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Anne stood and hugged her. “Thank ye, Effie. I can always count on ye to lighten my mood. I am already a fortunate woman, because I have ye as a friend.” She gathered her shawl around her shoulders. “I’d best head home. There is much to do today.”

“Think about what I said,” Effie insisted. “There is a reason for tales and fables. They are based on truth.”

Deep in thought, Anne walked toward the village square and into the bakery. Once inside she waited in line for it to be her turn.

“I am a bit worried about the lad. When he finds out, I am nae sure what his reaction will be.” Camden’s aunt stood toward the back of the room with another woman.

The woman shook her head. “She should be ashamed to face yer family, especially after how she treated him. The nerve of Eara returning to Tokavaig.”

Then the woman added in a hushed tone. “I thought best to let ye ken. So ye can warn Camden.”

Anne’s ears perked at the mention of his name.

“Thank ye,” Camden’s aunt said shaking her head. “She broke our Camden’s heart, and it is only recently that he seems to be returning to normalcy. I believe he is courting.”

Anne hated to eavesdrop, but it was impossible not to. Whoever the woman was at the front of the line seemed to be purchasing enough bread to feed half the village, which meant Anne couldn’t move forward. If she were to be honest, in a way, she was grateful.

“Courting?” the woman asked.

Camden’s aunt huffed, “Aye. Unfortunately, it is that lass Moyra.”

The line moved forward then so she couldn’t hear what the woman whispered in response. She’d heard the rumors of what had happened to Camden. But it had been around the time she had lost her parents, so she’d not paid much heed.

Her family had lived in a house attached to the blacksmith shop, and almost three years ago, Anne had woken to screams. Their house was engulfed in smoke. Terror had seized her when all she could see were smoke and flames. Gowan had saved her life. Unfortunately, their father and mother had perished that night.

When Anne had refused to live in the house Gowan had rebuilt next to the blacksmith shop, he’d then built her cottage closer to the creek, not too far from his home.

Helping the elderly had been her way of recovering, but there was so much she’d missed as she’d spent most of her time just outside the village.

Curiosity filled her as she ordered her loaf of bread, sliding a look to where Camden’s aunt now stood alone, seeming deep in thought.

“How fare ye, Missus Lewis?” Anne greeted the woman who walked closer with a smile.

“I am well. What about ye, poor lass? I heard about Agnes, bless her. Ye must be very sad.”

Anne loved Camden’s aunt. Always had a kind word. “I am very sad. But otherwise well.”

There wasn’t a way to steer the conversation to Camden, so she said her goodbyes and walked out.

When Anne stepped out of the bakery, the spring air did little to clear the turmoil in her thoughts. The name Eara followed her like an echo she could not shake. She tried to place it. Tried to remember the woman. Perhaps she’d not lived in the village, but in the area.

At colliding with someone, an apology sprang to her lips. “I am so very sorry…” Her breath caught at recognizing the piercing green eyes that looked down at her.

“Camden,” she uttered, unsure why she’d said his name. “I didnae see ye.”

His eyes caught and held hers, steady and searching. “Anne.”

He reached out, his hand closing around her arm, firm yet gentle, as though he feared she might fall. He didnae release her at once, and Anne felt the warmth of him seep through wool and linen alike. It was foolish how much she noticed it. Foolish how much she wanted him to keep hold of her.

“I best be on my way,” she murmured, glancing to where his hand remained.

“It is fortunate that I ran into ye,” Camden said, his voice calm but intent. “I wish to speak with ye. Please, come to my shop.”

She eyed the doorway to the apothecary. “Very well. I do require some herbs.” It was best to clarify things. Though she wished they could do it here, and she could be on her way. But speaking on things that had occurred by the creek out where anyone may overhear might not be for the best.

So she allowed him to guide her inside, suddenly wondering about her appearance. She still wore the same clothing as the day before and had done little more than run her fingers through her hair before plaiting it into a single braid. Surely, she looked a fright.

A huff escaped, not only had the man seen her at her worst—stark naked—but he’d also used her to make Moyra jealous.