Chapter Five

CHAPTER FIVE

I AIN CLASPED HER ELBOW , guiding her down the corridor. Alana was acutely aware of his touch, of his presence and his proximity.

But even so, she remained afraid. She should have refused his offer to dine. It was too late now.

His step also slowed. "What is wrong?" Iain asked softly.

She smiled nervously. "I am weary, that is all."

His brow lifted. "Are ye still frightened?" he asked. "Did I not promise to protect ye—even from the king?"

He sensed her unease, she thought. "Yes."

"Maybe one day ye will tell me the truth—and why ye fear the king so much."

He clasped her hand and pulled her forward, toward the open doors of the hall.

"I am the king's enemy," she said.

He gave her a glance, indicating that he knew, very well, that there was far more to her fear than such a simple explanation. He was astute. How long could she deceive him, when she did not even want to?

It was so hard not to stare at him. Without the fur he habitually wore, she could see the hard, muscular outline of his shoulders, his chest and torso through his clothes. He was a tall, powerfully built man. He had to be three times her size, and all male muscle. And he still held her hand. Her mouth was dry.

He smiled slightly, as if he knew how discomfited—and interested—she was. "Come. Ye must be hungry, as am I."

She tried to smile at him and wondered if she succeeded. As she did, she glanced past him and into the great hall.

A great feast was taking place within it. Alana looked past everyone there, a huge crowd of knights, nobles, women and Highland men, and she instantly saw Robert Bruce.

She had seen his likeness once or twice, and even if she had not, she would have instantly known which man was Scotland's king.

He was simply impossible to mistake. He was a giant among men, although taller men were present. He was handsome and powerfully built, although others were more so. And he was superbly dressed. A red doublet over a blue surcote, red hose sheathing his powerful legs above his black boots. A red-and-gold mantle swung about his shoulders. He wore gold rings, a gold chain, a gold cross.

But mostly, he had an air of power and authority—and the presence of a warrior and a king.

It occurred to her then that she might deceive Iain through evasion, with female manipulations, and the attraction they shared. But Bruce would not be so easily fooled.

However, the hall was so crowded that there was no room left to sit or stand. It would be so easy to enter it and go unremarked. Yet Alana remained uneasy.

She ducked her head, averting her face from all those they passed, as they walked inside the great hall. Alana tried to make herself even smaller than she was, shrinking against his side. If he noticed her behavior, he did not remark it. Fortunately the crowd was mostly inebriated. A few men shouted a greeting to him. Iain did not pause. He led her to one of the many makeshift tables that had been erected in the room.

Alana was clinging to his hand. She glanced carefully at the table, standing somewhat behind Iain. Every possible seat was taken. It crossed her mind that they might have to leave—and she would not mind, this was simply too stressful—when Iain tapped a man on the shoulder and a place was instantly vacated for her. Inhaling, Alana slid onto the bench, Iain standing behind her.

A quick look around the table told her that she was surrounded by strangers, all of them English knights in Bruce's service, from his lands in Carrick and Annandale. Alana flung a glance over her shoulder, past Iain. Bruce was surrounded by a large group of enthralled admirers, mostly noblemen in jewels and knights wearing their swords, as well as several very beautiful women. He was engrossed with his friends, and she was relieved.

Iain laid a hand on her shoulder and bent over her. "Perhaps ye will enjoy the evening now." His chest pressed upon her shoulder and his arm against her breast, while his breath feathered her nape.

Alana felt her mind go blank. At the same time, her heart raced.

Then, before she could wonder at what he was he doing, Iain shoved his way onto the bench next to her.

There was no room to accommodate him, yet he pushed between her and the man next to her, forcing a place to be made. His large, powerful body wedged against hers, from shoulder to hip and hip to knee. He smiled at her, then handed her a mug of wine. "Drink and ye will feel better," he said.

Alana was shocked. Did he mean to seduce her? He had deliberately pressed his body against hers a moment ago, she was certain. She seized her mug and drank. It was so hard to think clearly!

He handed her a slab of bread with a piece of cheese upon it. Their gazes collided as he did. Alana was certain her cheeks flamed, and she hurriedly looked away.

"I am glad ye were not more scathed from this battle."

She set the bread and cheese down, untouched. Her pounding pulse made eating impossible. His tone was so soft, so intimate. "You were once—so recently—suspicious of me."

"Ye were once—so recently—suspiciously spying from the wood." He smiled and ate.

Alana looked away, somewhat breathless, and took a bite of the cheese. His smiles were making him seem like a different man—as if he were not Bruce's ruthless warrior. "I wasn't spying."

He was piling up a plate with roasted game and warm bread. "Even if ye were, that was then, and this is now." He set the huge plate down in front of her. "Ye need yer strength, Alana. Eat."

He began preparing another plate. Alana stared at the food, unable to fathom his words. Did he still think she had been spying? If so, why had he kissed her at Boath Manor, and why was he so kind to her now?

Iain began to devour his food, without pause, fast and furiously. Alana lifted her knife and stabbed a piece of venison. She had no appetite. They would be finished dining, soon. And then what?

Something was changing between them. It was almost as if they were friends, and upon the brink of becoming lovers.

If he asked her to bed, should she accept?

He was the enemy, and she only had to look over her shoulder at Robert Bruce to know so. And she was keeping so many secrets from him. He did not know she was Buchan's niece—or that she was a witch.

Her mind raced, her thoughts jumbled up with conflicting worries and strange yearnings—Iain, Bruce, her identity, her visions, Iain's kiss....

"Why won't ye eat?" Iain asked flatly.

Still acutely aware of how they sat next to one another, Alana managed a tight smile. "Why will you let us return to Brodie tomorrow?" she asked softly, so no one could overhear.

He shoved his plate away, pouring more wine into his mug from the pitcher. He took a sip and turned to face her. "Is there a reason ye should be kept a prisoner? Ye keep telling me yer no spy."

"Of course not!" She flushed. "And I was not a spy. It is just that...today you are kind."

His face tightened. "Ye were beaten and imprisoned. I think ye have suffered enough unkindness today."

"They say you are ruthless!" she exclaimed, shoving her own, very full, plate away.

He looked down at his plate. "Are we on the battlefield? Are ye a soldier—a knight?"

She somehow shook her head.

He faced her and said, abruptly, "Ye will not eat?"

She took a breath. "I cannot."

He leaped to his feet, and pulled her to stand, as well. His blue eyes were as dark as storm clouds. "Then we are done here."

Her heart thundered as he grasped her arm and guided her through the crowd. His strides were rushed, and Alana almost ran to keep up.

Once in the hall outside, they were alone, the sounds of laughter and conversation dull and distant. Iain halted, still holding her arm. "I did not expect to meet again, so soon after the battle at Boath Manor." His hand climbed to her face. He caressed her cheek and moved a long tendril of hair aside. It had been caught on her breast.

She shivered. "What did you think?"

"I thought," he said, his stare far too direct, "that I'd visit ye at Brodie Castle."

Her mind was dazed. There was no doubt as to his meaning—as to why he would have come to Brodie to see her. "That might have been difficult."

"I doubt it would be difficult, Alana." He leaned over her, bracing the corner of the hall with both hands, locking her between his arms. "And if I had come...would ye let me in?"

Inches separated his chest from hers. "Yes," she heard herself whisper.

Triumph flared in his eyes, and he wrapped her in his arms, kissing her.

Alana had thought their one previous kiss hard and demanding, but it was nothing like the kiss now. His mouth opened hers, forcefully, instantly, and his tongue swept deep, filling her. She found herself against the wall, off her feet and holding on to his shoulders. He kissed her again, and again, and again, until she could not stand the intensity of her desire, until she began to pant and whimper. Her body had become hot and swollen, explosive. She had never felt so desperate to be with a man.

He pulled away. "Ye can check on yer gran later."

She realized she was not being given any choice in the matter of going to his bed—not that she even knew if she could, or would, deny him. But his arm was a vise about her waist now as he pulled her downstairs.

"Where are we going?" she managed to ask.

He rushed her down a steep stairwell. "Every room is full. Do ye wish for company?" His smile was brief. "I want ye to myself."

They had reached the ground floor, which was rough and dank, with only a few torches lit on the walls. "We are in the cellars?"

"We are in the cellars." He pulled her into his arms. "Alana. Dinna deny me."

In his arms, the shock dissipated. "I don't know," she managed to say.

His answer was to catch her face in his hands and kiss her again, as hard and passionately as before.

Desire exploded within her, and it was mindless, insane. She seized his shoulders, finally kissing him back.

He groaned, as their teeth caught, as their tongues met and mated. Then he pulled away, breathing hard, looking around. He pulled off his plaid, making a pallet on the stone floor, behind a pile of sacks of wheat. Before Alana could move, he had divested her of her mantle, which was fur-lined, and added that to the pallet he had just made. Kneeling, he looked up.

Her belly was hollow; she felt faint. She would worry about what she was doing tomorrow! Alana held out her hand.

He took it, rising, and guided her back into his arms, and as one, they sank onto the cloaks. Slowly, Iain came down on top of her, hooking the skirt of his leine in his belt. He smiled at her, but it belied the blaze in his eyes.

"Are ye a virgin?" he asked.

She nodded, trying not to glance at his erect manhood and then giving up. He was massively proud.

And his eyes blazed, clearly triumphant. "Do ye like what ye see? Are ye pleased with me?" he whispered roughly.

And he found her mouth. But this time, his lips were like feathers, gentle, plying and teasing.

Alana closed her eyes as pleasure washed over her. She was incapable of answering.

He feathered kisses down her neck and along the edge of her bodice, while pulling up her skirts. And then one of his strong knees moved between her thighs, opening them.

Alana cried out, her eyes flying open, as she seized his strong shoulders. Something ballooned in her heart. It was huge, buoyant—it felt like love.

"I need ye, Alana," Iain said hoarsely. His expression strained, Iain seized her bodice and ripped open all her garments at once. He gathered her up, and she felt his penis against her, rock-hard and slick. Their gazes met.

The pleasure surging between them was stunning. Alana gasped and moved her calves over his back.

"Ye have amazed me as no other," he murmured, and then he kissed her, thrusting his tongue deep.

Alana held him harder, clawing at him now, kissing him back.

He broke the kiss, panting, and rose up over her. Their eyes locked. And then he surged into her, crying out, grunting.

Alana cried out, as well. The pain was brief. Instead, pleasure blinded her.

She threw her legs higher around his waist. He slowed his rhythm, and their gazes met again. And the moment they did, she could no longer bear it. The pleasure became ecstasy.

* * *

H E PULLED HER into his arms. "Have I hurt ye?"

Alana labored to breathe. Her mind began to clear. They had just made love—explosively, mindlessly. "No." Her heart was racing wildly, but it still held that huge, buoyant feeling, as well.

Still keeping one arm around her, he reached down and pulled off each boot in turn. Then he leaned over her to kiss one of her taut, still aching nipples. "I owe ye a gown." He now reached between them and removed his belts. The sheathed swords hit the stone floors loudly.

Alana realized he had torn her clothing open from collarbone to navel. She began to blush. A torch was on the wall, somewhere behind them, and she lay in the light while he remained in shadows.

He laid his hand on her ribs, beneath her breasts. "Ye dinna have to hide from me. I have never seen as beautiful a woman."

Her heart thundered. Desire returned, instantaneous.

Alana took his hand and moved it over her breast. "You do not have to flatter me."

"I do." He removed her hand and kissed her breasts. "I will," he said, nuzzling her. "Ye have amazed me from the moment we met, with yer beauty, yer courage, yer kindness."

She lay back, letting the pleasure grow and spread. "I am a simple woman, Iain," she said.

"There's nothing simple about ye—yer deep like the oceans, so deep, I wonder about ye all the time." He nuzzled her ear.

She thought about the secrets she kept, and hated them.

"I want ye again, Alana, I always will." His kisses went lower, down her ribs.

Her pleasure became a restless yearning; she moaned.

His fingers floated over her thighs, her sex. "And I'm fiercely pleased ye were a virgin—that I am yer first man."

She could not speak as he stroked her.

Within moments, he moved over her and into her once again, eyes ablaze.

* * *

A LANA AWOKE AND realized she had fallen asleep. She lay in Iain's arms, upon his cloak and hers, in the dark cellars below the castle. Recalling their lovemaking, she was stunned.

What had she done?

He remained asleep, breathing deeply, his arms about her. Alana was afraid to move, but she finally inhaled.

Oh, God, she had let him make love to her—twice—and it had been glorious. He was her worst enemy, truly, but she was insanely attracted to him, in every way, and she had not thought once about denying him. Their passion had been beyond anything she had imagined possible. In fact, being in his arms felt right, not wrong! And now, love felt like it was filling every possible space inside her chest.

So why did she feel like crying?

She stared up at his face as he slept, her chin on his chest, some torchlight playing upon them. She did not have regrets, she could not have regrets. But dear God, Iain did not even know the first thing about her.

She could not imagine how he would react to the news that she was Buchan's niece, or worse, that she was a witch.

He would certainly be angry to learn that she was a Comyn—that she was a part of the family that was his king's worst enemy. Bruce meant to destroy the Comyns. His efforts probably included her. Would he be able to forgive her that deception?

She trembled, hoping the day would never come when Iain knew she was Sir Alexander's daughter, but such a secret would have to come out, sooner or later. And she was frightened.

But it was so much worse than that, because they were surely not the first lovers to have opposing loyalties in a war. What would he think and do when he learned she was a witch? Wouldn't he react like all other men when he learned of her sight? He would be horrified and repulsed; he would not want to share his bed with her then! He would probably end their relationship the instant he learned the truth!

Alana felt moisture rising up in her eyes. If only they could continue on this way, as if she were an insignificant and ordinary woman!

But that was impossible, wasn't it? It was one thing to deceive the enemy, another, her lover. Surely she had to confess the extent of her deceptions. Didn't she?

Because she could never walk away from Iain of Islay now to keep her secrets safe. She knew this was a beginning, if she could manage her deceptions.

"Yer awake and ye did not awaken me?"

She jerked and met his teasing blue gaze. "You were sleeping so soundly." She touched his chin, a gentle caress.

He smiled and pulled her beneath him. "I am not sleeping now."

He was stiff and hard and Alana went still, her pulse soaring. "Iain," she began, knowing they must speak.

"Shhh," he said, nuzzling her neck. "Whatever ye wish to say, it can wait."

Iain wrapped her in his powerful arms and began kissing her, his lips feathery and teasing. Desire surged within her and she began to kiss him back. His grasp tightened on her and his kiss deepened. Alana tried to capture his tongue with her own; he used his powerful thighs to spread her legs wide. Alana moaned.

Iain moved slowly into her, with restraint, inch by inch. Alana clawed at his back. "Hurry. You are teasing me."

"Aye," he murmured, and then he thrust hard.

Alana gasped, consumed with growing pleasure, and now, they moved swiftly, hard, as one. Alana shattered, crying out again and again, Iain grunting his own pleasure.

And then they lay very still, breathing hard, in one another's arms.

"We must get up," Iain said softly, his mouth against her ear. "Even though I wish to stay with ye this way fer all the day."

Alana's pulse was still racing somewhat. "You could never spend an entire day in bed," she whispered, amused at the thought.

He released her, sitting up. "With ye, I think I could."

They smiled at one another. She did not try to sit up. He moved away to pick up his clothes, and she became aware of dawn's light, creeping into the tiny window slits high above them, in the ceiling, where the castle's ground floor was. She glanced up.

A new day was coming. Pale light was trying to filter within.

Some of her satisfaction dulled. Worry crept over her.

She heard Iain stand, and begin to dress. She finally sat up, reaching for her cloak, to cover her nudity. She was somber now. Every thought she had just had returned, full force. How could she continue to deceive him?

Now dressed in his leine and boots, Iain went to the wall, took a torch down, and brought it back to them. He set it down in a pocket in the stone floor. He glanced at her with some speculation.

They were both in the light now, and her heart lurched. She could not continue to deceive him. But after last night, how could she tell the truth? She could not bear to lose him.

He handed her torn clothing to her. "Ye do not look like a woman who is well pleased. What is amiss, Alana?"

She slid on her chemise, then the cote and surcote. "You know how pleased I am."

"Do I?"

Alana held her bodice together. "I am so very pleased.... But what do we do now?"

He squatted beside her. "I make certain ye get upstairs with no one the wiser, and then I make certain ye get to Brodie, where ye will be safe from this war. I will send ye there with an escort." His gaze was searching.

Did he feel about her, the way she did about him? Was it possible? "Do you care, Iain? Do you care if I am safe?"

"I care," he said roughly, rising to his full height. "But I also care about the secrets ye and yer grandmother keep."

She froze, and she felt all the blood draining from her face. "Secrets?" If ever there was an opening, he had just given her one.

But how could she tell him she was Buchan's niece? That she was a Comyn? She did not want to destroy what was happening between them. And even if they survived that revelation, they would not survive the fact that she had the sight. She felt certain of that.

So if he cared as much about her, he cared about a lie.

Alana did not know what to do.

"I care, Iain. I also care about you, and...a war divides us. I am afraid!"

He stared searchingly at her, for a long, terrible moment. "The war only divides us if we let it," he said grimly. He bent and put on his first belt, in which was sheathed a small dagger. Then he put on his sword belt.

Alana stood, wrapping the cloak about her so no one would be able to tell that her clothing had been ripped off of her.

He finished buckling the belt and touched her elbow. "Do ye have another gown?'

She nodded, wanting to ask him how they would navigate this war, and when she would see him again. "When do I go back to Brodie?" she asked instead as they started for the stairs.

"Ye will leave today, Alana, this morning, if I do not mistake my guess." He took her arm and sent her ahead of him, up the narrow winding stairwell.

"I leave today?" she said, shocked.

"I ride north, Alana," he said.

"And when will we see one another again?" She could barely believe she was being so bold, but she had to know.

He smiled slightly. "Do ye miss me, already?" He sobered. "I dinna ken. I will come to Brodie, even if for an hour, when I can."

He would come to Brodie for an hour when he could. Alana was afraid she would not see Iain again, that the war would truly come between them, and that their love was over after a single night. "I already miss you," she whispered.

He gave her a serious and sideways look. They had reached the ground floor, but none of the men and maids coming and going paid them any attention. Iain urged her up the next set of stairs.

Alana hurried, reaching the landing where the tower chamber was. She thought of Eleanor for the first time since supper the night before. "Gran must be frantic."

"She kens ye were with me." He took her elbow and halted her.

Alana faced him, her heart slamming. "Now you are the one who is not pleased."

"Ye belong to Brodie Castle. Duncan is yer liege. Yer guardian. I'll kill Duncan when I can—mayhap today." His demeanor of the past few hours was gone. He was a ruthless warrior once more.

She felt ill. Duncan was rude and overbearing, he had assaulted her, molested her and insulted her, for most of her life, but he was her guardian and he was a human being.

His stare intensified. "Who are ye loyal to, Alana?"

She froze. "What?"

"Ye heard me. I go to war against yer guardian. I go to war against yer liege, the Earl of Buchan. Who are ye loyal to?"

She was dismayed. She did not know what to say, or how to say it! "Iain!"

"Ye cannot answer, or ye will not answer?"

She flinched. How could she choose now? It was too soon! "I don't know what to say! I want to be loyal to you!" But could she be loyal to him? They were lovers, and she would gladly give him her loyalty—but she could not abandon her family, either—the family he still did not know about. "I despise Duncan," she said. "Brodie was my mother's dowry, but now, it is his. Iain, I want to be loyal to you."

He took two steps to stand in front of her, and he tilted up her chin. For a long moment, he stared, considering her words. "Wanting to be loyal is not enough. Ye will have to choose sides, and soon," he said flatly, and his face was hard. "Everyone must choose sides in a war."

"I don't want to choose sides!" she cried. "Why can't we just go on this way?"

His eyes widened. "Get dressed and gather up yer things. Make certain Lady Fitzhugh is ready to travel. We'll speak once more before ye go." His face still hard and uncompromising, he turned and strode away.

Alana sagged against her door. How could he demand that she choose sides now? After a single night?

But didn't she know which side she wanted to choose?

Behind her, the tower room door opened. "Alana?"

Wiping her cheeks, Alana turned to face her grandmother. "I hope I have not worried you!"

For one moment, Eleanor stared. "Why are you crying? Has he hurt you already?"

She trembled, wanting to let the tears flow freely. But she did not. "You will not scold me for what I have done?"

"He is a proud, brave soldier, Alana, who has helped us not once, but twice, in our time of need. So no, I will not scold you. You are a grown woman, and you know who you are."

Alana hugged her. "I may be falling in love, Gran," she whispered.

Her grandmother clasped her face as if she were a tiny child. "That is what I feared the most," she said.

* * *

A S THEY PACKED up their few belongings, Alana could barely believe how her life had changed in the past twenty-four hours. She had been Buchan's prisoner, and now she was going home—but only after spending the night with the enemy. It seemed impossible, like a tall tale, but her memories were real.

There were such huge feelings swelling in her heart. She wanted to thrill, but instead she felt dark despair. Iain seemed to care about her, but he wanted her loyalty, and she was not free to give it to him, because she was Sir Alexander's daughter. He already questioned her loyalty. He would question it even more once she told him of her paternity.

And didn't she question it, too?

But she could not continue to deceive him, not after the intimacy they had shared. She knew that, especially now, in the light of a new morning. Guilt weighed her down. But she was so afraid he would be angry. She was afraid that he would feel betrayed. She was afraid he might not care about her after all, not once he learned she was the niece of his king's worst enemy.

But what if they could get past her deception? What if, eventually, he could forgive her—and accept her for who she was?

Alana was blinded by sudden tears. She knew that they had no future. He would never accept her for who she was, because she was a witch.

Alana hugged her clothing to her chest. "Gran? What am I to do?"

Eleanor knotted her satchel. "You are speaking of your affair with Iain?"

"I hate deceiving him. It isn't right. But he won't be pleased when he learns that Buchan is my uncle."

"You haven't told him who you are?" Eleanor gasped.

"I have been afraid to do so!"

Eleanor stared, shocked, and Alana was ashamed. "There was no time," she finally whispered. "Do you think he will reject me when he learns of my father?"

"I don't know, Alana," Eleanor said, a bit briskly. "I had assumed you had told him before sharing his bed."

Alana hugged herself. "You disapprove."

"I do. I am sorry, Alana, but you are more honorable than that! If you truly love him, you will find the courage to tell him what you must. True love cannot withstand lies, Alana, but that you must know."

"And if he loses all interest?"

"Then he does not love you, and it is better you find out now."

"What about my powers, Gran? Why do we even bother to speak of his reaction to the news I am a Comyn by birth? I am such a fool. We both know he will be repulsed when he learns I am a witch."

"Do we? I stopped predicting male behavior a long time ago, Alana, especially when love and lust are involved." She smiled. As she did, a knock sounded on their door. As Eleanor turned toward it she said to Alana, "Everyone has been told to leave Nairn by midmorning. We have tarried, I expect."

Alana pulled on her fur-lined mantle as her grandmother opened the door.

A lean, freckled Highland lad of about fifteen appeared in the doorway, his hand on the hilt of his sword. He wore a mail tunic beneath his dark blue plaid. "Ye must go out now, ladies, and it is an order. Why do ye take so long to pack yer things?"

"I was helping my granddaughter to dress," Eleanor said with a reprimand in her tone. "And to gather up our belongings."

"Ye can gather up yer things, but only if ye can do so in the next five minutes. The king has already left Nairn, and Iain the Fierce is impatient to do so."

Alana wondered at the urgency. She now recalled that Iain had said they would speak once again before she left, and she was determined to do so. "We are ready," Alana said. As they left the chamber, she asked, "What is your name, lad?"

He glanced at her, his blue eyes bright, his freckles brighter. "Donald, my lady."

"It is Mistress le Latimer," she said. They hurried downstairs, no one coming up the steps now, the castle feeling eerily deserted. "Are we the last to leave?"

"I dinna ken, mistress," Donald said. "But I think so."

Alana glanced into the empty hall as they passed. Dread began. Why empty the castle—if not to destroy it? "Do you know why Iain is in such a rush to depart?" she asked as they approached the open front door.

"Everyone knows. They march on Elgin. Bruce has gone on ahead, but to wait for Iain." He smiled slyly and said, "The Earl of Buchan has gone into hiding there. Rotten coward."

Alana inhaled, glancing at her grandmother. Was her father with Buchan? Was her loyalty to be tested immediately?

They stepped outside, into the bright, early morning sun. At that moment, images flashed in her mind—of the countryside blackened and burned, castles reduced to rubble, villages burned into ash.

Alana blinked and saw the dirty gray snow of the courtyard, the castle's gray walls, the soldiers leaving. She was relieved. The images had not been a vision, just memories of the horrific vision she had had.

As they went down the front steps, Alana saw that the castle's remaining inhabitants, mostly kitchen maids, serving boys and cooks, were filing out through the front gates. A dozen Highland warriors were mounted and stood sentinel by the entry tower, watching them as they left. A handful of soldiers were loading two wagons with the last of the army's equipment, draft horses in the traces. Otherwise, the usually busy courtyard was deserted.

Alana did not have to ask to know that no one, not even a pig or a cow, was left within the castle's walls. Dread consumed her.

"Go on," Donald said.

But she did not move. "Is Buchan alone at Elgin?"

Donald started. "I dinna ken yer meaning, lady."

"How many armies does he have?" she asked. She wanted to know if Sir Alexander was at Elgin—and about to be attacked. "He has many brothers, one was at Lochindorb, and he has a fine army."

"I know nuthin' of Buchan's brothers but I was at Lochindorb," Donald said, grinning. "We chased them cowards right away."

Alana shivered and rubbed her arms. She would have to wait until she got home to learn of her father, she realized. Donald gestured at the entry tower, and they hurried after the others who were leaving. She wondered if they were the very last ones to depart. She glanced wildly around, but did not see Iain within.

She felt a surging of panic. He had said they would speak before she left, and it felt very important to see him again before she returned home and he marched upon Elgin Castle. Maybe she would have enough time to tell him the truth.

They reached the main entry tower, atop the south road, and went through it. Across the hillside and filing down the single road, which led to Aberdeen and Dundee, she saw an exodus of men, women and children.

Alana instantly realized that the population was not just from the castle, but from the surrounding farms and the nearby village. And all the country's livestock had been released. Cows, pigs and goats, as well as a few horses, grazed at random about the hills and alongside the road.

Then she saw what the soldiers were doing—wood was being piled up at intervals, along the castle walls.

Alana seized Eleanor. "They are going to burn the castle down." They began to run away from the entry tower and its front gates. Alana's heart exploded in fear. Disbelief warred with dismay.

How could he burn Nairn to the ground? How?

But wasn't that what her uncle had said about Iain? About Bruce? That he burned enemy strongholds down, leaving no stone standing?

But she would never believe the rest of what Buchan had said—never.

And why were the villagers being sent away? Why were all the farm animals loose?

"I am taking ye to Brodie," Donald now said. He pointed to where a soldier held a saddled horse and a mule, the latter animal harnessed to their wagon.

Alana hesitated, but Donald was already helping Eleanor up into the wagon's single seat. Frantically, she scanned the countryside, and as she did, galloping hoofbeats sounded. She whirled and saw Iain approach, astride his dark horse, coming from the far side of the castle. He halted before her, his mount rearing. He jerked its reins hard to settle it.

Their gazes locked.

He seemed grim—yet the heat between them remained, she felt certain. "Iain?"

"I wish ye Godspeed, Alana," he said.

She shook her head. It was hard to speak. "I wish you Godspeed, too, Iain."

He studied her. "Are those tears fer me?"

"For you...for me...for them." She pointed to the men, women and children walking down the road, away from the castle.

He looked at them, not speaking.

"What are you doing, Iain?" she begged. But she knew, and the knowledge was making her ill.

"Nairn burns today, Alana," he said harshly.

Was he avoiding her eyes? "How can you burn Nairn Castle down?" she cried. "And what of the village, the farms?"

"Do ye wish for Buchan to return here and use it against me?"

She hugged herself. "No."

"I dinna think so." He gathered up his reins.

She did not want her uncle to use Nairn Castle against Iain. But some of the women who were leaving the castle were crying. Their children were pale and afraid. She could only imagine how the villagers felt at being forced to leave their homes.

She turned back to Iain, and caught him watching the exodus, too. "Will you spare the village, at least?"

His face was hard. "Dinna interfere, Alana."

She could not help herself. "Have you even thought about the suffering you cause? I know you are not the savage Highlander of legend! Look at them, Iain! Look at the men, women and children whom you are sending into exile! How will they eat? Where will they sleep?"

"Ye think to interfere in this war?" He was incredulous, flushing. "They will build new homes. They will make new lives. In a new village, on new farms."

"Yes, I suppose they will, just as Mistress MacDuff must build a new manor," she said, trembling. She realized her fists were clenched at her sides. "Is this what you did at Inverlochy? Urquhart? Inverness?"

"So ye choose sides against me."

"How can you say such a thing? After last night?"

"How can ye condemn me after last night?"

She continued to shake. She must not criticize him—not when she loved him. "I do not believe you are pleased to do this."

"I am a soldier, Alana, the king's man. Nairn will burn—the castle, the village and its farms."

"Why?" she cried. "Why?"

"Tomorrow, no one will support Buchan against us, not ever again."

She felt tears upon her lashes now. "No. They will not support Buchan tomorrow."

She turned toward the wagon, blinded by pain, not tears. How her heart hurt her now. He did not care about the innocent lives he was endangering. He did not care about the swath of destruction he was deliberately inflicting upon the countryside. Did the truth even matter now?

Because she could not love such a ruthless man.

He must have leaped down from his stallion, because he seized her shoulder from behind, turning her back to face him. "So this is yer farewell? Ye walk away in anger? Ye said ye cared about me!"

His eyes were so fierce that they were frightening. Alana did not know how to answer. Her heart screamed that she did care, but she could see past him, and the men, women and children leaving Nairn were tragic—and his responsibility!

His eyes blazed. "Very well. We ride to Elgin. Donald will take ye back to Brodie. Just go."

Her heart turned over, hard. They must not part like this, in contention, in anger! But she could only say, "God keep you safe, Iain. I will pray for you."

He stared, unsmiling. "If I come to Brodie, will ye see me?"

Alana hesitated. She suddenly did not know what she would do. The war already divided them, as did her lies. It would be best to stay away.

"So ye have chosen sides after all." He seized her by the waist and lifted her effortlessly onto the wagon.

No, she thought desperately, I am on your side! But she did not speak—because she knew she must not say so.

"Ye should be safe at Brodie." He turned away.

Alana fumbled for the reins, the pain inside her chest terrible now. His back to her, Iain leaped astride his charger. Without another glance at her, he galloped back up the hill, toward the castle. She had lifted the reins without knowing it, and the mule began to go down the road, Donald trotting beside them on his horse.

Eleanor patted her hand.

Alana did not look at her, lost in misery and grief.

She heard the fires blazing behind them, but she would not look back at Nairn burning. She would not.