A Sword Upon The Rose (2 page)

Bruce had returned to Scotland last January with a terrible vengeance. He had spent the winter attempting to gain back his lands in Carrick, and when there was no outpouring of welcoming support from his old tenants, he had taken to the forests to terrorize the villagers and squires at will—until they sued him for peace, paying dearly in tribute for it. He had then gone to war upon all of Galloway, to exact revenge for the capture and execution of two of his brothers. He had met and defeated Aymer de Valence at Loudoun Hill. And recently, he had turned his attention to the north of Scotland—to Buchan territory.

For the Earl of Buchan and the entire Comyn family was his oldest and worst enemy.

Bruce had taken a series of small strongholds since the fall, before attacking and destroying the Buchan fortresses at Inverlochy and Urquhart, in a quick sequence. And apparently, he continued to march up the Great Glen, for he had just taken and destroyed Inverness!

Was it now possible that Robert Bruce might be triumphant?

Would he even think of attacking Brodie Castle? Alana wondered with a shrinking sensation. Until now, the war had not concerned her—it had been a distant affair, the concern of her father and the family she had never been a part of.

Brodie was such a tiny stronghold! Why would Bruce bother?

What about the odd vision she had just had? Had she seen a battle in the war for Scotland’s throne?

She hurried after Godfrey.

“Alana!” her grandmother called.

Alana ignored her, racing after Godfrey and catching up to him in the hall. “Where does Bruce go now?” she asked.

He glared at her. “He continues to march north, and he will surely descend upon Nairn or Elgin,” Godfrey said furiously, referring to two of the greatest Comyn strongholds. “And Brodie lies betwixt them!”

Alana trembled. “Will he attack us?”

“I hope not! We are not fully provisioned,” Godfrey said. “I have sent a messenger to my father, asking him for more men. Surely Duncan will send us soldiers. And I am hoping Buchan will send us men, as well. Meanwhile, I am rousing up every tenant and villager that I can, to bear arms in defense here if we must indeed defend the keep.”

Alana stared. It was one thing to know that a terrible war raged throughout the land for Scotland’s crown, it was another to be so close to the battlefront—to the path of destruction waged by the ruthless Robert Bruce.

Godfrey suddenly leaned over her, far too closely for comfort. He spoke and his breath feathered her face. “You should have a vision, Alana, a vision about Brodie and its future!”

She flushed. “You know as well as I do that I cannot see upon command.”

“Truly? Or is it that you simply have no care for us here at Brodie?” He snorted in disbelief and strode to the table, where his men remained. “Bring more wine, Alana,” he ordered, not looking back at her.

She watched him for another moment. No matter how she tried, she could not control how much she disliked him. And he was right—partly. She had no care for his welfare, none.

When she returned to the kitchens, where the lamb was now on a platter and about to be served, Eleanor took her hand. “What is it, Alana?”

“Bruce might attack, Gran.”

For a moment, Eleanor was silent. Then, “At least you did not see Brodie Castle burning,” she said.

There was finally some small relief in that truth. She had not seen Brodie aflame.

* * *

A
LANA
STRAIGHTENED
,
wiping perspiration out of her eyes in spite of the cold. She held a shovel, as did a dozen others, mostly young boys, old men and women her own age. They were helping to enlarge the ditch that surrounded the castle, in case they were attacked.

Her hands were frozen in spite of the mittens she wore. The sun was finally in descent and clouds were rushing in, indicating a coming snowfall. It had taken several hours to remove the frozen and crusted snow from the moat, and now, they were digging out frozen dirt. It was a task best suited to strong and grown men, but most of the adult men from the area had gone to war years ago; a handful remained to defend Brodie, should the need ever arise.

One of Godfrey’s sergeants signaled them that they could go inside for the evening; they would finish on the morrow. Alana leaned on her shovel, exhausted.

Even as she did, images danced about in her mind’s eye. She continued to recall the dark, powerful Highland warrior who had been commanding his small army as they battled English knights not far from the burning manor. How she wished he did not haunt her thoughts.

She did not even recognize the manor they fought for. She kept trying to remember if she had seen a banner, or the colors of a plaid. But nothing came to her. And she had not recognized the land, what little she had glimpsed of it. There was only one new detail—she had seen patches of snow about the ground.

So the battle had been in winter.

But what she truly wished to know was the identity of the Highland warrior—and the reason for her vision about him.

Alana followed the others inside. Although Godfrey was pacing in the hall, she went to one of the hearths there to warm her frozen hands. He whirled and stalked to her.

His expression was dark and so ugly. Then she saw the unrolled parchment in his hand. He waved it at her.

“You will be pleased to know that my father cannot spare a single man, and Brodie’s defense falls to me.” He threw the vellum at her.

Her heart thundered. “That hardly pleases me.”

“Oh, come! We both know you covet Brodie Castle, that you think you have a claim to it, that you hate me because I will be lord and master here—over you!” He wasn’t gloating. He was angry.

“This place belonged to my mother, so I do have a claim, but not unless something ill befalls you,” she said carefully.

“And you pray for just such an ill fortune, do you not? I don’t trust you, Alana!”

“I do not want Brodie to fall to Robert Bruce.” She meant it. Her father might have forgotten her very existence, but he was her father, and she would be loyal to him in the end. “How can we defend Brodie?”

Godfrey looked at her oddly as he paced, his energy pent up. “I see no way to prevail if Bruce attacks us. We must hope his interest lies in Nairn, Elgin and Banf. The earl is on his way to Nairn as we speak, where my father is, to plan a defense of all the Buchan lands.”

Godfrey was frightened beneath the anger. She almost felt sorry for him, for he was in a terrible position—he could hardly defend Brodie against Bruce without any men. “I heard that Bruce destroyed Inverlochy, Urquhart and Inverness. That he left few stones standing. Is that true?”

“It’s true.” His gaze was sharp. “I know what you are asking. I don’t know if he would burn Brodie to the ground. He is the devil. He destroys every castle he takes, so we cannot retake the ground and use it against him!”

She could not bear to see Brodie reduced to rubble and ashes, and she closed her eyes to ward off such terrible images. She felt faint.

She prayed she would not have a vision—that she would not see Brodie burned to the ground.

“You might want to know one other thing, Alana.” His harsh voice broke into her thoughts and her eyes flew open. “Sir Alexander is on his way to Nairn, as well.”

She froze.

“What is wrong, Alana?” Godfrey leered, but with anger. “You are white! But this is not the first time your father has been but a short distance from us—without his ever calling.”

Her heart lurched, hard. This would not be the first time her father had been in the vicinity, although he had never come to Brodie except that one time when she was a small child. Did she foolishly hope she might see him again? And what would she gain if she did?

He had tried to arrange a marriage for her when she was thirteen, but his efforts had been short-lived. Since then, there had been no word. If he wished to see her, he would have simply sent for her. So either he had forgotten about her, or he simply did not care.

It hurt, when the hurt should have died ages ago. “You are the bastard he does not want,” Godfrey said.

She faced him, suddenly furious. “Does it please you, to be cruel?”

“It pleases me greatly. And, Alana? You are to go to Nairn, immediately.”

Was this a cruel jest? She stared, trembling, trying to decide.

He slowly smiled. “My father demands you go to him now.”

“Why would Duncan send for me?” she asked carefully, for she knew Godfrey might be toying with her.

“Why do you think? Witch!”

Alana was aghast. “What did you tell him?”

“Did you not see my father victorious in battle?”

She trembled. Duncan knew about her sight—everyone at Brodie did. “You told him about my vision,” she said slowly, with growing dread.

“Aye, I did. And he wishes to speak with you.” He bent down and retrieved the parchment. He then placed it in the fire, watching it begin to burn. “If I were you, I would begin to think about what I saw. He will want to know everything.”

“I told you what I saw,” she cried. Her mind raced frantically. She had lied about having a vision of Duncan. And she despised Duncan, feared him in a way that she did not fear Godfrey. What should she do? Duncan might beat her if he learned of her lie. He would surely punish her in some way.

“You are not pleased? Do you not wish to see Sir Alexander?” Godfrey asked.

Alana could not even think clearly. However, foolishly, she must admit that she did hope to see Sir Alexander again.

And now, she must hope Nairn was not attacked, not anytime soon.

* * *

“T
HIS
IS
MADNESS
!” Eleanor cried. She was pale.

Alana smiled grimly. “I cannot refuse Duncan, Gran, and you know it. You also know he will be displeased if he learns I lied about my vision.”

Eleanor sat down, stricken. The women were in the small tower chamber they shared, two narrow beds beneath one window, a small table between them. The only other piece of furniture in the chamber was a chest, in which they kept their belongings. Alana was folding an extra cote carefully, placing it with the other garments she meant to take with her.

“Well, perhaps some good will come of this.” Eleanor was grim. “You will see your father again—and he might recall the fact of your existence!”

The stabbing of hurt was dull, like the taped tip of a knife’s blade. Carefully, she said, “If Duncan had not summoned me, I would not be going.”

“Do not play me, my girl. We both know you would be pleased to see your father again—and it would please me if he finally made good on his promise to see you wed properly.”

“He cannot change how the world sees me.” She smiled, not wanting to reveal that she did care about the opinion everyone held of her, a great deal.

“Of course he could—he is the great Sir Alexander, the earl’s closest brother!”

Alana was suddenly overcome. “What would I do without you?”

Eleanor walked to the open chest and began removing garments from it. They were her clothes. “I am an old woman, Alana, and one day, you will have to get on without me. Which is why I wish for you to have a good husband at your side.” She now removed a burlap sack from the chest, and began packing it. “I am going to Nairn with you.”

Alana was surprised. “Gran,” she began, instinctively protesting. Eleanor was agile and spry, and Nairn was but a half day’s horseback ride from Brodie. Still, the woman could hardly ride—they would need a wagon or a litter. And the journey would be in the midst of winter, with snow threatening to fall. She should not come.

“Do not argue. I have not seen your father or Buchan in years. And you have never met Buchan. He has never met you. If your father has no care for your future, perhaps we can convince the earl to provide for you. You are his brother’s daughter.”

Alana did not want to jeopardize her grandmother’s good health on a winter journey, even if it was a short one, and she had heard—everyone had heard—that Buchan was a cold and at times a ruthless man.

“He cannot change my infamy,” Alana said.

“Of course he can. He is the most powerful man in the north of Scotland.”

* * *

T
HEY
LEFT
THE
next morning. The sun was high, but it had snowed the previous afternoon and night, and a fresh fall blanketed the road and the woods. The mountains surrounding them were white. Alana rode in a small wagon with her grandmother, driving the mule in the traces. Godfrey had not cared that Eleanor wished to accompany her, and had given them a single man as an escort. Connaught rode beside them, a mail tunic beneath his fur cloak.

The wagon and the snow made the going slow. In the midafternoon, when they were but a short distance from the castle, Alana stiffened.

Something was wrong.

She did not need a vision to know it. She simply sensed danger, and as she did, she noticed a gray pall beyond the line of trees that lay ahead. She smelled smoke.

“There is a fire nearby,” the soldier said sharply, abruptly drawing his mount to a halt.

Alana’s nape prickled. The gray pall staining the blue sky was definitely smoke. She pulled hard on the reins, halting the mule. It snorted, long ears pricked, alarmed.

“Alana,” Eleanor cried.

But Alana heard the horses whinnying in fright, saw the glow of a fire beyond the trees. And was she imagining it or did she hear men shouting in fear and agony?

Because the sounds of the horses and men were so familiar—exactly like the sounds in her last vision!

Her heart slammed. “Can you go ahead and see what is happening? Without being remarked?” she asked Connaught.

“Aye.” He spurred his horse aggressively forward, galloping away.

Alana felt entirely exposed, sitting in the wagon with her grandmother, on the deserted and snowy road, no longer hidden by the surrounding woods.

Eleanor took her hand. “We should turn back.”

She hesitated. “I am wondering if we are about to encounter the battle from my vision, Gran.”

Eleanor’s eyes widened as Connaught galloped back to them. “They have attacked the MacDuffs’ home, Boath Manor! They are burning it to the ground! And they carry Bruce’s flag!”