A familiar male voice intruded then, and she turned to find Craeg approaching, his long legs swallowing the distance between them. His expression was veiled, yet his gaze wasn’t on her but Nat. And there was a glint there that took her aback.
Was he …jealous?
Her lips thinned. He had no right to be. She wasn’t his woman.
“Maclean.” Black nodded to him and took a step back from Hazel and her donkey. “I was just talking to Mistress Hazel about yer mother’s condition.”
“She’s much better, Nat.” Craeg’s tone was pleasant enough, yet there was a steely edge to it she hadn’t heard before. “Don’t ye have evening rounds to attend to?”
For a heartbeat, Black held Craeg’s gaze. Then his mouth quirked, slight amusement glimmering in his eyes. “I do.” He turned to Hazel, inclining his head. “Good evening, Mistress Hazel.”
“Captain,” she murmured, watching him stride away across the barmkin.
A brittle silence settled between her and Craeg at his departure. Eventually, Hazel pulled a face. “That was … abrupt of ye.” She couldn’t stop censure from creeping into her voice. “Nat wasn’t making a nuisance of himself.”
Craeg cleared his throat. “Nat… so ye are friends now?”
Hazel eyed him. She wouldn’t answer that question. His jealousy irritated her. Aye, they’d shared a kiss in his solar, but that didn’t give him ownership over her.
Her pulse quickened then.Doesn’t it? Ye reside on his lands. Ye carry his clan name.
“It’s time for supper,” Craeg said after another awkward pause. “I came out to find ye.”
“Thank ye. I shall be in shortly.”
He nodded to a stable lad who was watching them from near a muckheap. “Laurie … take Duncan back to his stall.”
“Aye, Maclean.”
Craeg then suddenly stepped closer to Hazel. “I shall escort ye.”
“That’s not necessary,” she replied, suddenly flustered. “I can—”
“Ye have been on yer feet all day. Ye need to eat.” Before she could protest, his hand settled on the small of her back. The touch was light, almost casual. But there was nothing casual about the heat that spread from that point of contact, or the possessive way his fingers pressed against her spine.
Marking his claim. Making it clear to anyone watching that she was his.
Heat flooded her cheeks.By the Saints.What was the man doing? “Maclean—”
“It’s ‘Craeg’, remember?” His hand urged her forward, toward the keep. “Come on … the pies will be getting cold.”
She let him guide her, painfully aware of his presence beside her, of how close they were walking—of how his hand never left her back. Proprietary and protective in equal measure.
Irritation bucked against her ribs, even as confusion—and something else—fluttered in her belly. She shouldn’t encourage him, yet she went meekly.
Duncan brayed after them, indignant at being left behind, even as Laurie tugged at his lead rope. But Hazel didn’t look back. All she could focus on was the feel of Craeg’s palm burning through the fabric of her kirtle.
This was a mistake. Being here. Being near him. Letting him touch her where anyone could see.
But she couldn’t bring herself to pull away.
Seated next to Craeg at the chieftain’s table, Hazel noted the empty seat usually occupied by Alec. He was upstairs with Liza, taking his supper with her.
Meanwhile, savory grouse pies steamed on the trestle tables lining the hall.
Lena, much perkier now that her mother was over the worst, tucked into her pie with enthusiasm. Halfway through, she glanced up, her frank sea-blue eyes settling on Hazel. “How long have ye lived in the woods?”
“All my life.” Hazel lowered the spoon, filled with gravy and pie, that she’d been about to ladle into her mouth.
