A Sword Upon The Rose by Brenda Joyce

girl’s eyes were wide and her freckled cheeks were flushed. “Mairi?” Alana asked warily.
    Breathlessly the maid set down their dinner of bread, cheese and wine. “Buchan is returning. The watch has seen his knights on the south road!”
    Alana seized her arm. Was this the news she had been awaiting? “Do you know what has happened? Did he battle with Bruce’s army? Was he victorious?” Had her uncle chased the mighty Bruce away?
    “I have heard that Bruce is marching on us!” Mairi cried, ashen.
    Alana glanced at Eleanor, who was pale. Bruce was on the march—Nairn would soon be attacked.
    This could not be the event she had sensed coming. She had not felt fear or dread. But she was afraid now—Bruce meant to attack Nairn! “Is Buchan returning to defend us?” Was there time to escape? Would they and the other innocent residents of the castle be allowed to flee?
    “I dinna ken,” Mairi cried. “I ken what the watch has seen—Buchan is returning. Lady! Have ye ever been in a siege?”
    Alana touched her arm. “No, Mairi, fortunately, I have not.”
    “They will rape and murder us.” Tears welled in Mairi’s eyes.
    Alana inhaled. “We do not know that.”
    Mairi looked at her as if she was mad.
    Alana stiffened. She was not a simple maid, like Mairi was—she was Buchan’s niece. And Bruce was on the march, his ambition to destroy her uncle and his earldom.
    Their rivalry went back generations, to the time when Bruce’s grandfather had unsuccessfully sought the throne against John Balliol. But it was worse than that. Two years ago, Bruce had murdered Buchan’s cousin, Red John Comyn, the Lord of Badenoch. Buchan had sworn revenge, and the enmity between the families had, impossibly, increased.
    If Bruce took Nairn, what would happen to Buchan, to her father, if he was present—to her? They were his worst, most hated and most despised enemies.
    “Can you come back and tell us what is happening? Please?” Alana implored. The maid usually did not come back till the morning. “You could pretend we need more firewood!”
    “I’ll try.” Tears in her eyes, little Mairi fled.
    Alana had no faith in her. But she could not be left in ignorance now, and if Buchan were returning, she wished to speak with him! Never mind that she now feared him impossibly. He had to release her and Eleanor, so they could flee this battle.
    She rushed to the open door—only to be barred in the doorway by Sir John. “You know you cannot leave,” he said sternly.
    “Will we be attacked?”
    “That is what everyone in the castle is speaking of, mistress.”
    She trembled. “Will my uncle stay and defend us? Why else would he return?”
    “I have received no orders yet. But the earl will be here within the hour.” He turned to leave.
    She gripped his arm, preventing him from closing the door. Startled, he flinched and met her gaze. “Is my father with him? Please, Sir John, I do not know if my father is even alive!”
    He shook her off. “I do not know!”
    “And who leads Bruce’s forces?”
    He shook his head, about to close the door.
    “Wait!” she cried, pushing between him and the door. “Will my grandmother and I remain imprisoned if we are attacked? I must speak with my uncle immediately! He must release us!”
    His answer was to scowl and shut the door in her face. Alana stared at the wood, her nose practically touching it, flinching when she heard the bolt being thrown.
    Eleanor approached. “If Nairn falls, perhaps we will be set free.”
    Alana stared at her. Would Iain free them? “Either that, or we will become the prisoners of our worst enemy.”
    * * *
    T HE ATTACK BEGAN at dawn.
    Alana had not slept well. She had been unable to stop her racing thoughts as she worried over whether or not the castle would be attacked, and what might happen to her and her grandmother, trapped as they were in the tower. If Iain were leading the attack, and he was aware of her presence in the tower, she was certain