Craeg nodded. The morning sun warmed his shoulders, and somewhere overhead, a lark sang its summer song, oblivious to the wars of men. Uneasiness shifted deep in his gut. “We've got a long road ahead.”
“Aye … but we'll see it through,” Greig replied. His tone was confident. Unshakable, as always.
Craeg flashed his friend a fierce smile. “We will.”
1: PROMISE ME
Near Lochbuie village
The Isle of Mull
One year later …
SHE DIDN’T WANT to go back inside. But she had to. Her mother needed her.
The grassy scent of chamomile clung to Hazel’s fingers as she pushed open the cottage door. Inside, the air was thick with the cloying smell of sickness. Her throat tightened. She’d been gathering herbs since dawn, hoping to find something, anything, that might ease her mother’s suffering. But deep down, in that quiet place where truth lived, Hazel knew it was too late for remedies.
“Hazel?” The voice was barely a whisper.
“I’m here, Ma,” Hazel crossed the dim interior of their cottage, setting her basket of herbs on the table. Sunlight filtered through the shutters, casting thin golden bars across the earthen floor. Dust motes floated below the beams where bunches of dried herbs hung.
She knelt beside the pallet where her mother lay, taking the woman’s hand in her own. Her fingers were cold despite the summer warmth, and so thin now. When had she become this frail? Siùsan Maclean had once been strong and vibrant. It seemed only weeks ago they’d been working side by side, grinding dried nettle root and sorting through bundles of goatweed.
But it had been months. Months of watching her beloved mother slowly wither.
“Is Duncan behaving himself?” Siùsan rasped.
Despite everything, Hazel felt her lips curve. “He tried to eat my basket of chamomile. I caught him just in time.”
“Naughty donkey.” Her mother’s chest rattled with what might have been laughter, but the sound dissolved into a cough that left her gasping.
Hazel reached for the cup of water mixed with willow bark that sat beside the pallet, helping her mother take a few sips. When the coughing subsided, Siùsan sank back against the thin pillow, exhausted.
They sat in silence for a time, the only sounds the whisper of wind through the press of twisted oak trees that surrounded their cottage and the distant call of a curlew. It was peaceful here, away from the bustle of Lochbuie village and Moy Castle. Hazel had always loved their solitude, even when the other bairns had heckled her for being an ‘outsider’.No one bothered to tease her these days. At one and thirty winters, never wedded, her reputation as the local herb-wife entrenched, she was used to being different from others.
“Hazel.” Her mother’s voice cut through the stillness—sudden, sharp. Her gaze fixed on where Hazel’s long fingers held her own.
Hazel’s breath caught. Something in that tone made her skin prickle.
“Ye must …” A wet, rattling cough seized her mother’s chest. Her whole body convulsed with it. When it finally subsided, blood flecked her cracked lips. “Ye must leave Mull.”
The words didn’t land at first. For a few moments, Hazel merely stared at her, brow furrowed. And then, she stiffened. “What?”
Her mother’s grip tightened with surprising strength, her skeletal fingers digging into Hazel’s hand. “As soon as I am gone …” Another cough, shorter this time, but vicious. She gasped for breath. “Pack only yer essentials. Take Duncan. Head straight for Craignure.”
“Ma—”
“I have a cousin in Oban.” The words tumbled out now, desperate. “She wed a wainwright years ago … kindly soul … she’ll give ye shelter.” Her chest heaved. “Take the first ferry to the mainland. Don’t—” She broke off, wheezing. “Don’t look back.”
Queasiness rolled over Hazel in a cold wave. Her mother’s eyes were too bright, too fevered. The illness was making her rave. “Why would I do such a thing?” She tried to keep her voice gentle, soothing. “Mull is my home. My herbs, the people who come for healing—”
“There will be other homes.” Her mother’s voice cracked—not from weakness now, but from emotion. “Other herbs.” Her fingers trembled against Hazel’s. “It’s notsafefor ye here. Not any longer.”
Hazel’s heart began to pound. She leaned closer, searching her mother’s drawn face for signs of delirium. “Why? Ma, why would ye say—”
“There are things ye must know.” Siùsan’s breathing came in short, labored gasps between each word. “Things I should have told ye … years ago.”
A chill crept down Hazel’s spine despite the warmth of the day. Her mouth went dry. “What things?”
