“Hazel.” Murdoch spat onto the rushes. “Keeps to herself … just like Siùsan did.”
Archie exchanged glances with Ross and Ian. The relief on their faces mirrored his own.
“Ye have been most helpful,” Archie said, standing. He dropped another penny on the table. “For yer trouble.”
Murdoch snatched it up, nodded to him, and rose to his feet. Then, he limped off, disappearing into a dim corner of the inn.
“North of here,” Ross said, scratching viciously at a flea bite on his forearm. “Twenty furlongs.”
“We’ll pay her a visit at first light.” Archie smiled once more. Thirty-one years Hazel Maclean had lived. Hamish Macquarie’s shameful secret. But her time had run out. They were coming for her. “And this time, there’ll be no questions. No talk. We do what the Macquarie demanded.”
Ian grinned. “About bloody time. I’ve had enough of staying in this dung pit.”
Hazel had just emerged from Liza’s bedchamber, arms full of dirty strips of linen she’d used for poultices, when Craeg approached her.
“How is Ma this morning?” he asked, stopping before her.
“Almost well enough to rise from her bed,” she replied with a relieved smile. In truth, Liza’s recovery had been swifter than she’d expected. All she needed now was rest, and for her family to make sure she didn’t over-exert herself.
Craeg’s lips lifted at the corners. “Good … I shall check in on her shortly … but first, I wanted to talk to ye.”
Hazel’s gaze narrowed, heat spiking through her.
Hades. She didn’t want to be alone with him again. No good would come from it, and he needed to stop pushing things.
However, before she could tell him so, he spoke once more. “Yer skills are needed here at Moy, Hazel. I’d like ye to stay on another week … to tend the ailments of my retainers and servants.”
She stilled at this, taken aback.
“I’ve had a makeshift infirmary made for ye,” he went on, his tone matter of fact. “A granary we no longer use.” He paused then before giving her a hopeful look. “Would ye like to see it?”
Hazel didn’t answer straight away. Instead, she considered his request.
When he’d asked to speak to her, she’d been ready to do battle, but instead, he’d surprised her. His tone held a reserved edge this morning. He was letting her know that he wouldn’t push things again. Part of her was irritated at the man’s presumption. He should have asked her before having an infirmary prepared.
Even so, the folk of Moy did need her skills. Just the day before, she’d marked the rash on a serving lad’s neck, and a hacking cough from one of the grooms. Not only that, but delaying her return home would give her hunters time to give up and move on.
That last thought decided things for her.
“Very well,” she said finally. “A few more days won’t hurt.”
Stepping into the small timbered building, Hazel cast a gaze around her. The space was stark yet clean. The dirt floor was packed hard beneath her feet, and a sturdy oak table sat in the midst of it, flanked by two stools.
Immediately, her shoulders lowered. In truth, she felt a little overwhelmed inside the tower house. But this humble space, which would soon smell of healing herbs, suited her much better.
“I had those put up this morning.” Craeg gestured to the stack of rough wooden shelves against one wall. “Ye will need space for yer herbs and tools, I imagine.”
Hazel nodded, even as her chest tightened. His thoughtfulness touched her. “That will be useful … aye.”
“Tell me what ye need to get started, and I shall see ye have it.”
She thought about the items she had in her basket. Most of her supplies were still back at the cottage. She’d need more dried herbs and tinctures, although she could make do for the moment, and go foraging over the next couple of days.
She turned, meeting his eye. “I will require a supply of linen cloths,” she said, favoring him with a cautious smile. “A wash bowl … and a brazier too.”
His lips curved into a boyish smile. “Of course.”
Flustered, she moved to the table and set her healer’s basket, which she’d brought outside, down. “When would ye like me to begin work?”
