Chapter Fourteen
Traveling musicians had claimed the village square, their fiddles and pipes lifted into the warm afternoon like ribbons of sound, coaxing doors open and bringing laughter into the streets.
Sunlight spilled over the thatched roofs and glinted off bright ribbons tied to merchant stalls, while the air itself seemed to hum with cheer.
Effie had arrived at Anne’s cottage in a flurry of excitement and all but dragging her outside with promises of music and merriment.
Now they sat upon a woolen blanket, the grass cool beneath them.
The lively tunes weaving through peals of children’s laughter and the low, happy murmur of conversation.
Anne found herself smiling without realizing when it had happened, her heart lighter than it had been in days.
Young women strolled arm in arm around the square, pretending great fascination with bolts of cloth and trays of trinkets, though their eyes kept straying toward the young men lingering at the edges, who returned those glances with poorly hidden interest and crooked smiles.
“I’ve nae seen this many folks out since the last spring fete,” Effie said, her head bobbing in time with the music, her eyes bright as the ribbons fluttering overhead. “It’s lovely, is it nae?”
“It is,” Anne agreed softly, her gaze drifting to a nearby stall where Moyra stood selling baskets her mother was famed for weaving. Their patterns were as neat and beautiful as lace.
Effie followed her look. “I must admit, I own several of those. Her mother’s hands are touched by magic, I swear.”
Anne almost laughed. If it were not Moyra minding the stall, she might have wandered over herself, tempted by the promise of something new and finely made.
Then Effie stiffened, her voice dropping to an eager whisper. “He’s headed this way.”
Anne’s heart leapt before her mind could catch up. Her pulse fluttered wildly, her throat going dry all at once. There was only one man Effie could mean.
Camden.
She had not seen him since the kiss at the apothecary several days earlier.
According to Brae, he’d gone to the keep to help with injured warriors, which had been a blessing.
Truly. She’d needed the distance, the quiet, the chance to convince herself it had been nothing more than a foolish, fleeting moment between them.
It meant nothing, she reminded herself. It must mean nothing.
If only her traitorous body would listen.
Her breath caught as she saw him approaching from the apothecary, sunlight gilding off the green of his tunic, which hugged his broad chest and wide shoulders as if it had been stitched just to show them off.
Red waves of hair brushed his cheeks in the breeze, and he walked with an easy confidence, taking in the color and music around him as though he belonged to the very joy of the day.
“He is handsome, is he nae?” Effie whispered, barely containing a giggle.
“Aye, one could say that,” Anne replied, schooling her voice into calm. “But I am sure he is nae coming to speak to us.”
The lie barely left her lips before Camden stopped in front of them and dropped to one knee, casual as if it were the most natural thing in the world.
“How fare ye, Effie. Anne,” he said, his smile warm, his gaze finding hers and holding fast.
Her heart forgot entirely how to behave.
“May I have a word with ye?” he asked gently, his eyes flicking toward Effie. “Just a moment.”
Effie was already rising to her feet, practically glowing. “Sit here, Camden. I’ll go admire the baskets.” She gave Anne a pointed look, mischief dancing in her eyes.
Anne’s chest was tight with nerves and anticipation, the music and laughter fading into a distant, happy blur as Camden’s presence filled all the space around her.
Before Anne could summon a reply, Effie had already swept away, skirts fluttering as she stepped in front of Moyra with a determined smile, clearly intent on keeping her well and truly occupied.
When Camden lowered himself beside Anne, the warmth of him seemed to seep through the space between them, as if the sun had chosen that very spot to linger.
She turned toward him, acutely aware of how close their knees were.
How the brush of his sleeve against her arm sent a small, traitorous shiver along her skin.
“Brae told us ye’d gone to help with the injured at the keep,” she said, grateful for the steadiness of her own voice. “Were there many?”
“Six that I saw,” he replied. “Most will mend without lasting harm.” His shoulders rose and fell with a long breath. “One though… he is very ill. I will return to see about him. He is young.”
“It is a noble thing ye do,” Anne said softly, and meant it with her whole heart. “It shows how deeply ye care for those entrusted to ye.”
For a moment, Camden didnae answer. His gaze drifted toward the musicians, but his attention seemed far away, as though he were listening to something only he could hear. The silence between them grew heavy, threaded with everything neither quite dared to say.
“Anne,” he murmured at last, turning back to her, his eyes moving across her face and then lingering on her lips.
It was impossible to look away. He was so close, every part of him drawing her in, awakening feelings she had never known until he was near her.
“I meant what I said the other night,” he murmured. “I find myself drawn to ye. I wanted to kiss ye,” he hesitated, his voice softening. “And still, I ken I should nae have, not if ye didnae wish it.”
Her cheeks warmed, heat blooming beneath her skin. She held his gaze, steady despite the flutter in her chest. “I didnae mind yer kiss,” she admitted. “I dinnae feel assured that there naught between ye and Moyra.”
Camden nodded, a muscle leaping beneath his skin. “I will speak to her and clari…”
He broke off, breath catching, his eyes widening as if the world had shifted in a single heartbeat.
Anne followed his gaze.
Near the musicians stood a woman dressed in flowing skirts and a russet vest that drew the eye to the graceful curve of her waist. Dark waves fell loose down her back, nearly to her hips, lifting and swaying as she moved in time with the music.
She was beautiful in a way that seemed effortless, with a heart-shaped face and soft, pouty lips, and an expression that exuded confidence.
Understanding settled like a weight in Anne’s chest.
It was Eara.
Camden’s face had gone pale, and he seemed unable to move, or to speak. Finally he took a harsh breath.
“I apologize, but I must go,” he said, his voice suddenly flat, distant, as if he had already stepped away from her in his mind.
He rose and hurried off in the direction of her brother’s shop, leaving her feeling strangely adrift.
Anne released a breath she hadn’t realized she’d been holding.
Whatever he’d been on the verge of saying, it no longer mattered.
Not now. The way he had looked at Eara had told her everything her heart didnae wish to hear.
Effie appeared beside her in a rush of skirts and soft laughter, plopping down with a basket in hand. She pressed it into Anne’s arms. “For ye.”
Anne barely noticed it.
Effie’s gaze swept the square. “Where did Camden vanish to?”
“I am nae certain,” Anne replied quietly. “Toward my brother’s shop, I think.”
She tipped her chin toward the musicians. “I believe that woman there is Eara. The one who broke his heart.”
Effie’s mouth fell open. “Oh… she is still quite…” she hesitated, then added in a lower voice, “I remember when it happened. I believe a pair of years ago, maybe three. She and Camden were to marry. She left with another. I wonder why she has returned.” Effie studied Eara who strolled over to a stand with an older woman.
“That is her mother,” Effie informed Anne.
Anne’s fingers tightened around the basket, her eyes shifting in the direction where Camden had disappeared, her heart aching for something she had no right to feel.
*
Anne had meant only to fetch water from the well before dusk claimed the sky. The path along the hedgerow was quiet, washed in the gold of the sinking sun. The air scented with crushed grass and distant smoke from hearth fires.
She nearly collided with him at the bend.
Camden.
They both halted, breath catching, the moment stretching thin as spun glass. His eyes swept over her as if he had been searching for her without realizing it, as if finding her there had knocked the wind clean from his chest.
“Anne,” he said, her name a low sound, roughened by something she could not quite place.
“I…” She gestured weakly with the bucket in her hand. “I was just…”
He stepped closer. “I was coming to seek ye. I left in haste.”
The space between them vanished. She could feel the heat of him. The tension in his shoulders. The way his breath came faster now, as though he had been running.
“Camden,” she whispered, though she didnae ken what she meant by it. Warning, perhaps. Or invitation.
His hand lifted, hesitated just a heartbeat at her cheek, as if he were asking a question he already feared the answer to. Then his fingers brushed her skin, and the touch alone sent a tremor through her.
“I cannae stop thinking of ye,” he said, the words spilling out as if he had held them back for too long. “Everywhere I turn, there ye are.”
Before she could answer, he kissed her.
This time it was not gentle. It was not careful. His mouth claimed hers with a sudden, aching urgency. As if he were trying to lose himself in the taste of her, in the feel of her, in anything that was not the thoughts chasing him.
Anne’s heart leapt and then faltered.
His kiss was desperate.
She felt it in the way his hand tightened at her waist, in the way his breath shuddered against her lips, in the way he clung to her as though she were something he might drown without.
And in that instant, she understood.
The realization slid into her chest like a blade. This was not about her. Not truly. This was about forgetting.
Anne pulled back, her hands pressing against his chest, her pulse racing for an entirely different reason now.
“Stop,” she said softly, though the word cost her more than she wanted him to ken.
Camden froze, his forehead resting against hers, his breath still uneven. “Anne, dinnae push me away.
She took a step back, creating the space he had erased so easily.
“I will nae be used to chase another from yer mind,” she blurted, the hurt bleeding through no matter how hard she tried to hide it.
“I ken what this is, Camden. Ye are nae sure of yer feelings for that woman, Eara. And I deserve more.”
His face fell. The fog in his eyes cleared as her words found their mark.
“Anne, that is nae what this is.”
“Perhaps not,” she said, lifting her bucket again, her fingers tight around the handle. “But it is how it feels.”
She turned away before he could see the tears she refused to let fall, her steps quickening down the path as the evening bells began to ring, each chime echoing the ache in her chest.
Camden didnae follow, which in her mind confirmed that he was unsure and what she’d said could be true.