A Sword Upon The Rose (23 page)

But her child would be a bastard. She did not want her child to suffer from lack of legitimacy, as she had. She did not want her child to be an outcast or worse because he or she was lowborn, without lands or titles. Her child would have no power in this world. What kind of life could she give him?

Now she realized her blood flow was late. She had had her monthly before she had been imprisoned at Nairn. That had been in early December. There had been nothing since, and it was early January now.

She told herself she was late and that was all. Hadn’t she just trekked across the Highlands and almost frozen to death?

A maid dropped a platter onto the floor, breaking into Alana’s thoughts. Fortunately it had been empty. She hurried forward to help the girl pick up the shards of pottery.

Boar and venison had been roasting slowly on spits in the kitchen hearths for most of the afternoon. Platters of meat filled up the entire table in the kitchen. Alana finished helping the young girl tidy up and straightened. She watched several kitchen maids carry the plates into the hall. One was Meg, who had ignored her since she had come down to help with supper.

Alana sighed. She did not want to go into the hall with everyone else. She took off her apron, sitting down on a stool at the table, which was empty now, except for a casket of wine.

Maybe Iain wouldn’t bother with her tonight. She did not feel relief at the thought—she felt dismay and hurt.

“Iain is asking for ye,” Meg said sharply.

Alana looked up. Meg scowled at her from the doorway, turned and left.

Alana got up grimly and left the kitchen. She walked slowly into the hall. As she did, the loud sound of conversation, laughter and ribaldry washed over her. The castle was, once again, in a very festive mood.

And why not? This time was a respite from blood and death.

Iain sat at the head of the table, eating. Every seat was taken. His men were eating ravenously, and there was a great deal of drinking. The maids and Meg were pouring wine almost as quickly as it was drunk.

Alana paused by one fireplace, not going any closer. Iain looked at her.

He wasn’t smiling, and she did not smile, either.

Meg was suddenly beside him, pouring him wine, and leaning into him with her breast as she did so. Alana tensed, but did not move. Clearly, Meg was seizing an opportunity.

Iain spoke with her, smiling, his posture easing as he did. When she left, he looked at Alana and gestured for her to approach.

It was a summons, she thought, and she slowly walked over to where he sat. Dread warred with her high state of nervousness.

“Ye will not eat?” he asked.

“Every place is taken.”

A brow lifted, as he knew what a pitiful excuse that was. “Did ye have a pleasant visit with Godfrey this morning?”

“Are you spying upon me?” she asked immediately. The moment she spoke she regretted it.

“Should I spy on ye, Alana? Have ye changed yer loyalties, again?”

Her fists clenched. “I thought I had proven myself at Slioch!”

“Ye did—fer a time. But yer a Comyn and yer a witch. Sit down.”

It was a command, and the man next to Iain leaped up, glancing uncertainly at her as he did before hurrying away.

“He fears ye,” Iain said with some surprise.

Alana slid onto the bench. Iain handed her his mug of wine, signaling Meg for another one. Alana gulped half of it down. “I told you yesterday. Men do not desire me—they fear me.”

Iain’s gaze narrowed. “If ye only have the sight, why would they fear ye?”

She faced him entirely, her temper rising. “For the same reason that you do not trust me—because they assume I have other powers!”

He stared at her for a moment, then sipped his wine. “What did Godfrey have to say?”

“Angus was there—did he not tell you what we spoke of?”

“He said Godfrey was in tears. He said ye cried, as well, and there was fighting and shouting.”

“I betrayed our friendship. But you know that. Godfrey is angry with me. I do not blame him.”

Iain studied her. “Ye still care for him.”

“I have lost a friend, but yes, I do.” She recovered some of her composure. “Will you send a ransom note, soon? I do not think it right that he is imprisoned because of me.”

“I will send a ransom note by the end of the week. Of course, when I am gone, ye could free him.”

“Is this a trap? He is your prisoner of war.”

Iain swirled his wine, then looked right into her eyes. “Yer mistress here, and when I am gone, ye will answer to no one.”

She flushed, looking back at him, thinking of his behavior toward her last night. She had awoken feeling like a common castle maid. She thought about what he had just said. She had not even considered freeing Godfrey when Iain left. “I do not feel as if I am the mistress of Brodie.”

“Bruce gave ye Brodie in return fer yer fealty, after ye served him well. No one can change that—except fer the king. Ye’d have to commit treason, Alana.”

She stared down at her wine. She could not lose Brodie now, not when it was all she had and it had only so recently been given to her. “I will not betray Robert Bruce.”

“That is good to hear,” he said.

“And when do you plan to leave?”

“In a month or so—after I make fortifications to the south wall. Are ye anxious fer me to go?”

Did she want him to leave? His being at Brodie now, with so much tension between them, was so painful. “I don’t know.” What she wanted to say was that she wanted their love back.

His stare was hard. “Ye have avoided me this entire day.”

She started, unable to look away. She thought about the previous night and said, slowly, “Yes.”

He shoved his plate and mug aside, folding his arms on the table. Leaning toward her, he asked, “Why?”

She did not dare accuse him of treating her like a common harlot, did she?

“Why, Alana?”

She wet her lips. “I was not pleased last night.”

He sat back, arms crossed. “I recall last night quite differently.”

His smirk ignited her as nothing else could. “I am not a harlot, to be used quickly and lightly, and left so easily the next day!”

His eyes remained surprised. Then he began to smile. “So ye needed more than what ye got?”

“Do not leer. You have never spent the night with me sleeping on your side, apart from me! You barely kissed me—we barely touched.”

His smile vanished. His cheekbones were tinged with red. “I did not mean to go to ye last night.” He spoke low, and leaned close. “But when the time came, I could not help myself. How can ye blame me fer thinking ye have put a dark love spell on me?”

She gasped. He actually believed she had bewitched him!

He abruptly stood. “If ye dinna want me to come to ye tonight, remove the spell.”

She could barely speak. “There is no spell!”

He gave her a dark look and walked over to the fireplace where some of his men stood. He kept his back to her as he was handed wine.

Alana could do nothing but stare, dismayed.

* * *

W
INTER
RETURNED
TO
the north with a fierce and savage intensity, the snow piling up outside the castle walls almost as high as the crenellations. Iain sent a ransom demand to Duncan, who remained at Elgin. News came that Bruce had fallen ill, and had retreated farther south, where he was Christina MacRuari’s guest. Like Angus Og, she remained one of his most powerful allies, but now, rumor held that they were lovers.

Alana took over the management of Brodie with determination, sending men in good weather to Nairn for provisions from the east, while Iain’s men spent any fair days hunting, bringing home more venison and boor. The fortifications to the south wall were postponed until the spring.

Alana spent every morning with Godfrey. He was cool, but grew less hateful, and she knew he began to look forward to her visits, no matter what he said. She gave him permission to write to his father, and Alana hoped Duncan would listen to his son’s plea and pay the demanded ransom, so he could be freed.

Iain continued to share her chamber—and her bed. And while their relationship had changed, there were times when Alana slept in his arms, and other times when there was an explosion of passion that neither could stop. On those occasions, she felt like the young girl he had first loved once again.

It was mid-February now. Alana began to worry that she was with child after all. And if she was, whose fault was it? She had not turned Iain away, not a single time.

“You are morose today,” Godfrey said.

Alana smiled quickly at him. They were seated side by side in front of the fire in his chamber. “I do not know why we haven’t had a reply from your father yet. Maybe you should write the earl.”

“Buchan gives even less of a damn about me,” Godfrey said harshly, and he stood. “It has been over a month since Brodie fell to Iain. Why haven’t you received a communication from either Buchan or your father?”

Alana wet her lips, shifting in her chair so she could look at him. “I have heard Buchan is in the south, plotting the war against Bruce with his allies. My father might be with him.”

“Alana, if you are suggesting that neither has heard of your treachery by now, you are mad.”

If only their receiving such news was the greatest of her concerns, she thought.

“What is wrong?” Godfrey asked.

She touched her belly. “I’m afraid I am finally with child.”

Godfrey paled.

Alana closed her eyes, instantly regretting telling Godfrey such a secret. She still felt terribly over taking Brodie from him, and that he was imprisoned because of her. She still cared about him as a friend, but she did not—and should not—trust him.

“So your lover doesn’t know?”

“He doesn’t know.” She opened her eyes. “Will you tell him?”

“Why would I have to? He will realize it soon enough.” Godfrey folded his arms across his chest. “Why won’t he marry you, Alana? He is a fourth son, a Highlander, with no lands, no titles, nothing except what Bruce has given him. It is hardly as if he is above you.”

She got to her feet. “Bruce wants him to have a great heiress.”

“Well, if Bruce wins this war, he will have many great heiresses to choose from. If Bruce loses, and Iain keeps his head and evades capture, he will return to Islay with nothing.”

Alana hesitated, feeling cold. “Bruce wants to give him Alice.”

“Alice?” It took Godfrey a moment. “Your sister?” He seemed aghast.

“You do not think it rough justice?”

“No. I do not think it justice, not of any kind.” Godfrey walked over to her. “Brodie is yours now. Perhaps this would be a good time to find a husband.”

“I have been thinking about it, and you are right,” Alana whispered. If she was with child, she should marry now and give her child the legitimacy she never had. Bruce had said he would find her a husband—perhaps she should send a letter to him.

Godfrey was staring at her. Alana realized he was saddened, for her—for them.

“Am I interrupting?”

Alana gasped, whirling. Iain stood in the doorway, his gaze sharp. How much had he heard?

He looked back and forth between the two of them, holding an untied but rolled-up parchment in his hand.

“I have heard from Duncan,” he said.

Godfrey paled. Alana walked to him and took his hand. “What does he say?”

“He says he is impoverished from this war, and cannot afford the ransom,” Iain said, handing him the vellum.

Godfrey realized Alana was holding his hand. He pulled away, taking the parchment, his expression twisted. He walked away from them both to read it.

Alana faced Iain. “You never come up here.”

His gaze was hooded. She could not tell what he had heard. “I received the missive and thought Godfrey would wish to know immediately.”

Last night, after he had made love to her, she had reached for him, instigating another bout of passion, this one wild and urgent. After he had fallen asleep, she had crept into his arms, sleeping that way for most of the night. “That was kind,” she said.

He suddenly tilted up her chin. “Godfrey is right. If Bruce loses this war and I escape with my head, I will run to Islay, very much like a dog with its tail between his legs.”

Her pulse pounded. He had clearly overheard the last part of their conversation—but had he heard them speaking of her possible pregnancy? “You would never turn tail and run.”

“I beg to differ. Sometimes it is the most clever of actions.” His smile faded. His gaze was searching.

Alana turned away. She did not want him looking into her eyes, not now.

Godfrey approached, distraught. “He said he can make payments. He said he will make a quarter payment in the spring. Will you accept that?”

Alana tensed, and Iain glanced at her briefly. “I have no use for ye otherwise, so yes, I will accept payments for yer ransom. But, Godfrey? I will not release ye until the entire ransom has been paid.”

Godfrey trembled, handing him the vellum. “You ask a king’s ransom.”

“Not truly,” Iain said. And then he turned to Alana, his expression serious. “Can ye come downstairs with me?”

She was alarmed, terribly so. He had heard that she was with child! “Is something amiss?” she asked with a slight smile.

Unsmiling, he said, “The messenger brought several letters, Alana, and one is from Sir Alexander.”

February 11, 1308—Berwick

My Dear Daughter, Alana,

Terrible news has reached us here in the south. We have learned that Iain MacDonald has taken Brodie and commands it, and that he holds Duncan’s son hostage. But there is more. Gossips claim that you have sworn fealty to the traitor, Robert Bruce, and have been rewarded with Brodie Castle. I cannot believe it.

My daughter, I know well that we are not close. But that does not mean that you are not
in
my heart, always. I am concerned for your welfare now. My brother, Buchan, is furious. We must put these rumors to rest.

It is said that Bruce is ill, and is the guest of Christina of the Isles. There will be no war now until the spring. As I write, Buchan has gone to Dundee, and I am returning to Balvenie. My daughter, I am inviting you to join me there, so we can put an end to these vicious speculations. As importantly, you can finally meet your sisters, Alice and Margaret, and at long last, we can be father and daughter for a time, until the war calls me back.