Seduced by Her Highland Warrior (6 page)

Before she reached her husband, her path was blocked by two of their kinsmen engaged in their own conversation. ‘He's lost his mind, that's what,' said Brodie MacKinloch.
‘Thinks he'll rebuild out of stone instead of wood? That'll take years and the English will kill us all in the meantime.'

‘Who does he think he is?' said the other. ‘An English lord?'

‘We're leaving in the morning,' Brodie added. ‘And unless you want t'be hauling stone for the next year, you'd best do the same.'

Laren didn't move, but the women behind her had also heard Brodie's complaints. The men couldn't possibly conceive of anything beyond the broken-down fortress they'd known for years. Alex was doing his best to rebuild, yet they had nothing to offer but criticism.

She doubted if anything she said would change their minds, but as she passed she sent them a hard look, letting them know she'd overheard their complaints.

When she reached Alex, he stopped working, his face furrowed. ‘What is it?' he asked. ‘Something with the girls?'

She fumbled with her words, uncertain of what to say. ‘I just…wanted to see if you needed anything.' She lifted up the cup of water and Alex took it from her.

He drank, his eyes averted from her. ‘Nairna told me that you talked this morning about a way to bring in more money for the clan.'

‘Go on.' Laren kept her voice calm, though a cold anxiety filled up her veins. Had Nairna revealed anything to Alex?

‘She said that you found some of Father Nolan's glass inside the cavern and that you wanted to sell it to the Inveriston monks.'

Laren's heart nearly stopped, but she realised that her sister-in-law had told Alex only enough to give them permission to go.

He stared at her and the penetrating look made her uncomfortable. ‘You knew about the glass, didn't you?'

She gave a nod and her voice barely reached above a whisper. ‘Nairna's right. We should try to sell it.'

Her husband set the cup back in her hands. ‘A few weeks ago, when you sent Dougal away, was he trying to sell glass then? When he returned with counterfeit coins?'

She lowered her head in a nod. Guilt plagued her, for Dougal had got lost upon his journey home that night. ‘I know we should have told you.'

‘He won't be going this time,' Alex said. ‘Bram will take Nairna and she'll arrange for it to be sold.'

‘I want to go with them,' she blurted out, fully expecting him to say no. His gaze shifted to her bandaged side. To appease him, she added, ‘If I've healed enough.'

‘Why?'

In his eyes she saw more than a question. There was an emotion that he'd locked away and she found herself staring at the hardened face of a chief instead of her husband.

She took a risk and removed her glove. Without taking her gaze from his, she reached out to touch his fingertips. ‘Because it's important to me.'

He didn't look down, as she'd hoped, but his hand laced with hers, his thumb caressing the edge of her burned palm.

The aching touch caught the pieces of her heart. She held motionless and, for a moment, it seemed that the crowds of people were no longer watching.

‘Then go,' he said. Dark brown eyes stared into hers and she saw the longing in them.

She replaced her glove once more, half-afraid he would change his mind.

‘Thank you,' she whispered.

With the spell broken, Alex pointed to the work they'd done. ‘We've made good progress on the foundation. Better than I'd hoped. And the outer wall should be completed before the end of winter.'

She was acutely aware of his presence beside her. Once, he might have put his arm around her, warming her body with his cloak. Instead, he kept a careful distance.

‘What we build here will be stronger than it was before,' Alex was saying.

‘I hope so.'

The brief shadow of uncertainty passed over his face. Though no one could fault his efforts, she knew, as he did, that the people didn't want to rebuild the fortress in stone.

‘We need to be safe from invasion,' he continued. ‘And I think it's time we sent Mairin and Adaira off to be fostered. We've waited too long already.'

Her heart went cold, though she'd known the time would come. ‘Adaira is just a bairn.'

‘Do you want them here if Harkirk attacks again? It's too grave a risk.' His hands tightened at his sides. ‘I don't want them hurt.'

She knew he was right, but the idea of sending her daughters away was like cutting off her arms. ‘They're so young.'

‘We could send them further north to the Orkney Islands,' he offered. ‘My cousin and the Sinclairs would take them. They'd be safe from the English raids.' His face darkened at the mention of their enemy. ‘This war isn't over yet.'

Laren could hardly see, for her eyes were blurred with tears. ‘I'd rather wait until the spring. The journey would be safer for them.'

‘And what if we're attacked in the meantime?'

‘I want to spend these last few months with them.'

‘You need to consider what's best,' he argued. ‘You're thinking with your heart, not your head.'

‘And what if I am?' she shot back. ‘Why should I be so eager to send my girls away?' Her stomach hurt at the thought of being so alone.

‘Because you don't want them to die.' His voice was cold, with no sympathy at all.

Laren said nothing, trying to blot away the searing memories. It had been almost three years now, but she hadn't let herself grieve. She'd locked away the pain of her son, forcing herself to think of the children who were alive and needed her.

‘In the spring,' she repeated. ‘Let me have this last winter with the girls.'

He let go of her hand. ‘I'll make no promises. If there's even a sign of danger, they go.'

She supposed that was the best she could do. ‘All right.' Glancing around, she said, ‘Do you want me to see about a meal for the men?'

‘I think Nairna has already organised it.'

When Laren looked over at her sister-in-law, she saw that Alex was right. The women were busy cutting up mutton, while others were starting to set up hearth fires for cooking.

‘I'll see what I can do to help them, then,' she said, starting to move away from him.

‘Laren,' he interrupted. ‘Tonight, when I speak to the men, perhaps you could address the women. Hear their concerns and tell me what it is they're thinking.'

‘I can't,' she answered immediately.

‘I'm not asking you to speak to them,' he reiterated. ‘Only to hear them. I don't think that's too difficult.'

In his eyes, she saw the fervent wish that she would suddenly cast off her shyness and become someone else. Someone strong, who didn't hide herself away.

She closed her eyes, wishing she had the strength to try.

January, 1303

The tiny body was cold and rigid within the grave. Her son, her beloved David, was gone.

Laren couldn't voice a single word. He'd been alive for only four days and it seemed impossible that he'd breathed his last.

Hadn't she felt his soft face against the curve of her breast? Hadn't he cried until she'd comforted him, reassuring him of how much she loved him?

Beside her, Alex was silent. The shock of their son's death had been an ill omen, now that her husband was chief. It cast a shadow over them and she felt as though they were a thousand miles apart.

Her body was weakened from giving birth, but she couldn't bear to eat or drink. The numbing grief consumed her. Though Alex said something after Father Nolan completed the final blessing, she didn't hear it.

She walked away from him, needing solitude. She couldn't bear to hear any words of comfort, nor did she deserve his embrace.

Her path led her around the edge of the loch, leaving everyone behind. Even Mairin.

She couldn't cry, couldn't scream, couldn't rage against the Fate that had torn her baby out of her life. All she could do was walk. And when she heard Alex's footsteps following behind, she didn't turn around.

L
aren had just given the girls over to Vanora for an evening meal when Bram approached. ‘I saw the glass before Nairna wrapped it,' he said. His voice was low and there was a warning hidden within his tone. ‘You're going to tell Alex about this before we go.'

Her face must have revealed her hesitation, for he added, ‘If you don't tell him, I will. Be assured of it.'

She hadn't expected her brother-in-law to react so strongly. ‘Why does it matter if I tell him now or later? For all we know, it may have no value at all to the monks.' She clenched her fists, her nerves trembling.

‘Oh, it has value. And if I know my wife, she'll get exactly what she wants.' He nodded towards Nairna, who was busy speaking to a small group of women. ‘I've heard the others talking. They haven't the brains God gave a carrot, but they think you're spending your time in idleness. They've formed a false opinion of you.'

‘I don't care what they think of me.'

‘It reflects poorly on Alex. If they knew the truth, they
would show more respect to both of you.' Bram reached forwards and touched her glove. ‘You have until morning to tell him.' The scars around his throat tightened and she understood that he would uphold the threat.

While Bram returned to the wall the men were constructing, Laren let out the breath she'd been holding. She didn't feel at all ready to reveal this to Alex. Not when he was fighting to keep their clan together, to unite them in the rebuilding.

But Bram's words burrowed beneath her skin like a barb.
They think you're spending your time in idleness.

She wasn't. The glass she made did have value; she knew it in her heart. Somehow, she would use it to help all of them.

 

The torches flared in the darkness as Alex stood before the men. Once, there had been nearly three dozen. Now, they numbered fewer than twenty. In their faces, he saw discontent and frustration. ‘I thought we should join together and talk,' he began. ‘Some of you seem to have doubts about our rebuilding.'

‘It's a waste of energy,' came the voice of Brodie MacKinloch. ‘We haven't the men to build a castle. And what would we need it for? Our clan isn't important enough. The English will simply return and destroy what's left of us, now that the French are gone.'

‘If we build our homes of wood, they'll simply burn us out again,' Alex responded. ‘It's a greater waste of time.'

‘But faster.' Brodie stood, studying the faces of their kinsmen. ‘You seem to think we're one of the great clans of the north. But look at us. We've nowhere to live and hardly any food. If we want to survive the winter, we'll have to leave.'

Alex saw the agreement dawning over the faces of the men and he had to put a stop to it. ‘We've enough to make it through the winter, if everyone shares.' He stood up and met Brodie face to face. ‘Years ago, Tavin dreamed of building a great castle, one to defend our people. But we never believed we could do it.'

‘Because we
can't
,' Brodie argued.

Alex stepped forwards, using his height to stare down at the man. ‘And you're going to let the English defeat us, are you? You're going to run away to your wife's family in Perth, hiding like a coward?' He raised his voice almost to a shout. ‘They may have burned Glen Arrin to the ground, but I'll not let them scatter our clan. They will
not
divide us.'

His anger was barely contained, rising into a fury. ‘We're going prove to them that we're stronger. And if they dare to attack us again, their blood will fall upon our soil.'

‘Alex,' came the voice of his friend Ross, ‘perhaps it's better to be practical than to dream of castles and a fortress we can't afford.'

He spun, confronting the older man. ‘You don't believe our clan is worth fighting for?'

‘We've been fighting the English for years now,' Ross said. ‘And they keep coming back. We can't get rid of them.'

‘They want us to give up,' Alex said quietly. ‘They want us to hang our heads and dwell upon our losses, believing we're not strong enough.' He stared into the eyes of each and every man, letting his words fall upon them. ‘But they're wrong.'

He pointed to the hills and mountains in the distance. ‘We have wood from our forests. Stone from the
mountains. And the labour of our hands. If we don't stand together, more English garrisons will spread across Scotland. We've seen it with our allies and our enemies.' He met Ross's apprehensive look, adding, ‘If our clan splits apart, we'll have nothing. Not our friends. Not our clan. Not our freedom.'

An air of silence descended over the men. ‘If we rebuild our past mistakes, we'll only repeat them.' He turned to face the foundation of stone, pointing towards it. ‘It will take time, aye. It won't be finished by the spring, or even next winter. But if we build it the way it should be created, out of the sweat of our backs and the best materials we can find, it will last.' He turned back to them. ‘And it will remain standing when the English are gone from Scotland.'

His words descended upon them and the mood among the men shifted. Alex strode away, having said all he could. He walked through the darkness, hoping he'd convinced them. Along the way, Nairna's dog Caen trotted behind him. Though the animal likely only wanted food, it was good to have at least one supporter of his ideas.

When he reached Ross's house, he scratched Caen's ears. The homely dog licked his fingers, arching with delight from the affection. ‘Go back to Nairna,' he ordered.

Caen expelled a whuff of air and went on his way. When Alex entered the hut, he saw Vanora tending the fire while his daughters slept upon a pallet. ‘Where is Laren?'

Vanora shook her head. ‘She said she'd forgotten something that she left behind on her walk earlier.' The matron lifted her shoulders in a shrug. ‘I would have gone after her, except I couldn't leave the girls. I suppose she must have lost track of the time.'

‘How long has she been gone?'

‘An hour or so.'

A dark fear clenched inside him, for he couldn't understand why Laren would have left the girls alone for so long. It wasn't like her at all. He had visions of her lying unconscious and bleeding from the wound she refused to take care of.

Alex grabbed a torch and strode from the fortress, not bothering to notify his brothers of where he was going. He planned to scour the edges of the loch, praying he wouldn't find her anywhere near the water.

The night sky was clouded and moonless, and his torch cast a flickering reflection against the surface of the water. He ran through the sand, his eyes searching the ground in front of him. His blood pulsed with fear, and as he kept searching he smelled the scent of smoke. Though he knew Dougal had dumped a pile of ashes not far from here, the odour was stronger, almost as if a fire were smouldering.

His senses went on alert and movement caught his eye. Ahead, he saw a dark figure moving. He raised the torch and saw the gleam of Laren's red hair.
Thank God.
He breathed a little easier as she approached. Her eyes were weary, as though something troubled her.

‘Where were you?' he asked. ‘When Vanora didn't know where you were, I worried that you were hurt.'

‘I'm all right,' she said, moving past him.

But he caught her gloved hand and forced her to stop. ‘You had a reason for coming out here alone. What was it?'

She shivered in the darkness. ‘I was just making sure the glass was ready for our journey. I…wanted to be certain we were taking the best pieces.'

Around her body, he caught the scent of fire smoke. And once again, he saw the faint perspiration on her skin, as
though she'd been standing near a hot fire for a long time. She seemed to sense his unease.

‘Alex,' she murmured, ‘there's something I need to show you.'

From the heaviness in her voice, he didn't know what to think. She was acting nervous, almost as though she were afraid of him.

He followed her along the edge of the loch. Before he realised it, they were standing in front of the small white stone that rested on the hill. Laren started to walk past it, but Alex trapped her hand. ‘Wait.'

He didn't want to pass their son's grave without voicing a silent prayer for David's soul. ‘I wondered if perhaps you came walking here, to be with him.'

In the moonlight, her face had gone so white, she looked miserable. ‘I can't look at it whenever I walk past,' she admitted. ‘It hurts too much to think of him.'

Though it had been almost three years since David had died, not a day went by when he didn't imagine how their lives would have been different. This was the son he'd longed for. The boy he'd wanted to follow in his footsteps, just as he had idolised his own father Tavin.

Laren closed her eyes, but she didn't weep. The more he thought of it, she hadn't wept at all when she'd held the infant's body in her arms. Instead, she'd locked her grief deep inside, the way he had.

Not once had he released his emotions, for he'd had to be strong for their family. And though it weighed upon his spirit, he couldn't reveal his pain in front of the clan. It was best to let David go and not to let anyone know how deeply it had affected him.

‘He'll never be forgotten,' he said at last.

‘No.' She lowered her face, wrapping her arms around her waist.

Though it was dark, he could see the pain on her face. Like a haunted spirit, he sensed her fading away from him. He hadn't meant to hurt her by bringing her here; he'd only intended to honour their son's memory.

‘Come,' he said, leading the way. ‘You wanted to show me something.'

Laren joined him and they walked through the sand to the entrance of Father Nolan's cavern. He saw the light glowing from the far side and immense heat radiated within the air. From a first glimpse, the cavern appeared other-worldly, almost as if it were inhabited by fey spirits. Apprehensions took root inside him, and when he looked to Laren, her face masked any reaction.

She stopped at the entrance and gestured for him to go inside. When he did, he saw a boy tending the fires, slightly younger than Dougal. Ramsay was his name, Alex recalled.

The boy froze at the sight of Alex and stared down at the ground, his hands clenched with uncertainty.

‘It's all right,' Laren murmured. She nodded toward the outside. ‘Thank you for keeping the fire going. Go and get some sleep now. You can return in the morning.' She reached into a pouch that hung at her side and handed him some dried meat and an oat cake, that he accepted.

‘I started the green melt,' Ramsay muttered, before he crammed the food into his mouth and fled.

Alex had no idea what the boy was talking about, but the interior of the cavern was roasting hot. He removed his cloak and loosened his tunic, walking in front of the furnaces. Rows of pipes were set within one of the openings and inside another he saw clay crucibles.

When he reached the last fire, he turned to face his wife. Laren's blue eyes stared at him and slowly she removed her gloves.

Upon her hands and forearms he saw mottled red skin and burn marks he'd never noticed before. ‘My God, what happened to you?'

Alex crossed the cavern to examine her. From the look of them, they were not recent marks. Even so, he was almost afraid to touch the skin, for fear of hurting her.

‘When did you burn yourself?' It seemed that there were multiple scars, some older than others.

‘The burns are from the times when I caught a heated segment of the pipe. Or when I was careless with the fire.'

Alex stared at Laren. ‘You're saying that the glass Nairna wants to sell…is yours?'

She lowered her head in a nod, then raised it again. ‘Yes.'

He kept his stare fixed upon her. If she'd said she'd created diamonds out of grass, he couldn't have been more surprised. But it did explain why she disappeared each day for hours on end. And why her hair often smelled of smoke.

And the scars upon her hands.

He couldn't take his eyes off her burned skin, unable to grasp the truth of it. It was as if the woman he'd married had disappeared, leaving another woman in her place. ‘When did you learn to make glass?' he asked, keeping his distance from her.

‘Almost three years ago.' Her voice was quiet, emotionless. ‘Just after we lost David.'

Though she was saying something about how she'd needed to bury herself in work, that she couldn't be around
the keep because it reminded her too much of the baby, all he could think of was that she'd harmed herself.

By playing with fire, she'd caused scars that would never go away. She'd taken grave risks, injuring herself, to make glass that she'd hidden in this cavern. The image still didn't fit the wife he'd married.

Laren.
His Laren.
Making glass?

She hardly talked to anyone and seemed overwhelmed at the thought of running a household. How could she transform sand and other elements into glass? It seemed impossible.

He caught her hand, another suspicion taking root. ‘There were nights when you said you needed to sleep with the girls.' He kept a firm pressure upon her fingers. ‘Did you leave Glen Arrin to tend the furnace?'

Her face paled, but she admitted the truth. ‘Yes. After all the work I'd done, I didn't want the fire to go out and lose the glass. I had to do it alone, the first few months after Father Nolan died. I lost many, many melts until Ramsay agreed to be my apprentice.'

There were so many lies she'd told, so many deceptions… He no longer knew what to think of her. Why hadn't she confessed the truth? Why would she build up stories about taking walks, about sleeping with the girls because they were frightened of the dark?

And most of all, why hadn't he noticed? All of the signs had been there.