Her heart ached as she wondered just how much Lady Elizabeth had shaped the course of things between her and Marcus and whether it was too late to undo the damage.
The truth was, she had always been afraid of love, of giving herself fully to someone, only to have it torn away. She had never allowed herself to believe in such things—until Marcus.
As she turned to head back inside, her mind couldn’t shake the image of Marcus. Annabeth moved quickly through the kitchen, her mind still heavy with the weight of her thoughts. She instructed the cooks to prepare a rich bone broth for the Laird, ensuring that enough would be sent to the infirmary.
Just as Annabeth finished her instructions, the door swung open, and Elena rushed in, her face lit with excitement.
“Annabeth, ye willnae believe it!” Elena’s eyes sparkled with joy as she approached, almost breathless.
Annabeth turned, a smile tugging at her lips despite the ache in her chest. She couldn’t help but feel a pang of happiness for her friend, yet the sorrow in her own heart was too much to ignore.
“What is it, Elena?” Annabeth asked, trying to keep her voice steady though she could feel her heart beating faster.
Elena clasped Annabeth’s hands in hers, her voice full of joy. “Eli has proposed to me! He’s asked me to marry him, Annabeth! We’ll be a family, a true family!” Her voice trembledwith happiness, and Annabeth couldn’t help but smile, her own emotions momentarily pushed aside.
“I’m so happy for ye,” Annabeth said, her voice thick with emotion as she pulled Elena into a tight hug.
Elena laughed softly, holding her friend close. “Thank ye, Annabeth. I never thought this would happen,” Elena whispered, a note of disbelief still in her voice. But then she pulled back slightly, her expression shifting as she studied Annabeth’s face.
“Why do ye look so sad, though? Ye’ve been cryin’, lass?” Elena asked gently, her brow furrowed with concern.
Annabeth hesitated, not knowing how to put her feelings into words. She had longed for love, for a life with Marcus, but the weight of Lady Elizabeth’s disapproval made her feel small and unworthy. She sighed softly, pulling away from Elena as she wiped her eyes.
“I cannae speak of it,” Annabeth replied quietly, her voice laced with frustration.
Elena’s eyes softened as she caught Annabeth’s hand, guiding her outside where they could talk in private. “Annabeth, ye cannae keep things like this inside,” Elena insisted, her tone filled with determination. “Tell me, what has happened? Is Marcus’ injury that bad?” she pressed, concern lining her features.
Annabeth shook her head, her heart aching as she thought of Marcus. “Nay, it’s nae that,” she said, her voice barely above a whisper. “His wounds will heal in time.” She paused, taking a deep breath before continuing. “It’s… that I’m in love with him, Elena, and I think he may feel the same, but his maither does nae approve.”
Elena blinked in surprise, her mouth opening as if to speak, but Annabeth cut her off. “She says he should marry to strengthen the clans, nae some poor healer like me,” Annabeth continued, her voice breaking as she spoke. “I daenae want to be the cause of any more conflict, Elena. I’m nae worthy of him.” Her heart ached as she admitted the truth she had tried so hard to bury.
Elena’s expression hardened, and she took Annabeth’s hands firmly in hers. “Annabeth,” she said, her voice fierce, “ye will nae let other people dictate yer life, especially nae his maither. If Marcus wants ye as a wife, then he will have ye. He is the Laird after all; his word is the law.” She squeezed Annabeth’s hands tightly, her gaze unwavering.
Annabeth’s heart fluttered at Elena’s words, but doubt still lingered in her chest. “But… I daenae think it matters,” Annabeth said softly. “I’ll stay to look after him, of course, but I daenae hope for happiness.” She shook her head, the weight of her reality sinking in. The love she had for Marcus felt impossible to reach, like a dream that would remain just out of her grasp.
Elena’s expression softened, her hands still holding Annabeth’s tightly. “Ye daenae have to give up on yer happiness just becauseof what others think,” she said, her voice gentle now but full of conviction. “Marcus cares for ye, Annabeth. I can see it. And if it’s meant to be, it will be.” She paused, then added, “Ye deserve love, just as much as anyone else.”
Annabeth quietly returned to the infirmary later that evening, the soft glow of candles casting shadows on the stone walls. She paused in the doorway, her heart tightening when she saw Marcus lying there, deep in slumber. His features were peaceful, and for a moment, she simply watched him, the weight of the day pressing on her chest. With a quiet sigh, she moved toward his bedside and pulled up a chair, settling down beside him.
As she sat down, her gaze lingered on Marcus’ face, the memory of their first meeting rushing back to her. It had been such a different time then—she had no idea who he was, just a stranger that had shown up at her cottage. She had cared for him out of simple compassion, tending to his wounds as best she could. Now, here she was again, caring for him, but everything between them had changed, and she felt the pull of her heart as it ached for him.
This time, I love him.
Her fingers hovered near his hand, the connection between them undeniable even in his unconscious state. She had not expected to care for him so deeply, not after everything that had happened with his mother, the clan, and her own feelings of inadequacy. But as she sat there, the love she felt for him seemed to take root in her chest, stronger than ever. She could no longerdeny it—she loved him, though the truth of it filled her with both hope and sorrow.
Exhaustion from the long hours of tending to Marcus, the emotional turmoil she carried, and the weight of her unspoken feelings caught up to her. As the minutes passed, her eyes grew heavy, and her body sank deeper into the chair. The warmth of the infirmary and the rhythmic sound of Marcus’ breathing lulled her into a peaceful slumber, her head eventually resting against the armrest. In the stillness of the room, Annabeth drifted off to sleep, the gentle rise and fall of Marcus’ chest offering her a fleeting sense of comfort and safety.
I must speak with him and confess.
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
Marcus awoke the next day with a dull ache in his head, the pain from his wound mingling with the confusion that still lingered in his mind. His eyes fluttered open to find his father, Leon, and his mother, Elizabeth, sitting at his bedside, concern etched on their faces. He tried to sit up, but his body protested, sending a jolt of pain through his chest.
His first thought was of Annabeth, and he asked, his voice thick with exhaustion, “Where’s Annabeth?”
“She sat at yer side all night, lad,” Leon answered, his tone gentle. “When we returned, I sent her to get some rest. She’d done more than enough for ye.”
Marcus nodded, relief washing over him at the thought of Annabeth’s care. Yet, his mind quickly returned to the troubling events with Struan, and he turned his attention to them.
