14. The First Insinuation
XIV
THE FIRST INSINUATION
The keep was quieter after midnight, but not silent.
Thornwyck never slept; it only held its breath until the next terrible order was given.
It had been nine months since Lord David’s birth, and Erik hadn’t spoken with Seren since, though every time he saw her, he wished he could tell her he was truly indebted to her for taking his son under her wing.
Ragnar spoke too fondly of her. Erik had thought of her too often. He told himself to stop, but he had made a place for her in his heart. He wouldn’t allow himself to cut her out.
Erik climbed the final steps to the middle level of the keep and walked the corridor to the council chamber, where Lord Henry had summoned him.
The guards outside looked uneasy. That was the first warning.
The second came with the smell—wine, heavy and spoiled, leaking through a crack in the door.
Erik let out a long, low exhale. He glanced at a guard who gave him no indication of what to expect.
“Enter,” Henry barked.
Erik stepped inside.
The council chamber was lit by only two candles, pools of wax bleeding down their sides.
Papers were scattered across the table, a goblet overturned near Henry’s elbow.
The lord slouched in his chair, one hand holding another goblet, the other tracing the rim of his dagger against the table edge in a steady, grating rhythm.
It was his father’s dagger, one Henry brandished when he was angry and meant for someone to die in his wrath.
“Commander Payen de Montfort,” Henry said, slurred and smug. His tone was measured, but his eyes were unfocused. “You return from the border campaign victorious, I hear. I was unable to attend your homecoming as I was with my wife.”
Erik bowed slightly, wondering what prompted the lord’s late-night call. “As you commanded, my lord. The Danes withdrew from Norfolk’s borders; they never came ashore. I understand your absence. Your matters with Lady de Thornwyck are more important than the word of yet another campaign victory.”
“Ah,” Henry murmured, leaning back. “Always as I command, isn’t it, Payen de Montfort. Always loyal.” He lifted the goblet, found it empty, and chuckled.
He tossed the cup aside. Its reverberating clang bounced from wall to wall. “Tell me, de Montfort—loyalty—how far does it stretch for you?”
Erik stayed still. He knew better than to answer a question that wasn’t really one. He needed to gather as much information as possible before speaking.
Henry’s gaze slid toward the hearth. “Lady de Thornwyck has been spending her prayers in the chapel with my son,” he said. “And your boy . . . Isn’t that strange?”
The word “your” dragged like a threat.
Erik’s throat tightened. “Lady de Thornwyck prays daily for your house’s fortune, my lord. My boy—Ragnar—sometimes reads the Psalter nearby with Father Osbert. You granted such permission. She likely saw him and took pity. He tells me he is a quiet company for Lord David.”
Henry laughed again, this time with a sinister undertone. “Quiet company? For whose benefit, I wonder?” His eyes lifted, sharp now, cold and bright. “Tell me, Commander, did you send her there? To soften her toward you? Toward your boy?”
“No, my lord.”
Henry’s head tilted. “No?”
“I did not ask her to go,” Erik said evenly, steering the conversation away from why Henry held him as his most trusted aide unless he had to mention it.
“Why should I believe you? You liar! I heard you like sniffing flowers with her in the garden.”
Erik forced himself to remain calm—he took a nonchalant approach as if he was just doing his duty. “She said she needed fresh air. Lord David had been restless in the womb. I knew you did not want her to be without an escort, so I escorted her for a few moments to the garden.”
He emphasized what Henry wanted to hear.
“I was loyal to your command. We did not sniff flowers. The conversation went like this: She told me kingcups were her favorite flower. I told her they were Astrid’s favorite flower. Then I told her we needed to return to the keep. She obliged.”
Henry rubbed the hilt of his dagger against the stubble on his jaw.
“No,” he shook his head. “You lie to me.”
“I do not lie,” Erik said, looking straight ahead.
“Did you know my wife was with your child in the chapel, that she had gone to the attic?” Henry snarled.
Erik toed the line with the truth, knowing too much would get them all killed and too little would likely end the same way.
“Ragnar told me that Lady de Thornwyck came to the attic. Perhaps she heard rustling above her room and went to see what it was. His room is directly over her chamber, and she has a soft heart for children. Her past prayers have shown that.”
The dagger stopped its tapping. Henry watched him, studying the stillness in his face, the absence of fear. “You think I’m a fool,” he said softly.
“I think you are a man who sees all,” Erik replied. “And so you know I would not dare look twice at your wife, nor she at me. Nor would I ask her to mother my son.”
Henry’s mouth twitched. “‘Would not dare.’ But perhaps she dares. Perhaps she’s tired of piety and wants something more . . . Norseman.”
Erik wasn’t going to indulge the implicit accusation.
In Erik’s silence, Henry grabbed the dagger again, twirling it lazily between his fingers.
“My mother once took a stable boy to her bed while my father was away at war. They said it was love.” His smile could curdle blood.
“My father said it was treason. He made me watch them bleed and scream until God threw their sinful souls to the fires of Gehenna.”
Henry’s gaze turned inward. “I was young and stupid, thinking my mother deserved mercy. But my father gave me discernment. Made me see through the rot of so-called love and a woman’s loyalty.”
He grabbed another nearby goblet.
“Everyone lies, Commander, unless you put enough fear in them to speak truth, thinking it will save what they most treasure, whether it’s their life or . . . ”
His statement faded to nothing before he took a long sip. He grabbed the hilt of the dagger before plunging into the table.
The blade’s tip struck with a sharp thunk.
“Don’t speak to me in lies, Payen! I see it all.” Henry’s voice dropped. His lip curled. “So . . . Does my wife long for another man?”
The words were a knife pressed to Erik’s throat. He let the silence stretch before replying. “She seeks your favor, not my company. I am nothing in her eyes. Were you not satisfied with the tests and reports of your wife’s loyalty and support of your lordship?”
Henry rose too fast, the chair scraping the floor. “You defend her too quickly.”
Erik met Henry’s eyes, calm, meeting the storm.
“You asked for truth, my lord. That is all I offer.” It was time to bring up Henry’s upper hand.
“You hold my son’s life in exchange for my obedience.
Why would I lie? I’ve already lost my wife in making such a mistake.
I’d give my life for my son’s, you know this.
You’ve put enough fear in me for only the truth to come through my lips.
I only hope my obedient victories and my honesty are worth the life of my son. ”
For a long time, Henry stared at him. Then he smiled a slow, crooked, false smile.
“Soft hearts, Commander,” he said with red-streaked eyes. “They bleed easily. See that yours does not, or I’ll rip your son’s from his chest.”
He turned his face away, reaching for the wine jug to refill his goblet. The dismissal was implied and clear.
Erik bowed in a stiff motion and left the council chamber.
Outside the door, the guards exhaled like men who had forgotten how.
Erik ascended the stairs in silence, his boots scuffing against the stone.
When he reached the upper corridor, he stopped by the small, uneven door that led to the attic.
He wanted to see Ragnar. It had been too long, but in the state Henry was in, he couldn’t chance it. Not without Henry’s permission.
He walked the corridor to his room beside the lord’s chambers.
He opened it quietly, but heard murmurs behind him.
He turned. Seren came from the garderobe at the other end of the corridor, dressed in dark robes, with bare feet, a bruise on her cheek and eye, and a split lip—likely taking the brunt of Henry’s paranoid rage about their time in the garden and her time with Ragnar.
They locked eyes. Isolde muttered something behind her. Margot gently took her arm.
Erik’s jaw clenched. He swallowed hard. Disgust sat on the edge of his tongue at what Henry had done to her.
“Milady,” Margot whispered, trying to move her along. Her whisper echoed down the long corridor.
Godric glanced between Erik and Seren.
Erik couldn’t trust Godric to keep silent, not after Henry’s outburst. He dipped his chin in Seren’s honor.
Tried to say goodnight, but anger had his voice in a vice.
He entered his room without looking back, though his soul begged him to gain one more glance at the strong, defiant woman who’d carved a piece of his heart out for her.
He pulled off his surcoat and chainmail. Sat on the bed. Took off one boot at a time. Ran his hands through his hair, wished for his war braids, and exhaled through tight teeth.
What had he become?
A man who stood aside while the people he loved were murdered, beaten, and struck down.
It seemed so, but he was a Norseman.
Though Henry had tried to strip it from him and clad him in a Norman facade, he’d take his revenge for his settlement, for his wife, for his son, for Seren.
He had obeyed too long. Dressed in their colors. Spoke in their tongue. Bound his hands while they beat his soul.
No more.
He’d kill Henry.
When David was old enough to inherit his father’s title and his power, he’d make his lordship suffer.
But the boy needed to be old enough and proven in leadership to avoid full war at every border and prevent a loss.
He knew how women and children fared under conquerors, and he wanted none of it for Ragnar, Seren, or David. And the young Lord David needed to prove himself to keep his mother at Thornwyck and not have King William reappoint her in another political marriage arrangement.
His hand curled into a fist, and he drew his knuckles along his jawline.
“One day,” he whispered.
But until then, they needed to survive.
The wind hissed through the arrow slit window—a sound like the keep itself warning him:
Henry had seen too much, heard too much. And next time, it would not be wine dulling his blade.