Chapter Six
The happy clucking of chickens filled the air as Anne tossed out grain to the birds. With her foot, she gently pushed a red hen that bullied smaller, younger ones. “Ye are greedy red hen,” she admonished while unable to keep from smiling when the chicken clucked as if in response.
After she finished she went to the front door, reached for a broom, and swept the area around the doorway and front of the house. Mornings were her favorite time of day. Often she found herself standing there by the doorway watching across the way toward the village center.
Her cottage was on slightly higher ground, giving her a good view of the goings on in Tokavaig. How life continued, day by day, year by year. Couples marrying. Bairns growing up. Happy occasions. Sad occasions. The normal things of life.
As for herself, at seven and twenty, she no longer expected her life to change.
She had never married and doubted she ever would.
It was not for lack of opportunity; there had been a time when men had courted her with eager smiles and hopeful promises.
In those days, while her parents yet lived, she had believed marriage inevitable and had chosen to wait for a man worthy of her heart.
But when death stole her parents, grief became her constant companion, dulling any thought of love or future happiness.
By the time the ache lessened, the years had slipped past unnoticed.
One by one, the men she might have considered had married others or left the village in search of fortunes beyond her reach.
And so she remained, suspended between what might have been and what would never come to pass, with fewer choices than she had ever imagined.
She didnae ken why such thoughts pressed so insistently to the forefront of her mind. Perhaps it was the danger of too much solitude, hours alone giving her imagination far too much freedom to wander toward what might have been.
And then there were the restless nights.
On those evenings, when sleep came slow and her body refused to be ignored, she found herself aching with unfamiliar longings.
She would drift into dreams of strong arms and whispered words, of warmth shared beneath tangled covers, of mouths meeting and hands discovering.
More often than not, it was Camden who stepped from the shadows of those dreams.
Her cheeks grew hot at remembering her imaginings from the night before. For the time being, it was best to keep her distance, at least until she was sure not to turn bright red in his presence.
As she tidied her cottage, Anne turned her mind to the day’s chores.
“Anne!”
Anne screamed. The masculine voice startled her so badly, she dropped the cup she held, and it shattered on the floor.
Her brother stood at the door, a tight press of his lips as he fought not to laugh.
“Gowan!” Anne yelled, her hand flattened on her chest over her thundering heart. “Ye ken I am always alone. Ye could have arrived without yelling.”
Despite her words, Gowan’s expression remained jovial. “I called yer name three times. Ye stood there frozen, holding a cup with a silly grin on yer face.”
“What do ye want?” she managed, ignoring his remark.
Gowan got the broom, walked over to where the cup had shattered, and swept the shards to the door. “I came to eat. I have nae a bite of food at home.”
Despite being annoyed with her brute of a brother, she was glad for his company. “If ye chop me some wood, I will cook ye something to eat. Go on.” She waved him away.
As soon as Gowan walked away, Anne giggled nervously. Thankfully it was her brother that had caught her with her head in the clouds. If it had been someone like Effie, she would have questioned Anne until she admitted what she’d been thinking.
When Gowan returned, they ate fried pork, eggs, and flat bread. Her brother ate with gusto, and her heart melted with love for him.
“Give me coin and I can get the necessities to make larger meals. I can cook at yers or here and make ye food since it seems ye cannae fend fer yerself.”
Gowan shrugged. “I dinnae mind cooking. Ye have enough to do.”
“Nonsense. It will only be cooking a bit more for my own meal and bringing it to ye.” She studied him. “Ye should get yerself a wife.”
Gowan ate in silence, seeming to be in deep thought. “I sometimes consider it.” He gave no further explanation.
“I cannae control if a man courts me or nae. Ye, on the other hand, can court and find yerself a wife. From all the looks ye get, there are many willing lasses.”
Gowan’s cheeks pinkened. “Aye, I suppose.”
“So who is this elusive lass ye cannae bring yerself to court?” Anne teased, handing Gowan the last of the bread. “Tell me. Perhaps I can help.”
His brow pinched, and he averted his gaze. “No one at the moment.”
Though she may be partial, she thought her brother quite handsome. They had the same shade of dark brown hair and golden-brown eyes. His arms and chest were muscular from blacksmithing, and he had the loveliest deep dimples when he smiled.
“I best go,” he said, pushing back from the table. Anne sat and watched as he took his plate and cup from the table to the side table, placing them next to a basin. He then returned and took hers.
“I will help ye clean—”
“Nonsense. Go on. I ken ye have work waiting. I heard from Effie that Siobhan McNichols is getting married, and her mother has ordered everything needed for a kitchen.”
Gowan nodded, letting out a sigh. “Aye, and Missus McNichols is very demanding. She comes by every afternoon to ask about progress. I tell her she is nae the only person who I work for, but she does nae want to hear it.”
Anne laughed. “That woman will nae leave ye be until yer done, I’m afraid. And then complain about every item. Mark my word.”
After her brother left, Anne hummed softly as she washed the dishes, her thoughts turning to the matter of finding him a suitable wife.
He needed a woman who was kind and hardworking, yet not meek.
Gowan required a woman with opinions, with spirit; someone who could match him and keep his interest from wandering.
With clean clothes wrapped in a drying cloth, she hurried to the creek. She usually bathed there since the area was well concealed and she could quickly dash home if she heard anyone approaching.
The water was frigid, and she shivered as she made quick work of washing herself.
Then she rushed from the water, hurrying to the sunny spot where she’d laid out her drying cloth.
Barely a pair of steps from her cloth whistling sounded, and Anne whipped around to see Camden walking into view with his cross-body satchel.
At that exact moment, he froze. The whistling stopped.
His eyes widened. And Anne yelped. To her utter dismay, in her haste and distraction, she had stumbled.
Hitting the ground—hard—a loud whoosh left her body along with every last bit of her breath, making it impossible to breathe, much less get up.
Mortified with embarrassment, Anne struggled to right herself, doing her best to overcome her lack of ability to take in a breath. The cold air blew across her bare skin, bringing shivers, which didn’t help her clumsy attempts.
“Anne!” Camden called as he ran to her. Warm hands slid under her arms and pulled her to stand.
His green gaze met hers. “Are ye injured?”
Despite her face heating with embarrassment, the frigid wind brought on uncontrollable shivering. Anne wrapped an arm over her breasts and crossed her legs in an attempt to cover her nakedness.
“C-can y-ye g-g-get the c-cloth for m-me?” she asked past violently chattering teeth.
He didn’t move.
She forced herself to look up at Camden, noting that he searched her face, then, to her continued dismay, his deep green gaze scanned over her body, not with desire, but with concern. The serious expression of a healer ensuring there were no injuries.
Despite understanding the reasoning, the action made Anne angry.
“I am nae injured,” she gritted out, grateful when he turned away to get her the cloth.
Instead of handing it to her, he wrapped it around her from behind. She grabbed it, pulling it tight, then stomped away toward her home, needing distance between them.
The thin fabric did little to stop the cold that had seeped into her body. The chattering of her teeth affirmed she was indeed very cold.
“Let’s get ye inside to warm up.”
A protest died when he picked up her clothes and hurried toward her cottage. “Ye should consider getting a hound,” he called out over his shoulder. “A dog would alert ye if anyone approached.”
Anne glared at his back but refrained from speaking as it would be affected by her shivers.
The warmth of her cottage was like an embrace as she hurried inside and managed to close the door without dropping the cloth.
Camden brought a blanket, put it over her shoulders, and gently guided her to stand in front of the fireplace.
The cheery fire emanated heat, warming her quickly.
He’d added a log to the fire, and she slid a glance from it to Camden.
“I usually dinnae add such a large log in the morning. I have errands and—”
“Why do ye go out and swim in the creek?” he interrupted. “It is nae safe. Anyone could come up on ye and catch ye unawares.” His handsome face showed concern, the expression earnest.
Despite the humiliation of what had occurred, Anne couldn’t stop the mirth bubbling in her throat.
“Aye, true as I have just found out. But in my defense, in all the years that I have bathed in the creek, ’tis the first time a wayward person has happened upon me.”
A smile played at the corners of his mouth. “Aye, well, that’s true.”
“Why are ye here about?” she asked softly, genuine curiosity in her voice.
She had never seen him near the woods behind her cottage before.
There were only a handful of herbs that dared grow in that patch of ground.
The rest were nipped away by thirsty creatures that came to drink from the clear stream and devoured anything green and tender.
His cheeks darkened with color. “I hoped to see ye.”
He scratched the back of his neck, the movement making his bicep flex beneath the fabric of the tunic, solid and powerful.
How had she not noticed before how well-built this man was?
She had always known he was handsome, with a chiseled jaw, broad shoulders, and thick lashes framing his bright green eyes.
Perhaps it was the vulnerability due to her lack of clothing, but something inside of her shifted. She stood holding the blanket tighter around her shoulders. “About?”
“I have nae stopped thinking about our walk and wished to ask if ye would like to do it again sometime?”
She’d heard all the rumors and knew that he courted Moyra. “’Tis nae a good idea.” Unsure why, Anne took a step closer. “It was a lovely walk, I will admit.”
His gaze moved to her lips. “Lovely?”
If asked, Anne wouldn’t be able to say who initiated the kiss.
One instant they were apart, and the next she was in his arms, her fingers curling into his hair as his mouth claimed hers.
She didn’t notice the blanket slipping from her shoulders to pool around their feet.
The kiss deepened, slow and searching, and his hands slid down her back, rough palms skimming over bare skin.
The contrast sent shivers racing through her, her body arching toward him of its own will.
His chest was hard and warm beneath her, her breasts pressed against him, and his arms tightened as though he feared she might vanish if he let go. The world narrowed until there was only breath and heat and the low, needy sound he made against her lips.
Time unraveled.
His mouth trailed from her kiss-swollen lips to her jaw, then lower, lingering just beneath her ear. The soft brush of his breath there made her knees weaken.
She wanted to beg him to stay. To touch. To never stop.
Reality crashed back in all at once.
They were alone. In her home. And she was bare beneath the open air and his hands.
“Oh!” Anne uttered, pushing Camden back at the same time lowering to the floor to grab the blanket that had fallen from her shoulders.
“Go. Please,” she whispered, not daring to look up at him because if she did, there was the possibility she’d ask him to stay.