The reunion with his mother had gone better than expected. Lady Liza’s emotion had shattered the tension in the barmkin. Some of the servants and retainers looking on had even dashed away tears. Many of the faces surrounding them wore smiles, and some looked shamefaced. And then later, when Craeg had presented Hazel with her handmaid, a red-haired lass named Winnie, the young woman had surprised them both by bursting into tears. “I’m sorry, Mistress Hazel,” she hiccoughed, her cheeks flushing pink. “I was obnoxious the other day. There was no excuse for it.”
Hazel had stepped close to the lass, their gazes meeting. “Don’t fash yerself,” she murmured. “It’s forgotten.”
And in that moment, Craeg had known, to the marrow of his bones, that Hazel would thrive here. He’d already been down to Lochbuie kirk and spoken to the priest. They would be wed the following day, at noon.
She met his gaze now, her blue eyes slightly shadowed.
They’d spoken earlier. He knew what she wanted him to do. And she was right too.
Nodding to her, he focused on Cameron once more.
“Every man needs a second chance,” he said finally, and as he said it, warmth spread across his chest. Maybe he wasn’t his father’s son, after all. “And so, I’m giving ye … and those who follow ye … one.”
The younger man stared back at him before swallowing. None of the Macquaries said anything. The wariness on their faces suggested they thought he was playing with them.
Craeg decided to make himself plainer. “Ye are all free to go.” He paused then, letting his words sink in. “Return to Ulva, Cameron. Take up yer father’s mantle. I only hope … for the good of yer people and mine … that ye choose a different path to him.”
“We can leave? Now?” Archie spoke up then, his voice rough with disbelief.
Craeg nodded.
The Macquaries exchanged glances. Meanwhile, Cameron’s attention never wavered from Craeg’s face.
Their gazes locked for a few moments before Craeg finally spoke. “I killed yer father … but he had it coming. It’s up to ye to decide if seeking reckoning for it is worth the trouble.”
Cameron grimaced, his gaze flicking to Hazel and then back to the chieftain. “I’ll not seek vengeance.” These words, spoken roughly, caused a stir amongst the other Macquaries. Their faces tensed and brows furrowed, yet all of them had the wisdom to hold their tongues.
The tension in Craeg’s shoulders eased. No, Cameron and his men weren’t eyeing him in a friendly fashion, yet on one thing they’d reached an understanding. Going forward, there was hope for peace between them.
Cameron’s attention slid to Hazel once more then, his gaze lingering. Despite that they had different mothers, the family resemblance was startling. They were both tall and lanky, both with hair the color of a raven’s wing and loch-blue eyes. And they both had that stubborn chin. “Forgive me … Hazel,” he said stiffly, his throat working. “I never wanted things to go so far.”
She stared back, her expression solemn. “I know,” she whispered back. “Go well, Cameron.”
A nerve flickered in the lad’s cheek.
Craeg stepped back then, gesturing to the open gates and raised portcullis. “I have a birlinn waiting offshore to take ye back to Ulva. Go now, while the tide is high, and ye’ll be drinking ale in yer hall by nightfall.”
Something rippled across Cameron’s face then, a blend of conflicting, complex emotions that Craeg grasped better than the lad probably realized. Turning, he led the Macquaries out of the barmkin. Archie was the last to go. However, halfway across the barmkin, the warrior turned. His gaze met Hazel’s. He inclined his head then. A gesture of acknowledgement. Of respect.
Her full lips tugged up at the corners into a half-smile. “Good luck.”
Archie departed too then, the last of them disappearing under the portcullis. And when they did, Craeg put an arm around Hazel’s shoulders. She glanced up at him, that enigmatic smile still curving her lips. “Thank ye, Craeg,” she said softly.
He huffed a rueful laugh, even as his chest tightened. “Ye have a gentle soul, mo chridhe … few would be so forgiving in such circumstances.”
She leaned into him. “Perhaps … but nothing good will come of furthering hate.”
“No,” he agreed before winking at her. “The Macquaries will soon be family … and I’ve no wish to make yer brother my enemy.”
EPILOGUE: AROUND THE BONFIRE
Near Moy Castle
Samhuinn, six weeks later …
“YE MUST TRY the fuarag … it’s delicious!”
Hazel flashed Lena a smile and took the clay pot and wooden spoon that the lass offered her. They stood back a few yards from the roaring bonfire, watching as men, women, and bairns—all guised in costumes—ate, drank, and danced.
