Aye, there were a handful of women in Lochbuie who fitted that description. But how long before those men questioned them all? How long before someone pointed them toward her cottage?
Hazel’s hand went to the hilt of the knife tucked into her belt. She thought of Duncan and her garden and her quiet, simple life.What do the Macquaries want with me?She wanted to reassure herself that these men wished her no harm, but her gut told her otherwise.
How she wished Siùsan had been able to give her answers.
Closing her eyes, she forced herself to breathe slowly. To think.
She needed help. But to whom could she turn?
The answer came unbidden, unwelcome.
Craeg Maclean.
Her belly pitched. No. She couldn’t involve him. She had to handle this on her own.
No one could learn her secret.
This was why Siùsan had kept the truth from her. She’d wanted to protect Hazel from scandal and shame. She was a product of rape. She’d killed her own mother. Such knowledge was a burden, and it wasn’t something she wanted others to learn about.
Opening her eyes, she continued down the narrow lane. The men would be busy for a while yet. And while they asked more questions, she’d take another path into the woods.
Once she got back to her cottage, she’d bar the door and keep her knife close.
And then, she had to decide what to do.
Whether to run, as Siùsan had begged her to.
Or to stay and fight for the only home she’d ever known.
The stallion shifted as Craeg lifted his hoof.
“Easy, Ruadh.” He ran his hand along the horse’s leg, soothing him. The barmkin was warm with afternoon sun, and sweat trickled down his spine beneath his lèine. Around him, the castle hummed with activity—servants hauling water from the well, the rhythmic clang echoing out from the small forge, a fowl scratching in the dirt.
Bracing the hoof between his knees, Craeg examined the shoe. Loose, just as he’d suspected. He’d need to pull it and fit a new one before the iron did damage.
“Shall I fetch the farrier, Maclean?” Nat called from across the yard.
“No need. I can manage.” Craeg reached for his tools. He’d shod horses since he was a lad—it was satisfying work. It also distracted him from the restlessness that still churned in his belly. His new life brought with it plenty of responsibilities. He was busy from dawn till dusk, yet couldn’t seem to outrun his demons. However, he could make himself useful.
Nearly a moon had passed since he’d stepped into his new role. Somehow, itfeltlonger. Each morning, he awoke to a suffocating sensation he did his best to quash.
His mind sought escape, and his thoughts often strayed to Lochbuie’s comely herb-wife. In the past days, he’d been tempted to saddle Ruadh and ride through the woods to visit Hazel. However, he’d managed to stifle the urge every time it surfaced. The woman had made her wishes clear when he’d escorted her back from market. If he were honest, she’d bruised his pride a little, had angered him even, but he’d heeded her.
He wasn’t the sort to make a pest of himself.
Working the nails free, he was so focused on the task that he didn’t hear the approach of riders until Ruadh’s glossy chestnut head came up, ears pricked forward.
Craeg straightened, wiping the sweat from his brow.
Three horses entered through the gatehouse, and a smile broke across his face when he recognized the riders.
Dropping his tools, he strode across the barmkin to greet them. “This is a welcome surprise.”
Liza Maclean slid from her saddle with practiced ease, though Craeg noticed Alec’s steadying hand at her elbow. His mother’s face lit up when she saw him.
“Craeg.” She embraced him, and he caught the familiar scent of lavender and wool. But there was something else too—a warmth that seemed to radiate from her skin.
Pulling back, he studied her more closely. Despite the golden cast of her skin, he could see her cheeks were flushed, almost feverish, and there were shadows beneath her eyes he didn’t remember seeing before.
