“There was no need to rush off,” Craeg said finally. “Ye were welcome to stay longer.”
She swallowed, not sure how to answer. What could she say?
“I came to Moy for a purpose,” she said eventually, wincing at how stilted her voice sounded. “But yer mother has recovered now, and I’ve tended all those with ailments. It’s time to go.”
They walked on. Ruadh snorted occasionally, still wary of the donkey.
“I’d like ye to return to the castle … once a fortnight,” Craeg said, after a lengthy pause. “We shall keep yer infirmary ready for ye.”
“Moy can’t do without my help, eh?” she teased, desperate to take the edge off the simmering tension between them. She risked a look in his direction then. He walked beside her, the morning sun kissing his golden skin. His tone had been conversational, yet she marked the tightness of his jaw.
“No,” he replied, glancing her way. His gaze ensnared hers then. “Ye have become part of my household, Hazel. We’ll miss ye …Ishall.”
Warmth rose to her cheeks. This conversation was getting awkward; she needed to steer him onto safer topics. Gripping Duncan’s lead rope tighter, she lengthened her stride.
“Of course, I shall return often to Moy,” she reassured him. “Its residents need me.”
“Ye wouldn’t consider moving into the castle permanently then?”
Hazel stumbled. Recovering, she shot Craeg a warning look. “I don’t think that’s wise, do ye?”
Their gazes fused once more, and emotion rippled over his handsome features. “Hazel,” he said huskily. “I—”
“Don’t,” she cut him off, panic slamming into her. “Please, Craeg.”
And with that, she lurched forward, dragging her donkey after her.
“Hazel!” He was following her, yet she walked faster.
She had to outrun him—had to outrun whatever this was that bloomed between them.
A moment later, the twisted oaks gave way, and her cottage appeared.
Her breathing caught, her attention ripping from Craeg to her home.
The door stood wide open. And not just that. Even from this distance, she could see it was hanging crooked on its hinges.
She came to an abrupt halt, her skin prickling. Hades. Someone had tried to kick it down.
“Wait here.” Craeg was at her side, drawing the dirk from its sheath at his hip.
Heart in her mouth, she followed him to the gate and then watched him stalk down the path, his gaze cutting left and right as he went. Faolan stalked behind him, hackles raised. Moments later, both man and hound disappeared, only to reappear shortly after. He then beckoned to her.
However, as she rushed up the path, Duncan trotting behind her, she marked Craeg’s furrowed brow and the tense set of his jaw.
“What is it?”
“See for yerself.” His voice was hard with anger.
Hazel pushed past him and ducked inside. She then froze.
Her carefully organized herbs lay scattered across the floor, jars smashed, bundles torn down from the rafters. Her table was overturned, the legs broken. Shattered earthen pots oozed honey over the rush-covered floor. Her pallet had been shredded, straw and wool everywhere. Even her precious stores—the last of the elecampane, the rare tinctures she’d saved for years—were gone or destroyed. It was hard to tell which in the mess.
Someone had been here. Someone had done this.
Her hands shook as she knelt, picking up a broken jar of woundwort. The dried flowers crumbled in her fingers.
“Who would—” she started, then stopped.
