The Physicians Gave Up on the Duke’s Only Son – The Herbwoman They Scorned Stayed the Whole Night…

Chapter 6

The satellite phone rang at 11:47 AM.

Marcus was feeding kindling into the fire when the sound cut through the cabin. He set down the wood and crossed to the table where the device lay, already knowing who it was. The voice on the other end belonged to Commander Ethan Brooks, his direct superior. Brooks was in his early forties, tall and broad, with a closely trimmed beard and steel-gray eyes that gave nothing away. He was known among the teams for being direct but fair — the kind of leader who did not ask for anything he would not do himself.

“We need you back early,” Brooks said. No drama, no explanation beyond operational necessity. A developing situation overseas required experienced personnel. Marcus’s leave was being shortened by forty-eight hours.

Marcus listened without interruption. “Understood, sir.”

He ended the call and stood for a moment with the phone still in his hand. There was no anger in him. Only recognition. This was the life he had chosen. Missions changed, plans adjusted. Personal time folded back into duty without ceremony.

Eleanor watched him from across the room. She had been heating water on the small stove, but her hands had stilled the moment the phone rang.

“You have to go,” she said quietly. It was not a question.

Marcus nodded once. “Sooner than planned.”

He moved to the window, staring out at the untouched snowfield. Inside, something tightened. He had trained himself to compartmentalize. Mission here, personal life there. But the crate of sleeping puppies complicated that clean separation.

Eleanor turned off the stove and leaned against the counter, arms folding loosely. Her expression was thoughtful, not fragile.

“I was planning to leave, too,” she said after a pause.

Marcus glanced back at her. She held his gaze steadily.

“Silverton, I mean. I told myself I came here for a fresh start, but everywhere I look, I see Daniel.” She touched the silver ring at her neck unconsciously. “The avalanche. The calls from the sheriff. The silence afterward.” Her voice did not break. It was even, controlled. “I thought if I left again, maybe I wouldn’t feel like I was standing still.”

Marcus studied her carefully. Eleanor Brennan was not dramatic. She did not exaggerate pain for attention. Her strength was quiet and deliberate. Losing her husband had not made her fragile. It had made her guarded. She avoided attachment because attachment carried risk. He recognized the strategy immediately.

“I’ve spent years doing the same thing,” Marcus admitted. His voice was lower now, less formal. “Staying mobile, not putting down roots. Easier to leave when you’re used to leaving.”

He did not elaborate on deployments or the faces that returned to him at night. He did not need to. Eleanor understood the pattern without details.

A puppy stirred, letting out a small sound. The mother lifted her head instantly, nose brushing the edge of the crate. Marcus stepped closer, crouching beside them. The dog’s eyes followed him, steady and trusting. That trust unsettled him more than the phone call had. Orders were clear, expectations defined. But trust was voluntary. It created obligation without paperwork.

Eleanor moved to his side. “You don’t have to solve everything at once,” she said. “But they can’t go back out there.”

Marcus ran a hand along the mother’s neck, feeling the warmth return to her fur. He imagined walking away, handing over care to strangers, returning to base with his focus intact. It was the efficient option. It was also incomplete.

“I’ll make arrangements,” he said finally. The words surprised him slightly as they left his mouth.

Eleanor nodded slowly. “I can stay,” she said. “At least until you’re back. I’m not teaching again until next week.”

There was no plea in her offer. Just practicality.

Outside, the wind brushed lightly against the cabin walls, no longer violent, but present. Inside, the room felt charged with decisions unspoken, but understood. Marcus stood, shoulders squared. He would report back early. That was non-negotiable. But he would not pretend this situation did not matter.

He looked down at the mother again, at the five small bodies rising and falling in steady rhythm. For the first time since the phone call, his mind settled. Duty remained. So did choice.

Neither of them — him or Eleanor — had been living freely. They had been living defensively.

The snow outside had stopped falling, but the cold still held the mountains in a tight grip.