Chapter 25 Something Precious
THE WIND SLAPPED at Craeg’s face, making his eyes water. Leaning forward over Ruadh’s neck, he urged the stallion into a fast canter. Faolan raced beside him, a grey and brown streak.
He had to get home. Back to Hazel.
Ahead rolled lush green hills framed by a wide sky full of racing clouds. The thunder of hoofbeats cut through the shriek of the wind. Craeg led the way southwest, with his warriors fanning out behind him.
They sensed his urgency.
It had been a brief but gut-wrenching visit to Duart Castle. He’d offended his clan-chief, and his best friend had sustained a grave injury. Greig’s gaunt face, the despair in his eyes, still haunted him.
But his advice had worked.
Earlier that morning, Craeg had gone to Loch’s solar and humbled himself.
The first thing he’d done upon entering was to apologize.
His chest had burned as he told Loch that he would accept whatever decision he made.
The words had scraped his throat raw, but he’d forced them out.
There wasn’t any point in fighting the clan-chief on this.
He’d injured Loch’s pride, and only genuine contrition would do.
His gut had clenched the whole time though. If Loch demanded that he let Hazel go, he wasn’t sure he’d be able to.
And yet, the Maclean had surprised him.
A rueful smile tugged at Craeg’s lips then.
Aye, the meeting with Loch had taken an unexpected turn.
Mairi, the Saints bless her, had torn strips off her husband the eve before, it seemed.
Loch had been in a bleak mood following Greig’s unexpected return and grave injury.
Both he and his wife were worried about what this would mean for their son’s future.
He was the eldest, destined to take on the mantle of clan-chief one day.
If he was lamed, he could still carry out his duties, but what if he ended up bedridden?
The title would go to the second of the three brothers, Alistair—something that might break Greig.
He’d grown up so sure of his place in the world, of the future that awaited him. But sometimes, life could be a cruel bitch.
Mairi had told Loch in no uncertain terms that he wasn’t to stand in the way of Craeg and Hazel’s union, that happiness was hard enough to find as it was without men like him caring only about politics and clan alliances.
And so, Loch had given his blessing.
Craeg still couldn’t believe it.
“Maclean.” Nat pulled up alongside him then. The wind had reddened his cheeks and made his green eyes water. However, his expression was serious. Earnest. “The wedding will go ahead then?”
Craeg flashed his captain a smile. “Aye … as soon as I can arrange it.”
Nat’s gaze roamed his face. “No regrets?”
“None.”
A groove formed between the captain’s eyebrows.
Craeg inclined his head. “Ye disapprove, Nat?”
“No,” he replied quickly. “I just don’t understand why ye are doing this.”
The two men locked gazes for an instant.
They were of a similar age, but Craeg felt older. There was genuine confusion in Nat’s eyes. He really was mystified by his behavior.
But Craeg had matured. He didn’t care about proving himself to the world anymore. All he needed was Hazel.
“Because I’ve found something precious,” Craeg replied. “And I’ll not lose it.”
Nat’s frown deepened. Then, with a bemused shake of his head, he cut his gaze away.
They’d reached the crest of a hill now. Southern Mull rolled before them. In the distance, Craeg caught sight of the road that would take them home.
Another smile tugged at his lips.
Nat didn’t understand because, just like Greig or Ailean, he hadn’t met the woman who’d change his life. And when he did, he wouldn’t know what hit him.
“Finally.” A man stepped forward, lean and hard-muscled, with silver threading his short grey hair. “We meet.”
Hazel stared into sharp blue eyes, and her already thundering heart jolted against her breastbone.
No introductions were needed.
She knew who he was.
Hazel knew her own features well enough to recognize some of herself in the man before her.
She had his eyes.
A dark, deep blue.
And the stubborn set of his jaw was hers too.
To recognize such things was distracting, but she had to stay focused.
If Hamish Macquarie had hunted her down, his intentions weren’t noble. He didn’t want a heartfelt reunion with his lost daughter.
He wanted her dealt with.
Slowly, she drew the knife tucked into her belt. She then slashed it before her, warning them off.
One of the men flanking the chieftain snorted at this. “Look, lads … we’ve a fierce one here.”
Some of the others laughed, while Hamish smirked. However, one of the band, a tall young man with a mop of dark hair, didn’t share their mirth. He swallowed, his fingers flexing around the bone handle of his dirk.
Hazel’s gaze glanced off him.
Heat rolled over her, anger throttling the fear that curled under her ribs.
Aye, she was outnumbered and didn’t stand a chance in a fight against these warriors. But she’d stick a few of them given the opportunity.
“Ye are a problem, Hazel,” the chieftain said then, his tone almost regretful. “One I must solve.”
“What if the seer is wrong?” She surprised herself by finding her voice. It came out calmer and steadier than she’d expected. Her pulse thudded in her ears, slow and hard. Strangely, it steadied her. “What if killing me changes nothing?”
His gaze snapped wide. He hadn’t expected her to know about that.
A moment later, he recovered, and his lip curled.
“The Crone is wise, lass. Even now, I see she speaks the truth.” A muscle twitched beneath his eye.
“Ye will ruin me if given the chance. This alliance between our clans will bring the Macquaries the power and influence we deserve. But ye” —his gaze glinted, fevered and too bright— “would destroy it.”
He took a step forward then, his dirk rising.
Hazel spun on her heel and fled, leaving her precious basket behind her.
Two strides took her across the bubbling burn and onto the mossy bank on the other side. And then she was sprinting down the gorge as if the hounds of Hades were pursuing her.
They were.
The Macquaries howled as they took up the chase.
Her throat clamped tight at the feral sound, the joy in it. They wanted her to flee. They wanted to run her down like a deer.
They thought she’d be easy prey. But she wasn’t.
Hazel was fit and strong. She was used to walking, and she had long legs. Unhampered by her basket, she picked up her skirts with one hand and gripped her dirk tight with the other as she ran.
Even so, they closed in.
As fast as she was, the hunter always had the advantage.
The gorge opened up then, and she plunged back into a hazel thicket.
Her breath tore at her chest, and the world around her became a blur of green and gold. Branches ripped at her arms, caught her hair. Behind her, the howls had slid into ragged shouts—and they drew ever closer. They crashed through the undergrowth, their boots pounding on the earth.
God save me!
Every gasp burned her throat. She couldn’t seem to drag in enough air. Sunlight flickered through the canopy in broken flashes, blinding her as she stumbled over roots and stones, her palms slick with sweat.
A branch snapped somewhere to her right—and she veered left, heart hammering, pulse roaring in her ears. Sweat trickled down her back now, not from exertion but terror.
She didn’t dare look back; if she did, they’d catch her. The woodland pressed in on all sides, alive with movement and sound, but there was no safety among these trees. Only the desperate hope that she could stay ahead of the Macquaries.
And then something heavy slammed into her back.
A man’s body. Hard and lithe. One of them had caught up with her.
Together, they went down, a tangle of limbs on the ground littered with tree roots.
Hazel snarled a curse, twisted under him, and without hesitation drove her blade up into the base of his throat. Stabbing a man was harder than she’d ever imagined. Flesh, sinew, muscle, and bone gave way reluctantly. But fear gave her strength, and the sharp blade punched through.
The bearded face leering down at her went slack. Grey eyes snapped wide.
Hazel snarled a curse, pushed him off her, and rolled to her feet. Her knife was still embedded in his throat, and so she ripped the dirk from his hand, ducking as another warrior grabbed for her.
And then she was running again.
Her stamina was nearing its limits, but her mind was sharp, whittled to a single sliver of purpose: survive.
She barreled through the trees, ducking low, breath labored, legs burning. She was tiring, but she couldn’t slow down. Not now.
The Macquaries crashed behind, closer.
“Come here, bitch!”
“Ye can run … but we’ll catch ye!”
She’d caught a glimpse of her father earlier as she rolled to her feet. He wasn’t as fast as some of the younger men, but he was still pursuing her. And the ruthlessness in his gaze made her gut clench.
A hand scraped at her shoulder, but she jerked away, twisting and stumbling over the thick roots. She nearly fell, righted herself, and flung herself down the shallow decline, branches whipping her face and throat.
And then, suddenly, the trees gave way. The branches that had obstructed her drew back, and the wind slapped at her cheeks. She raced down a bank, sliding on ferns, and stumbled out onto the road.
Terror caught her by the throat then. Out in the open, she was doomed. The trees had obstructed her, but they’d also helped her. She’d never outrun the Macquaries now.
And yet, she tried.
Her boots hammered against packed earth and stones, the rasp of her breathing echoing through her skull.
Another hand grabbed at her, snagging at her hair.
Screaming, she twisted free, only to run into something solid.
Her pursuers surrounded her.
Her father pushed his way in, jaw tight, sweat slicking his lean face. He still held his dirk. The long, thin blade glinted in the sunlight.
A sob tore from her throat.
It was over.
The ground trembled then, the thunder of hoofbeats slicing through the whine of the wind and Hazel’s ragged breathing and pounding heart.
Struggling against the man who held her now, hard fingers biting into her arms, while his chieftain approached, her gaze cut north.
A knot of horses had just appeared on the crest of the hill. A large wolfhound ran with them.
She caught a flash of red, and her pulse leaped.
The Maclean clan sash draped over the chest of the warrior out front. Dark hair. Golden skin.
Craeg.