Page 55

Anne laughed softly, the lightness of the moment easing some of the tightness in her chest. “Aye, it is.”

Keeping her gaze ahead, Anne said. “I truly dinnae ken what to think. As ye are well aware, I have never been courted, Gowan. I’ve no experience sorting truth from heartbreak.”

They continued toward the village, twilight stretching long shadows across the path. Lamps were beginning to glow in windows, and familiar sounds drifted through the evening air.

Gowan walked past his shop without stopping. “I will see ye home,” he said simply. “Get some rest. We will talk about this in the morning. I am sure our heads will be clearer.” Anne nodded, grateful for his quiet steadiness, always there for her, even if her thoughts still tumbled in every direction.

Sleep would not come.

Anne lay beneath her blankets staring into the darkness, listening to the small sounds of night settling around her cottage. The creak of cooling timbers. The distant rustle of wind through trees. The soft shifting of hens in their coop outside. Moonlight slipped through the window in pale ribbons, painting faint silver shapes across the floor.

She turned onto her side. Then onto her back again. Stillness refused to quiet her thoughts. They drifted instead to yesterday, to warmth and sunlight and laughter.

Camden standing beside her path, his smile hesitant but genuine. The way his voice softened when he spoke to her. The feel of his hand resting lightly at her nape, grounding and gentle. The lingering kiss that had stirred both comfort and something new and hopeful inside her chest.

She pressed her eyes closed, the memory bright and alive. He had looked at her as though she mattered. As though choosing her had not been difficult, but certain.

Her chest tightened.

The memory shifted to another scene, sharp and unwelcome.

The shack. The damp wood beneath her fingers. Peering through the opening and seeing Camden inside, pulling on his boots, the rumpled cot, and Moyra leaving moments before.

Anne turned again, drawing the blankets closer around herself, the wool scratching softly against her chin. Her throat burned with unshed tears. How could both things exist at once? The man who spoke of love with steady sincerity, and the man she had seen that morning.

She inhaled slowly, willing her emotions to the background as she considered the facts. Effie and Gowan believed Camden. Their confidence pressed gently against her certainty, loosening it just enough to allow doubt to slip through. Something hadn’t been right in the way Camden was struggling to pull on his boots. He had seemed off balance.

Perhaps Gowan was right, and she’d see things clearer in the morning. Anne closed her eyes, willing sleep to come.

The next morning, Anne did feel better. It was hard to remain glum when walking out to a sunny morning, filled with birdsong and chickens clucking happily as she fed them. A cat that had been lingering near her cottage stretched atop the chicken coop, in the sunlight, its lazy gaze keeping watch.

So far the cat had yet to harm the hens, which was curious, since it was a scrawny creature. So Anne had been feeding it.

Reaching into her apron pocket, she pulled out pieces of leftover meat from the day before. The cat didn’t move away when she approached and laid the offerings near it.

She almost laughed at the dainty way the cat approached the meal, sniffing and only after finding it met its approval, did it eat the meal.

“Anne.” At Gowan’s deep voice, she stepped from the stool she was standing on and turned to find her brother nearing. He carried a bundle, which meant he’d probably gone to the bakery.

His eyes went from her to the cat, who was grooming after its meal. “That animal will eat yer chickens.”

“He has nae as of yet,” Anne replied. “I am nae sure what to do about it. He comes and goes but has lingered about more of late.”

Both studied the cat, which made a point of ignoring them.

“That is strange that he has nae attacked yer birds,” Gowan frowned at the cat. “Do ye wish for me to kill it?”

“No!” Anne cried out. “That would be cruel.”

“Ye kill yer chickens,” Gowan pointed out.

“To eat, aye. We are nae going to eat the cat.”

Her brother shrugged and headed inside, obviously eager to break his fast and go on about the day.

Only after they’d settled down to a simple meal of mutton, fresh bread, and cheese, which they washed down with cool water from the creek, did Gowan broach the subject of Camden. “What have ye decided to do?”

“I will speak with him. Hear what he has to say. I may seek out Moyra, although I am unsure if she would be truthful.”