The innkeeper had served their food and drink without prying into their affairs, something she was grateful for, although she hadn’t missed the interest in his wife’s eyes before she disappeared upstairs.
Neither could she ignore Beth and Gordon. Of course, she should have realized the couple would lodge here overnight. They’d greeted her with both surprise and warmth when she entered the common room.
“I thought ye were visiting yer aunt?” Beth had asked.
Hazel mumbled something about forgetting that her aunt was away on the mainland, seeing kin, at present. The couple had then suggested she join them for supper, but she’d declined. Her cheeks burned when she replied, admitting that she hadn’t traveled here alone.
And now they were watching her and Craeg, naked interest in their gazes.
They’d overheard his brief exchange with Alison. They knew he was the Chieftain of Moy. No doubt, they were flummoxed as to why he’d turned up with Hazel.
Picking up her tankard, she took a large gulp of ale. Cool and bitter, it hit the back of her throat.
“Did something happen back at Moy?” Craeg asked then. Like her, he hadn’t yet touched his pie. Instead, he was viewing her intently.
Heat rolled over her as she recalled the cruel whispers and her humiliating conversation with Lady Liza. She didn’t wish to create problems between Craeg and his mother though. Liza hadn’t been unkind. She’d just pointed out what Hazel already knew in her heart—that they were both acting recklessly. Thoughtlessly.
She shook her head.
His brow furrowed. He didn’t believe her. “It doesn’t matter what anyone else thinks, ye know,” he replied, even as his fingers tightened around his tankard. “Other people will always have an opinion … but they don’t have to live in yer shoes.”
Heat ignited under her breastbone. That wasn’t the problem, and he knew it.
A few yards away, Tor was wiping down tables. His gaze snapped toward them, and Hazel’s cheeks started to burn.
Meanwhile, Alison had come back downstairs from readying their chambers and was serving tankards of ale to men wearing sealskins dicing at a table in the middle of the floor.
The fishermen were paying more attention to Craeg and Hazel than to their game.
However, Craeg wasn’t focused on anyone but her. A nerve ticked in his jaw. “I’m sorry, Hazel … about what happened on the road.” The words came out hoarsely.
“For which part exactly?” Anger washed over her. She shouldn’t engage, but she couldn’t help herself. “For when ye were about to ruthlessly cut down men who’d already surrendered to ye … or for yer high-handedness with me?”
His throat bobbed. “Both. My blood was up. I was hurt. I acted … and spoke … like a clodhead.”
“Aye, ye did.”
Tension crackled between them, silence stretching out before Craeg murmured an oath under his breath and raked a hand through his hair. “What we have is special, lass,” he said finally. “Don’t throw it away. Ye’ll regret it, if ye do.”
Her heart started to kick against her ribs, fire pulsing in her belly. “This isn’t—”
“I know decisions have consequences,” he went on, speaking over her. “And I also know that some gifts are only given once.”
Hazel pushed aside her pie and abruptly stood up. “Enough!” Suddenly, the walls of the common room were closing in. The smoky air suffocated her. “Juststop, Craeg.”
“Hazel—” He was on his feet then too, his expression stricken.
But she wouldn’t hear any more. She was already pushing back her stool and moving away from him. She then made for the stairs, anger boiling like a cauldron in her chest and panic nipping at her heels.
28: WHATEVER MAY COME
CRAEG WATCHED HAZEL depart, desperation twisting in his gut.
His words had fallen on deaf ears, and she was running from him now. The urge to follow her, to plead with her, thundered through him, and he was about to give in to it when a strong hand fastened on his arm.
“Let her go, lad.”
His gaze snapped to Tor’s, a snarl building in his throat. However, the genuine concern in the older man’s blue eyes checked him.
