Gordon flicked the reins then, and Beth raised a hand in farewell. The older woman smiled, yet her gaze was still shadowed.
The cart rumbled away, the creak of its wheels and the clip-clop of the garrons’ hooves soon obscured by the whistle of the wind.Hazel stood at the fork in the path, watching until Beth and Gordon disappeared around a bend, swallowed by the gorse and heather.
Only then did she move.
Not east toward the loch and the imaginary aunt she’d invented. Instead, she entered the hazelwood to the west.
Her feet found a narrow deer track that ran parallel to both a burn and the road, hidden from the latter by a thick screen of trees. The water bubbled over stones, cold and clear, threading through moss-covered banks. Trees arched overhead, their leaves rustling in the wind.
She moved quickly, her basket bumping against her hip with each stride. The morning sun filtered through the canopy in shafts of green-gold light, but she barely noticed. Her mind churned like the water beside her.
This is right. This is the only way.
The words became a rhythm matching her footsteps. A prayer. A conviction.
They kept her strong. Kept her going.
By now, Gordon and Beth would be making slow progress northeast. Hazel couldn’t see the road, but she’d already overtaken them, she reckoned. The cart could only manage a crawl on the rough Highland tracks, while she—she could move like the deer whose path she followed.
Fast and determined.
Running.
Not running, she told herself fiercely.Choosing.There’s a difference.
Was there?
A hard knot tightened in her chest, but she shoved it down. Instead, she kept walking. The burn widened here, tumbling over a series of small falls, the sound loud enough to drown out thought.
Good.
She didn’t want to think, to remember Craeg’s face when he’d kissed her goodbye in the barmkin. The fierce certainty in his eyes. The promises he’d made. Hethought his love would be enough, but Hazel knew better now. She should have refused him. She’d lived long enough, seen enough, to understand how the world worked. Love was a luxury for most people. A dangerous indulgence. One that only led to pain.
Love hadn’t saved Rhona Maclean from rape and a bloody end, or spared Siùsan from the grips of a terrible disease. Nor could it change the past or right the wrongs committed.
The path climbed, following the burn up through stands of birch and rowan. Her breath came harder now, her legs burning. Sweat trickled down her spine despite the cool morning air. But she didn’t slow.
And as she walked, she planned ahead. Once she located her relatives, she’d set herself up as a herb-wife, if not in Oban, then nearby.
It would hurt to leave everything behind, yet she’d survive. She was good at that. Siùsan had taught her well. Warmth suffused her chest as she recalled how fiercely independent her mother had been, how she’d encouraged the same self-reliance in Hazel.
The next few weeks would be hard, but she’d get through them. And in the meantime, Craeg would patch things up with the Macquaries. He’d marry Isla, lead his clan, and be the chieftain he was meant to be.
And yet, the thought of never seeing him again made the brief warmth drain from her chest. Misery twisted like a blade under her ribs as she stumbled.
Curse her, she’d left this decision too long.
The truth was, there would be no getting over Craeg Maclean.
The sun climbed higher, and despite the buffeting wind, her clothing clung to her skin. She paused to roll up her sleeves, adjusting the weight of her basket. All her possessions that mattered, save the coin purse at her waist, were in there. Her herbs and tools.
It wasn’t much, but it was hers.
There was a brittleness to her determination though, and it disturbed her.Keep walking. She couldn’t stop. If she did, she’d think. And if she thought too hard about what she was leaving behind, she might waver.
The burn narrowed again, threading through a gorge where ferns grew thick and lush. The sound of water echoed off stone walls. It was a sheltered spot. She guessed she was still traveling parallel to the road, although her path northeast was a little more winding.
Moy lay far behind her now. Her legs ached, and her throat burned with thirst. The basket felt like it was full of bricks.
