“My thanks.” She silently groaned as she set the piece onto its square.
“Have you come to a compromise,” Nicholai asked.
“If only I were so lucky,” Alesone muttered as she stared at the rook nestled next to the knight, doubtful anything could erase their kiss etched in her mind. Needing distance, she carried the chessboard to the table against the wall.
“I just finished talking with John,” Nicholai said.
The worries of moments before faded as she turned. “How does he fare?”
The monk handed a steaming bowl to Thomas, nodded. “A bit of stew from the cook. She said ’twill make you feel better. As for John, as you warned when you tended to him, the few broken ribs are giving him discomfort, but he is thankful that he will make a full recovery.”
Face grim, Thomas set the food aside, and sat at the edge of the bed. “I want to see him.”
Alesone remained silent. However much she needed to remind Thomas of his promise to rest, with shimmers of pleasure storming her mind, at this moment, she was hardly ready for a confrontation.
At her silence, the monk’s shrewd gaze shifted to Thomas, and he sighed his acquiescence. “Can you walk?”
With a curt nod, Thomas shoved to his feet.
Tension vibrating through her, Alesone held the door open as they moved past. An ache built inside as she glanced toward the bed, lingered on the rumpled sheets, where if only for a moment she’d tasted what should be forbidden.
* * *
Anger slammed through Thomas at the bruises on his friend’s face, the stitches holding together severed flesh as John finished explaining the assault. Bedamned Comyn’s men, the bastards would pay! Humbled by how his friend had revealed naught, even at the risk to his life, he stood. “You must rest. We have spoken overlong.”
“I am poor company,” John said.
Thomas grunted. “Nay more than I. ’Twould seem we are a fine pair.”
A wry smile flickered across John’s mouth. “Nor is this the first time we both have been beaten and left for dead.”
Indeed. As Templars they’d fought side by side in the heat of the desert, their duty to God, to the Brotherhood, and to the faithful who wished to travel through the Holy Land.
From the other side of the bed, Alesone shifted.
Thomas didna glance her way. The few times their eyes had met, he’d caught the lingering desire within, a longing that still churned inside. What had he been thinking when he’d kissed her? Thinking? A hand’s breath apart, and wanting her, coherent thought hadna entered his mind.
A knock sounded at the entry.
“Come in,” Thomas said.
A young monk entered. “Sir Thomas, Brother Nicholai sent me to inform you that the Duke of Westwyck has arrived.”
So the sojourn would begin. Resigned to his temporary fate, Thomas nodded. “I thank you. I will await my father in my chamber.”
With a nod, the monk departed.
Hope shimmered in John’s eyes. “You and the Duke of Westwyck have made amends?”
Thomas stilled. “I didna realize you were acquainted with my father?”
“We met at the monastery on one of my earlier visits to see Nicholai,” his friend replied, his voice somber. “And before you ask, the duke didna tell me of the discord between you. That Nicholai explained.”
“I see.” Considering Thomas’s entreaty to Nicholai, where he’d vouched for John, a Knight Templar wounded in battle and unable to continue his service to the Order, he should have anticipated that however innocently raised, the discord between Thomas and his father would have surfaced. “I willna forget what you have done.”
John shrugged. “I did naught more than you would have for me. And, I pray that you repair the rift between you and your family.”
Thomas’s stiffened. ’Twould take more than a petition to God to repair the damage.
