There were such huge feelings swelling in her heart. She wanted to thrill, but instead she felt dark despair. Iain seemed to care about her, but he wanted her loyalty, and she was not free to give it to him, because she was Sir Alexander’s daughter. He already questioned her loyalty. He would question it even more once she told him of her paternity.
And didn’t she question it, too?
But she could not continue to deceive him, not after the intimacy they had shared. She knew that, especially now, in the light of a new morning. Guilt weighed her down. But she was so afraid he would be angry. She was afraid that he would feel betrayed. She was afraid he might not care about her after all, not once he learned she was the niece of his king’s worst enemy.
But what if they could get past her deception? What if, eventually, he could forgive her—and accept her for who she was?
Alana was blinded by sudden tears. She knew that they had no future. He would never accept her for who she was, because she was a witch.
Alana hugged her clothing to her chest. “Gran? What am I to do?”
Eleanor knotted her satchel. “You are speaking of your affair with Iain?”
“I hate deceiving him. It isn’t right. But he won’t be pleased when he learns that Buchan is my uncle.”
“You haven’t told him who you are?” Eleanor gasped.
“I have been afraid to do so!”
Eleanor stared, shocked, and Alana was ashamed. “There was no time,” she finally whispered. “Do you think he will reject me when he learns of my father?”
“I don’t know, Alana,” Eleanor said, a bit briskly. “I had assumed you had told him before sharing his bed.”
Alana hugged herself. “You disapprove.”
“I do. I am sorry, Alana, but you are more honorable than that! If you truly love him, you will find the courage to tell him what you must. True love cannot withstand lies, Alana, but that you must know.”
“And if he loses all interest?”
“Then he does not love you, and it is better you find out now.”
“What about my powers, Gran? Why do we even bother to speak of his reaction to the news I am a Comyn by birth? I am such a fool. We both know he will be repulsed when he learns I am a witch.”
“Do we? I stopped predicting male behavior a long time ago, Alana, especially when love and lust are involved.” She smiled. As she did, a knock sounded on their door. As Eleanor turned toward it she said to Alana, “Everyone has been told to leave Nairn by midmorning. We have tarried, I expect.”
Alana pulled on her fur-lined mantle as her grandmother opened the door.
A lean, freckled Highland lad of about fifteen appeared in the doorway, his hand on the hilt of his sword. He wore a mail tunic beneath his dark blue plaid. “Ye must go out now, ladies, and it is an order. Why do ye take so long to pack yer things?”
“I was helping my granddaughter to dress,” Eleanor said with a reprimand in her tone. “And to gather up our belongings.”
“Ye can gather up yer things, but only if ye can do so in the next five minutes. The king has already left Nairn, and Iain the Fierce is impatient to do so.”
Alana wondered at the urgency. She now recalled that Iain had said they would speak once again before she left, and she was determined to do so. “We are ready,” Alana said. As they left the chamber, she asked, “What is your name, lad?”
He glanced at her, his blue eyes bright, his freckles brighter. “Donald, my lady.”
“It is Mistress le Latimer,” she said. They hurried downstairs, no one coming up the steps now, the castle feeling eerily deserted. “Are we the last to leave?”
“I dinna ken, mistress,” Donald said. “But I think so.”
Alana glanced into the empty hall as they passed. Dread began. Why empty the castle—if not to destroy it? “Do you know why Iain is in such a rush to depart?” she asked as they approached the open front door.
“Everyone knows. They march on Elgin. Bruce has gone on ahead, but to wait for Iain.” He smiled slyly and said, “The Earl of Buchan has gone into hiding there. Rotten coward.”
Alana inhaled, glancing at her grandmother. Was her father with Buchan? Was her loyalty to be tested immediately?
They stepped outside, into the bright, early morning sun. At that moment, images flashed in her mind—of the countryside blackened and burned, castles reduced to rubble, villages burned into ash.
