Seduced by Her Highland Warrior (7 page)

Mingled emotions fumbled within him, anger and confusion, but shadowed beneath them was the question that bothered him most. ‘Why didn't you tell me?'

She looked at her scarred hands, her mood turning sombre. ‘Because I knew you'd be angry with me. And
in the beginning, nothing I made was good.' She turned her gaze to the heated stones, drawing her knees up to her chest. ‘The colours were wrong. The glass cracked apart when I tried to cut it. Nothing I did had any sort of beauty.'

‘Then why continue?'

‘Because it kept me from thinking of David. I lost myself in the work and it made it easier to bear the pain. It didn't matter to me that I wasn't good enough. It was my escape,' she whispered.

‘You used to weave tapestries,' he reminded her.

She shook her head. ‘I couldn't touch a loom any more, because the last thing I wove was clothing for the baby. Making glass was different.' She turned back and raised her scarred hands to him. ‘I remember each of my mistakes and I won't repeat them.'

He went to her and touched her knuckles, studying the marred skin. He confronted her, unable to let go of the betrayal. ‘You lied to me.'

 

Laren didn't deny it. But she'd been half out of her mind after losing David and had needed solitude. She simply couldn't face the grief or her husband. Being around Alex only reminded her of the tiny infant who had stared at her with solemn blue eyes. The child who would never grow into a man. Even now, the memory of her son's face brought a searing pain to her heart.

Working with the glass had saved her from shattering apart and she couldn't regret the apprenticeship with Father Nolan.

‘I'm sorry.' She folded her hands, wishing he could understand. ‘But I knew you wouldn't approve.'

‘You're right.' He let go of her, rising to his feet. ‘It's dangerous and you've already injured yourself.'

‘It hasn't happened in a while,' she confessed. ‘I take precautions with the fires and it's not as dangerous as you think it is.' She reached for a crucible and added a blend of sand, lime and copper. She slid the clay container into the furnace, using a length of iron. ‘If I can sell the glass to the monks at Inveriston, the silver might help us.'

‘There are other ways we can earn coins for the clan, Laren.' He crossed his arms, as though he didn't want her to leave Glen Arrin.

She'd expected his response, but not the surge of determination that filled her. ‘I may not be as skilled as Father Nolan was, but it's good enough for the kirk.' She walked over to the stone surface where she'd laid out pieces of glass she'd cut and arranged into a wooden frame.

Alex stood with his back to her, silent for a long moment. She waited for his footsteps to approach, for him to see her work. Instead, he held his distance. ‘What other secrets have you kept from me?'

‘I've told you everything.' But from the distrust in his tone, she could see that he didn't believe her.

He stood at the doorway, his expression unreadable. She tried not to let his cool demeanour hurt her feelings, but it did. It seemed that he didn't even want to look at what she'd done. ‘Are you coming back with me?'

She shook her head. ‘I can't leave the melts—I've already sent Ramsay away.'

‘Stay, then, if that's your wish.' He cast a glance toward the stone table before he left the cavern, but he said nothing more. She'd hoped that somehow his reaction would
be different, that he'd find beauty in her work. But all he could see was her lie of omission.

Loneliness clenched her spirit as she neared the entrance to the cave and saw him trudging along the edge of the loch. The moonlight reflected off the silvery surface and Alex stopped at the hillside where their son was buried. For a moment, he got down on one knee, as if voicing a quiet prayer.

Laren closed her eyes and forced herself to retreat back into the cavern. She couldn't allow herself to think of David now.

As she touched the smooth glass, she concentrated on fitting together the broken pieces to decide where the lead lines would go.

 

She spent the next hour cutting the green glass into pieces, scoring the surface with a hot blade and cracking it apart before filing it smooth. But no matter how many hours' worth of work there was, she couldn't silence the worries in her mind.

Already she wasn't the wife Alex wanted. And now that she'd revealed everything to him, it had made no difference at all. She sat down, resting her head upon one hand. She'd made excuses about her shyness, telling herself that she couldn't be Lady of the clan.

Had she been hiding away with her glass, retreating from the outside world? It was true that the others ignored her, but was it because she'd done the same to them?

She didn't have many friends among the women of the clan. Only Vanora and Nairna, if she were honest with herself, and that was only because she'd spent more time with them. Even if she could overcome her fears, she sensed that
the others wouldn't want anything to do with her. Already they believed she spent her time in idleness.

As she tended the fires, her eyes blurred from exhaustion and regret. She didn't know how to mend her broken marriage or overcome her timidity.

The only thing she was certain of was that she couldn't live like this any more.

February, 1303

For over a month, his wife remained distant. Alex saw the wild grief in her eyes and nothing could take away the pain. From morning until night, Laren avoided the castle keep. She hadn't touched the cradle he'd made for David, nor had she put away the baby clothes she'd sewn. It was as if, by keeping the room the way it was on the day their son had died, she could somehow forget what had happened.

At night, she curled away from him on her side, as if she couldn't bear to be near him. As if it were his fault, somehow, that their son was gone.

He never spoke to her about it, for fear that it would unleash the frail bonds that held back his own anger and grief.

Then, one night, he'd found her sitting in their bed, holding the infant gown she'd made for their son.

‘It doesn't seem real,' she whispered. ‘It's as if I could look back in his cradle and find him there. Sometimes I hear him cry, in my mind.'

His throat closed in, but he remained standing in the doorway. Her words conjured up the crippling grief he held inside.

She folded the gown, looking down upon it. She looked so lost, so broken, he wanted to go to her and hold her tight. To grieve together, the way he needed to.

‘I know I have to let him go, don't I?' She turned to him, and the stricken look on her face caught him like a spear in his heart. ‘Could you…help me put his things away?'

She wanted him to sit beside her, to fold the tiny garments. To return their chamber to the way it was. Alex started to take a step forwards, but then his gaze fell upon the tiny wooden sword he'd made as a gift for his son.

God help him, he couldn't do it. If he dared to come any closer to Laren, the tight control he had over his emotions was going to break.

In the end, he did the only thing he could. He left her sitting there alone.

T
he next morning, Laren didn't see Alex at all. Dougal had said something about him being at the rock quarry with the others and she didn't know if he intended to bid her farewell for the short journey to Inveriston. When she started to walk towards the horses, she looked around for her daughters.

Mairin caught sight of her and raced over. ‘Mama, I found these for you.' She placed small rocks in Laren's hand, beaming as though she'd given her diamonds.

‘For you,' Adaira echoed, handing her some bruised blades of grass. The young toddler pursed her lips together and Laren bent down to give her a kiss.

When she'd promised the girls that she'd be back by nightfall, she gave up waiting for her husband and mounted the mare Dougal had readied for her. Her side was healing well now and it no longer pained her.

Bram sent her a hard look. ‘Isn't Alex coming?'

‘No,' Laren answered, ‘but he knows about the glass.' When he started to ask another question, Nairna brought
her horse over and shook her head, speaking softly to her husband. Thankfully, Bram let it go and led the way toward Inveriston.

 

All throughout the ride to the parish, Laren agonised over her conversation with Alex. She'd hoped that he would be surprised by the glass, even proud of her. Instead, he'd hardly said a word. The longer she thought about it, the more upset she became.

She'd poured her heart into the glass, giving it life with her breath. It was more than art. It was pieces of herself, destroyed by fire and born again into something beautiful.

Her hands clenched upon the reins of the horse, her cheeks growing colder from the wind. She wished they could go back to their life years ago, when they had lived with only each other. When they could close out the world and lie in each other's arms, content and whole.

She wanted him to love her the way he once had. When just being herself was enough for him.

Regardless of how far they'd drifted, he was the man she wanted. She still loved him, even though he'd become so different. He spent so many hours away from her and the girls, only coming back after he'd traversed every inch of Glen Arrin and talked to every family.

Or had he done so because he didn't want to come home any more? Her head lowered. The wrenching pain of the marriage was pulling her heart in two.

She watched Nairna and Bram riding alongside one another. Though the couple didn't speak, their eyes met from time to time. Their love was strong, their happiness tangible. She wanted that back for her own marriage.

You have to be the wife Alex needs,
her mind asserted.
You have to be stronger and face the people.

She didn't know if she could cloak herself in confidence, becoming another woman. Or if it would mean giving up the glass she loved.

Laren stared at the green hills, watching the mist drift across the trees. Transient and light, the low clouds were hardly visible in the sunlight. The way she sometimes felt among the clan. They didn't see her or know her. The truth was, she wasn't at all happy at Glen Arrin, aside from the time she spent with her daughters or with her glass.

Perhaps she should try to befriend the other members of the clan, not for Alex…but for herself. It might lessen the loneliness that she felt when he wasn't there.

Laren clutched the leather-wrapped package of glass and the closer they came to Inveriston, the more her stomach hurt.
Please, God, let it have value.

Her nerves trembled as Bram drew their horses to a stop and helped her down. Laren followed them inside the stone courtyard. While as Bram set up the meeting with the abbot, she stared at the interior of the monastery.

Within the chapel, she heard the echoing rise of the monks singing. The space was dark and enclosed, with only a small square window near the top, angled to prevent the rain from entering.

They won't want my window,
she told herself. It wasn't at all practical, for they would have to knock down part of the wall to open up the space. The more she eyed the monastery, the more she saw how plain it was. Men who lived and worshipped in such a space would not want colours to distract from their prayers.

Before she could form another thought, Nairna was leading her forwards and unwrapping the leather parcel of glass. While her sister-in-law extolled the qualities of the glass, explaining how the light could enter, Laren studied
the abbot. His wrinkled face was impassive, unimpressed by what he saw.

Her gaze fell to the ground. It wasn't good enough, as she'd feared.

But then he spoke. ‘Thirty pennies.'

Her gaze snapped to Nairna's in disbelief. Bram's hand came down upon hers in a warning to be silent. His wife smiled at the abbot. ‘I would think that a man of God would be ashamed to offer such a price, for something of such quality.'

‘We are but humble brethren, with few coins to spare.'

‘I am deeply sorry to hear it,' Nairna said, wrapping up the window. ‘For I know such a window would bring comfort to many in their prayers. I had hoped that you might wish to commission a window for the new kirk you're building. Our glass artist could create a window of any size, with any Biblical scene that might inspire others to faith.'

She nodded to Bram. ‘We'll continue on our journey to Locharr, and perhaps the Baron will want the window for his private chapel.'

Laren squeezed Bram's hand, seeing thirty pennies disappear with Nairna's words.

‘Wait.' The abbot reached for the window. ‘Let me see it again. It might be that I could obtain some funds from the bishop. And…' his gaze focused upon Bram ‘…if you believe it's possible to build larger windows, it would make our chapel a more fitting site for the relic we've just acquired.' The abbot blessed himself, saying, ‘It's a splinter from the Holy Rood.'

Laren made the sign of the cross, as was expected of her. And though most pilgrims would be overwhelmed by the thought of such a relic, her instincts warned that any
splinter of wood could look like another. How would they know if it really was the True Cross or not?

But then, such thoughts were blasphemous. She shouldn't let her doubts affect the faith of others.

She cleared her throat and interrupted, ‘Father, seeing as the kirk will be dedicated to the Holy Rood, would you desire a window representing the crucifixion?'

She could envision a three-panelled window with saints on either side, and an image of Christ. Already she was imagining a deep gold glass to create a halo effect, but she would need a special dark enamel to create the shadows of a face. The idea intrigued her, for she'd never tried it yet.

‘Who is this?' the abbot asked Bram, and Laren recognised the censure in his voice. This was not a man who would believe a woman capable of creating glass, much less a window that would inspire the people.

‘I am the…sister of the glass artist,' she lied. ‘He couldn't come, but he wanted me to answer any questions you might have, if you decided upon the commission.'

Nairna sent her a warning look, but the abbot didn't seem upset by her lie. Instead, he looked pleased by it. ‘I would like to know how your brother achieves such wondrous colours.'

Laren met her sister-in-law's gaze and remembered Nairna's words.
Tell them what they want to hear.

‘He prays and fasts before he does any melt,' she lied again, and offered, ‘Sometimes he is rewarded by beautiful colours in the glass, but there are times when the melts fail. It humbles him,' she explained and saw Nairna roll her eyes.

‘I believe we should settle upon our business now,' Nairna interrupted. ‘If you wish to purchase this glass for your brethren, the price is one hundred pieces of silver.'

Only the pressure of Bram's hand upon hers kept Laren from screeching at the unholy price Nairna had demanded.

The abbot laughed at her. ‘You must be mad.'

 

Within another quarter of an hour, Nairna had managed to scrape seventy-five silver coins from the abbot, plus an additional fifty pieces to cover the cost of glass supplies. The remaining hundred and fifty coins for the commissioned window would be paid in stages. The final amount to be given upon delivery of the glass.

‘You'll need to take the measurements,' Nairna said, nodding to Bram.

Laren handed him a spool of thick yarn, but the abbot declined, saying, ‘I will send one of our priests with the measurements, once we've determined the proportions of the chapel. He will also bring a sketch of what we have decided for the subject of the window.'

With the matter settled, Bram thanked the abbot, and Laren joined Nairna in bidding farewell. As they departed with the coins, she sent a last look towards the abbot and caught him smiling at the glass.

She looked away, hardly able to breathe. Her heart pounded so hard, her ears roaring, until she thought she might faint. One hundred and twenty-five pieces of silver. Because of her glass.

By the saints, she couldn't believe it. She could barely manage to hold her thoughts together as they rode away. Nairna and Bram had ridden ahead of her, while she continued behind them. As she rode through the valley, she couldn't stop her hands from shaking.

The wind stung at her eyes, and she followed them for several miles more, before Nairna stopped to wait for her.
When she caught up, the woman threw her hands up in the air and let out a celebratory scream.

Laren couldn't laugh or join Nairna the way she wanted to. Instead, the shock of success left her speechless. She hadn't truly believed the abbot would want her glass or that he would find her work worthy of paying for it.

‘What's wrong?' Nairna asked, coming up beside her. ‘You should be happy.'

She took her hand and Laren tried to brave a smile. ‘It's just…too much. I can't believe he would pay such a sum for a simple pane of glass.'

‘It's not simple,' Nairna insisted. ‘And when everyone finds out that you were responsible for bringing in such wealth, they—'

‘No.' She cut Nairna off. Though she'd have to tell Alex about their success, she wasn't ready to be put on display before the rest of the clan. Trepidation seeped into her veins, freezing up her courage. ‘I have to talk to Alex about it first.'

Nairna squeezed her hand. ‘You'll be the one to tell him what we've done this day. He'll be proud of you, I know.'

Laren wanted so badly to believe it. But as they began the journey home, her worries continued to grow.

 

Alex rode hard, Dougal and Callum trailing behind him. Brodie and his family had travelled just past the boundary of Glen Arrin, ignoring everything Alex had said the other night.

Damn the man for giving up so soon.

He pushed his gelding hard, bringing the animal up in front of Brodie, forcing the family to stop. ‘I won't let you turn your back on us, Brodie. We're your clan. Your family.'

Brodie's wife sent her husband a troubled gaze, her arms tightening around their young son. ‘It's not safe to live here any more, is it?'

‘Can their horses travel through walls?' Alex countered. ‘Can they burn down the stone?' He could see the flicker of uncertainty on Brodie's face and continued. ‘If we had rebuilt Glen Arrin in wood, aye. We'd be vulnerable. But we've made a strong start.'

‘We're taking him away from the fighting.' Brodie's hand went to rest upon his son's shoulder. ‘He'll be safe.'

‘Aye, he will. Here, with his family and friends.' Alex led his horse close enough that he could reach out to Brodie. ‘Turn back and look at Glen Arrin, Brodie.'

His kinsman did and, for a time, neither spoke. He wanted his friend to see the vast walls stretching around Glen Arrin, like a shield. ‘It's already changed from the place our fathers built. And when we're gone, it will still be standing, for our children.'

He regarded Brodie and saw the indecision on his face. ‘What legacy do you want to leave? The memory of a father who fought and won his freedom? Or a man who abandoned his clan, out of fear?'

 

Finian MacLachor stared at the fortress of Glen Arrin. Though the main structure was destroyed, there were two rows of outer walls being constructed from stone. The men were already working, and the smoke of outdoor fires blended in the cold air. The winter chill cut through his body, but he felt nothing at all.

His sister had begged him not to war with the MacKinlochs. ‘You can't be Harkirk's executioner,' she'd said. ‘Don't invoke the wrath of another clan.'

Especially a clan they'd been friends with. Tavin
MacKinloch had been like an older brother to him, when they were fostered together. He'd been only a boy, but Tavin had shown Finian how to fish in the lochs, how to hunt and how to charm women into getting what he wanted.

The memory brought an ache of regret. Tavin had been a good man. And though their clans had grown apart with their new chief Donnell, they hadn't raided one another. It was a respectful distance, one he was about to break.

The chainmail armour he wore was heavy, the icy links frigid against his skin. One hostage was all he needed. Someone close to the chief, perhaps their youngest brother. Or a wife. If he took a captive, the brothers would follow. They would hunt down his prisoner and then he would have all of them. His men could capture the MacKinlochs and take their heads to Harkirk.

Finian closed his eyes, the revulsion rising within him. This was Iliana, his daughter. The girl he adored, his only child. Already he could imagine the horrors Harkirk had brought against her and his blood raged at the thought. But when he'd tried to raise a group of men against the English Baron a sennight ago, the soldiers had cut them down. Finian had been the only survivor.

Harkirk's message was clear—rise up against me and suffer the consequences.

The MacLachor people now numbered fewer than fifteen. And the only way to save his daughter was to carry out the devil's work himself.