A Sword Upon the Rose. Brenda Joyce

days to the south, if one rides without interruption,” he said.

      “Is it true?” Alana asked him. “Is my father at Lochindorb—defending it from Iain of Islay?”

      Buchan stormed into the hall, followed by a dozen knights, everyone in full armor. Obviously he had heard her question, for he snapped, “It was true. Lochindorb has fallen.” His eyes were burning with barely repressed anger.

      Alana could not quite breathe. “My father?” she managed to ask.

      “I do not know where he is, but the keep fell two days ago. The battle did not last an entire morning!” Buchan cried. He began to pace in a frenzy, head down, as he clearly deliberated the next course of action.

      Alana stared at him. Her uncle wasn’t just angry—he was uneasy and anxious. Was he afraid that Sir Alexander was hurt? She prayed her father had survived his encounter with Iain. “Can we send a man for news of Sir Alexander?”

      He stared at her, as if in disbelief. “I cannot worry about my brother now, when I must defend my land from Bruce!”

      Her heart sank. Didn’t he care about his brother? Or was he only afraid of losing this war to Bruce? Everyone was dressed for battle. Clearly, her uncle was leaving to take his army to war.