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In the courtyard, Sir Roger helped her and Eleanor from the wagon. Mary slid down by herself, then got her two children out. Alana went to her.
She had hardly had a word with her, but she smiled kindly. The woman had no belongings, no home, and her husband was at war, fighting in Buchan’s army. “I will insist that Duncan give you a chamber. But what will you do next?”
Mary was very fair and though she was in her late twenties, her eyes were filled with fatigue, her face lined with worry. “I will try to get word to my husband, and when this war is over, we will rebuild our home.”
Alana took her hand. “You are welcome at Brodie Castle, Mary, until your home is rebuilt.”
Mary’s eyes widened. “How could I accept such charity?”
“I am certain we could find a place for you in the household, until you are settled at Boath Manor again.”
Tears of gratitude filled her eyes.
Sir Roger was waiting impatiently, and Alana turned away. She and Eleanor followed him up the steps and through the great hall’s pair of wooden doors.
Duncan of Frendraught was awaiting them. He stood in the center of the hall, hands on his bulky hips, scowling. Like Godfrey, he was blond, blue-eyed and arrogant. Unlike Godfrey, he had spent most of his life fighting for the Comyn family, and was a hardened soldier. He had been awarded command of Elgin last year, as well as several manors and an estate.
He strode toward her, clad in a dark blue cote, the sleeves tight and fitted, a short brown surcote over it. Rings glinted on his thick hands. He wore his sword, a sign of the war that raged so close by. “What has kept you, mistress?”
“There was a battle at Boath Manor,” she said, unsmiling. “We had to hide in the woods, even through the night, as the army camped there.”
“You spent the night in the woods with your grandmother? I am amazed you did not freeze to death.” He reached up and toyed with a tendril of her hair.
She pushed his hand away.
Duncan smiled mockingly. “Perhaps you should have allowed a maid to attend you before meeting me, Alana.” He reached out again and tucked the tendril behind her ear, his fingers lingering upon her skin.
She flinched, furious. Duncan had been toying with her since she was twelve—when he had tried to touch her breasts and thighs in a most lecherous manner. For several years, only her quick wit—and the threat to curse him—had left her unharmed. When she was fifteen, he had assaulted her after a night of heavy drinking. Alana had crashed a pot upon his head, and ever since, he had kept some distance, but his behavior remained rude and suggestive.
“Still afraid of a man’s touch?” He laughed.
“Afraid? I am not afraid, I loathe your touch.”
“Only because you are as cold-blooded as your mother was not.”
Alana wanted to strike him. But he had referred to her mother as a whore so often that the insult had lost much of its significance. She could control her rage—she had had years of practice doing so. “Perhaps.” She shrugged. “I did not come here to trade old barbs with you.”
“No, you came because I commanded it.” His stare had turned to ice.
“Yes, I came upon command, for you are my liege.” She looked at her feet and curtsied. Now they had an uneasy truce. She knew he disliked her as much as she did him.
“As your liege, I will tell you I am tired of your lies. So do not claim you spent the night on the road in the midst of winter. Lady Eleanor would be dead,” he snapped.
She lifted her chin and stared. How she felt like taunting him—and telling him that she had succored Iain of Islay. “We spent the night in an abandoned farmhouse, down the road from the manor.”
He eyed her with suspicion. “If I ever learn that you have lied, Alana, you will pay dearly.”
She smiled coldly, even as dread formed. “What else could have possibly kept us?”
“I intend to find out!” He turned his back to her and called to a serving maid. Then he faced her anew. “We heard about the battle,” he then said to her. “I had sent a small force south, and Iain of Islay defeated my men at Boath Manor. Did you see the fighting?”
“When we heard the battle, we hid in the woods until it was safe to escape to the farmhouse, where we spent the night, waiting for the army to leave.” She would repeat this story until the end of time, if need be.
“You forget, I know you well, I have known you since you were six or seven.” Duncan had become her guardian when she was six, which was when he had also become castellan—not lord—of Brodie. “You remain as curious as a wild little cat. You did not care to see who was fighting?”
“This war means little to me.”
“Yet it means everything to Buchan—your uncle.”
Alana shrugged.
“So you never saw Iain of Islay—Iain the Fierce?” The question seemed rhetorical, as he began to reflectively pace. Head down, hands clasped, he said, “He is a cousin to Angus Og, Bruce’s best friend in this war, and Angus has given him an army of savage Highlanders. They have murdered and raped their way across the mountains, burning down both home and field alike.”
Alana trembled. She did not believe it.
He stared. “And how is it that I now have your interest and attention?”
Iain had turned Boath Manor into a pile of ash-strewn rubble. But no one had been murdered or raped—not that she knew of. In fact, she had seen him risk his life to rescue Mistress MacDuff and her two children.
“He sounds frightening,” she said.
“He does not take prisoners, and he leaves no enemy alive.”
Alana bit her lip. She was the enemy and she was very much alive. But of course, she was a woman.
“How is it, Alana, that he or his watch did not remark you?”
Alana shook her head. “I told you—we hid in the woods until we thought we could go back down the road to the old farmhouse.” And there had been an abandoned farmhouse on the road, one partly burned, but hopefully, inhabitable. They had just never paused there.
“Then you are very fortunate. I am fortunate that you were not captured.” He eyed her with continued skepticism. “How fares Godfrey? Brodie?”
She felt chilled, and she rubbed her arms. “When we left, the castle stood, unharmed. Do you think it will be attacked?”
“Bruce’s army has made camp to the south of us. He could strike Nairn, Elgin or Brodie, or any number of smaller castles and manors.” He gave her a dark and long look. “We do not know where he will strike next, Alana.” He walked over to her and laid his hand upon her shoulder.
Alana trembled. Did he expect her to predict where Bruce would next attack? She pulled away from his odious touch.
Eleanor asked, “Has the Earl of Buchan arrived, my lord?”
“He is expected at any time. Why do you ask, Eleanor?” He was mocking.
“I have not seen the earl in a great many years and I am curious.” Eleanor smiled pleasantly.
“Curious? Come, old woman, we know one another too well. You seek something from the mighty earl—everyone does.”
“And do you truly care?” Eleanor asked.
Duncan stared at Alana now, his blue gaze unwavering. “If you think to place Alana under Buchan’s protection, then yes, I care. She is my ward.”
Alana was stunned and dismayed at once. “You have no care for me,” she began.
“Shut up,” Duncan said. He now approached tiny Eleanor. “She has always been your sole concern. Will you not appeal to her great-uncle, on her behalf?”
Eleanor still smiled. “You know me well, Sir Duncan. Alana needs a husband.”
“Alana could be valuable to me, old woman. I need her.”
Alana inhaled. “I have never been valuable to you! Not in the dozen years I have been under your protection at Brodie Castle!”
He approached, smiling coldly. “But we have never been in such danger. The earldom is under attack!”
A terrible silence fell. He suddenly found her valuable because of her sight. “What do you want of me?” she asked. But she knew. This was not about the lie she had told his son. He wished to know about Bruce’s plans—he wished for her to foresee them!
He slowly smiled. He touched her chin with his stout finger. She recoiled inwardly, but did not move. “You begin to please me, at last.... Tell me what you saw the other day.”
She stepped back, and his hand fell away. “I saw a battle, that is all.” Images from her vision—from the battle at Boath Manor—flashed. They competed with every memory she now had of Iain, and of her last glimpse of the manor, burned to the snowy ground.
“No. Godfrey says you saw me triumphant in battle.”
Alana did not dare glance at Eleanor. Her mind raced. She did not want to have any value to Duncan. It had been bad enough being his ward for most of her life, when he mostly ignored her and occasionally lusted for her. If she let him believe she had had a vision about him in battle, he would certainly think her a valuable asset. He might even think her valuable if she told him that she had foreseen the battle at Boath Manor. She could do neither, then.
But she did not want to anger him, either—not if she could avoid it. She decided to try to hedge.
“I saw a battle, and there was both victory and defeat. I cannot be certain you were the victor. It was a confusing sight.”
His face mottled with anger. “That is not what Godfrey claimed. He wrote me and said you saw me triumphant, Alana.” Warning was in his tone. “So think again and do not lie to me.”
“Men were fighting, and I saw Bruce’s flag.” She hesitated. “I think you were there. I do not know anything else.”
“You think I was present? You do not know anything else? You told Godfrey I was victorious!”
“The vision was not clear.”
He was disbelieving. “The vision was not clear? Or you will not tell me about it?”
Eleanor stepped forward. “We are sorry, my lord, truly sorry.”
Alana now regretted ever lying to Godfrey in the first place, and all for spite. But if she had not lied, she would not have been on the road near Boath Manor. Clearly, she had been meant to be on that road, although she still did not know why.
She thought of Iain, of his kiss and knew she must not allow her thoughts to go further.
“Buchan will not be pleased to hear of such a confusing vision,” he spat. He strode to the table and picked up a mug and drained it. Then he slammed it down. It was a moment before he faced her. “I am not pleased. I need details, Alana.”
Dismay flooded her. “Why will you tell my uncle about this small, confusing vision?”
“Why do you think I brought you here? I wish for you to help us! To help me! If your uncle doesn’t know about your visions, then I will be the first to tell him.” Duncan whirled and waved at a maid. “Wine, wench, bring me wine!”
Alana turned away. Did the Earl of Buchan even know that she had the sight?
Would her father have even bothered to mention that his bastard daughter was a witch? She simply did not know.
And what would happen when Buchan arrived? When her father arrived? Duncan now, suddenly, considered her valuable. Until now neither her father nor Buchan had thought about her. Was it possible that would change?
Would her uncle—her father—value her because she was a witch?
She felt no excitement. Instead, Alana wanted to cry.
Eleanor put her arm around her. “My lord, we are both fatigued from such an unusual journey. Could we retire?”
“I am not done with you.” Duncan turned his regard on Alana. “If you hid in the woods near Iain of Islay’s army...did you see him?”
Alana did not know what to say.
“Tell me the truth, Alana. Had you been in the woods, you would have stolen forth to witness the battle—I have no doubt! Well? Surely you would notice him!”
Alana wet her lips, shaken. “Why would you ask?”
“I was told Iain was wounded. There was a great deal of blood. Did you see him bleeding out? If I am very fortunate, he is dead!”
“There was blood everywhere! There were wounded men and the dead!”
Duncan stared angrily. “I think you enjoy lying to me. Well, you will not enjoy it when Nairn falls to those bloodthirsty Highlanders.”
Alana shivered and pulled her wool mantle closer.
“Is he such a terrible enemy, my lord?” her grandmother asked.
Duncan faced her. “Before he was given this army, he was but one more mad Highlander eager to slit our throats in the night. He preyed upon our ships on the western seas. Upon our merchants on the high roads. But that has changed. Bruce has come into the habit of having him advance first in every fray, to secure a path for Bruce’s larger army. He has not been defeated since his cousin provisioned him.” He turned his stare upon Alana, and she glimpsed dread and fear in his eyes. “If he takes Nairn, none of us will survive.”
Alana finally spoke, but thickly, “Is a peace possible?”
“No.” Duncan was vehement. “Bruce intends to be king—just as he intends to destroy the earldom of Buchan.”
And it seemed as if he was succeeding. The greater ramifications of the war began to sink in. Buchan destroyed, Brodie lost, her uncle and father hanged as traitors...
“If Nairn is attacked—if any of my castles are attacked—I will instruct my archers to place all their attention upon any man who resembles Iain of Islay.” Duncan was final.
Alana was aghast. Duncan hoped to assassinate Iain? Eleanor quickly put her arm around her. “We should go up,” her grandmother murmured.
But Duncan walked over to her and rudely clasped her shoulder. His grip was hard, and Alana was forced to meet his gaze, as she could hardly get free.
“Buchan will be here tomorrow,” he said. “By tomorrow, I expect you to have the answers you did not have today.”
“I have told you everything.”
“Have you?”
“I cannot tell you what I do not know.”
