his right had him glancing over. Thomas eyed the stranger, and noted the man assessed him as well. What had she told him? With his allowing them to remain within his home, clearly naught that’d place them in danger.
Red brows narrowed. “I am John MacLairish.”
As he took in the stocky man, a sense of familiarity tugged at him. In his youth a lad with the same name had lived within Dair Castle, the son of the castle’s smithy. Although John was a commoner, he and Thomas had often sparred, and the two boys had shared the dream of one day becoming knights. Years later they had again met, this time on a crusade. John MacLairish had indeed achieved his ambition, but it had ended during a battle that had left his leg disabled. He could walk and ride, but nae to the standards required of a Templar Knight.
Thomas narrowed his gaze. God’s teeth, ’twas John! “’Tis—” Coughs wracked his body.
“Your throat will be dry,” Alesone said as she held a cup to his mouth.
Cautious, he took several sips, then pushed the cup away. “I thank you.” He met John’s gaze. “I am Thomas MacKelloch.”
A grin creased John’s face, and he laughed. “God in heaven, I thought ’twas you, and then decided I was daft, a result of living on my own too long.”
Alesone’s eyes widened with disbelief. “You know each other?”
“Aye,” John said, his voice rough with emotion. “A long time ago Thomas and I fought side by side until…” He paused. “I shouldna have doubted ’twas you.”
“Many years have passed,” Thomas said. “’Tis good to see you, my friend.” He glanced at the twist in John’s leg. “How do you fare?”
“Well enough.” He arched a brow. “I would say a fair piece better than you.”
Thomas grimaced. “The truth. I am escorting Mistress Alesone to—”
“I dinna think you should be talking so much given your health.”
At the nerves in her voice, Thomas realized that she didna understand the inherent loyalty of the Templars, one that with their oath sworn would always hold true. Nor would he explain. “Sir John and I have been friends since our youth. I trust him with my life.”
“And,” his friend said, “that I live is due to Sir Thomas. After he carried me from the battlefield, ’twas he who ensured that when I returned to Scotland, I would have a place to live.”
Uncomfortable with the laud, Thomas exhaled. “’Tis Brother Nicholai MacDaniell who deserves the thanks for your home.”
“’Twas your letter requesting his aid that guided him,” John said. “An entreaty your father sanctioned.”
Though their travel to the monastery would leave them leagues from Thomas’s home, the soul-deep yearning to see his family caught him off guard. Since he’d fled those many years before, he’d smothered his need of those dear to him beneath his guilt, and had foolishly believed himself immune to any reaction to his family, however near.
Against the rush of unwanted feelings, Thomas focused on the fact that they’d traveled farther south than he’d planned. ’Twould add several days or more until they reached Avalon Castle.
He glanced over, caught Alesone leaning forward to catch every word. Blast it. His past was exactly that. He didna wish to linger on events that he couldna change.
Sadness darkened his friend’s gaze. “Your father still laments your leaving.”
That he doubted. After his younger brother’s death, if his father thought of him, ’twas with hate.
John sighed. “Your family will be—”
“They dinna know I am here. Nor will they.”
“Thomas, your father still grieves.”
Mouth tight, he held his friend’s gaze. “I willna discuss the matter.”
“We were once close friends,” John said, his words weighted with sincerity. “Friends who could talk to each other.”
Tempted to accept his offer, Thomas shook his head instead. “Years have passed.”
“Mayhap, but the man I knew was like a brother to me, and wouldna have cared.”
Thomas ignored his subtle emphasis on their Templar connection and closed his eyes. After what he’d done, how could his family truly accept him back into their home? For a while they might open their doors, welcome a son they’d believed lost. But with each passing day, memories of his unforgivable act would fester in their hearts and erode any pleasantry until all that remained in his family’s mind was hate.
Another wave of heat seared him, and he groaned.
A hand pressed against his brow. “Oh God,” Alesone said, her voice faint through a blur of warmth, “he is beginning to fever.”
“I have herbs to treat him,” his friend said, “but far from enough.” Clothing shuffled. “I will ride to the monastery.”
Against the blast of pain, Thomas pried open his eyes. “I…” He gasped for a breath.
Her eyes dark with worry, Alesone took his hand. “Dinna talk. You need to rest.”
Mayhap, but beyond the worry, he saw curiosity. The lass had questions, ones he wouldna answer. Weak, he sagged back.
John tugged on his cloak and limped toward the door. “I will return shortly.” A shot of snow swirled inside as he stepped out.
The door scraped shut. Silence filled the hut, but Thomas heard Alesone’s sigh.
The room blurred, then again came into focus. He coughed. “A drink.”
She lifted the cup to his mouth.
He swallowed, the cool slide welcome, and then sagged back. “My thanks.” In the flicker of firelight, lavender eyes dark with worry held his. Blast it, he didna deserve her concern. His task was to protect her, to keep her safe. He’d done neither.
She pressed a damp cloth against his brow. “John is a fine friend.”
The numerous times he and John had roamed the woods as children came to mind, how they’d shared their dreams of one day becoming knights and battling side by side. In time the ambitions of youth faded beneath the reality of a war, one that had almost killed his friend. “Aye, he is.”
Alesone pressed the cool rag across his brow. “Why did you leave your home?”
“’Twas time,” he said, his voice tight.
“Why did John say that your father still grieves since you left?”
Bedamned! Images of his brother’s death and his mother’s heartbreak stormed him, the grief he’d delivered his family unrepairable. “We will be together but days. My past matters little.”
Hurt streaked her gaze. “I see.”
God’s teeth, she didna. Another wash of heat rolled through him and the room blurred. Prickles of knife-edged pain covered his body and threatened to take him under. He clenched his teeth until the sensation abated. As quick, the next wave stormed him; exhausted, he sank into the welcoming blackness.
* * *
The soft bongs of a distant bell rang through the monastery as Alesone sat beside Thomas while he slept. In the last few hours he’d calmed, and a touch of color warmed his skin, at odds with the deathly pallor he’d had when they’d arrived three days prior.
Her eyelids began to sag, and she caught herself. With a yawn, she snuggled deeper into the blanket Brother Nicholai MacDaniell had laid across her, and looked around.
The glow from the fire in the hearth illuminated the lone crucifix hanging on the wall. The simplicity of the chamber touched by the scent