“I want a drink, Mama,” Mairin informed her.
“I’ll get you one.” Laren took the girls by the hand and led them forward, dipping a wooden cup into a barrel that held water from the loch. They shared it between them and Laren filled it again, intending to take it to Alex.
When she passed by the women, she saw them watching her. Though it made her uncomfortable, she turned back and explained, “The men will be thirsty.”
“For water?” Vanora scoffed. “Ross’ll be wanting mead or ale.” But after Laren’s suggestion, she, too, filled her cup until most of the women trailed behind, approaching the men. It felt awkward having the others follow her example.
As Laren drew closer to her husband, mixed emotions of uncertainty and regret grew inside her. Last night had begun almost as if Alex wanted to start again, to mend the lost years. But as soon as she’d started to tell him why she spent time in the cavern, he’d focused only on her shyness.
Once, he had loved her enough that it hadn’t mattered. Now, she was afraid that he regretted marrying her. And she didn’t know if she could be the wife he needed.
Before she reached her husband, her path was blocked by two of their kinsmen engaged in their own conversation. “He’s lost his mind, that’s what,” said Brodie MacKinloch. “Thinks he’ll rebuild Glen Arrin of stone instead of wood? That’ll take years and the English will kill us all in the meantime.”
“Who does he think he is?” said the other. “An English lord?”
“We’re leaving in the morning,” Brodie added. “And unless you want t’be hauling stone for the next year, you’d best do the same.”
Laren didn’t move, but the women behind her had also heard Brodie’s complaints. The men couldn’t possibly conceive of anything beyond the broken-down fortress they’d known for years. Alex was doing his best to rebuild, yet they had nothing to offer but criticism.
She doubted if anything she said would change their minds, but as she passed she sent them a hard look, letting them know she’d overheard their complaints.
When she reached Alex, he stopped working, his face furrowed. “What is it?” he asked. “Something with the girls?”
She fumbled with her words, uncertain of what to say. “I just…wanted to see if you needed anything.” She lifted up the cup of water and Alex took it from her.
He drank, his eyes averted from her. “Nairna told me that you talked this morning about a way to bring in more money for the clan.”
“Go on.” Laren kept her voice calm, though a cold anxiety filled up her veins. Had Nairna revealed anything to Alex?
“She said that you found some of Father Nolan’s glass inside the cavern and that you wanted to sell it to the Inveriston monks.”
Laren’s heart nearly stopped, but she realized that her sister-in-law had told Alex only enough to give them permission to go.
He stared at her, and the penetrating look made her uncomfortable. “You knew about the glass, didn’t you?”
She gave a nod and her voice barely reached above a whisper. “Nairna’s right. We should try to sell it.”
Her husband set the cup back in her hands. “A few weeks ago, when you sent Dougal away, was he trying to sell glass then? When he returned with counterfeit coins?”
She lowered her head in a nod. Guilt plagued her, for Dougal had got lost upon his journey home that night. “I know we should have told you.”
“He won’t be going this time,” Alex said. “Bram will take Nairna, and she’ll arrange for it to be sold.”
“I want to go with them,” she blurted out, fully expecting him to say no. His gaze shifted to her bandaged side. To appease him, she added, “If I’ve healed enough.”
“Why?”
In his eyes she saw more than a question. There was an emotion that he’d locked away and she found herself staring at the hardened face of a chief instead of her husband.
She took a risk and removed her glove. If he saw the scars, he would ask about them. And perhaps she would gather the courage to tell him the truth about her glass. Without taking her gaze from his, she reached out to touch his fingertips. “Because it’s important to me.”
Alex didn’t look down, as she’d hoped, but his hand laced with hers, his thumb caressing the edge of her burned palm. He hadn’t noticed the scars at all.
The aching touch caught the pieces of her heart. She held motionless and, for a moment, it seemed that the crowds of people were no longer watching.
“Then go,” he said. Dark brown eyes stared into hers and she saw the longing in them.
She replaced her glove once more, half-afraid he would change his mind. “Thank you,” she whispered.
