“How great were Bruce’s losses?” Godfrey asked, taking a seat facing the young messenger. “Did we rout him at long last?”
“He lost thirty men, my lord, and we lost half that.” The second messenger was a blond Englishman in a fur-lined cloak. “It was no rout, merely a hard-fought battle that seemed evenly matched. Bruce withdrew quite suddenly. The siege lasted but an entire day and a night.”
Godfrey scowled as Alana wondered why Bruce had chosen to retreat, rather than fight a protracted siege. She did not want to think of Iain, but of course she did. He was always there in her mind—her heart.
“Bruce hardly suffered any losses, his army remains strong!” Godfrey said.
“Aye, my lord, and he is well fed by most of the villages here now.” He tore some bread in half and dunked it in the wine.
She looked at Godfrey. “Why would Bruce retreat, when he so outnumbered Buchan and Duncan?”
“I don’t know. It worries me—maybe it is a trap.” Godfrey was grim.
Alana did not like the sound of that. She realized how impossible her position was—to be against Bruce, to pray for his defeat, yet to fear that defeat too because she did not want Iain captured, wounded or killed.
“Are the villages in Buchan supporting him now?” She thought of how he had destroyed Nairn—Iain had claimed the villagers there would never dare support Buchan against Bruce again. She believed him.
“The damned traitor is growing in popularity,” Godfrey said.
The maid returned, setting down a trencher of bread, smoked fish and goat cheese. The lad began to eat hungrily.
Alana sat back down. She no longer felt as relieved about their victory at Elgin. And what of Iain? Where was he now? Should she ask openly about him? Godfrey knew he had freed her, and she could claim that was her reason for concern.
Godfrey watched the young man. “What is Bruce’s position now? Where will he strike next?”
“When I left Elgin, Buchan was thinking that the war will wait until the spring.” The boy shoved his plate aside. “My lord, I have one more bit of news. Bruce has taken the manor at Concarn.”
Godfrey leaped up. “Concarn Manor belongs to my father!”
The boy glanced worriedly at Godfrey. “I am sorry. Bruce’s army rests there now.”
Godfrey turned red and fell into an amazed and distressed silence, staring into his wine.
Alana said, “What of Iain of Islay?”
Godfrey whirled to stare at her.
“Bruce has sent him to Aberdeen,” the boy said. “He plunders the country he passes through, warning everyone not to oppose Bruce.”
Dismay overwhelmed her. Iain was not hurt, apparently, but he was destroying Aberdeenshire as he had destroyed Nairn.
“You seem distressed,” Godfrey snapped. “Why do you ask about the goddamned Highlander?”
This was a good time to flee. She got up. “He freed me and Eleanor, Godfrey, when he did not have to do so. He might be the enemy, but I owe him some gratitude.” She turned. “Thank you for bringing us so much news,” she said to the boy. “I am going to retire for the night.”
Godfrey jumped to his feet and went to quickly stand in front of her. “You should pen another letter, Alana, in case Sir Alexander did not receive the first one. They have taken Concarn—and it is smaller and less significant than Brodie.”
Alana realized what he meant. Protecting Brodie meant more to her than protecting her own pride. “Very well. I’ll do so immediately.”
“Good,” Godfrey said. He seemed about to touch her shoulder, but then he thought better of it and paced over to the fireplace to stare into the flames.
Eleanor had arisen. “I will go with you.” She took her arm and they left the room, her grandmother speaking softly. “It is all good news, Alana.”
Alana nodded as they went toward the stairs. “Yes, for now, it is all good news.” But was it? The shock over Bruce’s withdrawal was fading, as was her relief that her father remained unharmed. Bruce was at Concarn—was Iain really raping the countryside, demanding loyalty from those he terrorized?
As they reached the stairs, a young Highland lad with long red hair, in a tattered plaid and fur, darted out of the shadows. “Mistress Alana!” He seized her wrist.
Alana was so startled she jumped. Incredulous, she faced a boy of twelve or thirteen, staring into his bright blue eyes. “Who are you?” She had never seen the boy about Brodie before. And was that plaid dark blue with black and red stripes?
