Page 4 of A Healer for the Obsessed Highlander
“Any luck, lass?” Claire asked.
“Nay, but perhaps tomorrow will be better,” she replied with a smile, trying to remain hopeful.
“Here have some tea.” Claire handed her a warm cup.
“Thank ye, maither,” she said with a smile.
Annabeth sat back in her chair, her fingers idly tracing the rim of her teacup.”
“I ken yer worried, but ye will see, guid things have a way of happening in a way ye never imagined,” Claire said.
“I want so much for ye, to care for ye. Ye should nay longer have to work. If there was a way to take yer pain and to give ye a livin’that’s comfortable for the rest of yer life, I would do it without a thought about it,” Annabeth said.
A sharp rap echoed through the small cottage, and Annabeth’s heart skipped a beat. “Daenae open it, lass,” Claire said from the other side of the room, her voice laced with unease. “It’s probably Kyle again, coming to take the shirts off our backs. He’ll take what he wants, and we’ll have nothing left.” Annabeth’s chest tightened at the thought.
But before Annabeth could reply, there was a sudden, heavy thud against the door. The noise was so forceful that it shook the frame, causing her to gasp in surprise. For a moment, the two women stared at each other, unsure of what had just happened.
Annabeth’s pulse raced as she stood, her hand trembling as she reached for the door. “Who—?” she began, but Claire shook her head sharply, her face pale with concern. There was no time for hesitation; Annabeth swung the door open, only to be met with the sight of an unconscious man slumped against the doorframe.
The man’s body was limp, his face pale, streaked with dirt and blood. His clothes were tattered, and his wounds looked severe, the blood still oozing from them.
Annabeth’s heart raced as she crouched down beside him, her healer’s instincts kicking in despite the shock of the moment.
Who could this man be? He’s gravely injured—too injured, perhaps, to survive without immediate care. Is he from the raids? His life hangs by a thread, and I cannae leave him to die.
CHAPTER THREE
Marcus’ horse thundered through the dense forest, its hooves pounding against the earth. The shadows of the trees blurred past as he leaned low over the horse’s mane, urging it faster. Behind him, the shouts of the assassins echoed, growing louder with every heartbeat.
He cast a glance over his shoulder, his sharp eyes catching movement in the gloom.
“Blast it all,” Marcus muttered under his breath, his jaw tightening.
Marcus’ mind churned with bitter thoughts as he pressed onward through the thick forest, the chill of the wind biting at his face. He couldn’t help but curse his own reckless nature, the same flaw his father had always warned him about.
“A laird must think before he acts, lad,” his father’s voice echoed in his memory, stern yet patient.
“Yer temper is a weapon, but only if ye control it. Otherwise, it’ll be the end of ye.”
How true those words seemed now. Being chased through the countryside on his own lands had been of his own doing. His horse under him raced with a panic they both shared as they weaved in out of trees, staying off the road in order to attempt to lose their persuers.
“Faster,” he urged, leaning forward into his horse’s ear.
The horse bolted forward as they darted out of the trees and across a patch of Highland moor.
“There! Catch up to him!” voices shouted behind him.
Marcus knew it was dangerous to leave the woods, but crossing the moor was a strategic move. The uneven terrain could cause the men that chased him to lose a rider or two while he manuevered his horse flawlessly through it with skills that had been honed by the best teachers in the region. The moor was a gamble, and Marcus knew it needed to pay off after the choice he made.
He had decided to ride to the McArthurs alone, determined to prove his sincerity and set matters right. Accusations of sending men to attack their villages were swirling, and the fragile alliance between their clans teetered on the brink of collapse.
Marcus knew he wasn’t behind the attacks, but he couldn’t shake the feeling that someone in the shadows was pulling strings to pit them against one another. His gut told him that this was no coincidence. Going alone had felt like the best way to show his honesty. No guards, no pretense—just himself and the truth.
But his plan had unraveled the moment the ambush came. Out of nowhere, masked riders emerged from the trees, their blades gleaming.
It was a brash move on me part with me rage taking hold and leading me. Was Ian right to doubt me? Was me leadership of the clan questionable because of an insatiable urge for danger?
The question clawed at him as relentless as the riders who now pursued him. His cousin’s scathing words rang in his ears, accusing him of rashness and questioning his worth as a leader. Marcus clenched his jaw. He hated to admit it, but Ian wasn’t entirely wrong.
