by Brenda Joyce
She stared up at his face as he slept, her chin on his chest, some torchlight playing upon them. She did not have regrets, she could not have regrets. But dear God, Iain did not even know the first thing about her.
She could not imagine how he would react to the news that she was Buchan’s niece, or worse, that she was a witch.
He would certainly be angry to learn that she was a Comyn—that she was a part of the family that was his king’s worst enemy. Bruce meant to destroy the Comyns. His efforts probably included her. Would he be able to forgive her that deception?
She trembled, hoping the day would never come when Iain knew she was Sir Alexander’s daughter, but such a secret would have to come out, sooner or later. And she was frightened.
But it was so much worse than that, because they were surely not the first lovers to have opposing loyalties in a war. What would he think and do when he learned she was a witch? Wouldn’t he react like all other men when he learned of her sight? He would be horrified and repulsed; he would not want to share his bed with her then! He would probably end their relationship the instant he learned the truth!
Alana felt moisture rising up in her eyes. If only they could continue on this way, as if she were an insignificant and ordinary woman!
But that was impossible, wasn’t it? It was one thing to deceive the enemy, another, her lover. Surely she had to confess the extent of her deceptions. Didn’t she?
Because she could never walk away from Iain of Islay now to keep her secrets safe. She knew this was a beginning, if she could manage her deceptions.
“Yer awake and ye did not awaken me?”
She jerked and met his teasing blue gaze. “You were sleeping so soundly.” She touched his chin, a gentle caress.
He smiled and pulled her beneath him. “I am not sleeping now.”
He was stiff and hard and Alana went still, her pulse soaring. “Iain,” she began, knowing they must speak.
“Shhh,” he said, nuzzling her neck. “Whatever ye wish to say, it can wait.”
Iain wrapped her in his powerful arms and began kissing her, his lips feathery and teasing. Desire surged within her and she began to kiss him back. His grasp tightened on her and his kiss deepened. Alana tried to capture his tongue with her own; he used his powerful thighs to spread her legs wide. Alana moaned.
Iain moved slowly into her, with restraint, inch by inch. Alana clawed at his back. “Hurry. You are teasing me.”
“Aye,” he murmured, and then he thrust hard.
Alana gasped, consumed with growing pleasure, and now, they moved swiftly, hard, as one. Alana shattered, crying out again and again, Iain grunting his own pleasure.
And then they lay very still, breathing hard, in one another’s arms.
“We must get up,” Iain said softly, his mouth against her ear. “Even though I wish to stay with ye this way fer all the day.”
Alana’s pulse was still racing somewhat. “You could never spend an entire day in bed,” she whispered, amused at the thought.
He released her, sitting up. “With ye, I think I could.”
They smiled at one another. She did not try to sit up. He moved away to pick up his clothes, and she became aware of dawn’s light, creeping into the tiny window slits high above them, in the ceiling, where the castle’s ground floor was. She glanced up.
A new day was coming. Pale light was trying to filter within.
Some of her satisfaction dulled. Worry crept over her.
She heard Iain stand, and begin to dress. She finally sat up, reaching for her cloak, to cover her nudity. She was somber now. Every thought she had just had returned, full force. How could she continue to deceive him?
Now dressed in his leine and boots, Iain went to the wall, took a torch down, and brought it back to them. He set it down in a pocket in the stone floor. He glanced at her with some speculation.
They were both in the light now, and her heart lurched. She could not continue to deceive him. But after last night, how could she tell the truth? She could not bear to lose him.
He handed her torn clothing to her. “Ye do not look like a woman who is well pleased. What is amiss, Alana?”
She slid on her chemise, then the cote and surcote. “You know how pleased I am.”
“Do I?”
Alana held her bodice together. “I am so very pleased.... But what do we do now?”
He squatted beside her. “I make certain ye get upstairs with no one the wiser, and then I make certain ye get to Brodie, where ye will be safe from this war. I will send ye there with an escort.” His gaze was searching.
Did he feel about her, the way she did about him? Was it possible? “Do you care, Iain? Do you care if I am safe?”
“I care,” he said roughly, rising to his full height. “But I also care about the secrets ye and yer grandmother keep.”
She froze, and she felt all the blood draining from her face. “Secrets?” If ever there was an opening, he had just given her one.
But how could she tell him she was Buchan’s niece? That she was a Comyn? She did not want to destroy what was happening between them. And even if they survived that revelation, they would not survive the fact that she had the sight. She felt certain of that.
So if he cared as much about her, he cared about a lie.
Alana did not know what to do.
“I care, Iain. I also care about you, and...a war divides us. I am afraid!”
He stared searchingly at her, for a long, terrible moment. “The war only divides us if we let it,” he said grimly. He bent and put on his first belt, in which was sheathed a small dagger. Then he put on his sword belt.
Alana stood, wrapping the cloak about her so no one would be able to tell that her clothing had been ripped off of her.
He finished buckling the belt and touched her elbow. “Do ye have another gown?’
She nodded, wanting to ask him how they would navigate this war, and when she would see him again. “When do I go back to Brodie?” she asked instead as they started for the stairs.
“Ye will leave today, Alana, this morning, if I do not mistake my guess.” He took her arm and sent her ahead of him, up the narrow winding stairwell.
“I leave today?” she said, shocked.
“I ride north, Alana,” he said.
“And when will we see one another again?” She could barely believe she was being so bold, but she had to know.
He smiled slightly. “Do ye miss me, already?” He sobered. “I dinna ken. I will come to Brodie, even if for an hour, when I can.”
He would come to Brodie for an hour when he could. Alana was afraid she would not see Iain again, that the war would truly come between them, and that their love was over after a single night. “I already miss you,” she whispered.
He gave her a serious and sideways look. They had reached the ground floor, but none of the men and maids coming and going paid them any attention. Iain urged her up the next set of stairs.
Alana hurried, reaching the landing where the tower chamber was. She thought of Eleanor for the first time since supper the night before. “Gran must be frantic.”
“She kens ye were with me.” He took her elbow and halted her.
Alana faced him, her heart slamming. “Now you are the one who is not pleased.”
“Ye belong to Brodie Castle. Duncan is yer liege. Yer guardian. I’ll kill Duncan when I can—mayhap today.” His demeanor of the past few hours was gone. He was a ruthless warrior once more.
She felt ill. Duncan was rude and overbearing, he had assaulted her, molested her and insulted her, for most of her life, but he was her guardian and he was a human being.
His stare intensified. “Who are ye loyal to, Alana?”
She froze. “What?”
“Ye heard me. I go to wa
r against yer guardian. I go to war against yer liege, the Earl of Buchan. Who are ye loyal to?”
She was dismayed. She did not know what to say, or how to say it! “Iain!”
“Ye cannot answer, or ye will not answer?”
She flinched. How could she choose now? It was too soon! “I don’t know what to say! I want to be loyal to you!” But could she be loyal to him? They were lovers, and she would gladly give him her loyalty—but she could not abandon her family, either—the family he still did not know about. “I despise Duncan,” she said. “Brodie was my mother’s dowry, but now, it is his. Iain, I want to be loyal to you.”
He took two steps to stand in front of her, and he tilted up her chin. For a long moment, he stared, considering her words. “Wanting to be loyal is not enough. Ye will have to choose sides, and soon,” he said flatly, and his face was hard. “Everyone must choose sides in a war.”
“I don’t want to choose sides!” she cried. “Why can’t we just go on this way?”
His eyes widened. “Get dressed and gather up yer things. Make certain Lady Fitzhugh is ready to travel. We’ll speak once more before ye go.” His face still hard and uncompromising, he turned and strode away.
Alana sagged against her door. How could he demand that she choose sides now? After a single night?
But didn’t she know which side she wanted to choose?
Behind her, the tower room door opened. “Alana?”
Wiping her cheeks, Alana turned to face her grandmother. “I hope I have not worried you!”
For one moment, Eleanor stared. “Why are you crying? Has he hurt you already?”
She trembled, wanting to let the tears flow freely. But she did not. “You will not scold me for what I have done?”
“He is a proud, brave soldier, Alana, who has helped us not once, but twice, in our time of need. So no, I will not scold you. You are a grown woman, and you know who you are.”
Alana hugged her. “I may be falling in love, Gran,” she whispered.
Her grandmother clasped her face as if she were a tiny child. “That is what I feared the most,” she said.
* * *
AS THEY PACKED up their few belongings, Alana could barely believe how her life had changed in the past twenty-four hours. She had been Buchan’s prisoner, and now she was going home—but only after spending the night with the enemy. It seemed impossible, like a tall tale, but her memories were real.
There were such huge feelings swelling in her heart. She wanted to thrill, but instead she felt dark despair. Iain seemed to care about her, but he wanted her loyalty, and she was not free to give it to him, because she was Sir Alexander’s daughter. He already questioned her loyalty. He would question it even more once she told him of her paternity.
And didn’t she question it, too?
But she could not continue to deceive him, not after the intimacy they had shared. She knew that, especially now, in the light of a new morning. Guilt weighed her down. But she was so afraid he would be angry. She was afraid that he would feel betrayed. She was afraid he might not care about her after all, not once he learned she was the niece of his king’s worst enemy.
But what if they could get past her deception? What if, eventually, he could forgive her—and accept her for who she was?
Alana was blinded by sudden tears. She knew that they had no future. He would never accept her for who she was, because she was a witch.
Alana hugged her clothing to her chest. “Gran? What am I to do?”
Eleanor knotted her satchel. “You are speaking of your affair with Iain?”
“I hate deceiving him. It isn’t right. But he won’t be pleased when he learns that Buchan is my uncle.”
“You haven’t told him who you are?” Eleanor gasped.
“I have been afraid to do so!”
Eleanor stared, shocked, and Alana was ashamed. “There was no time,” she finally whispered. “Do you think he will reject me when he learns of my father?”
“I don’t know, Alana,” Eleanor said, a bit briskly. “I had assumed you had told him before sharing his bed.”
Alana hugged herself. “You disapprove.”
“I do. I am sorry, Alana, but you are more honorable than that! If you truly love him, you will find the courage to tell him what you must. True love cannot withstand lies, Alana, but that you must know.”
“And if he loses all interest?”
“Then he does not love you, and it is better you find out now.”
“What about my powers, Gran? Why do we even bother to speak of his reaction to the news I am a Comyn by birth? I am such a fool. We both know he will be repulsed when he learns I am a witch.”
“Do we? I stopped predicting male behavior a long time ago, Alana, especially when love and lust are involved.” She smiled. As she did, a knock sounded on their door. As Eleanor turned toward it she said to Alana, “Everyone has been told to leave Nairn by midmorning. We have tarried, I expect.”
Alana pulled on her fur-lined mantle as her grandmother opened the door.
A lean, freckled Highland lad of about fifteen appeared in the doorway, his hand on the hilt of his sword. He wore a mail tunic beneath his dark blue plaid. “Ye must go out now, ladies, and it is an order. Why do ye take so long to pack yer things?”
“I was helping my granddaughter to dress,” Eleanor said with a reprimand in her tone. “And to gather up our belongings.”
“Ye can gather up yer things, but only if ye can do so in the next five minutes. The king has already left Nairn, and Iain the Fierce is impatient to do so.”
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 armie
s 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.