A Sword Upon The Rose (15 page)

Supper was being served, and everyone was eating and talking at once. Except for Alana, as she had no appetite.

She stared at her plate, a piece of fish resting there, aware of Iain, who was in conversation with Bruce, and acting as if he did not even know her. Pain knifed through her heart.

Had he ever loved her?

She had never dreamed he would feel so betrayed by her deception, or that he would believe her a spy. She had believed he would be angry but he would forgive her. And she had hoped he would protect her from Robert Bruce.

He had not.

“Has anyone else fallen ill since we attacked Elgin?” Iain was asking.

“No. The five men who became sick are almost well,” Bruce said. He leaned back in his chair, his glance straying to Alana. Their eyes met and she realized she had been staring; she flushed and looked away.

“When those men fell ill, I truly feared a plague of some kind,” Bruce said. He was grim. “But no one else has become ill.”

“I think ye made the right decision to retreat,” Iain said. “If ye had been right, and it was the plague, our entire army could have died by the next night. Ye could have been captured, Yer Grace, with no one to defend ye.”

So that was why they had retreated, Alana thought, staring at her plate. The fish had been smoked whole, probably in the fall, and its lifeless eyes stared up at her. She picked up her utensils and removed its head from its body. God, she was ready to weep.

Bruce had commanded her to spy upon her father and her uncle. What was she to do?

Horror accompanied her heartbreak. He wished for her to prove her love for Iain? She was more than ready to do so, but not by spying upon her family! She could not imagine betraying them that way.

“I have decided to wait until next week to march,” Bruce said. “It is pleasant enough here. If no one else becomes ill, we can be satisfied that no new and strange plague has befallen us.”

Alana slowly cut a piece of white meat from the fish. As she ate it, she did not know what she would do. She could not let their love end this way. She had to prove herself to Iain. But she could not spy on her father and the Earl of Buchan. Could she?

If anything, shouldn’t she tell them that Bruce would march next week?

A buxom maid was refilling Bruce’s mug with wine. She turned to Iain, her smile coy, trying to catch his eye as she poured for him. Iain nodded at her, unsmiling.

Dismay pierced through her. Iain hadn’t noticed the maid’s interest, but for how long? Alana stared as the pretty redhead brushed her breast against his arm as she straightened and moved away from the table.

But Iain continued to stare into his mug, as if deeply in thought. She glanced at Bruce and stiffened—he was watching her closely. He knew she was distraught at being ordered to spy, and now, dismayed by the other woman. He turned to Iain and Alana heard him say something about Nairn.

She briefly closed her eyes. She could not wait to get back to the tent and crawl into the pallet and bury herself under the covers—and cry. Then she realized she did not know where she would be sleeping that night. But she doubted it would be in Iain’s tent.

“There were no surprises,” Iain was saying. But then he glanced at her.

She met his regard, but he instantly averted his gaze. She realized they were talking about Nairn, and Iain had just thought of finding her in the tower, as a prisoner, which had been a surprise. She looked away, but she could not help listening. And if they did not want her to hear, they would have sent her away.

“I have not forgotten how easily we took Nairn—and your part in such a triumph,” Bruce was saying. “And yes, there were really no important surprises, other than that of Mistress Alana.”

“I have brave men, men I trust,” Iain said, clearly refusing to look at her. “And Buchan and Duncan fled like the cowards they are. They were easy to rout, Yer Grace, and I look forward to doing so again.”

“Your men are my best soldiers. I am hoping your cousin Angus will give us another army soon.”

“I am happy to speak with him on yer behalf,” Iain said.

“And I may have you do so, soon.” Bruce glanced at Alana, and their eyes caught. She realized she could not help herself from staring at the two men.

“And we have spoken in the past of your reward for serving me,” Bruce said, finally moving his gaze back to Iain. “Since Nairn, I have had some time to think upon the kinds of lands I wish to grant you. When this war is done, Iain, you will rebuild Nairn and it will be yours. You have earned Nairn.”

Iain stared, wide-eyed. Alana stared openly now, too.

“Thank ye, Yer Grace,” Iain said harshly. He was clearly stunned, but pleased.

Of course he was pleased. Alana would be pleased for him, too—it would be a great and important stronghold, once rebuilt—but Nairn was Buchan territory.

If Bruce won the war, Iain would be the lord of Nairn. He would probably also be the lord of Brodie, which had been under Nairn’s control for decades. She did not know what to think.

“And that will not be all, Iain, you deserve more than just Nairn,” Bruce said, cutting into her thoughts. “You need a wife—an heiress with great, significant lands.”

Alana stared at Bruce, incredulous, and he stared back at her.

Of course Iain would marry an heiress one day. He fought for Bruce for gain, not sentiment...all men wished to marry heiresses, especially younger sons. But she felt even more ill than before.

The king smiled at her. “Have you no appetite, Mistress Alana? Or does the fish displease you?”

Her fists clenched in her lap. She hated Robert Bruce! “I have no appetite, Your Grace.”

He studied her. “Surely you expect Iain to marry one day.”

She flushed. “I have not thought about it.”

“Do you know where your father is now, mistress?”

Alana had been rigid, but now, she was impossibly so. “No, Your Grace.” How adeptly and swiftly he had changed the subject! Was his talk of a wife for Iain a trap, to lure her into a state of dismay, so she could not think clearly? Because she was dismayed, whether rightly or wrongly so!

He glanced at Iain. “It is ironic, actually, but Mistress Alana’s sister is an heiress—one I have thought about for a long time.”

Alana froze.

“Do you not have a sister, Mistress Alana? A half sister?” Bruce asked.

Iain turned to her.

She could barely speak. “I have two half sisters....”

“I am speaking of Buchan’s heir, Lady Alice Comyn,” Bruce said.

Alana choked and shot a glance at Iain. My God, what was this?

“You do know that Buchan has no other direct heirs. If he is to die, Lady Alice inherits the earldom.”

Alana realized she was clawing the wood table with her short, chipped fingernails. She glanced from Bruce to Iain wildly. She had not realized that Alice was next in line to inherit Buchan’s earldom!

“I have plans for the earldom when I defeat Buchan,” Bruce said. His tone had hardened, and his eyes were dark with lust now—bloodlust. “I will carve it up and give away the pieces to my best, most loyal men.”

Iain was staring at her. He turned to Bruce slowly, his eyes as dark, as wide, as before. “Whoever marries Alice will have a legitimate claim to her lands.”

“Yes,” Bruce said. He suddenly drained his wine and stared at Alana. “So tell me, mistress, where do you think your father is?”

“I last heard of him when he was at Elgin, defending it from you.”

“That is no answer. You have appeared to care about Sir Alexander, even if you do not know him because he abandoned you. Do you not ask after him?”

She managed to nod, aware that he wished to inflict even more pain on her. He had succeeded. “All of the time!”

“Good, then continue to do so. I wish to know where he is, and soon. I may approach him with an offer for Alice.”

Alana was suddenly sick to her stomach, violently so.

“Buchan, however, remains at Elgin. I have spies there.” Bruce stood. “He is seeking more allies, mistress. He needs more friends to fight against me if he even thinks to win. He knows it and he has summoned the Earl of Ross and Sir Reginald Cheyne, amongst others. You will tell me who his new friends are.”

“How will I do that?” Alana gasped. She was still trying to comprehend what Bruce had been saying. Had he suggested he might marry her sister to Iain? Did he mean to contact her father about such an alliance?

“I am certain a clever woman like yourself will find many ways to prove her devotion to her lover,” Bruce said.

Alana stared, aghast. She realized all the men had risen to their feet, out of respect for their king. She alone remained seated. Slowly, she got up.

“I look forward to your answers, mistress. And, Alana? Once you become my friend, you will be well rewarded, too.” With that, he turned and strode from the hall.

Alana held on to the table, her knees buckling. Iain seized her elbow.

At first, she thought he meant to offer her his support. But when she looked at him, his face was hard, and he averted his eyes.

Alana looked away.

* * *

A
LANA
COULD
NOT
keep up with Iain. His strides were rapid, but that was not the reason why. She was beyond shock, and she felt ill—so much so that she could not move swiftly. She stumbled time and again.

He did not slow to help her, and he kept his grasp upon her arm. It was dark out now as they crossed the frozen yard. Alana wanted to know where they were going—they seemed to be heading to his tent. She did not believe she would sleep there, but at least he had not left her locked in the cellars in the manor.

Not that anything mattered now. All she could really comprehend was that she was commanded to spy upon her very own father, and that Iain might be awarded her sister in marriage.

When they reached his tent, she was losing the last of her composure. How she needed to cry in despair, in fury. But she fought the rising flood. She must not cry in front of him.

He pushed open the tent’s flap door, finally releasing her arm. She went inside ahead of him, stumbling again.

She heard the flap door drop closed. Oh, God. How could he be so cold, so cruel? And could Bruce really intend to marry him to her sister—one of the greatest heiresses in the land? Men married for power all of the time, but she could not bear the notion. Alice already had everything.

He was behind her, lighting candles. She was acutely aware of him, of her pain, and that the tent was too small for them both. The interior became dimly illuminated. His shadow danced upon the hide wall. Alana fought her tears, the heartache. The pallet they had so recently shared was beside her. She refused to look at it.

As he lit the last candle, she slowly turned. “Would you consider marrying my sister?” she heard herself ask with a huge catch in her throat.

His expression was hard, strained. “She may be the greatest heiress in the north of Scotland. Aye.”

She inhaled. Had he ever cared about her? “How could you even think of doing such a thing?”

“Do ye think I left my home and went to war for a few trinkets and some gold?”

Of course not, she thought, but she did not say so. “She is my sister.” When he did not answer, she cried, “If you don’t care, why did you defend me to Bruce?”

“I dinna defend ye.” Warning was in his tone. He began to toss hides on the floor, one on top of the other.

“You told him I had confessed my identity—that was a defense,” Alana said hoarsely.

He straightened and whirled to face her. “It was no defense! I merely spoke the truth!”

His every word was a pointed barb—now he implied that she had not spoken the truth. “I wanted to tell you the truth at Boath Manor.”

“But ye dinna tell the truth. Ye lied! I was suspicious of ye when we first met—just as I am suspicious now.” He picked up a piece of rope.

She trembled wildly. “Iain, I know you feel betrayed, and it is clouding how you are thinking. So do not think. Look into your heart! Please!”

He walked over to her, taking her wrists.

“What are you doing?”

He tied her wrists in front of her, never once looking into her eyes. “Do ye think I trust ye?”

“I will not try to escape!”

He ignored her, knotting the rope and releasing her wrists.

“How can you do this?” She choked. She was so close to tears. “I thought you cared about me! This is not the behavior of a lover!”

“I dinna care!” he said harshly, his eyes blazing. “The woman I cared about doesn’t exist.”

“I do exist!” she cried, agonized. “Look at me! I am Alana le Latimer!”

“Aye, yer Buchan’s niece!” he cried back.

“So you will tie me up, keep me prisoner, force me to spy and marry my sister?”

He stepped back from her. “You’re Bruce’s prisoner, Alana, not mine.” He was as breathless as she was. “I am to guard ye, and well, until ye return to Brodie to spy for us. So aye, I will tie ye up while I sleep.”

Alana began to shake. “I trusted you,” she heard herself say.

“That was unwise.” He now flung the fur from his shoulders onto the pile of hides.

“I trusted you to protect me.” Tears finally blinded her. “I have trusted one person my entire life—Gran. And then, I trusted you!”

He flinched, his back to her. Then he stalked to the small table where a new stool had been placed and sat down, his back to her. He poured wine. His hand shook as he did so. “No, Alana—I trusted ye.”

Tears fell. She could not stop them. His back was so rigid with anger. Alana walked to him and laid her bound wrists on his shoulder. She was so afraid of what was happening to them. “I never meant to betray you,” she whispered.

He sat as still as a statue—for several harshly drawn breaths. “Stand back, Alana,” he warned.

She trembled. “I cannot lose you, Iain.”

“It’s too late.” And then he whirled, knocking over the stool, crushing her in his arms. His mouth claimed hers, hard and hurtfully.

He growled and increased the viselike pressure of his arms. He was rough, and she knew he wanted to cause pain. Fear warred with desire. Surely passion could bring them back together, she thought. Desperation arose.