Alana stood at the window of her small tower room, which she now again shared with her grandmother.
Three days had passed, and she had not been allowed to leave the chamber. Neither had Eleanor.
Meals were brought to them. A maid came to attend the fire, bringing kindling for them. She also changed their chamber pot. Both women had taken up sewing to pass the time.
There was no news. No news of Buchan, no news of Bruce and his army, no news of her father—if he had lived, or if he had died. Alana prayed for him.
Now she stared outside at the deserted and snowy hillside, lightly holding the sill. She had had an odd feeling all day—of expectation. She wasn’t exactly afraid. But something of great import would soon happen, something with grave consequences. She was certain.
“Are you watching for someone?” Eleanor asked. She came to stand beside her. “The road has been deserted all day.”
“If only a messenger would come, and at least bring us news of the war...and my father,” Alana said. She should not be wondering about Iain just then, but he remained on her mind. But then, he might lead the attack on Nairn when it came—if it came.
She sighed and turned away from the window. She heard the bolt being lifted upon the door. A maid stepped inside, holding a dinner tray.
Alana knew Mairi well now, and she started, for the young blonde girl’s eyes were wide and her freckled cheeks were flushed. “Mairi?” Alana asked warily.
Breathlessly the maid set down their dinner of bread, cheese and wine. “Buchan is returning. The watch has seen his knights on the south road!”
Alana seized her arm. Was this the news she had been awaiting? “Do you know what has happened? Did he battle with Bruce’s army? Was he victorious?” Had her uncle chased the mighty Bruce away?
“I have heard that Bruce is marching on us!” Mairi cried, ashen.
Alana glanced at Eleanor, who was pale. Bruce was on the march—Nairn would soon be attacked.
This could not be the event she had sensed coming. She had not felt fear or dread. But she was afraid now—Bruce meant to attack Nairn! “Is Buchan returning to defend us?” Was there time to escape? Would they and the other innocent residents of the castle be allowed to flee?
“I dinna ken,” Mairi cried. “I ken what the watch has seen—Buchan is returning. Lady! Have ye ever been in a siege?”
Alana touched her arm. “No, Mairi, fortunately, I have not.”
“They will rape and murder us.” Tears welled in Mairi’s eyes.
Alana inhaled. “We do not know that.”
Mairi looked at her as if she was mad.
Alana stiffened. She was not a simple maid, like Mairi was—she was Buchan’s niece. And Bruce was on the march, his ambition to destroy her uncle and his earldom.
Their rivalry went back generations, to the time when Bruce’s grandfather had unsuccessfully sought the throne against John Balliol. But it was worse than that. Two years ago, Bruce had murdered Buchan’s cousin, Red John Comyn, the Lord of Badenoch. Buchan had sworn revenge, and the enmity between the families had, impossibly, increased.
If Bruce took Nairn, what would happen to Buchan, to her father, if he was present—to her? They were his worst, most hated and most despised enemies.
“Can you come back and tell us what is happening? Please?” Alana implored. The maid usually did not come back till the morning. “You could pretend we need more firewood!”
“I’ll try.” Tears in her eyes, little Mairi fled.
Alana had no faith in her. But she could not be left in ignorance now, and if Buchan were returning, she wished to speak with him! Never mind that she now feared him impossibly. He had to release her and Eleanor, so they could flee this battle.
She rushed to the open door—only to be barred in the doorway by Sir John. “You know you cannot leave,” he said sternly.
“Will we be attacked?”
“That is what everyone in the castle is speaking of, mistress.”
She trembled. “Will my uncle stay and defend us? Why else would he return?”
“I have received no orders yet. But the earl will be here within the hour.” He turned to leave.
