Chapter 30 WORTH THE PRICE
THE SEA EAGLE’S cry split the air above them—wild and piercing—and Hazel tipped her head back to watch it.
The bird soared high overhead, its vast wings spread wide against the morning sky. It wheeled lazily on an updraft, white tail feathers flashing in the sunlight, and for a heartbeat, she felt suspended with it, caught between earth and heaven.
“What must it be like?” she whispered. “To watch the world from above?”
“Aye … how insignificant all our troubles must seem.”
Craeg’s arm tightened around her waist, steadying her as Ruadh picked his way along the track that took them south, toward Moy.
Faolan loped next to them, fur ruffling in the breeze.
They’d left Craignure with the dawn, and as they rode off, she’d glanced over her shoulder at where the ferry drew away from the pier, beginning its journey back to the mainland.
She’d wondered, for an instant, whether she’d made the right choice.
But that was life. She was following her heart now, but that didn’t mean she wasn’t afraid of what loomed on the horizon.
Trying to ignore her worries, she leaned back into his warmth, watching the eagle ride the wind with effortless grace. She wished she had its detachment.
Her belly fluttered then. Viewing a sea eagle was always significant. It symbolized wisdom. Some tales said that it could pass between this world and the next. Fishermen loved them, for the sight of a sea eagle promised a good catch. The bird was a harbinger of change.
“It’s a good omen,” Craeg said then, echoing her own thoughts. “One eagle sitting alone warns of an enemy’s approach … but this one soaring above us gives us its blessing.”
Something relaxed deep in Hazel’s chest. He sounded so sure, and she wanted to believe him. “The Macleans of Moy are in the midst of upheaval,” he added. “But we shall weather the storm.”
The eagle gave another cry, fierce and joyous, before banking east, and Hazel found herself smiling. Her nerves settled. “We will.”
They crested yet another grassy hill then, and she caught sight of a green tangle of woodland ahead. Her pulse quickened, her mood shadowing as memories of her flight from the Macquaries the day before, and her father’s murderous rage, intruded.
“I left my basket by a burn in the woods,” she admitted then. “Would ye mind if we lengthened our journey to retrieve it?”
“Of course not.”
Relief swept over her. It had taken her a long while to collect the many herbs that her basket contained, and it also held her precious pestle and mortar.
A short while later, Craeg turned off the track and headed into the hazel thicket, following a deer path into the trees. “There’s only one burn that cuts through these parts,” he said then. “We’ll follow its course south.”
“Thank ye.”
His hand slid over hers then, his fingers interlacing. “Ye are still on edge, aren’t ye?”
She gave a brittle laugh. “Aye.”
“What did my mother say to ye?”
Hazel jolted. For a moment, she thought about denying that Lady Liza had anything to do with her decision to go. She didn’t want to get her into trouble or to create a rift between mother and son. However, after the raw honesty they’d shared over the past day, she couldn’t bring herself to lie.
“We just talked … and she pointed out a few things.”
“Such as?”
“That I let this thing between us … the excitement of it all … go to my head. I’m old enough to know better. Ye are new to yer role and have responsibilities to yer clan. That ye were acting recklessly, and I was just going along with it.”
“Mmm.” He didn’t sound impressed.
Hazel’s pulse quickened. “Ye won’t be too harsh with her, will ye?”
His body tensed against hers. “She shouldn’t have interfered.”
“No … but in the end, the choice to leave was mine.”
Silence fell before he loosed a deep sigh. “Fear not, if Ma and I have words over this, they will be civil.” He paused then, a wry note creeping into his voice as he continued. “My mother is proud and fiery … but if I know her, she’ll already regret speaking out of turn.”
Spots of rain peppered Hazel’s face as they rode into Moy.
The day had started fine, but the farther south they traveled, the greyer it became.
They’d retrieved her basket. It sat on the mossy bank of that burn where Macquarie and his men had found her.
Picking it up, she’d glanced around, almost as if she expected more warriors to close in on her.
But Hamish Macquarie was dead—and the surviving band of warriors who’d accompanied him, including his son, now languished in Moy’s bottle dungeon.
Ruadh clattered up the final incline and passed under the portcullis. Faolan bounded ahead, still full of energy despite the long journey.
Hazel squeezed Craeg’s hand then, nervousness twisting in her belly. “What will ye do with the Macquarie prisoners?”
“I haven’t decided yet,” he replied.
“I wish to be present when ye speak to them.”
A beat of silence pulsed between them before he answered, “Aye.”
Relief fluttered through Hazel. She was glad he understood. Cameron Macquarie was her half-brother, and since Hazel was the person they’d been hunting, she wished to witness Craeg’s meeting with them.
Even so, she sensed Craeg’s tension, his simmering anger. The Macquarie chieftain was dead, but there was a part of him that still wanted reckoning against them.
She worried about where that road might lead him.
They drew up in the midst of the barmkin. Craeg swung down from Ruadh’s back and helped Hazel to the ground. By the time they’d dismounted, a stable lad had joined them, and a welcome party emerged from the tower house.
Lady Liza. Rankin. Lena. A tall leather-clad figure also swiftly descended the steps from the walls. Captain Black. Faolan raced up to Nat, tail wagging.
Hazel’s heart started to thump against her ribs. They were all here.
Lena rushed across the cobbled yard, dark hair flying behind her. She threw her arms around her brother first, in a crushing embrace, before grabbing Hazel and giving her the same treatment.
“He brought ye home!”
Hazel swallowed, a hard lump in her throat now. “Aye,” she said huskily.
“Loch Maclean has given us his blessing,” Craeg announced then, raising his voice so that it traveled to every edge of the barmkin, echoing across stone. “Hazel and I are free to marry … and we will.”
Silence followed this proclamation.
A crowd had gathered now, all gazes upon the Chieftain of Moy and the healer who would become his wife. Hazel’s cheeks grew hot under their stares, yet she kept her spine straight, her chin high.
A few stares wouldn’t harm her.
Moments passed, and then her gaze shifted to Lady Liza.
The older woman stood at the base of the steps to the tower house, her face unreadable. She looked every inch the Lady of Moy. Her grey-streaked dark hair was braided into an intricate crown. She wore a deep-blue surcote of fine damask over a butter-yellow kirtle.
Their gazes met, and Hazel’s stomach tightened. Aye, the only person she was worried about facing here was Lady Liza. She liked and respected Craeg’s mother and wanted the woman to think well of her.
Liza moved forward, her skirts swishing across the rain-spotted cobbles. She stopped before them and, for a long moment, said nothing.
“Ma,” Craeg said quietly. A warning threaded through that single word.
Liza cut her son a quick look before focusing on Hazel once more. “Ye came back.”
Hazel nodded.
“I didn’t think ye would.”
Heat crawled up Hazel’s neck. Around them, the stable lad pretended to fuss with Ruadh’s bridle. Rankin and Captain Black had drawn closer, their expressions carefully neutral. Lena hovered at Hazel’s elbow, nervous now.
“I returned because I love him,” Hazel replied, her voice steady. “And because Craeg asked me to.”
Liza’s jaw tightened. Something flickered in her eyes—pain, perhaps, or regret.
“Both of us understand what it will cost,” Craeg said then. “But this is worth the price.”
A muscle worked in Liza’s throat. She glanced at Craeg, then back to Hazel. When she spoke again, her voice had roughened. “I was wrong.”
Hazel stiffened. She hadn’t expected a public apology. She’d thought Lady Liza too proud for that.
“I was thinking of our clan … about politics and propriety,” she went on. “But the moment we discovered ye missing, I regretted letting ye think ye didn’t belong here.”
Hazel’s throat thickened.
“And because of what I said, ye fled.” Liza’s voice caught. “Captain Black told us what happened. Macquarie nearly killed ye … and if he had, yer blood would have been on my hands.” Her dark eyes glittered then. “I’m sorry.”
Hazel’s throat closed. She couldn’t speak.
“Ye are a good woman,” Liza continued, her voice steadying. “And ye make my son happy.” A tremulous smile ghosted across her lips. “That should have been enough. It is enough.” She stepped forward and took Hazel's hands in hers. Her grip was warm, strong. “Forgive me, Hazel. Welcome home.”
The tears spilled over then, hot against Hazel’s cold cheeks. She nodded, unable to form words past the knot of emotion lodged in her chest.
During their journey back, she’d imagined a few variations of how this scene would unfold. But she hadn’t come up with this.
And then Liza pulled her into an embrace—fierce and maternal and achingly tender.
Over the older woman’s shoulder, Hazel caught Rankin’s gaze. His blue eyes were warm, unguarded. He smiled at her, and she smiled back through her tears.
Around them, the rain began to fall in earnest, drumming against the cobbles and the tower house roof.
But here, in the shelter of Liza’s arms, with Craeg’s hand finding hers once more, Hazel felt only warmth.
She wouldn’t be leaving her beloved Mull.
And with Craeg came a new family; one she never thought to find after losing Siùsan.
She was no longer alone in the world.
She’d come home.