Chapter Eleven

Another fortnight had passed, and the wooden keep was nearly finished. Though Alex had wanted to build up the walls with stone, he'd conceded to the men that it would be faster to put up a temporary structure and build the castle around it later. Within another day, they would have a place of their own for sleeping. He wanted Laren and his daughters out of Ross's home, for they needed their own space.

The threat of the MacLachors had set all of them on edge. It had fueled the men into working harder, finishing their walls and strengthening the defenses. Another attack was imminent, and he didn't know if it would come from Harkirk's forces or the MacLachor clan.

He had to do something. Ignoring the problem wasn't going to make it go away.

He walked toward Laren's cave, his leather shoes crunching upon the frozen ice puddles on the ground. He wore a shaggy, fur-lined mantle, and his breath formed clouds in the wintry air. A few sparse flakes of snow drifted in the air.

When he saw Callum standing at the entrance with his bow, he nodded a dismissal to his brother. Though he was grateful that Callum had agreed to watch over Laren, it couldn't last much longer. His brother deserved better than to stand guard, hour after hour.

The heat from Laren's furnaces was welcome as he entered the cavern. She wore only a gown, and perspiration lined her neck. Her hair was bound back and in her hands she held a long metal pipe. A bubble of glass formed from the end and he stopped, spellbound at the sight of her magic. With breath and fire, she formed a cylinder of glass, the color of rubies. She kept her entire attention focused upon the glass and it gave him the distraction he needed.

Quietly, Alex took one of the cloth-wrapped pieces of glass that she'd finished long ago and set it outside the cavern to take back with him. Though it was not a piece she'd meant for the new kirk, he had another purpose for it. And Laren wouldn't like it at all, if she knew of his intentions.

Only when she had finished the piece, setting it within the annealing furnace to cool, did she turn around to greet him.

"It's beautiful," he told her and was rewarded by a slight smile.

"I love red," she admitted, "but it's the most difficult color. I wish there was a way to make it so it isn't so dark. It doesn't let in the light the way other colors do."

She moved over to the stone work surface where pieces of cut glass lay spread out. He could see the emerging figure of the crucifixion, and in the surrounding scenes were stories that revealed the Garden of Eden, Moses parting the Red Sea and an image of the Virgin Mary.

But none of the saints or apostles had faces yet. It made him wonder if the gift he'd planned for Laren would be welcome or not.

"My cousins will arrive soon to take Mairin home with them," he told her. "A messenger came this morning. She'll go north, as we planned."

Laren set down the cutting implement and when he drew closer, he saw the exhaustion on her face. She'd been working since dawn, just as he had. She rested her hands upon the stone table, but she looked unnaturally pale. "I know she has to go, but I wish she could stay."

"She'll be safer." He came up behind her and rested his hands on her shoulders, trying to reassure her.

Laren didn't answer but kept her head lowered. It was then that he noticed something wasn't right with her bearing. She looked shaken, almost unwell.

"What is it?" he asked her.

Without warning, Laren's knees folded and he caught her before she could fall to the ground.

His heart quickened when she remained limp into his arms. She remained unconscious for only a moment or two and he helped her sit on the bench beside him with her head lowered.

"Take deep breaths," he ordered. As he rubbed her shoulders, he noticed her pale color. It made him wonder if she was no longer taking care of herself. "Are you ill?"

"No. I'll be all right."

Even so, he wasn't convinced. He leaned back against the table, keeping her in his arms. She didn't relax and seemed to grow more tense, the longer he held her. At last, she said, "Alex, it's all right. I was just dizzy for a moment."

"Has it happened before?"

She lifted her shoulders in a shrug. "It's nothing to worry about."

"I don't like seeing you faint. You could have hit your head."

Although Ramsay was there most of the time, there were times when she worked alone inside the cavern. "I'll send Dougal to you in the morning," he said. "You could finish your work sooner with both him and Ramsay to help."

She shook her head. "Your brother is more interested in horses and animals than glass. I'll be fine as I am now."

But he didn't agree at all. She was growing more and more tired with every day that she worked. Even this morn, she'd struggled to awaken. Alex helped her to stand up and held his hands around her waist. "You're working too hard, Laren. I can see how weary you are."

"I promised to finish the windows for their new kirk by the early summer," she insisted. "No one else can do the work."

He didn't understand her haste, for there seemed to be plenty of time. And despite her protests, he intended to find more people to help her. If nothing else, it would ease his mind to know that she wasn't working alone.

"You don't need to bury yourself in glassmaking, Laren," he said.

"I need to finish it," she insisted. "A few months more, and I can send the windows to the abbot."

He didn't doubt her words. But there was an agitation in her voice, one he hadn't expected. "Something else is bothering you."

She rested her hands upon the stone table, revealing her scars. With her eyes closed, she admitted, "Nairna came to me today, asking for advice. She wants a baby." Laren reached for a piece of cut glass, arranging it in the mosaic that was forming the window. "It doesn't seem fair that I've been blessed with our children, when she would give anything for a single bairn."

"I'm certain she and Bram will have a family, soon enough." With the way his brother and Nairna spent all their hours together, he supposed it was only a matter of time.

"Perhaps."

He moved his hands to her shoulders, feeling the knots of tension in her neck. As he massaged her skin, her hands grew still.

"I brought something for you." He reached inside his cloak for the gift he'd brought her. Holding it out, he said, "I wanted you to have this."

Laren held on to the cloth-wrapped package. "What is it?"

"Something you need."

She sent him a curious look and untied the package, letting the cloth fall open. Inside were three slender brushes. The handles were made of a smooth wood, sanded to a silky finish. The delicate bristled tips could create a fine painted line and he'd bought her the brushes, knowing it would help her paint the faces of the saints.

She set the brushes down on the table and the look on her face was stricken, as if she were about to cry.

"Did I do something wrong?"

She shook her head. "They're exactly what I needed." A teardrop rolled down her cheek and she stared at the table.

He didn't know why on earth she was weeping. She couldn't do the intricate shadows on the faces without the right tools. "Why are you crying?"

"I don't know," she sobbed.

"Are you tired or hurting?"

She wiped the tears away. "No. I don't know what's the matter with me." She stood up, holding the brushes in her hands. "It was kind of you to give these to me."

He didn't know what to say, so he gave a nod and started to leave. Laren caught him by the hand before he could go. Her fingers laced in his, and she came closer. "The keep will be finished tonight, won't it?"

"Aye." He held her fingertips lightly. "The men worked on it, day and night, to finish early."

"Because you're afraid of another attack," she predicted.

He inclined his head. "We all know it will happen. But we don't know when."

Laren paled and he said, "I'll do whatever I have to, to keep you safe." His hand moved to the back of her neck, in silent reassurance.

She raised her eyes to him and they grew shadowed with suspicion. "You wouldn't give yourself over to Harkirk, would you?"

"It's not what I want."

But she saw through his words and started to shake her head. "Don't even consider it, Alex."

"I'll have to confront him, soon enough. This can't go on." Though he had no intention of being a martyr, he didn't want his clan or family to be hurt on his behalf.

"What will you do?"

He made no reply, not wanting to upset her more. Instead, he caressed the tension from her neck, wishing he could soothe away the worry.

"I don't want anything to happen to you, Alex," she murmured. "Our daughters need you." She lifted her blue eyes to him, winding her arms around his neck. "I need you."

He held himself motionless, her quiet confession reaching beneath his skin in a way he didn't understand. He could feel the softness of her body pressing close, and it sent a rush of sudden desire through him. The last time they'd been together she'd seduced him, sending him past the brink of reason until all that existed was her.

Laren took his hands and drew them around her waist, bringing their bodies close. She tilted her head up, and in her eyes, he sensed her desire. He wanted her now, so badly he was shaking from it. But she was so pale, so fragile, he didn't want her to think that she had to yield to him.

"Will you kiss me?" she whispered.

He cradled the back of her nape and shook his head. "If I touch you right now, I won't stop."

"I don't want you to stop." She pressed the length of her body against him and he couldn't have stopped his response if he tried. His hands moved down to her hips and when she moved against him, it was a sensual caress against his arousal.

As his mouth claimed hers, she yielded sweetly, her tongue meeting his with its slick warmth. Alex drew it into his mouth, caressing her with his own tongue, mimicking the act that he wanted to do with her.

When he pulled back from the kiss, he was fighting to keep his breath steady. The temptation to remove the layers, to feel her bare skin against his, was taking him apart. "You're not feeling well," he said, letting go of her. "I'll send Ramsay to tend the furnaces, and you can come home and rest."

But Laren stepped in his path. "I don't want you to go, Alex."

Her husband was so taut with sexual need, she sensed that he was on the edge of losing control. Beneath her fingertips, his heartbeat was hammering.

Laren reached beneath his tunic, using her bare hands to touch his skin. "I haven't seen you the past few nights. You've gone back to the way things were before."

"Our defenses aren't finished yet," he argued back. "If the English or anyone else attacks us again—" He broke off, shaking his head. "I have to be certain everyone is protected."

"How long will it take?"

He shook his head. "I don't know. The outer framing of the keep is finished, but the stone will take many more months."

She'd wanted to believe that they had started over, that things would return to the way they'd been. Instead, it seemed that he continued to spend all of his time away from them, just as before. Nothing at all had changed.

"I'm doing this for you," he said. "And for our daughters." He gripped her hard, not allowing her to pull away. "I have to know that I've done everything I can to keep you safe."

Her hand moved up to his face, lingering upon him. "It's lonely at night," she whispered, "when you're not there." She felt a desperate need to bind him to her, to rekindle the lost feelings.

If he left her to fight Harkirk, she was afraid of losing him. It was hard enough falling asleep at night without him there, but if he were to die, especially now…

Alex closed his eyes, his hand covering hers. His mouth moved over her palm, as he brought her fingers down lower to his throat. She leaned up to kiss him, needing him to let go of the tight control.

His mouth hungered over hers while his hands bunched over her gown. She forgot all about her earlier dizziness as he distracted her with the kiss. It sent a spiral of awakening sensations through her skin, until she needed more.

"Alex," she whispered. "I'd rather have a husband in the flesh, than a husband who's never there." She drew his hand to her breast in an unmistakable invitation.

He rested his mouth against her cheek, his hand cupping her fullness. She felt his tension trembling with the fierce needs that he wouldn't voice. She wanted to push him past the brink, binding him to her so he would realize what he was missing when he spent so many hours away from her.

It had been so very long since she'd joined with him. She wanted him to trust her, to let her ease the burden of leadership. He kept everything hidden, but she could see the stiffness in his bearing. She lifted his tunic away and massaged his shoulders, trying to soothe the rigid strain in his muscles.

His body had changed over the past few weeks, the outline of hardened muscle caused by lifting so many stones. Though he'd never been soft, she marveled at his strength, running her fingertips over the heated skin.

He captured her hands, lowering them to her sides. "I don't trust myself to be gentle right now, Laren. It's been too long."

"Just be with me," she urged. She reached up to loosen her gown and her clothing fell away, his hands moving over her skin in reverence. Her breasts were sensitive and when he lowered his mouth to her nipple, she gasped in response. She tried to remove his trews, needing his length against her.

With his hands, he parted her legs, and she stiffened at the sharp reaction he provoked. When his fingers brushed against her hooded flesh, she let out a soft cry, feeling the moist response between her thighs.

"Do you remember the first time I took you?" he murmured.

She could hardly stand up as his fingers caressed her folds. "In the stone circle, just after our wedding."

"I couldn't get enough of you that night." He used their clothes to form a softer surface on the sandy floor of the cavern and guided her to lie down. "I couldn't believe that you were mine at last."

"I couldn't believe that, out of all the women you could have had, you chose me." She pulled him down to lie atop her and Alex's body covered hers. For a moment, she rested beneath him, wishing she could hold on to him.

His hands moved up her legs, his mouth grazing a trail, followed by his fingers. When he reached her womanhood, he touched her again and the sudden response was more intense than anything she'd felt before. Her wetness coated his fingers and she grew embarrassed by her reaction.

"Alex, don't go to Harkirk." She lifted one leg around his waist and he drew his hard length against her. "Stay with me."

"I won't hide like a coward," he insisted. "We're going to finish this. And when it's over, you'll not have to worry about an English invasion again."

The fierceness of his tone took her aback. He lifted her bottom, sheathing himself deep within her body. She couldn't stop the moan that he forced from her throat. He found the place that brought her such pleasure, withdrawing his shaft to her entrance. Hovering there, she felt his thickness stretching her, while he used his thumb to bring her closer to the edge.

Sweet Mary and the saints, the long weeks without him were making every sensation fuller. He knew just how to touch her, just how to make her desperate with need. And when he thrust against her, it was like being touched everywhere at the same time.

She ground her hips upward, trying to force him to move faster. Instead, he slowed down, taking his time to torment her. Aching for him, she reached for his hips and he rewarded her with a thick thrust. And when the rigid pleasure started to break through, she cried out as the waves shattered her body, turning her molten, like the hot glass.

He pressed her knees against her chest, driving his shaft against her, his penetrations making her body tremble. She couldn't catch her breath as he quickened the pace, thrusting within her liquid depths. A dark warmth emanated from deep inside, spiraling harder. She found herself fighting against him, struggling to keep a thread of sanity amid the rush of sensations. The pressure inside was building, her body straining for him.

"You're mine, Laren. No matter what happens to me, no man will ever bring you this." He thrust harder and the harsh rhythm pushed her over the edge. She couldn't do anything except surrender to the blinding feelings that kept pressing her higher. Not once did he let up with the driving rhythm, taking her harder than he'd ever done before.

He'd become the conqueror, and she, his slave. Then his hot mouth covered her breast and she came apart again. White-hot, shimmering fires of release rocked through her and she gasped at the way she was meeting him, thrust for thrust. After a few more penetrations, he let out his own growl and released his seed within her.

Never, in all their years of marriage, had he ever let go of his control so completely. But his words terrified her. No matter what happens to me.

He wouldn't tell her what he was going to do and it frustrated her that he'd withheld that part of himself.

"Come back to the keep with me," he whispered, kissing her deeply. Laren's fingertips reached up to her lips, as though she could hold on to his kiss.

"Soon," she promised. "I'll wait with the furnaces while you fetch Ramsay."

As he withdrew from her body and got dressed, she felt the shielded distance descending once more. Though she'd granted him the physical release he'd needed, it wasn't enough.

And she didn't know how to break through to him.

After he'd gone, Laren tried to stand, but her knees buckled beneath her. The familiar dizziness broke over her like a wave, and she lowered her head, fighting to steady herself.

You should have told him, her conscience warned. She hadn't had her woman's flow in nearly two months and her breasts were tender. The familiar signs of pregnancy were there and she supposed this new child would be born the following autumn.

It surprised her that Alex hadn't guessed already. Anything and everything made her cry. The tears came without warning, and today had been particularly bad. Nairna had been trying for so long, wanting a child, and Laren had fought to hold back her emotions.

It seemed so unfair that Nairna should want a child so desperately, while her own fertility was effortless. She'd said nothing, not wanting to hurt her friend.

But she had other reasons for not telling Alex. She was achingly tired all of the time, and nausea plagued her from the moment she woke up until she fell asleep at night. It was so unlike her other pregnancies, she felt afraid for the first time in her life.

He would worry overmuch, likely confining her to bed. And then how would she finish the glass?

Just a little longer, she thought to herself. A few weeks more and the troublesome symptoms would subside. She'd finish the windows and then tell him about the new child.

Her hand moved down to her womb and she voiced a silent prayer that the bairn would somehow survive.