She knew who.
Those men had discovered that a tall woman with black hair and blue eyes lived in the woods. They’d come for her. And when she hadn’t opened the door, they’d kicked it in. Their destruction of her cottage was a message.
We know who ye are.
We are waiting.
Her pulse started to thunder in her ears. Knowing she was being hunted was one thing, but seeing her cottage destroyed was another. If the situation hadn’t been terrifying before, it was now.
“Hazel.” Craeg’s hand on Hazel’s shoulder made her flinch. “Ye can’t stay here.”
“No,” she whispered. She couldn’t.
15: NOBODY
HAZEL SAID LITTLE until they were far from her cottage. Instead, she walked alongside Duncan, her throat tight, stomach burning. The donkey’s basket panniers were laden with the few precious possessions she’d managed to recover.
Craeg traveled alongside her, leading Ruadh. Faolan padded along next to him, tongue lolling.
Mercifully, he didn’t ask her any questions. He sensed her need to get away from the woods, to put some distance between herself and the only home she’d ever known.
He wasn’t happy though. His jaw was tight, his body tense. One hand on the handle of his dirk, he surveyed his surroundings. Ready to defend her, if necessary.
Nausea churned through Hazel.
She appreciated his solid presence, although it was hard to focus on him.
Not when her secret sat like an anvil on her chest.
She couldn’t carry this burden alone. Not any longer.
She waited until the trees drew back, until they were crossing boggy fields. The rugged peak of Ben Buie, the mountain that rose to the north, stood out, dark against the grey sky. The path skirted the edge of an ancient stone circle.
The Lochbuie Stones formed a ring—nine granite monoliths that had witnessed much change over the centuries. Their pitted surfaces, encrusted with lichen and moss, had weathered countless storms. They’d seen generations of Macleans, and the people who’d dwelled here long ago, move through this place. And still they stood. Silent. Immovable.
It was a fitting setting for a frank conversation.
Without speaking, she drew Duncan off the path and led him into the midst of the stone circle.
“Hazel?” Craeg called out.
“Let’s rest a while,” she replied, still not looking his way. “There are things I must tell ye.”
A boulder studded the heart of the circle, and she lowered herself onto it.
And then, only then, did she let herself face him squarely. He’d halted a yard or two away. Ruadh should have taken this opportunity to crop at grass; however, the stallion couldn’t take his eyes off Duncan. His nostrils flared, as if he expected the donkey to lurch at him, braying. Meanwhile, Faolan flopped down onto the mossy ground, his dark eyes watching Hazel.
“There are men,” —she began, deciding there wasn’t any point in bandying words— “hunting me.”Craeg’s eyes snapped wide, yet she didn’t wait for him to question her. Instead, she plowed on. “When Siùsan lay dying, she revealed the truth … about me. I’m not her daughter. I’m her niece.” The words tumbled free. “Three decades ago, when the Macleans of Moy and the Macquaries of Ulva were in dispute, young Hamish Macquarie was part of a raid … of Lochbuie. He raped a lass named Rhona Maclean. My mother. She died birthing me.”
Craeg’s features tightened. “Hamish Macquarie is yerfather?”
She nodded, her pulse a drumming against her ribs, even as nausea bit the back of her throat. The story sickened her.
“My …aunttold me all this with her last breaths,” Hazel continued huskily. “A couple of months earlier, she’d overheard men asking questions in Lochbuie … asking after my mother. They were Macquaries. Aggressive warriors, determined to get answers. Although she didn’t understand their purpose, she feared they’d return, and so she urged me to flee Lochbuie … to leave Mull … to find shelter with a relative in Oban.”
His gaze shadowed. “But ye didn’t.”
“Mull is where my heart is,” she whispered. “I don’t want to leave … but maybe I need to.” She swallowed hard. “Maybe I should go now.”
