Free A Sword Upon The Rose by Brenda Joyce

was once your mother’s?”
    Alana nodded, her gaze glued to his. He did not seem ruthless. He seemed kind. “Brodie was my mother’s dowry, my lord.”
    “Yes. I recall that. But the circumstances of your birth prevented you from having a claim. Duncan tells me you are twenty, and unwed.”
    She so hoped the subject of witchcraft would not arise. “I am not wed.”
    “So my brother has forgotten you,” he said flatly.
    Oddly, she felt that she must defend Sir Alexander. “He tried to arrange a marriage, some time ago.” She dared ask, “My father is not with you?”
    “He is on his way,” Buchan said. “But no marriage was arranged.”
    She felt certain she knew where he led. “No.”
    “Because no man wishes to wed a woman who can see the 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