“Where in God’s name have ye been, Marcus?” he demanded, his breath coming in quick bursts. “The entire clan’s been out searchin' for ye. We were worried sick!”
His gaze was full of concern, the kind of genuine worry that only came from years of friendship. He clapped a hand on Marcus’ shoulder, looking him over, expecting to see signs of some ill fate.
Marcus waved him off with a dismissive grunt, not in the mood for the worry that always followed him like a shadow.
“I’ve been wounded,” he muttered, not wanting to get into the details. “It’s nothing.”
His tone made it clear he wasn’t interested in further discussion, but Eli’s furrowed brow only deepened. Despite his friend’s apparent nonchalance, Eli couldn’t help but notice the way Marcus was holding himself, his posture stiffer than usual.
Eli, growing more concerned, stepped closer, offering his help.
“Let me help ye down, then. Ye look like ye can barely stay on that horse.” His hand hovered near Marcus’ leg, ready to assist.
But Marcus, gritting his teeth, pushed him away gently with a firm gesture.
“I’m fine, Eli,” Marcus growled, and with a sharp breath, he swung down from the horse with surprising agility despite the pain.
“See to this lass; she’s a healer. Take her to chambers in the west wing,” Marcus said.
Eli moved to help her down. Marcus’ eyes flicked to them, an unfamiliar, uneasy feeling curling in his stomach.
Why did Eli touching her hand and placing his hands on her waist bother me?
“I think nae,” she said, looking at Marcus with a slight frown. “I need to check yer wounds, Laird. I cannae let ye go off without knowing the full extent of the effect the ride took on the wound,” she said.
The simple statement from her, almost protective in its manner, made Marcus pause.
“Yer wound is that bad?” Eli asked.
Marcus, suddenly irritated by the interruption, huffed. “I’m fine,” he muttered, his voice low and begrudging. “I’ll tell ye later, Eli. For now, just show Annabeth to me quarters, and see she gets whatever she needs.” His words were clipped, and he didn’t meet Eli’s eyes, his attention still caught up in Annabeth’s gaze which lingered on him.
“I need me items,” she said as she started to rummage through the saddle bag. Eli helped her.
As they started to walk towards the castle entrance, Marcus’ gaze followed Annabeth, lingering a moment longer than he realized.
Why does it bother me so much that Eli’s so close to her?
His thoughts ran in circles, confusion eating at him as he forced himself to turn away.
Marcus moved slowly, still feeling the ache of his injuries. Before he could even enter the door, he felt a familiar pair of arms wrap around him in a tight embrace. His mother, Elizabeth, was there, her worried face pale with distress.
“Marcus, oh Marcus!” she cried, her voice shaky as she held him close. “I thought ye were dead. We’ve all feared the worst.”
His heart clenched at the sight of her fear, and he gently placed a hand on her back, murmuring an apology.
“I’m sorry, Maither,” Marcus said softly, his voice rough with exhaustion.
He had never liked seeing his mother in such a state, and yet here she was, holding onto him as if she feared he might vanish at any moment.
“I got ambushed. It was a bloody mess.” He had no intention of worrying her more than necessary, but he couldn’t deny the truth of the attack.
The memories of that sudden assault—the strangers, the violence—still rattled him though he tried not to show it.
Elizabeth pulled away slightly, looking up at him with wide eyes.
“By whom, Marcus?” Her voice was sharp with concern, and her gaze flickered to his bruised body. “Who could do this to ye?”
Marcus sighed, his brow furrowing as he shook his head.
