Chapter Five
Anger reddened Nicholai’s face as he glared at Thomas. “By all that is holy, your brother’s death was an accident!”
“One that could have been avoided,” Thomas growled, damning himself over again. If he could recall the day, turn back the hands of time until that moment of his foolish arrogance, he would. “Celebrating my becoming a squire, having a bit of fun and shamefully full of myself, I taunted Léod before our peers. To save face, he agreed to my dare. Had I left him alone and focused on my achievement, my younger brother would be alive.”
“Your teasing wasna out of malice,” the monk said, his voice softening. “’Twas naught more than boys do, those who strive to become knights, lads who one day grow into fine men, and warriors who protect those whom they love.”
Far from swayed by his friend’s logic, Thomas dragged his gaze to the cross hanging on the wall. His younger brother’s death had left his family devastated. The soul-tearing sobs of his mother as she’d wept at the news of a son lost, and the grief in his father’s eyes, haunted him still. Nor could he forget the shock and fury of his older brothers and sister when they’d learned of the tragedy.
Regardless if a time came where any within his family could forgive him, never could he forgive himself.
Nicholai grunted. “I see you are as stubborn as ever.”
On a deep exhale, Thomas straightened in his bed. “If ’twas so simple.”
“Indeed.” With a weary sigh, Nicholai settled into a chair at his side, the wisps of grey sprinkled within his brown hair a potent reminder of the passage of time. “’Tis good to see you again. I have missed our talks.”
“As have I.” Thomas shifted to a more comfortable position, winced at the shot of pain.
A frown creased the monk’s brow. “You must take care, you are far from healed.”
Given the dire circumstances, a choice he couldna make. By now he and Alesone should have reached the western coast. With almost a sennight having passed since they’d departed the Bruce’s camp, he wasna sure where Comyn’s men were, or where they had positioned themselves to keep watch for their passage.
However much he wished to ride toward Avalon Castle, ’twas wisest to continue detouring south. After a day, mayhap two, and as long as he saw nay sign of danger, they would head northwest.
“Once I am able to ride,” Thomas said, “Alesone and I will depart.”
Nicholai refilled a goblet with water. “You have had a fever for several days.” He handed Thomas the cup. “I caution you to allow your body to heal before you depart.”
He took a drink, the cool slide soothing his parched throat. Thomas nodded toward the chessboard in the corner. “It wasna here earlier.”
“Delivered while you slept. I thought you might enjoy a match or two. For old times.”
“Old times?” he said, relaxing a degree, thankful his friend hadna pushed further. Exhausted, and with his body aching, the last thing he wanted to do was argue. “Methinks you are determined to beat me. As I recall, ’twas a feat you rarely achieved.”
A smiled touched his mouth. “There is that.”
“Little doubt you have honed your skills since I left.”
“I may have played a game or two since our last challenge.” The smile fell away. “Many years have gone by since you studied here.”
They had, time he’d hoped would lessen the painful memories of his youth. He set the goblet aside. “After you advised me to consider becoming a Knight Templar, I was torn as to what decision I should make.”
Nicholai nodded. “Had you arrived at the monastery with God in your heart and sincerity in wanting to serve Him, I would have encouraged you to remain. Except your reason was due to guilt, and your each day in service here driven by a need for penance.”
Regret balled in Thomas’s throat. He released a shaky breath. “You were right. I needed to leave.”
“And now?”
“The Brotherhood gave me purpose, an outlet for my anger, and I found immense pride in helping others.” But never peace—nor did he expect to find such, a fact he’d accepted long ago.
Satisfaction filled the monk’s eyes. “The travel and experiences have given you a broader understanding of people. Taught you that regardless of where you go, at the core of every culture is the need to belong, to care for those who matter, and however much one would try to ignore the draw, a need for family.”
He swallowed hard. Nay, one didna forget family.
The monk arched a brow. “Does your father know you are here?”
Thomas heard the hope in his voice, the belief that the heartbreak between him and his family could be mended. “Nay. Nor will I tell him.”
Nicholai’s mouth tightened. “By all that is holy, havena enough years passed?”
“Dinna you understand?” Frustration roughened his voice. “I have caused those I love to suffer enough.” He fought the burn of grief. “Nor does it matter. To them, I am naught but a painful memory.”
“Thoma—”
“Blast it, my presence would do naught but tear open old wounds!”
“’Tis time to repair the bond.”
Hope ignited deep inside that such a chance existed. Just as quickly, it faded. Thomas shook his head, damned that even for a moment he’d allowed himself to weaken to the prospect. “’Tis impossible.”
“I believe otherwise.” Nicholai steepled his fingers, shot him a measuring glance. “Your father visited me a few weeks prior. Sadness still lingers in his eyes.”
Torn between nae wanting to hear and thirsting for every detail, Thomas fisted his hands as the ache built inside for his father, for his family.
“However much you deny it,” his friend continued, “you miss him, but are too bloody stubborn to admit what is evident in your expression.”
Bedamned! “I have stated my reason for staying away.” The monk’s eyes narrowed. “You have, but in truth ’tis naught but an excuse.”
“I—”
“You dinna want to remember, but you do,” Nicholai pushed, anger sliding into his voice. “Or wish to discuss Léod’s passing, but your brother’s death haunts you, tears you apart, and destroys any chance you will ever find peace. Until you face your past, you will never heal. Nor will your family.” Hard eyes held his. “Havena those you love suffered enough? As your friend, I beseech you to travel to Dair Castle.”
Bitterness twisted in Thomas’s gut at the idea of returning to his home, of facing the people he loved, those he had hurt. However much he dinna want to remember, he did, every day, with every breath. But his friend was wrong. With the despair he’d served his family, any chance of overcoming the strife between them was insurmountable.
On a hard swallow, Thomas clung to his one saving grace. “Regardless of my wishes, the luxury to remain and visit Dair Castle or visit my family isna a choice I can make. I am on a mission for King Robert. As I stated before, once I am well enough, I will continue my escort of Alesone.”
“I see.” Nicholai tapped his finger against the time-worn wood as he studied him. “There are other issues that pique my interest.”
With the hint of exasperation lingering in the monk’s voice, Thomas understood ’twas courtesy that’d guided him to another topic. For now, Nicholai wouldna press, but he was familiar with his friend’s strategy in winning an argument, and knew they were far from through with the matter.
“Such as?” Thomas asked.
“With news of King Philip’s order to arrest the Templars in France, as you are one of the Brotherhood, I am surprised to find you in Scotland.”
“An unplanned event.”
“In addition, you mentioned that you ride on orders from King Robert.” Sage eyes held his. “I believe there is more to your appearance in Scotland than merely as an escort for an untitled lass.”
Nor should he be surprised that his friend, a close acquaintance to the Bishop Wishart, was so well informed. “There is. After the Templars protected King Philip against the riots in Paris, for him to press false charges against the Order and call for their arrest ’twas despicable.”
Nicholai gave a solemn nod. “I pray, as do the other monks, that Pope Clement will intervene on the Templars’ behalf.”
Thomas grunted with disgust. “Dinna hold out for such an intervention. ’Tis well known within the Brotherhood that the pontiff wasna chosen for his strength of character. King Philip ensured the man selected to brandish the church’s power was one he could influence.”
His friend made a sign of the cross. “’Tis a sad day when the most holy position within the church can be manipulated. Thank God you have escaped France. I pray more of your Brothers were as fortunate.”
Thomas glanced over his shoulder to ensure the entry was closed, and then faced his friend. “What I tell you isna to be shared.”
“I swear it.”
“Weeks prior to the Knights Templar being charged with heresy,” Thomas said, smothering the rush of anger the memories wrought, “the Grand Master received word of King Philip’s intent. To protect the Order’s secrets, Jacques de Molay followed a covert plan, one constructed with Robert Bruce in case of such a threat years before.”
“By all that is holy, what has Scotland’s king to do with the Order?”
“Incredibly, everything.” Thomas gave a wry smile. “Robert Bruce is a Knight Templar.”
The bewilderment on his friend’s face gave way to stunned understanding. “King Robert’s religious exclusion, and the Scottish clergy’s refusal to acknowledge his excommunication, would allow the Bruce to offer all Knights Templar entry into his realm with impunity.”
Thomas nodded. “Exactly. In secret the Grand Master dissolved the brotherhood and ordered select knights to load critical Templar secrets and treasures onboard our galleys. Before the arrests began, beneath the cover of darkness we fled St. Rochelle. Five ships sailed to Scotland, and the remainder headed to Portugal.”
“A man of the Grand Master’s caliber,” his friend said, his voice somber, “would have planned for such a horrific event. Thank God you were forewarned, but ’tis tragic so many Templars were left behind.”
Thomas fought for composure against the swell of misery. “I, as the others, despised leaving any of the Brotherhood behind. But to ensure none loyal to King Philip were alerted of our escape with the Templar treasure, Jacques de Molay explained the Order’s daily routine must appear unchanged.” He paused. “Have you learned of any details of the arrests?”
“Aye.” Nicholai’s hand trembled as he set aside his goblet. “Within days after the arrests began, numerous Templars were killed, many others tortured; horrific stories that chill me to the bone.”
His friend’s words conjured dreadful images of the Brotherhood who’d suffered, and he muttered a curse. “France’s king may have confiscated the gold remaining in the Paris Temple,” he rasped, “but never will he claim our true wealth or seize the holy relics we protect. Those are forever out of the bastard’s grasp.”
Grave eyes held his. “He will search for them.”
“He will, but they are hidden, a location he will never learn. A fact by now I believe King Philip has realized…” God’s teeth, the reason for King Philip’s pact with Comyn! Why had he nae put the pieces together before? Regardless he knew now, a revelation that must be passed to King Robert.
“How do you know?” the monk asked.
His mind a rush of outrage and grief, Thomas met his friend’s gaze. “Because in private, France’s king has crafted a foul scheme with Comyn.”
Nicholai’s face paled. “Tell me.”
“With the Templars’ gold filling the French sovereign’s coffers, and aware of Comyn’s dire financial straits along with his lack of men to ward off King Robert’s assaulting force, King Philip has offered the Scot both.”
“The price?” the monk whispered.
“That Comyn’s bastard daughter wed one of King Philip’s nobles.”
“A bastard daughter? That makes little sense. Why would King Philip let a by-blow marry one of his powerful lords?”
“Robert the Bruce believes the French king’s offer to Comyn is but a ruse. Once the fighting is over, if Comyn is successful, King Philip will crush him and then claim Scotland for himself.”
What little color remained in Nicholai’s face fled. “’Twould be an atrocity!”
“Aye, and as established by his betrayal of the Templars, evil he willna hesitate to commit.” He grimaced. “Before I departed Robert’s camp, we both believed the goal of France’s king was only to claim Scotland. Now I realize that somehow King Philip has learned the Templars have brought their treasure to Scotland. If he gains control of our country, he could plunder with disregard until he discovers where ’tis hidden.”
“By all that is holy, this wedding must never occur!”
“It willna,” Thomas stated. “King Robert has ensured that the lass is hidden away where none will find her.”
“Thank God that he…” His friend’s eyes widened in disbelief. “The lass—’tis Mistress Alesone. And ’tis you who is charged with her safety, which nae only explains your determination to reach your destination, but your urgency.”
Thomas gave a curt nod. “God forbid if Comyn learns where she will be hiding.”
“Indeed, ’twould be the beginning of Scotland’s end.” Nicholai paused. “Does she know of her father’s intent?”
Memories of Alesone’s pallor at news of her father’s treachery rumbled through him. “She does, and wants nay part of him. Nor is she weak-willed. To her credit, she is an excellent archer.” Pride filled Thomas as he shared how they’d first met.
The monk chuckled. “I believe you have met your match.”
He shrugged, amused by his friend’s mirth. With her wit, cunning, and strength of character, aye. “There is much to admire about her.”
“Including her beauty.” Nicholai raised a brow. “Dinna tell me you havena noticed.”
Lavender eyes that would lure the stoutest man flickered in his mind. “I noticed, but her comely face and intelligence dinna change my plan. Though the Templars are dissolved, I shall abide by my vows given, which include forbidding marriage.”
“Because you willna allow any chance for love in your life,” his friend charged, “your penance for Léod’s death.”
Anger slapped him. “I—”
Nicholai shoved to his feet. “After all these years I believed you would have come to understand that your brother’s death wasna your fault? But you havena. How long will you push away anyone whom stirs your interest?” His face darkened to a fierce scowl. “Dinna say that she doesna intrigue you. I saw how you watched her when you first awoke, your expression unguarded!”
“I—”
“Do you believe,” Nicholai continued, rolling over Thomas’s reply, “that Léod would have wanted you to sacrifice any chance at happiness?”
Years had passed since he’d heard his brother’s name, but the mention still cut like a dagger to his heart. “We will never know what my brother wanted,” he rasped.
“Will we nae?” Nicholai charged. “I knew him well. We played together as children. He was a lad full of happiness and caring. I doubt he would have wanted your life to be void of love or dredged in despair.”
“Enough!” Thomas boomed, his head pounding, his distress so fierce ’twas storming his senses with brutal accuracy. “Despite what you wish, or the feelings the lass inspires, Alesone is but a duty.”
His friend arched a brow. “Feelings she inspires?”
God’s blade, where had that come from? “My thoughts concerning the lass matter little. I refuse to allow her to be more than a charge.”
“Refuse?” He folded his arms over his chest. “Who are you trying to convince, me or yourself?”
He glared at his friend. “I have stated my intent.”
“And what of her happiness? Would you deny her an opportunity for such?”
Thomas started to reply, then began to cough.
“Here.” The monk handed him a goblet of water.
After a sip, he settled back. He set the cup aside, forced lightness into his voice, needing to smother his friend’s beliefs. “You are mistaken, I have little to do with her happiness.”
His gaze intent, he settled in the chair beside the bed. “You didna see how she remained by your side since your arrival, her growing concern with each passing day.”
“She is a healer.”
“Which explains her initial care, but nae why I couldna pry her from your chamber even after your fever broke. She refused to leave until after you had awoken.”
And when he’d looked up and seen her there, a sense of rightness had filled him, a bond that crossed the lines of duty. Shaken by the need she stirred within him, he stowed the emotions deep inside. His life path was decided, one that didna include her.
“Cloistered within the monastery over the years, your mind convolutes loyalty to her craft with passion,” Thomas said. “However much you wish to see otherwise, Alesone is my charge, nay more.”
“Interestingly enough, when I questioned Mistress Alesone about you, she grew as defensive.” His friend held up his hand as Thomas made to speak. “Talk of what exists between you and the lass can wait. Like her, you need to rest.” He stood and started to turn.
“Have you achieved what you came here for?” Thomas asked, understanding his friend’s intent too well.
He glanced back. “I did. You are very astute.”
“You were a good teacher.”
A smile flickered on the monk’s face. “I will see you on the morrow.” With quiet steps he departed the chamber.
On edge Thomas stared at the door, far from pleased by his friend’s insight regarding Alesone. ’Twas easy to understand why the Bruce had allowed her into his trusted circle to become his healer, and the king’s fierce resolve to ensure her protection. The lass inspired loyalty, trust—and if he were honest, more. A woman devastated by her own grief, however much she hurt, she pushed on.
A life alone.
A life without a bond.
A life buried beneath service to others.
Much like his own.
Nor did she linger on her troubles, but with her each breath she carved out the path she chose, forging the hurt of her youth into a fierce, unbreakable shield.
When they’d first met, he’d wanted to shake her for daring to threaten him. Now he found only respect. Alesone was unlike any woman he’d ever met. Dangerous to her enemies, a protector to those she loved. Nor had a woman’s smile ever thrown him off balance.
Regret built inside at thoughts of leaving her, but ’twas for the best. However much she intrigued him, naught had changed. His service to the Templars, to God, had fulfilled him over the years and ’twould do so in the future.
Except emptiness lingered at thoughts of a life without her.
Thomas damned the truth. When he rode away from Avalon Castle he would fade from her memory, but she would forever be etched in his mind.
* * *
The soft chime of bells sifted through Alesone’s sleep. Groggy, she lifted her lids. A gutted candle with a blackened wick sat atop a simple night stand like a harbinger of her empty life ahead. Uneasy she focused on the embers glowing in the hearth, flickers of hope that refused to yield.
She rubbed her eyes, the tang of fresh rushes and smoke scenting the air as she scanned the chamber. A cross hung upon the far wall.
The monastery.
Memories of the harrowing journey to the friary several days before erased the last wisps of sleep. Her legs unsteady, she sat.
She smoothed the rumpled sheet beneath her hand, paused as she remembered the fear that had filled her as they’d ridden to escape, each turn bringing them against another unknown. Throughout, Thomas had demonstrated horsemanship unlike she’d ever seen, and hadna hesitated in his every decision to keep her safe.
Even at the risk of his life.
More humbling, even wounded, he’d kept her ignorant of his injury along with the pain. A healer, she’d tended too many with similar wounds to nae understand the suffering he’d endured. But he had.
For her.
Humbled by his bravery, at how he’d risked his life to keep her safe, she slipped from the bed. Alesone padded to the hearth and laid several pieces of kindling atop the embers. Puffs of smoke swirled from beneath the dry wood. A flame flickered to life and grew.
Against the snap of the fire, memories ignited. However afraid she’s been, she had found trust, belief in him to keep her safe. And he had.
Until he’d lost consciousness.
But he had awakened, and thank God, would survive.
Relief swept through her, unlocking unbidden thoughts of how he’d wrapped her within his powerful embrace and drawn her against his muscled chest. She shivered at the remembrance of how his breaths had brushed against the curve of her ear, teased her skin until she’d wanted to turn her lips to meet his.
Shaken by the yearning he inspired, she drew a steadying breath. Though she had met many warriors, none compared to Thomas. A knight. With the skills she’d witnessed, that she could believe, but naught about him was ordinary.
And his friends. John and Brother Nicholai were smart, steadfast, and trustworthy, men who wouldna call anyone a friend who wasna of the same ilk.
She picked up a piece of kindling from the fire. A flame danced on the blackened tip as if a beacon against the darkness, like the light Thomas had brought to her life.
On edge, Alesone shoved the dry tinder into the flames, watched as the wood was engulfed. With her linage mired with King Robert’s enemy, how could Thomas view her as anything but a charge? ’Twas foolish to allow her thoughts to linger on him. He was a warrior, a man dedicated to his blade, both facts he’d made clear.
Pushing aside the tug of awareness, she brushed the dust from her hands, and jerked her gown off a nearby peg. Sunlight streamed into the room as she donned her garb. She’d see how Thomas was faring. The sooner he healed, the sooner they would be on their way.
As she stepped into the corridor, she smiled at the man exiting Thomas’s chamber. “Brother Nicholai.”
The monk pulled the door closed. “Good morning, Mistress Alesone. If you are wanting to see Thomas, he is a bit irritable. Likely due to the pain that he denies.” A smile touched his mouth. “Considering everything—that his fever is gone and he is healing is a blessing.”
“’Tis,” she agreed.
“To allow time for his foul mood to wear off, I bid you to join me to break your fast.”
“I really should go and—”
“Enjoy your meal with me.” His smile grew. “’Twould be an honor, and a wee bit selfish. Rarely do we have visitors, much less a beautiful woman, to break the fast with.”
Heat touched her cheeks at his compliment, and she nodded. She walked at his side as he started down the hall. “Thomas is blessed to have such a friend as you.”
Mirth flickered in his eyes. “Depending on when you asked Thomas, he may or may not agree. At times we dinna see eye to eye.”
“He is stubborn, you mean.”
“Aye,” he said with good nature, “the same as other people I know.”
At the charge, Alesone laughed, the tension in her body easing. “I believe the trait is an admirable one.”
“Indeed. And one that nay doubt intrigues Thomas as well.”
She remained silent, embarrassed he would allude to Thomas or his feelings toward her. Neither would mulling over the fact change anything. The pad of leather upon stone echoed as they descended the turret.
“’Tis good to see him after all of these years.”
“You knew him as a child?” Little harm would come in getting to know a bit more about Thomas, a man who regardless of his own feelings toward her, intrigued Alesone.
“When we were lads, Thomas and I would spar in the lists. Later on, I received the calling. When he arrived at the monastery intent on becoming a monk too, you can imagine my surprise.”
Unsure if she was more stunned to learn Thomas had once intended to devote his life to God, or that he’d made such a complete change of direction and became a man of war, she frowned. “That explains his devout manner.”
“What do you mean?”
“Several times since we met, I have seen Thomas praying, more than is common.”
Understanding filled his gaze. “And have you noticed any other abnormal traits?”
At his teasing, heat stole up her cheeks. “Nay unusual,” she rushed out, “but he is pious, more than most that havena become men of the cloth.”
Torchlight illuminated his face as he nodded. “Dinna worry, I understood what you meant. I was but—”
Hurried steps echoed from below. “Brother Nicholai!”
Nerves shot through Alesone as a young monk, his expression panicked, rushed up the steps.
Worry lined Nicholai’s brow. “Wait here.” He met the younger man halfway down the turret.
Fragments of the man’s terse whispers sifted up.
Nicholai nodded, quietly replied.
With a nod, the young monk hurried away.
Mouth grim, Nicholai returned.
Unease filled Alesone. “What is wrong?”
“’Twould seem there are visitors at the gate.”
Fear slid through Alesone, and she prayed she was wrong. “Who?”
“Lord Comyn’s men.”