For she could feel the water below her. It was so heavy, and like a huge weight attached to her limbs, it began pulling her inexorably down.
Alana moaned and looked down into the darkness.
Flames blazed from its black depths. The fire shot up at her face.
She was scorched, but she did not move—she could not move. In the flames, she saw the terrified faces of men, women and children, their eyes white, mouths wide. For one moment, there was no sound.
And then she heard their screams.
They were being burned alive....
She did not want to see any more and she closed her eyes as she fell. Vaguely, she felt the dirt and rocks under her face, her hands. But now she saw the men, women and children running from the fires—entire villages aflame. Houses, shops, barns were blazing...crops were burning...forests were an inferno! Horses and cattle ran from the fires, frantic, a stampede....
Then suddenly, the fires were gone. The sky was blue, marred only by passing white clouds. A Highland army appeared, astride. Bruce’s yellow banner with its red dragon waved above them.
The army was galloping now across the countryside, the forests black, the hills scorched and barren, roadside farms gutted, villages burned to the ground, a castle reduced to rubble, one tower partly standing.
Women and children cowered in the woods, watching the passing army, clad in rags, gaunt from starvation, sobbing in fear and anguish....
And when the army was gone, there was a banner upon the road. Trampled into shreds, she knew whose red, black and gold banner it was.
“Mistress Alana!”
Alana clawed the cold dirt and rough stones beneath her hands, still consumed by the horrific images. She heard Sir John call urgently to her again. But all she saw was the devastation and carnage left by Bruce’s army, the starving women and children.... She got onto all fours, retching.
“Alana?” This time it was her grandmother, her hands on her back.
Alana had never been as ill, and she thought she would vomit again. She had never shaken as violently, nor could she stop. The tears flowed.
She had never witnessed such death and destruction, such merciless savagery, before.
Dear, dear God. She had just foreseen the annihilation of the earldom and its people.
“Mistress Alana?” It was Sir John. “If you have had a vision, you must go in and tell the earl!”
Alana closed her eyes, fighting the nausea, which refused to recede. Her head continued to spin. Surely, this vision was a warning, not a prophecy. Buchan was the most powerful earl in the north of Scotland! How could he be so thoroughly destroyed?
“You are shaking as if with fever,” Eleanor cried, helping her to sit up.
Alana heard her. But the grotesque images of terror, fire, blood and death would not go away. She could still see those frightened men, women and children in vivid detail!
But she somehow forced herself to see past their terrified faces until Eleanor’s worried countenance came into view.
“Alana?” she cried, aghast, for she knew the vision had not been a good one.
Alana could not yet speak. She could hardly think. She only knew that they must never let such destruction come to pass. “Sir John! Could you get her some water, please?” Eleanor cried.
Sir John whirled and lowered the bucket into the well. As he did, Alana leaned heavily upon Eleanor who sat with her on the ground. A moment later he returned with a ladle of water. Alana used it to wipe her mouth, and then took a long draught.
Sir John knelt. “I am sorry, mistress, but I must take you inside. I am under orders.”
Alana wanted to protest, she wanted to delay. She did not want to face her uncle now! But when she finally looked at the knight he was ashen.
“Alana! What did you see?” Eleanor cried.
Alana met her gaze, finally somewhat lucid, but not yet coherent. What was she to do?
Should she lie? When lying to her uncle was so abhorrent?Couldshe lie, after such a horrific and devastating experience?
