Chapter 11
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Marcus stood by the hearth, arms crossed, watching Annabeth as she entered. He cleared his throat, and when she turned to face him, he motioned toward the empty chair near the fire.
“Sit down, lass,” he said, his voice steady but carrying an edge of tension. “I’ve something I need to discuss with ye.”
She hesitated for only a moment before nodding and taking the seat, her hands folding neatly in her lap as she looked up at him expectantly.
“I’ll be ridin’ to Galton tomorrow,” Marcus began, his eyes fixed on hers. “There’s been word that the villagers are in need of a healer, and I thought ye might accompany me.”
He paused, searching her face for a reaction, but she only nodded, her expression calm and composed. The ease with which she sat there caught him off guard though he didn’t let it show.
Did the kiss mean nothing to her? Even now I desire her. I cannae restrain meself.
Marcus stepped away from her, turning his back to her as the blood rushed to his staff, making him hard just by looking at her. He forced himself to stay the course.
“It’ll be a few days’ journey, so pack what ye’ll need,” he added, his tone quieter, his gaze lingering on her just a moment too long.
Annabeth inclined her head, her voice light as she replied, “Of course, Laird. It is me duty to go where I’m needed.”
There wasn’t a flicker of hesitation in her demeanor, and Marcus found himself both relieved and frustrated by her composure.
Did she not feel the weight of the unspoken tension between them?
Her casual acceptance only deepened the ache in his chest, the memory of their kiss still fresh and unrelenting.
How could she act as though it had meant nothing at all as I stand here willing me manhood to stand down?
Marcus leaned against the table, his jaw tightening as he wrestled with his thoughts.
Why can’t I just let it go?
His mind was caught between two opposing urges.
I should apologize fer kissin’ her—I had nay right. But dammit, why does she seem so unaffected?
He stole a glance at her, noting how her eyes remained steady, her hands calm as she sat there.
She has nay idea what she’s done to me.
“There’s more to it than just patchin’ up scrapes and coughs,” he said after a long silence, trying to keep his voice level. “The village has struggled with sickness lately, and they’re desperate for someone who kens what they’re doin’.”
Annabeth met his gaze, her brow furrowing slightly as she considered his words.
“Aye, then it’s good we’re goin’,” she said simply, her voice free of any tension.
Marcus couldn’t help but notice the way the firelight softened her features, making it harder for him to look away.
The quiet stretched between them, thick and heavy with words neither dared to speak. Marcus’ fists clenched at his sides, his resolve faltering.
I could demand answers—ask her why she’s actin’ like it meant nothin’ to her. But what if it truly didnae? Or I could simply pull her into me arms. I’m her Laird after all. She is me subject.
The thought stung more than he cared to admit, and for a brief moment, he wished he could pull her into his arms again just to prove to himself it had been real.
“Get some rest tonight,” Marcus said, his voice gruff as he pushed off the table and stepped toward the door. “We’ll leave at first light.”
Annabeth nodded, rising to her feet and offering him a faint smile that did little to ease the tension coursing through him.
“I’ll be ready,” she said, her tone polite, measured, distant. He watched her for a moment longer than he should have before turning and walking away, his thoughts churning like a storm.
As Marcus strode through the stone corridors of the castle, his mind replayed the brief interaction with Annabeth again and again.
She agreed so easily, as though there’s naythin’ between us.
His chest tightened, his frustration building with every step.
Does she nae feel the same fire I do? Or is she better at hidin’ it than I am?
He ran a hand through his hair, the echoes of her calm voice only adding to his turmoil. By the time Marcus reached his own chambers, the tension in his body had reached a boiling point. He threw open the window, letting the cold night air bite at his skin as he leaned against the frame.
I shouldnae have kissed her, but I’ll be damned if I regret it.
His hands gripped the stone ledge as he stared into the dark, his heart caught between longing and frustration, knowing full well the road ahead would test his every restraint.
A sharp knock sounded at the heavy wooden door, pulling Marcus from his thoughts.
“Aye, come in,” he called, his voice gruff as he stood by the fire, hands clasped behind his back. The door creaked open to reveal Eli, stepping inside with his usual calm demeanor.
“Eli,” Marcus acknowledged with a nod, motioning for him to take a seat near the table. “What brings ye to me this hour?”
Eli sat, his dark eyes steady as he spoke.
“I thought ye’d want an update on the talks with the MacCormack clan, Laird.
Their Laird, Struan Williams is still bein’ as stubborn as ever.
” He shook his head, his frustration evident in the set of his jaw.
“He’s demandin’ terms that’d leave us at a loss, and I cannae see how we’d agree to them without hurtin’ ourselves in the long run. ”
Marcus let out a low growl of frustration and turned to face the steward fully.
“That man’s harder to deal with than a mule stuck in the mud,” he muttered.
“He kens well that we need this trade agreement, but his demands are beyond reason. What’s he thinkin’, tryin’ to take advantage of us like that? ”
Eli leaned forward slightly, his tone measured as he offered his suggestion. “Perhaps we’re goin’ about this the wrong way. Struan’s nephew, Stuart, might be the key to this. He’s the heir, is he nae? If we appeal to him, he could sway the Laird in our favor.”
Marcus frowned, shaking his head as he dismissed the idea outright. “That’ll nae work, Eli. Everyone kens Struan cannae stand the lad. He sees him as soft, unfit to lead, and he’d never listen to anythin’ the boy had to say. It’d only sour things further.”
Eli scratched his chin thoughtfully, his brow furrowed.
“Then what do we do, Laird? Struan’s got the timber and the salt we need, but if we cannae come to terms, we’ll be left at a disadvantage come winter.
” His voice carried the weight of the decision ahead, his concern clear.
“The MacCormacks are the most reliable source we’ve got right now. ”
Marcus crossed his arms over his chest, his jaw tight as he considered their options. “If Struan willnae budge, we’ll have to look elsewhere. There are other clans who deal in timber and salt.” He glanced toward Eli, his resolve firm.
Eli nodded, his expression grim but understanding. “Aye, it’s a shame it’s come to this, but ye’re right. We cannae let the MacCormacks dictate the terms. I’ll start makin’ inquiries with the other clans, just in case.”
Marcus sighed, running a hand through his hair as he moved toward the window. “Do that, Eli,” he said quietly. “I’ll write to Struan one last time, but me patience with the man is wearin’ thin. If he willnae meet us halfway, then to hell with him and his stubborn pride.”
Eli turned on his heel. Marcus paced his room and felt like a caged animal.
He left his room to get some air. The cool evening air brushed against Marcus’ face as he strolled across the castle grounds, hands tucked behind his back.
The tension from his conversation with Eli still lingered, his thoughts circling the stubborn laird of the MacCormack clan.
As he rounded the garden path, a familiar figure came into view—his mother, Lady Elizabeth, standing near the rose bushes.
“Marcus,” she greeted, her voice warm but probing, “ye’ve a look about ye like the weight of the world’s on yer shoulders. What troubles ye, me son?” She adjusted her shawl, her keen gaze fixed on him, clearly unwilling to let him brush her off with a simple answer.
Marcus stopped a few steps away, crossing his arms as he sighed. “It’s Struan Williams again,” he admitted, the frustration in his tone unmistakable. “The man refuses to see reason, makin’ demands that’d do us more harm than good. He’s as stubborn as a rock, and I’m runnin’ out of patience.”
Elizabeth’s brow furrowed at the mention of Struan, her lips pressing into a thin line.
“That man’s always been difficult,” she said, a hint of disdain creeping into her tone.
“But I’ve nae doubt ye’ll find a way to handle him, Marcus.
Ye’ve a sharp mind and a steady hand; he’ll come to see that eventually. ”
Marcus tilted his head, studying his mother for a moment. “I appreciate yer faith in me,” he said quietly, his voice softening. “But sometimes it feels like no matter what I do, it’s never enough.”
Elizabeth arched an eyebrow, stepping closer to him. “And what else is on yer mind, son?” she asked, her tone gentle but curious. “I ken ye well enough to ken when there’s more to the story. Ye’ve been restless these past few days.”
Marcus met her gaze, his jaw tightening as he debated how much to reveal.
Could she see through me so easily?
He glanced toward the castle, his thoughts drifting to Annabeth. “It’s naythin’ worth worryin’ about,” he said at last though his voice lacked conviction. “I’m just... sortin’ through things in me own head.”
Elizabeth smiled faintly, her expression softening with understanding.
“Marcus, matters of the heart are never as simple as we’d like them to be,” she said.
“But ye’re the Laird’s son, and that means marryin’ a woman who’ll strengthen the clan.
Love’s a luxury nae all of us can afford though I hope ye’ll find a balance between duty and happiness. ”
He nodded, the weight of her words settling heavily on his shoulders. “Aye, I ken my duty well enough,” he said, his tone resolute. “But that doesnae make it any easier.”