The wolfhound immediately ceased his barking.
“So, I see.” Hazel’s answer was colder than she’d intended. Her nerves were frayed as it was without the Chieftain of Moy crashing back into her life. And the traitorous flutter in her belly at the sight of him wasn’t helping either. “What are ye doing here?”
His expression was grim. “My mother. She’s ill.”
The urgency in his voice made Hazel’s pounding heart steady. “What are her symptoms?”
“High fever. A wet cough that won’t stop.” He broke off, jaw clenching. “She needs ye, Hazel.”
Lung sickness.That was her guess. Her mind immediately began listing useful herbs and remedies. “How long has she been ill?”
“The cough started days ago, but it’s worsened since yesterday.” His voice roughened. “By this morning, she had trouble breathing.”
“I’ll come.” Hazel was already moving toward her cottage. “Give me a moment to gather my things.”
She ducked inside and grabbed a basket. She then quickly sorted through her herbs, selecting those she’d need: willow bark for fever, dried coltsfoot and horehound for the lungs, woundwort for infection. Honey. Garlic. A jar of goose grease for poultices. Clean linen for compresses.
Her fingers hesitated over the small clay pot tucked at the back of her shelf. Elecampane root. Rare and precious. She’d picked some up from a merchant in Craignure two years earlier and only ever used it sparingly. It did wonders for lung sickness.
Taking it, she added it to her basket.
When she rushed from her cottage, Craeg had dismounted and was holding Ruadh well away from Duncan. The stallion’s ears were still pinned back, and he was blowing hard through flared nostrils. Faolan sat on his haunches now, panting.
Hazel was halfway across to him when she drew to an abrupt halt. “Wait … I can’t leave Duncan here.” It was true. She wasn’t sure how long she’d be at Moy Castle.
“Don’t worry. I’ll send someone back for him.” He then vaulted up onto his stallion’s back and reached down, extending his hand to her. “Come on.”
Hazel hesitated. Ruadh was a hot-blooded beast. She didn’t trust him. Would he tolerate her on his back?
However, urgency spurred her forward. She had to reach Lady Liza soon.
Tucking her basket over her left arm, she took his offered hand, his grip strong and sure.
“Put yer foot on mine. I’ll pull ye up.”
Hazel did as instructed. He hauled her up with ease, settling her in front of him. His arm came around her waist, holding her steady as Ruadh shifted beneath them.
Pressed against his chest, his thighs bracketing hers, she felt the warmth of him through her kirtle and inhaled the scent of leather and pine.
“Ready?” His breath feathered against her ear.
“Aye.” And she was.In truth, it was a relief to leave her cottage, especially while men were hunting her. Maybe if she was away for a few days, the danger would pass.
He wheeled Ruadh around, whistled to his hound, and urged the stallion into a canter. Hazel reached out, gripping the horse’s mane. Craeg’s arm tightened around her waist, steadying her.
They rode in silence for a time, the only sounds the drum of hooves and Ruadh’s breathing. The forest flashed past—oak and birch, dappled sunlight, the flash of a startled deer. Faolan ran like the wind next to them, a brindled streak against the undergrowth.
“How bad is the fever?” she asked eventually.
“Bad.” His voice was gruff. “She’s been drifting in and out of sleep. Sometimes, she doesn’t know where she is.”
That wasn’t good. Hazel’s mind raced ahead. She’d need to get the fever down first, then work on clearing the lungs.
“Does she have any other ailments?”
“No. She’s always been strong. Healthy.”
Without thinking, Hazel reached for his hand that grasped the reins and squeezed tightly. “I’ll do all I can,” she promised.
