A Sword Upon the Rose

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.”

“Then try harder, Alana, to know what you must. Unless you wish to displease me another time, and displease your mighty uncle, as well.” Duncan released her and turned his back on them.

Alana looked at her grandmother and, as one, they hurried from the hall. Outside, they paused, clasping hands. “He is threatening me!” she cried.

Eleanor was as shaken. “We must be careful, Alana, truly careful, now.”

“Yes, because suddenly I am valuable to them! But I am to please my uncle? How will I do that?” Alana cried. She lowered her voice. “Lying to Duncan is one thing. I do not think it wise to lie to the Earl of Buchan.”

“You must not lie to your uncle—but you will not please him if he ever learns you care about Iain of Islay,” Eleanor said in a terse whisper.

Alana flinched. “He is a stranger, Gran, that is all, and I doubt I will see him again.”

Eleanor gave her a pitying look.

* * *

“IT IS THE EARL OF BUCHAN,” Eleanor said, hurrying into the small tower chamber they shared.

It was the next afternoon. Alana took one look at her grandmother’s grim countenance and worried eyes and she rushed to the room’s single window. The shutters were closed to ward off the cold but she opened them and looked outside.

It was another sunny day, with bright blue skies, the countryside patched with snow. A huge army was below the castle, a sea of tents being formed. And dozens of knights were riding up the road at a rapid trot, the earl’s banner waving above them. A black bear and gold lion were rampant atop a field of red, against a black, red and gold shield.

She gripped the stone ledge of the window. Buchan would be amongst the first knights, wouldn’t he? She did not have a clue as to which rider he was.

And was Sir Alexander with him?

Would she finally see her father again, after all of these years? She was so afraid of what their reunion would be like!

Eleanor put her arm around her. “Whatever you do, be polite, and do not displease him,” she said.

Alana felt ill. “He will soon ask me about my vision—and it is a lie. I could not sleep at all last night. Every tale I have ever heard about the earl recurred to me. I do not know what to do.”

“Then maybe it is time for the truth,” Eleanor said, low. “Without revealing your feelings.”

Alana jerked, shocked by the suggestion. Was she saying that Alana should reveal her true vision about the battle at Boath Manor—about Iain of Islay? For if she did, Buchan would value her not as his niece, but as his witch.

Both women turned back to the window and watched until the knights had ridden beneath the tower gates, and could be seen no more. Alana gripped her hands in front of her. She knew she would be summoned downstairs soon. She was frightened. “Is Buchan as ruthless as is claimed?” Alana whispered.

Eleanor gave her a reassuring smile. “When I knew him as young man, he wasn’t ruthless at all,” Eleanor said. “Infamy is never kind.”

Alana did not answer. Her uncle was infamous now. All of Scotland, and perhaps all of England, knew of the Earl of Buchan and his ruthless rage. For his young wife, Isabella of Fife, the Countess of Buchan, had betrayed him by crowning Bruce two years earlier at Scone. It was even said that she had been Bruce’s lover, and Bruce had gone to great lengths to keep her safe with his queen and daughter. But all the women of Bruce’s court had been captured by the English that summer. And now, Isabella was kept in a cage at Berwick, a spectacle for all the world to gawk at and scorn.

The mighty Earl of Buchan did not care; in fact, he wanted her dead.

A knock sounded on their door. Alana jumped as Eleanor opened it. Sir Roger nodded at them. “The earl wishes to see Mistress Alana,” he said.

Alana’s anxiety spiraled uncomfortably. “Come with me,” she said to Eleanor, taking her hand.

The two women followed Sir Roger down the narrow stairwell. Hard male voices could be heard from within the great hall. One was Duncan’s. The other had to belong to the great Earl of Buchan.

They had reached the threshold. Alana faltered and stared.

There was no mistaking the Earl of Buchan, and not because he was well dressed in the fashion of the French and English courts, his rings gold, the hilt of his sword bejeweled. Middle-aged and gray of hair, he emanated power and an air of command. He instantly turned to stare at them.

“Lady Fitzhugh and Mistress le Latimer,” Sir Roger said, but informally.

Buchan stood alone with Duncan, not far from one hearth. Her father was not with them.

Buchan smiled. “So you are my niece.”

Alana nodded and curtsied. “My lord.”

Buchan paced over to her, his gaze filled with speculation. “I remember your mother, Mistress Alana. You so resemble her.” He spoke firmly, but not unpleasantly.

Alana did not know what to say.

“She was very beautiful. And you are from Brodie Castle? The place that was once your mother’s?”

Alana nodded, her gaze glued to his. He did not seem ruthless. He seemed kind. “Brodie was my mother’s dowry, my lord.”

“Yes. I recall that. But the circumstances of your birth prevented you from having a claim. Duncan tells me you are twenty, and unwed.”

She so hoped the subject of witchcraft would not arise. “I am not wed.”

“So my brother has forgotten you,” he said flatly.

Oddly, she felt that she must defend Sir Alexander. “He tried to arrange a marriage, some time ago.” She dared ask, “My father is not with you?”

“He is on his way,” Buchan said. “But no marriage was arranged.”

She felt certain she knew where he led. “No.”

“Because no man wishes to wed a woman who can see the future?”

She flinched. “No man wishes to marry a woman like myself.”

“What do you mean, Mistress Alana? Speak plainly.”

She felt her cheeks heat with shame. “I have the sight,” she whispered. “I am thought to be a witch.”

He studied her in silence then. “So it is true,” he finally said. “You can foretell the future.”

“Sometimes, my lord.”

“Sometimes? So you have visions, sometimes? At will, Alana?”

“No, they are never at will.” She hesitated, feeling desperate. “I wish I had no visions, my lord, but they began when I was a small child.”

“How do you know that they are visions? Do they always come to pass?” he asked.

She bit her lip. “Yes, they always come to pass.”

“Give me an example, Alana.”

She did not dare glance at Eleanor. “Our kitchen maid was with child. I saw her in her childbed, the babe born alive, the poor maid dead. There was so much blood.”

“And did the maid die in childbirth?”

“Yes—exactly as I saw it.” She hugged herself. Poor Peg had died giving birth six months ago, but Alana had known she would die for months before that.

“And now? Now you have seen battles from this war?” he asked thoughtfully.

She froze, and then she glanced at Eleanor.

“From time to time,” Eleanor said.

“I didn’t ask you, Lady Fitzhugh,” Buchan said, but mildly.

“I have had one vision of the war,” she breathed, and actually, that was the truth.

“Ah, yes, Duncan tells me you saw a battle, and you first thought he was victorious, then had no thoughts at all. What did you see?”

It was hard to breathe, impossible really. The earl’s stare was relentless. Eleanor’s advice echoed in her mind—do not displease him. “The vision was not clear,” she said. She dared a quick glance at Duncan—he was scowling.

But he was hardly as intimidating as her uncle.

“That will not do.” His stance was more aggressive now. “Did you or did you not see my knight in battle?” He did not raise his tone, but it remained firm, unyielding.

Duncan might beat her, but she would survive. Eleanor was right—she must not displease Buchan. She took a deep breath. “I must confess, my lord, to you.”

“Confess what?”

She fought despair. “I do have visions, but I did not have a vision of Duncan in battle. I lied.”

Buchan’s eyes widened. Duncan turned red, and his eyes popped.

“You lied?” Buchan asked with disbelief. “Explain yourself, mistress.”

She hugged herself, trembling. “Godfrey goaded me, as he always does, I lied to spite him. I did not have a vision of Duncan in battle.”

A terrible silence fell.

Alana looked nervously back and forth between the two men. Duncan was enraged, but the earl was somehow far more frightening. She felt how his thoughts raced. She wished he would not stare.

“You will pay for this,” Duncan snarled.

Buchan lifted his hand. “Enough. Lies do not sit well with me, mistress.”

“And that is why I did not wish to lie to you.” She looked at her uncle, needing courage to do so. “Six days ago, I saw the battle for Boath Manor—I saw the manor in flames, I saw Highlanders fighting the English, and I saw their dark-haired leader rescue a woman and her two children from the inferno.” She was hoarse with fear.

Buchan’s eyes were wider. “The battle for Boath Manor was the day before yesterday.”

“Yes, it was, we came upon it—and it was exactly as I had seen.”

Duncan charged forward. “So you lied again? You saw Iain of Islay?”

“Yes,” Alana said, afraid he might strike her.

Buchan gestured at Duncan, clearly meaning for him to stand back. “Now we are getting somewhere. Boath Manor is done. How often do you have these visions, Alana?”

“It varies.”

“That will not do,” Buchan said. He gave her a sidelong look and began to pace, slowly, his expression still thoughtful.

Eleanor hurried to her side and put her arm around her. She dared to glance at Duncan, who glared at her with raw hatred.

Buchan returned to stand before her. “You know I am pleased with you,” he said, smiling.

She was incredulous.

“How can we encourage your visions?”

“I cannot summon them,” she tried.

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.

* * *

ALANA 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.

* * *

“GOOD MORNING, MISTRESS ALANA,” 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

THE 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.”