Chapter Twelve
The ache to feel Thomas’s lips upon hers smothered Alesone’s intent to keep her distance. On a shudder, she pressed her mouth against his, and groaned beneath the explosion of sensation. As his taste flooded her, she shifted closer, stilled. He hadna moved.
Humiliation smothered the shot of desire, and she stumbled back. “I am sorry.”
Thomas caught her arm. “Why did you kiss me?” he rasped, his gaze searing into hers.
“When we played chess you…” Heat stole up her cheeks, and she shook her head, wishing she could disappear. Throughout her life, outside Grisel and Burunild, she’d hadna allowed herself to become close to anyone.
How had this man had broken her carefully constructed barriers? More, made her yearn for his touch. “I believed you were attracted to me, that I…” She gave a shaky exhale. “Forgive me.”
“Alesone.” He stepped before her.
Tears clogged her throat. “I am sorry.” She tried to jerk free, but he drew her closer. Their bodies aligned; she tried to ignore his muscled strength, his protective yet gentle hold. Until this aloof warrior had entered her life, never had she envisioned meeting a man that made her want. Except given the circumstance, however much she ached for him, ’twas wrong to embroil him in her debacle of a life as more than that of her protector.
“Alesone—”
“Let me go. Please.” Before the yearnings rushing through her eroded her fragile hold and she asked him to stay and to lay with her throughout the night. Shocked by the yearnings he aroused, she awaited the flood of guilt, the remorse, but found only desire instead.
His hand skimmed up her neck to cradle her mouth. “And if I left,” Thomas pressed his mouth over hers, along the curve of her jaw, and against her throat, and with each touch, she surrendered further. “I would be a fool.”
“Thomas, I—”
“’Tis unseemly for me to remain.”
Thrills shot through her at his quiet challenge, the unveiled need. “’Tis.”
Something dangerous flickered in his eyes, and her heart slammed against her chest. With sultry slowness, he kissed each finger, and then drew her against him until their mouths were but a breath apart. “Your pulse is racing.”
“I canna think.” The truth, this close, wanting him, the words she needed to say to push him away vanished.
Green eyes darkened with heat. “Mayhap ’tis best.”
“Is it?” she whispered.
“I am unsure.” He again claimed her mouth, took the kiss deeper, and whatever she’d meant to say faded beneath the blur of heat.
They’d kissed before, but against this onslaught, what she’d experienced prior ’twas a simple exchange of desire. Now, his each touch, taste became vital to her very existence. His mouth feasted, and she gave, demanded in return.
With tenderness he freed the ties of her gown, and then his fingers skimmed across the sensitive curves. Her body trembling, she arched, giving him access, wanting more.
On a muttered curse, he caught her shoulders. “As much as I want you, we canna do this.”
His rough words shattered the euphoria clouding her mind. Refusing to allow him to see her hurt, that if he’d chosen, wanting him with her every breath, she would have made love, Alesone turned away.
Gentle fingers turned her to face him. “Blast it, I am sorry. ’Twas wrong of me to touch you.”
Angry that he would blame himself in any way, she pulled free. “I wanted the kiss!”
Dark eyes narrowed. “Dinna you understand? Intimacy between us is wrong.”
“By whose standards?” Coldness filled her, and she stepped away. “You will have to forgive me if I dismiss decorum. Of late I tire of the standards of society, conventions I have followed my entire life, rules that have delivered me naught but contempt from those who wield them.”
“You are upset,” he said, “rightly so.”
“And what of you?” she demanded. “In regards to us, what is it you want?”
He stilled.
A thrill swept her at the naked desire in his eyes, a mixture of yearning and dangerous heat. Aware she crossed every line, shredded convention with her next words, she didna give a damn. Here, now, was all that mattered. For the first time in her life she’d met a man who made her care, who considering their extraordinary introduction had befriended her, and a man who made her feel desire.
“If I wanted you to…” The bravado of moments before faded. What was she thinking? Nay, rational thought was the last thing on her mind. Moments before she’d awoken from a nightmare. Instead of thanking Thomas for his concern, she’d pushed him to where he didna wish to be.
Mortified, Alesone shook her head. “About what I…Ignore my words.” Wide awake and with her safeguards restored, if possible, she needed to repair the situation. “You can leave,” she said, forcing her voice to remain calm as if inside she wasna falling apart. “I am safe. Naught but a dream threatened me.”
Tenderness softened his face as Thomas brushed his thumb against her cheek, and she savored the delicate tingle. “I willna depart allowing you to believe that I dinna want you, but ’tis nae so simple.”
Fighting the ache in her chest, Alesone took in the finely crafted mantle carved above the hearth with intricate Celtic pattern, the stained-glass window, and the thick covering upon the bed embroidered with an elegant design. “As the son of a powerful duke, you have duties.”
Anger flashed in his eyes. “Is that what you think I care about: power, status?”
“Nay,” she replied, ashamed by her words, those cast from her own lack of self-worth. “You are a good man, one who any woman would be proud to have.”
“Except you.”
A fissure streaked through her heart. She inhaled a rough breath, then another as she fought for composure. “As the bastard daughter of King Robert’s enemy, I am nae in a place where I could linger on thoughts of a normal life, much less allow myself to care for you.”
Eyes holding hers with fierce intent, he moved forward. “But you do.”
Another crack fractured her heart, and she cursed her weakness when it came to him.
“I think,” he continued, as his thumb swept over her lower lip in a seductive slide, “’tis best that I leave.”
A wise choice, a decision that would serve them both well. Except the thought of being alone left her empty, and she could feel the nightmares that’d stormed her dreams a short time before threatening to return. “I ask that you stay.”
His body tensed.
“Only to talk,” she rushed out. “If only for a while, please. I dinna want to be alone.”
Thomas hesitated. Moments ago he’d cursed the desire searing through him until he’d wanted to take. Now he damned how shaken by her nightmare, at this moment she looked fragile. “I will stay for a while longer.”
Her body sagged with relief.
Refusing to remain near the bed, Thomas gestured toward a carved bench paces before the hearth. As she sat, he stoked the fire, and then settled beside her.
Flames wavered over the wood, the simplicity of the moment calming.
With a hesitant glance, Alesone turned. “I thank you for remaining. I know you would have rather left.”
He gave a dry smile. “’Twould have been prudent, especially if anyone were to learn of my nocturnal visit.”
“You could say that you were sleepwalking.”
“Or, I could explain that, feeling poorly, I came for an herbal potion.”
Alesone arched a doubtful brow, but the concern on her face eased. On an unsteady breath, she glanced around. “’Tis a beautiful chamber.”
“Aye, this room has always been one of my favorites,” he said, allowing the memories to fill him. “It belonged to my mother.”
Surprise flickered on her face. “Why was I given her chamber?”
“’Twas my father’s doing. A choice which I admit pleased me.”
A blush swept up her cheeks. “For me as well—to care for you that is,” she blurted out.
He should accept her words, but after their kiss, and with his body still aching for her, he wanted her to admit that she wanted more. “And is that all?”
She stilled. “’Tisna fair to ask.”
Unable to resist, Thomas skimmed his mouth over hers. “When I see something I want, I find it difficult to be fair.”
Her eyes flared with nerves. “You canna want me.”
He was pushing her, but for an unexplainable reason, her evasion drove him to hear her say the words. “Why would you think that I wouldna want you?” As a Templar, it was a question that weeks ago he would have sworn he would never ask. Then, he’d never expected to meet someone like her.
“I…” Her lower lip trembled, and she shook her head. “Tell me about your mother’s chamber.”
He hesitated, wanting to press her, but with her thoughts troubled from her earlier nightmare, now wasna the time. Neither was their discussion through.
Thomas scanned the room, and the tangle of need fading beneath the memories. “My father built this chamber for my mother when she wished to be alone to read, sew, or other quiet diversions.”
A wistful smile curved her mouth. “That explains the beautiful details throughout. Never have I seen a mantle carved in such detail, or a stained window crafted with such an exquisite design. Both are breathtaking.”
“My father,” he said, struggling beneath the wash of sadness, “loved my mother very much.”
“I am sorry. Your being here must be difficult.”
“In truth,” he forced out, “’tis hard to be anywhere within Dair Castle.” There are so many memories.”
Alesone gave his hand a gentle squeeze. “Will you tell me about your mother?”
Emotions flooded him as he thought of the woman he loved, one he would never see again. “She gave her heart to her family, and she was curious about everything.” He shoved to his feet, walked over to a small case filled with books. He withdrew a thick tomb, the hand-tooled leather worn from often use. He stroked his thumb along the aged spine. “I had forgotten about his volume.”
The quiet pad of steps sounded, then Alesone paused at his side.
Damning the burn of tears, he didna look at her.
“Tell me about this book,” she said softly.
His fingers trembled as he flipped open the cover. Framed by the neatly penned prose, familiar drawings crowded the page, a bit of whimsy as several of the fey peeked out beneath blooms of heather.
She gasped with delight. “They are beautiful!”
“Aye. She enjoyed her time setting ink to paper. Claimed ’twas nae her, but the fey who guided her hand. Here.” A smile curved his mouth as he flipped through the pages, paused. “See this?”
Alesone studied the wisps of powder shimmering upon the parchment. “It sparkles.”
“Fairy dust she claimed, conjured from the mist of the fey when they’d sneak in at night to look over her stories and drawings. As a child I believed her.” He shrugged. “’Tis foolish that I was so naive.”
Her expression softened. “’Tis a special memory, one you are blessed to have.”
Thomas nodded, wishing back the time with his mother. With a hard swallow, he traced his finger over the neatly written words and the sparkles scattered upon the page. “When I was young, she made up these stories for my siblings and me. When she read them, she’d nae recite a simple telling of a tale, but like a seasoned bard, she’d whisper when the story grew tense so we would be leaning closer, then she’d shout with the arrival of the villain. The lot of us would jump.” With a chuckle, he shook his head. “You think we would have learned of her methods to lure us in until lost in the story, we awaited her each word and forgot her penchant for fun. At times I think we realized her intent, but if you could have seen the happiness in my mother’s eyes.” He smiled. “The stories were as important to us as to her.” The joy of the moment faded. “Never would we take that away from her, and now…”
Throat tight, Thomas flipped through the pages, then closed the cover.
“Can I see it?”
“Aye.” He handed her the tome.
With reverence, Alesone leafed through the book, pausing to smile, and then continued. Tears misted her eyes as she returned the book to him. “What a precious gift. When you have children, you can retell her stories, and share a piece of your mother with each and every tale.”
Moved by Alesone’s heartfelt words, he nodded. Until this moment all he’d considered was the devastating loss “Aye, ’twill be her legacy of sorts. As much as I wish it,” he said, sliding his thumb lovingly along the aged leather, “neither is this book nor the others mine. They belongs to my father. When the time comes to pass her drawings and her stories down, as the eldest, they will go to Donnchadh.”
“I would think that your brother would honor your request for at least one volume of something so personal.”
Thomas gave a cold laugh, replaced the volume. “I doubt Donnchadh cares what I wish. If ’twas his decision, I wouldna be here.”
She hesitated. “What happened to cause the rift between the two of you?”
Hurt poured through him, the angry shouts, the accusations. He ran his fingers along the top of the leather binding, then let his hand fall away.
“Once we’d buried Léod, everyone left but me. Alone, I stared at the newly turned earth and wept until nay more tears would come, haunted by memories of my mother’s sobs and my father’s face shattered with grief. There was naught I could do to repair the travesty I had caused.”
The old ache shuddered through him, and he faced the hearth, the flames charring the wood like the scars upon his soul. “As the sun began to set,” he said, his words unsteady, “Donnchadh hauled me up. Eyes red with tears, he accused me of murdering our brother, told me I was unfit to breathe.”
Alesone’s eyes widened with horror. “’Tis a terrible thing to say.”
Thomas grunted. “Anything he said was naught compared to what I had told myself in the hours that I had lain beside my brother’s grave. Distraught, I told him that I would leave. Donnchadh cursed me, swore that regardless of where I went, never would I find a place that would bring me peace.” The memories ripe, the words uttered all those years before scorched deep in his heart. “And he was right.”
“’Twas an accident.”
He met her gaze. “Mayhap, but in some things you are never able to find forgiveness for yourself.”
Anger flashed in her eyes. “Like the guilt I bear for Grisel’s death?”
Bedamned. “Alesone, I didna mean—”
“I know what you meant,” she said, her voice raising a notch. “You think teasing your youngest brother makes you guiltier than my aiding a wounded man, but you are wrong. Innocent to the ramifications, each of us made choices, decisions that in the end led to the death of someone we loved.”
Her voice broke at the last, and he damned himself. He reached out, but she stepped back.
“This isna about me,” Alesone challenged, “but you. However broken inside, you have a family who loves you. Dinna you see, your father’s forgiveness is the first step in making your family whole again. Though you and your brother are at odds, until you forgive yourself, quit damning your actions from so many years before, the rift between you and Donnchadh will never heal.”
Humbled, Thomas stared at Alesone. Though she hurt, her only consideration was for him. And she was right. So caught up in his grief over the years, until this moment he’d never considered allowing himself even a shimmer of forgiveness.
Nor could he overlook the quiet worry in her voice. With her father’s despicable interest in her, until Comyn was defeated, her life would be plagued by danger.
“Even though you damned your actions, you tried to find a way to absolve your sins,” she said, breaking into his ruminations, “the reason you went to the monastery, to sacrifice any chance of a home or a family.”
“A decision which infuriated my father.” He fisted his hands as memories cascaded through him. “We had a terrible row over my leaving. In the end, as I refused to consider any other option, he agreed.” He shrugged. “The rest you know.”
Alesone nodded, smothering her heart-wrenching memories of Grisel, and focused on Thomas. “That you and your father have renewed a bond is significant, but I believe ’tis as important to mend the fracture between you and Donnchadh.”
A muscle worked in his jaw. “For my brother and I, time has repaired naught, nor will the years ahead change that.”
“Thomas—”
“Dinna you recall his welcome upon our arrival?” he demanded. “Tell me, has he come to see me since? Nay, nor will he. He despises me,” he said, his voice growing hard, “and rightly so. Neither will I beg forgiveness from him when I deserve none.”
“’Tis your brother!”
“By blood. There is naught more.”
“Because you refuse to try.”
The anger in his eyes wilted to resignation, and Thomas rubbed the back of his neck, and then dropped his hand. “I didna expect you to understand.”
The man was pigheaded! “And I didna expect for you to walk away without trying to salvage the remnants of your family however tattered.” Her eyes narrowed. “Dinna you understand how lucky you are? Nay, instead you cling to your grief, withdraw inside yourself when reminders of the old hurt arises.” She fisted her hands. “Damn you, I would give anything to have someone who loved me, however remote, than to have a father who after years only acknowledges my presence because now he finds me useful for his devious scheme.”
Stunned by her outburst, aware she’d overstepped her bounds beyond acceptable, Alesone shook her head. “I…” What? How did one apologize for her impropriety? “I am sorry.” She turned and fled.
Pain tore through Thomas’s body as he caught Alesone’s arm.
“Let me go!”
“Wait.” Anguish-filled eyes held his, and her words, however much he hadna wanted to hear them, made sense. “Stay, please. My anger isna at you, but me.” He gentled his hold. “Your father is a fool to have shunned a woman who is amazing in her own right.” Her expression grew tender, and he nodded. “Mayhap you are right, and I should try to repair the rift with Donnchadh.”
“You will?”
The tension in her eyes shifted to hope, and to make her happy, the sacrifice of speaking to his brother a small price to pay. “Aye.”
“Thank you.”
Humbled by this perceptive woman, he brushed away loose strands of hair that’d fallen on her cheek. “’Tis I who should be thanking you. You make me see what I dinna want to, dare question me when I try to push you away.” Thomas drew her to him, needing to feel her against him, her warmth, her spirit, and savored the rightness of her in his arms.
How in such a short time had she become so important to him? As if she had any place in his life? Like his thoughts of settling at Conchar Castle, they were little more than a dream. Until the day he walked away from the battlefield, even if he wanted to, he could promise her naught.
She leaned her head against his chest. “What are you thinking?”
He drew in her scent of woman and heat, ached from the rightness of her. “How I wish,” he whispered, “that we could stay here forever.”
In the firelight, she lifted her eyes to his, the desire within almost bringing him to his knees.
Unable to stop himself, he claimed her mouth, the earlier desperation lost to a slow need, something he couldna define, but touching her, feeling her tremble in his arms, ’twas as essential as his next breath.
Her breathing unsteady, she skimmed her hands up his chest, then her arms wrapped around his neck.
The rush of emotion built as he took, slow and gentle until she was kissing him back, her demands unleashing his own. Her taste pouring through him, he ran his hands over her skin, along the curves of her gown. Holding her gaze, he loosened the ties of her gown, skimmed his fingers along the soft swell of her breast, then lowered his mouth to taste, savor, until her body trembled.
“Thomas, I…”
“I want you,” he whispered, stunned he’d spoken aloud. He should leave. To touch her now would do naught but make everything more difficult. Except against every reason, all he could think of was her, of this night, and of showing her all that she made him feel.
Doubt flickered in her gaze. “But you are hurt.”
“I am fine. And I will be gentle. I swear it.”
She glanced at the bed, turned and gave a shaky nod.
He ignored his body’s roar to take her, and savored each movement as he released the last few ties. The gown puddled at her feet. Firelight caressed her skin within its golden glow, each curve crafted as if made to make a man beg.
She made to cover herself, but he caught her hand.
“Nay, you are beautiful.” With reverence, he skimmed his fingers along her shoulders, and then cupped the silky weight of her breasts, and his entire body burned. “Perfect.” He tasted each hardened tip, slow, savoring, until her breaths fell out in desperate gasps. His mind raw with need, he swept her in his arms and carried her to the bed.
“Thomas—”
“Dinna move. I want to see you. Touch you. Everywhere.” With infinite slowness, he kissed her, caressed her until she grew restless beneath him, and her moans drove his control to the brink. Wanting to feel her fall apart, as he deepened the kiss, he skimmed his fingers lower, slid them into her moist heat.
She gasped.
“Just feel.” With each stroked, her body arched up to meet his caress, her movements frantic. On a cry, Alesone called out, and Thomas covered her mouth and drank in her passion, absorbed her every shudder.
As she collapsed, he lay on his side and drew her against him, pressed a kiss on her mouth, her cheek, her chin, and then moved lower. “Now I—”
A knock sounded on the other side of the door. “Mistress Alesone?” his father called.