Page 5

He reached for the door, angling his body careful to avoid brushing against her. As he opened it, Moyra leaned slightly, peering past him.

Her eyes widened at the sight of the battered man lying motionless inside.

Her hand came to rest on Camden’s forearm. “I could help ye,” she offered. “I’ve tended injuries before.”

“As ye ken, Beitris was here earlier,” Camden replied, easing the door toward closing. “There isn’t any need.”

Her lips tightened, displeasure flickering across her face before she masked it.

“Ye should return home before darkness falls,” he added with a polite smile. “I would nae wish ye to come to harm.”

At once, her expression brightened again. “Aye,” she said softly. “’Tis kind of ye to worry.”

Camden inclined his head, watching as she finally turned away. Only when the distance between them grew did he allow himself to exhale fully. Although Moyra’s attention was flattering, he wasn’t attracted to the lass. He’d have to find a way to speak to her about it.

*

Camden dragged himself from the pallet on the floor in the front room where he’d slept. He’d had very little sleep, waking constantly to check on Brae. During the night the man had developed a fever, babbling incoherently until just before dawn when the fever had finally broken.

Thankfully he was sleeping soundly, breathing jaggedly because of the injuries, but at least he rested.

After reassuring himself that Brae was not feverish, Camden dressed quickly and headed over to the bakery to eat with his aunt, who always prepared extra.

The aroma of the baking bread and warmth from the ovens enveloped him when he entered the establishment. His uncle, who was busy passing out purchases to the waiting customers, waved in greeting. Of all the customers, he noted one. It was the blacksmith’s bonny sister, Anne. He couldn’t keep his gaze from traveling over her alluring, slender body.

“Camden.” His aunt’s voice carried both affection and mischief. He looked up to find her studying him with open amusement, one brow arched high.

“Ye look as if ye’ve been dragged behind a cart,” she teased, chuckling. “And saints above, lad, yer hair is standing every which way.”

Anne turned toward him at the comment, her dark eyes widening. For a brief moment, their gazes met. Then she quickly looked away, her cheeks flushing pink as she fought—and failed—not to smile.

“Aye, I imagine it does,” Camden admitted, dragging a hand through his unruly red hair in a futile attempt to tame it. “I’ve had little sleep. The man I’m tending took a bad turn in the night. Fever gripped him hard. ’Tis only now it has begun to break.”

His aunt’s expression softened at once, concern replacing her humor. She waved him toward the back of the bakery. “Come then, lad. Ye’ll be of no use to anyone if ye collapse where ye stand. Let’s get food in ye.”

Camden hesitated, glancing toward the door. The image of his patient—pale, sweating, fragile—lingered in his mind. “I cannae stay long,” he said. “I’d rather take something with me.”

Before his aunt could respond, Anne spoke. “I can go and stay with him,” she offered quietly.

Camden turned, surprised. She stood with her hands folded neatly before her, though her fingers twisted slightly in the fabric of her apron. She didnae quite meet his eyes.

“I ken what to watch for,” she continued. “Ye can eat without worry.”

His aunt beamed at her. “There’s a good lass.” She bustled over to a nearby table, gathering a small tub of herb butter. “For yer troubles.” She shoved the tub into Anne’s basket. “I’ll see to feeding this poor, bedraggled creature,” she added, casting Camden a playful look. “We’ll have him restored in no time.”

Anne’s blush deepened. She nodded once, murmured her thanks for the butter, and slipped quietly past Camden. As she passed him, he caught the faint scent of lavender, warm and clean. She didnae look back as she stepped into the morning light and turned toward the apothecary.

“Quite a beauty,” his uncle remarked thoughtfully, watching her go. He gave Camden a meaningful look. “That lass will make some man a fine wife. The man wise enough to court her will be fortunate indeed.”

Camden tipped his head back briefly, staring at the ceiling as if the worn beams might offer him an escape from the conversation. He said nothing, instead following his aunt into the back room.

She set a steaming bowl of stew before him, thick with meat and vegetables, alongside fresh bread, and a generous pat of butter that melted instantly against the warmth. She settled across from him, her gaze never leaving his face as he took his first grateful bite.

“Ye look exhausted,” she said gently. “Ye cannae carry such burdens alone forever. Ye need help.”

Camden swallowed and shook his head. “It is nae always like this,” he replied. “There are stretches when the village leaves me in peace. Sometimes several fortnights pass with only a handful of visits.”

His aunt gave him a look filled with doubt. “Ye are the only healer in this village and the surrounding area, other than that old woman who lives in the woods. And only a few seek her out; everyone else comes to ye for healing.”