Chapter Nine
Pinpricks of tension rippled across Thomas’s skin as he held Alesone’s gaze. He damned himself for succumbing to the temptation of a verbal spar. ’Twas a perilous decision, more so with a woman who twisted his thoughts down a sensual path he had nay intent to follow.
Lavender eyes held his in soft challenge, and he fell into their depths, cursed the image of her moving into his embrace.
Stunned by the raw desire flooding his body, he shoved back his unwanted thoughts. Over the years never had a woman caught his interest, made him want.
Alesone did both, dangerously so.
This entire situation didna make sense. He was a man in control of his emotions, one who made his own rules of how to live, nae a green lad lured by a siren’s call.
Guilt twisted in his gut. Nor was he fair to label her such. Her actions werena tossed out with the sensual expectations of an experienced hand, but those of a woman struggling to find solid ground. In truth, Thomas doubted she had any idea of her appeal to him.
Alesone hadna asked for her life to be cast in mayhem. As he, she’d been torn from a way of living that she loved. Now, they both were floundering against change, except he served King Robert, while she was left with naught but her doubts.
Given the circumstance, ’twas best to stow any interest she roused. God knew ’twas the logical solution. Except however much he tried, a part of him wondered if she, too, felt the stirrings of awareness.
Blast it, look at him rambling over a woman who had nay place in his life. Mayhap he wanted her, but by God if he chose such a foolish path, ’twould be a conscious decision, nae one spurned by desire.
Determined to put his reckless musings behind him, Thomas focused on her question of moments before. “And what is it you are trying to win?”
She sighed, and the defiant tilt of her chin lowered. “A life of my choosing.”
Relief swamped him at her shift in topic, and he muddled back to safer shores. “With your being a healer, dinna you have that now?”
“What I have is a king’s vow of protection, and a knight who almost lost his life trying to keep me safe. Both for which I am thankful. But a life of my choosing?” She released a slow breath. “With my father’s offer of gold for my capture, and those who care naught but for the coin my seizure would bring them, never will I have the luxury of deciding how to live.” She frowned. “As if during times of war anyone has such an option?”
Thomas cursed his draw to understand this complex woman. Whatever existed between them was moot. He should abandon this topic, return to their game, and focus on the lightness of moments before. And he would have, except he’d caught the soft yearning in her voice. “If you had a choice, what would you wish for?”
“I believe,” she said, her fingers tightening on the pawn, “we are playing for secrets, nae wishes.”
Driven by some inner demon, Thomas laid his hand atop hers, the smoothness of her skin in sharp contrast to his battle worn hands, ones that’d taken lives while hers had saved them.
Need rolling through him, he inhaled a slow, calming breath. Nay, ’twas naught safe about allowing his thoughts to linger on her, or to notice how her fingers lay intimately against his skin.
He should move away and end this madness. Instead, he skimmed his thumb along the silky hollow of her palm, and her hand trembled beneath his touch.
Her eyes flared, and his mouth went dry. Pulse racing he stilled, the innocent question of moments before having taken a direction he hadna intended. Except he needed to know. “But if you could have a life of your choosing?”
“’Tis dangerous to change the rules once the game has begun,” she whispered. “Such a decision can open doors that you dinna intend to.”
He glanced at the lush firmness of her mouth, and a burst of heat shot through him. Swallowing hard, he lifted his eyes to hers. “And staying within the guidelines is safe?”
On a soft inhale, her lips parted.
His mind a spiraling haze of urgency, Thomas released her, irritated at how she pulled her hand close to her body. How had he tumbled into such a convoluted mess? Blast it, his father should have left him at the monastery. Nor could he change the way of things now. However drawn to Alesone, ’twas foolhardy to allow a woman into a life as broken as his. She deserved a man who wouldna fail her.
While he…deserved no life at all.
With a forced smile he sat back. “So we will continue the game.” Determined to keep his emotions under tight control, he withdrew his bishop to a safer location along with the whims of his pride.
She countered his move.
With a soft scrape, he placed his bishop on said square. Arching his brow, Thomas lifted her captured rook. “’Twould seem,” he teased, “you owe me a secret.”
“It seems I do.” Humor shimmered in her eyes, and he drown within their hypnotic dance. “If I tell you, you canna laugh.”
Her mesmerizing gaze lowered, and he chuckled, charmed by her unexpected shyness. Thomas made an exaggerated sign of a cross over his heart, the action more a reminder to him to keep his distance.
“You didna swear,” she said.
He gave a mock frown and leaned closer. “I didna realize,” he said, his burr deepening along with his desire for this fascinating woman. “that the secret was of such great consequence.”
Her mouth trembled with laughter, the enjoyable sound pulling his gaze to her lips.
Full.
Lush.
God help him.
“Swear it,” she said, “or I will be sleepless at night wondering if you will ever tell another soul.”
“Now”—he held up her rook—“I am intrigued.”
Devilment danced in her eyes as she reached for her rook.
Their fingers touched.
The burst of energy shot straight to his groin.
Her eyes widened, the flecks of silver within captivating. Her soft gasp drew his gaze back to her lips.
Unbidden, his thoughts tangled, clouding the reasons why he shouldna kiss her.
The king wobbled as he lifted his hand to cover hers, flesh against flesh. His breathing grew shallow. “You were going to tell me a secret.”
“I…” Her lower lip trembled.
He clenched his teeth and through sheer determination, refocused on the game and their playfulness of moments before.
With forced lightness, Thomas folded his fingers over hers, the rook now firm between their palms. “You are nae going to renege on the deal, are you?”
“Why,” Alesone whispered as she edged closer, “would I do that?”
Her intoxicating scent wrapped around him, and he fought the rush of desire.
“Thomas?”
Like a well-planned assault, the sultry whisper of his name slashed through his good intent. As the walls collapsed, all the reasons he’d vowed to keep her at a distance faded.
One taste was all he wanted.
Bloody hell, just one!
With lust scorching his every thought, Thomas hauled her against him. Chess pieces scattered as he crushed his mouth against hers.
On a throaty moan, velvet soft lips moved greedily beneath his, demanding, taking until his every breath was filled with her.
Fisting his hands in her hair, he pressed her against the bed, scraped his teeth across the soft flesh of her throat.
“Thomas,” she moaned as she arched against him.
A primeval roar rose up. Hands shaking beneath his body’s demands, he cupped her breast. “Ale—”
A scrape of the wooden door severed the sensual tangle blurring his mind.
* * *
With a gasp, Alesone jerked back. Pulse racing, she glanced toward the entry, struggled for coherent thought.
A tray of food balanced in his hands, Nicholai whistled as he backed into the chamber.
Shaken, she moved away from Thomas, neither did she miss the absolute shock on his face, or the fierce desire burning in his eyes. Thank God, the monk hadna seen them!
Trying to ignore the riot of emotions storming her mind, she snatched the carved figures knocked over during their kiss. Oh God, she wouldna think of that.
She shoved the pieces onto the board, avoided Thomas’s hand as he did the same. How had she allowed their game to erode to such dangerous ground?
Allowed? As Thomas’s lips had pressed against hers, for that too brief a moment, the realities that separated them had faded beneath the tangle of heat. She shivered at how his mouth had matched her own fierce demands. His each stroke, taste, had sent her higher. And when he’d laid his hand on her breast, pleasure had rippled to her core.
Heat stole through her at her wanton thoughts. Was she mad? With her father a powerful enemy, however much she yearned for Thomas, ’twas unwise to allow him, or any man, into her life.
Nudging the door closed, the Brother turned. Satisfaction filled his gaze as he walked over. “Ah, you are playing a game of chess.”
“We just finished,” she said, damning the tremor in her voice. “He won.”
With a grimace Thomas shoved to the edge of the bed.
Nicholas paused before the small table. “Aye, he has a penchant…” A frown creased his brow. “Your face is flushed, lass.” His hesitated, glanced toward Thomas, and then back to her. “What is wrong?”
Heat burned her cheeks. “We had a slight disagreement.”
“Slight?” Amusement crinkled the monk’s eyes as he placed the tray on a nearby table. “Over the years Thomas and I have had”—he bent over, lifted the rook from the floor and handed it to her—“many disagreements.”
“My thanks.” She silently groaned as she set the piece onto its square.
“Have you come to a compromise,” Nicholai asked.
“If only I were so lucky,” Alesone muttered as she stared at the rook nestled next to the knight, doubtful anything could erase their kiss etched in her mind. Needing distance, she carried the chessboard to the table against the wall.
“I just finished talking with John,” Nicholai said.
The worries of moments before faded as she turned. “How does he fare?”
The monk handed a steaming bowl to Thomas, nodded. “A bit of stew from the cook. She said ’twill make you feel better. As for John, as you warned when you tended to him, the few broken ribs are giving him discomfort, but he is thankful that he will make a full recovery.”
Face grim, Thomas set the food aside, and sat at the edge of the bed. “I want to see him.”
Alesone remained silent. However much she needed to remind Thomas of his promise to rest, with shimmers of pleasure storming her mind, at this moment, she was hardly ready for a confrontation.
At her silence, the monk’s shrewd gaze shifted to Thomas, and he sighed his acquiescence. “Can you walk?”
With a curt nod, Thomas shoved to his feet.
Tension vibrating through her, Alesone held the door open as they moved past. An ache built inside as she glanced toward the bed, lingered on the rumpled sheets, where if only for a moment she’d tasted what should be forbidden.
* * *
Anger slammed through Thomas at the bruises on his friend’s face, the stitches holding together severed flesh as John finished explaining the assault. Bedamned Comyn’s men, the bastards would pay! Humbled by how his friend had revealed naught, even at the risk to his life, he stood. “You must rest. We have spoken overlong.”
“I am poor company,” John said.
Thomas grunted. “Nay more than I. ’Twould seem we are a fine pair.”
A wry smile flickered across John’s mouth. “Nor is this the first time we both have been beaten and left for dead.”
Indeed. As Templars they’d fought side by side in the heat of the desert, their duty to God, to the Brotherhood, and to the faithful who wished to travel through the Holy Land.
From the other side of the bed, Alesone shifted.
Thomas didna glance her way. The few times their eyes had met, he’d caught the lingering desire within, a longing that still churned inside. What had he been thinking when he’d kissed her? Thinking? A hand’s breath apart, and wanting her, coherent thought hadna entered his mind.
A knock sounded at the entry.
“Come in,” Thomas said.
A young monk entered. “Sir Thomas, Brother Nicholai sent me to inform you that the Duke of Westwyck has arrived.”
So the sojourn would begin. Resigned to his temporary fate, Thomas nodded. “I thank you. I will await my father in my chamber.”
With a nod, the monk departed.
Hope shimmered in John’s eyes. “You and the Duke of Westwyck have made amends?”
Thomas stilled. “I didna realize you were acquainted with my father?”
“We met at the monastery on one of my earlier visits to see Nicholai,” his friend replied, his voice somber. “And before you ask, the duke didna tell me of the discord between you. That Nicholai explained.”
“I see.” Considering Thomas’s entreaty to Nicholai, where he’d vouched for John, a Knight Templar wounded in battle and unable to continue his service to the Order, he should have anticipated that however innocently raised, the discord between Thomas and his father would have surfaced. “I willna forget what you have done.”
John shrugged. “I did naught more than you would have for me. And, I pray that you repair the rift between you and your family.”
Thomas’s stiffened. ’Twould take more than a petition to God to repair the damage.
Sir John turned to Alesone. “I thank you for tending my wounds. You have a fine hand.”
A smile touched her mouth, and Thomas’s body tensed at the unexpected shot of jealousy.
“You are welcome. I thank you for your aid.” Alesone moved to Thomas’s side, and reached out for his arm.
With a scowl, he stepped back. He wasna a bloody invalid. Hadna he walked to his friend’s room without aid? And if his legs were weak, ’twas expected. “You can remain if you wish while I speak with my father.” After their smoldering kiss in his chamber, a move for the best.
The warmth in her eyes cooled. “’Tis time to allow John to rest.”
Frustrated and wanting to storm out, his pride took another blow as he was forced to walk slow, dizziness threatening his each step.
A short while later, sweat beading his brow, he settled on his bed.
Alesone closed the door.
He glanced at the chess game then toward her. “I thank you for your help, nor do I mean to be short, and,” he said, forcing the tension from his voice, “I am upset over my father’s arrival.”
“’Tis understandable.”
He shook his head. “There is nay reason good enough to take one’s irritation out on a person innocent of the situation.”
Her expression softened. “I know you dinna wish to return to your home, but regardless of your past, of the tragedy, from your father’s actions, he still loves you. I pray that you find the strength to allow the rift between you and your family to heal.”
However much his father claimed that he wanted him to return, memories of Léod’s death would always taint whatever would exist between them. “We will remain at Dair Castle until I am able to travel.”
“Which should be at least a fortnight,” Alesone said. “Long enough for you to make inroads with your family if you choose.”
Doubting she’d ever fully comprehend the obstacles of such a goal, he remained silent.
A solid rap sounded at the door.
Thomas damned his weakness, more as he prepared to see his father, a man he’d always looked up to, and a man he’d failed. “Enter.”
The Duke of Westwyck stepped inside. Flickers of caution tinged the smile on his face. “You are up.”
“I am,” Thomas replied, anxious for the day he and Alesone could depart.
His father nodded. “Mistress Alesone.”
She curtsied. “Your Grace.”
The lines of strain deepened on the noble’s face as he looked over. “’Tis time to go home.”
Thomas disregarded the tug of need. Home. As if such a place existed? Nor would he dwell on a topic that would cause his father naught but hurt. “What of Comyn’s men? They willna allow Mistress Alesone or me to pass.”
The duke’s mouth tightened. “They willna stop us.”
The cold determination of his voice sent a silent groan through Thomas. Bedamned his interference. “They dinna know that you are my father,” he said, praying that by some miracle he could convince him to change his mind. “There is still time for you to—”
“My decision is made!”
God’s teeth! Fighting the wave of dizziness, Thomas tugged on his cape.
In silence he and Alesone followed his father to the courtyard, as thankful as embarrassed by their slow pace.
The large contingent of mounted knights awaiting them in the courtyard left Thomas humbled. An ache built inside, that of a lad desperately wanting his family, pitted against the man who understood he didna deserve such a noble welcome. Gritting his teeth, he labored toward the cart, recognizing several men whom he’d played with in his youth. At the back of the wagon, he climbed inside.
Her expression tense, Alesone followed him up and settled on the wooden planks nearby.
Ignoring the throb of pain, he glanced over and read the unsettled nerves in her eyes. How could she nae be on edge? Comyn’s men awaited them outside, and by the size of their escort, they faced a considerable force.
Again Thomas cursed his father’s intervention, the fact that because of him, he’d placed his family and Alesone’s life in jeopardy. Blast it, how could a simple task to escort the lass to Avalon end up in such a shamble?
The driver called out.
The cart jerked forward, the sting of the cold air sharp against his face.
Hooves echoed upon snow-crusted ground as they passed beneath the gatehouse, the scent of pine tumbled with the bite of the oncoming winter.
Sunlight smothered the shadows as they exited, the bright smear of the sun’s rays sparkling upon the flakes of white like a fading wish.
Halfway across the open field, the thrum of hooves grew as a small group of Comyn’s knights cantered to meet them.
His father raised his hand. “Hold!”
A knight at the front of the opposing force waved his men to stop, but continued forward. Paces before the duke, he halted his mount, then gave a respectful nod. “Your Grace, I must see all who exit the monastery.”
“I have come to get my son,” his father stated. “Move aside.”
“Per orders of Lord Comyn, Your Grace, I am to—” The knight’s eyes landed on Thomas, narrowed further as they shifted to Alesone. The knight cleared his throat. “Your Grace, in the cart are the man and woman we seek. I will—”
“Do naught,” his father warned with insolent fury. “Move away or die.”
Steel whispered against leather as the knights around them withdrew their swords.
“With you and your men greatly outnumbered,” the duke continued, his words ice, “I believe your choice is simple.”
The man’s face paled. “I beg of you to reconsider, Your Grace. Lord Comyn—”
“Archers, ready your bows,” the duke called.
The slide of nocked arrows hissed like serpents of death.
Fury flickering in the knight’s eyes, he reined his mount back. “We will leave, Your Grace, but Lord Comyn will hear of your betrayal.” He wheeled his mount. Hooves clattered upon the frozen ground as he cantered toward his men.
“God’s teeth,” Thomas spat. “You have made an enemy this day.”
The duke grunted. “Nor will it be my last.” He dug his heels into his steed.
The driver called out. The cart jerked forward, and the thrum of hooves clattered around them thick with foreboding.
Dread rolled through Thomas like blackened sludge. Comyn would come with a large force, of that Thomas had little doubt, except this time he sought more than he and Alesone, but his father, a prominent noble now branded a traitor.
Alesone glanced over. “Dinna be upset. Your father loves you very much.”
“All he has done is made a very dangerous enemy.”
She narrowed her eyes. “And what of his reclaiming his son?”
“’Tis sacrificing too much!”
“Sacrifice?” she scoffed. “Tell me, if you had a son whose life was in jeopardy, wouldna you do whatever necessary to protect him?”
Head pounding, he rubbed his brow. “’Tis nae that simple. By openly bringing us to Dair Castle, the duke provokes Comyn, who has the English king’s ear, along with that of the king of France. A contingent will be sent. With the stakes so high, I wouldna be surprised if your father led the charge himself.”
Any color washed from her face. “Oh God!” she whispered. “Regardless of how this began, the motive is because of me.”
Bedamned Hades and back! “None of this is your fault. Neither will Comyn achieve his goal.” To his last breath, never would Alesone be forced into a marriage to a cruel bastard who would break her strong will, and destroy this fierce, caring woman.
“I will deal with the future as it unravels,” she said, her voice even, but he saw her tremble. “Until then, ’tis best to focus on you, and your family reunited.”
“I—”
Against the rumble of the wheels she laid her hand over his. He stared at where her fingers pressed against his skin, and unwanted thoughts of their kiss poured through him with a searing heat.
“I know you are upset,” Alesone said, “but can you nae see how fortunate you are?”
He squelched the slide of desire, focused on his being given a second chance. Thomas lifted his gaze to hers and admitted what perplexed him most. “I dinna know why my father has forgiven me.”
The deep lines on her brow softened. “Because you are his son. For him ’tis enough.”
“But—”
“’Tis a gift, one you are blessed to receive.”
Emotion balled in his throat as Thomas stared at the stand of fir they rambled past, unsure how his father could offer compassion when he deserved none. “His decision makes little sense.”
“Mayhap to you, but the duke is a man of wisdom. He understands what is important in life isna his holdings or gold but family.” Her hand gently squeezed his. “I pray during your stay that you find the forgiveness for yourself that your father holds within his heart.”
Doubtful such would ever exist, he glanced toward her.
“Naught is easy,” she continued, her words somber. “There will be anger, theirs, yours, for old hurt and, if bitter words are passed once we arrive, new. But each day you push forward, you strengthen the precious bond between you and your family, one you are blessed to have.”
The vision her words crafted tempted him to believe such a hope existed. “As if ’tis so simple to forget how my reckless behavior destroyed my family?” Thomas hissed.
Hurt darkened her eyes.
Ashamed of his outburst, more so as her advice wasna easily given, he shook his head. “I am sorry.” Like him, Alesone carried the burden of another person’s death. More than anyone else, she understood the silent war he battled, except unlike him, she had nay one left.
“We hurt,” she said, her voice thick with torment, “but instead of focusing on the pain, we remember them with fond memories and with the laughter of times past. Neither do I delude myself in believing that the sadness of losing Grisel willna haunt me. ’Tis the risk of loving someone, a decision I dinna regret. Over time, however difficult to believe now, the sadness will ebb.” She wiped the back of her hand against the tear trickling down her cheek. “Once I move beyond my grief, my guilt, I will be able to smile at the times we shared in life. Until you grow stronger and believe that you deserve your father’s mercy, you can at least give him what he wants—his son.”
Thomas stilled. She was right. After all he’d lost, for the time he remained at Dair Castle, he owed his father that. Thomas gave a curt nod. “For him I will try.” Humbled by this woman who, beyond her own grief, tried to help his, he drew her hand into his. “Nor have I thanked you.”
Tears glittered in her eyes. “I have done naught but offered advice.”
He skimmed his thumb over the softness of her skin, her strength seeping into his battered soul. “You give yourself too little credit.”
“And you,” Alesone said quietly, “dinna give yourself enough.”
Never in his life had he known a lass like her, stubborn, intelligent, and able to make him laugh. What would it be like to have a woman like her in his life? ’Twas easy to imagine waking up next to her each morning, her tendrils of blond hair fluttered against her cheek as she slept. And how those lavender eyes would open, and warm.
With stoic efficiency he smothered the appealing image. Regardless of what she made him feel, of how he wanted her, in the end he would ride off to battle.
Without her.
“What are you thinking of?”
Against the rumble of wagon wheels as the cart bumped over the snow-ridden land, hand trembling, he gently cupped her chin and drew her forward until her eyes flared with awareness. “That you canna become important to me, but,” he whispered, “I fear ’tis too late.”