“Enough!” The king’s jaw tightened. “With Comyn’s forces in search of us, whatever your weaponry skills, ’tis too dangerous to be outside the encampment alone. You willna do such again. I forbid it!”
Her face paled. “Aye, Your Grace.”
Submissive? That Thomas doubted. The hint of frustration in her eyes betrayed her calm, her words offered to defuse the king’s ire. Neither was she a fool. However much the lass chafed at the restrictions, she’d obey.
“Mistress Alesone,” the Bruce continued as he returned to his chair, “if you need to leave camp in the future, ’twill be under proper guard.”
God’s teeth, after her foolish risk, how could their sovereign allow her to remain with their force? Thomas cleared his throat. “Sire, within a fortnight we head into battle. A situation far from fostering a safe haven for awillfullass.”
“I explained the dangers to her upon our initial meeting.” The Bruce frowned. “She wouldna be swayed.”
Why had the sovereign allowed her a blasted choice? After today’s fiasco, he could order her to leave, under escort if necessary, or confine her within one of his recently seized castles. To Thomas, the latter held great appeal. “I beseech you to reconsider, Your Grace. Forhersafety.”
Alesone scoffed, “I am far from helpless, and as I explained to our king, neither am I afraid of war.”
Furious she’d ignore the risk, or believe herself immune to the danger, Thomas’s well-cultivated reply shattered. “Only a fool has no fear.”
Her lavender eyes flared with annoyance, inciting him further.
The senseless chit. “You think you understand, but a bard’s stories of combat told around the hearth hardly paint the truth. In the haze of battle,” Thomas said with cold precision, “the air is wrought with screams of death, the earth stained with blood, and mercy nonexistent.” His ire mounting, he stepped closer, determined to sever her belief that she would be unaffected. “Brave men lay mutilated, each breath filled with agony, pleading for an end to their suffering. You are so caught up in your own struggle to live as you wield your blade, you ignore them.” He fisted his hands at his sides as the horrific images stained his mind. “Only if you dinna fall victim to an attacker’s sword, and once the fighting is over, can you grant those mortally wounded their lethal wish.”
Despair flickered on her face, but her eyes remained defiant.
Blast her for pushing him to this point, that she’d dare. “Your words are noble, but—” Thomas noticed the king’s interest in their tense interaction. Stunned by his outburst, he bit back the storm of words yearning to burst free. Few could unleash his emotions to such an extreme.
Men, he trusted.
Never a woman.
As their sovereign continued to study him, Thomas silently cursed, too aware of Robert Bruce’s affinity for women who defied the norms of society, proven by his dealings with Lady Katherine months before. Regardless of his own belief that this lass should be carted off and left in one of his holdings for her own safety, ’twould seem her boldness had earned the king’s favor.
“Mistress Alesone,” the king said, “Sir Thomas raises valid concerns about the dangers we face. If you have changed your mind and wish to leave, I will ensure you are escorted to a safe holding.”
She shook her head. “Sire, I want to remain.”
With a sigh, he nodded. “As you wish.”
Outrage burned in Thomas’s gut. ’Twas her choice, her life. Her presence here wouldna affect him. Once they’d defeated Comyn he would move on, and this exasperating woman would be forgotten.
The king lifted a goblet on a side table and took a sip. “Sir Thomas, I didna expect your arrival so soon.”
“We took a shorter route along the cliffs, Your Grace, and were able to slip past the enemy.” He shot Alesone a hard look, wanting her to understand her antics had neither won him over nor earned his praise. “I admit my surprise to learn you have a woman healer.” The king must have sent for her, ’twould explain his protectiveness and their familiarity to the point where they could jest. “’Tis always welcome to have those alongside us whom we know.”
Tenderness touched the king’s expression. “’Tis, but until her arrival a few days before, we had never met. We have a mutual friend, one who saved my life.”
A debt paid, a logical explanation for why the Bruce had taken in a stranger versed in the art of healing. Clearly in the short time, a close bond had formed between them. Nae that he approved of the king’s offering his trust to her so quickly. With Scotland at war, spies lurked everywhere.
Time would reveal which cloak she wore.
Sir Thomas nodded his acquiescence to the king, but Alesone caught the doubt in his eyes, misgivings she’d expected. Loyal to the Bruce, the knight would ensure his sovereign was safe. A stranger gaining a position close to the king would invite his suspicion.
She appreciated the fierce warrior’s concern for their king, but with the knight’s tenacity, Alesone dreaded their upcoming confrontation.
There would be one.
From the short time she’d known Sir Thomas she’d discovered he was a man who did naught by halves. Until he and his knights departed, ’twas best to keep her distance.
“You and your men will be tired after your journey,” Robert Bruce said, his voice breaking into her thoughts. “We depart at first light. Once we have made camp on the morrow, we will begin discussions of the upcoming attack. Mistress Alesone, take the knights to the tent by the rowan tree.”
