Chapter Seven

CHAPTER SEVEN

A LANA WIPED THE tears from her cheeks. "Will you say something?"

"Yer the Earl of Buchan's niece?" he asked, stunned.

Somehow Alana nodded. "I am sorry," she whispered.

"Sorry?" He began to tremble. His cheeks were turning red. "Yer the niece of the king's worst enemy, and yer sorry?"

"Very."

"Yer Buchan's niece, and yer sharing my bed!" he exclaimed.

He was now horrified. She was naked except for the fur, so she turned and found her clothing. Her back to Iain, she shrugged on her torn chemise, as quickly as she could. She had not even reached for her cote when he seized her arm from behind.

She cried out. "You're hurting me!" His grip was brutal.

He whipped her around to face him, his eyes now blazing with the kind of fury she had prayed she would not see. "So Buchan sent ye to spy on me!"

"No!" she gasped. "Iain, how could you think such a thing?"

He shook her and she choked on a sob. "Easily! He sent ye to Boath Manor, did he not? And then he sent ye to Nairn—he left ye in the tower, for me to find!"

"No!" she screamed.

"Aye," he shouted, shaking her. "Did he strike ye because ye refused to spy, at first? Or did he beat ye to mark ye, so ye could play upon my sympathies more easily? Have ye played me for a fool, Alana?"

Her arm was throbbing in pain. But that was nothing like the pain erupting in her breast. "Iain, dear God, I have hated deceiving you—I have feared just such a reaction!"

He flung her away, so hard she fell onto the pallet.

"Damn ye!"

Alana cowered as he turned and smashed the stool he had been sitting on with one blow from his fist. She had feared he would be angry, but she had never expected this!

She was terrified that Iain would never forgive her and that he might even hurt her.

The tent flap blew open, two Highlanders charging inside, swords raised. Alana cringed even more.

Iain looked almost blindly at them.

The men gaped at him and then at Alana.

Realizing she was more naked than clothed in the thigh-length cotton shift, Alana grabbed the fur cover and put it around her body again. She was sick, enough so to retch. Surely Iain would realize she was not a spy.

"Ye can lower yer swords and leave," Iain said harshly. He was shaking as wildly as she was.

"Aye, Iain." Both men glanced curiously at Alana again before ducking out of the tent.

As Iain turned, Alana flinched with fear. "Don't hurt me," she said.

He stared, breathing hard. "We hang spies," he finally said. "We hang traitors."

She cried out. "I am not a spy. I am your mistress! I have not betrayed you!"

He laughed at her without mirth. "My mistress?" He shook his head. "Get dressed."

Alana did not move. "Iain, please, listen to me."

He walked away from her instead, took up the pitcher of wine and drank directly from it. "Get dressed, Alana." He finally glanced at her, his expression hard with anger.

She slowly slid from the bed, their stares locked. She felt like a trapped, hunted animal. "What do you intend? To drag me before Bruce? When you have not even heard me out?"

"He needs to know."

"Will he really hang me?" she cried. "Would you allow it?"

"He is my king!" he shouted at her, flinging the pitcher across the tent.

She hugged the fur close to her body. "This cannot be happening. I came here because I love you. Surely you know that."

"Dinna speak to me of love, Alana—not ever again!" he warned. "Only a fool would come here, or a spy. And yer no fool."

Tears arose. She was going to lose him forever—and she would soon become Bruce's prisoner—unless she could reason with him! "I am not a spy. How could I be? I met Buchan for the very first time at Nairn. He did not even know I had tended you at Boath Manor. Iain, please believe me."

"I cannot believe such a story. I will not. I am not a fool, to be played as ye have done."

"You are not a fool! You are one of the wisest men I know! Iain! I am telling you the truth—I happened upon you at Boath Manor, it was coincidence!"

"And ye just decided out of the goodness of yer heart to tend to my wounds?" He sneered. "I was suspicious, Alana—and I was right!"

"No." How could she tell him about her visions now? "You are wrong."

His gaze ice-cold, he walked over to her. She stiffened as he demanded, "Why did he hit you, Alana?"

She froze. Fear curdled within her. "I displeased him."

"Because ye did not wish to spy?" He was scathing. "Or did yer uncle try to bed ye, as I first thought?"

The tears returned. "He did not try to bed me. I displeased him. I gave him news he did not wish to hear."

"What news?" he demanded, towering over her.

Her heart thundered. How could she tell him about her visions now? And the one thing she could not do was tell him another lie.

"Ye cannot answer me!"

She cringed, expecting a blow. "Buchan wished to use me, yes!" she cried. "But not as a spy! At first I could not aid him, and when I could, he was furious with me."

"If not as a spy, then what? As a whore? As my whore?" he roared.

"No," she sobbed. "I cannot say!" She dared look up through her tears.

He was so furious—enraged. Alana thought he meant to strike her. But he did not. His hands shaking, he fisted them and put them to his sides. "Ye should have stayed at Brodie," he finally said, panting. "But now I ken why ye fear Bruce so much."

"Please, don't take me to him."

"He is my king, damn it."

Alana gasped. "I hoped when I came here that if you ever found out about my father, about my family, you would protect me from Bruce."

"Ye hoped wrong!"

Alana stared in disbelief. "No."

He paced across the tent and shoved through the door. As he left, the flap slammed closed.

Alana began to shake all over again. Holding her knees, she buried her face there and wept.

* * *

A LANA WAS DRESSED and sitting on the pallet, when Iain returned. No more than an hour had gone by since he had left in a whirlwind of rage and suspicion.

She stiffened, her hands clasped tightly in her lap. He paused, holding the tent flap open, his face taut with anguish and anger. "Get up. Get yer fur."

She was not quite able to move. "We need to speak."

"There is nothing left to say. Bruce has summoned ye."

She staggered to her feet. "You turned me in?"

He stared grimly at her. "He doesn't know yet. But he has summoned us to the hall."

Alana was breathing hard. "You haven't told him about me?"

"I told him about ye, Alana, days ago, when I sent Ranald to fetch ye." His mouth was turned down. "He found it curious that ye cared for me when I was wounded in Boath Manor and that Buchan locked ye up." He made a harsh, mocking sound. "I made light of the matter, but the king sensed yer treachery, even then. Let us go."

Alana's mind raced. Iain hadn't told Robert Bruce about her, not yet—but Bruce had summoned her to his hall. "Iain, I cannot go. I cannot meet Bruce. You cannot tell him who I am. I am not a spy, but he might hold me as a hostage! Neither Buchan nor my father would care. No ransom would ever be paid!"

"He is my king, and he has summoned us." Iain caught her wrist.

Alana inhaled in pain. Her wrist was black-and-blue from his brutal grasp earlier, and she tried to pull away. He saw the state of her arm and let her go. And because she had not picked up her fur cloak, he did, and he threw it at her. Then he nodded for her to go.

Alana covered her shoulders with the fur, preceding Iain outside. She was about to meet Bruce, to whom Iain would falsely reveal her as a spy. She stumbled, incapable of walking normally.

He caught her arm. "Mayhap ye should have thought about the price ye would pay if ye were caught." He guided her firmly forward. It was frigidly cold out, the skies blue and cloudless, and ground frozen underfoot. Ahead, smoke curled from the manor's chimney.

"It never occurred to me, not even a single time, that you would think me a spy for my uncle." Alana felt bitter. More tears moistened her eyes. "I was afraid you would be angry at being deceived, and that you might feel betrayed, but I never dreamed you would accuse me of such ruthless treachery."

"And I never dreamed I'd be bedding Buchan's niece." But he glanced at her, his expression filled with pain.

"If only I had told you the truth when we first met! You would not think me a spy now!" Alana cried. She was so agitated that she stumbled again.

Iain caught her, putting his arm around her, and half dragged her to the manor's heavy front door. He shoved it open and pushed her within, following.

She felt as if she were living a nightmare now. It was as if she were walking to her fate—her death—her legs moving, when she wished for them to stop. How could Iain do this?

The front door opened directly into the hall. It was dark and smoky inside. The hall's slanted ceilings were timbered. Stag and boar heads were mounted upon one wall. A fire roared in its single hearth. Six makeshift tables had been set up, and each was entirely occupied. Alana's gaze slammed over everyone present, and she finally saw the King of Scotland.

Robert Bruce sat at the head of one table, speaking to his men. But the moment they entered he turned and saw them. He smiled, his gaze slamming onto Alana.

Iain clasped her shoulder and propelled her forward, toward him. But he was not as forceful as he had been earlier. Alana trembled as they went to meet him. She did not know how her legs functioned properly.

She glanced up at Iain. "Please protect me," she whispered.

Briefly, their gazes met. He instantly looked away.

Bruce was dressed in a red doublet and brown hose. Gold trimmed the doublet, as it did his fur-lined mantle. A large gold cross dangled from a chain about his throat. His blue eyes were piercing as they paused before him. Alana averted her eyes, not wanting to meet his gaze, as she curtsied.

"So this is the beautiful Mistress le Latimer," Bruce said. "No wonder you could not live without her. How beautiful you are, mistress."

Alana looked up at him. She could not speak to say thank-you, and did not think it mattered.

Bruce looked sharply at her and then at Iain. "What passes, Iain? Have I happened upon a lovers' quarrel?"

"It is more than a lovers' quarrel," Iain said tersely.

Alana flinched, filled with dread. She gazed pleadingly at him.

"I have just learned she is Buchan's niece," Iain said.

Alana cried out, as Bruce's eyes went wide.

"Her father is Sir Alexander Comyn," Iain continued brusquely.

"Well, well, the enemy is in your bed," Bruce said as if amused. He smiled slightly and turned thoughtfully away from them.

Alana seized Iain's hand. He gave her an angry look and shook it off. "She claims she is no spy," he said.

"Really?" Bruce faced them again. Now, he stared at Alana.

"Your Grace, may I speak?" Alana managed to ask.

"Please do," he said, almost benignly.

"I am not a spy. I care deeply for Iain, and I have dreaded this day, when my conscience would force me to tell him about my father."

Bruce studied her for a moment and looked at Iain. "She is so beautiful, it is almost impossible to deny her, is it not?"

"Yes," Iain said, flushing.

"Mistress, why would we believe, even for a moment, that your father and your uncle did not send you to bed one of my best commanders?"

She had to look at Bruce—into his eyes—and she trembled with fear. "Everyone knows my father abandoned me before I was even born, that he has no care for me, and that my grandmother raised me. I met Buchan for the first time, my lord, at Nairn, a week ago! Is that not reason enough to believe me?"

"No, it is not. Your father may have abandoned you before birth, but he or Buchan could have solicited you last week or the week before."

Alana felt helpless.

Iain said, "She confessed her identity to me, Yer Grace, freely, of her own will."

Bruce started. "A point in her favor," he said.

"Why would I confess if I were a spy sent by Buchan or Sir Alexander?" she asked. She gave Iain a grateful glance.

He looked away grimly.

"You might have confessed because you knew you were in jeopardy of discovery," Bruce said. "In such a circumstance, such a confession is usual." He leaned close. "No one plays these games of politics and intrigue as well as I do, my dear. I know every nook and cranny of the maze."

She recoiled.

He straightened. "Buchan did strike you and lock you up—how can I not think it a trap meant to lure Iain into your fold? Unless, of course, you can explain why he would beat and imprison his own niece."

Alana stared grimly. In that moment, she knew that, unless Bruce meant to hang her, she would not reveal she was a witch. Iain felt betrayed already. She could not imagine his reaction to the other piece about her.

"She will not say why she was beaten and locked up," Iain said harshly.

"It doesn't matter," Bruce said suddenly. He laid his hand on Alana's shoulder. "Even if she is a spy, I am prepared to forgive her."

Alana cried out. What trick was this?

Iain seemed as stunned. "Yer Grace?"

"As long as she proves how much she cares about you. It will be a test." Bruce did not smile now. His stare was like daggers.

"I do care," she whispered. "What do you wish of me?"

"You will become my spy," he said. "And you will spy on your father and Buchan for me, all in the name of love."

Alana stared at him in horror.

"Well, mistress?" Bruce finally smiled. "How difficult could it be?"

She finally cried, "I know nothing of spying!"

"You seem clever—I am sure you will learn," Robert Bruce said.

* * *

A LANA WAS SEATED at the table on Iain's left side. Strangers filled the rest of the benches, some of them northern Englishmen, others Scots from the Lowlands. Iain was the only Highlander present. Bruce sat at the table's head.

Supper was being served, and everyone was eating and talking at once. Except for Alana, as she had no appetite.

She stared at her plate, a piece of fish resting there, aware of Iain, who was in conversation with Bruce, and acting as if he did not even know her. Pain knifed through her heart.

Had he ever loved her?

She had never dreamed he would feel so betrayed by her deception, or that he would believe her a spy. She had believed he would be angry but he would forgive her. And she had hoped he would protect her from Robert Bruce.

He had not.

"Has anyone else fallen ill since we attacked Elgin?" Iain was asking.

"No. The five men who became sick are almost well," Bruce said. He leaned back in his chair, his glance straying to Alana. Their eyes met and she realized she had been staring; she flushed and looked away.

"When those men fell ill, I truly feared a plague of some kind," Bruce said. He was grim. "But no one else has become ill."

"I think ye made the right decision to retreat," Iain said. "If ye had been right, and it was the plague, our entire army could have died by the next night. Ye could have been captured, Yer Grace, with no one to defend ye."

So that was why they had retreated, Alana thought, staring at her plate. The fish had been smoked whole, probably in the fall, and its lifeless eyes stared up at her. She picked up her utensils and removed its head from its body. God, she was ready to weep.

Bruce had commanded her to spy upon her father and her uncle. What was she to do?

Horror accompanied her heartbreak. He wished for her to prove her love for Iain? She was more than ready to do so, but not by spying upon her family! She could not imagine betraying them that way.

"I have decided to wait until next week to march," Bruce said. "It is pleasant enough here. If no one else becomes ill, we can be satisfied that no new and strange plague has befallen us."

Alana slowly cut a piece of white meat from the fish. As she ate it, she did not know what she would do. She could not let their love end this way. She had to prove herself to Iain. But she could not spy on her father and the Earl of Buchan. Could she?

If anything, shouldn't she tell them that Bruce would march next week?

A buxom maid was refilling Bruce's mug with wine. She turned to Iain, her smile coy, trying to catch his eye as she poured for him. Iain nodded at her, unsmiling.

Dismay pierced through her. Iain hadn't noticed the maid's interest, but for how long? Alana stared as the pretty redhead brushed her breast against his arm as she straightened and moved away from the table.

But Iain continued to stare into his mug, as if deeply in thought. She glanced at Bruce and stiffened—he was watching her closely. He knew she was distraught at being ordered to spy, and now, dismayed by the other woman. He turned to Iain and Alana heard him say something about Nairn.

She briefly closed her eyes. She could not wait to get back to the tent and crawl into the pallet and bury herself under the covers—and cry. Then she realized she did not know where she would be sleeping that night. But she doubted it would be in Iain's tent.

"There were no surprises," Iain was saying. But then he glanced at her.

She met his regard, but he instantly averted his gaze. She realized they were talking about Nairn, and Iain had just thought of finding her in the tower, as a prisoner, which had been a surprise. She looked away, but she could not help listening. And if they did not want her to hear, they would have sent her away.

"I have not forgotten how easily we took Nairn—and your part in such a triumph," Bruce was saying. "And yes, there were really no important surprises, other than that of Mistress Alana."

"I have brave men, men I trust," Iain said, clearly refusing to look at her. "And Buchan and Duncan fled like the cowards they are. They were easy to rout, Yer Grace, and I look forward to doing so again."

"Your men are my best soldiers. I am hoping your cousin Angus will give us another army soon."

"I am happy to speak with him on yer behalf," Iain said.

"And I may have you do so, soon." Bruce glanced at Alana, and their eyes caught. She realized she could not help herself from staring at the two men.

"And we have spoken in the past of your reward for serving me," Bruce said, finally moving his gaze back to Iain. "Since Nairn, I have had some time to think upon the kinds of lands I wish to grant you. When this war is done, Iain, you will rebuild Nairn and it will be yours. You have earned Nairn."

Iain stared, wide-eyed. Alana stared openly now, too.

"Thank ye, Yer Grace," Iain said harshly. He was clearly stunned, but pleased.

Of course he was pleased. Alana would be pleased for him, too—it would be a great and important stronghold, once rebuilt—but Nairn was Buchan territory.

If Bruce won the war, Iain would be the lord of Nairn. He would probably also be the lord of Brodie, which had been under Nairn's control for decades. She did not know what to think.

"And that will not be all, Iain, you deserve more than just Nairn," Bruce said, cutting into her thoughts. "You need a wife—an heiress with great, significant lands."

Alana stared at Bruce, incredulous, and he stared back at her.

Of course Iain would marry an heiress one day. He fought for Bruce for gain, not sentiment...all men wished to marry heiresses, especially younger sons. But she felt even more ill than before.

The king smiled at her. "Have you no appetite, Mistress Alana? Or does the fish displease you?"

Her fists clenched in her lap. She hated Robert Bruce! "I have no appetite, Your Grace."

He studied her. "Surely you expect Iain to marry one day."

She flushed. "I have not thought about it."

"Do you know where your father is now, mistress?"

Alana had been rigid, but now, she was impossibly so. "No, Your Grace." How adeptly and swiftly he had changed the subject! Was his talk of a wife for Iain a trap, to lure her into a state of dismay, so she could not think clearly? Because she was dismayed, whether rightly or wrongly so!

He glanced at Iain. "It is ironic, actually, but Mistress Alana's sister is an heiress—one I have thought about for a long time."

Alana froze.

"Do you not have a sister, Mistress Alana? A half sister?" Bruce asked.

Iain turned to her.

She could barely speak. "I have two half sisters...."

"I am speaking of Buchan's heir, Lady Alice Comyn," Bruce said.

Alana choked and shot a glance at Iain. My God, what was this?

"You do know that Buchan has no other direct heirs. If he is to die, Lady Alice inherits the earldom."

Alana realized she was clawing the wood table with her short, chipped fingernails. She glanced from Bruce to Iain wildly. She had not realized that Alice was next in line to inherit Buchan's earldom!

"I have plans for the earldom when I defeat Buchan," Bruce said. His tone had hardened, and his eyes were dark with lust now—bloodlust. "I will carve it up and give away the pieces to my best, most loyal men."

Iain was staring at her. He turned to Bruce slowly, his eyes as dark, as wide, as before. "Whoever marries Alice will have a legitimate claim to her lands."

"Yes," Bruce said. He suddenly drained his wine and stared at Alana. "So tell me, mistress, where do you think your father is?"

"I last heard of him when he was at Elgin, defending it from you."

"That is no answer. You have appeared to care about Sir Alexander, even if you do not know him because he abandoned you. Do you not ask after him?"

She managed to nod, aware that he wished to inflict even more pain on her. He had succeeded. "All of the time!"

"Good, then continue to do so. I wish to know where he is, and soon. I may approach him with an offer for Alice."

Alana was suddenly sick to her stomach, violently so.

"Buchan, however, remains at Elgin. I have spies there." Bruce stood. "He is seeking more allies, mistress. He needs more friends to fight against me if he even thinks to win. He knows it and he has summoned the Earl of Ross and Sir Reginald Cheyne, amongst others. You will tell me who his new friends are."

"How will I do that?" Alana gasped. She was still trying to comprehend what Bruce had been saying. Had he suggested he might marry her sister to Iain? Did he mean to contact her father about such an alliance?

"I am certain a clever woman like yourself will find many ways to prove her devotion to her lover," Bruce said.

Alana stared, aghast. She realized all the men had risen to their feet, out of respect for their king. She alone remained seated. Slowly, she got up.

"I look forward to your answers, mistress. And, Alana? Once you become my friend, you will be well rewarded, too." With that, he turned and strode from the hall.

Alana held on to the table, her knees buckling. Iain seized her elbow.

At first, she thought he meant to offer her his support. But when she looked at him, his face was hard, and he averted his eyes.

Alana looked away.

* * *

A LANA COULD NOT keep up with Iain. His strides were rapid, but that was not the reason why. She was beyond shock, and she felt ill—so much so that she could not move swiftly. She stumbled time and again.

He did not slow to help her, and he kept his grasp upon her arm. It was dark out now as they crossed the frozen yard. Alana wanted to know where they were going—they seemed to be heading to his tent. She did not believe she would sleep there, but at least he had not left her locked in the cellars in the manor.

Not that anything mattered now. All she could really comprehend was that she was commanded to spy upon her very own father, and that Iain might be awarded her sister in marriage.

When they reached his tent, she was losing the last of her composure. How she needed to cry in despair, in fury. But she fought the rising flood. She must not cry in front of him.

He pushed open the tent's flap door, finally releasing her arm. She went inside ahead of him, stumbling again.

She heard the flap door drop closed. Oh, God. How could he be so cold, so cruel? And could Bruce really intend to marry him to her sister—one of the greatest heiresses in the land? Men married for power all of the time, but she could not bear the notion. Alice already had everything.

He was behind her, lighting candles. She was acutely aware of him, of her pain, and that the tent was too small for them both. The interior became dimly illuminated. His shadow danced upon the hide wall. Alana fought her tears, the heartache. The pallet they had so recently shared was beside her. She refused to look at it.

As he lit the last candle, she slowly turned. "Would you consider marrying my sister?" she heard herself ask with a huge catch in her throat.

His expression was hard, strained. "She may be the greatest heiress in the north of Scotland. Aye."

She inhaled. Had he ever cared about her? "How could you even think of doing such a thing?"

"Do ye think I left my home and went to war for a few trinkets and some gold?"

Of course not, she thought, but she did not say so. "She is my sister." When he did not answer, she cried, "If you don't care, why did you defend me to Bruce?"

"I dinna defend ye." Warning was in his tone. He began to toss hides on the floor, one on top of the other.

"You told him I had confessed my identity—that was a defense," Alana said hoarsely.

He straightened and whirled to face her. "It was no defense! I merely spoke the truth!"

His every word was a pointed barb—now he implied that she had not spoken the truth. "I wanted to tell you the truth at Boath Manor."

"But ye dinna tell the truth. Ye lied! I was suspicious of ye when we first met—just as I am suspicious now." He picked up a piece of rope.

She trembled wildly. "Iain, I know you feel betrayed, and it is clouding how you are thinking. So do not think. Look into your heart! Please!"

He walked over to her, taking her wrists.

"What are you doing?"

He tied her wrists in front of her, never once looking into her eyes. "Do ye think I trust ye?"

"I will not try to escape!"

He ignored her, knotting the rope and releasing her wrists.

"How can you do this?" She choked. She was so close to tears. "I thought you cared about me! This is not the behavior of a lover!"

"I dinna care!" he said harshly, his eyes blazing. "The woman I cared about doesn't exist."

"I do exist!" she cried, agonized. "Look at me! I am Alana le Latimer!"

"Aye, yer Buchan's niece!" he cried back.

"So you will tie me up, keep me prisoner, force me to spy and marry my sister?"

He stepped back from her. "You're Bruce's prisoner, Alana, not mine." He was as breathless as she was. "I am to guard ye, and well, until ye return to Brodie to spy for us. So aye, I will tie ye up while I sleep."

Alana began to shake. "I trusted you," she heard herself say.

"That was unwise." He now flung the fur from his shoulders onto the pile of hides.

"I trusted you to protect me." Tears finally blinded her. "I have trusted one person my entire life—Gran. And then, I trusted you!"

He flinched, his back to her. Then he stalked to the small table where a new stool had been placed and sat down, his back to her. He poured wine. His hand shook as he did so. "No, Alana—I trusted ye."

Tears fell. She could not stop them. His back was so rigid with anger. Alana walked to him and laid her bound wrists on his shoulder. She was so afraid of what was happening to them. "I never meant to betray you," she whispered.

He sat as still as a statue—for several harshly drawn breaths. "Stand back, Alana," he warned.

She trembled. "I cannot lose you, Iain."

"It's too late." And then he whirled, knocking over the stool, crushing her in his arms. His mouth claimed hers, hard and hurtfully.

He growled and increased the viselike pressure of his arms. He was rough, and she knew he wanted to cause pain. Fear warred with desire. Surely passion could bring them back together, she thought. Desperation arose.

As he kissed her, Alana gasped and he deepened the kiss deliberately. She tasted blood. Her hands were between them, and she brought them up against his chest. It crossed her mind that even if she protested, he would not heed her. He was so angry.

He walked her back a step and pushed her down onto the pallet, very abruptly.

His kiss was bruising and he was angry, but she loved him. She did not know if he meant to punish her, and even if he did, she would bear it. For surely sex would turn into lovemaking. Surely passion would bring them together again. She was desperate—she would do anything to get past his anger, to regain his love.

And she did not think she could resist him, anyway. Not when she loved him so. "Iain. I love you," she said.

He broke the kiss to look at her, his eyes blazing. "This isn't love."

Tears arose once more. "Yes, it is," she answered. Before she could protest further or plead with him he came down on top of her, kissing her again. He was determined to take her as coldly and as cruelly as possible, she thought. But she understood. Alana kissed him back, but not with passion. "I love you," she whispered again.

He grunted in satisfaction. Now, their tongues entwined. Alana kissed him again, desire beginning in spite of his cruelty. She would always love him, want him, she thought. Desire flamed. Their mouths fused, she moved her bound wrists lower, brushing up against his manhood, and finding the hem of his leine. She tugged it upward, while hooking her ankles over his calves.

He inhaled harshly, found her skirts and moved them up past her waist, breaking the breathless kiss as he did so. In the dull candlelight, their gazes met.

His eyes blazed with lust—and anguish. "Would you untie me?" she managed to ask. She wanted to wrap him in her arms. She had never meant to hurt him this way.

His answer was to kiss her, hard, shoving one thigh between her legs.

Alana forgot about her wrists. He was hard and male between her legs, dulling the fear, the desperation, causing more urgency. He rocked against her and Alana heard herself moan.

And then he pushed deeply within her.

Alana lay still, unable to hold him, caught between grief and desire. He wanted to use her, and she knew it. As he began to increase his rhythm, Alana raised her bound wrists to touch his jaw. "Iain," she whispered.

He trembled. "Ye betrayed me."

"No." She reached up with both hands and touched his cheek.

He kissed her now, deeply, otherwise unmoving. Deliberately Alana kissed him back. More desire surged. She welcomed it. Iain rose up over her, and she gasped. This time, he watched her as he moved deeply inside her.

She wanted to tell him again that she loved him, but now, she could not speak. She cried out, blinded by the growing pleasure. She would always need him. They pushed hard at each other, and harder, endlessly, until Alana felt the tide of ecstasy. It broke. Washed over her. Again and again.

She wept helplessly in his arms.

She drifted in contentment, unable to think. Cool air wafted over her.

Alana's eyes flew open. Iain had left their bed.

She turned onto her side and levered herself to sit up.

Iain was reaching for his fur cloak. He put it on as he straightened. And not looking at her, he began snuffing out each candle.

Dismay began. What had just happened? She was stunned by their lovemaking. Except—it had not been lovemaking. And she was still tied up like a prisoner. Fear arose, clawing at her. "Iain."

He snuffed out the last candle. The interior of the tent became dark. He did not answer her, and she could just make out his big body settling onto the pallet of hides across the tent from her.

Pain erupted in her breast. Alana lay back down, hugging her pillow tightly. It was a long time before she fell asleep.