“You truly don’t understand, do you? This isn’t like my weaving or sewing. It’s not the same at all.” She reached down for the bucket, her arm straining with the weight of the water.
She was right—he didn’t understand. And the angrier she grew, the more he sensed that this was about something else entirely.
He took the bucket and tossed it aside. Taking her wrist, he guided her toward the cavern. She said nothing but matched her pace with his, even though it meant she had to run slightly.
When they reached the entrance, the furnace fires were out, the interior cold. She went to her work table and sat before it, her hands clenched tight.
“What is this really about, Laren?”
She picked up a piece of glass and rubbed its surface. “You’re not being reasonable about this. I understand that you don’t want me to work alone. But you can’t lock me away.”
“And why can’t I?” He moved to sit across from her. “If I want to keep you safe from harm, why does that make me a monster?”
“It doesn’t. But I can’t give up this commission.” She pressed a clear glass droplet into his hand. The smooth surface grew warm within his hand and she said, “Working with the glass gives me a purpose. It’s something I can do that no other woman of this clan can. With it, I can prove to them that I’m worth something. That I’m not a beggar, like my father was.”
In her eyes, he saw twenty years’ worth of pain. He’d never thought much about her family’s poverty—he’d seen only the woman who had stolen his heart.
She rose from the bench and went to stand at the entrance. “Don’t keep me a prisoner, Alex. Let me do this.” The desperation in her voice and in her eyes gave him pause. He wanted to keep her within the fortress, where no one could hurt her. Why couldn’t she understand that he needed to protect her?
“You’ll stay at Glen Arrin until we’re sure that the threat is gone,” he said.
“And after that?” Her voice was a whisper, holding back unspoken pain.
He wanted to refuse. But he sensed that if he took this away from her, she would grow to hate him.
He didn’t know what the right decision was. She was staring at him with a blend of hope and doubts. Finally, he acceded, “Only if Callum agrees to guard you.”
It was the only compromise he’d make. And even then, he didn’t like it.
The light in her eyes and the fierce joy took him aback. She threw her arms around his neck, and though he rested his hands upon her waist, he didn’t hug her back. He felt as though he were bargaining to save his marriage and it infuriated him that she would push him to that boundary.
As he took her back to Glen Arrin, he wondered what he’d just agreed to.
Finianlayupontheground, blood staining the frozen grass beneath him. Though it had been nearly a sennight, the wound upon his arm kept reopening. The skin had turned red, and he’d been shaking with fever for two days now. He’d finally accepted that he couldn’t stay here any longer; he had to return home to tend the wound.
When he heard a horse approaching, Finian struggled to rise. Dizziness plagued his vision, but when he saw the rider his tension eased. It was a priest traveling on horseback. Not a threat at all.
The priest drew closer and when he spied Finian, he dismounted. His dark robes trailed the ground and he folded his hands within the long sleeves. “A charaid, you’re bleeding. Will you allow me to help you?”
Finian nodded, easing himself to sit up. Though the ground still swayed beneath him, he allowed the priest to unwrap his sodden sleeve.
“A sword, was it?’ The priest opened up a pouch he carried and withdrew a folded piece of linen from inside. He pulled back Finian’s sleeve and tore a piece from it, swabbing at the blood. “You’re lucky you didn’t lose that arm. I won’t be able to stitch it for you, but you are welcome to join me as I journey to Glen Arrin. I’m certain one of the women there would help you.”
“Glen Arrin?” Finian repeated, unable to believe what he was hearing.
“Aye.” The priest smiled. “There is a glass artist there whose work is nothing short of miraculous. The abbot has commissioned a window from the MacKinlochs, and I’m bringing the plans to them.”
Finian barely listened to the man’s words, for when the priest tightened the linen around his arm, the pain made it impossible to answer.
“Will you come, then?” the priest asked again. “The MacKinlochs would be glad to help a man in need.”
But Finian only shook his head. Though the MacKinlochs hadn’t seen his face on the night he’d attacked, as soon as they saw the wound upon his arm, it would reveal his identity. “No, thank you, Father. I’ll return to my family.”
After he thanked the priest for his kindness, the man smiled. “A family is a blessing indeed. God go with you and your loved ones.”
A bleakness reached out to him, squeezing Finian’s heart. For there was no one to guard his daughter now. And he simply didn’t know how he could save her.
Theautumnwasfadinginto harsh winter as Laren finished panes of glass in all different colors, preparing for the design she would have to make. Callum had kept his word, patrolling the area surrounding her cavern. She’d felt uneasy about Alex’s brother, for never did he speak. She worried that he resented having to guard her, for he ignored her attempts to give him food or to make him feel more at ease. Truthfully, she hoped that her husband would lift the requirement, now that there had been no further attacks.
