They stood there a moment longer, the warm breeze stirring the leaves of the surrounding birches. Duncan shifted impatiently, ready to be home.
“I’m sorry for biting yer head off,” Hazel said finally, awkwardness stealing over her. In the wake of her outburst, she suddenly felt foolish. “But I’ve been … on edge … of late.”
He nodded, accepting her clumsy apology.
She cleared her throat. “I should go.”
“Then let me walk with ye.” Before she could protest, he added, “Someonemustcarry yer basket. It’s heavy.”
She opened her mouth to argue, then closed it again. There was no need to continue being churlish. “Very well.” With that, she passed him back the pannier.
Continuing along the narrow path that wound north through the woods, Hazel was acutely aware of Maclean traveling beside her. The basket was tucked under his arm. He had a long, confident stride.
They walked in silence for a time, the only sounds the fluty whistle of blackbirds in the nearby twisted oaks and Duncan’s occasional snort. The donkey seemed pleased to have company, his large ears flicking between them as if following their unspoken conversation.
“How old are ye?” Maclean asked suddenly.
The question caught her off guard. “What?”
“Yer age. I’m curious.”
Hazel cut him a sharp look, anger bubbling up once more. She’d almost had enough of the Chieftain of Moy today.
“I’m one and twenty,” he said, as if that settled the matter. “And ye?”
Hesitating, she considered lying. But what was the point? “One and thirty,” she muttered.
She waited for him to react. However, his response surprised her. He smiled. “Ye seem younger.”
“Flattery won’t—” She broke off, flustered. “It doesn’t matter anyway.”
“No, it doesn’t,” he replied firmly.
Ahead of them, Duncan suddenly veered off the path, investigating a patch of wild mint. Tugging on his lead rope, Hazel pulled him back. “Behave yerself, Dunc.”
The donkey tossed his head and deliberately stepped on her foot. Not hard enough to hurt, just enough to make his point.
“Oof! Put that sharp wee hoof elsewhere.” She shoved against his shoulder, slipping her foot free.
Maclean huffed a laugh. “He’s a character.”
“Aye.” Hazel scratched behind Duncan’s ears, and the donkey leaned into her touch, eyes half-closing. “Duncan is all I have now.”
Walking on, she felt the chieftain’s gaze on her. The weight of his attention made her skin prickle.
“How are ye coping?” he asked finally.
“Well enough,” she replied, deliberately vague.
“Have things gotten easier?”
She nodded, avoiding his eye now. If only that were true. However, she wouldn’t admit how much she’d struggled of late; how she didn’t think she’d ever be able to forgive Siùsan her lies.
“Maybe a change of routine would help,” he said then. “Would ye pay us a visit at Moy Castle?”
Hazel’s pulse fluttered.Cods.Had she not made herself clear earlier? “I’m not sure that’s wise,” she replied, her tone cooling. “Not with folk already yapping about us.”
He snorted. “The best way to deal with gossips is to face them head on.” Their gazes met then, and his dark eyes glinted. “Besides … the castle’s healer retired recently, and some of our residents are in sore need of yer skill.”
