Alana did not look at her, lost in misery and grief.
She heard the fires blazing behind them, but she would not look back at Nairn burning. She would not.
CHAPTER SIX
BRODIECASTLESEEMEDso small, so insignificant, with the country in the throes of such a great war over the fate of Scotland.
Alana lifted the reins and halted the mule. “We are home,” she said.
It was but a few hours later. She had halted the wagon inside Brodie’s narrow courtyard, its red stone walls rising around them. They seemed lower than they had been. She did not see any watch atop them. And she did not recall the courtyard being so small, or so oddly barren. But she could not help comparing Brodie to Nairn, which was huge in comparison. Its bailey never seemed quiet—it was always a hive of activity, with soldiers, women and children coming and going.
Her heart lurched with dread and she closed her eyes, but all she saw was Iain’s hard face, his flashing eyes, and his men piling up wood against the castle’s walls, as Nairn’s residents and its farmers and villagers left the countryside in an exodus.
How could he be indifferent to the suffering he was causing the innocent?
He had rescued Mistress MacDuff and her two children from Boath Manor as it burned!
The mule shook its head with impatience, pulling on the reins, and she opened her eyes, setting the wagon’s brake. She must not dwell on what was happening at Nairn, for she was one small woman in the midst of this war—she could not affect it.
But her chest ached. For surely it was over with Iain now. His behavior as a warrior was hardly unusual but for her it was the cause of so much distress and so much disappointment. She could not blithely accept it, no matter how heartbroken she was.
A stable boy was running toward them. Alana recognized the young lad and she summoned a smile. She did not feel as pleased as she had thought she would upon coming home, either. She felt almost indifferent. “It feels as if an entire lifetime has passed since we left here not long ago,” Alana said.
“Yes, it does. You are distraught, still,” Eleanor said, clasping her shoulder.
“I am sad.” Alana slid from the wagon, then helped her grandmother down. It was snowing, so it was not that cold, and the ground was partially thawed underfoot. Donald had left them a half an hour ago, as he could hardly venture close to Brodie without becoming in danger of being captured. Gratefully, Alana handed over the reins to the boy while patting the mule’s neck. As she turned toward the steps leading up to the hall, the door there opened and Godfrey stepped out.
She tensed, so wishing to avoid a confrontation now. “Good afternoon.”
He had not bothered to don a fur cloak, and he gave her an ugly look, his hands fisted on his hips. “So you have returned.” His cheeks were flushed, a sign of his ill temper.
Alana lifted her chin, instinctively defiant. She was exhausted in every possible way—how she wished she could stop thinking—and she wanted nothing more than to escape Godfrey and steal off to her chamber. She had been at Nairn for eight entire days, and she was almost certain Godfrey had received at least one communication from his father, if not several. Duncan would have told him about her bald lie. “We are very tired, Godfrey. We have endured a great deal, including the battle for Nairn.”
“And did you endure the battle? How could that be? When you enraged your uncle with your true vision, so that he imprisoned you?”
She sighed. “How that must please you,” she said.
“You boldly lied to me over an important matter, because you lust for Brodie still, and it is to be mine! You have finally gotten your just deserts, so I suppose I am pleased.” He came down the steps to confront her. “Nairn is in ashes!” he snapped, hands on his hips. But he was pale. “I received word just hours ago. Does that please you, Alana?”
Duncan must have sent a messenger after they had left Nairn, Alana thought. A messenger would travel more swiftly than two women in a cart. And of course Buchan would leave spies in the woods to remark Nairn’s terrible fate.
“They were burning it when we left. No, it hardly pleases me. I am sorry.” She did not want to recall her vision, in all its horrific detail, but she continued to do so. And she did not want to remember the piles of wood stacked against the castle walls, or the exodus of men, women and children, or Iain’s cold expression when they had argued about what he meant to do.
He had burned that fine castle to the ground. It was done. There had been no change of heart. “And the village? The farms?”
“It is all burned to ash,” Godfrey cried. “And God only knows if Brodie Castle will be next!”
She paled. Iain would never burn Brodie down—would he? It was her home!
“At least you care about Brodie,” Godfrey said grimly.
“Of course I care about Brodie.” She turned to Eleanor. “Let’s go inside.”
As Alana helped her grandmother in, Godfrey followed them. “How is it that you were freed? Did Bruce’s men free you when they took the castle?”
She was belligerent. “Your father hardly freed us. I am certain he did not care if we died in that attack. So yes, Bruce’s soldiers freed us.”
Godfrey stared and Alana wondered if he was sorry she was freed. Eleanor sat down in one of the chairs before the hearth, and said, “Buchan and Duncan fled Nairn when it was to fall, leaving us behind. They left us locked in the tower during the battle, Godfrey, two women alone to defend themselves.”
