A Sword Upon The Rose by Brenda Joyce Page A

he would not allow them to be hurt. But he would not know that she and Eleanor were present. If the castle were taken, enemy soldiers would overrun every inch of it. Buchan’s soldiers would be killed. Alana was afraid of her own fate and that of the other women who were present.
    As for what might happen should Bruce ever learn of her identity, she could only pray he would consider her a worthless and unwanted bastard—though she felt certain that would not be the case.
    Mairi had not come back. Sir John had refused to open the door to speak with her, no matter how often she shouted at him. She had finally given up banging on the door, as his answer remained absolute silence.
    She could not see the south road from her window, only the north road, which was rarely used as it went to the sea. She could only assume that Buchan had returned, perhaps with Duncan, and perhaps with her father, and that he meant to defend the castle.
    Alana fell asleep in her grandmother’s arms, fighting tears of rising hysteria.
    The siege engines awoke her.
    She heard a boom from the front gates, the sound shocking. Instantly awake, she could hear the sounds of battle from outside—screaming horses, shouting men, whistling missiles.
    “Gran! We are under attack!” Alana cried, seizing her mantle. She ran to the window and pushed open the shutters.
    “Alana, stand back!” Eleanor screamed.
    But Alana could not move. Hail after hail of arrows flew at the castle walls, along with flaming missiles.
    She flinched but did not move. Bruce’s army was arranged across the ridge below the tower where she stood. The barbican was on the south side, and she had not expected such a sight.
    But his soldiers snaked around the walls to the west, and she felt certain his men ringed the castle entirely. He had hundreds of archers in the first rows of his army, foot soldiers with shields and pikes behind them. She espied several groups of mounted knights, and then, a small army of mounted Highlanders.
    She stared across the archers and foot soldiers at the Highland army atop the ridge. Were those Iain’s men?
    More arrows flew toward the north wall, and the tower where she stood. Catapults had been set up at intervals, and fiery rock bombs were whizzing at the ramparts. She ducked and stepped away from the open window, her heart slamming.
    The siege engine in the south sounded again, a huge banging sound, almost like an explosion. Would they soon break the front gates down?
    She ran back to the window.
    “Alana!” Eleanor seized her from behind.
    Alana ignored her, just as she ignored more whizzing arrows. They sounded like rocks and gravel, peppering the walls around the tower. But the missiles screamed, exploding as they hit the walls, far too close for comfort. She seized the sill and dared to look down, directly below her.
    Because the north road was the fastest way to the docks and the wharves, there was a gate below, through which the castle’s supplies and provisions came.
    A battering ram was being slowly pushed toward the north gate.
    She held her breath as the machine came closer and closer and then she tensed as an explosion sounded. Before she could take a breath, a burning bomb landed on the wall outside her window. Fire and sparks shot at her as Alana leaped away from the opening, slamming the shutter closed.
    Eleanor pulled her away from the window, ashen. “Are you burned?”
    Alana touched her cheek, where a spark had burned her. “I’ll be fine.”
    Eleanor ran to the table, seized the pitcher and returned. She wet her sleeve and laid the cool cloth on her tiny burn.
    “Will Nairn fall?” Alana asked. She trembled with fear. It was one thing to calmly speculate about its fall—and being freed—when all was as it should be, another to do so when under attack.
    “We cannot remain here, like this!” Eleanor cried.
    Her grandmother was the calmest, wisest and most courageous woman Alana knew. But she was frightened now.
    Alana