A Sword Upon The Rose (12 page)

Alana wondered at the urgency. She now recalled that Iain had said they would speak once again before she left, and she was determined to do so. “We are ready,” Alana said. As they left the chamber, she asked, “What is your name, lad?”

He glanced at her, his blue eyes bright, his freckles brighter. “Donald, my lady.”

“It is Mistress le Latimer,” she said. They hurried downstairs, no one coming up the steps now, the castle feeling eerily deserted. “Are we the last to leave?”

“I dinna ken, mistress,” Donald said. “But I think so.”

Alana glanced into the empty hall as they passed. Dread began. Why empty the castle—if not to destroy it? “Do you know why Iain is in such a rush to depart?” she asked as they approached the open front door.

“Everyone knows. They march on Elgin. Bruce has gone on ahead, but to wait for Iain.” He smiled slyly and said, “The Earl of Buchan has gone into hiding there. Rotten coward.”

Alana inhaled, glancing at her grandmother. Was her father with Buchan? Was her loyalty to be tested immediately?

They stepped outside, into the bright, early morning sun. At that moment, images flashed in her mind—of the countryside blackened and burned, castles reduced to rubble, villages burned into ash.

Alana blinked and saw the dirty gray snow of the courtyard, the castle’s gray walls, the soldiers leaving. She was relieved. The images had not been a vision, just memories of the horrific vision she had had.

As they went down the front steps, Alana saw that the castle’s remaining inhabitants, mostly kitchen maids, serving boys and cooks, were filing out through the front gates. A dozen Highland warriors were mounted and stood sentinel by the entry tower, watching them as they left. A handful of soldiers were loading two wagons with the last of the army’s equipment, draft horses in the traces. Otherwise, the usually busy courtyard was deserted.

Alana did not have to ask to know that no one, not even a pig or a cow, was left within the castle’s walls. Dread consumed her.

“Go on,” Donald said.

But she did not move. “Is Buchan alone at Elgin?”

Donald started. “I dinna ken yer meaning, lady.”

“How many armies does he have?” she asked. She wanted to know if Sir Alexander was at Elgin—and about to be attacked. “He has many brothers, one was at Lochindorb, and he has a fine army.”

“I know nuthin’ of Buchan’s brothers but I was at Lochindorb,” Donald said, grinning. “We chased them cowards right away.”

Alana shivered and rubbed her arms. She would have to wait until she got home to learn of her father, she realized. Donald gestured at the entry tower, and they hurried after the others who were leaving. She wondered if they were the very last ones to depart. She glanced wildly around, but did not see Iain within.

She felt a surging of panic. He had said they would speak before she left, and it felt very important to see him again before she returned home and he marched upon Elgin Castle. Maybe she would have enough time to tell him the truth.

They reached the main entry tower, atop the south road, and went through it. Across the hillside and filing down the single road, which led to Aberdeen and Dundee, she saw an exodus of men, women and children.

Alana instantly realized that the population was not just from the castle, but from the surrounding farms and the nearby village. And all the country’s livestock had been released. Cows, pigs and goats, as well as a few horses, grazed at random about the hills and alongside the road.

Then she saw what the soldiers were doing—wood was being piled up at intervals, along the castle walls.

Alana seized Eleanor. “They are going to burn the castle down.” They began to run away from the entry tower and its front gates. Alana’s heart exploded in fear. Disbelief warred with dismay.

How could he burn Nairn to the ground? How?

But wasn’t that what her uncle had said about Iain? About Bruce? That he burned enemy strongholds down, leaving no stone standing?

But she would never believe the rest of what Buchan had said—never.

And why were the villagers being sent away? Why were all the farm animals loose?

“I am taking ye to Brodie,” Donald now said. He pointed to where a soldier held a saddled horse and a mule, the latter animal harnessed to their wagon.

Alana hesitated, but Donald was already helping Eleanor up into the wagon’s single seat. Frantically, she scanned the countryside, and as she did, galloping hoofbeats sounded. She whirled and saw Iain approach, astride his dark horse, coming from the far side of the castle. He halted before her, his mount rearing. He jerked its reins hard to settle it.

Their gazes locked.

He seemed grim—yet the heat between them remained, she felt certain. “Iain?”

“I wish ye Godspeed, Alana,” he said.

She shook her head. It was hard to speak. “I wish you Godspeed, too, Iain.”

He studied her. “Are those tears fer me?”

“For you...for me...for them.” She pointed to the men, women and children walking down the road, away from the castle.

He looked at them, not speaking.

“What are you doing, Iain?” she begged. But she knew, and the knowledge was making her ill.

“Nairn burns today, Alana,” he said harshly.

Was he avoiding her eyes? “How can you burn Nairn Castle down?” she cried. “And what of the village, the farms?”

“Do ye wish for Buchan to return here and use it against me?”

She hugged herself. “No.”

“I dinna think so.” He gathered up his reins.

She did not want her uncle to use Nairn Castle against Iain. But some of the women who were leaving the castle were crying. Their children were pale and afraid. She could only imagine how the villagers felt at being forced to leave their homes.

She turned back to Iain, and caught him watching the exodus, too. “Will you spare the village, at least?”

His face was hard. “Dinna interfere, Alana.”

She could not help herself. “Have you even thought about the suffering you cause? I know you are not the savage Highlander of legend! Look at them, Iain! Look at the men, women and children whom you are sending into exile! How will they eat? Where will they sleep?”

“Ye think to interfere in this war?” He was incredulous, flushing. “They will build new homes. They will make new lives. In a new village, on new farms.”

“Yes, I suppose they will, just as Mistress MacDuff must build a new manor,” she said, trembling. She realized her fists were clenched at her sides. “Is this what you did at Inverlochy? Urquhart? Inverness?”

“So ye choose sides against me.”

“How can you say such a thing? After last night?”

“How can ye condemn me after last night?”

She continued to shake. She must not criticize him—not when she loved him. “I do not believe you are pleased to do this.”

“I am a soldier, Alana, the king’s man. Nairn will burn—the castle, the village and its farms.”

“Why?” she cried. “Why?”

“Tomorrow, no one will support Buchan against us, not ever again.”

She felt tears upon her lashes now. “No. They will not support Buchan tomorrow.”

She turned toward the wagon, blinded by pain, not tears. How her heart hurt her now. He did not care about the innocent lives he was endangering. He did not care about the swath of destruction he was deliberately inflicting upon the countryside. Did the truth even matter now?

Because she could not love such a ruthless man.

He must have leaped down from his stallion, because he seized her shoulder from behind, turning her back to face him. “So this is yer farewell? Ye walk away in anger? Ye said ye cared about me!”

His eyes were so fierce that they were frightening. Alana did not know how to answer. Her heart screamed that she did care, but she could see past him, and the men, women and children leaving Nairn were tragic—and his responsibility!

His eyes blazed. “Very well. We ride to Elgin. Donald will take ye back to Brodie. Just go.”

Her heart turned over, hard. They must not part like this, in contention, in anger! But she could only say, “God keep you safe, Iain. I will pray for you.”

He stared, unsmiling. “If I come to Brodie, will ye see me?”

Alana hesitated. She suddenly did not know what she would do. The war already divided them, as did her lies. It would be best to stay away.

“So ye have chosen sides after all.” He seized her by the waist and lifted her effortlessly onto the wagon.

No,
she thought desperately,
I am on your side!
But she did not speak—because she knew she must not say so.

“Ye should be safe at Brodie.” He turned away.

Alana fumbled for the reins, the pain inside her chest terrible now. His back to her, Iain leaped astride his charger. Without another glance at her, he galloped back up the hill, toward the castle. She had lifted the reins without knowing it, and the mule began to go down the road, Donald trotting beside them on his horse.

Eleanor patted her hand.

Alana did not look at her, lost in misery and grief.

She heard the fires blazing behind them, but she would not look back at Nairn burning. She would not.

CHAPTER SIX

B
RODIE
C
ASTLE
SEEMED
so small, so insignificant, with the country in the throes of such a great war over the fate of Scotland.

Alana lifted the reins and halted the mule. “We are home,” she said.

It was but a few hours later. She had halted the wagon inside Brodie’s narrow courtyard, its red stone walls rising around them. They seemed lower than they had been. She did not see any watch atop them. And she did not recall the courtyard being so small, or so oddly barren. But she could not help comparing Brodie to Nairn, which was huge in comparison. Its bailey never seemed quiet—it was always a hive of activity, with soldiers, women and children coming and going.

Her heart lurched with dread and she closed her eyes, but all she saw was Iain’s hard face, his flashing eyes, and his men piling up wood against the castle’s walls, as Nairn’s residents and its farmers and villagers left the countryside in an exodus.

How could he be indifferent to the suffering he was causing the innocent?

He had rescued Mistress MacDuff and her two children from Boath Manor as it burned!

The mule shook its head with impatience, pulling on the reins, and she opened her eyes, setting the wagon’s brake. She must not dwell on what was happening at Nairn, for she was one small woman in the midst of this war—she could not affect it.

But her chest ached. For surely it was over with Iain now. His behavior as a warrior was hardly unusual but for her it was the cause of so much distress and so much disappointment. She could not blithely accept it, no matter how heartbroken she was.

A stable boy was running toward them. Alana recognized the young lad and she summoned a smile. She did not feel as pleased as she had thought she would upon coming home, either. She felt almost indifferent. “It feels as if an entire lifetime has passed since we left here not long ago,” Alana said.

“Yes, it does. You are distraught, still,” Eleanor said, clasping her shoulder.

“I am sad.” Alana slid from the wagon, then helped her grandmother down. It was snowing, so it was not that cold, and the ground was partially thawed underfoot. Donald had left them a half an hour ago, as he could hardly venture close to Brodie without becoming in danger of being captured. Gratefully, Alana handed over the reins to the boy while patting the mule’s neck. As she turned toward the steps leading up to the hall, the door there opened and Godfrey stepped out.

She tensed, so wishing to avoid a confrontation now. “Good afternoon.”

He had not bothered to don a fur cloak, and he gave her an ugly look, his hands fisted on his hips. “So you have returned.” His cheeks were flushed, a sign of his ill temper.

Alana lifted her chin, instinctively defiant. She was exhausted in every possible way—how she wished she could stop thinking—and she wanted nothing more than to escape Godfrey and steal off to her chamber. She had been at Nairn for eight entire days, and she was almost certain Godfrey had received at least one communication from his father, if not several. Duncan would have told him about her bald lie. “We are very tired, Godfrey. We have endured a great deal, including the battle for Nairn.”

“And did you endure the battle? How could that be? When you enraged your uncle with your true vision, so that he imprisoned you?”

She sighed. “How that must please you,” she said.

“You boldly lied to me over an important matter, because you lust for Brodie still, and it is to be mine! You have finally gotten your just deserts, so I suppose I am pleased.” He came down the steps to confront her. “Nairn is in ashes!” he snapped, hands on his hips. But he was pale. “I received word just hours ago. Does that please you, Alana?”

Duncan must have sent a messenger after they had left Nairn, Alana thought. A messenger would travel more swiftly than two women in a cart. And of course Buchan would leave spies in the woods to remark Nairn’s terrible fate.

“They were burning it when we left. No, it hardly pleases me. I am sorry.” She did not want to recall her vision, in all its horrific detail, but she continued to do so. And she did not want to remember the piles of wood stacked against the castle walls, or the exodus of men, women and children, or Iain’s cold expression when they had argued about what he meant to do.

He had burned that fine castle to the ground. It was done. There had been no change of heart. “And the village? The farms?”

“It is all burned to ash,” Godfrey cried. “And God only knows if Brodie Castle will be next!”

She paled. Iain would never burn Brodie down—would he? It was her home!

“At least you care about Brodie,” Godfrey said grimly.

“Of course I care about Brodie.” She turned to Eleanor. “Let’s go inside.”

As Alana helped her grandmother in, Godfrey followed them. “How is it that you were freed? Did Bruce’s men free you when they took the castle?”

She was belligerent. “Your father hardly freed us. I am certain he did not care if we died in that attack. So yes, Bruce’s soldiers freed us.”

Godfrey stared and Alana wondered if he was sorry she was freed. Eleanor sat down in one of the chairs before the hearth, and said, “Buchan and Duncan fled Nairn when it was to fall, leaving us behind. They left us locked in the tower during the battle, Godfrey, two women alone to defend themselves.”

“My father has told me everything,” Godfrey said harshly, “in the last missive he sent. You told him the earldom will be destroyed. Of course he locked you in the tower!”

“It is what I saw,” Alana said. “I never wanted such a horrible vision!”

“Really?” Godfrey flushed. “You see the destruction of Buchan’s earldom, and you tell him the truth! You see Iain of Islay in battle, and you lie!”

“You goad me like no other,” Alana said. “Yes, my vision was of a different battle entirely, and I saw Iain of Islay in it, not your father.”

Godfrey shook his head. “Why did Iain of Islay let you go? Why did he not keep you as hostages? Or did his men let you go unbeknownst to him?”

Eleanor spoke now. “Why would he keep us, Godfrey? He doesn’t know Alana is Buchan’s niece, or that she has the sight.”

There was a moment of silence, as Godfrey stared at her. Alana’s heart skipped. Godfrey was surprised that Iain did not know she was a Comyn, and perhaps, that she was a witch. If he ever learned that she wished to keep such secrets, he would deliberately reveal them—she had no doubt.

Alana inhaled. “Actually, I truly regret allowing myself to be goaded into lying to you. I have paid for what I have done.”

His eyes widened. “You blame me for your lie?”

She did, but she somehow shook her head. “It was petty of me. And it was also foolish.”

He eyed her with suspicion. “Is that an apology, Alana?”

She hesitated. She actually was sorry, on this single count, anyway. “If you had been at the battle of Nairn, you might understand. It was terrible and terrifying. But even worse was how ruthlessly they destroyed Nairn afterward.” She fought the compulsion to cry. Brodie must never come to such a fate!

“I think we should have some wine,” Eleanor said. She nodded at a maid, who went to the table to get the pitcher and mugs for them.

“I am not thirsty,” Alana said. She did not wish to drink wine with Godfrey.

“I am,” Godfrey said. As the maid brought mugs to the women, he went to the table and poured his own mug. Then he turned to face them. “I do not know how I can ever defend Brodie when I have so few men and arms.”

Alana took a sip of wine. He was worrying about Brodie, too. “I am praying that Brodie is too small and too insignificant and will be forgotten in the war.”

“No place is forgotten in war—and no one,” Godfrey said.

“I hope you are wrong. And I do not know who we could beg for aid from, should we be attacked.” She wondered if she would one day beg Iain not to attack her home. She did not think he would heed her then, as he had not listened to her pleas for mercy at Nairn.

Godfrey approached. “You could beg for aid from your father.”

Alana was shocked by the suggestion. She slowly stood. “I do not even know if he is alive! I have had no word since I heard he was defending Lochindorb.”

“He escaped with most of his men. They withdrew before the fighting became heavy, which was wise, as he would have surely lost the battle to Iain of Islay.” Godfrey was grim. “He is at Elgin with my father and the earl.”

She felt stunned. And then she was flooded with relief, as if she had lost Iain that day, but that now something precious had been returned to her.

“You are so loyal to him, when he has never openly acknowledged you,” Godfrey said.

“He is my father—and that will never change.” But her heart cracked at his words.

“If you wish to write to him, I can send your missive with my own to Duncan.”

Alana stared, suddenly confused and slightly suspicious. “So you wish for me to write him?”

“One day, we may need his help.” Godfrey was blunt.

How she hoped he was wrong. But he was right, and for the first time in her life, she saw him in a new light—as a young man who wasn’t entirely a fool, and who was wise enough to plan ahead in the event that Brodie was attacked. “I will write him.” She turned. “Gran? I am going upstairs to rest. Will you come?”

“I am enjoying the fire, Alana. I will be up a bit later,” Eleanor said.

Alana realized her grandmother wished to speak with Godfrey alone. As she left, he said, “I will send parchment and ink, Alana. My messenger rides in the morning.”

He was insisting she write to Sir Alexander, she thought, a flutter in her heart. She left the room, and unable to help herself, she paused in the hall. She didn’t intend to spy, but she knew they meant to discuss her, and she wanted to know what they were saying.

“Perhaps it is time to make amends, Godfrey. Fighting with Alana doesn’t help you, your father or any of us. It does not help Brodie. Not in a time of war,” Eleanor said.

“Tell her that!” he exclaimed. “She played me for a fool—she humiliated me in front of the earl and my father.”

“She is truly sorry. Surely you can see that.”

“I don’t trust her,” he said flatly. “And, Eleanor? She enjoys lying to me.”

Eleanor sighed. “But you treat her shamefully—as you know. You bully her constantly. I think it wise to end the bickering. I intend to tell Alana as much.”

There was silence. Alana turned around and walked back to the threshold of the room.

Godfrey looked at her. “She would love to see me stabbed in the back, because she thinks that one day, she can claim Brodie as her own.”

Eleanor did not see Alana, who stood facing her back. “You are wrong. Alana wishes ill will on no one.”

Alana hardly wished for Godfrey to be stabbed in the back, but she did yearn for his downfall, because she coveted Brodie.

“Then she will have to prove it—with a good vision. And she will pay dearly if she deceives us another time.” Godfrey faced Eleanor and smiled. “Mostly, I am hoping she is as loyal to Brodie as she claims.”

Alana had heard enough. She picked up the hem of her skirts and rushed away. Eleanor was brokering a truce. Her grandmother was right: this was no time for petty differences, ancient grudges and old grievances.

She went up to the chamber she shared with Eleanor and sat down at the small table between the beds. Sir Alexander’s handsome, golden image came to her mind’s eye, his features blurred and indistinct. The parchment and ink had yet to arrive, and she tried to think of what she would say to her father, when she hadn’t seen him in fifteen years.

A shudder racked her. Pain bubbled up in her chest.

Sir Alexander’s image was followed by Iain’s dark one.

Nairn was rubble now.

She wiped tears from her eyes. Crying would not solve anything—it would not change Iain into a different man.

She could not believe that, a few hours ago, she had been deliriously happy—she had even thought herself in love. Now she did not know what to think. Could she love a man who burned down farms and villages upon command?

Her heart hurt terribly, but it refused to tell her that she did not love Iain of Islay. And for one brief moment, she allowed herself to think about the night they had spent together.

More tears arose. Alana finally closed her eyes, afraid that she was in love with a ruthless warrior, one who had no honor, who did not think twice about destroying the lives of the innocent.

There was only one thing she was truly certain of—she was loyal to Brodie, and it must not suffer the same fate as Nairn.

“Mistress?” A soft voice spoke from the open doorway. “I have brought ye a quill, ink and parchment.”

Alana turned and smiled. “Thank you,” she said.

* * *

N
EWS
OF
E
LGIN
’
S
attack came the next afternoon. It was snowing furiously when the messenger arrived.

Alana was mending a chemise, seated in a chair before the hearth. Eleanor sat beside her, embroidering. Godfrey was drinking wine at the table while throwing dice with one of his men, when one of his soldiers led a boy of fourteen or fifteen inside. Snow clung to his wool cloak and dusted his red hair.

Godfrey leaped to his feet, Alana ceased sewing, and Eleanor set her embroidery down. They all stared at the boy.

“What news do you have?” Godfrey cried.

“I come from Duncan, my lord. Elgin has been attacked and the Earl of Buchan is determined to defend it,” he said.

For a moment, a silence fell as they all continued to stare at him.

Then Alana leaped up, pouring a mug of wine, which she handed to the boy. He smiled gratefully at her.

“When did Bruce attack?” Godfrey demanded, his expression twisted with dismay.

“Yesterday at dawn, my lord,” the boy said.

“How was it when you left?”

The boy shook his head. “Bruce had seven hundred men combined, far more than the earl and yer father. But only a small army attacked—the rest of his men were waiting in the woods.” He finally sipped the wine.