“Not until you return.” She wanted to believe that he would love her enough, but she didn’t want him to later hold regrets.
“Say you will,” he urged again.
She leaned up to kiss him, distracting him with the physical desire that burned between them. It was easier not to think of losing him when his arms were around her.
“You’re the only man I’ve ever wanted,” she answered against his mouth. He took her mouth again, his hands moving over her shoulders, then he brought his palm over her breast.
He let it rest there, waiting to see what she would do. Her nipple rose with a fevered arousal and she felt an answering rush between her legs. She knew, if she allowed it, he would become her lover this night.
His thumb caressed the erect tip and she shifted her legs together at the aching sensation. Temptation warred with good sense and she captured his hand with hers.
“When you return,” she whispered. She could not surrender her innocence to him, not when he might be forced to wed another.
He sat up, leaning her body back against him. “I’ve brought you a gift to remember me by.” In her palm, he pressed a small pouch.
Laren unwrapped the leather and poured out a handful of glass droplets. Vivid blue, green and red mingled with white, in a jeweled handful.
“They’re beautiful,” she breathed.
“Father Nolan made them. They reminded me of the treasures I’d give to you, if I could.”
The cool glass warmed beneath her fingers and she held one up to examine it more closely. As she studied them, she wondered how they were made. She knew the priest used sand and fire, but no one dared to interrupt him while he was forging his magic.
Alex kissed her again, holding her close. Though she desired him, she was afraid of what the future might hold.
And, most of all, she feared losing him.
Chapter Three
Abone-deepexhaustionsettledwithin him. Every muscle in his body ached, and Alex wanted nothing more than to find a place to sleep for the next fortnight. But he couldn’t.
Despite working since sunrise, they’d done little more than clear away the wreckage. The mood within Glen Arrin was unsettled, for they were exposed, their weaknesses bared to any enemy who happened to draw near.
He closed his eyes, knowing the violence would come. Robert Fitzroy, Baron Harkirk, had retreated after the last battle, but Alex had no doubt that the English baron was merely biding his time.
The silence unnerved him more than any direct attack. He sensed, within his blood, that Harkirk would strike again. It was a matter of when, not if.
The heaviness of the clan’s fate rested upon his shoulders and he could feel their doubts. He’d heard more than a few whispers today, questioning his leadership. But this was his clan. He would do whatever was necessary to keep them safe, even if they were reduced to ashes and sackcloth.
They were his people. His family.
His brother Bram approached, his expression dark, as though he didn’t want to bear bad news. “I’ve heard talk of several men wanting to leave. They have family among the other clans.”
“I won’t let that happen.” Alex adjusted the bandage on his arm, knowing that if a few left, others would follow.
“And how could you stop them?”
“It won’t come to that.” He walked alongside Bram through the remains of the keep. “I’ll speak to them tonight.”
When he passed several of his kinsmen, he didn’t miss the despair and hopelessness on their faces as they worked to gather up what remained of their belongings. It wouldn’t be easy to convince them, but as their chief it was his responsibility to care for them.
He passed Brodie, who was holding the hand of his three-year-old son. The child struggled to pick up a stone that was nearly as big as he was, his face pursed with effort. Brodie put his arms around his son and helped him to lift up the stone, before setting it down upon the wall.
The fist of grief caught Alex so hard that he blinked back the emotion. It had been almost three years now. Their son would have been the same age as this child. He could almost imagine it in his mind, and when Brodie stood, holding his son’s hand, Alex felt the emptiness of his own palm.
It’s in the past, he told himself. You have two daughters. Be thankful for what you have.
In the distance, Dougal was returning with Mairin and Adaira riding alongside him in the wagon. Nairna and Laren approached a short distance behind. There was exhaustion in his wife’s bearing and he didn’t understand why she’d gone so far.
