A Sword Upon The Rose (18 page)

She felt so hurt. Did he know that when he spoke of Margaret’s happiness, it was like a knife stabbing through her? What of her happiness? He clearly cared about her sisters, and as clearly, he did not care about her. “But they can live at Tarredale and at Nairn.”

Sir Alexander stared closely at her. “Are you about to cry?”

She was choking on tears. She shook her head and managed to find composure. “What is she like?”

“Margaret?” He seemed surprised. “She is fifteen and very sweet. She is blonde and very pretty—but not as pretty as you.”

Alana rubbed her forearms. “But what is she like? What pleases her? Is she well liked?”

“She is skilled with the needle, and she loves to embroider and sew. She plays the harp beautifully. She has the voice of an angel. She never argues, and is fond of poetry. Everyone likes Margaret.”

Alana looked at her hands, clasped in her lap. She could not imagine Iain with a wife who played the harp beautifully, who liked poetry, and never argued. “And Alice?”

“Alice is dark-haired, although not as dark-haired as you. She is pretty, and very clever and very strong. She will make a fine countess one day.”

She could not stand it. He was so proud of Margaret and Alice—or so it seemed. “Does Alice like poetry? Does she sing? Does she voice her opinions?”

“She has a poor singing voice, she dislikes poetry and she is always ready to tell me what she thinks.”

Iain might like Alice—he might like her very much!

“You and Alice are very much alike,” Sir Alexander mused.

They were alike? Alice was a great heiress. Alice had grown up with both of her parents—in the lap of luxury, of privilege. She had spent half her childhood at the French court! She would be the countess of Buchan one day!

And she had never been molested by an older man—never been sexually assaulted by her own guardian. She had never been struck by her uncle.

Nor had she ever been jeered at by her peers, or insulted and mocked for being a witch.

Alike? They were nothing alike!

“I would like it if you met your sisters one day,” Sir Alexander said suddenly.

Alana slowly looked up into his blue eyes—the same bright shade as her own.
Why?
She almost asked. She wanted to scream at him, to demand why he had abandoned her. Why didn’t he love her the way he loved his other daughters?

Instead, very quietly, she asked, “Do they know about me?”

“No.”

She looked away.

“Alana.” He reached across the table and pulled her arm forward, taking her hand. “There is nothing I regret more than your mother’s death.”

Alana felt moisture arise in her eyes. She must not cry now. She willed the tears away. “Why?”

“I loved her.” He smiled. “I fell in love with her at first sight.”

Alana pulled her hand away and stared at him.

“You seem doubtful.”

“She was a widow for over a year when you met. If you loved her, why didn’t you marry her?”

His smile faded. “My father had already decided upon my betrothal to Joan. I knew of his wishes, and that I would one day wed her. But we could not ignore how we felt about one another. We never meant to fall in love, but we did.”

Alana did not know if she wanted to know more. And she hadn’t realized he had all but been promised to Joan at the time. She could only hope he had really loved her mother. And she desperately wanted to know what had happened when he had learned of Elisabeth’s pregnancy.

“Joan knows about you,” he said. “She has known about you from the time Elisabeth began showing.”

Alana stared in surprise.

“She was not pleased. Her father was furious, and so was my father, the earl.” He rubbed his face then. “I had to confess that the child was mine, but there were rumors—we were not discreet.” He stopped. “I wanted to be with your mother, but it was not to be.”

She trembled. He had not been able to defy his father, the earl, she thought. Had he even tried?

“I wish Elisabeth had lived, not for my sake, but for yours—to take proper care of you. Thank God for Lady Fitzhugh.”

Alana began to understand. There had been no question of his breaking his impending union off with Joan.

“I wish I could have given you a different life,” he said, looking at the table.

“But you could not.” As she spoke, she thought about the intervening years. His father had died years ago. He could have come forward since then, to claim her and give her a better life.

“I hope you will one day understand.”

“I do understand,” she said, proudly lifting her chin. His duty had been to his other family, not to her. He had cared about his other family, not her. He had not had the will to defy his father, or now, his brother. “If Iain of Islay accepts, will you agree to his marriage to Margaret?” She did not even have to ask—of course he would, even if he did not like it. He would obey his brother, the way he had once obeyed his father.

“Yes,” he said. “I know you are upset, and you need a husband of your own. If you please my brother, it will be arranged. He has told me as much.”

Her stomach churned. “Yes, I must give him a pleasing vision, and he will even return Brodie to me.”

Sir Alexander reached out and laid his hand on her shoulder. “It is important that you please the earl. It is important that we all please him,” he said.

Alana pulled away and stared. “So you fear him?”

“He is our liege lord. We are bound to obey him. And, Alana, he can give you the life you deserve.”

Alana studied him. It was very hard to stand still, to keep her expression impassive. “So I must please him, and he will reward me for doing so.”

“Yes. You must seek out these visions. You must do your best.”

Alana somehow nodded. More hurt stabbed through her. “I will try, Sir Alexander.”

* * *

W
HEN
A
LANA
REACHED
her chamber, Eleanor gave her one look and pulled her into her arms. “I am not going to cry,” Alana whispered, her face against her chest.

“Oh, my poor dear,” Eleanor said.

Alana pulled away, wiping her eyes with the hem of her sleeve. She sat down on her bed. “My father wishes for me to have a vision. Is that why he is here? Of course it is!” she cried.

Eleanor sat down beside her. “Alana, I do not want to ever speak ill of him.”

“He loves my sisters! That much is clear! But he has never cared enough to come to see me, except now, when Buchan needs a vision from me.” She swiped at more tears.

“If it helps at all, I agree with you—but not completely. I think Sir Alexander would love you, too, if he were allowed to.”

Alana turned to her. “What does that mean?”

Eleanor sighed. “Joan hated Elisabeth. How could she not? They were cousins, and Elisabeth took her betrothed as her lover.”

“So my mother was the harlot Duncan has always accused her of being?”

“I did not say that.” Eleanor put her arm around her. “You know as well as I do that life is complicated. Your mother loved my son. She grieved for a long time when he died. When she met your father, he was such a handsome and dashing young knight. He made her smile for the first time in a year....” Eleanor smiled at the memory.

Alana sighed. How could she judge her mother now? But she very much wanted to judge her father. “Buchan is going to offer my sister to Iain.”

“What happened at Concarn, Alana?”

“I told Iain the truth about my father. Iain and Bruce think I was sent to spy upon them.”

Eleanor paled.

“I love him, but I do not think he loves me right now.” She stood and walked over to the window. The shutter was closed and she pulled it open. A pigeon was standing on the ledge outside the window, drinking from the small pool of water that had gathered there from melting snow. It flew off.

Alana watched it for a moment as it vanished into the darkening sky, and then she glanced at the bright silvery puddle.

Eleanor said, “Maybe that is for the best.”

But she sounded far away, when she was seated so close by, upon the bed. Alana realized the tiny puddle was mesmerizing her. She must look away. Instead, the silver within the water intensified in brightness, becoming blinding. She felt light-headed and dizzy; she felt faint.

Silver beckoned, a bright, frightening light. Alana had never seen such a bright white light before.

The light shimmered like a cloud floating in space.

She saw the outlines of a stone chamber, dully lit by torches and candles. She saw that four people were standing there. It took her a moment to realize that all four figures were women, and it took her another moment to realize that something terrible was about to happen.

One of the women sobbed. Three of them held one another, as if to stand upright. The fourth stood alone. Her dark hair was long and oddly familiar.

Alana realized she was staring at herself.

And then one of the women dashed to the bed and screamed.

A man lay there, the sheets blood soaked. His face was ghostly white. His blue eyes were wide and sightless. His hair was blond....

It was Sir Alexander.

“Alana!”

Alana began to vomit, clawing the stone beneath her fingernails. All she could see was her father, lying dead upon that bed, as the floor spun crazily around her.

CHAPTER NINE

A
LANA
PAUSED
ON
the threshold of the great hall the following day, clasping a wool mantle tightly to her chest.

Everyone had gathered for the breakfast. Buchan was eating with a hearty appetite, as was Godfrey. Her father was sitting back, not eating, clearly absorbed in thought.

Alana stared at him, trembling.

What did her vision of the night before mean? Was her father going to die—and would she be present when he did?

She had not slept at all last night, worried as she was about her father. She might be distrustful of him and his intentions, and she was hurt to the quick by his favoritism, but she had no wish for him to die.

As she had done when she had had her vision of the destruction of the Buchan earldom, she prayed this vision was a false one, too.

And if it was not? What was she going to do?

Her father saw her and smiled.

Buchan saw her, too. There was no turning back. Alana started forward with Eleanor, her insides churning. She wanted to do her duty, of course she did. The problem was, she no longer knew what that duty was, or to whom it was owed.

Alana sat down next to Godfrey, across from Sir Alexander. As she greeted everyone, all she could see was her father lying dead on that bed, the sheets soaked with his blood.

“Good morn, Alana.” Sir Alexander was cheerful.

Alana somehow smiled. “Good morning.”

“You are not eating,” Buchan told his brother. “If my scouts come early enough today, we will ride out immediately.”

Sir Alexander stabbed a piece of duck. “My appetite has suddenly improved.” He smiled at Alana, but it quickly faded. “Do you not feel well today?”

Alana realized she could not smile back. In that moment, she understood why her mother had been charmed. His smile made him a beautiful man, and he had the ability to seem so concerned and caring. “I am fine.”

She began to eat some bread with cheese, realizing she had hardly eaten in days. She stole a glance at Buchan. She had no intention of suffering his wrath another time. She was not going to bring him a vision he did not like.

“Are you all right this morning?” Godfrey asked, low.

She glanced quickly at him. Was he beginning to know her well, after all these years, so that he could see she was distressed? Or had he always known her well—and she had not wanted to see it? “I did not sleep well. You frightened me when you spoke of Elgin falling, and Brodie being surrounded. What happens here at Brodie when my uncle leaves?” she asked him.

“He is leaving us with twenty more men,” Godfrey said.

Twenty extra men would not hold Iain back should he ever wish to take Brodie.

“I cannot spare more,” Buchan said, having been listening to them. “I received a message from Mowbray last night. He wants to find Bruce, chase him from his lair and rout him, once and for all.”

Alana laid her bread down. “Is that even possible?”

“It’s possible if we can surprise him,” Buchan said. “Did I not tell you the news? King Edward is sending us an army.”

“So the fighting will not wait till the spring,” Alana said.

“And that dismays you?” Buchan asked sharply. “Do you not wish for the goddamned mad King Robert to be captured and killed once and for all? Do you not wish for peace here in the north of Scotland?”

“Of course I do.” She also knew she feared for Iain, should there be an ambush.

“If we can peel Iain of Islay away from Bruce first, so much the better,” Sir Alexander said.

“I sent a scout to Concarn last night, with a privy message for him,” Buchan said. He burped and pushed his plate aside.

Alana quickly stared at her plate, certain her cheeks were heating. Did her uncle’s message concern a marriage offer to her sister Margaret? What else could it contain?

“You did not tell me,” Sir Alexander said tersely. He pushed his food aside, uneaten.

“I was not aware that I must tell you of my actions,” Buchan said.

“Are you making an offer of marriage in a letter?”

“Of course not.” Buchan was contemptuous. “We need to have a privy meeting, Alex, without Bruce knowing, so I can offer him Margaret and her lands.”

Sir Alexander rubbed his unshaven jaw grimly.

“Do not look so unhappy. If we can convince Iain to betray Bruce, to fight with us, I think we can end this war once and for all.”

Would Iain ever betray Bruce? Alana did not think so, but she had seen how he coveted land and power. She was his mistress, but he was interested in a marriage to Alice. Alana was not naive. Men changed sides in war, they changed their politics all of the time, motivated by self-interest.

Maybe Eleanor was right. Maybe it was better this way—with Iain no longer caring for her. Perhaps she must stop caring about him now, as well. Otherwise she would never survive his marriage to one of her sisters.

Alana shot a glance at Sir Alexander and realized he was still staring, and very closely. He said to Buchan, “This talk of marriage is distressing for Alana.”

“Is it?” Buchan said. “Then she must give us a vision or two so I can reward her appropriately with a husband of her own.” He smiled at Godfrey.

Godfrey started, as did Alana.

“You want Brodie back, and you do have a claim,” Buchan said. “Godfrey is meant to inherit here. Would that not be a good union, should you manage to please me, Alana?”

Alana gaped. She was shocked by the suggestion that she would marry Godfrey—her nemesis from childhood, and her recent, sudden ally. She glanced at him and he looked back, his cheeks pink, his eyes as stunned as hers must be.

“That is a very good suggestion,” Sir Alexander said.

Alana breathed hard. In that moment, she saw the future, but it was not a vision. She would be Godfrey’s wife, and Iain would be lord of Nairn and liege lord of Brodie—and married to one of her sisters.

“Alana? Surely you are pleased,” Sir Alexander said.

Alana knew she was red. She turned to her uncle. “Thank you, my lord,” she said.

But she had not even finished speaking when a bell sounded, shrilly, in warning. Every man at the table leaped up, reaching for their swords.

Alana leaped up, too. She seized Eleanor, wondering if they were under attack. Two soldiers in mail burst inside. A Highlander was in shackles between them.

They dragged him forward. “My lord, we found him in the woods, speaking with a boy, your messenger dead at their feet. The boy escaped.”

Alana inhaled. The Highlander was familiar—she recognized him from Iain’s tented camp at Concarn. He had been beaten and his nose was broken, blood spilling from it. His gray eyes met hers. Clearly he recognized her. But he looked away and did not speak.

Alana also looked away, horrified. Iain had sent this Highlander to meet with Ranald. But he had been caught while Ranald had escaped....

“He killed my messenger?” Buchan shouted.

One of the soldiers handed him a rolled parchment. “Your seal, my lord. We found it on this dog.”

“Take him outside and when you come back make certain you can tell me exactly where Iain of Islay is, and where Bruce is.”

Alana began to shake. They were going to beat the information out of the Highlander. And then, she suspected they would kill him. What about Ranald? Was he hiding in the woods? “I thought Bruce was at Concarn,” she managed to say.

Everyone turned to look at her as if she were mad—which she was, for daring to speak.

“There is more, my lord,” the soldier said. “The boy was from the stables here.”

Buchan’s eyes widened. “A boy was placed here to spy?”

Alana cringed.

“Find that damned boy, as well. And hurry,” Buchan spat.

The soldiers left, dragging the Highlander with them.

Alana’s mind raced. How could she stop the soldiers from killing that Highlander? She prayed Ranald had fled far into the woods, and that he would not attempt to return to Brodie! Not only would he be in danger if he returned, but her deceit might be revealed, as well.

“Come with me, Alex,” Buchan ordered. The two men walked swiftly out.

Alana sat back down, shaking. At least Buchan’s message to Iain, asking for a secret meeting, had been intercepted. But that seemed like her smallest worry now. For if he meant to marry an heiress, he would.

Godfrey was at the door, about to leave, but he turned and looked at her. “What is wrong with you, Alana?” He started back toward her. “You look ill.”

She hated having to lie to him. “Did we have a spy here, in our midst?”

“I don’t know. But I am going to speak to Seamus and find out where that boy came from.” About to go, he suddenly paused. “This damned war could end, sooner than later, if we can turn Iain.”

She wet her lips. “I do not know if he will betray Bruce.”

“Because you met him once? Because he freed you from the tower?”

“He burned Nairn to the ground, Godfrey.... He is ruthless.”

“If he is ruthless, he might very well accept Margaret and her lands, and betray Bruce.” His stare was searching. “I know you well. There is more you are not telling me. But I cannot decide why you truly do not want your sister wed, especially if Buchan will allow you to wed, too.”

She trembled. “You heard him,” she whispered.

“Is the idea of a union betwixt us so repulsive?”

Tears finally came. “No. Once, maybe, but not anymore. But, Godfrey, I do not love you.”

“Love has nothing to do with marriage,” he said.

* * *

A
LANA
HUDDLED
IN
her fur on the steps outside the hall later that day.

It was snowing. The Earl of Buchan was mounting his dark steed. His best knights were already mounted and awaiting his command to leave. Alana stood with Godfrey and Eleanor, relieved that they were leaving, yet frightened for her father’s safety, too.

Sir Alexander had not yet mounted. He led his gray warhorse over to her and smiled. “We have had such a short time to get to know one another,” he said.

Alana realized that, as much as she needed Buchan gone, she was going to miss her father. She hurried down the steps. “It was a very short time,” she said hoarsely. She did not point out that they did not know one another even now—that a few days could not make up for a missed lifetime.

“You seem sad,” he said, clasping her shoulder.

“This war frightens me. Please stay safe.”

“I will do my best. And, Alana? When the time is right, I will send for you.”

Alana reeled in shock. “For me?”

“It is time you met Alice and Margaret.” He hugged her briefly, surprising her even more. Then he turned and mounted gracefully.

Alana felt ill. She did not want him to die—she wanted to meet her sisters, and get to know her father.

She knew now she did not want to betray her father, even though she was forced to spy by Bruce, even though she remained worried for Iain. She did not want to betray Sir Alexander because he was her father.

But she had to know what was transpiring—because of her feelings for Iain and because she feared for his safety.

“Father.”

He halted his horse abruptly, his eyes wide.

She hadn’t meant to address him in such an intimate manner—it had just slipped out. “Did you learn where Bruce is?”

“Yes, we did. And that is why my brother is in a rush. We will surprise him with an attack—on Christmas Day.”

Alana gasped. Christmas was eight days away!

“If you are worried, don’t be. Our army has grown and we will have the element of surprise on our side.”

She fought for air. “Where is he?” she whispered.

“He is at Slioch, Alana.” Sir Alexander’s gaze narrowed. “Why do you ask? Is this about your sister?”

She stiffened. She had not been thinking of Buchan’s interest in marrying her sister to Iain until her father had brought the subject up. Had Buchan sent another message to Iain? She imagined so.

“Alana,” he continued, “when you meet Margaret, you will come to love her. Your jealousy will pass. I am certain. She has not a single enemy in this world—everyone likes her.”

She could barely assimilate his words. So everyone adored pretty Margaret! She almost told him she was not jealous, but she remained silent, because he was right. But she could not dwell on her sister now.

Buchan and her father rode to war—and they would ambush Bruce at Slioch Mountain in eight more days, when they would be the most unsuspecting.

She had to warn them.

Alana hugged herself, watching as the two men led the cavalcade of knights from the courtyard and through the entry tower.

It began to snow more heavily.

When they were finally gone, the castle gates outside the entry tower were shut and barred. Alana sank down on the bottommost step.

Godfrey walked down to stand beside her. “Why do you care if Margaret marries Iain?” he demanded. “You should be pleased if we can buy off that barbarian! You want this war to end as much as I do!”

She finally looked up. “I do want this war to end.”

“What do you know that I do not?”

“Nothing.”

“No, Alana, you are hiding something, and you are upset—extremely so. I know you are jealous of your sisters, but I also know that is not the reason for your distress.” He grimaced. “We aren’t enemies now. We have come to terms, or so I thought.... I am your friend, if you wish to confide in me.”

Alana hugged her knees. She hated lying to Godfrey. She wished she could confide in him, but obviously, she could not.

He turned grimly and walked across the courtyard, then climbed the stairs to the watchtower.

Alana watched him until he had disappeared inside. She stood and met Eleanor’s disapproving gaze. “You are going to warn them, aren’t you?”

“I have to.”

“Alana! If Buchan ever finds out that you are betraying him, he will not care that you are his niece, he will take your head.”

Alana could not speak. She hurried past her grandmother, knowing she was speaking literally and that she was right.

* * *

A
LANA
SAT
UP
in her bed, then slid from it. The small bedchamber was cast in darkness, except for the remains of a fire, which burned in the grate. Eleanor also sat up and lit a taper.