“This isna about me,” Alesone challenged, “but you. However broken inside, you have a family who loves you. Dinna you see, your father’s forgiveness is the first step in making your family whole again. Though you and your brother are at odds, until you forgive yourself, quit damning your actions from so many years before, the rift between you and Donnchadh will never heal.”
Humbled, Thomas stared at Alesone. Though she hurt, her only consideration was for him. And she was right. So caught up in his grief over the years, until this moment he’d never considered allowing himself even a shimmer of forgiveness.
Nor could he overlook the quiet worry in her voice. With her father’s despicable interest in her, until Comyn was defeated, her life would be plagued by danger.
“Even though you damned your actions, you tried to find a way to absolve your sins,” she said, breaking into his ruminations, “the reason you went to the monastery, to sacrifice any chance of a home or a family.”
“A decision which infuriated my father.” He fisted his hands as memories cascaded through him. “We had a terrible row over my leaving. In the end, as I refused to consider any other option, he agreed.” He shrugged. “The rest you know.”
Alesone nodded, smothering her heart-wrenching memories of Grisel, and focused on Thomas. “That you and your father have renewed a bond is significant, but I believe ’tis as important to mend the fracture between you and Donnchadh.”
A muscle worked in his jaw. “For my brother and I, time has repaired naught, nor will the years ahead change that.”
“Thomas—”
“Dinna you recall his welcome upon our arrival?” he demanded. “Tell me, has he come to see me since? Nay, nor will he. He despises me,” he said, his voice growing hard, “and rightly so. Neither will I beg forgiveness from him when I deserve none.”
“’Tis your brother!”
“By blood. There is naught more.”
“Because you refuse to try.”
The anger in his eyes wilted to resignation, and Thomas rubbed the back of his neck, and then dropped his hand. “I didna expect you to understand.”
The man was pigheaded! “And I didna expect for you to walk away without trying to salvage the remnants of your family however tattered.” Her eyes narrowed. “Dinna you understand how lucky you are? Nay, instead you cling to your grief, withdraw inside yourself when reminders of the old hurt arises.” She fisted her hands. “Damn you, I would give anything to have someone who loved me, however remote, than to have a father who after years only acknowledges my presence because now he finds me useful for his devious scheme.”
Stunned by her outburst, aware she’d overstepped her bounds beyond acceptable, Alesone shook her head. “I…” What? How did one apologize for her impropriety? “I am sorry.” She turned and fled.
Pain tore through Thomas’s body as he caught Alesone’s arm.
“Let me go!”
“Wait.” Anguish-filled eyes held his, and her words, however much he hadna wanted to hear them, made sense. “Stay, please. My anger isna at you, but me.” He gentled his hold. “Your father is a fool to have shunned a woman who is amazing in her own right.” Her expression grew tender, and he nodded. “Mayhap you are right, and I should try to repair the rift with Donnchadh.”
“You will?”
The tension in her eyes shifted to hope, and to make her happy, the sacrifice of speaking to his brother a small price to pay. “Aye.”
“Thank you.”
Humbled by this perceptive woman, he brushed away loose strands of hair that’d fallen on her cheek. “’Tis I who should be thanking you. You make me see what I dinna want to, dare question me when I try to push you away.” Thomas drew her to him, needing to feel her against him, her warmth, her spirit, and savored the rightness of her in his arms.
How in such a short time had she become so important to him? As if she had any place in his life? Like his thoughts of settling at Conchar Castle, they were little more than a dream. Until the day he walked away from the battlefield, even if he wanted to, he could promise her naught.
She leaned her head against his chest. “What are you thinking?”
He drew in her scent of woman and heat, ached from the rightness of her. “How I wish,” he whispered, “that we could stay here forever.”
In the firelight, she lifted her eyes to his, the desire within almost bringing him to his knees.
Unable to stop himself, he claimed her mouth, the earlier desperation lost to a slow need, something he couldna define, but touching her, feeling her tremble in his arms, ’twas as essential as his next breath.
Her breathing unsteady, she skimmed her hands up his chest, then her arms wrapped around his neck.
The rush of emotion built as he took, slow and gentle until she was kissing him back, her demands unleashing his own. Her taste pouring through him, he ran his hands over her skin, along the curves of her gown. Holding her gaze, he loosened the ties of her gown, skimmed his fingers along the soft swell of her breast, then lowered his mouth to taste, savor, until her body trembled.
“Thomas, I…”
