She knew she should not weep—she should be relieved. But she was heartbroken. Why? Why had this happened?
“You will be fine, Alana. You lost blood, but nothing unusual, considering this was your third month,” Eleanor said, stroking her hair.
“I do not feel fine,” Alana whispered.
“Why dinna ye tell me?” Iain cried.
“Bruce wishes for you to marry a great heiress!” she said.
“What does that have to do with my son?” he shouted back.
Alana leaned back into the pillows, crying. “Everything,” she whispered.
He stared at her, in anger, in anguish. “At least ye will be fine,” he said finally.
Alana shook her head. “No. I will not be fine.”
* * *
ALANAAWOKE,the chamber in darkness. For one moment, she did not recall her miscarriage, and then when she did, misery and grief washed over her. She lay back against her pillows, tears filling her eyes.
She saw a tall shadow standing by the hearth. It was Iain, she realized, and his back was to her.
She felt more grief. She vaguely recalled his anger the other day—or had it been that same day, but earlier? She did not know how long she had been asleep. She did not know if hours had passed since her miscarriage, or if it had been days.
Iain turned to face her. The fire was behind him, and his face was in shadow. “Are ye awake?”
She nodded, not having the strength or will to speak.
He slowly approached. As he came closer, she could finally see his grim expression. Their gazes met. “Are ye in any pain, Alana?”
“No.”
A strange silence fell, broken only by the occasional hiss of the fire as a log fell apart. “Ye should have told me ye were with child,” he finally said.
More tears burned her eyelids. “I am tired,” she finally said.
“I cannot understand why ye dinna tell me.”
Alana wanted to discuss what had happened, but she did not have the strength to do so. Besides, he might marry her sister Alice one day. Wasn’t that the real reason she hadn’t said anything? She did not have the desire to speak of her sister and his future marriage. Not now.
He grimaced, realizing she was not about to speak. “I’ll tell Eleanor yer awake,” he said. “She has been with ye all night, and she went to rest.”
“Let her rest.”
Briefly, the light illuminated his face and she could see anguish in his eyes. But then he was in shadow again, and she wasn’t certain that she hadn’t imagined his grief. “Someone needs to sit with ye.”
“I am tired,” Alana said again. Somehow, Iain had become a stranger. In the past, she had always welcomed his presence; now, she wished him gone.
She closed her eyes and rolled onto her side, hoping he would leave.
For a moment, there was no sound in the chamber, except for the fire. Then she heard his heavy footsteps as he walked away, followed by the sound of the door opening and closing.
She choked on a rising sob.
* * *
LARKSWERESINGINGmadly from the pair of oak trees just outside the castle walls. A soft, pleasant breeze had taken the chill off the morning, as had the sun, which was trying to peek through the clouds, hinting at blue skies and the coming spring. But Alana did not feel any joy as she stared across the busy courtyard. She did not feel any warmth. The winter had been long and hard, and even devastating, but she remained numb and indifferent to the pleasant day now. She stood upon the front steps of the hall, a wool mantle about her shoulders, woodenly watching as Iain mounted his warhorse. His knights milled about him, already mounted and ready to ride out.
