Page 26 of The Thornwyck Rose

THE SECRET SAVIOR

THORNWYCK KEEP, APRIL 1086

The keep’sgreat hall echoed with the clink of goblets and the clatter of servants’ boots, but none dared speak too loudly. The nobles loitered around the high table, feigning ease. Bishop Alaric from London had come to inspect the Marcher Lord’s affairs and to see if God truly favored the Lady de Thornwyck, as the rumors had spread about her prayers.

Commander de Montfort leaned against a tall column, watching the flames shift in the hearth. It had been less than a month since his time with Seren in the garden. She had asked his name. No one had asked that. No one had ever said thank you for risking his life to save them, for losing his wife. She had. She’d nearly cried at the injustice done to him. It made him remember who he was. He was Erik Bjornsson, though the world called him Payen de Montfort, Lord Henry’s blade, his lord’s shadow.

He hadn’t lied to her. She was his only friend in the keep, perhaps since Astrid, and that was a dangerous feeling.

Erik hoped Seren had a boy for her sake and that she lived for the child’s. He strained to hear a cry or silence as he remembered the last wife who’d borne Henry an heir. The lord made sure she didn’t survive after the boy died. Screamshad rung down the same halls—pleading until they weren’t. He had stood in the hall then, too—his fists clenched, his will to help had been leashed. Henry had not allowed a priest. Had denied the midwife the herb. Watched her die to prove a point.

The same point he was trying to make now.

Seren might meet a similar fate. The thought of watching servants bury her twisted his gut. But this time, a bishop was staying in the keep. Henry couldn’t deny a priest or the herb to the midwife unless he wanted the bishop to report it to the King.

Henry descended the stairs slowly, deliberately, one hand cradling the newborn to his chest. Blood streaked the sleeve of his fine tunic. His expression was radiant and terrible in its triumph.

“I have a living son,” he announced to the room. “Born under the eye of God. Strong and whole.”

The gathered men erupted in applause. Bishop Alaric crossed his shoulders in blessing. Lords raised their goblets.

But Erik didn’t move.

He watched the blood on Henry’s sleeve. Was it the boy’s or Seren’s? She’d given him a living son; by his logic, with his last wife, Seren should be alive.

The baby boy squirmed beneath the cloth, letting out a loud cry. He was hungry. The child lived. But no one said whethershehad.

He saw Margot racing down the stairs behind Henry, heading to the floors below. Worry etched her brow.

Seren was in trouble.

Likely, she was going to either the kitchen or the cellar’s herb storage.

He slipped into the chapel amid the gathering nobles pressing against Henry. He’d be back as soon as he could. The old rickety priest stairs were in the back corner of the chapel, and he took them three at a time until he got to the store in the cellar. Margot was already there and hadn’t heard him enter.

“No, no, no,” Margot murmured with heavy breaths.

She held a candle and was looking over the herb storage. “How can they all be gone? Oh please, Lord, let there be some left.”

He was taking a chance on Margot. Would she tell Henry that he cared for Henry’s wife? Wanted to help her? He’d seen Margot care more for Seren than Isolde. Maybe he could trust her. Seren’s life was at stake, but so was his son’s,ifMargot told anyone. And if she did, Seren might still be alive to save his son from torture.

He swallowed his fear and stepped forward.

“What are you looking for, Margot?”

She jumped, nearly screamed, but forced it down. “The Lady . . . she is bleeding . . . we cannot get it to stop. We need Yarrow or Shepherd’s Purse, but there is none.” She held the candle over the herb storage. Those two were empty as if someone had emptied them on purpose.

His jaw clenched.

Lord Henry wanted Seren dead, and this was how he was doing it with the bishop seated in the great hall. If Erik helped, he would risk his son’s life to go against the lord’s implicit wishes.

“We have nothing,” Margot said, her eyes darting to each chamber of herbs. “How can we have nothing?”

“Margot, listen to me,” Erik said in a hushed whisper. “You will say you found this.”

He pressed a bag of herbs into her palm—all that he carried on him. “Comfrey. It’s staunched worse in battle, but I don’t know if it’ll hold for childbirth.”

“Oh, Commander, this will save her life.”