Chapter Fourteen
Thomas grunted at the shot of pain as he worked his way down the turret. After he’d mishandled his discussion with Alesone, agony he deserved. Mishandled? A kind word for telling the lass she was naught but a duty.
He winced as he set his foot on the next step. She had every right to be furious. He’d botched the situation like a battering ram shoved in mud. Nor with his words in a mire had he been smart enough to quit.
Aye, he was a bloody ass. Hardly the Templar known for his finesse in dealing with difficult situations, a warrior sought out by kings.
He shoved his foot onto the next level. He’d meant to seek her forgiveness, to make her understand how important she was becoming to him.
Except as her eyes filled with yeaning, trust and desire had held his, the tatters of his hard-won calm had collapsed.
Never had a woman made him lose control, or made him want her with such mindless disregard. To allow the bond between them to continue to strengthen would do naught but create further complications.
Shoving aside memories of her silky skin, of how her taste infused his every thought, Thomas grimaced as he took another step down. Though he’d made a debacle of the situation, however poorly achieved, he’d achieved his goal of placing distance between them.
He should be happy, pleased by the fact.
Emotion clogging his throat, he reached the great hall. He scanned the large chamber filled with lingering scents of venison, porridge, and herbs from the earlier meal.
Empty benches lay shoved against trencher tables where a short while before knights had broken their fast. In the hearth, a fire blazed bright, illuminating the tapestry upon the wall emblazoned with his family’s heraldry. In the center, and spun from threads of deep red and white, a vine pattern framed a knight’s helm atop an intricate weave, which had graced the great room since Dair Castle was built.
’Twas as if he could blink and nay time had passed. He would still be a child, and his entire family alive.
With an unsteady breath, he struggled against the wash of emotion. However difficult, he needed to face his past.
Thomas shifted his steps to offset the discomfort and made his way toward the entry. He nodded to several women working to clear the trencher tables, bent to pat of one of the deerhounds lurking close by in hopes of an errant scrap, then continued. At the door he glanced back, thankful nay one followed. For the task ahead, he wanted to be alone.
Flurries thick with the whip of snow lashed him as he stepped outside. Tugging the door shut, he stared at the graveyard near the far wall. An ache burning his soul, he tugged his cape tighter and started across the bailey.
With each step his chest squeezed tighter, but he pushed on, needed to face the consequences of his actions.
Frozen ground crunched beneath his boots as he paused before the somber display, the weathered gravestones like bleak sentinels against the stark, ice-hardened ground. A lump in his throat, his gaze settled on the first of four gravestones closest to the curtain wall.
Snow clung to the curve of his mother’s precious name to create a softness, like she did in his life. On an unsteady breath he stepped over and brushed away the accumulation.
Heart wrenching sorrow slashed him. Tears blurring his eyes, he dropped to his knees. A shudder raked through Thomas, then another. “Mother,” he rasped, his soul-torn words ripped away by the whip of wind.
His shoulders shaking beneath the force of his grief, he leaned forward and clasped the aged hewn stone. The piercing images of her wailing as she’d held Léod’s body seared his mind. “I shouldna have fled like a coward. I-I never meant to hurt you. Yet ’twould seen in the end I caused you and the rest of the family naught but pain.” And for the suffering he’d inflicted, never would he forgive himself.
Chest aching, after he finished an Our Father, he shifted to the next stone. Another sob wracked his body as he traced his finger over the M chiseled in cold stone. “Father told me of your bravery, Matheu. A fierce warrior. I regret nae saying good-bye.” Now he would never have a chance.
An icy blast of wind howled past as if mocking his torment as he bowed his head and recited the Lord’s Prayer.
Bitter cold pierced him as he shuffled to the third gravestone.
Memories of his sister’s face dredged through his sorrow, her smile so sweet that many claimed ’twas a gift from the fairies. “Orabilia,” Thomas rasped, “Father said you had grown to a beautiful lass. Nay doubt many a man vied for your hand. Any fortunate enough to win your affection would have been blessed. I am so sorry for nae being here to say good-bye.” He whispered a Paternoster.
Thomas moved before the final grave. The edges weathered by time, streaks of a grey staining the cut stone. On a broken sob, he pressed his head against the weathered granite. “Léod, I am ashamed I ran. From you, Father, and everyone. ’Twas fate that brought me Dair Castle.” He scoffed. “Fate? Nay. When father learned that I was at the monastery, he stormed over and hauled me back.” He wiped his eyes. “Otherwise, I wouldna have returned.”
“Nor should you have!” Donnchadh snarled.
Thomas shoved to his feet.
The shimmering fall of snow sifted past his older brother in stark contrast to the raw fury slashed across his face.
The anger blazing in his sibling’s eyes he more than deserved.
“Father should never have brought you home,” Donnchadh growled. “He has revealed his fealty is to the Bruce. And why? Because of you.”
“I dinna deserve what he has risked.” Anguish building within, Thomas stepped closer. “Nor did I wish to return.”
His sibling’s scowl deepened. “You are a coward. After Léod died, instead of facing his death you ran.”
“As if you wanted me here, then or now?” he said, his voice rising. “I saw the hatred in your eyes, remember how we argued.” Argued? A pitiful excuse for the painful words, the slam of fists that’d left them both bruised.
“Léod was dead because of your foolish challenge.” With a curse, Donnchadh pushed Thomas back. “You couldna allow our brother to celebrate the day of your becoming a knight, had to force him to accept your dare given before our peers.” He again shoved Thomas’s chest.
Thomas stumbled back.
“Our brother looked up to you, admired you, and then…”
“He was gone,” Thomas finished, damning each word, the horrific memories of that day knifing through his mind as if hours had passed instead of years.
The anger on his brother’s face collapsed to grief, and he looked away. “Aye.” Snow howled a mournful sound as it eddied past and then was swept away. “I found our mother sobbing and cradling Léod in her arms.” Eyes reddened by tears cut to him. “I have hated you since that moment.”
“N-nay more,” Thomas strangled out, “than I despised myself.”
His sibling’s eyes narrowed. “How could you leave?”
He stared at Donnchadh in disbelief. “God’s teeth, after our words, how could I nae!”
“Our brother had been dead but hours, and our mother had locked herself in her chamber with her sobs echoing down the corridor, and our father so distraught that he’d drunk until he was numb. Tell me,” his brother demanded, “how was I supposed to feel? Had I have prodded Léod into sparring with me that day and he had fallen and drowned in the river, you would have been furious at me as well, wanted me gone.”
The truth changed naught. “Except ’twas me who challenged Léod,” he rasped, “me who caused his death.” Thomas’s shoulder’s sagged. “Dinna worry, I will leave within a sennight.” Sooner than he’d planned, but after their discussion, he’d stay nay more.
Donnchadh eyed him a long moment. “You will nae be healed enough to travel by then.”
“Wanting me gone,” he said, his voice dry, “I would think that you would care little about the state of my health.” A fresh wave of misery swamped him. Refusing to break down before his brother, Thomas brushed past him as he headed toward the keep.
Donnchadh’s fingers dug into his arm.
Furious, Thomas whirled. “Release me.”
Hard eyes held his. “I was angry then,” his brother ground out, “and aye, I still am. But I willna lose another brother over a tragedy that happened so many years ago.”
Stunned by his declaration, hope ignited. Thomas smothered the emotion as quick. “What are you saying?”
“We are brothers, we have differences, but we are family,” he stated. “We work things through and dinna give up. However much I didna want to, I have missed you.”
Humbled by Donnchadh offering, Thomas fought for the words to reply, floundered to find the right ones when he didna deserve his compassion. “How can you forgive me when I canna forgive myself?”
His brows slammed together. “Is your destroying yourself with guilt what Léod would have wanted?”
“Our brother didna deserve to die!”
“Nay, he didna. Nor is death particular in whom it chooses.” His body rigid, he stared at the chapel. “’Tis those it leaves behind who struggle to go on. But we have memories of our time together,” he said, his voice softening. “To forget those we love is to bring them dishonor.”
His chest tight, Thomas gazed upon the gravestones. “I will never forget them.”
“Nor will I.”
“I have an admission,” Thomas said quietly. “When we were younger, I envied that as the firstborn, you would one day receive our father’s title of duke. With the man you have become, I realize my concerns were those of an untried lad. I am proud of you, and know you will bring naught but honor to the title.”
“I will try.” Donnchadh glanced toward the keep. “I have a meeting with the steward. Know this: what we have discussed today willna take away my upset, but the words needed to be said. You already have our father’s forgiveness. Now you have mine.” With a curt nod, he strode away.
Humbled by his brother’s compassion, Thomas stared at Donnchadh’s broad-shouldered outline as he disappeared into a swirl of white. Another snow-thickened gust battered his face. He tugged his cloak tighter, the chill easing around his heart. He didna deserve his father’s or brother’s mercy, except both had offered a new beginning nonetheless.
Against the batter of flakes slipping beneath his cloak, after Thomas knelt before Léod’s grave and said an Our Father, he headed for the chapel.
Wisps of frankincense and myrrh filled the air as he stepped inside. Candles flickered in wall sconces, lending a golden cast over the serene setting where he’d said many a prayer. Easing out a breath, he skimmed his hand along the polished top of the nearest bench as he gazed past the well-worn pews and paused at the cross hanging on the wall behind the alter.
He clenched the smoothed wood. How many times had he knelt within this house of God, his mind lost to thoughts of the future, of excitement of what he would find beyond the walls of Dair Castle? Yet however proud of his service as a Templar, he’d always yearned for his family.
Surrounded by the familiar, he walked forward, moved into the pew, knelt before the cross, pressed his hands in prayer, and thanked God for the blessings he’d received. With his brother and father’s forgiveness, he’d been offered a chance for a new start.
Guilt swept him over how he’d treated Alesone this day. Blast it, she deserved better!
The scuff of wood had him turning.
Lines of concern weighed heavy on his father’s face as he entered.
Ignoring the aches, Thomas stood. “What is wrong?”
His father motioned for him to sit as he walked down the aisle. After kneeling next to the pew and making the sign of the cross, he sat beside him. “I just spoke with Mistress Alesone.”
Dread rippled through him. “She came to see you?”
“Nay, I found her sitting alone in the solar. When she saw me, she made to leave, but I bid her to stay. The lass wouldna explain why she was upset.” Inquisitive eyes held his. “She is very loyal to those whom she cares for.”
“I doubt you sought me out to discuss Alesone’s loyalty,” Thomas said, refusing to discuss the discord with him.
“While we spoke,” the duke continued, “with my each mention of you, her expression grew further strained. It doesna take a man of great wit to deduct the reason for what, or rather who, is the cause of her strife.”
He muttered a silent curse. “We had a disagreement.” An understatement. He’d pushed away, hurt her, both unthinkable, which made him despise himself further. “Neither do I owe you an explanation.”
A wry smile touched his mouth. “Long ago, I looked forward to the discussions we would have once you were a man, except I negated to factor in your stubbornness.” The smile faded. “Aye, ’tis your right to keep whatever is between you and Alesone to yourselves. Neither will I pry. What you choose to tell me is your decision.”
Thomas straightened in the pew.
His father watched him a long moment. “I think she is a fine lass.”
He swallowed hard. “She is, and your enemy’s daughter. How could you approve of her?”
“She is, but we dinna choose who we are born to. I would be a fool to judge a person by such.”
“I didna know—” Thomas blew out a rough breath. “I wasna sure what to think if you discovered that I…”
“Cared for her?”
“Aye.”
His father laid his callused hand on Thomas’s shoulder, the weight bringing comfort. “I am honored that you would trust me with such a confidence. If you are asking my opinion, ’tis simple. Any man would be proud to have Mistress Alesone in his life.”
“I agree,” Thomas said, “but ’tis a choice I canna ponder. I must rejoin our king when he confronts Comyn, nor can I assure her I will return.”
“I understand your concern, one each man who fights for Robert the Bruce shares. Sadly, many Scots will die before our country is united.” He paused. “I remember how your mother would fret when I prepared for battle. Is the lass distraught because she is afraid for you?”
Thomas shrugged. “I didna allow the discussion to go that far.”
Shrewd eyes studied him. “I thought Alesone was important to you?”
“She is.”
“You are an earl, you can—”
“She doesna know.” Frustrated, he leaned back.
“Why?”
The quiet warning had Thomas stiffening. “Because my title isna significant in what exists between her and I.”
“But you care about her?”
“Aye,” he said through clenched teeth.
“And you prove that by shielding secrets from the lass?”
“My nobility never came up.”
“A fact,” the duke stated, “I am confident that you ensured.”
“Nor is how much I care for her relevant. Once I deliver her to Avalon Castle, I will never see her again.”
His father grunted. “If you leave her without admitting what you feel for her, ’twill be a decision you will regret for the rest of your life.”
Blast it! “You dinna know how I feel!” Thomas rubbed his forehead. “I apologize, you dinna deserve my anger.”
“True. But what you deserve is to find a woman who loves you, one whom you love in return.”
“She couldna love me. We have known each other but a short while.”
“You care for her. Do you believe you could feel more?”
He shrugged. “It matters little,” he said, his voice somber. “For the reasons I stated, naught can exist between us.”
“Thomas, we are only given one life. None of us know if we will die on the morrow, within a fortnight, or years from now. Dinna throw away happiness you might never find again.” He paused. “Your mother and I didna have the luxury of knowing if we would have tomorrow. Neither do you.”
So caught up in thoughts of duty, the Templars, and his service to the king, he hadna considered such.
“If you feel strongly for the lass,” the duke said, “I wouldna wait too long to tell her. Those living beneath Comyn’s control may have avoided Alesone due to fearing her father’s anger. Removed from his tyranny, and once she has escaped marrying King Philip’s noble, a beautiful woman like her willna want for suitors.”
He frowned. With him healing in his chamber and her in the great room while she broke her fast, nay doubt many men had studied her with more than a passing interest. “I thank you for your advice.”
His father nodded. “Earlier you said your brother was looking for you.”
Donnchadh’s stern acceptance came to mind. “We spoke. You will be pleased to learn that we have made amends…of sorts.”
“Good.” The duke released a long sigh. “I will be sad to see you go.”
“For now it canna be any other way, but I promise when the opportunity arises, I will return.”
Happiness crinkled his aged eyes, and he stood. “Take care, my son.”
The soft tap of steps echoed upon the floor. A creek, then sunlight streamed inside the holy chamber. Moments later his father closed the door behind him, severed the wash of light.
Alone, Thomas stared at the cross upon the wall, anguish twisting inside his heart. A part of him wanted to go to Alesone and admit his feelings for her, the other hesitated against the dangers ahead.
Naught was guaranteed, but after all she had endured, neither was it fair to admit how much she was coming to mean to him when he didna love her.
At thoughts of her in another man’s arms, he shoved to his feet, started toward the door. Aye, he would talk with her, but until he knew the depth of what he felt for her, he would say naught. Still, as long as she remained under his guard, neither would anyone court her.