He stiffened, and she gave herself a mental slap.Cods!What’s wrong with me today?She’d overstepped, grossly this time. Now, he thought she was mocking him. Heat flushed over her. She was never usually this reckless. Maybe her mother’s betrayal had loosened something in her.
“Perhaps,” he replied, his tone cooling.
The fire popped, sending sparks up the chimney. Hazel tied off the bandage and stood abruptly. “All done.” She was suddenly aware of how close they’d been sitting. “Ye shouldn’t walk on that ankle,” she said briskly to cover up her embarrassment. “I shall make the journey to Moy now and let them know ye need fetching.”
The chieftain rose with care, testing his weight on the injured foot. He winced but managed to stand. “It grows too late in the day for that.” He gestured to where the light was fading outside the open door to the cottage. “I know it’s an imposition … but may I stay the night?”
Hazel stilled.
Meanwhile, Maclean’s expression was guarded now, as if he was bracing himself to be told he could sleep in the shed with the donkey.
Her pulse quickened. She wished to withdraw into the safety of her usual solitude, yet she couldn’t send an injured man stumbling through the forest in the dark. Nor could she put her chieftain in with Duncan or in the woodshed either.
“There’s a pallet in the corner,” she said after a lengthy pause. “Ye can sleep there, and I’ll wake ye at first light.”
“Thank ye,” he replied, his tone a trifle strained. “I’m in yer debt, Hazel.”
Hazel didn’t know how to respond. She was wary of putting her foot in her mouth again.
Duncan brayed then, a jagged noise that came as a relief.
“I’d better see to my donkey,” she said, moving toward the door. “Afterward, I shall make us some supper.”
4: DIFFERENT LIVES
CRAEG WATCHED HAZEL move about the cottage, gathering the ingredients for pottage.
The awkwardness between them was palpable now.
Her comment about him brooding over his fate had stung. Did she think he was some sulking lad who couldn’t handle the responsibilities of his position?
His jaw tightened. The woman was a stranger to him and far beneath him in rank, yet she spoke boldly. He shouldn’t care, but it galled him that she thought he was whining about a marriage most men would be grateful for. And maybe she was right. Maybe hewasacting like a spoiled bairn.
The thought made his gut tighten. That wasn’t the impression he wanted to give the fascinating woman who’d just tended his injuries. Hazel was full of pert questions and observations, yet there was vulnerability to her too. Of course, there was. She’d recently lost her mother. Nevertheless, her company caused the knot of tension in his gut to uncoil. And if he was honest, the thought of spending the eve at her hearth wasn’t an unpleasant one.
Hazel pulled out a pot and began chopping up an onion with quick, efficient movements. She didn’t look at him or speak; she just worked in silence, focusing wholly on her task. However, a groove etched between her eyebrows once more, and her gaze turned inward.
Not wanting to intrude on the sorrow she clearly still struggled with, he glanced around the interior of the cottage then. Having grown up surrounded by kin and servants, he couldn’t imagine what it was like to live alone.
Craeg shifted on his stool, testing his ankle. The swelling hadn’t yet gone down, although the binding she’d applied gave it support. Now that she’d bound his chest, he’d put his lèine back on. The willow bark brew was helping to dull the pain in his ribs too.
Meanwhile, Hazel had deposited the onion into an iron pot that hung over the fire and was now dicing a neep.
He watched her work, admiring her slender, deft fingers. Once the vegetables were sizzling in lard, she added a few sprigs of thyme. The aromatic, woody scent drifted through the cottage.
Glancing up, he marked the bunches of dried herbs hanging from the rafters. Some he recognized, others he didn’t.
“What herbs do ye use most often?” he asked eventually. The silence was starting to get to him, and he wished to lighten the gloomy atmosphere a little. He also wanted her to think better of him.
She glanced at him, blinking as she emerged from her reverie. “For healing?”
“Aye.”
Hazel set down her knife and pointed to the bunch of herbs hanging directly overhead. “This is feverfew … for headaches and fevers.” Her voice was low and sure. “And next to it hangs meadowsweet … it eases pain and reduces swelling.”
Craeg’s gaze slid down to where bunches of delicate green stems with bright yellow flowers hung drying on the wall. “What’s that one?”
“Goatweed. Good for wounds and melancholy.” She gestured then to where a basket full of herbs sat on a narrow wooden workbench. “And that’s today’s foraging … woundwort, which stops bleeding and prevents a wound from souring … and comfrey for knitting broken bones.” She flashed him a smile that held a glimmer of the boldness she’d revealed earlier. “Although ye’ll not be needing that today.”
