Page 135 of The Thornwyck Rose

Seren grasped his noble’s cloak and pulled him closer, but lowered her head so she would disallow his lips to reach hers.

“I have ached for you for over a decade, Seren.” He lifted her chin. Erik’s gaze faltered between her eyes and her lips.

“If I have your kiss, I’ll never be content with another man’s. I cannot miss what I do not know,” she said.

“And if I have your kiss, I’ll never be able to watch you become a wife to anyone but me,” Erik murmured.

He stroked her cheek and pulled her close with a firm hand on the small of her back.

“Kings can be swayed,” he said. “Even Rufus.”

She grimaced and scoffed. “Rufus? His order has my marriage to him seven days before the Twelfthtide to show the crown’s control over the church. He won’t even honor the one-year-and-one-day tradition of holy men. You think he will respect a plea from a fourteen-year-old lord?” Seren turned her face to the table. He followed her gaze, and his jaw grew taut. “He wants a womb, and an alliance, not a wife, not love. He’s just like Henry.”

Erik’s arms tightened around her as her legs gave way. She melted into his form, and he held her standing, absorbing heartache’s storm like a harbor wall.

Tears gushed from her eyes. Her erratic heartbeat thundered in her chest. The thought of being married to another man like Lord Henry coiled her stomach.

It was the second time she’d lost control of herself. The first was when she thought her children were going to be slaughtered in Henry’s mock attack, and now, when love was in reach, the king snatched it away.

Erik’s forehead pressed hard against hers. “I won’t let him take you.” His breath was hot on her lips. His eyes searched hers. “We’ll go to the Welsh Marches or to Scotland. I’ll take you back to my homeland. We can flee to Ireland.”

“And leave my son on charges of treason? Leave Thornwyck to fall as enemies of the king? Bring Norman war to wherever I am?” Seren sobbed.

Erik’s hand slipped beneath the veil, threading through her hair. His fingers held the back of her head steady as if he vowed to protect her from the world.

“I won’t lose you,” he gritted with glistening eyes.

The heat of his touch grounded her. His lips brushed hers over the mourning veil, and her fingers snaked into his golden, dark locks as they had in her dreams.

The door creaked, and Erik released her instantly to protect her honor and left her breathless and wanting.

David entered with eyes dimmed by worry. He marched to the desk and read the letter again.

He pressed a hand on either side of it and read it a third time.

Seren did not bother to wipe her eyes.

Erik stood leaning against the window, deep in thought.

David blew out a deep breath and walked to his father’s chair and sank into it.

“My answer,” he said, “is this.” He bounced a light fist atop the parchment.

“My great king, I am honored to bequeath my mother to your kingship as your queen in due time.” He paused. His lips pressed thin as he thought. “Please accept this tribute of gold and horses to allow her to stay in Mortlande until she can secure alliances for my sisters and serve in my council until my eighteenth birthday?—”

“No—” Seren said and shook her head. “You are challenging his authority. His judgment will be swift. You’ll bring bloodshed to Mortlande.”

Seren approached her son. “The King grants you privilege to rule in your own right, but if he comes, you will face treason.”

David shook his head. “No, Mother, the King wants loyalty among his lords and wants peace at the borders.” He slid the parchment to her. “He said so himself.”

Erik drew near and ran a finger over the parchment. “Remind him that if Seren leaves, the Welsh might unite and strike again. And if Seren remained here a few years, then maybe by then, King Rufus will find another wife, or perhaps a need will arise for a different marriage.”

David glanced up at him. “You call her Seren?”

Erik’s cheeks flushed. “My apologies, Lord David.” His chin dipped. “Lady Dowager.”

David pressed a smile as he noticed the gloves on the table. “I know you love each other.” He rubbed his forehead before letting his hand drop over the chair’s arm. “Know this,Lord Erik, if it were other nobles in Mortlande, my word would be law. She’d be yours. If it were Marcher Lords, I could bargain, and she’d be yours. But with the King . . . we can only appeal to reason. And to God.”