Page 38 of The Thornwyck Rose

He addressed Erik. “Dress yourself, Norseman.”

Then he swept his arm toward the stairs to dismiss him. “This was a test—and you passed. For now.” He turned his attention to Baldwin. “Take the whelp back to the attic.”

Henry’s sights refocused on Seren. He grabbed her hands as a loving husband would, but the strength in his grip nearly crushed her bones.

“Milady, I am fortunate to have such a pious wife. Always looking to the Lord. It is no wonder he blesses you and answers your prayers.”

The words were right. The underlying tone was not.

The room applauded, and Henry’s ears turned red as his eyes narrowed.

She would pay for the peace she brought, but she hoped it had garnered some favor with the church and the neighboring Wellenford as well as built loyalty among the guards. She was willing to risk her life for them, so the question remained: would they risktheir lives for her?

“Father Osbert,” Henry said, still holding on to Seren’s hands and eyes still holding her gaze. “Lead the prayer for Bishop Thurstan and Lord Richard’s safe return.” He took Seren to her seat beside his seat of honor on the dais.

Erik grabbed his sword-belt, his attire, and headed up the stairs to change, following behind Ragnar and Baldwin. He kept his head down, and for that, Seren was thankful. She wanted nothing that would further endanger her or Ragnar.

Father Osbert led the hour-long prayer with perfection. Erik had slipped in unnoticed, fully clothed once again, and afterward, Henry and Seren bid farewell to their guests.

When the drawbridge had raised, Henry half-dragged Seren back inside the keep. He dismissed Margot and Isolde to their alcove attached to Seren’s room and dragged Seren up the stairs with a crushing grip on her hand.

The door slammed shut behind her. She had played his game, and she was winning. But the price for that victory would be blood and bruises.

XVI

THE FIRST LONGING

THORNWYCK KEEP, JUNE 1087

The hallstill smelled of iron and incense after Erik had watched the lord pull his wife up the stairs. The echo of Henry’s voice still pulsed in his ears:

“He is beneath us.”

Henry had spat his name like rotted meat in the hall. He could still hear the scrape of boots on stone, the quiet that falls when a man is made to tremble in front of those who would hold his life in their hands.

The young guard he’d nearly cut down—Tomas—lingered at the edge of the room, head bowed, his spear trembling against the floor.

Erik approached him, again clad in his noble knight’s uniform, and put a hesitant hand on his shoulder.

“You would have truly killed me?” Tomas asked, his voice raw.

Erik’s eyes met his. “Yes.” His whisper was just as raw.

Tomas swallowed, eyes flicking toward the stairs where Henry and Seren had gone. “I—I honor you, Commander, but . . . I love my life more.”

Erik nodded and then said quietly, “Would you rather die quick and clean by my hand—or see a boy, my son, tortured and killed before your eyes, and then have us sharehis fate?”

Tomas didn’t answer, so Erik continued.

“Lord Henry wanted a spectacle. He wanted to show that he could make a man kill for the look of it and to showcase what happens if one disobeys.”

The young man blanched. His spearpoint dipped.

“It would have been one hurt, Tomas, and then you would have been with your God. I wouldn’t have made you suffer.”

Tomas rubbed his jaw with his shoulder as if he were fighting back from the edge of death.

“Well, Lady de Thornwyck shamed us,” Tomas said. “Said I had sinned and needed to repent. I didn’t do anything wrong.”