A Sword Upon The Rose (9 page)

Eleanor pulled her away from the window, ashen. “Are you burned?”

Alana touched her cheek, where a spark had burned her. “I’ll be fine.”

Eleanor ran to the table, seized the pitcher and returned. She wet her sleeve and laid the cool cloth on her tiny burn.

“Will Nairn fall?” Alana asked. She trembled with fear. It was one thing to calmly speculate about its fall—and being freed—when all was as it should be, another to do so when under attack.

“We cannot remain here, like this!” Eleanor cried.

Her grandmother was the calmest, wisest and most courageous woman Alana knew. But she was frightened now.

Alana silently agreed. She ran to the door and banged on it. “Sir John! You must let us out! We cannot remain here, trapped like rabbits in a cage, a wolf at the door! We need to know what is happening and we can help defend the castle.” She banged on the door again, furiously, desperately.

There was no answer. Alana pulled on the door handle, but the door remained bolted from outside. She turned, wide-eyed. “He is gone.”

Eleanor was pale. They stared at each other, shocked.

“They have left us here?” Alana finally gasped.

“He must be helping defend the keep,” Eleanor said slowly.

“And if we are overrun? Who will defend us?” Alana cried. Her mind raced as she rushed back to the window and opened the shutter. Iain was surely a part of this attack, but she had yet to see him. How could she get word to him?

“Alana! Do not go near the window!” Eleanor begged.

Alana ignored her. Enemy soldiers had thrown ladders up against the walls to the left of the siege engine. She saw from their dress that they were Highlanders, but Buchan’s archers were on the ramparts, firing down at them. Thank God, she thought, with a flooding of relief. Finally someone was on the north walls, above them, defending them.

She saw one of the Highlanders struck by multiple arrows in his chest and arms. Screaming, he fell from the ladder to a certain death.

But another Highlander was aggressively scaling the wall. If he was not shot, he would soon climb over the ramparts.

Alana whirled. “The Highlanders are coming. Should I pen a message for Iain?”

“We must do something,” Eleanor cried, quickly sitting at the table. She took parchment and a quill from the drawer and began to write.

Alana remained huddled in the corner, not far from the window. She did not know how she would get the message to Iain, and it was becoming harder to think.

The battering ram exploded against the north gate another time, so loudly, so powerfully, that Alana felt the floor shift beneath her feet. She jumped.

And then a face appeared outside her window.

It was inches away. Alana gasped, for one moment shocked, as the man stared into the chamber. Their gazes locked.

And then she realized that his eyes were wide and lifeless eyes, his face contorted in pain and death. And then he vanished.

She ran to the window and leaned out. A ladder was beneath her, and the Highlander was falling like a leaf twisting in the wind. She looked away as he hit the ground below her.

Alana gripped the ledge of the windowsill, stunned. No one else was attempting to scale that ladder. She inhaled. Was she brave enough to attempt to go down?

She was afraid of falling, of being shot—and of leaving Eleanor alone.

Eleanor had come to stand beside her. “It is too dangerous!”

And then, from the corner of her eye, Alana saw Iain.

She whirled. She would never mistake him on his black charger, sword raised, long hair flying in the wind. He was galloping from the west, toward the north gate. He paused, his horse rearing, and she knew he was shouting at his men. More Highlanders were on more ladders now, and more men were pushing the battering ram.

Arrows hailed down upon them now.

It was Iain. And they meant to assassinate him.

Alana seized the windowsill and screamed at him. “Iain, beware.” He was too close to the walls, too close to Buchan’s archers! Yet she also knew he would never hear her, not in the din of battle.

The words were barely out of her mouth when a hail of arrows flew from the ramparts directly at him.

He must have sensed the danger, for he held up his shield. Dozens of arrows struck the metal and leather there, bouncing uselessly away. Others landed in the ground around him and his horse.

Alana cried out as another barrage of arrows flew at him. She held her breath as they struck his shield, the horse’s breastplate and the ground.

This time he whirled the stallion and galloped back to the safety of the rest of the army.

Alana felt her knees buckle with relief. At least he knew he was a target. At least now, he would be prepared.

Another explosion sounded, and wood cracked. The stones beneath her feet reverberated so strongly that she lost her balance.

Alana caught the sill and leaned out of the window again. The north gate was directly below the tower where she stood, and all she could see was that the men were pulling back the ram, clearly preparing for another assault.

The hail of arrows and missiles from Bruce’s army had ceased. The fire from the ramparts had decreased dramatically, to an occasional arrow, and an isolated oil pot. A dozen Highland soldiers were climbing the castle walls, and now, they were undeterred. She watched a dozen Highlanders climbing over the ramparts. She watched them assault Buchan’s archers, wrestling them off the walls and to their deaths.

The floor shook as the north gate exploded. Alana cried out, as did Eleanor, some rock from the ceiling above falling. Alana ran to her grandmother to protect her with her body. “Nairn is falling,” she said.

* * *

T
HE
BATTLE
WAS
OVER
. Alana had watched Iain ride triumphantly into the north gate with a dozen of his mounted men, his banner flying. That had been several hours ago. Since then, the countryside had come alive with tents and cook fires. She could see and hear Bruce’s men celebrating outside—singing and dancing, drinking and feasting, laughter. Bruce’s banner flew high in the dusky sky, above the sea of tents, brightly yellow and red.

He had captured Nairn. What would happen next? Had Buchan been captured? What of her father? And Duncan?

And what would happen now?

Alana did not want to worry Eleanor, but she kept thinking about the fact that Bruce was in the habit of razing every castle he took. Lochindorb had been an exception. She was frightened, because if they meant to burn Nairn down, would they find both women first?

As of yet, no one had come to the door, and in a way, she was grateful—for she also remained frightened of enemy soldiers who might happen upon them. She did not know what to expect when they were finally discovered.

Alana kept returning to the door, to place her ear upon it, to strain to hear. There were no celebratory sounds inside. Whatever was happening downstairs, they could not hear. For all she knew, no one was downstairs—everyone had been rounded up and taken away through the south gate.

It was so terribly quiet upstairs, it was unnerving.

“Sometimes no news is the best news,” Eleanor whispered.

Alana did not know how to reply. At times she was tempted to bang on the door and shout until her voice was raw, but then her fear held her back. Her mind always returned to the possibility of being raped and murdered, before veering to being identified and imprisoned far more significantly than now.

How could Buchan have left them like this? She refused to believe her father would have consented to such cruelty and neglect.

Alana returned to the bed and sat down beside her grandmother. “Are you hungry?” she asked softly.

“I am fine, Alana.”

She had to be ravenous, as they had not eaten all day. But Alana did not say so. She smiled and squeezed her hand.

And then she heard the bolt outside the door being freed.

Alana tensed, as did Eleanor, both of them staring, half in horror, as the door swung open.

A huge Highlander with a gray beard stood there. “Who are ye?” he demanded. “And what do ye do in this chamber, locked inside of it?”

“We were imprisoned by the Earl of Buchan,” she said quickly. She stood up. “We must speak with Iain of Islay.” She hesitated. “Tell him it is Alana.”

His eyes widened. “I’ll tell him.” He shut the door, bolted it and left.

Alana turned to her wide-eyed grandmother, trembling. “I will convince him to free us.”

Eleanor stood, but stiffly. “Have a care, Alana, he answers to Bruce.”

Alana stared. “He doesn’t know anything yet.”

“Make sure he never does.”

Alana felt a terrible dismay. But Eleanor was right. Bruce was somewhere at Nairn—she could never be honest with Iain about her Comyn blood now.

Alana turned to stare at the locked door. Iain owed her a vast debt—he had said so. Surely he would free them. Surely she could convince him to do so.

But what if Buchan were below, and the truth came out?

She inhaled. Even if Buchan did not reveal her identity, most of the castle’s inhabitants knew she was Buchan’s niece. Even if Iain decided to free them, she was in peril, until she was safely gone from Nairn.

Footsteps sounded outside, heavy and male, with the jangle of spurs. She glanced at Eleanor, who smiled reassuringly. Alana felt her heart slam as the bolt was thrown and the door opened.

Iain stood there with the graying Highlander, his blue eyes wide with shock.

Alana smiled. “My lord.” She trembled, hoping to be deferential. But her heart raced, and she could not deny a moment of joy.

He strode to her, unsmiling, his eyes hard, and touched her chin. He tilted it up. “By God! Who did this to ye?”

She tensed. There was a terrible bruise on the right side of her face, and her lip was swollen from where it had been split. But she was fortunate that her uncle had missed her eye. And the bruises were healing. They were bluish-green now, not darkly purple.

She hesitated. “I fell, my lord.”

He dropped his hand from her chin. His stare intensified, and she flinched, but she could not look away. “Why will ye protect the man who did this?”

She did not know how to respond. “Because it doesn’t matter,” she finally said.

“It matters,” he said with warning. “And ye were burned in the battle!”

Alana started. Iain almost sounded as if he cared.

“A small missile almost came through the window,” she began.

“And ye were here, locked inside, for the entire battle?”

“We have been in this chamber, yes, for the entire battle.”

He gave her one last incredulous look, and turned to Eleanor. “Lady Fitzhugh, are ye unharmed?”

“I have not been hurt,” Eleanor assured him. “But I am weary.”

“Do ye wish to take to yer bed? I will have a meal sent up,” Iain said.

“I am afraid these old bones need some rest,” Eleanor said.

Alana went to her. Eleanor seemed unusually frail, so suddenly.

Iain turned his attention to Alana. His stare was so direct that she became nervous. “Why did the Earl of Buchan imprison ye?”

“I displeased him.”

His stare sharpened.

“Can we not leave it there?” she asked, smiling slightly. “Please? My grandmother and I are exhausted, frightened and hungry. We can tell stories another day.”

“Did ye tell Buchan ye nursed my wound? Is that why he was displeased?”

It would be so easy to take that tangent, which he had offered her. “No.”

It was a moment before he spoke, as he considered her words. “So it was Buchan who struck ye?”

She started in alarm. “I did not say that!”

“Ye dinna need to.” His eyes were dark with anger. “Did he strike ye, Alana?”

Alana was grim. Then she reminded herself that it didn’t matter if he knew Buchan had hit her, as long as he did not know why. “Yes. Where is the earl?” she asked carefully.

“He fled, coward that he is.”

Alana glanced at Eleanor, surprised. “Did Duncan also escape?”

“Aye. They escaped together.”

She trembled. Nairn had fallen, her uncle and Duncan had escaped—perhaps with her father—but she had been left behind. She did not know what to think, except that now, these lords would not be downstairs to reveal her identity to Iain and to Robert Bruce.

“Ye seem dismayed.”

“Duncan is my guardian—I am pleased.”

His gaze narrowed. “They ride for Elgin, to defend it from us next.”

So they would attack Elgin next. She stared at him and finally sat down. He was right. She was dismayed. She had been left behind, because no one cared about her fate. She should not care, or even feel hurt, but she did.

And then she looked up and saw Iain gazing far too closely at her again. She managed a small smile. “I see that you are unscathed.”

He continued to stare, then turned to Eleanor. “Do ye wish for a different chamber? I can try to arrange it, although these halls are full tonight.”

“Do not bother, my lord,” Eleanor said. “If you bring me some repast, I will be fine.”

He nodded and his expression softened slightly as he glanced at Alana. “The castle maids are preparing a feast for the king. Will ye come downstairs?”

Alana stiffened. She could not go down and dine. She did not dare meet Bruce, or attract his attention, in any way. She could not risk discovery. She realized he was staring. “I am the enemy, my lord.”

“Alana is exhausted, my lord,” Eleanor said carefully. “We have feared for our lives this day.”

Iain gave her grandmother a sharp glance; clearly sensing something was amiss. “Ye have my protection tonight. Tomorrow, ye will return to Brodie. Tomorrow, I will fight yer liege, and God willing, kill him and Buchan. Tonight, we will not think of the war and we will not be enemies. Tonight, we will enjoy the king’s feast.”

Alana bit her lip, her heart racing. It was not wise to mingle with the enemy. “Will you tell Bruce who I am? That I am from Brodie?”

His stare narrowed. “Do ye fear the king?”

She nodded. “Very much.”

He reached out and slid his fingers along her cheek. “Then ye will not meet him,” he said.