Page 52 of The Thornwyck Rose

“He hurt David,” he wept. “He’s just a boy. He’s just little.”

“I know.” She kept her voice low, steady. “You protected him. Now let me protect you.”

He sagged into her as his chest still heaved. She turned her head—and saw David, pressed into the corner of the chapel wall, blood dripping down his chin. He was cradled in his nurse’s arms but staring straight at her. His eyes were wide with confusion, with pain, with betrayal that she hadn’t come straight to him.

She ached. She ached so deeply she thought her ribs would break from it. One son bled, and the other was about to bleed more.

Ragnar was going to be punished severely for what he’d done, though she doubted he’d lose his life because he was the only leverage Henry had over Erik.

She guided Ragnar to David’s bench and stroked his cheek as he settled. His fists were clenched, his jaw tight. She kissed his forehead.

“You must be still now,” she whispered. “I need to tend to David.”

Bertrand groaned behind her and struggled to rise, and Isolde went to help Bertrand.

Seren turned to David. He reached for her the moment she approached. She gathered him into her arms, and he held on like a noose.

His blood pressed warm against her neck. His body shivered in her arms. She rocked him gently as his breath hitched in little sobs.

“It’s all right,” she whispered into his hair. “I’ve got you, my sweet boy.” She wished she could promise no more harm would come to him, that she could protect me, but there was no use in lies.

She walked him over to Ragnar. Without hesitation, David reached for him. Ragnar extended his trembling arms. She passed David to him slowly and brushed both their hair as they clung to each other. She kissed each crown as the ache spread throughout her body.

She glanced at Father Osbert, standing across the chapel in silent judgment, having witnessed it all. Worry etched into his brow as his gaze fell to Ragnar. He knew what was about to happen, too.

Lord Henry was told within the hour.

Ragnar was bound and lashed at the post by the barracks.

Erik was made to watch, forbidden to interfere, and ordered to say nothing.

David had run to the nursery window when the shouting began despite Seren’s attempts to keep him in his cot.

His screams matched Ragnar’s—every time the whip cracked, David cried louder.

“Stop! Please!” David sobbed.

Seren held him in her arms, but he writhed to break free. She wrapped her body around his to stop him from running. He beat his fists against her chest, screaming for Ragnar.

When the last lash fell, Seren still held David tight. His small fists had stopped, but his breath came in hiccupping sobs. His voice was raw from crying.

“Why did they hurt him?” he asked, eyes swollen. He finally let Seren tend to his lip, though his gaze was distant.

She had no sweet answer to give him. Because what answer could a mother give in a house where kindness was punished, and loyalty was bled from boys?

So, she told him the truth—a hard truth—at four years old.

“Because this world is cruel.”

His small lip pouted.

Seren lifted his chin and whispered with tears in her eyes, “But maybe one day, when you are a man, you can change it.”

His gaze hardened as if he heard her, but couldn’t quite understand in his traumatized state. She pressed a kiss to his cheek, and he remained silent.

He ate in the nursery with others and went to bed early. She kissed his brow and Aveline’s. Their arms wrapped around her neck and didn’t let go until they both fell asleep. She kissed Vala in the crib and left them all with the nursemaids.

By supper, Bertrand was seen limping through the bailey with a cane and a bandaged wrist.