Alana choked.
“And, Alana?” Iain was now walking away, but he paused. “Yer a traitor. Ye have betrayed the Earl of Buchan and King Edward. So, no matter how yer father entices ye, no matter how ye feel, ye cannot go to yer father, not now, not ever.” With that pronouncement, he strode from the hall.
Feeling sick, Alana collapsed upon her chair.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
“ITISVERYLATE,” Alana said, sitting back against the pillows in the bed she shared with Iain. She held the covers up to her neck as he walked inside, holding aloft a taper. It was close to midnight and most of the castle had gone to sleep hours ago. Outside, an owl hooted.
He shut the door and set the taper down, smiling. “Are ye waiting up fer me?”
She smiled back, her body humming with desire. “I have never been asleep when you have come to bed,” she said frankly.
He gave her a look, stoking the fire that continued to burn in the hearth. Then he turned and unbuckled his belt. “Bruce wants to march next month.”
Alana stiffened as he tossed aside his belt. “The messenger brought word from Bruce?”
Iain pulled off one boot, then the other. “Aye.”
It was the end of February—next month was but days away! “Where will you go? When will you be in battle again?”
He shrugged off his leine, and then stood—magnificently nude—before her. “Bruce has ordered me to march south on the seventh.”
He was bathed in the firelight and she had to pause for one moment to admire him. Iain was a mass of hard muscle. “So soon,” she said.
“John Mowbray must be brought to heel, once and for all—he is Buchan’s best ally here in the north.”
Mowbray was a formidable foe, she thought with a sinking sensation. Iain sat down beside her, tugging the furs from her hands. She was naked beneath the covers. “I thought ye’d be pleased,” he said, nuzzling her breasts and then tasting a taut nipple.
Alana clasped his shoulders and fought not to close her eyes. “I thought I wanted you gone, as well, so I could have Brodie to myself,” she said. He was distracting her to no end, so she reached down and seized him. “I am worried,” she whispered.
His eyes gleamed. “Good. Show me how much ye worry, Alana.”
She gave him a look and released him, but only to push his shoulders. He obediently went down on his back. Alana came down on top of him. “I will always worry about you,” she breathed.
He caught a hank of her hair in his hand and tugged on it. “Witch.”
She smiled slightly. “I could wait until you leave, but you must know, I am writing my father.”
He groaned. “Fine. Write him if ye must.”
Alana bent over him. Using her tongue she laved him; using her fingertips, she stroked him. He gasped and she took him slowly and fully into her mouth.
Within moments, he had flipped her over and was impaling her. “Maybe I’m wrong,” he gasped, thrusting deep. “Maybe ye dinna need any spell to control me.”
She seized his nape. “This is my spell.”
* * *
THENEXTDAY,Alana fanned a page ofparchment with her hand, and then blew gently on the wet ink.
She laid the page down and reread what she had written.
February 23, 1308—Brodie Castle
My Dearest Father,
It is my greatest wish that we become closer, as a father and daughter should be, even after so many years of estrangement. And I am eager to meet my sisters. But unfortunately, I cannot come to Balvenie at this time. It is not safe for me to do so.
