Chapter Eight

CHAPTER EIGHT

T HICK CLOUDS COVERED the sky, making it gray. It would snow before nightfall, Alana thought, which was still hours away. She fought the urge to weep.

She was astride a small brown mare, a soldier on each side of her. Iain rode ahead of them, leading the way, Ranald beside him. They had ridden out of Concarn shortly after sunrise, and it was now midday. Alana suspected that they would arrive at Brodie shortly.

They were riding though the snow-covered forest on a well-used deer trail, most of the snow underfoot packed hard from the riders who used it. Alana held on to her saddle. She was so distraught that she felt faint, enough so to fall off of her horse.

She was sick in her heart. The passion she and Iain had shared last night had not changed anything. If anything, it had put an even greater distance between them. For it had been tainted with her fear, her desperation and his distrust. Even though she had found release in his arms, she felt used and abused, like a woman taken merely for the man's pleasure, only to be cast aside the next day.

For hadn't she been cast aside? He had awoken her that morning without a word, slitting the rope on her wrists, causing her to awaken in alarm, and then he had left the tent abruptly, before their eyes could even meet. A few moments later Ranald had come to get her, telling her that they were riding for Brodie now.

Tears crept into her eyes. If passion could not bring them together, then what would?

Iain suddenly raised his hand and halted. "Brodie," he said.

He turned in his saddle and looked over his shoulder at her, his expression cast from stone. "Ranald will be going with ye. Ye will put him in the stables and disguise him as one of the village children."

Alana somehow nodded. Dear God, was he going to send her on her way without a private word?

"Do ye think ye can bring me information when Mistress Alana sends it?" he asked the boy, his tone softening.

Ranald nodded eagerly. "Aye, my lord, 'tis an easy ride to Concarn."

He smiled at him. "We will not be at Concarn for long. When ye hear an owl hooting at noon, ye will come out to the woods here to meet me, or my man. But only if 'tis at noon, Ranald."

The boy nodded.

Iain slid off his stallion, handing the reins to Ranald. He stared at Alana. "I have instructions to give ye."

She trembled, so sickened by the tension between them and what seemed to be his indifference. And now he would instruct her on how to spy? She started to dismount but he seized her bridle. "Ye can stay astride, as the orders are brief." He led her horse aside from the rest of their group.

She did not want to stay astride. She wanted to dismount—and leap into his arms and demand he cease this nonsense. A man could not care for a woman one day and despise her the next! "I cannot part this way," she said tersely.

He halted her horse by a small brook that was mostly frozen. Her mare lowered its head to sniff at it and find a place to drink. Iain looked up at her. "How many soldiers does Duncan have at Brodie? How many archers?"

"That is what you ask me? You ask me about Brodie's defenses?" she cried. Holding the saddle, she flung one leg over it and hurriedly dismounted. "You do not ask me if I am happy, or sad or hurt?"

He quickly caught her before she fell. For one moment, his hands held her waist, and then he released her. "I told ye to stay astride," he said darkly.

She stared up at him. "What happened last night?"

He flinched. "If I hurt ye, I am sorry."

She could barely breathe. "You have broken my heart, Iain."

"No. That is impossible."

"You did not protect me from Bruce—and last night, you used me as if I were some common serving wench!"

"Ye seduced me, Alana," he warned. "Ye came to me!"

"No. I did not seduce you. You thought to punish me, I think, by taking me as if I were some harlot—and not the woman you love."

"I did not take ye aside to discuss last night!"

She inhaled, shocked and taken aback.

He flushed.

A terrible silence fell. She finally said, "I know you are very angry—that you feel betrayed. But my only betrayal was to avoid telling you about my father, because I was falling in love with you. I am not a spy." She hesitated. "One day, you will believe me." She thought of her sister Alice. "I only hope that when that day comes, it is not too late."

For a moment, he was silent, his gaze unwavering. "We must speak of Brodie, Alana."

She wet her lips. "Why do you ask about Brodie's defenses?"

"One day I will command Nairn. Brodie will be significant to me, then."

"How?" she cried. "It is a tiny place!"

"I will provision it well, and use it as my first line of defense for Nairn," he said.

She instantly understood his strategy, which did not bode well for her home. "Brodie is my home. It belonged to my mother. By right, it should be mine—not Duncan's, not his son's."

"Is that a warning?"

"Will you attack Brodie?"

"I am asking the questions, Alana. How many men does Duncan keep there?"

She hugged herself. He coveted Brodie now. She imagined Alice as his wife, as the mistress of Brodie. She could not bear to think of Alice in her home. "I cannot say, because I do not know."

"Ye do not know, or ye do not wish to tell me?" he asked skeptically. "Ye spy for us now, Alana. Ye must tell me everything ye can about Brodie's defenses."

"Iain, do not make me do this! Brodie is my home! Surely you can understand that. And we are lovers, still."

"I dinna know what we are, Alana." He tugged on her mare's reins, leading it forward and looping the reins about the saddle. Their interview was over. He wished for her to mount.

She stared at him as he held her horse, her vision blurred. Impatiently, he turned and looked at her.

"What will you do when you find out that I am not a spy? That my only sin was that of fear?"

His eyes widened.

"Will you still hate me?" she asked.

He breathed hard. "I dinna hate ye, Alana. But I dinna trust ye."

She was so dismayed. She lifted her skirts out of the snow and walked over to him. He took her by the waist and lifted her effortlessly onto the mare. Alana picked up her reins.

"Make certain ye have the answers I seek in two days. Send Ranald to the woods here at noon."

She would never tell him the precise nature of Brodie's defenses, she thought. He would have to discover that himself. "Even though I am Sir Alexander's daughter, I love you, Iain." She nudged the mare with her heels, to go over to Ranald and out of the forest. Brodie sat atop the adjacent hill. "God keep you, Iain. God keep you safe in this war. I could not bear it if anything happened to you."

"Wait." He stepped up to her and seized the mare's bridle. His gaze wasn't angry now; it was searching. "I will always care that yer a Comyn," he said harshly. "Always. For even if ye truly love me, ye will care for yer family and it will always strain yer loyalty."

She gasped for breath. "What are you saying?"

He stared deeply into her eyes, as he had not done since learning her identity. He finally said, "If ye did not come to me at Concarn to spy, if ye came because ye truly love me, then mayhap I could forgive yer deception."

Iain released her bridle. "Go." He hit her mare on the rump.

The mare picked up a trot, hurrying toward the castle, Ranald urging his mount to join her.

Alana turned and stared over her shoulder at Iain. There was hope. It wasn't over yet.

* * *

A LANA WASN ' T CERTAIN of the reception she would get from Godfrey, and now she recalled asking Eleanor to invent the excuse for her absence that she had gone to speak with Sir Alexander. She had no wish to undo the fragile truce she had developed with Godfrey. She intended to be careful to maintain it, and not expose her deception, especially if Iain had some interest in acquiring Brodie.

The watch had identified them, and they were now passing through the castle gates. Alana stared across the courtyard, immediately alert. Several soldiers in English mail were leaving the stables. Her gaze veered to the front door of the great hall. She expected to see Godfrey come out to demand where she had been.

But the front door remained closed. Alana watched the soldiers head for the hall as they crossed the courtyard, still astride. "We have company," she said to Ranald softly. "I have never seen those soldiers before."

"I can find out who they are," Ranald said with a grin.

Alana halted her mount and slid off, as did Ranald. The head stableman appeared from within, greeting her with a smile. "Mistress Alana." He beamed. "Let me take that poor, tired mare from ye." The groom—Seamus MacKinnon—eyed Ranald curiously.

Alana clasped the boy's shoulder. "Thank you, Seamus. This is young Ranald, from Tor, and I have told his mother he can work here in our stables for a while. She has eight and she cannot feed them all."

"Eight, eh?" Seamus lifted bushy gray brows. "Yer welcome here, boy, but only if ye do as I say, when I say."

"He's a good lad," she said. She glanced past him into the stables, which were full. Her alarm increased. "Seamus, do we have visitors?"

"Aye, we do. The Earl of Buchan is in residence, my lady, with his brother."

Alana stiffened. Her father was at Brodie. For one moment, she was paralyzed with disbelief.

"Are ye ill, mistress?" Seamus asked gruffly.

"I am surprised, that is all."

"I had better feed and bed down these horses. Boy? Let's go."

Alana smiled at Ranald and watched him hurry off with Seamus, knowing he was in good and kind hands. Then her heart turned over hard.

She did not know what to expect when she went inside. The past twenty-four hours had been the worst of her life. She did not know if she could withstand any more conflict, or much more disappointment. And her uncle was with her father. She now feared the Earl of Buchan.

She left the stables resolutely. As she went up the front steps to the hall, Godfrey finally stepped outside, his expression grim.

Alana clutched her cloak tightly to her body. "Hello. What has happened?"

He remained unsmiling. "Did you find your father, Alana?" His eyes darkened.

So he was suspicious of her, and rightly so. "I should have told you what I meant to do, and I am sorry, but leaving to find him seemed like a good idea," she said as evenly as possible. "But he wasn't at Elgin—I had just missed him."

Godfrey stared suspiciously and said, "He wasn't at Elgin because he is here, with the earl."

She pretended to be surprised. "Buchan isn't flying his flag."

"He's at war! His presence here is a secret," Godfrey snapped.

"Godfrey, what is wrong?'

"You should have stayed here so we could greet Buchan together. He was angry that you had left! He took it out on me—as if I can control you!" Godfrey exclaimed.

"I am sorry."

"I am fortunate he did not send me to toil in the moat with the commoners and the foot soldiers," Godfrey said. Then he came down the steps in a hurry and took her wrist. He lowered his voice. "They have been writing letters and sending messengers all over Scotland! They are worried about Bruce—they do not think Elgin will withstand a real attack. If Elgin falls, with Lochindorb gone in the south, we are surrounded."

Alana trembled, thinking of what she had heard—that Bruce would march next week. But she did not know where he would go. And what of Iain's new interest in Brodie? She no longer knew if she cared who won the war for Scotland's crown, but she knew she must fight for Brodie, even against Iain, especially if he was awarded her sister. "Will we be given more soldiers?" she asked.

"No. My father remains at Elgin. We haven't been given more men. No one cares about Brodie except for you and I." He suddenly rubbed his face with his hand and cursed.

He was right, she thought. "I am sorry I wasn't here when they arrived."

He looked at her. "Buchan is angry. You had better give him a good vision, Alana."

Inwardly she cringed. "I haven't had any other visions."

"Maybe you should make one up—one that will get us defenses!" He took her arm. "They're in the hall. They know you have returned." His gaze turned searching.

Alana began to shake. "My father...how is he?"

"He is well, Alana. He asked about you."

"He did?"

"You cannot avoid this meeting, and isn't this what you have been hoping for?" Godfrey pulled her toward the door. "He isn't at all like Buchan," he said, low.

Alana could not ask him what he meant, because at that moment she saw her father. He was seated with Buchan before the fire, but now, he looked over his shoulder at her. And eyes wide, he got to his feet.

She faltered.

Godfrey pulled her inside and shut the door behind them. "My lords," he said. "Mistress Alana has returned."

He was exactly as she remembered, Alana thought, her heart suddenly racing. He was tall, golden-haired, handsome. He looked more like a god from Greek mythology than a man, never mind the fine clothing he wore.

No wonder her mother had loved him.

The Earl of Buchan had risen and he strolled around both chairs and toward her. "We have been waiting for you to return, Alana," he said.

She flinched and met his cool gaze. He was displeased with her. Her pulse pounded more swiftly. "I am sorry, my lord," she said. "I had no intent to keep you waiting." She slowly pulled off her fur-lined cloak.

"You are a brave woman, to venture off alone as you have," Buchan remarked. He paused before her and lifted her chin. "So Iain of Islay took Nairn—and freed you."

She flushed, wondering if he had somehow learned the truth about her and her relationship with Iain. Fear stabbed through her. In that moment, she knew that her uncle would ruthlessly destroy her if he ever learned that she had betrayed him and his cause by sleeping with his enemy. "He did not know I was your niece, my lord," she managed to tell him. "Nor did he know about my ability to see."

"Then you were fortunate. He would have never freed you had he guessed your value." Buchan released her chin and gestured at Sir Alexander. "I believe you know your own father, mistress."

Alana was free now to gaze upon Sir Alexander, who smiled and came forward. "My own daughter," he said softly.

He seemed pleased to see her, but she could not smile back. Instead, as he took her hand, she stiffened. She had been waiting for this moment for fifteen years, she thought, incapable of drawing an even breath. She had been hoping for a reunion, but now that he was there, she was at a loss. Now, she did not know what to say, or how to feel. She did not know if she was thrilled to see him or dismayed. "My lord," she said, inclining her head.

"I remember when we met, so many years ago, when you were a little girl." Alana looked up. His smile faded. He studied her for a moment. "Even then, I thought that you looked just like your mother."

"We met when I was five," she heard herself say hoarsely. "I have not forgotten." Hurt stabbed through her chest.

He appeared kind; as if he cared. But he had not come to see her in fifteen years! He could not be kind or caring, could he? If he had cared, he would have come not once, but many times.

"I have not forgotten, either," he said softly. "My brother told me how you have grown up into a beautiful woman." He inhaled. "Your mother was one of the most beautiful women I had ever seen. You resemble her exactly."

Were his eyes tearing? Why was he close to crying now?

She wanted to ask him if had loved Elisabeth, or if he had merely used her to sate his own lust. She wanted to ask him if he would have married Elisabeth had she survived childbirth, or if he would have married Joan, anyway. She wanted to know what he had felt when he had learned that his lover was with child. And mostly she wanted to ask why? Why had she been abandoned, dismissed and forgotten?

But she could not ask him any of these things.

Instead, Alana curtsied. "I have heard that my mother was very beautiful. I doubt I resemble her that much."

He smiled. "What a perfectly modest reply."

"Thank you, my lord," she said politely.

"Your mother was modest, too. And she was clever. Strong."

There was no doubt in Alana's mind that he had felt fondly toward Elisabeth. At least he had cared about her mother.

"Lady Fitzhugh tells me you are all of those things," Sir Alexander said. "You must be fatigued, Alana. And hungry. Shall we sit together?"

Did he now wish to speak with her? Spend time with her? "Thank you, my lord." Her head was spinning. The Earl of Buchan had returned to his seat at the table's head, and Alana took a place on the bench. She did not look at the earl as she did so. Sir Alexander sat down across from her. He signaled a maid for food, and poured Alana wine.

Godfrey took the seat next to Alana. Oddly, she felt comforted by his presence now. She gave him a grateful glance.

"I was very pleased when my brother told me we would come to Brodie," Sir Alexander said, handing her the mug.

"You could have come at any time, my lord," she said carefully.

His eyes widened. Before he could respond, Eleanor hurried into the hall, and he appeared relieved. "Lady Fitzhugh, you can cease worrying. Alana is back."

"I can see that!" Eleanor sat down beside Alana, patting her hand. But her gaze was sharp, piercing. "Alana, dear, are you all right?"

"I am fine, Gran." Alana hugged her briefly. Then she studied her father, aware that he was staring. What excuse did he have for not calling upon her even once in the past decade and a half? She wondered. Would he offer an explanation, an excuse? Did she dare ask him directly? "How long will you be in residence?" she finally asked.

"We will probably take our leave on the morrow," Sir Alexander said. "We are gathering up our allies in this war. We do not have a great deal of time to linger."

Alana tensed. She instantly did not want to hear any more—if she did not know anything, she could not spy on anyone for Bruce, much less her uncle and her father.

"Our spies tell us Bruce will march soon," the earl said. "We do not yet know where, although we have our suspicions. We must prepare our defenses and rout him once and for all."

Alana wondered yet again if she should somehow reveal that Bruce would march next week. But she said nothing.

"Alana, you are never to place yourself in danger again," Buchan said abruptly.

Alana started, facing him with dread.

"You are Duncan's ward. When he is away, you are to obey Godfrey in all matters." He looked directly at Godfrey. "It is your duty to keep her safe. Should ill befall her, I will hold you responsible."

Godfrey paled. "Aye, my lord."

Alana's heart sank. She knew why Buchan so suddenly cared about her welfare. He wished to make use of any new visions of the war that she might have.

"Godfrey says there have been no new visions, not a single one," Buchan said, confirming her suspicions.

She glanced at Sir Alexander. His stare was sharp now. She turned back to her uncle, even more dismayed. Did her father also wish for her to have visions to aid them in the war? "There have been no new visions," she said. She stared down at the table, thinking about the image forever engraved in her mind of the earldom in ruins, with Bruce's flag flying high in the skies. "I would be pleased if I never had a vision again."

"I wish to be notified the instant you have a vision, good or bad. And I do not care if it is about the war or a damned cow!" Buchan faced Godfrey, eyes dark and flashing. "Every vision she has is to be recorded—every single one."

Godfrey nodded, ashen.

"You will send me the record, immediately."

"Yes, my lord," Godfrey said.

Buchan faced Alana. "And you will do your duty as my niece—as your father's daughter."

Alana did not glance at Sir Alexander now. She stared at her uncle. He was angry, but he was also afraid. She knew that now. He was afraid he was losing this war to Robert Bruce.

And she did not think she cared who won, or who lost. She thought about the fact that somehow, she was directly involved in this damned war, when she only cared to safeguard her home.

Then she revised her thoughts. She still cared about Iain. She cared whether he lived or died, whether he suffered defeat or triumphed.

"I wish to do my duty, my lord," she said. But she did not know if her words were heartfelt and sincere. How could she be loyal to her family, to Brodie and to Iain? It was impossible.

"Good." Buchan seemed satisfied as wine was poured for everyone. A platter of bread and cheese was placed before Alana, followed by a plate of oatcakes.

Alana could barely eat, but she tore off a piece of bread.

"Tell me about Iain of Islay," Buchan said.

Alana almost choked on the bread she was chewing. When she had swallowed, she said, "I beg your pardon?"

"He freed you from the tower. You were released from Nairn the next day. I have spies, Alana, surely you know that?" But he sat back in his chair, toying with his mug of wine.

She could not breathe properly. Did he have spies within Nairn? What if someone had seen them together in the cellars? Or afterward—outside her chamber door—or when they were saying farewell with heat, disappointment and anger?

Had their behavior been remarked?

If it had, she would be a prisoner once again, she was certain. She found her voice. "Yes, we were found in the tower, and allowed to go home the next day. What is it you wish to know, my lord?"

"Everything. Why did he release you?"

"I do not think there was a reason for him to keep us. As I said, he did not know of my Comyn connections, or my visions. He wanted to know why we were imprisoned, and I would not say, except that I had displeased you."

"And he allowed such an answer?"

She hesitated. "He wasn't pleased. But I could not tell him who I was, or about my abilities."

"That was shrewd, Alana, and wise. Had you told him the truth, you would be his prisoner now. Iain of Islay is ruthless. You must have displeased him with your answers."

She shrugged helplessly. "I think he had greater matters on his mind, such as burning Nairn to the ground."

"Your beauty probably affected his judgment," Buchan mused.

"I wouldn't know," she said quickly.

"Do you blush?"

She knew her cheeks were heated. "My lord, I approached him the next morning. I begged him to spare the castle, and if not that, the village and the farms."

Buchan's eyes widened.

"He was angry, he did not heed me, as you know. So...I do not think my appearance moved him."

Buchan sat back and sipped his wine. "Bruce would lose a great commander if he lost Iain—possibly his best commander."

Sir Alexander said to his brother, "Your archers failed to strike him even a single time."

"Do not remind me, but there are other ways to rid oneself of an enemy," Buchan said. "And I am not talking about poison."

Alana seized her wine and gulped it.

"The Earl of Ross paid dearly for his peace with Bruce," Sir Alexander said. "Could we bribe Iain?"

"Ross wasn't bribed. Bruce was going to destroy him on the battlefield. Ross had no choice but to pay Bruce for a truce, and to go over to his side. And now he wavers because his loyalty is with us."

"Iain of Islay is no earl—he is a soldier of fortune," Sir Alexander said.

"You do not know that he is loyal to his cousin Angus Og, who is more of a father to him than his oldest brother. I am not certain gold would move him to betray his cousin and his liege. I have no desire to empty my chests of gold and have Iain then betray us. But...Iain has no land, no titles and no wife."

Alana sat up straighter, realizing where Buchan would lead.

"He is here in the north. Obviously he wishes for lands here," Sir Alexander mused.

"Bruce has offered him Nairn," Buchan said. Alana gasped. He glanced at her. "I do have spies, my dear." He turned back to his brother. "So we need to offer him lands, titles, a wife."

Alana looked at her lap, filled with dread. First Bruce wished to offer him an heiress, and now Buchan did.

"I thought about this last night," Buchan was telling Sir Alexander. "I have no daughters to offer and no other available nieces, not since William's daughter married Alexander MacDonald, betraying us all. You have two daughters, Alex, both of them heiresses, both of them pretty and pleasing."

Alana flinched. Buchan would offer her sisters? Was this truly happening?

"Alice is your heir," Sir Alexander shot tersely. He was clearly angry—he did not want Alice offered to Iain.

"Yes, she is my heir...because my damned wife lives when she should have been hanged for her treachery." Buchan now slammed his empty mug down. "Hanged, her body dragged through the city, her head cut off and placed on a pike. Wine!"

Alana stole a look at him—he was enraged. She had never before thought about the fact that he could not remarry while his wife remained alive, and his wife, Isabella, was King Edward of England's prisoner. Her sentence for her treason—for crowning Bruce at Scone—was to live out the rest of her years in a cage, like an animal, for all to gawk at and insult.

"How long can a woman live in a cage?" Sir Alexander asked angrily. "If you are fortunate, she will fall ill and die and you will remarry and have heirs. I cannot approve of Alice being wed to a MacDonald savage."

"I am fifty!" Buchan exclaimed. "As if you wish for me to have an heir of my own! Have no fear, Alex. Alice is far too valuable to pawn off to a Highland savage just to peel him away from Bruce. One day, little brother, if you outlive me, you will be the power behind Buchan, with your daughter its countess, wed to some powerful courtier."

Alana dared to regard both men now. They were staring darkly at one another, as if antagonists, not brothers.

Did her father covet the power of Buchan?

He no longer seemed amiable and gentle.

"I wish to offer Margaret to Iain of Islay. She has Tarredale as a dowry. I can even add to it—perhaps I'll give him command of Nairn, once she is with child, and we can be sure of his loyalty. I think the offer a good one. Don't you, little brother?"

Sir Alexander sat back, his expression grim and unhappy. He did not wish to marry even his second daughter to Iain, but clearly, he would not have a choice. "Will I have a day or two to think about it?"

"Think about it all that you want," Buchan said. He suddenly stood. "I am done here. I am going to finish my letters. I imagine father and daughter wish to become reacquainted." He walked around the table and laid his hand on Alana's back.

She flinched as he did so, looking up.

"I am sorry my men did not free you from the tower, as they were ordered to do. They were cowards, fleeing instead, and they have been punished for their cowardice."

Alana did not know if she believed Buchan—if he had ordered her and Eleanor's release before he had fled Nairn—but she forced a smile. "Thank you, my lord."

Buchan walked away. As he did Godfrey gave her a concerned look. He also stood. "I am going to speak with the sergeant of the watch, Alana. If you need me, I will be in the watchtower."

She felt oddly grateful to him, as if they were friends. "I am going up to rest shortly," she said.

He nodded, glanced at Sir Alexander and left.

"Alana, do you wish for me to stay?" Eleanor asked with obvious concern.

"I will be up shortly, Gran," Alana said, squeezing her hand.

Eleanor looked at Sir Alexander. "You owe her a great deal," she said sharply, and then she left.

They were alone in the great hall.

For one moment, Sir Alexander stared into his mug, which he clasped with both hands. Then he looked up at her and smiled.

Alana hesitated nervously. "You do not wish to marry my half sister Margaret to Iain of Islay," she said.

"I have hardly said that."

"It seems obvious."

"You have met him. He is a savage and barbaric Highlander. Your sisters have spent half of their childhood at the French court, when we were allies of the French king, and some of the past year at the English court, to please King Edward when he came to the throne. I do not think Margaret will be happy married to a Highlander, especially if he takes her to Islay to live."

She felt so hurt. Did he know that when he spoke of Margaret's happiness, it was like a knife stabbing through her? What of her happiness? He clearly cared about her sisters, and as clearly, he did not care about her. "But they can live at Tarredale and at Nairn."

Sir Alexander stared closely at her. "Are you about to cry?"

She was choking on tears. She shook her head and managed to find composure. "What is she like?"

"Margaret?" He seemed surprised. "She is fifteen and very sweet. She is blonde and very pretty—but not as pretty as you."

Alana rubbed her forearms. "But what is she like? What pleases her? Is she well liked?"

"She is skilled with the needle, and she loves to embroider and sew. She plays the harp beautifully. She has the voice of an angel. She never argues, and is fond of poetry. Everyone likes Margaret."

Alana looked at her hands, clasped in her lap. She could not imagine Iain with a wife who played the harp beautifully, who liked poetry, and never argued. "And Alice?"

"Alice is dark-haired, although not as dark-haired as you. She is pretty, and very clever and very strong. She will make a fine countess one day."

She could not stand it. He was so proud of Margaret and Alice—or so it seemed. "Does Alice like poetry? Does she sing? Does she voice her opinions?"

"She has a poor singing voice, she dislikes poetry and she is always ready to tell me what she thinks."

Iain might like Alice—he might like her very much!

"You and Alice are very much alike," Sir Alexander mused.

They were alike? Alice was a great heiress. Alice had grown up with both of her parents—in the lap of luxury, of privilege. She had spent half her childhood at the French court! She would be the countess of Buchan one day!

And she had never been molested by an older man—never been sexually assaulted by her own guardian. She had never been struck by her uncle.

Nor had she ever been jeered at by her peers, or insulted and mocked for being a witch.

Alike? They were nothing alike!

"I would like it if you met your sisters one day," Sir Alexander said suddenly.

Alana slowly looked up into his blue eyes—the same bright shade as her own. Why? She almost asked. She wanted to scream at him, to demand why he had abandoned her. Why didn't he love her the way he loved his other daughters?

Instead, very quietly, she asked, "Do they know about me?"

"No."

She looked away.

"Alana." He reached across the table and pulled her arm forward, taking her hand. "There is nothing I regret more than your mother's death."

Alana felt moisture arise in her eyes. She must not cry now. She willed the tears away. "Why?"

"I loved her." He smiled. "I fell in love with her at first sight."

Alana pulled her hand away and stared at him.

"You seem doubtful."

"She was a widow for over a year when you met. If you loved her, why didn't you marry her?"

His smile faded. "My father had already decided upon my betrothal to Joan. I knew of his wishes, and that I would one day wed her. But we could not ignore how we felt about one another. We never meant to fall in love, but we did."

Alana did not know if she wanted to know more. And she hadn't realized he had all but been promised to Joan at the time. She could only hope he had really loved her mother. And she desperately wanted to know what had happened when he had learned of Elisabeth's pregnancy.

"Joan knows about you," he said. "She has known about you from the time Elisabeth began showing."

Alana stared in surprise.

"She was not pleased. Her father was furious, and so was my father, the earl." He rubbed his face then. "I had to confess that the child was mine, but there were rumors—we were not discreet." He stopped. "I wanted to be with your mother, but it was not to be."

She trembled. He had not been able to defy his father, the earl, she thought. Had he even tried?

"I wish Elisabeth had lived, not for my sake, but for yours—to take proper care of you. Thank God for Lady Fitzhugh."

Alana began to understand. There had been no question of his breaking his impending union off with Joan.

"I wish I could have given you a different life," he said, looking at the table.

"But you could not." As she spoke, she thought about the intervening years. His father had died years ago. He could have come forward since then, to claim her and give her a better life.

"I hope you will one day understand."

"I do understand," she said, proudly lifting her chin. His duty had been to his other family, not to her. He had cared about his other family, not her. He had not had the will to defy his father, or now, his brother. "If Iain of Islay accepts, will you agree to his marriage to Margaret?" She did not even have to ask—of course he would, even if he did not like it. He would obey his brother, the way he had once obeyed his father.

"Yes," he said. "I know you are upset, and you need a husband of your own. If you please my brother, it will be arranged. He has told me as much."

Her stomach churned. "Yes, I must give him a pleasing vision, and he will even return Brodie to me."

Sir Alexander reached out and laid his hand on her shoulder. "It is important that you please the earl. It is important that we all please him," he said.

Alana pulled away and stared. "So you fear him?"

"He is our liege lord. We are bound to obey him. And, Alana, he can give you the life you deserve."

Alana studied him. It was very hard to stand still, to keep her expression impassive. "So I must please him, and he will reward me for doing so."

"Yes. You must seek out these visions. You must do your best."

Alana somehow nodded. More hurt stabbed through her. "I will try, Sir Alexander."

* * *

W HEN A LANA REACHED her chamber, Eleanor gave her one look and pulled her into her arms. "I am not going to cry," Alana whispered, her face against her chest.

"Oh, my poor dear," Eleanor said.

Alana pulled away, wiping her eyes with the hem of her sleeve. She sat down on her bed. "My father wishes for me to have a vision. Is that why he is here? Of course it is!" she cried.

Eleanor sat down beside her. "Alana, I do not want to ever speak ill of him."

"He loves my sisters! That much is clear! But he has never cared enough to come to see me, except now, when Buchan needs a vision from me." She swiped at more tears.

"If it helps at all, I agree with you—but not completely. I think Sir Alexander would love you, too, if he were allowed to."

Alana turned to her. "What does that mean?"

Eleanor sighed. "Joan hated Elisabeth. How could she not? They were cousins, and Elisabeth took her betrothed as her lover."

"So my mother was the harlot Duncan has always accused her of being?"

"I did not say that." Eleanor put her arm around her. "You know as well as I do that life is complicated. Your mother loved my son. She grieved for a long time when he died. When she met your father, he was such a handsome and dashing young knight. He made her smile for the first time in a year...." Eleanor smiled at the memory.

Alana sighed. How could she judge her mother now? But she very much wanted to judge her father. "Buchan is going to offer my sister to Iain."

"What happened at Concarn, Alana?"

"I told Iain the truth about my father. Iain and Bruce think I was sent to spy upon them."

Eleanor paled.

"I love him, but I do not think he loves me right now." She stood and walked over to the window. The shutter was closed and she pulled it open. A pigeon was standing on the ledge outside the window, drinking from the small pool of water that had gathered there from melting snow. It flew off.

Alana watched it for a moment as it vanished into the darkening sky, and then she glanced at the bright silvery puddle.

Eleanor said, "Maybe that is for the best."

But she sounded far away, when she was seated so close by, upon the bed. Alana realized the tiny puddle was mesmerizing her. She must look away. Instead, the silver within the water intensified in brightness, becoming blinding. She felt light-headed and dizzy; she felt faint.

Silver beckoned, a bright, frightening light. Alana had never seen such a bright white light before.

The light shimmered like a cloud floating in space.

She saw the outlines of a stone chamber, dully lit by torches and candles. She saw that four people were standing there. It took her a moment to realize that all four figures were women, and it took her another moment to realize that something terrible was about to happen.

One of the women sobbed. Three of them held one another, as if to stand upright. The fourth stood alone. Her dark hair was long and oddly familiar.

Alana realized she was staring at herself.

And then one of the women dashed to the bed and screamed.

A man lay there, the sheets blood soaked. His face was ghostly white. His blue eyes were wide and sightless. His hair was blond....

It was Sir Alexander.

"Alana!"

Alana began to vomit, clawing the stone beneath her fingernails. All she could see was her father, lying dead upon that bed, as the floor spun crazily around her.