who was bleeding in the dirt. Another boy stood on the opposite side, kicking the victim.
‘Get away from him!’ Laren reached in and grasped the older one by the back of his tunic, trying to pull him off the boy she couldn’t see.
When she revealed the victim’s face, she suppressed her cry of dismay. It was Ramsay, her apprentice. The tow-headed boy was eleven years old, and he had a bloody nose from the fight. But there were also older bruises, likely from his father’s fists. In his grimy hand, he held a crust of bread.
‘What happened?’ she demanded. ‘Why would you fight over bread?’
‘Our grain stores burned,’ the first boy said. ‘We caught him stealing from our da.’
‘Do you think your chief would let a family go hungry? Would he deny you food?’
‘Ramsay should’ve gone elsewhere to beg.’
Laren shook her head, sending the boy a look of disgust. ‘Go back to your homes. Leave him alone.’
When they’d gone, she knelt down beside her apprentice and used her hand to wipe away the blood. ‘Can you sit up?’
Pain wrinkled his mouth, but Ramsay managed to nod. His fingers were still clenched around the crust of bread.
‘Did you steal that?’ Laren asked quietly. His face coloured with shame and his silence was answer enough.
‘You could have come to me,’ she said gently.
He kept his head lowered and she knew he hadn’t asked her for food out of pride. ‘Go to the cavern and start the furnaces,’ she ordered. ‘I’ll bring food to you when I come.’
The command seemed to break through his dark mood and stony grey eyes stared into hers. For the past year, Ramsay had been her apprentice, helping her to keep the furnaces running. It gave him a means of escaping his father’s fists and she couldn’t make her glass without him.
‘Do you want me to start a melt after the furnaces are hot enough?’ he asked, in a low voice.
‘Not yet. I’ll join you later and select the melts that I need.’ With any luck, she’d have the ashes she wanted by that time.
She helped Ramsay stand, noting that he’d need warmer clothes before long. The last garments she’d given him had disappeared. Likely his father had taken them away or traded them.
As he shuffled towards the cavern on the far side of the loch, she saw the shadow of herself as a girl. She knew what it was to be cold and hungry, too proud to accept handouts from others.
Never again, she swore. She’d not let any of her loved ones go without food or clothing. Not her own children, and not boys like Ramsay, who had no one else to care for them.
Her apprentice had shown promise in the skill of glassmaking and his unyielding desire for accuracy had served him well. He drank in the knowledge as fast as she could give it.
When she returned to where she’d left Vanora and the girls, she saw that the matron had brought them among the crowd of people. Several younger men had axes and were walking towards the forest to begin cutting wood. Others were busy hauling away the burned wood in carts.
Laren remained on the outskirts, where she saw Bram’s wife Nairna organising people into groups. The woman was like a commander, giving out orders with a natural sense of leadership. She moved with such confidence, as if she knew exactly what to do. She wasn’t at all afraid of the crowds or telling people what tasks to accomplish.
‘You should be up there,’ Vanora said, when Laren reached her side. ‘Not Nairna. You’re the chief’s wife.’
Laren’s cheeks flushed at the admonition. But what could she do? Standing in front of large crowds terrified her. She felt every flaw was magnified in their eyes.
‘They don’t respect you,’ Vanora continued. ‘You hide away from them without even trying.’ The matron took her hand, leading her forwards. ‘I don’t mean to hurt your feelings, a charaid, but if you’re wanting to help, you need to stop being so shy and take the role that belongs to you.’
Laren knew Vanora was right, but she couldn’t change her fears any more than she could change her nervous heartbeat from racing inside her chest. Her skin grew cold, goose bumps rising up as nerves rippled within her stomach. She wished she could be like Nairna, instead of tongue-tied and not knowing what to say.
As the crowd dispersed, Laren watched Alex and his brothers. She saw the bandage wrapped around her husband’s forearm, but he continued to lift away the fallen timbers, with little care for his injury.
His muscles strained as he worked and Laren remembered what it was like to touch his bare skin, the hardened flesh merging into soft. She knew his body well, the contrast between the ridges of his stomach and muscular back.
A shadow fell across her mood, for it had been such a long time since they had touched one another intimately. Last night, when he’d learned of her injury, he’d been so angry. Her feelings were bruised, for not once had he said that he was glad she was all right. His fury was palpable, and though she knew he was angry that she’d been hurt, it almost felt as if he were blaming her for the injury. Then this morn, he’d demanded that she stay inside, as though she were incapable of doing anything to help.
But I can do something, she thought. She would start making more glass today and eventually try to sell it. Somehow.
‘Mama, aren’t we going to help Da?’ Mairin asked, her face impatient.
‘Aye. But stay here.’ She couldn’t simply go up to the ruined keep and begin shovelling ash. Alex would see them and get angry. For this, she needed Nairna’s help.
She asked Vanora, ‘Will you watch over the girls for a moment?’ The matron agreed and Laren kept to the outskirts of the crowd, avoiding Alex as she drew closer to Nairna. Bram’s wife would know how to get the ash without making anyone suspicious.
‘I need your help,’ she confessed, when she reached Nairna’s side. ‘I want the ash that’s left over, if you can spare it.’ She met her sister-in-law’s gaze with an unspoken reminder about the glass. ‘I need the beechwood ashes in particular,’ Laren continued. ‘It’s necessary for … the work that I do. My girls can help to gather it.’
Nairna’s green eyes turned shrewd. ‘You’ll need more help than that. I’ll send Dougal, and he’ll get the other men to help shovel it into a cart. The men need the space cleared for the new keep anyhow. Leave it to me.’
Laren voiced her thanks and started to walk back to the girls. She’d nearly reached the gate when a hand caught her arm.
‘What are you doing here?’ Alex demanded. He couldn’t believe that Laren was here, not when she’d been wounded. Her face was pale and he pulled her over to a small pile of stones, forcing her to sit. ‘You need to rest.’
Although he’d thrown himself into the physical labor of rebuilding, ever since he’d left Laren’s side he’d replayed the vision of the arrow piercing her skin. Even now her face held the pain, and guilt plagued him that he hadn’t been able to shield her from it.
‘I wanted to help,’ she said, rising to her feet.
Arguments rose to his lips, but he forced himself to gentle his words. ‘I don’t want you to be hurt. There are parts of the keep still standing and we need to tear them down. Just keep the children away.’
‘Nairna is helping you,’ she pointed out. ‘And so are Vanora and the other women.’
‘They weren’t wounded.’ He needed her to be away from the unstable structure, and, more than that, he needed her to rest and heal. ‘Do as I ask, Laren. There’s nothing you can do here anyway.’
Laren stared at him, a brittle expression on her face as she strode away. He hadn’t meant to be that harsh, but it was evident