Sir John turned to Alesone. “I thank you for tending my wounds. You have a fine hand.”
A smile touched her mouth, and Thomas’s body tensed at the unexpected shot of jealousy.
“You are welcome. I thank you for your aid.” Alesone moved to Thomas’s side, and reached out for his arm.
With a scowl, he stepped back. He wasna a bloody invalid. Hadna he walked to his friend’s room without aid? And if his legs were weak, ’twas expected. “You can remain if you wish while I speak with my father.” After their smoldering kiss in his chamber, a move for the best.
The warmth in her eyes cooled. “’Tis time to allow John to rest.”
Frustrated and wanting to storm out, his pride took another blow as he was forced to walk slow, dizziness threatening his each step.
A short while later, sweat beading his brow, he settled on his bed.
Alesone closed the door.
He glanced at the chess game then toward her. “I thank you for your help, nor do I mean to be short, and,” he said, forcing the tension from his voice, “I am upset over my father’s arrival.”
“’Tis understandable.”
He shook his head. “There is nay reason good enough to take one’s irritation out on a person innocent of the situation.”
Her expression softened. “I know you dinna wish to return to your home, but regardless of your past, of the tragedy, from your father’s actions, he still loves you. I pray that you find the strength to allow the rift between you and your family to heal.”
However much his father claimed that he wanted him to return, memories of Léod’s death would always taint whatever would exist between them. “We will remain at Dair Castle until I am able to travel.”
“Which should be at least a fortnight,” Alesone said. “Long enough for you to make inroads with your family if you choose.”
Doubting she’d ever fully comprehend the obstacles of such a goal, he remained silent.
A solid rap sounded at the door.
Thomas damned his weakness, more as he prepared to see his father, a man he’d always looked up to, and a man he’d failed. “Enter.”
The Duke of Westwyck stepped inside. Flickers of caution tinged the smile on his face. “You are up.”
“I am,” Thomas replied, anxious for the day he and Alesone could depart.
His father nodded. “Mistress Alesone.”
She curtsied. “Your Grace.”
The lines of strain deepened on the noble’s face as he looked over. “’Tis time to go home.”
Thomas disregarded the tug of need.Home.As if such a place existed? Nor would he dwell on a topic that would cause his father naught but hurt. “What of Comyn’s men? They willna allow Mistress Alesone or me to pass.”
The duke’s mouth tightened. “They willna stop us.”
The cold determination of his voice sent a silent groan through Thomas. Bedamned his interference. “They dinna know that you are my father,” he said, praying that by some miracle he could convince him to change his mind. “There is still time for you to—”
“My decision is made!”
God’s teeth! Fighting the wave of dizziness, Thomas tugged on his cape.
In silence he and Alesone followed his father to the courtyard, as thankful as embarrassed by their slow pace.
The large contingent of mounted knights awaiting them in the courtyard left Thomas humbled. An ache built inside, that of a lad desperately wanting his family, pitted against the man who understood he didna deserve such a noble welcome. Gritting his teeth, he labored toward the cart, recognizing several men whom he’d played with in his youth. At the back of the wagon, he climbed inside.
Her expression tense, Alesone followed him up and settled on the wooden planks nearby.
