“I’ve had worse,” he muttered, more to himself than to her. “I can handle the pain, but I cannae afford to be laid up for too long.” He glanced over at her with a questioning look. “And what of me horse? Is he all right?”
Annabeth gave a small smile, relieved by his stoic nature.
“I left yer horse with the neighbor, Murray. He’s a good lad, taking fine care of him for ye. Ye daenae need to worry.”
“Of course, I worry, lass. I’m in a stranger’s home with me horse in the hands of a man I daenae know. Ye’re making me seem like I have nae seen harm.” He moved as though readying to get up, and a groan escaped his lips.
“See. See what happens to ye when ye be stubborn? I’ve asked ye to nae move so much and now look at ye,” she scolded.
“I ken move if need be. Ye daenae understand the burden of me position as Laird. Trust is a danger I cannae let slip through me fingers cause of an injury,” he argued.
“Nay, I wouldnae understand the burdens of a laird as I am just one of the Laird’s villagers struggling to keep a stubborn man from causing himself more harm.” She put her hands on her hips.
“Are ye trying to say I daenae care for me villagers?” His brown furrowed.
“I said nay such thing; if you ken that, then it must be what ye really feel? Nay appreciation at all for what we are doin’ here to save yer life,” she huffed.
Marcus’ tense posture eased a bit at her words, a soft breath escaping him.
“Thank ye,” he said sincerely, his voice suddenly full of appreciation. “I’m grateful for yer help... and for Murray’s care of the horse.” His eyes softened as he looked at her, a quiet gratitude in his expression.
Annabeth nodded with a smile. “It’s all in good heart, Marcus. The villagers here look after one another. Nay one’s left to suffer alone if we can help it.”
Marcus couldn’t help but feel a flicker of warmth in his chest, something he hadn’t expected.
As Marcus lay back against the pillows, the weight of his injury pressing on his body, his mind drifted. There was something about Annabeth that stirred a strange feeling within him—something he couldn’t quite place.
I’ve met many women in me life, both noble and common, but none have ever left me with this curious tug at me chest. It’s nae her beauty, though she is undeniably bonnie, nor her kindness that draws me. ’Tis the way she moves—decisive and purposeful. The sharpness in her eyes, the way she commands attention without saying a word.
He watched as Annabeth busied herself with tending to the fire, her hands deftly arranging logs. Her back was straight, her posture proud and unyielding, much like the stubbornness he’d noticed in her when they first spoke.
A part of him admired that—her ability to take charge and make quick decisions without hesitation. He knew that strength. He’dseen it in warriors and leaders, in those who had lived through hardships and emerged unbroken. Annabeth was no different; while her battles were not the same as his, he knew that she had struggled since there was sadness behind those brown eyes.
Her face, usually focused and determined, softened when she spoke to her maither or when she cared for him, and that made him wonder, what kind of life had she led to be so strong, so grounded in her ways?
Marcus had spent so much of his own life driven by ambition, by the weight of his responsibilities as Laird, that he had never stopped to think about what truly mattered beyond that. He had become obsessed with duty and had neglected the quieter, simpler moments that might have brought him peace.
He had always been a man of action, of decisive movements and calculated risks. But here, in the presence of a simple village girl who didn’t seem to need anything from him but to heal, he felt an unexpected desire. It was as if, in her stubbornness and skill, she had unknowingly disarmed him.
The very things that would have irritated him in another woman—her refusal to be moved easily, her quiet strength—were the things that drew him in.
He shifted slightly in the bed, trying to shake off the strange feeling. This was not the time for such distractions, not when he had responsibilities waiting for him. But even as he told himself that, a small voice in his mind rebelled, wondering what it wouldbe like to stay a little longer, to see where this feeling might go. He couldn’t explain it, but it was there, lingering.
Ye’re a strange one, Annabeth. Ye’ve got me thinking thoughts I never thought I’d have.
And despite himself, he couldn’t suppress his appetite as his mind started to wonder toward what it would be like to bed such a woman. He imagined throwing her on the bed and taking her, tasting her.
Annabeth stood by the hearth, the crackling of the fire the only sound in the quiet room. As she glanced over at Marcus, who was resting, her heart gave a jolt.
I cannae believe the man I’ve been tending is none other than Laird MacLennan. I’m lucky he wasnae offended by me curt tongue. Sometimes it gets me in trouble. That wouldnae be a good thing with a powerful and feared man, the leader of a clan that commands respect throughout the land.
The very thought of it made her feel small, insignificant, and yet, there she was, his wounds in her hands, his life dependent on her care. She had never imagined she’d be in this position—nursing a laird, especially one with such a fierce reputation.
She looked back at the pot of water boiling over the fire and let out a quiet breath, feeling a wave of relief wash over her. At leasthe wasn’t a raider or a bandit, like the others who had threatened the village over the years. That was a small mercy. But still, there was something about this man, the weight of his title, that left her feeling uneasy.
The idea that she was the one responsible for his wellbeing seemed almost laughable, and yet, here she was—a simple healer, a village girl, with the life of a laird in her hands, and the realization sent a nervous flutter through her chest.
What if he dies? The whole clan would blame me. Would they understand, or would I be punished? What of Claire? I would be known as the lass that allowed the Laird to perish and be thrown in the dungeons.
