His words were weak and scratchy. “Thank you, milord.”
“I see you have my men in an uproar. What tale do you tell?”
The man cleared his throat. “The truth, milord.”
“Which is?” Royce tapped his hand on the arm of the chair.
“I was working in the field when I heard someone yell for help. I ran to the road and saw a man accosting Pater. I tried to help him. That was when someone hit me from behind. The last I saw, a man hauled Pater off as the others turned their fury on me.”
“Do you know in which direction they took him?”
“East, milord.”
Brithwin’s knees weakened. She swayed, her hands seeking the cool smooth stone of the wall for support. The voices faded and blackness encroached around her.
She woke, what could only have been moments later. Strong arms held her, and she opened her eyes.
Daffydd stared down at her with his brow furrowed. “You and those stairs do not get along.”
She swallowed the rising bile. “I must have swooned. Pray, forgive me. I am not accustomed to doing so.”
He shifted her in his arms. “It is my pleasure, milady, I assure you. I am pleased I was here, and you did not meet the ground.”
A throat cleared. Brithwin turned.
Royce glared at Daffydd. “My wife.”
“Daffydd, please put me down.” Her voice came out strangled. “I need to speak to Lord Rosen Craig.”
Royce reached to take her. “I will carry you. Are you ill? Do you need to lie down?”
“Nay. I can stand. Daffydd put me down.”
“If you are sure, milady.” He glanced to Royce than did her bidding.
She swayed when her feet touched the ground. She reached out and grasped Royce’s arm. “I need to speak with you privately--someplace where we can be alone.” Urgency built inside her ’til she thought she’d burst.
Royce wrapped his arm around her and held her close to his body. “Daffydd, go find out what you can while I take my lady to her chamber.”
His spurs clicked ominously on each of the wooden steps, his face unreadable. He pushed open the door and helped her to the bed. He let himself down beside her. The bed sank under his weight.
“Now what is this about, my lady?”
Brithwin wrapped her arms around herself to quell the shiver that stole over her as she imagined Pater, kidnapped and beaten. She opened her mouth to speak, but her throat was so dry it stuck together. She tried to swallow. Royce grabbed a cup from the table and handed it to her. She gulped the water and lowered the cup to her lap.
Her hands shook as well as her insides. “You must find Pater and bring him home. He is my father.”
Brithwin searched Royce’s face. He cocked his head and his brow wrinkled. “Your father?”
“Aye. He told me yestereve.”
Royce plunged his hand through his hair. “By the rood! What kind of tale do you tell?”
“Not a tale but the truth. You must find him, for I fear his life is in danger.”
Chapter 26
Clarice studied the hastily scribbled note the lad had handed her. Dare she trust this Edmond? This was the man for whom Lord Rosen Craig searched, or one of his minions. His note was succinct—meet him where the river forks. It would benefit them both, and she was to come now. She smiled. She cared not a whit if it helped him, as long as it was a means for her to procure Lord Rosen Craig, her betrothed—at least he would have been her betrothed if not for Brithwin.
“Tell him I will be along in short order. I must make some excuses here.”
The boy nodded and turned toward the gate.
“Wait.” She grabbed his arm. “How do I find this fork in the river?”
When the boy had finished giving her directions, she rushed to the castle. She found Brithwin where she had left her, still mending a shirt for Lord Rosen Craig.
Brithwin looked up from where she sat. “I hope the messenger did not bring bad news.”
“’Tis my brother trying to make my life miserable. Even from afar.” She came in and returned to her seat.
Brithwin pulled up the last stitch and tied it off, breaking the thread with her teeth. “I am truly sorry. I understand how hard it is to live with cruel guardians.”
“Aye, ’tis hard, and receiving a missive from him has worn me out. I believe I shall go and lie down for a short while.”
Brithwin rose and shook out the shirt to inspect it. “I will make sure no one disturbs you.”
Clarice smiled. “You are so kind.”
Peeking out the door, Clarice made sure no one was around. She slipped out the door and took the back staircase, making her way to the rendezvous. “This had better be worth it,” she muttered to herself minutes later when her gown caught on a bush.
Edmond parted the branches and stepped through. “Oh, it will be. You have my promise.”
Clarice swallowed a scream. “Are you trying to put me in my grave, scaring me like that? I thought I was to meet you at the river.”
Edmond gave a courtly bow. “’Tis an honor to meet you, Clarice. We were to meet at the river. However, you were so noisy that anyone in the vicinity of Hawkwood could have heard you coming. I decided to save you the trip, lest you give us away.”
Clarice gave an unladylike snort. “A man with any chivalry at all never would have asked me to meet him in this forsaken place.”
“I never claimed any chivalry. I came so I could get what I want.”
What had she done? Here she stood alone in the woods with a strange man who had no honor and not a soul knew she was there. Knots coiled in her belly. She wiped the perspiration beading on her forehead with the back of her hand and squared her shoulders. It was best to not let him see her apprehension.
She narrowed her eyes and shoved her fists on her hips, hoping her voice would not quiver. “I don’t have much time. Why did you wish to speak with me?”
“Ah, yes, let’s get right to it.” He leaned his shoulder against the nearest tree. “I have it on good authority you want to be Royce’s wife.”
Clarice frowned. “Aye, Lord Rosen Craig, my betrothed. I have long waited for this day.”
Edmond’s eyes clouded over and his brows drew down. “I thought Bryce was your betrothed.”
Clarice frowned. “Lord Rosen Craig is my betrothed.”
“Aye, if that is what you say. Help me get rid of Brithwin and I could make you Lady of Rosen Craig.”
Lady Rosen Craig. The title she’d been born to have. “What do you want from me?”
“Bring Brithwin to me. I’m good at making people disappear. And that my dear will leave the way open for you.”
Clarice shifted her feet. “What do you want to do with her?” Brithwin had become her friend. She didn’t want her harmed. She just needed her to go away.
He examined his fingernails. “’Tis no concern of yours.”
“Then I cannot help you.”
“I would think again.” He pushed away from the tree.
“Why? What good does it do me? Only her death will free him.”
He shrugged. “I can take care of that.”
Clarice brought her hand to her throat. “You would kill her? I could not have her blood on my hands.”
Edmond frowned. “Are you mad?”
“Don’t say that!” Clarice brought her fisted hand to her mouth. “I—I’m not mad. I want what is rightly mine.”
All her life she’d known she would be Lady Rosen Craig. She would marry Bryce…no, Royce. She brought her hands up and clutched her head. She was so confused. Royce was Lord Rosen Craig. He was the man she had to marry to be Lady Rosen Craig. Why did he marry when it was supposed to be her?
Brithwin had befriended her. How could she turn her over to this man? She only pretends to be your friend because she knows you can take what she has.
No. Brithwin cared for her. They were friends.
If you don’t marry Lord Rosen Craig, your brother
will marry you off to a man thrice your age and crueler than him. Clarice tried to push away the voice in her head. You don’t have a choice. Besides she took what was rightfully yours. You were born to be Lady Rosen Craig. She needs to die. “No, no!”
“What is wrong with you, wench?” Edmond sneered.
She lowered her hands from her head. “Nothing is wrong with me.”
“Then who were you talking to?” His perusal lingered on her. “Forget that question. Just tell me if you are willing to help.”
It is either you or Brithwin. There can only be one Lady Rosen Craig.
“What do you need from me?”
He picked up a stick then pulled a knife from his boot. He whittled fine shavings from the wood, watching them flutter to the ground. “Bring her out here, and I will take her with me.”
Clarice’s gaze fastened on the weapon. “My lord will not let her leave the castle gate. I have heard him tell her as much.”
He took a threatening step toward her. “Then you will need to be persuasive.”
Everything in her wanted to recoil, but Clarice refused to show fear. “I will do what I can. Lord Rosen Craig has gone searching.” She hesitated. “I think, perhaps, for you.”
He sneered, again. “That is why we meet now. My men and I left a trail in the wrong direction.” His laugh sent an icy chill down her spine. “It will be a few days of searching before Royce returns. Bring Brithwin here on the morrow.”
“I will see if I can convince her. After we break our fast.”
“Then I shall see you on the morrow. Be careful in your return. I would not want anything foul to befall you.” With the chill of those words settling around her heart he disappeared into the woods.
Clarice hurried back to the castle and sought out her chamber to think. When she entered her room, her maid sat on the chair waiting for Clarice’s return. “Did anyone come by while I was away?”
The maid stood and curtsied. “Nay, miss. ’Twas just me here.”
“Very good, you may leave. However, if anyone asks about me, do not say I was gone. If you do, things will go badly for you.”
“Aye, miss. You were here all along.” Her voice quivered. She curtsied again took her leave.
Clarice paced within the confines of her room. Brithwin would not walk out of Hawkwood, not when Lord Rosen Craig had forbidden her to. She slowed her pace as an idea unfolded. A smile crept across her face.
†††
Brithwin said a prayer for Royce’s safety as she entered the kitchen from her garden. She had never seen him as determined as she had when he left in search of Edmond. Unjustified guilt had weighed heavy on him. She strode across the kitchen and into the great hall to see Elspeth mending in one of the chairs by the fire. Brithwin gathered thread, needle, and a shirt and sat across from her. Brows knit in a frown, Elspeth worked at her sewing without acknowledging her.
Brithwin touched her friend’s arm. “Is something troubling you?”
She glanced up. “You would tell me it is none of my concern.”
“After all you have done for me, I would not say such a thing.”
Elspeth paused with needle still in her hand. “You seem to have become fast friends with Miss Coble. I do not trust her.”
Brithwin put the thread through the needle and knotted it. “I begin to think I was wrong in judging Clarice so harshly.”
“I would not be so quick to change your opinion of her.” Elspeth picked the shirt up and stabbed the needle through the fabric. “You have spent a mere few weeks with her. Methinks she is cunning and has hoodwinked you, mayhap as part of a devious plan.”
Brithwin giggled. “You make her sound as if she were a brigand. I do not think she deceives me. Since I have spent time with her, I have come to know and understand her better. Royce was right. I was not fair to her.”
Elspeth jerked the thread tight and then jabbed it back into the cloth. “Must I remind you that she pushed you down the stairs? You were right not to trust her.”
Brithwin shifted in the chair. “What if I was wrong and she bumped me innocently? She claims not to be aware she did. I begin to wonder if I overreacted.”
“I do not trust her. You must take precautions. There is the babe now.” Elspeth tied the thread and bit it in two. “She is up to something, befriending you.”
“Nay, you are wrong there. Life has not been easy for her. When she was young, her mother died. Her father and her betrothed both died this year. I am told her brother is a scoundrel, cares only for himself, and treats her poorly.” Brithwin examined the shirt for other holes. “She has no one who cares for her, no friends. I believe she knows Royce is honorable and she can trust him. It is natural for her to be drawn to him. He is her betrothed’s brother.”
“You are too kindhearted, milady. You are nothing like her.”
Brithwin smiled at her. “But Clarice has no one. I have always had you, Thomas, and Pater.”
“Tell me you will heed my words, and I will leave you alone.” Elspeth gave her a pointed look.
Brithwin tilted her head. “I shall be careful.”
She turned her attention to her work and her mind to Pater and her husband. She missed Royce and she worried for Pat . . . her father. Her heart twisted when she recalled the last time she saw him. Her refusing to continue the discussion then rushing out must have hurt him. She hadn’t considered his feelings. All she could think about at the time was how it had affected her. Tears stung her eyes and one spilled out and fell onto the cloth. She swiped her lashes with her sleeve. Now she may never have the chance to tell him how happy she was to call him father or to tell him she loved him.
With the mending done, Brithwin knelt and placed Royce’s mended shirt in the trunk at the end of his bed. She smiled, recalling the night she’d hidden under this bed and how he had frightened her. He appeared so large, stern, and unforgiving. She sighed. In truth, he was a kind man, but his inability to forgive himself kept him feeling unworthy and in constant turmoil. She got to her feet and closed the top of the trunk.
Running her hand along the covers, she walked around the bed. His gentle embrace still burned in her memory, as well as his kiss. She picked up the beautiful fabric he’d given her. It truly was like nothing she’d ever seen. Rubbing the cloth against her cheek, she caught the lingering scent of Royce. He had, in all probability, packed it with his belongings for the trip to Hawkwood. Hugging it to her chest, she turned and went to her room.
She needed to busy herself to keep from worrying about her father and missing her husband. Already, she’d seen to the thorough cleaning of the manor yet her hands itched for another task.
Laying the cloth on the floor, she knelt beside it and used the gown Royce had given her for a wedding dress as a guide, she took out her scissors and cut the fabric.
Hours later, she fell onto the bed, exhausted, back aching, but the dress was ready to begin sewing. On the morrow she’d enlist Elspeth’s help. Perhaps Clarice would come out of her room and help, too.
When she opened her eyes, the sky held a hint of grey as it readied to welcome the morning sun. Brithwin rubbed her eyes and blinked in the dimness. A flash of heat knotted her insides, and she took a deep breath to ward off the old fear—light would soon fill the room.
Sitting up, she waited to see if her stomach would rebel. It didn’t. Perhaps she was past the sickness. The thought cheered her. She would break her fast, for the cook would be in the kitchen seeing to the day’s meals—she would sneak down and get something to eat before the hall filled with hungry men.
Brithwin quickly dressed and ran her hands down the silky green gown, smoothing out the wrinkles. Royce had made her give many of her plainer dresses away, insisting he did not want her looking like one of the villeins. He’d sent to London for her new gowns. He’d been so attentive. She sighed. But that was before he evaded her at every turn. If only she could make him see the truth of God’s forgiveness.
There was naught she
could do to change that today, though. It could be another day before he returned. Sewing would keep her hands busy and help time move along while she waited.
As Brithwin neared the kitchen, Marjory scolded a servant for allowing the fire to die. Brithwin peeked in the room as Marjory continued to give orders to Kenneth.
Brithwin stepped in. “Good morn to you.”
The young boy’s head poked up from behind the wood in his arms. “Good morn to you, milady.”
Marjory turned to Kenneth. “Throw the logs on the fire and begone with you. The hens are waiting for you to come gather their eggs.”
He shot Brithwin a quick glance. “’Tis more like they cannot wait to peck my hands.”
“Go, go!” Marjory shooed him with her hands. “And make sure you get them all.”
When the lad had departed, she motioned for Brithwin to sit. “What has you up so early, milady?”
Brithwin lowered herself to the bench. “I fell asleep early, and when I woke, the room was dark. I did not desire to return to my slumber. Do you have any cheese and yesterday’s bread?”
Marjory walked over, picked up the food wrapped in two separate cloths, and set them before Brithwin. “’Tis not my place to say this, milady, and ’tis only because I worry for you. But I wish to speak freely.”
“You know you can speak freely with me. What troubles you?” Brithwin unwrapped the cheese, broke off a piece, and popped it into her mouth.
Wrinkles appeared on Marjory’s brow. “I think you are too trusting when it comes to the likes of Miss Coble.”
Brithwin twirled her wedding ring around on her finger. “She has befriended me. I was wrong in my first judgment of her. She has been nothing but kind and helpful. The healing potion she helped me make may very well have saved the young boy from the village.”
“Ha!” Marjory rolled her eyes. “Mayhap the fall down the stairs addled your brain.”
Brithwin winced at the remark. She had said speak freely. “You have spoken your mind, and I have listened. However, I am afraid this time we do not agree.”
The lines on Marjorie’s brows deepened. “I would say this, and you can do with me as you wish, but hear this, milady: she is like a snake in the grass waiting to strike. I see it in her eyes.” Marjory turned and stomped away.
Sword of Forgiveness (Winds of Change Book 1) Page 25