Page 88 of The Thornwyck Rose

“You want to see your mother?” Lord Henry asked David.

David gulped and nodded. Tears misted his eyes. David stood tall—too tall for a boy his age—but his hands wrung in front of him like a servant awaiting punishment.

“Of course. Of course,” Henry said with a chuckle and patted David on the head as if nothing were the matter. If the lords had not been there, Henry would have beaten David till blood came. A fake smile rose on his lips as he turned to Lord Richard and Lord Hugh. The lords of Stafford, Shrewsbury, and Warwick stood in silent judgment.

Henry flicked a wrist toward Erik and then to Geoffrey with a slight nod. “Only the best to escort my heir. Commander, and Master, go with him, ensure he arrives safely, and then return.”

They walkedin silence through the darkening corridors. Servants dashed, lighting the wall sconces. David walked ahead of them, one hand on the stone wall, the other clenched into a small fist. His shoulders trembled, but he made no sound. He was too much his mother’s son for that.

The path to Seren’s chambers stretched long and empty. Cold drafts whistled through the corridor's arrow slits that served as windows.

Erik glanced at Geoffrey but said nothing.

They stopped at Seren’s door.

Geoffrey stayed a step back. The torches left his face half-shadowed, but his hand rested on the hilt of his blade from habit. The former commander’s stance was stiff. His jaw locked.

Godric bent to open it for the boy without question, but David was faster. He pushed it open and slipped inside. He locked eyes with Erik.

They longed for something.

Erik’s brow furrowed at the unexpected call in David’s eyes. He stepped forward, but David vanished into the room.

Erik reached for the door handle and pulled it closed. He wished he could enter, kiss Seren’s wound, and tend to her bruises. If only Godric were there, he might have been able to stand in the doorway, but with Geoffrey, he turned around. The two knights walked in silence down the corridor until they came to the stair landing.

Erik peered at Geoffrey again.

This time, Geoffrey peered back. “Ask the question.”

Erik narrowed his eyes.

“Why?”

Geoffrey took a deep breath and straightened his back.

“I hate you, Norseman.” Geoffrey spat.

Erik didn’t flinch.

“You are a pagan in my company. A war dog in Norman colors. Lord Henry handed my command, my place in Thornwyck, and somehow—somehow—you held it with unstained victory.”

Geoffrey curled his lip in disgust.

“I would have no greater pleasure than to see you dead, your boy too.”

“Why?” Erik whispered again. The same single word, still offering nothing.

“You called her Lady Seren,Payen.”

Geoffrey’s use of Erik’s Norman name did not escape Erik—his name meant pagan, and that is exactly what Geoffrey thought of him.

Geoffrey shook his head. “Maybe it was shock, but she let you get too close. I think you whispered a warning to her. I heard the tears in her voice and saw her knuckles pressed white.”

Erik peered behind him to make sure they were alone.

“Why?” he repeated, giving nothing away.

Geoffrey squared his shoulders. For once, there was no heat in his gaze, only a resolve. “Because . . . she needs to live,” he whispered.