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.”
