Thomas, the duke, and his brother stood, and she followed suit as the Brother rushed forward.
“What is wrong?” Thomas asked as his friend halted paces away.
“Your Grace,” Nicholai said, and then faced Thomas. “I bear news of great import. I must speak with you and”—his gaze shifted to her—“Mistress Alesone in private.”
Thomas slid his arm around her in a protective manner. “We will go into the solar.” Nerves jangling, Alesone followed the men inside. Sunlight filled the room as she stepped inside, and a fire blazed in the hearth, but neither eased the chill deep inside.
The monk shut the door.
“Tell me,” she stated.
The brother nodded. “’Tis Burunild MacCheine.”
Confused, she frowned. “My mother’s personal maid?”
“Aye, she is dying and has been trying to find you.”
Alesone glanced at Thomas, then met Nicholai’s gaze. “Why would she look for me? I havena seen her since I was seven.”
The Brother’s mouth tightened. “’Tis her place to explain.”
“Where is she?” Alesone asked.
“Waiting for you at the monastery.”
She nodded. “Then let us go.”
* * *
Hours later tears burned Alesone’s eyes as she stared at the elder who’d been her mother’s personal maid, a woman who’d dared visit her at Grisel’s and had brought treats to make her smile. To see her now, her face sunken with illness, and fighting for every breath broke Alesone’s heart.
“Sit, child,” the elder wheezed.
Thomas held her hand as she sat; Brother Nicholai remained discreetly by the door.
Grief darkened the woman’s gaze as aged fingers lay atop Alesone’s. “I am deeply shamed that I never told you, but I was—” She began to cough, and waved Alesone away when she made to help. “I must finish.” She dragged in a fragile breath. “I was afraid. If you could find it in y-your heart, I beg your forgiveness.”
The slide of unease rolled through her. “I forgive you.”
“I pray you will feel the same when I am finished” Bony fingers tightened on Alesone’s hand. “He made me swear never to tell you,” she whispered, “threatened to kill me and my family if I did.” The elder tsked. “A coward I was. I didna do what was right, a sin I carried all these years. With my husband dead, and my sons died in battle, and my own life f-fading, there is naught left for me to lose.”
Bile rose in Alesone’s throat. “Who threatened you?”
A tear slid down her wrinkled cheek. “Lord Comyn.”
That made little sense. “Why would my father threaten you?”
“Because,” she said on a fragile breath, “he isna your father.”
Chapter Twenty-One
Betrayal and fury hazing her mind, the chair scraped as Alesone shoved to her feet. “What!”
“Please—” Coughs wracked the elderly maid’s body as she struggled for a breath.
Nicholai stepped over and laid his hand on Alesone’s shoulder. “Let her finish. Please.”
Outrage blurred Alesone’s mind at the falsehood she’d believed her entire life, at the shame she’d endured for having been branded as a bastard when the entire time it had been a lie. She gave a curt nod, wanting to scream at the injustice.
