Chapter Ten
Wagon wheels crunching upon frozen ground melded with the thud of hooves as Alesone stared at Thomas, stunned by his rough claim. From the unsteadiness of his voice, she believed that he didna caution her, but himself.
How in less than a fortnight could she have become important to him? As if with her own growing feelings for him made sense? What he made her need, made her want, defied logic.
The cart bumped over a rock breaking Thomas’s hold. “I…” With a grimace he glanced at the knights riding nearby, then toward his father leading the contingent. “I shouldna have spoken.”
Her entire life stilled as if on a fragile precipice. Had their kiss changed everything for him, too? Would she ever know? Apprehension shot through her, and she asked the question that could fill her with joy or leave her devastated. “Why nae?”
“We each have our own lives,” he said with stoic firmness, “ones that dinna include the other.”
Hurt that he could close her out with such ease, she drew father away. “And that decision is yours to make?”
“Alesone—”
“You are right, now isna the place to speak about this, but hear me well, this discussion isna done.”
His cool gaze locked on hers.
Far from intimidated, she angled her jaw.
Irritation glittered in his eyes, and she dismissed his ire. She hadna looked for a man in her life, or wanted someone who inspired feelings best left buried deep. Except behind his fierce, uncompromising façade, each passing day she spent in this warrior’s company unveiled a man bound by honor, loyalty, and a good heart. Traits that’d eroded her intent to keep him at a distance.
However much he was coming to matter in her life, if he believed he could toss out that she’d become important to him and then dismiss the topic as if she were day-old bread, he was wrong.
The cart lurched as it hit another rock.
As he caught her watching him, his expression pained, Thomas turned away, and her temper faded. “How far is Dair Castle?”
“A ways yet.”
“Tell me about your home?”
He shrugged. “Many years have passed since I last visited.”
“What does it look like?” she asked, hoping to draw his attention away from his discomfort. “Surely you remember that?”
Thomas gave her a measuring look. “’Tis built on the edge of a loch. When I was a child, I would climb upon a merlon, my fingers cold against the smooth stone as I stared past the castle walls and tried to imagine what lay beyond.”
“Were you happy there?” she asked, envisioning him as young lad, full of hope, eager for excitement.
“Aye, but I wanted to travel.” He shifted, tucked a handful of hay behind his back. “I yearned to begin the grand adventure that I had imagined. Except once I left, I didna anticipate how much I would miss the Highlands.”
She scanned the rough peaks smeared with snow reflecting the sun like crystals tossed, their brilliance enticing one to believe fairies lurked beneath the flakes. “I can understand how you would miss it.”
Thomas took in the harsh sweep of land, and like a door opened, more thoughts he’d banished over the years filled his mind. With each memory the barriers he’d carefully built to prevent him from thinking about his past eroded further.
Melancholy, he studied the woman who’d dared question him about his youth, one who intrigued him more than he wished. He should remain silent, sever any path to deepen their friendship. Already she made him care too much. Yet, however unwise, he found himself wanting to tell her about his childhood. Still sharing the memories would provide a much needed distraction.
As well, Alesone needed a friend who she could turn to in times of trouble. However unconventional their beginning, and though she hadna asked, he found his stepping into the role a natural move, more so with him charged as her protector.
In the future what she chose to do with her life was her affair, but for now she was beneath his guard. As well, until they reached their destination, for her safety, he would ensure any men about kept their distance.
He scanned the familiar track of land. “Once I am able to walk a distance, there are several places that I would like to show you.”
As if a gift given, her expression softened. “I would like that very much.”
Pleased, he settled against the backboard. “When I was a lad, at first light, with the smell of warm bread filling the castle, I would sneak into the kitchen and charm the cooks out of a fresh loaf.” A smile tugged at his mouth. “If berries were in season, the lass crafting the loaves would give me a bowlful drizzled with honey.”
“A charmer from your youth, why am I nae surprised?” she said. “With your having three brothers and a sister, neither do I believe you led a mundane life. If they were anything like you, your home must have been filled with antics.”
“Aye,” he said with a smile. “One time Matheu, Léod, and I caught Donnchadh trying to woo a kiss from a lass. The idea of pressing one’s mouth against a woman’s was a hideous thought to a wee lad, so we decided mead had muddled his mind. Our solution, Donnchadh needed but time to sober up and see the error of his ways.”
“What did you do?”
“Once the lass departed, we jumped him. Amidst Donnchadh’s demands to set him free, we tied him up, hauled him to the stables, and shoved him inside an empty barrel.”
She gasped. “You left him?”
Tears of laughter blurred his eyes as he recalled his oldest brother’s outrage. “We had planned on leaving him until morning, time enough for the drink to wear off, but spitting mad, he rocked against the barrel until it crashed to its side, and then he worked his way out.”
Humor twinkled in her eyes. “Your father must have been furious when he discovered what you and your brothers had done.”
“Except for my black eye, which I assured my father ’twas due to my having fallen while climbing the ben, he never learned of the event.”
Her laughter warmed his heart. “Why do I have little doubt that you and your siblings’ exploits over the years caused your parents much frustration?”
“Mayhap.” Except the pranks they had played and the laughter that’d filled Dair Castle were long past.
Her face grew somber. “What is wrong?”
“’Tis…” An ache filled him, and he released a rough breath. “Never will I see those I love again.”
“You canna, but for a while they were part of your life. You have memories of your time together,” she whispered, her voice rough, “that nay one can take from you.”
Emotion twisted inside. Damning his weakness when it came to her, Thomas stroked his fingers across her cheek. “My mother would have liked you.” He envisioned her taking stock of Alesone with a shrewd eye and finding approval. “She would have appreciated your courage, your loyalty, and that you dinna allow anyone to push you around.”
“Including when I first met you?”
He lowered his hand with a smile. “She would have been entertained by your driving an arrow into a tree but a breath away from me.” The amusement in Alesone’s eyes charmed him further.
“If your men hadna snuck up behind me,” she said, “you would have been answering my questions.”
“I would have,” he admitted, “but more to learn how a woman of such beauty holds skills to rival the finest archer.”
A blush swept her cheeks. “’Tis a clever way of asking how I became proficient at archery.”
“And will you tell me?”
She shrugged. “’Tis a peculiar story.”
“How so?” he asked, his curiosity piqued.
“When I was young, while out picking herbs, I came upon a well-armed knight who, while traveling through Comyn lands, had collapsed due to illness. A tall, burly man, though I tried, he was too heavy for me to drag, so I ran for Grisel’s help.”
“And the weapons?”
She arched a playful brow. “I should have known you would ask. Once he was settled inside the hut, I ended up making a second trip to retrieve them.”
“With the effort required to bring the warrior to your home, ’tis understandable that you remembered him. Otherwise, there is little peculiar about the situation.”
“A point with which I agree. Nor was making a second trip for a knight’s sword or dagger out of the norm, until I saw his weaponry.”
At the reverence in her voice, he stilled. “What do you mean?”
“Never had Grisel or I beheld such a finely crafted dagger. And his sword, though simple, was grand. On the hilt of both lay a cross.”
Unease rippled through him. The emblem identifying a Knight Templar. “His name?” he asked with forced lightness.
“Sir Struan McRuer. He wouldna share his destination, but explained ’twas of great importance that he deliver the writ he carried.”
“Did he say where he had acquired his weapons?”
The wagon bumped over another ditch, and she clutched the side. “I didna ask, but he mentioned he had been on campaign in Armenia, and that his weapons were the same as the knights whom he fought alongside.”
Armenia, where the Templars had lost their last stronghold in Antioch. “Sir Struan sounds like an interesting man.”
“Indeed,” Alesone continued, ignorant of his inner turmoil. “And highly skilled with numerous weapons. In thanks for tending to him, for the few days he remained with us, while he recovered, he taught me how to improve my proficiency with a bow.”
Which explained how she’d gained expertise rivaled by only a few, all knights within the Order. “You were fortunate to make an acquaintance of a man with such skill.”
“I was. Though we never did see him again.”
Only one reason made sense for a Templar to travel through the Highlands all those years ago, to meet with King Robert, a man few knew was of the Brotherhood.
From the knight’s urgency, Thomas suspected his journey entailed a secret plan agreed upon by the Bruce and Jacques de Molay if the Templars ever had to evacuate. A strategy the Order had used to ensure that treasures held within the Paris Temple, along with the Templar fleet, vanished before King Philip began the arrests.
As they rounded the next turn, down the snow covered, rut mottled road, the stand of trees on either side fell away. His chest tightened as he surveyed the glen framing the loch, and how at the opposite end, Dair Castle arched skyward in brilliant defiance.
“’Tis beautiful,” Alesone breathed.
“Aye.” He took in the rugged sweep of land, wished back the years, ones that would never come. A movement to his side had him glancing over.
His father cantered toward them, reined his mount in paces away. “I sent a runner ahead to let Donnchadh know of our approach.”
“I thank you.” Though astonished by his father’s forgiveness, little doubt remained that his eldest brother wouldna share the sentiment. After Léod’s death, he and Donnchadh had argued, his brother’s words laced with fury, and Thomas’s rebuttal incited by guilt.
With his brother’s blistering remarks scorching his mind and his guilt festering, he’d approached his father, explained that he wanted to become a monk. After a long discussion, and with his refusing to listen to any advice, though reluctant, his father had brought him to the monastery. And from that day, fueled by remorse, he’d vowed never to return home.
A promise he’d intended to keep.
“How do you fare?” his father asked.
Thomas shrugged. “Well enough.”
Concerned eyes shifted to his side. “Mistress Alesone?”
“I am fine, Your Grace.” She nodded toward the stronghold. “Dair Castle is magnificent.”
Pride beamed on the duke’s face. “’Twas handed down to me by my father, and through our family for hundreds of years. While here, you are free to go about as you wish. I will ensure that you are introduced to the healer. If you require herbs, she will have what you need.”
“I thank you. You are generous.”
“I am concerned for my son.”
Thomas grimaced. He wasna on his death bed.
A castle guard’s shout echoed in the distance.
Iron and wood grated, and the portcullis clanked upward.
Windcast snow swirled around them as they rode beneath the gatehouse. As the wagon rolled into the bailey, sunlight spilled through the clouds to shimmer across the daunting fortress.
Memories burned through Thomas as he took in the familiar surroundings. The smithy’s, where he’d watched his first sword being forged, the lists where he’d learned to spar, and the chapel where he’d sought guidance from Him throughout his youth.
Years had taken their toll on the mighty stronghold. The curtain wall showed signs of recent repairs and several new buildings stood where naught had existed before but dirt.
A tall, sandy-haired man strode from the keep, confidence in every step, and anger burning in his eyes.
Donnchadh.
The driver halted the wagon at the center of the baily.
After an order from his father, the knights in accompaniment cantered toward the stables. The duke dismounted, and a lad ran over and led the mount away.
On a deep breath, Thomas pushed himself up.
Alesone stood.
Refusing to show weakness before his brother, Thomas ignored the pain and climbed from the wagon.
“I am thankful you made it back safe, Father.” Donnchadh turned toward Thomas, his gaze filled with displeasure. “It has been a long time.”
Mayhap, but from the coldness of his voice, his brother’s anger thrived. Thomas gave him curt nod. “It has.” He turned. “May I introduce Mistress Alesone.”
His brother glanced over, and appreciation filled his gaze. “Mistress Alesone, welcome to Dair Castle.”
A muscle worked in Thomas’s jaw, and he placed a possessive hand on her arm. “Mistress Alesone, I would like to introduce you to my brother, Earl of Stratton.”
“Lord Stratton,” she said, “I am humbled by your father’s generosity.”
“I am her escort,” Thomas added. “We will be here but days. Once I have recovered we will depart.”
A muscle worked in Donnchadh’s jaw. “It must be an inconvenience to be injured and forced to be hauled to Dair Castle like a cripple.”
“Enough!” Their father stepped between them, shot his eldest son a cool look. “Regardless the circumstance, I am thankful Thomas is here. You will offer your brother welcome.”
Donnchadh gave a curt nod. “Of course, Father, ’tis remiss of me to say otherwise.” Eyes hard, he stepped back. “If you will excuse me, there is an issue of importance I must tend to.” Turning on his heel, he strode toward the keep.
His father gave a frustrated sigh. “Excuse Donnchadh, Mistress Alesone.”
She cleared her throat. “’Tis a difficult time for everyone, Your Grace.”
“I take it a room has been prepared for Mistress Alesone?” Thomas asked. The sooner he was healed and they could leave, the better.
Sadness wedged in his father’s brow. “Aye, the room to the left of yours has been readied for her. With you her protector, I thought ’twas best if she remained nearby.”
“I thank you. I will show her the way.”
“Thomas,” his father said.
“Aye?”
“Regardless of what brought you here, ’tis good to have you home.”
Guilt grew at the hope in his father’s eyes, and he silently cursed. However much he wanted, neither could he stay.
“Do you need help?” the duke asked.
“Nay.”
“I will leave you now, and order a tray sent up to your room.”
Thomas nodded. “I thank you.”
His father departed.
With his body aching from the long journey, Thomas glanced over. “Follow me.” With slow steps, he started toward the keep.
Concerned eyes held his. “You are hurting.”
“I am fine.”
She scoffed. “You tried to hide your discomfort as you climbed from the wagon, but nay one was fooled. To salvage your pride, your father and brother said naught.”
“I sincerely doubt my brother noticed my pain,” he said, irritated by what likely was the truth, “or if he did, cared.”
“Why?”
Thomas’s muscles rebelled as he stepped forward, the effort leaving his legs trembling.
“Is the strife due to Léod’s death?” she pressed.
He shot her a cool look. “Aye.”
“How many years have passed since you left home?”
On a sigh, he pushed on. “Nae enough.”
“I think your father feels otherwise.”
Tired and wanting to reach his chamber, he grunted. “’Tis complicated.”
“Anything worthwhile in life,” she said, her voice gentle, “normally is.”
Thomas jerked open the door.
As he led her to the turret, he scanned the great room, the arches a fine setting for the shields hanging upon the walls, the blades used by his ancestors beside each, and a coat of arms for the Clan MacDonald situated between. He slowed, his each step filled with reminders of his youth, igniting more memories. Never had he meant to return, except now that he had, God help him, he found himself wanting to remain.