The sisters began to spend the evenings together before the fire in the great hall, sipping wine and hoping for the war’s end. Alana learned that Alice was intrigued by a young nobleman she had met once, a few years ago—Henry de Beaumont. When she spoke of him, her blue eyes sparkled and lit up.
All the women plotted together, trying to find a course to help Joan and her daughters flee to England. Alana knew that it must appear as if she were innocent in this plot, as if her sisters and Joan had escaped her, as well as Iain, so that Bruce would not hold her to blame.
By week’s end, Joan had written a dozen letters to English noblemen opposed to Bruce, begging for their assistance. She wrote the letters in private so no one could claim that Alana knew of them. Joan then bribed the two messengers with gold to deliver the missives for her—so it was as if Alana did not know of the conspiracy to escape.
Their best hope was John MacDougall, Lord of Lorn, who was related to the family. His mother was a Comyn, the daughter of John Comyn, Lord of Badenoch. John had been fighting Bruce for the past two years, and had decimated his army two summers ago at Dalrigh. He had a great many ships in the eastern seas and Joan thought him their best chance of escape.
The next week began with heavy rain. It was pouring out when Godfrey walked into the hall, shaking the water from his mantle.
Alana had been repairing one of Iain’s leines. She threw it down with a glad cry and rushed into Godfrey’s arms. “I have been so frightened for you!”
He enclosed her hard in his embrace. Alana suddenly realized their position and she tensed, but he immediately released her. “So you have a care for me after all,” he teased.
“You know I do. We did not hear any word about your fate—what happened, Godfrey?” She took his arm and guided him to the table while ordering a maid to bring food and wine.
“Buchan accused me of being a traitor. But my father actually defended me. As it turns out, he cares because I am his only male heir.” He was grim. “And then Buchan fled the siege in the middle of the night. I was encouraged to leave.”
“Are you at odds with Duncan?”
“Terribly so, but I am his heir,” Godfrey said flatly. “I suppose he will forgive me, in time.”
Alana hoped so. “Where is Buchan now?”
“He is with John Mowbray, attacking Iain from his flank.”
Alarm stabbed through her. “I am so glad you are unharmed. Is Iain in danger?”
“Every battle is dangerous, for every man.” Godfrey turned to the women, greeting Lady Joan, Alice and Margaret. He then went to Eleanor and they briefly embraced.
When he sat down, Alana sat down beside him. “Will you stay long?”
“I cannot. I am joining Buchan and Mowbray, Alana. I have sat out this war for entirely too long.” He withdrew a rolled and sealed parchment from beneath his mail.
She did not recognize the seal; Joan did. She cried out. “That is the MacDougall crest!”
Alana glanced around—they were entirely alone in the hall, with no servants to witness them. “How did you get this?” she whispered.
“I met the messenger on the road, purely by chance. I believe Sir John must be eager to help Lady Joan and her daughters, for he is vehemently opposed to Bruce.” Godfrey took up a cup of wine and drained it.
Joan stood and took the parchment. Alana nodded at her. Joan hurried away to read it privately. Alana looked at her sisters and saw the excitement and hope on their faces. Alice inhaled and held out her hand. Alana took it and squeezed.
Godfrey glanced quizzically at her.
Alana whispered, “I must not be a part of this.”
“Of course not,” Godfrey said, smiling slightly.
Joan returned, without the missive. She sat down next to Alana, and whispered, “Can we get to Dunstaffnage? If so, John’s ships will take us to Carlisle.”
Alice and Margaret trembled with excitement; Alana looked at Godfrey. The stronghold was far to the southeast of them, just across from the isle of Lismore.
“If you are not captured by Bruce’s soldiers, the journey is easy enough, directly down the great glen,” Godfrey said.
“What will we do when we get to Carlisle?” Alice asked, flushing. Her eyes were bright with hope.
“I will write Sir Henry Percy again,” Joan said swiftly. “Surely, if Sir John can deliver us to Carlisle, Percy can arrange passage for us to one of King Edward’s estates.”
Alana faced Godfrey. “My soldiers are sworn to Iain,” she said, low. “They will have to travel in disguise—I have two men I trust, to escort them.”
