The woman didn’t immediately respond. She studied him for a long moment, and he had the uncomfortable sense of being weighed and measured. Finally, she nodded. However, she made no move to invite him in. Instead, discomfort flickered across her features. The door started to slowly close.
He cleared his throat. “My name’s Craeg … what’s yers?”
The door halted.
Her gaze narrowed. “Hazel.”
It was a frosty welcome to say the least, and he was rapidly losing patience.
“Well, Hazel. My ankle’s throbbing worse than a rotten tooth. Can I come inside?”
Another awkward pause followed before she nodded once more and reluctantly drew the door open.
Craeg limped indoors, grateful for the dim coolness of the cottage interior, Faolan padding behind him. Bundles of dried herbs hung from the rafters, filling the air with sharp, woody green scents. A small fire crackled in the hearth, and beside it sat a table covered in mortars, pestles, and various jars and bottles.
“Sit,” Hazel commanded, gesturing to a stool near the fire.
He obeyed, lowering himself carefully. The movement sent fresh pain shooting through his ribs, and he couldn’t quite suppress a grunt. Whining, Faolan rubbed up against him.
“Stop fussing, lad.” Reaching out, Craeg ruffled his ears. “I’m not dying.”
Hazel knelt before him, her movements efficient and practiced. “What happened?”
“A boar spooked my horse. I fell.”
“And the horse?”
“Bolted. The coward.”
Something that might have been amusement sparked in her eyes.
He stilled, taken aback by her response. Usually, lasses—especially those of his own rank—simpered around him. He wasn’t used to one being so indifferent. It made him want to impress her.
Hazel reached for his boot. “This might hurt a little.”
It did. Craeg’s jaw clenched as she eased the leather off, revealing an ankle that was already purple and grotesquely swollen. She probed it gently with long fingers, and despite the pain, he found himself noticing how capable those hands looked. Strong and sure.
“Not broken,” she said finally, confirming his earlier suspicions. “But badly sprained. Ye’ll need to stay off it for a while.”
Craeg snorted. “I don’t have time for that. A chieftain can’t sit around idle.”
Hazel stiffened, her blue eyes snapping wide. “Ye’re CraegMaclean?”
He nodded, suddenly embarrassed. Clearly, she found it hard to believe. He then offered her a contrite smile.
She sat back on her heels. “I heard rumors a while ago that yer mother was readying herself to pass rule of Moy to ye.”
“Aye, well, she did. A fortnight ago.”
Moments passed before the healer visibly relaxed. Her shoulders lowered, and the faint groove between her eyebrows smoothed.He’d initially thought her a bit cold, but it became obvious to him then that she was merely wary of strangers. He wondered where her mother was.
Hazel’s lips lifted at the corners then, and he marked what a full, lush mouth she had. Her face was delicate with high cheekbones. He found her both pretty and striking. She was younger than he’d expected, although it was hard to guess her age. She was likely older than him, but not by much.
For a few moments, Craeg forgot his throbbing ankle and ribs. Forgot the suffocating sensation that had driven him from the castle this afternoon.
Faolan moved toward her then, tail beating on the rushes.
“Greetings, handsome.” Hazel flashed him a warm smile and stroked his head.
