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He spun, advancing upon her. ‘I couldn’t give a damn about Glen Arrin right now. You were shot and tried to hide it from me.’
Laren took a step back, not at all sure of how to respond. Alex caught her shoulders before she could retreat, drawing her to face him. She didn’t want to bear the brunt of his anger, not when she was hurting so badly. But when she finally risked a look in his eyes, she saw the raw fear.
‘You could have died today,’ he said. ‘And you think I’m worried about a pile of burned wood and ashes?’ He raked a hand through his hair, struggling to push away his temper.
She didn’t move, couldn’t speak. Beneath his choked anger was a man who cared about her. The realisation seemed to cut off the air in her lungs, for she hadn’t known it. Over the past few years, their marriage had deteriorated until now she rarely saw him during the day or even at night. Being together had become a habit instead of a necessity.
‘I’m all right,’ she whispered.
‘Are you?’ His stare was harsh, disbelieving.
Her cheeks were wet and she didn’t know what to say or do. It was then that she noticed a reddish stain seeping from her husband’s sleeve. From the hardened look on his face, it had to be hurting him, yet he’d said nothing at all. Neither of them was willing to admit to injury, she thought, with irony.
‘What about you?’ she ventured. ‘Do you want me to look at your arm?’
‘No. See to the girls and their needs.’
Not mine. She heard his unspoken words and they cut her heart a little deeper. Once, he’d have let her touch him, and though she wasn’t the most experienced healer, he’d have submitted to her ministrations. No longer, it seemed.
Laren moved closer. She wanted to tell him that she would stand by him through this catastrophe. She wanted to reach out, to let him know that she still cared.
He looked back at her and in his eyes she saw the magnitude of his loss. She knew that he wouldn’t come home until late at night, after she was already asleep. Though she wanted to hold him, to rest her head against his chest, he had other, more important duties as the chief.
A hard lump gathered in her throat, but he lowered his head and turned away from her.
The selfish part of her heart wished he’d chosen to stay.
Alex walked across the fortress, his mind caught in a fog of helplessness. The scent of smoke permeated the air, choking his lungs. But even as he approached his brothers, he couldn’t stop thinking of Laren.
Confusion and anger collided inside him, along with a heavy fear. The arrow could have pierced a vital organ, spilling her life blood. The thought shook him deeply, for although he’d grown distant from his wife, he didn’t want to lose her.
It felt as though he’d been clubbed in the stomach. She hadn’t wanted him to stay or to help her. But why?
‘Are you all right?’ came his brother Dougal’s voice. ‘I thought you might want help.’ Only ten and four, Dougal had never witnessed a battle like this before—only cattle raids and clan skirmishes. There was a new maturity in his brother’s eyes, along with a sadness that mirrored his own.
Alex nodded, grateful for the distraction. ‘We should bury the dead.’
Within minutes, they were joined by their other brother Callum, who had recently been freed as a prisoner of war. Callum hadn’t spoken a single word, not since his release.
Alex bent down and picked up one of the bodies. His brothers helped and they began the gruesome task of gathering up the fallen. The faces of friends and kinsmen haunted him; he wished he could have done something more to protect his clan. But he revealed none of his grief to his brothers, keeping his expression guarded.
He seized a torch and a shovel, taking them outside the fortress. He chose a spot where the ground was soft and balanced the torch within a pile of heavy stones. He adjusted the makeshift bandage on his arm, so it wouldn’t bleed while he worked. Though it had grown dark, the three of them began digging a burial pit. The back-breaking work was what he needed right now to distract him from the sense of overwhelming loss.
He was the chief of the MacKinlochs. They would look to him to make the decisions, to know what should be done next.
You were never meant to be leader, an inner voice taunted him. His father Tavin had chosen Bram to be his successor. As the second-born, Alex had listened on the outskirts, drinking in all the knowledge, never dreaming that he would have to use it.
He’d made a thousand mistakes in the early years. But he’d learned from them, and never once had he revealed his frustrations … not to his kinsmen, and not to Laren. It was easier to pretend that all was well, for they needed a leader of strength. The men had come to trust him, knowing that they could bring their troubles and he would find the answers they needed.
He swore he’d find a way to rebuild what had been lost. Somehow.
Over the next hour, he worked with Callum and Dougal at his side. Having his brothers with him brought him a slight reassurance. Even if their lives had fallen apart, their keep lying in ashes, at least they were together.
Once the pit was finished, they buried the men and spoke a prayer for their souls. ‘Do you have a place to sleep tonight?’ Alex asked his brothers.
Callum nodded and pointed to one of the other houses that had been untouched by fire. Dougal joined with his brother and added, ‘Bram offered, but he and Nairna—’ His words broke off, his ears turning crimson. Alex could guess that the two young men had no desire to dwell with a husband and wife who were trying to start a family.
‘Walter has no wife and he offered to let us stay in his home,’ Dougal finished.
Since everyone had a place for shelter, Alex picked up the torch. ‘Get some sleep while you can. We’ll start again in the morning.’
They walked back to the fortress and Alex glanced up at the clear skies. Stars gleamed against the midnight blackness and there were a few hours before dawn. The faint scent of peat mingled with the night air, a familiar aroma that welcomed him towards Ross’s home. When he opened the door, he saw his friend and Vanora sleeping on the opposite end. Laren rested upon a pallet, the two girls in her arms. A bandage was wrapped across her side and he couldn’t see her face.
Alex stretched out on his side behind her, studying his wife as she slept. Her red hair hung over her shoulder and she slept in the gown she’d worn all day. She’d removed her cloak and spread it over the girls as a blanket. Even in sleep, she guarded and protected their daughters. She’d always been a good mother to them.
He reached for a strand of her hair, curling the silken lock over his hand. Laren stirred in her sleep, moving restlessly.
‘It’s just me,’ he murmured. He released her hair, his hand clenching into a fist.
She finally did roll on to her back. In the dim moonlight he spied the gleam of tears on her cheeks. From the tension in her posture, he saw that she was trying to brave her way through the pain.
‘How are you feeling?’
‘I’m all right.’ She kept her voice low, so as not to wake the children. But when she turned back to her left side, it occurred to him that their polite, quiet marriage had shifted on to unstable ground.
The arrow might well have pierced his own flesh, awakening him to the reality that his wife didn’t confide in him any more. If she felt unable to reveal a wound, what other secrets had she kept?
Laren disappeared each day for hours on end, never telling him where she was going or what she was doing. A tightness clenched his throat, for he’d never asked her. He’d been so busy worrying about the keep and its occupants, he’d forgotten about his wife. At the time, he’d believed he was merely giving her the freedom to come and go as she pleased, not wanting to make demands of her.
Perhaps at a deeper level, he hadn’t wanted to know why she was leaving, for fear that she wanted to avoid being with him.
He stared up at the ceiling of Ross’s home, knowing he wouldn’t find sleep this night. It had taken a single arrow to crack his illusions apart. They didn’t have a true marriage any more, only the barest shadow.
In the darkness, he rolled over to watch his wife trying to sleep. He couldn’t imagine a life without her in it.
He just didn’t know what he had to do to get her back.
Chapter Two
In the early morning Laren opened her eyes and saw Alex watching her. His eyes were heavy, as though he hadn’t slept at all. ‘How are you this morn?’ he asked.
‘Tired,’ she admitted, gingerly easing to a seated position so as not to tear the stitches. The wound was a dull ache now, the pain worse than yesterday.
‘I want to see your wound.’ Though his words were spoken quietly so as not to awaken their daughters, she detected an edge to his voice.
Laren pulled apart the dress seam they’d cut last night, removing the bloodstained linen she’d slept with. Alex stared at the wound, his hand moving forwards, but he stopped shy of touching her.
‘You’re staying inside with the girls today. I don’t want you anywhere near the ruins, not when you’re hurt.’
‘It wasn’t a mortal wound, Alex,’ she reminded him, feeling like a petulant child daring to argue with her parent. She bound up the wound again, adding, ‘There’s much to do and the girls and I will help where we can.’
Vanora came forward with Ross, and Alex turned to her. ‘See to it that Laren rests and doesn’t tear the stitches.’
He was talking about her as though she weren’t sitting in front of him. Frustration and resentment brewed inside her, but Laren held silent. The wound had torn her flesh in two places, but the stitches held it together and it wasn’t too deep. Yet there was no sense in arguing with him, not when he was in no mood to listen.
Soon enough, Alex left the house, not even bothering to break his fast. It was clear that his mind was focused on all of the work to be done. Ross joined him, the two men going off to survey the damage.
Vanora approached her, after the men were gone. ‘I’ve made you a poultice,’ she offered. ‘We’ll wrap it against your wound and it should be healed in a few more days.’
‘I’m not staying inside when there’s so much to do.’ The members of their clan would spend the entire day repairing what damage they could. She didn’t want them to resent her by remaining absent.
‘I agree with you,’ Vanora said. ‘There’s no point in sitting inside with all there is to do.’ She unwrapped Laren’s wound, packing the herbs against her raw flesh.
‘Mama, does it hurt?’ Mairin asked, her face worried when she saw the bandage.
‘Not really,’ Laren said, pressing a kiss onto her daughter’s forehead. ‘Vanora has some oat cakes for you if you’re hungry.’ With the distraction of food, her daughter scrambled away.
‘She reminds me of my daughter Nessa when she was younger,’ Vanora sighed. ‘I do miss her, now that she’s gone back to Locharr.’ With a glance to Laren, she added, ‘But I’m glad she wasn’t here when we were attacked.’ She reached out and gave the baby a warm hug.
Adaira toddled towards Laren, her baby lips puckered. ‘Kiss, Mama.’ Though she was not quite two years old, she alternated between wanting to cling to Laren’s legs or demanding that she do everything by herself.
Laren leaned down and pressed her mouth against the baby’s, feeling the sweetness of innocent affection. ‘Go with your sister, sweeting.’ To Mairin, she directed, ‘Get Adaira a cake to eat.’
‘You shouldn’t let Alex speak to you that way,’ Vanora said, dropping her voice. ‘Chief or no, you should stand up for yourself.’
Laren supposed it might seem that way to an outsider. ‘It would do no good,’ she admitted. ‘Once he’s made up his mind, he won’t listen to any arguments.’
‘Nothing wrong with a fight now and then,’ Vanora said, sending her a wicked look. ‘Sometimes strong words can lead to making up.’
Laren coloured, knowing exactly what the matron was implying. But she didn’t enjoy verbal sparring, and it was doubtful that it would lead to anything more. Alex hadn’t touched her in a long time. Over the past few months, he’d started coming to bed late at night. He fell asleep almost immediately and rose at dawn. The days when he’d reached for her in the morning, stealing a kiss or making love to her, were long gone.
She didn’t blame him for it. It was part of being chief of the clan, and she understood the obligations he faced. But sometimes … she was lonely.
If Alex had shown the slightest desire to be with her, to talk with her the way he’d used to, she might have told him the secret she’d kept for nearly three years—the one that had kept her from burying herself in grief when she’d lost their baby.
When her husband could offer no solace, she’d gone to the priest, Father Nolan. The older man had taught her the art of glassmaking as a means of occupying her time. With fire and breath she’d found redemption and beauty. There was nothing more miraculous than the blending of sand, minerals and heat to form colourful panes of glass. The craft had given her hope and helped her survive those nightmarish months when she’d barely slept or eaten from the heart-wrenching loss.
Within a year, she had become the priest’s apprentice and in the craft she’d found the part of herself that she’d lost. Now, she could no more give it up than she could give up breathing. But she’d done it in secret for so long, she was afraid to tell anyone. Only her apprentice Ramsay, Nairna and Lady Marguerite knew of it. She didn’t know what Alex would think, for she was afraid he wouldn’t see the value in it.
You need to put aside your fear and try to sell your pieces, she told herself. If she could find a buyer, the silver coins would allow them to replenish the food and supplies they’d lost during the battle. It was her best hope of helping the people.
But the last time she’d tried, it had resulted in disaster. She and Nairna had given Dougal the glass, not telling him where it was from, and he’d been cheated by a merchant. The weeks of hard work were lost for ever, and she still felt the disappointment of it.
Vanora cooked more oat cakes for the girls while Laren went to warm her hands near the fire. The beechwood was dying down into coals, with plentiful ashes from the night before. She poked at the wood, stoking the flames. Though she forced herself to eat with the girls, she wasn’t particularly hungry.
As she stared at the heated coals, she thought of the immense heat necessary for making glass. Her mind started to drift, and she imagined spending the day with her sand and minerals. She needed more ashes and—
Ashes. There were plenty of those now, weren’t there? If she gathered them up, the raw materials would allow her to make larger quantities of glass. Alex won’t like it, her mind warned. He ordered you to stay out of the way.
She dismissed the thought. Likely he wouldn’t even notice she was there. The girls would enjoy helping her fill buckets of ash, especially if she challenged them to bring as many as possible to the cavern.
‘Girls, are you finished eating?’ she asked. Mairin nodded, taking Adaira’s hand. ‘Good.’
Laren made sure the girls were dressed warmly enough, pulling a hood over Adaira’s hair. ‘We’re going to go and help your father. I want you to find wooden buckets and you’ll help us to clean up.’
‘And what will you say to your husband when he finds you’ve disobeyed him?’ Vanora prompted.
She sent the matron a slight shrug and a smile. ‘What were you saying about a good fight, now and then?’
Vanora beamed and led the way outside. Laren reached for a wooden bucket and asked, ‘May I take this and bring it back to you later?’
The matron nodded. ‘I’ll come along with you.’
They walked towards the burned remains of the keep. Further ahead, Laren heard the sounds of boys fighting. She motioned for Vanora to keep the girls back while she went to investigate.
‘Thief! Did you think you’d get away with stealing?’ The adolescent boy pounded at a crouched figure who was bleeding in the dirt. Another boy stood on the opposite side, kicking the victim.
‘Get away from him!’ Laren reached in and grasped the older one by the back of his tunic, trying to pull him off the boy she couldn’t see.
When she revealed the victim’s face, she suppressed her cry of dismay. It was Ramsay, her apprentice. The tow-headed boy was eleven years old, and he had a bloody nose from the fight. But there were also older bruises, likely from his father’s fists. In his grimy hand, he held a crust of bread.
‘What happened?’ she demanded. ‘Why would you fight over bread?’
‘Our grain stores burned,’ the first boy said. ‘We caught him stealing from our da.’
‘Do you think your chief would let a family go hungry? Would he deny you food?’
‘Ramsay should’ve gone elsewhere to beg.’
Laren shook her head, sending the boy a look of disgust. ‘Go back to your homes. Leave him alone.’
When they’d gone, she knelt down beside her apprentice and used her hand to wipe away the blood. ‘Can you sit up?’
Pain wrinkled his mouth, but Ramsay managed to nod. His fingers were still clenched around the crust of bread.
‘Did you steal that?’ Laren asked quietly. His face coloured with shame and his silence was answer enough.
‘You could have come to me,’ she said gently.
He kept his head lowered and she knew he hadn’t asked her for food out of pride. ‘Go to the cavern and start the furnaces,’ she ordered. ‘I’ll bring food to you when I come.’
The command seemed to break through his dark mood and stony grey eyes stared into hers. For the past year, Ramsay had been her apprentice, helping her to keep the furnaces running. It gave him a means of escaping his father’s fists and she couldn’t make her glass without him.
‘Do you want me to start a melt after the furnaces are hot enough?’ he asked, in a low voice.
‘Not yet. I’ll join you later and select the melts that I need.’ With any luck, she’d have the ashes she wanted by that time.
She helped Ramsay stand, noting that he’d need warmer clothes before long. The last garments she’d given him had disappeared. Likely his father had taken them away or traded them.
As he shuffled towards the cavern on the far side of the loch, she saw the shadow of herself as a girl. She knew what it was to be cold and hungry, too proud to accept handouts from others.
Never again, she swore. She’d not let any of her loved ones go without food or clothing. Not her own children, and not boys like Ramsay, who had no one else to care for them.
Her apprentice had shown promise in the skill of glassmaking and his unyielding desire for accuracy had served him well. He drank in the knowledge as fast as she could give it.
When she returned to where she’d left Vanora and the girls, she saw that the matron had brought them among the crowd of people. Several younger men had axes and were walking towards the forest to begin cutting wood. Others were busy hauling away the burned wood in carts.
Laren remained on the outskirts, where she saw Bram’s wife Nairna organising people into groups. The woman was like a commander, giving out orders with a natural sense of leadership. She moved with such confidence, as if she knew exactly what to do. She wasn’t at all afraid of the crowds or telling people what tasks to accomplish.
‘You should be up there,’ Vanora said, when Laren reached her side. ‘Not Nairna. You’re the chief’s wife.’
Laren’s cheeks flushed at the admonition. But what could she do? Standing in front of large crowds terrified her. She felt every flaw was magnified in their eyes.
‘They don’t respect you,’ Vanora continued. ‘You hide away from them without even trying.’ The matron took her hand, leading her forwards. ‘I don’t mean to hurt your feelings, a charaid, but if you’re wanting to help, you need to stop being so shy and take the role that belongs to you.’
Laren knew Vanora was right, but she couldn’t change her fears any more than she could change her nervous heartbeat from racing inside her chest. Her skin grew cold, goose bumps rising up as nerves rippled within her stomach. She wished she could be like Nairna, instead of tongue-tied and not knowing what to say.
As the crowd dispersed, Laren watched Alex and his brothers. She saw the bandage wrapped around her husband’s forearm, but he continued to lift away the fallen timbers, with little care for his injury.
His muscles strained as he worked and Laren remembered what it was like to touch his bare skin, the hardened flesh merging into soft. She knew his body well, the contrast between the ridges of his stomach and muscular back.
A shadow fell across her mood, for it had been such a long time since they had touched one another intimately. Last night, when he’d learned of her injury, he’d been so angry. Her feelings were bruised, for not once had he said that he was glad she was all right. His fury was palpable, and though she knew he was angry that she’d been hurt, it almost felt as if he were blaming her for the injury. Then this morn, he’d demanded that she stay inside, as though she were incapable of doing anything to help.
But I can do something, she thought. She would start making more glass today and eventually try to sell it. Somehow.
‘Mama, aren’t we going to help Da?’ Mairin asked, her face impatient.
‘Aye. But stay here.’ She couldn’t simply go up to the ruined keep and begin shovelling ash. Alex would see them and get angry. For this, she needed Nairna’s help.
She asked Vanora, ‘Will you watch over the girls for a moment?’ The matron agreed and Laren kept to the outskirts of the crowd, avoiding Alex as she drew closer to Nairna. Bram’s wife would know how to get the ash without making anyone suspicious.
‘I need your help,’ she confessed, when she reached Nairna’s side. ‘I want the ash that’s left over, if you can spare it.’ She met her sister-in-law’s gaze with an unspoken reminder about the glass. ‘I need the beechwood ashes in particular,’ Laren continued. ‘It’s necessary for … the work that I do. My girls can help to gather it.’
Nairna’s green eyes turned shrewd. ‘You’ll need more help than that. I’ll send Dougal, and he’ll get the other men to help shovel it into a cart. The men need the space cleared for the new keep anyhow. Leave it to me.’
Laren voiced her thanks and started to walk back to the girls. She’d nearly reached the gate when a hand caught her arm.
‘What are you doing here?’ Alex demanded. He couldn’t believe that Laren was here, not when she’d been wounded. Her face was pale and he pulled her over to a small pile of stones, forcing her to sit. ‘You need to rest.’
Although he’d thrown himself into the physical labor of rebuilding, ever since he’d left Laren’s side he’d replayed the vision of the arrow piercing her skin. Even now her face held the pain, and guilt plagued him that he hadn’t been able to shield her from it.
‘I wanted to help,’ she said, rising to her feet.
Arguments rose to his lips, but he forced himself to gentle his words. ‘I don’t want you to be hurt. There are parts of the keep still standing and we need to tear them down. Just keep the children away.’
‘Nairna is helping you,’ she pointed out. ‘And so are Vanora and the other women.’
‘They weren’t wounded.’ He needed her to be away from the unstable structure, and, more than that, he needed her to rest and heal. ‘Do as I ask, Laren. There’s nothing you can do here anyway.’
Laren stared at him, a brittle expression on her face as she strode away. He hadn’t meant to be that harsh, but it was evident that he’d offended her. He returned to the ruined keep and started tearing down the boards. Splinters pierced his hands, but he ignored them. As he ripped apart the burned wood, an inner voice taunted him.