“Does it matter?”
“Aye,” his father snapped. “I want to know what was so bloody important that you would disappear without a word.” Anger flared in his eyes. “Did you think your leaving wouldna hurt me or your mother?”
“I needed time away, time to think, and a place where I could somehow find forgiveness.”
“And the monastery didna give you that?”
Thomas shrugged. “If I had entered for the right reasons, mayhap.” He stared at the sparks rising within the wisps of smoke. Nor would he mention his argument with Donnchadh before he’d left Dair Castle. The decision to leave had been his, but he would give his father a piece of the truth. “I believed by immersing myself in studies to become a monk, surrendering any chance of a family, ’twould be my penance for Léod’s death.”
The duke gave a shaky nod. “After your brother’s death, our entire family grieved, but you were inconsolable. I thought your living in a holy setting would give you time to calm, to realize Léod’s death ’twas naught but an accident.”
“One caused by me!”
“Enough!” His father’s brows slammed together. “I canna tell you the number of times throughout my life that I have made reckless decisions, ones that resulted in a people getting injured.”
“But nay one ever died,” Thomas said.
His gaze narrowed to dangerous slits. “And death is the bar of judging a poor decision?” he demanded, his voice rising. “So I should feel that if nay one died from whatever imprudent decision I had made, then ’tis excused?”
God’s teeth. “That is nae what I am saying.”
“’Tis,” he said, his face red with anger. “Listen to yourself.”
Thomas stared at the man he’d admired in his youth, one he’d wanted to emulate once grown, but after all that’d passed, he doubted he could ever begin to fill this great warrior’s shoes.
Alesone’s plea to accept his father’s forgiveness echoed in his mind, but it wasna so simple. “I have listened to myself, tried to find a way to move on, and with my each attempt failed.”
The duke’s gaze softened. “You are nay longer alone, but with family.”
Aye, a father who wanted him to remain, and a brother who wished that he’d never returned. A slow pounding thrummed in his temple. Thomas stumbled to his chair, wished he had more herbs to dull the pain.
He rubbed his forehead. What did he say now? Or was there anything left? “I am sorry I left the monastery without informing you. Never did I mean to hurt you.” He blew out a rough breath. “I canna tell you how many times I wished the moment back, wished I had left Léod alone.”
The duke settled in the chair at his side. “But you canna go back.”
“Nay.”
“Neither does ignoring the fact erase the tragedy. When you bury your misfortunes beneath the demands of duty, you dinna live, but exist.” Hands scarred with age and time folded beneath the other. “Ask yourself what you want.”
“If only ’twas that simple,” Thomas breathed.
His father leaned back. “Why does it have to be difficult?”
He scowled. “Have you heard naught of what I said?”
“Aye, I have,” he blustered, “your words spurned by grief, but none of your life ahead.”
Bedamned! “I have…” Duty, as his father had said, nay thoughts for his own life. With his fealty given to Bruce and the upcoming confrontations as his king fought to unite Scotland, ’twas a fool’s lot to make plans. A swing of an opponent’s blade could sever any dreams made.
Weary, Thomas shook his head. “What do you want me to say? I doubt any reply I could give will rival those of your expectations. Nor do you have time to concern yourself with my aspirations. As Duke of Westwyck, you have responsibilities to fulfill, those with due time that will be passed down to Donnchadh, ones that dinna concern me.”
He stiffened. “Try answering my question of whatyouwant.”
Panic swelled inside as Thomas he pushed his thoughts past duty, past a way of life that dictated his future.
His father arched a challenging brow.
“A home and a family,” he blurted out, stunned the thoughts had been buried in his mind.
