“The beam had already fallen,” she pointed out.
Her mother-in-law let out a sigh. “Your judgment seems to be lacking at times. And it’s clear to me that you have no inkling of the responsibilities of a chief’s wife.”
The woman’s criticisms were like dull razors, cutting into her confidence. Though Laren tried to ignore Grizel, the longer she remained silent, the more her mother-in-law found fault with other things.
“You should have organized the feast tonight,” Grizel continued. “I don’t know what it is you spend your time doing…sleeping, I suppose. Like your father always did.”
“I’m not my father,” she shot back. Inwardly she cursed herself for rising to Grizel’s bait.
A light entered Grizel’s eyes at the prospect of an argument. “No, but you’ve the same blood. Why you ever thought you’d be a good wife to Alex is beyond my ken.”
“I loved him,” she whispered. “And he loved me.”
“Love has nothing to do with a strong marriage. If you were a better wife to him, you’d lead at his side. Though I imagine you think it’s best to keep bearing children. Why, if your son had lived—“
“Don’t speak of him.” Laren turned on Grizel, tightening her grip on Adaira. “Don’t you ever speak of him.”
When the older woman’s lip started to move, Laren cut her off. “Save your words. You’ve said enough this night.”
She increased her stride, forcing Mairin to walk faster. Angry tears welled up inside. Worse, she couldn’t even have a moment alone, for the woman was staying with them. The walls of the keep couldn’t go up fast enough as far as she was concerned. She tucked the girls in, wishing she could crawl under the coverlet and ignore Grizel for the rest of the night.
But voices rose from outside, breaking through the stillness. “Did you hear that?” she asked Grizel, listening hard.
“It’s nothing. Just the men working,” the woman responded. “Now, as I was telling you—“
“Stay with the girls,” Laren ordered. She knew she’d heard something. Though she hoped that she was being fearful over nothing, she moved to take one of Ross’s dirks. The blade was heavy in her hand and she wished the men would return.
“There’s nothing there,” Grizel insisted. “Now put that down and—“
Laren stepped outside, clenching the weapon in her hands. When she heard nothing but the sigh of the wind, she wondered if perhaps Alex’s mother was right.
And then she heard rustling sounds. Movement, coming from outside the fortress.
With her heart pounding, she ran back to Alex, where four walls of the keep stood in various stages of completion. Ignoring the celebration, Laren found her husband, just as he was announcing the winning team.
“I heard movement coming from the trees,” she warned him. “I don’t know if it’s a raid, but they’re near the loch.”
Alex alerted the others and the men grabbed weapons, just as a group of a dozen men emerged through the gates, their shouts resounding in the darkness.
Two of them moved toward the livestock, while others went after the grain. The sounds of fighting tore through the celebration, iron blades clashing together as the MacKinlochs defended their home.
“MacLachors,” she heard Ross say.
“I thought they were our allies.” Laren didn’t understand it. If they’d needed grain and supplies, they’d only had to ask. Alex would have welcomed their labor in return for food.
“They’ve a new chief, so I’ve heard.” the older man replied. “Likely a young man causing trouble.”
Laren stayed clear of the fighting, but in the distance, she spied two of the men moving toward the hut where her girls were sleeping.
No. She ran hard, fury rising from the pit of her stomach as she went after them. Her lungs burned, the fear snaking into her gut. If they dared to harm one of her daughters, she’d hunt them down.
Alex came running behind her, his claymore drawn with both hands. “Stay back,” he warned, but Laren ignored him. When a raider moved toward her, she swung the dirk. He dodged her slash and struck a blow to her hands with the shaft of his spear. The weapon dropped away and she had no choice but to retreat.
“Get inside, Laren,” Alex warned. He swung the claymore, the long blade slicing toward the man’s head. “If you lay a finger upon my wife, you’ll find it on the ground, along with your severed hand.”
Laren moved behind him, holding her torch aloft, in case the man broke free. Alex held the claymore in both hands before he charged at the man, swinging with precision. “Why did you come, MacLachor?”
“For the bounty on your heads.” He held the spear up, blocking Alex’s blow, but when the claymore cut into the wood, Alex couldn’t free his weapon. Instead, he twisted the blade, disarming his enemy.
