Chapter 12 Marking His Claim
HAZEL GENTLY PRESSED the hot poultice to Lady Liza’s chest.
The older woman winced slightly at the heat, then relaxed as the garlic and herbs began their work. Her breathing had improved overnight—the wet rattle was fainter now, the wheezing less pronounced. But the congestion lingered, thick and stubborn.
“How does that feel?” Hazel asked, adjusting the square of linen that held the poultice in place.
“Better.” Liza’s voice was hoarse, but stronger than yesterday. “Thank ye.”
Afternoon sunlight slanted through the chamber’s open window, warming the oaken floorboards. The hearth glowed sedately—a warm chamber no longer needed now that the fever had broken. The scent of healing herbs hung in the air rather than sickness.
Settling onto the stool beside the bed, Hazel mixed another tea. Coltsfoot and horehound, with a touch of honey to soothe Liza’s raw throat. The steam rose in lazy spirals, fragrant and medicinal.
“I was so afraid,” Liza said suddenly.
She glanced up. The older woman’s dark eyes were fixed on the pale-blue sky beyond the window, her expression distant.
“Of dying?” she asked.
Liza shook her head. “Of leaving them.” Her hand moved restlessly atop the coverlet. “Craeg. Lena. Alec. They’re all so strong, but”—she trailed off, her throat working— “I wasn’t ready to let go.”
“And ye don’t have to,” Hazel assured her, even as her chest constricted.
She envied the Macleans of Moy their tight family bond.
They all looked out for each other. Their relationship wasn’t built on lies.
Aye, she’d softened toward her mother of late, had believed she’d turned a corner, yet the hurt was still there.
A wound that had barely scabbed over. “Ye are healing well. Another few days and ye’ll be back on yer feet. ”
Liza smiled. “Aye.” She surveyed Hazel then, her expression probing. “My son speaks highly of ye.”
Warmth crept up her neck. “Does he?”
“He says yer considerable skill saved my life.”
“I only did what any healer would.”
“Accept his praise, Hazel.” Liza’s gaze held hers fast now, surprisingly strong despite her weakened state. “Ye have a gift. Be proud of it. We are lucky indeed to have a herb-wife with such talent living amongst us.”
Swallowing, Hazel nodded. Moments passed, and then she looked away. She was a woman with secrets. Danger stalked her. She was safe enough here, within Moy Castle’s sheltering walls, but when she returned home, she’d be vulnerable once more.
Her chest constricted at the thought of leaving her beloved cottage. Pushing the sensation aside, she tested the temperature of the brew, then helped Liza sit up against the pillows. The older woman drank slowly, grimacing at the bitter taste but not complaining.
When half the cup was gone, Hazel drew back. “Enough for now.” She then checked on the poultice. Still warm. Still working. She’d need to change it later, but for now, it could stay. “Craeg’s doing well as chieftain,” she said finally.
“Aye.” Liza’s lips curved once more. “He’s always been well-loved here.” Her expression sobered then. “I worry about him though.”
Hazel’s hands stilled on the linen. “Why?”
“He tries to hide it, but I sense his restlessness. His frustration.” Liza’s fingers plucked at the coverlet. “He didn’t want to return to Mull … not yet, at least … but I urged him to. Perhaps I should have waited until he was ready.”
Hazel’s brow furrowed. “I’m sure he’ll settle into his role … with time.”
“Aye.” Liza sighed, sinking back into the nest of pillows. “Once he is wed.”
Hazel didn’t answer. Guilt twisted in her belly then, as she remembered the night before.
Craeg’s mouth devouring hers.
The way she’d kissed him back, even as she’d known she shouldn’t.
Thank Heavens, Liza had no idea what happened.
No one will know, she assured herself then. Their stolen kiss was a secret that definitely wouldn’t be shared.
Duncan pushed his nose against Hazel’s palm, searching for treats.
“I've nothing for ye, greedy beast,” she murmured, scratching between his long ears. The donkey snorted but leaned into her touch anyway, content to have her attention. They stood near the stables. The soft light of a long summer twilight gilded the barmkin. After spending most of the day tending to Lady Liza, it was a relief to see her steady improvement. Initially, she’d been worried about the congestion in her lungs.
It had been worse than she’d anticipated. However, Liza breathed much easier now.
Now that the crisis was over, she’d eventually ventured outdoors to spend some time with her beloved donkey. True to his word, Craeg had sent one of his men to fetch Duncan.
Around her, servants crossed the yard, carrying water and firewood, their voices a low murmur. From the bakehouse wafted the rich, savory scent of grouse pie—supper approached.
Her stomach growled. She’d barely eaten all day, too focused on tending Lady Liza to think of much else.
“Mistress Hazel.”
She turned to find Nathair Black approaching, his curly black hair framing chiseled features. Tall and broad-shouldered, he moved with the easy confidence of a trained warrior. His green eyes were warm as they settled on her.
“Captain.” Hazel nodded in greeting; she’d met Black for the first time the day before and had immediately taken a liking to him.
“I hear Lady Liza is over the worst.” He stopped a respectful distance away, hands clasped behind his back.
“Aye … the fever broke last night, and her lungs are clearing.” Hazel stroked Duncan’s neck. “She’ll need rest, but I believe she’ll make a full recovery.”
Relief softened Black’s serious features. “The chieftain did well to fetch ye as quickly as he did.”
Hazel’s belly hardened at the mention of Craeg. He’d dropped by Liza’s chamber often to check on his mother. She’d avoided meeting his eye—and insisted on taking her noon meal at Liza’s bedside, so she didn’t accidentally find herself alone with him again.
Best not to put either of them in temptation’s way again.
Fortunately, Lady Liza would be well enough soon for Hazel to leave.
“Ye must be exhausted,” Black said, his gaze roving her face. Was that interest she glimpsed in his moss-green eyes?
“I’m managing.” She smiled then. “Duncan’s company always restores me.”
Black’s cheek dimpled as he smiled back. “Aye … horses and dogs are restful companions. Far less complicated than people. They certainly don’t talk back or question yer orders.”
Hazel snorted. “Ye clearly haven’t spent much time with Dunc.” Hazel gestured to where the donkey was now investigating the captain’s belt, searching for food. “He questions everything I say.”
Laughing, Black gently pushed the donkey’s nose away. “Foolish donkey. It’s clear ye are a woman who should be listened to.”
There was something in the captain’s tone that made Hazel glance at him more closely. Was he now flirting with her? Their exchange was lighthearted, yet she sensed an undercurrent.
The realization caught her off guard. Nathair Black was handsome, certainly. Strong, capable, and kind, if a little awkward sometimes. Any woman would be fortunate to have his attention.
But after the incident with Craeg the night before, she didn’t welcome any man’s interest.
“I can be bossy,” she admitted, sobering. It was best not to encourage him further. “And ask anyone in Lochbuie. They’ll tell ye I’m prickly as a thistle.”
“They are mistaken.” Black’s expression turned earnest. “Ye are—”
“Hazel.”
A familiar male voice intruded then, and she turned to find Craeg approaching, his long legs swallowing the distance between them. His expression was veiled, yet his gaze wasn’t on her but Nat. And there was a glint there that took her aback.
Was he … jealous?
Her lips thinned. He had no right to be. She wasn’t his woman.
“Maclean.” Black nodded to him and took a step back from Hazel and her donkey. “I was just talking to Mistress Hazel about yer mother’s condition.”
“She’s much better, Nat.” Craeg’s tone was pleasant enough, yet there was a steely edge to it she hadn’t heard before. “Don’t ye have evening rounds to attend to?”
For a heartbeat, Black held Craeg’s gaze. Then his mouth quirked, slight amusement glimmering in his eyes. “I do.” He turned to Hazel, inclining his head. “Good evening, Mistress Hazel.”
“Captain,” she murmured, watching him stride away across the barmkin.
A brittle silence settled between her and Craeg at his departure. Eventually, Hazel pulled a face. “That was … abrupt of ye.” She couldn’t stop censure from creeping into her voice. “Nat wasn’t making a nuisance of himself.”
Craeg cleared his throat. “Nat … so ye are friends now?”
Hazel eyed him. She wouldn’t answer that question. His jealousy irritated her. Aye, they’d shared a kiss in his solar, but that didn’t give him ownership over her.
Her pulse quickened then. Doesn’t it? Ye reside on his lands. Ye carry his clan name.
“It’s time for supper,” Craeg said after another awkward pause. “I came out to find ye.”
“Thank ye. I shall be in shortly.”
He nodded to a stable lad who was watching them from near a muckheap. “Laurie … take Duncan back to his stall.”
“Aye, Maclean.”
Craeg then suddenly stepped closer to Hazel. “I shall escort ye.”
“That’s not necessary,” she replied, suddenly flustered. “I can—”
“Ye have been on yer feet all day. Ye need to eat.” Before she could protest, his hand settled on the small of her back.
The touch was light, almost casual. But there was nothing casual about the heat that spread from that point of contact, or the possessive way his fingers pressed against her spine.
Marking his claim. Making it clear to anyone watching that she was his.
Heat flooded her cheeks. By the Saints. What was the man doing? “Maclean—”
“It’s ‘Craeg’, remember?” His hand urged her forward, toward the keep. “Come on … the pies will be getting cold.”