Chapter Six

CHAPTER SIX

B RODIE C ASTLE SEEMED so small, so insignificant, with the country in the throes of such a great war over the fate of Scotland.

Alana lifted the reins and halted the mule. "We are home," she said.

It was but a few hours later. She had halted the wagon inside Brodie's narrow courtyard, its red stone walls rising around them. They seemed lower than they had been. She did not see any watch atop them. And she did not recall the courtyard being so small, or so oddly barren. But she could not help comparing Brodie to Nairn, which was huge in comparison. Its bailey never seemed quiet—it was always a hive of activity, with soldiers, women and children coming and going.

Her heart lurched with dread and she closed her eyes, but all she saw was Iain's hard face, his flashing eyes, and his men piling up wood against the castle's walls, as Nairn's residents and its farmers and villagers left the countryside in an exodus.

How could he be indifferent to the suffering he was causing the innocent?

He had rescued Mistress MacDuff and her two children from Boath Manor as it burned!

The mule shook its head with impatience, pulling on the reins, and she opened her eyes, setting the wagon's brake. She must not dwell on what was happening at Nairn, for she was one small woman in the midst of this war—she could not affect it.

But her chest ached. For surely it was over with Iain now. His behavior as a warrior was hardly unusual but for her it was the cause of so much distress and so much disappointment. She could not blithely accept it, no matter how heartbroken she was.

A stable boy was running toward them. Alana recognized the young lad and she summoned a smile. She did not feel as pleased as she had thought she would upon coming home, either. She felt almost indifferent. "It feels as if an entire lifetime has passed since we left here not long ago," Alana said.

"Yes, it does. You are distraught, still," Eleanor said, clasping her shoulder.

"I am sad." Alana slid from the wagon, then helped her grandmother down. It was snowing, so it was not that cold, and the ground was partially thawed underfoot. Donald had left them a half an hour ago, as he could hardly venture close to Brodie without becoming in danger of being captured. Gratefully, Alana handed over the reins to the boy while patting the mule's neck. As she turned toward the steps leading up to the hall, the door there opened and Godfrey stepped out.

She tensed, so wishing to avoid a confrontation now. "Good afternoon."

He had not bothered to don a fur cloak, and he gave her an ugly look, his hands fisted on his hips. "So you have returned." His cheeks were flushed, a sign of his ill temper.

Alana lifted her chin, instinctively defiant. She was exhausted in every possible way—how she wished she could stop thinking—and she wanted nothing more than to escape Godfrey and steal off to her chamber. She had been at Nairn for eight entire days, and she was almost certain Godfrey had received at least one communication from his father, if not several. Duncan would have told him about her bald lie. "We are very tired, Godfrey. We have endured a great deal, including the battle for Nairn."

"And did you endure the battle? How could that be? When you enraged your uncle with your true vision, so that he imprisoned you?"

She sighed. "How that must please you," she said.

"You boldly lied to me over an important matter, because you lust for Brodie still, and it is to be mine! You have finally gotten your just deserts, so I suppose I am pleased." He came down the steps to confront her. "Nairn is in ashes!" he snapped, hands on his hips. But he was pale. "I received word just hours ago. Does that please you, Alana?"

Duncan must have sent a messenger after they had left Nairn, Alana thought. A messenger would travel more swiftly than two women in a cart. And of course Buchan would leave spies in the woods to remark Nairn's terrible fate.

"They were burning it when we left. No, it hardly pleases me. I am sorry." She did not want to recall her vision, in all its horrific detail, but she continued to do so. And she did not want to remember the piles of wood stacked against the castle walls, or the exodus of men, women and children, or Iain's cold expression when they had argued about what he meant to do.

He had burned that fine castle to the ground. It was done. There had been no change of heart. "And the village? The farms?"

"It is all burned to ash," Godfrey cried. "And God only knows if Brodie Castle will be next!"

She paled. Iain would never burn Brodie down—would he? It was her home!

"At least you care about Brodie," Godfrey said grimly.

"Of course I care about Brodie." She turned to Eleanor. "Let's go inside."

As Alana helped her grandmother in, Godfrey followed them. "How is it that you were freed? Did Bruce's men free you when they took the castle?"

She was belligerent. "Your father hardly freed us. I am certain he did not care if we died in that attack. So yes, Bruce's soldiers freed us."

Godfrey stared and Alana wondered if he was sorry she was freed. Eleanor sat down in one of the chairs before the hearth, and said, "Buchan and Duncan fled Nairn when it was to fall, leaving us behind. They left us locked in the tower during the battle, Godfrey, two women alone to defend themselves."

"My father has told me everything," Godfrey said harshly, "in the last missive he sent. You told him the earldom will be destroyed. Of course he locked you in the tower!"

"It is what I saw," Alana said. "I never wanted such a horrible vision!"

"Really?" Godfrey flushed. "You see the destruction of Buchan's earldom, and you tell him the truth! You see Iain of Islay in battle, and you lie!"

"You goad me like no other," Alana said. "Yes, my vision was of a different battle entirely, and I saw Iain of Islay in it, not your father."

Godfrey shook his head. "Why did Iain of Islay let you go? Why did he not keep you as hostages? Or did his men let you go unbeknownst to him?"

Eleanor spoke now. "Why would he keep us, Godfrey? He doesn't know Alana is Buchan's niece, or that she has the sight."

There was a moment of silence, as Godfrey stared at her. Alana's heart skipped. Godfrey was surprised that Iain did not know she was a Comyn, and perhaps, that she was a witch. If he ever learned that she wished to keep such secrets, he would deliberately reveal them—she had no doubt.

Alana inhaled. "Actually, I truly regret allowing myself to be goaded into lying to you. I have paid for what I have done."

His eyes widened. "You blame me for your lie?"

She did, but she somehow shook her head. "It was petty of me. And it was also foolish."

He eyed her with suspicion. "Is that an apology, Alana?"

She hesitated. She actually was sorry, on this single count, anyway. "If you had been at the battle of Nairn, you might understand. It was terrible and terrifying. But even worse was how ruthlessly they destroyed Nairn afterward." She fought the compulsion to cry. Brodie must never come to such a fate!

"I think we should have some wine," Eleanor said. She nodded at a maid, who went to the table to get the pitcher and mugs for them.

"I am not thirsty," Alana said. She did not wish to drink wine with Godfrey.

"I am," Godfrey said. As the maid brought mugs to the women, he went to the table and poured his own mug. Then he turned to face them. "I do not know how I can ever defend Brodie when I have so few men and arms."

Alana took a sip of wine. He was worrying about Brodie, too. "I am praying that Brodie is too small and too insignificant and will be forgotten in the war."

"No place is forgotten in war—and no one," Godfrey said.

"I hope you are wrong. And I do not know who we could beg for aid from, should we be attacked." She wondered if she would one day beg Iain not to attack her home. She did not think he would heed her then, as he had not listened to her pleas for mercy at Nairn.

Godfrey approached. "You could beg for aid from your father."

Alana was shocked by the suggestion. She slowly stood. "I do not even know if he is alive! I have had no word since I heard he was defending Lochindorb."

"He escaped with most of his men. They withdrew before the fighting became heavy, which was wise, as he would have surely lost the battle to Iain of Islay." Godfrey was grim. "He is at Elgin with my father and the earl."

She felt stunned. And then she was flooded with relief, as if she had lost Iain that day, but that now something precious had been returned to her.

"You are so loyal to him, when he has never openly acknowledged you," Godfrey said.

"He is my father—and that will never change." But her heart cracked at his words.

"If you wish to write to him, I can send your missive with my own to Duncan."

Alana stared, suddenly confused and slightly suspicious. "So you wish for me to write him?"

"One day, we may need his help." Godfrey was blunt.

How she hoped he was wrong. But he was right, and for the first time in her life, she saw him in a new light—as a young man who wasn't entirely a fool, and who was wise enough to plan ahead in the event that Brodie was attacked. "I will write him." She turned. "Gran? I am going upstairs to rest. Will you come?"

"I am enjoying the fire, Alana. I will be up a bit later," Eleanor said.

Alana realized her grandmother wished to speak with Godfrey alone. As she left, he said, "I will send parchment and ink, Alana. My messenger rides in the morning."

He was insisting she write to Sir Alexander, she thought, a flutter in her heart. She left the room, and unable to help herself, she paused in the hall. She didn't intend to spy, but she knew they meant to discuss her, and she wanted to know what they were saying.

"Perhaps it is time to make amends, Godfrey. Fighting with Alana doesn't help you, your father or any of us. It does not help Brodie. Not in a time of war," Eleanor said.

"Tell her that!" he exclaimed. "She played me for a fool—she humiliated me in front of the earl and my father."

"She is truly sorry. Surely you can see that."

"I don't trust her," he said flatly. "And, Eleanor? She enjoys lying to me."

Eleanor sighed. "But you treat her shamefully—as you know. You bully her constantly. I think it wise to end the bickering. I intend to tell Alana as much."

There was silence. Alana turned around and walked back to the threshold of the room.

Godfrey looked at her. "She would love to see me stabbed in the back, because she thinks that one day, she can claim Brodie as her own."

Eleanor did not see Alana, who stood facing her back. "You are wrong. Alana wishes ill will on no one."

Alana hardly wished for Godfrey to be stabbed in the back, but she did yearn for his downfall, because she coveted Brodie.

"Then she will have to prove it—with a good vision. And she will pay dearly if she deceives us another time." Godfrey faced Eleanor and smiled. "Mostly, I am hoping she is as loyal to Brodie as she claims."

Alana had heard enough. She picked up the hem of her skirts and rushed away. Eleanor was brokering a truce. Her grandmother was right: this was no time for petty differences, ancient grudges and old grievances.

She went up to the chamber she shared with Eleanor and sat down at the small table between the beds. Sir Alexander's handsome, golden image came to her mind's eye, his features blurred and indistinct. The parchment and ink had yet to arrive, and she tried to think of what she would say to her father, when she hadn't seen him in fifteen years.

A shudder racked her. Pain bubbled up in her chest.

Sir Alexander's image was followed by Iain's dark one.

Nairn was rubble now.

She wiped tears from her eyes. Crying would not solve anything—it would not change Iain into a different man.

She could not believe that, a few hours ago, she had been deliriously happy—she had even thought herself in love. Now she did not know what to think. Could she love a man who burned down farms and villages upon command?

Her heart hurt terribly, but it refused to tell her that she did not love Iain of Islay. And for one brief moment, she allowed herself to think about the night they had spent together.

More tears arose. Alana finally closed her eyes, afraid that she was in love with a ruthless warrior, one who had no honor, who did not think twice about destroying the lives of the innocent.

There was only one thing she was truly certain of—she was loyal to Brodie, and it must not suffer the same fate as Nairn.

"Mistress?" A soft voice spoke from the open doorway. "I have brought ye a quill, ink and parchment."

Alana turned and smiled. "Thank you," she said.

* * *

N EWS OF E LGIN ' S attack came the next afternoon. It was snowing furiously when the messenger arrived.

Alana was mending a chemise, seated in a chair before the hearth. Eleanor sat beside her, embroidering. Godfrey was drinking wine at the table while throwing dice with one of his men, when one of his soldiers led a boy of fourteen or fifteen inside. Snow clung to his wool cloak and dusted his red hair.

Godfrey leaped to his feet, Alana ceased sewing, and Eleanor set her embroidery down. They all stared at the boy.

"What news do you have?" Godfrey cried.

"I come from Duncan, my lord. Elgin has been attacked and the Earl of Buchan is determined to defend it," he said.

For a moment, a silence fell as they all continued to stare at him.

Then Alana leaped up, pouring a mug of wine, which she handed to the boy. He smiled gratefully at her.

"When did Bruce attack?" Godfrey demanded, his expression twisted with dismay.

"Yesterday at dawn, my lord," the boy said.

"How was it when you left?"

The boy shook his head. "Bruce had seven hundred men combined, far more than the earl and yer father. But only a small army attacked—the rest of his men were waiting in the woods." He finally sipped the wine.

Alana's heart lurched with dread. She knew who was leading that small army. But Elgin could not fall. It could not suffer the same fates as Inverness, Inverlochy, Urquhart and Nairn. For if it did, Brodie could be next.

She closed her eyes to ward off a recollection of her last terrible vision, to no avail. All she could see was Scotland, blackened and burned, with Bruce's flag waving above the ashes and rubble.

She shook herself free of the recollection. "Is Sir Alexander Comyn with the Earl of Buchan still?" she asked.

"Aye, mistress. Sir Alexander defends Elgin with Duncan and the earl."

Her father was with Buchan and Duncan, defending Elgin from Robert Bruce—battling Iain once again. Alana fought for air. She felt dizzy.

She wondered if her father would ever receive the letter she had sent to him that morning. It had been so awkward to write, but in the end, she had expressed her concern for his welfare and told him she prayed for him. She had also mentioned that they feared for their own safety at Brodie, where they had no actual defenses.

"And how did the first attack go?" Godfrey asked.

"When I left, there was no sign that Iain of Islay would succeed. His men were being turned back from the walls."

Alana was relieved. She wished to ask about Iain, but was afraid to, and besides, thus far, he was in command. She looked at Godfrey. "Perhaps my grandmother is right, and we share a common cause."

He gave her a disdainful glance. "Maybe you should take up a bowl of water, Alana. Maybe you can tell us Elgin's fate before the next messenger arrives!"

Alana started. So he knew what Buchan had done to her. "If I have a vision, you will be the first to know. And I will tell you the truth." She meant it. "We cannot afford to be enemies."

"No, we cannot," Godfrey replied, but reluctantly.

* * *

A PALL SETTLED over the castle as they awaited news of Elgin's fate. The days passed with agonizing slowness. Alana avoided Godfrey, amazed that she now intended to forge a truce between them, as fragile as it was. Because they so disliked one another, it was better to keep her distance—for Brodie's sake. At times she slipped outside for a lonely walk along the castle walls, her only company a gray wolf watching her from the forest, but mostly she kept to the small chamber she shared with Eleanor. There, her gaze was continually drawn to a pitcher of water left for drinking, as if it dared her to look within.

She did not. She was too afraid she might see Elgin in rubble and ashes.

And she wondered about her father. Had Sir Alexander received her letter? What had his reaction been to such a missive, sent from the illegitimate daughter he had abandoned and forgotten? Would he even bother to reply? And she also wondered, against her will, how Iain fared in the battle for Elgin Castle.

There was no word for four days, but then another messenger arrived, shaking the snow from his fur, as they assembled in the hall to greet him. "My lord! Bruce and his army have been turned back! They have fled Elgin," he cried, beaming.

Godfrey was so exultant he danced a Highland jig. "Finally, the tides of war favor us!"

Alana stared in shock at the messenger as Godfrey skipped about the hearth in the hall, gloating. Bruce had retreated. He had been defeated.

Stunned, she took a seat at the table as the messenger shed his cloak. Relief finally began. Elgin remained intact!

"How is my father?" Godfrey demanded. He handed the young soldier wine. "How is the Earl of Buchan?" He glanced at Alana. "And his brother, Sir Alexander?"

"They are all well, my lord," the boy said, smiling.

Her father was well. "Please, come sit and eat," Alana said, her heart leaping. As he slid onto the bench, not far from her, she stood and indicated that a maid should bring him refreshments. "Do you have a message for me, by any chance? From Sir Alexander?" she asked.

He started. "No, my lady, I have no messages for anyone."

Her heart sank. She reminded herself that she did not even know if Sir Alexander had received her letter in the midst of such a furious battle.

"How great were Bruce's losses?" Godfrey asked, taking a seat facing the young messenger. "Did we rout him at long last?"

"He lost thirty men, my lord, and we lost half that." The second messenger was a blond Englishman in a fur-lined cloak. "It was no rout, merely a hard-fought battle that seemed evenly matched. Bruce withdrew quite suddenly. The siege lasted but an entire day and a night."

Godfrey scowled as Alana wondered why Bruce had chosen to retreat, rather than fight a protracted siege. She did not want to think of Iain, but of course she did. He was always there in her mind—her heart.

"Bruce hardly suffered any losses, his army remains strong!" Godfrey said.

"Aye, my lord, and he is well fed by most of the villages here now." He tore some bread in half and dunked it in the wine.

She looked at Godfrey. "Why would Bruce retreat, when he so outnumbered Buchan and Duncan?"

"I don't know. It worries me—maybe it is a trap." Godfrey was grim.

Alana did not like the sound of that. She realized how impossible her position was—to be against Bruce, to pray for his defeat, yet to fear that defeat too because she did not want Iain captured, wounded or killed.

"Are the villages in Buchan supporting him now?" She thought of how he had destroyed Nairn—Iain had claimed the villagers there would never dare support Buchan against Bruce again. She believed him.

"The damned traitor is growing in popularity," Godfrey said.

The maid returned, setting down a trencher of bread, smoked fish and goat cheese. The lad began to eat hungrily.

Alana sat back down. She no longer felt as relieved about their victory at Elgin. And what of Iain? Where was he now? Should she ask openly about him? Godfrey knew he had freed her, and she could claim that was her reason for concern.

Godfrey watched the young man. "What is Bruce's position now? Where will he strike next?"

"When I left Elgin, Buchan was thinking that the war will wait until the spring." The boy shoved his plate aside. "My lord, I have one more bit of news. Bruce has taken the manor at Concarn."

Godfrey leaped up. "Concarn Manor belongs to my father!"

The boy glanced worriedly at Godfrey. "I am sorry. Bruce's army rests there now."

Godfrey turned red and fell into an amazed and distressed silence, staring into his wine.

Alana said, "What of Iain of Islay?"

Godfrey whirled to stare at her.

"Bruce has sent him to Aberdeen," the boy said. "He plunders the country he passes through, warning everyone not to oppose Bruce."

Dismay overwhelmed her. Iain was not hurt, apparently, but he was destroying Aberdeenshire as he had destroyed Nairn.

"You seem distressed," Godfrey snapped. "Why do you ask about the goddamned Highlander?"

This was a good time to flee. She got up. "He freed me and Eleanor, Godfrey, when he did not have to do so. He might be the enemy, but I owe him some gratitude." She turned. "Thank you for bringing us so much news," she said to the boy. "I am going to retire for the night."

Godfrey jumped to his feet and went to quickly stand in front of her. "You should pen another letter, Alana, in case Sir Alexander did not receive the first one. They have taken Concarn—and it is smaller and less significant than Brodie."

Alana realized what he meant. Protecting Brodie meant more to her than protecting her own pride. "Very well. I'll do so immediately."

"Good," Godfrey said. He seemed about to touch her shoulder, but then he thought better of it and paced over to the fireplace to stare into the flames.

Eleanor had arisen. "I will go with you." She took her arm and they left the room, her grandmother speaking softly. "It is all good news, Alana."

Alana nodded as they went toward the stairs. "Yes, for now, it is all good news." But was it? The shock over Bruce's withdrawal was fading, as was her relief that her father remained unharmed. Bruce was at Concarn—was Iain really raping the countryside, demanding loyalty from those he terrorized?

As they reached the stairs, a young Highland lad with long red hair, in a tattered plaid and fur, darted out of the shadows. "Mistress Alana!" He seized her wrist.

Alana was so startled she jumped. Incredulous, she faced a boy of twelve or thirteen, staring into his bright blue eyes. "Who are you?" She had never seen the boy about Brodie before. And was that plaid dark blue with black and red stripes?

"Shh!" He glanced at Eleanor. "Is she yer gran?" he whispered.

Alana nodded. She reached for his plaid, to bring an end closer, as it was dark in the hallway. How would this lad know that Eleanor was her grandmother?

"Iain has commanded me to bring ye to him," he said.

Her heart slammed. He wore the MacDonald colors, of course he did. She dropped the wool. Alana was so stunned, it was a moment before she could speak. "Iain sent you here?"

"He returns to Concarn, lady. But we must hurry. If I am caught they might whip me!"

Eleanor seized Alana's arm, her eyes wide. "You cannot go."

Shocked, Alana briefly met her wide, worried gaze. Images flashed—of Nairn aflame, and then of her in Iain's arms.

Iain was sending for her.

Oh, God, what should she do?

She realized that she had not instantly ruled out the possibility of going to him. Instead, she was torn.

They had parted in anger and disappointment. After the night they had shared, it was a terrible and painful way to part. It still caused so much heartache.

She hadn't thought he would still wish to be with her.

She was weighed down by her deception, as well. Not a day went by that she did not wish that she had told him the truth, and that they had gotten past the facts of her birth and her visions. It was so foolish to wish that he would love her for who she really was, and even though she knew that, she did.

It was too dangerous to go to him at Concarn—when he was with Robert Bruce. Wasn't it?

And what of Brodie and its defenses? She thought of Godfrey. She still disliked him, but they shared one overriding ambition—to keep Brodie safe.

Before she could speak, the lad said boldly, "He said to tell ye he misses ye—and he will not take no for an answer."

She gasped. Tears moistened her eyes. Oh, how skilled he was at wielding that final thrust! "How far is Concarn?"

"Alana!" Eleanor exclaimed. "Robert Bruce is at Concarn! You cannot go into his keeping!"

"A short day's ride—we will be there by nightfall," the boy said quickly.

She should not go. She must not go. Bruce was there. He could take her hostage.

She looked at Eleanor. "I have to see him again."

Eleanor blanched. "Very well—but not now, not at Concarn!"

Her mind raced. Iain would never let Bruce hurt her, she was certain. "Iain will protect me," she said.

"You think Iain will lie to his king for you?"

Alana stared at her grandmother, not quite seeing her. Was she mad? What if she was wrong? Iain was as ruthless as claimed; she had seen it, herself. But her heart was clamoring at her now.

The war only divides us if we let it.

"I have two horses hidden in the forest. I have furs and blankets. We must go!" the boy cried in a whisper.

She looked at Eleanor. "Tell Godfrey I have gone to see my father."

"Alana, please, do not go," Eleanor said, ashen.

"I have to go to him, Gran. I love him."

Eleanor closed her eyes briefly in despair. "Then God help you, Alana."

* * *

B Y THE TIME they reached Concarn, the snow had stopped falling, and the gray skies were clearing.

It had taken them much longer than a long afternoon and a few hours of the evening to reach the small village in northeast Aberdeenshire. The new snow made the going difficult, delaying them. They had been forced to stop around midnight, when the winds came up, the snow blinding, and they had spent the night in a stable behind a farmhouse.

"We are here." The boy smiled at her widely.

Alana managed to smile back at the young boy, whose name she had learned was Ranald. And then she stared at the army camped below them.

They were on a small hillock astride their horses, a sea of tents below them. The village was to the left, several stone walled pastures between it and the manor house. Snow covered the tents, the fields and the woods. It covered the rooftops in the village, the manor, its barns and sheds. And Bruce's flag waved above the camp, yellow and red and shockingly bright.

Alana stared at Robert Bruce's flag. A pang of fear pierced her.

The boy clucked to his horse, kicking it, and Alana did the same. She had had a day and a half to consider what she was doing, and to question her decision to go to Iain in the enemy's camp. But once upon the road, she had no doubts. She knew she must see him again. There might not be another chance, the future was that uncertain.

She had not had to worry about her paternity while at Brodie. She had not had to worry about her deception. Now she had to worry very much about the secrets she kept from Iain.

She was torn. He deserved the truth—all of it. It did not feel right continuing to deceive him, yet deceive him she must, for her own safety. Even if she wished to tell Iain about her father and her uncle, she could not do so now.

There was some relief in having a valid excuse for not confessing her deception to Iain. She no longer had to worry about his reaction when she told him Sir Alexander was her father. Not just then. It gave their relationship a reprieve.

And if their relationship survived this meeting, when the time was right, she would tell him about Sir Alexander—and that she had the sight. But that time was not now.

Ranald paused to ask a soldier where Iain was. Alana sat her mount, aware of being remarked by the closest soldiers. Her heart was thundering. It crossed her mind that if Bruce walked by, which was unlikely, he would glance at her, as well. An attractive young woman was not a common sight in a war camp.

Alana pulled her hood down lower over her forehead. She must be careful to avoid all the soldiers, she thought, and she must especially make certain to avoid coming into contact with Robert Bruce.

They were directed to a larger tent not far from the manor. Instantly she saw his banner flying atop the tent, streaking the sky. Her tension spiraled. The fluttering in her chest increased. They slowly made their way through the other tents.

When they were close enough to dismount, the flap door of his tent opened and Iain stepped out.

She trembled. He had not bothered to don a fur or any cloak—he was clad in his leine, which swirled about his bare thighs. He wore two swords and a dagger. Huge rowels flanked the spurs on his leather boots. His long hair was loose, rioting about his shoulders. She had forgotten how powerful his presence was, how masculine and handsome he was.

His gaze instantly found her.

He strode toward them, his strides hard and filled with purpose. He reached them and seized her mount's bridle. "Well done," he said to Ranald. But his piercing blue gaze never left her face.

Her heart slammed wildly. All doubt vanished. Alana was so happy to see him. She was so relieved he was well. And it no longer mattered that he was ruthless; not then.

"I am sorry that the snow delayed us," Ranald said, halting his horse.

Iain finally glanced at him. "I worried ye'd come to some harm."

"I would not let harm befall yer lady," Ranald said, sliding from his horse.

Iain smiled briefly. His gaze locked with Alana's again, and then he clasped her by the waist, his hands large and strong, and pulled her from the mare.

He did not release her, and she remained in his powerful embrace.

His stare unwavering and heated upon hers, he said, "Tend to the horses and get yerself food and rest, lad. Ye did well."

Ranald grinned a bit slyly, taking both horses and leading them away.

"I could not decide if ye'd come," Iain said, unsmiling and terse.

How her heart pounded. "There was no decision to make."

"Then I am pleased ye still care for this savage."

Alana found her hands creeping to his shoulders, her knees weak, her body on fire. She was agonizingly aware of him—his heat, his strength, his scent. "No matter what happens in this war, I will always care."

His eyes darkened. "Ye berated me at Nairn. Ye strongly disapproved."

"I did not approve—I can never approve," she answered. She opened her hands and spread her fingers across his hard, broad shoulders.

"I dinna want to speak of the war now," he said roughly.

How she now recognized his tone, his need. It was hard to breathe with her heart racing so swiftly. Now she recognized her own need, too.

Alana reached up and took his face in her hands, aware that no lady would ever do as she was doing. But she could not stop herself. She did not care who saw them, or what they thought. She kissed him.

He stiffened in surprise. Alana's blood was rushing so violently in her veins that she felt faint. Holding his nape, she forced his mouth open, thrusting her tongue past his. And she kissed him even harder, with all the passion exploding inside of her.

Suddenly he reversed their roles, locking her in his embrace, and breaking the kiss. His eyes were heated, but wide with surprise.

It was a moment before she could speak. "I missed you, too," she said. And it was the truth.

He suddenly swept her into his arms and carried her into his tent, using his shoulder to shove the flap door in. He strode to his pallet and laid her down, coming down on top of her in one fluid movement. Straddling her, he slid his arms behind her back. "If ye had refused to come, I would have come to ye at Brodie."

She thrilled. Alana reached for the outermost buckle of his two belts, yanking on it. It came apart and fell from him, his sheathed swords sliding to the bed around them.

He caught her hand, jerking it aside as he came down on top of her, kissing her. Alana cried out, pulling at his leine, as their mouths mated furiously. His tongue deep within her, he unbuckled his second belt and flung it away. Alana jerked up his leine and he pulled on her skirts. Hot and hard, he surged into her.

And within moments, they were both crying out, Alana blinded by both pleasure and joy.

And then she was drifting back to the earth, aware of being in his arms, beneath him on the small pallet. He shifted to his side, taking her with him, and he laughed, the sound male and satisfied. "So ye have missed me, truly."

She snuggled her cheek against the slab of his chest. "Is it not obvious?" She kissed his chest. "How shameful we are."

"I am not ashamed." He kissed her forehead. "There are hours left until we sup..." He slid his hand over her bare backside; her skirts gathered about her waist.

Alana could not think about anything other than making love now. She sat up, untying her girdle. The gleam in his eyes intensified as he watched. She tossed it aside.

Then she slowly removed her blue surcote. As slowly, she removed her long-sleeved lavender cote. Clad only in her linen chemise, she undid her braid and shook out her long, heavy waist-length hair and smiled.

He growled and pulled her down beneath him, ripping the chemise in two.

* * *

"Y E WILL MEET King Robert," Iain said. "Bruce is here."

Alana lay nestled under the wool blankets and a fur cover on his pallet; he was standing and fully dressed. She had never been as sated, and she had never wanted to avoid contemplation and reason more. But his words instantly caused alarm.

"Surely I have not exhausted ye so that ye cannot get out of bed?" he teased, grinning.

"But you have," she said softly, her smile brief. She did not want to meet Bruce, not now, not ever. She slowly sat up, holding the fur that had covered them over her chest.

His smile faded. "What is amiss, Alana?" He pulled a stool close to the pallet and sat down upon it.

She hesitated. She had such a good rationale to continue to deceive him. Yet her heart raged against the deception. How could she continue to deceive him when she loved him so much?

And Alana knew if she dared to think, she would beat a hasty retreat. So she shut off all internal debate. "Iain."

"What passes, Alana?" he asked quietly, unsmiling. "Why are ye so sad, so suddenly? So grim? Did I not please ye tonight? Or is something else the matter?"

"Of course you pleased me," she answered. She knew she must tell him the truth—and not debate her decision. She could barely breathe or move, much less speak.

"Ye look as frightened as a deer caught in the archer's sight."

"I am frightened," she breathed.

"Then ye must be very worried about yer loyalties," he said grimly. "Is that it? Do ye worry about yer loyalty to Brodie—to Buchan—over me?"

She hugged herself. "I am not thinking about my loyalties now."

But he pressed on. "Do ye still think of the burning of Nairn? Ye were angry with me."

She tensed. "I do, but that is not what we must discuss."

But his gaze was narrowed. It was a moment before he spoke. "If ye cannot be loyal to me, ye must be honest."

She stared. This was an opening—one she must take. "I care so much about you, do you know that?"

His eyes widened with alarm. "I also care about ye, Alana," he said carefully. He stood up.

"I fear for your welfare when you are in battle, yet at the same time, I do not want Bruce to succeed."

"That is very honest—and a very difficult course to take."

"It is very difficult. But there is more." Holding the fur covers, Alana also stood. "I don't want to lose you, Iain."

"What is this dance, Alana? Why would ye lose me? We can be lovers, even if we are on opposite sides of the war. What do ye truly fear telling me?"

She felt tears arise. "I have been lying to you."

His eyes shot wide. "How?"

"My mother is Elisabeth le Latimer—but I do know who my father is. I have been afraid, terrified, to tell you."

He stared at her, surprised. "Who is yer father, Alana?"

She pursed her mouth while her heart exploded in her chest. "Please, forgive me. Sir Alexander...Comyn."

For one moment, he simply stared, his expression frozen. Then shock filled his eyes.