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“A man? Is that the only thing that would weigh heavily on a woman’s mind?” Anne asked, sliding a look to Florie, whose expression was that of someone who would not be swayed.
“Of course nae,” Florie stated. “There are other things: bairns, illness, threats. I dinnae see that any of those fit yer situation. But I ’ave heard rumors that there is a rivalry between ye and that Moyra lass.”
Anne couldn’t help but laugh. “For someone who rarely leaves her cottage, ye are well informed of what happens in the village.”
“I am,” Florie agreed. “I sit ’ere, in the sun and talk to anyone who passes by.” Her wrinkled face creased as a wide grin spread across her face. “When one is old, people will share more than they mean to.”
“It certainly sounds so,” Anne grumbled. “There is nae rivalry between Moyra and me. She seems to think there is because I rode to the village on a horse with Camden Lewis for Agnes’s burial.”
“The lass is intent on marrying the healer, whether he is amiable to it or nae,” Florie chuckled. “Feel badly for the lad.”
Anne stabbed the soft dirt harder than she meant to. “He is a fully grown man. If he wishes to, he is more than able to stop the flirtations. I think that he enjoys the attention.”
“True, some men do,” Florie said. “I ken the healer, he has seen about me several times. Seems the sort to move slowly, taking much too long to ponder.”
He’d certainly not seemed to hesitate before acting when he’d kissed her. Instinctively, she knew he’d not expected to initiate the kiss but instead, had been as surprised by what had happened as she was.
“If ye set yer mind to it, there will nae be a contest.”
Anne turned to give Florie a questioning look. “I dinnae have any intention of pursuing Camden Lewis. There are more than enough women in the village fawning over him.”
Florie held out her hand, palm up, seeds in the center. “Plant these first, dear. Two in each hole. And ensure to keep them at least three fingers apart. They’re a hearty sort, need barely any encouragement to grow.”
Carefully dropping a pair of seeds into each hole. Unbidden, her mind returned to Camden.
“I do wish to marry and start a family, Florie. But I’m afraid it may be too late for me. At times I am still hopeful, but for the most part I have accepted that it may never come to be.”
Florie frowned, her expression one of annoyance. “Ye are pretty, still young, and healthy. If ye are nae married it is because ye are nae looking. Complaining about it will nae help.”
The woman’s words made Anne lose her balance, and she went from a crouched position to falling back, landing on her backside.
Stunned into silence, she blinked several times, unable to form a comeback. What Florie said was true. Every reason she’d come up with for not finding love, a partner, and forming a family had been aimed at others.
It was possible that the reason men didn’t approach her was not because of Gowan’s threats, but because she’d not acted approachable. The sun warmed her back, and she continued to plant the tiny seeds.
“Florie. I think ye are right.” Anne let out a long breath waiting for Florie’s sassy comeback. But there was none.
“Ye can say it. Tell me I am the reason,” Anne insisted. At no response, she turned to Florie.
The woman’s head had lolled to the side, her lips were slightly parted, and her eyes were closed. A soft snore repeated in a steady pattern.
Chapter Thirteen
Brae whistled as he finished shaping the pack from sturdy green branches, his fingers moving with surprising skill as he secured them with twine and strips of cloth. The tune was light and easy, carrying through the warm afternoon air.
Together they gently settled the confused hound into the makeshift cradle. The dog let out a soft whine, then went still, as though sensing it was safe. Camden lifted the pack and eased it onto Brae’s shoulders, adjusting the straps so the weight rested evenly.
Not long ago, the young man would not have been able to stand without shaking. He had needed Camden’s arm to walk even a short distance. Now he carried another creature with steady strength, his posture firm despite the burden.
They set off down the winding road, sunlight spilling through the trees in dappled gold. The day was warm and generous, birds calling from the branches above, the breeze carrying the scent of pine and crushed grass. It was the sort of morning that promised good things, lives unburdened by grief or doubt.
Camden walked as though under a cloud no sun could chase away.
The night before still clung to him, like a chill he couldn’t shake. The feeling of having missed something. The whisper of unease crawled up his spine. Even now, in the open and the light, he glanced over his shoulder, half-expecting to find shadows where none should be.
Camden considered that some men were meant to build lives, to leave laughter echoing in their homes. Others were meant to walk alone, tending wounds, mending what they could, and moving on before their own hearts became something that needed healing.
They were nearing the rise where the archery training grounds came into view when the thunder of hooves broke the stillness. Two riders crested the path ahead, sunlight flashing off mail and leather. Camden recognized his broad-shouldered heavily muscled cousin at once.
