The matron nodded. “I’ll come along with you.”
They walked towards the burned remains of the keep. Farther ahead, Laren heard the sounds of boys fighting. She motioned for Vanora to keep the girls back while she went to investigate.
“Thief! Did you think you’d get away with stealing?” The adolescent boy pounded at a crouched figure who was bleeding in the dirt. Another boy stood on the opposite side, kicking the victim.
“Get away from him!” Laren reached in and grasped the older one by the back of his tunic, trying to pull him off the boy she couldn’t see.
When she revealed the victim’s face, she suppressed her cry of dismay. It was Ramsay, her apprentice. The towheaded boy was eleven years old, and he had a bloody nose from the fight. But there were also older bruises, likely from his father’s fists. In his grimy hand, he held a crust of bread.
“What happened?” she demanded. “Why would you fight over bread?”
“Our grain stores burned,” the first boy said. “We caught him stealing from our da.”
“Do you think your chief would let a family go hungry? Would he deny you food?”
“Ramsay should’ve gone elsewhere to beg.”
Laren shook her head, sending the boy a look of disgust. “Go back to your homes. Leave him alone.”
When they’d gone, she knelt down beside her apprentice and used her hand to wipe away the blood. “Can you sit up?”
Pain wrinkled his mouth, but Ramsay managed to nod. His fingers were still clenched around the crust of bread.
“Did you steal that?” Laren asked quietly. His face colored with shame and his silence was answer enough.
“You could have come to me,” she said gently. “I would never let you go hungry.”
He kept his head lowered and she knew he hadn’t asked her for food out of pride. “Go to the cavern and start the furnaces,” she ordered. “I’ll bring food to you when I come.”
The command seemed to break through his dark mood and stony grey eyes stared into hers. For the past year, Ramsay had been her apprentice, helping her to keep the furnaces running. It gave him a means of escaping his father’s fists and she couldn’t make her glass without him.
“Do you want me to start a melt after the furnaces are hot enough?” he asked, in a low voice.
“Not yet. I’ll join you later and select the melts that I need.” With any luck, she’d have the ashes she wanted by that time.
She helped Ramsay stand, noting that he’d need warmer clothes before long. The last garments she’d given him had disappeared. Likely his father had taken them away or traded them.
As he shuffled towards the cavern on the far side of the loch, she saw the shadow of herself as a girl. She knew what it was to be cold and hungry, too proud to accept handouts from others.
Never again, she swore. She’d not let any of her loved ones go without food or clothing. Not her own children, and not boys like Ramsay, who had no one else to care for them.
Her apprentice had shown promise in the skill of glassmaking and his unyielding desire for accuracy had served him well. He drank in the knowledge as fast as she could give it.
When she returned to where she’d left Vanora and the girls, she saw that the matron had brought them among the crowd of people. Several younger men had axes and were walking towards the forest to begin cutting wood. Others were busy hauling away the burned wood in carts.
Laren remained on the outskirts, where she saw Bram’s wife Nairna organizing people into groups. The woman was like a commander, giving out orders with a natural sense of leadership. She moved with such confidence, as if she knew exactly what to do. She wasn’t at all afraid of the crowds or telling people what tasks to accomplish.
“You should be up there,” Vanora said, when Laren reached her side. “Not Nairna. You’re the chief’s wife.”
Laren’s cheeks flushed at the woman’s chiding. But what could she do? Standing in front of large crowds terrified her. She felt every flaw was magnified in their eyes.
“They don’t respect you,” Vanora continued. “You hide away from them without even trying.” The matron took her hand, leading her forwards. “I don’t mean to hurt your feelings,a charaid, but if you’re wanting to help, you need to stop being so shy and take the role that belongs to you.”
Laren knew Vanora was right, but she couldn’t change her fears any more than she could change her nervous heartbeat from racing inside her chest. Her skin grew cold, goosebumps rising up as nerves rippled within her stomach. She wished she could be like Nairna, instead of tongue-tied and not knowing what to say.
As the crowd dispersed, Laren watched Alex and his brothers. She saw the bandage wrapped around her husband’s forearm, but he continued to lift away the fallen timbers with little care for his injury.
His muscles strained as he worked and Laren remembered what it was like to touch his bare skin, the hardened flesh merging into soft. She knew his body well, the contrast between the ridges of his stomach and muscular back.
