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A Sword Upon the Rose
Brenda Joyce
New York Times bestselling author Brenda Joyce takes you back to the Highlands, where the battle for land, liberty and love rages on…A bastard daughter, Alana was cast away at birth and forgotten by her mighty Comyn family. Raised in solitude by her grandmother, she has remained at a safe distance from the war raging through Scotland. But when a battle comes close to home and she finds herself compelled to save an enemy warrior from death, her own life is thrown into danger.Iain of Islay's allegiance is to the formidable Robert Bruce. His beautiful rescuer captures both his attention and his desire, but Alana must keep her identity a secret even as she is swept up into a wild and forbidden affair. But as Bruce's army begins the final destruction of the earldom, Alana must decide between the family whose acceptance she's always sought, or the man she so wrongly loves.
New York Times bestselling author Brenda Joyce takes you back to the Highlands, where the battle for land, liberty and love rages on…
A bastard daughter, Alana was cast away at birth and forgotten by her mighty Comyn family. Raised in solitude by her grandmother, she has remained at a safe distance from the war raging through Scotland. But when a battle comes close to home and she finds herself compelled to save an enemy warrior from death, her own life is thrown into danger.
Iain of Islay’s allegiance is to the formidable Robert Bruce. His beautiful rescuer captures both his attention and his desire, but Alana must keep her identity a secret even as she is swept up into a wild and forbidden affair. But as Bruce’s army begins the final destruction of the earldom, Alana must decide between the family whose acceptance she’s always sought, or the man she so wrongly loves.
Praise for New York Times bestselling author Brenda Joyce (#ulink_09c1cdeb-dd24-5cf7-9335-f4b79548b41b)
“Scotland’s complex history is as strong a character as the hero and heroine, and Joyce seamlessly merges the historical details of Robert the Bruce’s rise to power with a captive/captor, forbidden love story. Highland history sings on the pages through Joyce’s potent prose.”
—RT Book Reviews on A Rose in the Storm
“As dangerous and intriguing as readers could desire. This is a tale reminiscent of genre classics, with its lush and fascinating historical details and sensuality.”
—RT Book Reviews on Surrender
“First-rate…featuring multidimensional protagonists and sweeping drama…Joyce’s tight plot and vivid cast combine for a romance that’s just about perfect.”
—Publishers Weekly, starred review, on The Perfect Bride
“Truly a stirring story with wonderfully etched characters…romance at its best.”
—Booklist on The Perfect Bride
“Romance veteran Joyce brings her keen sense of humor and storytelling prowess to bear on her witty, fully formed characters.”
—Publishers Weekly on A Lady at Last
“Sexual tension crackles…in this sizzling, action-packed adventure.”
—Library Journal on Dark Seduction
Dear Readers (#ulink_8a3b39cb-db22-504f-81de-869807763ca1),
I hope you have enjoyed Alana and Iain’s story as much as I have. Once again, my muse led me to portray a small, brave woman fighting for her life and her love in a bygone and dangerous world dominated by men. As you know, this is a theme that I have returned to time and again, for nothing fascinates more than a woman confronted by male power—and triumphing over it in the end by bringing that man to his very knees out of pure love and raw passion.
While Alana is a fictional character, her family is not. Joan le Latimer was married to Sir Alexander Comyn, the sheriff of Aberdeen, and the Earl of Buchan’s second brother. She did have a cousin, Elisabeth. However, I have entirely fabricated the story of their lives. If Elisabeth fell in love with her cousin’s fiancé, much less had a love child with him, it would be a great coincidence—and so very cool!
Donald of Islay was the cousin of both Alexander and Angus MacDonald. Angus Og gave him command of a Highland army, and he was sent to fight for Bruce. Donald was one of four brothers, the youngest being Iain. I found no mentions of Iain in history otherwise, and chose to use him as this story’s hero. Obviously I have entirely fictionalized his life.
The other major historical characters that I have attempted to portray are the Earl of Buchan and Robert Bruce. I have characterized them for my own ends—portraying them in a manner that is the most dramatic possible, to best enhance Alana and Iain’s love story.
This is the third story I have written that is set during Bruce’s bloody quest for Scotland’s throne. In 1307, Bruce began his campaign to destroy the Earl of Buchan and the entire Comyn family, once and for all. By the summer of 1308, Buchan’s armies were decimated and scattered to the four winds, with Buchan having fled to England, where he would soon die. Bruce then began his infamous and merciless Harrying of the North.
Alice Comyn was the Earl of Buchan’s heir. She married Henry de Beaumont sometime before July 1310, and the couple put forth their claim to the Buchan earldom, resulting in a long struggle that was one of the causes of the Second War of Scottish Independence.
This novel is a work of fiction. This period in Scotland’s history is filled with conflicting accounts and huge gaps in information, allowing me to pick and choose what I want to write, how I want to write it, while permitting me to fill in any blanks any way I wish. I have put Alana and Iain’s love story ahead of historical accuracy. While most of the battles, incidents, events and characters are a part of history, I have exercised poetic license throughout. Any errors in fact are mine.
Happy Reading,
Brenda Joyce
A Sword
Upon the Rose
Brenda Joyce
www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
For Rick Christen—
Because what happened in Vegas did not stay in Vegas,
Because second chances can really happen,
Because two is better than one,
Because I love you,
Always
Contents
Cover (#u1c972be7-8d10-5865-a2a6-86576ec6432a)
Back Cover Text (#u12f3a135-650e-5489-916f-7d73d148f23a)
Praise (#ulink_489c4096-4ff9-5d51-a7b9-06de2e59e27f)
Dear Reader (#ulink_a71d5c6b-8480-57c6-bfee-53ea2dd493b2)
Title Page (#u7bd0d8a7-817d-55d1-8ca8-e69a8481a81a)
Dedication (#u67a412e6-6d09-527d-92f9-2dcc1e1347bd)
Chapter One (#ulink_4e25d230-56f5-5c93-96f3-9cf7dc4f9d8c)
Chapter Two (#ulink_2d611a48-e96e-547d-aca8-491c4887baf5)
Chapter Three (#ulink_94cd51db-10e7-5268-8252-06f4ada6ab57)
Chapter Four (#ulink_d7caa27f-5bfc-5114-8c54-8fc2d4859f46)
Chapter Five (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Six (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Seven (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Eight (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Nine (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Ten (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Eleven (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Twelve (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Thirteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Fourteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Fifteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Sixteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Copyright (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER ONE (#ulink_a13bb407-058c-5e3d-a083-623ea079b256)
Brodie Castle, Scotland—December 1, 1307
FIRE RAGED EVERYWHERE, a blazing inferno. Men screamed in agony, horses whinnied in terror, and swords rang.
The smoke cleared. Horror overcame Alana.
A manor had been set afire, and before its walls, men fought with sword and pike, both on foot and from horseback. Some were English knights, mail-clad, others, bare-legged Highlanders. An English knight was stabbed through by a Highlander’s blade; a huge destrier went down, impaled through the barrel, a Highlander leaping off....
Where was she?
Alana was confused. The ground tilted wildly beneath her feet. She thought she fell, and she clawed the ground, looking up.
Amidst the brutal fighting, she saw one man. The warrior was on foot, bloody sword in hand, his long dark hair whipping about his face, his leine riding his bare thighs, a fur flung back over his broad shoulders. He was shouting to the Highland warriors, urging them on—every man bloodied and desperate and savagely fighting for his life now.
The tides of the battle changed, some of the English soldiers fleeing, some of the knights deciding to gallop away in retreat. But the dark-haired Highlander did not cease, now engaged in fierce combat with an English knight. Their swords clashed viciously, time and again.
Alana tensed. What had she just heard?
Her gaze flew to the burning manor. A woman was screaming for help from inside. And did she hear children crying, as well?
Somehow Alana got to her feet. But the dark-haired Highlander was already at the burning manor door.
Smoke burned through the wood, and flames shot out of an adjacent window. He pushed his shoulder hard against the door, oblivious to the smoke, the heat and the flames....
Suddenly she was afraid for him. As suddenly he turned, and for one moment, she could see his hard, determined face. His blue eyes pierced hers.
And then he was rushing into the burning manor. A moment later he reappeared, carrying a small child. A woman and another child ran outside with him.
Relief overcame her. He had rescued the woman and her children—they would not die.
The roof crashed in. More flames shot into the sky. He covered the child with his body, now on the ground. Burning timbers fell around him.
Then he leaped up, racing away to some safer distance from the burning house where he returned the child to its weeping mother. He turned, his gaze searching the woods where Alana hid—as if to look for her.
As he did, a man with shaggy red hair, another Highlander from the same army, came up behind him, raising a dagger at the warrior’s back.
“Behind you!” Alana screamed.
The dark-haired Highlander must have sensed danger, for he whirled as the dagger came down. He did not scream—he stiffened, the dagger penetrating his chest. And then his sword was cutting through the air, faster than her eyes could see.
The red-haired traitor fell to the ground, stabbed through his chest. The Highlander delivered another clearly fatal blow, and paused, towering over his victim.
He staggered and fell....
“Alana! Wake up! Yer frightening me!”
Alana gasped and tasted mud and snow. And for one more moment, she could not move, overwhelmed by the sight of the battle—the treachery—she had just witnessed.
The hair was raised on her skin, her nape prickling. She had the urge to retch.
“Alana! Alana! Quick! Before someone sees!” her grandmother cried.
Alana became aware of her surroundings now. She was lying in the snow, facedown. Her cheek was freezing, as were her hands, for her mittens were stiff and frozen. She did not know how long she had been lying there.
She fought for air, for composure, waiting for the nausea to pass. Her nape stopped prickling. Her stomach calmed.
She inhaled, but her relief was short-lived as she sat up with her grandmother’s help. Dismay consumed her.
She was near the stream that ran just outside the castle walls in the spring. It had been a clear and cold winter day and she had gone outside the castle with some of the maids’ children, who had wanted to play. She must have frightened them when she collapsed; they must have rushed to find Alana’s grandmother.
She stared at the stream. It was mostly frozen now, but patches of water where the ice was melting were visible. Dear God. The water...even now, it beckoned, dark and mysterious, offering up secrets no soul had any right to....
She hadn’t had a vision in months. She had been praying she would never have one again. She jerked her gaze away from the dangerous water, releasing her grandmother and standing up.
Her grandmother stared, her lined face filled with worry. Eleanor quickly pulled Alana’s wool mantle more securely about her. Alana saw now that they were not alone.
Duncan of Frendraught’s son was standing behind her grandmother, his pale face twisted with fear and revulsion. “What did you see?” Godfrey demanded, blue eyes wide. He was wrapped in a heavy fur, and his booted feet were braced in a belligerent stance.
“I saw nothing,” she lied quickly, lifting her chin. They lived in the same place, but they were not related, and although they were on the same side in the war that raged across the land, he was her enemy.
“She tripped and fell,” Eleanor said firmly. Her tone was filled with an authority she did not have.
He sneered. “I’ll ask you again—what did you see, Alana?” There was warning in his tone.
