A Sword Upon The Rose Read online

  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.”

  * * *

  THE 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.

  Eleanor pulled her away from the window, ashen. “Are you burned?”

  Alana touched her cheek, where a spark had burned her. “I’ll be fine.”

  Eleanor ran to the table, seized the pitcher and returned. She wet her sleeve and laid the cool cloth on her tiny burn.

  “Will Nairn fall?” Alana asked. She trembled with fear. It was one thing to calmly speculate about its fall—and being freed—when all was as it should be, another to do so when under attack.

  “We cannot remain here, like this!” Eleanor cried.

  Her grandmother was the calmest, wisest and most courageous woman Alana knew. But she was frightened now.

  Alana silently agreed. She ran to the door and banged on it. “Sir John! You must let us out! We cannot remain here, trapped like rabbits in a cage, a wolf at the door! We need to know what is happening and we can help defend the castle.” She banged on the door again, furiously, desperately.

  There was no answer. Alana pulled on the door handle, but the door remained bolted from outside. She turned, wide-eyed. “He is gone.”

  Eleanor was pale. They stared at each other, shocked.

  “They have left us here?” Alana finally gasped.

  “He must be helping defend the keep,” Eleanor said slowly.

  “And if we are overrun? Who will defend us?” Alana cried. Her mind raced as she rushed back to the window and opened the shutter. Iain was surely a part of this attack, but she had yet to see him. How could she get word to him?

  “Alana! Do not go near the window!” Eleanor begged.

  Alana ignored her. Enemy soldiers had thrown ladders up against the walls to the left of the siege engine. She saw from their dress that they were Highlanders, but Buchan’s archers were on the ramparts, firing down at them. Thank God, she thought, with a flooding of relief. Finally someone was on the north walls, above them, defending them.

  She saw one of the Highlanders struck by multiple arrows in his chest and arms. Screaming, he fell from the ladder to a certain death.

  But another Highlander was aggressively scaling the wall. If he was not shot, he would soon climb over the ramparts.

  Alana wh
irled. “The Highlanders are coming. Should I pen a message for Iain?”

  “We must do something,” Eleanor cried, quickly sitting at the table. She took parchment and a quill from the drawer and began to write.

  Alana remained huddled in the corner, not far from the window. She did not know how she would get the message to Iain, and it was becoming harder to think.

  The battering ram exploded against the north gate another time, so loudly, so powerfully, that Alana felt the floor shift beneath her feet. She jumped.

  And then a face appeared outside her window.

  It was inches away. Alana gasped, for one moment shocked, as the man stared into the chamber. Their gazes locked.

  And then she realized that his eyes were wide and lifeless eyes, his face contorted in pain and death. And then he vanished.

  She ran to the window and leaned out. A ladder was beneath her, and the Highlander was falling like a leaf twisting in the wind. She looked away as he hit the ground below her.

  Alana gripped the ledge of the windowsill, stunned. No one else was attempting to scale that ladder. She inhaled. Was she brave enough to attempt to go down?

  She was afraid of falling, of being shot—and of leaving Eleanor alone.

  Eleanor had come to stand beside her. “It is too dangerous!”

  And then, from the corner of her eye, Alana saw Iain.

  She whirled. She would never mistake him on his black charger, sword raised, long hair flying in the wind. He was galloping from the west, toward the north gate. He paused, his horse rearing, and she knew he was shouting at his men. More Highlanders were on more ladders now, and more men were pushing the battering ram.

  Arrows hailed down upon them now.

  It was Iain. And they meant to assassinate him.

  Alana seized the windowsill and screamed at him. “Iain, beware.” He was too close to the walls, too close to Buchan’s archers! Yet she also knew he would never hear her, not in the din of battle.

  The words were barely out of her mouth when a hail of arrows flew from the ramparts directly at him.

  He must have sensed the danger, for he held up his shield. Dozens of arrows struck the metal and leather there, bouncing uselessly away. Others landed in the ground around him and his horse.

  Alana cried out as another barrage of arrows flew at him. She held her breath as they struck his shield, the horse’s breastplate and the ground.

  This time he whirled the stallion and galloped back to the safety of the rest of the army.

  Alana felt her knees buckle with relief. At least he knew he was a target. At least now, he would be prepared.

  Another explosion sounded, and wood cracked. The stones beneath her feet reverberated so strongly that she lost her balance.

  Alana caught the sill and leaned out of the window again. The north gate was directly below the tower where she stood, and all she could see was that the men were pulling back the ram, clearly preparing for another assault.

  The hail of arrows and missiles from Bruce’s army had ceased. The fire from the ramparts had decreased dramatically, to an occasional arrow, and an isolated oil pot. A dozen Highland soldiers were climbing the castle walls, and now, they were undeterred. She watched a dozen Highlanders climbing over the ramparts. She watched them assault Buchan’s archers, wrestling them off the walls and to their deaths.

  The floor shook as the north gate exploded. Alana cried out, as did Eleanor, some rock from the ceiling above falling. Alana ran to her grandmother to protect her with her body. “Nairn is falling,” she said.

  * * *

  THE BATTLE WAS OVER. Alana had watched Iain ride triumphantly into the north gate with a dozen of his mounted men, his banner flying. That had been several hours ago. Since then, the countryside had come alive with tents and cook fires. She could see and hear Bruce’s men celebrating outside—singing and dancing, drinking and feasting, laughter. Bruce’s banner flew high in the dusky sky, above the sea of tents, brightly yellow and red.

  He had captured Nairn. What would happen next? Had Buchan been captured? What of her father? And Duncan?

  And what would happen now?

  Alana did not want to worry Eleanor, but she kept thinking about the fact that Bruce was in the habit of razing every castle he took. Lochindorb had been an exception. She was frightened, because if they meant to burn Nairn down, would they find both women first?

  As of yet, no one had come to the door, and in a way, she was grateful—for she also remained frightened of enemy soldiers who might happen upon them. She did not know what to expect when they were finally discovered.

  Alana kept returning to the door, to place her ear upon it, to strain to hear. There were no celebratory sounds inside. Whatever was happening downstairs, they could not hear. For all she knew, no one was downstairs—everyone had been rounded up and taken away through the south gate.

  It was so terribly quiet upstairs, it was unnerving.

  “Sometimes no news is the best news,” Eleanor whispered.

  Alana did not know how to reply. At times she was tempted to bang on the door and shout until her voice was raw, but then her fear held her back. Her mind always returned to the possibility of being raped and murdered, before veering to being identified and imprisoned far more significantly than now.

  How could Buchan have left them like this? She refused to believe her father would have consented to such cruelty and neglect.

  Alana returned to the bed and sat down beside her grandmother. “Are you hungry?” she asked softly.

  “I am fine, Alana.”

  She had to be ravenous, as they had not eaten all day. But Alana did not say so. She smiled and squeezed her hand.

  And then she heard the bolt outside the door being freed.

  Alana tensed, as did Eleanor, both of them staring, half in horror, as the door swung open.

  A huge Highlander with a gray beard stood there. “Who are ye?” he demanded. “And what do ye do in this chamber, locked inside of it?”

  “We were imprisoned by the Earl of Buchan,” she said quickly. She stood up. “We must speak with Iain of Islay.” She hesitated. “Tell him it is Alana.”

  His eyes widened. “I’ll tell him.” He shut the door, bolted it and left.

  Alana turned to her wide-eyed grandmother, trembling. “I will convince him to free us.”

  Eleanor stood, but stiffly. “Have a care, Alana, he answers to Bruce.”

  Alana stared. “He doesn’t know anything yet.”

  “Make sure he never does.”

  Alana felt a terrible dismay. But Eleanor was right. Bruce was somewhere at Nairn—she could never be honest with Iain about her Comyn blood now.

  Alana turned to stare at the locked door. Iain owed her a vast debt—he had said so. Surely he would free them. Surely she could convince him to do so.

  But what if Buchan were below, and the truth came out?

  She inhaled. Even if Buchan did not reveal her identity, most of the castle’s inhabitants knew she was Buchan’s niece. Even if Iain decided to free them, she was in peril, until she was safely gone from Nairn.

  Footsteps sounded outside, heavy and male, with the jangle of spurs. She glanced at Eleanor, who smiled reassuringly. Alana felt her heart slam as the bolt was thrown and the door opened.

  Iain stood there with the graying Highlander, his blue eyes wide with shock.

  Alana smiled. “My lord.” She trembled, hoping to be deferential. But her heart raced, and she could not deny a moment of joy.

  He strode to her, unsmiling, his eyes hard, and touched her chin. He tilted it up. “By God! Who did this to ye?”

  She tensed. There was a terrible bruise on the right side of her face, and her lip was swollen from where it had been split. But she was fortunate that her unc
le had missed her eye. And the bruises were healing. They were bluish-green now, not darkly purple.

  She hesitated. “I fell, my lord.”

  He dropped his hand from her chin. His stare intensified, and she flinched, but she could not look away. “Why will ye protect the man who did this?”

  She did not know how to respond. “Because it doesn’t matter,” she finally said.

  “It matters,” he said with warning. “And ye were burned in the battle!”

  Alana started. Iain almost sounded as if he cared.

  “A small missile almost came through the window,” she began.

  “And ye were here, locked inside, for the entire battle?”

  “We have been in this chamber, yes, for the entire battle.”

  He gave her one last incredulous look, and turned to Eleanor. “Lady Fitzhugh, are ye unharmed?”

  “I have not been hurt,” Eleanor assured him. “But I am weary.”

  “Do ye wish to take to yer bed? I will have a meal sent up,” Iain said.

  “I am afraid these old bones need some rest,” Eleanor said.

  Alana went to her. Eleanor seemed unusually frail, so suddenly.

  Iain turned his attention to Alana. His stare was so direct that she became nervous. “Why did the Earl of Buchan imprison ye?”

  “I displeased him.”

  His stare sharpened.

  “Can we not leave it there?” she asked, smiling slightly. “Please? My grandmother and I are exhausted, frightened and hungry. We can tell stories another day.”

  “Did ye tell Buchan ye nursed my wound? Is that why he was displeased?”

  It would be so easy to take that tangent, which he had offered her. “No.”

  It was a moment before he spoke, as he considered her words. “So it was Buchan who struck ye?”

  She started in alarm. “I did not say that!”