Larendidn’tdenyit.But she’d been half out of her mind after losing David and had needed solitude. She simply couldn’t face the grief or her husband. Being around Alex only reminded her of the tiny infant who had stared at her with solemn blue eyes. The child who would never grow into a man. Even now, the memory of her son’s face brought a searing pain to her heart.
Working with the glass had saved her from shattering apart, and she didn’t regret the apprenticeship with Father Nolan. It had been her one solace.
“I’m sorry.” She folded her hands, wishing he could understand. “But I knew you wouldn’t approve.”
“You’re right.” He let go of her, rising to his feet. “It’s dangerous, and you’ve already injured yourself.”
“It hasn’t happened in a while,” she confessed. “I take precautions with the fires, and it’s not as dangerous as you think.” She reached for a crucible and added a blend of sand, lime and copper. She slid the clay container into the furnace, using a length of iron. “If I can sell the glass to the monks at Inveriston, the silver might help us.”
“There are other ways we can earn coins for the clan, Laren.” He crossed his arms, as though he didn’t want her to leave Glen Arrin.
She’d expected his response, but not the surge of determination that filled her. “I may not be as skilled as Father Nolan was, but it’s good enough for the kirk.” She walked over to the stone surface where she’d laid out pieces of glass she’d cut and arranged into a wooden frame.
Alex stood with his back to her, silent for a long moment. She waited for his footsteps to approach, for him to see her work. Instead, he held his distance. “What other secrets have you kept from me?”
“I’ve told you everything.” But from the distrust in his tone, she could see that he didn’t believe her.
He stood at the doorway, his expression unreadable. She tried not to let his cool demeanour hurt her feelings, but it did. It seemed that he didn’t even want to look at what she’d done. “Are you coming back tonight?”
She shook her head. “I can’t leave the melts—I’ve already sent Ramsay away.”
“Stay, then, if that’s your wish.” He cast a glance toward the stone table before he left the cavern, but he said nothing more. She’d hoped that somehow his reaction would be different, that he’d find beauty in her work. But all he could see was her lie of omission.
Loneliness clenched her spirit as she neared the entrance to the cave and saw him trudging along the edge of the loch. The moonlight reflected off the silvery surface, and Alex stopped at the hillside where their son was buried. For a moment, he got down on one knee, as if voicing a quiet prayer.
Laren closed her eyes and forced herself to retreat back into the cavern. She couldn’t allow herself to think of David now.
As she touched the smooth glass, she concentrated on fitting together the broken pieces to decide where the lead lines would go.
She spent the next hour cutting the green glass into pieces, scoring the surface with a hot blade and cracking it apart before filing it smooth. But no matter how many hours’ worth of work there was, she couldn’t silence the worries in her mind.
Already she wasn’t the wife Alex wanted. And now that she’d revealed everything to him, it had made no difference at all. She sat down, resting her head upon one hand. She’d made excuses about her shyness, telling herself that she couldn’t be Lady of the clan.
She couldn’t deny that she’d been hiding away with her glass, retreating from the outside world. It was true that the others ignored her, but hadn’t she done the same to them?
She didn’t have many friends among the women of the clan. Only Vanora and Nairna, if she were honest with herself, and that was only because she’d spent more time with them. Even if she could overcome her fears, Laren sensed that the others wouldn’t want anything to do with her. Already they believed she spent her time in idleness.
As she tended the fires, her eyes blurred from exhaustion and regret. She didn’t know how to mend her broken marriage or overcome her timidity.
The only thing she was certain of was that she couldn’t live like this any more.
February, 1303
For over a month, his wife remained distant. Alex saw the wild grief in her eyes and nothing could take away the pain. From morning until night, Laren avoided the castle keep. She hadn’t touched the cradle he’d made for David, nor had she put away the baby clothes she’d sewn. It was as if, by keeping the room the way it was on the day their son had died, she could somehow forget what had happened.
At night, she curled away from him on her side, as if she couldn’t bear to be near him. As if it were his fault, somehow, that their son was gone.
He never spoke to her about it, for fear that it would unleash the frail bonds that held back his own anger and grief.
Then, one night, he’d found her sitting in their bed, holding the infant gown she’d made for their son.
“It doesn’t seem real,” she whispered. “It’s as if I could look back in his cradle and find him there. Sometimes I hear him cry, in my mind.”
His throat closed in, but he remained standing in the doorway. Her words conjured up the crippling grief he held inside.
She folded the gown, looking down upon it. She looked so lost, so broken, he wanted to go to her and hold her tight. To grieve together, the way he needed to.
“I know I have to let him go, don’t I?” She turned to him, and the stricken look on her face caught him like a spear in his heart. “Could you…help me put his things away?”
