Seduced by Her Highland Warrior

by Michelle Willingham

  When he heard a horse approaching, Finian struggled to rise. Dizziness plagued his vision, but when he saw the rider his tension eased. It was a priest, travelling on horseback. Not a threat at all.

  The priest drew closer and when he spied Finian, he dismounted. His dark robes trailed the ground and he folded his hands within the long sleeves. ‘A charaid, you’re bleeding. Will you allow me to help you?’

  Finian nodded, easing himself to sit up. Though the ground still swayed beneath him, he allowed the priest to unwrap his sodden sleeve.

  ‘A sword, was it?’ The priest opened up a pouch he carried and withdrew a folded piece of linen from inside. He pulled back Finian’s sleeve and tore a piece from it, swabbing at the blood. ‘You’re lucky you didn’t lose that arm. I won’t be able to stitch it for you, but you are welcome to join me as I journey to Glen Arrin. I’m certain one of the women there would help you.’

  ‘Glen Arrin?’ Finian repeated, unable to believe what he was hearing.

  ‘Aye.’ The priest smiled. ‘There is a glass artist there whose work is nothing short of miraculous. The abbot has commissioned a window from the MacKinlochs and I’m bringing the plans to them.’

  Finian barely listened to the man’s words, for when the priest tightened the linen around his arm, the pain made it impossible to answer.

  ‘Will you come, then?’ the priest asked again. ‘The MacKinlochs would be glad to help a man in need.’

  But Finian only shook his head. Though the MacKinlochs hadn’t seen his face on the night he’d attacked, as soon as they saw the wound upon his arm, it would reveal his identity. ‘No, thank you, Father. I’ll return to my family.’

  After he thanked the priest for his kindness, the man smiled. ‘A family is a blessing indeed. God go with you and your loved ones.’

  A bleakness reached out to him, squeezing Finian’s heart. For there was no one to guard his daughter now. And he simply didn’t know how he could save her.

  The autumn was fading into harsh winter as Laren finished panes of glass in all different colours, preparing for the design she would have to make. Callum had kept his word, patrolling the area surrounding her cavern. She’d felt uneasy about Alex’s brother, for never did he speak. She worried that he resented having to guard her, for he ignored her attempts to give him food or to make him feel more at ease. Truthfully, she hoped that her husband would lift the requirement, now that there had been no further attacks.

  One morning, before she could go to the cavern, Laren spied a priest arriving on horseback. He was dressed in dark robes of a simple wool, with a hood to cover his head. When he approached, he stopped the horse a few paces before the gates. He lowered his hood, studying the fortress as if wondering if he were in the right place. He tucked his hands inside his long sleeves and ventured forwards, leading the horse with him.

  Laren guessed he was one of the priests from the abbey who had come with the plans she needed. She drew close to Nairna and her sister-in-law crossed over to speak with him. The man appeared tired and frail from his journey, but he managed to smile and greet them.

  ‘You came from the Abbey of Inveriston, I presume?’ Before the priest could voice a reply beyond a simple nod, Nairna continued on. ‘You’ll want a meal and some mead to refresh yourself. And perhaps you’d honour us by saying Mass in the morning?’

  ‘Of—of course.’ The man appeared taken aback by Nairna’s bold questions, but eventually he managed to introduce himself. ‘I am Father Stephen.’

  Nairna sent him a broad smile. ‘You are welcome here.’ Now that he was dismounted, she explained in a low voice, ‘Laren can discuss the glass with you and show you the sample pieces. The others don’t know about it yet. We’ll go to the cavern and you can give her the plans you brought.’

  ‘The cavern?’

  He appeared confused, but Laren clarified, ‘Where the glass is made.’ It was far better to hold a conversation there, where no one would eavesdrop.

  The priest lowered his head, nodding his agreement as he followed them towards the shores of the loch. Laren studied the priest, unsure of whether or not to admit that she was the glass artist and not her false brother. He didn’t appear to be biased against women. As they walked towards the cavern along the edge of the loch, she weighed it over in her mind, wondering whether or not he would retract the commission.

  But he was a man of God, and she already felt terrible for the lie she’d told the abbot. If this priest would be staying with them for a few days, it would be impossible to keep the truth from him.

  When they reached Father Nolan’s cavern, Laren stopped outside the entrance. ‘I want to be truthful with you,’ she confessed. ‘It was I who made the glass, not my brother. I should have been honest with the abbot, but I was afraid he would not allow me to take the commission.’

  The priest appeared troubled. His eyes narrowed, but before he could argue with her, Laren insisted, ‘There is no reason why my glass should be any different than a man’s. And the abbot was pleased with the work I gave him.’

  She led him and Nairna inside the cavern. ‘If you are not satisfied with my work, I will return the coins.’

  He gave a slight shrug, giving no hint of his opinion. Laren withdrew the sheets of glass she’d made in various colours, offering them for his inspection. While he and Nairna looked at them, she opened the annealing furnace to see if the cylinder of glass that she’d made earlier was ready to be flattened.

  The priest had stopped talking, his eyes intent upon Laren as she scored and cracked the cylinder in half. Though it made her uncomfortable to be watched, she understood that this man would report everything back to the abbot.

  Don’t be nervous, she ordered herself. You’ve made sheets of glass hundreds of times. She placed the two halves of glass, curved-side down, into a cooler part of the furnace to soften into sheets. When she turned back to them, the priest was staring at her with wonder.

  ‘Do you have the plans for the windows?’ Nairna asked. ‘Laren needs them to continue her work.’

  His expression faltered for a moment, but then he opened the pouch at his waist, searching through it. A moment later, he withdrew a sheet of parchment and handed it to them.

  Laren studied the sketch, her mind forming ideas for the different colours. She already had blue and green sheets for the crucifixion scene, but she would need more brown and gold. The hardest element would be the faces. She simply didn’t have enough experience with painting enamel upon glass.

  ‘I might have them ready for you in the early summer,’ she predicted. ‘But I’ll need the measurements for the kirk windows.’

  ‘Would you like to measure them yourself?’ he offered. ‘I could escort you there.’

  She thought about it, but Alex was unlikely to let her leave Glen Arrin. With no other choice, she suggested, ‘It would be best if you could have your priests build the frame and bring it to me.’

  He was speaking to Nairna again, asking questions about the rebuilding efforts, and Laren turned her attention to another crucible of sand, lime and beechwood ashes.

  After a quarter of an hour, the priest touched her hand gently.

  ‘Did you hear my question?’

  She coloured. ‘No, I’m sorry. I was trying to decide which melts to begin next.’ Glancing outside, she realised it had grown late. ‘I should get back to my daughters.’

  The priest’s hand rested upon hers a moment longer and his expression grew troubled. Uneasiness rippled through Laren, for no man had ever touched her, save Alex. She glanced around and realised that Nairna had already gone back to Glen Arrin. Callum was still outside and she didn’t know if he was guarding them.

  Father Stephen was looking at her intently. ‘Do you want me to walk back with you?’

  She shook her head slowly, her mind in disarray. His hand was warm upon hers and an unsettled feeling rooted in her stomach.

  He meant nothing by it, she told herself. He’d held her hand while he spok
e, that was all.

  But it was the first time another man had noticed her. And when she turned back to the entrance of the cavern, she saw her husband standing there. Watching.

  August, 1303

  Alex found Laren huddled in their bed, though it was the middle of the day. When he opened the shutters to let in some light, she closed her eyes against the sudden brightness.

  ‘Are you ill?’ he asked.

  She stared at the wall, her face so pale, he didn’t know what to think. Though it hadn’t been a full year since their son had died, he might as well have buried his wife. She rarely spoke to him any more.

  Only a few months ago, they’d tried to put the pieces of their marriage back together. She had allowed him back into her bed for a time, but the emptiness in her embrace made their lovemaking hollow. He couldn’t seem to break past the grief that closed her off from him. The warmth and love within her had died away, like a candle extinguished with no warning. And gradually, he’d stopped touching her at all.

  He sat down upon the bed, feeling helpless. ‘What can I do?’ His voice sounded wooden, even to him. He reached out and rested his palm against her hair. Laren took his hand in hers. She moved it away, and at first he thought she didn’t want him to touch her. But instead, she slowly brought it lower, beneath the coverlet.

  Until she rested it upon her swollen womb.

  All the words fled Alex’s mind, for he was caught between joy and fear for the unborn life. He traced the rounded shape. Although it was small now, it would transform Laren’s body over the next few months.

  ‘When will the bairn come?’ he managed to ask.

  ‘In the early spring.’ Her voice was emotionless and, had he not seen the glimmer of tears in her eyes, he’d have thought she didn’t want it.

  Slowly, he raised her to sit up, and brought her into his arms. ‘It will be all right,’ he said. ‘I promise you.’ The birth of this child was an unexpected blessing, one that might heal his wife’s grief and fill her arms.

  ‘You can’t keep that promise.’ Her voice was filled with uncertainty. ‘If it happens again—’

  ‘It won’t. God wouldn’t do that to us.’ He wrapped his arms around her, trying to reassure her. But she didn’t move, keeping her hands at her sides. ‘Laren, I’ll take care of you.’

  Long moments passed, but she wouldn’t look at him or return the embrace. In the end, he lowered his hands and stepped back. Not once would she look at him.

  Leave her alone, his mind insisted. She doesn’t want you right now.

  Alex closed off the aching hurt inside of him. When he reached the door, he turned back to look at his wife one last time. Her hand rested upon her womb, her body curled inwards…as if she could guard the unborn life with her own.

  Chapter Nine

  ‘Return to the abbey,’ Alex ordered the priest, resting his hand upon his dirk. ‘Immediately. You will not say Mass tonight or in the morning.’ And, God willing, the man would stay in Inveriston.

  ‘If that is your wish.’ Father Stephen bowed his head, but there was no humility or embarrassment in the man. He behaved as if there were no shame in what he’d done. Callum trailed the man, as if to ensure that he obeyed Alex’s orders.

  Once the man had reached the far side of the loch, Alex turned back to Laren. ‘Why was the priest holding your hand?’ He kept his voice neutral, but he could see the flustered air upon Laren’s face. She stared at a piece of glass as though it were the most important thing in the world.

  ‘He wasn’t holding my hand. He was just…offering to walk back with me.’

  ‘With his hand on yours.’ Although most of the priests were celibate, Alex wasn’t such a fool as to believe all of them were. And he’d seen the man touching Laren with more than kindness in his eyes. She was his wife. And, priest or no, he’d slay any man who dared to lay a hand on her.

  He reached out and captured Laren by the waist. The scent of wood smoke clung to her and a long lock of red hair rested over one shoulder. Alex leaned in, bringing her into his embrace. He held her, the softness of her hair resting against his mouth.

  She pulled back to stare at him. ‘He brought me the plans for the commission and that was all. You’ve no reason to be jealous.’

  He didn’t care that he was behaving like an overprotective husband. The need to reassert his claim, to remind her that she was his, took precedence over all else. ‘Haven’t I?’

  Though she slept beside him at night, for the past fortnight she’d remained on the opposite side with their daughters between them. What he wouldn’t give for their own chamber, a place where he could remove the barriers of sleeping children and reach out to her again.

  ‘The damned priest has touched you more than I have in these past few weeks.’

  She looked uncomfortable in his arms. ‘You’ve been busy with the rebuilding.’

  Aye, he had. He’d worked all day and deep into the night, determined to get the walls up as soon as possible. Though there had been no more attacks, he didn’t believe they were safe. And if he had to work himself to the bone to finish their defences, he’d do so.

  ‘It will be finished soon,’ he swore, letting her go. ‘A few more days, at the most.’

  She nodded, but when she started to retreat back to the glassmaking, he reminded her, ‘Nairna arranged a feast to celebrate Oidhche nam Bannag. She’ll expect you to be there.’

  His wife’s face brightened with embarrassment. ‘I should have helped her with the preparations. I wasn’t thinking about what day it was.’ She glanced back at the furnace, frustration lining her face. ‘Will you go and fetch Ramsay to come and watch the fires?’

  ‘Aye. Then I’ll return and wait for you.’ He wanted her to walk with him to the celebration, to pretend to be his lady, even if it was just an illusion. After Laren had been attacked, he’d been so focused on catching the intruder, he’d neglected her again. He saw her upon waking and when he drifted off to sleep at night, but that was all.

  It was no way for a man to reconcile with his wife.

  Snowflakes drifted on the wind, and after Alex left the cavern, he realised he didn’t know where to look. Possibly in Walter’s house or among the other boys. He supposed Ramsay could be anywhere.

  But when he reached the outskirts of Glen Arrin, he spied the lad waiting. Ramsay shrank down, as if trying to make himself invisible. He huddled in the cold and Alex recognised one of his old tunics that Laren must have given to the boy. It hung down over his wrists and the saffron colour was faded and worn.

  Alex studied the boy’s face, but thankfully he didn’t see any fresh bruises. He made himself a mental reminder to find out where Eoin was, since he hadn’t seen Ramsay’s father in a sennight. Though Walter had taken the boy into his home, it was a temporary solution. Ramsay deserved a permanent place to live where he would be warm at night, with enough food to eat. Perhaps when the keep was finished, he and Laren could foster the boy themselves.

  ‘Laren has asked you to come and tend the fires,’ he told the boy. ‘But if you’d rather attend the celebration tonight, we can—’

  ‘I’ve no wish to go.’ Ramsay got up and started running toward the cavern, as if he couldn’t stand to make any further conversation.

  Alex followed the boy, and when he arrived back at the cave he saw Laren emerging. Her hood had slipped down to reveal her hair and snowflakes melted against her cheeks. Ramsay was already inside the cavern, adding firewood to the furnaces.

  Laren walked a short distance with him and when they were out of earshot, she reminded him, ‘I would never, ever betray you. Not with any man.’

  He drew her to his side. ‘It’s not you I distrust. It’s the priest.’

  She fell silent as they walked towards the fortress. In the distance, torches flickered amid the fortress construction. A large bonfire blazed in the centre of the enclosure and people were starting to gather around. Monroe pulled out his pipes and began to play a lively tune while some of the
folk began to dance.

  When they entered the space, Alex saw that Nairna had cut fir branches, tying them in different places around the fortress. Laren’s pace slowed as she studied Nairna’s greenery. ‘It reminds me of the way we used to decorate our home.’ With a furtive smile, she said, ‘My sisters and I used to collect fir branches and holly. We gave each other stones and sticks and pretended they were gold bracelets or beautiful gowns.’

  ‘Did you ever receive real gifts?’

  She nodded. ‘Mother would try to make us something warm—a hood or hand coverings. Father would set snares for rabbits; if he was lucky, we had our own feast.’

  Alex led her inside the fortress and she looked around for the girls. ‘Where are the children?’

  ‘Look there.’ He pointed to a small circle of young girls. Grizel was addressing them solemnly and placed the bannag stone in the lap of each girl as they took turns representing St Brigid, who first held the Christ Child. ‘My mother said the children will enjoy a celebration of their own. Dougal plans to tell them stories inside one of the huts.’

  Laren seemed content at this, and when they drew closer to the music, he remembered that they’d danced together a time or two. He took her hand and led her away from the others, just as Monroe changed the tune to a softer one. The pipes held a haunting note of wistfulness and his wife’s face softened. She’d always loved music.

  ‘Dance with me,’ Alex said, pulling her near. She hesitated, glancing around at all the people, but he took her hands and wound them around his neck. ‘There’s no one here except you and me.’

  ‘There are nearly thirty people,’ she protested.

  But he leaned in close, touching his nose to hers. ‘Don’t look at them. They won’t even notice us here.’ He lowered his hands to her hips, moving her in a slow circle.