“Has anyone else fallen ill since we attacked Elgin?” Iain was asking.
“No. The five men who became sick are almost well,” Bruce said. He leaned back in his chair, his glance straying to Alana. Their eyes met and she realized she had been staring; she flushed and looked away.
“When those men fell ill, I truly feared a plague of some kind,” Bruce said. He was grim. “But no one else has become ill.”
“I think ye made the right decision to retreat,” Iain said. “If ye had been right, and it was the plague, our entire army could have died by the next night. Ye could have been captured, Yer Grace, with no one to defend ye.”
So that was why they had retreated, Alana thought, staring at her plate. The fish had been smoked whole, probably in the fall, and its lifeless eyes stared up at her. She picked up her utensils and removed its head from its body. God, she was ready to weep.
Bruce had commanded her to spy upon her father and her uncle. What was she to do?
Horror accompanied her heartbreak. He wished for her to prove her love for Iain? She was more than ready to do so, but not by spying upon her family! She could not imagine betraying them that way.
“I have decided to wait until next week to march,” Bruce said. “It is pleasant enough here. If no one else becomes ill, we can be satisfied that no new and strange plague has befallen us.”
Alana slowly cut a piece of white meat from the fish. As she ate it, she did not know what she would do. She could not let their love end this way. She had to prove herself to Iain. But she could not spy on her father and the Earl of Buchan. Could she?
If anything, shouldn’t she tell them that Bruce would march next week?
A buxom maid was refilling Bruce’s mug with wine. She turned to Iain, her smile coy, trying to catch his eye as she poured for him. Iain nodded at her, unsmiling.
Dismay pierced through her. Iain hadn’t noticed the maid’s interest, but for how long? Alana stared as the pretty redhead brushed her breast against his arm as she straightened and moved away from the table.
But Iain continued to stare into his mug, as if deeply in thought. She glanced at Bruce and stiffened—he was watching her closely. He knew she was distraught at being ordered to spy, and now, dismayed by the other woman. He turned to Iain and Alana heard him say something about Nairn.
She briefly closed her eyes. She could not wait to get back to the tent and crawl into the pallet and bury herself under the covers—and cry. Then she realized she did not know where she would be sleeping that night. But she doubted it would be in Iain’s tent.
“There were no surprises,” Iain was saying. But then he glanced at her.
She met his regard, but he instantly averted his gaze. She realized they were talking about Nairn, and Iain had just thought of finding her in the tower, as a prisoner, which had been a surprise. She looked away, but she could not help listening. And if they did not want her to hear, they would have sent her away.
“I have not forgotten how easily we took Nairn—and your part in such a triumph,” Bruce was saying. “And yes, there were really no important surprises, other than that of Mistress Alana.”
“I have brave men, men I trust,” Iain said, clearly refusing to look at her. “And Buchan and Duncan fled like the cowards they are. They were easy to rout, Yer Grace, and I look forward to doing so again.”
“Your men are my best soldiers. I am hoping your cousin Angus will give us another army soon.”
“I am happy to speak with him on yer behalf,” Iain said.
“And I may have you do so, soon.” Bruce glanced at Alana, and their eyes caught. She realized she could not help herself from staring at the two men.
“And we have spoken in the past of your reward for serving me,” Bruce said, finally moving his gaze back to Iain. “Since Nairn, I have had some time to think upon the kinds of lands I wish to grant you. When this war is done, Iain, you will rebuild Nairn and it will be yours. You have earned Nairn.”
Iain stared, wide-eyed. Alana stared openly now, too.
“Thank ye, Yer Grace,” Iain said harshly. He was clearly stunned, but pleased.
Of course he was pleased. Alana would be pleased for him, too—it would be a great and important stronghold, once rebuilt—but Nairn was Buchan territory.
If Bruce won the war, Iain would be the lord of Nairn. He would probably also be the lord of Brodie, which had been under Nairn’s control for decades. She did not know what to think.
“And that will not be all, Iain, you deserve more than just Nairn,” Bruce said, cutting into her thoughts. “You need a wife—an heiress with great, significant lands.”
Alana stared at Bruce, incredulous, and he stared back at her.
Of course Iain would marry an heiress one day. He fought for Bruce for gain, not sentiment...all men wished to marry heiresses, especially younger sons. But she felt even more ill than before.
The king smiled at her. “Have you no appetite, Mistress Alana? Or does the fish displease you?”
