Herbs.
Just one word, and yet Hazel’s face flashed before him. Her chin high, her blue eyes luminous. He had to get back to her, had to convince Loch to give them his blessing. However, he’d be wise to avoid his clan-chief this evening. He needed to let him cool down after their argument. Things had nearly gotten out of hand. Bringing up Loch’s marriage to Mairi had been a mistake, one that might have cost him dearly. He’d go to see him in the morning, and when he did, he’d choose his words more carefully.
Crossing to the sideboard, he poured two cups of sloe wine. It was strong. Just the thing for taking the edge off pain or settling nerves. He handed a cup to Greig, watching as he lifted it to his lips.
The slight tremor in his friend’s hand made him frown. Up close, he marked the pallor under Greig’s ruddy tan. Taking a large gulp of wine, Greig swallowed, blinking as his eyes smarted. He then fixed Craeg with a look that reminded him of his father. “Donn tells me that I’ll be a cripple.”
The words were blunt, laced with simmering anger.
“A cripple?”
“Aye … a deformed creature who shuffles around with a stick.”
“I know what a cripple is,” Craeg answered, frowning. His gaze lowered to Greig’s leg. “Surely, ye will heal?”
“Aye … but I took the injury a few days ago … and Donn says the muscle and flesh have already started to knit. Poorly. If I’m lucky, I’ll walk with a bad limp and will need a stick.” His throat worked, betraying him. “If I’m unlucky, I’ll be bedridden.”
Silence followed these words.
Craeg’s chest tightened. He sank down onto the stool beside the bed, gripping his cup hard. “Christ, Greig. I’m sorry.”
Greig huffed a bitter laugh. “Aye, well. That makes two of us.”
Taking a gulp of wine, Craeg searched for words that wouldn’t sound hollow. But what could he say? That everything would be fine? That Donn was wrong and Greig would fully recover? They’d both seen enough battle wounds to know better.
His chest clenched then. Aye, this was the other side of war. Glory and honor were all well and good—until a man’s luck ran out. Until the enemy’s blade slipped under his guard. It was a sobering reminder.
“How was it this time?” Craeg asked finally. “With Murray?”
Greig sighed. “Brutal.” He stared down at his wine. “But things are going our way … Murray and Mowbray’s men are still laying siege to Dundarg Castle. I wanted to be there to see it fall.”
Craeg nodded. He’d heard that Murray had joined forces with Alexander de Mowbray. Together, they’d marched to Dundarg, on the Firth of Moray, where one of Balliol’s allies, Henry de Beaumont, resided. Longing flickered to life under his breastbone then, a warrior’s instinct.
For an instant—despite everything—he too wished he was at Murray’s side, fighting to end English rule.
“The plan was to come home a hero,” Greig said, bitterness lacing his voice now. “Not maimed.”
Craeg wanted to reach out, to grip his friend’s shoulder the way he would have done months earlier. But something stopped him. They’d trained together, gotten drunk together, and chased lasses in alehouses, but all of that belonged to a different life.Once, all he’d wanted was Greig and Ailean’s approval, to feel part of a brotherhood. They’d been part of his identity.
But no longer.
Now, sitting in this dim bedchamber, distance yawned between them. He hadn’t imagined that their reunion would be like this, that Greig would be so self-pitying and broken.
“Yewillheal,” Craeg said firmly. “And when ye do—”
“What then?” Greig cut him off, his eyes blazing now. “I’ll hobble around like some useless decrepit bodach? Watching from the sidelines while other men ride out to fight?” His jaw clenched. “That English prick should have killed me.”
“Don’t say that.”
“It’s the truth.” Greig drained his cup and held it out. “More.”
Craeg rose and refilled both their cups, disquieted by his friend’s churning anger. He understood why though. He too would be hollow-eyed and bitter in the same circumstances.
When he returned to the stool, Greig eyed him. “So, why are ye at Duart, anyway?”
Heat crept up Craeg’s neck. “I came to see yer father.” He hesitated then. “I’ve broken my betrothal to Isla Macquarie.”
Greig’s eyebrows rose.
