Alana looked away from the battle, deciding they were at a safe distance from it. Alice and then Margaret collapsed on the grassy ground beside her, breathing hard. Margaret gazed at her fearfully. Alana took her hand, which was trembling, thinking not about the war, but about their father. She would never know him now, not truly. They would never become close. She glanced at Alice.
“I am sorry,” Alice whispered, her eyes filled with tears. “That I said those terrible things to you.”
“It doesn’t matter,” Alana said hoarsely.
“It matters. It matters very much. You loved our father, too.”
“I did.” Alana trembled. “Why? Why did he love you and Margaret more than me? Why did he raise you, but not me?”
More tears filled Alice’s eyes. “I don’t know.”
“It was because of my wishes.” Joan stood above them, devoid of all color, her eyes bleak with grief, with hopelessness.
Alana wanted to hug herself, but Margaret would not release her hand. She squeezed it harder, instead.
“Elisabeth was more than my cousin, she was my friend. We both loved him, but he was my betrothed. When I found out, I hated her,” Joan said. She dropped to her knees. “And I blamed her, not Alexander, for their affair.” She shrugged. “Alexander had no choice. I gave him no choice. He was not allowed to bring you into our lives.”
Alana realized she was crying.
“You sent Iain of Islay after Alice,” Joan said unsteadily. “And you went with him. Why?”
Alana bit her lip, shaking her head. “She is my sister.” She glanced at Alice and their gazes locked.
Surprised, Alice said, “You sent Iain to rescue me? After all the hateful things I said? After how I have treated you?”
“Yes,” Alana whispered.
“But you love him,” Alice cried. “And you sent him into the enemy’s lair—and you went yourself—for me.”
Alana nodded. “I could not leave you behind,” she said.
A silence fell over the group, but the sounds of the battle intensified around them. Joan sat down, seeming exhausted. Alice quickly put her arm around her. “I miss him,” Joan whispered.
“We all do,” Alice said unsteadily.
Margaret continued to grip Alana’s hand. “Will we go back to Brodie?” she whispered.
Alana stared at her, certain she was thinking about the fact that they were Iain’s prisoners once again. She recalled the promise she had made to her father—to keep her sisters and his wife safe. Grief flooded her. She closed her eyes, determined to keep her vow.
“Alana.”
Iain’s voice caused her to jerk and look upward. He sat astride his huge warhorse. “I am sending ye back to Brodie with six of my men.”
She stood up slowly. Her limbs felt useless and weak. “Brodie is hours from here—we do not need such a large escort.” She did not want to deplete his forces.
He suddenly slid down from his horse, took her arm and began walking her away from the other women. “I want ye safely home.”
She trembled and clasped his cheek. “Thank you for going back for Alice.”
His eyes darkened. “When I come to Brodie, ye will explain to me why ye defied my command.”
She grimaced. He was referring to her taking her sisters to see Sir Alexander at Elgin, against his explicit orders. “I am too tired to argue.”
He seized her chin and kissed her hard on the lips. “I will come when I can.”
She tensed, sick with dismay, with dread. “Will Elgin fall? And after Elgin, then what?”
“Until Buchan surrenders, or is killed, we will war on the north.” He was final.
