Chapter 8
CHAPTER EIGHT
Marcus could feel Annabeth's hands resting lightly on his waist as they rode, her touch gentle but firm. The warmth of her fingers seeped through, sending a wave of heat through him that had nothing to do with the day’s journey.
He clenched his jaw, trying to push away the growing awareness of her closeness.
Her scent makes me body grow warm. Feeling her touch sends me on the brink of being mad with desire.
Her presence, so simple and steady, was unlike anything he’d known before.
It wasn’t just her hands on his body that unnerved him; it was the feeling that her touch was somehow tethering him to something more than just the task at hand.
Deep down, he knew he hadn’t called her to the castle solely to tend to his father; he had a need to keep her nearby.
As they rode in silence, his mind wandered, the rhythmic movement of the horse underfoot doing little to settle the thoughts in his head.
His father’s illness was a pressing matter, yet it was Annabeth who filled his thoughts.
The more he thought about it, the clearer it became that he wasn’t ready to let her go.
He didn’t understand it—didn’t understand her—but the desire to keep her at his side felt as though it had taken root deep within him, uninvited and yet insistent.
Is it simply gratitude for her skill in healing, or something more? Something deeper that I cannae yet name?
The wind picked up slightly, ruffling their hair and the edges of their cloaks.
Yet, he was keenly aware of Annabeth’s breath against his neck, the subtle rise and fall of her chest as she held onto him.
His mind raced again, drifting into dangerous territory.
He had no reason to feel this way—no reason to feel this constant tug on his chest when she was near.
I need her for me faither.
But the truth lingered there, silent and heavy. He wasn’t just bringing her to the castle for his father. He was bringing her because he wasn’t ready to let her go.
“Why do ye stay so quiet, lass?” Marcus murmured, his voice low and steady despite the chaos swirling in his mind.
He didn’t expect an answer, but he needed to hear her voice, something to break the spell she had cast on him without even trying. When she didn’t answer immediately, he felt his pulse quicken, the silence between them growing heavy with unspoken words.
“I… I’m looking at the moors is all,” she said.
He sensed the sadness in her voice and wondered if he made a mistake taking her from home. He longed to say something more, to comfort her, but the words caught in his throat. In that moment, he realized how much he didn’t know about her—and how much he wanted to.
As the castle came into view, Annabeth gasped, her breath catching in awe. The grand stone walls of the castle loomed above them, ancient and imposing, yet undeniably beautiful.
“I’ve never seen anything like it,” she breathed, her eyes wide as she took in the massive structure.
The sight of the castle was overwhelming, both in its size and in the weight of history it seemed to carry.
Marcus smiled, pride flickering in his eyes as he glanced at her.
“Aye, this is me ancestral home,” he said, his voice steady but filled with affection. “It’s a bonnie one, isnae it?” He paused, his gaze shifting to the castle’s towering walls. “One I’d die for, should it come to that.”
His words were firm, as though he were staking claim to more than just the land.
Annabeth nodded, her admiration evident in her voice. “Yer pride in it is admirable,” she said softly, unable to tear her eyes away from the castle.
Suddenly, the peaceful quiet of the castle’s entrance was broken by the sharp tolling of a bell.
Annabeth’s head snapped around, eyes widening at the sudden noise.
The bell rang again, echoing through the courtyard, and chaos erupted around them.
Guards shouted orders, their voices carrying on the wind, their feet moving quickly as they scrambled to action.
Marcus’ expression shifted immediately, the easy confidence replaced by a subtle tension.
“Looks like they’ve been searching for me,” he murmured, his eyes narrowing as he surveyed the scene unfolding around them. He noted the group of guards standing still, their faces a mix of relief and concern as they had been prepared to leave on a scouting expecition.
“Seems they didnae expect me to return so soon,” he added, his tone low, more to himself than to Annabeth.
Annabeth looked around, taking in the hurried movements of the men in the courtyard. “Do they always react like this when ye return?” she asked, her brow furrowed.
“It’s nothing to worry about, lass” he finally said, his voice steady but with an underlying tension. “They’re just eager to see I’m in one piece. Come on.” He nudged his horse forward, leading the way into the bustling courtyard.
Eli’s voice was sharp with worry as he ran to Marcus’ side, his eyes scanning his friend with a mix of relief and frustration.
“Where in God’s name have ye been, Marcus?” he demanded, his breath coming in quick bursts. “The entire clan’s been out searchin' for ye. We were worried sick!”
His gaze was full of concern, the kind of genuine worry that only came from years of friendship. He clapped a hand on Marcus’ shoulder, looking him over, expecting to see signs of some ill fate.
Marcus waved him off with a dismissive grunt, not in the mood for the worry that always followed him like a shadow.
“I’ve been wounded,” he muttered, not wanting to get into the details. “It’s nothing.”
His tone made it clear he wasn’t interested in further discussion, but Eli’s furrowed brow only deepened. Despite his friend’s apparent nonchalance, Eli couldn’t help but notice the way Marcus was holding himself, his posture stiffer than usual.
Eli, growing more concerned, stepped closer, offering his help.
“Let me help ye down, then. Ye look like ye can barely stay on that horse.” His hand hovered near Marcus’ leg, ready to assist.
But Marcus, gritting his teeth, pushed him away gently with a firm gesture.
“I’m fine, Eli,” Marcus growled, and with a sharp breath, he swung down from the horse with surprising agility despite the pain.
“See to this lass; she’s a healer. Take her to chambers in the west wing,” Marcus said.
Eli moved to help her down. Marcus’ eyes flicked to them, an unfamiliar, uneasy feeling curling in his stomach.
Why did Eli touching her hand and placing his hands on her waist bother me?
“I think nae,” she said, looking at Marcus with a slight frown. “I need to check yer wounds, Laird. I cannae let ye go off without knowing the full extent of the effect the ride took on the wound,” she said.
The simple statement from her, almost protective in its manner, made Marcus pause.
“Yer wound is that bad?” Eli asked.
Marcus, suddenly irritated by the interruption, huffed.
“I’m fine,” he muttered, his voice low and begrudging.
“I’ll tell ye later, Eli. For now, just show Annabeth to me quarters, and see she gets whatever she needs.
” His words were clipped, and he didn’t meet Eli’s eyes, his attention still caught up in Annabeth’s gaze which lingered on him.
“I need me items,” she said as she started to rummage through the saddle bag. Eli helped her.
As they started to walk towards the castle entrance, Marcus’ gaze followed Annabeth, lingering a moment longer than he realized.
Why does it bother me so much that Eli’s so close to her?
His thoughts ran in circles, confusion eating at him as he forced himself to turn away.
Marcus moved slowly, still feeling the ache of his injuries. Before he could even enter the door, he felt a familiar pair of arms wrap around him in a tight embrace. His mother, Elizabeth, was there, her worried face pale with distress.
“Marcus, oh Marcus!” she cried, her voice shaky as she held him close. “I thought ye were dead. We’ve all feared the worst.”
His heart clenched at the sight of her fear, and he gently placed a hand on her back, murmuring an apology.
“I’m sorry, Maither,” Marcus said softly, his voice rough with exhaustion.
He had never liked seeing his mother in such a state, and yet here she was, holding onto him as if she feared he might vanish at any moment.
“I got ambushed. It was a bloody mess.” He had no intention of worrying her more than necessary, but he couldn’t deny the truth of the attack.
The memories of that sudden assault—the strangers, the violence—still rattled him though he tried not to show it.
Elizabeth pulled away slightly, looking up at him with wide eyes.
“By whom, Marcus?” Her voice was sharp with concern, and her gaze flickered to his bruised body. “Who could do this to ye?”
Marcus sighed, his brow furrowing as he shook his head.
“I daenae ken. They didnae wear clan colors. I suspect they were raiders or bandits.” The thought of the faceless attackers gnawed at him, but he had more pressing matters to address.
She looked astonished, her mouth falling open slightly.
“Raiders or bandits? And ye were gone so long?” Elizabeth’s eyes searched his face as if trying to find the answers hidden there.
Marcus felt a pang of guilt, knowing that his absence had caused her so much worry.
“Aye, it took me longer than expected to recover. I was badly wounded, and I was taken in by a healer who helped me,” he explained, his voice quieter now as he felt the weight of the ordeal settle over him.
Elizabeth’s expression shifted from shock to concern as she absorbed his words.
“A healer?” she repeated, her tone laced with disbelief.
“She’s in me quarters, waiting to tend to me wounds,” he replied, a touch of reluctance in his voice.
Her eyes widened in mortification at the thought of him being in such a state for so long without her care.
“Marcus, ye should go straight away,” she said, her voice firm with maternal instinct.
She reached for his arm, urging him toward the entrance of the castle.
“I’ll go to the kitchens to make sure a hot bath is brought to ye and food as well. Ye need to rest and recover properly.”
Marcus watched as she turned toward the castle doors, her every movement radiating the strength and care that had always been a part of her.
“Thank ye, Maither,” Marcus murmured, deeply grateful for her unwavering care.
With a sigh, he turned away and headed to his quarters, the thought of Annabeth waiting there pulling at him more than he cared to admit.
As he walked through the castle halls, he couldn’t help but replay the events of the past few days in his mind.
The ambush, the wound, the healer—Annabeth.
He hadn’t expected her to affect him so deeply, but now that he had returned to the castle, he found his thoughts drifting to her, her gentle touch, and the quiet way she had cared for him.
The idea of going to his chambers, facing her once again, made his heart beat faster though he had no reason for the strange stirrings inside him.
When he reached his chambers, the door was ajar, and Annabeth was waiting inside, the flickering fire casting shadows on her face. Marcus stepped inside, his thoughts still scattered. She looked up, meeting his gaze, and for a brief moment, he felt everything else fall away.
There she is, the healer. A word I ken I will use time and again to be the reason I brought her to the castle, but that is only partly the truth.
Though his body ached, he found himself grateful for her presence.