Page 12 of The Highlander's Runaway Nun
Alan gave a final bow, his smirk flashing once more before he turned to leave. “Aye, Laird. I’ll see it done.” His boots echoed down the hall as the door closed behind him, leaving Bradley alone once more with his thoughts.
Bradley moved back toward the window, his gaze falling upon the courtyard below. Tomorrow would be a test, not only of his clan’s faith, but of Laura’s place within it. The thought stirred something deep within him, a mix of pride, suspicion, and the faintest flicker of something softer. He clenched his jaw, unwilling to name it, and turned his mind back to duty.
The following morning, Bradley watched Laura as she slept. Her dark hair spilled across the pillow in soft braids and tangles, her chest rising and falling in a steady rhythm. For a fleeting moment, he found himself unwilling to break the peace that clung to her like a shroud.
But duty pressed hard upon him, and he strode closer to the bed.
“Up, lass,” he commanded, his voice firm though not unkind. “The sun willnae wait for us, and neither will I.” His tone carried no softness, though his gaze lingered on her longer than it ought.
Laura stirred, her lashes fluttering as she blinked awake. She groaned and rolled onto her side, glaring at him through sleepy brown eyes.
“Why have ye dragged me from me bed at such an hour?” she muttered. “It cannae be so urgent as to wake a body so early.”
Bradley folded his arms, unbothered by her annoyance. “We’re ridin’ to a village nearby,” he told her plainly. “There’s been bandit trouble, and I’ll nae sit idle while the folk suffer. Get yerself dressed and meet me in the courtyard.”
Her brow furrowed as she sat up, clutching the blanket to her chest. “Ye mean to take me with ye?” she asked, disbelief dripping from her words. “What use would I be in such a task?” She shook her head, her lips pursed tight.
He met her gaze steadily, unwilling to yield. “Ye’re the Lady of this clan now,” he said. “The folk must see ye beside me, nae hidin’ in chambers like a ghost. They’ll need to ken ye care for them, same as I.”
Laura let out a short, incredulous laugh, though her eyes flashed with defiance. “Or perhaps ye only wish to parade me about as proof ye’ve done yer duty in weddin’.” She tossed her legs over the side of the bed and rose with brisk annoyance. “Fine then. I’ll meet ye as ye’ve ordered.”
Bradley inclined his head once, his patience already thinning. “See that ye do, lass. I’ll nae be standin’ in the cold waitin’ while ye primp.” With that, he turned and strode from the chamber, the echo of his boots trailing down the stone hall.
Out in the courtyard, the air was crisp, the morning breeze carrying the tang of the sea. Two horses stood saddled and ready, their breath puffing white into the chill. Bradley stood beside them, arms folded, his cloak drawn tight as he waited. Yet as still as he appeared, his thoughts were anything but calm.
He recalled how she’d looked lying there, dark lashes brushing her cheeks, lips parted slightly in sleep. A heat stirred in him he had not expected, rising swift and unwelcome. She was bonnie, that much he couldnae deny, slender, proud, and untamed as the highland winds. He clenched his fists at his sides, forcing down the hunger that gnawed at his control.
The scrape of shoes on stone caught his attention, and he lifted his head. Laura stepped into the courtyard, her gown catchingthe morning light, her hair braided neatly now. Yet the moment her eyes fell on the horses, she stopped cold, blanching as if she’d seen specters. Her hands twisted in her skirts, and she took a step back.
Bradley arched a brow, his voice cutting the silence. “Come, lass. We’ve got a road ahead of us. Get yerself on the horse.” His tone carried command, though his eyes narrowed at her hesitation.
Laura lifted her chin, though the color drained from her cheeks. “I cannae,” she said bluntly. “I daenae ken how to ride.” Her admission rang clear, and her lips pressed into a stubborn line.
Bradley let out a sharp laugh, the sound edged with mockery. “So the Lady Laura can defy her Laird but cannae manage a saddle?” he teased. Shaking his head, he moved toward her, closing the distance in long strides. “Guess ye’re ridin’ in me arms again, lassie.”
Her eyes widened, and she stepped back, but it was no use. He caught her wrist, firm but not cruel, and drew her toward the waiting beast. “Hold steady,” he ordered, his voice low as he lifted her with ease. He set her on the saddle in front of him, her small frame fitting neatly against his chest.
Bradley gathered the reins, his arms circling her as he took control of the horse. The warmth of her back pressed to his stomach, the warmth of her body and its soft lines were undeniable. He inhaled slowly, her scent faint beneath the crisp air, and desire coiled in him like a fire threatening to burn free. Yet he clenched his jaw, burying it beneath his iron will.
Laura shifted uneasily, stiff as a board in his hold. “This is foolish,” she muttered. “I shouldnae be out here, nae with ye draggin’ me about as though I were a prize mare.” She glanced ahead, refusing to meet his eyes.
Bradley leaned closer, his lips near her ear, his voice a low rumble.
“Careful, lass,” he warned softly. “I daenae mind yer sharp tongue, but ye’ll find yerself losin’ ground fast if ye keep it waggin’ so fierce.” His hands tightened on the reins, steadying the horse as it stamped impatiently.
Bradley kept his gaze fixed ahead, forcing his focus to the road and not the lass in his arms. The feel of her, soft and unyielding both, tested the limits of his restraint. He knew he must keep her safe, must show his folk strength and unity. But deep within, another truth stirred, one he couldn’t yet name, but one that burned hotter with every passing breath.
CHAPTER EIGHT
Despite her words, Laura felt the solid wall of him behind her, every breath he drew brushing against her. Her heart hammered, though she told herself it was from fear, not the heat curling where it shouldn’t. She tilted her chin higher, determined to show no weakness. Yet inside, her thoughts tangled, uncertain of the man who held her so close.
She sat stiffly in the saddle, the warmth of Bradley’s body pressed solid against her back. His arms were strong and unyielding as they held the reins, and every breath he drew seemed to burn against her skin. A strange heat stirred within her, rising no matter how fiercely she fought it. She shifted in her seat, trying to create space, though the movement only pressed her closer into his hold.
“What’s crawlin’ under yer skin this morn?” he asked.
Her cheeks flushed, though the air was cool. “What’s wrong? Ye’re pressed against me hot as a forge. I can scarcely breathewith ye burnin’ at me back. I need air, Bradley, nae chains made of flesh.”
“Chains, ye call it? Ye’d be wise to remember those arms keep ye from fallin’, lass. I daenae hold ye for yer pleasure, but for yer safety.” His words cut like a blade, sharp and dismissive.
