by Diana Cosby
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 t
he 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.”
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 hi
s 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.