Seduced by Her Highland Warrior (14 page)

‘MacLachors,' she heard Ross say.

‘I thought they were our allies.' Laren didn't understand it. If they'd needed grain and supplies, they'd only had to ask. Alex would have welcomed their labour in return for food.

‘They've a new chief, so I've heard.' the older man replied. ‘Likely a young man causing trouble.'

Laren stayed clear of the fighting, but in the distance, she spied two of the men moving towards the hut where her girls were sleeping.

No.
She ran hard, fury rising from the pit of her stomach as she went after them. Her lungs burned, the fear snaking into her gut. If they dared to harm one of her daughters, she'd hunt them down.

Alex came running behind her, his claymore drawn with both hands. ‘Stay back,' he warned, but Laren ignored him. When a raider moved towards her, she swung the dirk. He dodged her slash and, with his spear shaft, struck a blow to her hands. The weapon dropped away and she had no choice but to retreat.

‘Get inside, Laren,' Alex warned. He swung the claymore, the long blade slicing towards the man's head. ‘If you lay a finger upon my wife, you'll find it on the ground, along with your severed hand.'

Laren moved behind him, holding her torch aloft, in case the man broke free. Alex held the claymore in both hands before he charged at the man, swinging with precision. ‘Why did you come, MacLachor?'

‘For the bounty on your heads.' He held the spear up, blocking Alex's blow, but when the claymore cut into the wood, Alex couldn't free his weapon. Instead, he twisted the blade, disarming his enemy.

He threw himself atop the man and caught him by the throat. ‘What bounty?'

‘The one offered by Harkirk.' The MacLachor man fought to free himself, his fingers digging against Alex's palm.

Laren grew cold at the thought. If what he said was true, then they were in more danger than they'd believed.

‘How much did he offer for me?' Alex jerked the man to his feet, tightening his grip. When there came no answer, he unsheathed the dirk at his waist. ‘Tell me, damn you.'

His enemy's gaze went blank, in anticipation of death. ‘Our chief's daughter is Harkirk's hostage,' he admitted. ‘The Baron says he'll take your life for hers.'

Instinctively, Laren glanced behind at the shelter where her girls were sleeping. Harkirk had the MacLachor chief's daughter in his keeping?

Now it was clear. The man who'd attacked before must have been a MacLachor, trying to lure Alex. And tonight, they'd struck with the last of their men, in a desperate act.

She saw her husband's attention flicker for just a moment, then he dived to the ground. An arrow lay embedded in the wood just where his head had been. The MacLachor used his chance to escape; within seconds, he'd disappeared into the darkness of the trees.

‘Get inside,' Alex ordered, opening the door for her. From the torn look upon his face, she knew that he had to go with his men, to pursue the remaining MacLachors.

‘I'll keep you safe,' he swore. There was a look of hesitation on his face, before he returned to the centre of the fortress. Laren stood at the entrance to the hut, watching as he went off to fight.

When Alex was gone, she knelt down to touch the arrow. It might have killed him just now. Her hand shook
as she ripped it free of the wood, staring at the pointed tip. If he hadn't moved in time, she might be sitting here with him dying in her arms. She shivered, wishing her husband hadn't left her. Waiting was nearly as bad as watching him fight.

She forced herself to go back inside, where she found Grizel standing in front of the girls, her face pale. In her hands, the older woman held a spear she'd snatched from Ross's belongings.

‘Are they all right?' Laren whispered.

Grizel nodded. ‘They slept through the raid.'

Laren's knees were shaking and she went to stand near the hearth. Despite the heat of the fire, she couldn't stop shivering. Then she looked over at Grizel, who was setting the spear aside. ‘Thank you for watching over them.'

The older woman turned away in silence, staring at the flames. Her mood had shifted into a solemn regret and Laren wondered if Grizel was remembering how her husband Tavin had been killed in battle.

‘You should be glad to have daughters,' the old woman said. ‘At least they won't grow up to fight in raids. Or be taken as slaves.'

‘I hope not.' Her thoughts lingered upon the MacLachor's claim that Harkirk had taken their chief's daughter captive. And she wondered what would happen now.

‘You don't look well,' her mother-in-law remarked. ‘Did you remember to eat?'

She nodded, but her thoughts returned to Grizel's comment about being glad to have girls. She did love her daughters, but sometimes she couldn't help but wonder what their son David would have been like. He'd have been three years old, had he lived.

She clenched her gloved hands, trying to blot out the memories. But her mind persisted in the painful visions.

Would David have dragged a wooden sword around, pretending to be like his father? Would he have laughed and held on to her hip when he needed her? She vividly remembered the warmth of his small body nestled against her breast when he'd been born.

Until the terrible morning when his body was cold and lifeless upon hers. She'd never known what had caused him to die, and it hurt so much to remember it.

‘You're weeping,' Grizel said suddenly.

Laren hadn't realised. She wiped the tears away and lowered her head. ‘It's been a difficult night for all of us. We should get some sleep.'

But as she curled up on her side, she felt as though a splinter were piercing her heart.

 

When Alex returned later that night with Ross and Vanora, Laren awakened instantly. Perhaps she hadn't been sleeping at all, but when he entered, she stood up and guided him back outside.

Without speaking a word, she wrapped her arms around his waist and held him. He gripped her back, taking comfort in her embrace.

‘They're gone,' he murmured. ‘All except a man who died from one of Callum's arrows.'

‘You let them go?'

He pulled back to study her face. The torchlight cast a honeyed glow over her face and he said a silent prayer of thanks that he'd been able to come back to Laren.

‘Aye. I may regret showing them mercy.'

She rested her hands around his waist. ‘What are you going to do about the bounty?'

‘Nothing.' It was beyond his control anyway. If Harkirk wanted to hire assassins to try to bring them down, so be it. It was the reason they'd built strong walls to defend Glen Arrin.

‘Aren't you afraid?' She touched his cheek, rubbing the stubble that abraded her fingertips.

‘No.' He couldn't afford the luxury of fear. The greater issue was Glen Arrin and how to keep the rest of them safe.

She studied him with uncertain eyes. ‘You nearly died tonight.'

‘I nearly die every time I fight,' he pointed out. ‘It's always a risk.'

But she took no reassurance from his indifferent tone. Instead, she looked even more upset.

‘It's late,' he told her. ‘We'll sleep and talk about it in the morning.'

She drew back from his embrace. ‘Alex, if there's a price on your head—'

‘Leave it be, Laren.' He didn't want to talk about it or dwell on it. His body was physically exhausted, his mind restless.

‘I'm afraid for you,' she admitted.

He wouldn't allow himself to feel any fear. And though she was wanting him to tell her that it would be all right, the truth was, he didn't know. With the state of unrest among the clans, he had enemies enough who'd be willing to attack. The last thing he wanted was to bring more danger upon the MacKinlochs.

He locked away the errant thoughts. Instead, he guided Laren back inside to lie down with their girls. She tried to get him to sleep with her, but he remained seated, resting his hand upon her hair.

His girls were sleeping, their hair tangled up, their
shoulders moving as they breathed. He couldn't imagine a man like Harkirk holding a young girl captive. No doubt the MacLachor chief was out of his mind with fury.

Though he'd wanted to ignore the threat of the English, he'd be forced to deal with them soon enough.

It felt as though the grains of his life were spilling out, all too quickly.

A
nother fortnight had passed and the wooden keep was nearly finished. Though Alex had wanted to build up the walls with stone, he'd conceded to the men that it would be faster to put up a temporary structure and build the castle around it later. Within another day, they would have a place of their own for sleeping. He wanted Laren and his daughters out of Ross's home, for they needed their own space.

The threat of the MacLachors had set all of them on edge. It had fuelled the men into working harder, finishing their walls and strengthening the defences. Another attack was imminent, and he didn't know if it would come from Harkirk's forces or the MacLachor clan.

He had to do something. Ignoring the problem wasn't going to make it go away.

He walked toward Laren's cave, his leather shoes crunching upon the frozen ice puddles on the ground. He wore a shaggy, fur-lined mantle, and his breath formed clouds in the wintry air. A few sparse flakes of snow drifted in the air.

When he saw Callum standing at the entrance with his bow, he nodded a dismissal to his brother. Though he was grateful that Callum had agreed to watch over Laren, he knew that it couldn't last much longer. His brother deserved better than to stand guard, hour after hour.

The heat from Laren's furnaces was welcome as he entered the cavern. She wore only a gown and perspiration lined her neck. Her hair was bound back and in her hands she held a long metal pipe. A bubble of glass formed from the end and he stopped, spellbound at the sight of her magic. With breath and fire, she formed a cylinder of glass, the colour of rubies. She kept her entire attention focused upon the glass and it gave him the distraction he needed.

Quietly, Alex took one of the cloth-wrapped pieces of glass that she'd finished long ago and set it outside the cavern to take back with him. Though it was not a piece she'd meant for the new kirk, he had another purpose for it. And Laren wouldn't like it at all, if she knew of his intentions.

Only when she had finished the piece, setting it within the annealing furnace to cool, did she turn around to greet him.

‘It's beautiful,' he told her and was rewarded by a slight smile.

‘I love red,' she admitted, ‘but it's the most difficult colour. I wish there were a way to make it so that it wasn't so dark. It doesn't let in the light the way other colours do.'

She moved over to the stone work surface where pieces of cut glass lay spread out. He could see the emerging figure of the crucifixion, and in the surrounding scenes were stories that revealed the Garden of Eden, Moses parting the Red Sea and an image of the Virgin Mary.

But none of the saints or apostles had faces yet. It made him wonder if the gift he'd planned for Laren would be welcome or not.

‘My cousins will arrive soon to take Mairin home with them,' he told her. ‘A messenger came this morning. She'll go north, as we planned.'

Laren set down the cutting implement and when he drew closer, he saw the exhaustion on her face. She'd been working since dawn, just as he had. She rested her hands upon the stone table, but she looked unnaturally pale. ‘I know she has to go, but I wish she could stay.'

‘She'll be safer.' He came up behind her and rested his hands on her shoulders, trying to reassure her.

Laren didn't answer, but kept her head lowered. It was then that he noticed something wasn't right with her bearing. She looked shaken, almost unwell.

‘What is it?' he asked her.

Without warning, Laren's knees folded and he caught her before she could fall to the ground.

His heart quickened when she remained limp into his arms. She remained unconscious for only a moment or two and he helped her to sit on the bench beside him, with her head lowered.

‘Take deep breaths,' he ordered. As he rubbed her shoulders, he noticed her pale colour. It made him wonder if she was no longer taking care of herself. ‘Are you ill?'

‘No. I'll be all right.'

Even so, he wasn't convinced. He leaned back against the table, keeping her in his arms. She didn't relax and seemed to grow more tense, the longer he held her. At last, she said, ‘Alex, it's all right. I was just dizzy for a moment.'

‘Has it happened before?'

She lifted her shoulders in a shrug. ‘It's nothing to worry about.'

‘I don't like seeing you faint. You could have hit your head.'

Although Ramsay was there most of the time, there were times when she worked alone inside the cavern. ‘I'll send Dougal to you in the morning,' he said. ‘You could finish your work sooner with both him and Ramsay to help.'

She shook her head. ‘Your brother is more interested in horses and animals than glass. I'll be fine as I am now.'

But he didn't agree at all. She was growing more and more tired with every day that she worked. Even this morn, she'd struggled to awaken. Alex helped her to stand up and held his hands around her waist. ‘You're working too hard, Laren. I can see how weary you are.'

‘I promised to finish the windows for their new kirk by the early summer,' she insisted. ‘No one else can do the work.'

He didn't understand her haste, for there seemed to be plenty of time. And despite her protests, he intended to find more people to help her. If nothing else, it would ease his mind to know that she wasn't working alone.

‘You don't need to bury yourself in glassmaking, Laren,' he said.

‘I need to finish it,' she insisted. ‘A few months more and I can send the windows to the abbot.'

He didn't doubt her words. But there was an agitation in her voice, one he hadn't expected. ‘Something else is bothering you.'

She rested her hands upon the stone table, revealing her scars. With her eyes closed, she admitted, ‘Nairna came to me today, asking for advice. She wants a baby.' Laren
reached for a piece of cut glass, arranging it in the mosaic that was forming the window. ‘It doesn't seem fair that I've been blessed with our children, when she would give anything for a single bairn.'

‘I'm certain she and Bram will have a family, soon enough.' With the way his brother and Nairna spent all their hours together, he supposed it was only a matter of time.

‘Perhaps.'

He moved his hands to her shoulders, feeling the knots of tension in her neck. As he massaged her skin, her hands grew still.

‘I brought something for you.' He reached inside his cloak for the gift he'd brought her. Holding it out, he said, ‘I wanted you to have this.'

Laren held on to the cloth-wrapped package. ‘What is it?'

‘Something you need.'

She sent him a curious look and untied the package, letting the cloth fall open. Inside were three slender brushes. The handles were made of a smooth wood, sanded to a silky finish. The delicate bristled tips could create a fine painted line and he'd bought her the brushes, knowing it would help her paint the faces of the saints.

She set the brushes down on the table and the look on her face was near to tears.

‘Did I do something wrong?'

She shook her head. ‘They're exactly what I needed.' A teardrop rolled down her cheek and she stared at the table.

He didn't know why on earth she was weeping. She couldn't do the intricate shadows on the faces without the right tools. ‘Why are you crying?'

‘I don't know,' she sobbed.

‘Are you tired or hurting?'

She wiped the tears away. ‘No. I don't know what's the matter with me.' She stood up, holding the brushes in her hands. ‘It was kind of you to give these to me.'

He didn't know what to say, so he gave a nod and started to leave. Laren caught him by the hand before he could go. Her fingers laced in his, and she came closer. ‘The keep will be finished tonight, won't it?'

‘Aye.' He held her fingertips lightly. ‘The men worked on it, day and night, to finish early.'

‘Because you're afraid of another attack,' she predicted.

He inclined his head. ‘We all know it will happen. But we don't know when.'

She paled and he said, ‘I'll do whatever I have to, to keep you safe.' His hand moved to the back of her neck, in silent reassurance.

She raised her eyes to him and they grew shadowed with suspicion. ‘You wouldn't give yourself over to Harkirk, would you?'

‘It's not what I want.'

But she saw through his words and started to shake her head. ‘Don't, Alex.'

‘I'll have to confront him, soon enough. This can't go on.' Though he had no intention of being a martyr, he didn't want his clan or family to be hurt on his behalf.

‘What will you do?'

He made no reply, not wanting to upset her more. Instead, he caressed the tension from her neck, wishing he could soothe away the worry.

‘I don't want anything to happen to you, Alex,' she murmured. ‘Your daughters need you.' She lifted her blue eyes to him, winding her arms around his neck. ‘I need you.'

He held himself motionless, her quiet confession
reaching beneath his skin in a way he didn't understand. He could feel the softness of her body pressing close and it sent a rush of sudden desire through him. The last time they'd been together she'd seduced him, sending him past the brink of reason until all that existed was her.

Laren took his hands and drew them around her waist, bringing their bodies close. She tilted her head up and in her eyes he sensed her desire. He wanted her now, so badly he was shaking from it. But she was so pale, so fragile, he didn't want her to think that she had to yield to him.

‘Will you kiss me?' she whispered.

He cradled the back of her nape and shook his head. ‘If I touch you right now, I won't stop.'

‘I don't want you to stop.' She pressed the length of her body against him and he couldn't have stopped his response if he tried. His hands moved down to her hips and when she moved against him, it was a sensual caress against his arousal.

As his mouth claimed hers, she yielded sweetly, her tongue meeting his with its slick warmth. Alex drew it into his mouth, caressing her with his own tongue, mimicking the act that he wanted to do with her.

When he pulled back from the kiss, he was fighting to keep his breath steady. The temptation to remove the layers, to feel her bare skin against his, was taking him apart. ‘You're not feeling well,' he said, letting go of her. ‘I'll send Ramsay to tend the furnaces, and you can come home and rest.'

But Laren stepped in his path. ‘I don't want you to go, Alex.'

 

Her husband was so taut with sexual need that she sensed that he was on the edge of losing control. Beneath her fingertips, his heartbeat was hammering.

Laren reached beneath his tunic, using her bare hands to touch his skin. ‘I haven't seen you the past few nights. You've gone back to the way things were before.'

‘Our defences aren't finished yet,' he argued back. ‘If the English or anyone else attacks us again—' He broke off, shaking his head. ‘I have to be certain everyone is protected.'

‘How long will it take?'

He shook his head. ‘I don't know. The outer framing of the keep is finished, but the stone will take many more months.'

She'd wanted to believe that they had started over, that things would return to the way they'd been. Instead, it seemed that he would spend all of his time away from them, just as before. Nothing at all had changed.

‘I'm doing this for you,' he said. ‘And for our daughters.' He gripped her hard, not allowing her to pull away. ‘I have to know that I've done everything I can to keep you safe.'

Her hand moved up to his face, lingering upon him. ‘It's lonely at night,' she whispered, ‘when you're not there.' She felt a desperate need to bind him to her, to rekindle the lost feelings.

If he left her to fight Harkirk, she was afraid of losing him. It was hard enough falling asleep at night without him there, but if he were to die, especially now…

Alex closed his eyes, his hand covering hers. His mouth moved over her palm, as he brought her fingers down lower to his throat. She leaned up to kiss him, needing him to let go of the tight control.

His mouth hungered over hers while his hands bunched over her gown. She forgot all about her earlier dizziness as he distracted her with the kiss. It sent a spiral of awakening sensations through her skin, until she needed more.

‘Alex,' she whispered. ‘I'd rather have a husband in the flesh, than a husband who's never there.' She drew his hand to her breast in an unmistakable invitation.

He rested his mouth against her cheek, his hand cupping her fullness. She felt the tension trembling within him, the fierce needs that he wouldn't voice. She wanted to push him past the brink, binding him to her so he would realise what he was missing when he spent so many hours away from her.

It had been so very long since she'd joined with him. She wanted him to trust her, to let her ease the burden of leadership. He kept everything hidden, but she could see the stiffness in his bearing. She lifted his tunic away and massaged his shoulders, trying to soothe the rigid strain in his muscles.

His body had changed over the past few weeks, the outline of hardened muscle caused by lifting so many stones. Though he'd never been soft, she marvelled at his strength, running her fingertips over the heated skin.

He captured her hands, lowering them to her sides. ‘I don't trust myself to be gentle right now, Laren. It's been too long.'

‘Just be with me,' she urged. She reached up to loosen her gown and her clothing fell away, his hands moving over her skin in reverence. Her breasts were sensitive and when he lowered his mouth to her nipple, she gasped in response. She tried to remove his trews, needing his length against her.

With his hands, he parted her legs, and she stiffened at the sharp reaction he provoked. When his fingers brushed against her hooded flesh, she let out a soft cry, feeling the moist response between her thighs.