As she did, Godfrey picked up his doublet and shrugged it on. His cheeks were flushed by the time he had buttoned the short coat up. “I asked you what you want,” he said harshly.
“And I told you,” she said. “Godfrey, I am not your enemy.”
He faced her, fully dressed. “You paid homage to Robert Bruce. Iain of Islay is your liege lord now—and your lover. Pray tell, how could you not be the enemy?”
Alana trembled, hating the conflict challenging them. Had she come to care for Godfrey? Or had she always cared for him, without ever having realized it? They had been raised together. He had taunted her and bullied her through most of their childhood, but she had done the same back to him. Growing up, she had thought that she despised him; she had thought him her enemy. But she suspected she had been wrong. “I refuse to be your enemy,” she said stiffly.
He made a harsh, derisive sound. “That is a refusal you cannot make! We are at war, you and I, and I am a prisoner here, while you have been made Brodie’s mistress!”
She rubbed her chilled arms. “I do not think I am Brodie’s mistress just yet.”
“Why? Because Iain has learned that you are a witch?”
“Yes!” she cried, losing her temper, at last. “He has learned I am a witch, and while he is here, he is in command, and you know that.”
Godfrey now stared closely at her. “Ha, so he doesn’t like you very much now?”
“That is cruel,” she whispered. But how right Godfrey was. And she felt like a harlot, not the lady of the keep.
“No, your treachery is cruel. Do you know how we worried about you when you were found missing? Do you know how I worried?”
She was at a loss. “I am so sorry. I wish I could have been able to confide in you.”
“Truly? Because now I know that you went all the way to Slioch Mountain to warn your lover of Buchan’s planned attack. You saved Bruce and his army. You betrayed your uncle, your father, everyone!”
She flushed. “Do you finally, truly, hate me?”
“I have never hated you, not even on the day we met, when you poured a chamber pot over my head the moment I stepped out of my father’s wagon.”
Alana had forgotten how horrid she had been when Duncan had first come to Brodie as her guardian and its lord, his young son with him.
“You hated me then, and you have hated me ever since. It was a lie, our becoming friends, to defend Brodie from Bruce.” He turned his back on her, trembling.
She reached out and touched his arm briefly. “It wasn’t a lie. Godfrey? I will do everything I can to keep you comfortable and to make certain you are released as soon as possible.”
He whirled. “My father won’t pay a ransom. He will be furious with me for surrendering Brodie. He will think my capture just deserts.”
Alana thought he was right. Duncan was selfish, ambitious and cruel. “I will see you freed,” she said firmly, meaning it.
“That will not make you my friend. We will never be friends again. I trusted you. I wish I hadn’t.”
“Don’t say that. I don’t want to lose you.”
“It’s too late. What is wrong, Alana? Do you have regrets? Oh, wait! Your lover isn’t lusting after you anymore? He doesn’t want to bed a witch?”
Alana felt sickened. Godfrey’s words were close enough to the truth.
“So you have sacrificed your family for love? Was it worth it?” he taunted.
She was close to tears. “Maybe not,” she managed to say.
“It’s too late for regrets,” he said. “And as I look at you now, I almost feel sorry for you. Did he turn away in horror, last night? Like everyone else? Everyone except me?”
“No. Yes.” Despair consumed her. “I will come see you again, later.” She turned to go, stumbling.
“Don’t bother!” he shouted.
Alana tripped, and reached the open door. She had to glance back at him.
