Sword of Forgiveness (Winds of Change Book 1)

by Debbie Lynne Costello

  The old cook stood peeking in the door. “She is dying, milord.”

  “Do not speak those words!” Royce would not consider her death. Not when she’d come this far.

  “You have to know this, milord.” Nog backed up. “Prepare yourself.”

  “Nay! Go!” Royce’s words spewed forth in a roar.

  She spun around and scurried out of the room. Her whimpers faded with the tapping of her footsteps. He should not have yelled at her. She spoke the truth. Brithwin was dying. Everyone knew it but was afraid to speak it and feel his wrath. Nog took the risk because she cared.

  Royce summoned Pater to his chamber, anxious for him to come and not wanting to wait for the man to show up on his own.

  Minutes later, Brithwin’s father moved quietly into the room. “You wish to see me, my lord?”

  Royce leaned over Brithwin’s body on the bed. “Brithwin is—dying. I wish for you to pray for her to live.”

  Pater raised anguished eyes. “You know I pray for my daughter daily, my lord. Do you pray for her?”

  Royce shook his head without taking his eyes off Brithwin. “I cannot, as you are well aware.”

  Pater straightened and lifted his chin. “Cannot or will not?”

  Royce closed his eyes. “Must we go through this again? You do not understand.”

  “I have come here every day since Brithwin has been sick. I ache inside also, son. I have not had so much as an hour with her as my daughter. But I have hope in the Lord. What I see in you is a man tormented by his past. Tell me about it. I am here to help.”

  Royce slumped down to the chair in silence, his gaze fixed on Brithwin. If it were only so simple. He would do anything to spare Brithwin’s life, including give his own.

  Pater moved closer. “Do you love her?”

  Royce’s voice caught. “More than life itself.”

  “Did you tell her?”

  “There has not been any time.” His throat thickened. He pinched his eyes shut to keep the tears at bay.

  Pater placed his hand on Royce’s shoulder and leaned over. “Then show her. She wanted you to forgive yourself and find forgiveness with God. ’Twas her greatest desire.”

  Royce pushed Pater’s hand from him and stood. “We are back to that. You do not know what I have done. There is no forgiveness for someone like me. I am beyond absolution.”

  “Do you believe that?”

  Royce took a deep breath. “I not only believe it, but I know it to be true.”

  “If I could prove to you God forgives you”—Pater cocked his head and eyed Royce—“could you then forgive yourself?”

  Royce scoffed at him. “Who am I to not forgive if God can?”

  Pater walked over and sat. “Come, pull over a chair, and sit with me so we can talk.”

  Royce dropped on the chair and leaned forward, putting his head in his hands. He did not want to talk about his past; since he returned from the uprising, his life had been nothing but heartache.

  “Tell me what you have done that you believe God will not forgive.”

  His heart banged like a battering ram in his chest so that the roar of blood filled his ears. Just thinking of his past caused a knot in his stomach. The memories tormented him. How could he tell a godly man like Pater what he had done?

  Understanding showed in Pater’s eyes. “Do not believe me above sin, my son. God tells us, all have sinned and fallen short of the glory of God. What you have done will not shock me.”

  Did this man read minds? If he did, then he already knew his secrets. Royce clenched his hands into fists and cleared his throat as he lifted his head. “’Twas the day we rode into the small village in Scotland. We weren’t aware that Edmond had taunted the people, raping some, killing others, and promising to return. The people were angry. Having heard of an uprising but not knowing the cause, my father sent me to squelch it.”

  Royce shook his head. “It all happened so fast. The men came rushing out to defend their land and families, but we just saw a rebellion. We were seasoned warriors. They died. Then the young boys came out and many of my men had the fever and began slaying…” He choked. “They were only children. I tried to stop them, but too many had gone wild. They went after the women. I could not control my men.”

  “I understand you had to kill your own men to stop the bloodshed.”

  Royce swallowed. “I had no choice. But now, their blood, too, is on my hands. I hesitated in my orders. I was the leader. By doing nothing, I condoned their actions. I should have taken my sword against them before the first boy fell.”

  “You are only a man, son.” Pater’s voice softened. “You had a hard decision to make, and you did what you had to do. It is no wonder you hesitated making that judgment.”

  Royce shook his head as the memories of slaughter burned through his mind.

  Brithwin’s father leaned forward. “We all have sinned, son, even David, the man after God’s own heart. He committed adultery and then had the woman’s husband murdered, and yet God still loved him.”

  Royce shoved his hands through his hair and glanced at the ceiling. He didn’t know a lot about the bible, but he did know David was special to God—called a man after God’s own heart. And he, Royce, meant nothing to God. “But how many more could I have saved if I had not delayed?”

  “God will forgive you this.” Pater smiled. “He has forgiven other men far more.”

  Why couldn’t this man understand that just because you wish it to be so does not make it so? “And how do you know he has forgiven more? Perhaps these men simply are not bothered by their sin.”

  “I know because God’s word tells us of such men. There is Paul, the man who wrote much of the New Testament. He persecuted the Christians. Had them put to death and even held the clothes of Steven as they stoned him, yet God forgave him and used him in a mighty way to reach the gentiles for Christ.”

  Royce looked into the eyes of this godly man. Their love and warmth gave him hope. “I would have this forgiveness if I could.”

  Pater bent forward. “You can. It is for every man. It is a gift. You need only accept it.”

  Royce stood and walked away. Pater was a godly man and he had deep respect for him. The man would not lie to him or give him false hope. But how could God who knows no sin forgive him? The possibility gave him hope and joy, but also fear. Fear that Pater could be wrong.

  Royce thought about Paul and all the deaths that blotted his soul. If God could truly forgive Paul, maybe, just maybe his sin wasn’t too great for God. He crossed the room and bowed his head. Pouring out his heart to God, he laid his sin, guilt, and pain before Him. He gave the Lord his pride and fear of not measuring up. He had tried to remain distant to Brithwin and to God so he didn't have to be found lacking, and because of it, he had kept himself from receiving the things he wanted the most. The burden lifted from his soul like the sun shining through the clouds on a gloomy day. The darkness that had hovered over him for so long disappeared. Peace settled on him and wrapped around him like a cloak. When he lifted his head, he was a forgiven man.

  His gaze met Pater’s.

  Pater smiled. “You have found forgiveness?”

  “Aye.”

  “Now, my son, you go and pray for your wife.” Pater stood and walked out of the room.

  For the rest of the day, Royce remained with Brithwin, praying God would spare her life.

  The following day, Brithwin lost the babe.

  His heart was heavy for the precious life he and his wife had lost. His shoulders held the weight of a castle stone. Would he bury his wife, too? Even in his grief, he found comfort in knowing that if he never had another moment with her here on earth, he would see her in heaven.

  Time passed, but he no longer kept track. When he was not praying, he would climb into the bed, slip his arms around Brithwin, and hold her close.

  Light filtered in through the window. A knock sounded, and then Jarren opened the chamber door. “How is she this morning?”
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  Royce sat beside her, holding her hand. “There has been no change. She is weak. I do not know how she hangs on.” His heart ached, for he truly did not know how much longer she would cling to life.

  Jarren leaned against the door frame. “Marjory and Elspeth have come to see her. They traveled back with Philip after he took your message to Hawkwood.”

  “Tell them they may come up.”

  Moments later, Royce bid them to enter and moved to sit on the other side of the bed. Elspeth gasped as her gaze fell on Brithwin. She slapped her hand over her mouth, choked on a sob, and fled from the room. Royce knew then how bad she looked. He’d spent every day with her, but to these women who had last seen her healthy and full of life, the sight came as a shock.

  Marjory sat on the edge of the bed and lifted Brithwin’s hand to her cheek. Tears filled the old woman’s eyes.

  Clarice walked in with Brithwin’s herbal drink, drawing Royce’s attention to her. “Set it on the table. I will give it to her later.”

  Clarice nodded and left the room.

  Marjory’s eyes narrowed and her brows furrowed. “What is that?”

  “’Tis an herb drink Clarice makes, to give her nourishment other than the broth we give her.”

  “And how long has she taken this mixture?”

  Royce ran his hand over his face. “Since the day her fever broke.”

  “I would like to see this drink.” Marjory got off the bed and walked to the table. She picked it up and smelled it.

  “Is something amiss?” Royce frowned.

  “I am not sure. A faint smell, could be foxglove. ’Tis hard to know. Oh, there is one way to know for sure.” Marjory tipped the goblet and drank.

  Royce sat with eyes fixed on Marjory. Could it be possible that Clarice had betrayed him and Brithwin? Could he have been so worried about his wife that he didn’t see her deception? “If you believe it poisoned, why did you drink it?”

  Marjory smiled. “If it is, it is not enough to kill me. Just make me sick. Did you not say Brithwin has drunk it since the fever left her over a sennight ago?”

  Royce didn’t take his eyes from Marjory. He should have drunk the mixture if there was a chance it was tainted. He was young and healthy. “Aye. How long before we will know?”

  Marjory moved to the chair. “Within the hour.” She leaned back in the chair, resting her hands in her lap as if she waited for nothing more than a bite to eat.

  He could not believe this of Clarice. She had taken the time every day to make this healing drink for Brithwin. She had sat with his wife and bathed her feverish body. “If Clarice had meant to poison her, do you not think she would give her enough to kill her, not just make her sick?” How could he forgive himself if he had helped give her the poison every day?

  Marjory’s brows furrowed. “She gives her a small amount so you believe she is sick, and when she gives her the fatal dose, you will not suspect anything.”

  “But you speak as if you have no doubt.”

  Marjory stood, flew to the chamber pot, and emptied her stomach.

  She turned around and looked Royce in the eyes. “Aye, I know.” Then she doubled over.

  Royce was at her side, lifting her in his arms. He laid her on the bed beside Brithwin.

  “’Twas foolish, Marjory. How do you know this was not the fatal dose?” Royce chided. Now he would have to worry for both their lives.

  Marjorie groaned. “Nay, the smell was too faint. It was not strong enough to take my life.”

  Royce made his way to the portal, and opening it, he roared for Clarice.

  Clarice padded up the stairs and into the chamber. She wrinkled her nose as she stepped in the room. Royce shut the door.

  “You sound angry, my lord. Would you like me to remove this servant?” She motioned toward Marjory on the bed.

  “Nay. She can stay for the time being.”

  Marjory moaned.

  Clarice turned. “What is wrong with her?”

  Royce’s face burned. He flexed his hands. He had never hit a woman, but he burned to strike this one. “She drank Brithwin’s herb drink.”

  The color drained from Clarice’s face, and she stepped back. “Wh—what are you saying?”

  He moved toward her. “I think you know, Clarice. You have been poisoning my wife.”

  “Nay, ’tis not true!” Clarice took another step backward.

  He glared at her. “Aye, and with foxglove. Marjory caught a faint hint of it, and that is why she drank it.”

  Clarice continued inching toward the door. When she bumped into it, she turned, opened the door, and fled.

  Royce strode out after her to the edge of the stairs. Clarice had gone down two steps and stared below her. He looked around her to see what held her attention. His eyes caught sight of the knight at the bottom of the stairs the same time Clarice went limp and fell forward. He was powerless to reach her before she tumbled.

  Royce’s legs weakened. He grabbed hold of the wall for support.

  Bryce, his dead brother, stared up at him.

  Chapter 31

  Royce’s brother, Bryce, put his ear to Clarice’s chest. Royce rushed down the stairs, ready to call Nog. Bryce slowly raised his head and tucked a strand of hair behind Clarice’s ear. His pinched mouth and furrowed brow gave Royce his answer.

  “I could not catch her.” Bryce choked his words out as he scooped her in his arms and sat on the step.

  “Nor could I. I am sorry, Brother.” Royce wanted to throw his arms around this dead brother who’d come back to life—and to ask him where he had been.

  “My return shocked her—caused her to fall.” Bryce’s hand trembled as he rocked her.

  She probably had realized she’d thrown everything away and for nothing. Clarice would have been lady of the castle after all. His brother cradled Clarice’s lifeless body, caressing her cheek.

  Instead of the anger Royce experienced moments earlier when he’d confronted her about poisoning his wife, he felt pity for her. She’d died searching for happiness.

  “Nay, there is much more to it than the shock of seeing you.” He rubbed his brother’s shoulder.

  With Clarice still in his arms, Bryce stood.

  Jarren came around the corner, with Elspeth on his heels, and nearly tripped. His wide-eyed stare told Royce that Jarren was seeing Bryce for the first time.

  Royce turned to Elspeth. “Go tend to Brithwin and Marjory.”

  Elspeth’s gaze swept over them, landing on Clarice, and then bouncing up to Bryce. There was a strong resemblance between him and his brother, and it was obvious she’d seen it. “Aye, my lord.” She skirted around Bryce and headed up the stairs and turned. “Marjory, my lord?”

  “Aye. She is not feeling well.”

  Royce turned his gaze back to his brother, his chest filling nearly to bursting. He loved this man. “Come, Brother, we have much to discuss.”

  Bryce took a step, with Clarice still in his arms, and Royce stopped. A crowd of curious servants had begun to gather. Royce called two of his men to take care of Clarice’s body.

  “Nay.” Bryce hugged her to him—his face contorting.

  Royce knew well how Bryce felt. But Royce’s anguish had only been temporary when he’d discovered Brithwin lived. Bryce would not be so fortunate.

  He grasped his brother’s arm. “I will explain.” Royce gently squeezed his arm as they took Clarice’s body.

  Bryce followed him to the solar. His brother’s homecoming had been tarnished by Clarice’s death, but Royce could not contain the joy within him. When he closed the door, he threw his arms around Bryce and thumped him soundly on the back before holding him at arm’s length and looking him over. He had lost weight. “I had thought you dead— killed by Lyndle.”

  Bryce’s brows drew together. “Lyndle?”

  Royce glanced at the door as footfalls passed. He held up his finger until they were alone again. He did not wish to be disturbed. “Aye, ’twas our uncle behind the at
tempt on your life.”

  Bryce scrubbed his hands down his face. “I do not understand. You say Lyndle attempted to kill me?”

  Royce wished there were words to comfort his brother but knew only God and time could do that. He had so many questions, but Bryce needed time to grieve. And would need answers himself. One thing he had to know. “Mother and father, were they rescued also?” A glimmer of hope flickered in his soul as he awaited his brother’s reply.

  Bryce stared off. “I lay near death for weeks. Much of the first weeks, I have no recollection. All I know is what the healer has told me. She and her husband prepared Mother’s and Father’s bodies, but when they came to mine, they saw I still lived—though barely. They buried the carcass of a deer in my place. Then, in the night, they slipped me out through the bolt-hole.”

  Royce led him to a chair, his hope for his parents gone. “Why? Did they know it was Lyndle?”

  Bryce leaned back and stretched out his legs. “Nay, they did not know whom to trust. They took me away until I was well enough to travel and could decide for myself what to do.”

  “So you came to confront our uncle?” Royce leaned forward, anxious to hear Bryce’s reply and still not believing he sat before him.

  Bryce’s pale complexion and sunken eyes gave witness to how close to death he had been, and eerily reminded him of Brithwin. “Truly, I was not sure if what I remembered was real or one of my nightmares.”

  Royce shook his head slowly. “I do not know how the old couple carried your hulking body out of here. God must have given them Samson’s strength.” Although that same body had withered to much less.

  “Something like that.” Bryce attempted a smile. “They brought their sons to help. But you? Last we’d heard, you were killed in battle. How is it you sit before me?”

  “That was just one of Edmond’s lies.” Royce shifted in his chair. He would have to tell him about Clarice. He hated to add to his pain. Royce cleared his throat. “Did you love Clarice?”

  “’Twas a marriage of convenience.” Bryce shrugged. “You know we were betrothed as children.”