A Sword Upon The Rose (14 page)

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.”

“Then I am pleased ye still care for this savage.”

Alana found her hands creeping to his shoulders, her knees weak, her body on fire. She was agonizingly aware of him—his heat, his strength, his scent. “No matter what happens in this war, I will always care.”

His eyes darkened. “Ye berated me at Nairn. Ye strongly disapproved.”

“I did not approve—I can never approve,” she answered. She opened her hands and spread her fingers across his hard, broad shoulders.

“I dinna want to speak of the war now,” he said roughly.

How she now recognized his tone, his need. It was hard to breathe with her heart racing so swiftly. Now she recognized her own need, too.

Alana reached up and took his face in her hands, aware that no lady would ever do as she was doing. But she could not stop herself. She did not care who saw them, or what they thought. She kissed him.

He stiffened in surprise. Alana’s blood was rushing so violently in her veins that she felt faint. Holding his nape, she forced his mouth open, thrusting her tongue past his. And she kissed him even harder, with all the passion exploding inside of her.

Suddenly he reversed their roles, locking her in his embrace, and breaking the kiss. His eyes were heated, but wide with surprise.

It was a moment before she could speak. “I missed you, too,” she said. And it was the truth.

He suddenly swept her into his arms and carried her into his tent, using his shoulder to shove the flap door in. He strode to his pallet and laid her down, coming down on top of her in one fluid movement. Straddling her, he slid his arms behind her back. “If ye had refused to come, I would have come to ye at Brodie.”

She thrilled. Alana reached for the outermost buckle of his two belts, yanking on it. It came apart and fell from him, his sheathed swords sliding to the bed around them.

He caught her hand, jerking it aside as he came down on top of her, kissing her. Alana cried out, pulling at his leine, as their mouths mated furiously. His tongue deep within her, he unbuckled his second belt and flung it away. Alana jerked up his leine and he pulled on her skirts. Hot and hard, he surged into her.

And within moments, they were both crying out, Alana blinded by both pleasure and joy.

And then she was drifting back to the earth, aware of being in his arms, beneath him on the small pallet. He shifted to his side, taking her with him, and he laughed, the sound male and satisfied. “So ye have missed me, truly.”

She snuggled her cheek against the slab of his chest. “Is it not obvious?” She kissed his chest. “How shameful we are.”

“I am not ashamed.” He kissed her forehead. “There are hours left until we sup...” He slid his hand over her bare backside; her skirts gathered about her waist.

Alana could not think about anything other than making love now. She sat up, untying her girdle. The gleam in his eyes intensified as he watched. She tossed it aside.

Then she slowly removed her blue surcote. As slowly, she removed her long-sleeved lavender cote. Clad only in her linen chemise, she undid her braid and shook out her long, heavy waist-length hair and smiled.

He growled and pulled her down beneath him, ripping the chemise in two.

* * *

“Y
E
WILL
MEET
King Robert,” Iain said. “Bruce is here.”

Alana lay nestled under the wool blankets and a fur cover on his pallet; he was standing and fully dressed. She had never been as sated, and she had never wanted to avoid contemplation and reason more. But his words instantly caused alarm.

“Surely I have not exhausted ye so that ye cannot get out of bed?” he teased, grinning.

“But you have,” she said softly, her smile brief. She did not want to meet Bruce, not now, not ever. She slowly sat up, holding the fur that had covered them over her chest.

His smile faded. “What is amiss, Alana?” He pulled a stool close to the pallet and sat down upon it.

She hesitated. She had such a good rationale to continue to deceive him. Yet her heart raged against the deception. How could she continue to deceive him when she loved him so much?

And Alana knew if she dared to think, she would beat a hasty retreat. So she shut off all internal debate. “Iain.”

“What passes, Alana?” he asked quietly, unsmiling. “Why are ye so sad, so suddenly? So grim? Did I not please ye tonight? Or is something else the matter?”

“Of course you pleased me,” she answered. She knew she must tell him the truth—and not debate her decision. She could barely breathe or move, much less speak.

“Ye look as frightened as a deer caught in the archer’s sight.”

“I am frightened,” she breathed.

“Then ye must be very worried about yer loyalties,” he said grimly. “Is that it? Do ye worry about yer loyalty to Brodie—to Buchan—over me?”

She hugged herself. “I am not thinking about my loyalties now.”

But he pressed on. “Do ye still think of the burning of Nairn? Ye were angry with me.”

She tensed. “I do, but that is not what we must discuss.”

But his gaze was narrowed. It was a moment before he spoke. “If ye cannot be loyal to me, ye must be honest.”

She stared. This was an opening—one she must take. “I care so much about you, do you know that?”

His eyes widened with alarm. “I also care about ye, Alana,” he said carefully. He stood up.

“I fear for your welfare when you are in battle, yet at the same time, I do not want Bruce to succeed.”

“That is very honest—and a very difficult course to take.”

“It is very difficult. But there is more.” Holding the fur covers, Alana also stood. “I don’t want to lose you, Iain.”

“What is this dance, Alana? Why would ye lose me? We can be lovers, even if we are on opposite sides of the war. What do ye truly fear telling me?”

She felt tears arise. “I have been lying to you.”

His eyes shot wide. “How?”

“My mother is Elisabeth le Latimer—but I do know who my father is. I have been afraid, terrified, to tell you.”

He stared at her, surprised. “Who is yer father, Alana?”

She pursed her mouth while her heart exploded in her chest. “Please, forgive me. Sir Alexander...Comyn.”

For one moment, he simply stared, his expression frozen. Then shock filled his eyes.

CHAPTER SEVEN

A
LANA
WIPED
THE
tears from her cheeks. “Will you say something?”

“Yer the Earl of Buchan’s niece?” he asked, stunned.

Somehow Alana nodded. “I am sorry,” she whispered.

“Sorry?” He began to tremble. His cheeks were turning red. “Yer the niece of the king’s worst enemy, and yer sorry?”

“Very.”

“Yer Buchan’s niece, and yer sharing my bed!” he exclaimed.

He was now horrified. She was naked except for the fur, so she turned and found her clothing. Her back to Iain, she shrugged on her torn chemise, as quickly as she could. She had not even reached for her cote when he seized her arm from behind.

She cried out. “You’re hurting me!” His grip was brutal.

He whipped her around to face him, his eyes now blazing with the kind of fury she had prayed she would not see. “So Buchan sent ye to spy on me!”

“No!” she gasped. “Iain, how could you think such a thing?”

He shook her and she choked on a sob. “Easily! He sent ye to Boath Manor, did he not? And then he sent ye to Nairn—he left ye in the tower, for me to find!”

“No!” she screamed.

“Aye,” he shouted, shaking her. “Did he strike ye because ye refused to spy, at first? Or did he beat ye to mark ye, so ye could play upon my sympathies more easily? Have ye played me for a fool, Alana?”

Her arm was throbbing in pain. But that was nothing like the pain erupting in her breast. “Iain, dear God, I have hated deceiving you—I have feared just such a reaction!”

He flung her away, so hard she fell onto the pallet.

“Damn ye!”

Alana cowered as he turned and smashed the stool he had been sitting on with one blow from his fist. She had feared he would be angry, but she had never expected this!

She was terrified that Iain would never forgive her and that he might even hurt her.

The tent flap blew open, two Highlanders charging inside, swords raised. Alana cringed even more.

Iain looked almost blindly at them.

The men gaped at him and then at Alana.

Realizing she was more naked than clothed in the thigh-length cotton shift, Alana grabbed the fur cover and put it around her body again. She was sick, enough so to retch. Surely Iain would realize she was not a spy.

“Ye can lower yer swords and leave,” Iain said harshly. He was shaking as wildly as she was.

“Aye, Iain.” Both men glanced curiously at Alana again before ducking out of the tent.

As Iain turned, Alana flinched with fear. “Don’t hurt me,” she said.

He stared, breathing hard. “We hang spies,” he finally said. “We hang traitors.”

She cried out. “I am not a spy. I am your mistress! I have not betrayed you!”

He laughed at her without mirth. “My mistress?” He shook his head. “Get dressed.”

Alana did not move. “Iain, please, listen to me.”

He walked away from her instead, took up the pitcher of wine and drank directly from it. “Get dressed, Alana.” He finally glanced at her, his expression hard with anger.

She slowly slid from the bed, their stares locked. She felt like a trapped, hunted animal. “What do you intend? To drag me before Bruce? When you have not even heard me out?”

“He needs to know.”

“Will he really hang me?” she cried. “Would you allow it?”

“He is my king!” he shouted at her, flinging the pitcher across the tent.

She hugged the fur close to her body. “This cannot be happening. I came here because I love you. Surely you know that.”

“Dinna speak to me of love, Alana—not ever again!” he warned. “Only a fool would come here, or a spy. And yer no fool.”

Tears arose. She was going to lose him forever—and she would soon become Bruce’s prisoner—unless she could reason with him! “I am not a spy. How could I be? I met Buchan for the very first time at Nairn. He did not even know I had tended you at Boath Manor. Iain, please believe me.”

“I cannot believe such a story. I will not. I am not a fool, to be played as ye have done.”

“You are not a fool! You are one of the wisest men I know! Iain! I am telling you the truth—I happened upon you at Boath Manor, it was coincidence!”

“And ye just decided out of the goodness of yer heart to tend to my wounds?” He sneered. “I was suspicious, Alana—and I was right!”

“No.” How could she tell him about her visions now? “You are wrong.”

His gaze ice-cold, he walked over to her. She stiffened as he demanded, “Why did he hit you, Alana?”

She froze. Fear curdled within her. “I displeased him.”

“Because ye did not wish to spy?” He was scathing. “Or did yer uncle try to bed ye, as I first thought?”

The tears returned. “He did not try to bed me. I displeased him. I gave him news he did not wish to hear.”

“What news?” he demanded, towering over her.

Her heart thundered. How could she tell him about her visions now? And the one thing she could not do was tell him another lie.

“Ye cannot answer me!”

She cringed, expecting a blow. “Buchan wished to use me, yes!” she cried. “But not as a spy! At first I could not aid him, and when I could, he was furious with me.”

“If not as a spy, then what? As a whore? As my whore?” he roared.

“No,” she sobbed. “I cannot say!” She dared look up through her tears.

He was so furious—enraged. Alana thought he meant to strike her. But he did not. His hands shaking, he fisted them and put them to his sides. “Ye should have stayed at Brodie,” he finally said, panting. “But now I ken why ye fear Bruce so much.”

“Please, don’t take me to him.”

“He is my king, damn it.”

Alana gasped. “I hoped when I came here that if you ever found out about my father, about my family, you would protect me from Bruce.”

“Ye hoped wrong!”

Alana stared in disbelief. “No.”

He paced across the tent and shoved through the door. As he left, the flap slammed closed.

Alana began to shake all over again. Holding her knees, she buried her face there and wept.

* * *

A
LANA
WAS
DRESSED
and sitting on the pallet, when Iain returned. No more than an hour had gone by since he had left in a whirlwind of rage and suspicion.

She stiffened, her hands clasped tightly in her lap. He paused, holding the tent flap open, his face taut with anguish and anger. “Get up. Get yer fur.”

She was not quite able to move. “We need to speak.”

“There is nothing left to say. Bruce has summoned ye.”

She staggered to her feet. “You turned me in?”

He stared grimly at her. “He doesn’t know yet. But he has summoned us to the hall.”

Alana was breathing hard. “You haven’t told him about me?”

“I told him about ye, Alana, days ago, when I sent Ranald to fetch ye.” His mouth was turned down. “He found it curious that ye cared for me when I was wounded in Boath Manor and that Buchan locked ye up.” He made a harsh, mocking sound. “I made light of the matter, but the king sensed yer treachery, even then. Let us go.”

Alana’s mind raced. Iain hadn’t told Robert Bruce about her, not yet—but Bruce had summoned her to his hall. “Iain, I cannot go. I cannot meet Bruce. You cannot tell him who I am. I am not a spy, but he might hold me as a hostage! Neither Buchan nor my father would care. No ransom would ever be paid!”

“He is my king, and he has summoned us.” Iain caught her wrist.

Alana inhaled in pain. Her wrist was black-and-blue from his brutal grasp earlier, and she tried to pull away. He saw the state of her arm and let her go. And because she had not picked up her fur cloak, he did, and he threw it at her. Then he nodded for her to go.

Alana covered her shoulders with the fur, preceding Iain outside. She was about to meet Bruce, to whom Iain would falsely reveal her as a spy. She stumbled, incapable of walking normally.

He caught her arm. “Mayhap ye should have thought about the price ye would pay if ye were caught.” He guided her firmly forward. It was frigidly cold out, the skies blue and cloudless, and ground frozen underfoot. Ahead, smoke curled from the manor’s chimney.

“It never occurred to me, not even a single time, that you would think me a spy for my uncle.” Alana felt bitter. More tears moistened her eyes. “I was afraid you would be angry at being deceived, and that you might feel betrayed, but I never dreamed you would accuse me of such ruthless treachery.”

“And I never dreamed I’d be bedding Buchan’s niece.” But he glanced at her, his expression filled with pain.

“If only I had told you the truth when we first met! You would not think me a spy now!” Alana cried. She was so agitated that she stumbled again.

Iain caught her, putting his arm around her, and half dragged her to the manor’s heavy front door. He shoved it open and pushed her within, following.

She felt as if she were living a nightmare now. It was as if she were walking to her fate—her death—her legs moving, when she wished for them to stop. How could Iain do this?

The front door opened directly into the hall. It was dark and smoky inside. The hall’s slanted ceilings were timbered. Stag and boar heads were mounted upon one wall. A fire roared in its single hearth. Six makeshift tables had been set up, and each was entirely occupied. Alana’s gaze slammed over everyone present, and she finally saw the King of Scotland.

Robert Bruce sat at the head of one table, speaking to his men. But the moment they entered he turned and saw them. He smiled, his gaze slamming onto Alana.

Iain clasped her shoulder and propelled her forward, toward him. But he was not as forceful as he had been earlier. Alana trembled as they went to meet him. She did not know how her legs functioned properly.

She glanced up at Iain. “Please protect me,” she whispered.

Briefly, their gazes met. He instantly looked away.

Bruce was dressed in a red doublet and brown hose. Gold trimmed the doublet, as it did his fur-lined mantle. A large gold cross dangled from a chain about his throat. His blue eyes were piercing as they paused before him. Alana averted her eyes, not wanting to meet his gaze, as she curtsied.

“So this is the beautiful Mistress le Latimer,” Bruce said. “No wonder you could not live without her. How beautiful you are, mistress.”

Alana looked up at him. She could not speak to say thank-you, and did not think it mattered.

Bruce looked sharply at her and then at Iain. “What passes, Iain? Have I happened upon a lovers’ quarrel?”

“It is more than a lovers’ quarrel,” Iain said tersely.

Alana flinched, filled with dread. She gazed pleadingly at him.

“I have just learned she is Buchan’s niece,” Iain said.

Alana cried out, as Bruce’s eyes went wide.

“Her father is Sir Alexander Comyn,” Iain continued brusquely.

“Well, well, the enemy is in your bed,” Bruce said as if amused. He smiled slightly and turned thoughtfully away from them.

Alana seized Iain’s hand. He gave her an angry look and shook it off. “She claims she is no spy,” he said.

“Really?” Bruce faced them again. Now, he stared at Alana.

“Your Grace, may I speak?” Alana managed to ask.

“Please do,” he said, almost benignly.

“I am not a spy. I care deeply for Iain, and I have dreaded this day, when my conscience would force me to tell him about my father.”

Bruce studied her for a moment and looked at Iain. “She is so beautiful, it is almost impossible to deny her, is it not?”

“Yes,” Iain said, flushing.

“Mistress, why would we believe, even for a moment, that your father and your uncle did not send you to bed one of my best commanders?”

She had to look at Bruce—into his eyes—and she trembled with fear. “Everyone knows my father abandoned me before I was even born, that he has no care for me, and that my grandmother raised me. I met Buchan for the first time, my lord, at Nairn, a week ago! Is that not reason enough to believe me?”

“No, it is not. Your father may have abandoned you before birth, but he or Buchan could have solicited you last week or the week before.”

Alana felt helpless.

Iain said, “She confessed her identity to me, Yer Grace, freely, of her own will.”

Bruce started. “A point in her favor,” he said.

“Why would I confess if I were a spy sent by Buchan or Sir Alexander?” she asked. She gave Iain a grateful glance.

He looked away grimly.

“You might have confessed because you knew you were in jeopardy of discovery,” Bruce said. “In such a circumstance, such a confession is usual.” He leaned close. “No one plays these games of politics and intrigue as well as I do, my dear. I know every nook and cranny of the maze.”

She recoiled.

He straightened. “Buchan did strike you and lock you up—how can I not think it a trap meant to lure Iain into your fold? Unless, of course, you can explain why he would beat and imprison his own niece.”

Alana stared grimly. In that moment, she knew that, unless Bruce meant to hang her, she would not reveal she was a witch. Iain felt betrayed already. She could not imagine his reaction to the other piece about her.

“She will not say why she was beaten and locked up,” Iain said harshly.

“It doesn’t matter,” Bruce said suddenly. He laid his hand on Alana’s shoulder. “Even if she is a spy, I am prepared to forgive her.”

Alana cried out. What trick was this?

Iain seemed as stunned. “Yer Grace?”

“As long as she proves how much she cares about you. It will be a test.” Bruce did not smile now. His stare was like daggers.

“I do care,” she whispered. “What do you wish of me?”

“You will become my spy,” he said. “And you will spy on your father and Buchan for me, all in the name of love.”

Alana stared at him in horror.

“Well, mistress?” Bruce finally smiled. “How difficult could it be?”

She finally cried, “I know nothing of spying!”

“You seem clever—I am sure you will learn,” Robert Bruce said.

* * *

A
LANA
WAS
SEATED
at the table on Iain’s left side. Strangers filled the rest of the benches, some of them northern Englishmen, others Scots from the Lowlands. Iain was the only Highlander present. Bruce sat at the table’s head.