“And I am sorry—but the bishop must pay for his treachery.”
Juliana did not want to argue with him. “Bishop Alan does not have a treacherous nature.” She did not add what she wished to state—that he must be wrong.
“I am not surprised ye’d be loyal—yer a MacDougall.”
She tensed, breathing hard. “Are you Alasdair Og?” she finally asked.
He smiled. “The very one.”
So she was confronting her worst enemy. “I thought you were in the south—fighting with Robert Bruce.”
“I returned—for revenge.”
“What do you think he has done?” she cried.
Mary now hurried up to her. “Juliana, leave it be. You cannot save him.”
Her sister was so pale, and her hand was on the protrusion of her pregnant belly. She knew what Mary truly meant to say—leave war to the men. Their brother would hunt down Alasdair for what he had done today. Of that, there was no doubt.
But she had to do something, to try to save Bishop Alan’s life. Juliana took Mary’s arm and guided her to the steps before the altar, pushing her to sit. “I do not want you to jeopardize the babe,” she said low.
“You are placing yourself in jeopardy. You will never persuade him to leave the bishop in peace,” Mary whispered back, but her gaze was on Alasdair.
He hadn’t moved, and from the end of the nave, he stared at them.
Juliana turned back to her sister. “Too many have already died! And he has attacked my land!”
Before Mary could rebut, Juliana straightened and walked back to Alasdair. He shook his head. “Ye should heed yer sister—she is wise.”
“What did he do?”
“I will not debate ye, Lady Juliana. But I am pleased to tell ye the truth. The good bishop came to me, claiming to support Bruce as king. But I am no fool. I tested him and discovered he was naught but a spy sent by your brother. He spied on me, he spied on my brother and he spied on my father. I cannot let such treachery go.”
Juliana knew her brother—he was a man of great ambition as well. He had played kings against one another—and he had won. It was probable that he had pushed the good bishop to spy.
“I see ye believe me.”
She met his gaze, which wasn’t as ice-cold as before. “Please spare him,” Juliana heard herself whisper.
His stare was piercing. “And what would I gain from such an act of mercy? Yer brother will have won. He will think to send another spy—and another one.”
“I am not my brother.”
He shook his head, as if perplexed—or amused. “When I leave here, ye will run to yer brother, and even if ye do not, others will.”
“I can hardly ignore this attack.”
“Ye have courage, Lady Juliana, but ye should not be in the midst of wars between men.”
“You have put me in their midst. And you are in God’s house. Maybe God will forgive you for the blood spilled here, today, if you spare Alan. Maybe you will gain God’s grace.”
“I have no use for grace, not even from God.” And he whirled and strode down the nave, vanishing into the vestibule.
Juliana felt her knees buckle. As she fought to stand, her mind spun. She looked at her two dead soldiers, and another dead Highlander, one of Macdonald’s.
Mary reached her, taking her arm. “We cannot save him.”
“We must save him!”
“How can we manage that? Juliana—you cannot stop Alasdair Og, a warrior well versed in revenge, by every account I have ever heard! And you heard him yourself. He doesn’t care whether he goes to hell or not!”
Mary was right. Juliana had tried to reason with MacDonald, but she had failed. She could not think just then, not at all, and certainly not of another way to beg for the bishop’s life.
“We should go—we should get back to Coeffin Castle,” Mary said, “where we will be safe.”
Juliana looked at her, suddenly afraid. She had not considered that Alasdair might also mean to harm them.
They hurried outside. Clouds were gathering, and the bishop was hanging from a makeshift gallows on the other side of the courtyard. Juliana felt sick, and she purposefully averted her eyes. Mary put her arm around her and held her close. “He will go to Heaven,” she whispered.
Juliana blinked back tears. She could hear a crowd whispering nervously amongst themselves. She wiped her eyes and looked up.
The monks from the monastery had rushed up the hill once they had heard what was happening. A great many villagers had also gathered, mostly fishermen and their wives. None of her soldiers had survived, she saw, and it was too soon for any other soldiers from Coeffin Castle to have arrived. They would not have heard of the attack yet.
“Oh my God,” Mary cried, jerking on her arm.
Juliana turned and saw MacDonald’s men throwing brush, wood and faggots around the cathedral. He meant to burn St. Moluag’s Cathedral down. She could not believe her eyes.
“Surely, he does not mean to burn down a house of God,” Mary gasped.
Juliana wondered if she looked as wildly frightened as her sister. And then she saw Alasdair striding to her. “Why would you burn the cathedral?”
“A message fer yer brother,” he said flatly. “And he canna but receive it.”
“Please don’t!” Juliana cried, seizing his arm.
His eyes widened and he stared at her, as if shocked by her touch.
She realized she was holding his muscular forearm—and she released it as if burned. “Bishop Alan is dead. My brother will surely understand that.”
“Yer too brave fer yer own good.” He paused, his gaze frighteningly cold. “The next time yer brother thinks to play me for a fool, he’ll think twice.” He turned. “Burn it.”
His men began lighting the wood with torches. The fire caught instantly, consuming the kindling, while licking at the century-old cathedral walls.
In horror, Juliana watched the walls catching fire. Tears filled her eyes as she thought of Bishop Alan, who had died for naught.
Mary took her hand. She was crying, too.
“Alasdair!”
Juliana jerked as a rider appeared at a gallop, halting his horse before Alasdair. “MacDougall is at sea—and almost upon the beaches.”
Alasdair turned. “We go back now!” he shouted at his men.
Juliana could barely assimilate what was happening as Alasdair leapt swiftly upon a gray warhorse. All of his men were mounting as quickly. She had not yet exhaled before his men were galloping away—but Alasdair paused his stallion before her.
Stunned, she looked up.
As his horse danced wildly about, he said, “I am sorry ye were here today.” And he spurred the steed, galloping after his men.
Suddenly Juliana and Mary stood alone. Not far from them, the dead bishop twirled from his noose. Her dead Highlanders lay scattered about the courtyard and the end of the road. The crowd hadn’t moved, equally stunned as they all watched the cathedral burn.
CHAPTER TWO
JULIANA STRODE BACK and forth across her great