Tears of laughter blurred his eyes as he recalled his oldest brother’s outrage. “We had planned on leaving him until morning, time enough for the drink to wear off, but spitting mad, he rocked against the barrel until it crashed to its side, and then he worked his way out.”
Humor twinkled in her eyes. “Your father must have been furious when he discovered what you and your brothers had done.”
“Except for my black eye, which I assured my father ’twas due to my having fallen while climbing the ben, he never learned of the event.”
Her laughter warmed his heart. “Why do I have little doubt that you and your siblings’ exploits over the years caused your parents much frustration?”
“Mayhap.” Except the pranks they had played and the laughter that’d filled Dair Castle were long past.
Her face grew somber. “What is wrong?”
“’Tis…” An ache filled him, and he released a rough breath. “Never will I see those I love again.”
“You canna, but for a while they were part of your life. You have memories of your time together,” she whispered, her voice rough, “that nay one can take from you.”
Emotion twisted inside. Damning his weakness when it came to her, Thomas stroked his fingers across her cheek. “My mother would have liked you.” He envisioned her taking stock of Alesone with a shrewd eye and finding approval. “She would have appreciated your courage, your loyalty, and that you dinna allow anyone to push you around.”
“Including when I first met you?”
He lowered his hand with a smile. “She would have been entertained by your driving an arrow into a tree but a breath away from me.” The amusement in Alesone’s eyes charmed him further.
“If your men hadna snuck up behind me,” she said, “you would have been answering my questions.”
“I would have,” he admitted, “but more to learn how a woman of such beauty holds skills to rival the finest archer.”
A blush swept her cheeks. “’Tis a clever way of asking how I became proficient at archery.”
“And will you tell me?”
She shrugged. “’Tis a peculiar story.”
“How so?” he asked, his curiosity piqued.
“When I was young, while out picking herbs, I came upon a well-armed knight who, while traveling through Comyn lands, had collapsed due to illness. A tall, burly man, though I tried, he was too heavy for me to drag, so I ran for Grisel’s help.”
“And the weapons?”
She arched a playful brow. “I should have known you would ask. Once he was settled inside the hut, I ended up making a second trip to retrieve them.”
“With the effort required to bring the warrior to your home, ’tis understandable that you remembered him. Otherwise, there is little peculiar about the situation.”
“A point with which I agree. Nor was making a second trip for a knight’s sword or dagger out of the norm, until I saw his weaponry.”
At the reverence in her voice, he stilled. “What do you mean?”
“Never had Grisel or I beheld such a finely crafted dagger. And his sword, though simple, was grand. On the hilt of both lay a cross.”
Unease rippled through him. The emblem identifying a Knight Templar. “His name?” he asked with forced lightness.
“Sir Struan McRuer. He wouldna share his destination, but explained ’twas of great importance that he deliver the writ he carried.”
“Did he say where he had acquired his weapons?”
The wagon bumped over another ditch, and she clutched the side. “I didna ask, but he mentioned he had been on campaign in Armenia, and that his weapons were the same as the knights whom he fought alongside.”
Armenia, where the Templars had lost their last stronghold in Antioch. “Sir Struan sounds like an interesting man.”
“Indeed,” Alesone continued, ignorant of his inner turmoil. “And highly skilled with numerous weapons. In thanks for tending to him, for the few days he remained with us, while he recovered, he taught me how to improve my proficiency with a bow.”
