Chapter Eight

Night fell and Laren hadn't seen Alex or any of his brothers returning from their search. She kept glancing at the door, hoping to see him enter. When the hours stretched on, she thought of his earlier request for her to meet him at the cavern. No doubt he would want her to remain here, after the stranger's appearance.

Ramsay. The thought came out of nowhere. Her apprentice would have gone to the cavern to tend the furnaces. He'd be there alone and knew nothing about the threat.

She needed to send word to him, to bring him back to the safety of the fortress. But who could she send? Alex had taken Bram and Callum with him, and she didn't know whether Dougal had gone as well.

"This house is too cold for my old bones," Grizel complained. "The fire's not hot enough and you ought to patch the holes in the walls."

"The fire is as hot as we can make it," Vanora said. "Sit closer, if you're cold."

"If I sit any closer, I'll go up in flames," the old woman retorted. From the amused look Vanora sent towards her husband Ross, she wouldn't be at all disappointed.

Ross looked pained at Grizel's tirade of complaints. It occurred to Laren that he would be more than willing to leave the house for a short time. He was her best hope of bringing Ramsay back.

She reached for her cloak and beckoned to the older man. "May I speak with you for a moment?'

He looked eager for a reprieve and rose, reaching for his own mantle. When they were outside, he asked, "What is it?'

Though he already knew about the horseman she'd seen on the far side of the loch, he knew nothing of her glassmaking. She chose her words carefully. "Ramsay MacKinloch went to Father Nolan's cave, on the far side of the loch. He doesn't know about the horseman. Could you go with me and help bring him back to Glen Arrin?'

Ross started to shake his head. "Alex doesn't want you leaving my house."

"I know. But Ramsay is only eleven years old. He needs someone to take care of him."

"Eleven is old enough to know better."

"Please, Ross." She touched his arm. "I worry about the boy. And he'll be waiting for me to…" she hesitated, then amended "…to bring him a meal. His father often forgets to feed him."

The older man appeared reluctant, but at last he took a torch from one of the sconces in the fortress. "Walk with me to the edge of the loch and show me where I can find the cavern. Then swear to me that you'll return to your daughters."

"I promise." She joined the older man, walking slowly outside the gates. The night was so dark, she could hardly see anything without the torch. "Follow the shore line around the curve," she directed. "Then walk about a half a mile with the trees to your right. He—he keeps the fire burning to stay warm. You'll smell the smoke."

Ross lifted the torch and turned back to her. "I'll fetch the boy and bring him back."

"Thank you." Laren waited as he trudged forward, watching to be sure he'd gone the right direction around the loch. Her cloak wasn't warm enough, and she held the edges tight as she turned back toward the fortress. The faint light of the torches guided her way, but she heard the snapping of ice behind her.

The hairs on the back of her neck rose ,and she knew instinctively that someone was there. She had no weapon with her and the gates were farther ahead. For a moment, she remained motionless, hoping that the darkness would make it impossible for the intruder to find her. Holding her breath, she questioned whether to remain in place or try to reach the fortress.

When the footsteps drew closer, she broke into a run. A hand reached for her cloak and caught it, jerking her backwards. She lost her balance and let out a scream, just as a hood blinded her. The suffocating darkness choked her; when she tried again to scream, a hand covered her nose and mouth.

Oh God, not this. She struggled against her attacker, trying to break free of him. His strong arms held her trapped and she was starting to lose consciousness from lack of air. Dizziness and a ringing in her ears made her knees weaken.

She didn't know who the man was or why he was trying to take her hostage, but she wasn't about to let him seize her without fighting as hard as she could. Letting her weight go slack, she fell to the ground. Laren tried not to move, hoping that he would relinquish his grip enough for her to make an escape.

His hold relaxed against her throat and she cried out, "Alex!" as loudly as she could. A fist cuffed her jaw and she saw stars, her head reeling.

Then, without warning, the hands released her. She heard her husband and Ross fighting and the sound of swords clashing. Laren kept low to the ground, unable to see anything. She struggled to remove the hood, and when at last she saw the flare of Ross's torch her attacker was gone.

"Stay with Laren," she heard Bram say. "We'll find him."

Both he and Ross disappeared into the woods. Laren pressed her palms against the frozen earth, fighting for a deep breath.

Alex helped her up, gathering her into his arms. She was shaking so hard, she couldn't seem to stop. "I'm s-sorry," she stammered. "I never meant to leave. I wanted Ross to warn Ramsay—"

But he only held her tight, stroking her hair and murmuring that it was all right. "I'll take you home."

"Not yet," she pleaded. "Take me to the cavern. I need Ramsay to be safe."

Alex gave no answer and she suspected he would ignore her request, forcing her to return to Ross's house. He took her hand and led her back to the fortress, but when they reached the gates, she was startled that he took a torch and brought her with him again.

At her questioning look, he said, "It's important to you, isn't it?"

She nodded, still stunned that he would listen to her. Along the walk, she huddled close to him and his arm remained around her waist. With each step, she drew comfort and strength from him.

Never before had she endured a terror like this one, nearly becoming a prisoner. She knew full well what happened to the captives who were taken by the English. She'd seen Bram's scarred back, and even Callum had not once spoken a word since his rescue. As a woman, she would have been used and discarded. The thought sent a new wave of fear within her, and she tightened her grip around her husband.

"Do you think he was sent by Harkirk?' she asked him.

"Undoubtedly. If you were his prisoner, he knows I'd stop at nothing to get you back." The ruthless tone in his voice made her shiver.

When they reached Father Nolan's cavern, the fire had died down to coals. There was no sign of Ramsay. Alex brought her near the meagre heat, resting his hands on her shoulders. "I thought you said he would be here."

She nodded. "He was supposed to come." But now that he was absent, she wondered whether something had happened to him or whether he'd broken his promise.

Her husband added wood to the furnace and a shower of sparks rose up towards the cavern ceiling, tiny pieces of light in the darkness.

"Thank you," she whispered to Alex, "for saving me."

His gaze was stoic, revealing no feelings at all. She didn't know what he was thinking right now, but she wanted a moment to be in his arms, to take comfort that she was safe, no longer at her captor's mercy.

Alex drew her against him and touched his forehead to hers. "I'll kill any man who touches you."

She rested her hands upon his heart and felt the rapid pulse beneath her fingertips. He was so warm and right now she wanted to forget about what had happened to her. She felt breathless standing so near to him, but he made no move to touch her.

"You gave me pebbles last night," she whispered, "to remind me of the beginning."

His expression remained neutral, but he gave a nod. She rested her cheek against his strong chest, her own heartbeat echoing his. Right now she needed him to take away the fear, to drive it out of her mind. Though he'd come for her, saving her from captivity, she needed more from him than an embrace.

She wanted the physical closeness they'd once had, when he'd taken her body beneath his, sending her into the mindless frenzy of lust. But if she dared to offer herself to him, would he turn her away?

"We should return," he said quietly. "Vanora will wonder what's happened and I need to know if Ross and Bram found the intruder."

A bleakness passed over her, though she knew he was right. This wasn't the time or the place for a coupling. But she needed him so badly right now, to reassure her that she was safe. Her body ached for him, her sensitive flesh growing moist.

And he sensed it. "What is it, Laren?'

She didn't have the words to say it. But there was only one way to find out if he needed her as badly as she craved him.

His wife let her cloak fall to the ground, her blue eyes staring at him as though she wanted to tell him something but was afraid to speak.

And then she reached for him, her lips seeking his. He kissed her, feeling the tension mount higher within him. Nothing could have shaken him more than seeing the intruder try to take his wife. He hadn't seen the man's face, but he'd heard Laren scream.

He'd hardly been aware of his actions, but he'd unsheathed his sword, intending to murder the man who had hurt her. She'd cowered upon the ground, curling up with pain.

Even now, her cheek was reddened from where the man had struck her. Alex traced his fingertips over the bruise, wishing he could take it away.

He was fighting the urges that rose up in him, the desire to claim Laren with his body and assert his possession. Her sweet mouth was coaxing him beyond the boundaries of his control, and when her hand moved down to the ties of his trews a thunderous lust rose up.

Her palm cupped him, her long fingers guiding up his erection.

Saints, he didn't know if he could stand this. He'd meant to court her slowly, to somehow rebuild their marriage so that she would trust him again. But his manhood was roaring with need and his own hands were shaking to keep himself under control.

"Take me," she pleaded. "Make me forget what happened." She was lifting her skirt and when she raised her leg over his hip, all rational thought left him.

It had been so damned long. Too many months had passed since he'd been with her intimately. And on the rare times they'd shared sex, it had been calm and quiet. Nothing at all like the desperate way she was clinging to him now. Her mouth was all over his, her tongue seeking him.

He led her back to the wall of the cavern, pressing her shoulders against the stone. He tried to gentle his kiss, to slow her down, but the next thing he knew, her hand was guiding him inside her.

At the feeling of her wet heat surrounding him, he cast aside any attempts to take her gently. She was panting, struggling with their height difference while she tried to make love to him.

Alex lifted her up, bringing her legs around his waist, still buried deep inside. She leaned down to kiss him and he thrust against her, hearing her moan. It took his willpower apart, and he gave himself up to the moment, penetrating her, letting the rhythm sweep over him. Her panting rose to a fever pitch and he reached for her breast with one hand, teasing the hardened tip as he lifted her, sheathing himself deep within.

She went liquid against him, her body squeezing his shaft, and he surrendered to the heady sensations pounding through him. When she cried out at the friction, he felt himself growing thicker, trembling close to the edge. He pumped harder, marking her, until at last she slumped against him, spent in her own fulfilment. He felt his own release coming and emptied himself inside her, his body slick with sweat.

For a time, he kept her propped against the wall, cupping her bare bottom. She shivered and leaned in to kiss him again.

There were no words between them now. She'd needed him and, though he'd taken her physical offering, he didn't know what to say.

In the end, he lowered her down, straightening her gown and his trews.

And he felt utterly confused by what had just happened.

When they reached Glen Arrin, Walter stood outside his home and raised his hand, beckoning for them to come near. The older man had taken in Callum and Dougal, as well as a few others when they'd lost their homes.

"What is it?" Laren asked.

Walter's face shifted with worry. "I found the lad outside. Ramsay asked me to tell you he was sorry he couldn't come."

"He's with you now?" Relief filled her to know that Ramsay wasn't at home with his father. "Is everything all right?"

"His eyes are swollen shut," he admitted. "His father had beaten him. I found the boy near the loch, putting ice against his eyes. He was talking about some fires and begged me to find you." The old man shook his head and sighed. "I brought him back here and made him sleep."

"He's not going back to his father," Laren insisted. "Alex, promise me. Ramsay's been hurt enough."

Her husband's expression had turned grim. But although she knew he was distracted by the attack tonight, her apprentice couldn't defend himself from a grown man.

"The boy can stay with me," Walter offered. "He won't be needing much space."

"For now," Alex agreed. "Laren, before I speak to Ramsay's father, we need to find the man who attacked you." They took their leave from Walter, and Alex led her forward until they saw Bram and Ross approaching.

"He's gone," Bram said. "We'll have to continue the search in the morning."

"He's like a spirit," Ross added. "Disappeared without a trace."

"He's not a spirit." Laren shivered, remembering the man's strong grip. Alex drew her to his side and after agreeing to search again in the morning, Ross and Bram returned to their homes.

Her husband was staring at her and Laren flushed, remembering the way she'd thrown herself at him earlier. She didn't know what had come over her, but she didn't regret touching her husband. He'd made her feel alive again, and she didn't regret seducing him.

But there was trouble brewing in his eyes. "I don't want you returning to the cavern," he said. "Not after what happened tonight."

She frowned, not understanding. "Alex, I have to finish the commission. I have to return to the furnaces because I can't make the glass here."

He pulled her into a tight embrace. "The commission be damned. You were nearly kidnapped tonight. I almost lost you because you left the fortress."

"I won't be alone," she argued. "Ramsay will be there and—"

"You're not going back," he repeated. "We don't need the silver. Your life is more important than glass."

She'd never seen him like this, and it startled her to see him so adamant. She started to speak again, but he cut her off. "I'm not leaving you alone again. You'll stay here at Glen Arrin and you and Nairna can organize the women with the rebuilding. There are some tasks that both of you can do and it will keep you protected if you're here."

She grew cold, suddenly realizing what he was saying. "You're asking me to give up the glassmaking."

"No." His hand came around the back of her neck, softly, but firm in his grasp. "I'm not asking."

Gone was the passionate husband and in his place was an iron-willed chief. He was entirely serious in his command.

"I'll take Callum with me, as a guard," she offered. "I won't do my work alone."

"You won't do it at all. It's not safe for you to be by yourself, so far away from Glen Arrin." He took her hand in his and started to pull her back inside Ross's house.

"Alex, no." She refused to move another step. "I'm not going to fall into Nairna's shadow. I've been given a task that I promised I'd complete."

"Do you know what would have happened to you, if he'd succeeded in taking you hostage?" His voice went low and she sensed the danger beneath it.

"Yes," she whispered, her voice trembling. "I know how they would have used me."

"And do you think I would ever let a man touch you in that way? I don't care what the glass means to you. You can let it go."

Inside, she was torn apart by his words. She'd thought that by bringing in so much silver, he would respect her skill. That he would encourage her glassmaking, being proud of the way she'd earned them wealth.

All her life, she'd been treated like the beggar her father was. Never had she possessed any sense of pride, and she'd grown accustomed to everyone looking down upon her. And now that she'd finally proven that there was something more, that she could be a woman worth something, he wanted her to let it go?

From deep inside, a dormant anger intensified, rising higher until it cracked apart. "I can't give up my glass, any more than you can give up being chief. It's who I am." She was crying now, but he hadn't softened even once. If anything, his stubborn will had grown more rigid.

"You'll have to," was all he would say. Then he took her hand and guided her inside Vanora's house. When the matron and Grizel both asked questions, their voices rising and arguing as they exclaimed over what had happened, Laren didn't speak a word. Instead, she went to lie beside her daughters, sleeping as far away from Alex as she dared to go.

Laren didn't speak to him all the next day. Alex had sent more men to find the intruder, but they'd found only traces of blood and the horse's tracks disappeared near the stream. There was no way of knowing where the man had gone or when he would return. At least they'd managed to wound the enemy soldier.

Though he tried to continue working on the outer wall, his thoughts were consumed by Laren. She'd avoided him that morning and he sensed the resentment simmering beneath her mood.

He tried not to care. Aye, she was angry about not being able to work on the glass, but this was about her safety. Though rationally he knew it was impossible to keep her in his sight at every moment, he'd been caught off-guard last night. When he'd seen her fighting against her attacker, he'd nearly lost his mind. The visceral need to protect her, to surrender his own blood for hers, had surged inside him.

And later, when she'd reached for him, needing the physical comfort of his body, he'd thought they were starting to mend their broken marriage. All this morning, he'd remembered her touch, the sounds she'd uttered when she experienced her climax, her legs tightening around his waist.

Alex grew aroused just remembering it, and it only added to his dark mood. He busied himself with hefting stones from the wagon to the outer wall, trying to drown out his needs with the punishing work, but he couldn't help but be aware of Laren. She'd done as he'd ordered, walking behind Nairna and helping the women gather thatch and smaller pieces of wood for the new homes they had to build.

Deliberately, she walked past him once and he noticed the scent of wood about her. She didn't speak, but the gentle sway of her hips captured his gaze. When she glanced beyond the fortress, he sent her a silent warning.

Upon her cheek, he saw the reddened mark that was beginning to bruise. It angered him even further, wishing he'd been able to kill the man who'd touched her.

Laren started to walk toward the gates, and at her open defiance, Alex dropped the stone he was holding and crossed the space. "Where are you going?"

She stood tall and stared back. "To fetch water from the loch. Or am I not allowed to do that either?"

"Not alone." He gestured for her to walk forward, and she picked up a wooden bucket while he trailed behind to guard her.

She stepped on the outer layer of ice, moving toward the unfrozen portion. He didn't like her venturing out, not when she could slip or fall into the icy water. Without asking, he seized the bucket and started to get the water for her.

Laren watched him, her gaze infuriated. "And now I'm too helpless to even dip a bucket into the loch?"

He slammed the bucket down, his fury erupting. "What do you want from me, Laren? You were nearly taken last night, and you expect me to grant you freedom to go where it pleases you? He's going to come back. And I'll be damned if I'll let you be his captive."

"Instead, I'm your captive," she said. Her voice was cold, full of her own ire. "Do you plan to tie me to your side, so I can't escape you? Or perhaps you'll bind me to your bed and use me as it pleases you?"

"You were the one who wanted me last night," he shot back. "I was going to leave you alone."

Her expression was brittle and she was near to tears. "I wish you would. At least then I could be of some use, if you'd let me make the glass."

He took a step back, feeling as if she'd struck him. He didn't understand why she was so insistent on returning to the cavern. They didn't need the silver as badly as she believed they did.

"If the furnaces weren't so far away, it would be different." He tried to appease her and continued, "Perhaps in the spring, when it's safer, you could return to the work if it pleases you."

"You truly don't understand, do you? This isn't like my weaving or sewing. It's not the same at all." She reached down for the bucket, her arm straining with the weight of the water.

She was right—he didn't understand. And the angrier she grew, the more he sensed that this was about something else entirely.

He took the bucket and tossed it aside. Taking her wrist, he guided her toward the cavern. She said nothing but matched her pace with his, even though it meant she had to run slightly.

When they reached the entrance, the furnace fires were out, the interior cold. She went to her work table and sat before it, her hands clenched tight.

"What is this really about, Laren?"

She picked up a piece of glass and rubbed its surface. "You're not being reasonable about this. I understand that you don't want me to work alone. But you can't lock me away."

"And why can't I?" He moved to sit across from her. "If I want to keep you safe from harm, why does that make me a monster?"

"It doesn't. But I can't give up this commission." She pressed a clear glass droplet into his hand. The smooth surface grew warm within his hand and she said, "Working with the glass gives me a purpose. It's something I can do that no other woman of this clan can. With it, I can prove to them that I'm worth something. That I'm not a beggar, like my father was."

In her eyes, he saw twenty years' worth of pain. He'd never thought much about her family's poverty—he'd seen only the woman who had stolen his heart.

She rose from the bench and went to stand at the entrance. "Don't keep me a prisoner, Alex. Let me do this." The desperation in her voice and in her eyes gave him pause. He wanted to keep her within the fortress, where no one could hurt her. Why couldn't she understand that he needed to protect her?

"You'll stay at Glen Arrin until we're sure that the threat is gone," he said.

"And after that?" Her voice was a whisper, holding back unspoken pain.

He wanted to refuse. But he sensed that if he took this away from her, she would grow to hate him.

He didn't know what the right decision was. She was staring at him with a blend of hope and doubts. Finally, he acceded, "Only if Callum agrees to guard you."

It was the only compromise he'd make. And even then, he didn't like it.

The light in her eyes and the fierce joy took him aback. She threw her arms around his neck, and though he rested his hands upon her waist, he didn't hug her back. He felt as though he were bargaining to save his marriage and it infuriated him that she would push him to that boundary.

As he took her back to Glen Arrin, he wondered what he'd just agreed to.

Finian lay upon the ground, blood staining the frozen grass beneath him. Though it had been nearly a sennight, the wound upon his arm kept reopening. The skin had turned red, and he'd been shaking with fever for two days now. He'd finally accepted that he couldn't stay here any longer; he had to return home to tend the wound.

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 traveling 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 colors, 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 forward, 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 honor 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 toward the shores of the loch. Laren studied the priest, unsure of whether 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 colors, 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 dozens 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 the measurements 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 colors. 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 colored. "No, I'm sorry. I was trying to decide which melts to begin next." Glancing outside, she realized 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 saw 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 spoke, 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 had 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.