Chapter 27
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
As they rode toward the castle, Marcus couldn’t help but feel the exhaustion weighing on him.
The battle with Struan MacCormack had taken more out of him than he’d cared to admit.
His mind wandered back to Annabeth—how he'd left things with her.
The pain in his side only seemed to deepen with each passing thought, and he wanted nothing more than to return to the castle and find peace, even if just for a moment.
When they finally arrived, Marcus was immediately ushered into the healing rooms. His body protested every step, but he pressed on, determined to get the care he needed.
As the guards helped him to a nearby chair, his eyes caught a familiar face—Annabeth.
She moved toward him with urgency, her brow furrowed in concern.
“Annabeth,” he murmured, relief flooding through him. “I’m glad to see ye.” His voice was rough from exhaustion, but the sight of her calmed the storm inside him, even if only for a moment.
Annabeth rushed to his side, her hands immediately beginning to assess his injuries. “It’s just a flesh wound,” she said quickly, her voice steady despite the concern in her eyes. “Naythin’ to worry about. Ye’re lucky it’s nae worse.” She began to clean the wound, her touch gentle and familiar.
Marcus couldn’t help but watch her, the way she worked with such focus and care. His heart raced in his chest, and for the first time since the fight, he felt truly at ease.
"What are ye doin’ back here?” he asked, his voice gruff but filled with curiosity. “I thought ye’d gone home after ye left the castle.”
Annabeth hesitated for a moment, her hands stilling before continuing with her work.
Her gaze flickered up to meet his, her eyes soft but full of emotion.
“I... I couldnae stay away,” she admitted, her voice quieter now, as if the weight of her own words had just sunk in.
“I kept thinkin’ about... I couldnae...”
A strange mix of relief and joy surged through Marcus. He couldn’t believe she’d returned, that she’d chosen to be here with him. Without thinking, he reached for her, pulling her into his arms. The kiss he pressed to her lips was urgent, filled with the raw emotion that had built up inside him.
The moment their lips parted, Marcus felt a rush of relief, the tension in his chest easing for the first time in what seemed like forever.
He had been longing for her touch, and now that she was here, so close, it felt like everything was finally falling into place.
But as soon as he leaned in for more, Annabeth pushed him away, her expression suddenly cold.
The warmth that had blossomed between them faded as she stepped back, her hands moving toward his wound instead.
“I need to treat the wound,” Annabeth said firmly, her voice distant now, as if she had built a wall between them in that one swift motion.
Marcus felt the sting of her words, but his heart ached more from the coldness that had replaced the tenderness.
“Annabeth,” he began, his voice rough with regret, “I’ve been a fool.
I couldnae see how much I cared for ye before; I was too stubborn to admit it.
” His gaze softened as he met her eyes, hoping she would understand.
“When ye left the castle,” Marcus continued, his voice quieter now, filled with the weight of his admission, “ye broke me. I didnae realize how much ye meant to me until it was too late.” He felt his chest tighten as he spoke, the vulnerability raw and unguarded.
There had been so many things left unsaid, and now, with the truth spilling from his heart, he could only hope she’d hear him.
Annabeth’s face remained unreadable though he caught the flicker of emotion in her eyes before she turned away to focus on his injury. “Ye shouldnae say things like that to me,” she muttered, her tone cool.
Marcus blinked, confusion flooding his mind. “Why nae?” he asked, his brow furrowing. “Why cannae I tell ye how I feel?”
Before she could respond, the door to the healing room swung open with a sharp creak, and Lady Elizabeth rushed in, her face a picture of concern.
“Marcus!” she exclaimed, her gaze sweeping over him, taking in his condition.
The tension between Marcus and Annabeth seemed to evaporate, replaced by the worry of his mother.
Marcus couldn’t help but feel frustrated at the interruption, but his attention was now divided as Lady Elizabeth fussed at his side.
Marcus watched closely as his mother, Lady Elizabeth, stepped forward with a worried expression etched across her face. She asked Annabeth in a soft, almost pleading tone, “Will me son be alright?”
Annabeth, her hands still moving with practiced ease over his wound, replied with calm certainty. “Aye, it’s but a flesh wound, Me Lady,” she said, her voice cool but steady. “There is nay sign of poison on the blade either.”
Lady Elizabeth sighed with relief, her tension easing as she looked to Marcus, offering a soft, grateful smile. “Thank ye, Annabeth,” she said warmly, her voice carrying the sincerity of her gratitude.
Marcus couldn’t help but notice the stiffness in Annabeth’s posture, the way she barely acknowledged the praise. She remained distant, her focus entirely on the task at hand, and her voice was curt when she responded, “I am only doin’ me duty, Me Lady.”
There was an undeniable formality in Annabeth’s words, as if she had built an invisible wall between them, making her actions feel like nothing more than a professional duty.
Marcus felt the weight of that distance, a pang of guilt twisting in his gut, but he couldn’t place why it stung so badly.
His mother, meanwhile, continued to hover near him, her protective presence a constant that Marcus couldn’t shake off.
Every time he tried to speak or make eye contact with Annabeth, she was too absorbed in her work, too focused on tending to his injury to notice.
As the minutes passed, Marcus grew restless, frustration creeping up his spine. His mother’s constant questioning and hovering only made things worse. He didn’t have a chance to speak with Annabeth, to explain himself or to ask her what had caused the sudden coldness between them.
Finally, Annabeth gave a small nod and turned toward the door, breaking the silence. “I’ll go down to the kitchen and make sure some broth is sent up for ye, Laird,” she said, her tone still distant. “I’ve done all I can for now.”
Marcus tried to catch her gaze, to say something, but Annabeth was already halfway out the door.
Lady Elizabeth, ever the gracious hostess, nodded a farewell, though her eyes followed Annabeth with a suspicious glint.
Marcus couldn’t shake the feeling that something had been exchanged between the two women.
There had been an unmistakable tension in the air, something unspoken, and it gnawed at him.
As the door clicked shut behind Annabeth, Marcus’ suspicion deepened. His mind raced with questions.
Why had Annabeth been so distant? What had me maither said to her, and why did she leave so abruptly?
The more he thought about it, the more he couldn’t ignore the feeling that something had changed between them—something he didn’t understand.
He knew Annabeth too well to believe that she would act this way without a reason, but he couldn’t make sense of it.
His chest tightened, and he had a sudden, overwhelming urge to find her, to figure out what had happened.
But Lady Elizabeth, ever the watchful eye, was still there, her gaze intent on him.
“Ye’re lookin’ troubled, Marcus,” his mother said, her tone now soft with concern.
She was always so perceptive, and it only made Marcus feel more trapped.
He didn’t want to lie to her, but he didn’t know how to explain what was going on in his heart or his head.
Instead, he simply nodded, hoping the silence would cover up the storm brewing within him.