Page 99 of The Thornwyck Rose

Erik stood as Geoffrey and Isolde came in with the hay. He backed toward the door, never looking away from her. He held it open for Geoffrey to exit, stepped through, and shut it.

The guards stared at his back.

He had to become Commander de Montfort again.

Geoffrey spoke after a few moments of subsequent silence. “You know where I stand with Lady de Thornwyck. Do not make me lie for you.”

“There is nothing of which to lie,” Erik said, turning to face Godric and Geoffrey.

“We were friends. Nothing more,” Erik explained. “I apologized for striking her. In your law, that should be the husband’s burden—is that right?”

“Yes,” Geoffrey said in a drawl. “But Lord David will be old enough soon, and then if she has been whoring with you, let God do with her what He pleases.”

“She is blameless before your God,” Erik said, wanting to knock him to the floor for such an accusation. “Despite what you may believe, women have a different strength that is much stronger than a man's. Perhaps only those whom you call ‘dogs’ can sense as such.”

Geoffrey scoffed and sneered. “Do not get mighty, pagan. You will need me to watch your back in battle. Perhaps I might turn a blind eye.”

“You’ve already tried that,” Erik said and pushed pasthim, knocking his shoulder. He peered back at the Master-at-Arms. “I still lived, and I’ll do it again.”

Geoffrey glared at him. “All that time alone, and you only said an apology?”

Erik had to offer something to remove the doubt. His gaze dipped. “Lord Henry will order me to kill her when we return from the Welsh Marches—victorious or not. She knows it too, but she wishes her son’s reign to begin with peace, not blood, and so I will obey as I always do. I begged her forgiveness for when that day comes.” His eyes met Geoffrey’s.

“And?” Geoffrey asked with a shift in his eyes.

“She forgave me as a friend would because she is a woman who loves and trusts her God more than her own life. And that is why she is blameless, just as you testified before the bishops.” Erik walked down the corridor, but when he didn’t hear footsteps behind him, he looked back.

The Master-at-Arms stared at Seren’s door—hand hovering over the handle.

“Bramber.” Erik’s call echoed down the corridor.

Geoffrey flinched and withdrew his hand. He gave Godric a curt nod and followed Erik. “If what you said was true, pagan, then I believe she will die innocent of whatever Lord Henry accuses her of.”

“We all will,” Erik said. “And I fear then what Mortlande will do when her blood soaks the ground. Many more will die in rebellion.”

Geoffrey grunted in agreement as they descended the spiral staircase to the ground floor. He cast a glance of reconsideration toward Erik, but Erik didn’t care.

Nothing mattered anymore.

He could only hope Henry died, but Henry was only five years older than he was. And though Henry was a skilled warrior and sometimes attended the battle, the lord never fought. Death by age or war seemed unlikely.

The sun hung lower than it should have for the hour, a strange gold spreading across the keep’s entrance like an omen. Erik walked the length of the ground floor, but theweight of what passed behind that chamber door clung to him like blood on his hands.

A wind picked up through the arrow slits.

Down in the yard, the knights and guards were gathering—except Ragnar—the surety in case Erik fell or if he lived.

Horses cried. Metal clanged. Banners shifted. Henry’s campaign would begin before nightfall.

But above them all, on the highest floor, Seren lay still in her chamber, watching the sky darken with war coming to her people. And if her God were listening, He would have to know a divine intervention would be the only savior for them all.

What came next would demand more than steel.

Blood would answer blood.

Neither Thornwyck nor Mortlande would ever be the same.

XXXV