Marcus leaned against the table, his jaw tightening as he wrestled with his thoughts.
Why can’t I just let it go?
His mind was caught between two opposing urges.
I should apologize fer kissin’ her—I had nay right. But dammit, why does she seem so unaffected?
He stole a glance at her, noting how her eyes remained steady, her hands calm as she sat there.
She has nay idea what she’s done to me.
“There’s more to it than just patchin’ up scrapes and coughs,” he said after a long silence, trying to keep his voice level. “The village has struggled with sickness lately, and they’re desperate for someone who kens what they’re doin’.”
Annabeth met his gaze, her brow furrowing slightly as she considered his words.
“Aye, then it’s good we’re goin’,” she said simply, her voice free of any tension.
Marcus couldn’t help but notice the way the firelight softened her features, making it harder for him to look away.
The quiet stretched between them, thick and heavy with words neither dared to speak. Marcus’ fists clenched at his sides, his resolve faltering.
I could demand answers—ask her why she’s actin’ like it meant nothin’ to her. But what if it truly didnae? Or I could simply pull her into me arms. I’m her Laird after all. She is me subject.
The thought stung more than he cared to admit, and for a brief moment, he wished he could pull her into his arms again just to prove to himself it had been real.
“Get some rest tonight,” Marcus said, his voice gruff as he pushed off the table and stepped toward the door. “We’ll leave at first light.”
Annabeth nodded, rising to her feet and offering him a faint smile that did little to ease the tension coursing through him.
“I’ll be ready,” she said, her tone polite, measured, distant. He watched her for a moment longer than he should have before turning and walking away, his thoughts churning like a storm.
As Marcus strode through the stone corridors of the castle, his mind replayed the brief interaction with Annabeth again and again.
She agreed so easily, as though there’s naythin’ between us.
His chest tightened, his frustration building with every step.
Does she nae feel the same fire I do? Or is she better at hidin’ it than I am?
He ran a hand through his hair, the echoes of her calm voice only adding to his turmoil. By the time Marcus reached his own chambers, the tension in his body had reached a boiling point. He threw open the window, letting the cold night air bite at his skin as he leaned against the frame.
I shouldnae have kissed her, but I’ll be damned if I regret it.
His hands gripped the stone ledge as he stared into the dark, his heart caught between longing and frustration, knowing full well the road ahead would test his every restraint.
A sharp knock sounded at the heavy wooden door, pulling Marcus from his thoughts.
“Aye, come in,” he called, his voice gruff as he stood by the fire, hands clasped behind his back. The door creaked open to reveal Eli, stepping inside with his usual calm demeanor.
“Eli,” Marcus acknowledged with a nod, motioning for him to take a seat near the table. “What brings ye to me this hour?”
Eli sat, his dark eyes steady as he spoke. “I thought ye’d want an update on the talks with the MacCormack clan, Laird. Their Laird, Struan Williams is still bein’ as stubborn as ever.” He shook his head, his frustration evident in the set of his jaw. “He’s demandin’ terms that’d leave us at a loss, and I cannae see how we’d agree to them without hurtin’ ourselves in the long run.”
Marcus let out a low growl of frustration and turned to face the steward fully. “That man’s harder to deal with than a mule stuck in the mud,” he muttered. “He kens well that we need this trade agreement, but his demands are beyond reason. What’s he thinkin’, tryin’ to take advantage of us like that?”
Eli leaned forward slightly, his tone measured as he offered his suggestion. “Perhaps we’re goin’ about this the wrong way. Struan’s nephew, Stuart, might be the key to this. He’s the heir, is he nae? If we appeal to him, he could sway the Laird in our favor.”
Marcus frowned, shaking his head as he dismissed the idea outright. “That’ll nae work, Eli. Everyone kens Struan cannae stand the lad. He sees him as soft, unfit to lead, and he’d never listen to anythin’ the boy had to say. It’d only sour things further.”
