Irritation had quickened within Hazel. Didn’t people have better things to gossip about?
But if Craeg had noticed the whispering servants, he hadn’t let on.
Outside the walls, the wind ruffled his wavy hair and tugged at his lèine. His proximity made her feel oddly flustered. When he’d approached her in the barmkin, she’d throttled the urge to tidy her hair and brush dust from her kirtle.
They’d spent much time together over the past days—too much, if she was honest—but always in company. She enjoyed seeing him, and was increasingly comfortable at Moy, but the man was always popping up like a mushroom. Wherever she turned, there he was. He made frequent visits to the infirmary, just to see ‘how she was getting on’. He also insisted on walking her indoors, and on her joining them for every meal in the hall.
“I’m not going far,” she said, not willing to submit just yet.
He flashed her a smile. “It’s no bother.”
Trying to ignore the melting sensation pooling in her belly, she cast a gaze around her. This road took them alongside the run rigs where cottars grew rows of cabbages, neeps, and onions. Men and women worked there, bent over their crops. Hoeing and weeding. A few of them glanced up as Hazel and Craeg approached, curiosity lighting their gazes.
Ignoring them, Hazel led Duncan over to a hedgerow and began foraging through the weeds.Locating a growth of coltsfoot, she withdrew a thin-bladed knife and cut it, placing the plant in the basket slung over her arm. Meanwhile, her donkey, pleased to be out of the confines of the barmkin, snatched at grass.
“It’s a hard life ye lead, isn’t it?”
She glanced over at where Craeg watched her work. His arms were folded across his chest.
“Not as hard as some,” she replied, surprised by the question. “Luckily, I enjoy the herb-wife’s craft … and helping others.”
“Ye have worked miracles here, ye know?”
Her lips quirked. “Really?”
He smiled back. “Aye … the smith’s wife swears ye have eased her gout already.”
Hazel harrumphed. “I merely made her a brew of meadowsweet … and told her to stop eating meat for a while.” She didn’t add that she’d also advised Vera to stop swilling the strong sloe wine she brewed. The woman’s overindulgences would cause her more problems than gout if she continued.
“As I told ye, our healer recently retired. Auld Colin Garvie looked after us for years … but then his sight went. He left to live with his daughter in Craignure in late spring.” Craeg paused then. “It looks as if we are in need of someone else.”
Hazel inclined her head. “It seems ye are.”
Walking along the hedgerow, she located some mugwort. Her lips curved as she began to pick it. Siùsan had sworn by this herb—using it for all kinds of ailments, from fatigue to consumption.
They came upon a patch of nettles then. Donning a pair of leather gloves and taking another basket from Duncan’s back, she started picking the prickly leaves.
“Can I help ye?” Craeg asked, moving close and peering down at her as she worked.
Pausing, she gestured over at a hawthorn bush, ripe with berries. “I need some haws … but the thorns are wicked.”
“I’ll pick ye some.” He grabbed another empty basket from Duncan’s back. “I’ll just be careful.”
They worked in companionable silence for a short while. Hazel filled her basket with nettle leaves while Craeg gingerly plucked red haw berries from the bush. “Spending time with ye calms me, ye know?” he said eventually.
Hazel cut Craeg a glance. He hadn’t looked her way—he was too intent on avoiding getting his fingers stuck by thorns. Even so, she marked his earnestness. Her pulse fluttered. She wished he wouldn’t say such things. “Calmsye?”
“Aye. Ever since I returned to Mull and stepped into my new role, I’ve chafed to be elsewhere.”
“With Murray … fighting the English?”
“Aye.”
Hazel studied his profile for a moment. She’d sometimes marked the restlessness Lady Liza had mentioned. Occasionally, when he talked about the clan-chief’s son, Greig, or his other good frend, Ailean, who were on the mainland fighting the English, longing edged his voice.
“When we talk, the frustration eases … I feel like I’m where I should be,” he added then, flashing her an embarrassed look.
“And yeare,” she replied firmly. “Moy needs ye.Mullneeds ye. If all our men went off to war, who would rule?”
