THEDAYSPASSEDslowly as they waited for news of the war. There were rumors that King Edward was sending an army to the north to aid Buchan, even as Buchan’s allies were deserting him. There were whispers that Mortloch had been attacked. Spring finally came in full force, chasing the last of the patches of snow away. Wildflowers began to bloom, thistle came to life, the oaks turned green. And finally a messenger came with real news—Mowbray had concluded a truce with Bruce before any real fighting could begin. So Bruce had attacked Sir Roger Cheyne at Mortloch; those rumors were true. Mortloch had fallen in a day, and Bruce was marching toward Balvenie.
The messenger also carried a letter for Alana—from Iain.
She practically tore it open. But Iain only wished for her to know that the war was going well for Bruce, and that he was also well; he asked after her health, and promised to write again soon.
Alana was shocked to have received such a brief and impersonal missive. She was afraid that her worst fears had come true—that Iain no longer cared about her. She was ready to burn the letter in the hearth, not in anger, but out of despair. Godfrey restrained her.
“He does not seem like a man of letters, Alana....Do you even know if he can write?” Godfrey asked.
“He can read.”
“He may be able to read, a little, but that does not mean he can write. And even if he can, I cannot imagine him penning a love letter.” Godfrey took the letter from her and scanned it. “I do not think he wrote this—I cannot even read the signature, which looks like anIand aY,while the rest of the letter is perfectly penned.”
Alana took the parchment back and stared at the beautiful cursive and the crude signature. Godfrey was right. Iain had dictated the letter, and only then had he signed it. She did not burn the letter.
The news brought a terrible pall to the castle. Iain would never express his personal feelings in a letter, she decided, but his failure to do so was hurtful, anyway. She feared that her miscarriage—and her deception—had ended their relationship. She wondered if he still cared about her at all.
And Alana was agonizingly aware that Sir Alexander remained at Balvenie, finalizing its defenses. Images kept returning to her now, of her vision of her father’s bloody corpse. Iain had forbidden her from going to Balvenie, and he had been right. Only a fool would have walked into the jaws of the enemy. Going to Balvenie had been too dangerous then, and doing so now remained as dangerous. She was Bruce’s vassal after all. But Alana was afraid she might not see her father again. She was tempted to go.
Were her sisters and Joan at Balvenie, even as Bruce prepared to besiege it?
She had told Godfrey of her vision, and he insisted she must not even think of going to Balvenie. Sir Alexander would need help to defend it from Bruce. Not only was Robert Bruce beginning to appear invincible, he was becoming popular. Every village he passed through was turning to take his side, and his army was growing by leaps and bounds. Buchan could show up at Balvenie at any time to aid his brother in its defense. And they both knew that if she was there when he returned, she would instantly be taken prisoner.
But Alana was torn, and she was not convinced. She felt an urgency to see Sir Alexander now.
Although he never spoke of it, Godfrey was restless and grim. She knew he was as torn as she was, but for different reasons. Duncan had left Elgin to see to Banf’s defenses, and while Godfrey did not want to leave her at Brodie, so close to the war, it was his duty to join his father in the fight against Bruce. She knew he yearned to be at his father’s side now.
On March 28 it snowed again, but the snow had melted by nightfall, when a second messenger was found hiding in the woods.
Alana was in the hall with Godfrey and Eleanor, about to sup, when Angus escorted a man inside. She instantly tensed, for the man wore English mail over a doublet and jerkin. As Angus dragged him toward her, she saw that his hands were manacled in front of his body. “My lady, we found this English dog in the woods, hiding. He claims he is not a spy, but a messenger.” He shoved the man to his knees. “Show proper respect, dog.”
“Angus!” She leaped up. Such a messenger had to come from her uncle or her father. “Who has sent you?” Alana hurried forward. “Or are you a spy, indeed?”
Still on his knees, the man looked up. He was grizzled and gray. “I come from Balvenie. I have a missive from Sir Alexander Comyn for his daughter, Mistress le Latimer.”
“I am Mistress le Latimer,” Alana cried.
“Rise,” Angus said harshly, “and give the letter to my lady.”
The man stood, clearly relieved that he still had his head, and handed Alana a rolled-up parchment. Alana felt her heart thundering. The image of her father as a bloody corpse flashed through her mind. She feared terrible news. “Is my father well?” she asked. “Is Balvenie under siege?”
“The castle is under siege, my lady, but when I left, your father was well.”
She could barely breathe. “Are his daughters and his wife with him? Is Buchan there?”
“The earl has not yet returned to Balvenie, but yes, Lady Joan and her daughters are with Sir Alexander.”
So the family had gathered at Balvenie. She suddenly imagined how the hall must appear, with the women of the castle cowering there in fear as the siege engines rammed the gates, as catapults rocked the castle walls. She could imagine Joan there, an elegant and well-dressed lady, comforting her frightened daughters.... She broke the seal and unrolled the parchment.
The message was brief.
March 27, 1308—Balvenie
My Daughter,
We are under siege. I await reinforcements and my brother’s arrival, but fear the strength of Bruce’s army. Even more, I fear for my wife and daughters. If we are defeated, I will be executed as a traitor, but they will become Bruce’s hostages.
I was pleased to hear your vows of loyalty to me. I must send my wife and your sisters to Brodie, immediately. Can you hide them until I can arrange for their transport to the south or possibly to England? They must not fall into Bruce’s hands.
