Chapter Four

CHAPTER FOUR

T HE MEN WERE leaving the table. Alana made no move to get up, as Eleanor had joined them, but they had had no chance to speak privately yet. "My lord?" she called to Buchan's back.

In the doorway, the earl turned.

"Dare I ask you about my father?" She trembled as she spoke. She had not heard Sir Alexander mentioned, not even once.

Buchan returned to her. "Your father was on his way here, Alana, but I sent him a missive ordering him to remain in the south—to hold the line against Bruce if Bruce marches north toward Nairn or Elgin."

Her mind raced. Didn't Iain always lead Bruce's army? Would Iain's army clash with her father's?

"You seem dismayed," Buchan said.

She forced a smile. "I was hoping to see him. It has been many years."

"I am sure you will see Sir Alexander, in time. I will let you know when he is on his way to Nairn." Buchan turned to go.

"My lord? Could I visit with my grandmother, just for a bit?"

He glanced at her. "You may have a few minutes, Alana, but then I wish for you to return to your chamber and seek out a vision for me." He left with Duncan and the other men.

Alana stared after him. So that was how it was to be? She would now spend her days closeted in her chamber with a bowl of water? And would she only be allowed a brief moment with her grandmother—her best friend, her closest confidante?

And her father was not on his way to Nairn.

Eleanor took her hand. "Alana?"

She stole a quick glance at the door, but the men were gone. Only a single knight remained—the English knight who had been outside her door since the previous day. Clearly, Sir John was now her guard. "I am fine—but I have not had a vision."

Eleanor squeezed her hand. "I have been so worried about you! He is keeping you locked up with that glass of water.... Shame on him, to use and abuse you so!"

"Gran! Hush! We must not speak ill of the earl!" Alana shot a glance at Sir John, who was listening to their every word. She flushed, as he did not try to conceal his interest. Although it was not quite true, she said, "I do not feel exactly like a captive, Gran. I think he believes that solitude will aid me in my quest for a vision. I so want to help. He is my uncle." She pulled her grandmother toward the hearth, farther from Sir John.

She realized she was defending her uncle—and that she wanted to defend him. Was it not inexplicable? Yet he had treated her far better than anyone in the Comyn family had ever done. She did not need a guard—she would obey him if he merely asked. Surely, she was not a prisoner.

"I do not recognize the earl anymore," Eleanor said. "The young man I once liked has grown up into a ruthlessly ambitious man."

"He has been kind to me," Alana began.

"Oh, child! He is tossing you crumbs, and you devour them as if they are an entire loaf! The earl is using you for his own ends. He does not care that you are his niece."

How her grandmother's words hurt—and how they rang true. Alana refused to listen to her now. "He has suggested he will return Brodie Castle to me if I please him with a vision."

Eleanor cried out. She finally said, "And what if your vision is not what he expects? What if the future is not to his liking?"

She could not have a vision that he did not like. Fate could not be so cruel. "Gran, I must see a good future for the earldom!"

Her grandmother said, very low, "Perhaps you should create the vision he seeks."

Alana started, her heart lurching. Speaking as low, she whispered, "I do not want to lie to him. He is my uncle."

"Do not be deceived. He does not care about any blood ties!"

Alana tensed. "I am not sure of that."

"Please, Alana, be wary of him." Eleanor took her hand. "I know how much you yearn for affection from that family. I know how you hope for it. But you must keep your wits about you—now more so than ever."

Eleanor was the wisest person Alana knew, and she sensed she was right—though she wished that wasn't so.

"Mistress Alana." The knight came forward. "The earl has told me you are allowed five minutes and that time is over. You must return to your chamber."

"Already?"

"You will be allowed to walk in the afternoon—and to sup with his lordship this evening," Sir John said.

Alana suddenly realized the extent of her confinement. "Gran—are you well cared for?" she asked quickly as the knight took her arm.

Eleanor nodded. "I am fine, Alana. But it is you we must worry about. I am praying for you. The sooner you have a vision pleasing to the earl, the sooner we will be able to go home."

With dismay, Alana comprehended her meaning exactly. She sent her grandmother a last smile, and went with Sir John up the stairs.

* * *

S EVERAL DAYS PASSED , each day exactly like the one before it. In the morning Alana was summoned to the hall for the breakfast, and there, Buchan asked how she had passed the night. He would then ask if she had had a vision. But there were no visions in the glass bowl of clear water, and with trepidation she would tell him that she had no prophecies to make. He would smile politely, but his displeasure was obvious.

Eleanor was always present for the breakfast, and they would briefly speak before Alana was taken back to her room. There she would stare at the water and pray for a vision of the earldom's future—one pleasing to Buchan.

Each afternoon she strolled about the courtyard with her grandmother and Sir John. In the evening, she supped with the earl and his men.

And at night, in the glow of the bedchamber's firelight, she stared at the glass of water, desperately awaiting a vision. None came. There was only a growing sense of despair.

And would she ever be allowed to go home? Brodie Castle was her home, even if it belonged to Duncan, and even if, one day, it would be Godfrey's. She had been at Nairn almost a week, and the four walls of her chamber were beginning to feel like a jail cell.

It was dusk now, and Alana entered the great hall, Sir John behind her. To her shock, only her grandmother was present. Eleanor hurried toward her. "There is rampant gossip about the castle this afternoon!" she cried.

Alana seized her arm. "What has happened, pray tell?"

"Your father defends Lochindorb Castle—from Iain of Islay!"

Alana froze.

She had thought about the dark Highlander who fought for Robert Bruce. He had been impossible to forget, and not simply because of her vision about him. His dark, powerful image haunted her. So did his inexplicable kiss.

She did not want to recall the brief time she had spent in his camp. She did not want to be interested in him, not even remotely, not in any way. But she had wondered how he fared. She even worried about Duncan's plan to assassinate him should he attack Nairn. And she did fear that her father and Iain might cross paths in this war, with Sir Alexander left in the south to defend them. And now, it seemed as if the worst had happened.

"Where is Lochindorb?" Alana asked.

Eleanor looked at Sir John, who came forward. "It is two days to the south, if one rides without interruption," he said.

"Is it true?" Alana asked him. "Is my father at Lochindorb—defending it from Iain of Islay?"

Buchan stormed into the hall, followed by a dozen knights, everyone in full armor. Obviously he had heard her question, for he snapped, "It was true. Lochindorb has fallen." His eyes were burning with barely repressed anger.

Alana could not quite breathe. "My father?" she managed to ask.

"I do not know where he is, but the keep fell two days ago. The battle did not last an entire morning!" Buchan cried. He began to pace in a frenzy, head down, as he clearly deliberated the next course of action.

Alana stared at him. Her uncle wasn't just angry—he was uneasy and anxious. Was he afraid that Sir Alexander was hurt? She prayed her father had survived his encounter with Iain. "Can we send a man for news of Sir Alexander?"

He stared at her, as if in disbelief. "I cannot worry about my brother now, when I must defend my land from Bruce!"

Her heart sank. Didn't he care about his brother? Or was he only afraid of losing this war to Bruce? Everyone was dressed for battle. Clearly, her uncle was leaving to take his army to war.

"His army has turned north," Duncan said grimly. "They have left Lochindorb standing, perhaps because it is so small, and Iain of Islay leads them once again."

They were marching north. They were marching north and Iain was leading them.

Her heart had turned over, but not with dread. Oddly, she was not afraid.

She had always assumed they would never meet again. Now she had the strongest feeling that the reverse was true—that they would meet again—and soon.

Buchan turned. "This would be an excellent time for a vision," he said harshly.

"I want to help," she whispered. "I truly do!"

"Good!" It was a shout. Buchan turned and seized a pitcher from the table and thrust it under her nose. "Then help! Do your duty! Prove your loyalty! Are you a witch or not?"

Alana flinched. She could not stand to look into her uncle's cold, hard eyes. She looked into the pitcher, but was blinded by her tears. It was not that his words were hurtful, which they were, it was that his tone was so cruel.

The pitcher vanished, replaced upon the table, and she heard Buchan and Duncan heatedly discussing the defense of Nairn and Elgin—they did not know which castle would be attacked first. Buchan wanted to know where his damned spies were. Alana closed her eyes tightly, the tears burning.

Lochindorb had fallen—to Iain. Her father had been in the battle, and now, Buchan did not know where he was, or even if he lived. He desperately needed her help, and she desperately wished to give it!

She glanced at her uncle, who remained in a furious and frantic conversation with Duncan. Neither man looked her way.

He had just shouted at her—almost as if he despised her.

Impulsively Alana lifted her skirts and ran from the hall. As she did, she glimpsed her grandmother's startled expression. She did not care, and no one shouted at her to stop, to return.

Twilight had fallen over the hills surrounding the castle, and the courtyard was filled with long, dark shadows. Alana tripped as she ran. No one called after her still.

Because no one cared what she did—no one cared for her at all.

She sank down on the ground, curling up, and cried.

She cried because Buchan was using her, and she had known it from the beginning, even if she had tried to believe otherwise. She cried because she had yet to see her father, who might be hurt or, dear God, dead. She cried because neither her uncle nor her father gave a damn. And she cried because Iain of Islay was the enemy, yet he was the only man who had ever looked at her with interest.

Realizing that she was mired in self-pity, she choked back her tears. Crying would not solve anything. A brief stay at Nairn would not change a lifetime spent being shunned by the Comyn family. Alana wiped her eyes.

I am a fool, she thought.

Why not lie to Buchan and give him the prophecy he wished for? She might be given Brodie—and if not, at least she would be able to go home.

Alana slowly stood up, filled with desperation. Was she truly considering more deception? Lying to her uncle felt so immoral. How could she live with such a choice?

There was a well in the center of the courtyard.

She tensed, staring at the dark shape of the wood fence surrounding it. A bucket hung upon a rope pulley above it. A ladder lay against the fence. There was a full moon in the dark night sky.

Alana slowly walked over to the well, her heart now thundering. The stockade fence was chest high. She reached it and clutched its top.

The wild pounding of her heart increased. She began to feel tipsy, faint. Her stomach began to churn.

I am going to have a vision, she thought, but there was no relief. Instead she felt dread—horror.

From where she stood, if she wished to, she could stare down into the well and into its black depths.

But Alana didn't look down. She did not have to.

For she could feel the water below her. It was so heavy, and like a huge weight attached to her limbs, it began pulling her inexorably down.

Alana moaned and looked down into the darkness.

Flames blazed from its black depths. The fire shot up at her face.

She was scorched, but she did not move—she could not move. In the flames, she saw the terrified faces of men, women and children, their eyes white, mouths wide. For one moment, there was no sound.

And then she heard their screams.

They were being burned alive....

She did not want to see any more and she closed her eyes as she fell. Vaguely, she felt the dirt and rocks under her face, her hands. But now she saw the men, women and children running from the fires—entire villages aflame. Houses, shops, barns were blazing...crops were burning...forests were an inferno! Horses and cattle ran from the fires, frantic, a stampede....

Then suddenly, the fires were gone. The sky was blue, marred only by passing white clouds. A Highland army appeared, astride. Bruce's yellow banner with its red dragon waved above them.

The army was galloping now across the countryside, the forests black, the hills scorched and barren, roadside farms gutted, villages burned to the ground, a castle reduced to rubble, one tower partly standing.

Women and children cowered in the woods, watching the passing army, clad in rags, gaunt from starvation, sobbing in fear and anguish....

And when the army was gone, there was a banner upon the road. Trampled into shreds, she knew whose red, black and gold banner it was.

"Mistress Alana!"

Alana clawed the cold dirt and rough stones beneath her hands, still consumed by the horrific images. She heard Sir John call urgently to her again. But all she saw was the devastation and carnage left by Bruce's army, the starving women and children.... She got onto all fours, retching.

"Alana?" This time it was her grandmother, her hands on her back.

Alana had never been as ill, and she thought she would vomit again. She had never shaken as violently, nor could she stop. The tears flowed.

She had never witnessed such death and destruction, such merciless savagery, before.

Dear, dear God. She had just foreseen the annihilation of the earldom and its people.

"Mistress Alana?" It was Sir John. "If you have had a vision, you must go in and tell the earl!"

Alana closed her eyes, fighting the nausea, which refused to recede. Her head continued to spin. Surely, this vision was a warning, not a prophecy. Buchan was the most powerful earl in the north of Scotland! How could he be so thoroughly destroyed?

"You are shaking as if with fever," Eleanor cried, helping her to sit up.

Alana heard her. But the grotesque images of terror, fire, blood and death would not go away. She could still see those frightened men, women and children in vivid detail!

But she somehow forced herself to see past their terrified faces until Eleanor's worried countenance came into view.

"Alana?" she cried, aghast, for she knew the vision had not been a good one.

Alana could not yet speak. She could hardly think. She only knew that they must never let such destruction come to pass. "Sir John! Could you get her some water, please?" Eleanor cried.

Sir John whirled and lowered the bucket into the well. As he did, Alana leaned heavily upon Eleanor who sat with her on the ground. A moment later he returned with a ladle of water. Alana used it to wipe her mouth, and then took a long draught.

Sir John knelt. "I am sorry, mistress, but I must take you inside. I am under orders."

Alana wanted to protest, she wanted to delay. She did not want to face her uncle now! But when she finally looked at the knight he was ashen.

"Alana! What did you see?" Eleanor cried.

Alana met her gaze, finally somewhat lucid, but not yet coherent. What was she to do?

Should she lie? When lying to her uncle was so abhorrent? Could she lie, after such a horrific and devastating experience?

"We must go in, Lady Fitzhugh." Sir John was firm. He helped both women up, avoiding all eye contact now.

Alana shrugged free, aware that she frightened him now and he did not want to touch her. "I am fine," she said, a complete lie. She continued to tremble uncontrollably. She still felt faint and ill.

Alana went inside with Eleanor, Sir John following.

Buchan turned as they came inside. He took one look at her and his eyes widened. "What has happened?" he demanded, hurrying toward them.

"I found Mistress Alana on the ground, crying and screaming. She then became ill," Sir John said gravely. "I think she had a vision."

"Is it true?" Buchan demanded.

Alana somehow nodded. "Yes." Her mind raced, but uselessly. She did not know what to do next, or what she would say when asked.

"What did you see!" he cried.

Alana stared at her uncle. How could she deceive him? If she told him of some pleasant future for the earldom, and her vision came to pass, she would never forgive herself. Should he not be warned? This vision must never come true! "Niece!" Buchan grasped her shoulder and shook her.

"I saw our villages being burned to the ground, our villagers being murdered," she whispered, feeling ill yet again. "I saw Highlanders murdering the innocent people of Buchan.... I saw the land, scorched and destroyed, from one end to the other, no village, no farm, no castle left standing."

Buchan's eyes were wide. He stared speechlessly. "How do you know it was Buchan land you saw burned and destroyed?"

Tears fell. "Bruce's flag flew above—yours lay in shreds in the ashes."

He roared in rage. "This is the vision you give me?"

Alana meant to speak, but his hand flew across her face so swiftly that she could not utter a word. Pain exploded and she was knocked off her feet.

"This is your vision after all I have promised you?" he roared again.

His fist was raised. Beneath him on the floor, she cringed. "Maybe it is a warning!" she cried.

He struck her again, even harder, across the same side of her face.

She choked on the blazing pain.

"Stop! Stop it, John, stop it!" Eleanor screamed at him.

But Buchan did not hear. "I asked for a vision of victory, Alana! Instead, you tell me Buchan will be destroyed? Damn you! Damn you to hell!"

"I cannot help what I saw," she sobbed. "Please! You must make certain I am wrong!"

Buchan seemed about to kick her. Instead, he caught himself and stood over her, panting from his exertions, the hall so silent, only his heavy breathing was audible.

Alana curled up, trying not to cry, her face on fire. Eleanor scooted to her and knelt, taking her in her arms. Alana clung to her grandmother.

"We have a war to attend," Buchan finally said harshly. "We will ride out now, as planned."

Alana dared look at him over her tiny grandmother's arm and cringed.

He was staring furiously at her.

Duncan stepped forward. "What about her?" He nodded at Alana contemptuously.

Buchan was now striding across the hall, past Alana and Eleanor. He did not look at them again. "Take her and the old woman back to the tower. Lock them both up until I decide what to do with them."

* * *

T HEY WERE THE Earl of Buchan's prisoners now.

Alana stood at the window of her small tower room, which she now again shared with her grandmother.

Three days had passed, and she had not been allowed to leave the chamber. Neither had Eleanor.

Meals were brought to them. A maid came to attend the fire, bringing kindling for them. She also changed their chamber pot. Both women had taken up sewing to pass the time.

There was no news. No news of Buchan, no news of Bruce and his army, no news of her father—if he had lived, or if he had died. Alana prayed for him.

Now she stared outside at the deserted and snowy hillside, lightly holding the sill. She had had an odd feeling all day—of expectation. She wasn't exactly afraid. But something of great import would soon happen, something with grave consequences. She was certain.

"Are you watching for someone?" Eleanor asked. She came to stand beside her. "The road has been deserted all day."

"If only a messenger would come, and at least bring us news of the war...and my father," Alana said. She should not be wondering about Iain just then, but he remained on her mind. But then, he might lead the attack on Nairn when it came—if it came.

She sighed and turned away from the window. She heard the bolt being lifted upon the door. A maid stepped inside, holding a dinner tray.

Alana knew Mairi well now, and she started, for the young blonde girl's eyes were wide and her freckled cheeks were flushed. "Mairi?" Alana asked warily.

Breathlessly the maid set down their dinner of bread, cheese and wine. "Buchan is returning. The watch has seen his knights on the south road!"

Alana seized her arm. Was this the news she had been awaiting? "Do you know what has happened? Did he battle with Bruce's army? Was he victorious?" Had her uncle chased the mighty Bruce away?

"I have heard that Bruce is marching on us!" Mairi cried, ashen.

Alana glanced at Eleanor, who was pale. Bruce was on the march—Nairn would soon be attacked.

This could not be the event she had sensed coming. She had not felt fear or dread. But she was afraid now—Bruce meant to attack Nairn! "Is Buchan returning to defend us?" Was there time to escape? Would they and the other innocent residents of the castle be allowed to flee?

"I dinna ken," Mairi cried. "I ken what the watch has seen—Buchan is returning. Lady! Have ye ever been in a siege?"

Alana touched her arm. "No, Mairi, fortunately, I have not."

"They will rape and murder us." Tears welled in Mairi's eyes.

Alana inhaled. "We do not know that."

Mairi looked at her as if she was mad.

Alana stiffened. She was not a simple maid, like Mairi was—she was Buchan's niece. And Bruce was on the march, his ambition to destroy her uncle and his earldom.

Their rivalry went back generations, to the time when Bruce's grandfather had unsuccessfully sought the throne against John Balliol. But it was worse than that. Two years ago, Bruce had murdered Buchan's cousin, Red John Comyn, the Lord of Badenoch. Buchan had sworn revenge, and the enmity between the families had, impossibly, increased.

If Bruce took Nairn, what would happen to Buchan, to her father, if he was present—to her? They were his worst, most hated and most despised enemies.

"Can you come back and tell us what is happening? Please?" Alana implored. The maid usually did not come back till the morning. "You could pretend we need more firewood!"

"I'll try." Tears in her eyes, little Mairi fled.

Alana had no faith in her. But she could not be left in ignorance now, and if Buchan were returning, she wished to speak with him! Never mind that she now feared him impossibly. He had to release her and Eleanor, so they could flee this battle.

She rushed to the open door—only to be barred in the doorway by Sir John. "You know you cannot leave," he said sternly.

"Will we be attacked?"

"That is what everyone in the castle is speaking of, mistress."

She trembled. "Will my uncle stay and defend us? Why else would he return?"

"I have received no orders yet. But the earl will be here within the hour." He turned to leave.

She gripped his arm, preventing him from closing the door. Startled, he flinched and met her gaze. "Is my father with him? Please, Sir John, I do not know if my father is even alive!"

He shook her off. "I do not know!"

"And who leads Bruce's forces?"

He shook his head, about to close the door.

"Wait!" she cried, pushing between him and the door. "Will my grandmother and I remain imprisoned if we are attacked? I must speak with my uncle immediately! He must release us!"

His answer was to scowl and shut the door in her face. Alana stared at the wood, her nose practically touching it, flinching when she heard the bolt being thrown.

Eleanor approached. "If Nairn falls, perhaps we will be set free."

Alana stared at her. Would Iain free them? "Either that, or we will become the prisoners of our worst enemy."

* * *

T HE ATTACK BEGAN at dawn.

Alana had not slept well. She had been unable to stop her racing thoughts as she worried over whether or not the castle would be attacked, and what might happen to her and her grandmother, trapped as they were in the tower. If Iain were leading the attack, and he was aware of her presence in the tower, she was certain he would not allow them to be hurt. But he would not know that she and Eleanor were present. If the castle were taken, enemy soldiers would overrun every inch of it. Buchan's soldiers would be killed. Alana was afraid of her own fate and that of the other women who were present.

As for what might happen should Bruce ever learn of her identity, she could only pray he would consider her a worthless and unwanted bastard—though she felt certain that would not be the case.

Mairi had not come back. Sir John had refused to open the door to speak with her, no matter how often she shouted at him. She had finally given up banging on the door, as his answer remained absolute silence.

She could not see the south road from her window, only the north road, which was rarely used as it went to the sea. She could only assume that Buchan had returned, perhaps with Duncan, and perhaps with her father, and that he meant to defend the castle.

Alana fell asleep in her grandmother's arms, fighting tears of rising hysteria.

The siege engines awoke her.

She heard a boom from the front gates, the sound shocking. Instantly awake, she could hear the sounds of battle from outside—screaming horses, shouting men, whistling missiles.

"Gran! We are under attack!" Alana cried, seizing her mantle. She ran to the window and pushed open the shutters.

"Alana, stand back!" Eleanor screamed.

But Alana could not move. Hail after hail of arrows flew at the castle walls, along with flaming missiles.

She flinched but did not move. Bruce's army was arranged across the ridge below the tower where she stood. The barbican was on the south side, and she had not expected such a sight.

But his soldiers snaked around the walls to the west, and she felt certain his men ringed the castle entirely. He had hundreds of archers in the first rows of his army, foot soldiers with shields and pikes behind them. She espied several groups of mounted knights, and then, a small army of mounted Highlanders.

She stared across the archers and foot soldiers at the Highland army atop the ridge. Were those Iain's men?

More arrows flew toward the north wall, and the tower where she stood. Catapults had been set up at intervals, and fiery rock bombs were whizzing at the ramparts. She ducked and stepped away from the open window, her heart slamming.

The siege engine in the south sounded again, a huge banging sound, almost like an explosion. Would they soon break the front gates down?

She ran back to the window.

"Alana!" Eleanor seized her from behind.

Alana ignored her, just as she ignored more whizzing arrows. They sounded like rocks and gravel, peppering the walls around the tower. But the missiles screamed, exploding as they hit the walls, far too close for comfort. She seized the sill and dared to look down, directly below her.

Because the north road was the fastest way to the docks and the wharves, there was a gate below, through which the castle's supplies and provisions came.

A battering ram was being slowly pushed toward the north gate.

She held her breath as the machine came closer and closer and then she tensed as an explosion sounded. Before she could take a breath, a burning bomb landed on the wall outside her window. Fire and sparks shot at her as Alana leaped away from the opening, slamming the shutter closed.

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

Alana touched her cheek, where a spark had burned her. "I'll be fine."

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

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

"We cannot remain here, like this!" Eleanor cried.

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

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

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

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

"They have left us here?" Alana finally gasped.

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

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

"Alana! Do not go near the window!" Eleanor begged.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And then a face appeared outside her window.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Arrows hailed down upon them now.

It was Iain. And they meant to assassinate him.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

* * *

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

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

And what would happen now?

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

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

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

It was so terribly quiet upstairs, it was unnerving.

"Sometimes no news is the best news," Eleanor whispered.

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

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

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

"I am fine, Alana."

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

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

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

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

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

His eyes widened. "I'll tell him." He shut the door, bolted it and left.

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

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

Alana stared. "He doesn't know anything yet."

"Make sure he never does."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

She hesitated. "I fell, my lord."

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

She did not know how to respond. "Because it doesn't matter," she finally said.

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

Alana started. Iain almost sounded as if he cared.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"I displeased him."

His stare sharpened.

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

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

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

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

She started in alarm. "I did not say that!"

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

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

"He fled, coward that he is."

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

"Aye. They escaped together."

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

"Ye seem dismayed."

"Duncan is my guardian—I am pleased."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

His stare narrowed. "Do ye fear the king?"

She nodded. "Very much."

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