Hard eyes held his. “I was angry then,” his brother ground out, “and aye, I still am. But I willna lose another brother over a tragedy that happened so many years ago.”
Stunned by his declaration, hope ignited. Thomas smothered the emotion as quick. “What are you saying?”
“We are brothers, we have differences, but we are family,” he stated. “We work things through and dinna give up. However much I didna want to, I have missed you.”
Humbled by Donnchadh offering, Thomas fought for the words to reply, floundered to find the right ones when he didna deserve his compassion. “How can you forgive me when I canna forgive myself?”
His brows slammed together. “Is your destroying yourself with guilt what Léod would have wanted?”
“Our brother didna deserve to die!”
“Nay, he didna. Nor is death particular in whom it chooses.” His body rigid, he stared at the chapel. “’Tis those it leaves behind who struggle to go on. But we have memories of our time together,” he said, his voice softening. “To forget those we love is to bring them dishonor.”
His chest tight, Thomas gazed upon the gravestones. “I will never forget them.”
“Nor will I.”
“I have an admission,” Thomas said quietly. “When we were younger, I envied that as the firstborn, you would one day receive our father’s title of duke. With the man you have become, I realize my concerns were those of an untried lad. I am proud of you, and know you will bring naught but honor to the title.”
“I will try.” Donnchadh glanced toward the keep. “I have a meeting with the steward. Know this: what we have discussed today willna take away my upset, but the words needed to be said. You already have our father’s forgiveness. Now you have mine.” With a curt nod, he strode away.
Humbled by his brother’s compassion, Thomas stared at Donnchadh’s broad-shouldered outline as he disappeared into a swirl of white. Another snow-thickened gust battered his face. He tugged his cloak tighter, the chill easing around his heart. He didna deserve his father’s or brother’s mercy, except both had offered a new beginning nonetheless.
Against the batter of flakes slipping beneath his cloak, after Thomas knelt before Léod’s grave and said an Our Father, he headed for the chapel.
Wisps of frankincense and myrrh filled the air as he stepped inside. Candles flickered in wall sconces, lending a golden cast over the serene setting where he’d said many a prayer. Easing out a breath, he skimmed his hand along the polished top of the nearest bench as he gazed past the well-worn pews and paused at the cross hanging on the wall behind the alter.
He clenched the smoothed wood. How many times had he knelt within this house of God, his mind lost to thoughts of the future, of excitement of what he would find beyond the walls of Dair Castle? Yet however proud of his service as a Templar, he’d always yearned for his family.
Surrounded by the familiar, he walked forward, moved into the pew, knelt before the cross, pressed his hands in prayer, and thanked God for the blessings he’d received. With his brother and father’s forgiveness, he’d been offered a chance for a new start.
Guilt swept him over how he’d treated Alesone this day. Blast it, she deserved better!
The scuff of wood had him turning.
Lines of concern weighed heavy on his father’s face as he entered.
Ignoring the aches, Thomas stood. “What is wrong?”
His father motioned for him to sit as he walked down the aisle. After kneeling next to the pew and making the sign of the cross, he sat beside him. “I just spoke with Mistress Alesone.”
Dread rippled through him. “She came to see you?”
“Nay, I found her sitting alone in the solar. When she saw me, she made to leave, but I bid her to stay. The lass wouldna explain why she was upset.” Inquisitive eyes held his. “She isveryloyal to those whom she cares for.”
“I doubt you sought me out to discuss Alesone’s loyalty,” Thomas said, refusing to discuss the discord with him.
“While we spoke,” the duke continued, “with my each mention of you, her expression grew further strained. It doesna take a man of great wit to deduct the reason for what, or ratherwho, is the cause of her strife.”
He muttered a silent curse. “We had a disagreement.” An understatement. He’d pushed away, hurt her, both unthinkable, which made him despise himself further. “Neither do I owe you an explanation.”
A wry smile touched his mouth. “Long ago, I looked forward to the discussions we would have once you were a man, except I negated to factor in your stubbornness.” The smile faded. “Aye, ’tis your right to keep whatever is between you and Alesone to yourselves. Neither will I pry. What you choose to tell me is your decision.”
Thomas straightened in the pew.
His father watched him a long moment. “I think she is a fine lass.”
He swallowed hard. “She is, and your enemy’s daughter. How could you approve of her?”
