safe before he allowed the girls to enter the small thatched dwelling. He remained outside and Laren couldn’t read the emotions in his stare. Without asking, he pulled back her dark cloak. The blood had soaked through the woolen gown she wore and he ordered her, ‘Don’t move. Vanora!’ he called out, hurrying toward the matron who was approaching from the hillside. ‘Laren was hurt. We need your help.’
The older woman hastened to reach her side and when Alex pulled back the cloak again, Laren’s cheeks flushed. Though she’d planned to ask Vanora for her help anyway, Alex was behaving as if the injury were life-threatening.
‘Oh, my dear, what happened to you?’ Vanora clucked and fussed over her, and Alex stepped back to let her examine the wound.
‘It’s not as bad as it looks,’ Laren said quietly when the woman went to fetch her needle and linen to bind the wound.
The blistering look in Alex’s eyes told her that he didn’t believe a word she was saying. He was making her nervous with the way he hovered over her. ‘You should go and look after the others,’ she suggested. ‘The clan will need you to guide them now.’
He ignored her, his gaze fixated upon her blood. ‘I’m not leaving you when you’re hurt.’
‘Please, Alex,’ she whispered again, ‘it’s truly nothing to worry about.’ She was holding back her pain by a thread and she didn’t want to show weakness in front of him. Swallowing hard, she added, ‘The clan needs you now.’
‘And you don’t?’
There was a bitterness behind his words that she didn’t understand. When she tried to take a step towards him, he stiffened. ‘If you want me to leave, then so be it.’
Between them, the cool distance seemed to magnify. Vanora waited in the doorway, but Laren didn’t want to go inside just yet. She wanted to ease his mood, to make him understand that she wasn’t trying to push him away.
Though he’d already left, she struggled to catch up with him. ‘I’m sorry about what happened to Glen Arrin.’ The words were inadequate and they didn’t begin to touch the way she was feeling now.
He spun, advancing upon her. ‘I couldn’t give a damn about Glen Arrin right now. You were shot and tried to hide it from me.’
Laren took a step back, not at all sure of how to respond. Alex caught her shoulders before she could retreat, drawing her to face him. She didn’t want to bear the brunt of his anger, not when she was hurting so badly. But when she finally risked a look in his eyes, she saw the raw fear.
‘You could have died today,’ he said. ‘And you think I’m worried about a pile of burned wood and ashes?’ He raked a hand through his hair, struggling to push away his temper.
She didn’t move, couldn’t speak. Beneath his choked anger was a man who cared about her. The realisation seemed to cut off the air in her lungs, for she hadn’t known it. Over the past few years, their marriage had deteriorated until now she rarely saw him during the day or even at night. Being together had become a habit instead of a necessity.
‘I’m all right,’ she whispered.
‘Are you?’ His stare was harsh, disbelieving.
Her cheeks were wet and she didn’t know what to say or do. It was then that she noticed a reddish stain seeping from her husband’s sleeve. From the hardened look on his face, it had to be hurting him, yet he’d said nothing at all. Neither of them was willing to admit to injury, she thought, with irony.
‘What about you?’ she ventured. ‘Do you want me to look at your arm?’
‘No. See to the girls and their needs.’
Not mine. She heard his unspoken words and they cut her heart a little deeper. Once, he’d have let her touch him, and though she wasn’t the most experienced healer, he’d have submitted to her ministrations. No longer, it seemed.
Laren moved closer. She wanted to tell him that she would stand by him through this catastrophe. She wanted to reach out, to let him know that she still cared.
He looked back at her and in his eyes she saw the magnitude of his loss. She knew that he wouldn’t come home until late at night, after she was already asleep. Though she wanted to hold him, to rest her head against his chest, he had other, more important duties as the chief.
A hard lump gathered in her throat, but he lowered his head and turned away from her.
The selfish part of her heart wished he’d chosen to stay.
Alex walked across the fortress, his mind caught in a fog of helplessness. The scent of smoke permeated the air, choking his lungs. But even as he approached his brothers, he couldn’t stop thinking of Laren.
Confusion and anger collided inside him, along with a heavy fear. The arrow could have pierced a vital organ, spilling her life blood. The thought shook him deeply, for although he’d grown distant from his wife, he didn’t want to lose her.
It felt as though he’d been clubbed in the stomach. She hadn’t wanted him to stay or to help her. But why?
‘Are you all right?’ came his brother Dougal’s voice. ‘I thought you might want help.’ Only ten and four, Dougal had never witnessed a battle like this before—only cattle raids and clan skirmishes. There was a new maturity in his brother’s eyes, along with a sadness that mirrored his own.
Alex nodded, grateful for the distraction. ‘We should bury the dead.’
Within minutes, they were joined by their other brother Callum, who had recently been freed as a prisoner of war. Callum hadn’t spoken a single word, not since his release.
Alex bent down and picked up one of the bodies. His brothers helped and they began the gruesome task of gathering up the fallen. The faces of friends and kinsmen haunted him; he wished he could have done something more to protect his clan. But he revealed none of his grief to his brothers, keeping his expression guarded.
He seized a torch and a shovel, taking them outside the fortress. He chose a spot where the ground was soft and balanced the torch within a pile of heavy stones. He adjusted the makeshift bandage on his arm, so it wouldn’t bleed while he worked. Though it had grown dark, the three of them began digging a burial pit. The back-breaking work was what he needed right now to distract him from the sense of overwhelming loss.
He was the chief of the MacKinlochs. They would look to him to make the decisions, to know what should be done next.
You were never meant to be leader, an inner voice taunted him. His father Tavin had chosen Bram to be his successor. As the second-born, Alex had listened on the outskirts, drinking in all the knowledge, never dreaming that he would have to use it.
He’d made a thousand mistakes in the early years. But he’d learned from them, and never once had he revealed his frustrations … not to his kinsmen, and not to Laren. It was easier to pretend that all was well, for they needed a leader of strength. The men had come to trust him, knowing that they could bring their troubles and he would find the answers they needed.
He swore he’d find a way to rebuild what had been lost. Somehow.
Over the next hour, he worked with Callum and Dougal at his side.
