by Brenda Joyce
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.”
* * *
WHEN ALANA 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
ALANA 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 tur
ning 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.
* * *
ALANA 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.