A Sword Upon The Rose (6 page)

He was disbelieving. “The vision was not clear? Or you will not tell me about it?”

Eleanor stepped forward. “We are sorry, my lord, truly sorry.”

Alana now regretted ever lying to Godfrey in the first place, and all for spite. But if she had not lied, she would not have been on the road near Boath Manor. Clearly, she had been meant to be on that road, although she still did not know why.

She thought of Iain, of his kiss and knew she must not allow her thoughts to go further.

“Buchan will not be pleased to hear of such a confusing vision,” he spat. He strode to the table and picked up a mug and drained it. Then he slammed it down. It was a moment before he faced her. “I am not pleased. I need details, Alana.”

Dismay flooded her. “Why will you tell my uncle about this small, confusing vision?”

“Why do you think I brought you here? I wish for you to help us! To help me! If your uncle doesn’t know about your visions, then I will be the first to tell him.” Duncan whirled and waved at a maid. “Wine, wench, bring me wine!”

Alana turned away. Did the Earl of Buchan even know that she had the sight?

Would her father have even bothered to mention that his bastard daughter was a witch? She simply did not know.

And what would happen when Buchan arrived? When her father arrived? Duncan now, suddenly, considered her valuable. Until now neither her father nor Buchan had thought about her. Was it possible that would change?

Would her uncle—her father—value her because she was a witch?

She felt no excitement. Instead, Alana wanted to cry.

Eleanor put her arm around her. “My lord, we are both fatigued from such an unusual journey. Could we retire?”

“I am not done with you.” Duncan turned his regard on Alana. “If you hid in the woods near Iain of Islay’s army...
did you see him?
”

Alana did not know what to say.

“Tell me the truth, Alana. Had you been in the woods, you would have stolen forth to witness the battle—I have no doubt! Well? Surely you would notice him!”

Alana wet her lips, shaken. “Why would you ask?”

“I was told Iain was wounded. There was a great deal of blood. Did you see him bleeding out? If I am very fortunate, he is dead!”

“There was blood everywhere! There were wounded men and the dead!”

Duncan stared angrily. “I think you enjoy lying to me. Well, you will not enjoy it when Nairn falls to those bloodthirsty Highlanders.”

Alana shivered and pulled her wool mantle closer.

“Is he such a terrible enemy, my lord?” her grandmother asked.

Duncan faced her. “Before he was given this army, he was but one more mad Highlander eager to slit our throats in the night. He preyed upon our ships on the western seas. Upon our merchants on the high roads. But that has changed. Bruce has come into the habit of having him advance first in every fray, to secure a path for Bruce’s larger army. He has not been defeated since his cousin provisioned him.” He turned his stare upon Alana, and she glimpsed dread and fear in his eyes. “If he takes Nairn, none of us will survive.”

Alana finally spoke, but thickly, “Is a peace possible?”

“No.” Duncan was vehement. “Bruce intends to be king—just as he intends to destroy the earldom of Buchan.”

And it seemed as if he was succeeding. The greater ramifications of the war began to sink in. Buchan destroyed, Brodie lost, her uncle and father hanged as traitors...

“If Nairn is attacked—if any of my castles are attacked—I will instruct my archers to place all their attention upon any man who resembles Iain of Islay.” Duncan was final.

Alana was aghast. Duncan hoped to assassinate Iain? Eleanor quickly put her arm around her. “We should go up,” her grandmother murmured.

But Duncan walked over to her and rudely clasped her shoulder. His grip was hard, and Alana was forced to meet his gaze, as she could hardly get free.

“Buchan will be here tomorrow,” he said. “By tomorrow, I expect you to have the answers you did not have today.”

“I have told you everything.”

“Have you?”

“I cannot tell you what I do not know.”

“Then try harder, Alana, to know what you must. Unless you wish to displease me another time, and displease your mighty uncle, as well.” Duncan released her and turned his back on them.

Alana looked at her grandmother and, as one, they hurried from the hall. Outside, they paused, clasping hands. “He is threatening me!” she cried.

Eleanor was as shaken. “We must be careful, Alana, truly careful, now.”

“Yes, because suddenly I am valuable to them! But I am to please my uncle? How will I do that?” Alana cried. She lowered her voice. “Lying to Duncan is one thing. I do not think it wise to lie to the Earl of Buchan.”

“You must not lie to your uncle—but you will not please him if he ever learns you care about Iain of Islay,” Eleanor said in a terse whisper.

Alana flinched. “He is a stranger, Gran, that is all, and I doubt I will see him again.”

Eleanor gave her a pitying look.

* * *

“I
T
IS
THE
E
ARL
OF
B
UCHAN
,”
Eleanor said, hurrying into the small tower chamber they shared.

It was the next afternoon. Alana took one look at her grandmother’s grim countenance and worried eyes and she rushed to the room’s single window. The shutters were closed to ward off the cold but she opened them and looked outside.

It was another sunny day, with bright blue skies, the countryside patched with snow. A huge army was below the castle, a sea of tents being formed. And dozens of knights were riding up the road at a rapid trot, the earl’s banner waving above them. A black bear and gold lion were rampant atop a field of red, against a black, red and gold shield.

She gripped the stone ledge of the window. Buchan would be amongst the first knights, wouldn’t he? She did not have a clue as to which rider he was.

And was Sir Alexander with him?

Would she finally see her father again, after all of these years? She was so afraid of what their reunion would be like!

Eleanor put her arm around her. “Whatever you do, be polite, and do not displease him,” she said.

Alana felt ill. “He will soon ask me about my vision—and it is a lie. I could not sleep at all last night. Every tale I have ever heard about the earl recurred to me. I do not know what to do.”

“Then maybe it is time for the truth,” Eleanor said, low. “Without revealing your feelings.”

Alana jerked, shocked by the suggestion. Was she saying that Alana should reveal her true vision about the battle at Boath Manor—about Iain of Islay? For if she did, Buchan would value her not as his niece, but as his witch.

Both women turned back to the window and watched until the knights had ridden beneath the tower gates, and could be seen no more. Alana gripped her hands in front of her. She knew she would be summoned downstairs soon. She was frightened. “Is Buchan as ruthless as is claimed?” Alana whispered.

Eleanor gave her a reassuring smile. “When I knew him as young man, he wasn’t ruthless at all,” Eleanor said. “Infamy is never kind.”

Alana did not answer. Her uncle was infamous now. All of Scotland, and perhaps all of England, knew of the Earl of Buchan and his ruthless rage. For his young wife, Isabella of Fife, the Countess of Buchan, had betrayed him by crowning Bruce two years earlier at Scone. It was even said that she had been Bruce’s lover, and Bruce had gone to great lengths to keep her safe with his queen and daughter. But all the women of Bruce’s court had been captured by the English that summer. And now, Isabella was kept in a cage at Berwick, a spectacle for all the world to gawk at and scorn.

The mighty Earl of Buchan did not care; in fact, he wanted her dead.

A knock sounded on their door. Alana jumped as Eleanor opened it. Sir Roger nodded at them. “The earl wishes to see Mistress Alana,” he said.

Alana’s anxiety spiraled uncomfortably. “Come with me,” she said to Eleanor, taking her hand.

The two women followed Sir Roger down the narrow stairwell. Hard male voices could be heard from within the great hall. One was Duncan’s. The other had to belong to the great Earl of Buchan.

They had reached the threshold. Alana faltered and stared.

There was no mistaking the Earl of Buchan, and not because he was well dressed in the fashion of the French and English courts, his rings gold, the hilt of his sword bejeweled. Middle-aged and gray of hair, he emanated power and an air of command. He instantly turned to stare at them.

“Lady Fitzhugh and Mistress le Latimer,” Sir Roger said, but informally.

Buchan stood alone with Duncan, not far from one hearth. Her father was not with them.

Buchan smiled. “So you are my niece.”

Alana nodded and curtsied. “My lord.”

Buchan paced over to her, his gaze filled with speculation. “I remember your mother, Mistress Alana. You so resemble her.” He spoke firmly, but not unpleasantly.

Alana did not know what to say.

“She was very beautiful. And you are from Brodie Castle? The place that was once your mother’s?”

Alana nodded, her gaze glued to his. He did not seem ruthless. He seemed kind. “Brodie was my mother’s dowry, my lord.”

“Yes. I recall that. But the circumstances of your birth prevented you from having a claim. Duncan tells me you are twenty, and unwed.”

She so hoped the subject of witchcraft would not arise. “I am not wed.”

“So my brother has forgotten you,” he said flatly.

Oddly, she felt that she must defend Sir Alexander. “He tried to arrange a marriage, some time ago.” She dared ask, “My father is not with you?”

“He is on his way,” Buchan said. “But no marriage was arranged.”

She felt certain she knew where he led. “No.”

“Because no man wishes to wed a woman who can see the future?”

She flinched. “No man wishes to marry a woman like myself.”

“What do you mean, Mistress Alana? Speak plainly.”

She felt her cheeks heat with shame. “I have the sight,” she whispered. “I am thought to be a witch.”

He studied her in silence then. “So it is true,” he finally said. “You can foretell the future.”

“Sometimes, my lord.”

“Sometimes? So you have visions, sometimes? At will, Alana?”

“No, they are never at will.” She hesitated, feeling desperate. “I wish I had no visions, my lord, but they began when I was a small child.”

“How do you know that they are visions? Do they always come to pass?” he asked.

She bit her lip. “Yes, they always come to pass.”

“Give me an example, Alana.”

She did not dare glance at Eleanor. “Our kitchen maid was with child. I saw her in her childbed, the babe born alive, the poor maid dead. There was so much blood.”

“And did the maid die in childbirth?”

“Yes—exactly as I saw it.” She hugged herself. Poor Peg had died giving birth six months ago, but Alana had known she would die for months before that.

“And now? Now you have seen battles from this war?” he asked thoughtfully.

She froze, and then she glanced at Eleanor.

“From time to time,” Eleanor said.

“I didn’t ask you, Lady Fitzhugh,” Buchan said, but mildly.

“I have had one vision of the war,” she breathed, and actually, that was the truth.

“Ah, yes, Duncan tells me you saw a battle, and you first thought he was victorious, then had no thoughts at all. What did you see?”

It was hard to breathe, impossible really. The earl’s stare was relentless. Eleanor’s advice echoed in her mind—do not displease him. “The vision was not clear,” she said. She dared a quick glance at Duncan—he was scowling.

But he was hardly as intimidating as her uncle.

“That will not do.” His stance was more aggressive now. “Did you or did you not see my knight in battle?” He did not raise his tone, but it remained firm, unyielding.

Duncan might beat her, but she would survive. Eleanor was right—she must not displease Buchan. She took a deep breath. “I must confess, my lord, to you.”

“Confess what?”

She fought despair. “I do have visions, but I did not have a vision of Duncan in battle. I lied.”

Buchan’s eyes widened. Duncan turned red, and his eyes popped.

“You lied?” Buchan asked with disbelief. “Explain yourself, mistress.”

She hugged herself, trembling. “Godfrey goaded me, as he always does, I lied to spite him. I did not have a vision of Duncan in battle.”

A terrible silence fell.

Alana looked nervously back and forth between the two men. Duncan was enraged, but the earl was somehow far more frightening. She felt how his thoughts raced. She wished he would not stare.

“You will pay for this,” Duncan snarled.

Buchan lifted his hand. “Enough. Lies do not sit well with me, mistress.”

“And that is why I did not wish to lie to you.” She looked at her uncle, needing courage to do so. “Six days ago, I saw the battle for Boath Manor—I saw the manor in flames, I saw Highlanders fighting the English, and I saw their dark-haired leader rescue a woman and her two children from the inferno.” She was hoarse with fear.

Buchan’s eyes were wider. “The battle for Boath Manor was the day before yesterday.”

“Yes, it was, we came upon it—and it was exactly as I had seen.”

Duncan charged forward. “So you lied again? You saw Iain of Islay?”

“Yes,” Alana said, afraid he might strike her.

Buchan gestured at Duncan, clearly meaning for him to stand back. “Now we are getting somewhere. Boath Manor is done. How often do you have these visions, Alana?”

“It varies.”

“That will not do,” Buchan said. He gave her a sidelong look and began to pace, slowly, his expression still thoughtful.

Eleanor hurried to her side and put her arm around her. She dared to glance at Duncan, who glared at her with raw hatred.

Buchan returned to stand before her. “You know I am pleased with you,” he said, smiling.

She was incredulous.

“How can we encourage your visions?”

“I cannot summon them,” she tried.