Page 27 of The Thornwyck Rose

“Margot,” he said, still holding her hand, squeezing slightly. His eyes pleaded as much as his words. “Do not mention my name to anyone. Please. I beg you . . . for the sake of my son.”

Margot looked at the bag of herbs in her hand and then back at him. The candlelight revealed the realization in her eyes.

“He wanted her to die,” she whispered.

Her eyes welledwith tears.

“I swear it, Commander,” she said. “On my mother’s grave, Lord Henry will not know it was you who saved Lady de Thornwyck. I found this herb in the store, and it shall not be a lie.”

He nodded. “Then go before it’s too late.”

She ran up the main steps, and he went up the priest’s stairs. The spiral staircase went all the way to the top floor. He could check on Seren if he wanted, with everyone down, but maybe Father Osbert was still up there, given Seren’s condition.

He decided against the bold thought and returned to the great hall. His heart raced as the clamor hit full force. Had anyone seen him? Had anyone noticed he was gone?

The boy was crying, wanting his mother.

Henry was getting fed up with the boy. “I said silence,” Henry screamed, only causing the child to cry louder.

Bishop Alaric lifted his hand. “The boy needs his mother’s milk or that of a wet nurse if you hired such.”

“I hired one, but she is not due for a few weeks, as the birth was early,” Henry said.

"Well," the bishop replied quickly, "with Lady de Thornwyck being of Welsh blood, it’s likely she’s expected to nurse. Go—take your child to your wife, Lord Henry. We shall still be here when you return."

Erik wondered if Lord Henry would decline a bishop’s order.

The lord’s lips thinned and perched into a polite smile.

“Yes, Father,” Henry said through clenched teeth. “I shall do just that.” He held the screaming boy out. But rather than rise from his seat of honor, he turned, eyes seeking one man in the crowd.

Erik stepped forward before he could be summoned.

Henry would take whatever opportunity to reduce his favorite commander to a servant of his legacy—to remind all of them that they lived under his authority, especially after Bishop Alaric had toed the edge of it.

Henry smiled without warmth. “There you are, Commander de Montfort.”

Erik came forward and took the child, poor thing, lightly wrapped and pressed against his cold chain mail, which peeked out from beneath his surcoat.

The baby let out an ear-piercing scream.

“My son has good breath.” Henry laughed, prompting chuckles from the nobles. “Now take the child back to his mother. If she’s still breathing, perhaps she can do something useful and teach him silence,” Henry said and flicked his wrist. “Return here immediately after.”

“As you wish, Lord Henry,” Erik said with a curt nod and ascended the stairs with a screaming baby in tow. Once in the stairway, away from peering eyes, he shifted the child, rewrapped him, and let his little fingers scratch his beard.

“Be good to my son, Ragnar,” he whispered, holding the baby boy close. The warmth turned the baby’s cries to whimpers. “And pray your mother lives.”

Godric stood outside Seren’s doors. His eyes grew wide as Erik approached. “Where is Lord Henry?”

“With the men in the hall,” Erik said. “The boy is hungry, and the wet nurse has not yet come. The lord told me to deliver him to his mother and see that he is fed.”

Godric nodded, opened the door, and let Erik enter. The room reeked of blood and herbs. Father Osbert’s reciting stopped as all eyes, except the midwife’s, turned to behold him.

“Child is hungry,” Godric said, relaying the message.

Margot was cleaning the blood from the floor. Isolde wrung linens in silence. The hearth blazed.

Seren lay pale against the pillows, her eyes closed, her hands still. He refused to glance at her bare legs with the midwife between them. The bronze cross at her throat was dark with sweat and shadow. Her hair was uncovered, with long, loose curls splayed out behind her.