* * *
ALANACOULDNOTkeep up with Iain. His strides were rapid, but that was not the reason why. She was beyond shock, and she felt ill—so much so that she could not move swiftly. She stumbled time and again.
He did not slow to help her, and he kept his grasp upon her arm. It was dark out now as they crossed the frozen yard. Alana wanted to know where they were going—they seemed to be heading to his tent. She did not believe she would sleep there, but at least he had not left her locked in the cellars in the manor.
Not that anything mattered now. All she could really comprehend was that she was commanded to spy upon her very own father, and that Iain might be awarded her sister in marriage.
When they reached his tent, she was losing the last of her composure. How she needed to cry in despair, in fury. But she fought the rising flood. She must not cry in front of him.
He pushed open the tent’s flap door, finally releasing her arm. She went inside ahead of him, stumbling again.
She heard the flap door drop closed. Oh, God. How could he be so cold, so cruel? And could Bruce really intend to marry him to her sister—one of the greatest heiresses in the land? Men married for power all of the time, but she could not bear the notion. Alice already had everything.
He was behind her, lighting candles. She was acutely aware of him, of her pain, and that the tent was too small for them both. The interior became dimly illuminated. His shadow danced upon the hide wall. Alana fought her tears, the heartache. The pallet they had so recently shared was beside her. She refused to look at it.
As he lit the last candle, she slowly turned. “Would you consider marrying my sister?” she heard herself ask with a huge catch in her throat.
His expression was hard, strained. “She may be the greatest heiress in the north of Scotland. Aye.”
She inhaled. Had he ever cared about her? “How could you even think of doing such a thing?”
“Do ye think I left my home and went to war for a few trinkets and some gold?”
Of course not, she thought, but she did not say so. “She is my sister.” When he did not answer, she cried, “If you don’t care, why did you defend me to Bruce?”
“I dinna defend ye.” Warning was in his tone. He began to toss hides on the floor, one on top of the other.
“You told him I had confessed my identity—that was a defense,” Alana said hoarsely.
He straightened and whirled to face her. “It was no defense! I merely spoke the truth!”
His every word was a pointed barb—now he implied that she had not spoken the truth. “I wanted to tell you the truth at Boath Manor.”
“But ye dinna tell the truth. Ye lied! I was suspicious of ye when we first met—just as I am suspicious now.” He picked up a piece of rope.
She trembled wildly. “Iain, I know you feel betrayed, and it is clouding how you are thinking. So do not think. Look into your heart! Please!”
He walked over to her, taking her wrists.
“What are you doing?”
He tied her wrists in front of her, never once looking into her eyes. “Do ye think I trust ye?”
“I will not try to escape!”
He ignored her, knotting the rope and releasing her wrists.
“How can you do this?” She choked. She was so close to tears. “I thought you cared about me! This is not the behavior of a lover!”
“I dinna care!” he said harshly, his eyes blazing. “The woman I cared about doesn’t exist.”
“I do exist!” she cried, agonized. “Look at me! I am Alana le Latimer!”
“Aye, yer Buchan’s niece!” he cried back.
“So you will tie me up, keep me prisoner, force me to spy and marry my sister?”
He stepped back from her. “You’re Bruce’s prisoner, Alana, not mine.” He was as breathless as she was. “I am to guard ye, and well, until ye return to Brodie to spy for us. So aye, I will tie ye up while I sleep.”
