Seduced by Her Highland Warrior (5 page)

‘I know you're good at weaving and sewing tapestries, Laren, but I need you to stand at my side, as Lady of Glen Arrin. As the wife I need.'

She didn't correct his assumption, but in his voice she heard the criticism, the disappointment in her.

When she remained silent, he continued talking. ‘I know you're uncomfortable in front of so many people, but Nairna could help you. And once we've rebuilt the keep, the pair of you can work together to oversee it.'

‘That's not what I want.' The words blurted forth before she could stop them.

‘We can't go back to the way it was,' he said quietly. ‘I'm the chief now. I can't turn my back on the MacKinloch clan.'

‘I wouldn't ask that of you—' her heart felt leaden, but she needed him to understand ‘—but you're asking me to be someone I'm not.'

‘I'm asking you to
try
, for God's sakes,' he shot back. ‘Hiding yourself away in a cavern isn't the sort of life you should have.'

She didn't bother to hide her tears, but he couldn't see how he was breaking her apart. To him, being a leader was nothing more than making decisions and addressing the crowds. It was as natural to him as breathing.

To her, it was like being carved apart by knives.

‘We were happy before you were chief,' she whispered. ‘We had enough.'

‘Even if I gave you a castle, it wouldn't be enough, would it?' He raked his hand through his hair. ‘Laren, I don't know what you want. I can't read your mind.'

I want you to love me for the woman I am. Not the woman you want me to become.
But she couldn't say that. He'd never understand.

When the long silence stretched between them, Alex opened the flap to their tent. ‘I'm going to meet with Robert the Bruce in the spring. He might be able to help our clan recover from our losses if we swear fealty to him.'

‘Our freedom in exchange for silver?' she mused. ‘To fight his battles against the English?'

‘What choice do we have?'

‘There's always a choice.' She met his gaze and pleaded, ‘Don't go to the Bruce yet. I'll speak with Nairna and see if there are goods we can sell to earn a profit.'

‘There's nothing we have, Laren. Everything was burned.'

She didn't argue with him, for he would only ask questions if she denied it. On the morrow, she would ask Nairna to help her visit the parish of Inveriston, to try to sell her glass.

She envisioned a stone building facing east with the sun glimmering through one of her windows. The bejewelled colours would cast coloured light upon the floor, illuminating the people.

The vision held her so tightly, she didn't notice when Alex went inside the tent alone. And when she finally
joined him, she forgot about the pain of her wound, she was so entranced by the vision of glass and light.

It wasn't until morning that she realised he'd slept on the other side of the tent, far away from her.

May, 1300

The interior of the cottage was cold and dark. It lay on the outskirts of Glen Arrin, far away from the others. The faint scent of dried herbs lingered and she saw her mother Rós's abandoned drop spindle. Laren traced her fingers over the wooden walls, remembering how she'd huddled on the pallet with her younger sisters for warmth.

Some nights, when her father had managed to catch a trout from the loch, they'd feasted together, sharing the succulent fish. She remembered the way he'd told stories, exaggerating the adventure he'd had when trying to secure their meal.

Closing her eyes, she tried to will back the hurt. He'd never been good at farming or fighting, but he'd done his best at both. And he'd been a kind man.

‘Laren?' came a male voice.

She turned and saw Alex standing in the doorway. Her breath caught and she had to push back the urge to fly into his arms.

‘I thought I might find you here,' he said. ‘Father Nolan told me your mother and sisters went to St Anne's.'

She nodded. Not by their choice, but by his mother's hand. Grizel MacKinloch had suspected their courtship and she'd done everything possible to separate them.

‘I shouldn't be here,' she whispered. ‘It was wrong of me to come back.'

‘Why?' His hands moved around her waist, pulling her into a light embrace. ‘I haven't seen you in two moons, and you behave as though it's been two years.'

‘You're the tánaiste now.' She knew what that meant, even if he was unwilling to acknowledge it. The future leader needed a woman of his own status, someone who could govern the clan.

‘I won't be chief for many years yet,' he said. ‘It's a title and nothing else.'

‘You have to wed a woman of status. It's expected of you.'

‘I'll wed a woman of my choice and no one else.' There was a hard edge to his voice and she wondered what had happened during the weeks she'd left Glen Arrin.

Gently, she touched his face. He didn't see her as low-born and something inside her blossomed, knowing that her poverty meant nothing at all to him. He'd never known what it was to go hungry when her father was too proud to ask for food. The other clan members hardly spoke to her at all, pretending as though her family didn't exist. If she were to wed Alex, and he became chief, she could only imagine their outrage. Why should a beggar deserve such a position?

Alex took the edges of his cloak and drew the wool around her, his body heat warming her. She could feel his body responding to her and wanted to lean in against him, letting him know how much she'd missed him.

But this wasn't only about her desires. It was about responsibility to her family. She'd seen Rós's happiness among the other nuns. No doubt her mother would seek to be a part of the religious community. Her sisters were too young to be married, but Grizel had promised to provide dowries for them, if their family stayed away.

‘Come with me,' he urged. ‘To our stone circle.'

She wanted to tell him no, for even a single step would
bring her closer to surrendering her innocence. And it would be that much harder to let him go.

He kissed her and the warmth of his mouth pulled at her, reaching past her inhibitions and fears, until she could deny him no longer.

She followed him into the woods, even knowing she would regret it on the morrow. But her heart belonged to him and, if she would no longer see him again, at least she could have this time.

He shared his cloak with her, his hand holding hers as they walked. But when she saw the circle of torches and the priest waiting, she understood his intent and stopped walking.

‘Alex, we can't.' She kept her voice low, not wanting Father Nolan to hear. ‘You can't wed me.'

‘I can. I swear to you, I'll not let you leave until you're my wife.' His strong arms trapped her in place and he led her over to one of the standing stones. He held up a hand to the priest, silently bidding the man to wait. ‘What is it you're afraid of?'

She expelled a breath, staring at the wooded darkness. ‘You're going to be the leader one day.'

‘Years from now, perhaps.' He turned her chin to face him. ‘Before that, I intend to be a husband. Perhaps a father.'

She didn't smile. ‘If I wed you, my mother and sisters will suffer.'

She explained that Grizel had ordered her family sent away, offering dowries for her sisters in return. Alex's face darkened with fury. ‘Do you believe I'd allow my mother to harm your family?'

He let his hands fall away, struggling to grasp at the
edges of his temper. ‘I have possessions of my own, Laren. I can sell them and provide for your family.'

She shook her head. ‘They would cut you off. Your uncle would never allow it.'

His brown eyes met hers and she saw a change in them. ‘You said once, that I was the only man you wanted. Is that true?'

‘Not if it means you have to make sacrifices for me.' Her voice trembled. ‘I would never want you to live the way I did, growing up. We were an embarrassment to the clan.'

She lowered her forehead to his chest as though she could draw comfort from him. ‘I would never want to bring shame to you. You would grow to resent me, for I could never be the wife of a chief.'

‘Do you love me?' he asked. She heard his heartbeat beneath her cheek, and the words seemed to pull apart all her reasons for leaving him.

He forced her to look at him and when she did, she saw something beneath his stoic expression. Though he might be strong-willed, her refusal had wounded him.

‘I will always love you,' she whispered. ‘Even if you wed another, as you should.'

He took her hand in his, lacing their fingers together. ‘I know there's a need within you not to live the way your parents did.'

She said nothing, for it was true. The fierce desire to lift herself out of the poverty, to help her family, burned inside her with a determination she wouldn't deny.

‘Let me give you the life you should have had. All I want in return is you. I swear, I'll protect your family and live with whatever the consequences may be.'

Before she could voice an answer, his mouth covered
hers. He kissed her like she was the air he needed to breathe, everything he had ever wanted. She tasted his need, his desire, and as she lost herself in his arms she sensed how deeply it would cut him down if she left him. Even if it was the right thing to do.

Torn between her selfish desire to be with him and the damning consequences, she released her own feelings in the kiss. She clung to him, desperately trying to make him understand how much he meant to her.

The sound of someone clearing his throat only vaguely broke through the spell. Alex pulled back and she saw Father Nolan's reddened expression as he shifted his weight from one foot to the other. ‘Shall we proceed?' the priest prompted.

‘I'll give it up,' Alex said, ‘if being the tánaiste means losing you.'

She saw that he meant it. And though she quailed at the thought of ever being a chief's wife, she couldn't let him walk away from this. It might be a dozen years before Alex would ever have to be the leader. Her doubts began to weaken when she shook her head. ‘I won't let you give it up.'

‘Will you take me as your husband?' he asked again. ‘Will you let me protect you and make a home for us?'

She took his hand in hers, and said quietly, ‘I will be your wife.'
And I swear that I'll never bring shame upon you,
she vowed silently.
I will find a way to make myself worthy of being yours.

The priest began to speak a blessing in Latin as he joined their hands together. And when the marriage rite was completed, her new husband sent her a smile. ‘Begone, Father Nolan. I'm wanting to be alone with my wife.'

‘B
ring her to me.' Lord Harkirk lifted his hand and stared at the Scottish chief who stood before him. Finian MacLachor's dark hair was cast with grey, his clothing ragged. Blood trickled from his lip, while his gaze was focused upon the door.

Within moments, soldiers brought forth a young girl hardly more than ten years old. She was sobbing as the men gripped her arms.

‘You should guard your women more carefully,' Harkirk said to the warrior. He enjoyed watching the man's face transform with a father's fury.

‘Let her go,' MacLachor responded, his voice like the point of a sword.

‘Not yet.' Harkirk folded his arms and gestured for the men to take the girl away.

She screamed, ‘Da, don't let them take me. Please!'

MacLachor's face turned murderous, and if he'd had a weapon, no doubt Harkirk would have seen him lunge.
He didn't respond to his daughter's begging, but his cold grey eyes grew focused. ‘What is it you want?'

Harkirk sat down upon the carved wooden chair, enjoying the man's discomfort. He accepted a cup of wine from a servant, taking a sip to clear his throat. Though he had more than a few Scottish prisoners held captive within his fortress, it wasn't enough. He'd suffered humiliation and defeat from the MacKinloch clan. And his ally, the Earl of Cairnross, had been brutally murdered by Bram MacKinloch.

‘I want you to bring me the MacKinloch chief,' Harkirk answered. ‘And his brothers.'

MacLachor's face twisted. ‘Because they defeated you?'

Harkirk threw the cup of wine across the room, the silver goblet clattering against the floor. ‘Because you want your daughter to live. And because I'll give her to my men to enjoy. If you want to see her again, her virtue intact, you'll bring me their heads.'

Although he had the forces to go after the MacKinlochs again, Harkirk saw no reason to risk the lives of English soldiers or the ire of his king. Edward Plantagenet was not known for mercy; though he wanted the Scots beneath his reign, his first priority was to dim the uprisings in the north-west region.

Harkirk calmed his temper, gathering a patience he didn't feel. There was a way to accomplish vengeance, using the blood of Scots instead of his own men. Better to unite the clans against the MacKinlochs, letting them take down his enemy. The king wouldn't care if the Scots murdered each other.

‘We can't defeat them,' the MacLachor chief argued. ‘The MacKinlochs are too strong.'

Harkirk crossed the room and grasped the man's throat
while his soldiers held the warrior's arms back. ‘I watched their fortress burn. Everything they have lies in ashes. Now is the time to strike. And you'll do it for me, if you want your daughter to live.'

His face twisted in a smile. ‘You can't protect all of them. A pity your wife is dead. But you have a sister, don't you?' He released the man's throat and ordered, ‘You have until the Feast of Saint Agatha to bring me the first head. Or I'll take your daughter's instead.'

 

Alex brought Laren back to Glen Arrin the following morning. When she departed, the first place she went was towards Father Nolan's cavern on the far side of the loch. Frustration seeped through his mind and heart. Last night, he'd hoped to convince her to try harder, to be strong and stand at his side instead of abandoning him. But he'd begun to realise that Laren wasn't going to change.

When it had just been the two of them and young Mairin, Laren had been a different woman. She'd devoted her time to their baby, spending her free hours weaving. She'd always had an eye for colour, and he'd marvelled at the vivid tapestries she'd woven.

But, most of all, he remembered the way she would stop whatever she was working on and fly into his arms, greeting him with a warm kiss. He'd thrived upon her affection, looking forward to it at the end of each day.

Now, she rarely offered a kiss in greeting or in farewell. He missed that.

He watched Laren disappear along the shores of the loch, her red hair streaming out behind her from beneath the mantle she wore. And with every step she took away from him, it hurt a little more.

Alex took a breath and turned back to the task of setting
down the new foundation. He'd widened the space, making it larger than it was before. The structure of the keep was now the size of a Norman castle, one sizeable enough to keep several families together.

Bram was the first to notice what he'd done. ‘This won't work, Brother. It'll take three times as long to build it from wood.'

‘Not wood. Stone.' Alex stood up and pointed to the hills. ‘We'll need to bring wagons up to the quarry, but this has to last longer. And the danger of fire is less.'

‘We don't have the men to build something that large,' Bram argued. ‘Has your mind gone soft?'

‘It's what our father wanted,' Alex reminded him. When they'd been growing up, he well remembered sitting at Tavin's knee, hearing the promises his father had made. One day, the MacKinlochs would be strong enough to have a castle of their own. As a young boy, he'd looked up to his father, wanting so badly to make him proud.

And though Alex knew he wasn't the chief Tavin had wanted, he could give him this legacy.

‘We'll build it in stages, starting with an outer wall.' Alex nodded toward the horizon. ‘Lord Harkirk is going to attack again, so we'll need that defence.'

‘We'd need twelve walls to hold him off,' Bram argued. From the doubt upon his brother's face, Alex knew he had a lot of convincing to do.

When they passed the stables, he saw that Dougal had built a makeshift shelter for the horses with Callum's help. The two men walked forwards to join them and Alex complimented him. ‘The shelter looks good.'

Dougal acknowledged the compliment with a half-smile, but it faded. ‘I thought you should know…Brodie
is going east, to Perth. He's planning to live with his wife's family at the Murrays.'

‘We need every man to stay, if we want to rebuild Glen Arrin,' Alex insisted.

Bram could only shrug. ‘You'll have to talk to them.'

Alex didn't answer. He knew he had to bring them together, but would words accomplish anything? Too many had lost so much.

‘Tell the others I want to talk with them tonight, then gather a group of men to go to the quarry,' he told Bram. To Dougal and Callum, he instructed, ‘Prepare the horses and wagons.' It was going to take the better part of a year to finish a castle, but, if they worked hard over the next few weeks, they could get the foundation and outer wall completed.

Callum drew closer and rested his hand upon Alex's shoulder. Though his younger brother didn't speak, he exerted a slight pressure, as a gesture of support.

‘We'll manage,' Alex told him. ‘Somehow.'

As his brothers departed, Alex surveyed the damage. Only five huts had survived the fires, and they'd lost fourteen men and boys in the fight—nearly a third of their clan. The grief and frustration threatened to close over him, but he shut out the emotions.

Though he wasn't meant to be chief, he'd sworn a vow to himself that he would prove his father wrong. He'd promised to give everything he could to Glen Arrin, placing the people's needs before his own.

And yet it had all fallen apart.

They couldn't live this way, not with their pride splintered, their homes in ashes. Somehow, he had to gather the people back together. If they could help each other,
they'd overcome their losses. But, most of all, they needed to rebuild their pride.

A hardness clenched his throat and his gaze shifted toward the loch and the site upon the hill, marked with a white stone. He couldn't forget his son's death. Not even after nearly three years had passed. He blinked, forcing his gaze away. He knew what his grieving kinsmen were feeling right now, with their family members gone. Work was what they needed, to take their minds off the suffering and to go on.

It was what he had done. Because the moment he allowed himself to stop and think, the numbing grief would close in.

Work was the answer. The only answer he'd found for himself, when Laren had shut him out.

 

‘We'll leave for Inveriston in another day,' Nairna said. ‘I'll speak to Bram and he'll arrange it.'

‘I can't finish the glasswork by then!' The very idea was appalling. It took a full day and a half simply to make one colour, much less create a flat pane of glass.

Nairna's mouth curved in a sly smile. ‘Oh, I don't expect you to finish. We're going to get you a commission. Bring one of your smaller pieces and a sketch of the design you want to do. We'll get the window measurements and they'll pay one-third of the cost up front, plus all of your supplies.'

Laren stopped arguing. She'd never thought about a commission. But the idea of having enough supplies and the chance to craft a window for one of the kirks… Her mind flooded with ideas.

‘What if they try to cheat us again?' she asked, thinking of the time before when they'd sent Dougal to sell a piece of glass.

‘Dougal sold the glass to a merchant, not an abbot. And what does a lad of four and ten know about silver coins?' Nairna moved to the back of the cavern, sorting through pieces. ‘We'll use this one.'

She held up a frame that portrayed the rising sun over the loch. Laren had spent days trying to perfect the orange and yellow shades of glass and she'd experimented with the lead lines to create the effect of ripples in the water.

It was one of the first pieces that she'd been pleased with, a puzzle of glasswork that reminded her of the simple beauty around them.

‘You'll tell them that it represents holy baptism,' Nairna went on.

Laren gaped at her. ‘But it's just the loch at sunrise.'

Nairna gently set down the glass. ‘Not to monks, it isn't. The sun represents the resurrection of Christ, while the holy water washes us clean of our sins.'

‘It's the loch,' Laren repeated. She saw no reason to lie, not when the glass was pretty enough as it was.

Nairna put an arm around her and let out a sigh. ‘You see, that's why you need me, Laren. We tell them what they want to hear and they will pay us a great deal for the honour.'

‘Even if it's not the truth?'

‘It's the truth,' Nairna insisted. ‘Theirs, not yours.'

She still wasn't convinced, but Nairna had more experience with handling merchants and selling items. With a shrug, Laren acceded, ‘I suppose.'

‘Leave all of the bargaining to me. You simply measure for the windows and talk about what colours they want. And do
not
, under any circumstances, tell them that it's simply a loch.'

Laren smiled and Adaira came forwards, crawling into
her lap. Her daughter snuggled her face against her chest, and Laren held her close. There was a slight shadow of wistfulness upon Nairna's face and Laren knew her sister-in-law wanted a child of her own.

‘I'm glad you're here, Nairna,' she said. ‘And I hope we can profit from the glass, however slight it may be.'

‘It won't be slight. I promise you that.' Nairna took Adaira from her, lifting the child into her arms. She murmured sweet words to the bairn, nestling Adaira's cheek against her own.

‘How is Bram?' Laren asked as they walked around the far side of the loch.

‘He hasn't forgotten the years he spent imprisoned.' Nairna shifted the child's weight to her opposite hip. ‘And he's angry that Lord Harkirk still holds some of our countrymen captive. He talks of trying to free them.'

Laren shuddered at the thought of the men going off to fight again. She didn't want Alex endangering himself, not so soon after this battle. ‘We have to keep our men here,' she insisted. Though she was afraid of the hardships ahead, it would be easier to manage if they stood together. ‘They can't go off to fight. Not until we've rebuilt Glen Arrin.'

Nairna squeezed her hand and there was a silent promise between them. They would find a way to earn coins from the glass and pray God it would be enough.

 

The men were unloading stones from the wagons. Laren watched as they began forming a foundation while other workers built up walls around the outer perimeter of the fortress. She went to join the other women and they worked with the smaller stones, placing them into a dry stone wall. Her side ached, but her girls were eager to join in. They
gathered pebbles, tucking them into crevices, believing they were helping.

Laren wiped her brow and cast a glance at the other men. Her husband was directing the construction and he wore nothing from the waist up. Neither did his brothers, nor their kinsmen. They were sweating from the hard labour and none appeared to notice the cool weather.

‘I want a drink, Mama,' Mairin informed her.

‘I'll get you one.' Laren took the girls by the hand and led them forwards, dipping a wooden cup into a barrel that held water from the loch. They shared it between them and Laren filled it again, intending to take it to Alex.

When she passed by the women, she saw them watching her. Though it made her uncomfortable, she turned back and explained, ‘The men will be thirsty.'

‘For water?' Vanora scoffed. ‘Ross'll be wanting mead or ale.' But after Laren's suggestion, she, too, filled her cup until most of the women trailed behind, approaching the men. It felt awkward to her, having the others follow her example.

As Laren drew closer to her husband, mixed emotions of uncertainty and regret grew, centred inside her. Last night had begun almost as though Alex had wanted to start again, to mend the lost years. But as soon as she'd started to tell him why she spent time in the cavern, he'd focused only on her shyness.

Once, he'd loved her enough that it hadn't mattered. Now, she was afraid that he regretted marrying her. And she didn't know if she could be the wife he needed.