His hand bumped against hers and she laced her fingers with his. Though he did nothing more than hold her palm, Laren feared the gesture would lead to more. Although she wouldn’t consider turning him away if he wanted to make love, she didn’t feel ready for more intimacy. Her feelings were too uncertain.
When he made no other move, she let go of his hand and rolled to her uninjured side, facing him. She wanted him to let go of his inner frustration and forgive her for the secrets.
‘I’m sorry I kept the glassmaking from you,’ she said. She wanted him to face her, to see whether he felt anything at all towards her, whether there was any hint of love remaining.
But instead of warming to her, Alex compressed his mouth into a line. ‘So am I.’
She waited for him to say something about the glass, to reveal any of his shielded emotions. But there came nothing at all. With her apology, she’d darkened his mood once again.
She stood and returned to the stone work surface, resting her palms upon it. Her throat felt thick, heavy with hurt. But this was her own fault and she couldn’t take back the years they’d lost.
Alex came up behind her and drew her to face him. His expression held a solemnity that worried her. ‘Are there other secrets you’ve held back from me?’
She shook her head. ‘Nothing. I swear it.’
He rested his hands upon her shoulders, letting his touch slide down to her forearms. Her skin prickled with the unexpected caress and when he lingered upon her burn marks, she felt embarrassed by the ugliness. She wished she could eradicate the years of pain and scarring, becoming the innocent girl she’d been so long ago.
But then, that wasn’t possible, was it? She was for ever changed, just as he was.
Without speaking, she took his hand in hers and brought him to lie beside her on the blanket. She curled up against him and he pulled her body closer, both arms wrapped around her. It felt so good to be in his embrace, that she fought the unexpected tears that rose up.
Although he’d never left her, she hadn’t known how much she’d missed the feel of his skin against hers. How much she’d missed him.
And there came the grain of hope that somehow they would manage to resurrect all that had been lost between them.
March, 1303
Laren stared at the wall, unable to sleep. It had been two months since David had died, but none of the pain had dissipated. She’d buried her grief, using her glass work to keep her spirit from shattering apart.
Alex worked among the clan during the day, and on the days when she wasn’t with her furnace, he avoided her. Even now, in their bed, he slept on the opposite side, turned away from her.
Her hands were raw, the skin burned when she’d touched the wrong part of the pipe. It was a careless accident and the pain made it impossible to sleep. She didn’t care. The burns were a physical penance she endured, for it kept her mind off her lost child.
Without warning, Alex reached out in the darkness, his hand touching hers. Out of reflex, she jerked her hand back, for the slightest touch was excruciating against her burned skin.
His hand moved away and the silence was damning. He didn’t know. He’d tried to touch her and she’d responded as though she didn’t want him.
‘Alex?’ she whispered in the darkness.
But there came no answer.
Chapter Seven
Later that night, Laren rose from sleep and went to tend the glass. She hoped she hadn’t let the melts go too long, but it appeared that they were still viable.
While Alex slept, she took the heated pipe and dipped it downward into the crucible containing the green glass. When she had a ball of molten glass the size of her fist, she began turning the pipe. Over and over, fighting the pull of the earth, she blew a breath of air into the pipe, resting it against her cheek for a moment.
‘I thought you were going to sleep,’ came her husband’s voice.
Laren moved to the marble surface of the table and rolled the glass against it, shaping it into a cylinder. ‘I’ll sleep when I’ve finished this piece.’
She returned the glass to an opening in the furnace, resting it against a metal support as she turned it. When it was hot again, she shaped it, adjusting the size and ensuring that the glass was of equal thickness. Then back again to reheat it.
Her hands were shaking against the pipe; she couldn’t stop the voices inside that reminded her of how very little she knew and how many mistakes she’d made in the past. Alex had never seen her work before and his presence made her anxious. She wanted him to see the beauty in it, to understand why she loved it so.
She continued turning the pipe, watching the glass expand and grow. And somehow, within the golden sphere of fire, she found a steadiness. She had blown glass a thousand times, until it was instinctive. This time would be no different.
‘Why do you keep putting it back in the fire?’ Alex asked.
‘It cools in less than a minute,’ she replied. ‘I have to keep reheating it or I can’t shape it.’
When she’d blown the glass into the size she wanted, Laren sat at her bench and rested the pipe upon a long table with the glass hanging off the end. She took her iron jacks and used the tongs to gently pinch an indentation into the hot glass, even as she kept it spinning.
‘It looks like you’re making a goblet,’ Alex said.
‘Not quite.’ She adjusted the necking and explained, ‘I can’t take the glass off the pipe without this.’
She eyed him for a moment. ‘Since I’ve sent Ramsay away, could I ask for your help?’
‘I don’t know anything about glass, Laren.’
‘No, but you’ve a strong arm. Take that pontil there and dip it into the hot glass,’ she said, nodding toward one of the heated pipes. ‘I need a small amount, about the size of a robin’s egg.’
He reached for the pipe, pulling it from the flames. The tip was red hot, and he lowered it into the crucible of green molten glass.
‘Turn the pipe as you dip it,’ she instructed, ‘and bring it over to the marble table. Don’t stop turning the pipe.’
He did as she asked, following every instruction she gave him to adjust the shape of the glass and press his own pipe to the surface of her glowing cylinder. With both pipes on either end, Laren adjusted the necking. With a light tap against the pipe, the piece of glass separated, leaving Alex holding the hot cylinder with the pontil.
She sent him a smile of relief and took it from him, continuing to work with the glass. Perhaps Nairna had been right. It might be that he wouldn’t discourage her glass making. She held on to the intense hope as she finished the glass and placed it within the smaller furnace to anneal.
‘Won’t it melt again?’ Alex asked.
She shook her head. ‘This furnace is at a lower temperature. It allows the glass to cool slowly and it’s stronger that way. In another day, I’ll make it into a flat pane. Then I can cut it into pieces for my windows.’
She held up a piece of glass the colour of the green hills. ‘It will look like this when it’s finished.’
‘Show me some of the other work you’ve completed,’ Alex ordered. He stood beside the glass she’d begun cutting and Laren went to the back of the cave for some of the cloth-wrapped windows she’d made.
Though she supposed the windows were good enough, the old fears crept back to stifle her courage. These pieces were hers. Her vision, her colours that she’d made after Father Nolan had passed away. It was possible Alex wouldn’t like them and she didn’t want to see the disapproval on his face.
When she unwrapped the first window, she revealed a scene she’d done of a shepherd tending his sheep upon a hillside. She’d struggled to get the right shades of green and her early attempts at the lead lines weren’t as good as she’d hoped.
She waited for him to speak. To say something about her work.
He examined the glass, touching the lead lines. But he revealed nothing of his thoughts. ‘Show me the others.’
; Laren obeyed, unwrapping one window after the next. With each bit of glass she revealed, it felt as though she were baring herself before Alex. She waited for some comment, some sort of criticism of her work.
Instead, he merely nodded.
It hurt in a way she hadn’t expected. Her spirits sank further, but she hid her disappointment.
‘Can you leave the fires now?’ he asked.
She nodded. ‘Ramsay will return soon—they should be all right until he arrives.’
‘Good.’ Alex held out his hand to her, and started to lead her from the cavern. It was still dark outside, with only the torches of Glen Arrin in the distance to guide their way.
‘Where are we going?’ she asked Alex.
‘I’ll show you.’
They returned home and he continued walking past each of the houses, to the foundation of the new fortress. Surrounding it was a wall that rose up to her knees. But what surprised her was how wide the diameter of the wall was. They had changed the structure, bringing the walls much further out. The men had been working on it all day, and they would have the remaining stones in place within a sennight if they continued at this pace.
Although there was a new gate area already formed, Alex put his hands around her waist and lifted her over the wall. It was dark within the space, but in the distance, the sky had lightened, transforming night into dawn.
‘It’s larger than the previous keep,’ she commented. ‘But why is the wall so vast?’
‘We’re putting it up in stages,’ he said. ‘And it won’t be a wooden keep. It will be a castle.’
She didn’t know what to say. A castle would be a visible threat to the English, inviting an attack. And with all the unrest and the raids, she sometimes wished they could go and hide in the forest, invisible to everyone.
‘It will take years to build this,’ he said, ‘but it will be worth it in the end.’
She sat down on the low stone wall, drawing up her knees. ‘You want this, don’t you?’
‘My father dreamed of it. It’s something I can build in his memory.’ He sat with his back to hers, letting her lean against him.
Though the morning light was the barest shade of lavender, as the sun slowly rose, she saw the vast work spread before her. These were his dreams, his desires.
She turned slightly, lowering her feet and resting her cheek against his back. Alex faced her, his hand upon the wall. ‘The glass was beautiful,’ he said quietly. ‘I could see the fire and beauty you imprisoned within it.’
She never expected the compliment. And yet, the heaviness in his voice made her wonder if there was more to what he was saying.
‘Finish the commission, if that’s what you truly want,’ he continued. His gaze returned to the framework of the castle. ‘I have work enough to occupy myself here.’
And although he’d just given her the freedom she wanted, Laren sensed the distance stretching further between them.
‘She’s returned,’ Bram said, his face twisted into a frown. ‘May God help us.’
‘Who?’ Alex saw the unrest in his brother’s face and knew the answer before he spoke.
‘Our mother.’
Alex resisted the urge to cross himself. They had enjoyed a peaceful few weeks while their mother had taken sanctuary with Kameron MacKinnon, Lord of Locharr. As their ally, Lord Locharr had come to their aid on more than one occasion. The older man had more patience and understanding than any other person he’d met…and since he’d welcomed Grizel into his home, Alex rather thought the man deserved sainthood.
But if Grizel MacKinloch was returning home, it meant trouble.
‘Where is she?’
‘Waiting near the gates with her wagons. She’s already given Ross an earful about the keep. I thought I’d warn you.’
Alex expected no less from his mother. No doubt she would have opinions about how they should have put out the fires and saved the keep. He crossed through the fortress and stopped to gather his two daughters. With Adaira and Mairin holding each hand, he went to greet her.
Possibly the distraction of the girls would keep Grizel from lashing out at the others. He didn’t need his mother stirring up unrest with her harsh criticisms.
The older woman had already dismounted and Nairna was walking at her side. From the sulking expression on Grizel’s face, Alex could tell that she was working herself into a mood.
‘Well. It’s about time you came to welcome me,’ she said in greeting, her gaze falling upon the girls. ‘I suppose that wife of yours has disappeared again.’ Her nose wrinkled in distaste.
Alex’s knuckles clenched into a fist, recognising her baiting. ‘Laren is involved in another task,’ he responded. He gave his mother the required kiss of welcome and bade his girls do the same. Grizel inspected the children, but said nothing to them. With his permission, the girls joined Vanora, who was busy blending mortar for the day’s work. They began making towers of stones, staying out of harm’s way.
‘Why are you here, Mother?’ Alex asked.
‘I thought it was my home, if I remember correctly.’ She smoothed her skirts and strode forwards, her eyes drinking in the sight of the remains. ‘And since Lord Locharr told me the state of things, I thought I’d best return and help you.’
He doubted if she intended to do anything except criticise, but he kept that opinion to himself.
‘I can see that you’ve destroyed everything Tavin worked for.’ Her face tightened in a frown.
‘The English destroyed it.’
‘Only because you were foolish enough to steal that Frenchwoman away from Lord Cairnross.’
‘It was a rescue,’ he corrected. ‘Lady Marguerite asked us for sanctuary and we granted it.’
‘And you see what that’s brought you.’ Grizel waved her hand at the repairs. ‘Now you’ve wasted time building walls instead of a proper tower. Tavin wouldn’t have wanted this.’
He didn’t waste his breath arguing further. His mother thrived upon conflict; she liked nothing better than to engage in a verbal match.
‘My Lady Grizel, I’m grateful to see that you’ve returned,’ Nairna interrupted them. In a voice as sweet as cream, she continued, ‘Would you walk with me and we can discuss how we could best use your skills?’ Nairna took Grizel’s hand in hers, leading her away from the others.
Alex made a mental promise to gift his brother’s wife with a length of silk, as soon as he could arrange it. If Nairna could keep Grizel occupied, it would make the repairs far easier.
While Nairna retreated with his mother, Alex stared over at the loch. After Laren had returned to the cavern early this morn, he hadn’t seen her since. He didn’t know if she’d remembered to eat or whether she was already caught up in making the glass.
He’d never seen anything like it, in all his life. It was like watching sorcery, in the transformation from sand into molten glass. When she’d spun the pipe, putting her breath within the glass, all traces of the shy, quiet wife had disappeared. She’d revealed an inner strength and power, a confidence in her skill.
He hadn’t known that she was capable of such feats; now he wondered who the woman he’d married truly was. Because of her glass, she’d brought untold wealth to them, silver coins that would help them rebuild every last stone of Glen Arrin. He was grateful for it, but it meant that she would spend hours of the day away from everyone.
Alex felt torn between his wife and his responsibilities as chief. He worked alongside the people, hour after hour, until he collapsed into his bed at night. And he could foresee no changes in the near future. It exhausted him, just thinking about it.
If she worked on her glass all day and night, would he even see her at all? It was impossible to transform a marriage if they never spent any time together.
Alex lifted a stone and laid it upon the wall, that Callum had spread with mortar. His daughters were laughing as they stacked smaller stones and knocked them down again. He watched them, and their smiles warmed him. Mairin, th
ough only four years old, was starting to look more and more like Laren. He watched as she tightened her lips, adjusting the stack of stones to build it higher.
Her small fingers moved with an exact manner, so careful was she. He moved closer to the girls, kneeling down. ‘What are you building, Mairin?’
‘It’s a castle, just like yours.’ She sent a glare toward her younger sister. ‘But the English keep knocking it down.’
Adaira beamed and pushed the stack over, laughing as it fell into pieces. ‘Again!’ she demanded.
Mairin rolled her eyes, but granted her sister’s wish by building the stack again. While she worked, Alex asked, ‘Did you know about your mother’s glass?’
His daughter wrinkled her nose. ‘We’re not supposed to go in the cave. We might burn ourselves if we get too close.’ She sent him a tentative smile. ‘I like the blue glass best. But I have to be a big girl and keep Adaira away from the fires. She’d burn right up. Or the witches might get her.’
Alex hid his smile and said, ‘You were good to take care of her.’ He touched her hair, bringing her into an embrace. Adaira moved in, her small arms joining them. With a tight squeeze, he accepted their affection as the precious gift it was.
‘It’s pretty, isn’t it?’
‘Aye. There’s magic there.’ He suddenly thought of the glass droplets he’d given Laren, so many years ago. Had she kept them at all? He hadn’t seen them in so long, he supposed they were gone.
A sudden noise caught his attention from outside the fortress, something that sounded like an approaching horse. ‘Stay here,’ he warned his girls. He crossed the area, moving to the first stone wall that was partially completed. Shielding his eyes from the sun, he looked for the source of the sound.
Nothing. Not a single movement from anywhere. But he knew what he’d heard. And if it were Dougal or another clansman, they’d have revealed themselves. His instincts sharpened and he scanned their surroundings for the invisible threat.
Seduced by Her Highland Warrior Page 10
