A Sword Upon The Rose

by Brenda Joyce

  She fought sudden tears. She had to know why!

  “I have no choice,” she said hoarsely.

  “There is always a choice,” Godfrey said.

  * * *

  TWO HOURS AFTER dark, the catapults ceased. The archers had already retired to their cook fires, and the battering ram had been parked with stone brakes. An eerie silence fell upon the night.

  Godfrey led the women, all in hoods, from the woods and across the first hillside. By the time they reached the next ridge, Elgin a dark silhouette atop it, two more hours had passed. Unspeaking, they traversed a gulley in order to skirt Iain’s entire army.

  Margaret was the one who knew where the side door was. She had often used it as a small child, going outside to play with the dairymaid’s children, in a time when the land was not at war, but at peace.

  When they finally reached the door, Joan could barely stand, and both of her daughters held her up. Godfrey called out softly until the peephole was opened.

  “Who goes there!” a soldier asked. Through the slit in the wood door, the whites of his eyes showed vividly in the dark night.

  “It is Godfrey of Frendraught, and Lady Comyn and her daughters are with me.”

  The peephole was abruptly drawn closed. Alana trembled, and several minutes went by, but then the door was opened. “Godfrey?”

  “Sir Edwain?” Godfrey asked.

  “Good God, your father will be thrilled that you are here.” Sir Edwain pulled the door wide and the women rushed inside. He then shut it and bolted it behind them.

  “Sir Alexander.” Joan seized his arm. “Is he alive?”

  “Yes, but barely, my lady,” the knight said grimly. He glanced briefly—curiously—at Alana. “I will take you to him.”

  As they rushed across the bailey, Godfrey asked, “So my father is here, defending Elgin?”

  “Yes, and we have been expecting the earl at any time.”

  Alana’s heart leaped with relief. Her uncle wasn’t at Elgin—not yet. She only had to fear discovery by Duncan. She tugged her hood up higher, until the brim fell across her forehead.

  “My friend, let us take the ladies to Sir Alexander, and then I will seek out my father,” Godfrey said, but in a tone of command. Alana knew he meant to protect her from Duncan.

  They soon entered the castle. Inside, torches lit the walls, and weeping could be heard. As they hurried to the stairs, they passed a pile of dead soldiers. Amongst them was a very young, freckled boy, and Alana looked away, trembling.

  When would men realize that no good ever came of war?

  They raced up the narrow stone stairs and onto the second floor. The torchlight in the corridor was duller now.

  Alana’s heart turned over hard. Ahead, a door was open. Inside, the room was lit by candles and with firelight. And she knew exactly what she would next see....

  Joan whimpered. Alice broke into a run, rushing inside ahead of them. She screamed.

  Joan and Margaret followed, Alana staying behind them. They faltered upon the chamber’s threshold. Alana looked past them.

  Sir Alexander lay upon the bed, his clothes soaked with his blood. His face was so white and still, he looked like a corpse. His weapons lay in a pile on the floor.

  Alice held his hand, but she dropped it and whirled, fury in her eyes, her tone. “How dare you come with us!” she screamed at Alana. “Traitor! Whore! Be gone! Leave us alone! Go back to your Highland lover!”

  Alana flinched, but otherwise did not move. Joan ran to her husband and sank onto the bed, taking his hands in hers. “Alexander,” she cried. “It is I, Joan. I love you! You cannot die!”

  “Father!” Margaret dropped to her knees by his shoulder. “Please don’t die. Please don’t leave us.”

  Alice glanced from her sister and father to Alana again. “Go away,” she said.

  Alana hugged herself. “He is my father, too.”

  Choking on tears, Alice knelt beside Margaret. “Father? Can you hear us? Please, wake up!”

  Godfrey touched Alana from behind. “You should speak with him now, and I will get you back outside, before I seek out Duncan.”

  “I can’t,” she whispered, stricken. “I have to say goodbye, too!”

  Godfrey grimaced. “Then I will do my best to keep Duncan away from this room.” Suddenly he seized her arm and their gazes locked.

  Alana froze, for an instant thinking he meant to kiss her. Instead, his gaze darkened and he turned and hurried away.

  “Joan?”

  Alana jerked as Sir Alexander whispered his wife’s name. She saw his lashes fluttering as he attempted to open his eyes.

  Joan stroked his forehead. “We are here, darling. I am here with the girls.”

  “Alice?” he gasped. “Margaret?”

  “They are here,” Joan whispered.

  Alana felt dismay stabbing through her.

  “We are here, Father,” Margaret cried.

  He turned his head slightly toward his daughters. He seemed to smile. “Alana?”

  Alana started crying. She went forward. “I am here, also...Father.”

  He was still gazing at Alice and Margaret. “I love you so.” He suddenly looked at Alana. “I love you. I always have.”

  The tears streamed down her cheeks. Alana somehow nodded. But his eyes were closed. “Oh, God,” she gasped, terrified that he was dead.

  Alice laid her ear upon his chest. She looked up. “He lives.”

  Still clasping both of his hands, Joan said, “Try to give him some water.”

  Alice took a mug from the side table. She sniffed it then tried to entice Sir Alexander to drink. But he lay unmoving and unconscious.

  Alana realized they would keep vigil now, until he died.

  She glanced around the small chamber for the first time. She retrieved a small stool and brought it over for Alice to sit upon. As Alice sat, their gazes briefly met.

  She then rolled up a rug and gave it to Margaret as a makeshift seat. Margaret smiled weakly at her, her blue eyes bright with tears.

  Alana stood at the side of his bed, with Joan and her sisters, and she thought, I do love you. But she wished he would explain to her, so she could understand, why he had left her to be raised by Eleanor, why he had chosen his other daughters over her.

  * * *

  THE FIRE BEGAN to go out, some hours later. The room felt terribly cold. No one wept anymore. Outside, a dull light stained the night.

  Alana got up and went to the fire and poked it with the iron. Flames hissed.

  “Elisabeth.”

  Alana whirled at the sound of her father’s voice. His eyes were wide-open and so very blue and he smiled, the smile of someone happy and surprised. She did not know who or what he was looking at.

  And then the light was gone.

  Joan cried out, collapsing upon him, weeping.

  “No!” Alice and Margaret cried as one.

  Alana stared at her father’s sightless, lifeless eyes. He was gone.

  She hugged herself, fighting not to cry, wondering if he had actually called out her mother’s name with his last dying breath. And as she stood there, shaking and shaken, the night sky blushed pink. The shadows inside the chamber lightened.

  The sun was about to rise, and when it did, Iain would renew his siege.

  She wanted to hug her father as her two sisters and Joan were doing. But she was afraid to insert herself amongst them. And time was running out. She had to leave.

  Alana wet her lips and managed to speak. “It is dawn. The siege will soon begin. Sir Alexander wanted you safely out of harm’s way.... Joan? We should go.”

  Joan was sobbing softly, clasping her husband’s lifeless hands to her breast. She could not respond, but Alice whirled, her
arm around her weeping sister. “We cannot leave him!”

  Alana blinked back tears. “I am afraid for you if you stay here.”

  “What difference will it make?” Alice said. “Iain took us prisoner, if we stay here, he will do so again.”

  She had never been in a siege, Alana thought. “Or you might suffer injury or death during this battle.”

  Alice’s eyes widened.

  There was a sound at the door, and Alana turned, expecting Godfrey.

  The Earl of Buchan smiled coldly at her.

  Her heart seemed to plummet through her entire body. She cried out, backing up into the bed.

  “So the whore dared to enter my castle,” her uncle snarled. His eyes were hard and cruel.

  Her heart exploded with panic now. She could not move—she could barely draw a breath.

  Joan stood up. “He is dead, John. Alexander is dead.”

  The earl barely glanced at his brother. “I was told he would not live.” His burning gaze held Alana’s. “But some good will come of this night. I punish treason with death, Alana,” he said.

  “No,” Joan said instantly. Alana started. “She brought us here, risking her life to do so, and she is your niece. Alexander is—was—her father!”

  Alana was shocked that Joan would defend her now.

  “I do not care!” Buchan strode forward, hand raised. Alana ducked, but too late. His blow was severe, and it knocked her off of her feet, onto her father’s lifeless body.

  Alana cried out in pain as Joan gasped. Alice stared, horrified, while Margaret screamed, “Stop!”

  Alana pushed herself up to stand, but then Buchan seized her hair and jerked her hard toward him. She gasped as she crashed face-first into his legs. He then kicked her hard in the ribs. Alana careened onto the floor, buckling over. Tears of pain blinded her.

  “Ye will die for touching her,” Iain roared.

  Alana looked up as he moved past her, sword raised. On the floor, on her hands and knees, Alana realized that he was going to kill her uncle. She was shocked, as this was not the vision she had had!

  But Buchan seized Alice, pulled her in front of him, and laid a dagger at her throat. “I have heard you bed one sister, but will wed the other,” he said.

  Iain froze, his sword in midair.

  Buchan smiled. “Drop your sword, Iain. Or watch your bride die.”

  Joan cried out.

  Iain dropped his sword, and did not reach for the other sword on his left hip.

  “John! My God! Alice is your niece!” Joan begged.

  Buchan moved toward the door, dragging Alice with him, using her as a shield. No one spoke, everyone watching him. Alana still crouched on the floor while Iain remained in the room’s midst, as still as a statue, as watchful as a hawk.

  Buchan went through the doorway with Alice, who was white with fright, her expression one of desperation. They turned right and disappeared from sight.

  Iain knelt down beside Alana. “I will kill him,” he said, reaching gently for her.

  “I am fine,” she told him. “What will he do to Alice?”

  “When he loses this war, she will be a useful hostage to him,” Iain said, helping Alana to stand. “And yer not fine.” He tilted up her chin, his gaze on her jaw, which was surely turning black-and-blue, for it throbbed so badly. “Ye disobeyed me, Alana, damn it. I ordered ye to stay at Brodie. I forbade ye coming here!”

  “I could not obey, Iain! Oh, God, he has Alice!” Alana cried, genuinely frightened for her sister. “We must help her!”

  His glance flickered toward Sir Alexander, then Joan and Margaret, who held one another. “I am sorry, Lady Joan.” He retrieved his sword.

  “He has lost his mind!” Joan was crying again. “His brother is dead and he has abducted Alice! Why? To use her against Bruce one day?”

  Iain’s grim expression was answer enough. “Wait here.” Iain turned and strode from the chamber.

  Alana started. Images from her vision flashed in her mind—of Buchan, about to murder Iain. She hesitated. Then she took up her father’s short sword and raced after Iain, who was at the end of the corridor. “I am coming with you!”

  He whirled, incredulous. “Go back to the bedchamber, Alana,” he ordered.

  She ran up to him. “I can’t let you hunt Buchan alone!”

  “Ye defied me by coming to Elgin—and ye openly defy me now? To my own face?”

  “I wish to help you, Iain!” she cried breathlessly. Alana ran past him. Where would Buchan take Alice? Would he take her up to a tower room, to imprison her as he had imprisoned Alana? She started up the stairs.

  Iain quickly seized her arm, then rushed past her to lead the way. There were no torches lit in the stairwell, and it was almost as dark as the night. “Ye think he’s gone to the closest tower.” It was not a question.

  “I do.”

  “We must be wary,” he said softly. “Duncan is within, too. However, he is probably on the ramparts, wondering why I have yet to begin the siege.”

  Alice nodded, even though Iain could not see her action. He reached the landing and paused until she was beside him. They started down the hallway. On the farthest end, the Earl of Buchan stepped out of a chamber.

  Buchan saw them and froze; Iain broke into a hard run, sword raised. Alana ran after him.

  The earl withdrew his sword, backing into the room he had come from. He slammed the door closed.

  Alana knew Alice was within, she was certain. Iain was ahead of her—she could not keep up with him—and he reached the chamber. Alana ran up to him, panting.

  He gave her a terse look. “Ye stay here, in the hall, ye dinna come inside. This time, ye obey me.”

  Alana nodded.

  “Vow it,” he said.

  She hesitated. “I can’t.”

  He was disbelieving. Then he reached for the door’s iron handle. To their surprise, it lifted in its latch—Buchan had not slid the bolt inside.

  Iain gave her a sharp glance, nodded and pushed open the door. He did not move as the oak door swung open.

  Alana glanced past him. There was no light inside the chamber. She saw nothing but dark shadows.

  A few sconces boasted torches in the hallway, however, so they were in the light.

  “Alice?” Iain spoke.

  There was no answer. There was no sound at all now, except for Alana’s heavy breathing.

  Her heart raced. She imagined Buchan within, her sister in his grasp, his hand covering her mouth. She looked up at Iain. He gave her a warning glance, one she knew meant that she was to stay still. “Be careful,” she mouthed silently.

  He stepped back, away from the open doorway, closer to her. As he did, he pulled the chain and cross he wore from his neck. He tossed the necklace into the room.

  The gold made a soft metallic sound as it hit the stone floor. And then they heard the scrape of leather soles on stone, just to the left of the doorway.

  Buchan had dragged her sister farther away from the door, Alana thought. And as she had that notion, Iain charged within. “A Bruce!” he roared.

  Alana raised her father’s short sword, rushing inside after him.

  Buchan stood to the left of the door, and he released Alice so he could raise his own sword and meet Iain’s onslaught. Their swords clashed viciously and rang.

  Alice stumbled. Alana lowered her sword to seize her hand and pull her toward the doorway. She glanced at Iain—he and her uncle were locked in battle, blade to blade, Iain savagely intent, Buchan appearing frightened.

  “You came back for me?” Alice gasped.

  It took Alana one second to make up her mind, as she watched the men disengage and then strike at one another again. This time, their swords shrieked so loudly, it was as if someon
e had pulled on the wrong strings of a harp or violin.

  “Go! Go back to Joan and Margaret, then find Godfrey if you can and leave the castle!”

  Alice’s eyes went wide. Then she nodded and ran off.

  Alana faced the two men inside and saw that Iain had backed her uncle into the far corner of the room, and he was smiling ruthlessly now. But before he could deliver a fatal blow, she heard the many booted footsteps racing toward her from the stairwell. Alana saw Duncan, Godfrey and another soldier rushing up the hall. She screamed in warning. “Iain!”

  But he had heard them, too. And for the first time since finding the Earl of Buchan, Iain glanced at her—away from his enemy.

  Fear seized her—Iain was engaged with Buchan, and Duncan would surely capture her. “It is Duncan, Godfrey, one more,” she gasped, raising her sword to defend herself.

  The Earl of Buchan snarled, “You’re finished now, Highland dog.”

  But Iain did not hear him. Either that, or he did not care. He leaped away from Buchan, rushing toward Alana at the door. Clearly his intention was to defend her now.

  Buchan rushed after him, sword raised. His expression was vicious, his eyes murderous. It was déjà vu—it was her vision come true.

  “Iain!” Alana screamed in warning.

  Iain turned and met the blow with his own sword, so hard, that Buchan’s sword was driven from his grasp, and it fell, clattering across the floor. Iain ran to her just as Duncan came into striking distance. Duncan snarled, the sound animal-like, thrusting his blade toward her. From behind, Iain roared, leaping in front of her and deflecting the blow. Their swords screamed.

  Alana watched the two men strain against one another, and knew this was a different match entirely—Duncan was a seasoned soldier, unlike her uncle. But Duncan also had Buchan and the other men to help him bring Iain down.

  She turned. Buchan had just staggered to the doorway, sword in hand. But Alana saw blood on his sleeves—he had been wounded in the earlier fight.

  There was no time for any sense of relief. Godfrey suddenly turned and pushed his blade against the throat of the soldier behind him. “Alana, go, go now!” he shouted.