A Sword Upon the Rose. Brenda Joyce
future?”
She flinched. “No man wishes to marry a woman like myself.”
“What do you mean, Mistress Alana? Speak plainly.”
She felt her cheeks heat with shame. “I have the sight,” she whispered. “I am thought to be a witch.”
He studied her in silence then. “So it is true,” he finally said. “You can foretell the future.”
“Sometimes, my lord.”
“Sometimes? So you have visions, sometimes? At will, Alana?”
“No, they are never at will.” She hesitated, feeling desperate. “I wish I had no visions, my lord, but they began when I was a small child.”
“How do you know that they are visions? Do they always come to pass?” he asked.
She bit her lip. “Yes, they always come to pass.”
“Give me an example, Alana.”
She did not dare glance at Eleanor. “Our kitchen maid was with child. I saw her in her childbed, the babe born alive, the poor maid dead. There was so much blood.”
“And did the maid die in childbirth?”
“Yes—exactly as I saw it.” She hugged herself. Poor Peg had died giving birth six months ago, but Alana had known she would die for months before that.
“And now? Now you have seen battles from this war?” he asked thoughtfully.
She froze, and then she glanced at Eleanor.
“From time to time,” Eleanor said.
“I didn’t ask you, Lady Fitzhugh,” Buchan said, but mildly.
“I have had one vision of the war,” she breathed, and actually, that was the truth.
“Ah, yes, Duncan tells me you saw a battle, and you first thought he was victorious, then had no thoughts at all. What did you see?”
It was hard to breathe, impossible really. The earl’s stare was relentless. Eleanor’s advice echoed in her mind—do not displease him. “The vision was not clear,” she said. She dared a quick glance at Duncan—he was scowling.
But he was hardly as intimidating as her uncle.
“That will not do.” His stance was more aggressive now. “Did you or did you not see my knight in battle?” He did not raise his tone, but it remained firm, unyielding.
Duncan might beat her, but she would survive. Eleanor was right—she must not displease Buchan. She took a deep breath. “I must confess, my lord, to you.”
“Confess what?”
She fought despair. “I do have visions, but I did not have a vision of Duncan in battle. I lied.”
Buchan’s eyes widened. Duncan turned red, and his eyes popped.
“You lied?” Buchan asked with disbelief. “Explain yourself, mistress.”
She hugged herself, trembling. “Godfrey goaded me, as he always does, I lied to spite him. I did not have a vision of Duncan in battle.”
A terrible silence fell.
Alana looked nervously back and forth between the two men. Duncan was enraged, but the earl was somehow far more frightening. She felt how his thoughts raced. She wished he would not stare.
“You will pay for this,” Duncan snarled.
Buchan lifted his hand. “Enough. Lies do not sit well with me, mistress.”
“And that is why I did not wish to lie to you.” She looked at her uncle, needing courage to do so. “Six days ago, I saw the battle for Boath Manor—I saw the manor in flames, I saw Highlanders fighting the English, and I saw their dark-haired leader rescue a woman and her two children from the inferno.” She was hoarse with fear.
Buchan’s eyes were wider. “The battle for Boath Manor was the day before yesterday.”
“Yes, it was, we came upon it—and it was exactly as I had seen.”
Duncan charged forward. “So you lied again? You saw Iain of Islay?”
“Yes,” Alana said, afraid he might strike her.
Buchan gestured at Duncan, clearly meaning for him to stand back. “Now we are getting somewhere. Boath Manor is done. How often do you have these visions, Alana?”
“It varies.”
“That will not do,” Buchan said. He gave her a sidelong look and began to pace, slowly, his expression still thoughtful.
Eleanor hurried to her side and put her arm around her. She dared to glance at Duncan, who glared at her with raw hatred.
Buchan returned to stand before her. “You know I am pleased with you,” he said, smiling.
She was incredulous.
“How can we encourage your visions?”
“I cannot summon them,” she tried.
Duncan interjected, “Water, my lord. She has visions when she looks into water.”
Buchan seemed pleased. “Find a large glass bowl and fill it with water, and place it beside her bed,” he told Duncan. “You, Alana, will spend your days and nights staring into it.”
Alana felt ill. “I never look at water. I avoid looking into water, my lord!”
“Not anymore. You do wish to be useful to me? To your family?”
What could she do? She nodded.
“Good.” Buchan tilted up her chin. “Then you must have these visions—you must seek them out—and I must know the future of my earldom.”
He was asking for the moon and the stars, but she nodded, the feel of his blunt fingers under her chin disturbing. Worse, moisture seemed to gather in her eyes.
“You may retire,” he said. He walked away from her, to the table. Relieved, Alana realized the interview was over.
But as he sat down, he glanced at her. “And, Alana? I am not a patient man.” He smiled.
She managed to nod, her heart thundering. His meaning was clear. She must have a vision about the earldom—soon.
* * *
ALANA STOOD BESIDE her bed as one of Buchan’s knights carried a large glass bowl of water inside. It was placed on the chamber’s single small table, between the two beds. She realized she was looking at the bowl of water, and she jerked her gaze aside. Then she saw Duncan standing in the doorway, red-faced.
Eleanor immediately stepped between him and Alana. “My lord?”
He looked at her with contempt. “You are to vacate this chamber, old woman. Buchan has ordered it.”
“What?” Alana cried, aghast. “Surely you have misunderstood!”
“There is no misunderstanding.” He shoved past Eleanor, almost knocking her down. Alana reached out quickly to steady her. “His lordship wishes for you to spend your time without distraction—just you and the water.”
Alana was in disbelief. “Where will she go?”
“There is a chamber above you. She’ll have to share it with the maids.”
“It is hard enough for my grandmother to get up and down the stairs to this chamber. She cannot go up another flight!”
Duncan stepped over to her and leaned close. “You lying little bitch!”
Alana flinched. His fist was clenched and she dreaded a blow.
“Don’t worry. I am not stupid. I can’t hit you, though you deserve a beating. Buchan