Seduced by Her Highland Warrior (16 page)

‘I don't need you working yourself into exhaustion for it. We don't need the silver.'

The desperation in her expression made him fear that,
once again, she was hiding something from him. ‘Laren,' he warned, ‘what is it?'

She grew silent, taking long breaths before she lifted her face to his. ‘I'm going to have another baby.'

 

The unexpected joy that flickered upon his face suddenly halted. ‘You aren't happy about this child, are you?'

His accusatory tone bothered Laren. It wasn't as if she didn't want the bairn. She loved her children and welcomed the thought of a new life.

But she was deeply afraid that this child wouldn't live. She hadn't yet felt any movement and the harsh symptoms were taking their toll upon her body. She didn't know what to tell him and her silence was damning.

The look on his face made her feel as though she'd buried a dirk in his gut. ‘Is it that you don't want to bear any more children of mine?'

She wanted to utter no, that it wasn't that at all. But if she admitted the danger, he wouldn't let her near the glass. The urge to hold in her secret was so strong that she almost held her silence. But when he turned away from her, she sensed that, if he left her, nothing would be the same ever again.

‘Wait,' she said. ‘You're wrong.'

For so long, she'd held her worries and fears inside, not wanting to burden him. It had become as natural as breathing, no matter that the pain bled through her.

He needs to know,
her conscience urged.
If you don't tell him, you'll lose him.
And God above, she couldn't bear to think of it.

‘I'm afraid,' she said softly.

He turned back to her and the look on his face was a mixture of anger and hurt. ‘Afraid of what?'

‘Of losing this child.' She dug her fingers against the stone table, forcing herself to look at him. She let him see the raw grief, the despair that she'd carried over the past two years.

But still Alex didn't move. He was waiting for her to tell him more and she fumbled for the words.

‘I'm so tired,' she confessed. ‘And I never seem to get enough sleep. The thought of food makes me sick and I keep getting dizzy. I've fainted many times and I've never felt this way before. Not with any other pregnancy.'

She spilled out her fears and, at last, confessed, ‘I haven't felt the child move. I'm afraid this bairn is already dead inside of me.' The tears spilled over her cheeks and when he saw them, he took a few steps closer. He knelt down before her, resting his hands on either side of the bench.

In his eyes, she saw the shadows of his grief. She reached out to him, putting her arms around his neck. The warm male skin gave her comfort and his arms tightened around her.

‘I didn't want you to grieve,' she whispered. ‘I don't know if I'll lose the child or not. But I didn't want to burden you.'

He pulled back, fury in his eyes. ‘You're my wife. Not a burden.' His hands pressed away the tears, framing her face. ‘When David died, you wouldn't talk to me for days.' His wrath spilled over and he said, ‘It wasn't only a son I lost that night. I lost you.'

She was shaking, her grief rising up and overflowing. ‘I blamed myself for his death. Every night I wondered what I'd done wrong. Why he was taken from us.' She buried her face in his shoulder, not caring that she was dampen
ing his tunic with her tears. ‘I couldn't be with you when it was my fault.'

‘Do you think I believed that?' He leaned in close, his cheek touching hers.

‘I believed it.' She swallowed back the tears, trying to find a strength inside. ‘When we had Adaira, I couldn't sleep for the first year. I kept waking up, watching her breathe.'

‘I never blamed you. Never.' His mouth came to hers in a kiss that offered absolution.

‘Everything will be all right with this child, Laren. I'll take care of you.'

She turned around, resting her palms upon his chest. ‘I want to believe it.'

‘Lie down,' he urged. ‘Rest, and I'll watch over you.'

Laren obeyed and as she lay upon her side, he rubbed her back and shoulders. She felt herself slipping beneath the spell of his hands, the weariness dragging her under. Though she knew she shouldn't close her eyes, shouldn't succumb to the intense relaxation of his hands, she couldn't resist for a few moments.

The heaviness of her need swept her down until she fell asleep at last.

 

When she awoke, it was dark outside. Alex had covered her up with a blanket, and she didn't know where he'd got it from. Likely he'd returned to the fortress to fetch it for her, along with the foods he'd brought.

It was a strange array and when she sat up, there was only the light of the furnace to illuminate the room.

‘How long did I sleep?' she asked.

‘A few hours. I suppose you needed it.' He reached out
for the platter of food and brought it to her. ‘Would you like some bread?'

Laren blinked for a moment, but took the slice from him. When she saw the food he'd brought, she realised he'd brought nothing with a strong odour, no foods to turn her stomach. Only a selection of cheese, bread, oat cakes and dried cherries.

‘You remembered.' She took the cherries with a smile and another surge of unexpected emotions passed through her at his thoughtfulness. She'd eaten their entire store of dried cherries when she'd been pregnant with Adaira, for it was a craving she couldn't seem to satisfy.

‘I've already eaten,' he added. ‘I know you don't like meat during this time.'

The piece of bread whetted her appetite and after her stomach grew settled, she tried more of the food.

‘Are you feeling better?'

She was, and once she began eating, it seemed that she couldn't get enough. The cherries were the perfect blend of tart and sweet, and she found herself devouring them by the handful.

When she had sated her hunger, she drew her knees up beneath her skirts and looked up at Alex. There was amusement in his eyes and she raised an eyebrow. ‘What?'

‘I was almost afraid to put my hand near the food for fear you'd eat it, too.'

She flashed a smile. ‘Never come between a pregnant woman and her food.'

He sat beside her, dropping his hand around her back. The warmth of his arm was comforting and she found herself leaning against him. ‘I remember how we went walking around the loch when you were pregnant with David. You brought bits of food to eat along the way.'

The knife of memory sliced through her, but she understood what he was trying to do. The pain of losing David would never go away. But there were a few good memories left to hold on to.

‘You laughed at me,' she said. ‘You've never known that sort of hunger before. It consumes you.'

She reached out and laced her hand with his. His palm was warm, his fingers touching hers with gentleness. ‘He was a handsome bairn, wasn't he?'

‘I always wondered if he would have had your eyes or mine. All our children had blue eyes when they were born.'

He wiped a tear away from her cheek and she struggled to find a smile. ‘He'll always have a piece of my heart. Even in Heaven.'

‘He took a piece of mine as well,' Alex admitted. He brought her fingers to his chest where she could feel his heart beating. His mood grew dim and he admitted, ‘We're leaving in the morning to find the MacLachors. Bram will come with me, but Callum, Ross and the rest of the men will stay behind to guard Glen Arrin. Now that the walls are finished, you should be safe enough.'

‘What if they attack?' Her fears gathered up into a tight ball within her stomach.

‘If anything happens, send Callum to us. We'll come back as fast as we can ride.'

She held on to him, wishing he wouldn't leave. ‘I need you to come back to me.' Especially if the pregnancy went badly. ‘If the worst happens…I don't think I can go through it again.'

Alex rested his hand upon her hip. ‘You're stronger than you think, Laren. But I pray this child will be safe.' His hand moved over to her stomach again, as if he could command it to be so.

‘I
don't want to go,' Mairin wept, her arms around Laren's neck.

She gripped the young girl as though she could hold on to the last remnants of her daughter's childhood. Though Mairin would visit from time to time, it broke her heart to see her leave. She would be so far away.

‘You'll be on an adventure,' Laren said, smiling through her tears.

‘Mama, did you go off for fostering?'

Laren shook her head. ‘My father couldn't send me. We were too poor and had no family that would take us. But think of what it will be like. You'll see the places where the Norse raiders came. And you'll have everything you need.' They had given the Sinclairs cattle and sheep, as well as a horse for Mairin.

Laren reached into a fold of her cloak and pulled out a flat disc of white-and-yellow glass that she'd shaped into a flower. ‘I made this for you.' She kissed her daughter again, adding, ‘We'll see you in the summertime.'

The wagon slowly rolled away and Laren raised her hand in farewell as Mairin left. The tears were cold on her cheeks, but Alex gave her hand a squeeze. ‘She'll be well cared for, Laren.'

‘I know it.' She wouldn't have let her go if she weren't convinced Mairin would be safer in the north. But worse, she would lose her husband today as well. He'd promised to bid Mairin farewell before he departed with Bram.

‘I need to check our supplies before we go,' he told her.

She nodded, but though she wanted to wait by the horses, Grizel approached and said, ‘Alex, I want a word with your wife.'

Laren said nothing, flinching at Grizel's tone. But she allowed the woman to lead her back into the keep. She smelled the aroma of meat from yesterday and fought back her unsteady stomach as she followed Grizel inside. The older woman brought her to a chair and ordered, ‘Sit down.'

‘Is something wrong?'

Grizel caught the attention of a servant and gave her hushed instructions. Then she pulled a chair over and sat across from Laren. Her piercing gaze made it difficult to look her in the eye.

‘It's not easy to let your child go off for fostering,' Grizel began. ‘But it must be done. Especially if you want Mairin to have the status you lacked as a child.'

Laren coloured, wondering when she would be able to escape the older woman's criticism. She made no reply, not wanting to engage in an argument.

When the serving girl returned, Grizel took a steaming mug of tea and gave it to her. ‘Drink this.'

Laren sniffed the tea and caught a strong herbal aroma. ‘What's in it?'

‘Chamomile, mint and some other herbs to make this pregnancy easier.'

She sent a sharp look towards Grizel, who folded her arms across her chest. ‘I know when a woman is breeding. And I know it hasn't been an easy pregnancy. You've been sick a lot, haven't you? I imagine you're afraid of losing it.'

Stung, Laren forced herself to drink a sip of the brew to avoid speaking. Why would Grizel say such a thing? Aye, it weighed upon her thoughts, the fear that this child wasn't well. But she hadn't lost it yet.

‘You haven't denied it,' the matron remarked with triumph. ‘But if you drink this tea each morn, you'll find it easier. It will ease your sickness and help to steady the bairn in your womb. I'll bring you the herbs.'

Laren took another sip, wondering what Grizel meant by it. Never once had the older woman spoken a kind word or done anything to make her feel accepted as Alex's wife.

Grizel stood and pointed to a table on the far end of the Hall. ‘I suppose you might want your mother or sister with you when this babe comes.'

Laren's fingers curled over the cup, too startled to speak. She hadn't seen her mother Rós or her sister Suisan since they'd left for St Anne's. ‘I do miss them,' she admitted.

‘I'll send for them at summer's end.' The older woman stood, gave a grim nod and strode away. Laren finished the tea, realising it was as close as Grizel would ever come to an apology.

 

‘I don't like leaving our clan alone,' Alex admitted to Bram, when they'd set off on their journey. The last raid weighed heavily upon him, for he didn't know whether or not to believe the claim that there was a bounty on his head.
By going to meet with the MacLachor chief, he might be walking into a trap of his own making.

But he needed information. If Harkirk was recruiting the other clans to rise up against the MacKinlochs, Alex had to be ready. The MacLachors were his best hope in finding out exactly what the English Baron was planning.

He cast another look back at the stone walls surrounding Glen Arrin, his mood heavy. Laren's hair gleamed red against the wintry stillness as she watched from the gate. In a few months more, her belly would be swollen with child. He'd always loved the way her body softened in those months, her breasts full and lush while the child grew inside of her.

‘Things are better between you and Laren?' Bram prompted, when they crossed over the hill.

‘Aye.' He recalled the way he'd made love to her in the cavern the other night. Just thinking of it made him want to ride back to her, touching her until she grew breathless. Though he'd kissed her goodbye, it wasn't enough. He felt as if he'd left a part of himself behind.

‘We're expecting another bairn,' he told Bram.

His brother gave a nod, but there was something else beneath his perfunctory smile and his murmured good wishes.

‘And Nairna?'

‘I don't know,' Bram admitted. ‘She won't tell me if she is or not. It's something she wants badly.'

‘I hope all goes well for the both of you.' Bram only grunted, and Alex added, ‘It's never easy, even when the child isn't born yet.'

The more he thought of Laren, the more he worried. Though she had admitted that she wasn't feeling quite
herself, ever since the night they'd spent together, she'd grown quieter.

‘It will be all right,' she tried to reassure him. ‘I promise, I'll take no risks with this bairn.'

She'd appeared paler than usual, but when he'd questioned it, she'd simply embraced him, saying, ‘I'll miss you, that's all.'

Every part of him wanted to stay with her, though it wasn't possible. He could only pray that they would remain safe from harm.

 

They travelled west for most of the day, and when night fell, they reached the outer boundaries of Moristerry, the MacLachors' stronghold. ‘Remain hidden,' he said to Bram, drawing their horses away from the open land and more towards the tree line edging the mountains. He wanted to gather more information about them before they approached in the morning.

Bram drew his horse to a stop. ‘We should climb to higher ground and make our camp. Then we can watch them and see what's happening.'

Alex followed Bram into the trees, until they reached a flattened section of the hill where a tiny waterfall streamed downhill, offering a place for the horses to drink. As they set up their camp for the night, Alex reached into a fold of his cloak, intending to strike flint for a fire. His hand came into contact with tiny teardrops of glass.

The hard bits of glass were emerald, ruby and sapphire in colour, along with a few clear droplets. Laren must have put them there when she'd said goodbye. They were the same pieces of glass he'd given her, years ago.

The physical reminder of his wife caught him without
warning. He squeezed the hard pieces, as if he could hold on to her.

And he knew then that she was thinking of him, just as he held her image in his mind.

 

Finian stared at the young girl in the afternoon light. She reminded him of his own daughter, with her sunny smile and innocence. His fists clenched as he remembered Iliana and the way she used to run into his arms as he scooped her up. He remembered her laughter when he tossed her into the air and how she'd clutched his neck when she came down again.

His throat closed up and he wondered what ills she had suffered at Harkirk's hands. Was she alive? Had they harmed her?

It had been too long. Now that the MacKinloch chief and his elder brother had left, his opportunity was at hand. He needed to act now, for his daughter's life depended on it.

Finian smiled at the child and offered his hand. She stared a moment, unsure of what to do. When he pulled a handful of dried cherries from a fold of his cloak, she took a step closer.

‘That's right, wee one,' he coaxed. ‘Come and have a taste.'

God forgive me for what I must do.

 

‘Where is Adaira?' Laren demanded.

Vanora sent her a questioning look. ‘I thought she was playing with Grizel by the loch. Isn't she?'

‘Grizel hasn't seen her in the last hour.'

Laren's skin grew icy. From deep inside, she sensed something was wrong. She started running towards the
loch, but there was no sign of her daughter. Her heart pounded faster as she searched, agonising over the thought of any harm coming to Adaira.

I should have stayed with her.
Her side ached as she kept running, praying she would find her unharmed.

She stumbled inside the cavern and her heart froze with fear. A foreign piece of parchment lay atop her glass with writing she couldn't read. And resting upon the paper was a lock of Adaira's hair.

Laren gripped the lock of hair and a rage erupted inside her. Someone had taken her daughter. But where? And why?

Whoever had taken her daughter hostage was a dead man.

She seized the parchment and ran back to Glen Arrin, her anger brewing hotter until it boiled over. ‘I need someone who can read,' she demanded when she saw Dougal. Anyone to interpret the writing and discover what it meant.

‘What's happened?'

The lad looked confused and Laren answered, ‘Someone has taken Adaira. I need to find out who.' She held up the parchment and repeated, ‘Help me.'

Startled gazes eyed her and Laren realised that she'd been shouting. Her hand clenched the lock of her daughter's hair and she wished to God that Alex were here. If he were, he'd be tracking the man even now.

She took a deep breath, trying to find the inner strength she needed to keep from falling into hysteria. Adaira was her baby, her sweet girl who kept crawling into her bed when she was supposed to be sleeping with her sister.

Dougal was already off and running, but before he could get far, she spied a horse and rider approaching. Dressed in a priest's robes, the man continued on until he reached the
gates. He dismounted and walked towards them, a parcel in his hands. When he greeted them, introducing himself as Father Ossian from Inveriston, Laren couldn't gather her thoughts together. She didn't want to hear about the new kirk or answer questions about why the glass panels weren't finished. Right now, every thought was with Adaira.

Calm yourself,
she ordered.
This priest can read the markings, the same as any other.

‘Can you tell me what it says on this parchment?' Laren asked quietly, her pulse racing.

‘It's the MacLachor crest,' he answered. ‘They want your chief and his brothers to meet them at Lord Harkirk's fortress.'

Laren's mouth tightened into a line and her hands started shaking. Though she managed to thank the priest, she focused her thoughts on how to get Adaira back. Alex had left to meet with the MacLachor chief only a day ago. Would he find Adaira there? Or had they already taken her to Lord Harkirk's stronghold?

‘I've come to speak with your glass artist—' Father Ossian was saying.

‘Father Stephen already inspected the windows not long ago,' Laren interrupted. Her mind was scattered, not wanting to think of the glass when her daughter had been taken captive.

The priest sent her a curious look. ‘Father Stephen?'

‘Aye, one of your brethren.' She stared at him, not understanding why he wouldn't know Stephen. There were fewer than twenty men at the abbey. ‘You sent him with the measurements and instructions for the kirk windows.'

‘We have no priest of that name,' Father Ossian replied. ‘And the plans you speak of were stolen, nearly a month
ago. The priest we sent was robbed of his horse and belongings after he tried to help a wounded man. He returned to us and we had to redraw everything.'

The breath in her lungs seized up at the realisation that Father Stephen was not who he'd claimed to be.
Sweet Mother of God.

Laren let out a curse, for she knew, without any doubt, that the so-called priest had slipped past their boundaries and taken her daughter.

 

Alex awoke the next morning to find men surrounding them. He unsheathed his claymore and stood with his brother, slowly moving until he was back to back with Bram.

‘We came to talk with your chief about Harkirk,' he said. ‘I want to know more about the bounty he placed on my head.'

A tall blond man moved forwards, a shield and sword in his hands. ‘I am Brochain MacLachor, the
tánaiste
of our clan.' With a glance to his men, they spread out their forces. ‘And the bounty was on the heads of you and your brothers.'

‘We didn't come to fight,' Alex said quietly. ‘But if you strike the first blow, we'll defend ourselves. And I don't think you want to lose any more men.'

Brochain's face tensed, but neither he, nor his men, moved.

‘Harkirk is trying to stir up trouble among the clans,' Alex continued. ‘He wants us to turn on one another, because dividing the clans will weaken us.' With his weapon held steady, he never took his eyes off Brochain. ‘The chief's daughter may not even be alive,' he pointed out. ‘Why would you attack us instead of asking for help?'

‘We lost a dozen men trying to break into his fortress,' the man admitted. ‘Even with your forces, we aren't strong enough.'

‘Where is your chief now?' Alex asked. He'd never met Finian MacLachor, though he'd heard of the man.