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Anne recoiled as though struck.

Her hand flew to her mouth, breath shattering, tears burning instantly behind her eyes.

She stumbled backward.

Rage. Pain. Betrayal. Heartbreak.

All crashed through her at once, leaving her breathless beneath their weight. She didnae ken which cut deeper. The image before her or the promise he had made only hours before.

Sobs clawed upward, shaking her body, though she fought to silence them. She retreated blindly until her knees failed and she collapsed onto the forest floor. The damp earth seeped cold through her skirts, the scent of soil rising around her as grief crushed tight against her ribs.

He must not see her like this.

With effort that trembled through every limb, Anne pushed herself upright.

She walked away carrying a burden far heavier than anything she could name. The path blurred before her, tears clouding her sight. Somewhere behind her, she thought she heard Camden call out, but the sound faded into the fog filling her mind, lost beneath the roaring ache inside her chest.

And she didnae turn back.

*

By the time Anne reached the mill, her breath came in shallow bursts, and her legs trembled from more than the long walk. The steady turning of the waterwheel groaned beside the building, its rhythm slow and relentless, and the scent of damp grain and river mist hung thick in the air. It clung to her shawl, to her skin, grounding and suffocating all at once.

She paused at the door, fingers shaking as she wiped at her face with the edge of her shawl. The wool felt rough against her cheeks, already sore from tears she could not seem to stop. She pressed her lips together, forcing them still, forcing herself upright.

Then she knocked.

The door opened quickly, and relief struck her at once when Effie appeared.

Effie’s warm, familiar presence filled the threshold, flour dusting her sleeves and hair escaping its pins. The moment her gaze landed on Anne, her expression shifted from welcome to alarm.

“Oh, saints above…” Effie stepped forward immediately, grasping Anne by the shoulders and guiding her inside before she could protest. The interior smelled of ground grain, warm bread, and the faint sweetness of honey stored somewhere nearby. The heat from the hearth wrapped around Anne, loosening something inside her that had been held too tight.

“What happened?” Effie demanded, voice pitched high with worry. “Gowan?”

Anne shook her head, unable to speak past the swelling in her throat. “Gowan is well.”

The words barely escaped before her composure cracked.

Effie steered her toward a chair and pressed her down into it. Anne’s fingers clutched the edge of the table, the worn wood smooth beneath her palms, anchoring her as the world threatened to spin away again.

“Anne,” Effie said more softly now, kneeling before her. “Tell me.”

Anne tried. She truly did. But the moment she opened her mouth, emotion surged forward like a breached dam. Tears spilled freely, her chest hitching as she bent forward, pressing trembling hands to her face.

“I went…” she managed between breaths. “Freckles came… said ye sent for me… past the mill… the shack…”

Effie frowned. “I sent no one.”

Anne’s shoulders shook harder. She swallowed painfully.

“Moyra was there,” she whispered.

The name alone tasted bitter.

Effie’s hands tightened around hers. “And?”

Anne squeezed her eyes shut, forcing the memory out despite the ache it carried.