Chapter 20 MO ANAM CARA
PANTING, HAZEL LAY spread-eagled upon the bed.
She felt as if she’d just drunk a horn of strong wine. The room was spinning. Her body was boneless and weak. And the pleasure that had just taken her by storm still pulsed gently in her womb.
Craeg had collapsed next to her. Lying on his side, his own breathing still labored, he’d propped himself up onto an elbow.
He gazed down at her, his eyes glistening with emotion.
Something clutched deep in her chest. Lord. When he stared at her like that, she was in danger of forgetting her own name.
“I wish to make ye my wife, Hazel.”
Her breathing hitched, alarm flaring hot under her ribs.
Raising a trembling hand, she slid it up his torso to his chest, over sweat-damp skin and crisp whorls of hair, to where his heart thundered. “This is … sudden. We should wait—”
“Aye … but I know what I want.” His jaw firmed. “Ye. None other.”
She swallowed. As the fog of lust cleared, reality crept in like a cold mist on an autumn morning. It would be easy if there were just the two of them to consider. But life wasn’t that simple.
“We both lost control,” she said, deciding that one of them had to keep their feet on the ground.
“Both gave into lust … but that’s not a sturdy foundation to build a marriage on.
” She didn’t add that he was a chieftain.
A man with responsibilities. Duties. He’d also made a promise to Hamish Macquarie and had been formally betrothed.
“It’s much more than that between us … and ye know it,” he replied, his gaze never wavering. He reached up and caught her hand, threading his fingers through it. “I love ye.”
Her pulse quickened. They were straying into dangerous waters now.
“None of that will matter if Macquarie doesn’t accept yer choice,” she pointed out huskily.
Craeg’s jaw tightened, in a stubborn expression she’d come to know. His mother did the same sometimes. “He must.”
“And if this creates a feud between the Macleans and the Macquaries?” Something cold and hard settled deep in her chest. “I would hate to be the cause of bloodshed between our clans.”
“Ye wouldn’t,” he said firmly, his grip on her hand tightening. “Hamish Macquarie would be.”
Hazel wasn’t convinced. Her aunt had once explained to her how betrothals amongst the highborn worked.
It was easier for a man than a woman to break off such an arrangement, although if both parties didn’t agree to severing the betrothal, the husband-to-be needed ‘just cause’.
If he could prove his bride-to-be was unfaithful or heretical, that would be useful.
But Isla Macquarie was likely neither of these things, and Hazel knew Craeg wouldn’t drag the lass through the muck just to get out of the betrothal. He was too noble for that.
It was just one of the reasons she’d fallen hard for this man.
“It will be considered a ‘breach of promise’,” she whispered then. “Ye will have to forfeit the dowry Macquarie has given ye.”
“And I shall do so willingly.”
She stared up at his handsome face. Young yet determined. There was steel in his eyes.
Nervousness fluttered up as she realized he’d not be moved on this. He’d fight anyone who tried to stand between them.
He released her hand before reaching down to cup her cheek. “We’ll make this work, Hazel … I promise ye.”
Her throat tightened. She didn’t doubt his earnestness—and she needed him too—but one of them had to be practical.
“I’m older than ye, Craeg,” she said softly. “Ten years is quite a number.”
“They’re meaningless,” he replied with a shake of his head.
“But what if I’m too old to bear ye bairns?” She wouldn’t let this go. He might not realize such things, yet as a healer, she did. Most women began having children young. They didn’t begin families when they were over thirty winters of age. “What if I can’t provide ye with an heir?”
He stilled at this, considering her words. “We shall manage,” he replied after a pause. “Lena will likely marry one day … if we don’t have children to inherit Moy, she will.”
Her lips parted once more as she readied a counterargument. However, he rushed in before she could speak. “We could lie here all night coming up with all the reasons why we shouldn’t be together, mo anam cara … but none of them matter.”
Hazel’s breathing hitched. Mo anam cara.
‘My soul friend.’ It was a special endearment. Only used between people who’d found a deep connection. The rough timbre of his voice and the look in his eyes told her he meant it too.
Hazel swallowed. Craeg Maclean had swept into her life like a wild summer storm, spinning her around so fast the world tilted.
The force of his need for her left her breathless.
A younger lass might have let herself be carried away by it—and she wasn’t immune either—but she wasn’t sheltered or innocent.
She understood the way the world worked.
Nonetheless, she didn’t want to argue over this or to ruin this tender moment in the wake of a passion that would forever change her.
She didn’t wish to offend him, for him to think she didn’t want him.
For she did. There was a recklessness in her that would be her undoing, yet she was letting it win.
“I will visit the priest at Lochbuie kirk at first light,” he said then, brushing the pad of his thumb over the swell of her lower lip. “We shall be wed.”
Her pulse fluttered, both because his words scattered her wits, and because it felt as if she were tumbling down a slope now, gathering speed as she went.
“There’s no need to rush things,” she whispered. “There’s much to organize. Don’t we need to let everyone get used to the idea first?”
Indeed, she needed to as well. Earlier, she’d been on her way up to her chamber to pack. Yet one conversation, one encounter, had changed everything.
He gave a soft snort, his fingers sliding from her cheek to her neck.
They then brushed across the swell of her left breast, grazing the sensitive tip so that her breathing caught.
Suddenly, it was difficult to focus, to care about anything except his touch.
“No. They’ll have decades for that after we’re wed. ”
Silence fell in the solar with the force of a slammed door.
Craeg stood with his back to the hearth, watching the shock ripple across his family’s faces.
He’d gotten up from the table to make his announcement.
Outside, the wind whistled around the tower, lifting the heavy sacking over the windows and letting in a draft.
Inside, the only sound was the crackle of peat in the fire.
His mother sat frozen in her chair, a wedge of buttered bannock halfway to her mouth. Her peat-brown eyes—so like his own—were wide with disbelief. Beside her, Alec had gone still, his gaze narrowing.
Lena was the first to move. She shot to her feet, her face splitting into a grin. “Ye will wed Hazel?” Her voice pitched high with excitement. “Truly?”
“Aye.” Craeg’s gaze flickered to Hazel, who sat stiffly in her chair at the opposite end of the table.
She’d been quiet since entering the solar this morning—nervous about joining them for bannocks and porridge.
Guests of her rank didn’t usually break their fast with the chieftain’s family in his private chambers.
But she wasn’t just a guest anymore. She was going to be his wife.
“Mother Mary,” his mother breathed, setting down her bannock. “Craeg.”
The censure in her tone made him bristle, and his response came out harsher than intended. “I’ve already sent the missive. It’s done.”
Alec leaned back in his chair, one hand coming up to rub his clean-shaven chin. “When?”
“Yesterday afternoon.”
His mother stiffened at this. “And ye didn’t think to consult us first?”
Guilt twisted in Craeg’s gut, but he pushed it down. “I’m chieftain now. The decision was mine to make.”
His mother’s jaw tightened. “Aye, ye are … but ye are also my son. And this … do ye understand what ye have done?”
He forced himself to hold her gaze. “Ye made a similar choice once.”
His mother’s expression darkened. “That’s not the same … I wasn’t betrothed to another when I decided to marry Alec.”
“I won’t apologize for this,” he replied stiffly.
“No one’s asking ye to.” Liza rose to her feet, her skirts rustling. She crossed to him, her expression grave. “But love doesn’t exist in a void, Craeg. Ye are a chieftain. Yer decisions affect everyone in this clan.”
“I know that.”
“Do ye?” She stopped before him and placed her hands upon her hips. “Hamish Macquarie will be incensed. He could retaliate. He could—”
“Let him try,” Craeg bit out the words. “I’ll not bind myself to that family.”
“But ye already did,” she shot back. “And to go back on yer word now is a breach of promise.”
Craeg tensed, cutting Hazel a look. She still hadn’t said anything. Instead, her blue eyes had shadowed, and she now wore a hunted look. Aye, she too had spoken of the ‘breach of promise’, but he wasn’t a fool. He knew what breaking a formal betrothal meant.
“Surely, discovering Macquarie’s secret is just cause?” he pointed out. “The man is a rapist … and tried to have his own daughter murdered.”
Liza’s lips thinned.
“I will wed Hazel,” Craeg said firmly, even as heat ignited under his breastbone. “With or without yer blessing.”
“Ye have my blessing, Craeg,” Lena burst out, casting her mother a censorious look. “Hazel will make a wonderful sister.”
“Lena!” Liza turned to her daughter with a scowl. “This isn’t a game.”
Lena’s excitement faded. “I know that,” she replied, her voice suddenly small.
Liza murmured an oath under her breath and pinched the skin between her eyebrows. “The fact remains that ye made a promise to another, and to break it will have consequences.”
“I’m going to visit the priest this morning,” Craeg announced then. “Hazel and I will be wed today.”
“No, ye won’t,” his mother countered. The words hit like a fist to the gut. Craeg opened his mouth to argue with her, yet she plowed on. “Not without Loch Maclean’s permission.”
His hands curled into fists at his sides, frustration pummeling him now. “What?”
“Ye heard me.” His mother was eyeballing him. Her face was still a little pale from her illness, yet anger burned in her eyes now. “Ye might be Chieftain of Moy, but ye are not the clan-chief. And breaking such an important betrothal requires his blessing.”
Another silence fell, this one brittle and tense.
Alec had spoken little throughout, although his blue eyes were now shadowed.
Craeg’s heart started to kick against his ribs. Shite. He’d been so focused on breaking free of the Macquarie alliance, on claiming Hazel as his own, that he hadn’t thought about asking for Loch’s blessing. No. That wasn’t true. He had thought about it, but he’d just chosen to ignore it.
He didn’t want anyone to stand between him and Hazel. Not even Loch Maclean.
“Lady Liza is right.” Hazel rose to her feet then, smoothing her skirts. Her voice was low, with a husky note to it that made his gut clench. He didn’t want her to worry, for her to think he’d let her down. “We can’t do this without the clan-chief’s approval.”
“I'll go to him then,” he said roughly. “I’ll ride to Duart and get his permission.”
God, just saying the word galled him. He didn’t want to request permission to be with the woman he loved—from anyone.
“Craeg,” Hazel murmured. “Maybe, we should—”
“No.” Heart pounding, Craeg faced her. She’d gone rigid, almost as if she was poised to flee. Did she think he’d change his mind at the first obstacle, that he’d choose duty over her? “We will find our way through this, lass. Trust me.”
Panic coiled up then, catching him around the throat. Happiness was so close he could reach out and touch it. He wouldn’t have everything fall apart. He could bear this life—could bear putting away his sword and turning his back on glory and the freedom of youth—if Hazel was his.
She stared back, throat working.
Determination hardened in Craeg’s gut, even as his gaze never left Hazel’s. He wouldn’t let his future hang on his clan-chief’s word. And yet, he had to play this game. It was expected of him.