Rebecca’s eyes danced with amusement as she recalled one particular escapade.
“It was high summer, the air heavy with the scent of honeysuckle. Phoebe, Roland and I were restless, eager for adventure. We decided to explore the old gamekeeper’s cottage deep in the woods.”
She leaned forward conspiratorially. “It was rumored to be haunted, you see. By a ghostly white stag.”
Camden raised an eyebrow, intrigued. “A white stag?”
“Oh yes. Some said it was the spirit of the old gamekeeper, forever guarding his domain.” Rebecca’s voice dropped to a dramatic whisper. “We simply had to investigate.”
“Naturally,” Camden replied, lips quirking.
“We crept through the trees, jumping at every snapped twig and rustle of leaves. The cottage loomed ahead, vines crawling up its crumbling walls. It was perfect.”
Rebecca’s eyes shone with remembered excitement. “Phoebe wanted to turn back, but I urged us on. Brave Roland pushed open the door...”
She trailed off intentionally, enjoying the suspense. Camden leaned toward her. “What happened next?”
Rebecca laughed. “Why, nothing! Just dust and cobwebs. No ghostly stag. No ghosts of any kind.”
Camden chuckled, relaxing back against the settee. Her laughter was contagious, washing away his lingering darkness. With a pang, he realized how much he would miss her if he left.
Rebecca’s laughter faded, and she glanced up, meeting his gaze. In his eyes she saw past and present intertwined—the shadowed soldier who fought in the war, and the man he was beyond the battlefield. A man who might be capable of leaving the darkness and foolishness of death and destruction behind. She cared about him—deeply. Her heart tugged, her throat growing tight at the realization.
Camden saw a battle raging in her eyes, a secret struggle she would not share with him. Heartache, surprise, tenderness. He saw it all in the green depths of her gaze.
The moment stretched between them, fragile as a moth’s wing. In those quiet moments, he had his own realization. Here was something worth fighting for. Worth protecting.
The candlelight flickered, dancing across their features. Rebecca’s cheeks were tinged pink. Slowly, reluctantly, she withdrew her hand. The loss of her touch left an ache.
“I should take my leave,” she murmured. Her voice was gentle, almost wistful. She busied herself gathering up her basket.
Camden longed to call her back, but held his tongue. There would be time ahead to explore what lay between them. For now, it was enough to watch her go, her footsteps echoing down the ancient stone corridors.
When she had disappeared from view, Camden let out a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding. He flexed his bandaged hand, imprinting the memory of her touch. Tomorrow they would meet again.
Rebecca’s footsteps slowed as she made her way down the winding staircase, each step taking her further from Camden. She chided herself for lingering so long in his presence, for allowing herself to get drawn in by the intensity of his gaze.
And yet... she could not deny the connection that had sparked between them from the very beginning. It both thrilled and frightened her in equal measure.
Pausing on the landing, Rebecca glanced back over her shoulder, half hoping to see Camden there. But the corridor behind her remained empty.
She sighed, adjusting the basket on her arm. Best to return home and put the encounter from her mind. She could never find happiness as a soldier’s wife.
Even as she told herself this, Rebecca knew she would count the hours until she had cause to return to Almerry Castle. To see him again.
The ancient oak door creaked open before her. Beyond lay the sweeping lawn of the bailey, bathed now in the fading golden light of dusk.
Rebecca stepped out into the fresh air, breathing deep the scent of roses on the breeze. Somewhere nearby a skylark burst into joyful song, its trilling melody reminding her that life held brightness still, even amidst the aftermath of war and grief. Then, with a lighter heart, Rebecca made her way home.
Eleven
Camden watched Rebecca intently as she gently unwound the bandage from his injured hand. Just as it was in the previous three days, her touch was soft and soothing, her fingers deftly working to avoid causing him any pain. Though he knew he was more than capable, Camden was glad it was Rebecca tending to him.
“It seems to be healing well,” Rebecca said, inspecting the nearly closed gash on his palm.
He nodded as she wrapped a fresh linen strip around his palm. He liked the way she fussed over him, but mostly he enjoyed spending time alone with her. During her visits, he’d told her about his brother and parents, his childhood. In return, she’d told him more about her childhood and her family.
He still attended the house party, but enjoyed the time they spent at Almerry most of all. Aside from her chaperone, they were alone in the castle. At her estate, there seemed to always be several people about, making it difficult for them to be their authentic selves.
