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He swallowed. Took a deep breath. Then another. His chest rose and fell like a man preparing to leap off a cliff.

“I… I…” He groaned suddenly. “What is the matter with me?”

Anne nearly laughed despite herself. The mighty healer defeated by words.

She touched his arm, briefly, then dropped her hand when his muscle flexed beneath her fingers. Far too distracting.

“Perhaps ye require rest.”

“Anne.” He met her eyes. Fully. Steadily.

“I am in love with ye.”

Silence fell.

Anne stared.

Her mind emptied entirely, as though someone had swept it clean along with her floors that morning.

“What?”

“I am so in love with ye that speech abandons me and judgment follows close behind.”

“What about Eara? Moyra?”

He shook his head as she spoke. “I have nae loved Eara in a very long time. I saw her this morning. She came to the apothecary, and I felt nothing. As for Moyra, I promise to speak to her and explain there will never be anything between her and I. I only want ye. I dinnae want to lose any possibility because of my lack of properly expressing my feelings for ye.” Camden blew out a breath, his eyes searching her face. “I love ye Anne. With all my heart.”

Hope burst through her defenses before she could stop it, bright, reckless, impossible to contain. Without another thought, she threw herself into his arms.

He caught her instantly, strong arms wrapping around her as though he feared she might vanish if he loosened his hold. Anne pressed against him, her cheek against his shoulder, breathing in the faint scent of fresh water and herbs that clung to him.

For a moment neither of them spoke. The world seemed to soften around them, the rustle of leaves, the distant chatter of birds, the steady trickle of the creek, all fading beneath the thunder of her own heart.

Anne tipped her face upward, searching his expression. Gone was the uncertainty. In its place was wonder and something achingly gentle.

His hand lifted, brushing a stray curl from her cheek. Fingers lingered there, warm and careful, as if memorizing the feel of her skin.

“Anne…” he murmured.

She didn’t let him finish. Rising onto her toes, she touched her lips to his.

The kiss was soft, tentative, more question than claim. Yet when he answered, drawing her closer, it deepened with quiet certainty. His hand slid to her waist, steadying her, while hers curled into the front of his tunic, clutching as though anchoring herself.

He kissed her slowly, reverently, lingering in a way that spoke not of impulse but of devotion newly realized. Their breaths mingled, warm and uneven, and when they parted it was only far enough to share air before finding one another again.

Anne laughed softly against his mouth, the sound breathless.

“I believe,” she whispered, “ye speak far more clearly this way.”

Camden smiled, truly smiled, before lowering his forehead to hers. “I could practice often, if it pleases ye.”

“It does,” she admitted.

Another kiss followed, at first unhurried, lingering, their bodies touching his arms around her, hers around his neck. Anne wanted more, needed more, and she’d not be deprived of having him. It had been too many nights that she’d dreamed about him, and his touches and caresses.

Without her having to utter a word, it was as if Camden knew instinctively what she wanted. He took her hand, and they walked to a patch of grass surrounded by thick bushes that had just begun to sprout tiny white buds.

His eyes never leaving hers, he took the bottom of his tunic and pulled it up over his head, then he spread it over the grass.