Page 121 of The Thornwyck Rose

He caught sight of Geoffrey by his side, binding a cut.

His voice rasped out: “Why . . . are you?—?”

Geoffrey paused, linen pulled tight in hand. He met Erik’s gaze without rancor for the first time.

“Because milady once stitched my leg in secret after Lord Henry refused me a physician for speaking the truth in front of the bishops,” Geoffrey said. “She treats every wound as if the soul beneath it matters.”

He wrapped the linen around Erik’s arm, slow and steady.

“I hate you,” Geoffrey admitted. “For what you took from me. You are a pagan. A foreigner. Landless. Wifeless. Title-less. No birthright. A man I thought beneath us . . . Beneath me.”

His jaw tightened.

“But she corrected me tonight. Everyone bleeds. Everyone is a soul before the Lord.”

Erik’s breath trembled.

Seren stroked his brow, gently grounding him when his eyes drifted.

“You are still a pagan,” Geoffrey said, knotting the linen, “but you have my respect—as a warrior and as a fellow man.”

He sat back, wipinghis hands.

“Get some rest, Montfort. You’ll have to earn back your rank one day.” He smirked faintly. “But that’s a problem for later.”

He rose, dipped his head to Seren, then to David. “You have my loyalty, Lord David. I’ll see your orders carried out for siege preparations.”

“Thank you,” Seren said softly. “For saving his life.”

Geoffrey snorted. “He taught me how to treat battle colds. I owe him for not allowing me to spill innocent blood and sparing my life in the process. And—” he paused at the door, glancing back, “I’ll give Ragnar leave when I see him. The boy will want to come.”

Erik’s eyes snapped open—raw, blurred, desperate.

“He’s… alive?” he rasped as Geoffrey left.

Seren nodded. Her throat tightened. “Forgive me for lying,” she whispered, touching his cheek. “It was the only way to keep him safe.”

Erik’s eyes closed again, tears slipping sideways into his hair. He mumbled something as Seren stroked his cheek.

Father Osbert stepped toward the door. “I must tend to Lord Henry,” he said. “Otherwise, rumors will spread. Call for me if he worsens.” He slipped out.

Margot and Isolde hovered, unsure.

“Go reheat the stones,” Seren said softly. “And bring more warmed wine.”

They left with quick curtsies.

The chamber hushed, leaving only the crackle of the hearth and the ragged sound of Erik’s breathing between Seren and David.

Seren placed a kiss on Erik’s cheek, close enough to graze his lips. David glanced her way. Shame simmered on her cheeks, but her son said nothing.

David finished with Erik’s side and moved to his other arm. He threaded the needle with practiced fingers, then eased Erik’s arm across his lap.

Erik winced. His eyes cracked open—barely slivers—but they found Seren first, then David. He tried to speak; only a raspescaped.

“Easy,” David murmured. “This will sting.”

He cleaned the wound with vinegar. Erik hissed but didn’t pull away. His body shook from cold more than pain.