Chapter 9
CHAPTER NINE
Annabeth concentrated on the task at hand, her hands working carefully as she cleaned and dressed Marcus’ wounds. Her mind was focused on her work, but there was no denying the man’s presence. She tried to push the thoughts away, but they kept returning, like a constant hum beneath the surface.
Marcus lay before her, his chest bare, his firm, muscular body stark against the dimly lit room.
The air between them was heavy with unspoken tension, and every time she reached for a bandage or a salve, she had to remind herself to look away from his six-pack abs, the sculpted muscles of his torso that seemed to ripple with each subtle shift of his body.
It is a fact that the Laird’s presence stirs something inside me that makes me heart jump. What is this new feeling of pulsing and breathlessness that I have to restrain when I look at his body? Nay, I must stop thinking in this manner and focus on the work.
She pressed the cloth against the wound on his side, trying to keep her touch professional, but her fingertips brushed his skin more than once, sending a rush of warmth through her.
His body was firm, solid beneath her hands, and despite her best efforts to remain focused, she was keenly aware of how close they were.
The tension in the room grew thicker, the silence between them stretching longer than it should have.
She could feel his eyes on her, even though she refused to meet his gaze.
The weight of his stare made her heart race, and the heat of the moment was almost too much to bear.
She swallowed hard, pushing the stray thoughts away and focusing on the task before her.
Marcus suddenly broke the silence, his voice low and rough.
“What did ye think of Eli?” he asked, his tone unexpectedly curious.
Annabeth froze for a moment, surprised by the question.
She hadn’t expected him to ask about Eli, especially not in the midst of tending to his wounds.
She looked up at him, meeting his gaze for the first time in what felt like ages, and saw the flicker of something—perhaps jealousy?
—in his eyes. She quickly cleared her throat, trying to push down the flutter in her chest.
“He seems kind enough,” she said carefully, unsure why he would care about her thoughts on Eli.
Marcus’ expression darkened in an instant, and she felt a strange chill settle over the room. His eyes narrowed as he stared at her, his jaw tightening as if he were holding something back.
“Ye think so?” he asked, his voice tinged with something she couldn’t quite place. Annabeth’s brow furrowed in confusion.
“Aye, I do,” she answered though she was beginning to wonder why he seemed so upset.
The silence between them stretched for a long beat before Marcus broke it once again, this time with a question that caught her off guard.
“Do ye think Eli’s a handsome man?” Marcus asked, his tone sharp, almost accusing.
Annabeth blinked, completely caught off guard. What did this have to do with anything? Her fingers paused on the bandage she was wrapping around his wound as she looked up at him in surprise.
“I—I daenae what that has to do with anything, Marcus,” she stammered, her cheeks heating in embarrassment.
What on earth is he getting at? And why does it matter to him if I think Eli is handsome?
Marcus leaned back slightly, his muscles tensing as if preparing to say something more, but he didn’t. He simply stared at her, his dark gaze unwavering, and the tension in the air seemed to grow thicker with each passing second.
Annabeth could feel her heart pounding in her chest, and the silence between them was almost unbearable.
She tried to focus on finishing her task, but his presence was like a storm gathering in the room, ready to break.
The way his eyes never left hers made her skin prickle, and despite herself, she felt a heat rise in her cheeks.
There was something more than just the wound between them now, and she wasn’t sure how to handle it.
Marcus’ voice was quieter now, as if he was trying to keep his temper in check.
“Ye seem to be avoiding the question,” he said, a hint of frustration in his tone.
Annabeth shook her head, her fingers trembling as she finished tying off the bandage.
“I’m nae avoiding anything,” she replied, though her voice sounded less confident than she wanted. “I daenae see what Eli’s looks have to do with why I’m here.”
She could feel the weight of his gaze, burning into her, and it only made the situation more awkward.
Why is he so fixated on this? And why does it matter to him so much?
She finished the last of her work on his wound and stood up, her body still tense from the charged air between them.
Marcus’ eyes followed her every movement, and for a moment, she forgot how to breathe.
Her mind was a whirl of confusion, trying to make sense of the jealousy—was it jealousy? —that seemed to grip him.
She had never seen this side of him, this intensity, and she wasn’t sure how to react.
As she turned to gather her things, she caught sight of him watching her, the muscles in his jaw clenched as if he were fighting some inner battle.
The question lingered in the air, unanswered, and it hung between them like an unspoken truth.
She stepped back and crossed her arms, giving him a stern look.
“Ye need to be more responsible with yer health, Marcus,” she said, her voice firm but caring. “If ye keep makin’ reckless decisions, ye willnae be able to protect anyone, least of all yerself.”
She shook her head in frustration, not understanding why he seemed so willing to risk his life.
“This cannae keep happenin’,” she added, her brow furrowing as she looked down at him.
Despite the intensity of her concern, he didn’t seem to share her worry. Marcus’ eyes narrowed, and he sat up straighter, glaring at her.
“Ye cannae speak to me like that,” he said, his voice low and commanding. “I’m yer laird, Annabeth, and ye will respect me.”
His tone was firm, but there was an underlying heat in his words that made her heart race.
She wasn’t sure why, but something about the way he said it made her feel both frustrated and…
something else. She opened her mouth to argue, but before she could speak, his gaze softened though his words did not.
Annabeth didn’t back down, however, and lifted her chin, staring at him with equal resolve.
“I respect people who do what they must to survive, nae those who endanger themselves foolishly,” she said, her voice unwavering. “If ye keep actin' like this, ye’ll put everyone at risk.”
She wasn’t sure where her boldness was coming from, but in that moment, she felt a deep need to make him understand. She couldn’t keep seeing him risk everything when there was so much more at stake than his pride. Annabeth could tell, though, that her words weren’t having the effect she hoped for.
Without warning, Marcus rose from the bed with surprising speed.
Before Annabeth could take a step back, he reached out and grabbed her hand, pulling her toward him with a force that left her breathless.
Her heart pounded in her chest, and she was too stunned to resist as he tugged her closer.
She felt every inch in her body awaken and respond to him, the way he took charge and seemed to be running on pure passion.
His grip on her wrist was firm, and for a brief moment, Annabeth felt the weight of his presence—his strength, his power—flooding over her.
She could feel the warmth of his body so near to hers, and all her rational thoughts seemed to vanish in an instant.
She wanted to pull away, but her body refused to move.
“Do nae speak to me like that again,” Marcus muttered, his voice rough with something that felt more like anger than authority.
Annabeth opened her mouth to respond, but before she could say a word, he leaned down and kissed her.
His lips were warm and insistent, silencing her protests with a force that took her by surprise. Annabeth’s breath caught in her throat as his kiss deepened, and she felt her body melt against his. The world around her blurred, and in that moment, nothing existed except the heat between them.
I cannae think. I’m losing meself in him. His strength, I feel it deep inside me. His kiss is hungry, and I want to feed him.
For several moments, Marcus kissed her with a fierce intensity, his hand still holding hers, pressing her against him. Annabeth’s mind raced, torn between her anger and the strange, undeniable pull she felt toward him.
I should push him away; I should remind him of boundaries. But why do me hands ache to caress instead of push?
Her hand, still in his, moved slowly up his chest, unsure if she was trying to pull away or draw closer.
His lips were soft but insistent, and she found herself responding, her body betraying her thoughts.
I must stop this. Why cannae I break free? Could it be that I want more? He feels good, hard, and strong beneath me fingertips that have taken a mind of their own, touching his warm skin. The warrior that he is has unleashed a hunger in me. I cannae stop touching him. Kiss me harder, Me Laird.
The moment was shattered by the sharp knock of the door, that made them part, followed by the creak of it swinging open. A servant entered, looking flustered, his eyes darting between Marcus and Annabeth.
“Laird McArthur has attacked another village,” he said breathlessly, barely sparing a glance at the two of them. “The news is urgent—he’s been seen moving south, and the villagers are in panic. The scouts have confirmed.” Marcus’ expression darkened, his face hardening with the weight of the news.