Chapter 23 THE RIGHT THING
HAZEL PRESSED THE clay cup of willow bark tea into the woman’s hands. “Here … this should help yer sore throat.”
The woman—round-faced and weathered, with kind eyes—nodded gratefully. “Thank ye, mistress. What do I owe ye?”
“Nothing.” Hazel managed a tight smile. “Safe travels back to Oban.”
The woman, Beth, flashed her a grin. “Och, we’ll be glad to be home.
” She glanced toward the merchant’s cart a few yards away in the barmkin.
A grizzled man was tidying up after a busy day.
However, the wagon was nearly empty now, following a summer of trading across Mull.
“My Gordon has been itching to get back. We leave at dawn tomorrow, God willing.”
“I shall wish ye good day then,” Hazel replied before turning away, her basket of herbs heavy on her arm.
The wind gusted through the courtyard. Lads were carrying bags of grain from one of the storehouses to the kitchen.
Warriors were sparring with their fists, bare knuckles bound with linen, not far from the pit, their shouts and grunts echoing off stone.
The smell of roasting mutton drifted from the kitchens.
They were normal sights, smells, and sounds in a castle’s barmkin.
But nothing felt normal.
The sense of wrongness that had descended upon Hazel after Craeg’s departure was now an oppressive weight upon her shoulders.
She climbed the tower steps, each one an effort. Her body ached with weariness that had nothing to do with physical labor. It had been a wretched day—whispers following her everywhere, sidelong glances, conversations that stopped when she approached.
Besom. Strumpet. Quean.
Aye, she’d heard all the murmured insults. Initially, she’d let them wash over her. But after a day of it, she felt tender. Bruised. All she wanted was the sanctuary of her bedchamber, to close the door on the world for a while.
Aye, she’d had a fighting spirit earlier in the day, but her armor had cracks in it now—fissures where doubt was starting to take root.
“Hazel.”
A voice roused her, and she halted on the landing, one hand on the wall. Liza stood in the doorway to the lady’s solar. Her expression was veiled.
“Can I have a word?”
Hazel swallowed. It was phrased as a question, yet it wasn’t. “Of course, Lady Liza.”
Pulse skittering, she followed Craeg’s mother into the chamber.
It was much smaller than the chieftain’s solar, yet a more intimate and feminine space.
A large tapestry, depicting a rural scene, hung from the longest wall opposite a narrow window where the late afternoon light filtered in, along with a strong draft.
The sacking was still rolled up. Embroidered cushions decorated every seat, and bunches of dried lavender hung from the heavy beams crisscrossing the ceiling.
A guttering hearth burned at one end of the room, its glow illuminating Liza’s serious face as she lowered herself into one of the high-backed chairs.
“Hazel!” Lena looked up when she entered, flashing her a warm smile. The lass sat upon a bench seat at the window, embroidering. The wind stirred her dark hair. “I haven’t seen ye all day.”
No, she hadn’t. Hazel had deliberately avoided Craeg’s family.
“Lena, would ye give us a moment?” Liza’s voice was gentle but firm.
The lass’s gaze flickered between her mother and Hazel, her smile fading. “Aye, Ma.” Setting aside her needlework, she slipped past Hazel with an apologetic glance.
The door whispered shut behind her.
Silence followed, heavy and uncomfortable.
Liza gestured to the chair opposite. “Sit … please.”
Hazel did as bid, although she found herself perched there, like a nervous sparrow.
Meanwhile, Liza settled back in her chair. However, she didn’t pick up the embroidery project she’d been working on. Instead, she observed her with a gaze that was both frank and assessing.
“Ye are a good woman, Hazel … and a skilled herb-wife. I’m grateful for how ye help others … and how ye helped me.” She paused then, a muscle flickering in her jaw. “But this … what’s happening between ye and my son … it troubles me.”
Warmth crept up her neck. “Lady Liza,” she began. “I—”
“Please … let me finish.” The real concern in Liza’s eyes made her chest clench. “Craeg is young. Passionate. He feels things deeply and acts on those feelings without thinking through the consequences.”
“He’s old enough to know his own mind, Lady Liza.” The words came out sharper than she’d intended. Defensive.
In response, Liza favored her with a tight smile.
Tension crackled between them, and Hazel fought the urge to drop her gaze to her lap, to where her fingers had knotted together.
“Ye are older than Craeg,” Liza continued, her tone still gentle. “Old enough to understand what this will cost him. The broken betrothal. The dishonor. The political ramifications.”
“I do understand,” Hazel whispered, cutting her gaze to the glowing hearth then. “And I did point all of that out to him.”
“And yet, ye are allowing this to happen.”
Hazel’s heart started to kick against her breastbone, queasiness rising.
“Ye know how the world works,” Liza went on. “What people will say … what they are already saying.”
She nodded, her gut churning now.
Liza sighed then, and Hazel forced herself to meet the older woman’s gaze. Just twenty years separated them, but suddenly, she felt like a young lass being chastised by her grandmother. “Things have … gotten out of hand,” she admitted.
Liza leaned forward. “Then ye know this is a mistake.”
Heat flushed through Hazel. “That’s not what I said. I—”
“Let’s not bandy words,” Liza shot back. “Craeg has let his feelings cloud his judgement … and ye have allowed him.”
“I don’t have control over what he feels,” she replied, her voice hollow now.
It was too much. She’d weathered whispers and sneers all day, and now her future mother-by-marriage was getting out her claws too.
She’d never felt so unwelcome, or so disappointed in herself.
For most of her life, her business had been private, yet now her life—her choices—would be discussed publicly.
“Think carefully about what ye are doing. Not just to Craeg, but to yerself.” A nerve flickered in Liza’s cheek. “What if Loch refuses his blessing … and he may … what then? Will ye be content to be Craeg’s mistress … to watch him sacrifice everything for ye?”
Hazel couldn’t answer. Suddenly, it felt as if all the air had been sucked out of the solar. She couldn’t breathe. No, that was the last thing she wanted.
“I’m sorry, lass.” The glint in Liza’s eyes hit her like a mallet to the chest. “This isn’t my life … or my choice, but I can’t stay silent. Before things go further, I must make sure ye understand what’s at stake.”
The eastern sky was just beginning to lighten when Hazel slipped from the tower house. She’d slung a woolen cloak about her shoulders but left the hood down. There were few folk about at this hour, and even if someone spotted her, they wouldn’t stop her from leaving. She wasn’t a prisoner here.
But she had to go.
She’d made the decision the night before, as she stood at her chamber window watching the light fade. Lady Liza’s words still rang in her ears, still stung like a slap across the face, but the woman was right.
Hazel was allowing Craeg to do something reckless and foolish.
Something that could ruin them both.
She’d left doing the right thing too late—but she couldn’t remain here. Not now.
She carried her healer’s basket hooked over one arm, a satchel slung across her front. She was traveling light, and that meant leaving Duncan behind too. He’d be happier here anyway. The stable lads loved him, and being a sociable creature, he adored the attention they lavished on him.
Her gaze cut across to the shadowed stables.
Her beloved donkey was in there, warm and safe with a manger of barley straw.
Tears stung her eyes. She ached to go to him, to say goodbye. But there was no time. She needed to leave before the rest of the castle stirred.
The last thing she wanted was more stares. More whispers.
A few yards away, the iron merchant was strapping the two garrons to his cart. The wind of the day before hadn’t abated. It swirled through the barmkin, scattering straw and ruffling the ponies’ manes.
Drawing her cloak close, Hazel hurried across to Beth.
“Can I travel with ye?” she asked, wishing her voice wasn’t so breathless and brittle.
The older woman eyed her, surprised.
“I have coin,” she added. “I can pay.”
Beth made a tutting noise. “Ye gave me that brew for my throat yesterday … and asked for no payment. We won’t ask any of ye either.”
“Jump on board, lass,” Gordon said kindly. “It’s time to go.”
Relief swept over Hazel, turning her limbs weak. Flashing him a grateful smile, she did as bidden, climbing onto the back of the cart and settling herself next to a large iron cauldron they hadn’t been able to sell during their travels.
Casting Hazel a quizzical look, Beth climbed up onto the seat up front, alongside her husband. Mercifully, she didn’t ask any questions.
Moments later, the cart rumbled forward over the cobbles, heading toward where guards had drawn the gate open. The portcullis had already been raised, its iron teeth dark against the lightening sky.
Hazel glanced behind her. The barmkin was still deserted.
Guilt constricted her chest then. She didn’t want to leave without saying goodbye to Lady Liza, Rankin, and Lena, but it was less awkward this way.
She’d be safe enough too, for now at least, as the men who’d hunted her languished in Moy’s oubliette.
The guards on the walls weren’t showing them much interest either, which was a relief.
Just let me leave quietly.
The cart bumped down the rough causeway outside the walls before taking the road through the fields east of the fortress. And as they trundled along, leaving Lochbuie and Moy Castle’s fortified outline behind, Hazel’s throat started to ache.
She’d done it, yet her departure didn’t give her any solace. The opposite.
All she could think about was the man she was leaving behind, and Craeg’s anguish when he discovered her gone.
“I’m sorry,” she whispered. “But one day, ye shall understand.”