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“Hold fast,” he whispered, though he wasn’t certain if he spoke to the dog or to himself.

With a careful, practiced motion, he set the bone. The dog cried out once, sharp and piercing, then sagged, panting.

Brae blinked rapidly. “Saints above.”

Camden wrapped the leg with clean cloth and crushed comfrey leaves, binding it into a makeshift splint. When he finished, he sat back on his heels, breathing hard.

The dog’s head drooped, but it didnae bare its teeth again. Instead, it inched closer, pressing its warm, shaking body against Camden’s knee.

“Well,” Brae said quietly. “Looks like ye’ve been chosen.”

A faint smile touched Camden’s mouth. He rested a hand on the dog’s side, feeling the steady thump of its heart beneath his palm.

“Sometimes,” he said, “all it takes is someone staying with someone when everyone else has gone.”

The words lingered in the cool night air, and Camden felt their weight settle inside him.

Anne’s face rose in his mind.

He looked down at the wounded dog and tightened his hand just a bit, gentle and sure.

“Aye,” Brae murmured. “I ken the feeling.”

They built a small fire near the fallen log, the flames crackling softly as the forest watched over them. They shared their meal of a snared rabbit with the dog then Brae wrapped his cloak around the exhausted animal. Soon both were fast asleep.

Camden leaned back against a tree, staring up at the stars breaking through the branches. The half-moon and campfire cast enough light that he could see clearly enough to keep watch.

A foreboding came swiftly. A sense so strong that he stood and looked around, half expecting trouble in the form of a hungry wolf or perhaps men who wished to rob them.

The only thing surrounding them was the rustling of wind through leaves, and a lone hoot of an owl somewhere above his head. But whatever the feeling was, Camden couldn’t settle. He circled their small camp, his eyes searching the surrounding trees. Something was there; he was certain of it.

A soft glow emanated from between the trees. Camden took a few steps toward it but stopped when it dimmed. Inching closer, he strained to look into the darkness but could only make out the form of a standing stone. It had probably been the moonlight reflecting off of it, but cloud cover had dimmed it.

He glanced to the injured dog and Brae sleeping. If something was afoot, surely the dog would sense it and alert them. Then again, he’d slipped herbs into the dog’s water for pain, and it could be the reason the small beast slept too soundly to hear or sense anything.

Lowering, Camden sat again with his back against a tree. The rough bark pressing through his tunic, his knife resting idle in his hand. He kept watch, though there was little to watch for. The forest had gone quiet in that deep, listening way it sometimes did, as if the world itself had paused to breathe.

He stared into the embers and let his thoughts wander where he had tried all day to keep them from going.

Anne.

He could still feel the ghost of her hands against his chest, the softness of her mouth beneath his. He lifted his fingers, rubbing them together as if the memory might still be there, warm and real instead of fading and cruel.

She had left.

Not walked. Not lingered.

Fled.

Camden let out a slow breath and tilted his head back against the tree, closing his eyes.

“Ye made a fool of yerself,” he murmured to the night.

He had mistaken kindness for something more. He had mistaken her gentleness, her quiet way of looking at him, for feeling. The kiss at the apothecary had likely startled her. Probably embarrassed her. Perhaps even offended her. That he would take such liberties after what had occurred between them at her cottage. Followed by Moyra’s innuendos. None of which had been fully addressed yet.

The thought sat heavy in his chest.

He glanced toward the dog, its ears twitching in its sleep, one paw jerking as if it chased something in a dream. He had found the pup broken and bleeding, left to the cold and the dark, and he had stayed.