“To hell with them,” he said harshly, spreading her legs with his knee. He jerked up her clothing, his mouth on hers, their tongues entwined. Alana became so hollow she felt faint. He drove hard into her.
And they mated as if it were the first time—blinded by desire, by lust. But unlike the first time, Alana was overcome with love.
When the pleasure and ecstasy had faded, when they were sated and exhausted, Alana lay in his arms, beyond relief. Iain kissed her shoulder, her temple, her hair.
She shifted so she could look up at him. “I am so sorry I lost our baby,” she whispered.
“Shh,” he said. “We will make another one soon enough.”
It felt as if he meant that he wished to remain with her, and be a father to her child—but that was impossible, wasn’t it? She wanted to cry. She clasped his rough cheek instead. “I wish I had told you about the child.”
“I ken ye dinna keep yer secret to be malicious, Alana.” He kissed her temple. “Ye should have told me, but yer too independent fer yer own good.”
He had forgiven her for her deception! She clasped his jaw. “I also regret not sharing my heartache with you when we lost the child. We could have mourned him together.”
“Ye were grieving. So was I. I could not think straight.” He kissed her hand and studied her for a moment.
Alana was so relieved. Somehow, they had put this tragedy behind them.
Iain then grimaced, and rolled away from her, onto his back.
Alana adjusted her clothing, glancing at his face. He stared seriously up at the ceiling now. As he slowly turned to look at her, she thought,He knows about Lady Joan and her sisters.
He sat up. “Were ye planning to tell me about yer sisters and Lady Joan?”
Alana rose to sit as her heart sank. “I promised my father I would keep them safe,” she said carefully. “It is my duty to keep them safe.”
“Aye, but ye dinna answer me, Alana.”
She shook her head. “No. I was not going to tell you.”
He grimaced and stood, hands on his hips. “Yer a difficult woman,” he said. “Yer too independent, Alana.”
She stared up at him. “How angry are you?”
“I’m not angry. Yer family fights Bruce and yer position is perilous.”
She hugged herself. She did not like the sound of that. “How perilous?”
“Bruce has heard they are here, Alana. I must take them prisoner.”
She gasped.
“I am sorry,” he said. He turned and started from the room.
For a moment, Alana stared after him, sick with dismay. She had to keep Joan and her sisters safe! But she could not fight the man she loved—and she dared not alienate Robert Bruce. If she did, she would have two enemies, Buchan and Bruce!
She leaped to her feet and ran after him.
Iain was in the hall, standing outside the chamber she had given to Joan and her daughters. Joan stood in the doorway tensely, as Iain said, “I have no choice, Lady Joan. But ye will be treated well, I can assure ye of that.”
Joan’s expression was ravaged. She glared at Alana, as if she blamed her for their capture.
Alana slowed. Iain was staring into the bedchamber. She had no doubt as to what had caught his attention—as to who had caught his attention. Oh, God. How could he look at Alice now? After they had just made love?
She walked up to him.
Alice stood with Margaret before the bed they shared, their hands clasped. She was terribly beautiful, her hair in one long dark braid, draped over her shoulder, her complexion perfect and pale, her lashes long and dark, as she stared fearfully at Iain.
