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“Take yer time,” she replied gently. “Liam will come for me before sundown.”

At the mention of her husband, Camden felt the familiar mixture of happiness and loss that came whenever he thought of how much had changed. Beitris now lived just beyond the village with Liam, who served the laird training archers. Since her marriage, she no longer spent each day at the apothecary as his apprentice.

There had been a time when she was always there, anticipating his needs, tending the injured, preparing herbs, keeping watch when he could not. He had come to depend on her steady presence more than he had ever admitted aloud.

Now she came only a few days each week. The apothecary felt quieter in her absence. Lonelier.

But in moments such as this, with death hovering too close and uncertainty thick in the air, her presence was a blessing he didnae take for granted.

It was much later in the day when the man finally woke. Through one swollen eye, he took in his surroundings. He groaned with every breath and Camden felt for him. “Do ye think to be able to drink some broth?”

The man shook his head and stared at the ceiling. “I…am…called…Brae,” he croaked, his voice a harsh croaky whisper.

“Who did this to ye?” Camden asked.

Brae was silent for a long moment, then just as Camden thought he wouldn’t answer, his cracked lips parted. “M-my brothers.”

Struck silent, Camden could only stare at the injured man. He must have done something very bad for his family to do this to him. He didn’t ask. If and when Brae wished to share, he would.

“I-I didnae mean for the child to die,” the man’s voice became choked with emotion. “B-but it was my fault.”

Camden gave him more of the tincture and water and waited for the man to fall back to sleep.

His muscles stiff and aching from hours of stillness, Camden opened the front door and stepped outside, drawing in a long, steady breath as if he could pull strength from the very air itself. The last light of day lingered on the horizon, warm and golden.

He had spent the entire day confined inside the small apothecary, unwilling to go far from the injured man’s side. Even when exhaustion pressed heavily upon him, he had remained close, listening for every shallow breath.

Yet despite his calling as a healer, Camden had always belonged more to the open world than to four walls and a roof. He found solace beneath the endless sky. In long walks through forests where the air smelled of moss and earth or on horseback along winding paths that led to distant villages. In warmer months, he preferred the shore, where the sea stretched before him. Its salt-tinged air seeming to refresh his soul. Nature offered a quiet kind of healing no tincture could provide.

Leaning against the wall of his cottage, he took in the comings and goings of the villagers. The day came to an end, which meant heading home to last meal, time with family, and rest. Stable hands guided steeds to their stalls. The blacksmith’s fire was doused. And the aroma coming from his uncle’s bakery meant the last loaves of the day were being baked.

A familiar figure crossed the village square, and Camden let out a quiet breath of resignation. He briefly considered slipping back inside, vanishing through the doorway before she noticed, but he knew it would be futile. It was too late to pretend he hadn’t seen her, and Moyra was very persistent.

“Camden!” she called brightly, her voice carrying easily across the square. Her ample bosom jiggled, and her hips swayed side to side as she quickly closed the distance between them.

“I came to see ye earlier, but yer cousin said ye were asleep,” she said with a pout. “I offered to wait, but she would nae hear of it.”

She rose onto her toes, reaching for him with an air of familiarity he didnae share. Camden shifted subtly aside, pretending to adjust his stance, her attempt at affection falling short.

“I stepped out only for a moment of fresh air. I am caring for a gravely injured man.”

“Oh?” Her dark eyes flashed to the door, as if ascertaining what he said was true. “Who is it?”

“Where are ye headed Moyra?” He purposely changed the subject. “It is getting late. A bonny lass should nae be wandering alone.”

She gave him a saucy smile. “True. It would be nice for a man such as yerself to walk me home.”

“Ye live just there,” Camden said, pointing to a cottage across the square, one in a line of six. “I can keep an eye from here.”

Moyra looked over her shoulder toward her home, where she lived with her parents and two sisters. “I am going to the bakery,” she replied. “Then I may have to see about some…” she glanced toward the end of the road. “Then perhaps gather some herbs.”

“Herbs?” Camden said. “What kind of herbs do ye hope to find? It is getting dark, as ye said.”

Her face fell, and she moved closer, barely leaving any room between them. “Perhaps ye can help me,” she whispered, her eyes moving to his lips.

Camden stiffened. Though her nearness stirred an instinctive reaction, his mind remained unmoved. He stepped back, widening the space between them.

“I cannae leave,” he said gently but firmly. “My patient requires care.”