Seduced by Her Highland Warrior (12 page)

‘The cavern?'

He appeared confused, but Laren clarified, ‘Where the glass is made.' It was far better to hold a conversation there, where no one would eavesdrop.

The priest lowered his head, nodding his agreement as he followed them towards the shores of the loch. Laren studied the priest, unsure of whether or not to admit that she was the glass artist and not her false brother. He didn't appear to be biased against women. As they walked towards the cavern along the edge of the loch, she weighed
it over in her mind, wondering whether or not he would retract the commission.

But he was a man of God, and she already felt terrible for the lie she'd told the abbot. If this priest would be staying with them for a few days, it would be impossible to keep the truth from him.

When they reached Father Nolan's cavern, Laren stopped outside the entrance. ‘I want to be truthful with you,' she confessed. ‘It was I who made the glass, not my brother. I should have been honest with the abbot, but I was afraid he would not allow me to take the commission.'

The priest appeared troubled. His eyes narrowed, but before he could argue with her, Laren insisted, ‘There is no reason why my glass should be any different than a man's. And the abbot was pleased with the work I gave him.'

She led him and Nairna inside the cavern. ‘If you are not satisfied with my work, I will return the coins.'

He gave a slight shrug, giving no hint of his opinion. Laren withdrew the sheets of glass she'd made in various colours, offering them for his inspection. While he and Nairna looked at them, she opened the annealing furnace to see if the cylinder of glass that she'd made earlier was ready to be flattened.

The priest had stopped talking, his eyes intent upon Laren as she scored and cracked the cylinder in half. Though it made her uncomfortable to be watched, she understood that this man would report everything back to the abbot.

Don't be nervous,
she ordered herself.
You've made sheets of glass hundreds of times.
She placed the two halves of glass, curved-side down, into a cooler part of the furnace to soften into sheets. When she turned back to them, the priest was staring at her with wonder.

‘Do you have the plans for the windows?' Nairna asked. ‘Laren needs them to continue her work.'

His expression faltered for a moment, but then he opened the pouch at his waist, searching through it. A moment later, he withdrew a sheet of parchment and handed it to them.

Laren studied the sketch, her mind forming ideas for the different colours. She already had blue and green sheets for the crucifixion scene, but she would need more brown and gold. The hardest element would be the faces. She simply didn't have enough experience with painting enamel upon glass.

‘I might have them ready for you in the early summer,' she predicted. ‘But I'll need the measurements for the kirk windows.'

‘Would you like to measure them yourself?' he offered. ‘I could escort you there.'

She thought about it, but Alex was unlikely to let her leave Glen Arrin. With no other choice, she suggested, ‘It would be best if you could have your priests build the frame and bring it to me.'

He was speaking to Nairna again, asking questions about the rebuilding efforts, and Laren turned her attention to another crucible of sand, lime and beechwood ashes.

 

After a quarter of an hour, the priest touched her hand gently.

‘Did you hear my question?'

She coloured. ‘No, I'm sorry. I was trying to decide which melts to begin next.' Glancing outside, she realised it had grown late. ‘I should get back to my daughters.'

The priest's hand rested upon hers a moment longer and his expression grew troubled. Uneasiness rippled through
Laren, for no man had ever touched her, save Alex. She glanced around and realised that Nairna had already gone back to Glen Arrin. Callum was still outside and she didn't know if he was guarding them.

Father Stephen was looking at her intently. ‘Do you want me to walk back with you?'

She shook her head slowly, her mind in disarray. His hand was warm upon hers and an unsettled feeling rooted in her stomach.

He meant nothing by it,
she told herself. He'd held her hand while he spoke, that was all.

But it was the first time another man had noticed her. And when she turned back to the entrance of the cavern, she saw her husband standing there. Watching.

August, 1303

Alex found Laren huddled in their bed, though it was the middle of the day. When he opened the shutters to let in some light, she closed her eyes against the sudden brightness.

‘Are you ill?' he asked.

She stared at the wall, her face so pale, he didn't know what to think. Though it hadn't been a full year since their son had died, he might as well have buried his wife. She rarely spoke to him any more.

Only a few months ago, they'd tried to put the pieces of their marriage back together. She had allowed him back into her bed for a time, but the emptiness in her embrace made their lovemaking hollow. He couldn't seem to break past the grief that closed her off from him. The warmth and love within her had died away, like a candle extinguished
with no warning. And gradually, he'd stopped touching her at all.

He sat down upon the bed, feeling helpless. ‘What can I do?' His voice sounded wooden, even to him. He reached out and rested his palm against her hair. Laren took his hand in hers. She moved it away, and at first he thought she didn't want him to touch her. But instead, she slowly brought it lower, beneath the coverlet.

Until she rested it upon her swollen womb.

All the words fled Alex's mind, for he was caught between joy and fear for the unborn life. He traced the rounded shape. Although it was small now, it would transform Laren's body over the next few months.

‘When will the bairn come?' he managed to ask.

‘In the early spring.' Her voice was emotionless and, had he not seen the glimmer of tears in her eyes, he'd have thought she didn't want it.

Slowly, he raised her to sit up, and brought her into his arms. ‘It will be all right,' he said. ‘I promise you.' The birth of this child was an unexpected blessing, one that might heal his wife's grief and fill her arms.

‘You can't keep that promise.' Her voice was filled with uncertainty. ‘If it happens again—'

‘It won't. God wouldn't do that to us.' He wrapped his arms around her, trying to reassure her. But she didn't move, keeping her hands at her sides. ‘Laren, I'll take care of you.'

Long moments passed, but she wouldn't look at him or return the embrace. In the end, he lowered his hands and stepped back. Not once would she look at him.

Leave her alone,
his mind insisted.
She doesn't want you right now.

Alex closed off the aching hurt inside of him. When he reached the door, he turned back to look at his wife one last time. Her hand rested upon her womb, her body curled inwards…as if she could guard the unborn life with her own.

‘R
eturn to the abbey,' Alex ordered the priest, resting his hand upon his dirk. ‘Immediately. You will not say Mass tonight or in the morning.' And, God willing, the man would stay in Inveriston.

‘If that is your wish.' Father Stephen bowed his head, but there was no humility or embarrassment in the man. He behaved as if there were no shame in what he'd done. Callum trailed the man, as if to ensure that he obeyed Alex's orders.

Once the man had reached the far side of the loch, Alex turned back to Laren. ‘Why was the priest holding your hand?' He kept his voice neutral, but he could see the flustered air upon Laren's face. She stared at a piece of glass as though it were the most important thing in the world.

‘He wasn't holding my hand. He was just…offering to walk back with me.'

‘With his hand on yours.' Although most of the priests were celibate, Alex wasn't such a fool as to believe all of them were. And he'd seen the man touching Laren with
more than kindness in his eyes. She was
his
wife. And, priest or no, he'd slay any man who dared to lay a hand on her.

He reached out and captured Laren by the waist. The scent of wood smoke clung to her and a long lock of red hair rested over one shoulder. Alex leaned in, bringing her into his embrace. He held her, the softness of her hair resting against his mouth.

She pulled back to stare at him. ‘He brought me the plans for the commission and that was all. You've no reason to be jealous.'

He didn't care that he was behaving like an overprotective husband. The need to reassert his claim, to remind her that she was his, took precedence over all else. ‘Haven't I?'

Though she slept beside him at night, for the past fortnight she'd remained on the opposite side with their daughters between them. What he wouldn't give for their own chamber, a place where he could remove the barriers of sleeping children and reach out to her again.

‘The damned priest has touched you more than I have in these past few weeks.'

She looked uncomfortable in his arms. ‘You've been busy with the rebuilding.'

Aye, he had. He'd worked all day and deep into the night, determined to get the walls up as soon as possible. Though there had been no more attacks, he didn't believe they were safe. And if he had to work himself to the bone to finish their defences, he'd do so.

‘It will be finished soon,' he swore, letting her go. ‘A few more days, at the most.'

She nodded, but when she started to retreat back to the glassmaking, he reminded her, ‘Nairna arranged a feast
to celebrate
Oidhche nam Bannag
. She'll expect you to be there.'

His wife's face brightened with embarrassment. ‘I should have helped her with the preparations. I wasn't thinking about what day it was.' She glanced back at the furnace, frustration lining her face. ‘Will you go and fetch Ramsay to come and watch the fires?'

‘Aye. Then I'll return and wait for you.' He wanted her to walk with him to the celebration, to pretend to be his lady, even if it was just an illusion. After Laren had been attacked, he'd been so focused on catching the intruder, he'd neglected her again. He saw her upon waking and when he drifted off to sleep at night, but that was all.

It was no way for a man to reconcile with his wife.

Snowflakes drifted on the wind, and after Alex left the cavern, he realised he didn't know where to look. Possibly in Walter's house or among the other boys. He supposed Ramsay could be anywhere.

But when he reached the outskirts of Glen Arrin, he spied the lad waiting. Ramsay shrank down, as if trying to make himself invisible. He huddled in the cold and Alex recognised one of his old tunics that Laren must have given to the boy. It hung down over his wrists and the saffron colour was faded and worn.

Alex studied the boy's face, but thankfully he didn't see any fresh bruises. He made himself a mental reminder to find out where Eoin was, since he hadn't seen Ramsay's father in a sennight. Though Walter had taken the boy into his home, it was a temporary solution. Ramsay deserved a permanent place to live where he would be warm at night, with enough food to eat. Perhaps when the keep was finished, he and Laren could foster the boy themselves.

‘Laren has asked you to come and tend the fires,' he told
the boy. ‘But if you'd rather attend the celebration tonight, we can—'

‘I've no wish to go.' Ramsay got up and started running toward the cavern, as if he couldn't stand to make any further conversation.

Alex followed the boy, and when he arrived back at the cave he saw Laren emerging. Her hood had slipped down to reveal her hair and snowflakes melted against her cheeks. Ramsay was already inside the cavern, adding firewood to the furnaces.

Laren walked a short distance with him and when they were out of earshot, she reminded him, ‘I would never, ever betray you. Not with any man.'

He drew her to his side. ‘It's not you I distrust. It's the priest.'

She fell silent as they walked towards the fortress. In the distance, torches flickered amid the fortress construction. A large bonfire blazed in the centre of the enclosure and people were starting to gather around. Monroe pulled out his pipes and began to play a lively tune while some of the folk began to dance.

When they entered the space, Alex saw that Nairna had cut fir branches, tying them in different places around the fortress. Laren's pace slowed as she studied Nairna's greenery. ‘It reminds me of the way we used to decorate our home.' With a furtive smile, she said, ‘My sisters and I used to collect fir branches and holly. We gave each other stones and sticks and pretended they were gold bracelets or beautiful gowns.'

‘Did you ever receive real gifts?'

She nodded. ‘Mother would try to make us something warm—a hood or hand coverings. Father would set snares for rabbits; if he was lucky, we had our own feast.'

Alex led her inside the fortress and she looked around for the girls. ‘Where are the children?'

‘Look there.' He pointed to a small circle of young girls. Grizel was addressing them solemnly and placed the bannag stone in the lap of each girl as they took turns representing St Brigid, who first held the Christ Child. ‘My mother said the children will enjoy a celebration of their own. Dougal plans to tell them stories inside one of the huts.'

Laren seemed content at this, and when they drew closer to the music, he remembered that they'd danced together a time or two. He took her hand and led her away from the others, just as Monroe changed the tune to a softer one. The pipes held a haunting note of wistfulness and his wife's face softened. She'd always loved music.

‘Dance with me,' Alex said, pulling her near. She hesitated, glancing around at all the people, but he took her hands and wound them around his neck. ‘There's no one here except you and me.'

‘There are nearly thirty people,' she protested.

But he leaned in close, touching his nose to hers. ‘Don't look at them. They won't even notice us here.' He lowered his hands to her hips, moving her in a slow circle.

Laren's breath faltered at the touch of her husband's hands. He was right. The rest of the clan seemed to melt away like frozen snow, until there was nothing left but him. His dark eyes reached inside her, reminding her of days long ago.

Against her hips, she felt his arousal and his mouth moved down to hover above hers. He didn't kiss her, but warm breath mingled against her lips. ‘Do you remember the first night we celebrated
Oidhche nam Bannag
together?'

The snow had stopped falling and her body was growing warmer as he wrapped his cloak around her, pressing her back against the stone wall. Though the colours had faded, she recognised the woven wool that she'd made for him, years ago. ‘You kissed me for the first time.'

His palm came up to the side of her face, caressing her cheek. There was a sinful glint in his eyes, of a man who wanted to assert his claim upon her. The priest's words had conjured a jealousy she'd never seen before.

Beneath the cloak, his hands moved over her flesh, seeking bare skin while his mouth bent to hers. ‘You're mine, Laren,' he said against her lips.

Before she could answer, Ross approached them. The man's face held a knowing grin and he told them, ‘There will be wagering games tonight. Nairna has asked each family to offer a prize.'

‘We will offer something,' Alex answered. When he'd gone, he said to Laren, ‘What about a piece of your glass?'

‘No.' The answer came without any need to think. She wasn't ready to reveal the glass to the others.

‘It wouldn't have to be a large piece. Perhaps some small coloured pieces that you have left over.'

‘I'd rather we kept it a secret.' Though she knew it had to be revealed sooner or later, she wasn't quite ready to show everyone else. It made her nervous to think of everyone staring and whispering about her.

‘Why? You said you wanted to prove yourself to them. This would be your chance to show them what you've done.' Alex let go of her and she walked alongside him towards Nairna. ‘Once we deliver the finished panels to the abbey, they'll have to know where they came from.'

‘Not yet,' she said, increasing her pace. If she told them now, she was certain they would come to watch her
work. She didn't want curious eyes interfering with her concentration.

The further she moved away from Alex, the more the cold bit through her garments. She huddled with the edges of her mantle pulled around her. With no other place to go, she moved towards the crowd of people.

But to her misfortune, Nairna saw her. ‘I was hoping you'd come,' she exclaimed, with a wide smile. ‘Now, we need a few more women. Vanora, you should join us.'

‘What do you need?' Laren wondered if there was more food to be distributed or something to do with the children.

Nairna wouldn't answer, but kept gathering women until she had twelve in a line. ‘Now, then.' She turned back to the men. ‘Which of you thinks he's man enough for one of these women?'

Only Vanora's hand clamped over hers kept Laren from fleeing. In her worst nightmares, she couldn't imagine why Nairna would do this to her. Everyone was watching and she wanted to die with all the eyes upon her.

A number of husbands stepped forwards, thankfully, including Alex. Most men looked curious, rather than outraged.

‘What is she doing?' Laren whispered to Vanora.

‘Wait,' the older woman said. ‘Watch and see.'

When the men had come to stand before them, Nairna asked, ‘What gift will you give to a woman of your choice? Go and fetch it.' While the men had gone, Nairna arranged for each of the women to be blindfolded.

Laren didn't like the sensation of being sightless in front of so many people. As each minute dragged on, she felt more and more uneasy about standing here. After a time, the darkness made her dizzy and lightheaded while she imagined everyone watching her.

But a moment later, her blindfold was removed. Laren blinked as her eyes adjusted, then she saw an array of small gifts within a basket.

Nairna walked to each of them, showing them the contents, then directed each of them to choose a gift for themselves. Laren saw them select dried flowers, a clay container, lengths of wool and even a barley cake coated in honey.

When the basket came to her, the only gift remaining was a flask containing a fermented liquid. Possibly mead, she guessed. But she knew from Alex's stiff expression that he had not given the gift.

Vanora opened her clay container and found it full of ashes and sand. ‘What sort of man would offer up such a terrible gift?' The matron shook her head in disgust. ‘A fool, I'd wager.'

But Laren knew. Her husband had given it, for she was the only woman who would understand it. They were her tools, the ingredients needed for glass.

As Nairna bade each woman to try to choose the man who had offered the gift, there was teasing as the men denied or agreed that they had brought it. When Vanora's turn came, she held up the container of sand.

‘Whoever gave this must have been a man who wanted to tease his wife. I'll guess that Ross gave it.' With a smug grin, she added, ‘He never did like to spend his hard-won coins.'

But Ross shook his head, grinning that she'd guessed wrong. ‘You should know me better, woman.'

When it came Laren's turn, her hands were trembling as the eyes of the others stared at her. She held up the flask and said, ‘I believe Ross gave the mead.'

Nairna turned a questioning look to the older man, who
nodded in agreement. ‘My own wife doesn't know what's closest to my heart,' he sighed. Then he puckered his lips to Laren, making kissing sounds while the others roared with laughter.

‘Will you take his kiss and the mead, or another gift of your choice?' Nairna asked.

Laren shook her head, feeling the nervousness starting to take hold. ‘I'll take the container of sand. And the man who gave it.'

The laughter of the crowd fell silent when Alex came forwards. Though Vanora pressed the container in her hands and took the mead in exchange, Laren hardly noticed. She saw only her husband coming for her and, in his eyes, there was fierce desire.

He took her hand in his, leading her away from the others.

 

The wind was bitterly cold as they walked along the edge of the loch. Alex held Laren's waist, his cloak draped over both of them. Laren had grown quieter, but he hoped her tension would ease when they reached the cavern with the furnaces. One advantage was the intense heat when they were lit.

When they reached the entrance she stopped him. ‘Let me send Ramsay home. Wait while I speak with him.'

He heard her quiet tone as she talked to the lad. Within a few minutes more, the boy left the cavern, his gaze still fastened upon the ground. His skin was flushed with heat—at least he would be warm enough until he reached Glen Arrin.