Cods. She didn’t have the energy to lock horns with him again.
Pressing her lips together in a tight line, she gave a brusque nod, swiveled on her heel, and stalked indoors.
Craeg watched Hazel go, his pulse thumping in his ears.
What was he doing? Why hadn’t he apologized for putting his foot in his mouth earlier? Why wasn’t he on his knees, begging her to stay?
Pride. It was a damnable thing. And after the day he’d had, it was all he had left. He was a stoic, bull-headed fool.
Nonetheless, he wasn’t going to let Hazel stay at an inn overnight without protection.The Craignure Innwas a respectable enough establishment, certainly a better choice thanThe Barnacleon the northern edge of the village.
The latter was full of rough men and lewd lasses.
Craeg had lain with his first woman atThe Barnacle. It had been his seventeenth summer, and he was returning home from a hunting trip with Ailean. A lass around five years older than him had taken Craeg by the hand and led him upstairs before giving him a night of discovery he’d never forget.
The memory of that lad, eager yet unsure of himself, made Craeg’s throat tighten.
Life had been uncomplicated then.He’d wished for little more than to be able to hunt with Ailean and Greig, and then go drinking afterward, flirt with bonnie lasses, and then, maybe get into a brawl.
None of that appealed now.
All he wanted was Hazel, but she was walking away from him. She thought he was a hot-headed, controlling swine.
Leading Ruadh into the stables, Craeg tried to focus on practical matters—on unsaddling his stallion and rubbing him down—but as he worked, his thoughts kept returning to Hazel and the mess he’d made of things. Meanwhile, Faolan lapped water from a stone trough, thirsty after the day’s travel.
A short while later, with Ruadh stabled and enjoying a net of sweet hay, Craeg went indoors. His hound padded in after him.
A small woman with bright golden-brown eyes and flaxen hair greeted him as he pushed his way into the common room. The aroma of rich pastry and mutton wafted over him, and despite the knot of misery under his breastbone, his belly rumbled.
“Craeg!” The woman flashed him a warm smile.
He forced a smile in return, even as he spied Hazel sitting at a shadowed table in the far corner. “Alison!”
“I hear ye are laird of Moy now … congratulations!”
He forced a tight smile. “Thank ye.”
“I suppose I should start addressing ye more formally then … Maclean.”
He snorted. “No, Craeg will do … as it always has.”
He’d always liked Alison but wasn’t in the mood for her bubbly chatter. Or questions.
Digging into the coin purse at his belt, he produced a silver penny. “This is for the two chambers Hazel requested.”
Alison’s eyes widened then before she made the connection between him and the woman who’d just entered the inn. She glanced Hazel’s way, as did Craeg, and would have noted the blush that rose to Hazel’s cheeks. Fortunately, Alison had the wisdom to swallow her questions. A tall man with receding blond hair emerged from the kitchen then, carrying a platter with two large pies across to where a couple sat next to the fire. They were older, merchants most likely, their cheeks ruddy from ale and the hearth.
“Craeg!” Tor greeted him before his lips curved. “A pie and tankard of ale for ye?”
“Aye,” Craeg replied, feigning a heartiness he didn’t feel before looking in Hazel’s direction. “For us both.”
To his relief, Tor merely nodded. He wasn’t as curious as his wife. For as long as Craeg could remember, this couple, Tor and Alison, had runThe Craignure Inn. Alison was a cousin to the clan-chief’s wife, Mairi, and had taken over after Mairi wed Loch. Their union hadn’t blessed them with bairns, yet that hardly seemed to bother them. Every time he’d visited this inn over the years, he’d marked how happy they were together, how much this life suited them.
“Sit yerself down then.” Alison gestured to Hazel. “Tor will see to ye while I ready yer chambers.”
Hazel eyed the steaming mutton pie before her.
She’d eaten little today and should have been ravenous. However, the pie’s aroma made her feel slightly queasy. Tor had kindly thrown Faolan a mutton bone. The wolfhound now lay before the hearth gnawing contentedly, paying Hazel and Craeg little attention.
