Archie stilled, swallowing hard. Then slowly, reluctantly, his gaze shifted to Hazel.
Their gazes met briefly before she began spreading the poultice over the wound. Her movements were gentle but firm, the paste cool against the angry, inflamed skin. Archie flinched but held still.
Silence stretched between them, broken only by the crackle of the brazier.
“I don’t understand,” Archie said finally, his voice rough with pain. “Why would ye help me? After … after everything.”
Hazel’s hands stilled for a moment, and she glanced up. “Because ye were following orders.” She then reached for a clean strip of linen to bind the wound. “Just because ye are Hamish Macquarie’s hound, doesn’t mean ye deserve to die of a soured fleabite.”
The words hung in the air between them.
Archie’s rugged features went taut. And, just for a moment, raw emotion flared in his eyes before he mastered himself. It was too late though. She’d seen it. The shame. The confusion. He looked away quickly, blinking hard.
Tying off the bandage, Hazel reached for the small clay cup she’d prepared earlier. The willow bark tea was still warm, bitter-smelling. She pressed it into his uninjured hand. “Drink this. All of it. It will help with the fever.”
Archie took the cup, staring down at the dark liquid. His throat worked as he swallowed. When he finally looked up at her again, his eyes were suspiciously bright. “Thank ye,” he said, his voice hoarse.
Hazel rose, brushing off her skirts. “Ye’ll see me again. The poultice needs changing twice daily. And keep drinking the willow bark tea … I’ll leave more with the guards.”
Archie nodded mutely.
She turned to find Craeg watching her with an expression that was both fierce and tender; one that made her pulse skip.
“Done,” she said softly.
Craeg’s jaw flexed. He jerked his head toward the door. “Black. Get him back to the pit.”
Captain Black appeared from where he’d been waiting outside the infirmary, two guards at his heels. They hauled Archie to his feet, supporting him as he swayed slightly.
As they led him away, their prisoner glanced back over his shoulder, his gaze finding Hazel’s one last time.
Hazel climbed the tower stairs, one hand trailing along the pitted stone wall for balance. She’d just come from the lady’s solar, where she’d sat with Lady Liza and Lena after supper. It was good to see Craeg’s mother with a bloom to her cheeks. However, Hazel had found it hard to concentrate on Lena’s excited chatter or the wool Liza had given her to wind upon a spindle.
After a day surrounded by people, she felt drained.
On edge.
Apart from Archie, she’d tended a couple of other patients today. A farmer who needed a thorn removed from his arm and a bairn with a sore throat and fever. Moy certainly kept her busy.
But it was time to go now, for the moment at least.
Hazel had just reached the landing and was about to climb to the floor above when the door to the chieftain’s solar opened. Craeg stood in the doorway, backlit by firelight.His dark hair was tousled, his lèine unlaced at the throat. He looked tired, strained. “Hazel.”
She froze, one foot on the step.
His gaze roamed her face. “Ye are leaving again, aren’t ye?”
She swallowed, discomfort stealing over her. “Aye,” she said softly. “Tomorrow at dawn … it’s for the best.”
A muscle feathered in his jaw. “Ye will still make regular visits to the castle, as ye promised?”
She nodded, even as her pulse kicked against her ribs.
Their stare drew out for a long moment before he cleared his throat. “Would ye join me for a cup of wine?”
She started to sweat. She should refuse, keep climbing these stairs to the safety of her chamber, where she could bar the door and pretend her heart wasn’t thundering. Being alone with him was dangerous. The tension between them had grown unbearable. With each day she remained at Moy, it wound tighter.
But there was something in his eyes that prevented her from refusing him.
