Page 39
Moyra shot Camden a lingering pout before departing without another word.
Silence settled in her wake.
It felt as though the very air shifted, lighter, breathable again. Camden sagged forward, planting his hands on the table as he lowered his head.
“What a morning.”
“It is early afternoon,” Beitris corrected dryly, already fetching a broom. The rhythmic scrape of bristles across wood filled the room as she swept herbs and glass into a careful pile.
In that moment, Camden felt a rush of affection so strong it surprised him. As she passed close, he pulled his cousin into a fierce embrace, wrapping his arms around her in a crushing hug.
“If I have nae said it before,” he murmured, “I say it now. I love ye, dear cousin. Ye are the finest ally a man could claim.”
Beitris laughed, warm and bright, the sound echoing through the apothecary. “I suspect ye’ve reached yer limit.”
He released her slightly, though curiosity lingered. “How long were ye here? What did ye hear?”
“I had entered through the back just after ye went to speak with Eara,” she replied casually. “I’d come from the bakery.” She gestured toward the doorway that connected the apothecary with his living space. “Brought ye something to eat.”
Camden blinked at her, uncertain whether to be grateful or offended. “And ye waited so long to intervene?”
“Ye needed to hear Eara,” Beitris said simply, sweeping another line of glass aside. “Though I confess her boldness astounds me.” A mischievous glimmer sparked in her eyes. “As for Moyra… Well, I’d hoped they might come to blows. It would have been entertaining.” She gave him an impish grin. “I ran around to come in the front door, praying I didnae miss much.”
Camden dragged his fingers through his unruly hair with a groan. “Ye are an evil lass.”
Grinning despite himself, he draped an arm across her shoulders. “I am famished,” he added. “Tell me, what have ye brought?”
Beitris went to the other room, returned and slid the parcel toward him, her red curls catching the light as she tipped her head. “Bread still warm, cheese, and honey cakes. I suspected ye’d nae broken yer fast as yet.”
She smiled motioning to the glass on the floor. “Keep me company whilst I clean this up.”
The scent reached him before he even opened the wrapping: yeasty bread and sweet honey. The comforting warmth of something made with care. His chest tightened unexpectedly. After the morning’s chaos, the simple kindness steadied him more than he wished to admit.
He tore off a piece and took a bite, closing his eyes briefly as flavor spread across his tongue. Only then did he realize how hollow his stomach felt and how drained the rest of him remained.
Beitris watched him for a moment, her sharp green gaze softening. “That took more out of ye than yer pretending.”
Camden exhaled slowly, leaning back against the table. The fatigue returned now that the storm had passed, settling deep in his bones.
“I thought I would feel something different,” he admitted. “Anger. Relief. Vindication.” He shook his head. “Instead, there was nothing. As if she were a stranger.”
Beitris swept the last of the glass into a pile. “That is something, cousin. It means she no longer holds power over ye.”
He considered that in silence, chewing thoughtfully. The idea settled into him with quiet weight. For years Eara had been a wound he carried, sometimes aching, sometimes lingering on the edges, but never gone.
And now only emptiness remained. Oddly, the absence didnae feel tragic. It felt freeing.
His thoughts drifted, unbidden, toward another woman, soft-spoken, watchful, her quiet presence lingering in his memory like the scent of herbs after rain. Anne’s hesitant smiles. The warmth in her eyes when she believed no one noticed.
A different sort of stirring moved through him then, gentler, uncertain, but undeniably alive.
Camden straightened slightly, as though catching himself wandering too far inward. He muttered, reaching for another bite, “I dinnae think she will return. I can concentrate on other… things.”
Beitris’s brow lifted knowingly, though she said nothing.
He finished the bread and wiped his hands, squaring his shoulders as purpose returned. “There is work awaiting. Villagers needing care. Life continues whether I sleep or nae.”
“That it does,” she agreed, tying off the bundled upbroken glass. “Though perhaps ye might attempt rest at some point.”
