“Of course. And I’ll send word about yer father.”
She nodded, so frightened now, for Sir Alexander—and for herself. She glanced at Alice again.
She had been staring at Alana with intense dismay. Now, she ducked her head, and clasped a mug but did not drink from it.
Alana looked at Iain, expecting him to be observing her sister—but he was studying her, instead. “Walk with me,” he said, suddenly standing. Clearly he meant to depart.
Alana stood, glancing across the hall. Joan had yet to come down, and she assumed that she had no intention of doing so, not while Iain was present. “I wish you could stay another day,” she heard herself whisper.
“I wish I could, as well,” he said. He suddenly tilted up her chin. “I will send word, and I will do my best to protect yer father.”
He meant it, she thought, her heart swelling, but there was no predicting the revenge Bruce would wish to take upon any member of the Comyn family. Alana was about to walk with him from the hall when she heard racing footsteps. There was no mistaking the urgency in the sound.
Angus rushed inside, so intent that he did not close the front door. “We have just received this!” He handed Iain a sealed missive.
Iain broke the royal seal and unrolled the parchment. He read it quickly, his expression becoming troubled. Then he looked grimly at Alana.
Her heart turned over with alarm. “What is it?”
He glanced past her at her sisters. “Sir Alexander has been wounded.”
Alana froze. The image from her vision, of her father as a bloody corpse, filled her mind. She fought to see Iain instead. “Oh, God.” She realized she had seized his arm.
“He is alive, Alana, but he has been badly wounded, and he escaped Balvenie. He is at Elgin now.”
Alana began to shake.
Her sisters ran up to them. “How badly?” Alice cried. “How badly is he hurt?”
Iain hesitated, his gaze on Alana. “He is dying,” he said.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
MARGARETWASSTARTINGto cry, and Alice held her, her own eyes red. Alana felt the same terrible grief, or perhaps she felt even worse, for she knew that Sir Alexander would die. Her visions always came true, and now this one would, as well. She glanced at Godfrey. He was pale. But then, he knew about her vision of her father’s death, too.
Suddenly Joan rushed into the hall with Eleanor. “What is happening? Why is Margaret crying? Who has come?”
Iain turned toward her. “I am sorry, Lady Joan, but Sir Alexander has been mortally wounded.”
Joan cried out, her knees buckling, her face draining of all color. Alice left Margaret, rushing to her mother and putting her arm around her. “No,” Joan whispered. “No.”
Alana gazed at Joan and her daughters and felt a terrible pain. They loved Sir Alexander—far more than she, an abandoned child, ever could.
Godfrey came over and steadied her. Alana was grateful, but she saw that Iain was not. His eyes were wide and hard as he stared at them.
Alice suddenly turned to Iain. “We must go to him!”
Iain was forbidding as he spoke. “I am leading the march on Elgin, Lady Alice. We will besiege it and this time, it will fall. It is not safe fer ye to go there.”
“I don’t care!” she cried. Tears began. She seized his arm. “I must see my father—he cannot die!”
Alana tensed, disliking the moment they were sharing. “It is not safe,” he repeated. “And as much as I dinna wish to add to yer grief, yer prisoners here.”
Alice cried, “He is our father! But you only care that we are your prisoners!”
Iain tensed with rising anger. “It is not safe—ye will wind up in the midst of a siege, and ye could die along with Sir Alexander.”
Alice trembled with dismay, releasing him. “I will never marry you,” she hissed.
