Craeg’s jaw tightened, in a stubborn expression she’d come to know. His mother did the same sometimes. “He must.”
“And if this creates a feud between the Macleans and the Macquaries?” Something cold and hard settled deep in her chest. “I would hate to be the cause of bloodshed between our clans.”
“Ye wouldn’t,” he said firmly, his grip on her hand tightening. “Hamish Macquarie would be.”
Hazel wasn’t convinced. Her aunt had once explained to her how betrothals amongst the highborn worked. It was easier for a man than a woman to break off such an arrangement, although if both parties didn’t agree to severing the betrothal, the husband-to-be needed ‘just cause’. If he could prove his bride-to-be was unfaithful or heretical, that would be useful. But Isla Macquarie was likely neither of these things, and Hazel knew Craeg wouldn’t drag the lass through the muck just to get out of the betrothal. He was too noble for that.
It was just one of the reasons she’d fallen hard for this man.
“It will be considered a ‘breach of promise’,” she whispered then. “Ye will have to forfeit the dowry Macquarie has given ye.”
“And I shall do so willingly.”
She stared up at his handsome face. Young yet determined. There was steel in his eyes.
Nervousness fluttered up as she realized he’d not be moved on this. He’d fight anyone who tried to stand between them.
He released her hand before reaching down to cup her cheek. “We’ll make this work, Hazel … I promise ye.”
Her throat tightened. She didn’t doubt his earnestness—and she needed him too—but one of them had to be practical.
“I’m older than ye, Craeg,” she said softly. “Ten years is quite a number.”
“They’re meaningless,” he replied with a shake of his head.
“But what if I’m too old to bear ye bairns?” She wouldn’t let this go. He might not realize such things, yet as a healer, she did. Most women began having children young. They didn’t begin families when they were over thirty winters of age. “What if I can’t provide ye with an heir?”
He stilled at this, considering her words. “We shall manage,” he replied after a pause. “Lena will likely marry one day … if we don’t have children to inherit Moy, she will.”
Her lips parted once more as she readied a counterargument. However, he rushed in before she could speak. “We could lie here all night coming up with all the reasons why we shouldn’t be together, mo anam cara … but none of them matter.”
Hazel’s breathing hitched.Mo anam cara.
‘My soul friend.’ It was a special endearment. Only used between people who’d found a deep connection. The rough timbre of his voice and the look in his eyes told her he meant it too.
Hazel swallowed. Craeg Maclean had swept into her life like a wild summer storm, spinning her around so fast the world tilted. The force of his need for her left her breathless. A younger lass might have let herself be carried away by it—and she wasn’t immune either—but she wasn’t sheltered or innocent. She understood the way the world worked.
Nonetheless, she didn’t want to argue over this or to ruin this tender moment in the wake of a passion that would forever change her. She didn’t wish to offend him, for him to think she didn’t want him. For she did. There was a recklessness in her that would be her undoing, yet she was letting it win.
“I will visit the priest at Lochbuie kirk at first light,” he said then, brushing the pad of his thumb over the swell of her lower lip. “We shall be wed.”
Her pulse fluttered, both because his words scattered her wits, and because it felt as if she were tumbling down a slope now, gathering speed as she went.
“There’s no need to rush things,” she whispered. “There’s much to organize. Don’t we need to let everyone get used to the idea first?”
Indeed, she needed to as well. Earlier, she’d been on her way up to her chamber to pack. Yet one conversation, one encounter, had changed everything.
He gave a soft snort, his fingers sliding from her cheek to her neck. They then brushed across the swell of her left breast, grazing the sensitive tip so that her breathing caught. Suddenly, it was difficult to focus, to care about anything except his touch. “No. They’ll have decades for thatafterwe’re wed.”
Silence fell in the solar with the force of a slammed door.
Craeg stood with his back to the hearth, watching the shock ripple across his family’s faces. He’d gotten up from the table to make his announcement. Outside, the wind whistled around the tower, lifting the heavy sacking over the windows and letting in a draft. Inside, the only sound was the crackle of peat in the fire.
His mother sat frozen in her chair, a wedge of buttered bannock halfway to her mouth. Her peat-brown eyes—so like his own—were wide with disbelief. Beside her, Alec had gone still, his gaze narrowing.
Lena was the first to move. She shot to her feet, her face splitting into a grin. “Ye will wed Hazel?” Her voice pitched high with excitement. “Truly?”
“Aye.” Craeg’s gaze flickered to Hazel, who sat stiffly in her chair at the opposite end of the table.She’d been quiet since entering the solar this morning—nervous about joining them for bannocks and porridge. Guests of her rank didn’t usually break their fast with the chieftain’s family in his private chambers. But she wasn’t just a guest anymore. She was going to be his wife.
