Chapter 6
CHAPTER SIX
Marcus lay in the corner of the cottage, watching Annabeth with quiet interest. She was kneeling beside a small child, no more than six, who lay on a cot with fevered eyes. Her hands moved expertly, applying a cool cloth to the boy’s forehead and murmuring softly in Gaelic to calm him.
He was struck by how gentle she was, her focus entirely on the child, her expression a mixture of concentration and compassion. It made something stir within him, a feeling he couldn’t quite name but was drawn to, nonetheless.
Annabeth’s voice was calm and reassuring as she spoke to the child, offering words of comfort in a soft, lilting tone.
“Dinna fash yerself. All will be well,” she said to the child. “Show me where it hurts.”
Marcus watched with admiration. In all his life, he had met many skilled people, but Annabeth’s expertise was different—it was natural, unassuming, and yet completely competent.
There was something undeniably charming about her, something that made his pulse quicken every time she looked at him with those intense, clear eyes.
It was more than just her beauty, though he had noticed that too—it was her strength, her intelligence, and the way she commanded a room without uttering a word of authority.
“Now have him take this, and he will be right as the sun,” Annabeth said handing the child’s mother a bundle of herbs as they left.
In his world, people were often too busy chasing power and status to notice the quiet, powerful moments that truly mattered.
Annabeth, with her simplicity and grace, has a hold on me, something I’m unsure of. I feel unsettled in a way.
“Annabeth,” Marcus said, his voice rough from disuse, “how did ye come to be a healer?”
She looked up at him, her brow furrowing slightly, but her expression remained warm.
“It’s nae something I planned on. I grew up watchin’ me maither, Claire. She was the healer of this village. I helped her as a lass, and as I grew older, I took on more of the tasks. It felt right, ye ken? I’ve always felt a pull toward it.”
Marcus studied her closely, observing the way she spoke about her work with quiet pride.
“Yer maither must be proud of ye,” he said, his voice carrying a note of admiration.
He was beginning to understand more about Annabeth now—the depth of her commitment to her village, to the people she cared for. There was something admirable about the way she had taken her mother’s legacy and made it her own.
Annabeth glanced away, her cheeks tinged pink as she shifted her gaze to the fire. “Aye, I think she is,” she said softly, her voice almost distant. “But I’m nae sure I’m meant for anything else. This work, it gives me purpose.”
There was a long pause between them, the air thick with unspoken words.
Marcus felt his heart race, something stirring within him as he looked at her.
For a moment, he forgot about the pain in his side, the worries of his clan, and simply focused on her.
Her eyes were bright, and in that instant, he saw a fire within her—something strong and untamed.
He leaned forward slightly, drawn to her in a way he couldn’t explain. He fell asleep to those thoughts, feeling secure in Annabeth’s care.
The following day, he was looking forward to having conversations with her as she nursed him.
Marcus leaned back, the weight of his position pressing on him even in this quiet moment.
“I have been thinkin’ ye bein’ the Laird and all; ’tis a hard task, is it nae?” she asked.
“Being a laird isnae easy, Annabeth,” he muttered, his voice low and rough.
“Aye, I wear the title with pride, but it’s more than just land and power.
Every decision I make, every action, affects the lives of those in me clan.
When there’s a raid, or when there’s famine, it’s on me to protect them.
Their lives are in me hands, and that’s nae a light burden to bear. ”
His eyes were distant, haunted by the responsibility that was his to carry, a responsibility he had never asked for but had inherited, nonetheless.
Annabeth’s brow furrowed. “To shoulder such a load and still stand tall. I daenae ken how ye can bear it,” she said softly, her voice laced with concern. “How ye can carry such a weight, day in and day out. It’s a lot for one man to handle. Ye’ve no time for yer own life, yer own peace.”
Her eyes softened as she spoke, a flicker of sympathy passing between them though he knew that she had no way of truly understanding the depth of his struggle.
Marcus looked at her. “Aye,” he said quietly, his gaze steady.
“Ye’re right in some ways. I’ve nae time for peace, nay time for anything other than the needs of me people.
It’s the price I pay for me title. But even so, I could nae live with meself if I turned me back on them. The duty’s in me blood, Annabeth.”
He paused for a moment, as if weighing whether to say more. “It’s nae the title that makes the burden heavy; it’s the lives I must answer for.”
“And what if ye cannae do it all, Marcus?” she asked gently, her voice almost a whisper. “What if there are times when ye falter? What happens then?”
Marcus shook his head, a faint smile tugging at the corner of his lips though it didn’t reach his eyes. “I’ve faltered more times than I care to count,” he admitted. “But ye push on, aye? Ye do what ye must, for them, for yer people. There’s nay other choice.”
His voice was steady, but there was a subtle sadness to it, as if he had come to terms with this hard truth long ago. “I daenae expect ye to understand, Annabeth. It’s nae a life for the faint of heart.”
“I cannae imagine,” she said finally, her words soft but sincere. “I cannae imagine what it’s like to be in yer shoes. But I do ken ye cannae do it all alone, Marcus.” Her eyes met his, full of unspoken meaning. “Even a laird needs someone to lean on now and then.”
His gaze softened as he met her eyes, a flicker of something warm and genuine.
“Aye,” he murmured, “that’s true.” For a brief moment, the weight of his title seemed to fade, and in its place, there was just a man—a man who, for all his responsibilities, wasn’t immune to needing someone.
And perhaps, just perhaps, he didn’t have to carry the burden alone.
On the third day, Marcus was feeling slightly stronger though still far from being able to move freely.
He had spent most of the morning watching Annabeth from the corner of the room, noticing her every movement, the way she seemed so sure of herself.
She was giving him a quiet space to prepare to leave, and yet he found himself restless with the silence between them.
It had been days now, and the weight of his unspoken thoughts was starting to press on him more heavily.
He couldn’t deny it any longer—he couldn’t stop thinking about her, he desired her, but he was set to leave and go back to the castle.
He looked at her, she turned to him, their gaze locking before she quickly looked away with a blush to her cheeks. He smiled to himself. He knew he should say something, but the words would not leave his tongue.
Before either of them could say a word, there was a sudden loud knock at the door.
It startled both of them, breaking the tension that had been building between them.
Annabeth’s face instantly went blank, her professional mask falling back into place.
Claire came from the back room and looked at Annabeth.
“I’ll see to it,” she said, standing quickly, her voice a little more distant now. Marcus leaned back against the pillows with a frustrated sigh, his moment of connection with her shattered. He couldn’t help but feel that he had been on the verge of something, and now, it had slipped away.
Annabeth opened the door only a crack, her hand resting lightly on the handle.
“Good day, sir. How are ye?” she said.
“I’ve been better. Things have changed for me, and so they’ve changed for ye, lass,” Kyle said.
Marcus strained to listen, his eyes narrowing as he heard the deep voice of a man coming from outside.
“I daenae understand. What has happened?” Annabeth asked.
“Let’s just say I’ve had a wee turn of bad luck at the cards,” Kyle said.
“’Tis unfortunate, sir. I still daenae ken what this means, or how it brings ye to me door,” she said.
“I’ve changed me mind,” Kyle said, his tone sharp. “Ye’ve two days left, not a moment more. Get the money, or ye’ll be out.”
Marcus’ brow furrowed as he listened, but he could only hear pieces of what was said between them.
Was this man speaking of rents? Or did they owe him money for other reasons linked to this cottage?
With a snort of frustration, Kyle turned on his heel and walked away. Annabeth stood for a moment, staring at the door, her breath shallow. Then, without a word, she closed the door softly, locking it behind her.
Marcus watched as she walked back to his side, her face pale, her posture tense.
“What was that about?” he asked, his voice low but filled with concern.
She hesitated for a moment, eyes flicking to the window before meeting his gaze.
“It’s none of yer concern, Laird,” she replied shortly, her voice tight, before quickly changing the subject. “Now, I’ve got to put a fresh bandage before ye leave.” She moved to gather her supplies, her hands steady, but Marcus could see the tension in her shoulders.
She worked quickly and efficiently, the skill and precision in her movements impressive as she began to wash the wound.
Marcus couldn’t help but admire the focus she displayed.
Her hands were gentle but firm, and though the pain was still sharp, he could already feel his body responding, the wound starting to feel less tender.
He wasn’t sure if it was the medicine or her skill, but the healing seemed to be progressing faster than it had any right to.
“Yer good at this,” Marcus murmured, his voice quiet as he watched her, captivated by her movements. “Ye’ve a steady hand.”
Once she was done, Annabeth applied a fresh bandage, making sure it was secure.
“I’ll have Murray bring yer horse round,” she said, her voice calm though the undercurrent of unease from earlier hadn’t quite faded. “He’s been preparing the saddle for ye.”
Marcus shifted, preparing himself to leave. The pain in his side had dulled to a manageable throb, and he knew that even though he wasn’t fully healed, he couldn’t stay here any longer. His clan needed him, and this was a debt he had to repay.
“Thank ye, Annabeth,” he said, his voice sincere. “I’m in yer debt.”
She didn’t respond immediately, but her eyes softened just a bit as she looked at him.
Without saying another word, she turned and left to see to the horse, leaving Marcus to contemplate the strange connection he felt to this village girl—someone whose life was so different from his own yet who seemed to have captured a part of him he hadn’t known was missing.
When she returned Marcus looked at Annabeth. His gaze softened with genuine gratitude.
“Thank ye, Annabeth,” he said, his voice low but sincere. “I’ll send a messenger to pay ye for yer kindness. Ye’ve done more than enough.”
Annabeth gave him a small nod, her face flushed slightly from the effort of tending to him.
“There’s nay need for that,” she replied quietly, looking down at her hands for a moment before meeting his eyes. “I did what any healer would do.” She offered a small, humble smile.
Claire, who had been quietly preparing things on the side, came forward with a flask in her hand. She offered it to Marcus with a gentle smile.
“Take this with ye,” she said. “It’s water to keep ye hydrated on yer travels. May yer journey back be swift and safe, Laird.”
Marcus took the flask, his hand brushing Claire’s as he did, a small spark of warmth in the simple gesture.
“I appreciate it, Claire. Thank ye for everything,” he replied, giving her a respectful nod.
He looked back at Annabeth, still standing by the bedside, and for a moment, he wanted to say something more—to tell her how much her care had meant, how much she had meant in the brief time they’d spent together.
He hesitated, unsure of what exactly to say, and then just as he opened his mouth, a knock came at the door.
“Laird,” Murray’s voice called from the other side, “yer horse is ready and waiting.”
With a sigh, after a lingering glance at Annabeth, Marcus turned to the door. There was something unspoken in the air between them, something he couldn’t quite name but didn’t want to leave behind. Without another word, he made his way toward the door.
As he stepped into the doorway, he stole a final look at Annabeth, but the words he had almost spoken remained locked inside him. He was already gone before he could fully understand the strange pull he felt toward her.
Should I say more to the lass? Am I making a mistake?