49. The Uncertain Omission
XLIX
THE UNCERTAIN OMISSION
The hills of Fellmere had turned from green to gold by the time they returned to Thornwyck.
August waned. The scent of September’s harvest lingered on the wind, and the last of the apples ripened in the orchard. Montfort Keep stood taller when they left it—rebuilt in places, patched in others—but the soul of it was still war-worn, still watching and waiting for its master to call it home.
They rode in tired, dust-streaked and sun-darkened, Erik leading the way.
Seren was close behind with her handmaidens and guards.
David had gone ahead by a day to prepare the great hall.
By the time Seren dismounted, she was already being ushered inside with messages from the coast and inland Marches.
But none of them were prepared for the one that came by royal courier.
King William Rufus was dead.
Killed in a hunting accident in the New Forest. An arrow to the chest, they said. Or was it a fall? From an animal attack? The tale changed with every telling, but the end remained the same: King William Rufus, second son of the Conqueror, was dead before he’d sired an heir or wed a bride.
The scroll bore the seal of the White Tower, but offered no further clarity.
Henry, the Conqueror’s fourth son, had ascended swiftly, crowned with the barons’ support and the treasury at his back.
He’d moved with speed from lordship to lordship, claiming power before his older brother Robert could return from Normandy and take his rightful place as king.
It appeared to be a shrewd, almost bloodless coup.
But of Seren’s hand, there was nothing. No other marriage plans were given.
And so they waited—offering no inquiry to the new royal, hoping his sights would land elsewhere.
They gathered that evening in the great hall—David, Seren, Erik, Ragnar, Geoffrey, and Father Osbert. The candlelight was low. The hearth glowed.
Erik leaned forward, forearms braced on his knees, eyes scanning the scroll again as if another name might appear if he stared long enough, but his reading skills were dismal at best.
“King Henry’s unmarried,” David said, pacing. “But they say he has children already. By Nest ferch Rhys.” The former Welsh Princess of Deheubarth.
Seren stilled. Worry lived in her gaze. Nest had never been married to Henry and was likely taken to bed while under hostage by his family.
Erik’s belly knotted watching as fear seeped into Seren’s curling fingers.
If the new king could do that to a former princess, what worse would he do to a noblewoman?
He locked eyes with her. Her fear, confirmed. If the new king treated her like Lord Henry did, Erik would kill the King himself and claim loyalty to the true heir, Robert, Henry’s brother. Maybe as a reward, they would gift him Seren. Maybe. His mind wandered in its futile pursuits.
David nodded. “Nest is married elsewhere now. So they say.” Then to his mother: “But if he already has Welsh children, then maybe he doesn’t need you as much as King William Rufus did.”
“Yet—” Ragnar gestured to the scroll. “The new king mentions nothing of you, Lady Dowager.”
“A dangerous silence,” Father Osbert murmured.
Seren’s gaze lingered on the flames. “What does it mean?”
“That Henry wants to keep his options open,” Erik said quietly. “He has no reason to make promises to a woman tied to his brother’s name. But you’re useful still. A match to calm the Marcher Lords. A peace offering, if needed.”
“Or a reminder,” David added, “that she can be claimed at any time. An example of his power.”
They all looked to her then.
Seren’s jaw had tightened. She looked like a queen carved in stone.
“Then we move forward as usual,” she said. “I won’t live as a shadow in my own life.”
Erik nodded once. “Then we finish the plans for the Marcher alliances as if the king will take someone else as his wife soon.”
David’s brow furrowed. “You think he will?”
“I think he’ll do what serves him best. And if we’re ready, then it won’t matter.”
Father Osbert folded his hands. “And if he doesn’t let her go?”
Erik’s voice wavered at the thought. He locked eyes with Seren. “Then we endure like we always have.”
Silence followed. They were sitting in the eye of life’s storm, waiting for the next strike. The wind stirred the banners on the towers as if testing the strength of the keep’s leaders.
Erik’s eyes never left Seren’s, telling her through his gaze that she would endure with the strength he knew she had or would find. In the meantime, he would keep building, keep waiting, and keep believing that one day, she would be his.
All he had left was hope.