Page 15 of The Thornwyck Rose

Payen hoped she said nothing that would put her life in jeopardy. The lord was known to have spies who reported back on what was said and done.

“I have come under sorrowful pretense, I am afraid,” Seren began.

Her voice was still the false meek one she had claimed upon arriving at Thornwyck. Or perhaps her strong, sultry voice, which had haunted his dreams, was the act, and she truly had a meek voice.

Not that it mattered.

Seren continued. “A little girl was caught stealing. She has paid for her crime per Lord Henry’s law. I have come to return her body for burial. Is her family here?”

Payen swept the villagers.

Slowly, fingers pointed toward a house near the center square.

Seren dipped her chin to them in thanks and headed toward the house. But Payen held his hand in front of her to block her path. “Milady, we are in a village. You have jewels and gold, and are the wife of a lord they fear. You cannot march off by yourself.”

Seren lifted her chin. “If they fear my husband, they will not touch me,” she said, her sultry voice peeking out as she locked eyes with him. “Please remove your hand.”

He sighed. “You are my responsibility, milady. You and your unborn child. Do as I say.”

Seren narrowed her eyes. “You are not Lord Henry, Commander de Montfort.” There it was. The voice he’d never stop hearing. “Lord Henry ordered me to come here, bury the child, and explain to the girl’s mother why her child is dead. Do not hinder me from carrying out the lord’s orders.”

Payen should have expected it from a woman from the Welsh Marches, but it still made him shift his weight. She had been so quiet and submissive for the past few months she’d been married, he’d almost forgotten who she had been. It seemed like she never forgot.

“Then I am to be your shadow,” he said.

She nodded.

His hand dropped.

Payen knocked on the door for Seren. No one came, so he opened it and entered. “We come on behalf of Marcher Lord Henry de Thornwyck.”

“Oh, please,” a broken woman’s voice came from within. “Please not now.”

“Quiet woman,” another hushed voice came—a man’s. “They’ll kill all of us.”

An older man appeared. He ducked his head. “Why have you come?”

“You will need to go to the square, for Lady de Thornwyck has a report to give.”

The man nodded, pulled the woman, likely his wife, up, and then four older children followed. Payen shut the door behind them, but Seren was already speaking to the mother in hushed tones. He hoped her presenceoutside the keep did not give her a false sense of safety. He rushed over to keep her from speaking too much.

“. . . condolences are with you and your family.”

Payen interrupted. “Lady de Thornwyck, please.” He gestured for her to return to the center of the square. She motioned to a set of knights to bring the body. She soon stood in the center with the girl’s body at her feet.

“Lord Henry has ordered me to attend to the body of this thief, oversee the burial, and explain to the thief’s family why the Lord above struck her dead rather than endure a night of torture and a hanging in the morn.”

The murmurs ceased. All eyes turned to Seren. Her handmaids stood at a careful distance, their eyes lowered, their presence as ceremonial as it was required. They dared not speak, though one reached silently to steady the Lady’s cloak as the wind stirred it around her ankles.

Payen kept his hand near his blade.

Seren spoke again. “I prayed the child would receive the suffering meant for her crime of stealing dried apples. The Lord answered with a swift death. Her body remains unbroken. She had no pain, and I believe she is waiting to cross Heaven’s Gate.”

Father Osbert’s lips pursed.

The woman with eyes streaming tears—likely the girl’s mother—stumbled toward Seren. She fell to her knees before the small body and looked up at the lady.

Seren locked eyes with her. “If I have done your child wrong, please spit at my feet, curse my name, and pray God tortures my soul.” Her voice nearly broke.