by Diana Cosby
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 t
he 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.”
Chapter Six
Alesone turned away from Brother Nicholai and managed to bank the rush of terror, barely. Grisel had lost her life to her father’s ruthless men, and by His Grace, Thomas’s life was spared. All for what? To be found? For her father’s nefarious plans with King Philip to succeed?
Nay!
The Brother cleared his throat. “Ales—”
She whirled, prayed she was wrong, but needed to confirm her worst fear. “Comyn’s men are here for me, are they nae?”
The monk nodded. “They believe you are inside, but canna be sure. As long as you remain within the monastery, you are beneath our protection.”
The amount of gold her father had offered for her capture could sway men to ignore the sanctity provided to those within these walls. However dangerous it was to leave, she couldna remain.
Where could she go? She was unfamiliar with the local terrain. With Thomas wounded and unable to travel and Comyn’s men desperate to find her, traveling alone ’twould be foolhardy. “How did they find me?”
“Comyn’s knight claimed they followed your tracks—”
“Impossible. Thomas and I evaded them during a storm. Any sign of our passing was covered by the falling snow.” A shiver trickled through her. Was she wrong? As they’d forged through the Highlands, she and Thomas sharing a mount, had their combined weight left gouges in the snow, deep impressions even the storm hadna filled? The weather-mutilated trail would explain the delay until their arrival.
Still, it didna clarify how they’d…On an unsteady breath she stilled, prayed she was wrong. “Brother Nicholai, we didna ride to the monastery, but to Sir John’s.”
Grave eyes held hers. “Indeed. Comyn’s men said they followed the cart’s tracks from the crofter’s hut to here.”
“Nay doubt the knights questioned him.” She breathed, “Neither would he have told them anything, whatever their methods of asking.” Oh God, with her father’s desperation to find her, his men’s techniques to gain information could have quickly turned to torture. Her throat tightened. “We must ensure John is…”
“Alive,” the monk replied, anger edging his voice. “We will soon learn. I have sent a man to ride to his home.”
“My thanks,” she whispered, and damned her father over and again.
“If you will excuse me, Comyn’s men are awaiting my arrival.”
She frowned. “Why you?”
“They requested to speak to a senior monk in regards to the matter. ’Twas my request to place you and Thomas under the monastery’s protection, so I will entertain their questions.”
She nodded. “Brother Nicholai,” she said, despising what she must share, but as their champion, he must understand the enormity of the situation. “As long as Comyn’s knights believe I may be here, they willna leave.”
“Mayhap,” he said, satisfaction shimmering in his eyes, “but they are unsure. A doubt I will exploit.”
Though confident of the brother’s abilities, after hearing of her father’s twisted dealings over the years, doubts plagued her. “What if you canna convince them?”
“I have faith He will offer a way. Await me in Thomas’s chamber. Once I am through speaking with Comyn’s men, I will share what transpired.” The monk made the sign of the cross and departed.
Alesone hurried up the turret. At the entry to Thomas’s chamber, she paused, fought to steady herself. In his condition, the last thing he needed was for her to rush in as if they were under attack. Her father’s men held suspicions that she was inside, naught more. She knocked.
“Enter,” Thomas calle
d.
She drew in a steadying breath, stepped inside, and then closed the door.
Sweat clung to his face, which was battered with bruises. Was his fever returning? Heart pounding, she crossed the room and pressed her hand on his brow, then sighed with relief. “’Tis cool.”
He grimaced. “I should be pleased by that.”
“You should, ’Twas a miracle that you didna die.”
“Is that what you think, my living is a miracle?”
Somber eyes held hers. Shaken at how important he was becoming to her, Alesone stumbled for a reply.
Confusion washed through her as she stared at the handsome warrior who’d risked his life to protect her. A man of his caliber, with green eyes a woman could drown in, he could have any lass he wished. His interest wouldna linger on a bastard whose own father didna want her, except as goods to barter.
Alesone shoved aside her foolish thoughts. However much she wished otherwise, her years ahead were best used to help others. With her family history, to invite a man into her life would, in the end, offer her naught but heartache.
“What I think is that you should rest,” she said.
He grimaced. “I have tried, but I canna sleep.”
Which explained the circles beneath his eyes. She retrieved a woven pouch from the basket, measured out a small amount of the herb. “You should have sent for me.”
“You needed to sleep.”
Though in pain, his concern was for her. Humbled and unsure how to reply, she double-checked the dosage. Except for Grisel and Burunild MacCheine, her mother’s personal maid who had visited on occasion until Alesone was seven, few had worried how she fared. She mixed the herb with water. Nor could she forget the reality of the situation. His injury had delayed their parting. Once they reached Avalon Castle, he would be gone from her life forever.
“Alesone, something has upset you.” He brow furrowed. “At times ’tis best if we share our troubles. Though we have spent less than a fortnight together, I have been known to be a good listener.”