“Life rewards those who go after what they want.” His voice turned fierce. “I will fight for ye.”
Their gazes locked for a moment. And then, before she could respond, his mouth captured hers. His hands slid into her hair as his tongue swept her lips apart. She could taste his determination. And despite her misgivings, she melted into him.
Around them, the barmkin went quiet. Gazes drilled into them—warriors pausing in their work, servants stopping to stare. But Craeg didn’t care. He kissed her as if she were the only thing that mattered in the world.
When he finally pulled back, they were both breathing hard. His eyes glittered. “We will be together,” he said, his voice hoarse now. “Never doubt that.”
She nodded, not sure she was capable of speech.
“I should be away a day or two at most.”
Then he was gone, striding toward Ruadh. He swung into the saddle and gathered the reins.Captain Black and the others mounted as well, forming up around their chieftain.
Craeg looked back at her then. Their gazes met across the courtyard, heat pulsing between them.
Hazel’s breathing caught.
Wheeling Ruadh toward the gates, he rode out, his warriors following in a tattoo of hooves. Hazel stood frozen, watching until they disappeared under the portcullis. Only then did she become aware of the silence pressing down on her.
Slowly, she turned.
Liza stood near the stable entrance with Alec at her side. But she wasn’t watching the gates where her son had just vanished. Instead, she observed Hazel, her gaze shadowed.
“Ye have gentle hands.”
Hazel looked up, meeting Archie Macquarie’s eye. She then managed a half-smile. “A healer should have a light touch.”
He snorted. “The physician back in Ulva doesn’t … he just likes to bleed ye … and will hack off a limb rather than try and heal it.”
Hazel grimaced. Unfortunately, such healers existed. She’d heard a few unpleasant tales over the years.
“Moy is lucky to have Hazel,” Rankin spoke up then. Craeg’s stepfather leaned up against the doorframe, arms folded across his chest. He’d insisted on being present when she saw to her patient. “Her talent isn’t something we take for granted.”
Warmth crept up her neck at the compliment.
It unbalanced her. Ever since Craeg had departed earlier that morning, she’d been on edge. It was a relief to be able to focus on something practical.
Dipping her head, she finished unwrapping the soiled bandage from Archie’s upper arm. It was hard not to wrinkle her nose at the smell. Not as foul as before—for the pus had drained well—but unpleasant, nonetheless.
Dusty light slanted through gaps in the timber walls of her infirmary. The sounds of daily life drifted in through the open door: geese honking and the rise and fall of voices in the barmkin.
Archie sat on the stool, stripped to the waist. His shaven head was bowed as he watched her work, his expression unreadable.
The wound was healing. The angry red streaks that had radiated out from the soured flea bite had faded. The swelling had gone down. “It’s drawing back now,” she announced, reaching for her pestle and mortar. “Ye will be right in a week.”
Archie grunted, eyeing her as she pounded fresh woundwort and garlic together. The pungent smell filled the small space. No doubt he wondered what his fate would be. Craeg still hadn’t announced what he planned to do with the Macquarie prisoners.
“Ye hear whispers in the pit,” Archie said then, drawing her attention. “The guards have loose tongues.”
“Aye?”
“Is it true that ye are to be wed to Maclean?”
Her stomach dropped. She kept her gaze fixed on the mortar, grinding harder than necessary. She didn’t want to discuss her life with this man who’d come to murder her, but she didn’t want to lie either.
Reluctantly, she nodded.
Silence fell in the storehouse, and Hazel braced herself for mockery. Of course, he’d laugh or sneer or say something crude about a bastard healer spreading her legs for a chieftain.
