A Sword Upon The Rose (19 page)

Alana was grim, stepping into her boots. She picked up her fur cloak, not looking at her grandmother.

“Alana, don’t do this,” Eleanor said. “You cannot possibly get to Slioch Mountain! You cannot possibly traverse the northwest of this land in the winter, in the snow, even with Seamus’s son to help you!”

“I do not have time to argue,” Alana said.

Eleanor stepped from the bed and seized her wrist. “You put yourself in terrible jeopardy, if you are caught, whether leaving this castle, or while on the road, or afterward!”

Alana finally faced her. “Gran, I cannot stand by and let Iain be ambushed. He could die!”

“If the attack is not a surprise, your father could die,” Eleanor shot back.

Alana had already thought of that. “I am in a terrible position. But if I have to choose, I choose Iain.” She put on her fur cloak and started from the room.

“He doesn’t want you,” Eleanor said.

Alana faltered, then pushed open the door. “I will be back as soon as I can. I love you, Gran.” She stepped outside and closed the door, her heart slamming.

It was silent in the corridor, the entire castle asleep. Alana crept down the hall, now worried that Godfrey might awaken and find her stealing out.

It was a windy night, and boughs scraped the castle walls, making her start, while shutters shook. A rat even raced across the stairwell, almost causing her to cry out. Eventually she reached the hall below. It was empty, as she had expected. If they had more soldiers, it would not be.

Alana hurried through it, feeling some guilt. She paused before the front door, glancing back, almost expecting to see Godfrey standing there, his look one of accusation and hurt.

There was no avoiding it. He would learn she was gone in the morning, and she would have to invent an excuse for her absence yet again before she returned to Brodie.

It was still snowing when she crossed the courtyard. Seamus met her in the stables, holding her horse for her. A satchel was tied to the saddle. Another horse was also saddled, and one of his sons held the reins. “I wish ye’d behave like other ladies,” he said.

She touched his cheek. “I am not like other ladies, but you already know that. I will be back soon. And, Seamus? Thank you.”

He shook his head, clearly unhappy. But Alana knew he would not ask her why she was leaving Brodie a second time. He had been the stableman when her mother was Brodie’s mistress, and he was as loyal as a Scot could be. When she had told him she had a trip to make, he had offered one of his sons as a guide. Ranald had not returned and Seamus clearly did not suspect Alana of knowingly bringing a spy from Bruce’s camp into their midst, as he was still willing to help her. Craig was one of Brodie’s few soldiers, but just then, she needed him more than Brodie did.

They mounted up and set off.

* * *

A
LANA
WONDERED
IF
she would freeze to death, now that they were almost at their destination.

It had snowed for two entire days, on the one hand keeping the temperatures more reasonable, but on the other slowing them down considerably. They had only paused to rest for a few hours every night, taking shelter in passing farmhouses. Time was not on their side.

They were on the third day of their journey, and its last leg. They had reached Loch Maree, which was partially frozen, Slioch Mountain looming on its northwestern side. The snow had stopped the previous night, and the temperature had dropped. Alana’s fingers and toes were frozen beneath her gloves and boots. So was her nose. The moisture from her eyes was solidified on her cheeks.

“We will be there in hours, Alana,” Craig said, smiling. His nose was bright red, and ice clung to his beard. But he did not seem otherwise affected by the cold. “Do ye wish to stop? There is no one on the road. I can make a fire, to warm ye up a bit.”

She shook her head. Bruce had to learn of the attack immediately. She shivered, her teeth chattering in a spasm that was occurring with more and more frequency. She caught Craig looking at her without his usual smile, very alarmed by her condition.

She tried to speak. “I am f-f-f-fine.”

“We should stop and make a fire. Ye need to eat.”

“N-n-n-no.”

They were on the banks of the loch now, approaching from the southeast. Alana tried to see the topmost ridges of the mountain. Not only did it seem impossible to see all the way up it, she saw no sign of Bruce or his men.

Suddenly she was frightened. What if Bruce wasn’t at Slioch? Had he moved? Or could Sir Alexander have been mistaken?

Buchan had spies close to Bruce, close to Iain. What if they knew of her treachery? What if Sir Alexander had sent her to Slioch on purpose, knowing Bruce was not there?

Alana felt dizzy. She was clinging to her saddle, a beautiful waterfall on her right. Ice clung to the rocks as the water poured over it.

Craig rode ahead of her, and Alana looked back at the waterfall. The water danced over the rocks, brightly white, almost silver...she stared down into the lake. The water there was dark and blue, silent, deep, beckoning....

No! She thought in panic. She knew what was within those dark, secretive depths....

She saw Iain smiling at her. She wanted to ask him if he had forgiven her, but before she could speak, Buchan appeared behind him, enraged, a sword in hand. In horror, Alana realized her uncle was about to murder Iain.

She screamed as the sword came down, and then she hit the snow, falling through it, deeper and deeper, until she saw only white before complete darkness.

* * *

T
HE
BURNING
PAIN
awoke Alana. Her fingers, her toes and her nose were on fire. Tears of agony blinded her.

“It will pass,” someone said.

She began to shiver violently, helplessly. Someone held her feet and rubbed them, someone else held her hands, thawing them.

“Add more wood to the fire!”

She was in so much pain it took her a moment to realize that it was Iain ordering the fire stoked.

Her heart lurched wildly. She had left Brodie with Craig three days ago! She had almost frozen to death...but she had found Iain, at last!

“Drink this, Alana,” Iain said.

She opened her eyes and saw him staring grimly at her. He was forcing a mug to her lips.

She tried to smile at him, but was too frozen to do so. And then she remembered that she had had another vision—a terrible one.

“Drink, Alana,” he ordered.

Alana took a sip. The wine was warm and spiced. Its heat crept through her.

He put the mug down, picked up her hands and rubbed them gently. “Ye will not die from the cold today,” he said tersely. “But ye might have died, had ye spent another few hours in the snow.”

Her stomach churned. “Iain,” she tried to say. Her lips were blistered from the cold and it hurt to speak.

He held her hands against his chest. “I will shout at ye for being ten times the fool another day.”

Did he care? “Iain,” she said, through her cracked lips. She was in his tent, she saw. A fire was in the center, but holes in the hide allowed the smoke to escape.

“I am here, Alana. Do not speak, yer lips are bleeding.” He turned and a woman appeared, blonde and freckled, in a long leine and a fur cloak. She dabbed a salve on Alana’s mouth and nose.

What day was it? Bruce was going to be attacked! “No. Iain. Please.” She struggled to sit up.

He instantly put his arm around her and helped her. Alana put her hands on his chest and whimpered, for her fingers hurt terribly—but not as much as before. He wrapped her hands in his.

For one moment, she closed her eyes and laid her cheek on his chest. The pain was passing. The cold had burned her extremities. She would look later to see if she had lost a finger or a toe.

Alana realized she was nestled in Iain’s arms, and that he had his chin on top of her head as he held her hands. He had forgiven her, she thought. Either that or he cared so much about her that what he thought was her betrayal no longer mattered.

“Impatient, headstrong wench,” he said.

She looked up at him. “I have come...to warn you.”

His gaze narrowed. He handed her the warm wine again. She took another sip. And another one.

He set it down and Alana took a breath. “Buchan plans to attack you at Slioch on Christmas Day.”

His eyes widened. “Christmas is but four days away!”

So she had not been unconscious for long. Craig must have brought her here very recently, before departing back to Brodie.

“Are you sure, Alana?”

“I have risked my life to warn you.... Yes, I am certain.”

His eyes wide, he stood. “I will be back. Meg will take care of ye until I return.” He left the tent immediately.

Alana lay back on the pallet, closing her eyes. She had done it. She had warned Iain. Now she must pray that there was enough time to move the army or mount a proper defense.

She immediately thought of her father, praying she had not put him in jeopardy. She did not want to think about her vision of his death just then.

“Do ye wish for more wine, my lady?”

Alana glanced at the servant, and felt wary. Who was this? She was Alana’s own age, a pretty blonde with a small nose and vivid blue eyes. She had seen women at Bruce’s other camp at Concarn, but they had been camp followers—the kind of loose and impoverished women that were always present among an army. Alana did not like the fact that this woman was so pretty and so unworn. She did not like the fact that she was tending Alana on Iain’s behest.

“Yes, please,” Alana said, struggling to sit up. She used her hands and cried out as she did so.

The woman hurried to her. “Try not to use yer hands, my lady. Do they feel better? They have been terribly burned. I was hoping to bandage them, but Iain told me to wait. My name is Meg.”

Alana was now sitting, and she allowed the other woman to help her sip the wine. “Are you his lover?”

Meg looked at her, flushing.

Alana looked away instantly.

“So ye love him,” Meg said. “To ride across the Highlands to warn him of an attack.”

She slowly glanced up. “Yes, I love him. How did you meet?”

“I am the Macleod’s youngest daughter.” She shrugged. “My husband fought for Iain and died a few months ago.” She stared closely now. “Ye must be very beautiful, when yer not frozen and blue. Are ye a lady?”

“No.” She hesitated. She did not think Meg a spy, but she decided not to reveal her identity, although it would probably come out soon enough. As they stared at one another, the tent flap opened, and Robert Bruce strode inside. Iain followed him in.

Alana started, as Bruce pulled up a stool and sat down beside her. She began to flush. “Your Grace.”

He picked up her hand and looked at her fingers, then laid it in her lap. He tilted up her chin, forcing their gazes to meet. His blue eyes were kind. “Send the other woman away,” he said.

Iain asked Meg to leave the tent, and she did.

“Is it true?” Robert Bruce asked.

Alana nodded. “Yes, Your Grace.”

He studied her, his gaze lingering on her cracked lips. “You have risked your life to warn us of this attack.”

She nodded again. “I did not expect it to be so cold, or Slioch to be so far.”

“I am very pleased with you, Alana,” Robert Bruce said.

Alana felt her eyes widen impossibly. She looked past Bruce at Iain. She wanted to ask him if he now realized that she loved him—if she had proved herself.

“You will be rewarded for your courage and your loyalty,” Bruce said flatly. He stood. “We will march at dawn. Make certain we leave our best scouts here and that Buchan is remarked before he ever reaches Loch Maree’s shores.”

“Aye, Your Grace.”

Bruce turned back to her. “I am sorry for what you have suffered—and amazed, still. Now I can truly call you my friend, Mistress Alana.”

Alana stared after him as he left, stunned. Then Iain knelt beside her.

“I have a great deal to do between now and the dawn. But ye must rest so ye can travel.”

Alana was alarmed. “Iain, I cannot bear even the thought of the journey home.” She was afraid she might die this time. And she did not know what she would say to Godfrey about her absence.

He smiled slightly at her. “Yer not going home. We will speak about it later. For now ye must rest, and thank God ye have all yer fingers and toes.”

She smiled at him, her heart dancing wildly. “I am forgiven? You trust me?”

“Yer forgiven,” he said. He stood. “Meg will attend ye.”

She felt her smile fade. “I don’t want her here.”

“Worry not, Alana. She means nothing to me.” Then he turned and left.

CHAPTER TEN

T
HEY
HAD
RIDDEN
down Slioch Mountain at sunrise, on a well-used but icy road that went down the ridge’s back side, and continued south through Macleod land. They had not paused, and by the afternoon they were traveling through the great forests of Glen Carron. It was close to sunset now. They had reached the northern shores of Lochalsh, and a camp was rapidly being erected.

Alana slowly dismounted, as exhausted as she was cold. She hadn’t realized an entire army could move so swiftly, and endure such a determined pace for so long.

“My lady?” Meg took her reins, having dismounted, as well. The two women had ridden side by side; Meg had been ordered to attend Alana, never mind that Alana would have preferred the other woman to remain far behind.

Alana was taking off her mittens. She rubbed her frozen fingers together, aware of the small prickling of pain. Her toes tingled hurtfully, too.

“It is not unusual, after such frostbite, to have some discomfort.”

She whirled and saw Iain sliding from his huge black charger, his fur barely drawn over his shoulders. She had seen him several times during their journey. He had made a point of riding over to her to ask after her welfare. “I think I am fine,” she said, although she was not sure. “It doesn’t hurt the way it did yesterday.”

“I am sorry ye had to ride like this, today.”

Alana met his gaze. It was openly concerned, and she could not doubt that he still cared for her. Meg took their horses away. “How long will we stay here?”

“’Tis a good place for us to rest. MacDonald kin control these lands. We will stay a few days, as the men have ridden hard since we left Concarn.”

There was more relief. Her legs ached from so much riding in the past few days, and her back hurt, too. She was not a warrior, accustomed to such exertion.

Iain took her hands in his and glanced at them. Instead of releasing her palms, he gripped them tightly, smiling at her. “I’ve seen worse. Ye’ll be fine.”

She moved closer to him, her skirts brushing his thighs. “I could not bear it when you were angry with me.”

His gaze darkened, but not with anger. How she recognized the slow burning gleam. “I am still angry.... Ye could have died, crossing the northwest Highlands in the winter!”

She pulled her hands free of his and placed them on his chest. “I could not sit idly by, allowing you to be ambushed, not when I had learned of my uncle’s plans.”

“So ye have chosen sides.” He covered her hands with his, holding them against his chest.

Alana tensed. “I chose you, Iain, over my father, but I do not want anything ill to befall him.” She prayed yet again that her vision of her father’s death had been wrong.

“Ye almost sound as if ye know he will be in jeopardy.”

They should not have secrets between them, not now, Alana thought. How she wished to tell him about her visions. But she did not dare, not now, not yet.

“I haven’t had a chance to speak with you. Sir Alexander came to Brodie with Buchan. I finally met him a second time, after all of these years.” Her breath caught with some lingering pain. She looked away.

He tilted up her chin. “And he has hurt ye again?”

So many thoughts went through her mind, and she could not speak. She thought of her mother, who had loved him, and now she could understand why. She thought of her sisters, whom Sir Alexander loved, so much so he did not want either of his daughters to marry Iain. And then there was her life.

She could not imagine how her sisters must feel, knowing they were so well loved. At least she had Eleanor.

“Your tent is ready,” she said.

He glanced behind them. His tent had been erected, his banner flapping in the breeze above it. “What did he say, Alana, to distress ye so? What did he do?”

She tried to pull away, but he still clasped her hands. She gave up and said, “I am growing cold, standing here like this.”

“So ye will not speak of him?”

Alana had the urge to cry. “Maybe,” she whispered, “another time.”

He studied her closely. “Bruce wishes to speak with me. Why dinna ye rest, and we will sup together in a few more hours.”

Alana felt as if she had been given a reprieve. But when he released her hands, she clung to him. She had risked her life to warn Iain of the ambush because she loved him. She let his wrists go and slid her hands up his broad, hard chest. “Will you come in with me?” she asked.

“I will come to ye later,” he said.

Alana shook her head as she whispered, “No, come now. I have missed you and I need you.”

His eyes blazed. Before he could think of his king again, she took his hand and tugged him with her into the tent. She saw Meg within, unrolling the rug to cover the snowy ground. His stool, small table and pallet had already been set up. “Leave us, please,” Alana said.

Meg’s eyes widened. She looked between Alana and Iain, and at their clasped hands. Then she hurried past them and left.

“What do ye plan, wench?” Iain said softly.

Alana’s heart was slamming uncontrollably in her chest. She dropped his hand and tossed her two furs onto the pallet, making the bed for them. As she straightened, Iain seized her from behind.

He locked her in his embrace and kissed the side of her neck. “Temptress.”

Alana wriggled against him, spooning against his huge, hard arousal. “I think
you
have missed
me.
” One of his sheathed swords bumped her calf.

He pushed her down onto the pallet, coming down on top of her. “I think ye have quickly learned how to entice a man.” He kissed her neck again, slowly lifting her skirts and running his hands over her bottom.

Alana gasped when his fingers touched her. He laughed at her whimper of pleasure and wrapped her in his arms and thrust deep. “Iain!” Alana gasped.

“Ye tempt me as no other,” he gasped back.

They surged hard against one another for a few moments, and then Iain flipped her over. Alana wrapped her legs around his waist and cried out in a shocking release. He grunted in satisfaction, moved harder, and gasped in his own climax.

Alana held on to him, hard. Tears arose. She had missed him so much. She kissed his shoulder. She had never been as grateful that they were no longer at odds. She must never allow anything to come between them again!

He kissed her cheek. “Are ye crying?” He sounded surprised.

“No.” She caressed his broad, strong back. Then, “Yes. Just a little.”

He held her in his arms, and his embrace tightened. “Dinna cry,” he whispered.

“I am so grateful,” she whispered back, “that we are no longer at odds.”

His gaze was searching. He released her slowly, sitting up. “Bruce is waiting. I’ll be back as soon as I can.”

Alana sat up, adjusting her clothes as she did so. She nodded. “Hurry.”

He smiled at her, eyes darkening. “Impossible wench.” Alana felt her smile fade after he left. She took up one of the furs, wrapped it around herself and hugged her knees to her chest.

She was deeply in love. Iain had forgiven her, that much was clear, and they were lovers again. But now what?

She had been successful in warning him of the Christmas Day ambush. When she had learned of Buchan’s plans, she hadn’t had to think twice about what she must do. She could never let Iain be surprised and attacked, she had had to warn him—to protect him.

She now realized the extent of what she had done. For all intents and purposes she had spied on her uncle and her father, even if that had not been her deliberate intention. She had purposefully betrayed them. She had revealed their war plans to their enemy.

Buchan would imprison her as a traitor if he ever found out. Or he might do far worse. He would be within his rights to hang or behead her for treason, if he so chose. Having seen his temper, and knowing how he felt about his own wife, she thought he might choose to execute her.

Had she chosen sides in this war without even realizing it? She had wanted to protect Iain, not betray her own family! But now the betrayal was done. And having betrayed Buchan, how could she ever return to Brodie?

Dismay flooded her. Brodie was her home. It had belonged to her mother! She tried to think of a plausible excuse for leaving Brodie, but her mind was blank. The best she could come up with was that she had decided it was time to meet her sisters. Would Godfrey believe that? Would Duncan? Would Buchan?

She could probably convince Godfrey of almost anything. As she thought of her sisters, there was more dismay.

Bruce was possibly planning a marriage for Iain to Alice, while Buchan hoped for a marriage to Margaret. She did not think Iain would ever betray Bruce. But if Buchan was defeated, as she was certain he would be, Alice was ripe for the plucking. How would she stop him from marrying such a great heiress—her own sister?

The answer was simple. She could not force Iain to heel. He was a powerful and ambitious man. When the day came where Buchan was defeated, and he was presented with Alice as a bride, he would accept her if he wished to do so—there would be no stopping him.

Alana covered her face with her hands, her elbows on her knees. Her visions thus far had always come true. Buchan would be defeated; Bruce would reign supreme as King of Scotland. And her father was going to die....

What of her last vision? She would have to warn Iain that Buchan was going to try to kill him. At least she hadn’t seen the final blow, or his head being severed from his body!

Alana did not know what to do. She was just a bastard daughter who had been forgotten, a warrior’s mistress who could be cast aside at any time, and a witch most people feared. She could not depend on her father or her family, she knew that, and as much as it pained her, she really could not depend on Iain, either. Where did that leave her?

She would have to take care of herself when the time came, when Buchan disowned her, when Bruce became Scotland’s one true king....

And all she had was Brodie. It was all she had ever had.

She sat up straight. Brodie would be hers. Bruce was very pleased with her now.

Alana stood abruptly. She had risked everything to warn Iain—and Bruce—of the ambush. She must collect her reward from Robert Bruce.

Alana stepped to the tent flap and opened it slightly, peering outside.

Meg rushed over. “Are ye hungry, my lady?”

Alana gazed past her. Some campfires were lit, cook pots hanging over them. Bruce’s tent was in the camp’s precise midpoint, surrounded by a sea of hide tents, his yellow-and-red banner flying above it in the gathering dusk. “I must speak with the king,” she said.

Meg started. “He is with his commanders, my lady. Ye cannot interrupt.”

No, she could hardly interrupt. And then she saw a group of men leaving Bruce’s tent. Iain was with them. She trembled with nervous anticipation.

He saw her and quickened his stride. Alana waited for him to cross the camp, not moving until he had reached her. “Is something amiss?” he asked immediately.

“Iain, when can I speak with the king—about my reward?”

It was a moment before he spoke. “Ye wish to press him for Brodie?”

She had a flashing image of herself as mistress of Brodie—receiving Alice and Iain there. “Yes.”

“Let us go. Bruce is in a cheerful mood. If he will see ye now, this would be a good time.” He took her arm.

Alana glanced at him as they walked toward Bruce’s tent. “You approve?”

He smiled slightly. “Brodie belonged to yer mother. I approve.”

Alana faltered. His smile was warm and she realized he genuinely wished for her to have Brodie.

“Why are ye surprised, Alana?”

“Sometimes,” she said carefully, “I feel as if you truly care for me.”

He gave her a quick, odd look.

Two soldiers stood guard outside Bruce’s tent. They moved aside for Iain without hesitation. Becoming terribly nervous, Alana waited outside as Iain went in. She ignored the two soldiers, who glanced curiously at her with some guarded male appraisal. She was accustomed to being regarded with fascination and fear, but no one in Bruce’s camp knew of her abilities. She was being looked at as an ordinary woman.

It was so pleasant.

Iain opened the flap and gestured. Alana summoned up her courage, and hurried inside.

Bruce sat with two other knights at a small table, drinking wine. He smiled widely at her. “I always have time for a beautiful woman, Mistress Alana,” he said.

Alana curtsied. “Thank you, Your Grace.”

He gestured for her to take a seat; the table was flanked with two benches, as well as his chair and a stool. Alana took the stool. Iain stood behind her, and Bruce handed her a cup of wine. “This is Gilbert Hay and Sir Robert Boyd,” he told her. “Two of my most loyal friends.”

Alana nodded at the men. Their stares were direct and very intent. But then, they knew she was Buchan’s niece.

“Are you feeling better today?” Bruce asked. “We worried about you, mistress, having to travel in the cold after your recent ordeal.”

“It seemed warmer today,” Alana said.

“It is always warmer when one travels south,” Bruce said. He drained his wine and set the mug down. “Iain tells me you have come to request your reward.”

Alana was grateful Iain had spoken so forthrightly. “Will it displease you, Your Grace, that I am so bold?”

“Nothing you do right now could displease me, mistress. You are high in my favor. Speak your mind.”

There would never be a better moment, she thought. “Brodie is all I have left of my mother and the great le Latimer family,” she said. “Your Grace, my father abandoned me before I was born. He was betrothed to Joan le Latimer even as he pursued and won my mother. He told me himself, recently, that he loved my mother, but could not go against his father, and did not even think of doing so. His wife, Joan, knew of me from the beginning, and because she had no kindness in her heart, I was abandoned, forgotten.... I was raised as a commoner by Lady Fitzhugh, and given over to Duncan of Frendraught as his ward. I have had nothing from my father my entire life, and I have had nothing of my mother’s or her family’s, either. But I covet Brodie. I covet Brodie with my entire being, my entire heart. Had my father cast off Joan and married my mother, Brodie would be mine.” Bruce was listening intently—everyone was—and his expression was hard to read. “Duncan has many estates. Godfrey will inherit all of them, as he is an only son. I am asking you for Brodie Castle.”