Chapter Sixteen

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

W HEN THEY WERE safely in the midst of Iain's men, dozens upon dozens of mounted soldiers between the women and the enemy soldiers atop Elgin's walls, Alana sank to the ground. She began to shake wildly.

Sir Alexander was dead. She would never see him again. But he had told her that he loved her, and that he always had.

Buchan had almost succeeded in abducting Alice, in her own stead. Alana and Iain were so very fortunate to have escaped Elgin with their lives. As she realized that, she heard the battering ram striking the castle's front gates. Iain had renewed the siege.

Swarms of arrows whizzed in the air as the archers upon the ramparts began firing back at Iain's army.

A man screamed as he was struck.

Alana looked away from the battle, deciding they were at a safe distance from it. Alice and then Margaret collapsed on the grassy ground beside her, breathing hard. Margaret gazed at her fearfully. Alana took her hand, which was trembling, thinking not about the war, but about their father. She would never know him now, not truly. They would never become close. She glanced at Alice.

"I am sorry," Alice whispered, her eyes filled with tears. "That I said those terrible things to you."

"It doesn't matter," Alana said hoarsely.

"It matters. It matters very much. You loved our father, too."

"I did." Alana trembled. "Why? Why did he love you and Margaret more than me? Why did he raise you, but not me?"

More tears filled Alice's eyes. "I don't know."

"It was because of my wishes." Joan stood above them, devoid of all color, her eyes bleak with grief, with hopelessness.

Alana wanted to hug herself, but Margaret would not release her hand. She squeezed it harder, instead.

"Elisabeth was more than my cousin, she was my friend. We both loved him, but he was my betrothed. When I found out, I hated her," Joan said. She dropped to her knees. "And I blamed her, not Alexander, for their affair." She shrugged. "Alexander had no choice. I gave him no choice. He was not allowed to bring you into our lives."

Alana realized she was crying.

"You sent Iain of Islay after Alice," Joan said unsteadily. "And you went with him. Why?"

Alana bit her lip, shaking her head. "She is my sister." She glanced at Alice and their gazes locked.

Surprised, Alice said, "You sent Iain to rescue me? After all the hateful things I said? After how I have treated you?"

"Yes," Alana whispered.

"But you love him," Alice cried. "And you sent him into the enemy's lair—and you went yourself—for me."

Alana nodded. "I could not leave you behind," she said.

A silence fell over the group, but the sounds of the battle intensified around them. Joan sat down, seeming exhausted. Alice quickly put her arm around her. "I miss him," Joan whispered.

"We all do," Alice said unsteadily.

Margaret continued to grip Alana's hand. "Will we go back to Brodie?" she whispered.

Alana stared at her, certain she was thinking about the fact that they were Iain's prisoners once again. She recalled the promise she had made to her father—to keep her sisters and his wife safe. Grief flooded her. She closed her eyes, determined to keep her vow.

"Alana."

Iain's voice caused her to jerk and look upward. He sat astride his huge warhorse. "I am sending ye back to Brodie with six of my men."

She stood up slowly. Her limbs felt useless and weak. "Brodie is hours from here—we do not need such a large escort." She did not want to deplete his forces.

He suddenly slid down from his horse, took her arm and began walking her away from the other women. "I want ye safely home."

She trembled and clasped his cheek. "Thank you for going back for Alice."

His eyes darkened. "When I come to Brodie, ye will explain to me why ye defied my command."

She grimaced. He was referring to her taking her sisters to see Sir Alexander at Elgin, against his explicit orders. "I am too tired to argue."

He seized her chin and kissed her hard on the lips. "I will come when I can."

She tensed, sick with dismay, with dread. "Will Elgin fall? And after Elgin, then what?"

"Until Buchan surrenders, or is killed, we will war on the north." He was final.

She somehow nodded, knowing that if he had not had to get her out of harm's way, he would have killed Buchan when they were inside Elgin. She realized the sacrifice he had made for her sake.

For one moment, his stare held hers, and then he turned and leaped effortlessly astride his stallion. He galloped toward his soldiers and into the fray of shouting men, whistling arrows and frantic horses.

* * *

A NOTHER NIGHT HAD fallen, this one bright with stars and a crescent moon. Alana stood outside upon the ramparts of the watchtower, filled with grief over Sir Alexander's death.

They had arrived at Brodie in the early afternoon. Alana had gone into Eleanor's arms, finally allowing herself genuine tears. Joan, Alice and Margaret had retired to their bedchamber. They had not come out since.

Alana wiped her eyes. She had so many questions now, and not just about her father's choice to surrender to Joan's dictums, but about his life.

She wiped her eyes again, as a wolf howled, perhaps from a nearby ridge. And she thought of Iain, whom she already missed terribly.

He did not die by Buchan's sword, and she thanked God. She thought about her vision—it had been as accurate as all of the other ones she had had. In it, she had never seen Buchan murder Iain. He had merely been poised to do so. She could not help wondering if her vision had come so that she could warn Iain—saving his life for the second time.

But there was danger still. Buchan lived. He would seek to destroy Iain again—just as Iain sought to destroy him.

She wanted to know how the battle for Elgin had gone that day. She hoped Iain would send her word, and soon. God, if only Buchan would surrender or die, so this terrible war could end, so they could pick up the pieces of their shattered lives.

But then what? She did not want to really consider the future—for in it, Iain might wed her sister, and Bruce had promised her another man as a husband.

The wolf howled again. It was a cool April evening, and Alana turned and went down the stairs, crossing the courtyard. Iain was probably inside his tent, drinking wine and planning the next day's siege. She wondered if he missed her as much as she did him.

She entered the hall. It was empty.

It was so strange, being home at Brodie without Godfrey. Somehow, he had become her best friend.

What would Duncan do to his own son for his treachery? Worse, what would Buchan do? She would never forgive herself if he came to serious harm, because of her.

Alana started upstairs. Everyone was asleep, and the castle was stunningly silent. In her chamber, she shed her mantle, closed the shutters and put on a sleeping gown. She was too tired to braid her hair, and she left it down. However, in spite of her exhaustion, she did not think she would sleep at all that night.

"Alana?"

She whirled at the sound of Alice's voice. Her sister stood in the doorway, dressed for bed, her eyes red from weeping. Alana had the urge to rush to her and take her into her arms. But she did not move.

Such an impulse was premature at best, rash at worst.

"May I come in?" Alice whispered.

"Of course." Surprised—and filled with hope—Alana turned and poured her sister a mug of wine. She handed it to her, taking one for herself. Alice hesitated and Alana sat on the bed, leaving room for Alice to join her.

But she did not. "I have come to thank you for everything that you have done for me, my sister and our mother."

"I do not need or want your thanks," Alana began.

"No!" Alice cried. "You defied Iain to get us to Father before he died, and then you had him rescue me, putting him at great peril. And you went with him—putting yourself in peril, too. You are brave and good and I was so mean to you."

They were forging a truce, Alana thought with excitement, with hope. "I am not brave, Alice, I was very frightened, but not as much for myself as for Iain."

"You love him, truly?"

Alana inhaled. "He is the only man I have ever loved." Alana felt herself begin to blush. She looked down. "He is the only man I have ever been with."

Alice sat down beside her. "Then you must truly love him."

"I do."

"But we hardly know one another. Why, Alana? Why risk his life for me?"

"You are my sister, even if we are strangers." How she wanted Alice to understand.

But Alice shook her head. "But you pledged your fealty to Robert Bruce. How could you be so loyal to me and so disloyal to our family? I cannot understand."

Alana wet her lips, wondering how she could explain. She finally said, "Have you heard that I am a witch?"

Alice paled, her eyes widening. "Is this a jest?"

"No. I have visions of the future, Alice, and I have had them since I was a small child. Our father gave me some land for a dowry, but no man would have me, because of my visions."

Alice's eyes were as huge as saucers. "Did Father know?"

"Yes." She smiled, but it felt tight and odd. "I am a bastard and a witch. When I was eight, our uncle gave Brodie to Duncan, and made me his ward. I have grown up unwanted and unloved, as well as ostracized and shunned. The exception, of course, being my grandmother."

"But Lady Fitzhugh isn't really your grandmother."

"No, she is not. But she has always loved me as if we are flesh and blood."

Alice was shaken. "I grew up with two doting parents, with nurses and maids, with silks and velvet...always knowing that I would one day marry a fine nobleman with titles and lands."

"Yes," Alana said softly. "You are so fortunate. I did what I had to do in order to regain my mother's lands, Alice. It was a horrible decision to make, but now, I have no regrets—Brodie is all that I have."

"We have had such different lives," Alice mused. Her eyes darkened. "It isn't really fair. But you do not seem bitter."

"I have been bitter. At times, I have been jealous and resentful."

Alice suddenly laid her hand on her arm. "If you were truly resentful, you would not have defied Iain to take us to Elgin, and you would have let me suffer at Buchan's hands."

Alana shook her head. "I was his prisoner once. I was afraid for you—I could not bear it if you had suffered as I did."

"I am so sorry I was mean to you when we first met. Alana, I was the jealous one then."

"What could you have been jealous of?"

Alice shrugged helplessly. "Father told us about you. He told us he loved you. I was afraid of you—afraid Father loved you more."

Alana was in disbelief. Sir Alexander had told her sisters that he loved her! She realized that some small vulnerable part of her had been in doubt over his last words. But her father had genuinely loved her.

She gave in to impulse. She hugged her sister briefly. To her surprise, Alice hugged her back. Then she stood up. "Can we begin anew? As friends? As sisters?"

"Yes," Alana answered, feeling dazed. But didn't every coin have two sides? Didn't the phoenix rise from the ashes? For now, it seemed as if her father's death was giving her a family after all. "Alice? I made a promise to our father that I would keep you safe. I am going to do everything in my power to get you to England."

"That would be wonderful...but you will defy Iain yet again? For us?"

"I am a woman of my word," Alana said. "And I believe he will find it in his heart to forgive me." She somehow knew her words to be true.

But what about Robert Bruce? He would not be pleased if she helped her sister, a valuable hostage, to escape. Alana feared Bruce's anger—but she must help her sisters and Lady Joan, anyway.

Alice was suddenly tearful. She smiled and put down her mug. "You are truly my sister!" she exclaimed, hugging her again. She stepped back. "It is late. I should return to my bed." She went to the door, and then paused. Very seriously, she faced her again. "Alana? I would never marry him, not when you love him so."

Alana exhaled in relief.

* * *

T HE SPRING TURNED warm, the days lengthened and another week passed, but with agonizing slowness, ending with a terrible jolt. For Alana received a missive from Iain, one filled with ill tidings. Sir John Mowbray had violated his truce with Bruce, and had brought a great army to Elgin to relieve it from Iain's siege. Iain could not predict how long it would now take for Elgin to fall—or if Buchan's stronghold would actually capitulate.

Alana was despondent. She was sick and tired of the war. And while Margaret seemed oblivious to the news—she was still grieving over their father's death—Alice was pleased. They were becoming friends now, but nothing could change the fact that they remained on opposite sides of the war. Alice did not want Elgin to fall. She wanted Bruce's defeat, even if she never spoke openly about it.

Yet somehow, their new friendship blossomed. Long walks outdoors turned into long conversations, mostly about Sir Alexander, and his virtues, his character and his life. Alana finally began to understand the man that her father had been—a man of honor, a man of courage, with great strengths, and some weaknesses. And she loved him more.

The sisters began to spend the evenings together before the fire in the great hall, sipping wine and hoping for the war's end. Alana learned that Alice was intrigued by a young nobleman she had met once, a few years ago—Henry de Beaumont. When she spoke of him, her blue eyes sparkled and lit up.

All the women plotted together, trying to find a course to help Joan and her daughters flee to England. Alana knew that it must appear as if she were innocent in this plot, as if her sisters and Joan had escaped her, as well as Iain, so that Bruce would not hold her to blame.

By week's end, Joan had written a dozen letters to English noblemen opposed to Bruce, begging for their assistance. She wrote the letters in private so no one could claim that Alana knew of them. Joan then bribed the two messengers with gold to deliver the missives for her—so it was as if Alana did not know of the conspiracy to escape.

Their best hope was John MacDougall, Lord of Lorn, who was related to the family. His mother was a Comyn, the daughter of John Comyn, Lord of Badenoch. John had been fighting Bruce for the past two years, and had decimated his army two summers ago at Dalrigh. He had a great many ships in the eastern seas and Joan thought him their best chance of escape.

The next week began with heavy rain. It was pouring out when Godfrey walked into the hall, shaking the water from his mantle.

Alana had been repairing one of Iain's leines. She threw it down with a glad cry and rushed into Godfrey's arms. "I have been so frightened for you!"

He enclosed her hard in his embrace. Alana suddenly realized their position and she tensed, but he immediately released her. "So you have a care for me after all," he teased.

"You know I do. We did not hear any word about your fate—what happened, Godfrey?" She took his arm and guided him to the table while ordering a maid to bring food and wine.

"Buchan accused me of being a traitor. But my father actually defended me. As it turns out, he cares because I am his only male heir." He was grim. "And then Buchan fled the siege in the middle of the night. I was encouraged to leave."

"Are you at odds with Duncan?"

"Terribly so, but I am his heir," Godfrey said flatly. "I suppose he will forgive me, in time."

Alana hoped so. "Where is Buchan now?"

"He is with John Mowbray, attacking Iain from his flank."

Alarm stabbed through her. "I am so glad you are unharmed. Is Iain in danger?"

"Every battle is dangerous, for every man." Godfrey turned to the women, greeting Lady Joan, Alice and Margaret. He then went to Eleanor and they briefly embraced.

When he sat down, Alana sat down beside him. "Will you stay long?"

"I cannot. I am joining Buchan and Mowbray, Alana. I have sat out this war for entirely too long." He withdrew a rolled and sealed parchment from beneath his mail.

She did not recognize the seal; Joan did. She cried out. "That is the MacDougall crest!"

Alana glanced around—they were entirely alone in the hall, with no servants to witness them. "How did you get this?" she whispered.

"I met the messenger on the road, purely by chance. I believe Sir John must be eager to help Lady Joan and her daughters, for he is vehemently opposed to Bruce." Godfrey took up a cup of wine and drained it.

Joan stood and took the parchment. Alana nodded at her. Joan hurried away to read it privately. Alana looked at her sisters and saw the excitement and hope on their faces. Alice inhaled and held out her hand. Alana took it and squeezed.

Godfrey glanced quizzically at her.

Alana whispered, "I must not be a part of this."

"Of course not," Godfrey said, smiling slightly.

Joan returned, without the missive. She sat down next to Alana, and whispered, "Can we get to Dunstaffnage? If so, John's ships will take us to Carlisle."

Alice and Margaret trembled with excitement; Alana looked at Godfrey. The stronghold was far to the southeast of them, just across from the isle of Lismore.

"If you are not captured by Bruce's soldiers, the journey is easy enough, directly down the great glen," Godfrey said.

"What will we do when we get to Carlisle?" Alice asked, flushing. Her eyes were bright with hope.

"I will write Sir Henry Percy again," Joan said swiftly. "Surely, if Sir John can deliver us to Carlisle, Percy can arrange passage for us to one of King Edward's estates."

Alana faced Godfrey. "My soldiers are sworn to Iain," she said, low. "They will have to travel in disguise—I have two men I trust, to escort them."

"You have three," Godfrey said instantly.

Alana seized his hand. "You would do this for me?"

"Yes, Alana, I would." He turned to the three women. "There is every chance you will be discovered. Are you certain you wish to flee?"

"We must try!" Alice cried.

Alana trembled, thinking not of Bruce, but of Iain now. She would claim innocence to the king, but she would not deny her hand in this, not to Iain. "Lady Joan, please write to Sir Percy instantly, for as soon as we receive his vow of aid, we can reply to MacDougall, and accept his offer." She breathed hard.

Godfrey looked at her. "You are a courageous woman, Alana le Latimer."

She met his unyielding gaze. "I promised Sir Alexander I would see them safely to England."

Godfrey stood. "Iain will forgive you. He would forgive you anything, as long as he has your love."

He sounded envious, she thought. Alana hoped he was right.

* * *

A LANA POUNDED THE dough with her fists. They had not had a good loaf of bread in weeks, but yesterday she had gone to the market with a large escort of soldiers for more provisions, never mind that she and Eleanor hardly cared whether they had bread on the table or not.

Joan and her sisters had left three days earlier, and by now, they must be at Dunstaffnage—unless they had been captured. How she missed them, and how she missed Godfrey! Alana inhaled. Joan had promised to send word the moment they arrived at Sir John's fortress. She was praying for a messenger at any time.

She began to roll the dough, sorrow sweeping through her.

She had become so quickly attached to her sisters, and when they had hugged and said goodbye, everyone had been in tears. Alice and Margaret had promised to write. Then Alice had seized her hand.

"No matter what happens, we will always be sisters and friends," she had said hoarsely.

They had embraced, hard.

Alana sighed, shaping the dough into an oval. How she missed them all—even Joan.

"Alana?" Eleanor hurried into the kitchen. "There is smoke on the horizon."

Alana stared at her grim grandmother, then removed her apron and hurried from the kitchen, Eleanor behind her and unable to keep up. She ran from the hall and outside, realizing that several of Iain's soldiers had gathered atop the watchtower. She crossed the courtyard and rushed up the narrow stone steps.

"What is it?" she cried.

Angus faced her. "There is fighting close by," he said.

It was a beautiful May day. The sky was the bright blue of a robin's egg, with an occasional fluffy white cloud. The sun was high and strong. The hills bloomed with yellow wildflowers and purple thistle. But in the north, a dark pall hung over a distant ridge.

"Do we know who it is?" Alana asked. "Are we in danger?"

"I have sent a scout, my lady," Angus said.

Could Iain be there, just miles away, in the midst of battle? She had not heard from him since he had retreated from Elgin. Word was that Bruce's army was to the southwest, near Aberdeen, and that Buchan's army was in hiding. But such news was not confirmed, and Alana did not know if another battle was imminent or not.

That night, the scout returned. Alana was seated with Eleanor before the fire in the hall when Angus came striding inside. "There is nothing to fear," he said. "Kincorth has been razed to the ground. So has the village of Kinloss."

Alana nodded, reaching for Eleanor's hand. Those were Buchan lands. "Was it Iain?"

"We dinna ken, my lady," Angus said.

She trembled, recalling his ruthless devastation of Nairn. But this was war, and until it was over, the innocent would pay, as well as the enemy. There was nothing to be done now, Alana thought, except to wait for word from Joan, a missive from Iain and the end of the damned war. If only he would come to her.

She had never missed him more.

* * *

T HE DAYS GREW warm. She received a letter from Joan—she and her daughters were safe at Percy's Carlisle estate, awaiting word from King Edward as to their disposition. Alice and Margaret enclosed letters, as well. They were relieved to be safely in England, and prayed for Alana's safety. Alice wished they could have a reunion in London one day. Alana read her words and felt close to tears.

Iain did not send word. He did not send a messenger, either.

"Why hasn't he sent me a letter?" Alana cried in frustration to Angus. She was worried, as well.

"It is gossip, my lady, but it is said that Bruce is hunting Buchan now, fer he has finally recovered from the illness that plagued him all winter. I have heard his army has been seen near Inverurie," Angus said. "Ye will hear from Iain soon, my lady, I am certain of it." He smiled encouragingly at her.

And finally, a messenger came from Iain.

Alana ran into the courtyard, as fast as her legs would carry her. Angus and a dozen Highlanders stood there, next to a beaming soldier with long blond hair. Her heart felt as if it might explode inside of her chest. Clearly, the news was good!

"My lady!" The tall blond Highlander turned, smiling. "I have word from Iain of Islay."

Alana halted, panting, hands clasped to her chest. "Is he well?"

"He is more than well, my lady! Bruce has defeated the Earl of Buchan—he has defeated the baron Mowbray—their army has been scattered to the four corners of this land!" the messenger cried.

Angus and his men began to cheer.

"What?" Alana gasped, in disbelief.

"Bruce has crushed the Earl of Buchan! And his army has been entirely dispersed. The earl has fled—he is in hiding—and we believe he will go to England."

Alana reeled. "Buchan's army is truly finished?"

Angus steadied her. "There is no army left, my lady," he said.

Oh, God, she thought. "The war here in the north? Is it over?"

"It is over." The messenger grinned. "And Iain wishes ye to know that he will come to ye here at Brodie as soon as he can."

Tears blinded her. Iain was safe. Her uncle had no army left, and he was running away to England. "Thank you," Alana whispered. "Thank you."

* * *

I T WAS A late June day. Alana galloped a gray mare across the countryside with an escort of soldiers behind her. Buchan had been defeated a month ago, and Iain had not returned. Alana could not stand the waiting. She had taken to riding every day, galloping hard and fast across the countryside, jumping fallen trees and streams.

If only Iain would return!

The signs of the war were everywhere, just beyond Brodie's walls. The ridges were scorched. Villages had been reduced to ashes, manors to rubble. Livestock wandered loose, seeking fodder. Beggars were on the roads. Forests that had been green were blackened and burned.

She wondered when the Harrying of Buchan would end, and if it ever would. Robert Bruce clearly meant to bring the defeated earldom to its knees. His vengeance knew no bounds. He would destroy every living thing, or so it seemed.

"Lady!" Angus cried.

Alana saw the banner on the horizon at the exact moment that he spoke. She pulled up her mare abruptly, her heart lurching with excitement. Oh, God! It was Iain!

A moment later he came galloping over the horizon upon his dark warhorse, a dozen Highlanders behind him, his banner with its red dragon whipping in the wind above them.

Alana bit her lip, crying.

He thundered toward her, his long dark hair flying about his shoulders. And then he halted beside her, his mount rearing.

"Iain," she whispered, crying helplessly now.

He leaped from his stallion, reached her in two long strides and pulled her into his arms, embracing her as if there was no tomorrow. He kissed her deeply, for a long, long time.

And then she was smiling up at him and he down at her, while she remained wrapped in his arms. "You are home," she whispered.

"I am home," he said, pulling her even closer against his hard body. "I have missed ye terribly, Alana."

"I have missed you." She strained to kiss him again, and they kissed for a very long time.

When he pulled back his eyes were fierce with passion. Alana touched his rough cheek. "Is it over?" she whispered.

"Buchan is in England, Alana. He has no army now, and they say he is ill—very ill, perhaps dying."

She recalled Buchan's cruelty and shivered. She would not care if he died.

He stroked her hair. "Lady Joan has been openly claiming that Alice is the next Countess of Buchan. If Buchan dies, I believe there will be a great fight over the earldom."

"But Bruce controls the Buchan lands."

"Aye," Iain said, his gaze holding hers.

There would be another war, she thought, with dread. "There will always be another war, won't there?"

"'Tis the way of men," he said.

She took his face in her hands. "I have missed you so!"

"Alana." He was firm, attracting her entire attention. "I am home for a time, and I dinna wish to think about war."

She gasped. "You called Brodie home!"

He slowly smiled. "Aye, I did...if yer here, then I am home."

She clung to him in disbelief. "Iain—what are you saying?"

"I am saying that it is time we made another child. But not a bastard."

She began to shake. She could not breathe properly. The love in her heart took her breath away, while the desire in her body made her feel faint. "Not a bastard?" she echoed, dazed.

"Ye wish to marry me, do ye not?" he said, smiling wickedly.

She inhaled. "You will tease me now about such a thing?"

"Ye asked the Bruce fer my hand in marriage," he laughed.

"I did!" she cried, pounding a fist on his chest.

His smile faded. He caught her hand and raised it to his lips and kissed it. "I asked the Bruce fer yer hand in marriage, Alana," he said.

She reeled. "But I am not a great heiress.... What about Alice—the next Countess of Buchan?"

"No. Yer no great heiress, just a small one, and I dinna care that ye only bring me Brodie." He swept her hard against his aroused body. "I have loved ye fer a very long time, Alana le Latimer, and it's time I made ye my wife."

Tears of joy streamed down her face now. He swept her up and placed her atop his charger, and then leaped astride behind her. Clasping her firmly about the waist, he spurred his mount forward, toward Brodie—toward home.

* * * * *