Craeg had always prided himself on taking after his mother in looks. He didn’t want to share any features with his hated father, yet looking at Hazel, he realized that most people carried traits from both parents. He likely did too.
Aye, there were traces of Macquarie in her face. Her nose. Long and straight, and the sharpness of her jaw. Her expression was pinched this afternoon, her dark brows drawn down.
She was fretting.
Entering the barmkin through the gates, Craeg beckoned to stable lads. “Take care of these two.” He motioned to his stallion and the donkey. Duncan, delighted to return to the castle, nuzzled the first lad, no doubt looking for treats. Meanwhile, Ruadh snorted and sidestepped. As long as the donkey didn’t bray, he tolerated him. Just. “And then take Mistress Hazel’s belongings indoors.”
Craeg turned then to his companion.
Hazel’s gaze met his, and the shadows in its depths made the anger flare bright under his breastbone.The Devil take Macquarie. How dare he do this to her?
He nodded to her then. “I have a few things to take care of.” The sharp edge to his voice must have given him away, for he marked the alarm that flared in her eyes. “Go inside, lass … someone will pour ye a wine to settle yer nerves.” He paused then before adding, “I shall join ye later.”
“What are ye going to do?” she asked.
“What needs to be done,” he replied. Faolan pushed at his thigh, but he ignored his hound for the moment.
“That sounds ominous.”
He took a step closer to her, aware that gazes were on them. Stable lads. Grooms. Warriors. Kitchen hands. Moy’s barmkin was always busy. He should be careful, yet recklessness roared through him. And underneath it, violence stirred in his blood. His father’s legacy, yet he didn’t fight it. “I’ll not have ye hunted like a hind, Hazel,” he ground out. “It’s time to turn the tables.”
Pushing the pottage around her trencher, Hazel kept shooting Craeg veiled looks.
She’d done as he asked earlier. She’d left him in the barmkin, calling for Captain Black, and had retreated into the tower house, her healing basket looped over her arm. She wondered if he’d found those men yet.
She wanted to ask, but she didn’t want to draw attention to her situation.
They’d agreed not to tell his family about what had happened—not yet anyway.
Hazel felt too brittle today. Everything was still too raw.
“Ma was up on the walls before supper,” Craeg said, glancing Hazel’s way as he reached for a piece of bread. “Should she be?”
Hazel nodded. “Aye, now that her lungs have recovered, the fresh air will do her good.”
“Thank ye, Hazel,” Liza replied, flashing her son an irritated look. “I’m glad to see someone doesn’t fuss.”
“Liza isn’t one to sit idle.” Rankin flashed his wife a grin.
Despite that her nerves were on edge, Hazel managed a smile. Indeed, when she’d visited Lady Liza in the lady’s solar earlier, she’d found her hard at work embroidering a surcote’s hem, Lena winding wool onto a spindle next to her.
“Ye have been busy today, Craeg,” Rankin spoke up then. “We’ve hardly seen ye.”
Craeg swallowed a mouthful of pottage. “Aye … there have been a few things to deal with.”
Rankin’s brow furrowed. Even though he’d stepped away from his role as Captain of the Guard, he still fell back into old habits. “Nothing serious, I hope?”
The chieftain shook his head. “It’ll sort itself out soon enough.”
The pottage Hazel had just consumed churned in her belly. Tensing, she pushed the half-eaten bowl away, reaching instead for the cup of wine at her elbow.
“Not hungry, this eve, lass?” Rankin asked, shrewd as ever. Next to him, Liza watched her with a furrowed brow.
“I overindulged in boar stew and dumplings at noon,” she lied. “It was so delicious, I forgot myself.”
Rankin nodded, although the look he and his wife shared hinted that they both realized something was amiss with her.
The meal continued, and thankfully, the conversation moved on.And when Lena started reciting a poem she’d just learned, Hazel seized the opportunity to lean close to Craeg. “Any news?”
