Page 97 of The Thornwyck Rose

Margot turned her back to them at the hearth as Erik peered over his shoulder.

Godric closed the door halfway, his pointed glance giving unspoken permission to speak, but to be quick.

A soft, private silence fell.

“Forgive me, Lady Seren,” Erik said.

“There is nothing to forgive,” she said with a sad smile. Her fingers grazed his beard, and he let them, his grasp sliding to her wrist and down her arm. For four years, he’d missed her touch, and to have it again was almost more than he could bear.

“Whether you return successfully,” she whispered, “he will kill me. And he will makeyoudo it as his commander. Today was a test.”

His throat closed. Tears stung the backs of his eyes. He’d known it all along.

“You know this,” she whispered, reading his mind. Her lips pressed thin.

“Ragnar would give his life for you,” he said. “And I will give mine a thousand times over.”

“I know, but who will protect my daughters and helpguide my son in my absence? They will need you. Do not make them lose their mother, their adopted brother, and their guardian—all in one night.”

He ran his hand up her side and onto her back, pulling her into an embrace. Grief tied his voice as she brushed a tear from his cheek. Their faces were close, and they breathed the same air.

“I can strike him down,” he whispered. He’d thought about how he’d kill Henry more times than he could count.

But to his surprise, she shook her head. “And then you’d be executed for killing a Marcher Lord, Ragnar too, because he is your son, and David would begin his rule in blood with targets on his back from his own men. I came for peace, Erik. I was and am willing to die for it. And . . . I want my son to enter his lordship with the loyalty the Lord God has given him. That is you and Ragnar.”

His jaw clenched. “He’d have you,” he said, “You’d be by his side.” He pleaded; he couldn’t bear watching her die, much less being the one wielding the blade that ended her life.

“IfI lived, I’d go to the next lord who needed an arrangement with the chiefdoms,” she whispered.

He had nothing left with which to argue. “Please.” It was the only word he could muster.

“Promise me,” her voice broke, “you will obey.”

He nodded, but it wouldn’t soothe the nights of guilt he’d carry for the rest of his life. The ache of future loss twisted his throat. He committed her to memory; he wouldn’t have the luxury to hold her in death like he did Astrid, nor mourn her, grieve her, as he had with Astrid.

“I’ve always wondered,” she whispered, studying the pain in his eyes, “your feelings for me.”

He opened his mouth, his voice hoarse, weak.

”I am?—"

But she pressed her thumb gently to his lips, ending his words.

“If you feel for me the way I believe you do, make ourlives easier when that time comes and lie to me now,” she whispered.

Lie? Now? When he wanted nothing more than to tell her how much he loved her? Respected her? Admired her? Missed her? Wanted her for his own?

He stroked the darkening bruise with the backs of his fingers, but if she wished for a lie, he would give it. Yet he would not deny his own heart, not after four years of forcing himself to stay away.

“I have never wished for your touch, milady.” His eyes found hers—they grew wet as she stroked his lips and cheek. “Never dreamed of you, nor envisioned your hair as it was when I first saw you—long and loose—nor have I ever imagined you as mine.” He relished the touch of her against him. “And if you were my wife, I would be as cruel and savage as he is.”

Her eyes shone with the warning of breaking beneath.

At her silence, he whispered a truth, “I only hope your life is easier to bear, as mine will not be.”

Tears slipped free, her mouth twisting in a grimace that tore at him. “Some things never are as we hope . . . or wish.”

He cupped her cheek.