A Sword Upon The Rose (7 page)

Duncan interjected, “Water, my lord. She has visions when she looks into water.”

Buchan seemed pleased. “Find a large glass bowl and fill it with water, and place it beside her bed,” he told Duncan. “You, Alana, will spend your days and nights staring into it.”

Alana felt ill. “I never look at water. I avoid looking into water, my lord!”

“Not anymore. You do wish to be useful to me? To your family?”

What could she do? She nodded.

“Good.” Buchan tilted up her chin. “Then you must have these visions—you must seek them out—and I must know the future of my earldom.”

He was asking for the moon and the stars, but she nodded, the feel of his blunt fingers under her chin disturbing. Worse, moisture seemed to gather in her eyes.

“You may retire,” he said. He walked away from her, to the table. Relieved, Alana realized the interview was over.

But as he sat down, he glanced at her. “And, Alana? I am not a patient man.” He smiled.

She managed to nod, her heart thundering. His meaning was clear. She must have a vision about the earldom—soon.

* * *

A
LANA
STOOD
BESIDE
her bed as one of Buchan’s knights carried a large glass bowl of water inside. It was placed on the chamber’s single small table, between the two beds. She realized she was looking at the bowl of water, and she jerked her gaze aside. Then she saw Duncan standing in the doorway, red-faced.

Eleanor immediately stepped between him and Alana. “My lord?”

He looked at her with contempt. “You are to vacate this chamber, old woman. Buchan has ordered it.”

“What?” Alana cried, aghast. “Surely you have misunderstood!”

“There is no misunderstanding.” He shoved past Eleanor, almost knocking her down. Alana reached out quickly to steady her. “His lordship wishes for you to spend your time without distraction—just you and the water.”

Alana was in disbelief. “Where will she go?”

“There is a chamber above you. She’ll have to share it with the maids.”

“It is hard enough for my grandmother to get up and down the stairs to this chamber. She cannot go up another flight!”

Duncan stepped over to her and leaned close. “You lying little bitch!”

Alana flinched. His fist was clenched and she dreaded a blow.

“Don’t worry. I am not stupid. I can’t hit you, though you deserve a beating. Buchan has great expectations, Alana. I would not disappoint him if I were you.”

His breath was foul. Alana stepped back. “I wish to see my uncle.” She would beg him to allow Eleanor to stay with her.

Duncan laughed. “You are to stay here until you are summoned.” He turned, nodding Eleanor toward the door.

“What?” Alana cried.

“You heard me, Alana—you will not leave this room until you are summoned.” He was savagely satisfied.

“Am I to be imprisoned here?” Alana was in disbelief. She could feel the glass bowl of water behind her—as if the water had a life of its own.

It beckoned.

“Come, old woman,” Duncan ordered.

Alana seized her grandmother’s hand. “Gran!”

“I will be fine, Alana. And so will you.”

She was to be locked in her room with water. How could she be fine? Her visions were never pleasant ones. She had spent her life avoiding them—avoiding water. Dear God!

“You will help him, if you can see the future of Buchan,” Eleanor said. “And then maybe he will help us.”

Somehow, Alana nodded. Duncan snorted and took her grandmother’s arm, guiding her rudely from the room. He did not look back as the knight who had brought the glass bowl to her room closed her door. Stunned, Alana sank down on the bed closest to the door.

Behind her, she felt the bowl of water, a forbidding and omniscient presence.

She heard two pairs of steps departing. She stood and went to the door, taking up the latch. As she did, she heard a movement outside. The knight remained in the hall.

Tears arose and flooded her eyes. She walked back to the bed and sat down on its end. She folded her hands in her lap. She did not turn her gaze to the glass bowl.

Was she a prisoner? How could that be? Perhaps the knight was there to protect her, but from what, she could not say.

She wiped the moisture from her lids. There were secrets in the room now, and they felt heavy. They felt dark. She refused to look up.

She recalled Iain of Islay, as he was about to break down the door of the burning manor, as he turned and gazed across the battle at her. She closed her eyes in despair.

This was not the time of think of Iain. She must think about her uncle, her father, her Comyn relations—and the earldom. She must have the courage to seek a vision, instead of dreading one.

Slowly, Alana turned around until she could see the glass bowl of water.

It seemed to stare back at her, cool and clear.

Her heart was rioting in her breast.

The water was still. Silent.

Alana stared, the bowl blurring, but not from any vision. She could not see through her tears.

* * *

“G
OOD
MORNING
, M
ISTRESS
A
LANA
,” Buchan said the next morning, his smile pleasant.

Alana stood on the threshold of the great hall, a knight with her. She had been summoned by her uncle, and the knight had retrieved her from her chamber and escorted her downstairs.

Alana managed to reply. “Good morning.” But she was filled with trepidation. She had not slept at all last night. And she had not had a single vision, either.

Buchan gestured her inside. Several knights sat with him at the table, as did Duncan, staring hatefully at her. Her grandmother was not present.

Alana walked to the table, and took the seat indicated by Buchan. “Did you pass a pleasant night?” he asked.

Would he be angry when she revealed that she had not had a vision? Or would he be reasonable? This far, he had not been ruthless or unkind, although she could not decide if she was being kept a prisoner. “I am unaccustomed to sleeping alone. My grandmother has shared my chamber since I was born. I did not sleep well, my lord.”

“I am sorry to hear it.”

“Will I be allowed to see my grandmother today?”

“Of course.” He gestured at the knight who had escorted her down. “Please ask Lady Fitzhugh to come down for the breakfast.”

Alana bit her lip. “Thank you, my lord.”

“You’re welcome. Did you see the future, Alana?”

She did not move, hands in her lap. It was a moment before she spoke. “No, my lord, I did not.”

“Then I am not pleased.” His smile was gone, his stare uncomfortably piercing.

She flinched. “I tried, my lord. My visions frighten me and I dread them, but I tried.”

“Trying will not help me and it will not help the earldom,” Buchan said. “We do not have time on our side. Bruce is but a day’s march away. There will be a battle soon. You must try harder, Alana, to see the future for me.”

“I understand,” she said.

“Do you? Did you look at the water? Reflect upon it? Pray?”

“Yes, my lord, I did.”

He studied her closely. “Your father has never spoken of you. I had heard years ago about his affair with your mother, and that a daughter had been conceived. But I had truly forgotten your existence, until Duncan brought you here. Would it inspire you if I told you I am eager to help you now that you have my protection?”

Alana somehow smiled, stiff with tension. She was no fool. If she pleased him and had a vision as he wished, he would be helpful to her—he would find her a husband. “I am already inspired, my lord,” she said, when the opposite was true.

“You should be married, with a manor of your own.”

“No man will have me.”

“They will if I say so,” Buchan said.

Alana could not look away.

“Do you wish for a husband? A home of your own? Children?”

She could only recall Godfrey’s bullying and Duncan’s arrogance and advances—and Iain’s courage in the battle for Boath Manor. She suddenly looked at him. “Brodie Castle is my home.”

“Of course it is. Clearly, you are attached. You do know it would not be out of the question to return it to you.”

Alana gasped.

“Would that please you?” he asked.

She knew she was being played and manipulated. But dear God, it would be a dream come true, to have Brodie returned to her. It would be just.

“I see you would wish, very much, to be the lady of Brodie,” he said softly.

Oh, God,
she thought,
if only I could have a vision—one that will please him!
“Yes,” she whispered. “Yes, it would please me so much.” From the corner of her eye, she saw Duncan, who was in shock.

But he did not need Brodie! He had two manors and an estate!

Buchan leaned close. “Bruce murdered my cousin,” he said to her, more softly. “He stole the throne, and even my wife. And now he rapes and plunders Buchan lands. He has destroyed Inverlochy, Urquhart and Inverness.”

Unable to look away, she trembled.

“Will he march on Nairn? Will he march on Elgin, on Banf? Will we defeat him? Will I?”

He was asking for so much! “It is hard enough,” she said, low, “seeking out a vision, much less requiring a specific one to occur.”

He patted her hand. “But you are a Comyn. You are your father’s daughter as much as your mother’s. As a Comyn, you must do your duty to me and mine.”

“I want to do my duty,” she cried. And it was true. Never mind that she had not been raised as a Comyn, or that the entire Comyn family had never considered her one of them, now she wanted nothing more than to have the vision he wished for.

“Good.” He picked up his knife and fork and began to eat.

Alana did not move. Although she had never given any thought to her future, not as a man’s wife, not as a child’s mother, tears arose. Was it possible that she might one day have a husband, children—a family?

“You are not eating,” Buchan said.

Alana was jerked out of her hopes and dreams. She smiled at him, and picked up her utensils. Dutifully, she began to eat.

CHAPTER FOUR

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

In the doorway, the earl turned.

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

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

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

“You seem dismayed,” Buchan said.

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

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

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

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

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

And her father was not on his way to Nairn.

Eleanor took her hand. “Alana?”

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

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

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

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

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

“He has been kind to me,” Alana began.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Alana tensed. “I am not sure of that.”

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

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

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

“Already?”

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

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

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

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

* * *

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Your father defends Lochindorb Castle—from Iain of Islay!”

Alana froze.

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

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

“Where is Lochindorb?” Alana asked.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I want to help,” she whispered. “I truly do!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

I am a fool,
she thought.

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

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

There was a well in the center of the courtyard.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Alana moaned and looked down into the darkness.

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

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

And then she heard their screams.

They were being burned alive....

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

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

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

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

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

“Mistress Alana!”

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