“I—”
“Do you believe,” Nicholai continued, rolling over Thomas’s reply, “that Léod would have wanted you to sacrifice any chance at happiness?”
Years had passed since he’d heard his brother’s name, but the mention still cut like a dagger to his heart. “We will never know what my brother wanted,” he rasped.
“Will we nae?” Nicholai charged. “I knew him well. We played together as children. He was a lad full of happiness and caring. I doubt he would have wanted your life to be void of love or dredged in despair.”
“Enough!” Thomas boomed, his head pounding, his distress so fierce ’twas storming his senses with brutal accuracy. “Despite what you wish, or the feelings the lass inspires, Alesone is but a duty.”
His friend arched a brow. “Feelings she inspires?”
God’s blade, where had that come from? “My thoughts concerning the lass matter little. I refuse to allow her to be more than a charge.”
“Refuse?” He folded his arms over his chest. “Who are you trying to convince, me or yourself?”
He glared at his friend. “I have stated my intent.”
“And what of her happiness? Would you deny her an opportunity for such?”
Thomas started to reply, then began to cough.
“Here.” The monk handed him a goblet of water.
After a sip, he settled back. He set the cup aside, forced lightness into his voice, needing to smother his friend’s beliefs. “You are mistaken, I have little to do with her happiness.”
His gaze intent, he settled in the chair beside the bed. “You didna see how she remained by your side since your arrival, her growing concern with each passing day.”
“She is a healer.”
“Which explains her initial care, but nae why I couldna pry her from your chamber even after your fever broke. She refused to leave until after you had awoken.”
And when he’d looked up and seen her there, a sense of rightness had filled him, a bond that crossed the lines of duty. Shaken by the need she stirred within him, he stowed the emotions deep inside. His life path was decided, one that didna include her.
“Cloistered within the monastery over the years, your mind convolutes loyalty to her craft with passion,” Thomas said. “However much you wish to see otherwise, Alesone is my charge, nay more.”
“Interestingly enough, when I questioned Mistress Alesone about you, she grew as defensive.” His friend held up his hand as Thomas made to speak. “Talk of what exists between you and the lass can wait. Like her, you need to rest.” He stood and started to turn.
“Have you achieved what you came here for?” Thomas asked, understanding his friend’s intent too well.
He glanced back. “I did. You are very astute.”
“You were a good teacher.”
A smile flickered on the monk’s face. “I will see you on the morrow.” With quiet steps he departed the chamber.
On edge Thomas stared at the door, far from pleased by his friend’s insight regarding Alesone. ’Twas easy to understand why the Bruce had allowed her into his trusted circle to become his healer, and the king’s fierce resolve to ensure her protection. The lass inspired loyalty, trust—and if he were honest, more. A woman devastated by her own grief, however much she hurt, she pushed on.
A life alone.
A life without a bond.
A life buried beneath service to others.
Much like his own.
Nor did she linger on her troubles, but with her each breath she carved out the path she chose, forging the hurt of her youth into a fierce, unbreakable shield.
When they’d first met, he’d wanted to shake her for daring to threaten him. Now he found only respect. Alesone was unlike any woman he’d ever met. Dangerous to her enemies, a protector to those she loved. Nor had a woman’s smile ever thrown him off balance.
