Page 56 of The Thornwyck Rose

“I’m sorry, Erik,” she whispered. “Ragnar was so fast. I couldn’t stop him in time.”

“You’ve done nothing wrong,” he whispered. His lipsbrushed the side of her cheek as he whispered. “All this time, you’ve been there when I could not, even tonight. Helped him, cared for him, told him of his mother.”

They swayed in the silence of the spiral stair, half-shrouded in shadow. She glanced down; he, likely up—both listening for witnesses, both knowing the risk.

She touched his forearm, and he pulled her closer.

“I love him as my own,” she murmured. “I want you to know that.”

“I do,” he said. “And I can never repay you.”

“No need to repay love.”

There was a pause full of things unsaid with all that could not be said. She lifted her hand to rest on his chest. She shouldn’t have done that, but his closeness unleashed a sense of belonging that blurred the lines of should versus should not.

“I told him that you wanted to be there, but Lord Henry denied you,” Seren whispered. “I told him you love him and tried to help him understand why today happened as it did.”

His fingers spread wide on her back.

“He is lucky to have you, as we all are,” he said.

Her voice came softer than before, with words spilling out before she could stop them. “We are lucky to have you, too. The potato seed. And the kingcups.”

He drew a breath against her cheek and rubbed her back, firm and warm.

She sank into his strong embrace. She should not have done that either.

She repeated the lies she’d told herself to keep from the should not’s. He only respected her. He didn’t think of her as anything more than an honorable fellow warrior. Or maybe now, it was just the wine he’d had in the council chamber.

But even if he did want her or love her, she was still someone else’s wife.

“Thank you for bringing some peace to Mortlande,” he whispered. Again, his lips brushed her cheek as he whispered. “We are all indebted, milady.”

“I have so much I want to tell you, but I fear someone willcome,” she murmured, pressing the side of her face against his cheek. She was memorizing the way he held her in a firm, careful grip.

His hold across her back tightened. His head dipped, and his lips brushed her neck.

She stilled.

Had he kissed her?

Her breath caught. Her thoughts tangled.

It shouldn’t matter. It didn’t matter.

It was probably just the closeness and his warmth against her.

And if he had, he probably kissed all the wives. Held them all before Lord Henry struck them down. That was why he warned her that they all died wanting kindness, protection, and love.

But he hadn’t said her name in a whispered warning if this was a test.

She told herself it was nothing. Told herself the lie again. Her hand trembled as it rested against his chest.

She had to leave before she wanted more. She could barely keep from glancing at him when he was in the keep, and if they kissed, how would she stay away? How would she keep that from Lord Henry? From God?

“Is the middle floor empty? Who walks the hall?” she asked, forehead pressed to his cheek, realizing only after how intimate and longing-filled that question sounded. She had only asked for her ascent through the nursery’s secret stairs.

He pulled back, his forehead sliding to hers with a question in his eyes.