Through broken whispers and several fits of coughing, the elder explained how Alesone’s mother had become pregnant shortly before her husband had departed for a crusade, and so he’d never known.”
“My father never knew I was his child?” Alesone whispered.
The elder shook her head. “Nay. You are of noble birth. At the time, Lord Comyn had worried over your father’s growing influence and the respect he held among the nobles. Fearful of his growing power, Comyn wanted to destroy him. Aware your father was a man of pride, one who loved his wife deeply, Comyn devised a plan to shame your mother and destroy their marriage, and in the end, your father.”
Stunned, Alesone listened, thankful as Thomas gave her hand a gentle squeeze. “After you were born, your mother had a tragic accident, fell, and died. Because you were born late, more than nine months after your father departed, Comyn caused vicious rumors to spread that in secret he and your mother had become lovers, and ashamed of her infidelity, she’d committed suicide.”
“’Tis all a lie,” Alesone whispered, embracing the words as joy poured through her, cleansing her soul.
“Aye,” the maid whispered. “I wanted to tell you, but terrified of the threat to my family I remained silent. When your father returned three years later to find his wife dead, he was told that you had been born too late for him to have been your father. Hearing rumors of your mother’s unfaithfulness with a man he’d once considered a friend, he confronted Comyn. A bitter row ensued. No one knew what exact words were passed, but furious, your father cursed Comyn as he strode from his keep, took his belongings, and left.”
Left believing his daughter was a bastard. Alesone swallowed hard. All these years, weighted beneath the shame of her mother’s actions, she’d learned naught of her birthright except the pittance that her father was a noble. Now to discover that she was legitimate, she yearned to know more about her father. Had he remarried? Did she have half brothers or sisters out there?
Alesone braced herself. “Who is he?”
Sadness weighted the elder’s gaze. “Petrus Buchan, Earl of Kinlock.”
“Nae Alesone MacNiven, but Buchan.” Warmth filled her as the name sifted through her mind, and then she gasped.
“What is wrong?” Thomas asked.
“The noble with the Bruce the night he called us to his tent was the Earl of Kinlock.” Except her father didna know the truth. When he learned his wife had remained faithful, would he want Alesone? Unsure of anything, she swallowed hard. “Where is he?”
“Hopefully en route,” the elder replied. “With Brother Nicholai’s help, I have sent him a missive explaining everything, including where you are. I canna tell you how each day I regretted you nae knowing, despised myself for how you were shunned.”
“Which is why you visited me often during my youth.”
“Aye, and because I loved you.” Tenderness warmed her face. “You have the look of your mother, and the spirit of your father. I know when he meets you, he will be so proud of you. I—” Her body began to tremble, and she again began to cough.
Alesone caught the elder’s hand.
“Forgive me,” the elder whispered, “please.”
Tears rolled down Alesone’s cheeks. “I do.”
Relief sifted in the woman’s eyes, and she smiled, slowly, until her entire face settled into a wash of peace. “I thank you.” Her eyes turned toward the cross on the wall, and she gave one last exhale.
A sob tore through Alesone, and Thomas drew her against his chest.
With quiet steps, Nicholai walked over and closed the elder’s eyes. “I will ensure she receives a proper burial.”
Emotions storming her, Alesone met his gaze. “I want to be there. She deserves to be honored. Burunild was as tormented by Comyn’s treachery as I.”
The monk nodded. “Word will be sent when all is prepared.”
Outside the chamber, Alesone shook her head. “All this time ’twas naught but a lie.” She stilled. “God in heaven!”
“What?” Thomas asked.
A weight lifted off her soul as joy swept through her. “With her confession, I am free. Lord Comyn canna use me to barter with France’s king, and,” she said with satisfaction, “willna King Philip be furious when he learns the truth?”
Thomas grinned. “Bruce willensurethe news reaches France’s sovereign.”
“And,” she said, her voice rough, “I have a father, one of whom I can be proud.”
“Once the Earl of Kinlock reads the missive, he will come.” Thomas drew her to him. “I was wanting to marry you posthaste. Now we will wait until your father arrives and can give his beautiful daughter away.”
* * *
