One morning, before she could go to the cavern, Laren spied a priest arriving on horseback. He was dressed in dark robes of a simple wool, with a hood to cover his head. When he approached, he stopped the horse a few paces before the gates. He lowered his hood, studying the fortress as if wondering if he were in the right place. He tucked his hands inside his long sleeves and ventured forward, leading the horse with him.
Laren guessed he was one of the priests from the abbey who had come with the plans she needed. She drew close to Nairna, and her sister-in-law crossed over to speak with him. The man appeared tired and frail from his journey, but he managed to smile and greet them.
“You came from the Abbey of Inveriston, I presume?’ Before the priest could voice a reply beyond a simple nod, Nairna continued on. “You’ll want a meal and some mead to refresh yourself. And perhaps you’d honor us by saying Mass in the morning?’
“Of—of course.” The man appeared taken aback by Nairna’s bold questions, but eventually he managed to introduce himself. “I am Father Stephen.”
Nairna sent him a broad smile. “You are welcome here.” Now that he was dismounted, she explained in a low voice, “Laren can discuss the glass with you and show you the sample pieces. The others don’t know about it yet. We’ll go to the cavern and you can give her the plans you brought.”
“The cavern?’
He appeared confused, but Laren clarified, “Where the glass is made.” It was far better to hold a conversation there, where no one would eavesdrop.
The priest lowered his head, nodding his agreement as he followed them toward the shores of the loch. Laren studied the priest, unsure of whether to admit that she was the glass artist and not her false brother. He didn’t appear to be biased against women. As they walked towards the cavern along the edge of the loch, she weighed it over in her mind, wondering whether or not he would retract the commission.
But he was a man of God, and she already felt terrible for the lie she’d told the abbot. If this priest would be staying with them for a few days, it would be impossible to keep the truth from him.
When they reached Father Nolan’s cavern, Laren stopped outside the entrance. “I want to be truthful with you,” she confessed. “It wasIwho made the glass, not my brother. I should have been honest with the abbot, but I was afraid he would not allow me to take the commission.”
The priest appeared troubled. His eyes narrowed, but before he could argue with her, Laren insisted, “There is no reason why my glass should be any different than a man’s. And the abbot was pleased with the work I gave him.”
She led him and Nairna inside the cavern. “If you are not satisfied with my work, I will return the coins.”
He gave a slight shrug, giving no hint of his opinion. Laren withdrew the sheets of glass she’d made in various colors, offering them for his inspection. While he and Nairna looked at them, she opened the annealing furnace to see if the cylinder of glass that she’d made earlier was ready to be flattened.
The priest had stopped talking, his eyes intent upon Laren as she scored and cracked the cylinder in half. Though it made her uncomfortable to be watched, she understood that this man would report everything back to the abbot.
Don’t be nervous, she ordered herself.You’ve made sheets of glass dozens of times.She placed the two halves of glass, curved-side down, into a cooler part of the furnace to soften into sheets. When she turned back to them, the priest was staring at her with wonder.
“Do you have the plans for the windows?” Nairna asked. “Laren needs the measurements to continue her work.”
His expression faltered for a moment, but then he opened the pouch at his waist, searching through it. A moment later, he withdrew a sheet of parchment and handed it to them.
Laren studied the sketch, her mind forming ideas for the different colors. She already had blue and green sheets for the crucifixion scene, but she would need more brown and gold. The hardest element would be the faces. She simply didn’t have enough experience with painting enamel upon glass.
“I might have them ready for you in the early summer,” she predicted. “But I’ll need the measurements for the kirk windows.”
“Would you like to measure them yourself?” he offered. “I could escort you there.”
She thought about it, but Alex was unlikely to let her leave Glen Arrin. With no other choice, she suggested, “It would be best if you could have your priests build the frame and bring it to me.”
He was speaking to Nairna again, asking questions about the rebuilding efforts, and Laren turned her attention to another crucible of sand, lime and beechwood ashes.
Afteraquarterofan hour, the priest touched her hand gently. “Did you hear my question?”
She colored. “No, I’m sorry. I was trying to decide which melts to begin next.” Glancing outside, she realized it had grown late. “I should get back to my daughters.”
The priest’s hand rested upon hers a moment longer and his expression grew troubled. Uneasiness rippled through Laren, for no man had ever touched her, save Alex. She glanced around and saw that Nairna had already gone back to Glen Arrin. Callum was still outside and she didn’t know if he was guarding them.
Father Stephen was looking at her intently. “Do you want me to walk back with you?”
She shook her head slowly, her mind in disarray. His hand was warm upon hers and an unsettled feeling rooted in her stomach.
He meant nothing by it, she told herself. He’d held her hand while he spoke, that was all.
But it was the first time another man had noticed her. And when she turned back to the entrance of the cavern, she saw her husband standing there. Watching.
August, 1303
