“Doesn’t it?”
Craeg whipped around to face him. “What would ye have me do?”
Alec stared back at him. “I’d have ye face what’s staring at ye.” His voice gentled slightly. “Ye stand at a crossroads, lad. Don’t fool yerself though … if ye pledge yerself to one woman, while yer heart belongs to another, ye’ll end up the most miserable man on Mull.”
The words hit hard. Craeg opened his mouth to protest, to deny—but nothing came out.
Because Alec was right.
His heartdidbelong to Hazel. And when she’d wept in his arms that morning, her pain had become his own.
Turning from his stepfather, he growled a curse.
Across the solar, Alec huffed a sigh. “Aye, it’s a fine mess.”
“Did ye see the flea bites on those Macquaries?”
“Aye … ye can tell they stayed at the Lochbuie Inn.”
Laughter followed.
“Archie’s in a bad way today … his arm looks like a slab of meat.”
Approaching the men from behind, on her way to the chieftain’s table at the far end of the hall, for the noon meal, Hazel caught the conversation between a group of warriors. They hadn’t seen her yet. However, when she halted before their table and turned to face them, the men started.
“Mistress Hazel.” One of them nodded to her.
“What’s this about the Macquarie warrior?” she asked.
“Och, don’t worry about him.” He shrugged before picking up his cup and taking a draft of ale.
“Is he ill?”
“Getting that way,” another warrior answered. “Scratched flea bites … and now they’ve soured. His arm’s swollen, and he’s got a fever.”
“With any luck, it’ll worsen and kill him,” someone else added.
Grunts of agreement followed.
Hazel nodded to them and moved on. However, as she did so, her brow furrowed.
Those men had been sent to slay her. She should want them to suffer. However, her healer’s instinct was stronger than her need for vengeance. She hadn’t enjoyed watching Craeg interrogate Archie Macquarie the day before. It had been necessary, yet the brutality had unnerved her. It had also shown her that although he was young, Craeg Maclean wasn’t a man to be messed with.
It was easy to forget that he was a warrior, that he’d killed. But seeing him deal with the Macquarie men had reminded her.
She’d been relieved when Archie had given up his secret—even if it had devastated her.
And now the warrior was ill. Soured insect bites could turn nasty, fast. He and his friends were currently festering in the pit, the oubliette on the damp southwestern edge of the barmkin. She didn’t know how long Craeg intended to leave them there, or whether he’d hang them from the walls. And she shouldn’t care.
Soft-hearted fool,she chided herself, taking her place at the chieftain’s table.
Lena was there, teasing Nat about his hair. She’d just told him it was curlier and prettier than any lass’s—and to Lena’s delight, the captain’s cheeks flushed pink. Craeg had yet to join them. The aroma of rich pastry and venison wafted through the hall then as serving lads brought in platters of pies. A delicious noon meal, and yet she had no appetite for it.
A stone had settled in her gut.
She’d slept fitfully the night before. Then she’d spent the morning in her bedchamber sorting through her basket of dried herbs. The mundane task had steadied her nerves.
Even so, she didn’t feel like herself today. But hearing about Archie’s swollen arm and fever had roused her a little. It gave her something else to focus on besides the nagging knowledge that she couldn’t stay at Moy Castle.
