Chapter Thirteen

"Idon't want to go," Mairin wept, her arms around Laren's neck.

She gripped the young girl as though she could hold on to the last remnants of her daughter's childhood. Though Mairin would visit from time to time, it broke her heart to see her leave. She would be so far away.

"You'll be on an adventure," Laren said, smiling through her tears.

"Mama, did you go off for fostering?"

Laren shook her head. "My father couldn't send me. We were too poor and had no family that would take us. But think of what it will be like. You'll see the places where the Norse raiders came. And you'll have everything you need." They had given the Sinclairs cattle and sheep, as well as a horse for Mairin.

Laren reached into a fold of her cloak and pulled out a flat disc of white-and-yellow glass that she'd shaped into a flower. "I made this for you." She kissed her daughter again, adding, "We'll see you in the summertime."

The wagon slowly rolled away, and Laren raised her hand in farewell as Mairin left. The tears were cold on her cheeks, but Alex gave her hand a squeeze. "She'll be well cared for, Laren."

"I know it." She wouldn't have let her go if she weren't convinced Mairin would be safer in the north. But worse, she would lose her husband today as well. He'd promised to bid Mairin farewell before he departed with Bram.

"I need to check our supplies before we go," he told her.

She nodded, but as she waited by the horses, Grizel approached and said, "Alex, I want a word with your wife."

Laren said nothing, flinching at Grizel's tone. But she allowed the woman to lead her back into the keep. She smelled the aroma of meat from yesterday and fought back her unsteady stomach while she followed Grizel inside. The older woman brought her to a chair and ordered, "Sit down."

"Is something wrong?"

Grizel caught the attention of a servant and gave her hushed instructions. Then she pulled a chair over and sat across from Laren. Her piercing gaze made it difficult to look her in the eye.

"It's not easy to let your child go off for fostering," Grizel began. "But it must be done. Especially if you want Mairin to have the status you lacked as a child."

Laren colored, wondering when she would be able to escape the older woman's criticism. She made no reply, not wanting to engage in an argument.

When the serving girl returned, Grizel took a steaming mug of tea and gave it to her. "Drink this."

Laren sniffed the tea and caught a strong herbal aroma. "What's in it?"

"Chamomile, mint and some other herbs to make this pregnancy easier."

She sent a sharp look toward Grizel, who folded her arms across her chest. "I know when a woman is breeding. And I know it hasn't been an easy pregnancy. You've been sick a lot, haven't you? I imagine you're afraid of losing it."

Stung, Laren forced herself to drink a sip of the brew to avoid speaking. Why would Grizel say such a thing? Aye, it weighed upon her thoughts, the fear that this child wasn't well. But she hadn't lost it yet.

"You haven't denied it," the matron remarked with triumph. "But if you drink this tea each morn, you'll find it easier. It will ease your sickness and help to steady the bairn in your womb. I'll bring you the herbs."

Laren took another sip, wondering what Grizel meant by it. Never once had the older woman spoken a kind word or done anything to make her feel accepted as Alex's wife.

Grizel stood and pointed to a table on the far end of the Hall. "I suppose you might want your mother or sister with you when this babe comes."

Laren's fingers curled over the cup, too startled to speak. She hadn't seen her mother Rós or her sister Suisan since they'd left for St. Anne's. "I do miss them," she admitted.

"I'll send for them at summer's end." The older woman stood, gave a grim nod, and strode away. Laren finished the tea, realizing it was as close as Grizel would ever come to an apology.

"Idon't like leaving our clan alone," Alex admitted to Bram, after they'd set off on their journey. The last raid weighed heavily upon him, for he didn't know whether or not to believe the claim that there was a bounty on his head. By going to meet with the MacLachor chief, he might be walking into a trap of his own making.

But he needed information. If Harkirk was recruiting the other clans to rise up against the MacKinlochs, Alex had to be ready. The MacLachors were his best hope in finding out exactly what the English baron was planning.

He cast another look back at the stone walls surrounding Glen Arrin, his mood heavy. Laren's hair gleamed red against the wintry stillness as she watched from the gate. In a few months more, her belly would be swollen with child. He'd always loved the way her body softened in those months, her breasts full and lush while the child grew inside of her.

"Things are better between you and Laren?" Bram prompted, when they crossed over the hill.

"Aye." He recalled the way he'd made love to her in the cavern the other night. Just thinking of it made him want to ride back to her, touching her until she grew breathless. Though he'd kissed her goodbye, it wasn't enough. He felt as if he'd left a part of himself behind.

"We're expecting another bairn," he told Bram.

His brother gave a nod, but there was something else beneath his perfunctory smile and his murmured good wishes.

"And Nairna?"

"I don't know," Bram admitted. "She won't tell me if she is or not. It's something she wants badly."

"I hope all goes well for the both of you." Bram only grunted, and Alex added, "It's never easy, even when the child isn't born yet."

The more he thought of Laren, the more he worried. Though she had admitted that she wasn't feeling quite herself, ever since the night they'd spent together, she'd grown quieter.

"It will be all right," she tried to reassure him. "I promise, I'll take no risks with this bairn."

She'd appeared paler than usual, but when he'd questioned it, she'd simply embraced him, saying, "I'll miss you, that's all."

Every part of him wanted to stay with her, though it wasn't possible. He could only pray that they would remain safe from harm.

They traveled west for most of the day, and when night fell, they reached the outer boundaries of Moristerry, the MacLachors' stronghold. "Remain hidden," he said to Bram, drawing their horses away from the open land and toward the tree line edging the mountains. He wanted to gather more information about them before they approached in the morning.

Bram drew his horse to a stop. "We should climb to higher ground and make our camp. Then we can watch them and see what's happening."

Alex followed Bram into the trees until they reached a flattened section of the hill where a tiny waterfall streamed downhill, offering a place for the horses to drink. As they set up their camp for the night, Alex reached into a fold of his cloak, intending to strike flint for a fire. His hand came into contact with tiny teardrops of glass.

The hard bits of glass were emerald, ruby and sapphire in color, along with a few clear droplets. Laren must have put them there when she'd said goodbye. They were the same pieces of glass he'd given her, years ago.

The physical reminder of his wife caught him without warning. He squeezed the hard pieces, as if he could hold on to her.

And he knew then that she was thinking of him, just as he held her image in his mind.

Finian stared at the young girl in the afternoon light. She reminded him of his own daughter, with her sunny smile and innocence. His fists clenched as he remembered Iliana and the way she used to run into his arms as he scooped her up. He remembered her laughter when he tossed her into the air and how she'd clutched his neck when she came down again.

His throat closed up and he wondered what Iliana had suffered at Harkirk's hands. Was she alive? Had they harmed her?

It had been too long. Now that the MacKinloch chief and his elder brother had left, his opportunity was at hand. He needed to act now, for his daughter's life depended on it.

Finian smiled at the child and offered his hand. She stared a moment, unsure of what to do. When he pulled a handful of dried cherries from a fold of his cloak, she took a step closer.

"That's right, wee one," he coaxed. "Come and have a taste."

God forgive me for what I must do.

"Where is Adaira?" Laren demanded.

Vanora sent her a questioning look. "I thought she was playing with Grizel by the loch. Isn't she?"

"Grizel hasn't seen her in the last hour."

Laren's skin grew icy. From deep inside, she sensed something was wrong. She started running toward the loch, but there was no sign of her daughter. Her heart pounded faster as she searched, agonizing over the thought of any harm coming to Adaira.

I should have stayed with her. Her side ached as she kept running, praying she would find her unharmed.

She stumbled inside the cavern, and her heart froze with fear. A foreign piece of parchment lay atop her glass with writing she couldn't read. And resting upon the paper was a lock of Adaira's hair.

Laren gripped the lock of hair and a rage erupted inside her. Someone had taken her daughter. But where? And why? Whoever had taken her daughter hostage was a dead man.

She seized the parchment and ran back to Glen Arrin, her anger brewing hotter until it boiled over. "I need someone who can read," she demanded when she saw Dougal. Anyone to interpret the writing and discover what it meant.

"What's happened?" His expression held confusion as he stared back at her.

"Someone has taken Adaira. I need to find out who." Laren held up the parchment and repeated, "Help me."

Startled gazes eyed her, and Laren realized she'd been shouting. Her hand clenched the lock of her daughter's hair, and she wished to God that Alex were here. If he were, he'd be tracking the man even now.

She took a deep breath, trying to find the inner strength she needed to keep from falling into hysteria. Adaira was her baby, her sweet girl who kept crawling into her bed when she was supposed to be sleeping with her sister.

Dougal was already off and running, but before he could get far, she spied a horse and rider approaching. Dressed in a priest's robes, the man continued on until he reached the gates. He dismounted and walked toward them, a parcel in his hands. When he greeted them, introducing himself as Father Ossian from Inveriston, Laren couldn't gather her thoughts together. She didn't want to hear about the new kirk or answer questions about why the glass panels weren't finished. Right now, every thought was with Adaira.

Calm yourself, she ordered. This priest can read the markings, the same as any other.

"Can you tell me what it says on this parchment?" Laren asked quietly, her pulse racing.

"It's the MacLachor crest," he answered. "They want your chief and his brothers to meet them at Lord Harkirk's fortress."

Laren's mouth tightened into a line and her hands started shaking. Though she managed to thank the priest, she focused her thoughts on how to get Adaira back. Alex had left to meet with the MacLachor chief only a day ago. Would he find Adaira there? Or had they already taken her to Lord Harkirk's stronghold?

"I've come to speak with your glass artist—" Father Ossian was saying.

"Father Stephen already inspected the windows not long ago," Laren interrupted. Her mind was scattered, not wanting to think of the glass when her daughter had been taken captive.

The priest sent her a curious look. "Father Stephen?"

"Aye, one of your brethren." She stared at him, not understanding why he wouldn't know Stephen. There were fewer than twenty men at the abbey. "You sent him with the measurements and instructions for the kirk windows."

"We have no priest of that name," Father Ossian replied. "And the plans you speak of were stolen, nearly a month ago. The priest we sent was robbed of his horse and belongings after he tried to help a wounded man. He returned to us, and we had to redraw everything."

The breath in her lungs seized up at the realization that Father Stephen was not who he'd claimed to be. Sweet Mother of God.

Laren let out a curse, for she knew, without any doubt, that the so-called priest had slipped past their boundaries and taken her daughter.

Alex awoke the next morning to find men surrounding them. He unsheathed his claymore and stood with his brother, slowly moving until he stood back-to-back with Bram.

"We came to talk with your chief about Harkirk," he said. "I want to know more about the bounty he placed on my head."

A tall blond man moved forward, a shield and sword in his hands. "I am Brochain MacLachor, the tánaiste of our clan." With a glance to his men, they spread out their forces. "And the bounty was on the heads of you and your brothers."

"We didn't come to fight," Alex said quietly. "But if you strike the first blow, we'll defend ourselves. And I don't think you want to lose any more men."

Brochain's face tensed, but neither he, nor his men, moved.

"Harkirk is trying to stir up trouble among the clans," Alex continued. "He wants us to turn on one another, because dividing the clans will weaken us." With his weapon held steady, he never took his eyes off Brochain. "The chief's daughter may not even be alive," he pointed out. "Why would you attack us instead of asking for help?"

"We lost a dozen men trying to break into his fortress," the man admitted. "Even with your forces, we aren't strong enough."

"Where is your chief now?" Alex asked. He'd never met Finian MacLachor, though he'd heard of the man.

"He left us a few days ago to go after Iliana on his own." But there were doubts upon the man's face as though he viewed it as a hopeless endeavor.

"Our younger brother Callum was Harkirk's prisoner," Bram interjected. "He knows the interior of the fortress like no one else. We got him out alive. There's no reason we couldn't do the same for your chief's daughter."

"And why would you help us? Especially after we attacked you." Emptiness settled over the man's expression, as if he had little hope left.

"Because we've a greater need for allies than enemies. You have information about Harkirk and between us, we can put a stop to his threats against the clans."

"How do we know you'll keep your word?" Brochain asked.

"You don't," Bram replied. "But if you kill us here, what chance do you stand of getting your chief back alive?"

Brochain seemed to consider it and after a long moment, he sheathed his weapon. One by one, the others drew back. "Come with us back to Moristerry and we'll talk."

From the look the tánaiste sent to his men, Alex trusted him even less. He kept his hand poised upon his weapon as he followed them down the hill toward the MacLachor stronghold.

Laren mounted her horse with Dougal and Callum at her side. Although they'd spent hours searching the surrounding areas for Adaira, there was no sign of her daughter. A dull, sick feeling had settled within her stomach at the thought of anything happening to her baby. There was no choice but to confront the MacLachors and take Adaira back.

"Gather the clansmen together," she ordered Nairna. "I want to speak with them."

Although her old fears swam in her stomach, she couldn't hide behind her shyness. She needed the remaining men to help her for without them, her daughter might suffer.

"I'm sorry about Adaira," Nairna said, her face pale. "I can't even imagine the pain you must be suffering."

"I'm going to find her and bring her home," Laren insisted. "No matter how long it takes."

Though she still suffered from the exhaustion of her pregnancy, the nausea had at last subsided. Only Alex and Grizel knew of it and now she was grateful she'd kept silent. No one would allow her to leave Glen Arrin if she'd admitted her condition.

She hardly slept anymore. How could she, when her baby was gone? While Nairna gathered the others, Laren paced, going over the words in her mind. She'd never before addressed the people and it terrified her. Ever since Alex had revealed her glassmaking, they'd grown even more distant, behaving as though she were engaged in sorcery instead of glass.

One by one they assembled, and Laren studied them. They have children, too, she reminded herself. If they understood even half the fear that burned through her, they might be willing to help.

"The MacLachors have taken Adaira," she began. When a slight shifting alerted her that her voice wasn't loud enough, she forced herself to add more volume. She couldn't hide the trembling tone, but the men and women didn't seem to blame her for it. "I need your help in bringing her home."

"Have they demanded a ransom?" Ross asked. In his wrinkled face, she saw sympathy and the silent offer of help. During the few months she'd stayed with him and Vanora, he'd come to think of the girls as his grandchildren.

"No." She held up the parchment with the mark of the MacLachors and the lock of her daughter's hair. "This is all I have as proof."

There were murmurings among the men, as though they doubted whether the MacLachors were truly responsible.

"I'm going to find Alex," she told them. "But I'm asking for a few of you to join me, in case we have to fight for her."

Callum stepped forward, holding his bow and quiver of black-feathered arrows. Laren started to protest, for they needed his skill at Glen Arrin. But when she tried to speak, he reached over and touched his finger to her lips, silencing her.

He stared at the remaining men, as if daring them to protest.

"I'll go with you," Ramsay offered. He sent her a hopeful look, but he was far too young to face such danger.

"I need you to tend my furnaces," she said. "I'm relying on you and Monroe to continue the glassmaking."

Though he looked disappointed, his offer had an effect upon the others, as if shaming them into agreeing. Two more men joined Callum and Laren turned to Ross. "Defend Glen Arrin while we're gone," she ordered. The older man inclined his head.

Laren exhaled a breath and studied the people. It hadn't been as difficult as she'd imagined, speaking before them. There hadn't been judgment or criticism in their eyes—only understanding.

"I'm going to find my daughter," she finished, not caring that her cheeks were wet with tears. To her surprise, she saw Grizel approach.

The matron squeezed her hand. "Aye, you will. And God help any man who tries to stop a mother from saving her child."