“I know you have family who wants you,” she said, her words heartfelt, “something I would give anything to have.”
Abandoned as a child, though raised by a woman who loved her, her own blood had shunned her. He understood her yearning to have a family, except she wasna aware of the reason that had torn his apart, a wound that couldna be repaired.
“You are blessed to have a friend who cares enough for you to intercede.”
“Cursed is more like it. Nicholai knows how I feel about my family. He had no right to interfere.” Thomas laid his hand over hers, needing to touch her. “Alesone, my frustration isna at you.”
“I know,” she replied, but he caught the soft waver. “I—”
The door scraped open, and Nicholai stepped inside, followed by Thomas’s father.
Chapter Seven
Through the hot burn of tears, Thomas stared at his father. The thick mane of white evidence of the years past, the aged weathered lines carved in his face a testament to his strife, and the pale green eyes filled with anguish, suffering he’d caused.
A raw ache built in his chest. If he ever again faced his father, he’d envisioned the encounter a stoic if nae awkward event. A cool measuring look to the other, his father’s scowl as he weighed the man Thomas had become, and a brief verbal exchange. Then, without incident, they would part.
He fisted his hands in the covers as he stared at the man who’d raised him, taught him how to wield a sword, and was stunned after all these years to find a need for his acceptance.
God’s teeth! He was a Knight Templar, had led men into battle, and faced overwhelming odds in combat. Yet, with each moment, the defensive shield he’d carefully built around his heart crumbled.
Dark memories flooded him of the day they’d buried Léod, of the soul-tearing sobs of his mother and her inconsolable grief. Of how through sheer will he’d nae collapsed as they’d lowered his brother’s body into the rain-drenched earth, and with each inch, numb, aching, how he’d cursed that it wasna him who’d died.
However much he wished to turn away, Thomas held. ’Twas his actions that’d caused his family’s torment, and ’twas his guilt to bare. “Father.” His voice wavered within the deafening silence.
The Duke of Westwick’s lower lip began to quiver. “My s-son.”
The pain in his father’s voice drove another blast of misery through Thomas. Clinging to his composure by a thread, he remained silent.
With slow steps, the noble walked over as Nicholai moved to the side.
As he paused before the bed, Thomas noted how the man’s jaw trembled, and that tears pooled in his eyes.
“I…” The duke shook his head. “Never did I think to see you again.” His voice broke at the last.
Again Thomas cursed Nicholai’s intervention. Didna his friend understand he’d done naught but ripped open old wounds, ones that would take many years, if ever, to heal? “I meant to keep away.”
At his rough whisper, anger slashed the frailty in his father’s expression. “I didna teach you to run from your troubles.”
The ache in his chest drove deeper. “At the time ’twas best that I left. I would think, considering everything, you would welcome my decision to become a monk.”
“I was wrong to allow you to escape to the monastery. I believed distance and prayer would help you heal. When I learned you had departed the monastery without a word to anyone in the family…” Aged eyes narrowed. “Your leaving broke your mother’s heart.”
A heart shattered by his brother’s death, except his father refused to accept the truth. “’Twas never my intent to hurt Mother, she had already suffered enough.” His voice trembled, and he silently cursed. “I pray she has moved past the torment I caused.”
The little color in his father’s face drained. “Y-your mother is dead.”
Despair ripped through him, sucking his every thought until his mind blurred with grief.Dead?He looked away, his each inhale dredged with tears, the ache in his soul storming him with ruthless vengeance. When he thought he could speak, utter anything without again falling apart, he turned. “Ho-how?”
“Two years ago she grew ill. Healers tried to save her.” A tremor shook his father’s voice, but he continued. “In the end, there was naught that I, or anyone else could do but pray.”
“I…” Thomas fought for composure against the swell of heartache. Throughout his youth, regardless the cause, he could always turn to his mother. Steadfast, calm when others were frantic, she was the cornerstone that’d held their family together.
That he would never see her again. God’s teeth, how did one respond to such devastating news? Regret was a pathetic offering when one’s soul lay ragged. Yet, he had naught more to offer. “I am sorry.”
Sadness weighed on his father’s face. “While I am sharing tragic news, your sister, Orabilia, came down with the sickness and died shortly after. And a year past, your brother Matheu died in battle.”
Coldness clutched Thomas until he shook. Through the haze of shock, Alesone’s soft sniffle cut through his sorrow.
