.
her home.
Gone now.
And what of Alex, her husband? ‘Take Mairin and Adaira,’ she begged Vanora, handing over her daughters. ‘I’ll join you in a few moments.’
‘You can’t go back,’ the older matron warned. ‘This isn’t over yet.’
‘I won’t leave the trees,’ Laren promised. I just need to see him. I need to know if he’s safe.
She didn’t wait for Vanora’s reply, but moved back to the forest’s edge, holding on to a slender birch tree for balance. Her breath frosted in the evening air as the cold settled around the glen.
When English soldiers surrounded the men from both sides, she felt her heart branching into silent pieces of terror. Dear God, no.
She couldn’t hear what was happening, but the look of grim finality on Alex’s face meant that the worst was near. As she stared from her hiding place, the years seemed to fall back. No longer was he a powerful chief but instead, the man she’d once loved. The fist of heartbreak caught her and tears dampened her cheeks. They’d grown so far apart over the past two years, and now she didn’t know if she would see him alive again.
If she had one last moment with him, there were too many words to speak. Too many things she’d locked away in her heart for far too long.
Her palm pressed against the tree bark. Though Alex couldn’t see her, she kept her gaze fixed upon him, as if she could memorise his face and hold it for ever.
A fiery pain blasted through her right side. Laren’s knees buckled beneath her and she gasped in shock at the arrow embedded within her skin.
The searing agony stunned her and she could barely keep her senses about her. Though it was a shallow wound, piercing the soft skin sideways, near her ribs, she’d not realised how close she was to the battle.
She forced herself to snap off the feathered end, sliding the arrow free of the wound. Blood poured from her side and she pressed her dark cloak against the flow, fighting the dizziness.
You have to go back to your girls, her mind warned. She couldn’t stay, no matter how much she feared for Alex’s life. One of them had to live, to take care of their daughters.
It wrenched her apart, having to choose between her husband and her children, but she forced herself to continue. If the English gained the victory, they would come looking for the survivors. Her daughters needed her and she had to protect them.
She struggled up to the top of the ridge. Each step sent another wave of pain raging through her side, but she ignored the wound, hiding it beneath her dark cloak. There would be time to tend it later.
When she reached the girls, her elder daughter threw her arms around her waist, weeping. At the ages of four and not quite two, Mairin and Adaira weren’t old enough to understand what was happening. Laren caught her breath, keeping Mairin’s hands away from the injury while she spoke soft, reassuring words.
‘Where is Da?’ her daughter demanded. ‘Is he safe?’
‘I don’t know.’ Laren’s throat tightened with fear, her eyes burning. ‘But we have to wait here for him, away from the soldiers.’
‘I’m afraid,’ her daughter sobbed.
Laren brushed a kiss against Mairin’s forehead. So am I.
The earth trembled as dozens of horsemen surrounded their army on both sides. Robert Fitzroy, the Baron of Harkirk, watched in fury as more of the Scots poured in, reinforced by the French. His hand tightened upon the hilt of his sword and he wanted nothing more than to bathe his weapon in their blood.
The MacKinlochs were supposed to die this day. Hadn’t he burned their fortress to the ground, slaughtering their kinsmen? He’d already planned to set up an outpost here, to secure more land for King Edward Plantagenet, but he could see his victory fading away like smoke.
‘Pull back!’ he ordered and his soldiers obeyed. Though it splintered his pride, he hadn’t survived half-a-dozen battles by making foolish decisions that would endanger his neck.
As they retreated into the hills, Harkirk cast a backwards glance. This wasn’t over. Not by half.
He vowed that the next time he looked upon the face of a MacKinloch, it would be mounted upon a pike outside his gates.
It took a quarter of an hour to reach the ridge and Alex helped his brother up to the top of the hill. Nairna looked worried, for although they had survived with only minor injuries, traces of battle madness lurked within her husband’s face. But Alex felt certain that once they brought Bram home, his brother would make a full recovery.
When they reached the clearing, the first glimpse of Laren sent a roaring breath of relief back through Alex’s lungs. The instinct pulled at him, to go to her. He needed to hold his wife and breathe in the scent of her skin, touching her soft red hair.
Laren started to take a step towards him, but she abruptly stopped, her face ashen. Her hand pressed to her side and then she turned her attention to their girls. Their clansmen were watching, and at their sudden attention she shrank back.
He couldn’t understand why. Aye, they’d grown apart over the past two years, but was it so much to ask that she show him a grain of affection? That she could welcome him back into her arms? The pain in her eyes bothered him, for he didn’t understand it. Wasn’t she glad to see him alive?
Though Mairin and Adaira called out, Laren bent and spoke quietly, as if to prevent them from running to him. Adaira clutched Laren’s leg, burying her face in her mother’s skirts.
A thousand moments passed by in a single second. Pride froze out the aching emotions, and Alex stared back at his wife, wishing she would meet him halfway. But she merely gave him a nod and moved away with the girls, unable to face him.
Something was wrong. She’d closed herself off from him and he didn’t know why. His hand tightened on the door frame and he forced himself to look after Bram. ‘Will you be all right with him?’ Alex asked Nairna, who had helped her husband to sit upon their bed.
‘Aye.’ She poured water into a basin and retrieved a cloth to tend Bram’s wounds. When she had wrung out the cloth, she sent Alex a pointed look. ‘Go to Laren. She needs you.’
He left them alone, watching the way Nairna cared for her husband. The deep love in her eyes and the answering look in her husband’s face brought a surge of envy. He wanted to be with Laren right now, to shatter the invisible wall between them.
The thought became a thorn, digging deeper into his pride. She was the woman he’d pledged to protect. Years ago, she would have thrown herself into his arms, not caring what anyone else thought. She’d have clung to him, whispering words of how she’d worried.
But now she kept her distance from him, almost as if they were strangers.
His frustration strung tighter as he walked among the survivors, asking about their welfare. During that time, not once had Laren moved towards him. Her face was white, as though she were too timid to move.
Damn it all, he didn’t care if she no longer wanted him. They’d survived their brush with death; right now he wanted to hold her. He needed her in his arms, whether or not she was too shy to answer the embrace.
He crossed through the people, moving directly towards her. Without voicing a single word, he pulled her into his arms, holding her tightly. She let out a slight gasp, but her hands moved up to his shoulders, resting there. He didn’t speak, didn’t reveal any of the thoughts coursing through his mind. Adaira and Mairin each grabbed his legs, but right now, he needed Laren.
Dimly, he was aware that she wasn’t quite holding him in return. Her hands were there, but there was no warmth, no answering embrace. His heart numbed when he pulled back to look at her, his hands resting at her waist.
He’d mistakenly believed that if he made the first move she would welcome him