There were a host of reasons his bastard daughter might flee. They’d seen the chieftain depart a day earlier with a band of men, heading north. Hamish guessed he was making a trip to Duart to inform the clan-chief of his intended marriage to Hazel Maclean.
Hamish had considered following him, to confront him at Duart and shame him and Loch Maclean into keeping their part of their agreement.
But he hadn’t.
The Crone’s whispers stopped him.
Hazel was the problem. Not Craeg Maclean. Aye, he knew all about how she’d ensnared the young chieftain, for he’d sent one of his men into Lochbuie the day before to ask some discreet questions. The seer’s warning had been right.
She’d be his downfall.
She’d ruin everything.
Shehad to be dealt with. Once Hazel was dead, he’d focus on forcing Craeg Maclean to uphold his promise.
One thing at a time.
“Do we follow them?” Cameron asked, his gaze never leaving the cart. It cut its way through fields of neeps and cabbages now, following the road that would take them northeast. Hamish guessed the merchant was heading for Craignure, the most likely point to find passage back to the mainland.
“Aye,” Hamish replied. “Good to know that yer thought cage isn’t full of moths, lad.”
A flush rose to Cameron’s cheeks, and irritation knifed through Hamish in response.
He’d brought his son along on this mission to teach him a few things. The lad needed to come face-to-face with the harsh realities of life. He had to learn what was necessary if a man wanted power and influence—and what lengths were needed to protect yer clan.
“Hazel will destroy our alliance with the Macleans,” he said then, cutting his gaze back to the cloaked figure crouched next to an iron cauldron. Saying the lass’s name made something tug uneasily deep in his chest. His daughter. She had an identity now. She was no longer some faceless woman. However, he swept the reaction away. “She must be dealt with.”
“So, ye will kill her?” The question held a challenge—something that surprised Hamish. Did his son have a spine, after all?
“No, I shall shake her hand and congratulate the lass on her fine match,” he snarled. “Ask me another fool question again, Cam, and I’ll blacken yer eye.”
His son swallowed, even as something akin to anger sparked in the depths of his dark-blue eyes. Nonetheless, he minded him.
Satisfied, Hamish turned, casting his eye over the band of six warriors he’d brought from Ulva. All of them were watching him, their expressions expectant. He flashed them a hard smile. “Let’s go hunting.”
“Thank ye for the passage, but I will find my own way from here.”
Beth turned to Hazel, her brows knitting together. “But I thought ye wished to travel to Craignure?”
“Eventually, aye.” Hazel flashed the woman a bright smile. “But I have an auld aunt near Loch Uisg. I’d like to stop off and see her for a day or two.”
It was a good excuse, for the narrow path that wound up the hillside through a scrubby hazelwood forked here, one path leading down to where the expanse of the loch itself sparkled in the distance.
All the same, Beth’s expression remained worried. “Ye shouldn’t be traveling on yer own, lass.”
Hazel gave a soft snort as she clambered off the cart and dusted down her skirts. “I’m no dainty lady, Beth,” she chastised her. “I live alone … and have spent most of my life watching my own back. Don’t worry yerself about me.”
Gordon huffed a laugh. “Well, mind how ye go, all the same.”
“I will. Thank ye again, for the ride.”
She meant it too. However, Gordon’s cart was painfully slow. She could walk faster, and she would. It was also risky to continue traveling with them.
Craeg could return to Moy at any time—and she couldn’t risk meeting him on this road.
Her belly tightened then.
No, that would make things much harder than they needed to be.
