30. The Unholy Trap
XXX
THE UNHOLY TRAP
It happened with no warning.
One morning in the month after the attack, Seren was summoned to the hall. Margot and Isolde were behind her. Bishop Thurstan and Bishop Alaric sat at the high table, having traveled at the request of Lord Henry’s pending proclamation. Father Osbert was at his usual corner.
The lords of Stafford, Shrewsbury, Wellenford, Chester, and Warwick had gathered as well.
Seren dipped and smiled and kissed the hands of the bishops, but before she could cross the dais to her place on the side, Henry stepped forward to block her path. She stood in the center of the dais before the high table.
“Lady Seren,” he said, with a smug sneer. “You are accused. Seize her.”
“What?” she said, her head spinning, just as Margot and Isolde were dragged aside.
Steel pressed to her back. Two guards forced her down to her knees, one blade crossing at her neck, the other held just above her spine. She tried not to tremble. Henry would not see her fear.
“My lord,” she whispered, forcing calm into her voice. “What is the meaning of this?”
The eyes of the church turned to Henry.
“Is this the proclamation, Lord de Thornwyck?” Bishop Alaric said, tilting his head.
Henry dipped his head to the London bishop. “You see, Father, my wife has a reputation of being divinely favored. She is rot beneath it.”
Alaric lifted an eyebrow. “What has your fifth wife done?”
Lord Henry pressed his lips thin at the insinuation. He stood at the head of the hall, arms spread as if it were a performance.
He addressed Seren.
“You know what you’ve done.”
“I do not,” Seren said, forcing her hands to her thighs. She was a Lady of the Welsh Marches, and if she died as such, she would die with honor.
“Lies again. You have been hiding a scandal beneath the veil of God.” His tone slithered now, a snake in flowers. “I ordered Commander de Montfort to test you, and you have failed. You let him touch your face. You let him kiss your skin. Don’t deny it. My spies saw it all.”
All eyes turned to her.
She scoffed, but her insides twisted. “What are you speaking of? I know it not.”
There was no one on the stairwell. That was the only time she’d let him touch her, kiss her neck, a brush. But she had run away from him, afraid of how she’d conceal anything that passed between them.
Had Erik lied to her? He had warned her not to trust him. But she had. She did with her life—many times. He’d proven himself. He loved her. She’d seen it in his eyes.
Who would have seen the few times they were alone? The garden? The stairwell? The council chamber? The alcove? The only time it would have been even perceived as unfaithfulness was in the stairwell, and she’d passed the test in the alcove, though it ached.
Who could have lied, then? Tomas? Margot?
Had she failed a test and not known it?
Her mind raced as eyes turned back to Henry, who laughed and snapped.
Two guards each brought Erik and Ragnar from the middle floor’s corridor into the great hall. Time pummeled her mind. It had to have been the alcove. He’d whispered a warning then. But he hadn’t touched her. Someone lied. Someone other than Henry wished her dead.
“You think you are so clever, wife, but I have proof,” Henry said.
“Proof of what, my lord? I have done nothing wrong,” she said, but he slapped her hard. The force moved her neck into the blade. It nicked her. Its sting was likely a taste of what was to come.
Lord Richard de Grafton shifted in his seat and crossed his arms. The new Marcher Lord of Shrewsbury, Hugh de Montgomery, shared a glance beneath a furrowed brow with the Marcher Lord of Chester, Hugh d’Avranches.
Seren understood the lords’ actions meant that, as of then, she still held the room’s favor over her husband’s accusations.
Henry shot Richard and the others a death glare as he continued speaking, “Now, my wife, I am not without mercy.” He squeezed her jaw and snapped his fingers.
A guard escorted David from the nursery.
“Come, Son.”
“Father, what are you doing to Mother?”
He pulled David to his side and murmured in his ear, “I am going to teach you a very important lesson today.”
David’s arms shook as his eyes glazed over the blades hovering in front and behind Seren’s neck. His focus landed on the spot where the blade had nicked her.
“Now, stand aside, Son, and watch.”
David obeyed and stood near the high table, his eyes never leaving his mother.
Seren’s breath shook. She hadn’t prepared David for this spectacle; she had only hinted at it. He had been too young, but youth wouldn’t save his innocence on that day.
“Speak the words,” Henry said and shook Seren’s jaw, before lowering to whisper in her ear. “Then I will spare the life of the Commander’s son.”
Her gaze flicked to the edge of the dais—where the guards had brought Erik and Ragnar.
David’s head swiveled, eyes darting between his mother and Ragnar.
“Speak what words?” Seren asked.
She wanted to swear before God that she had never let another man touch her or kiss her, nor had she ever kissed a man, not her husband, but it would be a lie. Erik had kissed her neck, and she, his cheek.
Henry chuckled, but the sound was mirthless. “She plays the role well, doesn’t she?” he asked, soft but cruel.
He yanked the veil from her head in a humiliating stripping of her dignity as a lady, gripped a fistful of her hair, wrenching her head sideways so the steel could kiss her throat—the second sting of the day.
If she cried, they’d think her weak. If she stayed silent, they’d think her guilty. She had to bleed with grace, or they’d let her perish and bless the blade that struck.
“Last chance,” he whispered into her ear. “Speak the truth.”
Seren stared out at the court. She saw Erik’s hand clench at his side.
The breath she took next was sharp, but her voice came stronger now.
“I’ve told the truth, my lord husband.”
Henry turned.
“Well, Commander?” he asked. “Is it true you kissed her?”
“When you commanded me to test her loyalty . . . she did not let me kiss her, as I reported upon my return.”
Erik’s voice rang true. His eyes hardened at Henry’s insinuation that he’d lied.
A murmur rippled through the crowd. Henry, not Seren, was the target of daggers of judgment.
But Henry laughed. “That is odd, Commander, because I have on good word that you both were wrapped in a passionate embrace.”
Then Erik said, voice even and measured, “Then the word is wrong. She proved her loyalty to you yet again.”
Henry’s mouth curled.
“Could you be lying as well to save your son?”
“My lord, I am not lying.” Erik’s brow furrowed. “I would never wager my son’s life—”
Henry spread his arms wide again. “On good word, I was told you both shared a passionate kiss. The test had been a chaste kiss, Commander. And yet I was told, clothes had nearly come off; it was so passionate.”
The audience went silent as Henry continued.
“If my men-at-arms hadn’t interrupted you—”
“Lies,” Erik said, unbothered but firm, but Seren noticed the clench of his jaw as her own belly roiled from the false witness.
“Your good word is wrong,” Erik said.
“Perhaps.” Henry scanned the room. “Captain de Léry, step forward.”
Erik’s eyes narrowed.
“Tell me again what you saw.”
Jovin dipped his head in reverence to Lord Henry. “I saw as you said: a passionate kiss shared between lovers.”
The room erupted in gasps, murmurs.
Seren’s stomach dropped.
“It is not true,” Seren cried. “I have never—”
But Henry hit her in the mouth. His eyes gleamed—cornered. He was a beast with too many witnesses and no blood to show for it.
“Kill the boy first. Then the whore,” Henry said.
David ran to his father.
“Please, no, Father,” he whispered, tears streaming down his cheeks.
Seren tried not to cry, but how could she not, watching Ragnar die and then not be there for him in his grief.
But the fifteen-year-old husky Ragnar knocked his two guards to the ground before they could strike.
“He is a liar!” Erik yelled, pushing Ragnar behind him. “You ask the man who wishes me suffering and dead? He lies to avenge his kin, his aunt Lady Clarisse de Léry!”
Guards approached them with spears, but at Erik’s question, Bishop Thurstan stood with folded hands, stilling all movement in the great hall.
“If there is an accusation of unfaithfulness against the woman whose prayers are answered by God, even when she has not pledged her life in a nunnery, as men of the church, we need at least two to three witnesses, Lord Henry, to sanction such an accusation and execution.”
Bishop Alaric nodded. “Yes, your Commander has called out your only witness as motivated against him. Do you have another?”
Henry smiled and let Seren’s hair go. He walked over to Jovin and then called out, “Master Geoffrey de Bramber.”
Seren closed her eyes, finally unable to hold a few tears at bay.
Not Geoffrey.
Not after she’d said what she did in the alcove about if Erik died, the keep would fall to ruin. Her words marred Geoffrey’s reputation, his skill, and his honor. And, he was the former Commander of the Guard. All knew he wanted his rank back, especially as a noble’s son.
Her gaze shifted to David; he’d watch his friend-brother and his mother die that day.
Erik scoffed and gritted, “He is—”
But Geoffrey stepped forward and interrupted him.
“I am here, Commander de Montfort, and though I also wish to see you dead so your rank can be returned to me, I am a man after the Lord’s heart.
” He came up to the dais, stared Henry in the face before turning to face the men of the church. He bowed at the waist.
“I do not believe bearing false witness to be a righteous method to obtain that which I selfishly want when it involves the innocent.”
“Careful, Master de Bramber,” Lord Henry said.
“I was there at the alcove at Briarwood,” Geoffrey continued without looking back at Henry, “waiting for them to come as planned. The lady was erratic, angry at Commander de Montfort for saving her instead of her children after Lord Henry’s false attack, as a good Mother would be.”
The bishops nodded in agreement.