The remaining two soldiers retreated back to the fortress, and it wouldn’t take long before they gathered more men. He needed to get his brother out of there before anyone found him.
Callum appeared through the trees with another clansman at his side.
“Who is that?” Alex demanded.
“I am Sion MacKinnon,” the clansman answered. “Your wife recruited us to fight after talking to Lord Locharr. There are others from the surrounding clans as well. About three dozen.” He gestured toward the trees, and Alex spied a few of them, spread out on both sides.
His wife? Alex stared blankly, not understanding. Laren had gone to seek help for them?
“She paid them in silver and gave Lord Locharr one of her glass windows, in exchange for our service,” MacKinnon continued.
He couldn’t even think of what to say. He stunned that she would even venture out of Glen Arrin, much less speak to the clan chiefs. “Are they all here?”
“No. Some are waiting a mile from here. We wanted to attack with several groups on all sides.”
“Where is Laren now?” Alex demanded, hoping to God the man would say that she’d remained at Glen Arrin.
But his brother Callum turned and pointed toward the hillside where the fire had been burning earlier.
“You left her there alone?” Fear tore through Alex. He couldn’t believe his brother had put Laren in harm’s way. But then, Callum held a finger to his lips and pointed toward the fortress, reminding Alex that the soldiers were going to return.
“Help me find her,” Alex commanded, and Callum sheathed the knife again. To Sion, he ordered, “Go back and tell your men to join with ours around the perimeter of the fortress.” He gave instructions and the MacKinnon disappeared to obey.
Alex climbed up the hillside, searching for his wife. Callum led him to where he’d left Laren, but the fire was now cold, and it was too dark to track her footprints. He called out to her in a harsh whisper, but there was no reply.
As he searched through the woods, his fear sharpened with every moment that passed. He should have listened to his doubts, for now he might lose both Laren and their daughter.
And he couldn’t live with himself if that happened.
Larencouldn’tsleep,despitethe straw pallet the boy had offered her. The wind blew through the crevices in the crude shelter. Made of stone and wood, it seemed that the boy had built it himself.
“How long have you been here?” she asked, when she saw that he wasn’t sleeping either.
“I don’t remember.” He huddled beneath an old woolen blanket, gathering the edges to keep warm.
“You shouldn’t stay here,” Laren said. “It’s not any safer for you than it is for me.”
“And where would I go? Everyone’s dead,” he said, drawing up his knees. His voice held a quaver, as though he were holding back tears.
“You could come back with me,” Laren offered. “Tell me how I can get Adaira back, and I’ll make sure you have a place to live.”
The boy lowered his head to his knees and, after a few minutes, Laren realized he was crying. She came up beside him and touched his ragged hair. “It will be all right. You’ll see.” She whispered words of comfort to him, and in time, the child laid down on the pallet. She covered him with the rough blanket and noticed that his features were softer than she’d originally noticed. He was so young, possibly only a few years older than Mairin. She wished she’d remembered to ask his name.
Laren closed her eyes for a moment and a shudder of dizziness swept through her. She’d forgotten to eat anything tonight and was ravenous. Her back ached and the terror that lay dormant suddenly roared to life.
I shouldn’t have left Glen Arrin, she thought to herself. Alex will be so angry when he finds out. But she’d believed it was safe with so many clansmen to defend her. Now, she wasn’t so certain. She lay down beside the boy and, in time, her physical exhaustion overcame the fear.
Whensheawakenedinthe morning, she saw an English noblewoman staring down at her.
“Who are you?” the woman demanded in heavily accented Gaelic. Laren sat up slowly, but she didn’t leave the boy’s side. The woman was dressed in a burgundy samite gown trimmed with fur. Her gloved hands were slender and her brown hair was bound up in a golden barbette trimmed with rubies.
“I am Laren MacKinloch,” she answered. “I suppose you must be Lady Harkirk.”
The woman inclined her head, but there was a shadow of unhappiness in her eyes. “You shouldn’t have come here. It isn’t safe.”
“Lord Harkirk has my daughter prisoner. Where is she?”
“If you’re asking about the young baby, I left her with my maid,” Lady Harkirk answered. “She has red hair, like yours. Blue eyes?”
