Marcus held his ground, his eyes never leaving McArthur as they approached. Lady Elizabeth stood slightly behind him, her posture rigid, while Eli’s hand rested near his dirk. There was an unspoken understanding between them—this was no casual visit, and they were prepared for anything. The flicker of firelight danced across Anthony’s stern face as Marcus finally spoke.
“Ye’ve come all this way, Laird McArthur,” Marcus said, his voice low and controlled. “What’s the purpose of yer visit? Ye must have somethin’ on yer mind.” He kept his gaze steady, watching for any sign of weakness in the other man’s expression.
Anthony’s jaw clenched, and he took a step forward, the tension thickening. “The purpose?” he spat, his voice sharp. “Aye, I have a purpose, Marcus. I want to ken why ye’re attackin’ me clan!” His eyes burned with anger as he stared at Marcus, challenging him to respond.
The words hung in the air like a threat, each syllable charged with the weight of the accusation. Marcus felt his pulse quicken, the blood rushing in his ears. He had not expected such a direct confrontation—this was not the conversation he had anticipated. Yet, he stood tall, not flinching under Anthony’s fiery gaze.
“You think I’ve attacked yer clan?” Marcus’ tone was ice-cold though inside he was seething with frustration. “I’ve done nay such thing.”
Eli exchanged a quick glance with Lady Elizabeth, both clearly waiting for McArthur’s next move. The guards shifted slightly, their hands resting on their weapons, but no one made a move. The room seemed to hold its breath, the air thick with the promise of confrontation.
McArthur took a deep breath, his face still set in hard lines. “I daenae believe ye,” he growled, his voice low and dangerous. “We’ve seen the signs, Marcus. The raids, the sabotage—yer clan’s behind it, and ye’re hidin’ the truth from me.”
Anthony threw a banner on the ground. It was red with the crest of the stag, the emblem of MacLennen clan.
“This was left behind at the last raid. Tis yer’s,” Anthony growled.
Marcus’ fists clenched at his sides, the tension in the room rising with each passing second. The words struck like a blow, but he refused to let McArthur see any sign of weakness.
“Anyone could’ve planted that banner. Ye’re wrong to think ’twas us,” he said, his voice stern and filled with the weight of a warning. The air crackled, the silence before the storm almost suffocating.
CHAPTER TWENTY
Annabeth moved with practiced ease, applying the poultice to Leon’s body with steady hands. Leon sat propped up against the pillows, his once strong frame now weakened, but his eyes still sharp, watching her with a curious, appreciative gaze. She dabbed a cloth to his forehead, offering him a warm, comforting smile.
“Ye’re lookin’ much better, sir. I think ye’ll be back on the castle grounds before too long. Perhaps a stroll in the meadows if ye take it slow."
Leon chuckled softly, his voice raspy but filled with warmth. “Aye, lass, yer care’s been a blessin’. I’d be near dead without ye.”
He studied her for a long moment, his gaze thoughtful as he added, “Ye’ve got a good heart, Annabeth. I willnae forget what ye’ve done for me.” His words lingered in the quiet room, and Annabeth felt a flush creep up her neck though she tried to mask it with a casual shrug.
“It’s naythin’, really,” Annabeth replied, her voice light as she worked. “I’m just doin’ what needs done. Glad I could help, Laird.” She stepped back, examining her handiwork with a critical eye before sighing in satisfaction. “But I’ll be leavin’ in a few days.”
Leon’s expression softened, a touch of regret crossing his face. “I’m sorry to hear that, Annabeth. Ye’ve been a breath of fresh air here. It’ll nae be the same without ye around.” He paused for a moment, looking out the window, and then added, “Ye’ve made a real difference.”
Annabeth smiled faintly though a pang of sadness tugged at her heart. “I’ve had a good time here. More than I expected.” She glanced down at her hands for a moment, unsure how to explain the strange bond she had formed with the place and its people. “But aye, it’s time to move on,” she murmured quietly.
Leon’s eyes softened, and he reached out, giving her hand a gentle squeeze. “Ye’ve done much good here, Annabeth. I’ll miss ye, but I understand why ye must go. We all have our own paths to follow.” His voice grew quieter, thoughtful, as he added, “The castle, the land, and the people—ye’ve made it all feel a bit more like home, lass.”
Leon looked at Annabeth with a curious expression, his voice soft but probing. “Ye’ve mentioned yer healin’ before, lass, but never told me much about yer past. What was it like before ye came here?”
Annabeth paused, her hands stilling as she looked down at the cloth in her lap. “It’s naythin’ grand, sir. I was raised in a small village with simple folk like me. A woman named Claire found me when I was just a bairn. She took me in, raised me as her own, taught me the ways of healers.” She smiled faintly, her eyes distant as if remembering those days fondly. “She is a great healer, one of the best. She kens her herbs, remedies, and all the ways to ease pain. She taught me all I ken."
Leon listened intently, his eyes soft with sympathy. “Aye, that sounds like a good life, Annabeth. Nay worries, nay troubles. Nay clans to lead or lands to worry over, just a simple life, focused on helpin’ others.”
Annabeth’s lips curved into a small, wistful smile. “Aye, it is ideal in its own way. Just me, Claire, and our little hut. We daenae need much, just each other and the land.” She met his gaze then, her eyes full of quiet contentment. “It was enough.”
At least it was until I met yer son.
“We may nae have clans to lead, but we do have other worries; the rent is always due,” she smiled.
For a moment she felt the full weight of being homesick settle on her shoulders. It had been long since she spoke to her mother or held her in an embrace. She knew it was time to go and see her. To get back to her calm life. The life she had before the storm that was known as Marcus Reid.
Annabeth swallowed hard, her chest tightening. She’d come to care for them all more than she’d ever imagined, and the thought of leaving tugged painfully at her heart. She gave Leon a small, reassuring smile, then stood to leave, turning toward the door with a final glance. “I’ll make sure ye’re well enough before I go,” she said softly, as the weight of the decision settled heavily upon her.
Annabeth wandered through the corridors of the castle, her mind clouded with thoughts of Marcus. It had been days since they had shared the warmth of each other’s company, and the absence felt like an ache in her chest. She tried to focus on the task at hand, but every corner, every room, reminded her of him. Her feet carried her aimlessly, the weight of uncertainty pressing down on her.
“Elena,” Annabeth’s voice was a soft whisper, but Elena’s sharp eyes spotted her from down the hall. Elena approached with a knowing look, pausing when she saw the troubled expression on Annabeth’s face. “Ye seem lost in thought, lass,” she remarked, concern edging her words. “What’s weighin’ on yer mind?”
