At the hurt in his voice, an ache built inside. “Then tell me.”
Anger slashed his face.
“Do you think you are the only one that lives with guilt for the death of someone you loved?” she demanded, the ire she’d buried deep breaking free. “If I hadna brought Robert Bruce’s man to our hut, never would Grisel’s life been placed in jeopardy. How do you think I feel knowing that because of me, she was beaten, raped, and murdered?”
“You willna blame yourself! Your decision was one that anyone loyal to our king would have made.”
“Knowing that and accepting the reality isna easy. A fact you well understand.” She swallowed hard. “Tell me, how does one find forgiveness?”
“I dinna know,” he rasped, his voice breaking at the last. “I-I am unsure if ’tis possible.”
Chapter Eight
Alesone held Thomas’s gaze, his struggle to find forgiveness for himself a battle she too fought. Would there ever come a time where she could find such, or, like Thomas, would she withdraw until she was but a shell of a person going through the motions of living?
Nor at the moment did her choices matter. Thomas had reached an important crossroads. “You have family who loves you, wants you to return.” He glanced at the crucifix on the wall, and the strain on his face made her ache. If only she could help him.
“What if I go and after a fortnight, when my father looks upon me, all he sees is a tragic reminder of everything he has lost?”
She yearned to offer reassurances. Except none existed. However genuine the duke’s request, until Thomas returned home he wouldna know. “What if while you are home, the bond between you and your father strengthens?”
He gave a cold laugh. “My mother, brother, and sister are dead. Little chance exists that naught but strife will ever remain between my father and I.”
Tormented eyes shifted, and her chest tightened beneath the weight of his sorrow. “And will damning yourself for leaving change anything?”
“You know naught!”
“Then tell me.”
His mouth tightened.
“A wise man once told me,” Alesone said softly, understanding that he didna want to discuss the situation further, but needing to try. “That at times ’tis best if we share our troubles.”
Anger flashed in his eyes. “What is wrong?” she asked, refusing to back down. “Is the advice only for you to give?”
“You dare much!”
“And you,” she challenged, “dare nothing when you have everything to gain.”
He closed his eyes.
An ember popped from the flames, faded into the thick silence like a subtle reminder that though we lose those we love, life continues.
Alesone’s gaze lingered on his fisted hands. “Nae facing your troubles doesna make them go away, but allows them to fester inside, to destroy any chance at happiness.”
Silence.
Irritated he would toss away a chance at family who wanted him, something she craved, Alesone shoved to her feet. “Cling to your anger like a bloody fool. I am going to break my fast.” She stormed toward the entry.
“’Twas a celebration,” Thomas rasped as her hand reached for the door.
She turned.
Intense green eyes held hers.
Humbled that he’d shared this painful piece of his past, she walked over and sat by his side. Guilt slid through her. She’d acted nay better than he and wouldna ask more. ’Twas his story to tell, and Alesone prayed she’d earned such trust.
Long moments passed.
