A Sword Upon The Rose

by Brenda Joyce

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

  * * *

  NEWS OF ELGIN’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.

  Alana’s heart lurched with dread. She knew who was leading that small army. But Elgin could not fall. It could not suffer the same fates as Inverness, Inverlochy, Urquhart and Nairn. For if it did, Brodie could be next.

  She closed her eyes to ward off a recollection of her last terrible vision, to no avail. All she could see was Scotland, blackened and burned, with Bruce’s flag waving above the ashes and rubble.

  She shook herself free of the recollection. “Is Sir Alexander Comyn with the Earl of Buchan still?” she asked.

  “Aye, mistress. Sir Alexander defends Elgin with Duncan and the earl.”

  Her father was with Buchan and Duncan, defending Elgin from Robert Bruce—battling Iain once again. Alana fought for air. She felt dizzy.

  She wondered if her father would ever receive the letter she had sent to him that morning. It had been so awkward to write, but in the end, she had expressed her concern for his welfare and told him she prayed for him. She had also mentioned that they feared for their own safety at Brodie, where they had no actual defenses.

  “And how did the first attack go?” Godfrey asked.

  “When I left, there was no sign that Iain of Islay would succeed. His men were being turned back from the walls.”

  Alana was relieved. She wished to ask about Iain, but was afraid to, and besides, thus far, he was in command. She looked at Godfrey. “Perhaps my grandmother is right, and we share a common cause.”

  He gave her a disdainful glance. “Maybe you should take up a bowl of water, Alana. Maybe you can tell us Elgin’s fate before the next messenger arrives!”

  Alana started. So he knew what Buchan had done to her. “If I have a vision, you will be the first to know. And I will tell you the truth.” She meant it. “We cannot afford to be enemies.”

  “No, we cannot,” Godfrey replied, but reluctantly.

  * * *

  A PALL SETTLED over the castle as they awaited news of Elgin’s fate. The days passed with agonizing slowness. Alana avoided Godfrey, amazed that she now intended to forge a truce between them, as fragile as it was. Because they so disliked one another, it was better to keep her distance—for Brodie’s sake. At times she slipped outside for a lonely walk along the castle walls, her only company a gray wolf watching her from the forest, but mostly she kept to the small chamber she shared with Eleanor. There, her gaze was continually drawn to a pitcher of water left for drinking, as if it dared her to look within.

  She did not. She was too afraid she might see Elgin in rubble and ashes.

  And she wondered about her father. Had Sir Alexander received her letter? What had his reaction been to such a missive, sent from the illegitimate daughter he had abandoned and forgotten? Would he even bother to reply? And she also wondered, against her will, how Iain fared in the battle for Elgin Castle.

  There was no word for four days, but then another messenger arrived, shaking the snow from his fur, as they assembled in the hall to greet him. “My lord! Bruce and his army have been turned back! They have fled Elgin,” he cried, beaming.

  Godfrey was so exultant he danced a Highland jig. “Finally, the tides of war favor us!”

  Alana stared in shock at the messenger as Godfrey skipped about the hearth in the hall, gloating. Bruce had retreated. He had been defeated.

  Stunned, she took a seat at the table as the messenger shed his cloak. Relief finally began. Elgin remained intact!

  “How is my father?” Godfrey demanded. He handed the young soldier wine. “How is the Earl of Buchan?” He glanced at Alana. “And his brother, Sir Alexander?”

  “They are all well, my lord,” the boy said, smiling.

  Her father was well. “Please, come sit and eat,” Alana said, her heart leaping. As he slid onto the bench, not far from her, she stood and indicated that a maid should bring him refreshments. “Do you have a message for me, by any chance? From Sir Alexander?” she asked.

  He started. “No, my lady, I have no messages for anyone.”

  Her heart sank. She reminded herself that she did not even know if Sir Alexander had received her letter in the midst of such a furious battle.

  “How great were Bruce’s losses?” Godfrey asked, taking a seat facing the young messenger. “Did we rout him at long last?”

  “He lost thirty men, my lord, and we lost half that.” The second messenger was a blond Englishman in a fur-lined cloak. “It was no rout, merely a hard-fought battle that seemed evenly matched. Bruce withdrew quite suddenly. The siege lasted but an entire day and a night.”

  Godfrey scowled as Alana wondered why Bruce had chosen to retreat, rather than fight a protracted siege. She did not want to think of Iain, but of course she did. He was always there in her mind—her heart.

  “Bruce hardly suffered any losses, his army remains strong!” Godfrey said.

  “Aye, my lord, and he is well fed by most of the villages here now.” He tore some bread in half and dunked it in the wine.

  She looked at Godfrey. “Why would Bruce retreat, when he so outnumbered Buchan and Duncan?”

  “I don’t know. It worries me—maybe it is a trap.” Godfrey was grim.

  Alana did not like the sound of that. She realized how impossible her position was—to be against Bruce, to pray for his defeat, yet to fear that defeat too because she did not want Iain captured, wounded or killed.

  “Are the villages in Buchan supporting him now?” She thought of how he had destroyed Nairn—Iain had claimed the villagers there would never dare support Buchan against Bruce again. She believed him.

  “The damned traitor is growing in popularity,” Godfrey said.

  The maid returned, setting down a trencher of bread, smoked fish and goat cheese. The lad began to eat hungrily.

  Alana sat back down. She no longer felt as relieved about their victory at Elgin. And what of Iain? Where was he now? Should she ask openly about him? Godfrey knew he had freed her, and she could claim that was her reason for concern.

  Godfrey watched the young man. “What is Bruce’s position now? Where will he strike next?”

  “When I left Elgin, Buchan was thinking that the war will wait until the spring.” The boy shoved his plate aside. “My lord, I have one more bit of news. Bruce has taken the manor at Concarn.”

  Godfrey leaped up. “Concarn Manor belongs to my father!”

  The boy glanced worriedly at Godfrey. “I am sorry. Bruce’s army rests there now.”

 
Godfrey turned red and fell into an amazed and distressed silence, staring into his wine.

  Alana said, “What of Iain of Islay?”

  Godfrey whirled to stare at her.

  “Bruce has sent him to Aberdeen,” the boy said. “He plunders the country he passes through, warning everyone not to oppose Bruce.”

  Dismay overwhelmed her. Iain was not hurt, apparently, but he was destroying Aberdeenshire as he had destroyed Nairn.

  “You seem distressed,” Godfrey snapped. “Why do you ask about the goddamned Highlander?”

  This was a good time to flee. She got up. “He freed me and Eleanor, Godfrey, when he did not have to do so. He might be the enemy, but I owe him some gratitude.” She turned. “Thank you for bringing us so much news,” she said to the boy. “I am going to retire for the night.”

  Godfrey jumped to his feet and went to quickly stand in front of her. “You should pen another letter, Alana, in case Sir Alexander did not receive the first one. They have taken Concarn—and it is smaller and less significant than Brodie.”

  Alana realized what he meant. Protecting Brodie meant more to her than protecting her own pride. “Very well. I’ll do so immediately.”

  “Good,” Godfrey said. He seemed about to touch her shoulder, but then he thought better of it and paced over to the fireplace to stare into the flames.

  Eleanor had arisen. “I will go with you.” She took her arm and they left the room, her grandmother speaking softly. “It is all good news, Alana.”

  Alana nodded as they went toward the stairs. “Yes, for now, it is all good news.” But was it? The shock over Bruce’s withdrawal was fading, as was her relief that her father remained unharmed. Bruce was at Concarn—was Iain really raping the countryside, demanding loyalty from those he terrorized?

  As they reached the stairs, a young Highland lad with long red hair, in a tattered plaid and fur, darted out of the shadows. “Mistress Alana!” He seized her wrist.

  Alana was so startled she jumped. Incredulous, she faced a boy of twelve or thirteen, staring into his bright blue eyes. “Who are you?” She had never seen the boy about Brodie before. And was that plaid dark blue with black and red stripes?

  “Shh!” He glanced at Eleanor. “Is she yer gran?” he whispered.

  Alana nodded. She reached for his plaid, to bring an end closer, as it was dark in the hallway. How would this lad know that Eleanor was her grandmother?

  “Iain has commanded me to bring ye to him,” he said.

  Her heart slammed. He wore the MacDonald colors, of course he did. She dropped the wool. Alana was so stunned, it was a moment before she could speak. “Iain sent you here?”

  “He returns to Concarn, lady. But we must hurry. If I am caught they might whip me!”

  Eleanor seized Alana’s arm, her eyes wide. “You cannot go.”

  Shocked, Alana briefly met her wide, worried gaze. Images flashed—of Nairn aflame, and then of her in Iain’s arms.

  Iain was sending for her.

  Oh, God, what should she do?

  She realized that she had not instantly ruled out the possibility of going to him. Instead, she was torn.

  They had parted in anger and disappointment. After the night they had shared, it was a terrible and painful way to part. It still caused so much heartache.

  She hadn’t thought he would still wish to be with her.

  She was weighed down by her deception, as well. Not a day went by that she did not wish that she had told him the truth, and that they had gotten past the facts of her birth and her visions. It was so foolish to wish that he would love her for who she really was, and even though she knew that, she did.

  It was too dangerous to go to him at Concarn—when he was with Robert Bruce. Wasn’t it?

  And what of Brodie and its defenses? She thought of Godfrey. She still disliked him, but they shared one overriding ambition—to keep Brodie safe.

  Before she could speak, the lad said boldly, “He said to tell ye he misses ye—and he will not take no for an answer.”

  She gasped. Tears moistened her eyes. Oh, how skilled he was at wielding that final thrust! “How far is Concarn?”

  “Alana!” Eleanor exclaimed. “Robert Bruce is at Concarn! You cannot go into his keeping!”

  “A short day’s ride—we will be there by nightfall,” the boy said quickly.

  She should not go. She must not go. Bruce was there. He could take her hostage.

  She looked at Eleanor. “I have to see him again.”

  Eleanor blanched. “Very well—but not now, not at Concarn!”

  Her mind raced. Iain would never let Bruce hurt her, she was certain. “Iain will protect me,” she said.

  “You think Iain will lie to his king for you?”

  Alana stared at her grandmother, not quite seeing her. Was she mad? What if she was wrong? Iain was as ruthless as claimed; she had seen it, herself. But her heart was clamoring at her now.

  The war only divides us if we let it.

  “I have two horses hidden in the forest. I have furs and blankets. We must go!” the boy cried in a whisper.

  She looked at Eleanor. “Tell Godfrey I have gone to see my father.”

  “Alana, please, do not go,” Eleanor said, ashen.

  “I have to go to him, Gran. I love him.”

  Eleanor closed her eyes briefly in despair. “Then God help you, Alana.”

  * * *

  BY THE TIME they reached Concarn, the snow had stopped falling, and the gray skies were clearing.

  It had taken them much longer than a long afternoon and a few hours of the evening to reach the small village in northeast Aberdeenshire. The new snow made the going difficult, delaying them. They had been forced to stop around midnight, when the winds came up, the snow blinding, and they had spent the night in a stable behind a farmhouse.

  “We are here.” The boy smiled at her widely.

  Alana managed to smile back at the young boy, whose name she had learned was Ranald. And then she stared at the army camped below them.

  They were on a small hillock astride their horses, a sea of tents below them. The village was to the left, several stone walled pastures between it and the manor house. Snow covered the tents, the fields and the woods. It covered the rooftops in the village, the manor, its barns and sheds. And Bruce’s flag waved above the camp, yellow and red and shockingly bright.

  Alana stared at Robert Bruce’s flag. A pang of fear pierced her.

  The boy clucked to his horse, kicking it, and Alana did the same. She had had a day and a half to consider what she was doing, and to question her decision to go to Iain in the enemy’s camp. But once upon the road, she had no doubts. She knew she must see him again. There might not be another chance, the future was that uncertain.

  She had not had to worry about her paternity while at Brodie. She had not had to worry about her deception. Now she had to worry very much about the secrets she kept from Iain.

  She was torn. He deserved the truth—all of it. It did not feel right continuing to deceive him, yet deceive him she must, for her own safety. Even if she wished to tell Iain about her father and her uncle, she could not do so now.

  There was some relief in having a valid excuse for not confessing her deception to Iain. She no longer had to worry about his reaction when she told him Sir Alexander was her father. Not just then. It gave their relationship a reprieve.

  And if their relationship survived this meeting, when the time was right, she would tell him about Sir Alexander—and that she had the sight. But that time was not now.

  Ranald paused to ask a soldier where Iain was. Alana sat her mount, aware of being remarked by the closest soldiers. Her heart was thundering. It crossed her mind that if Bruce walked by, which was unlikely, he would glance at her
, as well. An attractive young woman was not a common sight in a war camp.

  Alana pulled her hood down lower over her forehead. She must be careful to avoid all the soldiers, she thought, and she must especially make certain to avoid coming into contact with Robert Bruce.

  They were directed to a larger tent not far from the manor. Instantly she saw his banner flying atop the tent, streaking the sky. Her tension spiraled. The fluttering in her chest increased. They slowly made their way through the other tents.

  When they were close enough to dismount, the flap door of his tent opened and Iain stepped out.

  She trembled. He had not bothered to don a fur or any cloak—he was clad in his leine, which swirled about his bare thighs. He wore two swords and a dagger. Huge rowels flanked the spurs on his leather boots. His long hair was loose, rioting about his shoulders. She had forgotten how powerful his presence was, how masculine and handsome he was.

  His gaze instantly found her.

  He strode toward them, his strides hard and filled with purpose. He reached them and seized her mount’s bridle. “Well done,” he said to Ranald. But his piercing blue gaze never left her face.

  Her heart slammed wildly. All doubt vanished. Alana was so happy to see him. She was so relieved he was well. And it no longer mattered that he was ruthless; not then.

  “I am sorry that the snow delayed us,” Ranald said, halting his horse.

  Iain finally glanced at him. “I worried ye’d come to some harm.”

  “I would not let harm befall yer lady,” Ranald said, sliding from his horse.

  Iain smiled briefly. His gaze locked with Alana’s again, and then he clasped her by the waist, his hands large and strong, and pulled her from the mare.

  He did not release her, and she remained in his powerful embrace.

  His stare unwavering and heated upon hers, he said, “Tend to the horses and get yerself food and rest, lad. Ye did well.”

  Ranald grinned a bit slyly, taking both horses and leading them away.

  “I could not decide if ye’d come,” Iain said, unsmiling and terse.

  How her heart pounded. “There was no decision to make.”