Shame filled her at the personal details of her life that King Robert had disclosed to this stranger, the shared information more humiliating because she knew naught about Thomas. “I dinna know.”
Confusion flickered in the man’s gaze, and then he shrugged. “It matters little. I thought for a moment he looked familiar, but I could easily be mistaken. Many years have passed since I saw the man I knew, nor would I expect him to be traveling here.”
Thankful his question came from naught but curiosity, Alesone released the weapon and returned to her task. With skillful ease, she pressed together the ragged edges of the wound and began to sew.
“’Tis a fine hand you have with a needle.”
At the appreciation in her host’s voice, she glanced up. “I was taught by a remarkable woman.”
“Here, let me help.” He pressed Thomas’s skin together, and she continued to stich the gash closed. “I am sure she is proud of you.”
Her hand trembled, but she steadied herself. “She was.” After several more stitches, Alesone secured a knot, and moved to the next injury. A short while later, she stretched to ease the ache of her muscles. “That is the last wound that needs tending.” She damned the tremor, aware ’twas driven by exhaustion and worry.
Alesone made a poultice, then cleaned and replaced John’s needle and his remaining herbs.
“You are fortunate to have found my home. The storm was a nasty one.”
An understatement. “I smelled smoke from your fire. The snow had stopped by the time I reached the craig, and I was able to see your cabin.”
“Thank God you did.”
Indeed. Nor were they out of danger. Comyn’s men still searched for them.
On an unsteady breath she sat and laid her hand on his neck. However weak, the soft flutter of his pulse offered hope. “I pray he will recover.” Her hand shook as she set the basket aside.
“Steady, lass. God willing, your man will survive.”
Her man? With his firm resolve, she doubted Thomas belonged to anyone but himself. Once he’d delivered her to Avalon Castle he would depart and never think of her again. With so little time together, a part of her, however foolish, would miss him.
“You are traveling through?” John asked, breaking into her musings. At her frown, he smiled. “If you lived nearby, over the years we would have met.”
Feeling foolish, she smiled. “Of course. Excuse me, I am tired.”
Somber eyes held hers. “Aye, you would be.”
“We are headed south.” A lie. The stakes were too high to trust a stranger with the truth.
“What are you called?”
“Elyne,” she replied, refusing to risk him recognizing her name. Regardless if Robert Bruce had stormed their surrounds a fortnight prior and seized the land, those who lived in this swath of the Highlands may still remain loyal to Comyn. Nor would she chance that her father’s men had traveled through, given John her name, and bid him to alert them if he saw her.
After smearing the mix of herbs atop the sewn gashes, she wrapped them with clean strips of cloth. “We are headed toward the monastery.” Alesone glanced over. “Is it far?”
He shook his head. “From the next knoll, through the break in the trees, you can see the roof.”
A spark popped in the fire, and the red glow swirled skyward within the smoke.
John settled in a nearby chair. “I admit that I disapprove of your husband allowing you to travel in such a storm.”
Caught off guard by his comment, she turned. “He isna my husband.” At the flicker of interest in his eyes, she silently groaned. The last thing she needed was a man’s interest in her, especially a stranger. Nor could she take back her words. “Thomas is my escort.”
“Your nae being married doesna excuse his exposing you to such dangerous weather,” John said, a touch of anger in his voice. “But I admit I am pleased to learn that you arena wed. Living near the monastery and miles away from the closest village, rarely do I see women, even less often one of such intelligence and beauty.”
Unused to compliments, Alesone, fumbled with how to reply, and in the end decided to change topics. “Once he is well enough, we will leave.”
At the nerves in her voice, a frown worked across the imposing man’s brow. “Are you in danger?”
Dread crawled through her at his question. Had he recognized her? She covertly slid her hand next to her dagger. “Excuse me?”
The man’s eyes narrowed on Thomas. “Did he abduct you? If so, dinna fear telling me the truth. I will protect you.”
After years of being shunned, that a complete stranger would step into the role of her protector left her humbled. Moved by his kindness, Alesone shook her head. “Nay, he was kind enough to offer me aid.”
Doubt simmered in the man’s gaze. “I saw only one horse.”
However gallant, they’d met but a short while before. Though he’d helped her without hesitation, his noble actions far from secured her trust. “I swear to you, Thomas has been naught but a gentleman. My horse grew lame, and he offered me escort.” The truth, or as close as she would share.
The red-haired man studied her a long moment, and then nodded. “The reason for your journey must be grave to travel in such dire conditions.”
Fleeing the Bruce’s camp and barely escaping Comyn’s men raced through her mind. “’Tis complicated.”
An understanding smile touched his mouth. “Most things in life are.”
Thomas shifted.
Thankful for the diversion, Alesone tucked in the blanket his movements had shoved aside. “He is coming to.”
On a groan, Thomas lifted his lids. “Alesone?” he whispered.
“I am here.”
Pain filled eyes met hers, then narrowed on the man at her side, the confusion shifting to a scowl. “W-who are you?”
“I am called John,” he stated, his voice gruff. “’Tis my home you abide in. The lass brought you to my door earlier this day. Given the weather, you are fortunate she found me before you died.”
* * *
Fortunate? Pain swamped Thomas as he took in the binding over his shoulder. Aye, luck was behind them indeed.
“I stitched up your wounds a short while ago,” Alesone said with quiet warning. “You dinna need to be moving about.”
Guilt slid through him. Bedamned, ’twas he who was charged with her protection. And he’d failed. Worse, he’d passed out, forced her to face the threat of those in pursuit while stranded with a wounded and unconscious man. “I thank you for bringing me to safety. I owe you much.”
Compassion darkened her gaze. “You owe me naught, ’tis what I do.”
Thomas had met many women in his life, but none as selfless or courageous as Alesone. That she would dismiss her bravery when most would have broken down or abandoned him, assured him of her depth of character, the same strength he’d witnessed in Templar Knights.
Moved, he studied her through the blur of pain. As a man of strong will, regardless of how she made him feel, he’d kept her at a distance. Never had he meant her to become important to him beyond his duty. By risking her life to save his, regardless of his wish