Chapter Fifteen
If there was a way to erase the day and begin again, Camden would have happily done so.
At seeing Anne sitting with Effie at the village square, he’d been glad to see her.
It was his plan to speak with her openly and honestly and to ask her to meet him for a walk the following day.
He needed to ken her thoughts about him, to once and for all, get clarity if there was a possibility of something building between them.
Of all the women in the village, she was the one who had broken through the thick walls he’d erected since Eara’s betrayal.
There was a quiet certainty about Anne. Her unassuming beauty, the softness of her expression, and her deeply caring nature.
Anne was beautiful inside an out. The way she considered others before herself was a rare quality.
A certainty had settled within him: the knowledge that he was able to trust again. Trust not just a woman, but trust himself to be open to love. Love. The word echoed in his mind. Was that what he felt for Anne? The beginnings of such a deep emotion?
Then in one moment, he’d made two mistakes that in all probability would make it hard, if not impossible, to gain Anne’s trust again.
He’d been stunned, unable to think clearly when seeing Eara.
Why hadn’t his aunt or uncle told him she was back?
Perhaps they’d not been aware. As she’d swayed to the music, seeming not to have a care in the world, he’d been struck speechless, resentment surging within him to the point that he was blinded to his surroundings and desperate to get away.
Then he’d made the second mistake, he’d run off with barely a word to Anne.
How stupid of him. In that moment something had gripped him, and he’d nae ken how to react.
Now, Anne would have the wrong impression.
It wasn’t that he still loved Eara, but more that he had to leave and not act impulsively.
What would he have done? At that moment he wasn’t sure. Too much time had passed since she’d left without giving him an explanation. That she’d not had the decency to explain, to tell him that she didn’t love him, that she was leaving had been what hurt the most.
The one lesson from heartbreak was how important it was to consider other people’s feelings, and yet here he was doing just the opposite of that.
Stopping in front of his shop, Camden didn’t go inside.
The four walls would feel constraining; what he needed was to fetch his horse and go for a long ride.
He eyed the village square, searching for Anne.
She remained sitting next to Effie, their heads close as they probably discussed what an idiot he was.
Throwing his head back, he closed her eyes and spoke out loud. “I am so daft.”
“Should I agree with that statement?” Gowan walked up to him, giving him a critical look. “What happens?”
“I cannae tell ye,” Camden said as the blacksmith fell into step beside him.
Thankfully Gowan stood in front of him, blocking any view of the activities of the village center. “Ye look as if ye need a whiskey.”
Camden nodded rubbing both hands down his face. “Aye, I do.” He met his friend’s gaze. “Eara is back. I was speaking to Effie and Anne. I ran away.”
With a deep bark of laughter, Gowan threw an arm around Camden’s shoulders.
Camden gave him a droll look. “I am embarrassed by my reaction, and ye can only laugh?”
If the man knew he’d kissed his sister—twice—and both times the lass had not been pleased by it, Camden was sure he’d be beaten to death. Gowan was a strong muscular man with thick arms used to hammering iron.
“We all do stupid things when it comes to a lass,” Gowan replied, his tone somber.
Camden shrugged from under Gowan’s arm. “Aye. I ken.”
“I ken little about women, my sister reminds me often. For whatever reason, it is hard to do and say the right thing when around them.”
Before Gowan got the impression that he was interested in Effie, Camden spoke. “Next time ye see Effie, ye should speak with her. Take her for a walk.”
His friend’s face flushed, and he acted as if Camden didn’t mention Effie. “I just returned from the archery camp. Liam required help.”
Each time Camden brought Effie up, Gowan diverted the conversation or was quick to make excuses as to why he didn’t approach the feisty lass. If Camden were to be honest, it was fun to see how the wee lass affected such a huge man to the point he was terrified of approaching her.
“What are ye going to do about Eara?” Gowan deftly continued to change the subject. “If she has returned to Tokavaig and plans to remain, it is best to get it done and over with.”
Was there anything that needed to be said? Camden wasn’t sure. “I dinnae have anything to say.”
“Then why did ye run away?” Gowan asked motioning to the tavern.
*
Camden rode to a cottage at the edge of the village; he’d been summoned to help with a young boy who’d fallen from a tree. He was greeted by a distraught father, who took the horse’s reins and tied them to the nearby fence.
“He has nae woken since we found him,” the man said, his voice trembling. “The lad is our precious son; he must get better. Please help him, healer.”
Hurrying into the cottage, he found a woman crying over a boy who’d been placed atop a pallet of blankets. Another woman and a man sat nearby with helpless expressions. Lastly, two young girls sat on the floor next to the boy’s cot. Both wore matching sullen fearful expressions.
“If I may ask that ye move away so I can see him properly,” Camden said to the woman. She nodded, taking the two little girls by the arms and moving them back with her.
The boy was pale, there was a large bump on his forehead, and scratches on his face where the branches must have caught. When lowering his face to the boy’s, Camden felt the brush of breath, not faint, but almost normal.
“What is the lad’s name?” Camden asked.
“Hamish,” the mother said.
He did a thorough examination of the boy’s body, from his head, where he found another bump on the back, to his arms, torso, and legs. Other than scratches, both shallow and deep, the only injuries of concern were the blows to the head.
“I require water and ale,” Camden instructed moving to the family’s kitchen table. There he unpacked his case, placing the mortar and pestle on the surface as well as jars of tincture and some dried herbs.
The family was silent, watching him intently.
Camden was used to it, when injuries happened, people placed all their hope on a healer.
As intense as the moment was, he didn’t mind.
In his estimation, it was a good thing for them to be distracted and give the sick person room to heal and not be so focused upon.
The fragrance of the herbs mixed with ale and water soon filled the room. He poured half of it into a bowl and added vervain and a bit of water to make a poultice. He then mixed St. John’s Wort with the ale to give to the boy orally.
After washing the boy’s wounds out, he applied the poultice and wrapped his head. Then with the aid of the father, he carefully trickled a bit of the tonic at a time into his mouth. Most of it dribbled out of the corner of the boy’s mouth. All he could do was hope he managed to swallow a bit.
For the next few hours, Camden remained by the boy’s cot, taking note of his breathing and searching for any signs of awareness.
Later that evening, the children were put to bed and the other two adults, who turned out to be the father’s brother and his wife, left. The sick boy’s mother leaned back against the wall and closed her eyes, whilst the father remained vigilant.
Camden rubbed his knuckles gently against the boy’s mid chest. “Hamish, can ye hear me?”
He’d lost count of how many times he’d done this, each time without any response. When the boy moaned softly, he and the parents looked at each other with wide-eyed expressions.
“Hamish,” the mother went to the boy. “Open yer eyes for me dear one.”
Again the boy murmured incoherently.
The woman smiled at Camden. “I dinnae ken what he said, but he is coming round.”
“Aye, he is.” Camden smiled back.
Although it seemed a long stretch of time, it was probably less than an hour by the time the lad’s eyes opened, and he looked around confused. “Why am I in here?”
“Ye fell and bumped yer head. Ye have been asleep,” the father explained hugging the child to his chest. “Hamish, ye scared us to death.”
It wasn’t a long trek to his home, the narrow path winding like a pale ribbon through the forest. Ancient trees pressed close on either side, some of their branches knitting together overhead.
It was a starless night, which was strange to see only the full moon above, round and brilliant, its silver light slipping through gaps in the canopy of trees and painting the forest in soft shades of ash and pearl.
The air was rich and damp, heavy with the scent of moss, pine, and wet earth. It must have rained while he was in the cottage with the sick boy.
Branches reached out and brushed against his boots as the horse moved at a steady, unhurried pace, hooves muffled by layers of fallen needles and decaying leaves. Camden didnae urge the animal faster. One careless step in the darkness could mean injury, and he trusted the horse’s instincts.
A sudden shiver rippled through him.
Camden frowned, his spine tightening as a strange awareness crept over his skin, as though the forest itself had drawn a slow, measured breath. The night seemed to still. The usual chorus of insects faded to nothing.
Like that time he was with Brae in the woods, and he had the distinct sensation of being watched.
Carefully, he turned in the saddle, scanning the shadowed depths between the trees. If it were a lone wolf, the horse would be enough to frighten it off. A pack, however, was a different story. His jaw tightened at the thought. And yet by the horse’s calmness, it wasn’t danger that lurked.