Eli scratched his chin thoughtfully, his brow furrowed. “Then what do we do, Laird? Struan’s got the timber and the salt we need, but if we cannae come to terms, we’ll be left at a disadvantage come winter.” His voice carried the weight of the decision ahead, his concern clear. “The MacCormacks are the most reliable source we’ve got right now.”
Marcus crossed his arms over his chest, his jaw tight as he considered their options. “If Struan willnae budge, we’ll have to look elsewhere. There are other clans who deal in timber and salt.” He glanced toward Eli, his resolve firm.
Eli nodded, his expression grim but understanding. “Aye, it’s a shame it’s come to this, but ye’re right. We cannae let the MacCormacks dictate the terms. I’ll start makin’ inquiries with the other clans, just in case.”
Marcus sighed, running a hand through his hair as he moved toward the window. “Do that, Eli,” he said quietly. “I’ll write to Struan one last time, but me patience with the man is wearin’ thin. If he willnae meet us halfway, then to hell with him and his stubborn pride.”
Eli turned on his heel. Marcus paced his room and felt like a caged animal. He left his room to get some air. The cool evening air brushed against Marcus’ face as he strolled across the castle grounds, hands tucked behind his back. The tension from his conversation with Eli still lingered, his thoughts circling the stubborn laird of the MacCormack clan. As he rounded the garden path, a familiar figure came into view—his mother, Lady Elizabeth, standing near the rose bushes.
“Marcus,” she greeted, her voice warm but probing, “ye’ve a look about ye like the weight of the world’s on yer shoulders. What troubles ye, me son?” She adjusted her shawl, her keen gaze fixed on him, clearly unwilling to let him brush her off with a simple answer.
Marcus stopped a few steps away, crossing his arms as he sighed. “It’s Struan Williams again,” he admitted, the frustration in his tone unmistakable. “The man refuses to see reason, makin’ demands that’d do us more harm than good. He’s as stubborn as a rock, and I’m runnin’ out of patience.”
Elizabeth’s brow furrowed at the mention of Struan, her lips pressing into a thin line. “That man’s always been difficult,” she said, a hint of disdain creeping into her tone. “But I’ve nae doubt ye’ll find a way to handle him, Marcus. Ye’ve a sharp mind and a steady hand; he’ll come to see that eventually.”
Marcus tilted his head, studying his mother for a moment. “I appreciate yer faith in me,” he said quietly, his voice softening. “But sometimes it feels like no matter what I do, it’s never enough.”
Elizabeth arched an eyebrow, stepping closer to him. “And what else is on yer mind, son?” she asked, her tone gentle but curious. “I ken ye well enough to ken when there’s more to the story. Ye’ve been restless these past few days.”
Marcus met her gaze, his jaw tightening as he debated how much to reveal.
Could she see through me so easily?
He glanced toward the castle, his thoughts drifting to Annabeth. “It’s naythin’ worth worryin’ about,” he said at last though his voice lacked conviction. “I’m just... sortin’ through things in me own head.”
Elizabeth smiled faintly, her expression softening with understanding. “Marcus, matters of the heart are never as simple as we’d like them to be,” she said. “But ye’re the Laird’s son, and that means marryin’ a woman who’ll strengthen theclan. Love’s a luxury nae all of us can afford though I hope ye’ll find a balance between duty and happiness.”
He nodded, the weight of her words settling heavily on his shoulders. “Aye, I ken my duty well enough,” he said, his tone resolute. “But that doesnae make it any easier.”
CHAPTER TWELVE
Does Marcus make a habit of kissin’ women and pretendin’ it never happened? He acted as if it were naythin’, and yet I cannae stop thinkin’ about it.
Annabeth carefully tucked bundles of dried herbs into her leather satchel, her fingers moving with practiced precision. The apothecary was quiet, save for the soft rustle of parchment catching in the breeze of the open window and the clink of glass vials as she moved items into her bags. Her thoughts, however, were far from calm.
A firm knock on the door jolted her from her spiraling thoughts. She straightened, brushing her hands on her apron before calling out, “Aye, come in!”
The door creaked open to reveal Elena, her expression as bright and inquisitive as ever. Annabeth felt a twinge of relief at the distraction though the knot of irritation at Marcus still lingered in her chest.
“Annabeth,” Elena began, stepping lightly into the room, “I came to see if there’s anythin’ I should bring for the journey tomorrow. I hear we’ll be stayin’ in Galton for a few days. Lady Elizabeth bid me accompany ye fer help.” She glanced at the packed satchel on the table, her brows lifting. “It looks like ye’re already well-prepared.”
Annabeth offered a small smile, gesturing to her supplies. “I like to be ready for anythin’,” she replied, her tone steady. “Though if ye’re comin’ with us, it’d be wise to pack light but practical. Do ye ken what the village’s healer situation is like?”
Elena hesitated, fiddling with the edge of her sleeve. “From what I’ve heard, they daenae have much of a healer’s hut,” she admitted. “Most of the time, they make do with what they can find—wild herbs or old remedies passed down through families.” Her gaze dropped slightly, a hint of concern creeping into her voice.
“Then we’ll need to bring extra herbs,” Annabeth said firmly, turning back to her satchel. She began sorting through jars, muttering to herself as she considered what would be most useful. “If they’re strugglin’, the least we can do is leave them with somethin’ to help until a proper healer arrives.” She glanced over her shoulder at Elena. “Did ye hear anythin’ else about the village?”
Elena shook her head, her expression thoughtful. “Naythin’ beyond what Marcus mentioned—illnesses and injuries seem to be common there. I think that’s why he’s so insistent on takin’ ye along.” Her lips curved into a knowing smile. “Though Idaresay he’d nae admit it outright, he kens yer skill as a healer is unmatched.”
Annabeth felt a faint blush creep to her cheeks though she kept her focus on her work. “Aye, well, I’ll do what I can for them,” she replied briskly. “And ye can help me, Elena. If the villagers daenae have proper supplies, we’ll need to teach them how to prepare what they do have.”
“Of course,” Elena said eagerly, her hands clasped in front of her. “I’d be glad to help. And Annabeth... thank ye for doin’ this. Ye’ve a kind heart, even if ye try to hide it beneath all yer focus and determination.”
Annabeth gave a quiet chuckle, shaking her head. “Daenae get sentimental on me now,” she said with a teasing edge. But as she returned to her task, she felt a faint sense of reassurance—if not from Marcus’ confusing behavior, then at least from the company of someone who valued her work.
Annabeth adjusted the strap of her satchel as she glanced over at Elena, who was lingering near the door. “Elena, would ye mind comin’ with me to the forest? I’ll be needin’ more herbs if we’re to help the folk in Galton.” She smiled faintly. “An extra set of hands wouldnae go amiss.”
Elena’s face lit up as she stepped forward eagerly. “Aye, I’d be glad to! I’ve always wondered how ye gather yer herbs.” She hesitated, her enthusiasm softening to a shy grin. “Though I warn ye, I’m nae much use with plants. Ye’ll have to guide me.”
