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‘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, her mind warned. He ordered you to stay out of the way.
She dismissed the thought. Likely he wouldn’t even notice she was there. The girls would enjoy helping her fill buckets of ash, especially if she challenged them to bring as many as possible to the cavern.
‘Girls, are you finished eating?’ she asked. Mairin nodded, taking Adaira’s hand. ‘Good.’
Laren made sure the girls were dressed warmly enough, pulling a hood over Adaira’s hair. ‘We’re going to go and help your father. I want you to find wooden buckets and you’ll help us to clean up.’
‘And what will you say to your husband when he finds you’ve disobeyed him?’ Vanora prompted.
She sent the matron a slight shrug and a smile. ‘What were you saying about a good fight, now and then?’
Vanora beamed and led the way outside. Laren reached for a wooden bucket and asked, ‘May I take this and bring it back to you later?’
The matron nodded. ‘I’ll come along with you.’
They walked towards the burned remains of the keep. Further ahead, Laren heard the sounds of boys fighting. She motioned for Vanora to keep the girls back while she went to investigate.
‘Thief! Did you think you’d get away with stealing?’ The adolescent boy pounded at a crouched figure 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 that he’d offended her. He returned to the ruined keep and started tearing down the boards. Splinters pierced his hands, but he ignored them. As 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.
