Page 58 of The Thornwyck Rose

Her heart twisted for him.

It didn’t need to be that long.

She knew that.

Everyone knew that.

But Henry would never pass on the chance to punish Erik with silence, with distance, with exile. Ragnar’s defiance had been a boy’s crime, but the price was paid in the slow torment of a father.

“Fellow Lord of Shrewsbury revolted against the King. The crown has called us to put it down,” he said, a knot in his throat.

She pulled him close for one last embrace, rose to her toes, and kissed his cheek as a gesture of friendship between them. She lingered in her kiss, more than she should have.

His hand graced her lower back, but he didn’t pull her as close as he did in the stairwell. It was for the better. He was only—and only ever could be—a friend.

There was so much she wanted to say, but all she could whisper against his cheek was, “You will be with us in heart, Erik. Ragnar will know his father loves him.” She rested her forehead against his temple. “Return to us safely.”

His fingers firmed against her back as he held her gaze, questions resurfacing. If only she could grant him his answer. Yes, she wanted his kiss, more than anything, but she had to survive for her children. She had to remain in a place where she knew she would not falter. So, again, she lied to herself: Erik did not love her. It was the wine. It was the memory of Astrid. It was his nature to woo the wives of Lord Henry.

And besides, time was always a thief.

And with Erik, there would never be enough of it.

Tomas’s shadow told her this time was up.

She slipped back into the nursery, her fingers slipping off Erik’s cheek through his soft grasp. They held each other’s gazes, speaking words they could never say.

She closed the door, and he turned on his heels just as Tomas came into sight.

XXII

THE SOFT REJECTION

THORNWYCK KEEP, JULY 1090

Erik stoodby the torch-lit narrow window slit of his room. The sound of hooves faded into the village road beyond Thornwyck’s gates. Distant thunder rolled in the hills. He did not move. His hands, still gloved, hung loose at his sides, but his jaw was tight.

He had stayed at his post long after Tomas returned to pacing the corridor. Long after Seren disappeared behind the nursery door, as if nothing had passed between them.

The morning would be there before he knew it, and he’d be on horseback once again, leaving the keep. Leaving Ragnar. Leaving Seren, David, and the girls. Unable to say what he meant. Unable to undo what he’d done.

The summer night had been colder than most, seeping under armor and skin, reaching bone. But he hadn’t felt the cold’s touch—not when her fingers cupped his cheek.

He closed his eyes, jaw tightening harder.

“Friend.”

That was what she’d said. That was her word, her boundary for him.

She had called him“friend”because that’s what he was to her. After he’d given a kiss to her neck, he had almost kissed her lips—an uninvited kiss, an unearned kiss.

His hand clenched into a fist.

She had been kind—merciful enough not to shame him for it, to let it pass in silence and even kiss his cheek as a gesture of forgiveness.

But he’d seen it. The shift in her eyes. The way she’d guarded her voice, softened her tone, made her escape gentle so he could keep his dignity. She had offered him trust—and he had mistaken it for something more because he had longed for it.

He pressed his head against the cold stone beside the window, the torchlight flickering across his back like distant flame. She had only wanted to speak plainly. She had asked about the hall and council chamber—not for intimacy, not for affection, not for him—but so she could return to her secret passage, to her room after sneaking to the attic to see and care forhisson.