Brenda Joyce - A Sword Upon the Rose

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?”