Chapter Twelve

Finian stared into the dying coals of the fire, his spirits as sunken as his cheeks. He didn't remember the last time he'd eaten. And he didn't know what to do. Their raid had failed. He'd underestimated the strength of their fighters and seizing a hostage no longer seemed possible. This task rested upon his shoulders and damned if he had any idea what to do now.

"Finian," came the voice of his brother Brochain. "English soldiers have arrived."

He jerked to his feet, resting his hand upon the hilt of his sword. "What do they want?"

"They came from Harkirk. They said they had a message from the baron."

His brother held out a cloth-wrapped bundle, and bile rose up in Finian's throat. By the Holy Virgin, what was this? He set the bundle upon a table and peeled back the layers of cloth. In the center, he saw the ragged gown that had once belonged to his daughter.

The implication, that her clothing had been taken from her . . . that the soldiers were using her . . . it was too much.

He closed his eyes, the rage building up until he could hardly think. His brother stared at the gown, his face white. "Is that Iliana's?"

"Aye." Finian clenched the gown, trying to keep control over his stomach. He couldn't bear to think of any man laying a hand upon his daughter. Whether or not his fears had come to pass, the message was clear.

His time was running out.

The interior of the new keep was warmer than Laren had expected. It seemed that every member of the MacKinloch clan had gathered inside the Hall. Though it was built of wood for now, already the men had begun laying stone to surround the wooden interior. She slipped inside the chamber, keeping in the background as she searched for her girls.

She saw them seated beside Alex at the far end of the room. He was talking to Bram while Nairna was busy organizing food. Laren rested her back against the wooden wall, trying to stay out of the way. The scent of cooking meat wafted through the air, and she swallowed hard to quell the nausea.

She needed to sit down, to calm her stomach and the lightheaded feeling, but there were no benches or chairs. The people milled around, drinking and talking, and she felt the familiar nerves creeping up. The desire to leave the crowds was rising up, and she fought her instincts.

Instead, she focused on the walls of the keep. The fresh scent of cut wood was welcome and she ran her hands over the surface. Though it would be one day be lined with stone, at least they would have a dry roof over their heads for tonight.

She kept to the outer perimeter, pasting a smile on her face that didn't belong there. As she neared Alex, she saw Vanora standing not far from the children. The older woman was responding to something her husband had said. When Laren greeted her, Vanora didn't seem to have heard her.

"He's been waiting on her, but she's not here yet," the matron was saying, with her back toward her. "I don't know why he's gathered us together, but it has something to do with Laren."

Laren was held motionless, not understanding. She'd thought this was about a celebration, a welcome for the people to be glad of the new keep.

The sickening feeling in her stomach twisted again. She was close enough to Alex that he could now see her and when she saw the wrapped package, her heart plummeted.

No. He wouldn't.

"Many of you have asked where we've found the silver to fund the rebuilding of Glen Arrin," Alex said in a voice that carried over the crowd. "I believe you deserve that answer now."

Though she supposed Alex intended it as an honor, she didn't want the others to look upon her early efforts in glass making. They weren't good. The colors weren't right and the panes could shatter with the slightest scratch.

Alex revealed the colored glass and she saw the image of the Madonna and Child that she'd created a year ago. The faceless Virgin was nothing more than a hooded woman, her arms cradling a precious bundle.

"This was made by Laren," Alex explained. "She sold her glass and brought the silver to us."

It took only seconds for every face to turn and look at her. And when she saw her husband's eyes, her own filled with tears. She didn't hear the words spoken by her clansmen. She fled outside the keep, needing to get out. For her husband to bare her soul in front of everyone felt like a betrayal. Why had he done this? He knew how much she hated being the center of attention. Nothing hurt her more than to be stared at by others. She couldn't bear it.

Outside, the snow mingled with rain, but she felt none of the cold. All of it was clustered inside her heart, for she'd never wanted to reveal herself in this way.

"Laren." She heard Alex's voice behind her. "Come back inside. They need to know the truth about why you're gone so many hours. And you need more people to help you." He tried to bring his arm around her waist, but she pushed him back.

Behind him, she saw curious faces and heard their whispering. Whether it was good or bad, she didn't want to know. And when he tried to prompt her again, she turned and ran, unable to face them.

Alex waited for another hour before going after Laren. He wanted to give her time to calm down, to accept what he'd done. He'd never understood her secrecy. There was no reason not to tell the others about her glass.

After he'd shown them her work, the people had been fascinated, offering compliments Laren wasn't there to hear. Each one of them had come forward to touch it. They asked questions he couldn't answer, and he suspected many would want to watch her work.

Others didn't believe him. They refused to acknowledge her skill until they saw it with their own eyes. The realization made him wonder if, perhaps, he'd acted in haste.

But he'd wanted to get help for her. She couldn't complete the task alone, regardless of what she believed.

"Glass or no glass, she's not been much of a wife to you." Grizel came forwards and Alex saw his girls walking beside his mother.

He sent her a sharp warning look. "You've no right to speak of her in that way. Especially around them."

"Why not? They know their mother is never there."

He didn't miss the way Mairin's eyes filled with tears. She wrenched her hand away from Grizel and glared at her grandmother. "My mother's glass is wonderful. You're just jealous because you can't make anything!"

His daughter went running toward the loch shores, around the outer edge towards the cavern. At the loss of her sister, Adaira began bawling.

"Leave us, Grizel," Alex warned. "You've done enough." He comforted Adaira, lifting her into his arms and rubbing her shoulders.

"Well. I've a right to express my opinion, don't I?"

"You've no right at all to say anything against my wife. And if you want a place to live among us, you'll find a way to make it up to Laren." He strode away, not bothering to say another word. Her sharp tongue would only earn her the brunt of his temper if he was foolish enough to remain near her.

With long strides, he caught up to Mairin. The young girl was smashing stones into the water, tears staining her cheeks. "I hate our seanmhair," she wept.

"Grizel is sorry for what she said." The lie slipped from his mouth, even though he doubted she was sorry at all. His mother's bitterness poisoned the atmosphere around her, until it was impossible to live anywhere near her.

"She told me this morn that I'm going to be sent away." Mairin looked up at him, her eyes worried.

He came closer to her and rested his hand upon her shoulder. His daughter was taller than his waist and it seemed strange, suddenly, that she'd grown so quickly. Her reddish hair was losing its baby golden tone and was growing darker.

"It's only for fostering, Mairin. You'll go north, to the Orkney Islands. My cousin has agreed to it." When more tears streamed down her face, he hugged her tightly. "It will be safer there, you'll see."

"I don't want to go," Mairin insisted.

He dropped a kiss upon her tousled hair. "You'll meet new girls and boys to play with. Perhaps a future husband."

Her face wrinkled in horror at the thought of a boy and he suppressed a laugh. "Come and let's find your mother," Alex said.

He hoped that, by now, Laren would be more amenable to the idea of having additional apprentices. At first, he'd thought Dougal would be the best choice, but it was Monroe, one of the younger boys, whose eyes had lit up at the prospect. Even when the others had finished looking at the glass, he'd continued to study it, touching the surface as if he couldn't quite believe it was real. The only question was whether Laren would allow the boy to join as another apprentice.

Before they reached the cavern, he saw her returning from the far side of the loch. Mairin raced into her arms, and Laren lifted her daughter on to her hip, speaking softly to her. When she reached Alex's side, she took Adaira from him and cuddled the baby girl in her arms.

To him, she uttered not a word. He could almost feel the air of invisible frost around her though she would say nothing in front of the girls. He couldn't read her face or discern her thoughts.

But when she started to enter Ross's home, he stopped her. "Did you forget that we're sleeping in the keep this night?"

She colored, but before she could say anything, Mairin blurted out, "Will we have our own bed, Da?"

"Not yet. But if there's time, I'll try to make one for you soon."

His admission didn't dim the girl's excitement and Mairin eagerly pulled Laren toward the wooden structure. Once they were inside, he arranged for some straw mattresses and blankets for the girls. Laren put them both to bed in a warm corner of the keep.

Only after they were asleep did she finally rise and move toward the other side of the keep where he'd arranged for them to rest.

"You're angry," he said, catching her by the arm.

She didn't speak, but her hands were clenched at her sides. He could feel the emotions simmering deep inside her and doubted if any words he spoke would assuage her.

"I won't apologize for what I did. They needed to know." He tried to touch her shoulder, but she closed her eyes as if in pain.

"Four of them followed me to the cavern. They wanted to watch."

He moved in front of her, forcing her to face him. "What you do is nothing short of magical. It's understandable."

"I don't want them watching me." She lowered her voice to a whisper. "I started one of the melts, but they kept asking me questions. I feel as if I've lost my sanctuary."

"What are you afraid of, Laren?"

"I hate it when they stare at me." Turning her head slightly, he saw the glitter of tears. "Even though I know my work is good, I can't stop remembering the things they used to say about my family when we were growing up. Now I'll have to endure their stares every day."

He leaned in until their bodies were close together. She let out a shuddering breath when his chest pressed against her breasts. "I never believed any of those things. You weren't to blame for your father."

"He did the best he could," she whispered, "but it wasn't enough." She moved to face him and in her blue eyes he saw the pain. "I shouldn't care what they think of me, should I?"

"They were intrigued by your skill. Not even Father Nolan could make glass the way you do. Monroe asked if you would allow him to help you and Ramsay."

"I don't understand why," she said. "Why would you tell them now, instead of after I've finished the windows?"

"Because you need help. And because I want you to stay closer to the fortress."

Her eyes flashed with anger and he held up a hand. "Hear me out. I'm not forbidding you to make the glass windows. You can cut the pieces here, in the keep."

"But the glass—"

"You have enough colors to do most of the work." He'd seen the dozens of panes for himself. "Ramsay and Monroe can make the glass and bring it to you here."

She stared at him. "What aren't you telling me, Alex?"

"I'm leaving with my brothers in a few days. I won't let Harkirk be a threat to us any longer."

The winter wind swept across the hills, drawing grey clouds that threatened snow. The priest from the abbey, Father Stephen, had returned a day ago to check on Laren's progress, but just as before, Alex didn't allow him to stay longer than an hour. He didn't want the priest anywhere near his wife.

When he entered the cavern, he ordered Monroe and Ramsay to go back to the keep. "I want to speak to Laren alone."

While Monroe wasted no time, Ramsay finished putting a clay crucible into the furnace and looked to Laren for permission. "Go on," she said. "It won't be ready for hours yet. You can return after sundown."

Alex moved to the table, resting his hands on either side, waiting for Laren to look at him. Her hands faltered upon the glass and she set down her cutting tool.

He saw her grow waxen, her fingers trembling. She closed her eyes and sank down upon the bench, lowering her head to her knees as though she were lightheaded.

"What is it?" Immediately, he went to her side, kneeling with his arm around her waist for support.

"It's the same as before. If I stand for too long, I feel faint." He didn't like hearing it, for the long hours were taking their toll. He touched her face, seeing the circles beneath her eyes.

"You need to slow down," he said. "The kirk won't be finished until the summer. There's time yet. You've no reason to work all day, every day."

Instead of his words reassuring her, Laren buried her face in her hands. "I have to work at this pace, or it won't be finished."

"I don't need you working yourself into exhaustion for it. We don't need the silver."

The desperation in her expression made him fear that, once again, she was hiding something from him. "Laren," he warned, "what is it?"

She grew silent, taking long breaths before she lifted her face to his. "I'm going to have another baby."

The unexpected joy that flickered upon his face suddenly halted. "You aren't happy about this child, are you?"

His accusatory tone bothered Laren. It wasn't that she didn't want the bairn. She loved her children and welcomed the thought of a new life.

But she was deeply afraid that this child wouldn't live. She hadn't yet felt any movement, and the harsh symptoms were taking their toll upon her body. She didn't know what to tell him and her silence was damning.

The look on his face made her feel as though she'd buried a dirk in his gut. "Is it that you don't want to bear any more children of mine?"

She wanted to utter no, that it wasn't that at all. But if she admitted the danger, he wouldn't let her near the glass. The urge to hold in her secret was so strong that she almost held her silence. But when he turned away from her, she sensed that if he left her, nothing would be the same ever again.

"Wait," she said. "You're wrong."

For so long, she'd held her worries and fears inside, not wanting to burden him. It had become as natural as breathing, no matter that the pain bled through her.

He needs to know,her conscience urged. If you don't tell him, you'll lose him. And God above, she couldn't bear to think of it.

"I'm afraid," she said softly.

He turned back to her and the look on his face was a mixture of anger and hurt. "Afraid of what?"

"Of losing this child." She dug her fingers against the stone table, forcing herself to look at him. She let him see the raw grief, the despair that she'd carried over the past two years.

But still Alex didn't move. He was waiting for her to tell him more and she fumbled for the words. "I'm so tired," she confessed. "And I never seem to get enough sleep. The thought of food makes me sick, and I keep getting dizzy. I've fainted many times and I've never felt this way before. Not with any other pregnancy."

She spilled out her fears and, at last, confessed, "I haven't felt the child move. I'm afraid this bairn is already dead inside of me." The tears spilled over her cheeks and when he saw them, he took a few steps closer. He knelt down before her, resting his hands on either side of the bench.

In his eyes, she saw the shadows of his grief. She reached out to him, putting her arms around his neck. The warm male skin gave her comfort, and his arms tightened around her.

"I didn't want you to grieve," she whispered. "I don't know if I'll lose the child or not. But I didn't want to burden you."

He pulled back, anguish in his eyes. "You're my wife. Not a burden." His hands pressed away the tears, framing her face. "When David died, you wouldn't talk to me for days." His emotions spilled over and he added, "It wasn't only a son I lost that night. I lost you."

She was shaking, her grief rising up and overflowing. "I blamed myself for his death. Every night I wondered what I'd done wrong. Why he was taken from us." Laren buried her face in his shoulder, not caring that she was dampening his tunic with her tears. "I couldn't be with you when it was my fault."

"Do you think I believed that?" He leaned in close, his cheek touching hers.

"I believed it." She swallowed back the tears, trying to find a strength inside. "When we had Adaira, I couldn't sleep for the first year. I kept waking up, watching her breathe."

"I never blamed you. Never." His mouth came to hers in a kiss that offered absolution. "Everything will be all right with this child, Laren. I'll take care of you."

She turned around, resting her palms upon his chest. "I want to believe it."

"Lie down," he urged. "Rest, and I'll watch over you."

Laren obeyed, and as she lay upon her side, he rubbed her back and shoulders. She felt herself slipping beneath the spell of his hands, the weariness dragging her under. Though she knew she shouldn't close her eyes, shouldn't succumb to the intense relaxation of his hands, she couldn't resist for a few moments.

The heaviness of her need swept her down until she fell asleep at last.

When she awoke, it was dark outside. Alex had covered her up with a blanket, and she didn't know where it had come from. Likely he'd returned to the fortress to fetch it for her, along with the food he'd brought.

It was a strange array and when she sat up, there was only the light of the furnace to illuminate the room.

"How long did I sleep?" she asked.

"A few hours. I suppose you needed it." He reached out for the platter of food and brought it to her. "Would you like some bread?"

Laren blinked for a moment but took the slice from him. When she saw the food he offered, she realized he'd brought nothing with a strong odor, no foods to turn her stomach. Only a selection of cheese, bread, oat cakes and dried cherries.

"You remembered." She took the cherries with a smile and another surge of unexpected emotions passed through her at his thoughtfulness. She'd eaten their entire store of dried cherries when she'd been pregnant with Adaira, for it was a craving she couldn't seem to satisfy.

"I've already eaten," he added. "I know you don't like meat during this time."

The piece of bread whetted her appetite and after her stomach grew settled, she tried more of the food.

"Are you feeling better?"

She was, and once she began eating, it seemed that she couldn't get enough. The cherries were the perfect blend of tart and sweet, and she found herself devouring them by the handful.

When she had sated her hunger, she drew her knees up beneath her skirts and looked up at Alex. There was amusement in his eyes and she raised an eyebrow. "What?"

"I was almost afraid to put my hand near the food for fear you'd eat it, too."

She flashed a smile. "Never come between a pregnant woman and her food."

He sat beside her, dropping his hand around her back. The warmth of his arm was comforting, and she found herself leaning against him. "I remember how we went walking around the loch when you were pregnant with David. You brought bits of food to eat along the way."

The knife of memory sliced through her, but she understood what he was trying to do. The pain of losing David would never go away. But there were a few good memories left to hold on to.

"You laughed at me," she said. "You've never known that sort of hunger before. It consumes you."

She reached out and laced her hand with his. His palm was warm, his fingers touching hers with gentleness. "He was a handsome bairn, wasn't he?"

"I always wondered if he would have had your eyes or mine. All our children had blue eyes when they were born."

He wiped a tear away from her cheek, and she struggled to find a smile. "He'll always have a piece of my heart. Even in Heaven."

"He took a piece of mine as well," Alex admitted. He brought her fingers to his chest where she could feel his heart beating. His mood grew dim, and he admitted, "We're leaving in the morning to find the MacLachors. Bram will come with me, but Callum, Ross and the rest of the men will stay behind to guard Glen Arrin. Now that the walls are finished, you should be safe enough."

"What if they attack?" Her fears gathered up into a tight ball within her stomach.

"If anything happens, send Callum to us. We'll come back as fast as we can ride."

She held on to him, wishing he wouldn't leave. "I need you to come back to me." Especially if the pregnancy went badly. "If the worst happens . . . I don't think I can go through it again."

Alex rested his hand upon her hip. "You're stronger than you think, Laren. But I pray this child will be safe." His hand moved over to her stomach again, as if he could command it to be so.