Page 8 of The Highlander's Runaway Nun
“Hearts is the game,” he said. Bradley leaned back, crossing one arm, his gaze fixed on her. “And daenae fash yerself, lass. Ye’ll be eatin’ from me hand in nay time, I promise ye that.”
Laura’s cheeks flushed, but she held her ground, raising her chin. “Ye speak boldly.” Her fingers tapped lightly on the table, drumming an impatient rhythm as she considered her first move.
Bradley watched her, amused and calculating, letting her pride and defiance flare before him. “Aye, I see the fire in ye, lass. Good. Ye’ll need it to survive the nights in this castle with me.” He slid a card toward her, his fingers brushing hers just slightly, and she pulled back instinctively, heart pounding.
She glanced at her cards again, trying to ignore the thrill that stirred in her chest despite her fear. “I’ll play, aye, but mark me, I’ll win at least one round before ye think ye’ve got me figured.”
Laura’s eyes narrowed, her lips tight, yet a spark of amusement flickered in them despite herself. The game had begun, but so had a subtle battle of wills, each move more than cards; it was a test of defiance, patience, and power.
And though she would not admit it aloud, the thrill of his dark confidence and the fire in her own heart made the game far more dangerous… and far more intoxicating than either expected.
Laura laid down her last card, heart pounding as she realized she had won the hand. A flush of triumph spread across her cheeks, her dark eyes wide in disbelief.
“I… I’ve won,” she murmured, her voice trembling slightly with excitement and shock.
Bradley’s dark gaze met hers, an eyebrow raised, lips twitching as if he fought to hide a smile.
“Aye… seems ye have some cunnin’ hidden beneath that stubborn temper of yers,” he said, voice low and amused. “I didnae expect it, nae at all.”
He ruffled the cards with one hand, leaning back slightly in his chair, the firelight dancing over his sharp features. Laura felt a flicker of satisfaction flare in her chest, the tension of the night easing, if only a little.
Bradley poured her a measure of whisky, holding the glass toward her. “Here,” he said, his voice gentle, yet carrying thatcommanding undertone she had come to know. “A wee drink to steady yer nerves, and to celebrate yer victory, lass.”
Laura hesitated for only a moment, then took the glass, feeling the warmth seep into her fingers and throat with startling comfort.
She sipped cautiously at first, then more freely as Bradley watched, his dark eyes appraising, patient yet expectant. The golden liquid burned slightly on the way down, leaving a warmth that spread through her chest and limbs. Laughter bubbled from her lips, light and unrestrained, startling her with its sound.
The Abbey’s fears and the castle’s tension began to slip away, replaced by a dizzying, giddy freedom she had not felt in years.
Bradley leaned closer, a smirk tugging at his lips, noting the flush on her cheeks.
“Ye’re relaxin’, lass,” he said, his voice teasing. “Aye, I see it in yer eyes… ye’re enjoyin’ yerself despite yerself.”
Laura shook her head, trying to regain composure, though her laugh came again, bright and sparkling.
“I daenae ken how it happened,” she said breathlessly, “but… I feel… lighter. As if I’m nae bound by the walls of this place… nor by ye, Bradley Knox.” Her words slurred slightly, though her tone remained spirited, defiance and amusement tangled together.
“Careful, lass,” he said, his voice soft but carrying an edge. “Ye’ve tasted freedom and fire both tonight. Ye may find yerself laughin’ when ye ought to be cautious.”
Glass after glass, the warmth spread, loosening her tongue, her limbs, her thoughts. Her laughter filled the bedchamber, echoing against the oak walls, and even Bradley’s stoic composure wavered in amusement. She gestured wildly at the cards, knocking a few to the floor, her balance unsteady, yet her spirit jubilant. For a moment, she forgot the weight of her forced marriage, forgot the Laird’s authority, and simply reveled in the reckless joy that the whisky had brought.
“Enjoy yerself while ye can, for the lessons of this marriage… they’ll come in time,” he said.
Laura laughed, the sound bright but uneven as the warmth of the whisky spread through her limbs. She swayed slightly in her chair, blinking against the flickering candlelight, trying to focus on the cards but failing.
“Ye daenae play fair, Laird,” she slurred, pointing a shaky finger at him, “but I’ll… I’ll beat ye yet, mark me words.”
Her head tipped slightly to the side, and a dizzying wave of heat and fatigue swept over her, making her heart pound and her thoughts tangle.
Bradley’s dark gaze followed her closely.
“Aye, lass,” he said, his voice low and steady, “ye’re bold… and reckless. Ye’ve underestimated the effect of a wee drink, have ye nae?” Laura waved at him, trying to retort, but her words slurred into incoherence, a giddy laugh spilling from her lips. Her vision blurred, the firelight dancing across the walls, and the room seemed to tilt and spin around her.
She tried to focus on the cards, on the game, on anything to stay upright, but the whisky had loosened her mind and body too much. Her fingers fumbled, knocking over a cup, the sound sharp in the quiet chamber.
“Och… I’m… fine,” she murmured, though the words came out in a wobble. Her laughter became softer, almost dreamlike, and her head dipped toward her chest.
Bradley rose smoothly from his chair, his dark eyes intent, and crossed the room to her.
