Page 17 of The Highlander's Runaway Nun
Laura hesitated for just a moment before hoisting herself onto the horse again, her legs trembling slightly from exhaustion.
As the two left the village behind, Laura heard whispers from some of the villagers. ‘The saintly new Lady McCormack’, which made her flush hot with embarrassment. She lowered her gaze, unsure whether to feel honored or mortified by their praise.
As they rode, Laura’s thoughts drifted, trying to reconcile what she had witnessed. She felt puzzled about Bradley’s behavior, for he seemed both a cold brute and a man who cared deeply for his people. His eyes had burned with a ferocity in battle, yet in the quiet moments, he had shown an awareness of the villagers’ needs and the slightest injury she herself had tended. The contradiction left her unsettled, stirring a strange mixture of awe and apprehension in her chest.
She shifted slightly in the saddle, gripping the reins as Bradley’s arms held her firmly in place. The wind whipped at her braids, and she tried to ignore the ache in her muscles from the earlier exertions. Her mind wandered back to the villagers, the smoke still lingering in the air, and she felt both exhausted and exhilarated.
She could not deny the thrill of having faced danger beside her husband, though the man himself remained a mystery in her mind.
“Bradley…” she began, hesitating. “What will ye do for the village? For the people who lost their homes?”
Bradley’s dark eyes scanned the path ahead, calm but commanding. “As soon as we return to the castle, I’ll put Alan in charge of gatherin’ food, drink, blankets, all that can help them. He’ll load wagons this evenin’ and ride straight to the village.”
“And the cottages?” Laura pressed, her voice anxious. “They need more than blankets and food; they need shelter.”
“Tomorrow, we’ll begin plannin’ the rebuild. I’ll make sure they have all they need, tools, timber, and craftsmen if required. None will be left without a roof over their head, lass. The McCormack clan takes care of its own.”
Laura’s brow furrowed. “Ye speak like it’s nae just duty, but… care,” she murmured. She caught herself, embarrassed, for the thought had nearly slipped out loud.
Bradley glanced down at her, a rare shadow of a smile tugging at his lips. “Care? Perhaps. But it’s also respect, Laura. Me people deserve strong hands to protect ‘em, and I’ll give them every ounce of mine.”
She could not help the blush that crept to her cheeks.
It’s strange… he seems a brute, cold at times, yet he risks himself for them. How can he be both so harsh and so… good?
“Loyalty and harshness are cousins, lass. Sometimes, ye must be cruel to keep others safe. The world we live in takes nay pity, so neither can I,” he said, as if reading her mind.
Laura stared down at her hands. “I suppose… I suppose it makes sense. But it’s hard to reconcile the man who plays cards with me at night and the warrior who cut down those bandits like a storm.”
Bradley’s grip on the reins tightened just slightly, a warning, though his voice softened. “Ye’ll learn, lass. Strength comes in many forms—gentle hands, cold steel, fierce eyes. All are needed to survive and protect. Watch and ken this, and ye’ll understand in time.”
Laura exhaled slowly, her chest rising and falling as the castle drew closer. She felt a strange mixture of fear, admiration, and confusion swirl inside her. The man beside her could be brutal, yet there was a steadiness, a reliability that she had not felt from anyone else. Perhaps, she thought, there was more to him than his harsh words and commanding presence.
“Ye’ll see the castle soon enough,” Bradley said, breaking the silence. “There, ye can rest and eat. Ye did well today.”
Laura nodded, though she felt no relief. Her mind was still on the villagers, the bandits, and the strength she had glimpsed in her husband. She realized, with a mixture of awe and apprehension, that life beside Bradley McCormack would never be dull, and that perhaps she would never understand the full measure of the man she had married.
As they crossed the wooden bridge back to the isle, Laura’s thoughts turned inward. She pondered how a man could be so cruel to one moment and yet so responsible, so fiercelyprotective in the next. The contradiction both unnerved and intrigued her, stirring emotions she could scarcely name. And though she did not speak them aloud, she felt the weight of her new role:
I am Lady McCormack, bound to a man who is as unpredictable as he is formidable.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Bradley sat tall in the saddle, his eyes fixed on Laura as she clung lightly before him. A strange, unrecognizable feeling stirred in his chest, one he could neither name nor fully understand, but it was fierce and possessive.
Her hesitation to mount the horse earlier played again in his mind, the way she had trembled for just a moment before he lifted her and secured her in place. He felt an obsessive claim over her, a thought that unsettled him even as it thrilled him.
The castle gates loomed ahead, and Bradley guided his horse carefully across the bridge that spanned the green water below.
Laura stirred against him, her hands brushing at his sides as she leaned forward. “Ye need rest, Laird,” she said, her voice calm but firm, taking control in a way that surprised him.
Laura dismounted first, glancing up at him with a mixture of determination and concern.
“Ye’ve got to let me tend to those wounds,” she said, taking his arm gently but firmly.
“I daenae need it,” Bradley muttered, trying to suppress the heat rising in his chest at her insistence.
“Ye will, whether ye wish it or nae, when the fever sets in. Now come,” she said.
