Ellie halted her steps. “Something wrong?”
“I’m not a child, Ellie. I can walk.” She released a puff of air. She didn’t want to trust that he had good intentions. There had been too many men of recent months travelling through Rusa Valley seeking land along the river, and some unsavory fellows vying for Sims Creek. However, she didn’t wish to be overly rude, given that he seemed intent on helping her. “He’s injured and has no business b-bearing my burden.”
“Cameron is as stubborn as my Millie.” Hamish’s thick, gravelly accent warmed her heart, even if she took offense at being compared to his mule. He’d inform Mr. Murray that the Simses’ land was not for sale, because Hamish promised it to her when she turned of age on her next birthday, and perhaps he’d help Ellie see reason as to why they shouldn’t give up their home and allow bounders to take over their home.
“I’ve noticed,” Duncan mumbled as he released Camy’s legs. “Far from biddable.”
His fingers anchored around her waist, leaving her light-headed and breathless. Her swim in the river had taken more of her strength than she’d like to admit. The pulsating, searing pain in her arm churned in her stomach.
Peeling his fingers from her sides, she shuddered at the loss of his warmth and wobbled. Duncan’s palm, branding the curve of her back, offered support and propelled her away from him and the delight of his protectiveness. She wouldn’t covet something she could never have. Not from him. He was too handsome by far, and she was too plain. Too unladylike.
She lifted her foot over an exposed root, and a wave of dizziness spun around in her head. Reaching her hand out to steady herself against the tree, she missed and lurched forward. Before she hit the ground, she found herself swept back into the arms of Duncan Murray.
The rumble of his laughter shook through her. “I’m afraid she’ll find I’m just as stubborn.”
Ellie and Hamish laughed too, and if Camy hadn’t been so offended at their jests over her stubbornness, she would have released the tears of pain and frustration begging to spill from her eyes. Ellie rarely smiled anymore, and she hadn’t laughed since she returned home.
Camy crossed her arms over her chest and scowled. “I’m glad to amuse you, but can we go home now?”
The sooner they were home, the sooner she’d be out of his arms, and the sooner they could correct him about purchasing their home. Then he could be on his way. But then one of the Northrops would soon arrive, and no doubt, Miller Northrop would hear of her mishap. She could handle Duncan Murray and the emotions he elicited, but she couldn’t handle Miller’s persistent pursuit. The last time almost cost her her freedom, in more ways than one. Camy shivered at the idea of being shackled to that boy. Only a year older than her twenty, Miller had gone from a polite young man to acting like a petulant child over the last year.
“Are you cold?” Duncan’s slight accent rolled over her, somehow setting her nerves on edge, yet giving her a great deal of comfort as it reminded her of her parents.
“I’m fine.”
He snorted, as if she’d tell an untruth, and then pulled her closer. If word caught on that a man carried Camy, no matter the reason, Mrs. Smith would call for a wedding. This man confused her, and she’d no more wish to marry the yellow-bellied oaf of a Scotsman than Miller.
A life with Miller would be worse than tea with Mrs. Smith and her daughters. The socialite had taken it upon herself to mother the Sims sisters, as they had no mother, and Camy always walked away from her teas with a stiff neck from sitting all prim and proper like. Not to mention her nose nearly took on a permanent wrinkled disposition. It was no small chore containing a sneeze, especially when Mrs. Smith insisted on waving her fan, stirring up every imaginable fragrance she’d doused her person with moments before the appointed time of tea. Third Tuesday, every month, weather permitting. A necessary evil, according to Ellie. After all, Mrs. Smith knew all the going-ons within three counties, which kept the Sims sisters ahead of the railroad. Most of the time. All they had to do was smile, nod and sip tea while they listened to drivel about the latest fashions and how a woman should glide and not amble in the presence of polite company. If Mrs. Smith had known about Duncan Murray, she certainly failed to mention it. The old goose needed to step up her game if she intended to continue tea parties in her parlor room. Unless, of course, she had intended to keep him a secret. But then, only men with fat wallets perked Mrs. Smith’s ears.
“Do you always talk to yourself?”
Camy wrinkled her brow. Her gaze shifted to his. The sharp retort clinging to the tip of her tongue halted when she caught sight of his moss-colored eyes. She jerked her gaze from his and pushed her finger up the side of her nose. The wire rim that should be there was gone. No wonder everything but Duncan Murray seemed to blur before her.
“What’s that, you say?”
“My spectacles.”
Duncan flexed his arms around Camy as he stepped over another large limb that had fallen during the last winter storm a month back. He’d probably handle the oxen as if they were no more than small babes from their mother’s womb.
“I didn’t see them. You must have lost them when you fell in the river.”
“Most likely.” Even though Camy knew every inch of their land with her eyes closed, Ellie would insist on Camy staying in the house until they could be replaced. Mara wouldn’t be too happy about trading chores with Camy and giving up the cooking, although their stomachs would be a mite grateful for the change. Mara’s attempt at potatoes still soured Camy’s gullet. Dr. Northrop would grumble about her being a simpleminded female who needed a husband, one like Miller.
“Can you see at all?” he asked.
“I’m not blind,” Camy snapped, and then sighed. “I can see you. That’s about it. My sisters treat me like I’m daft.”
“We do not.” Ellie’s voice floated toward her. “The last time you lost your spectacles you stepped in a hole and twisted your foot. You hobbled around for weeks. The time before that you nearly shot Hamish thinking he was a wildcat.”
Duncan chuckled. “Hamish resembles a lot of things, but a wildcat?”
Camy shrugged. It was odd Duncan seemed to know her uncle well. “I knew it was him. I missed him on purpose.”
“So the lass says,” Hamish responded. “Too close for my liking.”
“Too close? You have a hole in your hat,” Ellie added. “We’re almost to the path. Can you manage her up the hill?”
“Yes.”
His accent curled her toes. “I can walk if it’s too much for your head.”
“We’ll manage just as we are, Camy.”
She liked the way he said her name. Not as a curse or as if she’d once again displeased her sisters. Her name almost sounded pleasant, even if it meant crooked nose. A name her da had given her because he felt all out of sorts at his wife producing another girl.
Camy’s mind darted in all directions as Duncan maneuvered the path leading to her home. She didn’t want to like him. She didn’t want to like any man, given that they seemed to be as flighty as birds during the first fall of leaves. Her da always moving place to place looking for that one thing to fill the void her mother had left when she passed from this earth. Hamish leaving for months at a time.
Duncan Murray was handsome, and somewhat gruff, but somehow she’d found a bit of courage when he challenged her instead of constantly stuttering like a timid wallflower hiding behind a book during Mrs. Smith’s social gatherings. Beneath the layers he seemed to be caring and kind. He hadn’t left her in the river, he’d come after her. She was tempted to giggle and become woolly-headed like Mara did whenever she talked about a gentleman, carriage rides and arm-in-arm walks beneath the light