Page 148 of The Thornwyck Rose

Robert chuckled as he stood up. “I haven’t heard a single argument that warrants marriage to such an asset.” He scanned the others. “Half this room has no earldom, and this one,” he pointed to Erik, “has no noble birthright.”

A muscle in Erik’s jaw flexed, but he didn’t flinch. He merely held Robert’s gaze, letting the silence draw taut as the bowstring Robert had just drawn.

“Yet here we all are,” Erik said calmly, lifting his goblet with one brow raised and setting it on the steward’s tray. “Summoned by her son, debating her worth like a coin in a satchel. It seems even men with earldoms believe they must prove something, or they wouldn’t be here.”

Robert’s eyes flicked to David, who simply gave a nod and gestured to Robert. “Speak your argument for my mother’s hand, Marcher Lord of Shrewsbury, unless your argument solely consisted of snubbing the lords assisting your land’s defenses in the conflicts from the central Marches.”

The stewards in the room swallowed hard as their eyes danced between David, Erik, and Robert.

The amusement faded from Robert’s face. “I come on behalf of the king’s stability. You, boy, come with your mother’s skirt in your hand.”

Chairs scraped as the lords shifted in their seats. Even the torchlight seemed to hesitate, as if uncertain whether to burn brighter in defiance or vanish entirely in retreat.

Erik did not stand. His voice slid out calm but deep. His thumb brushed the hilt of his sword—not a threat, just a reminder. The lords at the table noticed.

“I don’t care who you are, you’ll watch your mouth when you speak to Lord de Thornwyck.”

“Who are you, Montfort? I’ve never heard of you.” Robert clenched both fists and spat venom. “Why do you even have a place in this room?”

Erik stood then with palm on his hilt. The fire behind himflared, catching the draft of his movement. The other lords leaned back. They knew who he was.

“You were off in Normandy while your father became my dog. I ended his rebellion. Had he not bent the knee to King William, I would have ended your line.”

The red in Robert’s cheeks mirrored the crimson in Thornwyck’s banners.

“I defeated your father,” Erik continued. “You will be no different.”

Robert growled. “Is that a threat,baron?”

Erik pointed at David. “This is Lord de Thornwyck, Marcher Lord of Mortlande. You called him ‘boy.’Youmade the threat.”

Robert narrowed his eyes and lifted his chin as he addressed David. “I do not need to prove my worth to you. Give me Lady Dowager, or I will assume us rivals until the bitter end.”

Lord Hugh d’Avranches of Chester shifted while Lord Henry de Beaumont scoffed. The barons of Stafford and Hereford folded their hands in their laps with eyebrows raised.

“That is a bold statement, Lord Robert,” David said. He took a sip of wine, not in the least bit bothered. “Considering the rest of us are here to bargain. I would be certain we, who surround your land, will take offense to your ultimatum.”

All eyes fell on Robert. A few nods came. The others spoke their agreement through their eyes.

“Now,” David said after a few moments of heated silence, “I’ll give you one more chance to speak your argument unless you’ve already made it.”

Robert scoffed. “A lord made by mercy, not blood. I’m done here. I don’t need a whore as a wife.”

Erik’s knuckles went white around his sword hilt.

Father Osbert stirred uncomfortably in his chair.

A steward crossed himself.

“A whore?” David asked, cocking his head to the side. “You said she wassuchan asset just moments before.”

Robert sneered. The curl in his lip and nostril rivaled whatthe devil had been imagined to be. “I will be a thorn in your side, boy.”

“Thorns are easily plucked, Lord Robert,” David said. “Should you attack my men or my lands, I will withdraw Captain de Léry from your northern front in the central Marches conflict.”

Erik hid the smirk. David was more than capable of leading Mortlande and defending his own.

Lord Richard of Wellenford cleared his throat. “I’ll withdraw mine as well. And I’ll pray you’ll be able to hold the border on your own. The Welsh are not kind to prisoners of war. Your father got off easy with King William. The Welsh nor King Henry will show you the same courtesy.”