After that day, there was an invisible bond that drew him to her. He’d sworn that when he came of age, Laren would be his wife—her and no one else.
Chapter Ten
FinianMacLachor’sarmburnedfrom the wound he’d sustained. Though it had stopped bleeding long ago, the wound wasn’t healing well. His arm had swollen up to twice its size, and he shuddered at the task that had to be done.
It had been a risk, trying to steal the chief’s wife—one that hadn’t worked. Alex MacKinloch had slashed his sword in the darkness and Finian had misjudged the distance. He’d been fortunate enough to escape with his life, for the MacKinlochs had spent several days tracking him. He’d kept to the lochs and streams, using the water to hide his footprints. And when he’d returned to infiltrate Glen Arrin a second time, he’d watched over the clan for a night and a day, gathering information. They hadn’t even known he was there, which brought him a slight consolation.
His brother, Brochain, was heating his dirk within the fire, bringing the point and blade to a fiery heat. “This is going to hurt like hell, Finian.”
“And if you don’t do it, I’m going to die of the poison that’s already in me.” He held up his arm, bracing himself for the worst.
A gasp shuddered from him as Brochain plunged his blade into the swollen wound, letting it bleed out the yellowish pus that was festering inside. Then his brother packed the wound with healing herbs their sister had prepared. Finian didn’t know if he passed out or not, but the next thing he was aware of was Brochain using the flat of the blade to cauterise the injury.
A cry tore from his mouth as the blistering pain ripped through him. And when it was done, Brochain passed him an animal skin of ale.
“This isn’t strong enough,” he told Brochain, drinking heavily.
“You’ll live.” His brother revealed no sympathy at all.
Finian lifted the animal skin again, wishing to God that it were possible to get drunk faster. His face tightened as he eyed the remains of their land. Although the homes were untouched, there were so few MacLachors left alive, it might as well have been abandoned.
“What are you going to do about Iliana?” Brochain asked.
Finian stared into the fire, knowing that there was little hope for his daughter. His attempts to attack both Lord Harkirk and the MacKinlochs had met with failure. The Feast of Saint Agatha was rapidly approaching, and he doubted if he’d meet with any success.
“Gather some of the men. We’ll try for a MacKinloch hostage one last time. Take anyone you can find.”
“Even the children?” Brochain sent him a dark look. It wasn’t at all what Finian wanted. But what choice did he have?
He drained the rest of the ale. “Even the children.”
Atdusk,AlexspiedLaren walking toward him. She’d kept her promise over the last few days, leaving Ramsay to work on the fires while she returned at sunset. The first outer wall was now finished and the second nearly so. Alex leaned up against the inner wall, waiting for his wife. Against the descending sun, her hair gleamed like fire.
Even after five years of marriage, she was as beautiful to him now as she’d been the first day he’d met her. But she appeared tired, her face wan. In her hands, she carried a leather-wrapped bundle and he wondered what it was.
When she reached his side, he greeted her with a kiss. Although she was shy to show him affection in front of the others, gradually she’d become used to it.
“What did you bring back?” he asked. “Something for the girls?”
She glanced around, as if looking to see who was watching. “And for you. But we should go to a place where the others won’t see.”
It was glass, then. He’d suspected as much. “I’ll bring Mairin and Adaira to the edge of the loch. Will that be secret enough?”
She nodded. “I’ll wait for you there.”
Before she could go back, he caught her hand. “We can only stay for a short time, Laren. Tonight we’re going to have a competition among the men. Both of us should be there.” If all went according to plan, they would have walls up around the keep later tonight. Alex had ordered the men to cut large pieces of wood for the framing, and it was piled up in readiness. “We’ll feast with the others later.”
After she left his side, he went to fetch his daughters. Mairin and Adaira were hungry, but when he told them that their mother had a surprise for them, their curiosity overcame their whining.
“What is it, Mama?” Mairin demanded, racing toward the edge of the loch where Laren was waiting. “What did you bring us?”
“Cake?” Adaira suggested. “For me?”
“No, not cake,” Laren said. She unwrapped the leather bundle, and Alex spied a row of twisted pieces of glass. One end was a solid teardrop, while a wisp of melted glass spiraled upwards like a swirl of honey.
“What are they?”
Laren took one and passed it to him. “Drop it hard against the stone and watch.”
