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“I best go,” Anne repeated rushing out the door. It was only when the fresh air blew across her hot cheeks that she felt as if coming out of a trance.

The bread she’d purchased was flattened. Ruined. But she’d not return to the bakery. At the moment, it was best to get away from the apothecary and the many questions that came with Camden Lewis.

Chapter Eleven

Camden stood in the apothecary doorway long after Anne had gone, the door still swaying faintly on its hinges as if it, too, hesitated to let her leave. His apology hadn’t been strong enough; he’d been too distracted by Anne’s proximity.

Her warmth lingered in the air. Or perhaps that was only his imagination, clinging to the memory of her standing before him. Eyes bright and uncertain, hands pressed to his chest as if she had to remind herself where she ended and he began.

He dragged a hand through his hair and let out a long shaky breath. His heart continued beating strongly and his breathing barely slowed. He’d not expected such a strong reaction.

What were Anne’s thoughts as she walked home, or wherever she headed?

In the years he’d spent tending to the aches and wounds of others, Camden had learned to read what people didnae say aloud. A wince meant pain. A clenched jaw meant fear. But Anne, was a mystery he could not solve with herbs or steady hands.

She had kissed him back.

That much was undeniable.

Yet she had fled as though he’d frightened her, as though the kiss had awakened something she wished desperately to put back to sleep. She’d not believed him fully, that nothing existed between him and Moyra. He didn’t blame her; trust was not something Anne would give easily, that much he knew about her.

Camden crossed the room and braced his palms on the worktable. Dried bundles of lavender and yarrow swayed above him, their faint scent surrounding him.

Moyra’s face intruded on his thoughts, sharp and insistent. He’d been a fool not to stop her sooner. The way she lingered around him and the apothecary. The way she weaved her hand through his arm in the village square. The insinuations she took just a touch too far. And he had done nothing, thinking silence would spare her feelings, not realizing it gave Moyra the impression he was interested. In the end his actions hurt both Moyra and now Anne. Not to mention he had hurt his chances of convincing Anne there was nothing between Moyra and himself.

“Then again what do I ken,” he muttered out loud.

Eara.

The name settled in his chest like an old ache. He had loved Eara deeply. He’d been hopeful and looked forward to the life he’d thought within reach. It was all before he had learned how easily another’s affection could be mistaken for something deeper. Before he had learned how loss could hollow out a man.

But with Anne it felt different. With Anne, it was not memory that stirred him, but possibility.

He closed his eyes and saw her as she had been in the doorway, hair hastily braided, chin lifted in quiet defiance. There had been a softness in her, yes, but also a strength he admired more than he cared to admit.

She had pressed her hands to his chest, not in rejection, but in restraint. Of herself, as much as of him. There was fear in her eyes that he would bring heartbreak and pain.

That realization twisted something inside him. He was just as afraid. Not only of being rejected again, but that he had the audacity to hope for the elusive faithful deep love of another.

He moved to the door and looked out toward the path Anne had taken, though she was long gone.

Was he headed back into the same depths of darkness that heartbreak brought? How could he ever take that step forward, when it felt as if he was on the precipice of falling into a ravine with thorns at the bottom that would tear every bit of flesh from his bones?

A shiver went up his spine and Camden closed his eyes. Perhaps Anne was right to get away from him. As much as he wanted to face the fears, he wasn’t sure if either of them were strong enough.

It pained him to admit it, that as a man who faced sickness, pain, and death regularly, he was terrified of taking a step toward personal happiness.

What would become of him?

He stormed into the back part of the cottage and called out for Brae. The young man appeared, fully dressed, a satchel in hand.

“Glad to see ye are prepared to go. We will be spending the entire day foraging for herbs and be spending the night outdoors. Ensure to get whatever ye will require.” Camden informed a puzzled looking Brae, who was smart enough not to ask any questions.

Camden rushed to his own bedchamber. He had to get away. He needed time in the forest away from the village to think things through.

*

The forest settled into itself as dusk faded into night, the last threads of amber light slipping away behind the hills. Camden tightened the straps of the pack on his shoulder while Brae crouched nearby, carefully tying off a bundle of freshly cut comfrey.