Книга - Seduced by Her Highland Warrior

Seduced by Her Highland Warrior
Michelle Willingham


BACK IN HER HUSBAND’S BED Alex MacKinloch is chief of his clan and, in these dark times of unrest, he has united his people. The void between him and his wife is proving a much harder challenge. When Alex discovers Laren has been keeping secrets from him, his thinly veiled frustration can no longer be contained…The pleasures of the marital bed seem long forgotten to Laren. Yet her warrior husband is looking at her with increasingly hungry eyes… This powerful Highlander has seduction on his mind and his wife in his sights! The MacKinloch Clan Highland warriors prepared to fight fiercely for their country…and for love










While she cleaned the tunic, Alex scooped up some water, washing off his skin. Rivulets of water spilled over his hard muscles, and Laren found herself staring at her husband.

He stretched and shivered from the freezing water. Her eyes followed the water that pooled over his skin, trailing downwards.

He saw her staring, and met her with his own frank gaze. Dark eyes moved down her face, past her breasts to her hips. Unable to help herself, she reached out and touched his cool skin, wiping away a droplet of water with her fingertips.

Alex didn’t move, but he caught her wrist and held it to his skin. ‘After the girls are asleep, meet me here again tonight.’

He pressed her fingers over his ribs, guiding her hand around his waist. Though his skin was icy cold from the water, she leaned in to warm him. His hand cupped her face.

Though he hadn’t done anything at all, Laren’s breath was shaky, her body seeking his nearness.

His fingers stroked the side of her face, and she lifted her mouth to his, claiming the kiss that he hadn’t given.

When he pulled back, he let his hands remain around her waist. ‘Tonight,’ he repeated.

She nodded and he released her.




AUTHOR NOTE


Whenever I visit a medieval cathedral, my eyes are always drawn to the stained glass windows. The stunning details and the intricate glass make it hard to believe that I’m staring at something that’s over seven hundred years old. I’m fascinated by the artists who made the glass, and those who pieced it together to form sacred art.

I decided to create a heroine with the talent of making her own glass—a craft she learned from a mentor priest. But for Laren MacKinloch glassmaking provided the solace she needed after losing her newborn son. Grief fractured her marriage with the clan leader Alex MacKinloch, and I wanted to explore how two people could rebuild a stronger relationship after a tragedy.

One resource which I found extremely helpful was On Divers Arts by the monk Theophilis. He documented a treatise on blowing glass that explained the techniques used in the medieval era. In addition, this past autumn I was privileged to watch the glass artists at Art of Fire take me through the process of blowing glass. You can view pictures and videos of the process at my Facebook fan page: www.facebook.com/michellewillinghamfans

You’re welcome to visit my website at www.michellewillingham.com for excerpts and behind-the-scenes details about my books. I love to hear from readers, and you may e-mail me at michelle@michellewillingham.com or write via mail at PO Box 2242, Poquoson, VA 23662, USA.




About the Author


MICHELLE WILLINGHAM grew up living in places all over the world, including Germany, England and Thailand. When her parents hauled her to antiques shows in manor houses and castles Michelle entertained herself by making up stories and pondering whether she could afford a broadsword with her allowance. She graduated summa cum laude from the University of Notre Dame, with a degree in English, and received her master’s degree in Education from George Mason University. Currently she teaches American History and English. She lives in south-eastern Virginia with her husband and children. She still doesn’t have her broadsword.

Visit her website at: www.michellewillingham.com, or e-mail her at michelle@michellewillingham.com

Previous novels by this author:

HER IRISH WARRIOR*

THE WARRIOR’S TOUCH*

HER WARRIOR KING*

HER WARRIOR SLAVE†

THE ACCIDENTAL COUNTESS**

THE ACCIDENTAL PRINCESS**

TAMING HER IRISH WARRIOR*

SURRENDER TO AN IRISH WARRIOR*

CLAIMED BY THE HIGHLAND WARRIOR§

Available in Mills & Boon


Historical Undone!eBooks:

THE VIKING’S FORBIDDEN LOVE-SLAVE

THE WARRIOR’S FORBIDDEN VIRGIN

AN ACCIDENTAL SEDUCTION**

INNOCENT IN THE HAREM PLEASURED

BY THE VIKING

*The MacEgan Brothers †prequel to The MacEgan Brothers mini-series §The MacKinloch Clan **linked by character

And in Mills & Boon


Historical eBooks:

LIONHEART’S BRIDE (part of Royal Weddings Through the Ages)

Did you know that some of these novels are also available as eBooks? Visit www.millsandboon.co.uk


Seduced by Her

Highland Warrior



Michelle Willingham




















www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)




Chapter One


Glen Arrin, Scotland—1305

Soldiers gripped spears in their palms and charged forwards, their weapons aimed at his wife and daughters.

Blood dripped from a wound on his forearm, but Alex MacKinloch wouldn’t stop running. A primal roar resounded from his mouth as he lifted his sword and hacked his way toward the women. His lungs burned as he fought, the battle haze clouding his awareness of reality. In the distance, he saw his wife Laren’s gleaming red hair as she struggled through a water-filled ditch. Her skirts weighed her down and she held their younger daughter in her arms. She didn’t see the dozens of soldiers approaching as she tried to evacuate the fortress.

I have to reach them. Or they’ll die.

It was a reality he didn’t want to face, and the thought of his Laren falling beneath a soldier’s blade was a horror he couldn’t grasp. His arm ached with a vicious pain, but he fought a path towards them. The soldiers blocked his line of vision until all he could see was a swift storm of arrows.

A pulse thundered in his ears until he realised the arrows were coming from their younger brother Callum, who was guarding the women and children. Flames erupted from the wooden keep that stood high above them, like a dying sentry.

The fortress was going to fall. He ran as hard as he could and heard his kinsman Ross breathe, ‘Mary, Mother of God.’

As Alex rushed forwards, he heard the cracking of wood.

‘Callum, dive!’ shouted a man’s voice from behind her.

Laren MacKinloch struggled through the forest, her skirts sodden with water as the keep surrendered to the flames and collapsed. She stared through the trees, in shock at the sight of her home.

Gone now.

And what of Alex, her husband? ‘Take Mairin and Adaira,’ she begged Vanora, handing over her daughters. ‘I’ll join you in a few moments.’

‘You can’t go back,’ the older matron warned. ‘This isn’t over yet.’

‘I won’t leave the trees,’ Laren promised. I just need to see him. I need to know if he’s safe.

She didn’t wait for Vanora’s reply, but moved back to the forest’s edge, holding on to a slender birch tree for balance. Her breath frosted in the evening air as the cold settled around the glen.

When English soldiers surrounded the men from both sides, she felt her heart branching into silent pieces of terror. Dear God, no.

She couldn’t hear what was happening, but the look of grim finality on Alex’s face meant that the worst was near. As she stared from her hiding place, the years seemed to fall back. No longer was he a powerful chief but instead, the man she’d once loved. The fist of heartbreak caught her and tears dampened her cheeks. They’d grown so far apart over the past two years, and now she didn’t know if she would see him alive again.

If she had one last moment with him, there were too many words to speak. Too many things she’d locked away in her heart for far too long.

Her palm pressed against the tree bark. Though Alex couldn’t see her, she kept her gaze fixed upon him, as if she could memorise his face and hold it for ever.

A fiery pain blasted through her right side. Laren’s knees buckled beneath her and she gasped in shock at the arrow embedded within her skin.

The searing agony stunned her and she could barely keep her senses about her. Though it was a shallow wound, piercing the soft skin sideways, near her ribs, she’d not realised how close she was to the battle.

She forced herself to snap off the feathered end, sliding the arrow free of the wound. Blood poured from her side and she pressed her dark cloak against the flow, fighting the dizziness.

You have to go back to your girls, her mind warned. She couldn’t stay, no matter how much she feared for Alex’s life. One of them had to live, to take care of their daughters.

It wrenched her apart, having to choose between her husband and her children, but she forced herself to continue. If the English gained the victory, they would come looking for the survivors. Her daughters needed her and she had to protect them.

She struggled up to the top of the ridge. Each step sent another wave of pain raging through her side, but she ignored the wound, hiding it beneath her dark cloak. There would be time to tend it later.

When she reached the girls, her elder daughter threw her arms around her waist, weeping. At the ages of four and not quite two, Mairin and Adaira weren’t old enough to understand what was happening. Laren caught her breath, keeping Mairin’s hands away from the injury while she spoke soft, reassuring words.

‘Where is Da?’ her daughter demanded. ‘Is he safe?’

‘I don’t know.’ Laren’s throat tightened with fear, her eyes burning. ‘But we have to wait here for him, away from the soldiers.’

‘I’m afraid,’ her daughter sobbed.

Laren brushed a kiss against Mairin’s forehead. So am I.

The earth trembled as dozens of horsemen surrounded their army on both sides. Robert Fitzroy, the Baron of Harkirk, watched in fury as more of the Scots poured in, reinforced by the French. His hand tightened upon the hilt of his sword and he wanted nothing more than to bathe his weapon in their blood.

The MacKinlochs were supposed to die this day. Hadn’t he burned their fortress to the ground, slaughtering their kinsmen? He’d already planned to set up an outpost here, to secure more land for King Edward Plantagenet, but he could see his victory fading away like smoke.

‘Pull back!’ he ordered and his soldiers obeyed. Though it splintered his pride, he hadn’t survived half-a-dozen battles by making foolish decisions that would endanger his neck.

As they retreated into the hills, Harkirk cast a backwards glance. This wasn’t over. Not by half.

He vowed that the next time he looked upon the face of a MacKinloch, it would be mounted upon a pike outside his gates.

It took a quarter of an hour to reach the ridge and Alex helped his brother up to the top of the hill. Nairna looked worried, for although they had survived with only minor injuries, traces of battle madness lurked within her husband’s face. But Alex felt certain that once they brought Bram home, his brother would make a full recovery.

When they reached the clearing, the first glimpse of Laren sent a roaring breath of relief back through Alex’s lungs. The instinct pulled at him, to go to her. He needed to hold his wife and breathe in the scent of her skin, touching her soft red hair.

Laren started to take a step towards him, but she abruptly stopped, her face ashen. Her hand pressed to her side and then she turned her attention to their girls. Their clansmen were watching, and at their sudden attention she shrank back.

He couldn’t understand why. Aye, they’d grown apart over the past two years, but was it so much to ask that she show him a grain of affection? That she could welcome him back into her arms? The pain in her eyes bothered him, for he didn’t understand it. Wasn’t she glad to see him alive?

Though Mairin and Adaira called out, Laren bent and spoke quietly, as if to prevent them from running to him. Adaira clutched Laren’s leg, burying her face in her mother’s skirts.

A thousand moments passed by in a single second. Pride froze out the aching emotions, and Alex stared back at his wife, wishing she would meet him halfway. But she merely gave him a nod and moved away with the girls, unable to face him.

Something was wrong. She’d closed herself off from him and he didn’t know why. His hand tightened on the door frame and he forced himself to look after Bram. ‘Will you be all right with him?’ Alex asked Nairna, who had helped her husband to sit upon their bed.

‘Aye.’ She poured water into a basin and retrieved a cloth to tend Bram’s wounds. When she had wrung out the cloth, she sent Alex a pointed look. ‘Go to Laren. She needs you.’

He left them alone, watching the way Nairna cared for her husband. The deep love in her eyes and the answering look in her husband’s face brought a surge of envy. He wanted to be with Laren right now, to shatter the invisible wall between them.

The thought became a thorn, digging deeper into his pride. She was the woman he’d pledged to protect. Years ago, she would have thrown herself into his arms, not caring what anyone else thought. She’d have clung to him, whispering words of how she’d worried.

But now she kept her distance from him, almost as if they were strangers.

His frustration strung tighter as he walked among the survivors, asking about their welfare. During that time, not once had Laren moved towards him. Her face was white, as though she were too timid to move.

Damn it all, he didn’t care if she no longer wanted him. They’d survived their brush with death; right now he wanted to hold her. He needed her in his arms, whether or not she was too shy to answer the embrace.

He crossed through the people, moving directly towards her. Without voicing a single word, he pulled her into his arms, holding her tightly. She let out a slight gasp, but her hands moved up to his shoulders, resting there. He didn’t speak, didn’t reveal any of the thoughts coursing through his mind. Adaira and Mairin each grabbed his legs, but right now, he needed Laren.

Dimly, he was aware that she wasn’t quite holding him in return. Her hands were there, but there was no warmth, no answering embrace. His heart numbed when he pulled back to look at her, his hands resting at her waist.

He’d mistakenly believed that if he made the first move she would welcome him back, that the past two years of distance wouldn’t matter any more, because they were alive. But she didn’t look at him, as if she were too shy to speak.

He let his hands fall away, saying nothing. The girls were chattering, asking him questions about when they could go home, where they would sleep, and he couldn’t give them an answer.

His kinsman Ross came near, and asked, ‘Do you want to bring your family to our home for the night?’ Since Ross’s home was on the opposite side of the fortress, it had escaped the fires.

Alex never took his eyes from Laren, but agreed. ‘Aye, if it’s no trouble to you.’

‘Not at all. Vanora will want to fuss over the wee ones, as she likes to do.’ His gaze grew sombre, staring at the smoke that rose from the valley below. ‘And you’ll be needing a place to stay until you can rebuild the keep.’

‘I’ll take the girls there now,’ Laren said quietly, ‘if you think it’s safe to return.’ Her voice was shaky, but at his nod she guided their daughters away from the crowds. As they disappeared into the forest, Ross was saying something else to him, but Alex didn’t hear a word of it.

His wife was behaving strangely and he didn’t know why. Then his gaze drifted down to his hands. Blood stained his palms from where he’d held his wife.

It was Laren’s blood.

Laren held Adaira’s hand as Mairin skipped forwards. She kept her head held high, even though the tears flowed freely down her face. She kept her hand firmly upon the bleeding wound at her side, trying not to take deep breaths. When Alex had held her, his hands had pressed against it and she’d nearly passed out from the pain. The injury felt like an aching fire, but she refused to pity herself.

She’d said nothing of it to the girls. They were frightened after the battle and the last thing she needed was for her daughters to start crying again. Right now it took her full concentration to keep from breaking down in front of them. She’d never known that a minor wound could hurt this badly.

Now that the enemy soldiers were gone, she could return to Glen Arrin for a little privacy to tend it. The wetness against her hand told her that the bleeding had started up again and stars swam in front of her eyes.

You should have told Alex, an inner voice chided. The very thought of her husband sent a quiet ache of regret through her. When he’d taken her in his arms, the urge to cling to him and sob out her miseries had been so tempting. But the last thing he’d needed was a hysterical wife bleeding all over him in front of everyone. He had to be strong in front of the clan, to be the leader they needed in this time of crisis. There was time to speak of it later, when they were alone.

Laren took a deep breath, wiping the tears away. For now, she had to bring the girls to Ross’s home for shelter.

‘Why are you crying, Mama?’ Mairin asked, coming to her side. ‘Are you sad?’

‘I’m just tired,’ she lied. She had to hold herself together right now. Alex would be busy sorting out places for the rest of the clan to live; likely he wouldn’t join them until later tonight.

‘Da!’ Mairin shouted, breaking free of her. Laren turned and saw Alex striding towards them. Her heart sank, for he looked furious. Instinctively, her hand went back to her wound, pressing against the flow of blood.

‘Why didn’t you tell me?’ he demanded, raising up his hands. Upon them, she saw her own blood.

‘It’s nothing,’ she said. ‘I’ll be all right.’ To the girls she said, ‘Mairin, I want to talk to your father for a moment. Take Adaira down to the bottom of the hill and wait for us.’

Her daughter paled at the sight of Alex’s face and didn’t argue, retreating with her sister.

‘What happened?’ he demanded.

‘It was just an arrow. It pierced the skin here …’ she pointed to her bleeding side ‘… but it’s only a small wound. I’ll have Vanora help me with it.’

‘Were you trying to hide it from me?’ In his voice, she heard traces of fear, mingled with his anger.

‘You had too much on your mind and I didn’t want to be a bother, not when it’s something so minor.’

‘You were shot with an arrow, Laren. Why in the name of God would you think I wouldn’t want to bother with that?’

The fury on his face was like nothing she’d ever seen before. She kept her face averted, not knowing how to soften it. ‘The girls have lost enough this day, without having to be afraid for me.’

‘And what about you?’ he demanded, his voice falling into a harsh whisper. He reached to cup her face and Laren instinctively drew back. If he touched her right now, the control over her feelings was going to shatter. She could steel herself against his anger, but not his kindness.

‘I’ll be all right,’ she managed. She started to walk away, but when she glanced back at him, there was disbelief mingled with his frustration. He followed her and when they reached the girls at the bottom of the hill, he bent down to lift Mairin into his arms. He gave her a tight hug as he examined her; then he turned to Adaira, lifting her into his other arm.

He loved their girls. There was no doubt in her mind that he’d lay down his life for them. With Mairin and Adaira, he softened, letting them see a father who cared about more than their welfare. And, in return, they adored him.

‘Are you well?’ he asked the girls. ‘You’re not hurt, are you?’ He inspected them and then his gaze moved to her, as if in accusation.

Laren met his eyes and pronounced, ‘They’re all right.’ But although her husband had muted his anger in front of the girls, she sensed it simmering beneath the surface.

Adaira started to fuss, reaching towards her. When Laren stretched to take her, Alex held their daughter tight. ‘Stay with me, sweet.’

She was grateful for it, for she didn’t think she could bear the weight of Adaira, not with the wound.

‘Have you eaten?’ Alex asked, reaching into his pouch for some dried meat. The girls each took a piece and started gnawing on the venison. Though he offered her a piece, Laren refused it. The very thought of food made her ill.

He set Mairin down, keeping her hand in his as they moved to the far side of the fortress.

At the sight of Glen Arrin, Laren’s face turned grim. The keep was a burned mass of wood and hot coals, the dark smoke rising from the damaged structure. Every possession she had, save the clothes on her back, had been in the keep. The tapestries she’d woven, the girls’ gowns. The bed that Alex had made for them when they were first married. The tears broke free again, despite Laren’s efforts to stop them.

‘What will we do?’ she asked her husband, knowing that his pain was as deep as her own.

His emotions remained tight, his jaw clenched at the sight of the ruins. ‘Bury the dead. And start again.’

Alex led them to Ross’s house and ensured that it was safe before he allowed the girls to enter the small thatched dwelling. He remained outside and Laren couldn’t read the emotions in his stare. Without asking, he pulled back her dark cloak. The blood had soaked through the woolen gown she wore and he ordered her, ‘Don’t move. Vanora!’ he called out, hurrying toward the matron who was approaching from the hillside. ‘Laren was hurt. We need your help.’

The older woman hastened to reach her side and when Alex pulled back the cloak again, Laren’s cheeks flushed. Though she’d planned to ask Vanora for her help anyway, Alex was behaving as if the injury were life-threatening.

‘Oh, my dear, what happened to you?’ Vanora clucked and fussed over her, and Alex stepped back to let her examine the wound.

‘It’s not as bad as it looks,’ Laren said quietly when the woman went to fetch her needle and linen to bind the wound.

The blistering look in Alex’s eyes told her that he didn’t believe a word she was saying. He was making her nervous with the way he hovered over her. ‘You should go and look after the others,’ she suggested. ‘The clan will need you to guide them now.’

He ignored her, his gaze fixated upon her blood. ‘I’m not leaving you when you’re hurt.’

‘Please, Alex,’ she whispered again, ‘it’s truly nothing to worry about.’ She was holding back her pain by a thread and she didn’t want to show weakness in front of him. Swallowing hard, she added, ‘The clan needs you now.’

‘And you don’t?’

There was a bitterness behind his words that she didn’t understand. When she tried to take a step towards him, he stiffened. ‘If you want me to leave, then so be it.’

Between them, the cool distance seemed to magnify. Vanora waited in the doorway, but Laren didn’t want to go inside just yet. She wanted to ease his mood, to make him understand that she wasn’t trying to push him away.

Though he’d already left, she struggled to catch up with him. ‘I’m sorry about what happened to Glen Arrin.’ The words were inadequate and they didn’t begin to touch the way she was feeling now.

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.

She didn’t tell you about the wound because she doesn’t trust you.

Alex grasped another plank and heaved his body weight against the wood, letting the anger and physical labour push away the unwanted thoughts. For nearly three years he’d worked endless hours, ensuring that each person in the clan was fed and had a place to sleep. He’d told himself at the time that it was necessary. It was his obligation as their chief.

Laren understood it, just as he did. His hands stilled upon the wood and a trickle of blood ran down between his fingers.

She was happier before you were chief, the voice continued. She never wanted this life. You forced it upon her.

He’d always expected that she would change, once she saw the responsibilities. It would take time, but he’d believed Laren would be a good Lady of Glen Arrin.

Instead, she’d retreated … both from this life and from him.

There’s nothing you can do.

The words stabbed at her mood as Laren stalked away. Alex viewed her as a nuisance, someone who needed to stay out of the way while he worked with the men to rebuild. She supposed he was merely trying to keep her safe, but did he really believe she could sit inside, staring at the walls, while everyone else was working? She couldn’t.

When she found Vanora back at her dwelling, Laren stopped to collect her daughters, along with some food for an afternoon meal. She walked along the shoreline with Mairin and Adaira, her elder daughter running ahead to stamp upon the ice fragments on the edge of the loch.

Her cave was hidden on the far side of the water’s edge, formed on the side of a large hill. There were enough crevices in the ceiling of the cave for ventilation and it was far enough away from the keep that no one ever came close. The proximity to the shoreline also gave her access to the vast quantities of sand that she needed.

Father Nolan had built his furnaces inside the cavern and it kept the atmosphere warm and dry, perfect for making glass. Laren was grateful that he’d constructed all of the large ovens, for she’d never have been able to build them herself.

As she neared the familiar entrance, she saw Ramsay had begun the fires as she’d asked. A deep warmth suffused the air, but it would be several hours more before it would be hot enough for glassmaking.

She fed the girls a small meal of dried apples and meat. Afterwards, she spread out her cloak and laid Adaira down, rubbing the child’s shoulders until she went down for a nap. It wasn’t long before Mairin yawned and stretched out beside her sister. The warmth of the fires made it easy for them to fall asleep just at the entrance, on the soft sand.

Laren kept the children in full view, casting glances at them while she took note of her supplies. Although Father Nolan had left her with his tools and his stores of lead and minerals, there would come a time when she’d have to purchase more.

‘We need more lime,’ Ramsay said. He’d washed his face, Laren noticed, and she handed him the bag of food she’d brought.

‘You’re to eat everything inside,’ she told him, taking a small oat cake for herself.

He muttered his thanks and reached into the bag, attacking the food as though he feared it would run away from him. She pretended to study the panes of glass she’d already made, but instead she was watching the lad.

His thin frame bothered her, but worse were the bruises on his face. The boy’s father rarely remembered to feed him, for he spent most of his time drinking ale or using his fists against Ramsay. Laren couldn’t understand why he stayed with his father, when she’d offered him the chance to come and be fostered with her and Alex. The boy had refused, stubbornly remaining in his own home.

‘I need you to stay with the furnace all day today,’ she told Ramsay. ‘I’ll be making large quantities of glass and we won’t be able to let the fires go out.’ It was a lie, but one that would keep him out of his father’s house, at least until tonight.

The wound in her side ached and Laren forced herself to sit for a moment, pushing away the dizziness. It would heal. And as soon as she worked upon her glass, she’d forget all about the pain.

‘I’ve mixed a crucible,’ Ramsay offered. ‘It’s ready to be melted. All it needs are the colour minerals.’

She smiled at him. ‘You’re the best apprentice I could have, Ramsay.’

His face flushed. ‘I’ll chop more wood for you.’ He returned to work, uncomfortable with the compliment.

She traced her fingers over a piece of bright blue glass she’d made and wondered if it really was possible to earn a profit from her work.

What if it’s not good enough? a voice of doubt warned. Her colours might be too dark, not letting in enough light. Although the cobalt had created a nice blue, the silver hadn’t achieved the shade of green she’d wanted. No piece of glass could be made in the same way twice, for the ashes varied from the different beechwood trees.

‘Have you lit the annealing furnace?’ she asked Ramsay.

‘Aye. Just now,’ he answered.

The annealing furnace had to be a lower temperature than the melting furnace, for the glass had to cool under controlled conditions. She’d learned the hard way that the annealing process was necessary, after a few glass pieces had cooled too quickly and cracked apart when she’d tried to score them.

She stood and took the clay crucible Ramsay had prepared, adding a small amount of iron to try to create a red glass. It was too soon to heat it, but she set it near the edge of the furnace in preparation.

Although the heat was intense, Laren was used to it. She welcomed the roasting warmth as she turned her attention to some streaked green glass she’d made days ago. From her position behind the fire, she could see Mairin and Adaira still fast asleep.

In her mind she envisioned the Garden of Eden. She would use the glass to form the leaves of the Tree of Knowledge, making it the focal point of the scene. Tomorrow, if she managed to achieve the right shade of red, she could form the apple of temptation.

She lost track of time, heating a cutting tool to a red-hot point before she scored the glass to crack it into the shape she wanted. As she worked, she fell under the spell of creating her glass scenes, watching the shapes transform from the image within her mind into reality.

After she had cut several leaves from the finished glass, she spied Nairna and Dougal at the entrance. Her girls had awakened and Nairna held Adaira in her arms.

Her brother-in-law’s face was coated with ash, his face sweaty from the labour. As Dougal stared at her, his expression turned curious. ‘You made that?’ he asked, pointing to the sheet of glass. ‘From sand, just now?’

‘No. Days ago,’ Laren corrected. ‘It takes several days to make glass. Longer, depending on what colours you want.’ She put on her gloves, feeling uneasy about the burn scars on her hands, but no one had noticed them. Ramsay had moved to the back of the cavern, trying to remain unobtrusive.

Her side was aching again and Laren took several breaths to force back the pain. Tonight she would speak to Vanora and ask if she could make a sleeping draught. For now, she hid her misery and asked Dougal, ‘Did you bring me any of the beechwood ash? Or am I supposed to scrape it off you?’

His cheeks reddened at her teasing and he pointed outside. ‘I filled the wagon with it.’

‘You can dump it just outside the cave, if you can manage.’

In the end, all of them worked together to shovel it out. Mairin and Adaira tried to help, but it was more difficult with them underfoot.

When at last the wagon was empty, Laren checked on the melt and adjusted the fires. She used a bellows to increase the heat and Ramsay took his place beside the fire, promising to keep it going.

‘It should be ready by midnight,’ he predicted. ‘I’ll add the crucible then.’

‘Good. I’ll be here first thing in the morning to check the melt.’

‘I won’t let the fire go out,’ he swore. And she knew he’d keep the promise. He was accustomed to sleeping during the day; not once had she lost a melt under his watch.

Laren gave him a solemn nod, refraining from ruffling his hair as she wanted to. Ramsay couldn’t bear any form of affection and he’d stiffened on the few occasions when she’d patted his shoulder. When she looked into his dark eyes, she saw the image of the son she might have had.

The vivid pain came crashing back and she bit her lip to suppress it. Nairna sent her a curious look. ‘Are you all right?’

Laren nodded. ‘I suppose I should take the girls back. It’s late.’ She touched Mairin’s shoulder and reminded her daughter to hold her sister’s hand. After adjusting their outer clothing to keep them warm, Laren took both girls’ hands in hers and started to walk back.

Nairna remained at her side and ventured softly, ‘I think you should tell your husband about the glass.’

Laren sent the girls to run on ahead and they quickly caught up to Dougal, begging for a ride inside the wagon. When they were out of earshot, she stopped walking, touching her hand to her side.

‘I will tell him, Nairna. Just not yet.’ The idea of revealing her awkward skills was frightening. It was like exposing the deepest part of herself.

‘It would help him to understand why you’re gone so many hours of the day.’ Her sister-in-law rested a hand upon her shoulders. ‘And one day you’ll tell the rest of the clan.’

Laren shook her head. ‘I know what the other women say about me. They think I’m spineless and unfit to be a chief’s wife.’

‘I don’t believe that.’ Nairna shook her head and smiled. ‘You’re just quiet and shy.’

‘No. It’s more than that.’ Laren reached down and touched the edge of her gown, remembering the threadbare clothing she’d worn years ago.

‘My father was a beggar,’ Laren admitted. ‘He wasn’t able to take care of us. Sometimes he would fall under a spell of melancholy and wouldn’t get out of bed for weeks at a time.’ She pulled her cloak tighter around her. ‘We hardly had enough to eat and everyone knew it. My sisters and I wore the cast-off clothes of others.’

From Nairna’s startled expression, she guessed that no one had told her. ‘The clan knows where I came from. And they know I haven’t the ability to lead them.’ She shook her head at the incongruity of the idea. Then she looked back at Nairna. ‘I may be the chief’s wife now, but I’m still an embarrassment.’

Laren quickened her pace, past the white stone that lay on the hillside. ‘The glassmaking is part of me, Nairna. If I have this, I can endure their criticism. I can let it flow through me and not let it hurt, because I know what I can make.’

She took a breath, though the confession tore at her heart. ‘It doesn’t matter if I can’t lead the people or be the wife Alex needs, because I know that there’s something I can do.’

Nairna tried to offer words of comfort, but Laren didn’t hear them. She saw her husband in the distance, waiting for them at the gates.

And when she saw the intense look upon his face, within his expression lay worry and a hint of relief. He embraced the girls, swinging Adaira up into his arms. But though he spoke to them, she didn’t miss the way he watched her.

Almost as if he’d needed to see her again.

March, 1300

The soft sound of a stone striking the wood of her mother’s cottage awakened Laren fromslumber. A secret thrill of excitement warmed her, for Alex was here, just as he’d promised.

Her sisters were asleep beside her, but none of them stirred when she rose from the pallet they shared. Tiptoeing outside, she glanced behind her to be certain her mother hadn’t seen her.

The moon shone silver in the clouded sky, and she saw Alex emerge from the shadows. His face and dark hair were damp, as though he’d washed in the stream before coming to see her. In his palm he held small stones, but he let them fall, extending his hand to her. Laren made no sound, but took his hand, following him into the forest.

It wasn’t as dark as she’d expected, but as they moved deeper into the woods, she drew closer to his side. The spring air was cool and she sensed the moisture that hung with the portent of rain. Dark green moss covered the trees and she was careful of her footing as she walked with him. A sense of forbidden anticipation built up inside, at the thought of being alone with this man.

Once they reached the clearing, she saw the small circle of standing stones. Ancient and worn, the stones held their own element of enchantment. It was their private place, one where reality faded away and she could forget thathe was a chief’s son, and she, a poor crofter’s daughter.

Here, they could be together with no one to interfere. Never had Alex treated her as though she were beneath him. Right now, he was staring at her with a mixture of desire and regret.

‘I have to leave on the morrow,’ he told her, his hands drawing her into an embrace. ‘My Uncle Donnell wants me to visit the Campbell clan.’ There was a heaviness in his eyes, a sense of frustration. He’d been living with his uncle, who had become chief after the death of his father. There was little affection between them, for Donnell continually derided him, claiming that Alex lacked the skill to ever be a leader like his father.

‘When will you return?’ she whispered.

‘I don’t know.’ His hands framed her face and he touched his forehead to hers. ‘He wants me to wed the daughter of their chief. But you needn’t worry. I’ve made my choice of a bride already.’

His fingers moved through her long red hair and within his eyes she saw a rising hunger. A piece of her heart broke away, for if she could, she’d keep him with her. She loved Alex MacKinloch with every breath, with every part of herself.

But she feared they would have no future together, not as poor as she was. And there wasa sinking dread that, once he saw this woman, he might forget what there was between them.

For now, she fully intended to savour every stolen moment. His mouth came down upon hers and she kissed him back with all the fervour in her heart. His lips and tongue merged with her own, conjuring up desperate feelings she didn’t understand. Against her body, she felt the hard length of his desire. He drew her hips closer, his hungry mouth moving over her skin.

She couldn’t catch her breath, her pulse racing. Tonight could be their last night together. Once he left Glen Arrin, she might lose him.

‘I love you,’ she whispered, her arms twining around his neck.

He lowered her down to the soft grass and she saw the moment when he regained control of his thoughts. Though his breathing was as staggered as her own, he rolled to his side, studying her.

‘I want you to be my wife, Laren.’

She tried not to let her feelings overshadow what needed to be said. Closing her eyes, she tried to find the right words.

‘Not until you return.’ She wanted to believe that he would love her enough, but she didn’t want him to later hold regrets.

‘Say you will,’ he urged again.

She leaned up to kiss him, distracting him with the physical desire that burned betweenthem. It was easier not to think of losing him when his arms were around her.

‘You’re the only man I’ve ever wanted,’ she answered against his mouth. He took her mouth again, his hands moving over her shoulders, then he brought his palm over her breast.

He let it rest there, waiting to see what she would do. Her nipple rose with a fevered arousal and she felt an answering rush between her legs. She knew, if she allowed it, he would become her lover this night.

His thumb caressed the erect tip and she shifted her legs together at the aching sensation. Temptation warred with good sense and she captured his hand with hers.

‘When you return,’ she whispered. She could not surrender her innocence to him, not when he might be forced to wed another.

He sat up, leaning her body back against him. ‘I’ve brought you a gift to remember me by.’ In her palm, he pressed a small pouch.

Laren unwrapped the leather and poured out a handful of glass droplets. Vivid blue, green and red mingled with white, in a jewelled handful.

‘They’re beautiful,’ she breathed.

‘Father Nolan made them. They reminded me of the treasures I’d give to you, if I could.’

The cool glass warmed beneath her fingers and she held one up to examine it more closely.As she studied them, she wondered how they were made. She knew the priest used sand and fire, but no one dared to interrupt him while he was forging his magic.

Alex kissed her again, holding her close. Though she desired him, she was afraid of what the future might hold.

And, most of all, she feared losing him.




Chapter Three


A bone-deep exhaustion settled within him. Every muscle in his body ached and Alex wanted nothing more than to find a place to sleep for the next fortnight. But he couldn’t.

Despite working since sunrise, they’d done little more than clear away the wreckage. The mood within Glen Arrin was unsettled, for they were exposed, their weaknesses bared to any enemy who happened to draw near.

He closed his eyes, knowing the violence would come. Robert Fitzroy, the Baron of Harkirk, had retreated after the last battle, but Alex had no doubt that the English baron was merely biding his time.

The silence unnerved him more than any direct attack. He sensed, within his blood, that Harkirk would strike again. It was a matter of when, not if.

The heaviness of the clan’s fate rested upon his shoulders and he could feel their doubts. He’d heard more than a few whispers today, questioning his leadership. But this was his clan. He would do whatever was necessary to keep them safe, even if they were reduced to ashes and sackcloth.

They were his people. His family.

His brother Bram approached, his expression dark, as though he didn’t want to bear bad news. ‘I’ve heard talk of several men wanting to leave. They have family among the other clans.’

‘I won’t let that happen.’ Alex adjusted the bandage on his arm, knowing that if a few left, others would follow.

‘And how could you stop them?’

‘It won’t come to that.’ He walked alongside Bram through the remains of the keep. ‘Tonight I’ll speak to them.’

When he passed several of his kinsmen, he didn’t miss the despair and hopelessness on their faces as they worked to gather up what remained of their belongings. It wouldn’t be easy to convince them, but as their chief it was his responsibility to care for them.

He passed Brodie, who was holding the hand of his three-year-old son. The child struggled to pick up a stone that was nearly as big as he was, his face pursed with effort. Brodie put his arms around his son and helped him to lift up the stone, before setting it down upon the wall.

The fist of grief caught Alex so hard that he blinked back the emotion. It had been almost three years now. Their son would have been the same age as this child. He could almost imagine it in his mind, and when Brodie stood, holding his son’s hand, Alex felt the emptiness of his own palm.

It’s in the past, he told himself. You have two daughters. Be thankful for what you have.

In the distance, Dougal was returning with Mairin and Adaira riding alongside him in the wagon. Nairna and Laren approached a short distance behind. There was exhaustion in his wife’s bearing and he didn’t understand why she’d defied him again.

He increased his pace to meet her, when he reached her side, he saw the defensive expression rise up. From the way she clutched her side, she was in pain. He couldn’t understand why she would exert herself, simply to get away from everyone else.

‘You took the girls for a walk?’ he confirmed, nodding toward his daughters, who were tormenting poor Dougal with their chatter.

‘Aye. You wanted me to keep them away from the fortress.’

‘I meant for you to rest and keep them with you.’ He suspected she’d known his wishes; she’d simply chosen to ignore them.

The more he thought of it, the more he realised that they’d been gone for several hours outside. It was freezing and a thin layer of ice coated the loch. Laren wouldn’t expose the girls to that kind of cold. When he studied his daughters, he noted that they didn’t appear in any sort of discomfort. Their cheeks were rosy, their smiles bright.

‘Where did you take the girls?’

She looked startled, as if she hadn’t expected him to confront her. ‘Just on a walk. Nowhere, really.’

‘For several hours?’ He moved closer, his gaze narrowed.

‘Well, I—’

‘Don’t lie to me,’ he demanded. He reached out to touch the back of her neck and, upon her skin, he felt warmth and a slight perspiration. The aroma of wood smoke clung to her hair. ‘You went inside somewhere, didn’t you?’

Laren coloured, but didn’t deny it. ‘Yes. We went to Father Nolan’s cavern.’ She backed away from his touch and he let his hand fall to his side. From the fear in her eyes, he knew there was far more that she hadn’t said.

‘Why?’ The cavern had been abandoned for several years, ever since the old priest had died.

‘I—I’ll tell you later,’ she stammered. ‘But not here.’

He heard the tremor in her voice, and her blue eyes were downcast. It startled him to see her so uncertain, almost as if she were guilty about something. What was she hiding?

‘Send the girls to Vanora and Ross tonight,’ he gritted out, releasing her from his grasp. ‘I want to talk to you alone.’

Her face flushed with uneasiness. ‘I have to prepare food for the girls. They need a meal before they go to sleep.’

It was a feeble excuse not to go. But then his gaze moved down to her hands and he caught the traces of blood upon them.

‘You’re bleeding again.’ It was a foolish observation and it infuriated him that she refused to stop and take care of herself.

‘It will stop,’ she whispered. ‘I’ll rest and it will be fine.’

He softened his tone. ‘Let Vanora take care of the girls. And let me take care of you.’ Without waiting for the refusal he knew would come, he left Laren’s side and went to the older matron. Ross’s wife sent him a pointed look, but she agreed to look after their daughters.

The afternoon sky darkened, Alex gave orders for Dougal to bring him a horse and supplies for the night. Laren’s gaze was focused upon the girls. When she understood that he wasn’t giving her a choice, her displeasure was evident.

He didn’t care. Right now, he needed to confront his wife, to understand what she was hiding from him.

The more he thought of it, the more he realised that she had never confided in him. Over the past two years, she’d hidden herself away, keeping her own secrets.

Tonight, he wanted to learn exactly what they were.

Alex helped Laren onto the horse, bringing a torch with him as he led the animal into the forest. The light dappled the edges of the leaves, filtering the golden sun amid the oaks and fir trees. Nothing was said throughout the half-hour journey, and when at last he brought the horse to a stop, Laren stared at the circle of stones, her face stricken.

‘Why did you bring me here?’

‘You know why.’ He wanted her to remember the way things had once been between them. The circle was where they had first fallen in love. It seemed like the best place to begin again.

Laren walked forwards, resting her hand upon one of the stones. ‘It’s been a long time since we were here.’

He’d brought her here every Beltaine, where they had celebrated the feast in each other’s arms, in remembrance of their wedding night. But after the children were born, it had become more difficult to get away. Laren was reluctant to leave Mairin and, over time, their circle had been forgotten.

When he turned back to her, he saw that she’d sat down. Her gloved hands resting upon her skirts, as the dying sunlight sank below the horizon.

‘You don’t have to wear those,’ he offered, pointing to her gloves.

‘I’m more comfortable with them on.’

Alex didn’t argue. He supposed her hands were cold, now that winter was upon them. While he set up their tent, a thousand questions and demands poured through his mind. He struggled to keep his frustration within manageable boundaries. But the longer she held herself apart, the more he wondered how to begin.

They were alone now, with no one to stare at them or whisper. But Laren didn’t even look at him. He supposed her injury was bothering her. His own arm ached, but he was more accustomed to working through discomfort.

Against the fading sunlight, her hair gleamed like reddened flames. Laren was as beautiful to him now as she’d been on the day he’d married her. Her skin was milky smooth, her body slender.

‘Do you remember the last time we were here?’ he ventured at last.

She leaned against one of the standing stones, her hand pressed to her side. ‘It was before Mairin was born, I think.’ A softness came over her, and she added, ‘We were so young then.’

He came to stand closer to her, and the sun began to dip lower. Abruptly, Laren released a cough that sounded suspiciously like a laugh.

‘What is it?’

‘You asked me if I found the stones inspiring.’ Her mouth tipped into a smile at the sight of the phallic monoliths.

‘And did you?’

‘Sometimes.’ Her face held the softness of the past, like the woman he’d first wed. She held her hand to her wounded side and rested against the standing stone. He reached out and moved a lock of her hair that had fallen against her cheek. When he kept his hand on her face, he saw the sudden confusion in her green eyes.

‘There was a time, before we married, when we came here just to be together. Now, you spend every possible moment far away from me.’

She didn’t deny it and her silence made him break away.

‘I want to know why, Laren.’

‘I’m not avoiding you.’ It hadn’t started out that way, though she supposed it might seem so to him. She’d needed to bury herself in work, to shut out the rest of the world. And when she’d discovered her love of glasswork, she’d sought out every possible moment to work on it.

‘Aren’t you?’

Laren shook her head. She closed her eyes, the sudden pain of her wound drawing her attention. Her hand felt wet against her side. When she leaned against the stone the earth swayed beneath her feet.

Alex didn’t miss the sudden shift in her posture. When he touched her hand, she inhaled sharply at the gentle pressure against her side.

‘Show me your wound,’ he demanded.

There was anger in his voice and she tried to placate him by offering, ‘Vanora gave me a poultice for it and it will heal.’

Her husband stepped in front of her, his dark eyes shadowed with an unnamed emotion while his hand rested upon a sheathed dirk. ‘Remove the gown, Laren. Unless you want me to cut it off.’

The sudden image of his blade slicing through the wool made her imagine the layers of clothing falling away until she was naked before him. The vision was strangely erotic. She knew Alex would never hurt her, but the man standing in front of her now was filled with anger and sexual frustration.

He wanted her. She could see it in the tension from his shoulders, in the way his eyes were watching. Laren considered whether or not to simply show him the wound through the torn seam. Yet a sudden sense of rebellion rose up within her. It was his idea to take her away from everyone else, to spend the night alone with her. All day, he’d issued commands and orders, treating her like a child.

But she wasn’t at all a child. She was a woman with thoughts and feelings of her own. A woman he’d pushed aside, only sparing her a glance from time to time. And a part of her wanted him to know what he’d been missing these past months.

Instead of revealing the wound, she loosened the ties of the long gown. With her eyes locked upon his, she turned her back to him. ‘It hurts to lift my arms over my head. You’ll have to remove the gown for me.’

He was silent and she didn’t dare turn around. She withdrew her arms inside the sleeves, and Alex came up behind her to help lift the gown away. As he did, his hands grazed the side of her breasts, sending an unexpected jolt through her. He’d done that on purpose. A shiver rocked through her. Once he’d removed the outer gown, she stood in her shift.

The frigid air heightened her sensitivity and her nipples grew taut against the fabric. Alex didn’t turn her around, but he pulled back the poultice and examined her wound. ‘You have torn the stitches.’

‘I’ll fix the bandage. It will be all right.’

‘No. Let me.’ He loosened her shift and slowly lowered the garment to her waist, baring the wound. In the cold night air, she shivered, feeling exposed, but she didn’t bother to cover her naked breasts.

Alex removed the wet bandage and the poultice, but as his hands passed over her body she felt the fierce heat and a slight tremble in his palms.

He tore a length of cloth from his tunic and she eyed him ruefully. ‘I’ll have to mend that later.’

‘I don’t care.’ Gently, he adjusted the poultice against her wound and bound the new bandage around her waist. He kept the pressure tight, but not enough to hurt her. As his hands moved over her flesh, she couldn’t help but think of how long it had been since he’d last touched her.

Or since he’d kissed her.

His hands rested at the edges of the shift, when she realised he wasn’t going to touch her any more, Laren fumbled with her undergarment. Alex raised it to cover her breasts and then let her go. ‘You should be all right until the morn.’

‘Thank you.’ She hid her disappointment and, once more, felt his disapproval intruding upon the moment.

She crossed her arms over her body; when he stared at her, she didn’t have to feign a shiver.

‘I’m not going to bother you,’ he said, an edge in his tone. ‘I’m not so undisciplined that I would take you when you’re hurt.’

‘I know it.’ Even so, her face warmed with embarrassment, as if he’d read her thoughts. Then she realised that not once had she seen his own wound from the battle. ‘How is your arm?’

He pulled back the sleeve to bare a reddened gash. The edges were holding together, but when she examined his wound, she could feel the tension in his stance. ‘You shouldn’t have been lifting stones all day.’

‘And what were you doing all day?’ he parried back. She took a step back, for she hadn’t anticipated the question so soon.

She closed her eyes, seeking the right words to tell him about the glass. At last, she offered, ‘I have work of my own that I do. I—I make … things.’ She waited for a heart-stopping moment, hoping he would ask what they were, that he would show interest in her.

‘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 thedoorway. 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 nothingat 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 knowingshe 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 fingerstogether. ‘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.’




Chapter Four


‘Bring 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 every thing 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.





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