“I wish to go with you.”
Heads turned their way, and he lowered his voice. “I would take you, but Edmond has made threats to all I care for, and I would see you remain safe within Hawkwood walls.”
Brithwin grasped his hand. “I will be safe with you, Royce. You will protect me.”
“Your innocence still amazes me. However, we will be riding through areas where I expect an ambush. ’Tis true I would do all I could to protect you, but I am merely a man. I will not jeopardize your safety.”
“You give me no choice?”
“Nay, you will stay. I ask a boon of you, my lady—that you do not step outside the walls of Hawkwood until I return. I know not what Edmond plans, but as long as you remain inside this edifice I know Thomas can protect you.”
Brithwin’s eyes turned glassy, and Royce’s resolve almost melted, sympathy stirring deep within him.
“I will grant you your boon, my lord, but in return I ask one of you.”
“If it is possible, I will do it.” Royce’s voice was thick.
“Keep yourself safe and come to me with haste.”
“I will do all in my power to grant your wish.” He pulled her into his arms. The smell of roses wafted to his nose. Her scent. He ran his finger across her smooth cheek. “If the weather holds, we will leave on the morrow.”
Royce turned to Jarren. “Montfort troubles me. Perhaps you should remain here to look after things.”
“You need me to watch your back. I am sure Thomas is capable of looking after Hawkwood. The guard you put on Montfort’s room is sufficient. Moreover, he will not be getting around any too soon.”
Brithwin grasped Royce’s arm. “You must take Jarren. If you wish me to stay within these walls, it is only fair you take precautions as well. Thomas has looked after Hawkwood and me for all my years. ’Twould offend him to think you did not have faith in him.”
†††
Brithwin leaned her head against Royce’s chest in the garden, seeking a brief reprieve from her sorrow. Somehow his embrace helped ease the ache in her heart. It was as if through his caring he helped carry her load. She may not see him for a fortnight or longer—a long time to be apart. She’d persuaded him to spend the day with her, but convincing him to take her riding proved much more difficult. He refused to take her out of Hawkwood—for her safety, he’d said. She leaned back in his arms and glanced around the garden.
His brown eyes softened. “What troubles you?”
“’Twas not long ago I would come here to hide from my father. My life has changed so much in a short period of time.”
The heat from his body seeped into her. Her heart raced. She could never get enough of this man.
He stroked her hair. “That troubles you? I would like our life to give you pleasure.”
“’Tis not you or us. Just remembering things I ought not to, I suppose.”
“Tell me of your father.”
She didn’t want to dredge up those memories. She just wanted to remain where she was, secure in his arms, enjoying her garden. She would not allow her father to steal her joy in death. “He was a cruel man.”
His lips brushed over her ear. “And . . .”
Brithwin drew in a shaky breath. “I know ’tis a terrible thing to say of one’s sire, but ’tis the truth. My mother died giving birth to me. He never forgave me. Whenever he could find a reason to punish me, he did.” She swallowed, willing herself to go on. “The more I feared him, the more he enjoyed punishing me. ’Twas not until I realized my terror fed his hunger for cruelty that I found some reprieve.”
His arms tightened around her. “I wish I could change what you had to endure.”
She lifted her gaze to his. “What I went through has made me who I am today. I hated my father for a long time for what he did to me. I was able to overcome everything, except what my father called my special room. He would mention it so he could see my fear, and he thrived on that.” She leaned into him, trying to chase away the chill. Even held in his embrace, she couldn’t still the shiver which ran down her spine. Royce ran his hands briskly over her arms, sending welcome warmth.
Brithwin closed her eyes to get the courage to continue. She wanted him to know her deepest secret and to be able to trust him with it. “I cannot be alone in the dark without a fear so great it consumes me. Not until after my father’s death and much soul searching could I forgive him for the things he did to me. Pater helped me to see my bitterness did not hurt my father but rather harmed my relationship with the Lord.”
“’Tis good your father is dead, for I think I would take his life for what he has done, and I need no more black marks on my soul. I know not how a man could treat his daughter as he did you. He was not a man, but a beast.”
Brithwin studied Royce. “You have spoken often of your sin. What have you done that you think God cannot forgive?”
Royce shook his head. “What I have witnessed, what I have done, are not for innocent ears to hear.”
“I have seen much in my years. My father made sure of that. You will not shock me, Royce.”
Royce’s voice deepened with regret. “You may think you have, but I vow you have never seen the likes of what tortures my soul, and I will not be the one to sully your mind.”
Brithwin brushed the lock of hair off his forehead. “You need not tell me, then, but I tell you true—God is bigger than anything you have done. He sent His Son to die for our sins—for all our sins. You need to let God forgive you so you can forgive yourself. Only then will you be truly happy. I know this because I, too, have struggled with letting go of my sin.”
“That may be so, however, there is a wide chasm between what you have done and what I have done. This”—he lifted her chin with his finger—“is not how I want to spend the rest of our day together. Let us talk of something pleasant.”
“Let me leave you with one thing to think on.”
Royce smiled. “Do I have a choice?”
Brithwin brushed off invisible dirt from her gown. “My father’s cruelty caused me to distrust most men. But through God and your kindness, I have overcome this fear. My reluctance to become your wife in all ways was not conquered our first night together, but God listened to my prayers and allowed me to see you differently than at first. Talk to God, and listen to what He has to say to you.”
He leaned forward and brushed his lips over hers. “I am glad you have come to trust me. If it will ease your mind, I will think about what you have said. But God will not speak to me.”
“Pater tells me God wants to talk to us. The problem is we usually do not want to listen.”
Brithwin nuzzled closer, and silently she added, And I will pray God will ease your burden.
The next morn she rose early to bid farewell to her husband as the sun peeked above the horizon, casting an orange and yellow haze low in the sky. Royce remained next to Shadowmere who anxiously pawed the ground. His men had mounted and sat waiting for his command to ride out.
Royce cupped Brithwin’s chin. “I wish you would let me leave Jarren here with you. It would put my mind to ease.”
She shook her head and willed her eyes to stay dry for his sake. “But then what of mine? I would worry for you, and remember, I am within the safety of Hawkwood’s walls. You will be out there.” She gestured with a sweeping motion of her hand. “With nothing between you and trouble, should it seek you out.”
Pulling a knife from his belt, he held it out to her. “It was Edmond's. Until I retrieve yours, it’s fitting you should have his.”
She pulled her hands behind her. “’Tis the knife that almost killed you.”
“’Tis not the knife but the man behind it that does the killing, sweet Brithwin. I know ’tis larger and not your mother’s, but ’tis protection.”
His lips covered hers and lingered. The men behind him chuckled. He whispered in her ear, “You are a stubborn wench.” He slid the knife into the belt of her gown. Turning, he yelled to his men. “What are y
ou tittering about? Have you not seen a man kiss his wife good-bye?”
He threw himself onto his horse.
She grasped his hand as if to keep him there. “Be careful, and God go with you.”
“We will be safe. Remember your vow to me. I will send word to you and let you know how long before I return.” Royce nudged his horse forward, and their hands parted, leaving Brithwin’s heart in his safekeeping.
Chapter 22
After a hard day’s ride, Royce guided Shadowmere across Rosen Craig’s bailey and stopped near two stable boys. He and Jarren dismounted and handed their reins to the lads. Not waiting for the rest of his party, they strode toward the manor.
The memory of riding out Hawkwood’s gate haunted him. When he’d turned in his saddle to wave at Brithwin, he’d caught movement in the lower manor window as Montfort dropped the curtain. He’d stopped long enough to reinforce his distrust of the man with Thomas, but it was as if a dark cloud now followed him.
Royce pulled open the heavy wooden door of Rosen Craig and listened to the familiar creak of its hinges. Memories flooded back. Wretchedness gripped his soul and twisted. His steps faltered.
Jarren glanced around. “Is something amiss?”
Royce shook himself. “Nay, a long day in the saddle with little sleep is all.”
The aroma of cinnamon apple tarts drew them to the great hall where servants served the evening meal.
Lyndle glanced up from his seat on the dais. He stood abruptly, sending his chair teetering. Swinging around to grab it, he knocked his cup, spilling his drink. A young servant girl scurried forward and mopped up the mess. Lyndle righted the chair.
“Royce, my lord, I knew not of your return.” With shaking hand, he gestured to him. “Come, eat.”
Royce stepped to the table and eyed Lyndle as he shuffled his plate from the lord’s place, relinquishing it to Royce. Royce sat with a sigh, closing his eyes. It was strange to sit in his father’s seat.
“Hello, Lord Rosen Craig,” a voice purred. “You have grown into quite a man.”
Royce turned. “Clarice.” He rose and took her offered hand, kissing it. “I apologize. I didn’t see you. I am sorry for the loss of your betrothed.” And he was sorry for his loss of his brother. He missed Bryce.
“You mean I am so plain I fit right in with these men?” She pouted.
It hadn’t slipped by Royce that she’d not acknowledged his brother’s death. “’Tis my mistake. We are weary.” What was Bryce’s betrothed doing at Rosen Craig?
Plates were placed before him and his men.
A trill of laughter rang out. “So you are saying I blend in.”
“N-nay.”
“Oh, my lord, I only tease you.” She smiled and laid her hand over his. “As long as it does not happen again.” She batted her lashes.
The warmth from her hand seeped into his. Suddenly he yearned to see Brithwin. He detached his hand from hers and began to eat. The woman didn’t act as if she’d just lost her betrothed. But then the two had been promised since childhood it was entirely possible she did not hold deep feelings for his brother.
She frowned as he pulled away. “I have not seen you for many years. You were just a boy.”
Royce snorted. “I am merely a year younger than Bryce and several years older than you.”
“I guess you seemed much younger.” Her gaze swooped over him. “You surely have turned out well. I venture to say you could put most men to shame.”
He cared not for her forward ways. He turned to Lyndle. “Is all well?”
“Aye.” His voice was curt.
“I feared Edmond would appear, causing trouble.”
“Edmond? I have not seen him since afore your family’s deaths.”
Royce swallowed a bite of meat and reached for his goblet to wash it down. “I want to examine the defenses of the keep, among other things, while I am here. I will meet you on the morrow for the morning meal, and we can discuss these things.”
Lyndle shrugged. “As you wish, Lord Rosen Craig. Not much has changed.”
Royce finished his meal and pushed his chair back to stand. “It has been a long day. I think I will retire to my chamber. Is Bryce’s room unused?”
“Aye. No one will use it for fear his spirit still lingers there.”
He scowled. “One would think grown men would not be so superstitious. My brother does not haunt this castle.”
Royce called out to Jarren who leaned against a chair’s back, watching a game of dice. “I will show you to your chamber.”
Jarren followed to Bryce’s room. Royce bid him good night and strode to his old room. He pulled off his tunic and chausses and lay on his bed. Hands clasped behind his head, he stared out the small window. Visions passed before his eyes as if he were still in the borderland of Scotland. He shook his head to rid his mind of them, but they clung on with persistence. The death of so many rested on his soul.
They’d taken the village. His men were filled with blood lust. They went on a rampage, killing the innocent for sport. The screams of young girls, as knights brutally assaulted them, rang in his ears. He closed his eyes and the bile burned in his throat.
God would never forgive him. He wished Brithwin were right, but she knew not what he had seen, what he had done, or what he had failed to do. How could a man find forgiveness whose hesitation caused such depravity? A leader who could not control and stop the blood lust of his own men? He was a condemned man.
And now, his gut twisted anew for the loss of his family. It was God’s punishment. He wished he could pray—ask God not to take Brithwin, too. If he had to distance himself from her to keep her safe from his punishment, he would. Perhaps if he could bring Edmond to justice he could earn some forgiveness.
He fell into a fitful sleep, fighting the demons that plagued him, tossing and turning throughout the night. He awoke as tired as when he’d closed his eyes.
The next several days were filled riding Rosen Craig’s estate, visiting the villeins and freemen, discussing the problems that had arisen in their crops, and making suggestions to increase their yield. He set men to work, reinforcing the stone walls to protect Rosen Craig. Trying to improve his understanding of Rosen Craig, he spoke with the servants and learned each of their duties. A great appreciation grew for his father’s wisdom.
At last he had seen to everything, finally, except the accounts. Royce met with Lyndle, after the noon meal, to look them over. Hours later, they still sat, going over the purchases.
Lyndle fidgeted in his seat. “There are things I need to see to before I retire for the night, if you do not need me anymore.”
Royce looked up from the figures. The light of the candle danced erratically before him. “One question before you retire. While speaking with the cook today, I learned we have no healer. I would like to know why a castle as great as Rosen Craig does not have a healer. I remember there being one when I was a young boy. I know my father did not like Mother to carry the full responsibility.”
Lyndle tapped a finger against his chin. “’Tis strange. The healer and her husband disappeared without a word the day after the deaths of milord and lady.” His eyes narrowed and wrinkles creased his brow. “Now that I think on it, ’tis troubling they left without a word.”
“They are freemen?” Royce raised his brows and waited.
Lyndle glanced to where Royce sat. “Hmm, oh, aye, they are freemen.”
“I’m surprised they didn’t speak with you about their departure. Are you certain they did not take a part in my family’s death?”
“Aye. I have told you who I saw. ’Twas not the healer.”
He nodded. It was odd that they left, but the violent deaths may have scared them away. “We need one.”
“Clarice is well versed in the art of healing.”
“I have been meaning to ask, why is she here?” Royce didn’t bother to look up from the numbers.
“Bryce was her betrothed.”
Royce put his
finger by an entry and met Lyndle’s smug gaze. “Aye, he was. Seems odd she would come here when her betrothed is no longer alive.”
“I think she comes to escape her brother and his cruelty. Now, if that is all you need from me, I’d like to see to my other responsibilities.”
Royce waved him on. “I will see you on the morrow, then.”
Working through the evening meal and well into the wee hours, Royce finally finished the accounts. The candle had burned down to a nub. He blew out the flickering flame and went to his room.
The next morning, Royce awoke with his skin drenched in sweat and his gut in a knot. He sat on the edge of his bed with his head in his hands. He could not continue like this. Foreboding haunted him. Each day his trepidations grew. Robbed of his family, he would not allow Brithwin to be next.
He dragged himself to the morning meal. The room was full. He had lingered in his room longer than usual.
Clarice’s smooth voice drifted across the hall. “Good morn. I am pleased you choose to join us this day. You are usually gone before I rise.” She gave him a coy smile. “I begin to think you avoid me.”
Royce took his seat. “There is much to learn. I am busy from dawn to dusk.”
“I was in hope you would take me out for a ride. My palfrey needs exercise, and ’tis so boring riding with any of these men.” She swept her hand out, gesturing to the knights and men-at-arms eating.
Royce bristled at her rudeness. “Get Lyndle to take you after I speak with him. I have no time to go riding today.”
“Then I will wait until the morrow.” She stuck out her bottom lip. “I want you to take me. I miss your brother and have been left alone to grieve all these months.”
Royce stood and picked up his bread and cheese. He turned to Lyndle. “When you finish breaking your fast, come to my solar.”
Clarice continued to pout. “Can you not take time to eat with us?”
The woman had been dealt a harsh blow. After years of waiting on the arranged marriage, she loses her betrothed just months before their wedding. He softened his tone. “Nay, I wish to finish with this and get back to my wife.” While he longed to see Brithwin, this was not a total truth—he could not dismiss the fear that his return would endanger her.
Sword of Forgiveness (Winds of Change Book 1) Page 20