Jarren’s brows pinched together. “I wonder what spooked the beast.”
“Hard to say. Let’s get these finished up. I am ready to get home.” Royce gathered the fallen thatch.
Jarren crossed his arms in front of his chest, his feet spread. “I don’t think it was an accident, Rosen Craig. Send someone to find the horse and see who owns it. Perhaps they can find out what frightened the animal.”
Royce couldn’t keep the smirk from his face. “You can be worse than a mother hen at times, my friend.”
“Someone has to look out for you.”
Royce slapped Jarren on the shoulder and carried his bundle of thatch toward the fallen ladder. “You worry overmuch.”
“Where would I go if I did not keep you in one piece?” Jarren chuckled. “I have grown fond of Hawkwood.”
Dusk had fallen upon them by the time they mounted their horses for the return ride. Royce stayed later than planned, but it was worth the extra time, for they had finished. Urging his horse forward, he looked back as his men fell in around him. Villeins gathered out in front of their new cottages, silhouettes in the fading light, yelling words of thanks to the men.
Jarren and a young knight moved their horses beside him. His friend gestured with his hand for the man beside him to speak.
Arthur cleared his throat. “I found the horse and cart’s owner. It would seem, milord, a man he knew not approached him and offered him coin to borrow the pair. The coin was more than the animal’s value.”
Royce swiveled in his saddle to look at the man. “What of the horse? Did you find out what spooked it?”
He took a deep breath and launched into his tale. “The cart got wedged between two trees. The animal’s whole body trembled as I approached it, though I could not see anything amiss. I checked the horse from head to hooves and found nothing. When I began to detach it from the cart, I leaned on the saddle as I worked with the straps. The horse went wild, thrashing and throwing itself around. I then removed the saddle and found a handful of burrs beneath it. Knowing a crofter could not afford one, I asked him about it. He claims the horse has never had one on its back. It was no accident, milord—someone sent that horse to kill you.”
Chapter 18
Edmond Cuthbrid stood in a meadow bordering Hawkwood’s lands, sneering at the man cowering before him. “Idiot. How could you fumble such an easy task?” He paced away then turned to glance behind him as the fool straightened. “I won’t suffer incompetence.” He smiled coldly as he turned and walked in front of the idiot again. The man braced himself. Edmond slammed his fist into his cowardly face with a satisfying, bone-shattering crunch. Shaking his hand, Edmond grimaced and the man crumpled to the ground.
A cooper, raggedly clad, stepped forward. “What ye want us to do with em, sir?”
Edmond tossed the words over his shoulder as he turned away. “Tie him to a tree and whip him until he begs for mercy or dies. He needs to be an example.”
He strode across the clearing and dropped himself on the log. Robert, his most reliable man and the closest thing he had to a friend, followed.
Edmond ran his hand down the scar on his face. “Thrice now the attempts on Royce’s life have failed. I am beginning to believe the man is charmed. How often does a second son inherit his father’s estate—the one that should have been mine—and then marry an heiress with an equally impressive fortune?”
“Aye, the man must be charmed,” Robert nodded and spit into the bushes.
Edmond leaped up and paced to ease his nervous energy. “Royce will be watchful now. We will not have it so easy next time. We must take him off guard.”
Robert sat where Edmond vacated. “Do you have something in mind?”
“Do you trust the new man?”
“Montfort?” He shrugged. “He is as trustworthy as any of them, I suppose. What of him?”
Edmond rubbed the wrinkled flesh on his face. “We need a man inside Hawkwood. He didn’t fight with us in Northumberland thus he has never met Royce.”
“’Tis unlikely he will be willing to go, after what happened to his friends.”
“He will go or he will die.” Edmond’s voice rose, but he willed it under control. “His friends were fools. I sent four men against one man and a feeble wench.”
Robert picked a twig from the ground and broke it into small pieces. “Will not Lord Rosen Craig be suspicious of a stranger?”
“I told you not to call him that!” Edmond seethed. “The name is rightfully mine, but that is the beauty of this plan. I will use Royce’s goodness against him.”
“How is that?”
“We will have a little fun with Montfort, throw him on the road where he will be found beaten by brigands. Royce will see to his mending. Then Montfort, out of gratitude, will offer to serve him. Of course, Royce will accept. It cannot fail.”
Robert’s forehead wrinkled. “What if Montfort resents the beating and betrays you?”
Edmond curled his hands into fists. “You said he was trustworthy. If he is not, then it will be your neck as well as his.”
Robert dropped the broken sticks and wiped his hand over his beard. “I said he is as trustworthy as the rest. I will not stand behind Montfort. I trust none of these men enough to put my life in their hands.”
“Then we will have to assure him of a long and painful death if he fails me.”
“That may work.” Robert pushed himself up and grinned.
Edmond folded his arms. “Summon the men. I want them to know what will await them should they decide to betray me. I will have my revenge on Royce.” He gave a bitter chuckle. “I will see the man dead if it is the last thing I do.”
†††
Brithwin stepped through the gate of the outer bailey and dashed along the castle wall until she was out of sight of the gatekeeper. Thor bounded behind her, tail wagging, waiting for her to throw the stick she held in her hand. Upon his demanding bark, she hurled the stick with all her strength then leaned against the wall and waited, paying no attention to Thor loping down the hill. She set down the cloth sack of food and waited. Within a few minutes, the reward for her patience arrived.
Brithwin grinned inwardly. “Good afternoon, Sir Daffydd.”
“And to you, milady.”
“Where are you off to today?”
Daffydd glanced up at the sky. “Well, it is a fine day. I—I thought I would step out of the bailey for a bit.”
Brithwin fought the smile that threatened. “Then I will leave you be and go on my way.”
“I would be happy to accompany you, milady.”
“Nay, I am sure you have other things to see to. I do not want to trouble you.”
Daffydd shuffled his feet. “Truly, it would be no inconvenience. I ha—”
Brithwin giggled. “’Tis all right, Daffydd. I know Sir Royce has sent you to guard me. I was having a little fun at your expense. Will you forgive me?”
Daffydd smiled, the stiffness melting from his body. “Aye, milady.”
“I am headed to help Guy, Murielle, and their grandson move back to their cottage. Would you like to come along?”
“Aye, milady, I would be most relieved to escort you.”
Brithwin picked up the sack and handed it to Daffydd. They headed toward the village, kicking up mud from the rain-soaked road as they went. The sun hit its peak, warming the air—spring would soon turn to summer. Walking silently, Brithwin listened to the birdsong in the trees. She knew a moment of alarm when Thor scampered out of the woods as if an enemy were at his heels. She laughed lightly at his antics when he stopped, suddenly spinning around to catch his tail.
“’Tis a dangerous animal you have there, milady.” A grin teased one side of his mouth.
Brithwin raised her eyebrows. “Do not let his cheerful mood fool you. He can be formidable when he feels threatened or thinks I am in danger, as I am sure you have heard.”
Daffydd’s gaze cut toward Thor. “I hope he knows I am your friend.”
>
Brithwin shuddered at the memory of blood smeared on Thor’s mouth. “Aye, I think he knows you would do me no harm.”
Daffydd lowered his eyes. “I am sorry, milady, I did not mean anything improper. ’Tis not my place to call you a friend. I am a knight in your service. I beg you forgive me.”
“No harm is done, Sir Daffydd. I am honored to call you my friend. I do not have many.”
He grinned. “You may count me as one, milady.”
When they reached the entrance to the village and she laid eyes on the newly built cottages, she could not believe her eyes. “They have worked a miracle here. It is impossible to tell there was ever a fire!”
“Milord had given orders for the rebuilding of the village homes before he became ill.” Daffydd, too, looked around with satisfaction as he set the sack on the ground by his feet. “Jarren had the men-at-arms that could be spared working down here, and he put the village people to work. Jarren is very good at organizing—’twas a sight to see, I tell you. By the time Lord Rosen Craig healed, the village was well on its way to being set aright.”
Brithwin took in the huts in wonderment. “My lord said the men worked hard.”
“’Twas a lot of work, milady.”
“Oh, aye, I doubt not. I am pleased Guy and Murielle’s cottage is completed and that you came along, for you will make my task much easier. I hope they have fared well along with our horses.”
Daffydd grabbed the sack and with long strides headed into the woods. “I brought food three days ago, and they were doing well and ready to return to their home.”
Brithwin quickened her pace to catch up. “I am anxious to see them.”
Stepping off the road, they made their way through the woods and toward the cottage. She hurried along, sticks and briars snagging her gown as she went. Getting the couple and their grandson back to the village, where checking on them would be easier, would be a relief.
As the landmark tree came into view, Daffydd turned to Brithwin. “’Tis hard to believe Lord Rosen Craig allowed you to come out here alone.”
Brithwin chuckled. “Not alone. Well I knew you would come.”
Daffydd stopped walking and gave her a stern look. “Milady, does milord know you are coming here?”
Brithwin slowed her pace but kept moving. “Nay, he was busy holding court. But we are still on Hawkwood land, and I bring a knight, so I did not think it necessary to tell him.”
“We must return, milady. ’Tis not safe for you out here. Brigands pay no heed to boundaries.”
Brithwin pointed ahead. “But the cottage lies just beyond this tree. We are here.”
“Lord Rosen Craig will not be pleased, I assure you.” Daffydd’s voice gave stern warning.
“If my lord did not wish me to go anywhere, why would he give me a guard? Surely he would allow me to see my friends when I was careful to wait for you before leaving the safety of the castles walls.”
“Perhaps you do not understand the enemy we battle. Lord Rosen Craig only wishes to protect his wife.” He let out a defeated sigh. “But, aye, I see we have nearly arrived. Let us quickly get the couple and go to the castle, where I can return you to safety, and then I will take them to their home.”
“Aye, we will hurry. I am sorry if I have caused trouble for you. I will speak with my lord and tell him it was my foolishness.”
They had made good time with the sunny day and keeping to the seldom-used trail. Brithwin lifted her gown and dashed forward through the copse of trees, bringing the cottage into view.
Daffydd dashed past her with lengthened strides. “Wait here, milady, while I make sure all is safe.”
Brithwin grinned. “Goodness, Daffydd, you overly worry.”
With hand on hilt, he pushed on the door. The hinges creaked in protest. The old place needed work. “’Tis good news we bri—” The words caught in his throat and he whirled around, reaching out to stop Brithwin from entering.
†††
Leaning his head back in his chair on the dais, Royce looked over the crowded room. Oh, to have Solomon’s or his own father’s wisdom right now. How could so many people have grievances against their neighbors? He had put down judgments for hours now, and still the room remained full with peasants who had come to court. It was amazing they could not get along and learn to work out their differences amongst themselves. Growing up, he had always avoided the great hall when his father had to sit and listen to the complaints of his subjects. It was one of the few things he counted as a blessing in being a second son.
Royce stared wearily at the two men bickering before him. How many cows out there trampled gardens? He had heard at least three of these complaints. A simple solution, and yet they could not come to an agreement without his help. Shaking his head, he ordered the owner of the cow to compensate the loss of food and sent them on their way.
Hours later, Royce unfolded himself from the chair and stretched as he scanned the room again for Brithwin. He had not seen her since morning—although, she probably avoided the room just as he had once, as a lad. The room had emptied. He was ready to sentence the men who had imprisoned Brithwin. He had hoped she would be here for this because they did not agree on the punishment. She was far too forgiving. He would have them drawn and quartered for what they did to her, but she cried for mercy.
Motioning for his men to bring the prisoners in, he returned to retake his seat.
The five men approached the dais. The stench of them pervaded the room. Filth covered their clothes and unwashed bodies. Fire burned through Royce’s veins at their approach. Halting before him, the men kept their eyes downcast.
Royce slammed his fist on the table. “Look at me! I want to see the faces of the men who tormented my wife and thought to make decisions for me.”
They jerked their heads up in unison as if puppets pulled by strings. Royce snarled and leaned forward. “What is your defense?”
The shortest of the group stepped forward. “My lord, I heard you accuse your wife of stabbing you. I only wished to protect you.”
Royce took a deep breath in an attempt to hold his fury. “What is your name?”
“John.”
“There are many problems here, John. The first is you didn’t think. The second is you wish to protect me from my wife. Third and last, you threw a helpless woman into the dungeon. Do I understand this correct?”
“Aye, my lord.” His voice faded.
Royce turned his gaze to the other men. “What say the rest of you? What is your reason for such poor treatment to Lady Rosen Craig?”
They shuffled their feet, shook their heads, and mumbled apologies. His eyes stopped on a burly man with his head bowed. Narrowing his eyes, Royce was about to speak when John’s voice stopped him.
“My lord, if I may speak.”
He clenched his teeth and nodded.
“I gave the orders these men followed. ’Tis I who should be punished.”
“Nay!” The Scot yelled out. “Ye will not be takin’ me blame. I take me own punishment.”
Royce glared at the men as a murmur of agreement rolled through the other three. “You are right there. A man takes his own punishment.” Royce was drawn back to the man with his head still down. “I said look at me, man.”
The knight lifted his head. A fury to match his own burned in the man’s eyes.
Royce spread his hands on the wood table and pushed himself up. His brows drew together. He leaned forward and rested his weight on his hands. “Do you have something to say for yourself?”
“Nothin’,” the man spat.
Royce flared his nostrils. “Your name!”
“Samuel,” he sneered.
Royce raked his gaze over the men, lingering on each one and letting them squirm under his perusal. “You can each be thankful I have a wife who believes in mercy. My first choice was to have each of you drawn and quartered.” Someone sucked in a breath. “However, my lady, the woman you treated so poorly, begged me to be lenient. My
second choice was to have you hung from the parapets and let the birds pick at your dead carcasses. Again, the woman you mistreated came to your aid. I have reached a compromise, not because I think you deserve a lesser punishment, but because I will not cause my wife more grief. Therefore, your punishment will be a month in the same dungeon you subjected her to. Your food will be bread and water. When you finish your punishment, you will kneel before my wife in front of the entire castle holding and swear fealty to her.” He shifted his gaze to Samuel. “Except for you, Samuel. When your time in my dungeon is through, I will have you escorted off Hawkwood property which you will never be allowed back on. Do I make myself clear?”
Samuel’s eyes burned with hostility. Royce had to fight to remember Brithwin’s request of leniency. Then again, for Brithwin’s sake perhaps he should not let this man go.
Samuel scoffed. “I would never swear fealty to a woman.”
Royce slammed his fist on the table again. “Get them out of here before I change my mind.”
After the guards took the prisoners to the dungeon, Royce drew in a long breath, slowly releasing it. Glad he was to get that task behind him. The day grew late and he still had things to do, the first of which was to find Brithwin. As he rose from his chair, a peasant woman pushed past one of his knights.
“Milord! Milord! A word with you, please.”
Royce dropped back in his chair. What was one more? “Come forward. What is your complaint?”
She stopped and made an awkward curtsey. “Nay, nothin’ to the likes of that, milord.”
“What do you want?” He was tired and ready to be done.
“’Tis I who have something ye might want.” She pulled a knife from the folds of her tunic. “I told yer knight I would be back.”
Royce was awake now. He leaned forward. “May I see it?”
“Aye, milord.” She handed him the knife.
Royce took the blade from her hands. “Where did you find this?”
“Right where ye were when ye were stabbed.” She wrung her hands.
“And how is it you know where I was?”
“I overheard you and your knight speakin’. So I went back there to have meself a look, I did.”
Sword of Forgiveness (Winds of Change Book 1) Page 17