Forbidden Knight Page 9

  Nicholai cleared his throat. “A choice sanctuary within the monastery provides her, Your Grace.”

  “Father,” Thomas warned, “you willna interfere. Mistress Alesone is beneath my protection, a pledge I will die to keep if necessary.”

  The duke’s eyes strafed his son. “Which I see that you have almost done.”

  “’Twould seem,” Thomas said with soft violence, “there is little more to be discussed. ’Tis best if you go.”

  Regardless of the cause that’d torn Thomas’s family apart, Alesone’s heart broke at how after all of these years, and with silent yearning in his eyes, he pushed his father away. That the duke had rushed to see him when he’d learned his son was nearby spoke volumes.

  Didna Thomas realize the gift he held, a bond however frayed, with time and nurturing, could be repaired? A relationship with her own father she would never experience.

  “To have sent such a large contingent,” the duke said, “you have upset Lord Comyn greatly.”

  Shame filled her at the truth. “He has offered a significant reward of gold as well.”

  “Alesone,” Thomas hissed. “Dinna say more.”

  A decision she would heed if nae for the flicker of longing she witnessed every time the duke had looked upon his son, a need Thomas was working hard to ignore. Aye they were related by blood, both men of the same stubborn ilk.

  “Your Grace, any right my father had to my welfare or loyalty has long since died.” She angled her jaw. “Nor will I return to him.”

  Appreciation shimmered in the noble’s eyes. “Neither would I expect you to.”

  At the pride in his father’s voice, Thomas stilled. God’s teeth, what was going on?

  Tiredness settled on the duke’s aged face, and the ire of moments before faded. “When Brother Nicholai sent a runner with news of your arrival…” He shook his head. “’Twas as if an answer to my prayers.”

  Skeptical, Thomas remained silent.

  “When I learned you were wounded, I couldna ride here fast enough.”

  The sincerity in his father’s admission left Thomas off balance. Need, deeply buried inside screamed in his mind to admit he’d yearned to see him, but guilt-ridden over the strife he’d caused, he shoved the confession aside.

  When he didna reply, tense lines settled on his father’s face. “I willna go without you. I lost you once, and by God I refuse to lose you again.”

  The words Thomas had longed to hear wilted beneath his shame. “With our fealties opposed to the other,” he forced out, “it canna be otherwise. You must leave.”

  The duke shook his head. “Nay.”

  Blast it! “Father ’tis—”

  “After the death of Margaret, the Maid of Norway,” the duke cut in, “Robert Bruce was furious when The Guardians of Scotland refused to recognize his grandfather’s claim as overlord to Scotland. King Edward twisted the law, ensured by whatever means necessary that his authority was recognized. Furious, I approached Bishop Wishart in private.”

  Thomas stared at his father in disbelief. “You confronted one of the Guardians of Scotland?”

  “Aye, I informed Bishop Wishart that I was appalled by the treachery that he as the other Guardians of Scotland had allowed by King Edward I’s hand. Further, I refused to swear fealty to John Balliol. But”—he gave Thomas a measuring look—“the bishop explained that when he’d learned how England’s king had skewed any chance of Robert Bruce, the Competitor, claiming the crown, he arranged a secret meeting with the Guardians of Scotland. There, they made plans for Scotland’s future, one that didna include King Edward I. Wishart beseeched me to appear loyal to Balliol, and in secret to conspire with him to ensure the Bruce gained his rightful crown.”

  Thomas stared at his father in disbelief. “You have been loyal to the Bruce throughout?”

  The duke gave a curt nod.

  “Never did you say anything,” Thomas whispered.

  Sadness touched the duke’s face. “I had planned on informing you the evening after you had become a squire.”

  The day he’d killed his brother. After a desperate search for Léod in the river, Thomas had run to the castle. Frantic with the news, everyone had joined the search. With the last rays of the sun fading from the sky, they’d found his brother’s body downstream, bloodied and shoved against the rocks.

  “After”—his father’s throat worked—“’twas nae the time for such news.”

  Guilt piled atop the already immense amount. The following day they’d spent burying his brother.

  “Then you approached me about entering the monastery.” The duke’s eyes dark with anguish held his. “I cursed your self-condemnation, but you wouldna listen to anything I said. When you requested to become a monk, with the monastery but a half-day’s ride from Dair Castle, once a month or so had passed, I had planned to visit and tell you the truth.”

  “Except when you arrived,” Thomas said, the blackened memories rolling through him. “you discovered that I had left.”

  His father gave a weak nod. “I didna know where you had gone.”

  Thomas glanced at Brother Nicholai.

  “I swore that I would never share your destination,” his friend said.

  Like the wind removed from his sails, Thomas sagged back, pondered his next move.

  Shrewd eyes held his. “I would think,” the duke said, “you would be pleased to know of my loyalty to Robert Bruce’s grandfather, one that has transferred to our king.”

  He was, except his allegiance complicated everything. ’Twas simpler when his father supported the enemy, a solid reason why he must remain away. Now he had naught but the guilt of his brother’s death.

  “The news is a relief,” Thomas admitted, “but it changes little.”

  The strain on his father’s face softened. “It changes everything.”

  If ’twas only so easy.

  The duke faced the monk. “I will be taking my son home.”

  “God’s teeth,” Thomas hissed. “What of Lord Comyn’s men?”

  “A simple enough task,” his father said. “I will ride to Dair Castle and return with a contingent of men for an escort.” He faced Alesone. “Mistress Alesone, as my son is charged with your safety, you will accompany us and, if you wish, care for him until he is healed.”

  * * *

  Alesone held the noble’s gaze, moved by his love for his son, saddened how Thomas’s replies exposed that he remained mired in guilt. “I thank you, Your Grace, I am honored to be your guest.”

  Panic flickered into Thomas’s eyes. “Your intervention is unnecessary. I am receiving proper care here.”

  “You will go,” the duke said with quiet authority. He turned on his heel and strode out.

  The monk followed.

  Flames flickered in the hearth as the soft thud of the door echoed in the chamber.

  On unsteady legs, she walked to the chair.

  “You havena broken your fast this day,” Thomas said, his voice ice, “a task you should see to.”

  Alesone arched her brow in defiance.

  “I wish to be alone.”

  She sat. “Why do you push your father away?”

  “You dinna understand what happened.”

  At the hurt in his voice, an ache built inside. “Then tell me.”

  Anger slashed his face.

  “Do you think you are the only one that lives with guilt for the death of someone you loved?” she demanded, the ire she’d buried deep breaking free. “If I hadna brought Robert Bruce’s man to our hut, never would Grisel’s life been placed in jeopardy. How do you think I feel knowing that because of me, she was beaten, raped, and murdered?”

  “You willna blame yourself! Your decision was one that anyone loyal to our king would have made.”

  “Knowing that and accepting the reality isna easy. A fact you well understand.” She swallowed hard. “Tell me, how does one find forgiveness?”

&
nbsp; “I dinna know,” he rasped, his voice breaking at the last. “I-I am unsure if ’tis possible.”

  Chapter Eight

  Alesone held Thomas’s gaze, his struggle to find forgiveness for himself a battle she too fought. Would there ever come a time where she could find such, or, like Thomas, would she withdraw until she was but a shell of a person going through the motions of living?

  Nor at the moment did her choices matter. Thomas had reached an important crossroads. “You have family who loves you, wants you to return.” He glanced at the crucifix on the wall, and the strain on his face made her ache. If only she could help him.

  “What if I go and after a fortnight, when my father looks upon me, all he sees is a tragic reminder of everything he has lost?”

  She yearned to offer reassurances. Except none existed. However genuine the duke’s request, until Thomas returned home he wouldna know. “What if while you are home, the bond between you and your father strengthens?”

  He gave a cold laugh. “My mother, brother, and sister are dead. Little chance exists that naught but strife will ever remain between my father and I.”

  Tormented eyes shifted, and her chest tightened beneath the weight of his sorrow. “And will damning yourself for leaving change anything?”

  “You know naught!”

  “Then tell me.”

  His mouth tightened.

  “A wise man once told me,” Alesone said softly, understanding that he didna want to discuss the situation further, but needing to try. “That at times ’tis best if we share our troubles.”

  Anger flashed in his eyes. “What is wrong?” she asked, refusing to back down. “Is the advice only for you to give?”

  “You dare much!”

  “And you,” she challenged, “dare nothing when you have everything to gain.”

  He closed his eyes.

  An ember popped from the flames, faded into the thick silence like a subtle reminder that though we lose those we love, life continues.

  Alesone’s gaze lingered on his fisted hands. “Nae facing your troubles doesna make them go away, but allows them to fester inside, to destroy any chance at happiness.”

  Silence.

  Irritated he would toss away a chance at family who wanted him, something she craved, Alesone shoved to her feet. “Cling to your anger like a bloody fool. I am going to break my fast.” She stormed toward the entry.

  “’Twas a celebration,” Thomas rasped as her hand reached for the door.

  She turned.

  Intense green eyes held hers.

  Humbled that he’d shared this painful piece of his past, she walked over and sat by his side. Guilt slid through her. She’d acted nay better than he and wouldna ask more. ’Twas his story to tell, and Alesone prayed she’d earned such trust.

  Long moments passed.

  Slowly, Thomas unfurled his fist. “Léod was the youngest in our family. A sister and four brothers. We were close. I had become a squire earlier in the day, which you discovered from my father’s outburst.” On a rough breath, he turned toward the flames, the reflection of orange and yellow bright in his eyes. “My younger brother looked up to me, but that day, caught up in my pride, my actions were reckless. I should have been taken to task for teasing Léod, for pushing him.”

  Her heart ached as his fingers tighten against the blanket until his knuckles grew white. “What happened?” she whispered.

  He lifted his gaze to hers, the misery within almost dropping her to her knees. “I-I convinced him to spar, which isna out of the ordinary. Except on that day I dared him to accept my challenge on a fallen tree straddling a rain-swollen river. As we approached the edge, the thunderous roar of the raging water rose above the rain.” He swallowed hard.

  Alesone folded her hands in her lap, understood he needed to purge his memories, and prayed with the telling he could begin to heal.

  “While we stood on the bank, I saw my brother’s eyes darken with worry as he watched a small tree caught within the violent current rush past, the leafless branches ripping up clumps of dirt as it was dragged downstream,” he continued, each word forced. “But with the challenge given before our peers, if he’d backed down, ’twould have brought him shame.”

  The snap of flames in the hearth filled the silence.

  He rubbed the back of his neck, then dropped his hand to his side. “In position on the trunk, at first we traded swings. Once Léod realized I was but teasing him and had nay intention of a blistering match, my brother relaxed.” He swallowed hard. “After blocking my next strike, he stepped back, rounded his blade in a maneuver he hadna yet mastered, nae doubt trying to impress me. Except”—he inhaled with a sharp hiss—“his foot missed the trunk and he lost his balance. Though I lunged to catch him, his fingers clung but a moment on the rain-slick bark before he tumbled into the dangerous current.”

  Oh God!

  His face grew deathly white. “I can still hear his screams, his pleas for help as he was swept away. I s-swear on my life,” he said, his voice breaking, “I tried to reach him.”

  “Thomas—”

  “Terrified,” he continued, his voice ripe with condemnation, “I ran along the bank as his arms flailed to reach shore, with me screaming that I would save him with every step.” A tremor shook his body, then another. “I caught up to him several times, but when I waded in to grab him, the swift current hurled him out of reach.”

  Tears blurred her eyes at that sheer misery in his voice. “What did you do?”

  His body began to shudder.

  “Thomas?”

  At the raw torment on his face, Alesone understood his anguish, distress that thrived within her at thoughts of how she’d cost Grisel her life.

  “When I…” He shook his head. “When I realized I wasna going to reach my brother in time, I ran home. In the bailey, filled with well-wishers who’d traveled to celebrate the day, I screamed for help. As we searched, thunderstorms unleashed their fury. We scoured the rough water in the downpour for hours.”

  “You found him?” she asked, her heart breaking.

  “My mother did,” he strangled out. “When I arrived, she sat on the mossy bank clutching Léod’s limp body. Her shattered wails will haunt me forever. The next day we buried Léod.”

  The last whispered with such desolation, Alesone strained to hear each word. She envisioned him collapsed against the fresh turn of earth, his tears staining the ground, and his sobs inconsolable. Or so filled with pain had he stood in stony silence through the service, his heart shattered.

  Once the last prayer was said, lost to his grief, how long had Thomas remained at his brother’s grave? Had any of his family stayed beside him, or so blind to their own pain, had he remained alone?

  “Why did you leave Dair Castle?” she asked.

  “After the heartache I caused my family,” he said as if a curse, “how could I stay? Each time they saw me, I would be naught but a reminder of what I had done, of the pain I had caused, and of the son they had lost.”

  She shoved to her feet. “’Tis unfair to think that.”

  Legs trembling, he stood, grasp the headboard to steady himself. “Is it? How can they nae hold me accountable when I took Léod’s life!”

  “So you requested to join the monastery.”

  “Aye. I believed giving my life to God would somehow make everything right.”

  She remembered his father’s tormented claim of coming to the monastery and finding his son gone. “Except you dinna stay.”

  “I had intended to,” Thomas said, the day he’d walked through the doors of the monastery etched in his mind. The grandeur of the hewn stone arches, the rich tapestries hanging on the wall, and the sense of a divine presence had offered him a glimmer of hope that somehow he would eventually find peace.

  Understanding filled her gaze.

  “As Brother Nicholai taught me the daily routine, and the tasks I was expected to perform,” he
continued, “over time he became more than a mentor, but a friend. After but a month, grief-stricken, I climbed the ladder to the bell tower and broke down.” He stared at the hearth a long moment before turning to her. “Foolishly, I believed I had slipped away unseen.”

  “Nicholai found you?”

  “Aye. When I opened my eyes, he sat on a stool but paces away. He said naught, allowed me to discuss my upset if I chose. After a long while, feeling as if I had naught to lose, I admitted the reason for my wanting to be a monk. Admitted?” He scoffed. “Nay. Nicholai prodded me until piece by piece he uncovered the truth. After he explained a man didna serve God as a penance, but out of love.”

  Humbled by the trust she inspired, Thomas studied her for a long moment. What was it about the lass that made him want to help her or share his sorrow when for years he’d said little of his past to but a few, men whom he trusted with his life?

  Unsure, he focused on the possibly of his being there for her, like Nicholas had been for him so many years before.

  “What happened?” she asked.

  “Nicholai offered suggestions of occupations more fitting to a life where I could serve God as well as to help others.”

  “And still grieving for your brother, you left.”

  “Aye.”

  Curiosity flickered on her face. “What did you do?”

  I became a Knight Templar. Regardless if the Grand Master had absolved the Order in secret, encouraged those who’d slipped away to blend into society and to marry, his life was dedicated to the Brotherhood, to preserve the treasures along with the secrets of the Templars for which many within the Order had died.

  He closed his eyes against the painful thoughts of those falsely arrested on charges of heresy, and the many more innocent men whose fate lay in the hands of a traitorous king.

  “Thomas?”

  With his heart heavy, he opened his eyes, found her watching him with concern. “I fought in distant lands,” he stated, shoving the anger beneath his shame.

  She frowned. “You are a mercenary?”