Page 124 of The Thornwyck Rose

“I know,” Ragnar whispered. “I missed you, too, Father.”

Ragnar stayed there, crouched by his father’s side, as sleep held the rest of the world.

But his chuckle broke the silence.

“What is it?” Erik asked.

Ragnar glanced at the sleeping bodies. “Lord Henry’s son, daughters, and wife aren’t in the chapel with his body. They’re with you.”

The slow-crawling memory made its way back to the present: Henry was dead.

No loyal son kneeled beside Henry’s body. No grieving wife held his hand. No one curled against him to hold his soul near.

Henry had ruled like a king and died alone.

But Erik—pagan, outsider, marked by war—had nearly died, surrounded by the people Henry had once claimed as possessions. The boy Henry had chained. The woman he had beaten. The children he had barely acknowledged. They had chosen Erik with love in the shape of sleep, curled around his broken frame like a fortress of breath and blood and bond.

Maybe it was a dream; maybe it was real. Either way, when Erik slipped into sleep, peace met him there.

XLII

THE FIRST MORNING

THORNWYCK KEEP, DECEMBER 1099

Sunlight streamedacross the council chamber, tinged with winter’s chill despite the hearth's embers. Seren blinked awake to warmth at her belly and the comforting weight of a familiar breath at her neck. For a moment, she didn’t move.

Erik’s presence steadied her like an anchor set deep in the waters. She imagined what it would be like to wake beside him always—not as fugitives from war or scandal, but as man and wife. What a foolish imagination she had.

She shifted, untangling herself without waking him. His brow was pale, lips dry but pinker than they’d been the night before. His breathing was steady. She paused just long enough to press a kiss to his mouth—a release of what she had wanted to do for so long.

But she remembered where she was. Her eyes grew big as she retreated. She was a widow, and widows had to mourn for a year and a day, not kiss another man in the few hours after their husbands’ passing. Her mourning had only just begun.

And yet—here she was, tangled in warmth that wasn’t supposed to be hers. She wondered if anyone had entered the night, and a pit opened in her stomach.

After David stitched Erik’s wounds, she barelyremembered the servants entering with her garments that Henry had ordered removed, but nothing more.

Shame came from knowing what the court might say if they saw her here, like this, with him. It could unravel everything she had built for David to take the mantle of Marcher Lord and the peace for which she had sacrificed so much.

She glanced around, saw Ragnar asleep in a chair, her children snuggled against Erik like shields. Margot and Isolde curled up, back-to-back, at Erik’s feet.

She hadn’t meant to fall asleep, not there beside Erik. She swallowed the lump in her throat as she rose and prayed no one had entered during the night, and saw her curled around the man Henry had accused her of being lovers with, dressed in nothing but her chemise. Her hand grabbed the thin fabric at her belly. The whole of the great hall had seen her in it at Henry’s command. She’d never put her garments back on.

The fur made a soft sound as she pulled free. Her daughters barely stirred. Vala and Elen were knotted together, clinging to Erik’s arm, and Aveline’s back pressed against his leg. David lay propped at the lower corner of the pallet, chin tucked to his chest in sleep with Cari in his arms.

Seren smoothed her hair quickly and stepped away, reaching for her mantle, leaving the overdress on the table. She stared at the door and hoped no one had entered in the night. She wrapped the mantle over her shoulders and its warmth replaced Erik’s warmth.

Margot and Isolde stirred. Margot awoke.

“Milady,” she whispered, nudging Isolde awake. “Oh, milady,” she whispered again, glancing around. “Forgive us. We fell asleep.”

“Do you know whether anyone saw me stay the night?”

Margot, up now, shook her head.

Isolde, the same.

“This is not good,” Seren said and paced. “Tell the keep if they know . . .” Her mind blurred from the evening’s events. So much to happen in such a short time. Her eyes kept flicking to her children.