Sword of Forgiveness (Winds of Change Book 1)

by Debbie Lynne Costello

  Clarice clamped her mouth shut and looked away.

  Royce made his way to the solitude of his solar. It was not long before Lyndle walked in without knocking. “You wish to speak to me?”

  “Yes, there are questions I have in the accounts. What is this expenditure?” He pointed to a line on the paper and waited while Lyndle made his way to him.

  He bent over and examined where Royce pointed. “’'Twas for iron and new tools for the blacksmith.”

  “So large an amount? Why did you not put it down as such? You have done so on all the others.”

  “I must have laid it aside and forgotten to finish when I came back.” He straightened. “As to the cost, tools and iron are expensive, as you will learn.”

  His condescending tone scored like claws on Royce’s ears. “You may leave.”

  Lyndle strode out. Royce continued looking at the accounts after he left. Something was amiss. The best way to resolve it was to speak to the blacksmith.

  The next morning, Royce made his way to the forge on the far side of the bailey. Heat and the strong spicy scent of wood smoke rolled out to meet him as he entered. The blacksmith lifted his head. His smile revealed a full set of teeth in a soot-covered face. Leathery hands covered in scars gave witness to the years of toiling in the trade.

  He quickly set down his tools and wiped an arm across his brow. “Good day to you, m’lord. Is there something I can do for you?”

  Royce eyed the fine dagger on his anvil. “I came to discuss inventory.”

  “M’lord?”

  “It concerns the new tools and iron.”

  The blacksmith gave a blank stare.

  Royce nodded toward the spread out tools. “Your new tools, the ones for working your trade?”

  “But I have no new tools. These have served me well for many years and continue to do so.” He picked up pincers to show him. “I have no need for new. Truth to tell, I have grown partial to these and have made adjustments to them so they are just as I like them.”

  Uneasiness settled in Royce’s stomach. “What of the iron? The last price seemed high.”

  “Nay, m’lord, the price has not changed. ’Tis the same as it has always been.”

  “I won’t keep you from your work.” Royce hesitated. “Do you mind?” He nodded toward the dagger the man had been working on.

  “’Tis cooled.” He handed it to Royce.

  Royce ran his fingers over the dull blade. The workmanship surpassed most.

  “’Twill be a fine sword.”

  The blacksmith smiled. “Thank ye. Perhaps fine enough for a lord?”

  Royce grinned. “I look forward to knowing.” He stepped away from the heat of the forge and into the sunlight. A cool breeze blew on his sweat-drenched skin. He lingered, motionless, facing the wind, allowing it to dry the dampness from his body. What went on here? Lyndle and the blacksmith were not in agreement, and he saw no reason for the blacksmith to lie.

  †††

  Brithwin walked in the courtyard, craving activity to ease her nerves. Eight days had passed since Royce departed for Rosen Craig, and her heart ached for his return. Hawkwood alone was no longer enough to keep her content. Royce had changed all that.

  She smiled and touched a hand to her abdomen. Things were much different now. She was not certain, but she suspected she was with child. This would be her secret until she knew for certain. She couldn’t trust Elspeth with it. Not after the last time when Elspeth just thought she was with child and spread the gossip through the castle. A shudder went through her body at the memory. There would be no doubts before Brithwin told anyone, including Royce.

  Montfort passed in front of her followed by a sentry. Thomas would not tell her whether he was a guest or a prisoner. She guessed the latter. The man was never out alone and a set sentry stood at his door each night. The man seemed most pleasant, despite his treatment, and always spoke kindly to her. Speaking to the workers and the knights both, he walked about the bailey visiting.

  Thomas was never far away, with his hawk-like sight bearing down on the man as if he were prey. It was obvious to her Thomas neither liked nor trusted him. She would avoid the man until Royce came home. From her husband’s missive, it could be weeks before he was able to return to her. His assurance that he knew she was more than capable to oversee the castle was of little consolation, but she had to admit his confidence in her did please her.

  She stopped in front of the mews. Lucas stepped out the door.

  “Good day to you, Lucas,” she said cheerfully.

  “And to you, milady.”

  “Are you learning much about our hawks?”

  His eyes sparkled as he told her all he had learned.

  A cat screeched, and Thor bounded between her and Lucas, bumping into Brithwin in chase of the cat. Twisting to catch her balance, she stepped on the hem of her gown and began to fall. Two strong hands caught her arms and stopped her decent. Lifting her head, she peered into the cool grey eyes of Montfort. An icy chill trickled down her spine. Once she had her footing, she straightened and attempted to step away. His firm grip continued to hold her arms.

  She jerked herself from his grasp. Thomas’s deep voice brought her head around. He glared at the man. “You forget yourself, sir.”

  Montfort’s face remained emotionless. “The hound bolted into the lady. I meant only to keep her from falling.”

  “Aye, I know what you meant.” Thomas flexed his fingers into fists. “Now, understand me well. You stay away from milady.”

  Montfort bowed and walked away.

  Thomas turned his frown on her. “Milady, I would appreciate it if you would avoid that man. I do not trust him.”

  “In my defense, Thomas, he was walking a different direction when I came here to speak to Lucas.”

  “Be careful, milady, even inside our gates.” Thomas held her gaze for a moment then strode toward the practice field.

  “I don’t like that man.” Vehemence sounded in Lucas’s voice.

  Brithwin turned to see Lucas watching Montfort’s retreat. “Why do you say such a thing?”

  “Because he is a bad man.”

  †††

  The days passed, each one slower than the one before. Brithwin found herself on the parapets daily, searching the horizon, waiting for Royce. What kept him from returning to her? No more missives had arrived from him explaining his delay. Could this separation have caused his feelings for her to change? Not that, she prayed. Especially now that she may be with child.

  Exhausted, she dragged herself to her chamber and slipped out of her gown. Orange coals flickered in the fireplace. Tossing a log on, she gently blew on the coals until a warm fire took hold. She curled up in the large empty bed and drifted asleep.

  When she woke, the fire had died, the torch out, and her room was dark. A hand clamped over her mouth, and a man leaned over her. Tossing her head from side to side, she attempted to pull free and call for help. She tore at his hand and thrashed her legs as she fought to get away. He pressed against her, stopping her twisting.

  The low thunder of Thor’s growl echoed in the silence. The man stilled. Brithwin wrenched her head away and let out a scream. Thor lunged toward the bed. The blackguard released her and fled toward the door. As he slipped out, Thor sank his teeth into flesh. The man gasped and slammed the door. Thor scratched frantically on the wood, letting out low growls. Brithwin ran to the door and called for Thomas. Thor slipped out the opening. The torches shone light on the escaping brigand. Brithwin gasped as Montfort disappeared from sight.

  †††

  Lyndle glanced across the empty hall before swinging around to face Clarice. “It is disgraceful the way you throw yourself at him.”

  “I want to spend time with him. He is the lord of Rosen Craig, and I wish to be mistress of Rosen Craig.”

  “’Twas not long ago you wished to spend time with me.”

  Clarice flitted her hand. “That was before I knew Lord Rosen Craig was st
ill alive. I want what is rightfully mine.”

  Lyndle’s mouth pinched. “His name is Royce not Bryce. This castle is not rightfully yours. You never married Bryce, might I remind you.”

  “But I will marry Lord Rosen Craig. Nothing has changed.”

  He snorted. “My lord is married and does not appear to be interested in you.”

  Clarice ran her finger along the chair. “Give him time. He has forgotten me, that is all. He loved me once. The king made him marry, did he not? It wasn’t to my lord’s choosing.”

  Lyndle’s brow tightened. “Lord Rosen Craig never loved you.”

  “He did! He was my betrothed.”

  “You are mad, woman! Royce was not your betrothed.”

  Clarice frowned, leaving tiny lines etched on her forehead. “N-nay. Lord Rosen Craig is my betrothed.” She shook her head. “I will have him.”

  “Royce is honorable and will not set his wife aside. You do not know him if you think he will.”

  “Bryce tells me I am beautiful. He will still want me. Men oft tell me there is no beauty to match mine. I can win him back to me.”

  “Bryce is dead. There is no winning him back. You are mad.”

  “Do not call me that!” A glimmer shone in her eyes. “Lord Rosen Craig’s wife could die.”

  He pointed his finger at her. “You threaten milady’s life? What makes you think I would stand by and let you do such a thing?”

  “I merely make an observation. But remember—I know your secrets.”

  Chapter 23

  Royce ran up the steps to his solar and closed the door with a sigh. Clarice clung to him and demanded too much of his time. The woman would not leave him alone. A twinge of guilt niggled him. She had lost her betrothed and her father within a short span of each other. Her mother died when she was young, and her brother was a greedy scoundrel. It was no wonder she did not want to return to her home. It was admirable how she tried to be cheerful and to put up a good front for everyone.

  A knock sounded on the door, breaking into his thoughts.

  “Yes?” Please, not Clarice.

  A servant peeked his head in. “Milord, there is a messenger below who wishes to speak to you. He said he is to give no one but you the message.”

  Irritation nudged Royce. “Where is he from?”

  “He is one of the village lads.”

  Royce grimaced. “Send him up.”

  A moment later, the servant pushed the door open, admitting a boy who could not have seen eight years, his eyes wide as a frightened deer. The way he shuffled his feet on the floor, the lad reminded him of Lucas. Smiling, he called the boy in.

  Royce looked to the servant. “Bring us something to drink, and see if you can find something sweet for this young lad.”

  A beam of pleasure covered the boy’s face.

  “What do they call you?”

  The boy swept a lock of red hair out of his eyes. “Aldrid, sir.”

  “What is it you have been sent to tell me, Aldrid?”

  The excitement drained from his face and he dropped his head. He peered through strands of dirty hair and Royce motioned him to sit. He would not get the full message if the boy were frightened speechless. One thing was for sure, if what the boy had to tell him was important, he needed him at ease.

  “While we wait for our food, tell me, do you like horses?”

  The lad nodded vigorously.

  “Well, we have mighty fine ones here. Let me tell you about them.” Royce talked about Shadowmere until the servant returned with their treats, calming the boy’s nerves.

  As Aldrid shoved in another bite of bread and honey, Royce leaned forward. “Can you tell me who sent the message?”

  The boy nodded again, licking his fingers. “He was a knight.” He frowned. “He looked mean.”

  Royce nodded and smiled. “Can you tell me what he looked like?”

  He stopped cleaning his fingers with his tongue, but continued to hold his hand near his mouth. “He had a scar on his face.”

  Royce struggled to show no emotion. “Tell me the message.”

  Tears welled in the boy’s eyes.

  “Do not be afraid. I know of whom you speak, and he is not a good man. You will not be punished for bringing me his message.”

  Aldrid swallowed. “But you have been nice to me, and I do not want to tell you bad things.”

  Royce’s heart skipped. Could Edmond have gotten to Brithwin? “I must know what he said, and you are the only one who can tell me.”

  “He said your parents died greffen . . . grevven?”

  “Grieving?” His hands dug into the arms of the chair as he waited. He must withhold his furry and not frighten the child more.

  Aldrid dropped his sticky hands into his lap and stared at them. “Aye, he said your parents died grieving for your death.” He slowly lifted his head. “Does that mean you are going to die?”

  “Nay, go on.” Royce battled the urge to stand and pace the room.

  The boy’s gaze returned to his lap. “He said he liked watching their faces when he told them you were dead, and it was too bad they could not have suffered more before they died.”

  “Is that everything?” It was like pulling teeth, simply getting the answer he asked for.

  He shook his head again. “He said you have a pretty wife.”

  Royce felt like someone had dumped ice water on him. “When did he give you this message?”

  “Yesterday, when I was out fetching firewood.”

  By the rood! A day had passed since Edmond was on Rosen Craig land. “Why did you wait to come see me?”

  Aldrid cowered back in his chair. “He told me if I did not do exactly as he said, he would hurt Mama. Are . . . are you angry at me?”

  Royce launched himself from his chair. “Nay! It is not you who angers me. You have done well. Take the rest of the sweets, and get on home to your mother before she worries about you.”

  The boy pushed from his chair and scuttled away.

  Royce waited for the door to shut and gave in to the urge to pace. Brithwin would suffer alongside him, now that he loved her. He couldn’t change their being married, but he could distance himself from her. His gut roiled. To be unable to run his fingers through her hair, caress her cheek, or kiss her soft lips tore at his soul. He should stay away, but would his heart let him?

  Royce plunged his hands through his hair. What had he done? He had married her but never planned to fall in love. Now, because of his love she was in danger. Why did God not strike him down if He was so angry with him? Why would He allow a woman with so much forgiveness in her heart, and so much faith in Him, to suffer for someone else’s sins?

  You bring pain to anyone who cares for you. You have failed God, just as you failed your family, and you will fail Brithwin.

  Royce spun around at the wall and rubbed his face. What had Brithwin told him to think about? God would forgive him, but he had to forgive himself. He wished he could believe her words. They would be like a balm to his soul. Brithwin’s goodness blinded her to the evil in him. She could not see that God looked at her much differently than He looked at him.

  Royce stopped his pacing. Edmond had killed his parents. He was sure of it now, and to make it worse, Edmond had lied to his parents, telling them of their second son’s death. The vile man had wanted them to suffer before he took their lives from them.

  But now the question was, did Edmond remain here or return to Hawkwood?

  Royce flung the door open, banging it against the wall, and stomped down the stairs bellowing for Jarren. He found him on the practice field, dripping wet.

  “Jarren!”

  His friend handed his practice sword to another knight and trudged to Royce. “What is wrong?”

  “We must talk.”

  They headed back to the castle where Royce and Jarren spent the next several hours holed up in his solar while he explained all he had discovered about Lyndle and about Edmond’s message.

  Royc
e’s mind drifted to Brithwin. He never would have believed he would miss a woman. “Let the men know we leave in the morning.”

  Jarren stretched out in his chair and folded his hands behind his head. “Are you sure you do not wish me to stay and keep an eye on Lyndle?”

  “From what I can tell, that is the only discrepancy thus far. I would not have begrudged him extra money, had he asked.” Royce stood and rubbed the sore muscles in his neck. “However, that is the least of my worries now. I only wish to get to Brithwin and Hawkwood.”

  Jarren pushed himself up and followed Royce out of the room. “I’ll give you, Edmond is a threat. He has proven that. However, I am not sure the man is smart enough to be responsible for your family’s murders.”

  “Yes, ’tis possible he uses the circumstances to goad me. When I capture him, and I assure you I will, then we will know for sure.” Royce moved swiftly down the stone steps.

  Jarren headed out to the bailey, and Royce went in search of Lyndle.

  Royce came around the corner and nearly trampled Clarice. “I apologize, Clarice. I was not paying attention.”

  Clarice laid her hand on his sleeve. “Where are you off to in such a hurry, my lord? I have been looking for you for hours.” Her fingers gently stroked his arm. “I wanted to ask you to take me hawking today.”

  “I am looking for Lyndle.” He glanced down at the circling caress and thought of Brithwin. He grasped her fingers in his to cease the sensations threatening to awaken at the feminine touch.

  “Lyndle went to the village. I’m sure he’ll return quite late. So”—she dragged out the word—“will you take me hawking?”

  He cast her hand away. “I cannot. We leave on the morrow, and I have things I must see to.”

  She folded her arms with a pout. “Where are you going?”

  “I am returning to Hawkwood.”

  “You cannot leave me here,” she whined.

  Royce took in a deep breath and slowly let it out. “I have responsibilities at Hawkwood as well. If you do not wish to remain here, I am sure your brother will welcome you home.”