30. The Unholy Trap #2
“It was then, Commander de Montfort executed Lord Henry’s test of loyalty against Lady de Thornwyck in her erratic state, but milady stepped away from him and asked if he was going to kiss her or whisper in her ear.
He said, ‘Whisper.’ She replied, ‘Good.’ For if it was the former, she made a vow to God to be a faithful wife.
” He paused. “And from what I have seen, that she is.”
Bishop Thurstan dipped his chin. Bishop Alaric sat back in his chair, tilted his head as he stared past Geoffrey to the Marcher Lord behind him.
Lord Henry growled. “You agreed with Captain de Léry when we spoke in the council chamber.”
Geoffrey turned around. “You told me it was to get rid of dogs. Lying to remove pagans from your court is one thing,”—his gaze flicked to Erik and Ragnar—“but lying to remove your divinely favored wife is another.”
He pointed at Seren. “I shall not have God’s hand against me in battle for causing her to bleed.” He leaned in and whispered, “Do what you wish to me for that.”
Henry’s nostrils flared.
Geoffrey was a noble’s son, a second son, but still a noble. He wouldn’t have been able to do much to him, not like he could manipulate Jovin, whose family had fallen from grace, or Erik, who was nothing but a Norseman in a Norman’s clothes.
“Dismissed,” Henry gritted.
Geoffrey and Jovin returned to their positions along the wall in the Commander’s corner, leaving Henry standing alone, fuming on the dais, with his son’s grip on his sleeve. Henry pushed David off.
David sucked back his tears and slid closer to Seren.
The guards with blades at her neck did not move, and Seren stayed on her knees.
Bishop Thurstan spoke.
“Any more witnesses, Lord Henry?”
Both holy men’s eyes were upon her, she noticed.
Henry pursed his lips and peered at Seren.
He thrust a hand at the guards.
“Release her,” he said with a flick of his wrist.
The blades lifted. Seren sighed in relief and tried to rise, but staggered. Blood soaked into the lace of her neckline, dripping from where the blade had cut her twice.
David helped her stand, watching his father, likely to ensure he was in obedience and would not cause his mother to be beaten later on. He stooped and gathered her veil for her.
The room was silent as they watched. Her hair fell in loose pieces from its long braid. She moved it to her uncut side, revealing the bruises, both new and old, on her neck and shoulder. Margot and Isolde were to her then, arranging the veil on her head and helping her regain composure.
Bishop Thurstan again broke the silence. “For a divinely favored wife, Lord Henry, it seems you have much to correct and punish per the laws of the land,” he gestured to Seren, referencing her bruises.
Lord Henry’s fists clenched.
Bishop Alaric spoke next. “The church does not condone wrathful punishment of wives, Lord Henry. If we find Lady de Thornwyck severely injured or dead, we will report this matter to the King.”
The mention—King—landed like a thrown stone in the middle of the hall.
Henry went still.
Bishop Alaric continued. “I believe you had taken a vow with your second or third wife, I can’t quite recall which one, that you would not punish or correct so severely.”
David slipped his hand into Seren’s as Bishop Alaric continued.
“It was quite unfortunate that your then-wife perished only a year after your vow.”
The insinuation hung in the air.
The trap and power theater Henry had set for Seren had become a holy warning with a threat’s promise for him.
The King’s staunch agreement with the church in such matters could lead to a heavy fine for Henry and possibly the loss of his title, but all Seren could think of was how that would affect David.
Seren licked her lip and found her son staring up at her. She squeezed his hand and pressed a small smile, trying to tell him nothing was his fault, without saying the words.
After the holy men left, she would endure more blood and bruises due to the embarrassment they were causing Henry in front of the other Marcher Lords.
She scanned the room. They were all judging him behind closed lips. It would only mean his anger would be more severe.
Erik locked eyes with her; he knew what would happen, too. Her gaze dropped as the conversation between Henry and the bishops continued, muffled in her ears. Tears blurred her eyes. She would not let him see her cry and blinked them back.
“You are to leave Lady Seren,” Henry snapped at her.
Her gaze lifted before she spoke in the meekest and most blameless voice she could muster to further her reputation, “If I have found favor and innocence in your eyes, my lord husband, please send a physician to tend this wound on my neck. I want to be a healthy mother to your children.”
Henry sneered.
He couldn’t not grant it, not after enduring all that he’d lost in his failed theater.
The way she worded her request rubbed it in his face, but to the audience, all they saw was a godly, selfless, noblewoman and wife who was above reproach.
If she were going to suffer at his hands that evening, every spilled drop of blood and tormenting ache he would give her would not be in vain.
“You have, milady,” he gritted. “You are dismissed.”
David held her hand as she turned to leave.
“Son, you are to stay with me,” Henry said.
David peered at his father with narrowed eyes and a furrowed brow. He stepped closer to Seren. His small hand trembled in hers. He opened his mouth to speak against his father, but Seren gently touched David’s cheek to silence him.
She stooped and whispered against his cheek. “I love you. Always remember that. Do as your father says. While he is lord, obey him.”
David clung to her arm as he sniffed back tears.
She kissed his temple. “I am well. Obey him, or he will hurt me again.”
He let go, biting his lip to keep from crying.
She left with Margot and Isolde at her sides, hating the ache in her heart for turning her son loose to the monster.
Behind her, the court murmured, and Erik said nothing. They had seen a woman bleed in innocence, and she prayed to God to let them remember she still stood at the end.
But inside her, doubt bloomed.
How much longer could she endure Henry’s wrath and his tests? How much longer could she keep herself away from the only man who truly cared about her life? How was she going to undo everything Henry had done to their son, to Thornwyck, to Mortlande?
She was just a woman, respected by powerful men who did nothing to protect her. But what could they do? By law, she was Henry’s wife, his property to do with what he pleased.
She walked away with her life this time and with a more fervent prayer in her heart: Let me live, Lord, long enough to undo what he has done. Let me raise David into a man unlike the one who fathered him.