room quickly diminished after enduring a torrent of pointed questions and giggled insinuations from Elspeth. Brithwin was happy to escape to the great hall.

  †††

  In an attempt to get the rest of the tenants into their homes, Royce spent another day at the village. There were two more cottages to conclude work on before the village would be set to rights. But for how long? He spoke with the village people as he walked through—the crofters assured him the fire could not have started from their carelessness. With Jarren’s help, they scoured the edge of the village and into the woods, searching for evidence to indicate whether it had been set deliberately. From what they could surmise, it was no accident. It appea
red someone had taken a torch and walked along the backside of the huts, setting fire to each one. Perhaps once the work was finished and the cottages completed, they should temporarily post a few guards around at night to make sure no more mischief occurred.

  He would be glad to have the tenants in their homes so he could get back to his regular duties around the castle. Spending morning ’til evening at the village every day left little time for him to see his new wife.

  Ah, the innocence of her. He smiled to himself. The look on her face—wide-eyed shock— had spoken more than words of how she thought his suggestion of her moving into his chamber was scandalous. Yet still she moved her belongings in at his bidding. She was more than he deserved as a wife.

  Royce stood between the two cottages, inspecting their work. They had tied the timbers together, applied wattle to the walls, and finally, finished daubing the twigs with mud. The new construction pleased him, quite an improvement from the old buildings.

  He had snatched an armful of thatch to haul up to the men finishing the roof when one gave a yell. A horse and cart barreled toward him. The whites of the horse’s eyes glared against the animal’s sweaty hide. The wide cart bumped and bounced against the sides of the two new cottages as the beast sped down the narrow passageway.

  Royce turned to run when Jarren shouted from the edge of the roof. Royce glanced up to see Jarren lay down, arms over the edge, reaching for him. Dropping the thatch, he sprang up and gripped his friend’s hands, all the while hoping the roof did not give way under the weight of two men. Drawing his legs to his chest, Royce tightened his grasp as the runaway horse and cart careened by. The lingering draft whispered of a near brush with death.

  Royce let go of his friend’s hands and dropped to the ground.

  Jarren leaped off the roof, his feet hitting the ground with a thud. “That was close. Where did it come from?”

  Royce looked up and down the narrow pathway. “It was as if it appeared out of nowhere.”