Chapter 27 What Is Done Is Done
PERCHED IN FRONT of Craeg, Hazel tried to ignore how close they were sitting.
The heat and strength of his body enveloped her.
The pressure of his arm locked around her waist, holding her steady as they galloped over the bare hills.
The intimacy was too much, especially now.
Faolan loped next to them, tongue lolling.
And all the while, she tried to ignore the misery that twisted in her chest.
God’s troth, it had all unraveled.
She’d hoped to leave quietly, and instead, Macquarie was dead, and she and Craeg had fallen out. He’d been heavy-handed, and she’d reacted instinctively.
Her anger still simmered in the aftermath.
She hadn’t realized Ewan had left such a deep scar.
He’d wanted to make her his wife, but he’d had conditions—ones she hadn’t been willing to meet.
She still recalled their last argument, the scorn on his face as he told her a woman was supposed to know her place.
Why couldn’t she give up being a herb-wife?
She should want to make him her priority.
But Hazel hadn’t grown up like other lasses. She had no father. No brothers. And although Siùsan had fretted sometimes over her safety, she’d never tried to control her.
No, she betrayed me instead.
Her throat started to ache. God’s bones, she’d thought she’d let her anger at Siùsan go. She’d certainly had more important things to worry about of late. Nonetheless, hurt slammed into her again. Was it any wonder then that Craeg’s aggression earlier had made her retreat from him?
She’d trusted him, yet he’d let her down. Just like everyone else had.
They didn’t speak as they journeyed northeast. They’d left the woodland of southern Mull behind and now rode over green hills. The wind chapped her cheeks and made her eyes water, but the discomfort didn’t stop her mind from returning to the attack she’d just survived.
Images of her terrifying flight. The crashing of bodies through the undergrowth as they pursued her. The flash of steel. The spray of blood. The maniacal glint in Macquarie’s eyes.
She just wanted to block it all out.
Closing her eyes tightly, she concentrated on the steady thrum of Ruadh’s heavy hooves. A strange torpor settled over her then—shock—and she must have dozed for a while. For when she opened her eyes again, the world grew shadowed, and the western sky was ablaze with streaks of red and gold.
Stirring, she realized she’d slumped against Craeg’s chest.
And, wordlessly, he’d cradled her against him.
The steady beat of his heart nudged against her spine, and she became uncomfortably aware of him once more.
“Did I fall asleep?” she asked huskily.
“Aye.” His response held a gravelly edge. “We’ve made good time … we’ll reach Craignure shortly after the sun sets.”
The news made relief wash over Hazel. She just wanted this journey to be over. Traveling in the protective circle of Craeg’s arms made it hard to hold onto her anger and distrust. And she had to. It would make leaving easier.
A strained silence settled between them once more before Craeg cleared his throat. “Ye don’t have to leave Mull, ye know. Macquarie is dead. Ye are safe.”
“Perhaps,” she replied, even as her chest started to ache. “But I don’t want to stay here any longer.” The arm wrapped around her waist tensed, but she plowed on. “Leave this be, Craeg, what is done is done.”
Finally, they reached Craignure.
The village emerged from the gloaming, a scattering of low stone cottages with thatched roofs huddled against the shore, their walls dark against the pewter gleam of the Sound of Mull beyond.
Craeg’s chest rose and fell against her back, steady as a heartbeat, even as her own pulse fluttered like a caged bird.
Not long now until they would take different paths.
The smell of peat smoke drifted up from the chimneys, mingling with the sharp tang of salt and seaweed, and somewhere, a dog barked.
Firelight flickered in a few windows, warm and welcoming.
The rhythmic clop of Ruadh’s hooves on the dirt track seemed to count down her final moments.
Each step carried her closer to the dark shapes of fishing boats drawn up on the white sand.
A larger galley rocked at anchor, its mast a black slash against the dying light.
She tightened her grip on the handful of Ruadh’s mane, closed her eyes, and tried to hold onto this memory.
The warmth of Craeg’s thighs bracketing hers, the solid strength of the arms that now held the reins on either side of her—all of it slipping away, unstoppable as the tide that would carry her across the Sound come morning.
Craeg took her to The Craignure Inn, a low-slung white-washed building that crouched at the southern end of the single road that hugged the shore. He urged his stallion under a stone arch into the stable yard behind the inn and swung down before helping Hazel off Ruadh’s back.
Faolan had flopped down, panting.
“Can ye go inside and ask Alison to prepare two chambers for us?” he asked, avoiding her eye as he set her down lightly. “I will see to Ruadh and join ye for supper in a wee while.”
Hazel stiffened, alarm fluttering through her. “Are ye staying here too?”
A muscle flexed in his jaw. He did meet her gaze then, his eyes dark in the light of a torch that hung on a chain a few yards away.
“Of course,” he said, hurt lacing his voice now.
“Do ye think I’d leave ye here … alone?” Panic thudded into her, yet he continued.
“I will stay at the inn tonight and see ye safely off tomorrow, at dawn.”
Hazel lifted her chin, even as her heart squeezed. He was being protective, yet she found his concern stifling now. Her lips parted as she readied herself to argue with him.
But when their gazes locked once more, something in his expression made her check herself.
A stubborn glint she’d come to know well.
Cods. She didn’t have the energy to lock horns with him again.
Pressing her lips together in a tight line, she gave a brusque nod, swiveled on her heel, and stalked indoors.
Craeg watched Hazel go, his pulse thumping in his ears.
What was he doing? Why hadn’t he apologized for putting his foot in his mouth earlier? Why wasn’t he on his knees, begging her to stay?
Pride. It was a damnable thing. And after the day he’d had, it was all he had left. He was a stoic, bull-headed fool.
Nonetheless, he wasn’t going to let Hazel stay at an inn overnight without protection. The Craignure Inn was a respectable enough establishment, certainly a better choice than The Barnacle on the northern edge of the village.
The latter was full of rough men and lewd lasses.
Craeg had lain with his first woman at The Barnacle. It had been his seventeenth summer, and he was returning home from a hunting trip with Ailean. A lass around five years older than him had taken Craeg by the hand and led him upstairs before giving him a night of discovery he’d never forget.
The memory of that lad, eager yet unsure of himself, made Craeg’s throat tighten.
Life had been uncomplicated then. He’d wished for little more than to be able to hunt with Ailean and Greig, and then go drinking afterward, flirt with bonnie lasses, and then, maybe get into a brawl.
None of that appealed now.
All he wanted was Hazel, but she was walking away from him. She thought he was a hot-headed, controlling swine.
Leading Ruadh into the stables, Craeg tried to focus on practical matters—on unsaddling his stallion and rubbing him down—but as he worked, his thoughts kept returning to Hazel and the mess he’d made of things. Meanwhile, Faolan lapped water from a stone trough, thirsty after the day’s travel.
A short while later, with Ruadh stabled and enjoying a net of sweet hay, Craeg went indoors. His hound padded in after him.
A small woman with bright golden-brown eyes and flaxen hair greeted him as he pushed his way into the common room. The aroma of rich pastry and mutton wafted over him, and despite the knot of misery under his breastbone, his belly rumbled.
“Craeg!” The woman flashed him a warm smile.
He forced a smile in return, even as he spied Hazel sitting at a shadowed table in the far corner. “Alison!”
“I hear ye are laird of Moy now … congratulations!”
He forced a tight smile. “Thank ye.”
“I suppose I should start addressing ye more formally then … Maclean.”
He snorted. “No, Craeg will do … as it always has.”
He’d always liked Alison but wasn’t in the mood for her bubbly chatter. Or questions.
Digging into the coin purse at his belt, he produced a silver penny. “This is for the two chambers Hazel requested.”
Alison’s eyes widened then before she made the connection between him and the woman who’d just entered the inn.
She glanced Hazel’s way, as did Craeg, and would have noted the blush that rose to Hazel’s cheeks.
Fortunately, Alison had the wisdom to swallow her questions.
A tall man with receding blond hair emerged from the kitchen then, carrying a platter with two large pies across to where a couple sat next to the fire.
They were older, merchants most likely, their cheeks ruddy from ale and the hearth.
“Craeg!” Tor greeted him before his lips curved. “A pie and tankard of ale for ye?”
“Aye,” Craeg replied, feigning a heartiness he didn’t feel before looking in Hazel’s direction. “For us both.”
To his relief, Tor merely nodded. He wasn’t as curious as his wife.
For as long as Craeg could remember, this couple, Tor and Alison, had run The Craignure Inn.
Alison was a cousin to the clan-chief’s wife, Mairi, and had taken over after Mairi wed Loch.
Their union hadn’t blessed them with bairns, yet that hardly seemed to bother them.
Every time he’d visited this inn over the years, he’d marked how happy they were together, how much this life suited them.
“Sit yerself down then.” Alison gestured to Hazel. “Tor will see to ye while I ready yer chambers.”
Hazel eyed the steaming mutton pie before her.
She’d eaten little today and should have been ravenous. However, the pie’s aroma made her feel slightly queasy. Tor had kindly thrown Faolan a mutton bone. The wolfhound now lay before the hearth gnawing contentedly, paying Hazel and Craeg little attention.
The innkeeper had served their food and drink without prying into their affairs, something she was grateful for, although she hadn’t missed the interest in his wife’s eyes before she disappeared upstairs.
Neither could she ignore Beth and Gordon. Of course, she should have realized the couple would lodge here overnight. They’d greeted her with both surprise and warmth when she entered the common room.
“I thought ye were visiting yer aunt?” Beth had asked.
Hazel mumbled something about forgetting that her aunt was away on the mainland, seeing kin, at present. The couple had then suggested she join them for supper, but she’d declined. Her cheeks burned when she replied, admitting that she hadn’t traveled here alone.
And now they were watching her and Craeg, naked interest in their gazes.
They’d overheard his brief exchange with Alison. They knew he was the Chieftain of Moy. No doubt, they were flummoxed as to why he’d turned up with Hazel.
Picking up her tankard, she took a large gulp of ale. Cool and bitter, it hit the back of her throat.
“Did something happen back at Moy?” Craeg asked then. Like her, he hadn’t yet touched his pie. Instead, he was viewing her intently.
Heat rolled over her as she recalled the cruel whispers and her humiliating conversation with Lady Liza.
She didn’t wish to create problems between Craeg and his mother though.
Liza hadn’t been unkind. She’d just pointed out what Hazel already knew in her heart—that they were both acting recklessly. Thoughtlessly.
She shook her head.
His brow furrowed. He didn’t believe her. “It doesn’t matter what anyone else thinks, ye know,” he replied, even as his fingers tightened around his tankard. “Other people will always have an opinion … but they don’t have to live in yer shoes.”
Heat ignited under her breastbone. That wasn’t the problem, and he knew it.
A few yards away, Tor was wiping down tables. His gaze snapped toward them, and Hazel’s cheeks started to burn.
Meanwhile, Alison had come back downstairs from readying their chambers and was serving tankards of ale to men wearing sealskins dicing at a table in the middle of the floor.
The fishermen were paying more attention to Craeg and Hazel than to their game.
However, Craeg wasn’t focused on anyone but her. A nerve ticked in his jaw. “I’m sorry, Hazel … about what happened on the road.” The words came out hoarsely.
“For which part exactly?” Anger washed over her. She shouldn’t engage, but she couldn’t help herself. “For when ye were about to ruthlessly cut down men who’d already surrendered to ye … or for yer high-handedness with me?”
His throat bobbed. “Both. My blood was up. I was hurt. I acted … and spoke … like a clodhead.”
“Aye, ye did.”
Tension crackled between them, silence stretching out before Craeg murmured an oath under his breath and raked a hand through his hair. “What we have is special, lass,” he said finally. “Don’t throw it away. Ye’ll regret it, if ye do.”
Her heart started to kick against her ribs, fire pulsing in her belly. “This isn’t—”
“I know decisions have consequences,” he went on, speaking over her. “And I also know that some gifts are only given once.”
Hazel pushed aside her pie and abruptly stood up. “Enough!” Suddenly, the walls of the common room were closing in. The smoky air suffocated her. “Just stop, Craeg.”
“Hazel—” He was on his feet then too, his expression stricken.
But she wouldn’t hear any more. She was already pushing back her stool and moving away from him. She then made for the stairs, anger boiling like a cauldron in her chest and panic nipping at her heels.