His wife’s face brightened with embarrassment. “I should have helped her with the preparations. I wasn’t thinking about what day it was.” She glanced back at the furnace, frustration lining her face. “Will you go and fetch Ramsay to come and watch the fires?”
“Aye. Then I’ll return and wait for you.” He wanted her to walk with him to the celebration as Lady of Glen Arrin, even if it was just an illusion. After Laren had been attacked, he’d been so focused on catching the intruder, he’d neglected her again. He saw her upon waking and when he drifted off to sleep at night, but that was all.
It was no way for a man to reconcile with his wife.
Snowflakes drifted on the wind, and after Alex left the cavern, he realized he didn’t know where to look. Possibly in Walter’s house or among the other boys. He supposed Ramsay could be anywhere.
But when he reached the outskirts of Glen Arrin, he spied the lad waiting. Ramsay shrank down, as if trying to make himself invisible. He huddled in the cold and Alex recognised one of his old tunics that Laren must have given to the boy. It hung down over his wrists and the saffron color was faded and worn.
Alex studied the boy’s face, but thankfully, he didn’t see any fresh bruises. He made himself a mental reminder to find out where Eoin was, since he hadn’t seen Ramsay’s father in a sennight. Though Walter had taken the boy into his home, it was a temporary solution. Ramsay deserved a permanent place to live where he would be warm at night with enough food to eat. Perhaps when the keep was finished, he and Laren could foster the boy themselves.
“Laren has asked you to come and tend the fires,” he told the boy. “But if you’d rather attend the celebration tonight, we can—“
“I’ve no wish to go.” Ramsay got up and started running toward the cavern, as if he couldn’t stand to make any further conversation.
Alex followed the boy, and when he arrived back at the cave he saw Laren emerging. Her hood had slipped down to reveal her hair, and snowflakes melted against her cheeks. Ramsay was already inside the cavern, adding firewood to the furnaces.
Laren walked a short distance with him and when they were out of earshot, she reminded him, “I would never, ever betray you. Not with any man.”
He drew her to his side. “It’s not you I distrust. It’s the priest.”
She fell silent as they walked toward the fortress. In the distance, torches flickered amid the fortress construction. A large bonfire blazed in the center of the enclosure, and people were starting to gather around. Monroe pulled out his pipes and began to play a lively tune while some of the folk began to dance.
When they entered the space, Alex saw that Nairna had cut fir branches, tying them in different places around the fortress. Laren’s pace slowed as she studied Nairna’s greenery. “It reminds me of the way we used to decorate our home.” With a furtive smile, she said, “My sisters and I used to collect fir branches and holly. We gave each other stones and sticks and pretended they were gold bracelets or beautiful gowns.”
“Did you ever receive real gifts?”
She nodded. “Mother would try to make us something warm—a hood or hand coverings. Father would set snares for rabbits; if he was lucky, we had our own feast.”
Alex led her inside the fortress and she looked around for the girls. “Where are the children?”
“Look there.” He pointed to a small circle of young girls. Grizel was addressing them solemnly and placed the bannag stone in the lap of each girl as they took turns representing St Brigid, who first held the Christ Child. “My mother said the children will enjoy a celebration of their own. Dougal plans to tell them stories inside one of the huts.”
Laren seemed content at this, and when they drew closer to the music, he remembered that they’d danced together a time or two. He took her hand and led her away from the others, just as Monroe changed the tune to a softer one. The pipes held a haunting note of wistfulness and his wife’s face softened. She’d always loved music.
“Dance with me,” Alex said, pulling her near. She hesitated, glancing around at all the people, but he took her hands and wound them around his neck. “There’s no one here except you and me.”
“There are nearly thirty people,” she protested.
But he leaned in close, touching his nose to hers. “Don’t look at them. They won’t even notice us here.” He lowered his hands to her hips, moving her in a slow circle.
Laren’s breath faltered at the touch of her husband’s hands. He was right. The rest of the clan seemed to melt away like frozen snow, until there was nothing left but him. His dark eyes reached inside her, reminding her of days long ago.
Against her hips, she felt his arousal, and his mouth moved down to hover above hers. He didn’t kiss her, but warm breath mingled against her lips. “Do you remember the first night we celebrated Oidhche nam Bannag together?”
The snow had stopped falling and her body grew warmer as he wrapped his cloak around her, pressing her back against the stone wall. Though the colors had faded, she recognised the woven wool that she’d made for him, years ago. “You kissed me for the first time.”
His palm came up to the side of her face, caressing her cheek. There was a sinful glint in his eyes, of a man who wanted to assert his claim upon her. The priest’s words had conjured a jealousy she’d never seen before.
Beneath the cloak, his hands moved over her flesh, seeking bare skin while his mouth bent to hers. “You’re mine, Laren,” he said against her lips.
Before she could answer, Ross approached them. The man’s face held a knowing grin and he told them, “There will be wagering games tonight. Nairna has asked each family to offer a prize.”
“We will offer something,” Alex answered. When he’d gone, he said to Laren, “What about a piece of your glass?”
“No.” The answer came without any need to think. She wasn’t ready to reveal the glass to the others.
“It wouldn’t have to be a large piece. Perhaps some small colored pieces that you have left over.”
