After a pause, he asked, “Does he succeed?”
“I don’t know,” she whispered.
Iain finally turned away from her, his expression thoughtful. Alana knew he was done—that he meant to leave the room. She wanted to call him back, but she did not know what she would then say. She wanted to ask him to come to her later, to sleep with her, as they had been doing every night. But she was afraid he would refuse.
Mostly, she wanted to know what the truth really meant to him. But she was terrified of that answer.
“It must be difficult, Alana, to have such a power,” Iain suddenly said. “But it is useful—very useful.” And he left.
CHAPTER TWELVE
“ALANA,YOUAREEXHAUSTED,” Eleanor said. “Why don’t I have a maid bring you supper? There is no need for you to go downstairs tonight.”
Alana was curled up in her bed, dozing. Several hours had to have passed since her conversation with Iain, as it was dark outside now behind the closed shutters. She had fallen asleep, but her grandmother’s light touch had awoken her.
She did not know if she wanted to go downstairs. In spite of how uncertain the future was, she had been so happy until the past few hours. And before falling asleep, her mind had gone around in circles, for she could not decide how Iain felt about her ability to see—or how he felt about her.
The only thing she was certain of was that he was no longer angry.
“I am tired,” she finally admitted.
“It is a man’s feast downstairs, anyway. They are carousing below as if they have taken Balvenie.”
Alana could not smile. Balvenie was the seat of Buchan’s earldom. She had never been to the castle, even though it was within a day’s easy riding. She had always wanted to see it; it was renowned to be very grand. Now she would never have the opportunity. “How long do you think it will be before my father and my uncle find out about Brodie—about me?”
Eleanor’s smile faded. “Bad news travels as swiftly as any raven.”
Alana flopped onto her back, staring up at the stone ceiling. “I wish things were different. I wish there had been other choices to make.” But that would have meant living in a peaceful land, when Scotland was always racked by war, pitting family against friend.
“I know you better than I knew my own son, and I know you hated betraying your father. Alana? We both know he hardly deserved such loyalty from you.”
Alana did not answer, well aware that Eleanor did not care about her betrayal of the earl, but was as torn as Alana over the betrayal of her father. Giving her a solemn look, Eleanor left, not bothering to close the door.
She quickly shut off her recollections of her uncle. But she had to wonder how her father would react when he received the news that she was mistress of Brodie now—and that she had paid homage to Robert Bruce.
If he had loved her a little, he probably would not love her now, Alana thought, staring into the torch-lit hallway. She could hear the sounds of the revelry coming from the hall below. Brodie had fallen without a fight, so the soldiers were celebrating. How pleased Iain must be, as well. He had not lost a single man.
She knew what it was like downstairs. The men were eating their fill and then some, while drinking beyond reason. Every young maid in the castle, if unmarried or widowed, would be in attendance, seeking to ensnare a handsome and victorious soldier. Meg would be downstairs.
She would be pouring him wine, flattering him, brushing against his shoulder. She might even be sharing his supper with him. She wondered if Meg would return to his bed. Why wouldn’t she?
How the notion hurt, like a knife stabbing through her breast.
Alana turned onto her side, away from the open door. She did not want to contemplate his affair with someone else. She turned her thoughts to Godfrey. Guilt consumed her. So did shame.
She did not know if he had been put in the dungeons, or if he was under guard in his own chamber. As difficult as it would be, she must visit him tomorrow, and make certain he was being properly cared for. She should also try to push Iain to make a ransom demand as soon as possible so Godfrey could be freed.
She heard footsteps outside in the hall—booted and male. Alana flipped over instantly.
Iain paused in the doorway, leaning one shoulder against it.
Her breath caught—as did their stares.
He had been drinking, she saw, for his expression was relaxed and benign. He did not seem angry, not at all. He wasn’t wearing his swords or his plaid, and he held a mug of wine in his hand. His blue gaze was direct.
He slowly looked away, his dark, thick lashes fanning his face.
She sat up, her heart slamming. Had she just seen the smoldering look that she thought she had? Tension made her spine rigid. “What are you doing?”
