Page 139 of The Thornwyck Rose

Erik laughed, eyes never leaving Seren. “Ragnar, then?”

David grinned as he walked past them. “The ladies are quite taken with him. Perhaps he could give you a few pointers.”

Seren lifted her chin. “His wooing is perfect for me.”

“Not for my ears, Mother.”

A small laugh rippled between them.

David sobered as he rounded the table. “Though I’m happy to see you smiling. And crying happy tears, for once.”

Erik brushed her cheek. “Me too,” he whispered.

She touched the edge of his smile, returning the sentiment, and kissed the corner of his mouth, out of David’s sight. Erik turned, though, at the last moment, catching her full lips before leaning back with a playful smile.

David quickly changed the subject in the silence. “Why are you here, Mother? I thought you’d be asleep.”

“Looking over betrothals for your sisters.” She gestured to the table.

“Any good ones?”

“No,” Seren said and sighed.

“For their sake, I hope more requests come,” David said as he scanned the parchments.

Seren nodded. Erik patted her hand and then brushed her cheek before standing. “Thank you for meeting with me, Lord David.”

“My mother’s happiness is mine. Pull a chair,” David said.

The command startled Margot and Isolde awake.

Then, in a softer voice, “Mother, it’s been a long day, perhaps you should rest. You have an early morning for the last of father’s vigils.”

“And what will you discuss in my absence?” Seren asked. “Perhaps I could be of help.”

David shifted his weight. Seren couldn’t see him unless she peered around the chair’s high back.

“I know you could be, but I want you to sleep for now,” he said.

Seren stood alongside Erik. He helped place her veil back on her head and let it fall across her face. “Dream well, milady.”

He took her hands in his. The dark tattooed lines ran across the backs of his hands and striped across his knuckles, a reminder of his old faith.

“May God bless your work,” she whispered. She hugged David and then left with her handmaidens. At the close of the door, she heard their soft conversation, David speaking:

“If the king finds another bride, we will need to have bargaining power with the Marcher Lords . . .”

Then the door shut.

They were already assuming King William Rufus would not only accept the postponement but also find another bride.

She walked along the corridor, passed Tomas with a nod of her head, and wound the stairs in solemn silence.

Erik had kissed her like his wife, touched her like a woman, and told her she was loved. But none of it would matter if the king said no. They spoke as though her future were still hers to barter. But her price had already been named—land, coin, alliances. She only prayed her daughters would cost less.

Her veil shifted in the candlelight, heavy again, as if mourning what might never be. She wanted to believe in David’s plan, in Erik’s certainty, and in her own prayers.

But that night, she had seen the shape of joy and feared she would carry the ache of its absence for the rest of her life.