7: TIME GROWS SHORT
HAZEL’S ATTENTION SNAPPED back to Maclean.
Their gazes met and held, and then his lips quirked.
“Thank ye,” she replied stiffly, taking the onion from him.
He didn’t move away. Instead, he began gathering more. Around them, the whispers grew louder. Hazel could feel the weight of every stare in the market.Great.Now, seeing Maclean with her like this just confirmed the rumors. Could today get any worse? “I can manage,” she muttered.
“I’m sure ye can.” He deposited three more onions into her arms. “But it’s faster with help.”
A short while later, they’d retrieved all the scattered bulbs. She shoved them back into the broken pannier, painfully aware of Maclean’s presence beside her.He smelled of leather and something sharper, like pine.
Standing, she brushed dirt from her kirtle. “I appreciate yer assistance, Maclean,” she said, raising her voice slightly so that everyone nearby—including his men—could hear. “But I’ll be on my way now.”
She turned to lead Duncan from the square.
“Head back to the castle, lads,” Maclean ordered his warriors. “I’ll join ye shortly.”
Murmurs of assent followed, and then the chieftain fell into step beside her.
“Let me help ye with that,” he said, reaching for the broken pannier basket.
“It’s not necessary.”
“The strap’s snapped. Ye will lose everything again if ye try to carry it like that.”
He was right, curse him. Hazel pressed her lips together as he lifted the basket from Duncan’s back and tucked it under his arm.
They passed through the village in silence. Hazel walked as fast as she could, nearlydraggingher donkey behind her. She had to get away from this place. All she wanted was to return to the safety and seclusion of her home nestled deep in the oakwood.
However, when they’d cleared the last cottage and were on the path leading into the woods, she whirled on her companion. “What the devil are ye doing?”
Maclean blinked, clearly taken aback by her venom. “Helping ye—”
“Do ye not care that every tongue in Lochbuie is wagging?” Hazel gestured back toward the village. “That they all think—” She broke off, heat rushing to her cheeks.
Understanding dawned in his eyes. “Ah.”
“Is that all ye have to say?” She snatched the pannier from his arms. “Ye send a cart full of provisions to my cottage … and the servant ye choose has a mouth bigger than the Firth of Lorn.”
“What do ye mean?” he replied, his tone cooling. “I asked Rab to be discreet. Has he said something?”
“It has to be him … or one of his pals at the castle.”
His gaze narrowed. “If he’s been spreading rumors, I shall deal with him.”
“Don’t bother,” she shot back, frustration spilling over. She just wanted to leave today behind her. She didn’t want her name mentioned again. “It’s too late now, anyway.”
Maclean’s brow furrowed. “I didn’t intend to cause ye trouble,” he replied, an edge creeping into his voice.
“Maybe not … but ye were thoughtless.”
A muscle flexed in his jaw, his expression hardening now. “I only wished to thank ye.”
“And I’m grateful,” she replied. “But no more gifts, Maclean.Please.”
Their gazes locked for a few moments, and then the chieftain grimaced. “Agreed.”
