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“Oh?” The woman’s face became animated, her expression like that of a satisfied cat after a bowl of cream. “I see.” She glanced around as if to ascertain if anyone else was about that would steal the gossip for themselves before she could spread it. “I best go and see about my bairns… They are about somewhere.”

“She seems in a hurry,” Moyra mused, looking up to him with rounded innocent eyes. “Her bairns are just there.” She pointed to two children running in circles.

Finally, they arrived at Moyra’s cottage. Camden removed his arm from hers and held out the herbs. “Get rest and ensure ye—”

“Mum!” Moyra called out while simultaneously pushing the front door open and pulling him to it. The obviously weary woman sat up from where she was at the table, her eyes met his for a moment, then she looked to her daughter. “What is it, Moyra?”

“Camden was kind enough to see me home, perhaps a cup of ale for his troubles?”

“That is nae necessary,” Camden replied quickly. “I really must get back. Brae has a fever,” he lied. He put the herbs for the tonic on the table and rushed back out, closing the door firmly behind.

Only once he was a short distance away did he let out a long breath. The woman was relentless, and if he didn’t take more precautions, she’d find a way to trap him into something he couldn’t get free from.

Chapter Six

The happy clucking of chickens filled the air as Anne tossed out grain to the birds. With her foot, she gently pushed a red hen that bullied smaller, younger ones. “Ye are greedy red hen,” she admonished while unable to keep from smiling when the chicken clucked as if in response.

After she finished she went to the front door, reached for a broom, and swept the area around the doorway and front of the house. Mornings were her favorite time of day. Often she found herself standing there by the doorway watching across the way toward the village center.

Her cottage was on slightly higher ground, giving her a good view of the goings on in Tokavaig. How life continued, day by day, year by year. Couples marrying. Bairns growing up. Happy occasions. Sad occasions. The normal things of life.

As for herself, at seven and twenty, she no longer expected her life to change. She had never married and doubted she ever would. It was not for lack of opportunity; there had been a time when men had courted her with eager smiles and hopeful promises. In those days, while her parents yet lived, she had believed marriage inevitable and had chosen to wait for a man worthy of her heart.

But when death stole her parents, grief became her constant companion, dulling any thought of love or future happiness. By the time the ache lessened, the years had slipped past unnoticed. One by one, the men she might have considered had married others or left the village in search of fortunes beyond her reach. And so she remained, suspended between what might have been and what would never come to pass, with fewer choices than she had ever imagined.

She didnae ken why such thoughts pressed so insistently to the forefront of her mind. Perhaps it was the danger of too much solitude, hours alone giving her imagination far too much freedom to wander toward what might have been.

And then there were the restless nights.

On those evenings, when sleep came slow and her body refused to be ignored, she found herself aching with unfamiliar longings. She would drift into dreams of strong arms and whispered words, of warmth shared beneath tangled covers, of mouths meeting and hands discovering. More often than not, it was Camden who stepped from the shadows of those dreams.

Her cheeks grew hot at remembering her imaginings from the night before. For the time being, it was best to keep her distance, at least until she was sure not to turn bright red in his presence.

As she tidied her cottage, Anne turned her mind to the day’s chores.

“Anne!”

Anne screamed. The masculine voice startled her so badly, she dropped the cup she held, and it shattered on the floor.

Her brother stood at the door, a tight press of his lips as he fought not to laugh.

“Gowan!” Anne yelled, her hand flattened on her chest over her thundering heart. “Ye ken I am always alone. Ye could have arrived without yelling.”

Despite her words, Gowan’s expression remained jovial. “I called yer name three times. Ye stood there frozen, holding a cup with a silly grin on yer face.”

“What do ye want?” she managed, ignoring his remark.

Gowan got the broom, walked over to where the cup had shattered, and swept the shards to the door. “I came to eat. I have nae a bite of food at home.”

Despite being annoyed with her brute of a brother, she was glad for his company. “If ye chop me some wood, I will cook ye something to eat. Go on.” She waved him away.

As soon as Gowan walked away, Anne giggled nervously. Thankfully it was her brother that had caught her with her head in the clouds. If it had been someone like Effie, she would have questioned Anne until she admitted what she’d been thinking.

When Gowan returned, they ate fried pork, eggs, and flat bread. Her brother ate with gusto, and her heart melted with love for him.

“Give me coin and I can get the necessities to make larger meals. I can cook at yers or here and make ye food since it seems ye cannae fend fer yerself.”

Gowan shrugged. “I dinnae mind cooking. Ye have enough to do.”