Page 36 of The Thornwyck Rose

Henry faced Commander de Montfort. “Strip. Show them who you really are.”

Seren’s skin prickled.

Commander Montfort’s jaw tensed as he dipped his chin. “In front of your lady?” he asked, low, not to draw attention.

But Henry chuckled. “This man is worried for milady’s eyes,” he said to the room. “You said yourself, she sees you as nothing. So if you are nothing to her, let her look.”

At that, Commander de Montfort pulled the fine blue surcoat over his head, followed by his chain mail. His fingers were steady as he unlaced the top of his tunic, but Seren could see the tension in his jaw and the lines around his eyes. He pulled his gloves off and the rest of his uniform.

Seren lowered her eyes, not wanting to see his body standing in nothing but loose trousers and boots, but Henry marched over to her and snatched her by the chin.

His grip hurt as he shook her head. “Look, milady. Look at the Norseman and the pagan horns on his skin. He is beneath us.”

She looked as commanded.

“Do you see now?” Henry growled at her.

Black ink marked Commander Montfort’s chest, shoulders, and torso. A knot covered the side of his ribs with points pointing to his heart, his belly, and his back. What looked like a compass with pagan runes laid on his shoulder, and an encircled spearhead marked the other. Dark bands with foreign letters alternating with flesh started at the elbow and went to his fingers. His body was pure muscle beneath the pagan stains, and she had to close her lips and pretend shewould never wonder how such strength could hold her hand and a bloom so gently or how she had felt safer near him than she ever had in her husband’s bed.

“I see, Lord Henry,” she whispered through his squeeze.

Henry ripped his grip from her chin and spoke to the room as he returned to the seat of honor.

“Commander Payen de Montfort’s former name is Erik Bjornsson.”

Seren whispered his real name under her breath as Henry talked. That was the man beneath the Norman uniform, who stood bare-chested before her. That was the man from the garden. The man on the road to Thornwyck. The man at the gravesite. The man who had brought David to her bedside. That was her friend.Erik.

But Henry’s voice cut through her thoughts. “He was with one of the last Norsemen’s settlements in the empire, whichIconquered. He killed so many of my men defending his family that when they finally pinned him down, I made him my mercenary. Then, he was so proficient at killing that I made him my commander.”

Henry shoved Erik’s shoulder. “But you see, his loyalty to me is not true.” He spoke to Bishop Thurstan and Lord Richard. “He gives it only because I hold authority over his family.” Henry’s fingers closed in a slow grip. “He disobeyed once and lost his wife. Now, all he has left is his son.”

Reynard appeared with Ragnar and Baldwin. Each guard held one of Ragnar’s arms and brought him to Henry’s side. Henry grabbed Ragnar’s head of curls and yanked back. “Tell the hall your name and age, boy.”

“My name is Ragnar Eriksson; I’m nine years old,” Ragnar said, his eyes wide and darting between Lord Henry and his half-naked father. His chest pumped, betraying his fast-beating heart.

Cold dread snaked up Seren’s spine and settled in her shoulders. She prayed to God in her heart.“If I have a righteous hand, be with me, Lord. Let no blood be spilled tonight.”

“Now, milady, my brave host, my distinguished guests,” Henry said, cutting through her prayer, with a smile thatwaited for thunder. “Watch me command a Norse warrior. He will do anything for his child. He is not your friend. He is not your commander. He is not worthy of your respect. But I am: Lord de Thornwyck, Marcher Lord of Mortlande, not a pagan Norseman.”

It was the silence that followed that gave her a twitch. The silence that always came before one of Henry’s public reckonings.

“Please, Lord,”she begged in her mind.

Henry stood at the dais like a king enthroned, though he’d never wear a crown.

“I’ll prove it to you.” His voice rang off the stone. “And now Erik Bjornsson, you will kill the guard who dared disobey me, an act of treason it was.”

Lord Richard’s eyes narrowed. Bishop Thurstan readjusted in his seat. They disagreed, but they were going to say nothing to usurp Henry’s authority.

Father Osbert murmured something under his breath, but kept his hands folded tight.

Seren stood near the hearth, one hand over the swell of her belly. She felt the whispers of the child stir beneath her ribs—startled.

The young guard in question stood frozen, too stunned to move. He was barely of age.

Erik snatched the dagger from his boot. His eyes flicked to the young guard, and then to Ragnar, who watched his father with fear etched into his face.

Seren’s heart thundered.