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“Ye must be lonely if ye wish for my company,” he said, a crooked smile tugging at his mouth. “Come along to the shop, then. Or go see Florie.”

Anne forced a laugh and claimed she was avoiding chores, a flimsy jest. When Gowan finally left, cheerful and unsuspecting, the door closing behind him felt louder than it should have.

A helpless weight settled in her chest as she stood alone.

Where was Camden? He had promised. He would come, speak with her brother, and make his intentions known. Even if duty had dragged him away in the night, he would have sent word.

Late morning sunlight crept across the floorboards. Anne paced, fingers twisting together, thoughts spiraling. Concern gnawed louder than annoyance. Something was wrong, she felt it, though she could not name why.

Anne was flooded with relief when knocking sounded on the door.

She opened it expecting to find Camden with an apology and an explanation. Instead she found Freckles.

The boy’s wild hair stuck out in unruly patches, his face smudged, his clothes wrinkled and mismatched. The village’s most tireless troublemaker shifted from foot to foot, scratching his head with frantic vigor. His widowed mother had too many bairns to manage, and he ran loose more often than not, usually with a band of equally mischievous companions.

“Message for ye,” he said, still scratching.

Anne frowned slightly. “From whom?”

“They are out there past the mill. At the old shack.”

Her heart stumbled, then raced.

“Who is?”

Freckles shrugged. “Just told to say that to ye.” He glanced past her toward the interior, and she surmised he could be bribed easily for more information.

“Have ye eaten?” She didn’t want to take time to feed the boy, because if something was wrong with Camden, it was best to hurry and find out what happened.

Shaking his head, the boy gave her a pitiful look. “Nae since yesterday.” Probably a lie. His protruding belly said the child ate well.

She went to the kitchen grabbed leftover sliced pork and a hunk of bread and shoved it at the boy, who began devouring it. “Who’s at the shack, Freckles?”

“I dunno,” he replied, crumbs flying from his mouth as he spoke. “Ye should hurry.”

Anne glared at the boy. “Who sent ye then?”

“A woman, I think her name is Effie. She gave me a coin and told me to fetch ye and tell ye to hurry, cause she saw something that would interest ye.”

Why would Effie send for her instead of coming herself? It made little sense, but Anne didn’t have time for ponderings.

Within moments Anne wrapped her shawl about her shoulders and stepped into the day. She passed the blacksmith shop, waving quickly to Gowan without slowing, then hurried past the tavern toward the edge of the village.

Despite her hurry, several villagers called out greetings, which she returned while doing her best not to draw attention. If whatever occurred was a private matter, best not to rouse murmurings. Her mind raced faster than her feet could, and she wondered if she should have borrowed Gowan’s wagon as the shack was a bit of a long walk.

Effie’s use of Freckles was strange. The boy was worse than a fishmonger’s wife, often spreading fantastical gossip that made little sense. Yet beneath it all, there were always seeds of truth.

The closer Anne drew to the shack, the less sense the errand made. Effie would never summon her like this, not through a boy, not to a place so far removed from the village.

The forest swallowed her gradually. Ferns brushed her skirts and dampened her stockings, their cool fronds whispering against her legs. Moss softened the path beneath her boots, springy and slick, stealing the sound from her steps so completely she felt as though she moved unseen through another world.

The air changed here, thicker, richer. It smelled of wet earth and crushed greenery, of bark and decay and something faintly sour beneath it all. Sunlight filtered through the tangled canopy above, broken into pale shards that flickered across her hands and face.

Birds chattered sharply overhead, their restless calls sounding almost like warnings passed from branch to branch. Rabbits darted across her path, their little noses twitching with displeasure before vanishing into the brush.

Anne slowed.

Her skin prickled.