A Sword Upon the Rose

“So ye admit that we are enemies.” His smile was hard, triumphant.

She hugged her fur close now, entirely intimidated. “No.”

“Do ye belong to Boath Manor or Nairn Castle? Or do ye belong somewhere else?”

Her mind raced. Should she give up her deception? And at least admit that she was from Brodie Castle? For then, perhaps, he would stop interrogating her.

“So ye still wish to deny me yer identity? Ye only pique my curiosity!”

She knew she must avoid revealing her relationship to the Comyn family, at least. God only knew what he would do to her if he knew she was Buchan’s niece. “What does it matter, my lord? When you have survived this battle, and this last act of treachery? When I will leave—and we will never see one another again?”

His smile was hard. “And why would ye think we will never see one another again?”

She started, incapable of comprehending him.

“Treachery is like a serpent with many heads,” he said abruptly. “Take one, and others appear, ready and able to strike.”

What did he mean? “I do not know treachery as you do.”

He made a harsh sound. “Ye knew of the treachery yesterday. Yer first shout is the proof.”

Alana finally whispered, “I have tended your wound, my lord. I believe you are in my debt. Will you let us leave? We are expected in Nairn.”

He slowly smiled at her, not pleasantly. “Are ye certain ye wish to play that card now, Alana?” He tilted up her chin. “That is a marker ye might wish to collect another time.”

She flinched and he dropped his hand. “What do you intend?” she gasped, shaken.

“It is hardly safe for two women, one old, one young and fair, to travel about the country.” His gaze was hooded now.

“Do you refuse to allow us to leave?”

“Ye have refused to answer my questions. Until ye do, aye, I refuse to allow ye to leave.” His gaze hard, his tone final, he turned abruptly away from her.

From behind, Alana seized his arm, shocking them both. He whirled to face her, eyes wide, and she dropped her hand. Touching him had somehow been a mistake, she knew that, although she did not know why. She gave up. “I am from Brodie. I am the daughter of Elisabeth le Latimer,” she said hoarsely.

His stare widened with surprise.

She could not withstand his intense interrogation, his cold badgering, his distrust—she could not. If she told him something of the truth, some part of it, he might lose interest in discovering the rest, and let them go.

“Elisabeth le Latimer,” he slowly said. “Is her sister Alexander Comyn’s wife?”

She swallowed. “Her cousin married Sir Alexander,” she somehow said. She could not believe her father had so quickly entered the conversation. “My mother married Sir Hubert Fitzhugh, bringing him Brodie Castle, a part of her dowry.”

He studied her with no expression, and then said, “I take it Sir Fitzhugh is not yer father?”

She flushed. “No. He died before I was born. I am Mistress le Latimer, my lord.” She could barely breathe, and the conversation had become far too dangerous. “Duncan of Frendraught is my liege, and he has summoned us to Nairn.” She tried to smile and knew she failed. “You will probably march on Nairn today or tomorrow or in the next week. I did not think it wise to reveal myself to you.”

He was considering. “Duncan is lord of Brodie. Fitzhugh had no heirs?”

She shook her head. “Duncan became lord of Brodie when I was eight.”

“Why would he summon ye in a dangerous time of war? Surely there are others in Nairn with healing potions.”

She did not wish to lie again. “Duncan has no care for me. He never has. We did have an escort, a single guard, but he fled, abandoning us.”

His gaze darkened. “Ye did not answer, mistress.”

She hugged herself. “Have I not said enough?”

“I cannot imagine what could be so urgent that he would summon ye to Nairn now. But clearly, it is a wartime matter.”

She was grim. How right he was.

“Ye have no husband.”

Taken by surprise, she stared. But she had introduced herself as Mistress le Latimer. “No.”

“Why not?”

She tensed.

Just then, Eleanor stepped up to them. “Alana, are you ill? You’re pale this morning.”

Alana took her hand. “Lord Iain said we could leave, if we told him the truth. I told him we are from Brodie, and I am Elisabeth le Latimer’s daughter.” She knew her grandmother would never volunteer information dangerous to her survival. She faced Iain. “I have no husband because I have no significant dowry.”

He barely glanced at Eleanor. “Really? As comely as ye be, ye hardly need much of a dowry to wed some young knight.”

Alana shook her head. He knew that something was amiss, of course he did. “I am a bastard, my lord, and my tainted birth has further limited my prospects.”

His gaze narrowed as they stared at one another.

Eleanor put her arm around her. “My lord, you owe my granddaughter a great debt. But you discomfort her instead. We must be allowed to go on to Nairn.”

He never even looked at Eleanor. “Who is yer father, mistress?”

Alana stared at him, aware of moisture gathering in her eyes. She was ready to admit defeat and tell him all, but Eleanor said, “We do not know. Elisabeth never said, and she died in her childbed.”

Alana closed her eyes, relieved. A silence fell as Eleanor hugged her close.

Iain turned, now impatient. “Fergus! Ye will escort both women, but not to Nairn.”

Alana gasped. “We had an agreement! I have told you the truth!”

“Did ye?”

“You let me believe you would allow us to go on our way if I told you who I am.”

“Bruce’s army is near Nairn. Choose another destination, or I will choose it for ye.” He strode past her.