A Sword Upon The Rose (22 page)

“Have I locked ye up?”

She was shaking wildly. “I don’t know. I feel like a prisoner!”

His eyes flashed. “There was no guard outside, and ye damn well ken, just as ye ken the door was unlocked.”

She shook her head fiercely. “I have been shunned my entire life because of my visions. Shunned, outcast—feared! And then, with this damned war, my uncle suddenly cares for me! And my father visits, as suddenly, when I have not seen him since I was five! Suddenly, I am important to them! Suddenly, I am a beloved niece, a beloved daughter!”

“So ye feel sorry for yerself?”

She realized she was mired in self-pity. But she nodded. “Right now, I feel very sorry for myself!” she cried, fists clenched. “For a while, with you, I was an ordinary woman!”

His mouth curled slightly. He shifted off of the door. “Alana, even without the power, yer no ordinary woman.”

“You took me as a lover, because I was ordinary! No man has ever wanted me, until you.”

His gaze narrowed. “Then they are all fools.”

What did that mean? Was it possible that he did not fear her now?

He looked away from her for the first time, staring at his booted feet. “Buchan and Sir Alexander would want ye close. It makes sense. They’d be the fools otherwise. And if they thought to manipulate ye by their sudden affection, it was up to ye, Alana, to realize the ploy.”

He did not understand how hurtful that was.

He glanced sidelong at her. “What happened at Nairn? Did ye have a vision, as Buchan wished? Is that why he beat ye? To make certain ye’d see for him?”

“I had a vision, finally,” she whispered. “But it was not the vision Buchan wanted, and he was furious with me—enough so to beat me and lock me up.”

“What did ye see?”

She sat down. Iain wanted to know about her visions, just as Buchan and Sir Alexander had. In a way, it hurt, but not as badly, because she wanted to help him if she could, to keep him safe. Yet she did not want to be used by him, not now, not ever.

“I have seen Buchan defeated, his earldom in rubble and ashes, destroyed, Bruce’s flag flying high in the sky.” She looked up. “Bruce wins. My uncle is destroyed.”

Iain’s eyes were wide. He suddenly came and sat down beside her on the bed. “My God,” he said. “And ye told all of this to yer uncle?”

She nodded, wiping a stray tear from her cheek, looking at her lap. “I was praying he would take such information and defend the earldom.... He was furious instead, and he beat me and locked me up.”

Iain laid his hand on her shoulder. “I am sorry for that, Alana.”

Their shoulders, arms and hips touched as they sat side by side on the small bed. And for one moment, the sensation of his large, powerful male body against hers was acute and so familiar to her.

“When will Bruce triumph over Buchan?”

“I don’t know,” she said. “It seemed to be springtime...there was a little melting snow left on the ground.” She studied him carefully now. He was elated. She could feel his thoughts racing. Then he realized her close regard, and he glanced at her, smiling slightly.

She was in disbelief. “You don’t fear me, at all?”

He stood, towering over her. “Should I fear ye, Alana?”

“No!”

His gaze was narrow now. “If this is the only power ye have, then I do not fear ye.”

He had asked her if she could cast spells, worried she had bewitched him, and even Bruce. “I cannot cast spells, Iain. I am not that kind of witch.”

He studied her. “And what of yer other visions?”

“There have only been two,” she said. “I saw my father dead. He is going to die, Iain.”

He absorbed that. “I ken ye care for Sir Alexander, even now, although I cannot comprehend why. And the other vision?”

“You must be on guard. Buchan will come up behind you, his sword raised—he will be a moment away from killing you.”

After a pause, he asked, “Does he succeed?”

“I don’t know,” she whispered.

Iain finally turned away from her, his expression thoughtful. Alana knew he was done—that he meant to leave the room. She wanted to call him back, but she did not know what she would then say. She wanted to ask him to come to her later, to sleep with her, as they had been doing every night. But she was afraid he would refuse.

Mostly, she wanted to know what the truth really meant to him. But she was terrified of that answer.

“It must be difficult, Alana, to have such a power,” Iain suddenly said. “But it is useful—very useful.” And he left.

CHAPTER TWELVE

“A
LANA
,
YOU
ARE
EXHAUSTED
,” Eleanor said. “Why don’t I have a maid bring you supper? There is no need for you to go downstairs tonight.”

Alana was curled up in her bed, dozing. Several hours had to have passed since her conversation with Iain, as it was dark outside now behind the closed shutters. She had fallen asleep, but her grandmother’s light touch had awoken her.

She did not know if she wanted to go downstairs. In spite of how uncertain the future was, she had been so happy until the past few hours. And before falling asleep, her mind had gone around in circles, for she could not decide how Iain felt about her ability to see—or how he felt about her.

The only thing she was certain of was that he was no longer angry.

“I am tired,” she finally admitted.

“It is a man’s feast downstairs, anyway. They are carousing below as if they have taken Balvenie.”

Alana could not smile. Balvenie was the seat of Buchan’s earldom. She had never been to the castle, even though it was within a day’s easy riding. She had always wanted to see it; it was renowned to be very grand. Now she would never have the opportunity. “How long do you think it will be before my father and my uncle find out about Brodie—about me?”

Eleanor’s smile faded. “Bad news travels as swiftly as any raven.”

Alana flopped onto her back, staring up at the stone ceiling. “I wish things were different. I wish there had been other choices to make.” But that would have meant living in a peaceful land, when Scotland was always racked by war, pitting family against friend.

“I know you better than I knew my own son, and I know you hated betraying your father. Alana? We both know he hardly deserved such loyalty from you.”

Alana did not answer, well aware that Eleanor did not care about her betrayal of the earl, but was as torn as Alana over the betrayal of her father. Giving her a solemn look, Eleanor left, not bothering to close the door.

She quickly shut off her recollections of her uncle. But she had to wonder how her father would react when he received the news that she was mistress of Brodie now—and that she had paid homage to Robert Bruce.

If he had loved her a little, he probably would not love her now, Alana thought, staring into the torch-lit hallway. She could hear the sounds of the revelry coming from the hall below. Brodie had fallen without a fight, so the soldiers were celebrating. How pleased Iain must be, as well. He had not lost a single man.

She knew what it was like downstairs. The men were eating their fill and then some, while drinking beyond reason. Every young maid in the castle, if unmarried or widowed, would be in attendance, seeking to ensnare a handsome and victorious soldier. Meg would be downstairs.

She would be pouring him wine, flattering him, brushing against his shoulder. She might even be sharing his supper with him. She wondered if Meg would return to his bed. Why wouldn’t she?

How the notion hurt, like a knife stabbing through her breast.

Alana turned onto her side, away from the open door. She did not want to contemplate his affair with someone else. She turned her thoughts to Godfrey. Guilt consumed her. So did shame.

She did not know if he had been put in the dungeons, or if he was under guard in his own chamber. As difficult as it would be, she must visit him tomorrow, and make certain he was being properly cared for. She should also try to push Iain to make a ransom demand as soon as possible so Godfrey could be freed.

She heard footsteps outside in the hall—booted and male. Alana flipped over instantly.

Iain paused in the doorway, leaning one shoulder against it.

Her breath caught—as did their stares.

He had been drinking, she saw, for his expression was relaxed and benign. He did not seem angry, not at all. He wasn’t wearing his swords or his plaid, and he held a mug of wine in his hand. His blue gaze was direct.

He slowly looked away, his dark, thick lashes fanning his face.

She sat up, her heart slamming. Had she just seen the smoldering look that she thought she had? Tension made her spine rigid. “What are you doing?”

“I told Lady Fitzhugh to find another chamber,” he said, launching his body away from the wall.

He meant to sleep with her now? After all that he knew? No man wanted a witch in his bed!

“Why do ye look so surprised?” He half turned, never taking his heated gaze from her, and kicked the door closed.

“I did not expect you to want me.”

He approached, his stride uncharacteristically indolent. “Why would that change?” He set the mug down on the table and reached for her.

Alana was pushed down onto the bed as he moved on top of her. “I am a witch,” she gasped.

“Aye, and ye may have bewitched me.” His knees were hard between her thighs. “Ye can confess, Alana,” he murmured. “Even if ye put a spell on me, I am staying with ye tonight. Confess.... Ye cast a spell, and that is why I lust for ye the way that I do...that is why I am so fond of ye.” He suddenly held her shoulders down, his gaze brilliant upon hers.

Her pulse exploded, urgency racking her body. Iain still desired her—the only man to ever do so! And he cared, he had just said so. “I cannot cast spells. I vow it!”

“Liar.” He kissed her. “Witch.” He kissed her again, now reaching for her skirts. “How can I be so hard, so often, unless there is a spell?”

She wanted to answer. She wanted to refute him—debate—but it was impossible, because he was driving into her. Alana held on to his shoulders, arching back in sheer pleasure, her heart thundering.

Iain desired her still. No proof could be greater.

He lifted her and held her close, increasing the pressure, until Alana had to close her eyes and climax. She wept as she did so, clawing his back. And she almost told him that she loved him. Somehow, she retained enough sanity to hold back.

He nipped her neck and pounded into her, finding his own release. She was floating in satiation—in disbelief—when he cried out, collapsing on top of her.

She stroked his back, relief swelling. Then she wrapped her arms around him and held him tight.

What did it truly mean that he had come to her now, after her terrible confession?

He rolled off her, out of her embrace, and to his side. “Beautiful witch,” he said softly. He flung his arm up over his head and fell instantly asleep. And then she slowly sat up, staring at him.

His words hadn’t been mean or cruel; she knew that. His tone had been tender. But Iain had never made love to her just once in the course of an evening, much less so quickly. He was both selfish and selfless in bed, with the kind of stamina a woman would expect from a young Highland warrior.

Dismay began. If he was genuinely tired, if his odd behavior had nothing to do with the truth about her visions, then why wasn’t she in his arms? She always slept in his arms.

Alana slowly lay back down, not quite touching him, although the bed was small, making it difficult to keep a finger or two’s length between them. The dismay turned into heartache. Something was wrong, she sensed it.

Did he still wonder if she had cast some kind of spell upon him?

Hadn’t he said that everything had changed?

Grimly, she pulled the covers up and closed her eyes. Too late, she realized she wanted—needed—far more than lust and desire from Iain.

* * *

“W
HAT
DO
YOU
want, Alana?”

Alana was stiff with tension as she faced Godfrey from the threshold of his chamber. He had not been sent to the dungeons, for which she was grateful, and had been placed under guard in his own chamber instead.

She had not asked for permission to see him. When she had awoken that morning, after a restless night, Iain had been gone. She hadn’t fallen asleep until the early morning, and that must have been when he had silently left.

It was easier to simply make an attempt to visit Godfrey on her own than seek Iain out and face him after the night they had shared. She did not know what to expect from him when they finally came face-to-face.

Angus had not questioned her appearance outside Godfrey’s door, and now he stood watchfully by her side. Alana smiled tightly at Godfrey. “I have come to make certain you are all right. May I come inside?”

“Do I look all right?” Godfrey demanded. In fact, he was red-eyed, and clad only in a long-sleeved tunic, his hose and boots. His clothing was rumpled, his short pale hair disheveled. He seemed to have passed as miserable a night as she had.

Alana wasn’t sure how to answer. He stood before the table that was beneath an open window, a tray of food there. Clearly, he had not eaten. She glanced at Angus, who nodded, indicating she was free to go inside.

As she did, Godfrey picked up his doublet and shrugged it on. His cheeks were flushed by the time he had buttoned the short coat up. “I asked you what you want,” he said harshly.

“And I told you,” she said. “Godfrey, I am not your enemy.”

He faced her, fully dressed. “You paid homage to Robert Bruce. Iain of Islay is your liege lord now—and your lover. Pray tell, how could you not be the enemy?”

Alana trembled, hating the conflict challenging them. Had she come to care for Godfrey? Or had she always cared for him, without ever having realized it? They had been raised together. He had taunted her and bullied her through most of their childhood, but she had done the same back to him. Growing up, she had thought that she despised him; she had thought him her enemy. But she suspected she had been wrong. “I refuse to be your enemy,” she said stiffly.

He made a harsh, derisive sound. “That is a refusal you cannot make! We are at war, you and I, and I am a prisoner here, while you have been made Brodie’s mistress!”

She rubbed her chilled arms. “I do not think I am Brodie’s mistress just yet.”

“Why? Because Iain has learned that you are a witch?”

“Yes!” she cried, losing her temper, at last. “He has learned I am a witch, and while he is here, he is in command, and you know that.”

Godfrey now stared closely at her. “Ha, so he doesn’t like you very much now?”

“That is cruel,” she whispered. But how right Godfrey was. And she felt like a harlot, not the lady of the keep.

“No, your treachery is cruel. Do you know how we worried about you when you were found missing? Do you know how I worried?”

She was at a loss. “I am so sorry. I wish I could have been able to confide in you.”

“Truly? Because now I know that you went all the way to Slioch Mountain to warn your lover of Buchan’s planned attack. You saved Bruce and his army. You betrayed your uncle, your father, everyone!”

She flushed. “Do you finally, truly, hate me?”

“I have never hated you, not even on the day we met, when you poured a chamber pot over my head the moment I stepped out of my father’s wagon.”

Alana had forgotten how horrid she had been when Duncan had first come to Brodie as her guardian and its lord, his young son with him.

“You hated me then, and you have hated me ever since. It was a lie, our becoming friends, to defend Brodie from Bruce.” He turned his back on her, trembling.

She reached out and touched his arm briefly. “It wasn’t a lie. Godfrey? I will do everything I can to keep you comfortable and to make certain you are released as soon as possible.”

He whirled. “My father won’t pay a ransom. He will be furious with me for surrendering Brodie. He will think my capture just deserts.”

Alana thought he was right. Duncan was selfish, ambitious and cruel. “I will see you freed,” she said firmly, meaning it.

“That will not make you my friend. We will never be friends again. I trusted you. I wish I hadn’t.”

“Don’t say that. I don’t want to lose you.”

“It’s too late. What is wrong, Alana? Do you have regrets? Oh, wait! Your lover isn’t lusting after you anymore? He doesn’t want to bed a witch?”

Alana felt sickened. Godfrey’s words were close enough to the truth.

“So you have sacrificed your family for love? Was it worth it?” he taunted.

She was close to tears. “Maybe not,” she managed to say.

“It’s too late for regrets,” he said. “And as I look at you now, I almost feel sorry for you. Did he turn away in horror, last night? Like everyone else? Everyone except me?”

“No. Yes.” Despair consumed her. “I will come see you again, later.” She turned to go, stumbling.

“Don’t bother!” he shouted.

Alana tripped, and reached the open door. She had to glance back at him.

Tears filled his eyes. But he remained furious. “Alana, are you carrying his bastard yet?”

She froze.

“I mean, who would ever think that you, of all women, would bring a bastard into this world!”

She could think of nothing worse. “I am not with child.”

“For how long?”

She stumbled away, as swiftly as she could.

* * *

A
LANA
REALIZED
SHE
was hiding from Iain. She had spent most of the day in the cellars, inspecting what was left of Brodie’s provisions for the winter. She had then gone into the kitchens to supervise the supper being prepared. When she had seen Iain in the corridor, at noon, she had reversed course to avoid coming face-to-face with him—to avoid speaking to him.

She knew she could not continue to avoid him, as Brodie was too small a castle, and he had not indicated that he would soon leave. In fact, she had heard that he was going to spend the next few weeks improving Brodie’s defenses. He had sent men into the forest to cut down trees, never mind the cold. They had only just returned with the onset of dusk.

And because it was finally growing dark, Iain and his men had gathered in the hall, and were waiting for their supper. It would be night soon. Then what would happen? Did he think to share her bed again?

What if she was with child?

What if she brought a bastard into this world?

Alana could barely stand upright. Years ago she had realized she would never marry, and she had stopped contemplating having a family. Now the thought of bearing a son or a daughter was a great joy.