“You won’t be saying that tonight,” one of the other men teased, “when she’s sharing your bed.”
A gleam brightened in Ross’s expression. “Aye. Even if she’s a sharp-tongued woman, she knows how to use her tongue in the right way.”
Bram didn’t join in with the roar of laughter from the other men. The conversation grew bawdy, with the men boasting about how long their shaft was, when they lifted the support beams into place.
“I know you’ve been enjoying marriage, haven’t you, lad?” Ross laughed, wiping his forehead with his hat. “You’re hoping we can finish this house tonight, aren’t you? Have a bit of privacy with your bride.”
“I don’t want her to have to sleep in the grain shed much longer,” Bram agreed, “and, aye, I want it finished.”
“We’ll get the walls up,” Alex said. “That I can promise, Brother.”
“And when Nairna comes back, Bram will get the rest up.” Ross wheezed with laughter, but Bram couldn’t smile at the revelry.
He returned to the fir trees he’d cut and began stripping away the smaller branches. While they meant no harm with their teasing, it only reminded him of how he’d lost control of himself that night. He’d taken his wife with hardly any thought or care, and though she claimed he hadn’t hurt her, neither had he pleasured her.
The rough bark splintered his hands, and in the distance he spied one of the women bringing a drink of water to her husband. The water dripped over the man’s neck as he drank, then he gave his wife a kiss of thanks.
Watching them together was like seeing himself with Nairna, seven years ago. And when the man reached down and lifted his young son into the air, ruffling the boy’s hair, Bram wondered if he would ever have children with Nairna.
The fierce need made him turn away to hide his envy. There was only one way he could have such a life. He had to keep a tight rein over his desires and thoughts, so that he would never again lose control or awareness.
Only then would Nairna want a man like himself.
It was nearing sunset when Nairna and Marguerite reached the edge of the loch. Birds soared overhead, swooping down in search of fish. The women dismounted and let the horses graze while Nairna took the narrow path along the rocky shore. There she saw Laren’s younger girls, Adaira and Mairin, who were playing in the sand, decorating it with stones and sticks.
Marguerite’s face softened when she saw the girls. Nairna introduced them, and Mairin’s eyes widened at the lady’s gown. “Where did you get that dress, Lady Marguerite? From the queen?”
Marguerite smiled. “From my belongings. Your father allowed me to bring a few of my things with me from Cairnross.”
A wistful smile slid over the young girl’s face. “I would like to have a gown like that one.”
“Perhaps one day you shall,” Marguerite said, reaching out to smooth the young girl’s hair.
“Where is your mother?” Nairna asked the girls.
“She’s in the cave, working,” Mairin answered. “I have to keep Adaira here when the fires are hot.”
“The fires?” Nairna sniffed the air and, sure enough, she caught a whiff of smoke. “What is she burning?”
“She’s making her glass.” Mairin picked up a stone and set it atop of a pile of sand.
Making her glass? Intrigued, Nairna followed the scent until she saw a wide-mouthed cave facing the loch. Inside, Laren had her hair tied back while she labored over a hot clay furnace. She was adding ash to a crucible, while another container heated in a different part of the furnace.
Nairna drew close, not interrupting, but she caught her breath when she saw bits of colored glass lying upon a slab of stone. The glass was cut into intricate shapes like nothing she’d ever seen before. Vivid blues and reds gleamed in the morning sun like sapphires and rubies. It was clear that the smaller pieces were forming an intricate picture, meant for a window. “It’s the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen,” Marguerite breathed.
Laren jerked with surprise. “What are you doing here?” she demanded to Nairna. “Has something happened?”
Nairna ignored the question and moved closer. “Does Alex know that this is what you do each day?”
Laren shook her head, her expression growing sharp. “And I don’t want him to know. He wouldn’t understand.” She sent a suspicious look toward Marguerite. “You’re not going to tell him, are you?”
Marguerite shook her head. “I would not. And I wanted to thank you for giving me a place to sleep with your daughters while I await my father.” She sent Laren a soft smile. “It is kind of you.”
“How long have you been making this glass?” Nairna couldn’t believe that Alex wouldn’t already know of Laren’s talent. When she looked closer, she saw the burn marks that marred Laren’s hands and forearms. It explained the gloves she always wore.
“Two years,” Laren admitted. “Father Nolan was apprenticed to a glassmaker who escaped from Murano, many years ago. His hands were too weak to make the glass anymore, but he taught me everything he knew.” Her face dimmed slightly. “He died last winter, but under his teaching, I learned a great deal.”
“Where are the pieces you’ve made?” Nairna asked. Laren pointed to the back of the cave, where there were many leather-wrapped bundles. From an initial count, there seemed to be at least a dozen.
