Thomas’s muscles rebelled as he stepped forward, the effort leaving his legs trembling.
“Is the strife due to Léod’s death?” she pressed.
He shot her a cool look. “Aye.”
“How many years have passed since you left home?”
On a sigh, he pushed on. “Nae enough.”
“I think your father feels otherwise.”
Tired and wanting to reach his chamber, he grunted. “’Tis complicated.”
“Anything worthwhile in life,” she said, her voice gentle, “normally is.”
Thomas jerked open the door.
As he led her to the turret, he scanned the great room, the arches a fine setting for the shields hanging upon the walls, the blades used by his ancestors beside each, and a coat of arms for the Clan MacDonald situated between. He slowed, his each step filled with reminders of his youth, igniting more memories. Never had he meant to return, except now that he had, God help him, he found himself wanting to remain.
Chapter Eleven
Wind buffeted the window as Thomas sat in the chair and stared at the hearth, the gentle waver of flames at odds with the storm howling outside. Grimacing against the pain, he leaned closer, held his hands against the warmth.
Another blast of wind screamed outside.
The air tinged with the scent of smoke, he tugged the blanket tighter around him, thankful this night he and Alesone were safe.
Out of danger was another matter.
A soft tap sounded on the door.
With a frown, he glanced over. What was she doing up so late? Nay doubt wanting to check on him. “Enter.”
Hewn wood scraped, then his father stepped inside.
Unsure of the reason for his nocturnal visit, Thomas hesitated. He’d believed for the first day, mayhap two, his father would keep his distance. If for naught more than time to acclimate to his presence. “I didna expect to see you so late. ’Tis well past Compline.”
“I had meant to arrive earlier, but there were several matters requiring my attention.” Tired lines creased his brow as he settled in a chair close by. “I took a chance, as I believed you might be asleep.”
“With the herbs Alesone gave me, so did I,” he said, doubting his father’s visit was to address such a mundane issue.
His father studied him for a long moment. “You have grown into a fine man.”
Guilt tightened in his chest. “You know naught about me.”
Aged eyes narrowed. “A fact,” he said, his voice cool, “you ensured by remaining away.”
Bedamned, he didna want to discuss this now. Or ever. “’Twas for the best.”
“For whom?”
“As if you need to ask?” He shoved to his feet, clenching his teeth against the burst of pain. Blast it! “For you, for my family. My foolishness cost Léod his life.”
Eyes dark with sorrow, his father unfurled his lean frame and stood. “I loved your brother, was devastated by his death, but when you left the monastery, I lost you as well.”
And his family, the heartache of his decision so long, haunted Thomas still.
“You disappeared without a word, neither would Brother Nicholai reveal where you had gone.” A wry smile touched his face. “I admit threatening him if he didna tell me, a sin I shall carry for the rest of my days. His assurance that you were in good hands gave me something to hold on to.” He paused. “Will you at least tell me where you went?”
