Читать книгу Seduced by Her Highland Warrior - Michelle Willingham - Страница 8

In the early morning Laren opened her eyes and saw Alex watching her. His eyes were heavy, as though he hadn’t slept at all. ‘How are you this morn?’ he asked.

‘Tired,’ she admitted, gingerly easing to a seated position so as not to tear the stitches. The wound was a dull ache now, the pain worse than yesterday.

‘I want to see your wound.’ Though his words were spoken quietly so as not to awaken their daughters, she detected an edge to his voice.

Laren pulled apart the dress seam they’d cut last night, removing the bloodstained linen she’d slept with. Alex stared at the wound, his hand moving forwards, but he stopped shy of touching her.

‘You’re staying inside with the girls today. I don’t want you anywhere near the ruins, not when you’re hurt.’

‘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 again, adding, ‘There’s much to do and the girls and I will help where we can.’

Vanora came forward with Ross, and Alex turned to her. ‘See to it that Laren rests and doesn’t tear the stitches.’

He was talking about her as though she weren’t sitting in front of him. Frustration and resentment brewed inside her, but Laren held silent. 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.

Soon enough, Alex left the house, not even bothering to break his fast. It was clear that his mind was focused on all of the work to be done. Ross joined him, the two men going off to survey the damage.

Vanora approached her, after the men were gone. ‘I’ve made 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. She 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 Laren’s wound, packing the herbs against her raw flesh.

‘Mama, does it hurt?’ Mairin asked, her face 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.’ She reached out and gave the baby a warm hug.

Adaira toddled towards Laren, her baby lips puckered. ‘Kiss, Mama.’ Though she was not quite two years old, she 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 coloured, 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 baby.

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 colourful 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 for ever, 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, are 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 to clean up.’

‘And what will you say to your husband when he finds 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?’

The matron nodded. ‘I’ll come along with you.’

They walked towards the burned remains of the keep. Further 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 tow-headed 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 coloured with shame and his silence was answer enough.

‘You could have come to me,’ she said gently.

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 organising 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 admonition. 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, goose bumps 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.

A shadow fell across her mood, for it had been such a long time since they had touched one another intimately. Last night, when he’d learned of her injury, he’d been so angry. Her feelings were bruised, for not once had he said that he was glad she was all right. His fury was palpable, and though she knew he was angry that she’d been hurt, it almost felt as if he were blaming her for the injury. Then this morn, he’d demanded that she stay inside, as though she were incapable of doing anything to help.

But I can do something, she thought. She would start making more glass today and eventually try to sell it. Somehow.

‘Mama, aren’t we going to help Da?’ Mairin asked, her face impatient.

‘Aye. But stay here.’ She couldn’t simply go up to the ruined keep and begin shovelling ash. Alex would see them and get angry. For this, she needed Nairna’s help.

She asked Vanora, ‘Will you watch over the girls for a moment?’ The matron agreed and Laren kept to the outskirts of the crowd, avoiding Alex as she drew closer to Nairna. Bram’s wife would know how to get the ash without making anyone suspicious.

‘I need your help,’ she confessed, when she reached Nairna’s side. ‘I want the ash that’s left over, if you can spare it.’ She met her sister-in-law’s gaze with an unspoken reminder about the glass. ‘I need the beechwood ashes in particular,’ Laren continued. ‘It’s necessary for … the work that I do. My girls can help to gather it.’

Nairna’s green eyes turned shrewd. ‘You’ll need more help than that. I’ll send Dougal, and he’ll get the other men to help shovel it into a cart. The men need the space cleared for the new keep anyhow. Leave it to me.’

Laren voiced her thanks and started to walk back to the girls. She’d nearly reached the gate when a hand caught her arm.

‘What are you doing here?’ Alex demanded. He couldn’t believe that Laren was here, not when she’d been wounded. Her face was pale and he pulled her over to a small pile of stones, forcing her to sit. ‘You need to rest.’

Although he’d thrown himself into the physical labor of rebuilding, ever since he’d left Laren’s side he’d replayed the vision of the arrow piercing her skin. Even now her face held the pain, and guilt plagued him that he hadn’t been able to shield her from it.

‘I wanted to help,’ she said, rising to her feet.

Arguments rose to his lips, but he forced himself to gentle his words. ‘I don’t want you to be hurt. There are parts of the keep still standing and we need to tear them down. Just keep the children away.’

‘Nairna is helping you,’ she pointed out. ‘And so are Vanora and the other women.’

‘They weren’t wounded.’ He needed her to be away from the unstable structure, and, more than that, he needed her to rest and heal. ‘Do as I ask, Laren. There’s nothing you can do here anyway.’

Laren stared at him, a brittle expression on her face as she strode away. He hadn’t meant to be that harsh, but it was evident that he’d offended her. He returned to the ruined keep and started tearing down the boards. Splinters pierced his hands, but he ignored them. As he ripped apart the burned wood, an inner voice taunted him.

She didn’t tell you about the wound because she doesn’t trust you.

Alex grasped another plank and heaved his body weight against the wood, letting the anger and physical labour push away the unwanted thoughts. For nearly three years he’d worked endless hours, ensuring that each person in the clan was fed and had a place to sleep. He’d told himself at the time that it was necessary. It was his obligation as their chief.

Laren understood it, just as he did. His hands stilled upon the wood and a trickle of blood ran down between his fingers.

She was happier before you were chief, the voice continued. She never wanted this life. You forced it upon her.

He’d always expected that she would change, once she saw the responsibilities. It would take time, but he’d believed Laren would be a good Lady of Glen Arrin.

Instead, she’d retreated … both from this life and from him.

There’s nothing you can do.

The words stabbed at her mood as Laren stalked away. Alex viewed her as a nuisance, someone who needed to stay out of the way while he worked with the men to rebuild. She supposed he was merely trying to keep her safe, but did he really believe she could sit inside, staring at the walls, while everyone else was working? She couldn’t.

When she found Vanora back at her dwelling, Laren stopped to collect her daughters, along with some food for an afternoon meal. She walked along the shoreline with Mairin and Adaira, her elder daughter running ahead to stamp upon the ice fragments on the edge of the loch.

Her cave was hidden on the far side of the water’s edge, formed on the side of a large hill. There were enough crevices in the ceiling of the cave for ventilation and it was far enough away from the keep that no one ever came close. The proximity to the shoreline also gave her access to the vast quantities of sand that she needed.

Father Nolan had built his furnaces inside the cavern and it kept the atmosphere warm and dry, perfect for making glass. Laren was grateful that he’d constructed all of the large ovens, for she’d never have been able to build them herself.

As she neared the familiar entrance, she saw Ramsay had begun the fires as she’d asked. A deep warmth suffused the air, but it would be several hours more before it would be hot enough for glassmaking.

She fed the girls a small meal of dried apples and meat. Afterwards, she spread out her cloak and laid Adaira down, rubbing the child’s shoulders until she went down for a nap. It wasn’t long before Mairin yawned and stretched out beside her sister. The warmth of the fires made it easy for them to fall asleep just at the entrance, on the soft sand.

Laren kept the children in full view, casting glances at them while she took note of her supplies. Although Father Nolan had left her with his tools and his stores of lead and minerals, there would come a time when she’d have to purchase more.

‘We need more lime,’ Ramsay said. He’d washed his face, Laren noticed, and she handed him the bag of food she’d brought.

‘You’re to eat everything inside,’ she told him, taking a small oat cake for herself.

He muttered his thanks and reached into the bag, attacking the food as though he feared it would run away from him. She pretended to study the panes of glass she’d already made, but instead she was watching the lad.

His thin frame bothered her, but worse were the bruises on his face. The boy’s father rarely remembered to feed him, for he spent most of his time drinking ale or using his fists against Ramsay. Laren couldn’t understand why he stayed with his father, when she’d offered him the chance to come and be fostered with her and Alex. The boy had refused, stubbornly remaining in his own home.

‘I need you to stay with the furnace all day today,’ she told Ramsay. ‘I’ll be making large quantities of glass and we won’t be able to let the fires go out.’ It was a lie, but one that would keep him out of his father’s house, at least until tonight.

The wound in her side ached and Laren forced herself to sit for a moment, pushing away the dizziness. It would heal. And as soon as she worked upon her glass, she’d forget all about the pain.

‘I’ve mixed a crucible,’ Ramsay offered. ‘It’s ready to be melted. All it needs are the colour minerals.’

She smiled at him. ‘You’re the best apprentice I could have, Ramsay.’

His face flushed. ‘I’ll chop more wood for you.’ He returned to work, uncomfortable with the compliment.

She traced her fingers over a piece of bright blue glass she’d made and wondered if it really was possible to earn a profit from her work.

What if it’s not good enough? a voice of doubt warned. Her colours might be too dark, not letting in enough light. Although the cobalt had created a nice blue, the silver hadn’t achieved the shade of green she’d wanted. No piece of glass could be made in the same way twice, for the ashes varied from the different beechwood trees.

‘Have you lit the annealing furnace?’ she asked Ramsay.

‘Aye. Just now,’ he answered.

The annealing furnace had to be a lower temperature than the melting furnace, for the glass had to cool under controlled conditions. She’d learned the hard way that the annealing process was necessary, after a few glass pieces had cooled too quickly and cracked apart when she’d tried to score them.

She stood and took the clay crucible Ramsay had prepared, adding a small amount of iron to try to create a red glass. It was too soon to heat it, but she set it near the edge of the furnace in preparation.

Although the heat was intense, Laren was used to it. She welcomed the roasting warmth as she turned her attention to some streaked green glass she’d made days ago. From her position behind the fire, she could see Mairin and Adaira still fast asleep.

In her mind she envisioned the Garden of Eden. She would use the glass to form the leaves of the Tree of Knowledge, making it the focal point of the scene. Tomorrow, if she managed to achieve the right shade of red, she could form the apple of temptation.

She lost track of time, heating a cutting tool to a red-hot point before she scored the glass to crack it into the shape she wanted. As she worked, she fell under the spell of creating her glass scenes, watching the shapes transform from the image within her mind into reality.

After she had cut several leaves from the finished glass, she spied Nairna and Dougal at the entrance. Her girls had awakened and Nairna held Adaira in her arms.

Her brother-in-law’s face was coated with ash, his face sweaty from the labour. As Dougal stared at her, his expression turned curious. ‘You made that?’ he asked, pointing to the sheet of glass. ‘From sand, just now?’

‘No. Days ago,’ Laren corrected. ‘It takes several days to make glass. Longer, depending on what colours you want.’ She put on her gloves, feeling uneasy about the burn scars on her hands, but no one had noticed them. Ramsay had moved to the back of the cavern, trying to remain unobtrusive.

Her side was aching again and Laren took several breaths to force back the pain. Tonight she would speak to Vanora and ask if she could make a sleeping draught. For now, she hid her misery and asked Dougal, ‘Did you bring me any of the beechwood ash? Or am I supposed to scrape it off you?’

His cheeks reddened at her teasing and he pointed outside. ‘I filled the wagon with it.’

‘You can dump it just outside the cave, if you can manage.’

In the end, all of them worked together to shovel it out. Mairin and Adaira tried to help, but it was more difficult with them underfoot.

When at last the wagon was empty, Laren checked on the melt and adjusted the fires. She used a bellows to increase the heat and Ramsay took his place beside the fire, promising to keep it going.

‘It should be ready by midnight,’ he predicted. ‘I’ll add the crucible then.’

‘Good. I’ll be here first thing in the morning to check the melt.’

‘I won’t let the fire go out,’ he swore. And she knew he’d keep the promise. He was accustomed to sleeping during the day; not once had she lost a melt under his watch.

Laren gave him a solemn nod, refraining from ruffling his hair as she wanted to. Ramsay couldn’t bear any form of affection and he’d stiffened on the few occasions when she’d patted his shoulder. When she looked into his dark eyes, she saw the image of the son she might have had.

The vivid pain came crashing back and she bit her lip to suppress it. Nairna sent her a curious look. ‘Are you all right?’

Laren nodded. ‘I suppose I should take the girls back. It’s late.’ She touched Mairin’s shoulder and reminded her daughter to hold her sister’s hand. After adjusting their outer clothing to keep them warm, Laren took both girls’ hands in hers and started to walk back.

Nairna remained at her side and ventured softly, ‘I think you should tell your husband about the glass.’

Laren sent the girls to run on ahead and they quickly caught up to Dougal, begging for a ride inside the wagon. When they were out of earshot, she stopped walking, touching her hand to her side.

‘I will tell him, Nairna. Just not yet.’ The idea of revealing her awkward skills was frightening. It was like exposing the deepest part of herself.

‘It would help him to understand why you’re gone so many hours of the day.’ Her sister-in-law rested a hand upon her shoulders. ‘And one day you’ll tell the rest of the clan.’

Laren shook her head. ‘I know what the other women say about me. They think I’m spineless and unfit to be a chief’s wife.’

‘I don’t believe that.’ Nairna shook her head and smiled. ‘You’re just quiet and shy.’

‘No. It’s more than that.’ Laren reached down and touched the edge of her gown, remembering the threadbare clothing she’d worn years ago.

‘My father was a beggar,’ Laren admitted. ‘He wasn’t able to take care of us. Sometimes he would fall under a spell of melancholy and wouldn’t get out of bed for weeks at a time.’ She pulled her cloak tighter around her. ‘We hardly had enough to eat and everyone knew it. My sisters and I wore the cast-off clothes of others.’

From Nairna’s startled expression, she guessed that no one had told her. ‘The clan knows where I came from. And they know I haven’t the ability to lead them.’ She shook her head at the incongruity of the idea. Then she looked back at Nairna. ‘I may be the chief’s wife now, but I’m still an embarrassment.’

Laren quickened her pace, past the white stone that lay on the hillside. ‘The glassmaking is part of me, Nairna. If I have this, I can endure their criticism. I can let it flow through me and not let it hurt, because I know what I can make.’

She took a breath, though the confession tore at her heart. ‘It doesn’t matter if I can’t lead the people or be the wife Alex needs, because I know that there’s something I can do.’

Nairna tried to offer words of comfort, but Laren didn’t hear them. She saw her husband in the distance, waiting for them at the gates.

And when she saw the intense look upon his face, within his expression lay worry and a hint of relief. He embraced the girls, swinging Adaira up into his arms. But though he spoke to them, she didn’t miss the way he watched her.

Almost as if he’d needed to see her again.

March, 1300

The soft sound of a stone striking the wood of her mother’s cottage awakened Laren from slumber. A secret thrill of excitement warmed her, for Alex was here, just as he’d promised.

Her sisters were asleep beside her, but none of them stirred when she rose from the pallet they shared. Tiptoeing outside, she glanced behind her to be certain her mother hadn’t seen her.

The moon shone silver in the clouded sky, and she saw Alex emerge from the shadows. His face and dark hair were damp, as though he’d washed in the stream before coming to see her. In his palm he held small stones, but he let them fall, extending his hand to her. Laren made no sound, but took his hand, following him into the forest.

It wasn’t as dark as she’d expected, but as they moved deeper into the woods, she drew closer to his side. The spring air was cool and she sensed the moisture that hung with the portent of rain. Dark green moss covered the trees and she was careful of her footing as she walked with him. A sense of forbidden anticipation built up inside, at the thought of being alone with this man.

Once they reached the clearing, she saw the small circle of standing stones. Ancient and worn, the stones held their own element of enchantment. It was their private place, one where reality faded away and she could forget that he was a chief’s son, and she, a poor crofter’s daughter.

Here, they could be together with no one to interfere. Never had Alex treated her as though she were beneath him. Right now, he was staring at her with a mixture of desire and regret.

‘I have to leave on the morrow,’ he told her, his hands drawing her into an embrace. ‘My Uncle Donnell wants me to visit the Campbell clan.’ There was a heaviness in his eyes, a sense of frustration. He’d been living with his uncle, who had become chief after the death of his father. There was little affection between them, for Donnell continually derided him, claiming that Alex lacked the skill to ever be a leader like his father.

‘When will you return?’ she whispered.

‘I don’t know.’ His hands framed her face and he touched his forehead to hers. ‘He wants me to wed the daughter of their chief. But you needn’t worry. I’ve made my choice of a bride already.’

His fingers moved through her long red hair and within his eyes she saw a rising hunger. A piece of her heart broke away, for if she could, she’d keep him with her. She loved Alex MacKinloch with every breath, with every part of herself.

But she feared they would have no future together, not as poor as she was. And there was a sinking dread that, once he saw this woman, he might forget what there was between them.

For now, she fully intended to savour every stolen moment. His mouth came down upon hers and she kissed him back with all the fervour in her heart. His lips and tongue merged with her own, conjuring up desperate feelings she didn’t understand. Against her body, she felt the hard length of his desire. He drew her hips closer, his hungry mouth moving over her skin.

She couldn’t catch her breath, her pulse racing. Tonight could be their last night together. Once he left Glen Arrin, she might lose him.

‘I love you,’ she whispered, her arms twining around his neck.

He lowered her down to the soft grass and she saw the moment when he regained control of his thoughts. Though his breathing was as staggered as her own, he rolled to his side, studying her.

‘I want you to be my wife, Laren.’

She tried not to let her feelings overshadow what needed to be said. Closing her eyes, she tried to find the right words.

‘Not until you return.’ She wanted to believe that he would love her enough, but she didn’t want him to later hold regrets.

‘Say you will,’ he urged again.

She leaned up to kiss him, distracting him with the physical desire that burned between them. It was easier not to think of losing him when his arms were around her.

‘You’re the only man I’ve ever wanted,’ she answered against his mouth. He took her mouth again, his hands moving over her shoulders, then he brought his palm over her breast.

He let it rest there, waiting to see what she would do. Her nipple rose with a fevered arousal and she felt an answering rush between her legs. She knew, if she allowed it, he would become her lover this night.

His thumb caressed the erect tip and she shifted her legs together at the aching sensation. Temptation warred with good sense and she captured his hand with hers.

‘When you return,’ she whispered. She could not surrender her innocence to him, not when he might be forced to wed another.

He sat up, leaning her body back against him. ‘I’ve brought you a gift to remember me by.’ In her palm, he pressed a small pouch.

Laren unwrapped the leather and poured out a handful of glass droplets. Vivid blue, green and red mingled with white, in a jewelled handful.

‘They’re beautiful,’ she breathed.

‘Father Nolan made them. They reminded me of the treasures I’d give to you, if I could.’

The cool glass warmed beneath her fingers and she held one up to examine it more closely.As she studied them, she wondered how they were made. She knew the priest used sand and fire, but no one dared to interrupt him while he was forging his magic.

Alex kissed her again, holding her close. Though she desired him, she was afraid of what the future might hold.

And, most of all, she feared losing him.