A Sword Upon The Rose (8 page)

“Alana?” This time it was her grandmother, her hands on her back.

Alana had never been as ill, and she thought she would vomit again. She had never shaken as violently, nor could she stop. The tears flowed.

She had never witnessed such death and destruction, such merciless savagery, before.

Dear, dear God. She had just foreseen the annihilation of the earldom and its people.

“Mistress Alana?” It was Sir John. “If you have had a vision, you must go in and tell the earl!”

Alana closed her eyes, fighting the nausea, which refused to recede. Her head continued to spin. Surely, this vision was a warning, not a prophecy. Buchan was the most powerful earl in the north of Scotland! How could he be so thoroughly destroyed?

“You are shaking as if with fever,” Eleanor cried, helping her to sit up.

Alana heard her. But the grotesque images of terror, fire, blood and death would not go away. She could still see those frightened men, women and children in vivid detail!

But she somehow forced herself to see past their terrified faces until Eleanor’s worried countenance came into view.

“Alana?” she cried, aghast, for she knew the vision had not been a good one.

Alana could not yet speak. She could hardly think. She only knew that they must never let such destruction come to pass. “Sir John! Could you get her some water, please?” Eleanor cried.

Sir John whirled and lowered the bucket into the well. As he did, Alana leaned heavily upon Eleanor who sat with her on the ground. A moment later he returned with a ladle of water. Alana used it to wipe her mouth, and then took a long draught.

Sir John knelt. “I am sorry, mistress, but I must take you inside. I am under orders.”

Alana wanted to protest, she wanted to delay. She did not want to face her uncle now! But when she finally looked at the knight he was ashen.

“Alana! What did you see?” Eleanor cried.

Alana met her gaze, finally somewhat lucid, but not yet coherent. What was she to do?

Should she lie? When lying to her uncle was so abhorrent?
Could
she lie, after such a horrific and devastating experience?

“We must go in, Lady Fitzhugh.” Sir John was firm. He helped both women up, avoiding all eye contact now.

Alana shrugged free, aware that she frightened him now and he did not want to touch her. “I am fine,” she said, a complete lie. She continued to tremble uncontrollably. She still felt faint and ill.

Alana went inside with Eleanor, Sir John following.

Buchan turned as they came inside. He took one look at her and his eyes widened. “What has happened?” he demanded, hurrying toward them.

“I found Mistress Alana on the ground, crying and screaming. She then became ill,” Sir John said gravely. “I think she had a vision.”

“Is it true?” Buchan demanded.

Alana somehow nodded. “Yes.” Her mind raced, but uselessly. She did not know what to do next, or what she would say when asked.

“What did you see!” he cried.

Alana stared at her uncle. How could she deceive him? If she told him of some pleasant future for the earldom, and her vision came to pass, she would never forgive herself. Should he not be warned? This vision must never come true! “Niece!” Buchan grasped her shoulder and shook her.

“I saw our villages being burned to the ground, our villagers being murdered,” she whispered, feeling ill yet again. “I saw Highlanders murdering the innocent people of Buchan.... I saw the land, scorched and destroyed, from one end to the other, no village, no farm, no castle left standing.”

Buchan’s eyes were wide. He stared speechlessly. “How do you know it was Buchan land you saw burned and destroyed?”

Tears fell. “Bruce’s flag flew above—yours lay in shreds in the ashes.”

He roared in rage. “This is the vision you give me?”

Alana meant to speak, but his hand flew across her face so swiftly that she could not utter a word. Pain exploded and she was knocked off her feet.

“This is your vision after all I have promised you?” he roared again.

His fist was raised. Beneath him on the floor, she cringed. “Maybe it is a warning!” she cried.

He struck her again, even harder, across the same side of her face.

She choked on the blazing pain.

“Stop! Stop it, John, stop it!” Eleanor screamed at him.

But Buchan did not hear. “I asked for a vision of victory, Alana! Instead, you tell me Buchan will be destroyed? Damn you! Damn you to hell!”

“I cannot help what I saw,” she sobbed. “Please! You must make certain I am wrong!”

Buchan seemed about to kick her. Instead, he caught himself and stood over her, panting from his exertions, the hall so silent, only his heavy breathing was audible.

Alana curled up, trying not to cry, her face on fire. Eleanor scooted to her and knelt, taking her in her arms. Alana clung to her grandmother.

“We have a war to attend,” Buchan finally said harshly. “We will ride out now, as planned.”

Alana dared look at him over her tiny grandmother’s arm and cringed.

He was staring furiously at her.

Duncan stepped forward. “What about her?” He nodded at Alana contemptuously.

Buchan was now striding across the hall, past Alana and Eleanor. He did not look at them again. “Take her and the old woman back to the tower. Lock them both up until I decide what to do with them.”

* * *

T
HEY
WERE
THE
Earl of Buchan’s prisoners now.

Alana stood at the window of her small tower room, which she now again shared with her grandmother.

Three days had passed, and she had not been allowed to leave the chamber. Neither had Eleanor.

Meals were brought to them. A maid came to attend the fire, bringing kindling for them. She also changed their chamber pot. Both women had taken up sewing to pass the time.

There was no news. No news of Buchan, no news of Bruce and his army, no news of her father—if he had lived, or if he had died. Alana prayed for him.

Now she stared outside at the deserted and snowy hillside, lightly holding the sill. She had had an odd feeling all day—of expectation. She wasn’t exactly afraid. But something of great import would soon happen, something with grave consequences. She was certain.

“Are you watching for someone?” Eleanor asked. She came to stand beside her. “The road has been deserted all day.”

“If only a messenger would come, and at least bring us news of the war...and my father,” Alana said. She should not be wondering about Iain just then, but he remained on her mind. But then, he might lead the attack on Nairn when it came—if it came.

She sighed and turned away from the window. She heard the bolt being lifted upon the door. A maid stepped inside, holding a dinner tray.

Alana knew Mairi well now, and she started, for the young blonde girl’s eyes were wide and her freckled cheeks were flushed. “Mairi?” Alana asked warily.

Breathlessly the maid set down their dinner of bread, cheese and wine. “Buchan is returning. The watch has seen his knights on the south road!”

Alana seized her arm. Was this the news she had been awaiting? “Do you know what has happened? Did he battle with Bruce’s army? Was he victorious?” Had her uncle chased the mighty Bruce away?

“I have heard that Bruce is marching on us!” Mairi cried, ashen.

Alana glanced at Eleanor, who was pale. Bruce was on the march—Nairn would soon be attacked.

This could not be the event she had sensed coming. She had not felt fear or dread. But she was afraid now—Bruce meant to attack Nairn! “Is Buchan returning to defend us?” Was there time to escape? Would they and the other innocent residents of the castle be allowed to flee?

“I dinna ken,” Mairi cried. “I ken what the watch has seen—Buchan is returning. Lady! Have ye ever been in a siege?”

Alana touched her arm. “No, Mairi, fortunately, I have not.”

“They will rape and murder us.” Tears welled in Mairi’s eyes.

Alana inhaled. “We do not know that.”

Mairi looked at her as if she was mad.

Alana stiffened. She was not a simple maid, like Mairi was—she was Buchan’s niece. And Bruce was on the march, his ambition to destroy her uncle and his earldom.

Their rivalry went back generations, to the time when Bruce’s grandfather had unsuccessfully sought the throne against John Balliol. But it was worse than that. Two years ago, Bruce had murdered Buchan’s cousin, Red John Comyn, the Lord of Badenoch. Buchan had sworn revenge, and the enmity between the families had, impossibly, increased.

If Bruce took Nairn, what would happen to Buchan, to her father, if he was present—to her? They were his worst, most hated and most despised enemies.

“Can you come back and tell us what is happening? Please?” Alana implored. The maid usually did not come back till the morning. “You could pretend we need more firewood!”

“I’ll try.” Tears in her eyes, little Mairi fled.

Alana had no faith in her. But she could not be left in ignorance now, and if Buchan were returning, she wished to speak with him! Never mind that she now feared him impossibly. He had to release her and Eleanor, so they could flee this battle.

She rushed to the open door—only to be barred in the doorway by Sir John. “You know you cannot leave,” he said sternly.

“Will we be attacked?”

“That is what everyone in the castle is speaking of, mistress.”

She trembled. “Will my uncle stay and defend us? Why else would he return?”

“I have received no orders yet. But the earl will be here within the hour.” He turned to leave.

She gripped his arm, preventing him from closing the door. Startled, he flinched and met her gaze. “Is my father with him? Please, Sir John, I do not know if my father is even alive!”

He shook her off. “I do not know!”

“And who leads Bruce’s forces?”

He shook his head, about to close the door.

“Wait!” she cried, pushing between him and the door. “Will my grandmother and I remain imprisoned if we are attacked? I must speak with my uncle immediately! He must release us!”

His answer was to scowl and shut the door in her face. Alana stared at the wood, her nose practically touching it, flinching when she heard the bolt being thrown.

Eleanor approached. “If Nairn falls, perhaps we will be set free.”

Alana stared at her. Would Iain free them? “Either that, or we will become the prisoners of our worst enemy.”

* * *

T
HE
ATTACK
BEGAN
at dawn.

Alana had not slept well. She had been unable to stop her racing thoughts as she worried over whether or not the castle would be attacked, and what might happen to her and her grandmother, trapped as they were in the tower. If Iain were leading the attack, and he was aware of her presence in the tower, she was certain he would not allow them to be hurt. But he would not know that she and Eleanor were present. If the castle were taken, enemy soldiers would overrun every inch of it. Buchan’s soldiers would be killed. Alana was afraid of her own fate and that of the other women who were present.

As for what might happen should Bruce ever learn of her identity, she could only pray he would consider her a worthless and unwanted bastard—though she felt certain that would not be the case.

Mairi had not come back. Sir John had refused to open the door to speak with her, no matter how often she shouted at him. She had finally given up banging on the door, as his answer remained absolute silence.

She could not see the south road from her window, only the north road, which was rarely used as it went to the sea. She could only assume that Buchan had returned, perhaps with Duncan, and perhaps with her father, and that he meant to defend the castle.

Alana fell asleep in her grandmother’s arms, fighting tears of rising hysteria.

The siege engines awoke her.

She heard a boom from the front gates, the sound shocking. Instantly awake, she could hear the sounds of battle from outside—screaming horses, shouting men, whistling missiles.

“Gran! We are under attack!” Alana cried, seizing her mantle. She ran to the window and pushed open the shutters.

“Alana, stand back!” Eleanor screamed.

But Alana could not move. Hail after hail of arrows flew at the castle walls, along with flaming missiles.

She flinched but did not move. Bruce’s army was arranged across the ridge below the tower where she stood. The barbican was on the south side, and she had not expected such a sight.

But his soldiers snaked around the walls to the west, and she felt certain his men ringed the castle entirely. He had hundreds of archers in the first rows of his army, foot soldiers with shields and pikes behind them. She espied several groups of mounted knights, and then, a small army of mounted Highlanders.

She stared across the archers and foot soldiers at the Highland army atop the ridge. Were those Iain’s men?

More arrows flew toward the north wall, and the tower where she stood. Catapults had been set up at intervals, and fiery rock bombs were whizzing at the ramparts. She ducked and stepped away from the open window, her heart slamming.

The siege engine in the south sounded again, a huge banging sound, almost like an explosion. Would they soon break the front gates down?

She ran back to the window.

“Alana!” Eleanor seized her from behind.

Alana ignored her, just as she ignored more whizzing arrows. They sounded like rocks and gravel, peppering the walls around the tower. But the missiles screamed, exploding as they hit the walls, far too close for comfort. She seized the sill and dared to look down, directly below her.

Because the north road was the fastest way to the docks and the wharves, there was a gate below, through which the castle’s supplies and provisions came.

A battering ram was being slowly pushed toward the north gate.

She held her breath as the machine came closer and closer and then she tensed as an explosion sounded. Before she could take a breath, a burning bomb landed on the wall outside her window. Fire and sparks shot at her as Alana leaped away from the opening, slamming the shutter closed.