Annabeth, with her simplicity and grace, has a hold on me, something I’m unsure of. I feel unsettled in a way.
“Annabeth,” Marcus said, his voice rough from disuse, “how did ye come to be a healer?”
She looked up at him, her brow furrowing slightly, but her expression remained warm.
“It’s nae something I planned on. I grew up watchin’ me maither, Claire. She was the healer of this village. I helped her as a lass,and as I grew older, I took on more of the tasks. It felt right, ye ken? I’ve always felt a pull toward it.”
Marcus studied her closely, observing the way she spoke about her work with quiet pride.
“Yer maither must be proud of ye,” he said, his voice carrying a note of admiration.
He was beginning to understand more about Annabeth now—the depth of her commitment to her village, to the people she cared for. There was something admirable about the way she had taken her mother’s legacy and made it her own.
Annabeth glanced away, her cheeks tinged pink as she shifted her gaze to the fire. “Aye, I think she is,” she said softly, her voice almost distant. “But I’m nae sure I’m meant for anything else. This work, it gives me purpose.”
There was a long pause between them, the air thick with unspoken words. Marcus felt his heart race, something stirring within him as he looked at her. For a moment, he forgot about the pain in his side, the worries of his clan, and simply focused on her. Her eyes were bright, and in that instant, he saw a fire within her—something strong and untamed.
He leaned forward slightly, drawn to her in a way he couldn’t explain. He fell asleep to those thoughts, feeling secure in Annabeth’s care.
The following day, he was looking forward to having conversations with her as she nursed him.
Marcus leaned back, the weight of his position pressing on him even in this quiet moment.
“I have been thinkin’ ye bein’ the Laird and all; ’tis a hard task, is it nae?” she asked.
“Being a laird isnae easy, Annabeth,” he muttered, his voice low and rough. “Aye, I wear the title with pride, but it’s more than just land and power. Every decision I make, every action, affects the lives of those in me clan. When there’s a raid, or when there’s famine, it’s on me to protect them. Their lives are in me hands, and that’s nae a light burden to bear.”
His eyes were distant, haunted by the responsibility that was his to carry, a responsibility he had never asked for but had inherited, nonetheless.
Annabeth’s brow furrowed. “To shoulder such a load and still stand tall. I daenae ken how ye can bear it,” she said softly, her voice laced with concern. “How ye can carry such a weight, day in and day out. It’s a lot for one man to handle. Ye’ve no time for yer own life, yer own peace.”
Her eyes softened as she spoke, a flicker of sympathy passing between them though he knew that she had no way of truly understanding the depth of his struggle.
Marcus looked at her. “Aye,” he said quietly, his gaze steady. “Ye’re right in some ways. I’ve nae time for peace, nay time for anything other than the needs of me people. It’s the price I pay for me title. But even so, I could nae live with meself if I turned me back on them. The duty’s in me blood, Annabeth.”
He paused for a moment, as if weighing whether to say more. “It’s nae the title that makes the burden heavy; it’s the lives I must answer for.”
“And what if ye cannae do it all, Marcus?” she asked gently, her voice almost a whisper. “What if there are times when ye falter? What happens then?”
Marcus shook his head, a faint smile tugging at the corner of his lips though it didn’t reach his eyes. “I’ve faltered more times than I care to count,” he admitted. “But ye push on, aye? Ye do what ye must, for them, for yer people. There’s nay other choice.”
His voice was steady, but there was a subtle sadness to it, as if he had come to terms with this hard truth long ago. “I daenae expect ye to understand, Annabeth. It’s nae a life for the faint of heart.”
“I cannae imagine,” she said finally, her words soft but sincere. “I cannae imagine what it’s like to be in yer shoes. But I do ken ye cannae do it all alone, Marcus.” Her eyes met his, full of unspoken meaning. “Even a laird needs someone to lean on now and then.”
His gaze softened as he met her eyes, a flicker of something warm and genuine. “Aye,” he murmured, “that’s true.” For a brief moment, the weight of his title seemed to fade, and in its place, there was just a man—a man who, for all his responsibilities, wasn’t immune to needing someone. And perhaps, just perhaps, he didn’t have to carry the burden alone.
On the third day, Marcus was feeling slightly stronger though still far from being able to move freely. He had spent most of the morning watching Annabeth from the corner of the room, noticing her every movement, the way she seemed so sure of herself. She was giving him a quiet space to prepare to leave, and yet he found himself restless with the silence between them.
It had been days now, and the weight of his unspoken thoughts was starting to press on him more heavily.
He couldn’t deny it any longer—he couldn’t stop thinking about her, he desired her, but he was set to leave and go back to the castle.
He looked at her, she turned to him, their gaze locking before she quickly looked away with a blush to her cheeks. He smiled to himself. He knew he should say something, but the words would not leave his tongue.
Before either of them could say a word, there was a sudden loud knock at the door. It startled both of them, breaking the tension that had been building between them. Annabeth’s face instantlywent blank, her professional mask falling back into place. Claire came from the back room and looked at Annabeth.
“I’ll see to it,” she said, standing quickly, her voice a little more distant now. Marcus leaned back against the pillows with a frustrated sigh, his moment of connection with her shattered. He couldn’t help but feel that he had been on the verge of something, and now, it had slipped away.
