Annabeth’s face remained unreadable though he caught the flicker of emotion in her eyes before she turned away to focus on his injury. “Ye shouldnae say things like that to me,” she muttered, her tone cool.
Marcus blinked, confusion flooding his mind. “Why nae?” he asked, his brow furrowing. “Why cannae I tell ye how I feel?”
Before she could respond, the door to the healing room swung open with a sharp creak, and Lady Elizabeth rushed in, her face a picture of concern.
“Marcus!” she exclaimed, her gaze sweeping over him, taking in his condition. The tension between Marcus and Annabeth seemed to evaporate, replaced by the worry of his mother. Marcus couldn’t help but feel frustrated at the interruption, but his attention was now divided as Lady Elizabeth fussed at his side.
Marcus watched closely as his mother, Lady Elizabeth, stepped forward with a worried expression etched across her face. She asked Annabeth in a soft, almost pleading tone, “Will me son be alright?”
Annabeth, her hands still moving with practiced ease over his wound, replied with calm certainty. “Aye, it’s but a flesh wound, Me Lady,” she said, her voice cool but steady. “There is nay sign of poison on the blade either.”
Lady Elizabeth sighed with relief, her tension easing as she looked to Marcus, offering a soft, grateful smile. “Thank ye, Annabeth,” she said warmly, her voice carrying the sincerity of her gratitude.
Marcus couldn’t help but notice the stiffness in Annabeth’s posture, the way she barely acknowledged the praise. She remained distant, her focus entirely on the task at hand, and her voice was curt when she responded, “I am only doin’ me duty, Me Lady.”
There was an undeniable formality in Annabeth’s words, as if she had built an invisible wall between them, making her actions feel like nothing more than a professional duty. Marcus felt the weight of that distance, a pang of guilt twisting in his gut, but he couldn’t place why it stung so badly. His mother, meanwhile, continued to hover near him, her protective presence a constant that Marcus couldn’t shake off.
Every time he tried to speak or make eye contact with Annabeth, she was too absorbed in her work, too focused on tending to his injury to notice.
As the minutes passed, Marcus grew restless, frustration creeping up his spine. His mother’s constant questioning and hovering only made things worse. He didn’t have a chance to speak with Annabeth, to explain himself or to ask her what had caused the sudden coldness between them.
Finally, Annabeth gave a small nod and turned toward the door, breaking the silence. “I’ll go down to the kitchen and make sure some broth is sent up for ye, Laird,” she said, her tone still distant. “I’ve done all I can for now.”
Marcus tried to catch her gaze, to say something, but Annabeth was already halfway out the door. Lady Elizabeth, ever the gracious hostess, nodded a farewell, though her eyes followed Annabeth with a suspicious glint. Marcus couldn’t shake the feeling that something had been exchanged between the two women. There had been an unmistakable tension in the air, something unspoken, and it gnawed at him.
As the door clicked shut behind Annabeth, Marcus’ suspicion deepened. His mind raced with questions.
Why had Annabeth been so distant? What had me maither said to her, and why did she leave so abruptly?
The more he thought about it, the more he couldn’t ignore the feeling that something had changed between them—something he didn’t understand. He knew Annabeth too well to believe that she would act this way without a reason, but he couldn’t make sense of it. His chest tightened, and he had a sudden, overwhelming urge to find her, to figure out what had happened. But Lady Elizabeth, ever the watchful eye, was still there, her gaze intent on him.
“Ye’re lookin’ troubled, Marcus,” his mother said, her tone now soft with concern. She was always so perceptive, and it only made Marcus feel more trapped. He didn’t want to lie to her, but he didn’t know how to explain what was going on in his heart or his head. Instead, he simply nodded, hoping the silence would cover up the storm brewing within him.
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
Annabeth’s footsteps echoed in the quiet corridor as she made her way toward the kitchen, hoping to finish the task of getting broth sent to the Laird. She had barely taken a few steps when she froze, spotting Eli kneeling before Elena in the hall.
His eyes were filled with earnest affection, and his voice was soft, yet filled with resolve as he asked, “Elena, will ye be me wife?”
Annabeth’s heart skipped a beat, but before she could process the moment, her feet moved of their own accord, and she quickly turned to head in the opposite direction.
She walked briskly down the hall, trying to ignore the lump forming in her throat. A strange mix of joy and sorrow churned inside her.
“Good for them. I wish them well,” she muttered.
She was happy for Elena, truly, but seeing another pair of lovers so openly display their affection reminded her of her own unspoken feelings. Her chest tightened, and without thinking, she broke into a run, desperate to escape the overwhelming emotions that seemed to rise within her like a flood.
I need air.
Annabeth burst through the door of the courtyard, gasping for fresh air, her hand clutching her chest as if trying to calm the erratic beating of her heart. The cool breeze did little to ease the storm inside her, and she paced back and forth, attempting to wrestle with the tears threatening to spill. She had known, deep down, that seeing others in love would only bring her pain, yet it still caught her off guard.
“Lass, ye must be strong,” she whispered.
Annabeth leaned against the stone wall, feeling a strange mix of envy and sadness as she let herself cry, the tears falling silently down her cheeks.
In the quiet of the courtyard, Annabeth’s thoughts drifted back to the events inside the healing rooms. She remembered Lady Elizabeth’s interference, her words sharp, yet veiled with concern. The way the Lady had inserted herself between Annabeth and Marcus, stopping them from having what could have been a moment of clarity, made Annabeth feel small and insignificant.
What would he have said?
