Chapter Eight
Alesone held Thomas’s gaze, his struggle to find forgiveness for himself a battle she too fought. Would there ever come a time where she could find such, or, like Thomas, would she withdraw until she was but a shell of a person going through the motions of living?
Nor at the moment did her choices matter. Thomas had reached an important crossroads. “You have family who loves you, wants you to return.” He glanced at the crucifix on the wall, and the strain on his face made her ache. If only she could help him.
“What if I go and after a fortnight, when my father looks upon me, all he sees is a tragic reminder of everything he has lost?”
She yearned to offer reassurances. Except none existed. However genuine the duke’s request, until Thomas returned home he wouldna know. “What if while you are home, the bond between you and your father strengthens?”
He gave a cold laugh. “My mother, brother, and sister are dead. Little chance exists that naught but strife will ever remain between my father and I.”
Tormented eyes shifted, and her chest tightened beneath the weight of his sorrow. “And will damning yourself for leaving change anything?”
“You know naught!”
“Then tell me.”
His mouth tightened.
“A wise man once told me,” Alesone said softly, understanding that he didna want to discuss the situation further, but needing to try. “That at times ’tis best if we share our troubles.”
Anger flashed in his eyes. “What is wrong?” she asked, refusing to back down. “Is the advice only for you to give?”
“You dare much!”
“And you,” she challenged, “dare nothing when you have everything to gain.”
He closed his eyes.
An ember popped from the flames, faded into the thick silence like a subtle reminder that though we lose those we love, life continues.
Alesone’s gaze lingered on his fisted hands. “Nae facing your troubles doesna make them go away, but allows them to fester inside, to destroy any chance at happiness.”
Silence.
Irritated he would toss away a chance at family who wanted him, something she craved, Alesone shoved to her feet. “Cling to your anger like a bloody fool. I am going to break my fast.” She stormed toward the entry.
“’Twas a celebration,” Thomas rasped as her hand reached for the door.
She turned.
Intense green eyes held hers.
Humbled that he’d shared this painful piece of his past, she walked over and sat by his side. Guilt slid through her. She’d acted nay better than he and wouldna ask more. ’Twas his story to tell, and Alesone prayed she’d earned such trust.
Long moments passed.
Slowly, Thomas unfurled his fist. “Léod was the youngest in our family. A sister and four brothers. We were close. I had become a squire earlier in the day, which you discovered from my father’s outburst.” On a rough breath, he turned toward the flames, the reflection of orange and yellow bright in his eyes. “My younger brother looked up to me, but that day, caught up in my pride, my actions were reckless. I should have been taken to task for teasing Léod, for pushing him.”
Her heart ached as his fingers tighten against the blanket until his knuckles grew white. “What happened?” she whispered.
He lifted his gaze to hers, the misery within almost dropping her to her knees. “I-I convinced him to spar, which isna out of the ordinary. Except on that day I dared him to accept my challenge on a fallen tree straddling a rain-swollen river. As we approached the edge, the thunderous roar of the raging water rose above the rain.” He swallowed hard.
Alesone folded her hands in her lap, understood he needed to purge his memories, and prayed with the telling he could begin to heal.
“While we stood on the bank, I saw my brother’s eyes darken with worry as he watched a small tree caught within the violent current rush past, the leafless branches ripping up clumps of dirt as it was dragged downstream,” he continued, each word forced. “But with the challenge given before our peers, if he’d backed down, ’twould have brought him shame.”
The snap of flames in the hearth filled the silence.
He rubbed the back of his neck, then dropped his hand to his side. “In position on the trunk, at first we traded swings. Once Léod realized I was but teasing him and had nay intention of a blistering match, my brother relaxed.” He swallowed hard. “After blocking my next strike, he stepped back, rounded his blade in a maneuver he hadna yet mastered, nae doubt trying to impress me. Except”—he inhaled with a sharp hiss—“his foot missed the trunk and he lost his balance. Though I lunged to catch him, his fingers clung but a moment on the rain-slick bark before he tumbled into the dangerous current.”
Oh God!
His face grew deathly white. “I can still hear his screams, his pleas for help as he was swept away. I s-swear on my life,” he said, his voice breaking, “I tried to reach him.”
“Thomas—”
“Terrified,” he continued, his voice ripe with condemnation, “I ran along the bank as his arms flailed to reach shore, with me screaming that I would save him with every step.” A tremor shook his body, then another. “I caught up to him several times, but when I waded in to grab him, the swift current hurled him out of reach.”
Tears blurred her eyes at that sheer misery in his voice. “What did you do?”
His body began to shudder.
“Thomas?”
At the raw torment on his face, Alesone understood his anguish, distress that thrived within her at thoughts of how she’d cost Grisel her life.
“When I…” He shook his head. “When I realized I wasna going to reach my brother in time, I ran home. In the bailey, filled with well-wishers who’d traveled to celebrate the day, I screamed for help. As we searched, thunderstorms unleashed their fury. We scoured the rough water in the downpour for hours.”
“You found him?” she asked, her heart breaking.
“My mother did,” he strangled out. “When I arrived, she sat on the mossy bank clutching Léod’s limp body. Her shattered wails will haunt me forever. The next day we buried Léod.”
The last whispered with such desolation, Alesone strained to hear each word. She envisioned him collapsed against the fresh turn of earth, his tears staining the ground, and his sobs inconsolable. Or so filled with pain had he stood in stony silence through the service, his heart shattered.
Once the last prayer was said, lost to his grief, how long had Thomas remained at his brother’s grave? Had any of his family stayed beside him, or so blind to their own pain, had he remained alone?
“Why did you leave Dair Castle?” she asked.
“After the heartache I caused my family,” he said as if a curse, “how could I stay? Each time they saw me, I would be naught but a reminder of what I had done, of the pain I had caused, and of the son they had lost.”
She shoved to her feet. “’Tis unfair to think that.”
Legs trembling, he stood, grasp the headboard to steady himself. “Is it? How can they nae hold me accountable when I took Léod’s life!”
“So you requested to join the monastery.”
“Aye. I believed giving my life to God would somehow make everything right.”
She remembered his father’s tormented claim of coming to the monastery and finding his son gone. “Except you dinna stay.”
“I had intended to,” Thomas said, the day he’d walked through the doors of the monastery etched in his mind. The grandeur of the hewn stone arches, the rich tapestries hanging on the wall, and the sense of a divine presence had offered him a glimmer of hope that somehow he would eventually find peace.
Understanding filled her gaze.
“As Brother Nicholai taught me the daily routine, and the tasks I was expected to perform,” he continued, “over time he became more than a mentor, but a friend. After but a month, grief-stricken, I climbed the ladder to the bell tower and broke down.” He stared at the hearth a long moment before turning to her. “Foolishly, I believed I had slipped away unseen.”
“Nicholai found you?”
“Aye. When I opened my eyes, he sat on a stool but paces away. He said naught, allowed me to discuss my upset if I chose. After a long while, feeling as if I had naught to lose, I admitted the reason for my wanting to be a monk. Admitted?” He scoffed. “Nay. Nicholai prodded me until piece by piece he uncovered the truth. After he explained a man didna serve God as a penance, but out of love.”
Humbled by the trust she inspired, Thomas studied her for a long moment. What was it about the lass that made him want to help her or share his sorrow when for years he’d said little of his past to but a few, men whom he trusted with his life?
Unsure, he focused on the possibly of his being there for her, like Nicholas had been for him so many years before.
“What happened?” she asked.
“Nicholai offered suggestions of occupations more fitting to a life where I could serve God as well as to help others.”
“And still grieving for your brother, you left.”
“Aye.”
Curiosity flickered on her face. “What did you do?”
I became a Knight Templar. Regardless if the Grand Master had absolved the Order in secret, encouraged those who’d slipped away to blend into society and to marry, his life was dedicated to the Brotherhood, to preserve the treasures along with the secrets of the Templars for which many within the Order had died.
He closed his eyes against the painful thoughts of those falsely arrested on charges of heresy, and the many more innocent men whose fate lay in the hands of a traitorous king.
“Thomas?”
With his heart heavy, he opened his eyes, found her watching him with concern. “I fought in distant lands,” he stated, shoving the anger beneath his shame.
She frowned. “You are a mercenary?”
He grunted. “Something like that.”
“Your time studying in this monastery explains your devout manner.”
“What do you mean?”
A blush slid up her cheeks. “Several times during our travel, I have watched you praying when you dinna know I was nearby.”
What else had she observed? She was smart and quick of wit. Bedamned, he should have expected her to notice his actions. In the future he would have to be more alert. As if he wasna too blasted aware of her already. “Many knights have deep faith.”
“They do, but…”
On a sigh, he nodded. “I see the question in your eyes. You may as well ask instead of badgering me in a roundabout way to find out.”
Her expression softened. “’Tis about your father.”
Blast it. After the days they’d spent together, he shouldna have expected her to shy away from topics that would upset him.
“Regardless of your wishes,” she said, “your father will bring you home.”
Drag him if necessary, and with Nicholai in on the scheme, he hadna further recourse. He shrugged. “Unable to get around on my own, ’twould seem I have little choice. Nor do I wish to place the monastery in the middle of a war. If you havena noticed, my father is a stubborn man.”
“I heard stubbornness is an admired trait.”
At the slight teasing in her voice, a smile touched his mouth, and he stilled.
Lavender eyes held his, firm with determination and incredible tenderness.
Never had he believed that he’d find happiness, but somehow, incredibly, she’d roused another emotion within him besides grief. Finding a desperate need to touch her, against his every reason why ’twas reckless, Thomas drew her hand within his. Stunned by an innate sense of rightness, he pulled away.
Tender confusion filled her gaze.
And why shouldna she be baffled? As he held her gaze, he felt the same. Never had a woman inspired a need to share his past with her, or to help her deal with her own troubles. She did both.
What was it about her that drew him? Her strength? Fortitude? Determination? Her innate gentleness? Or a dangerous combination? He’d thought her stubborn, but now he realized ’twas determination, one driven by the passion of her beliefs. Regardless if when they’d first met he hadna wanted a connection between them, the bond forged by pain and strengthened by understanding, grew with each passing day.
A part of him dreaded his return to Dair Castle and the upcoming confrontations with his father, but another looked forward to the time he and Alesone would spend together. An irrational yearning. However much she intrigued him, stirred feelings inside he hadna wanted, he could allow, nay more. In the end he would rejoin Robert the Bruce.
After her losing Grisel, ’twas best to keep things between them simple. And if he enjoyed her company, or found her pleasing to look on, ’twas expected.
* * *
“What are you doing sitting up?”
At the anger in Alesone’s voice, Thomas turned, caught the bedpost to steady himself, the soft light of dawn filling his chamber. “’Tis a wound in my chest and arm, nae my legs.”
She scowled. “You forget I sewed several stitches in your left thigh.”
He grimaced. “Minor injuries.”
Muttering something he had little doubt wasna a compliment, she stormed over. “You need to sit.”
Tired, his body aching, he grimaced. “If you are here to badger me, you can…” From the turmoil in her eyes, her upset more to do with finding him on his feet. “What is wrong?” “Nicholai’s men have returned with John.”
“How bad is he?” Thomas said as he stepped toward the door, grimaced at the blast of pain.
Alesone blocked his path. “You must remain abed or you will tear open your stitches. Look at you all but swaying on your feet!”
Damning that he’d grown lightheaded, Thomas shot her a cool glare as he stumbled over and sat on the bed. “How bad is John hurt?”
“A few broken bones, bruises. I have already treated and sewed the cuts,” she said. “He will survive.”
“Thank God.”
“J-John asked me to tell you that he didna tell Comyn’s men where we were.”
Thomas muttered a curse. “And almost died because of it.”
“He made the choice. You would have made the same one for him.”
“Aye,” he ground out, understanding the code of a Templar, the offering of one’s life for another without hesitation. “but it doesna make it easier.”
“Nay.” Dismay darkened her eyes. “I should have insisted that he travel with us to the monastery. Regardless of the storm, I should have expected Comyn’s men to trail us. If anyone is to blame for his injuries—”
“’Twas nae your fault,” Thomas broke in, furious she’d twist the situation in any manner and feel guilt. “That honor goes to your father.”
“’Tis.” Her voice wavered.
“You were tired and exhausted,” he continued. “You made the best decisions you could at the time. ’Twas a miracle neither of us froze.” He glanced toward the door. “Where is he?”
“At the end of the corridor.” She hesitated. “First, you must try to sleep a couple more hours.”
God’s teeth. “Conditions?”
A becoming flush touched her cheeks. “You have already been up and about. It is clear from your trembling that your body is exhausted.”
At his silence, she arched a questioning brow. Blasted stubborn lass. He gave a curt nod.
Alesone walked over.
“What are you doing?”
She settled onto the nearby chair. “Ensuring,” she said with quiet warning, “that you follow through.”
“I have given my word.”
“You have.”
Trying to conceal the pain his movements caused, Thomas scowled as he lay back, and then lowered his lids. After a long moment he peered out.
She’d moved to the hearth and was adding several pieces of wood. Sparks spiraled within the flames, illuminating her soft curves with unsettling clarity. His body hardened, and he cursed.
Her brow furrowed, Alesone turned. “Are you in pain?”
“Nay. I am too restless to sleep.”
“Restless,” she asked with soft accusation, “or in discomfort?”
Nae wanting to linger on a topic that would only remind him of his growing need for her, Thomas glanced around the chamber, paused on the chessboard. “Do you know the game?”
Sadness flickered in her eyes as she walked over, picked up the queen with reverence. “Aye, ’twas Grisel’s favorite.”
“We dinna have to play,” he said quietly.
She replaced the piece, then carried the game to the bed and placed the chessboard and carved wooden figures between them. “’Twill bring back fond memories. For fun we made up stakes the loser paid after each move.”
“Stakes?” he asked, unsure what to make of such. “Such as?”
She gave a soft laugh. “Naught for anything of great importance. Who would prepare the next meal, an errand, or”—her eyes twinkled with mirth—“the telling of a secret.”
Unsure if he liked the direction their impromptu game was heading, he hesitated. The last thing he wanted to do was share more about himself with her. Already they had too much in common.
“Dinna tell me that you question your skill against a simple woman?”
He grunted. After witnessing her proficiency with a bow, her sharp wit, and her bravery, there was naught simple about the lass.
“The secret you share if you lose a chess piece is nae the deep soul-searching kind,” she teased, “but uncomplicated and a wee bit of fun.” She arched a playful brow. “You do know how to have fun, do you nae?”
He grunted. “I have heard ’tis overrated.”
A smile curved her mouth, and he found that he enjoyed having put it there. Nor with the grief she’d endured over the past few weeks would he steal her bit of happiness. John was here, had been tended to, and was expected to recover. For now there was little more that he could do.
Neither would he share that chess was one of the many games he loved, challenges he had won many times over. “Go on with your game then. Lasses first.”
Mock surprise widened her eyes. “A gentleman.” She moved her pawn.
After a moment’s deliberation, Thomas countered.
Several moves later, she slipped her carved wooden figure on the square to his right as she lifted his man. “Knight takes rook. You owe me a secret.”
Her playful whisper slid over him like a caress, and awareness slammed through him. Bloody hell, ’twas naught but a bit of foolishness! He smothered his body’s demands, forced his mind to safer ground. A simple secret, how hard could that be?
“When I was a lad,” Thomas said, welcoming the memory, one he hadna recalled in many years, “during the night I snuck down to the great room. My oldest brother, Donnchadh, had left a pair of his boots near the hearth to dry. While he slept, I filled the bottoms with cow dung,” he said with a smile. “The next morning I awoke to him bellowing his outrage from a floor below.”
Alesone laughed. “What did you do?”
His smile widened. “I decided ’twas prudent to sleep in a wee bit longer.”
Her eyes sparkled with mirth. “Did he ever find out you were the culprit?”
“Nay. If he had, he would have sought revenge, and”—he shook his head—“siblings are a spiteful, brutal bunch.”
“A wonderful memory,” she said, and the warmth in her expression faded.
Thomas damned that he’d mentioned his family when she had none. Aye, she had a family, a father who was a pitiful cur and wanted her only as goods to barter.
Neither would he linger on the bastard. He’d made Alesone laugh, something she’d had little of as of late. A woman like her deserved more than the foul turn life had foisted upon her. If for the short while as they were together he bolstered her spirits, she deserved that and more.
And she was right. Regardless of the discord between him and his father, he did have family, one that loved him. “As the oldest, Donnchadh will receive the title of duke and inherit Dair Castle.”
“Were you close?”
“We were. And before you ask, I miss him.”
She studied Thomas a moment. “You are worried about seeing your brother?”
“Aye, and with good reason. With my having disappeared without a word after Léod’s death, and absent when my mother, Orabilia, and Matheu died, Donnchadh will nae be pleased to see me.”
“What if you are wrong?”
At the hope in her voice he shook his head. “I am nae.”
“But what if you are?” she pressed.
Irritated, he shot her a cool look, then moved his bishop to the square at the edge. “Check.”
“You canna always avoid talking about what you dinna wish,” she said.
Blast it! “Your king is in jeopardy.”
With a shrewd eye, Alesone surveyed the board. She slid her pawn before the king. “He is safe, unless you wish to take my man with your bishop.”
“’Twould be foolish to sacrifice my bishop for a pawn.”
She held his gaze, hers darkening in silent challenge. “That depends on what you are trying to win.”