all right.’ She kept her voice low, so as not to wake the children. But when she turned back to her left side, it occurred to him that their polite, quiet marriage had shifted on to unstable ground.
The arrow might well have pierced his own flesh, awakening him to the reality that his wife didn’t confide in him any more. If she felt unable to reveal a wound, what other secrets had she kept?
Laren disappeared each day for hours on end, never telling him where she was going or what she was doing. A tightness clenched his throat, for he’d never asked her. He’d been so busy worrying about the keep and its occupants, he’d forgotten about his wife. At the time, he’d believed he was merely giving her the freedom to come and go as she pleased, not wanting to make demands of her.
Perhaps at a deeper level, he hadn’t wanted to know why she was leaving, for fear that she wanted to avoid being with him.
He stared up at the ceiling of Ross’s home, knowing he wouldn’t find sleep this night. It had taken a single arrow to crack his illusions apart. They didn’t have a true marriage any more, only the barest shadow.
In the darkness, he rolled over to watch his wife trying to sleep. He couldn’t imagine a life without her in it.
He just didn’t know what he had to do to get her back.
Chapter Two
In the early morning Laren opened her eyes and saw Alex watching her. His eyes were heavy, as though he hadn’t slept at all. ‘How are you this morn?’ he asked.
‘Tired,’ she admitted, gingerly easing to a seated position so as not to tear the stitches. The wound was a dull ache now, the pain worse than yesterday.
‘I want to see your wound.’ Though his words were spoken quietly so as not to awaken their daughters, she detected an edge to his voice.
Laren pulled apart the dress seam they’d cut last night, removing the bloodstained linen she’d slept with. Alex stared at the wound, his hand moving forwards, but he stopped shy of touching her.
‘You’re staying inside with the girls today. I don’t want you anywhere near the ruins, not when you’re hurt.’
‘It wasn’t a mortal wound, Alex,’ she reminded him, feeling like a petulant child daring to argue with her parent. She bound up the wound again, adding, ‘There’s much to do and the girls and I will help where we can.’
Vanora came forward with Ross, and Alex turned to her. ‘See to it that Laren rests and doesn’t tear the stitches.’
He was talking about her as though she weren’t sitting in front of him. Frustration and resentment brewed inside her, but Laren held silent. The wound had torn her flesh in two places, but the stitches held it together and it wasn’t too deep. Yet there was no sense in arguing with him, not when he was in no mood to listen.
Soon enough, Alex left the house, not even bothering to break his fast. It was clear that his mind was focused on all of the work to be done. Ross joined him, the two men going off to survey the damage.
Vanora approached her, after the men were gone. ‘I’ve made you a poultice,’ she offered. ‘We’ll wrap it against your wound and it should be healed in a few more days.’
‘I’m not staying inside when there’s so much to do.’ The members of their clan would spend the entire day repairing what damage they could. She didn’t want them to resent her by remaining absent.
‘I agree with you,’ Vanora said. ‘There’s no point in sitting inside with all there is to do.’ She unwrapped Laren’s wound, packing the herbs against her raw flesh.
‘Mama, does it hurt?’ Mairin asked, her face worried when she saw the bandage.
‘Not really,’ Laren said, pressing a kiss onto her daughter’s forehead. ‘Vanora has some oat cakes for you if you’re hungry.’ With the distraction of food, her daughter scrambled away.
‘She reminds me of my daughter Nessa when she was younger,’ Vanora sighed. ‘I do miss her, now that she’s gone back to Locharr.’ With a glance to Laren, she added, ‘But I’m glad she wasn’t here when we were attacked.’ She reached out and gave the baby a warm hug.
Adaira toddled towards Laren, her baby lips puckered. ‘Kiss, Mama.’ Though she was not quite two years old, she alternated between wanting to cling to Laren’s legs or demanding that she do everything by herself.
Laren leaned down and pressed her mouth against the baby’s, feeling the sweetness of innocent affection. ‘Go with your sister, sweeting.’ To Mairin, she directed, ‘Get Adaira a cake to eat.’
‘You shouldn’t let Alex speak to you that way,’ Vanora said, dropping her voice. ‘Chief or no, you should stand up for yourself.’
Laren supposed it might seem that way to an outsider. ‘It would do no good,’ she admitted. ‘Once he’s made up his mind, he won’t listen to any arguments.’
‘Nothing wrong with a fight now and then,’ Vanora said, sending her a wicked look. ‘Sometimes strong words can lead to making up.’
Laren coloured, knowing exactly what the matron was implying. But she didn’t enjoy verbal sparring, and it was doubtful that it would lead to anything more. Alex hadn’t touched her in a long time. Over the past few months, he’d started coming to bed late at night. He fell asleep almost immediately and rose at dawn. The days when he’d reached for her in the morning, stealing a kiss or making love to her, were long gone.
She didn’t blame him for it. It was part of being chief of the clan, and she understood the obligations he faced. But sometimes … she was lonely.
If Alex had shown the slightest desire to be with her, to talk with her the way he’d used to, she might have told him the secret she’d kept for nearly three years—the one that had kept her from burying herself in grief when she’d lost their baby.
When her husband could offer no solace, she’d gone to the priest, Father Nolan. The older man had taught her the art of glassmaking as a means of occupying her time. With fire and breath she’d found redemption and beauty. There was nothing more miraculous than the blending of sand, minerals and heat to form colourful panes of glass. The craft had given her hope and helped her survive those nightmarish months when she’d barely slept or eaten from the heart-wrenching loss.
Within a year, she had become the priest’s apprentice and in the craft she’d found the part of herself that she’d lost. Now, she could no more give it up than she could give up breathing. But she’d done it in secret for so long, she was afraid to tell anyone. Only her apprentice Ramsay, Nairna and Lady Marguerite knew of it. She didn’t know what Alex would think, for she was afraid he wouldn’t see the value in it.
You need to put aside your fear and try to sell your pieces, she told herself. If she could find a buyer, the silver coins would allow them to replenish the food and supplies they’d lost during the battle. It was her best hope of helping the people.
But the last time she’d tried, it had resulted in disaster. She and Nairna had given Dougal the glass, not telling him where it was from, and he’d been cheated by a merchant. The weeks of hard work were lost for ever, and she still felt the disappointment of it.
Vanora cooked more oat cakes for the girls while Laren went to warm her hands near the fire. The beechwood was dying down into coals, with plentiful ashes from the night before. She poked at the wood, stoking the flames. Though she forced herself to eat with the girls, she wasn’t particularly hungry.
As she stared at the heated coals, she thought of the immense heat necessary for making glass. Her mind started to drift, and she imagined spending the day with her sand and minerals. She needed more ashes and—
Ashes. There were plenty of those now, weren’t there? If she gathered them up, the raw materials would allow her to make larger quantities of glass. Alex won’t like it,