Alana inhaled in pain. Her wrist was black-and-blue from his brutal grasp earlier, and she tried to pull away. He saw the state of her arm and let her go. And because she had not picked up her fur cloak, he did, and he threw it at her. Then he nodded for her to go.
Alana covered her shoulders with the fur, preceding Iain outside. She was about to meet Bruce, to whom Iain would falsely reveal her as a spy. She stumbled, incapable of walking normally.
He caught her arm. “Mayhap ye should have thought about the price ye would pay if ye were caught.” He guided her firmly forward. It was frigidly cold out, the skies blue and cloudless, and ground frozen underfoot. Ahead, smoke curled from the manor’s chimney.
“It never occurred to me, not even a single time, that you would think me a spy for my uncle.” Alana felt bitter. More tears moistened her eyes. “I was afraid you would be angry at being deceived, and that you might feel betrayed, but I never dreamed you would accuse me of such ruthless treachery.”
“And I never dreamed I’d be bedding Buchan’s niece.” But he glanced at her, his expression filled with pain.
“If only I had told you the truth when we first met! You would not think me a spy now!” Alana cried. She was so agitated that she stumbled again.
Iain caught her, putting his arm around her, and half dragged her to the manor’s heavy front door. He shoved it open and pushed her within, following.
She felt as if she were living a nightmare now. It was as if she were walking to her fate—her death—her legs moving, when she wished for them to stop. How could Iain do this?
The front door opened directly into the hall. It was dark and smoky inside. The hall’s slanted ceilings were timbered. Stag and boar heads were mounted upon one wall. A fire roared in its single hearth. Six makeshift tables had been set up, and each was entirely occupied. Alana’s gaze slammed over everyone present, and she finally saw the King of Scotland.
Robert Bruce sat at the head of one table, speaking to his men. But the moment they entered he turned and saw them. He smiled, his gaze slamming onto Alana.
Iain clasped her shoulder and propelled her forward, toward him. But he was not as forceful as he had been earlier. Alana trembled as they went to meet him. She did not know how her legs functioned properly.
She glanced up at Iain. “Please protect me,” she whispered.
Briefly, their gazes met. He instantly looked away.
Bruce was dressed in a red doublet and brown hose. Gold trimmed the doublet, as it did his fur-lined mantle. A large gold cross dangled from a chain about his throat. His blue eyes were piercing as they paused before him. Alana averted her eyes, not wanting to meet his gaze, as she curtsied.
“So this is the beautiful Mistress le Latimer,” Bruce said. “No wonder you could not live without her. How beautiful you are, mistress.”
Alana looked up at him. She could not speak to say thank-you, and did not think it mattered.
Bruce looked sharply at her and then at Iain. “What passes, Iain? Have I happened upon a lovers’ quarrel?”
“It is more than a lovers’ quarrel,” Iain said tersely.
Alana flinched, filled with dread. She gazed pleadingly at him.
“I have just learned she is Buchan’s niece,” Iain said.
Alana cried out, as Bruce’s eyes went wide.
“Her father is Sir Alexander Comyn,” Iain continued brusquely.
“Well, well, the enemy is in your bed,” Bruce said as if amused. He smiled slightly and turned thoughtfully away from them.
Alana seized Iain’s hand. He gave her an angry look and shook it off. “She claims she is no spy,” he said.
“Really?” Bruce faced them again. Now, he stared at Alana.
“Your Grace, may I speak?” Alana managed to ask.
“Please do,” he said, almost benignly.
“I am not a spy. I care deeply for Iain, and I have dreaded this day, when my conscience would force me to tell him about my father.”
Bruce studied her for a moment and looked at Iain. “She is so beautiful, it is almost impossible to deny her, is it not?”
“Yes,” Iain said, flushing.
