Shock paled the noble’s face.
“Alesone,” Thomas growled, “the duke’s loyalty is to Lord Comyn.”
She froze. The reason Thomas’s hadna answered. What had she done! Refusing to show fear, she angled her jaw. “Neither will I return to my father.”
Nicholai cleared his throat. “A choice sanctuary within the monastery provides her, Your Grace.”
“Father,” Thomas warned, “you willna interfere. Mistress Alesone is beneath my protection, a pledge I will die to keep if necessary.”
The duke’s eyes strafed his son. “Which I see that you have almost done.”
“’Twould seem,” Thomas said with soft violence, “there is little more to be discussed. ’Tis best if you go.”
Regardless of the cause that’d torn Thomas’s family apart, Alesone’s heart broke at how after all of these years, and with silent yearning in his eyes, he pushed his father away. That the duke had rushed to see him when he’d learned his son was nearby spoke volumes.
Didna Thomas realize the gift he held, a bond however frayed, with time and nurturing, could be repaired? A relationship with her own father she would never experience.
“To have sent such a large contingent,” the duke said, “you have upset Lord Comyn greatly.”
Shame filled her at the truth. “He has offered a significant reward of gold as well.”
“Alesone,” Thomas hissed. “Dinna say more.”
A decision she would heed if nae for the flicker of longing she witnessed every time the duke had looked upon his son, a need Thomas was working hard to ignore. Aye they were related by blood, both men of the same stubborn ilk.
“Your Grace, any right my father had to my welfare or loyalty has long since died.” She angled her jaw. “Nor will I return to him.”
Appreciation shimmered in the noble’s eyes. “Neither would I expect you to.”
At the pride in his father’s voice, Thomas stilled. God’s teeth, what was going on?
Tiredness settled on the duke’s aged face, and the ire of moments before faded. “When Brother Nicholai sent a runner with news of your arrival…” He shook his head. “’Twas as if an answer to my prayers.”
Skeptical, Thomas remained silent.
“When I learned you were wounded, I couldna ride here fast enough.”
The sincerity in his father’s admission left Thomas off balance. Need, deeply buried inside screamed in his mind to admit he’d yearned to see him, but guilt-ridden over the strife he’d caused, he shoved the confession aside.
When he didna reply, tense lines settled on his father’s face. “I willna go without you. I lost you once, and by God I refuse to lose you again.”
The words Thomas had longed to hear wilted beneath his shame. “With our fealties opposed to the other,” he forced out, “it canna be otherwise. You must leave.”
The duke shook his head. “Nay.”
Blast it! “Father ’tis—”
“After the death of Margaret, the Maid of Norway,” the duke cut in, “Robert Bruce was furious when The Guardians of Scotland refused to recognize his grandfather’s claim as overlord to Scotland. King Edward twisted the law, ensured by whatever means necessary that his authority was recognized. Furious, I approached Bishop Wishart in private.”
Thomas stared at his father in disbelief. “You confronted one of the Guardians of Scotland?”
“Aye, I informed Bishop Wishart that I was appalled by the treachery that he as the other Guardians of Scotland had allowed by King Edward I’s hand. Further, I refused to swear fealty to John Balliol. But”—he gave Thomas a measuring look—“the bishop explained that when he’d learned how England’s king had skewed any chance of Robert Bruce, the Competitor, claiming the crown, he arranged a secret meeting with the Guardians of Scotland. There, they made plans for Scotland’s future, one that didna include King Edward I. Wishart beseeched me to appear loyal to Balliol, and in secret to conspire with him to ensure the Bruce gained his rightful crown.”
Thomas stared at his father in disbelief. “You have been loyal to the Bruce throughout?”
The duke gave a curt nod.
“Never did you say anything,” Thomas whispered.
