She loved fuarag. Siùsan had always made it specially for this night: a blend of oats, honey, and whipped cream, layered together to make a rich sweet.
Thinking of her aunt—the woman who was a mother to her in every way that mattered—gave her a pang.
Ye can rest easy now, Ma, she thought.I’m safe now … and I’ve found my place in the world.
She’d slowly come to terms with Siùsan’s betrayal. Everyone, including herself, made poor choices at times. Hazel had told herself she didn’t belong at Moy. She’d put up walls—had run rather than face things. And it was all too easy to let fear rule. Siùsan hadn’t meant to hurt Hazel; she’d been trying to protect her. She understood that now.
Hazel’s mouth watered as she dug in her spoon and took a mouthful. Rich flavors exploded across her tongue, and she moaned.
Lena giggled, taking a large mouthful from her own pot. “I told ye it was good!” Dressed as a broonie in brown woolen hose paired with a loose tunic and hood, the lass’s blue eyes shone with excitement. It was a bold guise, for it showed off her legs. Lena was no longer a bairn, and Hazel had caught some of the looks the older lads were giving her—although they hastily averted their gazes when they caught Alec’s glare. Lena blithely ignored both her father and the ogling youths. Her cheeks were pink from exertion, as she’d just finished dancing, and cold.
Despite the fire’s heat, the chill was bone-deep tonight. This evening bridged autumn and winter. They’d had their first frost of the year, but already another was settling. The ground had crunched underfoot as they made their way across the field outside Moy Castle, to where the locals gathered. They’d spent many days hauling logs and carrying bundles of sticks for the fire, and this eve a circle of neep lanterns—carven turnips with candles inside—illuminated the darkness.
Hazel’s own guise was simple yet effective. She wore a heavy hooded cloak, and she’d painted her face to make her look aged. She was the Cailleach, the Goddess of Winter.
“Are ye enjoying yerself, Dunc?” Lena asked then, stepping up to the small grey donkey, and ruffling his forelock.
In reply, Duncan nuzzled at the lass, looking for treats. Whenever she visited Moy, Lena spoiled the beast with a bite of apple and carrot, and now he expected it.
Hazel had brought Duncan down to the festivities with her. The donkey carried pannier baskets full of freshly baked bread rolls and cakes, which she’d given out to the revelers. His large furry ears flicked around as he listened to the laughter and music, his dark eyes liquid in the firelight.
“I’d say he is,” Hazel replied with a smile. “Duncan never likes to be left out of things.” Indeed, whenever she ventured beyond the walls of Moy Castle, whether it was to collect herbs to line the shelves of the new infirmary Craeg had provided her with or to visit patients in Lochbuie, he was her constant companion. Just like before.
“I’d like a donkey of my own,” Lena announced then. “He has more personality than my palfrey.”
“Aye, but a palfrey is what aladyrides … not a donkey.” A male voice intruded then, and Hazel glanced right to find Nat Black approaching. He was clad in a wolfskin cloak, with a snarling head as the hood. A wulver—half man, half lupine.
Lena snorted. “How boring.” She eyed him then. “That’s a good guise, Nat. Ye look …dangerous.”
The young captain snorted, even though Hazel marked the way his high cheekbones pinkened just a little. No one else seemed to be able to fluster him besides Craeg’s pert-tongued wee sister.He dragged his gaze down Lena’s costume, stopping when he reached her exposed legs. The look wasn’t lecherous, but censorious, as if he were her older brother. “And what areyesupposed to be?”
Lena drew herself up, wiping cream off her chin. “A broonie … obviously!”
Nat’s lips thinned, his disapproval evident.
Hazel bit the inside of her cheek to stop herself from grinning.
Lena and Nat’s banter continued, while she finished her fuarag. And as Hazel licked the spoon clean, she surveyed the revelry. Warmth settled deep in her chest. Contentment.
The past six weeks had been easier than she’d expected. She and Craeg had provided the locals with enough gossip to last a decade, but things had calmed down quickly in the aftermath. The day following the Macquaries’ departure, they’d wed on the steps of Lochbuie kirk, under the eyes of all.
It had been a day she’d never forget, and as Craeg drew her into his arms for a passionate kiss, cheering had splintered the air.
Aye, the people of Moy and Lochbuie had accepted things, although Craeg had received one or two missives from chieftains of other clans, expressing their displeasure. Callum MacDonald of Sleat had sent an insulting letter; however, Craeg had brushed it off. They weren’t allies anyway. Even so, Hazel had braced herself for trouble to arrive.
As yet, none had.
Her gaze found her husband then. He was making his way through the crowd, talking to locals, Faolan padding faithfully at his side.He’d clad himself in grey sealskins to resemble a selkie. The color suited him, contrasting with his bronzed skin and dark hair. And, as always, when her gaze alighted on him, Hazel’s belly fluttered.
Craeg’s friend Ailean intercepted him, and Hazel watched them with interest. Even clad in a tattered leather cloak, with a sheep’s skull perched on his forehead, Ailean Maclean was a striking warrior, with wild auburn hair and a devilish twinkle in his moss-green eyes. He was currently just visiting Mull, a brief respite from fighting the English. Andrew Murray’s siege of Dundarg Castle continued, and soon Ailean would return to fight at the Guardian of Scotland’s side.
Hazel had already marked how Ailean sent all the female servants into a flutter, including Winnie, who flushed scarlet every time he smiled at her. The man flirted as easily as he breathed, yet Hazel wouldn’t necessarily trust him.
She wagered he’d broken a few hearts over the years.
Craeg threw his head back and laughed, the warm sound mingling with the chatter of the crowd and the jaunty notes of a fiddle. He then cast a companionable arm across Ailean’s shoulders. Together, they made their way toward Hazel.
She spied another man approaching then from where he’d been lurking in the shadows, beyond the circle of neep lanterns.
