Chapter Sixteen
The sun had climbed high in the sky, gleaming down on the earth. Anne had risen early enough to get all her chores done. The cottage gleamed. Floors swept. Table scrubbed. Shelves wiped. Even the stubborn corner where cobwebs clung were cleared.
The chickens were fed and strutting about with self-important clucks. The garden had been watered until the earth released that rich, damp scent she loved, and her arms ached pleasantly from hauling bucket after bucket from the creek.
Her mind, traitorous thing that it was, returned again and again to Camden. To the warmth of his presence. To the way his voice dipped low when he spoke to her. To the moments by the water and what happened after. Actions that she firmly refused to examine too closely.
He had concerns far weightier now. The return of the woman who’d broken his heart, and whatever complicated dance he seemed trapped in with Moyra. Anne snorted softly to herself as she carried another bucket. A dance indeed. One she had no intention of joining again.
Their shared moments had been nothing more than instinct. A foolish yielding between a man and woman caught in a vulnerable moment. Nothing more. Though it had felt like far more. She refused to acknowledge that.
If she was sensible, and she very much wished to believe she was sensible, she would turn her attention elsewhere. Marriage was practical. Necessary. And Camden was as available as a loaf of bread locked in someone else’s pantry. Which brought her thoughts to Raudhri.
The stable master’s son was handsome in a quiet, solid way.
Broad shoulders, kind eyes, and a manner so reserved one might forget he was even in the room until he moved.
His terrible stutter kept him silent more often than not, though he seemed comfortable enough with Gowan, answering in grunts or short phrases when speech failed him.
Anne had always liked him. And he liked horses, which meant patience, and patience was a virtue she admired greatly. Perhaps she would ask Gowan to inquire. Discreetly. Brotherly intermediaries were useful shields against embarrassment.
Would it seem forward? Likely. Would she feel a bit foolish? Also likely.
Lost in thought, she lifted one of Gowan’s tunics from her sewing basket, inspecting the damage. The garment looked as though it had fought a small war—and lost. Tears at the sleeve, loose stitching, and a stain she refused to even speculate about.
Three sharp knocks struck the door. Anne jumped, dropping the tunic into her lap.
She frowned toward the sound. Not Gowan. He never knocked. Effie burst in announcing herself to the rafters. Curious, Anne crossed the room and opened the door.
Her breath caught. Camden stood there.
His hair was damp, red strands darkened and brushed back from his face, sunlight catching on droplets still clinging near his temples. He smelled faintly of clean water and fresh air, as though he’d stepped straight from the creek itself. He looked… unsettled.
“Camden,” she managed, unsure whether to greet him or close the door and hide behind it.
He drew in a breath, attempted a smile, then abandoned the effort entirely. His gaze was serious. Searching.
“There is something I must speak to ye about.”
A warning bell rang somewhere in her chest.
“Allow me to get my shawl,” Anne said quickly. Being alone in the cottage with him felt unwise, particularly if Gowan decided to return and discover her entertaining a man in private. Her temperamental brother was not what she wished to deal with that day.
They walked together toward the creek path, the air warm and humming with insects and distant birdsong. Anne’s heart thumped far too loudly in her ears.
“Why do ye continue to seek me?” she asked at last. Better to ask than wonder. Better to brace for disappointment than be struck unawares.
When his fingers closed around her upper arm, she stopped. The warmth of his touch sent an unwelcome flutter through her.
“Please hear me,” he said. “I am certain of how I feel about ye. There are nae double meanings. Only truth.”
She arched a brow. “Ye wish to clarify how ye feel?” Irritation flared. “And how many times must ye clarify things, Camden? Ye come and go, leaving confusion in yer wake each time.”
He nodded. “Will ye allow me to explain?”
She exhaled. Curiosity won out. “Aye. Speak.”
He swallowed. Took a deep breath. Then another. His chest rose and fell like a man preparing to leap off a cliff.
“I… I…” He groaned suddenly. “What is the matter with me?”
Anne nearly laughed despite herself. The mighty healer defeated by words.
She touched his arm, briefly, then dropped her hand when his muscle flexed beneath her fingers. Far too distracting.
“Perhaps ye require rest.”
“Anne.” He met her eyes. Fully. Steadily.
“I am in love with ye.”
Silence fell.
Anne stared.
Her mind emptied entirely, as though someone had swept it clean along with her floors that morning.
“What?”
“I am so in love with ye that speech abandons me and judgment follows close behind.”
“What about Eara? Moyra?”
He shook his head as she spoke. “I have nae loved Eara in a very long time. I saw her this morning. She came to the apothecary, and I felt nothing. As for Moyra, I promise to speak to her and explain there will never be anything between her and I. I only want ye. I dinnae want to lose any possibility because of my lack of properly expressing my feelings for ye.” Camden blew out a breath, his eyes searching her face. “I love ye Anne. With all my heart.”
Hope burst through her defenses before she could stop it, bright, reckless, impossible to contain. Without another thought, she threw herself into his arms.
He caught her instantly, strong arms wrapping around her as though he feared she might vanish if he loosened his hold. Anne pressed against him, her cheek against his shoulder, breathing in the faint scent of fresh water and herbs that clung to him.
For a moment neither of them spoke. The world seemed to soften around them, the rustle of leaves, the distant chatter of birds, the steady trickle of the creek, all fading beneath the thunder of her own heart.
Anne tipped her face upward, searching his expression. Gone was the uncertainty. In its place was wonder and something achingly gentle.
His hand lifted, brushing a stray curl from her cheek. Fingers lingered there, warm and careful, as if memorizing the feel of her skin.
“Anne…” he murmured.
She didn’t let him finish. Rising onto her toes, she touched her lips to his.
The kiss was soft, tentative, more question than claim. Yet when he answered, drawing her closer, it deepened with quiet certainty. His hand slid to her waist, steadying her, while hers curled into the front of his tunic, clutching as though anchoring herself.
He kissed her slowly, reverently, lingering in a way that spoke not of impulse but of devotion newly realized. Their breaths mingled, warm and uneven, and when they parted it was only far enough to share air before finding one another again.
Anne laughed softly against his mouth, the sound breathless.
“I believe,” she whispered, “ye speak far more clearly this way.”
Camden smiled, truly smiled, before lowering his forehead to hers. “I could practice often, if it pleases ye.”
“It does,” she admitted.
Another kiss followed, at first unhurried, lingering, their bodies touching his arms around her, hers around his neck. Anne wanted more, needed more, and she’d not be deprived of having him. It had been too many nights that she’d dreamed about him, and his touches and caresses.
Without her having to utter a word, it was as if Camden knew instinctively what she wanted. He took her hand, and they walked to a patch of grass surrounded by thick bushes that had just begun to sprout tiny white buds.
His eyes never leaving hers, he took the bottom of his tunic and pulled it up over his head, then he spread it over the grass.
It proved impossible to stop taking him in.
From the impressive span of his broad chest, and wide shoulders to the ripples of his stomach.
His arms were well-formed, every part of him seeming to have been created perfectly.
Her eyes then moved to the sprinkle of hair across his chest and down the center trailing down to his stomach and disappearing at the belt of his breeches.
Her cheeks flared with heat but before she could feel foolish, Camden closed the distance, pulling her against him. “I am all yers, ye can look, touch, and taste every part of me.”
Tipping her face, he took her mouth, this time with undisguised hunger and before she knew it, they were on the ground, kissing, touching and she did indeed look and touch him as much as she desired.
Her breathing was harsh, every part of her screaming for release, so when he freed her breasts and took to them, one at a time, Anne had to bite down on her bottom lip to keep from crying out in relief.
“Camden!” she gasped digging her fingernails into his shoulders as she arched under him. Every sensation she’d imagined whilst lying alone at night did not compare to the reality of his touch now.
Lifting from her breast, Camden moved so that he could take her mouth again as his hand trailed up her skirt, skimming lightly over the sensitive skin of her inner thigh until hesitating at the apex between her legs.
Anne could barely breathe. She wanted him to continue. Not hesitate. Not now. “Camden, please…”
The curving of his lips was confirmation that he’d waited for her assurance before continuing. “I will only do what ye wish. Tell me to stop and I will.” His breathless words in her ear were an elixir to her soul.
“Never,” Anne replied just as breathless.
Tracing his fingertips, forming circles around her sex, he ensured she became comfortable with his touch. Anne mewled with both satisfaction and need; how both could exist at the same time was something she’d never understand.