Chapter Twelve

CHAPTER TWELVE

"A LANA , YOU ARE EXHAUSTED ," Eleanor said. "Why don't I have a maid bring you supper? There is no need for you to go downstairs tonight."

Alana was curled up in her bed, dozing. Several hours had to have passed since her conversation with Iain, as it was dark outside now behind the closed shutters. She had fallen asleep, but her grandmother's light touch had awoken her.

She did not know if she wanted to go downstairs. In spite of how uncertain the future was, she had been so happy until the past few hours. And before falling asleep, her mind had gone around in circles, for she could not decide how Iain felt about her ability to see—or how he felt about her.

The only thing she was certain of was that he was no longer angry.

"I am tired," she finally admitted.

"It is a man's feast downstairs, anyway. They are carousing below as if they have taken Balvenie."

Alana could not smile. Balvenie was the seat of Buchan's earldom. She had never been to the castle, even though it was within a day's easy riding. She had always wanted to see it; it was renowned to be very grand. Now she would never have the opportunity. "How long do you think it will be before my father and my uncle find out about Brodie—about me?"

Eleanor's smile faded. "Bad news travels as swiftly as any raven."

Alana flopped onto her back, staring up at the stone ceiling. "I wish things were different. I wish there had been other choices to make." But that would have meant living in a peaceful land, when Scotland was always racked by war, pitting family against friend.

"I know you better than I knew my own son, and I know you hated betraying your father. Alana? We both know he hardly deserved such loyalty from you."

Alana did not answer, well aware that Eleanor did not care about her betrayal of the earl, but was as torn as Alana over the betrayal of her father. Giving her a solemn look, Eleanor left, not bothering to close the door.

She quickly shut off her recollections of her uncle. But she had to wonder how her father would react when he received the news that she was mistress of Brodie now—and that she had paid homage to Robert Bruce.

If he had loved her a little, he probably would not love her now, Alana thought, staring into the torch-lit hallway. She could hear the sounds of the revelry coming from the hall below. Brodie had fallen without a fight, so the soldiers were celebrating. How pleased Iain must be, as well. He had not lost a single man.

She knew what it was like downstairs. The men were eating their fill and then some, while drinking beyond reason. Every young maid in the castle, if unmarried or widowed, would be in attendance, seeking to ensnare a handsome and victorious soldier. Meg would be downstairs.

She would be pouring him wine, flattering him, brushing against his shoulder. She might even be sharing his supper with him. She wondered if Meg would return to his bed. Why wouldn't she?

How the notion hurt, like a knife stabbing through her breast.

Alana turned onto her side, away from the open door. She did not want to contemplate his affair with someone else. She turned her thoughts to Godfrey. Guilt consumed her. So did shame.

She did not know if he had been put in the dungeons, or if he was under guard in his own chamber. As difficult as it would be, she must visit him tomorrow, and make certain he was being properly cared for. She should also try to push Iain to make a ransom demand as soon as possible so Godfrey could be freed.

She heard footsteps outside in the hall—booted and male. Alana flipped over instantly.

Iain paused in the doorway, leaning one shoulder against it.

Her breath caught—as did their stares.

He had been drinking, she saw, for his expression was relaxed and benign. He did not seem angry, not at all. He wasn't wearing his swords or his plaid, and he held a mug of wine in his hand. His blue gaze was direct.

He slowly looked away, his dark, thick lashes fanning his face.

She sat up, her heart slamming. Had she just seen the smoldering look that she thought she had? Tension made her spine rigid. "What are you doing?"

"I told Lady Fitzhugh to find another chamber," he said, launching his body away from the wall.

He meant to sleep with her now? After all that he knew? No man wanted a witch in his bed!

"Why do ye look so surprised?" He half turned, never taking his heated gaze from her, and kicked the door closed.

"I did not expect you to want me."

He approached, his stride uncharacteristically indolent. "Why would that change?" He set the mug down on the table and reached for her.

Alana was pushed down onto the bed as he moved on top of her. "I am a witch," she gasped.

"Aye, and ye may have bewitched me." His knees were hard between her thighs. "Ye can confess, Alana," he murmured. "Even if ye put a spell on me, I am staying with ye tonight. Confess.... Ye cast a spell, and that is why I lust for ye the way that I do...that is why I am so fond of ye." He suddenly held her shoulders down, his gaze brilliant upon hers.

Her pulse exploded, urgency racking her body. Iain still desired her—the only man to ever do so! And he cared, he had just said so. "I cannot cast spells. I vow it!"

"Liar." He kissed her. "Witch." He kissed her again, now reaching for her skirts. "How can I be so hard, so often, unless there is a spell?"

She wanted to answer. She wanted to refute him—debate—but it was impossible, because he was driving into her. Alana held on to his shoulders, arching back in sheer pleasure, her heart thundering.

Iain desired her still. No proof could be greater.

He lifted her and held her close, increasing the pressure, until Alana had to close her eyes and climax. She wept as she did so, clawing his back. And she almost told him that she loved him. Somehow, she retained enough sanity to hold back.

He nipped her neck and pounded into her, finding his own release. She was floating in satiation—in disbelief—when he cried out, collapsing on top of her.

She stroked his back, relief swelling. Then she wrapped her arms around him and held him tight.

What did it truly mean that he had come to her now, after her terrible confession?

He rolled off her, out of her embrace, and to his side. "Beautiful witch," he said softly. He flung his arm up over his head and fell instantly asleep. And then she slowly sat up, staring at him.

His words hadn't been mean or cruel; she knew that. His tone had been tender. But Iain had never made love to her just once in the course of an evening, much less so quickly. He was both selfish and selfless in bed, with the kind of stamina a woman would expect from a young Highland warrior.

Dismay began. If he was genuinely tired, if his odd behavior had nothing to do with the truth about her visions, then why wasn't she in his arms? She always slept in his arms.

Alana slowly lay back down, not quite touching him, although the bed was small, making it difficult to keep a finger or two's length between them. The dismay turned into heartache. Something was wrong, she sensed it.

Did he still wonder if she had cast some kind of spell upon him?

Hadn't he said that everything had changed?

Grimly, she pulled the covers up and closed her eyes. Too late, she realized she wanted—needed—far more than lust and desire from Iain.

* * *

"W HAT DO YOU want, Alana?"

Alana was stiff with tension as she faced Godfrey from the threshold of his chamber. He had not been sent to the dungeons, for which she was grateful, and had been placed under guard in his own chamber instead.

She had not asked for permission to see him. When she had awoken that morning, after a restless night, Iain had been gone. She hadn't fallen asleep until the early morning, and that must have been when he had silently left.

It was easier to simply make an attempt to visit Godfrey on her own than seek Iain out and face him after the night they had shared. She did not know what to expect from him when they finally came face-to-face.

Angus had not questioned her appearance outside Godfrey's door, and now he stood watchfully by her side. Alana smiled tightly at Godfrey. "I have come to make certain you are all right. May I come inside?"

"Do I look all right?" Godfrey demanded. In fact, he was red-eyed, and clad only in a long-sleeved tunic, his hose and boots. His clothing was rumpled, his short pale hair disheveled. He seemed to have passed as miserable a night as she had.

Alana wasn't sure how to answer. He stood before the table that was beneath an open window, a tray of food there. Clearly, he had not eaten. She glanced at Angus, who nodded, indicating she was free to go inside.

As she did, Godfrey picked up his doublet and shrugged it on. His cheeks were flushed by the time he had buttoned the short coat up. "I asked you what you want," he said harshly.

"And I told you," she said. "Godfrey, I am not your enemy."

He faced her, fully dressed. "You paid homage to Robert Bruce. Iain of Islay is your liege lord now—and your lover. Pray tell, how could you not be the enemy?"

Alana trembled, hating the conflict challenging them. Had she come to care for Godfrey? Or had she always cared for him, without ever having realized it? They had been raised together. He had taunted her and bullied her through most of their childhood, but she had done the same back to him. Growing up, she had thought that she despised him; she had thought him her enemy. But she suspected she had been wrong. "I refuse to be your enemy," she said stiffly.

He made a harsh, derisive sound. "That is a refusal you cannot make! We are at war, you and I, and I am a prisoner here, while you have been made Brodie's mistress!"

She rubbed her chilled arms. "I do not think I am Brodie's mistress just yet."

"Why? Because Iain has learned that you are a witch?"

"Yes!" she cried, losing her temper, at last. "He has learned I am a witch, and while he is here, he is in command, and you know that."

Godfrey now stared closely at her. "Ha, so he doesn't like you very much now?"

"That is cruel," she whispered. But how right Godfrey was. And she felt like a harlot, not the lady of the keep.

"No, your treachery is cruel. Do you know how we worried about you when you were found missing? Do you know how I worried?"

She was at a loss. "I am so sorry. I wish I could have been able to confide in you."

"Truly? Because now I know that you went all the way to Slioch Mountain to warn your lover of Buchan's planned attack. You saved Bruce and his army. You betrayed your uncle, your father, everyone!"

She flushed. "Do you finally, truly, hate me?"

"I have never hated you, not even on the day we met, when you poured a chamber pot over my head the moment I stepped out of my father's wagon."

Alana had forgotten how horrid she had been when Duncan had first come to Brodie as her guardian and its lord, his young son with him.

"You hated me then, and you have hated me ever since. It was a lie, our becoming friends, to defend Brodie from Bruce." He turned his back on her, trembling.

She reached out and touched his arm briefly. "It wasn't a lie. Godfrey? I will do everything I can to keep you comfortable and to make certain you are released as soon as possible."

He whirled. "My father won't pay a ransom. He will be furious with me for surrendering Brodie. He will think my capture just deserts."

Alana thought he was right. Duncan was selfish, ambitious and cruel. "I will see you freed," she said firmly, meaning it.

"That will not make you my friend. We will never be friends again. I trusted you. I wish I hadn't."

"Don't say that. I don't want to lose you."

"It's too late. What is wrong, Alana? Do you have regrets? Oh, wait! Your lover isn't lusting after you anymore? He doesn't want to bed a witch?"

Alana felt sickened. Godfrey's words were close enough to the truth.

"So you have sacrificed your family for love? Was it worth it?" he taunted.

She was close to tears. "Maybe not," she managed to say.

"It's too late for regrets," he said. "And as I look at you now, I almost feel sorry for you. Did he turn away in horror, last night? Like everyone else? Everyone except me?"

"No. Yes." Despair consumed her. "I will come see you again, later." She turned to go, stumbling.

"Don't bother!" he shouted.

Alana tripped, and reached the open door. She had to glance back at him.

Tears filled his eyes. But he remained furious. "Alana, are you carrying his bastard yet?"

She froze.

"I mean, who would ever think that you, of all women, would bring a bastard into this world!"

She could think of nothing worse. "I am not with child."

"For how long?"

She stumbled away, as swiftly as she could.

* * *

A LANA REALIZED SHE was hiding from Iain. She had spent most of the day in the cellars, inspecting what was left of Brodie's provisions for the winter. She had then gone into the kitchens to supervise the supper being prepared. When she had seen Iain in the corridor, at noon, she had reversed course to avoid coming face-to-face with him—to avoid speaking to him.

She knew she could not continue to avoid him, as Brodie was too small a castle, and he had not indicated that he would soon leave. In fact, she had heard that he was going to spend the next few weeks improving Brodie's defenses. He had sent men into the forest to cut down trees, never mind the cold. They had only just returned with the onset of dusk.

And because it was finally growing dark, Iain and his men had gathered in the hall, and were waiting for their supper. It would be night soon. Then what would happen? Did he think to share her bed again?

What if she was with child?

What if she brought a bastard into this world?

Alana could barely stand upright. Years ago she had realized she would never marry, and she had stopped contemplating having a family. Now the thought of bearing a son or a daughter was a great joy.

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.

Sincerely,

Your Father, Sir Alexander Comyn

Alana's hands were shaking as she finished reading her father's letter. She could not quite breathe, and she hurried to a chair and sat down.

She was alone in the hall. Iain had left her there to read the missive in privacy, ordering everyone away.

Sir Alexander had heard of her treachery, and he did not believe it. But the news was true. And now, he wanted her to join him at Balvenie. Her sisters would be there. He would be there.

He wanted to become acquainted with her, finally, that much was clear!

How could she go? She was a traitor to him, her uncle and their cause!

"Alana?"

She turned to glimpse Iain standing on the threshold of the hall. He was concerned. "I am not very well," she managed to say.

Iain strode to her. "Ye have finished reading it?"

She nodded and handed it to him. When he had given her the roll, the seal had not been broken. "You may read it if you wish."

He quickly held it open and read the brief missive. Grimacing, he rolled it up and handed it to her. "Ye cannot go. It is a trap."

She leaped to her feet. "What do you say?"

"Yer father entices ye to Balvenie, where ye'll be imprisoned fer treason." He was final.

"I don't believe that! You read the letter. He doesn't believe that I am a traitor and he wants me to meet my sisters!" She was breathless. "I think he wants to get to know me, at last!"

"Since when do ye play the fool?" He was cool. "Yer father is dancing to Buchan's tune. Can ye not see that the earl is behind this?"

Alana gasped, shocked by the suggestion that her father would be inviting her to Balvenie upon the earl's command so she could be seized and captured. It was impossible. "I do not believe that."

He clasped her shoulder. "Alana, why, after all these years, does he wish to see ye? Think!"

She pulled away. "People change, Iain."

"Ye want to go?" He was incredulous.

"I don't know! But I want to know my father better, before he dies! Have you forgotten about my vision? He will die in this war! I want to meet my sisters!"

"At what price, Alana? At the cost of being thrown in a cage like Buchan's wife, fer the rest of yer life?"

She knew Iain was trying to protect her from capture or even death, but she could not believe that if she went to her father, he would hand her over to the earl. "You're wrong, Iain. My father is not trying to lure me into a trap."

"I forbid ye from going," Iain said. "And that is the end of it."

Alana choked.

"And, Alana?" Iain was now walking away, but he paused. "Yer a traitor. Ye have betrayed the Earl of Buchan and King Edward. So, no matter how yer father entices ye, no matter how ye feel, ye cannot go to yer father, not now, not ever." With that pronouncement, he strode from the hall.

Feeling sick, Alana collapsed upon her chair.