Page 59 of The Highlander's Runaway Nun
“Ye’ve caught me with me head in the thread again.”
Laura smiled faintly and took the woman’s hands. “Ye’ve worked such wonders since I came here. I just wanted to thank ye for makin’ me gowns fit for a true Highland lady, even when I felt far from one.”
“Ye wear them with grace, me Lady. But it’s nae the gown that makes the Lady, it’s the heart beneath it. And ye’ve the truest heart I’ve ever seen.”
Laura blinked back tears and gave her hands a gentle squeeze. “Ye humble me, truly.”
As she made her way to the courtyard once more, a small group of children ran past, chasing a wooden hoop. They stopped short when they saw her, their eyes wide and bright.
“Lady McCormack!” one of the boys cried, bowing clumsily.
A little girl reached forward shyly and handed Laura a flower she’d been holding—a small, wilted bloom of heather. “For ye, me Lady,” she whispered.
Laura smiled through the ache in her chest and took the flower gently. “Thank ye, sweet one. I’ll treasure it always.”
She stood and looked around the courtyard one last time—the guards at their posts; the smoke rising from the kitchen chimney; the faint laughter of the children echoing off the stone walls. All of it was her home… all of it, hers and Bradley’s.
And the next day, she would have to leave it behind.
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
Laura’s knuckles rapped lightly upon the door of the small stone cottage just beyond the castle walls. A faint wisp of smoke curled from the chimney.
When the latch lifted, Eidith’s weathered face appeared, her eyes bright as ever despite the wrinkles that fanned from their corners.
“Come in, dearie, the hearth’s warm.”
Laura stepped inside, her cloak damp at the hem from the mist. The familiar space smelled of dried lavender and heather, with the shelves lined with jars of herbs and trinkets from years gone by.
“Eidith,” Laura began, her voice trembling, “ye were wrong. Everything’s ruined.” Her eyes welled as the old woman turned toward her, surprise flickering across her face.
Bradley’s name hovered unspoken on her lips before she continued, her voice breaking.
“He doesnae want me. He can barely look at me now. Ye told me time would heal things, that all would come right in the end. But he’s turned as cold as the winter.” Tears spilled freely down her cheeks, and she pressed a trembling hand to her chest as though to hold the ache within.
Eidith’s expression softened, and she reached for Laura’s hand. “Lass, I’m sorry for yer pain, but I wasnae wrong,” she said gently. “Things oft grow darkest before the morn. Sometimes ye must lose yer way to find where yer heart truly lies.” Her tone was calm, her gaze distant, as though she saw beyond what Laura could.
Laura shook her head fiercely, yanking her hand free, her anger rising.
“Ye speak in riddles, Eidith! Always ye talk of destiny and paths unseen! What good are words when all I have left is a man who cannae stand the sight of me?” Her anger cracked under the weight of her sorrow, each word trembling on her tongue.
Eidith sighed and turned toward the fire, stirring the embers with the iron poker.
“Ye think it’s done, but it’s nae so,” she murmured. “That man cares for ye, even if he cannae say it. He’s bound up in shame and fear, thinkin’ himself unworthy. But love, lass, it finds a way,if ye let it.” The fire popped, casting a warm light upon her lined face.
Laura’s breath hitched, her hands curling at her sides. “Enough,” she said sharply. “I’m tired of yer twisted talk of fate and destiny. I daenae want it. I want truth.” Her voice rose with a sharp edge of pain. “If this is fate, then fate’s cruel.”
Eidith turned back to her, sorrow clouding her eyes. “Maybe so, but ye cannae see the full weave of the tapestry while ye stand so close. Step back, Laura. Time will show ye what the heart already kens.”
Her words were quiet but carried with them a weight Laura could not bear to hear.
Laura’s frustration boiled over, and she took a step toward the door. “I’ve had enough of yer prophecies,” she cried. “Ye call this love, but all it brings is heartache. If there’s a path meant for me, it’s far from here.” Her hand trembled as she gripped the latch, her knuckles pale.
Without another word, she pulled open the door and stormed out into the gray light of day. The wind caught at her cloak, whipping it about her ankles as she strode down the narrow path. Behind her, the cottage door creaked shut, muffling Eidith’s soft sigh. Tears stung her cheeks anew, but she brushed them away with defiance and despair.
When she reached the edge of the castle gate, she slowed, her fury ebbing into exhaustion. She sank against the cold stone wall, burying her face in her hands.
“Why must it hurt so?” she whispered, her words swallowed by the wind. Her body shook as sobs escaped her, soft and broken.
