Page 104 of The Thornwyck Rose

He covered his eyes from the sunlight. “When we left Thornwyck, she was alive.”

A breath released from Seren’s mother as if she’d set down the heaviest of loads.

The door flung open, and four men entered the tight room.

“Montfort, if that’s your name, tell me what I want to know, and you may live for now,” the largest one said. His voice boomed.

“Sit up when Chief Madoc speaks to you,” one man yelled.

Erik tried to move, to roll up as ordered, keeping his head against the wall to steady himself. He fought the urge to vomit, but his body retched.

“Get a bucket,” Seren’s mother ordered.

Two blurs rushed toward him, and he finally released whatever was left in his stomach just as the bucket slammed beneath his mouth. Someone wiped his lips.

He curled against the wall and closed his eyes. His head pounded. “I am—” he stopped.

But through the haze of pain, Seren’s voice stirred from memory: “Erik.”

He wouldn’t be Henry’s tool anymore.

The bucket slid back, ready at his silence. But he pushed it away. His stomach was satisfied.

“My name is Erik Bjornsson,” he mumbled, words slurring. “Lord Henry named me Payen de Montfort.”

“A conquered man. Norseman,” one muttered and took hold of Erik’s shoulder as Madoc leaned in, his breath hot and furious.

“My men found you alive when every other Norman bled into the grass. Why? How did you survive when trained knights did not?”

Erik swallowed, vision swimming. “Something struck my helm. I remember the sky . . . then nothing.”

“Convenient,” Madoc snarled. “A commander found alive after battle, calling for my daughter? Sounds like Henry sent you ahead to open our gates from within.”

The man holding him rammed a finger into the inked shaft of Odin’s spear—an oath-mark from another life.

“Wait,” he whispered. His finger dug deep. “It can’t be.”

Erik groaned and pulled away.

The man squeezed his shoulder. “He wears?—”

“It can’t be,” Madoc echoed, shoving Erik’s head into the wall and wrenching his shoulder to examine it.

Erik grunted as his hand curled into a fist.

“Tell me, Erik,” Seren’s mother said, now beside him. Her soft fingers brushed his old wound.

“Did my daughter stitch this?”

Erik swallowed his spit to appease the dry ache in his throat. “Yes.”

“Do you know what she did to you?”

Madoc held him fast as if he were going to be a threat to his wife.

“She gave me her star,” he whispered. “I told her I would carry her with me wherever I go. She said she gave them to her brothers so they would not miss her when she was taken away.”

Madoc slammed his head back against the wall.