Chapter Three

CHAPTER THREE

"N AIRN ," E LEANOR SAID .

Alana trembled, seated beside her grandmother in the front seat of the wagon, Mary MacDuff and her children huddled under wool blankets in the back. The dark stone castle rose out of a promontory on a hill above the town, the skies blue and sunny above it. Snow was clinging to the rocky hillside, and the deep blue waters of the Moray Firth were visible behind it.

It had taken them a few hours to travel the short distance from the MacDuffs' burned manor to Nairn. Poor Fergus had been left in the woods not far from last night's camp, retching up his breakfast. In a few hours he would be well enough to go on his way.

From the towers, shouts rang out.

Alana tensed. She had been to the town of Nairn many times, as it was a bustling port and she enjoyed the market there. But she had never been within the castle, which had always seemed threatening.

It had been garrisoned with royal English troops for years because the great barons of north Scotland were at war with England more often than not. Edward I had taken Nairn and provisioned it for his use, and now, English archers loyal to his son were upon its walls, staring down their bows at them.

Of course, they would not fire upon a wagon with women and children, not unless ordered to do so. Duncan had been given command of Nairn two years ago, by the Earl of Buchan. She wondered if the earl had arrived; she wondered if Sir Alexander was within.

She wondered if Iain of Islay would be amongst those attacking Nairn, if that is what Bruce did.

"They have seen us," Eleanor said.

Alana smiled grimly and lifted the mule's reins, clucking to him. Her tension felt impossible to bear. It had been difficult enough forgetting her every encounter with Iain, especially that shocking kiss. She felt fortunate to have escaped him, and she was determined not to dwell on their strange meeting or even stranger parting. No matter what he had said, it was unlikely that she would ever cross paths with him again.

She had more urgent matters to consider. She would soon meet her powerful uncle, and see her father for the second time in her life.

The journey up the road to the castle's front gates seemed endless now. The hill was steep, the road rutted and frozen. The going was slow, made the worse by anticipation and dread. She wished she knew if the earl and her father had already arrived at Nairn, if they were within, and preparing to receive her.

When they finally reached the very top of the road, and were but a shout away from the watchtowers, a group of English soldiers galloped out of the barbican to meet them. Alana halted the mule, her heart skipping as the knights thundered up to them.

The knights formed a tight circle around them. They were clad in full armor, but each man had his visor up. Alana saw a dozen hard faces, the elderly ones lined, the young ones boyish and pale, and a dozen pairs of hard, cold eyes.

A middle-aged knight with a gray beard and chilly blue eyes rode up to her. "Identify yourself."

"I am Alana le Latimer and this is my grandmother, Lady Fitzhugh," she said quickly.

"Sir Duncan has been expecting you," the elderly knight said. "I am Sir Roger, Duncan's sergeant at arms. You're a day late. What has kept you?" He was harsh.

Alana somehow smiled. "There was a battle at Boath Manor. We were put out to hide, and then we wished to aid the mistress and her children. So we had to wait until Bruce's men were gone. They did not leave until dawn."

The knight nodded, glancing at Mary and her children in the back of the cart. "I will escort you to Sir Duncan. He is impatient to speak with you."

Alana did not look at her grandmother as they drove the mule into the keep. Because of Mary's presence, they had not discussed the impending interview with Duncan. But Alana had spent the past few hours considering it.

Duncan of Frendraught would want to know about her encounter with Iain of Islay. She could not tell him that she had succored his enemy. He would be enraged. He might even accuse her of treachery. It seemed better to insist that the battle at Boath Manor had delayed them, and that they had spent the night in hiding.

Iain might be the enemy, but just then, she preferred him as her ally against Duncan. She was acutely aware that how she felt was inappropriate, but Duncan was even more intimidating than his son. He had absolute control over her, and Alana despised him even more greatly than she did Godfrey.

In the courtyard, Sir Roger helped her and Eleanor from the wagon. Mary slid down by herself, then got her two children out. Alana went to her.

She had hardly had a word with her, but she smiled kindly. The woman had no belongings, no home, and her husband was at war, fighting in Buchan's army. "I will insist that Duncan give you a chamber. But what will you do next?"

Mary was very fair and though she was in her late twenties, her eyes were filled with fatigue, her face lined with worry. "I will try to get word to my husband, and when this war is over, we will rebuild our home."

Alana took her hand. "You are welcome at Brodie Castle, Mary, until your home is rebuilt."

Mary's eyes widened. "How could I accept such charity?"

"I am certain we could find a place for you in the household, until you are settled at Boath Manor again."

Tears of gratitude filled her eyes.

Sir Roger was waiting impatiently, and Alana turned away. She and Eleanor followed him up the steps and through the great hall's pair of wooden doors.

Duncan of Frendraught was awaiting them. He stood in the center of the hall, hands on his bulky hips, scowling. Like Godfrey, he was blond, blue-eyed and arrogant. Unlike Godfrey, he had spent most of his life fighting for the Comyn family, and was a hardened soldier. He had been awarded command of Elgin last year, as well as several manors and an estate.

He strode toward her, clad in a dark blue cote, the sleeves tight and fitted, a short brown surcote over it. Rings glinted on his thick hands. He wore his sword, a sign of the war that raged so close by. "What has kept you, mistress?"

"There was a battle at Boath Manor," she said, unsmiling. "We had to hide in the woods, even through the night, as the army camped there."

"You spent the night in the woods with your grandmother? I am amazed you did not freeze to death." He reached up and toyed with a tendril of her hair.

She pushed his hand away.

Duncan smiled mockingly. "Perhaps you should have allowed a maid to attend you before meeting me, Alana." He reached out again and tucked the tendril behind her ear, his fingers lingering upon her skin.

She flinched, furious. Duncan had been toying with her since she was twelve—when he had tried to touch her breasts and thighs in a most lecherous manner. For several years, only her quick wit—and the threat to curse him—had left her unharmed. When she was fifteen, he had assaulted her after a night of heavy drinking. Alana had crashed a pot upon his head, and ever since, he had kept some distance, but his behavior remained rude and suggestive.

"Still afraid of a man's touch?" He laughed.

"Afraid? I am not afraid, I loathe your touch."

"Only because you are as cold-blooded as your mother was not."

Alana wanted to strike him. But he had referred to her mother as a whore so often that the insult had lost much of its significance. She could control her rage—she had had years of practice doing so. "Perhaps." She shrugged. "I did not come here to trade old barbs with you."

"No, you came because I commanded it." His stare had turned to ice.

"Yes, I came upon command, for you are my liege." She looked at her feet and curtsied. Now they had an uneasy truce. She knew he disliked her as much as she did him.

"As your liege, I will tell you I am tired of your lies. So do not claim you spent the night on the road in the midst of winter. Lady Eleanor would be dead," he snapped.

She lifted her chin and stared. How she felt like taunting him—and telling him that she had succored Iain of Islay. "We spent the night in an abandoned farmhouse, down the road from the manor."

He eyed her with suspicion. "If I ever learn that you have lied, Alana, you will pay dearly."

She smiled coldly, even as dread formed. "What else could have possibly kept us?"

"I intend to find out!" He turned his back to her and called to a serving maid. Then he faced her anew. "We heard about the battle," he then said to her. "I had sent a small force south, and Iain of Islay defeated my men at Boath Manor. Did you see the fighting?"

"When we heard the battle, we hid in the woods until it was safe to escape to the farmhouse, where we spent the night, waiting for the army to leave." She would repeat this story until the end of time, if need be.

"You forget, I know you well, I have known you since you were six or seven." Duncan had become her guardian when she was six, which was when he had also become castellan—not lord—of Brodie. "You remain as curious as a wild little cat. You did not care to see who was fighting?"

"This war means little to me."

"Yet it means everything to Buchan—your uncle."

Alana shrugged.

"So you never saw Iain of Islay—Iain the Fierce?" The question seemed rhetorical, as he began to reflectively pace. Head down, hands clasped, he said, "He is a cousin to Angus Og, Bruce's best friend in this war, and Angus has given him an army of savage Highlanders. They have murdered and raped their way across the mountains, burning down both home and field alike."

Alana trembled. She did not believe it.

He stared. "And how is it that I now have your interest and attention?"

Iain had turned Boath Manor into a pile of ash-strewn rubble. But no one had been murdered or raped—not that she knew of. In fact, she had seen him risk his life to rescue Mistress MacDuff and her two children.

"He sounds frightening," she said.

"He does not take prisoners, and he leaves no enemy alive."

Alana bit her lip. She was the enemy and she was very much alive. But of course, she was a woman.

"How is it, Alana, that he or his watch did not remark you?"

Alana shook her head. "I told you—we hid in the woods until we thought we could go back down the road to the old farmhouse." And there had been an abandoned farmhouse on the road, one partly burned, but hopefully, inhabitable. They had just never paused there.

"Then you are very fortunate. I am fortunate that you were not captured." He eyed her with continued skepticism. "How fares Godfrey? Brodie?"

She felt chilled, and she rubbed her arms. "When we left, the castle stood, unharmed. Do you think it will be attacked?"

"Bruce's army has made camp to the south of us. He could strike Nairn, Elgin or Brodie, or any number of smaller castles and manors." He gave her a dark and long look. "We do not know where he will strike next, Alana." He walked over to her and laid his hand upon her shoulder.

Alana trembled. Did he expect her to predict where Bruce would next attack? She pulled away from his odious touch.

Eleanor asked, "Has the Earl of Buchan arrived, my lord?"

"He is expected at any time. Why do you ask, Eleanor?" He was mocking.

"I have not seen the earl in a great many years and I am curious." Eleanor smiled pleasantly.

"Curious? Come, old woman, we know one another too well. You seek something from the mighty earl—everyone does."

"And do you truly care?" Eleanor asked.

Duncan stared at Alana now, his blue gaze unwavering. "If you think to place Alana under Buchan's protection, then yes, I care. She is my ward."

Alana was stunned and dismayed at once. "You have no care for me," she began.

"Shut up," Duncan said. He now approached tiny Eleanor. "She has always been your sole concern. Will you not appeal to her great-uncle, on her behalf?"

Eleanor still smiled. "You know me well, Sir Duncan. Alana needs a husband."

"Alana could be valuable to me, old woman. I need her."

Alana inhaled. "I have never been valuable to you! Not in the dozen years I have been under your protection at Brodie Castle!"

He approached, smiling coldly. "But we have never been in such danger. The earldom is under attack!"

A terrible silence fell. He suddenly found her valuable because of her sight. "What do you want of me?" she asked. But she knew. This was not about the lie she had told his son. He wished to know about Bruce's plans—he wished for her to foresee them!

He slowly smiled. He touched her chin with his stout finger. She recoiled inwardly, but did not move. "You begin to please me, at last.... Tell me what you saw the other day."

She stepped back, and his hand fell away. "I saw a battle, that is all." Images from her vision—from the battle at Boath Manor—flashed. They competed with every memory she now had of Iain, and of her last glimpse of the manor, burned to the snowy ground.

"No. Godfrey says you saw me triumphant in battle."

Alana did not dare glance at Eleanor. Her mind raced. She did not want to have any value to Duncan. It had been bad enough being his ward for most of her life, when he mostly ignored her and occasionally lusted for her. If she let him believe she had had a vision about him in battle, he would certainly think her a valuable asset. He might even think her valuable if she told him that she had foreseen the battle at Boath Manor. She could do neither, then.

But she did not want to anger him, either—not if she could avoid it. She decided to try to hedge.

"I saw a battle, and there was both victory and defeat. I cannot be certain you were the victor. It was a confusing sight."

His face mottled with anger. "That is not what Godfrey claimed. He wrote me and said you saw me triumphant, Alana." Warning was in his tone. "So think again and do not lie to me."

"Men were fighting, and I saw Bruce's flag." She hesitated. "I think you were there. I do not know anything else."

"You think I was present? You do not know anything else? You told Godfrey I was victorious!"

"The vision was not clear."

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.

Duncan interjected, "Water, my lord. She has visions when she looks into water."

Buchan seemed pleased. "Find a large glass bowl and fill it with water, and place it beside her bed," he told Duncan. "You, Alana, will spend your days and nights staring into it."

Alana felt ill. "I never look at water. I avoid looking into water, my lord!"

"Not anymore. You do wish to be useful to me? To your family?"

What could she do? She nodded.

"Good." Buchan tilted up her chin. "Then you must have these visions—you must seek them out—and I must know the future of my earldom."

He was asking for the moon and the stars, but she nodded, the feel of his blunt fingers under her chin disturbing. Worse, moisture seemed to gather in her eyes.

"You may retire," he said. He walked away from her, to the table. Relieved, Alana realized the interview was over.

But as he sat down, he glanced at her. "And, Alana? I am not a patient man." He smiled.

She managed to nod, her heart thundering. His meaning was clear. She must have a vision about the earldom—soon.

* * *

A LANA STOOD BESIDE her bed as one of Buchan's knights carried a large glass bowl of water inside. It was placed on the chamber's single small table, between the two beds. She realized she was looking at the bowl of water, and she jerked her gaze aside. Then she saw Duncan standing in the doorway, red-faced.

Eleanor immediately stepped between him and Alana. "My lord?"

He looked at her with contempt. "You are to vacate this chamber, old woman. Buchan has ordered it."

"What?" Alana cried, aghast. "Surely you have misunderstood!"

"There is no misunderstanding." He shoved past Eleanor, almost knocking her down. Alana reached out quickly to steady her. "His lordship wishes for you to spend your time without distraction—just you and the water."

Alana was in disbelief. "Where will she go?"

"There is a chamber above you. She'll have to share it with the maids."

"It is hard enough for my grandmother to get up and down the stairs to this chamber. She cannot go up another flight!"

Duncan stepped over to her and leaned close. "You lying little bitch!"

Alana flinched. His fist was clenched and she dreaded a blow.

"Don't worry. I am not stupid. I can't hit you, though you deserve a beating. Buchan has great expectations, Alana. I would not disappoint him if I were you."

His breath was foul. Alana stepped back. "I wish to see my uncle." She would beg him to allow Eleanor to stay with her.

Duncan laughed. "You are to stay here until you are summoned." He turned, nodding Eleanor toward the door.

"What?" Alana cried.

"You heard me, Alana—you will not leave this room until you are summoned." He was savagely satisfied.

"Am I to be imprisoned here?" Alana was in disbelief. She could feel the glass bowl of water behind her—as if the water had a life of its own.

It beckoned.

"Come, old woman," Duncan ordered.

Alana seized her grandmother's hand. "Gran!"

"I will be fine, Alana. And so will you."

She was to be locked in her room with water. How could she be fine? Her visions were never pleasant ones. She had spent her life avoiding them—avoiding water. Dear God!

"You will help him, if you can see the future of Buchan," Eleanor said. "And then maybe he will help us."

Somehow, Alana nodded. Duncan snorted and took her grandmother's arm, guiding her rudely from the room. He did not look back as the knight who had brought the glass bowl to her room closed her door. Stunned, Alana sank down on the bed closest to the door.

Behind her, she felt the bowl of water, a forbidding and omniscient presence.

She heard two pairs of steps departing. She stood and went to the door, taking up the latch. As she did, she heard a movement outside. The knight remained in the hall.

Tears arose and flooded her eyes. She walked back to the bed and sat down on its end. She folded her hands in her lap. She did not turn her gaze to the glass bowl.

Was she a prisoner? How could that be? Perhaps the knight was there to protect her, but from what, she could not say.

She wiped the moisture from her lids. There were secrets in the room now, and they felt heavy. They felt dark. She refused to look up.

She recalled Iain of Islay, as he was about to break down the door of the burning manor, as he turned and gazed across the battle at her. She closed her eyes in despair.

This was not the time of think of Iain. She must think about her uncle, her father, her Comyn relations—and the earldom. She must have the courage to seek a vision, instead of dreading one.

Slowly, Alana turned around until she could see the glass bowl of water.

It seemed to stare back at her, cool and clear.

Her heart was rioting in her breast.

The water was still. Silent.

Alana stared, the bowl blurring, but not from any vision. She could not see through her tears.

* * *

"G OOD MORNING , M ISTRESS A LANA ," Buchan said the next morning, his smile pleasant.

Alana stood on the threshold of the great hall, a knight with her. She had been summoned by her uncle, and the knight had retrieved her from her chamber and escorted her downstairs.

Alana managed to reply. "Good morning." But she was filled with trepidation. She had not slept at all last night. And she had not had a single vision, either.

Buchan gestured her inside. Several knights sat with him at the table, as did Duncan, staring hatefully at her. Her grandmother was not present.

Alana walked to the table, and took the seat indicated by Buchan. "Did you pass a pleasant night?" he asked.

Would he be angry when she revealed that she had not had a vision? Or would he be reasonable? This far, he had not been ruthless or unkind, although she could not decide if she was being kept a prisoner. "I am unaccustomed to sleeping alone. My grandmother has shared my chamber since I was born. I did not sleep well, my lord."

"I am sorry to hear it."

"Will I be allowed to see my grandmother today?"

"Of course." He gestured at the knight who had escorted her down. "Please ask Lady Fitzhugh to come down for the breakfast."

Alana bit her lip. "Thank you, my lord."

"You're welcome. Did you see the future, Alana?"

She did not move, hands in her lap. It was a moment before she spoke. "No, my lord, I did not."

"Then I am not pleased." His smile was gone, his stare uncomfortably piercing.

She flinched. "I tried, my lord. My visions frighten me and I dread them, but I tried."

"Trying will not help me and it will not help the earldom," Buchan said. "We do not have time on our side. Bruce is but a day's march away. There will be a battle soon. You must try harder, Alana, to see the future for me."

"I understand," she said.

"Do you? Did you look at the water? Reflect upon it? Pray?"

"Yes, my lord, I did."

He studied her closely. "Your father has never spoken of you. I had heard years ago about his affair with your mother, and that a daughter had been conceived. But I had truly forgotten your existence, until Duncan brought you here. Would it inspire you if I told you I am eager to help you now that you have my protection?"

Alana somehow smiled, stiff with tension. She was no fool. If she pleased him and had a vision as he wished, he would be helpful to her—he would find her a husband. "I am already inspired, my lord," she said, when the opposite was true.

"You should be married, with a manor of your own."

"No man will have me."

"They will if I say so," Buchan said.

Alana could not look away.

"Do you wish for a husband? A home of your own? Children?"

She could only recall Godfrey's bullying and Duncan's arrogance and advances—and Iain's courage in the battle for Boath Manor. She suddenly looked at him. "Brodie Castle is my home."

"Of course it is. Clearly, you are attached. You do know it would not be out of the question to return it to you."

Alana gasped.

"Would that please you?" he asked.

She knew she was being played and manipulated. But dear God, it would be a dream come true, to have Brodie returned to her. It would be just.

"I see you would wish, very much, to be the lady of Brodie," he said softly.

Oh, God, she thought, if only I could have a vision—one that will please him! "Yes," she whispered. "Yes, it would please me so much." From the corner of her eye, she saw Duncan, who was in shock.

But he did not need Brodie! He had two manors and an estate!

Buchan leaned close. "Bruce murdered my cousin," he said to her, more softly. "He stole the throne, and even my wife. And now he rapes and plunders Buchan lands. He has destroyed Inverlochy, Urquhart and Inverness."

Unable to look away, she trembled.

"Will he march on Nairn? Will he march on Elgin, on Banf? Will we defeat him? Will I?"

He was asking for so much! "It is hard enough," she said, low, "seeking out a vision, much less requiring a specific one to occur."

He patted her hand. "But you are a Comyn. You are your father's daughter as much as your mother's. As a Comyn, you must do your duty to me and mine."

"I want to do my duty," she cried. And it was true. Never mind that she had not been raised as a Comyn, or that the entire Comyn family had never considered her one of them, now she wanted nothing more than to have the vision he wished for.

"Good." He picked up his knife and fork and began to eat.

Alana did not move. Although she had never given any thought to her future, not as a man's wife, not as a child's mother, tears arose. Was it possible that she might one day have a husband, children—a family?

"You are not eating," Buchan said.

Alana was jerked out of her hopes and dreams. She smiled at him, and picked up her utensils. Dutifully, she began to eat.