Sword of Forgiveness (Winds of Change Book 1)

by Debbie Lynne Costello

  Fatigued muscles burned as Royce swung his weapon, looking for Edmond’s weakness. He clenched exhausted legs against Shadowmere’s flanks to guide the horse to do his bidding. Edmond’s sword swung lower and with less speed.

  They were equals in strength and skill. The difference was, Royce had more to lose. Brithwin’s image drove him. He heaved his sword up, and with a desperate shout, dislodged Edmond's weapon from his hand. The blade rose in the air then clunked to the ground.

  Edmond snarled and spun his horse around. Before Royce could land the final blow, Edmond spurred his horse into a gallop for the woods.

  Royce pursued. This must end here and now. Reaching the edge of the woods, he leaned his body next to his horse. The branches tore at his skin and battered his mount. Ignoring the assault, he urged Shadowmere on, racing through the woods, narrowing the gap between them. Ahead, a low tree limb overhung the path. Royce pressed himself lower to his horse’s neck.

  From behind where the fighting raged on, someone ululated with a war cry.

  Edmond glanced over his shoulder. His head connected with the stout branch, hurling him from his horse. He landed headfirst, sending forth a muffled crack. His body went limp, crumpling in an unnatural position on the ground.

  Royce ducked under the branch, slowed his horse, and dismounted. The chiming of swords faded as he walked over and nudged Edmond with his foot. The man’s head flopped at a sickening angle.

  Edmond’s horse ambled back to stand by his dead master. Royce took the dangling reins, and as he turned to go, a flicker of green caught his eyes. Stones set in the handle of a knife. He squatted and pulled the blade from the belt of Edmond’s hauberk.

  Holding it in his hand, he ran his thumb over the hawk that embellished the handle. Carved to look elegant yet strong. The bird’s tiny emerald eyes stared at him, not so different from Edmond’s—no anger, no hatred, but void of emotion.

  Royce gripped the small slender weapon that belonged to Brithwin’s mother. He slid the blade beneath his belt, tied Edmond’s horse’s reins to his saddle, then hefted Edmond up and threw him over his horse. As much as he loathed the man he deserved a burial. He wound his way back through the woods, taking it slow so as to keep Edmond on his horse.

  Reaching the edge of the woods, the men had put down their swords. Some tended others’ wounds, some their own, and others walked around checking for dead. Royce took a steadying breath, thankful that those he could make out were his men. They had won this skirmish. The metallic smell of blood filled the air as he stepped into the battle’s aftermath. He could only hope he didn’t lose any men. Now the part he loathed—finding who survived and who did not.

  It was much like this day when he’d lost his squire in battle—the dead littered the ground. And once again, it was at Edmond's hand. However, today Edmond did not fare as well. Battle-hardened though he was, remembering the sound of Edmond’s skull whacking into the tree branch made Royce’s stomach twist.

  “Rosen Craig.” Jarren stood in the clearing, the last of the evenings light fading behind him, his voice beckoning his attention. Dirt and blood smudged his friend’s face as he leaned his weight on his sword. A gash oozed blood on his hand.

  Royce dismounted. “’Tis glad I am to see you still standing.”

  “And you, my friend. When you disappeared into the woods, I thought to follow but had my hands full. However, I see you did not need me.”

  “Nay, I did not. Edmond saw to his own demise. Hitting a low branch, he broke his neck when he fell.”

  Jarren rubbed his neck. “I would not wish to die that way—fleeing from battle.”

  Royce shrugged. “I am relieved he will trouble me no longer.” He turned to one of his knights, who weaved his way between bodies. “John. Come give your report.”

  John strode to them. “Good news, sir. We have lost no man thus far. Five men in immediate need of a healer while others with only cuts, needing mending.”

  “What of Edmond’s men?” Royce’s gaze skimmed the battlefield.

  “Of those that did not die or flee, two live, but I believe one will not make it off this field.”

  Royce’s eyes stopped on a still body. “Montfort. Is he of the living?”

  John shook his head. “He is not, sir.”

  “I had hoped to talk to him.” Frustration twisted in Royce’s gut. He’d wanted to ask the man some questions.

  John’s eyes lit up. “The man who does live is Sir Robert, Edmond’s confidant.”

  A glimmer of hope stirred in Royce. “Take me to him. Mayhap I will get my answers.”

  †††

  Brithwin woke and opened her eyes. Ominous darkness surrounded her. She rubbed her eyes and opened them again. Her head pounded, and everything remained black. A jolt of cold spiraled through her veins. Her breath caught. The last thing she remembered was the blow she had received. Was she blind? She waved her hand before her face and the air passed by, but her eyes caught no hint of movement. Was she back in her personal prison at Hawkwood? Her hands quickly went to the floor. Her palms slapped against wood, not the wet dirt of her prison. This was not Hawkwood. Mayhap she was blind. The thought sent a bolt of fear searing through her.

  She stood and steadied herself, taking one step, then another, while running her hands along the walls, feeling for a door. The room was small—a pantry or buttery, perhaps. A whoosh of air then a shaky laugh escaped her lips. Such a room would have no windows, no light. Her hands bumped the door frame and her fingers skimmed around it. It was impossible to open from the inside. She banged on the door and called out until her hands were bruised. Either no one could hear her or no one cared. She continued to trace along the wall until she reached the back of the room. Once there, she slowly slid to the floor.

  The perpetual darkness battered her, dredging up memories she held inside. She drew her legs to her chest and wrapped her arms around them. Leaning her head against the wall, she closed her eyes. It was a cruel man who had punished her in the dungeon, a man who was not her father. Her true father was a kind and loving man. The thudding of her heart lessened as she kept her eyes closed and thought of Pater—her father.

  She drew in a breath and held it before letting it out. With her head still pounding, she tried to put her thoughts in order. Edmond had used her to draw Royce here—to Rosen Craig. Of that much she felt certain. Had Clarice escaped and returned to Hawkwood to inform them, or was she a part of this scheme as he had tried to make her believe? Either way, Royce would be searching for her by now and would walk into a trap, and she had no way to warn him.

  Lord, I ask you to put a hedge of protection around Royce. Give him insight and wisdom as he comes in search of me. Keep him safe.

  †††

  Brithwin woke to footfalls. When had she dozed off? Keeping her back to the wall, she pushed herself up. The footsteps stopped outside the door. Her legs trembled. She held her breath. The door creaked open, and light filtered in until it flooded the room. She raised her hand to shield her eyes, waiting for them to adjust and reveal who stood before her.

  A man stepped into the room. “I see Edmond has hurt you.”

  Squinting, she tried to see who stood before her as her eyes adjusted to the light. She didn’t recognize the voice. He knew that Edmond had brought her. Brithwin touched her swollen eye as the man came into focus. “Do I know you?” She didn’t like the way he looked at her.

  The man grinned. “I am Lyndle.”

  Chapter 29

  A sense of dread filled Brithwin. She blinked, trying to force her eyes to stay focused.

  “Do you know who I am?” Lyndle cocked his head. His eyes bore into her.

  She wanted to writhe under his stare. “You are Royce’s uncle and the steward of Rosen Craig.”

  “I am that.” His eyes didn’t waver from their grip. “Does the name mean nothing else to you?” He wore his tawny hair cut short, so unlike Royce’s brown hair, which brushed his collar. A dark birthmark marred his
temple. Some believed the blemish to be the mark of the devil.

  “Nay, should it?” She had seen babies abandoned because of such a mark.

  His brows rose. “Your father never mentioned me?”

  Brithwin flattened herself against the wall. “Should he have?” His age and thin frame gave her hope she could overpower him.

  His eyes bore into her again. “Did he not tell you I asked for your hand?”

  She shook her head. It wasn’t the birthmark that made her feel ill at ease. There was something truly dark about him.

  “No. No, I don’t suppose he did. You see, it was a perfect match.” He sidled closer and touched her cheek. She jerked away. He let his hand fall to his side. “Your father had no heir, I had no castle, and the woman I loved was married to my brother.”

  “You loved Royce’s mother?” The words flew out before she could stop them. She could not have heard him correctly.

  “You and I would have gotten along fine. However, your father laughed at my request.” Lyndle’s hands balled into fists, fury burned in his eyes. “He laughed and told me you were too good for me. That I was a spawn of the devil. Then he bid me to leave.” He touched the mark on his face. “He did not have the courtesy to invite me to stay the night but sent me out after darkness had fallen. So I returned to Rosen Craig, but I did not forget what he said to me—how he humiliated me.”

  Brithwin remained pressed against the wall. She did not want the anger she saw in his eyes directed at her. She needed a way out. “I am sorry for my father’s cruel words. He was not a kind man—even to his daughter.”

  His shoulders dropped and a hint of compassion softened the hard lines scored on his face. “I had heard that but wondered if it were true.”

  Her heart battered the inside of her chest. She clutched her gown in sweaty fists as her mind sought a plan of escape. “Can we go out of this room to talk?”

  He frowned at her and moved toward the door. “You will stay here until all has played out.”

  She had to keep him in the room. “Where is Miss Coble?”

  “Clarice? I would guess she is on her way here.” He stood blocking the door. “Did you know she was Bryce’s betrothed?”

  “Yes, she has told me.”

  A wicked smile crept over his face. “I would wager she did not tell you she was here when Bryce died.”

  Brithwin shook her head.

  “You see, she wanted to be Lady of Rosen Craig.” He shook his head and glanced down. “However, she was impatient and didn’t want to wait for Bryce’s father to grow old and die. ’Twas quite a dilemma for her.”

  “I don’t understand.” She didn’t but was beginning to. If he spoke the truth, she’d been naïve in trusting Clarice and not heeding her maid’s and cook’s warnings.

  “Bryce was always busy and never had time for Clarice, so I befriended her. She was knowledgeable in healing herbs.” The oily smile was back. “One day, I asked her to give me hemlock.”

  Brithwin shivered and hugged her arms to herself. He was an evil man, but he was her solitary hope to escape. “For what reason did you need hemlock?”

  His smile broadened. “You will thank me for this. I brought your father dates laced with it.” His eyes glittered as he began the story. “Your father, being the selfish man he was, wouldn’t share them. Did you think he died from natural causes? Oh, no.” His lips twitched into a smirk. “It was my revenge.”

  Brithwin choked. “Y-you killed my father?”

  “Does it please you? You see”—he raised his hands and splayed them open before him—“where I made my mistake was, one of the dates had remained in my bag. When I returned home and laid the bag down, the one date I had missed rolled out and fell to the floor.” He looked at the floor as if expecting to see it there. “I was not fast enough, and my brother’s terrier pounced on it and ate it. The dog died. My brother had seen enough poison in his day and knew what it was.”

  “You poisoned him?” Brithwin’s fingers bit into her arms as she tightened them, trying to still the quiver.

  “’Twas an accident.” He shrugged.

  Brithwin did not correct him that she still spoke of her father, not the dog.

  “Unfortunately, my brother knew I had asked your father for your hand and had been turned down. He also knew I hated your father for it. A few days later, when my brother heard of the death of your father, he discerned that I was the one who poisoned him.”

  Brithwin’s stomach churned, but she had to know the truth. “He knew you killed my father, yet he did nothing?” Could Royce’s father be so dishonorable?

  Lyndle folded his arms in front of him. “My noble brother could not let me go unpunished but did not want to soil the family name. Oh, the dilemma of honor! While he was deciding what to do with me, he kept me locked in my room and told no one of my shame.”

  Another chill slid down her spine when he tipped his head.

  “I was amazed the poisoning had been kept quiet. Not even you were aware, were you?”

  Brithwin forced out a whisper. “Nay, I did not know.”

  “When Clarice heard the rumor of your father’s death, she knew. She came to see me regularly after my brother locked me up.”

  “D-did she know what you planned to do when she gave you the hemlock?” Brithwin closed her eyes as she waited for the reply.

  “She did not know with whom I sought to even the score, if that is what you ask.”

  Why was he telling her this? And what would he do to her now that she knew?

  He glanced down and scuffed the floor with his boot. “When Edmond came to Rosen Craig and told of Royce’s alleged death, I had an inspiration. Clarice was just the person I needed to help. The whole castle was in mourning for the beloved son. Three days later, she gave a sleeping draught in the meat at the evening meal then came to let me out after all had fallen into a deep sleep.”

  He paused and looked off as if reliving it. “When I killed my brother, his wife awoke and she began to scream.” His voice wavered. “Lady Isobel, so beautiful. Did I tell you I loved her? It broke my heart, for apparently she had not eaten the meat. I tried to silence her, but she struggled and I—I broke her neck. ’Twas an accident. I would never have killed the woman I loved.”

  Brithwin flattened herself against the wall and took a step, eyeing the opening behind Royce’s uncle.

  For a fleeting moment, his feral eyes filled with pain.

  “I went down and killed Bryce. The gatekeeper had not eaten the meat either. He rushed in when he heard Royce’s mother scream. I met him coming into the castle. I sent him back to the gate, explaining Lady Isobel had had a bad dream.”

  “How could you kill your brother and nephew?” Brithwin sucked in her breath. He would not let her live now he had told her these things. The knot in her stomach gave another twist, shooting spears of fear through her veins.

  “How else would I become Lord of Rosen Craig? I decided my last vengeance against your father would be to sully the name of Hawkwood by accusing them of the murders.” He sniggered. “Then, to my surprise, Royce returns days later very much alive. Imagine my shock when I found out he was betrothed to you—and after I had named your father’s castle as the party responsible for his family’s death.”

  Brithwin clenched her fists. His callous attitude taunted her. He stepped back and out of the room.

  “Wait!” Brithwin pushed away from the wall.

  He stopped. She feared all was lost if she could not escape. She had to delay him.

  She stepped forward. “What about the gatekeeper? He would know you lied.”

  “I went back and killed him too.” He said it so casually, she could not stop the shiver this time. “Unfortunately, one of Edmond’s men had gotten sick and remained at Rosen Craig. He was outside emptying his gut and saw me kill the guard.” He sighed and glanced toward the door. “Edmond has since made demands on me.”

  She slowly edged her way forward. “Why did you not kill E
dmond’s man so he could not tell?”

  He looked at her as if she were witless. “Because I did not know the man was there.”

  She edged closer to where he stood. “What did Edmond want from you?”

  “At first he wanted money. Then, he wanted me to help him get retribution on Royce. He thought he could take Rosen Craig and leave me Hawkwood and I would be happy. He is a fool. So he devised a plan to kill my nephew.”

  She inched forward. “I do not understand. You would be lord of Rosen Craig if Royce died without an heir.” Her hand went to her abdomen.

  His gaze followed her hand and he frowned. “Edmond thinks he can blackmail me into giving him Rosen Craig to run as his own. Why should I give him anything, when I can have it all, including you?” He paused and dragged his eyes from where her hand lay to meet her gaze. “By now, Edmond has ambushed and killed Lord Rosen Craig. When he returns to claim this castle, I will tell Rosen Craig’s knights what he has done. They will dispatch him for the murder of my nephew without my even bloodying my hands. Then I will become Lord Rosen Craig.”

  Voices rang out from somewhere inside the castle. He turned.

  Brithwin lunged forward and darted out the door. She caught a glimpse of freedom before Lyndle jerked her back into the room.

  He shoved her to the floor. Her body jolted as it hit the hard surface, sending shards of pain through her hip and her arm.

  He narrowed his brows. “That was foolish. I must go speak with Edmond. He has returned from taking care of Royce.”

  As he pulled the door closed and darkness enveloped her once more, he snickered softly. “I shall return soon for you, my pet.”

  †††

  Royce reached the top of the steps of the castle well ahead of his men and in time to glimpse Lyndle creeping from the shadows.

  His uncle’s jaw dropped. “My lord! What are you doing here?”

  Royce studied Lyndle for a moment before the sword hanging at the older man’s side caught his attention. “I did not know you wore a sword, Uncle.”

  Lyndle glanced down at the blade and slid it out. “’Tis beautiful, isn’t it?”