Chapter 25
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
“We cannae let this go unanswered,” Marcus said, his voice low and serious.
Noah nodded, his lips pressed in a firm line, before suggesting, “We can go to MacCormack’s lands and speak to him directly. Get answers straight from his mouth.”
Marcus sat in the dimly lit chamber, his brow furrowed as he listened to Noah and Anthony’s words.
The suggestion made sense, and after a brief pause, Marcus and Anthony exchanged glances. “Aye, ye’re right,” Marcus agreed. “We need to ken why he’d turn against us and what his game truly is.” They all agreed on the course of action.
Anthony, ever the strategist, leaned forward, his eyes calculating. “I’ll send him a letter,” he said, his voice steady. “Pretend we want more information, a chance to discuss matters in person. We’ll meet at the clearin’ just outside the woods in three days.”
With that, Anthony quickly got to work, drafting the letter and giving it to a trusted messenger to send on its way.
Marcus stood and walked toward the door, his mind swirling with thoughts of the upcoming confrontation.
But before he could leave the hall, he realized there was something he needed to do first—something he had put off for far too long. He had to find Annabeth.
As he strode through the corridors of the castle, his mind wandered back to the moments they had shared.
He thought of her smile, the way her eyes had softened when they spoke, and the way her presence had settled his otherwise turbulent heart.
He had meant to speak to her before he left, to tell her what he felt, but now, he was not sure when he would return—if he would return.
His heart clenched at the thought of never seeing her again.
He made his way to the apothecary, hoping to find her there.
But as he entered, it was not Annabeth who greeted him but Elena, standing by one of the shelves, her back to the door.
At the sight of him, Elena turned around, her face lighting up with a mixture of curiosity and concern.
“Laird,” she greeted him though there was something in her tone that made Marcus pause.
“Elena,” he replied, his voice tight with unspoken questions, “Where is Annabeth?"
Elena hesitated for a moment before answering, her eyes shifting away. “She left,” she said softly. “She returned home to her village.”
The words hit Marcus like a blow to the chest. He stood frozen for a moment, the room spinning around him.
She had left? Without a word? Without even sayin’ goodbye?
His mind raced, trying to process the information, but it felt like the ground had shifted beneath him.
“Why didnae she tell me?” he asked, his voice strained.
Elena met his gaze with an apologetic look. “She didnae say much,” she replied quietly. “But I think she felt it was time for her to go back home, to be with her maither.”
Marcus’ thoughts swirled as he fought to make sense of the situation. He had not expected this, not after everything that had happened between them. His heart sank as he wondered if she had truly meant to leave him behind or if something more had driven her away. Had she felt his uncertainty?
He let out a heavy sigh, his mind racing. Perhaps it was for the best, he thought bitterly. He didn’t even know if he would survive the coming conflict with MacCormack. He couldn’t burden her with the uncertainty of his future, not when he couldn’t promise anything.
He forced himself to breathe, to push the emotions aside. He had to focus on the task at hand—he had no time to dwell on matters of the heart.
“Good day,” Marcus said curtly.
Elena gave him a respectful nod before turning her attention back to the shelves, sensing his need for solitude.
Marcus stepped out of the apothecary, the weight of Annabeth’s departure pressing down on him.
He had hoped to speak to her, to see if there was a chance to make amends, but now, it seemed that hope had vanished as quickly as she had.
With a final, bitter thought, he pushed forward, knowing he had more important matters to focus on.
The conflict was far from over, and there was no time to waste.
The morning air was brisk as Marcus rode along the narrow path leading to the clearing, flanked by Noah, Anthony, Eli, and a small group of guards.
The rhythmic clopping of hooves against the earth seemed to echo in his mind, but his thoughts remained far from the task at hand.
Annabeth’s departure weighed heavily on him, pulling at his chest with each passing moment.
He tried to ignore it, telling himself that this mission was too important to let his emotions get the better of him, but it was a struggle—her absence gnawed at him like a constant ache.
He had to confront Laird Struan MacCormack, find the truth, and put an end to the lies that threatened to tear their alliance apart.
Only then would he be able to go find Annabeth and bring her back to the castle, no matter how much she protested the matter.
Every few moments, his eyes would flicker over to Noah, who rode beside him, his expression unreadable, but Marcus knew that the anger was building within him as well.
There was too much at stake, and Marcus couldn’t afford to let anything—especially his feelings—get in the way.
Finally, the clearing came into view, and Marcus’ chest tightened.
Struan MacCormack was already there, his presence unmistakable with the MacCormack banner fluttering in the wind.
His guards stood at attention, their postures rigid, but Struan himself appeared tense, his brow furrowed in anger as he spotted Marcus and Noah approaching.
Struan’s voice broke through the silence, harsh and demanding. “What are ye doin’ here, Marcus?” he bellowed, his eyes narrowing at the sight of the two lairds. “Ye and Noah both have a lot of nerve comin’ to me land. What’s the meanin’ of this?”
Marcus dismounted, his boots hitting the ground with a dull thud, and gave a nod to Anthony and Eli, signaling them to do the same.
Marcus stood tall, meeting Struan’s gaze with a steady, unwavering stare. His anger flared briefly at the accusation, but he bit back the words threatening to spill from his lips. Instead, he spoke in a calm, controlled tone, forcing himself to focus on the matter at hand.
“Why did ye lie to the lairds and say I attacked their people, Struan?” he asked, his voice carrying the weight of authority.
Struan’s face flushed with a mix of frustration and disbelief.
“I didnae lie,” he snapped, his hand gripping the hilt of his sword as if to emphasize his point.
“I’ve nay idea what ye’re talkin’ about, Marcus.
The MacLennans’ have been a thorn in me side, and I’ll nae let ye accuse me of such things. ”
His deflection was quick, but Marcus could see the flicker of unease in his eyes—a crack in the otherwise steadfast exterior.
Marcus stepped closer, narrowing the distance between them, his eyes sharp as a blade.
“The evidence is plain, Struan,” he said quietly, his voice low but filled with intent. “Ye’ve spread lies, and I’ll nae stand for it any longer. Ye will answer for yer actions.”
His words hung in the air, and the tension in the clearing grew thick, each of them waiting for the other to make a move. Marcus’ mind, though still clouded by thoughts of Annabeth, was focused now—he had to resolve this matter first, and then he would deal with the consequences later.
Anthony’s words cut through the air, sharp and accusing. “We’ve proof Marcus dinnae do the raids, Struan,” he said, his voice steady but firm. “So why did ye come to me and say he did? If ye have nay real reason, then yer lies will be exposed for all to see.”
Struan’s face darkened at the challenge, his jaw clenched as fury overtook him. Without warning, Struan’s hand shot out, signaling his guards to attack. His voice was a roar of anger as he commanded, “Take them down!”
The guards rushed forward, swords drawn, their feet pounding the earth with a thundering urgency. Marcus barely had time to react as the first MacCormack guard lunged at him, but his instincts kicked in, and he sidestepped with fluid precision, drawing his own blade in one smooth motion.
Anthony and Noah were already engaged in the fray, their swords flashing in the sunlight as they defended themselves and their men. The clearing quickly became a battlefield, filled with the sound of clashing steel and grunts of exertion.
“Marcus!” Eli shouted in warning about Struan, who was already charging at Marcus, fury burning in his eyes. The two men collided in a violent clash, swords meeting with a loud crack that echoed through the clearing.
Marcus parried Struan’s strike, feeling the force of the blow rattle through his arm.
His feet shifted, positioning himself to counterattack, but Struan was relentless, pressing forward with brute strength.
Each strike from Struan was powerful, the swing of his sword aimed to kill, but Marcus matched him with skill and speed.
Sweat dripped down his face, but he focused solely on his opponent, the world around him fading into the background as his every movement became instinctual.
Struan’s breath came in ragged bursts as he swung his sword at Marcus, his eyes wild with fury.
“Ye should just die, Marcus!” he snarled, his voice shaking with rage.
“Let me have me revenge, once and for all.” The words were barely out of his mouth before he lunged again, his blade slashing through the air with deadly intent.