Chapter 15 NOBODY
HAZEL SAID LITTLE until they were far from her cottage. Instead, she walked alongside Duncan, her throat tight, stomach burning. The donkey’s basket panniers were laden with the few precious possessions she’d managed to recover.
Craeg traveled alongside her, leading Ruadh. Faolan padded along next to him, tongue lolling.
Mercifully, he didn’t ask her any questions. He sensed her need to get away from the woods, to put some distance between herself and the only home she’d ever known.
He wasn’t happy though. His jaw was tight, his body tense. One hand on the handle of his dirk, he surveyed his surroundings. Ready to defend her, if necessary.
Nausea churned through Hazel.
She appreciated his solid presence, although it was hard to focus on him.
Not when her secret sat like an anvil on her chest.
She couldn’t carry this burden alone. Not any longer.
She waited until the trees drew back, until they were crossing boggy fields. The rugged peak of Ben Buie, the mountain that rose to the north, stood out, dark against the grey sky. The path skirted the edge of an ancient stone circle.
The Lochbuie Stones formed a ring—nine granite monoliths that had witnessed much change over the centuries.
Their pitted surfaces, encrusted with lichen and moss, had weathered countless storms. They’d seen generations of Macleans, and the people who’d dwelled here long ago, move through this place.
And still they stood. Silent. Immovable.
It was a fitting setting for a frank conversation.
Without speaking, she drew Duncan off the path and led him into the midst of the stone circle.
“Hazel?” Craeg called out.
“Let’s rest a while,” she replied, still not looking his way. “There are things I must tell ye.”
A boulder studded the heart of the circle, and she lowered herself onto it.
And then, only then, did she let herself face him squarely.
He’d halted a yard or two away. Ruadh should have taken this opportunity to crop at grass; however, the stallion couldn’t take his eyes off Duncan.
His nostrils flared, as if he expected the donkey to lurch at him, braying.
Meanwhile, Faolan flopped down onto the mossy ground, his dark eyes watching Hazel.
“There are men,” —she began, deciding there wasn’t any point in bandying words— “hunting me.” Craeg’s eyes snapped wide, yet she didn’t wait for him to question her.
Instead, she plowed on. “When Siùsan lay dying, she revealed the truth … about me. I’m not her daughter.
I’m her niece.” The words tumbled free. “Three decades ago, when the Macleans of Moy and the Macquaries of Ulva were in dispute, young Hamish Macquarie was part of a raid … of Lochbuie. He raped a lass named Rhona Maclean. My mother. She died birthing me.”
Craeg’s features tightened. “Hamish Macquarie is yer father?”
She nodded, her pulse a drumming against her ribs, even as nausea bit the back of her throat. The story sickened her.
“My … aunt told me all this with her last breaths,” Hazel continued huskily.
“A couple of months earlier, she’d overheard men asking questions in Lochbuie …
asking after my mother. They were Macquaries.
Aggressive warriors, determined to get answers.
Although she didn’t understand their purpose, she feared they’d return, and so she urged me to flee Lochbuie …
to leave Mull … to find shelter with a relative in Oban. ”
His gaze shadowed. “But ye didn’t.”
“Mull is where my heart is,” she whispered. “I don’t want to leave … but maybe I need to.” She swallowed hard. “Maybe I should go now.”
His dark brows drew together. “No. They’ll not drive ye out.”
“I don’t understand.” She leaped to her feet then and began pacing inside the stone circle, her boots sinking into the soft, mossy ground with each stride. “I’m nobody. Just a chieftain’s bastard daughter. Plenty of men sire by-blows. Why should the Macquarie care about my existence?”
Angry now, she turned to face Craeg. He hadn’t moved. He merely watched her.
“Why would he send men after me? Why would they ransack my cottage?”
“I don’t know,” he replied, his voice unusually gruff. “But I intend to find out.”
Her pulse fluttered. “No,” she whispered. “I don’t want to drag ye into this.”
He approached her. “Ye already have.” Stopping before Hazel, he ensnared her gaze with his. “But let’s get something straight. Ye are not nobody. Ye have just as much right to draw breath as any of us.”
Hot prickling shame flushed through her. She wasn’t sure how to respond.
His hand rose, his fingers hooking under her chin as she tried to look away. “We live in an unfair world … a world that divides us up according to rank and casts blame on the innocent … but none of that matters. Not between ye and me.”
She swallowed. His touch, his nearness, and his fierce words were making it hard to focus. And she had to.
“Ye must remain at Moy for the time being,” Craeg added. “Ye’ll be safe behind the castle walls.”
Her pulse fluttered. “But—”
“I’m yer chieftain … and I insist,” he cut her off.
Hazel stared up at him. Lord, the man had no idea how mesmerizing he was. His eyes were dark, fathomless. His black hair curled around his nape. The laced collar of his lèine was open, revealing a distracting amount of skin and a scattering of crisp dark hair.
“Just for a short while then,” she said, wishing her voice was steadier. It was unlike her to be this meek.
He nodded, relief flaring in his eyes. His jaw bunched then as he dropped his hand and stepped back from her. The distance was both a relief and a disappointment. “The first thing I shall do upon our return is apprehend those Macquaries.”
Queasiness churned in Hazel’s belly once more. She didn’t want to cause trouble, but the bullish look on Craeg’s face warned her she’d have a fight on her hands if she tried to stop him.
He was doing what a laird should. He was looking out for one of his own. Hamish Macquarie had no right to send men to hunt and terrorize her. She’d told herself she could handle this on her own, but the truth was she was out of her depth.
The wolves were circling now.
Craeg had just held out his hand. She’d be a fool to refuse it.
Anger pulsed in Craeg’s chest, in time with Ruadh’s heavy hoofbeats at his side.
The walls of his castle, a dull grey in the overcast light, rose before them.
The bleating of sheep, as a shepherd drove his flock back toward Lochbuie for the day, drifted across the green hills and patchwork of fields that had just been harvested.
It was an idyllic, peaceful scene, despite the dull weather, yet all Craeg could think about was Hazel’s revelation.
Hamish Macquarie had raped a local lass, had sired a daughter.
A daughter he’d ignored for years—until now.
And now, he’d sent thugs to find Hazel.
The heat throbbing under his ribs started to burn.
This shit-bag was about to become his father-by-marriage. Their clans were about to be united. The thought made Craeg grind his teeth until his ears ached.
Hazel had no idea what problem her father had with her, and Craeg didn’t either.
It didn’t make any sense. She was right. Men sired bastards all the time, chieftains as much as any other. Rape was something else though. But the truth of it was that an illegitimate son might prove a threat, yet a daughter didn’t. Hazel couldn’t take Macquarie’s place on Ulva. She didn’t want it.
Until recently, she hadn’t even known of her true parentage.
He glanced over at the woman walking beside him then. Hazel kept pace with him easily, for she was tall and long-limbed. He studied her profile for a moment, taking in the proud cast of her features, looking for any similarity to Hamish Macquarie.
Craeg had always prided himself on taking after his mother in looks. He didn’t want to share any features with his hated father, yet looking at Hazel, he realized that most people carried traits from both parents. He likely did too.
Aye, there were traces of Macquarie in her face. Her nose. Long and straight, and the sharpness of her jaw. Her expression was pinched this afternoon, her dark brows drawn down.
She was fretting.
Entering the barmkin through the gates, Craeg beckoned to stable lads.
“Take care of these two.” He motioned to his stallion and the donkey.
Duncan, delighted to return to the castle, nuzzled the first lad, no doubt looking for treats.
Meanwhile, Ruadh snorted and sidestepped.
As long as the donkey didn’t bray, he tolerated him.
Just. “And then take Mistress Hazel’s belongings indoors. ”
Craeg turned then to his companion.
Hazel’s gaze met his, and the shadows in its depths made the anger flare bright under his breastbone. The Devil take Macquarie. How dare he do this to her?
He nodded to her then. “I have a few things to take care of.” The sharp edge to his voice must have given him away, for he marked the alarm that flared in her eyes. “Go inside, lass … someone will pour ye a wine to settle yer nerves.” He paused then before adding, “I shall join ye later.”
“What are ye going to do?” she asked.
“What needs to be done,” he replied. Faolan pushed at his thigh, but he ignored his hound for the moment.
“That sounds ominous.”
He took a step closer to her, aware that gazes were on them.
Stable lads. Grooms. Warriors. Kitchen hands.
Moy’s barmkin was always busy. He should be careful, yet recklessness roared through him.
And underneath it, violence stirred in his blood.
His father’s legacy, yet he didn’t fight it.
“I’ll not have ye hunted like a hind, Hazel,” he ground out. “It’s time to turn the tables.”
Pushing the pottage around her trencher, Hazel kept shooting Craeg veiled looks.
She’d done as he asked earlier. She’d left him in the barmkin, calling for Captain Black, and had retreated into the tower house, her healing basket looped over her arm. She wondered if he’d found those men yet.
She wanted to ask, but she didn’t want to draw attention to her situation.
They’d agreed not to tell his family about what had happened—not yet anyway.
Hazel felt too brittle today. Everything was still too raw.
“Ma was up on the walls before supper,” Craeg said, glancing Hazel’s way as he reached for a piece of bread. “Should she be?”
Hazel nodded. “Aye, now that her lungs have recovered, the fresh air will do her good.”
“Thank ye, Hazel,” Liza replied, flashing her son an irritated look. “I’m glad to see someone doesn’t fuss.”
“Liza isn’t one to sit idle.” Rankin flashed his wife a grin.
Despite that her nerves were on edge, Hazel managed a smile. Indeed, when she’d visited Lady Liza in the lady’s solar earlier, she’d found her hard at work embroidering a surcote’s hem, Lena winding wool onto a spindle next to her.
“Ye have been busy today, Craeg,” Rankin spoke up then. “We’ve hardly seen ye.”
Craeg swallowed a mouthful of pottage. “Aye … there have been a few things to deal with.”
Rankin’s brow furrowed. Even though he’d stepped away from his role as Captain of the Guard, he still fell back into old habits. “Nothing serious, I hope?”
The chieftain shook his head. “It’ll sort itself out soon enough.”
The pottage Hazel had just consumed churned in her belly. Tensing, she pushed the half-eaten bowl away, reaching instead for the cup of wine at her elbow.
“Not hungry, this eve, lass?” Rankin asked, shrewd as ever. Next to him, Liza watched her with a furrowed brow.
“I overindulged in boar stew and dumplings at noon,” she lied. “It was so delicious, I forgot myself.”
Rankin nodded, although the look he and his wife shared hinted that they both realized something was amiss with her.
The meal continued, and thankfully, the conversation moved on. And when Lena started reciting a poem she’d just learned, Hazel seized the opportunity to lean close to Craeg. “Any news?”
“Not yet,” he whispered back. “Nat and his men scoured the village. The men we’re after were staying at the Lochbuie Inn … but they moved on a few days ago and haven’t been seen since.”
Her pulse quickened. “So, they’re sleeping rough in the woods?”
“I’d say so.” His gaze hardened then. “Don’t worry, we’ll find them.”