“It wasn’t a mortal wound, Alex,” she reminded him, feeling like a petulant child daring to argue with her parent. She bound up the wound with fresh linen, adding, “There’s much to do, and the girls and I will help where we can.” The wound had torn her flesh in two places, but the stitches held it together and it wasn’t too deep. Yet there was no sense in arguing with him, not when he was in no mood to listen.
“No. You need to rest.” After he gave the order, Alex got dressed and left without breaking his fast.
Frustration and resentment brewed inside her, but Laren held silent. She rose quietly, intending to get food for their girls. Behind her, Ross and Vanora were now awake and speaking quietly. A few moments later, Ross left to join Alex. Most likely they meant to survey the damage and decide how to start rebuilding the homes.
Vanora approached her after the men were gone. Sympathy lined the old woman’s eyes, making it clear that she’d heard every word. “I’ll make you a poultice,” she offered. “We’ll wrap it against your wound and it should be healed in a few more days.”
“I’m not staying inside when there’s so much to do.” The members of their clan would spend the entire day repairing what damage they could. Laren didn’t want them to resent her by remaining absent.
“I agree with you,” Vanora said. “There’s no point in sitting inside with all there is to do.” She unwrapped the wound and chose herbs to pack against the raw flesh.
Mairin got up and came over to her. “Mama, does it hurt?” Her face grew worried when she saw the bandage.
“Not really,” Laren said, pressing a kiss onto her daughter’s forehead. “Vanora has some oat cakes for you if you’re hungry.” With the distraction of food, her daughter scrambled away.
“She reminds me of my daughter Nessa when she was younger,” Vanora sighed. “I do miss her, now that she’s gone back to Locharr.” With a glance to Laren, she added, “But I’m glad she wasn’t here when we were attacked.”
Adaira toddled towards Laren, her baby lips puckered. “Kiss, Mama.” Though she was two years old, Adaira alternated between wanting to cling to Laren’s legs or demanding that she do everything by herself.
Laren leaned down and pressed her mouth against the baby’s, feeling the sweetness of innocent affection. “Go with your sister, sweeting.” To Mairin, she directed, “Get Adaira a cake to eat.”
“You shouldn’t let Alex speak to you that way,” Vanora said, dropping her voice. “Chief or no, you should stand up for yourself.”
Laren supposed it might seem that way to an outsider. “It would do no good,” she admitted. “Once he’s made up his mind, he won’t listen to any arguments.”
“Nothing wrong with a fight now and then,” Vanora said, sending her a wicked look. “Sometimes strong words can lead to making up.”
Laren blushed, knowing exactly what the matron was implying. But she didn’t enjoy verbal sparring, and it was doubtful that it would lead to anything more. Alex hadn’t touched her in a long time. Over the past few months, he’d started coming to bed late at night. He fell asleep almost immediately and rose at dawn. The days when he’d reached for her in the morning, stealing a kiss or making love to her, were long gone.
She didn’t blame him for it. It was part of being chief of the clan, and she understood the obligations he faced. But sometimes…she was lonely.
If Alex had shown the slightest desire to be with her, to talk with her the way he’d used to, she might have told him the secret she’d kept for nearly three years—the one that had kept her from burying herself in grief when she’d lost their infant son.
When her husband could offer no solace, she’d gone to the priest, Father Nolan. The older man had taught her the art of glassmaking as a means of occupying her time. With fire and breath she’d found redemption and beauty. There was nothing more miraculous than the blending of sand, minerals and heat to form colorful panes of glass. The craft had given her hope and helped her survive those nightmarish months when she’d barely slept or eaten from the heart-wrenching loss.
Within a year, she had become the priest’s apprentice and in the craft she’d found the part of herself that she’d lost. Now, she could no more give it up than she could give up breathing. But she’d done it in secret for so long, she was afraid to tell anyone. Only her apprentice Ramsay, Nairna, and Lady Marguerite knew of it. She didn’t know what Alex would think, for she was afraid he wouldn’t see the value in it.
You need to put aside your fear and try to sell your pieces, she told herself. If she could find a buyer, the silver coins would allow them to replenish the food and supplies they’d lost during the battle. It was her best hope of helping the people.
But the last time she’d tried, it had resulted in disaster. She and Nairna had given Dougal the glass, not telling him where it was from, and he’d been cheated by a merchant. The weeks of hard work were lost forever, and she still felt the disappointment of it.
Vanora cooked more oat cakes for the girls while Laren went to warm her hands near the fire. The beechwood was dying down into coals, with plentiful ashes from the night before. She poked at the wood, stoking the flames. Though she forced herself to eat with the girls, she wasn’t particularly hungry.
As she stared at the heated coals, she thought of the immense heat necessary for making glass. Her mind started to drift, and she imagined spending the day with her sand and minerals. She needed more ashes and—
Ashes. There were plenty of those now, weren’t there? If she gathered them up, the raw materials would allow her to make larger quantities of glass.Alex won’t like it,her mind warned.He ordered you to stay out of the way.
She dismissed the thought. Likely he wouldn’t even notice she was there. The girls would enjoy helping her fill buckets of ash, especially if she challenged them to bring as many as possible to the cavern.
“Girls, have you finished eating?” she asked. Mairin nodded, taking Adaira’s hand. “Good.”
Laren made sure the girls were dressed warmly enough, pulling a hood over Adaira’s hair. “We’re going to go and help your father. I want you to find wooden buckets and you’ll help us clean up.”
“And what will you say to your husband when he finds out you’ve disobeyed him?” Vanora prompted.
She sent the matron a slight shrug and a smile. “What were you saying about a good fight, now and then?”
Vanora beamed and led the way outside. Laren reached for a wooden bucket and asked, “May I take this and bring it back to you later?”
