he ripped apart the burned wood, an inner voice taunted him.
She didn’t tell you about the wound because she doesn’t trust you.
Alex grasped another plank and heaved his body weight against the wood, letting the anger and physical labour push away the unwanted thoughts. For nearly three years he’d worked endless hours, ensuring that each person in the clan was fed and had a place to sleep. He’d told himself at the time that it was necessary. It was his obligation as their chief.
Laren understood it, just as he did. His hands stilled upon the wood and a trickle of blood ran down between his fingers.
She was happier before you were chief, the voice continued. She never wanted this life. You forced it upon her.
He’d always expected that she would change, once she saw the responsibilities. It would take time, but he’d believed Laren would be a good Lady of Glen Arrin.
Instead, she’d retreated … both from this life and from him.
There’s nothing you can do.
The words stabbed at her mood as Laren stalked away. Alex viewed her as a nuisance, someone who needed to stay out of the way while he worked with the men to rebuild. She supposed he was merely trying to keep her safe, but did he really believe she could sit inside, staring at the walls, while everyone else was working? She couldn’t.
When she found Vanora back at her dwelling, Laren stopped to collect her daughters, along with some food for an afternoon meal. She walked along the shoreline with Mairin and Adaira, her elder daughter running ahead to stamp upon the ice fragments on the edge of the loch.
Her cave was hidden on the far side of the water’s edge, formed on the side of a large hill. There were enough crevices in the ceiling of the cave for ventilation and it was far enough away from the keep that no one ever came close. The proximity to the shoreline also gave her access to the vast quantities of sand that she needed.
Father Nolan had built his furnaces inside the cavern and it kept the atmosphere warm and dry, perfect for making glass. Laren was grateful that he’d constructed all of the large ovens, for she’d never have been able to build them herself.
As she neared the familiar entrance, she saw Ramsay had begun the fires as she’d asked. A deep warmth suffused the air, but it would be several hours more before it would be hot enough for glassmaking.
She fed the girls a small meal of dried apples and meat. Afterwards, she spread out her cloak and laid Adaira down, rubbing the child’s shoulders until she went down for a nap. It wasn’t long before Mairin yawned and stretched out beside her sister. The warmth of the fires made it easy for them to fall asleep just at the entrance, on the soft sand.
Laren kept the children in full view, casting glances at them while she took note of her supplies. Although Father Nolan had left her with his tools and his stores of lead and minerals, there would come a time when she’d have to purchase more.
‘We need more lime,’ Ramsay said. He’d washed his face, Laren noticed, and she handed him the bag of food she’d brought.
‘You’re to eat everything inside,’ she told him, taking a small oat cake for herself.
He muttered his thanks and reached into the bag, attacking the food as though he feared it would run away from him. She pretended to study the panes of glass she’d already made, but instead she was watching the lad.
His thin frame bothered her, but worse were the bruises on his face. The boy’s father rarely remembered to feed him, for he spent most of his time drinking ale or using his fists against Ramsay. Laren couldn’t understand why he stayed with his father, when she’d offered him the chance to come and be fostered with her and Alex. The boy had refused, stubbornly remaining in his own home.
‘I need you to stay with the furnace all day today,’ she told Ramsay. ‘I’ll be making large quantities of glass and we won’t be able to let the fires go out.’ It was a lie, but one that would keep him out of his father’s house, at least until tonight.
The wound in her side ached and Laren forced herself to sit for a moment, pushing away the dizziness. It would heal. And as soon as she worked upon her glass, she’d forget all about the pain.
‘I’ve mixed a crucible,’ Ramsay offered. ‘It’s ready to be melted. All it needs are the colour minerals.’
She smiled at him. ‘You’re the best apprentice I could have, Ramsay.’
His face flushed. ‘I’ll chop more wood for you.’ He returned to work, uncomfortable with the compliment.
She traced her fingers over a piece of bright blue glass she’d made and wondered if it really was possible to earn a profit from her work.
What if it’s not good enough? a voice of doubt warned. Her colours might be too dark, not letting in enough light. Although the cobalt had created a nice blue, the silver hadn’t achieved the shade of green she’d wanted. No piece of glass could be made in the same way twice, for the ashes varied from the different beechwood trees.
‘Have you lit the annealing furnace?’ she asked Ramsay.
‘Aye. Just now,’ he answered.
The annealing furnace had to be a lower temperature than the melting furnace, for the glass had to cool under controlled conditions. She’d learned the hard way that the annealing process was necessary, after a few glass pieces had cooled too quickly and cracked apart when she’d tried to score them.
She stood and took the clay crucible Ramsay had prepared, adding a small amount of iron to try to create a red glass. It was too soon to heat it, but she set it near the edge of the furnace in preparation.
Although the heat was intense, Laren was used to it. She welcomed the roasting warmth as she turned her attention to some streaked green glass she’d made days ago. From her position behind the fire, she could see Mairin and Adaira still fast asleep.
In her mind she envisioned the Garden of Eden. She would use the glass to form the leaves of the Tree of Knowledge, making it the focal point of the scene. Tomorrow, if she managed to achieve the right shade of red, she could form the apple of temptation.
She lost track of time, heating a cutting tool to a red-hot point before she scored the glass to crack it into the shape she wanted. As she worked, she fell under the spell of creating her glass scenes, watching the shapes transform from the image within her mind into reality.
After she had cut several leaves from the finished glass, she spied Nairna and Dougal at the entrance. Her girls had awakened and Nairna held Adaira in her arms.
Her brother-in-law’s face was coated with ash, his face sweaty from the labour. As Dougal stared at her, his expression turned curious. ‘You made that?’ he asked, pointing to the sheet of glass. ‘From sand, just now?’
‘No. Days ago,’ Laren corrected. ‘It takes several days to make glass. Longer, depending on what colours you want.’ She put on her gloves, feeling uneasy about the burn scars on her hands, but no one had noticed them. Ramsay had moved to the back of the cavern, trying to remain unobtrusive.
Her side was aching again and Laren took several breaths to force back the pain. Tonight she would speak to Vanora and ask if she could make a sleeping draught. For now, she hid her misery and asked Dougal, ‘Did you bring me any of the beechwood ash? Or am I supposed to scrape it off you?’
His cheeks reddened at her teasing and he pointed outside. ‘I filled the wagon with it.’
‘You can dump it just outside the cave, if you can manage.’
In the end, all of them worked together to shovel it out. Mairin and Adaira tried to help, but it was more difficult with them underfoot.
When at last the wagon was empty, Laren checked on the melt and adjusted the fires. She used a bellows to increase the heat and Ramsay took his place beside the fire, promising to keep it going.
‘It