I pray you will understand, but Brodie Castle belonged to my mother, and it has always meant everything to me. When I was eight years old and Brodie was given to Duncan of Frendraught, it was a terrible blow, one I felt even as a small child. I have dreamed of Brodie being restored to me for my entire life.
I have had to make a terrible choice, and I have paid homage to Bruce. I am mistress of Brodie now.
Father, you have many things in this world. I have one. I am seeking your understanding and I beg your forgiveness. But you must know that as your daughter, I will always be loyal to you, no matter the oath I have taken. I will never raise arms against you.
I am also praying that this war will end soon, so it will not keep us apart.
Sincerely,
Your Daughter, Alana le Latimer, Mistress of Brodie Castle
Alana trembled as she stood up. She had no clue as to whether her father would forgive her or not, or if he would want to see her again. She could only hope the war would end soon, so they would not be on opposing sides—and that her vision of her father’s death had been wrong.
Iain stepped into the chamber she was using, a small room behind the hall where Duncan and Godfrey kept their records and made their ledgers. “So ye have written to Sir Alexander.” It was not a question.
She faced him, flushing. “I have no more secrets. Do you want to read it before I seal it?”
He eyed her. “’Tis a privy communication, Alana. No.”
Alana was pleased. She rolled up the now dry vellum and used hot wax to seal it. She did not have her own seal, and she used the Fitzhugh one, which her mother had used. When she was done, she turned. Iain continued to regard her.
“I have confessed my treachery,” she said.
His dark brows lifted.
“And I have asked him for his forgiveness.”
His expression hardened. “Even if he forgives ye, Buchan never will. Buchan still wishes execution upon his wife.”
“I know. I am afraid of my uncle, Iain, you may be certain.” She walked over to him. “When will a messenger be leaving here?”
“I’ll send a man today, Alana, because I ken how important this is to ye.”
She started in surprise when she suddenly felt moisture between her thighs.
“What is it?” he asked quickly.
Could she be bleeding? Was it possible? As she turned her back on Iain, a terrible cramp seized her. She doubled over, crying out and clutching her abdomen.
Iain wrapped her in his arms as she fought her way through the terrible pain. And then it was gone. Alana did not need to look to know that her monthly had come, at last. But she had missed three entire months.
“What just happened?” Iain asked tersely.
Alana turned in his arms to look at him when another cramp knifed through her. She cried out more loudly, her knees buckling, hanging on to Iain to keep from falling. This pain was longer and stronger and she had to fight to survive it. Sweat poured down her body and more moisture trickled down her thighs.
“Yer bleeding!” Iain exclaimed.
The pain was receding and Alana looked down and saw a small puddle of blood on the floor. A new pain began—it was heartache. “I am losing our child,” she said.
* * *
THECRAMPINGLASTEDfor the afternoon. When it finally ended, Alana closed her eyes against burning tears, hugging a pillow to her breasts, and she fell asleep in numb exhaustion.
She awoke because the chamber was too warm. Blinking, she saw a fire roaring in the hearth as Iain stood before it. Eleanor sat in a chair beside her bed. Her grandmother took her hand and squeezed it, asking, “How do you feel?”
Iain whipped around and strode over to them.
For one moment, Alana looked blankly at her, and then, with growing dread, at Iain.She had lost their child.
