Forbidden Knight Read online

  Kind eyes held hers, those that’d watched her with steadfast strength and belief since they’d met. “Thomas lives because of His will.”

  Tenderness warmed her. “Yes, he does.”

  Thomas shifted.

  At the rustle of covers, Alesone looked down. “He is coming to.”

  “Run, Alesone!” Thomas rasped.

  “The danger has passed,” she soothed, keeping her voice soft as she’d done throughout his rambling delirium these past few days. She pressed a damp cloth across his brow. “You are safe.” A frown worked its way across his brow as Thomas lifted his lids. He glanced over. “Nicholai?”

  The monk settled in the chair beside the bed. “You awaken, my friend. I thought you had meant to sleep well into the winter.”

  At the teasing in the holy man’s voice, a hint of a smile tugged at Thomas’s mouth. He shifted, winced at the effort, and then sagged back. “I tried.”

  The warmth in the monk’s eyes eroded to concern. “’Tis good to see you again, Thomas. I admit my surprise at finding you here after—”

  “’Twas unplanned.” Face pale, Thomas cut his gaze to her. “You have met Mistress Alesone.”

  “Indeed. And grand company she is.”

  A blush swept her cheeks at Nicholai’s praise, and through the haze of pain, irritation slid through Thomas. His friend always had a way with women, to put them at ease, to say the right things, traits in war that held little value.

  She cleared her throat. “I explained how you were escorting me and en route, we were attacked.”

  “With Scotland at war,” Nicholai said, his voice grim, “’tis unsafe to travel without guard, more so with a lass.”

  “I agree, but our travel was by King Robert’s decree.”

  Surprise flickered on his friend’s face. “He is still nearby? After he took Urquhart, Inverness, and Nairn, I’d heard he marched toward Elgin.”

  “I see you still keep your ear to the ground.”

  “One of the many tasks I take care of,” Nicholai said.

  Nay doubt that and much more. Though his friend didna inquire further, Thomas understood that once alone, he would have questions, more than on the topic of Scotland’s king.

  “Now that you are awake,” the monk said, “mayhap I can convince Mistress Alesone to retire to the chamber provided her and rest. Since your arrival three days ago, she has refused to leave your side.”

  Tenderness filled him at her concern, compassion far from deserved. The blush on her face deepened, and his body stirred with awareness, one far out of bounds of what she should make him feel.

  She cleared her throat. “As I sewed your wounds, I wanted to ensure they healed properly. I assure you,” she said, her words rushing out. “’Tis nay more than any healer would do.”

  It was, especially when they now resided at the monastery where others knowledgeable in healing could have seen to him, a fact they both knew. “Mayhap,” he said, his voice tender, “but I insist you rest.”

  She hesitated as if searching for an excuse to remain. “I will if you promise that you willna try to get out of bed on your own.”

  “I will take care.” When she made to speak, he held up his hand. “Nay more.”

  Alesone stood and wove, exposing her exhaustion. Brother Nicholai stood, but she shook her head. “I can make it without help.”

  “Mayhap,” the monk said, “but I insist on walking with you.” He glanced at Thomas. “I will return.” His friend escorted Alesone into the corridor.

  The door closed behind them. Silence filled the chamber broken by the echoes of distant voices, along with the bongs of the bell announcing the conical hour.

  Memories filled Thomas. Even with the many years that had gone by, his time living here remained clear as if nay time had passed. How many mornings had he awoken within the monastery and struggled to accept his lot of having devoted his life to God? At the time he’d risen to face each day, nay duty too mundane, his every act atonement for his sins. However, then as now, naught could repair the grievous wrong he’d wrought.

  At the scrape of the door, Thomas glanced up.

  “I thought perhaps you might have fallen back asleep,” Nicholai said.

  “I was remembering my time here.”

  “Your time living here, or the reason for it?”

  Thomas swallowed hard. “You always were able to figure out what I was thinking.”

  “And you, my friend, were always too hard on yourself.” Sage eyes studied him. “I had hoped that by now you would find forgiveness for yourself. It brings me great sorrow to see you still cling to your pain.”

  Grief raged through him and the outrage he’d smothered over the years broke free. “I killed my brother! There is nay forgiveness for that!”

  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 hidd
en, 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.”