Page 8 of The Thornwyck Rose

Her eyes stung; her unshed tears blurred her vision. Nothing good was to come of the night. She knew it would most likely hurt, and as the lord had said, she would bleed more than her mother had told her she would.

The lord’s chamber opened before her; Henry half-pushed her inside and shut the heavy wooden door behind them with a heavy slam, as if truly sealing her fate.

The silence that followed did not last as long as she had expected. She was in the den with a hungry lion. She took abreath to calm her fears and remove the mist from her eyes. If the Lord Jesus could face his executioners at the cross, she could face this lord and his cruelty.

Tears would come, but she would weep later when she was alone in her room.

IV

THE FATHER’S LOVE

THORNWYCK KEEP, AUGUST 1085

Payen’s gazelingered on the oak door to the lord’s guest chamber, just down the hall from the lord’s, for the entire undressing and even as the guests had been led away from the great hall. Their laughter echoed faintly against the new stone wall.

He’d walked past Lord Henry’s guards, down the narrow hall to the guest chamber, his room for most nights, shut the door behind him, and his sword-belt and helmet were on the table, where he’d placed them earlier that day before changing into his noble’s uniform.

Though he donned a noble knight’s surcoat, Henry had refused to grant him land or a title, just the position of Commander of the Guard, and he kept him like a pet in his keep.

Payen removed his gloves and set them beside hishelmet. Removed his surcoat and chainmail, placed them on one of the beds in the room. The basin water was cold as he cupped it into his hands and washed the day’s grime from his face.

His body ached from the journey, from the long days on horseback, the endless watching, and the weight of armor. His muscles longed for rest, for the comfort of the keep’s guest cot and the warmth of wool blankets—just one night of peace.

But from the wall adjoining the lord’s chamber came a sound he knew too well: a muffled whimper.

Then Henry’s voice, low and harsh:“Keep your mouth shut.”

Payen closed his eyes. He’d heard that sequence too many times before. The walls always told the same story. He had trained himself to shut it out, but tonight the sound dug under his skin. The guest beds lined the opposite wall, but he did not lie down.

Her voice had changed since she’d come to the keep—earlier, she’d spoken with the fire of a woman who knew her mind, rich and certain, the kind of voice that carried conviction even when the body trembled. But inside the keep, it was barely more than a whisper, breaking under the weight of obedience.

Payen swallowed hard.

He had seen the lord’s wives weep before, heard the same cries echo behind the same walls—but something in Seren’s voice unsettled him. He thought of the marchland woman who’d stood so still beneath a hundred staring eyes, even as she was stripped of her dignity. Now, that same woman was forced to whisper for mercy to a man who didn’t deserve to say her name, but was the only one who could. She was only ever to be Lady de Thornwyck to Payen, given his lesser status.

He pitied her—but it was more than pity.

It was respect.

The kind of admiration a warrior learns to feel for those who walk knowingly into their own undoing to save their fellow host. She had come to Thornwyck for peace for the Welsh chiefdoms, knowing what peace would cost. And though her body might bend beneath Henry’s will, Payen knew her spirit would not break. He hoped that when Henry killed her, she would die like Astrid, with pride in her soul and conviction in her eyes.

Another muffled cry.

He left the room.

The stairs to the attic were narrow, the air growing hotter and thicker as he climbed in the summer night.

Baldwin stood at attention outside the little door, spear in hand, his eyes wary beneath his helm.

“May I see my son?” Payen asked quietly.

“Do you have the lord’s permission?” Baldwin’s voice was clipped but softer than his words.

“He is with his new wife,” Payen said, not quite a plea but close.

“You know the rules,” Baldwin muttered.

Payen hesitated, jaw tightening.