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Juliana wondered as her sister did—had he taken Achanduin Castle? She imagined Alasdair there, his men celebrating the easy victory in the great hall, mugs raised in laughter, in triumph.
Would he come tomorrow? Or would Achanduin Castle be enough?
Mary stood. “I am going to get some rest. You should, too.”
Juliana somehow smiled. She would never sleep that night, not when she was afraid of what the dawn would bring.
But Mary paused. “There is one thing I cannot comprehend. It was our brother who attacked Ardtornish Castle. Not you. So why is he here?”
Juliana stiffened. “I don’t know.”
Mary gave her an odd look and left.
Juliana sank back down onto the bench, staring across the great room, where many of her soldiers slept upon pallets. A huge hearth was on the opposite wall, and a fire raged there.
I am sorry ye were here.
She suddenly recalled Alasdair’s parting words, and felt frozen. She did not even want to try to comprehend what he had meant, or if he had been truly remorseful.
She laid her cheek on her arms on the table. He was at Lismore not because of Alexander, but because of her—she somehow sensed it.
Tears burned her closed eyelids. She wished she had never asked her brother for an army, she wished she had never dreamed of revenge!
But mostly, she wished that she and her sister had left for Dunstaffnage that morning—that she had insisted they depart immediately. For then Mary and her three children would be safe.
And to make matters worse, Mary was five months pregnant. If something happened to the babe—or any of the children—Juliana would never forgive herself.
Juliana started awake. She hadn’t meant to fall asleep. But she saw now that the fire in the hearth was burning, having been stoked by the maids. The light outside the windows was pale from the dawn.
She leapt up from the bench and ran into the corridor and up the narrow stairwell. The two men in the tower turned as she ran past them.
The dawn was gray, snow falling. The barest light stained the day, with no sign of the sun. And there were no ships on the horizon.
She was in disbelief. Was he gone?
“Lady Juliana, ye must come to the entry tower.”
Juliana whirled around to face the watchtower, away from the east ramparts and the sound. She took one look at Fergus’s pale, grim expression, and knew Alasdair Og had come.
She inhaled, praying for strength and courage. Then she nodded and followed him inside, downstairs, and across the castle. Mary appeared and fell into step beside her as they went outside.
It was snowing more heavily now. A light dusting covered the courtyard. Ahead was the entry tower, the drawbridge below closed. All of her archers and soldiers were on the ramparts on each side of the castle gates.
Juliana went up the exterior stairs with Fergus and Mary and pushed inside the tower. She went to the window and gripped its ledge.
Perhaps a hundred mounted warriors, fur-clad Highlanders and mail-clad knights, formed a line between the western hills and the castle, like a barricade, facing her.
Juliana felt sick. She could not see behind the front lines, but she knew hundreds of archers and foot soldiers armed with swords and spears were there. Three blue MacDonald banners sporting sinister red dragons waved above the army.
“What are we going to do?” Mary whispered.
Juliana could not speak. She watched one rider on a gray warhorse separate himself from the army, slowly coming forward. She felt so much tension, it was choking her.
“It is Alasdair Og,” Mary said tersely.
He halted his mount at some distance from the entry tower. He was too far away for his features to be visible, but he clearly stared at the tower—Juliana knew he stared at her.
“If ye can lure him closer, our archers can murder him,” Fergus said thickly.
“No. Do not shoot at him,” Juliana said, so vehemently, Mary and Fergus looked askance at her. “We are not murdering him in cold blood.”
“Then he will murder us,” Fergus said flatly.
Mary stared at her, and Juliana knew her thoughts—he had certainly murdered Bishop Alan in cold blood. But, oddly, she did not believe that Alasdair Og would murder her or her sister. But he was bent upon revenge. She knew that. And suddenly there was no choice. She knew what she must do to protect her sister and her nephews.
As if he could fathom her silent thoughts, he suddenly rode closer. She could make out his long dark hair, tangled about his shoulders as he stared up at her. Their gazes met.
It was time, she thought. Juliana asked Fergus for his dagger. In surprise, he handed it to her. She instantly reached down beneath her blue surcote and sliced off a strip from her linen cote. Mary gasped as Juliana handed the dagger back, realizing now what she intended.
Juliana turned and walked out onto the ramparts, Mary and Fergus behind her, their expressions grim. As she started towards the crenellations, a group of archers surrounded her. “Stand back,” she ordered.
“Lady Juliana, ye cannot put yer life in jeopardy,” Fergus protested.
“He will not hurt me.” She pressed against the edge of the wall, knowing she believed this.
Looking down at him, she raised her hand and dropped the linen flag of surrender over the wall. They both watched it float toward him, very much like the falling snow.
* * *
JULIANA STOOD BEFORE the hearth in the great hall, her hands firmly clasped before her, stiff with tension. It was unbearable.
She knew that Alasdair would walk into her hall at any moment, claiming it as his own.
She glanced at the stairwell. Mary had gone to check on her children, who were dressed as common Scottish children. Elasaid was going to claim that they were hers.
Children were used as hostages all the time.
She heard heavy booted steps, followed by deep, masculine tones. Her heart lurched. Someone laughed. The same voice said, “Mayhap this bodes well, eh, Alasdair? Mayhap our next fight will be as easy and as bloodless. Mayhap all our enemies will turn tail when we next approach!”
Juliana trembled. She was frightened, but she was also furious. She was being accused of cowardice.
Alasdair stepped through her door and his gaze founds hers. “I dinna think Lady Juliana has ever turned tail, Neil.”
Juliana simply stared.
He strode towards her, a towering Highlander. His blue-and-red plaid was thrown back, the skirts of his leine swirling about his bare thighs, his swords bumping there with his every stride. His blue gaze was piercing as he halted before her. “Was the choice to surrender yers?”
It was hard to speak. “Yes.”
He softened. “So quickly, ye become wise.”
She felt like striking him. “What do you want with me? Why did you come back?”
His smile vanished. “Yer brother attacked my castle, Lady Juliana, no doubt with yer blessing.”
“He attacked, not I.” She felt her temper rising, was aware that she should fight it, but did not even try. “It would not be as easy to attack my brother. That would take courage. I am an easier opponent. Attacking a woman is a laughing matter.”
He darkened and seemed incapable of speech. Behind him, his men seemed astonished and uncomfortable. “‘tis no laughing matter, I assure ye. Lady—do ye accuse me of cowardice?”
She began to shake. “I was just accused of cowardice.”
His mouth curled, but without mirth. “I dinna think ye cowardly, I think ye far too brave and bold fer yer own good.”
“Do you flatter me now?” she cried. “Or do you insult me? It is cowardly to attack a woman!” And the moment she had cried out, she wished she had not done so.
He stared in disbelief. A shocked silence fell. And Mary came into the hall, her face ashen.
She looked back and forth between them, several times. Then she hurried over to Juliana. “My sister is distressed,” she said tersely. “She doesn’t mean to insult you.”
“She means it,” he said flatly. “I attacked ye, Lady Juliana, because ye have a great value to me.”
What did he mean? She glanced at her sister, certain her consternation was shared. Mary looked as distraught as she felt.
Alasdair turned to Neil, the tall, blond Highlander at his side. “Search the keep. Account fer everyone. Make sure no weapons are hidden.” He faced the women. “Ye will feed my men. We will depart tomorrow on the first tide.” His expression cool, he walked past them both, taking a seat at the table. The castle maids rushed to serve him.
Juliana cringed as his men rushed upstairs, others going down into the cellars. She and Mary exchanged more worried glances and Mary seized her wrist. Fear was reflected in her eyes.
Juliana knew she was frightened because the children would soon be discovered. But she had one more pressing matter. She hurried over to the table, taking a deep breath for courage.
Alasdair turned to face her, one leg on each side of the bench. His expression became wary.
“What do you intend?” Juliana asked, trying to keep her tone calm. It was impossible. “Will you leave a garrison here, when you leave on the first tide? And what will you do with me and my sister?”
“I beg yer pardon—we leave on the first tide. We go to my home on Islay.” His stare was unwavering.
Juliana hugged herself. “Are you taking me captive?”
“Ay, I am taking ye—and yer sister—hostage.”
“Why?” she cried. “Why seek revenge upon me? You attacked us!”
“Yer brother attacked Ardtonrish Castle.”
“I am not my brother!”
He suddenly stood up, towering over her. “Ye should not have gone to the cathedral last week.”
She could not comprehend him. Instead of questioning what he said, she asked, “Do you wish to escalate this war between Clan Donald and Dougall? For that is all you will accomplish!”
“You think to advise me? Yer brother should have thought twice about sending a sheep to spy upon me.” Then, “It hardly matters. We were already at war. We have been at war for a hundred years, even longer. I am taking ye hostage, Lady Juliana, and no begging, no tears, will change my mind.”
“It matters!” Tears filled her eyes. “If you must take a hostage, take me—but please, leave my sister here. She is with child.”
“So ye have told me. I canna leave Lady Comyn here. She is the Earl of Buchan’s daughter by marriage—in the end, she may be a bigger boon than ye.”
With real dismay, Juliana glanced at Mary as she approached them. Before either one could speak, he held up his hand. “Enough. Make sure yer ready to journey at sunrise. And make sure the children are ready.”
Mary paled.
Juliana said, “The children?”
“Lady Comyn has three sons.”
Mary seemed ready to collapse. Juliana seized her arm to keep her standing. “They are not here, Alasdair. They remain at Castle Bain, her husband’s home.”
He folded his muscular arms across his chest. “I heard that there were children here, Lady Juliana.”
How had he heard that? Then she remembered that he had spent the night at Achanduin Castle—most of the island knew that her sister was in residence with her boys.
Neil came downstairs with Elasaid, the dark-haired maid pale with fright.
“Who is that?” Alasdair demanded.
“That is my maid,” Mary whispered.
“She was in a chamber above,” Neil said. “With three children, claiming they are hers.”
“I have three boys,” Elasaid whispered, trembling.
Neil said, “And the blond one saw me and cried, ‘a Comyn.’” He actually chuckled.
Alasdair turned his piercing stare on Mary.
Mary stepped forward before Juliana could stop her. She was breathing hard. “We cannot deceive you, then. The boys are my sons, but I beg you, do not take them hostage.”
Before he could answer, Juliana rushed between them. “You want me—not my sister, not the boys. Please,” she said. She gripped his arm. “Take me, but leave Mary and the boys. Surely, somewhere inside you, there is kindness and compassion.”
His eyes widened. He looked down at her hand. Juliana released him.
His eyes dark, he said, “Ye, yer sister and yer nephews will be well cared for—on Islay. I may kill the enemy in battle, but I do not harm women or children, Lady Juliana.” And with that, he turned his back on her.
CHAPTER FOUR
Dunyveg Castle, Islay, Scotland—the next day
“IF THERE IS anything that you need, you must only ask,” Lady MacDonald said. “I know these are difficult times.”
Juliana had walked to the single window in the tower chamber she would share with her sister and the children. Dunyveg sat upon a cliff that protruded into the ocean, and the seas below were black with the coming night, but frothing with whitecaps, the skies above heavy and turning purple. There would be no stars that night, and no moon. The night would soon be black.
